A/N: Hello, everyone! Again, I'm sorry for not posting for so long. I don't even have an excuse anymore - I just think I've lost interest in the story. But I will finish it, don't worry. Please give me some encouragement to help me finish :)
He arrives on the fourth floor at the walkway with short breaths, not out of lack of fitness but out of something he has heard other people call fear. He heard everything from Elizabeth filtered through his earpiece and was more convinced by each passing second that this is all a trap.
Coming here, to this exact place, reminds him of that day. He doesn't remember what his aim was and why he came here that time. Of course, he doesn't try to remember, but everything is hazy from that day.
Apart from the unforgettable sensation of the actual killings and the sight of the dead bodies that he created.
A shadow moves across the other end. He instinctively grabs his bow and fires his arrow. It is only at the last moment, before he releases it completely, that he realizes that it might be Romanoff. The last hesitation causes the arrow to veer slightly off target, embedding itself in the wall, but allowing the shadow to quickly scamper off to somewhere. He realizes that he fired an explosive one, and takes care not to detonate it. He cautiously replaces his bow and instead takes out his gun. Some people might think that guns are more lethal in his hands. Those people don't know him.
He senses something behind him and places himself in a defensive position, simultaneously aiming his gun to threaten the person if it's the enemy. He turns around and comes face to face with Natasha.
"Natasha," he says, relieved to see her in one piece. He replaces the gun in its holder. "Are you ok?" he asks, venturing to ask the question even though he knows she hates being asked.
"I'm fine. What are you doing here?" she asks. He wonders how to begin answering that question, when he stops.
Her eyes are blue.
At the same time, she sees him notice. She draws her gun and points it at his head, firing immediately. Instinctively, he grabs her wrist and twists it, making her fire into the ceiling. This would be the perfect time to shoot her, but that's not an option. Instead, he kicks her shin and when her balance is off, pushes her back to the ground. She might be the Black Widow, but he can easily overpower her with his strength. In mid fall, he yanks the gun out of her hands and throws it away. As soon as she's on the floor, she takes out a hidden knife and moves to plunge it into his stomach, forcing him to roll off her.
Perhaps it won't be so easy after all.
She stands, taking the advantageous position with him on the floor and vulnerable. She lunges again. He takes his bow and uses it to block the knife, once, twice. He pushes himself upward and the sparring continues. He wonders how she managed to knock him out so easily last time. He is pushed back, nearing the other side of the long walkway. She lethally lunges again, and this time he steps back and closes the bow on the knife, trapping it in between. He twists it out of her hand, making her turn, and leaving her defenseless. She now has her back to the end of the walkway and he has plenty of space behind him, leaving him in a better situation. He pulls out his gun and aims it to her head.
"Hands up," he says. She remains standing, with that cold smirk on her face. "I said hands up," he repeats, with a slowly sinking feeling in his stomach.
"Barton, we both know you can't kill me," she says. He knows that she's right, and know that it's in vain to act otherwise. When under control, the person retains all knowledge, skills, and even memories. She'll still have her perfect knowledge of the human mind, and how to manipulate it.
In his brief moment of distraction, she grabs another knife and throws it, hitting the gun out of his hand. She smiles once again, and brings out another gun. She has endless supplies of hidden weapons. She aims it towards him. "Hands up," she says, repeating his exact words to make it smart even more.
He pretends to do so, but at the last moment reaches towards his back and takes out his bow and arrow, aiming it towards her before she can act. He takes a deep breath. "I might not be able to kill you, but you can't kill me for lack of skill." Her eyes narrow at the sudden turn of events. "And don't think that I wouldn't do what I have to do to protect everyone here. You know better than that." He might not be in an advantageous position, but at least they're even.
She contemplates this for a second, before taking on her relaxed composure again. "You were always the hero, Barton," she says. She then deliberately turns her gun and points it to her own head. He freezes, he knows visibly. "Remember the last time this happened, Barton?"
He does remember. And the sleepless nights that followed it.
He knows that she is capable of pulling that trigger, if it means fulfilling her goal. When under control, the actions are only possible with the person's initial capability. And she is beyond capable of sacrificing herself for her cause, be it good or bad. She's done it before.
They've been playing a chess game and she's finally played checkmate. He's cornered and they both know it. "Weapon down," she says. He studies her carefully and lets his eyes drift behind her. He sees the arrow he had fired earlier, still embedded in the wall. Its explosive device blinks red. He stares at it for a bit too long, enough to arouse her suspicion. He carefully fingers the trigger on his bow that will detonate the explosion.
His muscles tense under his tight suit and he considers his next move, although not too carefully, because he knows he doesn't have the time. He pulls the trigger.
The wall behind her explodes. Simultaneously, he dives towards her, grabbing her as she falls unconscious and away from the falling debris. The dust from the concrete wall makes the area clouded. He checks her pulse, trying to remain calm. He finds a steady one at her neck. With ease, he lifts her up and carries her away.
We arrive at the underground floor, surely much too late. We picked up Tony on the way - who had fortunately fixed all the engines, eliminating that problem - and are ready to do, well, what needs doing. I'm not really excited for that. If this is an exact repeat (in favor of the madman, of course) this should mean that Thor is fighting the transformed Bruce Banner...
A large green fist punches the wall a couple feet in front of my head. I can't help but scream, knowing that I'm being extremely unprofessional and childish. Rogers pushes me behind him and Tony similarly comes in front, ready to fight their own ally.
I believe I've just lost all their trust in my abilities.
The fist withdraws, but afterwards the entire body comes out. I'm prepared to do something, anything, that can help. Thor appears on the other side, swinging his hammer and gaining momentum. It is only then that I realize that Bruce isn't complete. He's somewhere between his normal self and the Other Guy. Rogers is ready to throw his shield with great force, which I don't think half-Bruce will be able to handle. "Wait!" I say, but he has already thrown it. I extend my hand, trying to stop it midway. The extra force makes me wince a bit, and the shield doesn't stop, but it does slow down. It stops in front of the Hulk. He turns and looks at us.
That can't be good.
He lets out a large roar and prepares to charge. Out of nowhere, an arrow flies and embeds itself in his arm. The Hulk looks at it contemptuously, before pulling it out with ease. He sneers at us again. He takes a step, but totters suddenly. He looks confused. After taking another step, he falls completely to the ground.
Barton comes up from the shadows, picking up the arrow with the remnants of the smoke in it, now condensed. I look at Bruce, and see with surprise that he is now back to normal. Without a word, they pick him up and we go back upstairs.
A/N: I guess I wrote this months ago (I have some chapter buffers) and I now cringe to see my writing... eek...