Strike Team Delta
In which two special agents get a surprise visit at the Tower, shortly after it has become the Avengers' hub.
It was a hot, lazy summer afternoon. The Tower ground were quiet. The maintenance crew had retreated into their air-conditioned shed for an extended lunch break away from the blazing sun. Only on the gravel lane leading to the small side entrance of the property was a truck parked and five men were loading boxes into the back of it.
Despite the heat, the five men wore long-sleeved coveralls in the typical dark blue with the silver "A" that characterized the uniforms of all Tower personnel. The side entrance was hidden in a sparse copse of wood that kept the men and the truck hidden from sight. The gate itself was made to appear like the rest of the walled enclosure that surrounded the outer limit of the property. Only the maintenance and security teams knew about the entrance in order to avoid paparazzi or other uninvited guests from coming too close. Only a name tag that was scanned in combination with a facial scan allowed the gate to open.
High up inside the Tower, ensconced in his hammock several feet above the ground, Clint was awakened by a single ring on his phone cut short, then immediately followed by a normal-length ring. After a pause, another ring cut short, a normal ring, and a second short ring interrupted the peaceful quiet. The ringing continued after another pause, jarring the sleeping man from any further rest.
With an annoyed grumble, Clint reached fro his phone and swiped to answer. "Are you ringing in morse code? You do know that normal people just let the phone ring out until the person answers?"
"What's the fun in that?"
"Calling someone is not supposed to be fun. Especially when said person is sleeping."
"It's 12:30, Clint. I've been up for hours and there's nobody here today."
"What, miss me already, Nat? We spent the last four days holed up together in a tiny bunker in Alaska."
"Well I'm hungry for some real food, and you know I don't cook."
Clint sighed and rolled his eyes, trying to burrow deeper into his covers. "Stark doesn't keep food in that high-tech kitchen of his?"
"Stark's definition of food is limited to coffee. There's some frozen pizzas in the freeze, mustard and hot sauce in the fridge, and cereal and peanut butter in the cupboards."
"So basically the same thing we ate the past week."
"Exactly. So are you going to get your lazy ass out of bed and cook me something?"
"Fine. Only if you go buy some real food to cook with."
Triumph and satisfaction were evident in Natasha's voice, "I'll be back in 20."
Back in the wooded back section of the Tower grounds, the men had finished loading up the truck and were now slowly driving towards the Tower. They parked the truck at the side of the tall building, out of sight from the other buildings and the main front entrance. One of the men - a stocky, black-haired man with a full beard - pulled out his ID and swiped it. The picture on the ID was of a slender, blond man in his early 20s.
Twenty minutes later, a red-haired slender woman in a black leather jacket and sunglasses walked up the entranceway carrying four bulging grocery bags. Natasha walked into the building and entered the elevator, arms crossed across her chest, shades on, as the elevators doors closed in front of her.
Clint was waiting for her when she walked into the kitchen. He was dressed in a pair of worn blue jeans, and a faded dark purple t-shirt that. "I'll take those form you, thank you," he said, taking the grocery bags. "I've got the oven preheated and water already boiling to cook the potatoes and veggies."
"How'd you know I'd bring potatoes and vegetables."
"Come on Nat, you always buy the exact same things - all the ingredients for goulash, which I'm still refusing to make."
"What's wrong with goulash?"
"Besides everything?" Cling threw the potatoes and vegetables the sink beneath some flowing water. He took out a pork roast from the other bag and sniffed it. "Well at least you bought a fresh roast this time."
"That's why you make goulash - boiling food kills off anything that's gone bad."
"And then the goulash kills of you." Clint began to chop the vegetables. "You got drinks, right?"
"Of course." At the island table, Natasha was standing in front of several open bottles and a cocktail shaker. "What've we got today? Mission-well-done celebratory drink?"
"Yeah sure." Clint finished mixing the vegetables with some spices and old bread he had found in the cupboard beside the peanut butter, and began to stuff the pork roast.
"You don't sound so enthusiastic," commented Natasha, as she began to pour the mixture into a tall glass.
Clint shrugged. "There's always another mission, isn't there? How many of these drink have we had already?"
"Plenty, and with lots more to come," the redhead replied, handing him a drink. "But we've got the day off today."
"I'll hold you that," Clint raised a challenging eyebrow, taking the drink.
They were casually sipping their drinks, watching the time count down on the oven, and the water simmer over the potatoes. There was no music playing in the background, no sound to fill up the warm, gentle quiet that had spread over the kitchen area. It was a blissful moment for the two agents, whose everyday background noises included gunshots and explosions.
"Agent Romanoff, Agent Barton." The clipped computer voice with a British accent ran over the com system.
"Jarvis," Natasha acknowledged.
"What's up, J?" Clint asked.
"There may have been a security breach in the Tower."
"May?"
"Security breach?"
"Five men came into the side entrance earlier with a valid ID, but they're wearing the uniforms of the ground maintenance crew, and they've just gone down into the basement where they have no reason to be."
Natasha sighed, setting down her drink. "Alright, we'll check it out."
"You mean you will. I've got to finish making lunch," said Clint, checking the potatoes.
