Author's Note: Again, there's a lot of comic book canon in this chapter, particularly in relation to Natasha's past. Oh, and after a comment from my husband who reads but doesn't review online, I've revised a lot of this chapter and the coming ones. Hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!

jessica: LOL! Every story has its ending, but there are a few more chapters left. :) And I'm already working on a Bourne series story starring Renner's character of Aaron Cross as well as a Clint/OC story to follow this one. :)

As always, I hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas! ~lg

oOo

Mrs. Beth Saddler lived in one of New York's brownstone homes, the street tree-lined and showing signs of family life. The file said that she and James had no children, though not for lack of trying. Mrs. Saddler had miscarried three times before she and her husband began looking into adoption. They'd saved for years and, just when they had enough to pursue it, SHIELD sent James on the mission that destroyed his mind.

Clint stepped out of the dark sedan he'd driven to the house, thankful he'd been allowed to come alone. This would be a difficult meeting for both of them. Not only would he have to explain to a woman that her husband was likely dead, but he'd have to face yet another person Loki had harmed. This time, though, things were different. This time, Loki's victim was a civilian, a woman who had done nothing save marrying a man who worked for SHIELD.

Pushing aside those thoughts, Clint adjusted his knee-length wool coat and walked purposefully up the steps. SHIELD's cover in the world, particularly for agents on a mission such as his, was that they were a branch of the FBI. He had dressed the part, right down to the black tie perfectly knotted and the black wool coat. He wore the obligatory shoulder holster, though he doubted he'd even need the sidearm it held.

After knocking, Clint rocked back on his heels and waited. A few moments later, movement through the frosted glass window next to the door told him Beth Saddler had arrived. She answered the door, holding back a very curious dog, and frowned. "Yes?"

Clint smiled. "Mrs. Saddler, I'm Agent Clint Barton, FBI." He showed the badge he carried at all times. "I have a few questions concerning your husband."

She eyed him suspiciously before nodding. "Just a minute." After she closed the door, her voice could be heard urging the pup into another room in the house. Within five minutes, she'd returned and let him into the house. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Millie's friendly, but she likes to dominate everyone's attention."

"That's no problem." He followed her into a living room that flowed into the kitchen. The space was bright and airy in spite of the cold temperatures outside. A blue and white motif carried through both rooms, with more blue in the living area and white in the kitchen. Clint perched on the edge of the couch she motioned him toward and ignored the overabundance of knickknacks and throw pillows. "Thank you for taking the time to talk with me."

Beth was a petite woman with dark hair that flopped around her face. She looked tired and, when she smiled, it was strained. She met his eyes. "You said you're FBI?" she asked. "Or did you mean SHIELD?" When Clint blinked, genuinely surprised, she waved a hand. "James told me about it before he left. What I want to know is why it took SHIELD a month to do anything!"

Clint braced his elbows on his knees, trying to change his tactics. "Yes, I'm with SHIELD," he admitted softly. "And I can't say why it took us a month to get this far. I've only been back for a few days."

She laughed, but it wasn't a good laugh. "Oh, that's great! They send the new guy to talk to me."

"I didn't say I was new," Clint replied with a firm tone. "Mrs. Saddler, your husband wasn't the only one who was. . .compromised."

"Compromised? Is that what you call it when a family's entire world is torn apart?" She glared at him. "We were planning on having children, Agent Barton! Talking about adopting and being able to mean it for the first time in years! Then, whatever happened in Manhattan happened, my husband came home a shell of the man he was, and he. . .He just fell apart! Left me and took the money we'd saved for our baby!"

Clint swallowed thickly, his own issues shortly after Loki's capture coming to mind. He wanted to comfort her, to say something that would make it all better, but he couldn't. He knew that words were meaningless. So, he sat and let her talk.

"Do you even know what it's like to have someone you love fall apart? To disappear?" Beth asked.

Clint's gaze, which had been focused on his hands, flew to her's. "Yes," he answered bluntly. "Mrs. Saddler, there were others. . . .I was there when it happened. I know what it did to your husband because it did the same thing to me."

She stared at him, her face crumbling even more. "Oh!" She shook her head. "I didn't. . . .I'm sorry. . . ."

He reached across the coffee table and caught her hand, holding it as if it were Natasha's hand. "It's okay," he said softly as he met her eyes. "Mrs. Saddler, the reason I'm here now is because we need your help to find your husband. Of everyone who went through this, I know what he's thinking." I hope, he added silently.

