I know, I know, I suck for taking so long to update, you are right. I've been focusing on a few other requests and I should have put this first on priority, I'm sorry. But I can update more often now if that's what you want! Thank you so much for the reviews, I love the compliments as well as the criticism and again I'm open for requests, thanks for reading!

If Tony was honest with himself –though he hardly ever was—he knew he had never really liked Clint from the start. Sure, the hawk gave him a few good laughs, they were evenly matched in the way of sarcasm, but that was it. Apart from the snarky personalities, they had very little in common. Tony was a billionaire, he ran in the high circles of social life and Clint was the little spy who dwelled in the shadows. They had their own separate lives, even though they were both part of a team that had quite effectively ended an alien invasion and saved the entire world.

Now, sometime later, they found themselves on a mission that involved saving a certain red head that they both apparently had a thing for. Except Tony had been benched on the side-lines in the most infuriatingly logical way. Clint had made some good points when he insisted that it was easier for him to sneak into the building, than it was for Tony to fly in guns blazing and blow up the whole place. If Natasha was still alive, then they needed to get her out safe. Tony wouldn't even consider the concept that she had been killed; he couldn't let himself consider the negative side for once.

He needed to believe she was safe.

Clint was right about needing to use stealth on this mission, but Tony hated that he had to stay behind until Clint had gotten in to locate Natasha. They both cared about her, they both wanted her safe and it was only the thought of her safety that could convince Tony to wait for Clint to get in.

He wasn't happy about it in the slightest. He found himself three blocks away from the supposedly abandoned warehouse, standing in a small alleyway in the Iron Man suit, helmet on, ready to go. He had been watching Clint's progress via a small camera he had given the archer, who had placed it on his collar. But just when Clint had passed the boundary line into the establishment after getting over the fence in a strangely acrobatic way, the visual feed had cut out.

Clint had insisted that it was some kind of electrical interference, which was basically what Tony's readings had been able to tell him, but still, it was a little inconvenient, meaning Tony had no idea what Clint was up to other than audio relays. And Tony didn't trust Clint in the slightest. He was a spy, certainly not meant to be trusted; it was in the job description.

The alley was filthy and dank and quite frankly it was embarrassing to be standing in it. Even though it was late evening and not a single person had come across him, it was still embarrassing. If the world didn't already know the identity behind Iron Man, then Tony would have been glad for the mask as it would have provided anonymity. He was standing near one of the walls, speaking with Clint about what the spy was finding in the building, how many guards he was taking out. Anything that was relevant to the mission. Though Tony wanted to complain about the state of his location, he had a feeling Clint had chosen it specifically because of the undesirability of it. Fucking spies.

The billionaire kicked out with a heavy leg, sending a discarded beer can skittering across the ground. He watched it hit the wall and bounce off, almost reaching the end. Sometimes he forgot the power of the suit, though he was always quickly reminded. Yet for all its strength and power, he was standing as back up, waiting for a spy to give him orders. He shuddered at the thought of it.

He waited patiently for those orders, snapping at Barton every other second, desperately waiting to be useful. As each second passed, he was hit with visions of Clint running in and rescuing their missing agent, turning himself into the heroic knight of the fairy tale. Which was bullshit really; Tony was the one with the literal suit of shining armour. But Natasha was hardly the princess, although sure, she could be directly linked to the Russian royal monarchs, but she was certainly not the damsel in distress. Tony had read a little of her past, when he had hacked into SHIELD systems and of what he had read, he was definitely impressed. And he definitely admired her for managing to get out of bed every morning without slamming a litre of scotch down her throat.

"Okay Stark, I have a visual." Clint's voice in his ear snapped his mind away from any other thoughts, his whole body straightening from where he had been leaning against the chipped brick wall.

"Is she okay? Is she alive!" Tony's voice was demanding, laced with a panic that he didn't even bother to hide.

"Yes, alive. She seems like she has no major injuries but I can't tell for sure, I'm only looking at her through a computer monitor."

"There's a camera on her? Patch it through the feed with the one I gave you." Tony insisted, walking forward a few steps and turning around, pacing to the exact same position he had just been in, merely needing to move.

