A dozen S.H.I.E.L.D. agents scouring the sands before them, the team stood and contemplated the task ahead. Fury surveyed his people from his hiding place in the shadows, watching as Steve Rogers scoped out the east side with Clint searching the west next to him.
And there was Natasha, stood just behind Clint, boots digging into the sand.
Tony strode out of the bunker and came up beside her.
"You look awful." he said nonchalantly. Though exhaustion still hung around her like a bad smell, the fear still remained in Tony's mind that Natasha would answer him with a rapid boot or fist; he scuttled away quickly now to Steve's side.
"Morning Capsicle." he said, smirking. "Ready to get to work?" His t-shirt bore a crudely drawn chest-piece - having the real thing removed not too long ago was understandably difficult to get to grips with, and so he had scribbled a depiction of it on most of his shirts - in fluorescent yellow permanent marker, of course. Pepper had managed to save a few designer pieces from his wrath...
Steve ignored Tony, rolling back his shoulders and pointing towards the distance.
"We've deployed road blocks on the other side of the desert. It's a large area to cover, but should she get anywhere close to the roads there by nightfall, one of our guys should spot her."
"What happens when you find her?" Tony asked. "If things actually go to plan for a change, that is."
"The idea is to apprehend the subject." said Steve. He scanned the faces that had turned to observe him. "No-one get trigger happy."
Clint threw a look to Director Fury, who dismissed it with a patient hand. He shuffled, folding his arms and widening his stance.
"Everyone got enough water?"
There was a collective mutter of agreement from the crowd.
As they followed the party outwards, Natasha and Clint each kept one hand on their weapons. Both knew that they couldn't leave Melanthios alive by the end of this. They walked along with sunglasses shading their eyes and scarves shielding their mouths, a canteen of water swinging at their hips.
"Do you think Fury's told them?" Natasha asked, indicating Steve and Tony with a nod as they separated.
"I don't know." said Clint. "Stark's worked closely with her and Rogers isn't stupid; Fury might have kept quiet, but they'll know something's up. I don't think they'd have come if they were completely clueless."
"I was worried you'd say that."
"What are you afraid of, Nat?"
"Don't ask me that."
"You don't need to look strong. You don't need to, you should know that by now." Clint said, a hand on one of her shoulders.
"Don't be so naive." she said harshly, but she had already moved close enough for Clint to kiss her on the forehead. From an outside perspective, she decided, it would appear submissive, dependent. But she needed it, a moment where she could free herself from the guilt. She could be childlike. Pretend that there was no responsibility, no war she had to fight in.
"I'm so tired." she whispered.
"It'll be over soon." said Clint, but his voice lacked greatly in conviction.
From the sand ahead rose two wavering lines of heat that distorted the world in the distance. Reflections and swirling currents danced within it, lapping at the bodies of the agents searching the rocks on the horizon.
Natasha sipped at her canteen and regretted not informing the group of what was about to happen. Though she wasn't sure on the details herself, she knew that she and at least one of her 'friends' were about to fall victim to the other world. This time, neither of them would be safe when the episode struck. Melanthios was determined to toy with her, even going so far as to use a threat to someone else as her advantage. The idea was, Natasha supposed, to flaunt the control she had over the situation. But she couldn't help thinking that there was something intentionally disturbing about her behaviour.
Natasha had no idea what would happen if Sophia were to be allowed to connect with her other part.
By any means, it wouldn't be pleasant.
S.H.I.E.L.D. and its associates were not stupid, but they were quick to jump to conclusions. And yet maybe she should have told them what was going to happen. Granted, she had made sure the team had enough medical equipment to keep an entire squadron on life support, but she'd missed out the fact that it was herself and ones, perhaps a few of the group that would be needing the assistance.
I really should have told them, Natasha thought.
There wasn't really any reason why she didn't. It was just - Fury would overreact. And she wanted to confront her - the woman, that is - wanted to find her, more than anything. Her curiosity was somehow stronger than her survival instinct - she had to know; what was she? Where was she from? It was, after all, only a countdown until they'd meet again anyway.
"I see her!"
Natasha's eyes went first to Clint, and then to the figure he was indicating. She was crouched among the sand, wary, the heat sifting into her brain.
Clint felt his fingers drift down towards his gun. His eyes met hers, and in them, he saw fear. Purple flecks frolicked in their centres. A more detailed observation briefly paused his movement.
He pitied her.
Still, the gun was drawn from its holster. Clint lined up the target, balancing his finger on the trigger, and -
'Barton we have a problem.'
Clint had forgotten the existence of the comms system. He kept his sights on the figure but returned his gun to his side.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
'Rogers is down and he's not breathing.'
"What? The man's built like a 6ft wrestler - how did that happen?"
'Stark's bringing him in to us now. Have you still got eyes on the target?"
Clint noticed that his gaze had drifted downwards and so quickly flicked upwards to resume his view from before. Ahead of him, the figure had brought herself to her feet, but had otherwise not moved from her position.
"Confirmed."
'We need you to bring in the subject ASAP.' chattered the voice on the other end of the line.
But Clint was distracted. He watched the woman in front of him, watched her sway in slight confidence, and then watched as a smile crawled across her lips. And yet she was not watching him back.
Open-eyed, Natasha was staring into the violent, violet fire that burned as an aura around Melanthios.