She held his hand as if it were her only lifeline to reality. "What do you need to know?"

Clint slowly released her hand. "Was your husband seeing anyone for his issues? A psychologist?"

She nodded. "Yes. A woman from SHIELD. Doctor. . .uh. . . ."

"Erickson?"

"Yes!" Beth's eyes widened. "You know her?"

Clint's heart sank. "Yeah, I know her."

"Well, she told James that he needed to accept what was done and move on. To take responsibility for his actions." She drew in a shaky breath. "He tried! He honestly tried, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that someone named Loki was watching him all the time. He had dreams, nightmares that woke the neighborhood. And, every time he went to see the psychologist, he became more and more distant. I thought he was just going through a phase, but he said she wanted to meet with me, too. That counseling the entire family was necessary for James to fully recover."

"What did she tell you?"

"That he needed his space." Beth shrugged. "He needed time to do his own thing and reestablish his own identity. So, I gave it to him. I tried not to ask when he was out late, when he came home drunk, or when he didn't come home at all. I really, really tried!" She paused for a moment to pull herself together. "The night he left, we had an argument. He didn't want to adopt anymore. He wanted to take the money and go to Russia. Said he wanted to give me a vacation to remember. I didn't want that and told him. He stormed out and. . . ." She shook her head, tears once again flowing down her face. "He never came back! I thought I'd pushed him away! I thought. . . .Then, I got a call from the bank. He'd withdrawn every cent in our account—everything!"

Clint once again reached across the coffee table and took her hand. He sat silently while she wept, frozen in indecision. Women and tears didn't mix well with his line of work, and he wanted nothing more than to run out of that room. Something about Beth's story concerned him, and he tried not to show his alarm to her.

Beth lifted her head, her eyes red and her voice weak. "I'm sorry." She let go of his hand and reached for a tissue. "I just want him to come home."

Once again, Clint didn't know what to say. He knew James Saddler couldn't be alive, not with the amount of blood they'd found. But he didn't want to announce that to the man's wife. Not for the first time, he understood why Coulson had considered leaving SHIELD in order to be with his cellist.

As Beth again gained control over her emotions, she met his eyes. "Promise me you'll bring him home."

Clint blinked at the steel in her voice. The house bore no Christmas decorations, and he realized she was waiting for a man who would likely never be returned to her. Not alive. But he did resolve to bring some sort of closure to her. "I'll do my best," he promised.

She nodded and, after another emotional moment, Clint stood and let her walk him to the door. On the porch, he turned to offer a card with his number on it should Beth think of anything else she could add. She stood just inside the house, gripping the door as if it was the only thing keeping her safe. Her eyes sought out his, and she spoke one final time. "He's dead, isn't he?"

Clint considered lying to her for a brief second but remembered how angry he'd been when Natasha wouldn't tell him about Coulson. Instead, he nodded and said in a very soft voice, "We believe so."

Beth whimpered at the news. "I thought so," she said brokenly. "I just. . .I knew."

Clint didn't say anything else as the door closed. But his keen hearing picked up the wail that came from the other side. He forced himself to breathe, to push past the trauma of his own experiences with Loki to make a promise to a grieving widow. He would find James Saddler's killers. And he would bring them to justice.

oOo

Once on the Quinjet and bound for the Helicarrier, Clint called Stark and found the billionaire only so happy to turn the serum over to Bruce and start tracking the Saddlers' money. The heartbreak on Beth Saddler's face as she admitted to the theft touched somewhere deep inside Clint, and he resolved to return a portion of the money to her. It wouldn't heal the hurt—not by a long shot. But it would be a bit of justice.

Ending the call, Clint leaned his head back and struggled to keep focused on the investigation. This wasn't about his issues with Loki. This was about two members of his team—two of his friends—missing. He needed to find both Steve and Natasha. He couldn't lose another friend, much less two. Not now. Not when things were finally starting to look bright for his future.

