~Warning for descriptions of violence, gore, death, and cursing~

Inspecting their surroundings, they noticed four cameras angled at them, another one pointing up the staircase they had been on, and another down the corridor to the right of their cell. Their every move was being closely monitored. They had been ready for them. "Tash, I don't know. These walls are solid rock with motion sensors. There's cameras all over the place," he expressed, as he hopelessly threw a loose rock across the 4x4 foot (1.25x1.25 m) space. Winter air whooshed in through the steel vent on the ceiling, securely welded into place. Natasha scowled at him.

"So they take your bow away and you're just gonna give up? Come on, Barton, we've gotten out of worse," she lectured him.

"I don't think you understand. They were ready for us. Mr. Head Honcho didn't even flinch when we had multiple weapons aimed at him." Clint was exasperated. "They have the upper hand right now, accept that, and we can do something about it when someone comes and gets us. Right now, we're fish in a barrel."

Romanoff rolled her eyes and continued to look at the integrity of the bars and walls that contained them. Clint sat, trying to stay warm, knees to his chest. Valiant was Romanoff's effort, but fruitless. Once she had tinkered for 30 minutes straight, she finally sat down next to Barton. "Okay, you might be right," Natasha reluctantly admitted with a sigh.

Soon, they heard whistling coming from the stairwell. "Get ready," Clint mouthed to her. The French man from the control room descended cockily, with six guards right behind him. He spoke calmly, "So sorry about that earlier. But I've seen what you two can do. I simply couldn't take any chances." Natasha was a stone wall, unreacting to his fake concern. Clint was staring daggers.

"I'm so rude, I haven't introduced myself. I am Henri," their captor smiled at them.

"Yeah, well we are uninterested in who you are and more interested in why you're keeping us locked up in here," Clint spat.

Herni chuckled, amused at the aggression laced in Clint's voice. "Well, Hawkeye, I don't really care about you. You're here in this cell, because this woman has information I need," he hissed as he knelt down, now eye level with Barton. "You're both gonna suffer during your stay. How much is up to you." Henri stood again and turned to the guards accompanying him. "Get the girl and meet me down the hall. Taze them both before you open the gate," he commanded, putting emphasis on 'before'. He walked off to the right out of sight, as the guards came closer. Clint and Natasha jumped up, with Barton guarding her as a human shield.

"You can take her over my dead body," he announced. Barton caught the prongs from a taser with his gloved hand and yanked it from the guards, crushing the device under his foot once it clattered to the floor. Another guard shot an electric bullet that they both avoided and bounced out of the way. Two more tasers were brandished. Clint avoided one set of prongs, but was hit with the other. Natasha jumped over his convulsing body and kicked a guard in the face who was foolishly close to the bars. She pelted the guards with large rocks from inside the cell, aiming at their face. She reached her arm through the bars and started choking the guy shocking Clint, but another one pulled her hard against the metal with a crash, and tased her. Both agents writhed on the floor and groaned. Clint protectively leaned over Natasha as they opened the gate, causing him to get smacked in the forehead with the butt of a rifle multiple times. The gate slammed shut as they dragged Romanoff out and zip tied her hands. Another guard punched her in the face.

"Wait," Clint called after them, with no response. He squeezed his eyes closed in pain. He yanked the prongs from his shoulder, and applied light pressure to his head where blood had begun to spill. "God dammit... shit," he grumbled, unable to help his partner. He banged at the metal and yelled for Romanoff, but nothing changed.

For the next two hours, he heard a lot of yelling, interrogation, and Natasha screaming. The reverberating cacophony of torturous sounds made Clint truly deseperate and anxious. He couldn't make out any of the words (beyond a roaring "fuck you" that was definitely Romanoff) since his head was spinning from being knocked into next week. He had tried to call for a guard several times to plead with them, but none would come. He would just have to pray that SHIELD received his distress signal.

~Meanwhile~

Natasha was handcuffed to a large water pipe that was a couple feet (60 cm) off the floor. It looked like it was connected to the sprinkler system. They had bound her feet together with duct tape. It was obvious they perceived her as a true threat. She stayed as calm and collected as possible, stating, "I'm not going to tell you anything."

Henri approached her, holding something behind his back that looked like rope through her blurry vision.

"I know it'll take some convincing, and that's why I'm not even going to ask you my question yet. Let's get some blood flowing first," he taunted. He grinned as he revealed the whip he held and ordered a guard to turn her back toward him. There was nowhere to go. The Black Widow was trapped.