"Don't take too long, I'm hungry." Taking the elevator down to the first floor underground, the master spy cautiously stepped out. She rolled back her sleeves and took out a handgun from the small of her back.
Creeping down poorly lit corridor, senses on high alert, Natasha quickly checked room after room. Nearing the end of the dim grey hallway, an open door led to a staircase going down. Following the steps to the lower floor, she began to hear lowered voices.
"Watch those wires."
"Just let me do my work!"
"We're losing time."
"Do you want me to faster and blow us all up?"
"Shut up! You, get your work done, and the rest of you, stand guard! I don't want anything to go wrong!"
As Natasha moved closer to the metal railing to get a better view, a broom that had been left behind and sloppily propped beside the door, fell down with a clatter.
The men started, reaching for their weapons and looking around for the source of the noise. "What was that?" the leader snarled. "You, go!"
Muttering a few choice curse words in Russian under her breath, the redhead at the top of the landing slipped back behind the door. Peeking through the crack, she saw three men heading towards the stairs carrying automatic machine guns trained on the door she was hiding behind.
"Shit!" She tucked her small gun back into her pants beneath her jacket and darted up the stairs. "Jarvis, five hostiles in the basement."
"Duly noted, Agent Romanoff. Would you like me to put the building on high security alert."
"Yeah sure, whatever that means," she replied as kept running.
She flew into the lobby and punched the button to the elevator. The AI's voice answered through the speakers. "The elevators have been disabled due to high security alert."
"Of course they have," Natasha muttered.
"The stairs to the upper levels are located in the second door to your right."
"Oh great, stairs. Not like this is a really, tall building or anything."
"There are seventy-f -"
"Shut up, Jarvis, I don't care," interrupted Natasha, bolting up two stairs at a time.
Clint didn't turn as the door slammed behind him. "That took longer than expected. But you're just in time - the potatoes are mashed and salted, and I just took the roast out of the oven."
An out-of-breath voice answered, "Do you have any idea how many stairs there are in this Tower?"
Whirling around, Clint placed the enticing-smelling pork roast on the counter and grabbed the wide-bladed butcher's knife as well as a small serrated knife for chopping vegetables.
"You're going to need something more serious than that. We've got five intruders with some heavy firepower and what looks like a bomb down in the basement."
Clint shrugged nonchalantly, setting down the knives and opening the cupboard above the fridge. "Looks like we've got to deserve this roast first."
"Can we ever eat something without having to deserve it first?" Natasha had taken away the panel below the armrest from the side of the couch closest to the elevators. A hidden compartment revealed several standard SHIELD handguns, holsters and ammunition, as well as a variety of knives and a set of her blue-tinged electronic wrist gauntlets. She put those on, grabbed some of the guns and ammunition and threw two of them at Clint who caught them easily and tucked them in his jacket pocket. In the meantime, he had fished out a compact bow and quiver from the top shelf in the cupboard, as well as two communication devices.
"Did they follow you?" he asked, throwing his quiver over his back, putting in his ear piece and handing the other to Natasha.
"I didn't hear them in the stairwell, but I didn't stop to find out. We need to make sure the staff are clear and disarm that bomb." She took the ear piece and put it in her right ear, then fired up her gauntlets.
Hawkeye was already moving towards the stairs. "We'll head to the basement, try to figure out what we're dealing with, but first sweep the levels for hostiles. You said there were five? Piece of cake."
"That I saw," the Black Widow responded, following her partner.
Heading down the stairs at a run, they locked off floor after floor, after getting JARVIS to scan the level for the five intruders and then having him send out a standard drill message to the staff in order to keep everyone calm. The two special agents kept up a regular banter as they cleared level after level at an astonishing speed, often leaping over the pristine white railing and free-falling to the floor below in order to save time. Despite the seemingly casual jokes, there was a steely look in their eyes. A look that signalled to everyone that SHIELD's best two agents were on mission, and on target.
They'd reached the twelfth level when Clint, who was in the lead a few steps ahead of Natasha, suddenly paused and raised a fist. On cue, Black Widow froze, and slowly removed her two handguns from the the cryptic hand signals that become like a native language to her over the years, she crept down the stairs to stand behind him at a slight angle, so as to perfectly cover him yet not intrude upon her visibility.
"Doors slammed below them, followed by screams of terrified employees.
"There goes covert stealth mode," Hawkeye muttered. "It's a go for Strike Team Delta!"
In a few seconds they were standing on either side of the door. Natasha pointed an eyebrow at the enamelled plaque mounted beside the doorframe: ARCHIVES.
"Probably not a coincidence," she said quietly.
Clint nodded, risking a quick glance past the doors. "You got left, I got right. Tell staff to lay low."
A quick nod from the redhead and they were through the doors, shoulder to shoulder. Moving in perfect synchronization, they swept their weapons over the room, Black Widow with her guns and blue-lit gauntlets, Hawkeye with his bow. The screams subsided in their wake as they rushed passed the first few offices. Frightened faces turned to relief, as the two agents blazed in.
"They . . . they w- . . . went into Archive Room 4," stuttered a young man wearing navy blue dress pants and a crisp white shirt. The palour of his face matched his shirt.