"You mean the one that shorted out? Smooth move genius. Whoa…. oh Jesus…." Clint's voice changed from condescending to worried in an instant, sparking a flash of anger and concern through Tony at the same time.

"What? What is it? Dammit Barton tell me what is happening!" Tony had to struggle to keep his voice below a shouting level, infuriated at the man who was supposed to be relaying information.

"It's…. not good." Clint replied and Tony ground his teeth together before choosing to respond.

"That is not very helpful to me. I need details, if you wouldn't mind taking your head out of your ass for one god damn second-"

"Stark, you better get in here." Clint's voice was quiet and calm in a way that miraculously shut Tony up in a heartbeat. "I need you to create one hell of a distraction around the west side of the building. Hurry."

Tony didn't even hesitate. He didn't argue, or complain, or ask for a single further detail on Natasha's state. If creating a distraction was going to help her, then he would do it. He ignited the thrusters and flew up directly vertical until the warehouse was in sight.

"JARVIS, launch a small missile at the west side of the building." Tony ordered and held up his wrist, choosing for the computer to make the target instead of making the shot himself. It would be more accurate and Clint had decided for the distraction to be on the west side, meaning Natasha was located near the east. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her during a botched rescue attempt.

Clint was hunched over a series of monitors that showed a range of different locations inside the building, but the one he focused on mainly was the one showing Natasha. Three guards were lying unconscious on the floor and there was a fourth slumped against the far wall, a knife protruding from his throat. The only reason the other three were alive was because the stun grenade had knocked them out rather efficiently. He would kill them before he left but that could wait until he had a plan to get Natasha out.

He could see her through the screen, tied to a chair and seeming as though she was rather impassive to the whole situation. But he knew he better than that. Anyone else would see a calm woman, but he could see the fear creeping into her expression, even though the low quality of the visual device. Something was increasing her fear, which was in itself almost impossible. Natasha was not afraid of anything; she was the strongest woman he knew, mentally and physically.

It took him awhile to see it, the spider sitting on her hand. It was the fact that her eyes kept flicking down that alerted him to its presence. He waited, needing to use Tony's distraction as timing before he launched down the hallway and cleared out as many guards as possible.

But this little spider changed a few things. As he watched the screen intently, he saw her suddenly stiffen. She wasn't moving anyway, but he could still see her entire body go stiff in a heartbeat and her expression changed a little, showing just a tad more of her fear.

They were falling from the roof, tiny to his eyes through a camera, but no doubt quite a bit larger in person. It was just a couple at first, two or three spiders fell from above, one landing on her shoulder. Then a slight pause before two dozen or so fell in a heap. Most of them landed around her, close to her form but still falling on the floor. However enough landed on her actual body that Clint knew if she moved a single muscle, if she even breathed too loudly, then she was dead a thousand times over. Clint wasn't an idiot, he could figure out what they were. The men had known she was the widow and now spiders were falling on her and she looked terrified. Not as terrified as anybody without the beautiful control that she had on her emotions, but Clint could still see her fear and he could easily figure out that she was being showered with Black Widows, such an ironic way to kill an assassin who used that title.

This definitely changed a few things.

Clint was about to instruct Tony to hold off on the distraction when half a dozen of the screens he was watching suddenly turned to static and he picked up on the unmistakable sound of a rather large explosion. He sighed inwardly but turned away from the monitors, having to tear his eyes from Natasha's panicking form. She was a clever girl and she knew not to make a single move. She was already trying to stay as still as she possibly could. She knew how to keep herself alive.

"Stark, listen to me very carefully. We need to clear this entire building. If we barge into where she is being held, she will die in seconds." He spoke slowly, as though Tony was new to the English language, but it was more so that he understood exactly what Clint was telling him. The billionaire still replied with a range of colourful swearing that would have made Clint grin, just knowing he could elicit such a response from the normally calm and emotionally controlled billionaire. But the situation did not call for humour and amusement.

Clint carefully slit the throat of each of the men in the room; his mercy was non-existent as long as his partner was in danger. He would get her out, he had to. She couldn't die this way, it was too cruel, and it was too poetic. She was a fan of irony normally, but she was clearly hating this situation.