She was mercilessly whipped for 20 minutes, occasionally being taunted further by Henri. She had lost her bearing about 8 minutes in. Every further whip was excruciating while it crossed over other open wounds. Curse words flew out of her mouth like missles. When it finally ceased, she was weak and could faintly hear Clint screaming for her.

"What do you want to know," she shakily muttered, leaning against the large pipe for support.

Henri set the whip down and traded it for a hot poker that had been ablaze in a nearby fireplace. The metal seared red and was needle-like at the tips. He stood over her and demanded, "Where is Yelena?"

He held the pointer hovering over her right arm, the heat already palpable on her skin. Natasha stayed tight lipped and grunted as the pointer was slowly inserted into her arm. She only yelped once it contacted her muscle. Henri continued with the poker for 10 more stabs before deciding it was ineffective.

She was wrestled into a dentists' chair, the raw flesh of her back contacting the leather in excruciating surges as they tied her. Breaking free of the duct tape, she kicked out at Henri with one foot. After the sudden impact, he caught her ankle. Her foot was slammed into the metal frame of the chair with an audible crack.

"You'll pay for that, Widow," Henri sneered. The guards sat her up and poured salt water down her back. She screamed in agony. She was breathing heavily and rage filled her body. The men that surrounded her were unphased as they forcefully reclined the chair, placed a rag over her face, and prepared to waterboard her. Her eyes were wide as Natasha saw a tub of water hovering above. In and out of consciousness, she was roused repeatedly with hard slaps to her face and shouting about Yelena. When she was clearly too beat to answer any questions and gasping for every breath, they finally stopped.

"Stop," shouted Henri. "Clearly she is not motivated enough. Let her freeze in that cell for a couple hours and then we'll... take another stab at it," he winked at her with a cunning, twisted smirk. Clearly, he meant 'stab' literally. He came within inches of her face and breathed, "I will get what I want, Agent Romanoff."

He backed away and slammed his fist into a nearby table. "Get her out of my sight," echoed through the complex with roaring anger.

Natasha was half-dragged down the frigid hallway as she struggled to find footing. They left the zip ties on her hands and threw her into Clint, who caught her as she collapsed with an 'oof'. She moaned and rolled her back away from contacting anything.

"Don't touch my back," she hoarsely cried.

"Oh my God," said Clint, stunned and nearly wordless at the sight of her condition. Natasha tucked her face into his neck, while Clint broke the zip ties with his bare hands. Barton thought she needed to get warm and that was why she was so close, but really, she had a plan.

"Clint, reach into my front pocket. I swiped something from dumbass. Hurry," she breathed into his ear. He felt a cold metal object and transferred it into his own pocket. It was an iron key.

"Open the gate, take out the cameras, and then ambush a guard from under the stairs," she mumbled.

"I gotta do everything, don't I," Clint delicately joked. Natasha slowed him with a firm grip as he gently guided her to her feet.

"They're gonna kill me if we don't get out of here now," she said in a hushed tone. He caressed her hand as he spoke, "Natasha, I would never let that happen."

He sprung into action. According to plan, Clint opened the gate, and climbed the bars, systematically ripping each camera out of the ceiling. Romanoff darted under the stairwell once the camera's were obliterated, and Barton followed suit. Four guards came sprinting down the steps, and Clint grabbed the first one by the ankle on the flight above their heads. He pulled the man by his ankle through the railing and seized his gun. Clint shot the other guards, shells clattering to the floor. Natasha choked unlucky guard number one and grabbed the key card pinned to his coat. She found ammunition and a knife in his pockets. She kept the knife for herself and put the clips into Clint's pocket where the key had once been. "Hang on tight," Clint voiced, motioning toward his shoulders.

Natasha grabbed onto Barton's vest from behind as they ascended from hell. She limped on her broken ankle, running on the adrenaline that was coursing through her veins. As each guard came down, they were met with heavy fire. Barton grabbed a couple grenades that were attached to a dead man's belt. At the top of the stairs, they knew it would be a firefight.

"I need my bow, Tash," Clint blurted.

"Blast out that wall," Natsha suggested, as she motioned ahead of them and handed him a grenade.

Barton shrugged and sheltered Natasha from the blast. Several rocks bounced off the back of his head and torso. Clint rushed in and jammed the door closed with a metal chair.

"Lucky guess," Romanoff quipped with a grin, seeing their variety of weapons lined up on a table. The whole breakout had only taken 90 seconds, and in a flash, the two were armed and dangerous.