Back on the Helicarrier, Clint found Thor waiting for him. The two men headed for the bridge. Once there, Clint found an unused computer terminal and began a face trace. It would take quite some time, but he had other ways of filling his hours while he waited. Using SHIELD's impressive reach, he quietly examined financial documents, bank accounts, utility bills, and anything else that helped him build a file on a target. When he finished, he stood and looked for Fury. He'd left the Saddler home with suspicions about Joan Erickson that couldn't wait, and his research confirmed them. The woman had obviously messed up more than a few patients, and Clint wanted to see her pay for that. But he also wanted to help the men she'd destroyed. There had to be a way for him to track down everyone affected by Loki's mind control and help them recover. The compassion was new, but he felt such release following the realization that he wasn't to blame that he couldn't stand another person actually believing that as well.

Fury met him at the conference table, accompanied by Bruce. "Agent Barton. How did your meeting go?"

Clint blew out a deep breath. "Not good. Mrs. Saddler knew her husband was SHIELD, and she knew he was dead. The former because he told her, the latter. . . ." Clint shrugged. "Instinct."

Fury nodded. "Did she say anything about his whereabouts for the last month?"

"Nothing." Clint shook his head. "She didn't know a thing, just that he drained their entire savings account and took off. I've got Stark tracking the money. Hopefully we'll find something that way."

Bruce, who had listened quietly, shifted on his feet. "Well, I found something." He met Clint's eyes and then Fury's, his gaze flickering around for a brief moment. "The serum in that needle was a sedative—a very powerful sedative. It possibly could have taken down The Other Guy with a high enough dose. If that's the case. . . ."

Clint's heart sank. "Then it definitely would have taken down Steve and Natasha."

"Yeah." Bruce narrowed his eyes, focusing on Clint. "Why would they have something that strong on them?"

Clint waved that question away for a moment. "Did you learn anything else?"

"Yeah. The serum isn't the same as the one we have on record, but its chemical composition is similar to one used by a now-defunct KGB program." Bruce watched both Fury and Clint tense. "What?"

Clint turned to Hill. "I need the bridge cleared of all nonessential personnel. And get Tony Stark up here."

Fury nodded. "Do it."

Clint whirled to face Bruce. "You're certain the composition's Russian?"

"Yes."

Clint cursed and paced a few steps away. He still wore the suit and wool coat he'd used in New York, and he was now grateful for the extra protection. The chill that went down his spine was born from dread for what Natasha had been enduring during the last forty-eight hours. By the time they found her, it would be a lot longer, and he couldn't know if she'd be the same woman he'd known for twenty years.

Stark rushed into the bridge. "What happened? Hill said it was urgent."

"It is." Clint sent a grateful glance toward Hill, thanking her for making the request seem urgent enough that Stark didn't launch into his customary complaining. "I think I know who has Steve and Natasha."

Bruce blinked. "Because of the serum?"

"Yeah." Clint glowered at the table. "When I met Natasha, she was freelance and lost. She'd just left a program—she wouldn't say where—and struck out on her own. Over the years, I got to know her a bit better, had a short relationship with her, and learned the truth." He raised his eyes and met Stark's, Thor's, and Bruce's gazes in turn. "Natasha's a super soldier. She was 'created' by the Black Widow Program out of the Red Room facility in Moscow. A good portion of their work with her, outside of giving her their version of Dr. Erskine's formula, involved brainwashing. She has scattered memories of things that never happened, but, shortly before leaving the Red Room and becoming Natasha Romanoff, her memories were wiped. The only things she knows to be truth about her life start twenty years ago."

Thor stared, dumbfounded, while Stark's mouth flapped. The billionaire held up a hand. "Wait. You're telling me that you're the only human on this team? That the rest of us have an advantage over you in some form or fashion?"

Clint tipped his head slightly, acknowledging the statement without encouraging that line of questioning. He focused back on the problem. "The Red Room went under shortly after Natasha's departure, but there's still a remnant of it out there. SHIELD has tracked it for quite some time without her knowledge, but I don't know what they know now."

Fury took over. "They call themselves 2R. And, until just this moment, I thought they were a fringe group with no way to become a threat to us."

Bruce slowly settled into a chair. "Well, if they've got both Steve and Natasha, they're a significant threat now. If they've got the ability to create a serum that takes down Captain America, they can likely reverse engineer a super soldier serum from his blood alone. That's if they don't. . . .Uh. . . ." He glanced around.

Fury picked up on what he was saying. "They'll dissect him to get to it."

Stark cursed while Clint and Thor glared at no one in particular. "Where are we with finding them?"