As he rushed out into the corridor, he saw far more guards out there than he had when he ran in. No doubt they were all responding to the sudden attack on the west side of the building and Clint kept his bow on his back momentarily, drawing a second knife from the sheath on his hip. Growing up in the circus had given him agility that was second only to Natasha. While at long range he was unstoppable with a bow, while at close range, he whirled knives with a skill that allowed him to cut through his targets with deadly ease.

There was one thought on his mind and one thought only; he had to get to Natasha.

Natasha's breathing was so painfully slow and even that it may have looked as though she wasn't breathing at all. She counted eleven Black Widows sitting calmly over her body and each time they moved even the slightest amount, she had to keep a panicked yell from escaping her throat. She hadn't heard from her captor in quite some time, she had already figured out the small room was completely soundproof, giving her the illusion that she was completely alone in the world. Apart from her arachnid creatures of course.

Every three seconds she was struck with the urge to violently try and shake them away from her, but there risk was too high. If any of the spiders felt threatened in any way, then they would bite and that would be it for her. The room was cold, chillingly cold and while that didn't bother her in slightest, she was producing a nice little level of body heat that the spiders in the area would be drawn towards.

It was brilliant really, a slow and terrifying death that could come at any moment and she could do nothing about it. She focused on breathing in and out, in and out. It was the only thing she could do. Every involuntary twitch from her was a sudden declaration of war to a spider and she dreaded the moment when she would twitch in the wrong place, encouraging one of the spiders to sink their fangs in.

Her fear of the creatures was so complete that she didn't even notice at first when a voice broke through the absolute silence of her little room of Hell.

"Tash? Hey, Tash can you hear me?" The voice was quiet in volume and spoken as a whisper, she recognized it instantly and she had never been so glad to hear her partner's voice in her entire life. Her eyes flicked up, if he was watching her then he would have to assume that was her signal, she couldn't exactly call out to him or wave a cheery hello.

"Good, okay, here's the deal. I found access to the vent in the front of the room, I'm going to pump in some gas that should send your little friends to the other side of the room. Or kill them. Maybe. It'll be okay, just hold on Nat." His voice was uncertain, as if the plan was not something deemed to go one hundred percent right. Which honestly wasn't all that reassuring, but as long as there was a slim chance he could get her out of this, then she would take it.

She couldn't respond of course and she knew he didn't expect her to, so she continued to remain completely still, despite the agony that was flooding her body. Even if he could get her out and get her on her feet, walking was going to be hard, her limbs were like jelly and while the ankle restraints hadn't been painful initially, they sure as hell were now.

She didn't know where her captor was; maybe Clint had managed to take him out, maybe he had escaped. Either way she didn't care. She wanted out. Although she did want to kill that bastard herself. And she damn well knew she was going to feed him spiders until he rotted from the inside out. Okay maybe she did care a little; she wanted him alive when she inflicted her revenge.

After so long struck with her fear and dealing with her pain, Natasha's senses were a little dulled. Yet she could still easily pick up the scent of the gas at it filtered into the air around her, unable to stop herself breathing it in. If she tried to hold her breath, her body would spasm and the spiders would bite. Still she breathed slowly, yet she could not even try to take in a minimal amount of the gas and she could tell by instinct that it was designed to put people to sleep. She had of course been through extensive training to ward herself against effects of many things, including knock out gas, but she would never be able to immunise herself completely and while she had a high tolerance to most things, they would eventually take effect.

She fought hard against the increasing urge to close her eyes, but she was getting so sleepy. The spiders were moving and she was almost too drowsy to worry about them, but she kept her gradually closing eyes on them as they started to creep along her body. Two of them fell off almost simultaneously, another dropped a few seconds later, the other, apparently stronger ones making their way down her legs. Still she didn't move, partly because her arms and legs suddenly felt like they wouldn't respond to her instructions, even her head lolled to the side.

She was barely awake when the door to the room was kicked open so hard that it slammed against the adjoining wall and snapped off its hinges. Natasha's eyes were almost closed at this point, no matter how hard she fought to stay awake, but she was alert enough to see a tall figure step through the open doorway, a metal man with red and gold splashed across his form.

"Tony…." Natasha muttered instinctually, her tightly bound hands reaching towards him, though only her fingers responded to her will, stretching out slightly, before the world spun with a vicious velocity and her vision turned black.