Reaching Archive Room 4, the first thing they noticed were the steel doors blown off their hinges. The second thing, almost instantaneously, were two machine gun barrels pointed at them. They fell to the floor as bullets whizzed over their heads and buried into the white panelled walls behind them, leaving a scattered pattern of black holes. Black Widow fired twice, and as the armed men dropped their guns and fell to the floor, Hawkeye leaped up and two arrows sprouted from their chests. Blood began to pool on the marbled surface around them.
"Laptop."
"Flash drive."
Natasha made a beeline to the laptop and hastily began to click. "Looks like they were uploading several files to a Cloud account. I can't trace the receiver but let's see . . . the files are all named something, something Research Facility. Coordinates maybe, yes, coordiante codes that identify SHIELD's research facilities around the world."
"Any clues as to why?" Clint had retrieved the flash drive that had fallen out from the pockets of one of the dead bodies.
"None. I've stopped the upload but some files did make it to the Cloud."
"What's on here?" He handed her the drive.
"More files. Oh wait, what's this?" Natasha clicked on an image file. It was a high resolution picture of Loki's sceptre.
The two agents exchanged looks.
"Unless that reindeer-horned maniac escaped Thor's very tight clutches, it looks like some enemy of SHIELD's is showing a very high interest in this thing and wants to find it," remarked Natasha.
Clint didn't say anything. His eyes were turned away from the laptop screen. His partner laid a reassuring hand on his shoulders.
"He's gone Clint. Let's focus on the three remaining guys and that bomb in the basement."
They hurried out, taking the laptop and flash drive with them. Soon they had reached the bottom o fthe stairwell after clearing the other floors with no incidents. Without a sound, they entered the entrance lobby and came upon a third man standing guard. He never stood a chance. Clint fired an arrow and Natasha caught him before he hit the floor, lowering him down soundlessly.
"Jarvis, can you bring up the video feed of the basement?" Clint asked, standing beside a security monitor.
"Unfortunately there are no video cameras on the lower floors, Agent Barton," the AI replied with lowered volume.
Natasha moved in the direction of the door that led to the basement stairs, but Clint couldn't resist rolling his eyes. "I can't believe there are no cameras in the basement!" he whispered. "Isn't this thing supposed to have the highest security measures?"
"Why don't you write a memo and put it in the suggestion box?" Natasha whispered back as she began to move slowly down the stairs, one step at a time.
I didn't know we had a suggestion box. Anything else nobody told me about?"
"The fact that there's been a security breach in the Tower?"
Clint laughed under his breath. "Oh yeah, might've been nice to get a head's up on that one."
They reached the top of the landing where Natasha had crouched not all that long ago. The broom was still lying on the ground. Below them, the apparent boss was pacing back and forth frantically, talking into a walkie talkie.
"Can anyone here me? Does anyone read, damnit! What the hell is going on up there?!"
"You're party's been rudely interrupted by us, my sincere apologies." Clint stood relaxed at the top of the stairs, arrow trained on the man's chest. "Weapons down. On the ground."
The black-bearded man spat in disgust. "Go to hell." He moved to raise his gun, but a black fist tinged with blue streaks connected with the back of his neck. There was an audible shock, followed by an anguished yelp cut short as the man lost consciousness.
"Nice work." Clint swung down to the floor and joined up with his partner who was standing in front of a crudely-made bomb consisting of a small gas tank, plastic explosives and wires. A red timer flashed ominously.
Natasha stood beside the fifth man slumped awkwardly on the floor. "He pushed the button before I got to him. Can you disarm it?"
"I can try." Clint knelt down beside the bomb and began to examine the jumbled mess of wiring.
From the direction of the stairs, a loud clatter was heard as someone stumbled over a broom handle. "You better check on the boss man," mumbled Clint, but Natasha was already gone, racing after the fleeing man.
She ran up the stairs, through the lobby and into the hallway leading to the side entrance. Just as she exited the door, the truck's engines roared and it began to pull away. Without hesitating, Natasha fired the rest of her rounds at the tires until the back ones blew and the truck swerved widely and crashed into the Tower. The last man still alive stumbled out of the cab, gun in hand but the master assassin was ready and waiting for him.
"Shit!"
"He got away?" Clint asked over the comms.
"He's dead," Natasha replied. "I wanted him alive to be questioned. How are you doing?"
"Well the timer's ticking away."
"Should we start an evacuation?"
"There's no time for that, and this bomb has enough power to level the entire building. But . . . wait, here we go. Oh no, wrong wire, I think it's this one."
"You think?"
"I do, and I thought right. Bomb disabled."
Both agents sighed in relief.
A while later, they had passed off the cleanup duties to the police and janitorial staff and were back in the kitchen in the commons area of the Tower.
"The roast is cold," Clint groaned in frustration.
"So much for a day off," smirked Natasha, as she placed a loaded plate in the microwave.
"I think I've got a thing or two for that suggestion box."
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone that's been following and reviewing this story! I'm sorry for the very irregular updating, but I haven't forgotten! Hope you enjoyed this one shot on our two favourite spies and assassins, I'd love to hear your feedback.