Fury looked at Hill, who answered immediately. "There are two known 2R facilities in Siberia. Unfortunately, they're mostly underground, and we've been unable to get an agent inside either one. Nor will satellite footage help as they're always careful to keep up appearances."

Clint shifted in his seat, glancing at Fury. "Sir, there's more."

Fury nodded. "Let's hear it."

"Mrs. Saddler said that her husband was seeing Dr. Erickson." Clint tilted his head to one side. "Since her departure from SHIELD, she's fallen off the face of the planet. We know Saddler was involved in taking down both Natasha and Steve. We have his blood at the scene. If he took his family's savings to help finance 2R, there should be a trail somewhere. And, since Erickson was treating him, she may likely be involved with 2R as well."

Fury sighed. "It's a possibility."

"Sir, with all due respect, I think it's more than a possibility." Clint met the director's eyes. "She wanted to hypnotize me. If she hypnotized any of the other agents she treated, she could have successfully brainwashed them over time. A simple post-hypnotic suggestion would have been all it took to get the ball rolling. Saddler may not have left of his own free will."

Fury turned to Stark. "How close are you on tracing that money?"

Stark waved a hand. "JARVIS is working on it. By the time we fly to Siberia, we should have everything we need to bury these guys and bring our people home." He looked at Clint meaningfully. "All of them home."

Fury nodded. "Good." He pushed back from the table. "Agent Barton, the Quinjet you flew to Istanbul is fueled and ready to go. You leave for Siberia as soon as you're able."

Clint stood and looked at the other three men. "Good." Then, with a slight grin, he used the same instruction he'd been given six months ago by one Steve Rogers. "Suit up."

oOo

Steve held Natasha through the long night, absorbing her trembling and trying to warm her to the best of his ability. He'd never seen her so broken, and it concerned him that someone as strong as Natasha Romanoff could be brought to this level. Her mind clearly wasn't all that sound right now, and she kept quoting her name, rank, and serial number. Almost as if she needed to remind herself who she was.

She also talked during that night. She told him about Alexie Shostakov, her husband. She'd married him after having it arranged through Petrovitch—the face she'd recognized in New York and now remembered—and lost him to a flight training accident. He'd been a Soviet test pilot, and she later learned that the Red Room had him killed. She spoke of him softly, in a tone that indicated she'd loved him dearly. Steve listened, willing to hold her tightly while she grieved for someone who had been dead for twenty years. He imagined that Natasha, young and hurting, had welcomed the Red Room's techniques at the time.

The only indication that morning had come was the lights being turned on and the approach of footsteps. The guards barged into the cell before Steve could disentangle himself from Natasha and forcefully dragged her away. He saw her eyes as she looked back at him, and the sheer terror would keep him awake for nights on end. He surged forward, knocking one of the three guards into the bars. The man fell, and the one not physically dragging a weakened Natasha out of the cell drew some sort of weapon. Before Steve could get to him, the tranquilizer dart had embedded itself in his neck. The massive dose burned as the room grew fuzzy around the edges.

He woke sometime later, on the cold floor and needing heat. More tired than he ever could have imagined, Steve slid into the corner he shared with Natasha, his head leaned against the stone wall as he shivered at the loss of body heat that she had put off. She had warmed him just as much as he'd tried to give her warmth. It was a welcoming thought that they worked so well together. But Steve's mind couldn't focus on the good right now. The woman he loved was in the hands of a psychopath, and he couldn't do a thing about it. Now that he'd been revealed as Captain America, the guards came in force. They feared him, now, and with good reason. His feelings for Natasha made him dangerous, though he realized that anything he did to them could make things worse for her. Not that they could get much worse. They referred to her as Natalia, and Petrovitch always looked at him with such glee.

But he couldn't just sit here, not like he'd done for the last several days. Pushing his stiff body out of it's corner, he began pacing the cell to get his blood pumping. He'd never truly been a prisoner of war, though he had freed quite a few. The only reason he had not fought until now was because Natasha asked him not to. Things had changed. Now that he knew the truth of who held them captive, he would get them out of here and back to New York. If anyone could help Natasha cope, it would be Barton, and, between himself and Barton, they'd bring her back. They had to. Anything less, and Steve's world would unravel again. He wasn't certain he could handle that.