Clint tried to decipher what was being unsaid, what hung in the space between them but formed no words to their lips.
Suddenly there was a razor sharp, drawn out screeching noise, and from the distance large amounts of sand began to build up into the sky. They twisted around with the authority of an ice-cold storm, but were lost to the sheen of the heat in the background.
Natasha crouched and covered her head with both hands, letting out a scream of her own in one singular burst.
The figure in front of Clint had vanished, the building storm in the distance amplified by the vastness of the desert that formed the horizon.
"Nat?" he said without moving, the sound still ringing in his ears.
When no reply came, he pulled his eyes away from the spectacle before him and turned his attention to his friend. She sat motionless on the sand, hands sinking slowly back down to her sides.
"Nat?" Clint crouched beside her and gingerly touched her cheek.
"Just Steve?" she muttered, eyes unmoving.
"What? Don't worry about him. Tell me what's happening."
Natasha's attention slipped and she reached out in fear, her fingers finding and clamping around Clint's arm. An involuntary tear coursed over the outlines of her cheek. Clint couldn't settle on a way to react, and so he remained quietly hunched over, paralysed.
"I can trust you, right?" Natasha whispered.
Clint was taken aback by how preposterous this sounded. The eyes he stared into now suddenly turned alien - all the memories they had cemented, all the moments they had shared - it all fell away into nothingness, and the specimen in front of him was contorted into a stranger.
He wanted to shout at her: are you kidding me? How dare you use those eyes, so serious, and ask me if you can trust me? How dare you sit there, the centre of this world and yet all strength gone - how dare you ask me this now, after all this, after all that had been before?
Surely. thought Clint. Surely she knew?
His response to her question came out as a soundless nod.
Natasha tried to focus on him but struggled. A moment of doubt crossed her mind. How dangerous was this thing she was fighting? Was it worth trying to save Steve and herself? Maybe putting the responsibility of their lives on someone else was better if avoided. She could stave off Clint's help now and let Sophia decide whether to save her or not. No dependence needed - just a gamble at the start.
Of course, if it were lost...
"Just keep us alive?" she said meekly, consciousness slipping. "Okay?"
Before Clint could respond, she passed out, releasing the grip on his arm and falling forward slightly. He caught her but he didn't hold her close to him, the strangeness of her at that moment providing a slight barrier between the two.
"Okay," he said, noticing the quiet of the desert for the first time. "Okay okay."
The sand storm building in the background had lost its ferocity and was instead opting for stealth in its play. It curled swirling loops around a distant figure as Clint slid his arms under the limp body in front of him.
"Hawkeye come in."
Clint sighed and composed himself.
"I've lost visual on Melanthios." he said. After a second or so, he added: "Tasha's gone, same as Steve I'm guessing - I can't get any vitals on her."
"Is it the same thing happening to Rogers?"
"I don't know for certain. Look, we've got to get them in. I -"
"How long did it take her to wake up last time?" interrupted the voice from the communication system.
"It's not the same as before." said Clint desperately, watching sand fall to the ground as he lifted Natasha up. "I don't think we can just leave her this time. Something's not right."
"Stark's suited up and has just brought Steve in. Get to as high ground as you can and I'll send him out to you."
There was a pause.
"Is there anything indicating where the target's heading off to?" the voice added uncertainly.
"It doesn't matter now."
For lack of available space, the makeshift medical bay had been constructed in one of the larger rooms of the bunker. Machines and tubing sent regular beeping and the deflating sounds of pumps echoing across the concrete corridors.
"You should get your watch fixed, Barton."
Clint looked down at the tiny clock face on his wrist and frowned. The hands there remained motionless, stuck at a fraction of a minute before 7 o'clock. He looked up again and found himself looking into the face of Tony Stark.
"You should start making ones that don't break."
Tony scoffed. "My speciality is suits, not timepieces, Clint. I don't even think that's one of mine. In fact, I seem to recall you actually openly refused to wear one of m-"
"How close are you guys to figuring this stuff out?" asked Clint, interrupting him. He stood between the beds in the small room, a hand resting on the headboard of Natasha's.
"Look Tweety-Bird, you can't go pointing fingers at this. S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't done with the research yet, but that doesn't make them responsible for what's happening."
"It's been hours, Stark. Everything's failing. In Steve too - the lungs don't work, the heart doesn't pump. Kidneys as well - it's all stopped, and for so long now."
The chirping from the machines filled the space again.
"You should have told us, you know." said Tony.
"It's not like you didn't know what was going on anyway."
"The point still stands, -"
"There wasn't any reason to tell you!"
"Well I'm sorry, Agent Barton, but it's part of the job description to work with your team on these things. Look, I want Romanoff to come out of this as much as you do. Rogers is better off alive than dead too. But I really think you're overestimating your role in this."
"What do you mean?"
"Just think about Melanthios for a second. I've worked with the crazy bitch for months. It's never been about you, it's never been about S.H.I.E.L.D. It's not even really about Natasha - this is her, just her, and she wants to get her self strong and geared up in the easiest way she can. That's through all this." said Tony. "And so this is Natasha's fight. Not ours."
"Iron man's gonna sit back and take a chair for once?"
Tony looked at him and smiled sadly. It was hard to say for certain sometimes, but he was evidently tired.
"Let's just keep them alive." he said, itching his nose. "You can do a whole lot of work from a chair."