The realization of just what Natasha meant to him struck him as ironic, and he smirked. Dropping onto his hands for push-ups, he began a light calisthenics routine to keep himself limber. He'd just had to realize he loved Natasha Romanoff in a Red Room prison cell, with no idea where they were or if help was even coming. Just like he'd realized how much he'd loved Peggy right as his plane went down. Oh, he'd known the feelings he had for her were deep, but the truth—the full truth—hadn't hit him until that moment when she told him he wouldn't be alone. What is it with me and life-or-death situations that show how much I care for women?

The day passed predictably, with no activity outside of Steve's physical training. By the time Natasha was returned to the cell, he'd managed to work through his anger and into the determination phase of his escape plan. He needed to watch, to learn the weaknesses of their guards. Unfortunately, he didn't think Natasha had that much time.

She barely lifted her head when the guards threw her into the cell while three others held tranquilizer guns on him. As before, Steve caught her, much to their amusement, and he frowned when she groaned in pain. Her head fell back on his arm, and his heart dropped. Her face was a mass of new and healing bruises, the original ones no longer showing. The cuts from yesterday had been reopened, and he saw the outline of a woman's ring in one of them.

She cracked her eyes open as the guards left and looked at him. "Shoulder!"

Steve blinked at the whimper and then moved to examine her arms. Her left arm hung limply at her side, and he quickly realized someone had dislocated her shoulder. "You want me to put it back in?"

She nodded with a clenched jaw.

Steve blew out a deep breath and gently laid her on the floor. Once in position, he glanced at her face once again to find her watching him. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

As carefully as possible, he maneuvered her shoulder back into its socket. Her face scrunched in pain when he first moved her arm, and she wasn't able to stop the short shout that escaped as he put it back. Steve quickly crossed her arm over her chest and lifted her, cradling her against his body as he held her arm in place. Her breathing had quickened, and she used that to work through the agony. When that slowed, he asked, "Anything else?"

She shook her head, her short hair brushing his jaw. Shifting around, Steve scooted his back against the wall, positioning Natasha next to him with her back against his side and chest. He kept his arms around her, allowing her to relax while still holding her injured arm in place. As soon as he stopped moving, she dropped her head back on his shoulder. "I was looking forward to Christmas this year."

Her soft words caused his heart to clench again. He sighed. "Yeah, me, too."

"I drew Thor's name," she admitted. "Know what he wanted?" She waited until Steve shook his head. "A gift for Jane. That's it. How sweet is it that he just wanted to make her happy?"

Steve understood the sentiment. Though, in his case, making Natasha happy meant taking her back to New York. He tightened his hold. "We'll get back there," he promised.

She opened her eyes and stared up at him, her head at an awkward angle. "You think so?"

The question didn't bother him because these were pretty hopeless circumstances. But the doubt in her voice almost broke his heart. "I promise." He propped his chin on the top of her head. "I'll get you home for Christmas."

She hummed as she shifted in place. "Sounds good."

They were silent the rest of the night, Natasha sleeping restlessly against him as her body healed itself. Steve never slept, though. His mind was too full of ideas for getting both of them out of here. She wasn't the only one who had looked forward to Christmas, though hearing her talk about it in a semi-normal tone of voice gave him hope for her survival. For their survival.

As the lights came on for yet another day, Steve nudged Natasha awake and helped her sit up. Her arm, stiff from being held in place overnight, seemed to have healed up nicely. One day, he'd ask her about it. But, for now, he needed to give her something else to focus on. "Natasha, listen. We'll be home for Christmas. I promise!"

The guards ripped her away then, two moving into the cell with syringes of that serum. Steve attacked without warning, his body already having metabolized yesterday's dose. He managed to break the guy's wrist, sending the syringe across the floor. A quick kick nudged it down the hole intended as a toilet, and the guards howled in frustration. One got in a good punch, just enough to loosen Steve's hold on Natasha but not enough to distract him. While the man dragged her out of the room, three more ran in to subdue Steve. He fought, disarming them easily, until one of the new guards produced yet another syringe of serum. This time, he wasn't able to kick it down the toilet, and he felt the injection burn even as he sent that particular guard flying into the prison cells. The man dropped, unconscious or dead. Steve ignored the twinge in his gut, a moment when his anger overrode the morality that made him Captain America. He spun as more guards rushed into the room, overpowering him with sheer numbers and his weakened condition. He fought until that serum blurred his vision and brought him down. When he woke, the bodies had been removed, and he had been shackled to "his" bunk.

~TBC