S.H.I.E.L.D. HEADQUARTERS
NEW YORK CITY
6:13 A.M.
"Agent Barton, Agent Barton, report to Deputy Director Hill at the front desk, thank you."
Clint Barton limped into the atrium lobby, his irregular footsteps echoing on the marble floor. SHIELD agents bustled through the wide space, and pale, early-morning daylight filtered in through the skylight overhead.
Deputy Director Hill and Agent Coulson were standing near the reception desk, engaged in murmured conversation. They looked up when Barton approached, their expressions grave.
"What's going on?" Barton asked, apprehensive.
Hill exhaled and folded her arms. "Barton… it's Romanoff," she said, and his stomach lurched.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"We're not sure," Hill replied. "She finished Op Goldfire and was scheduled to be picked up an hour ago. She didn't make the extraction point."
"Well have you tried contacting her?" he asked, brow furrowed anxiously.
"We're trying, but she's not responding," Hill said. "We may have to send a forensics team to the safe house where she was stationed, see if they can pick up any leads.—"
"Whoa, whoa, wait." Barton held up a hand, bewildered. "How the hell could she just disappear? I mean, we have surveillance on all active safe houses, right? We'll just track her."
"I already had them review the security footage down at Tech," Hill said. "There's no record of her leaving the building. What there is, is a thirty-second gap in the feed, right around eleven p.m. last night."
"Okay, shit." Barton passed a hand over his face, concern mounting. If Romanoff had tampered with the footage, something was wrong, and she'd likely had to go dark for her own protection. And if someone else had tampered with it, she was in trouble.
He whipped out his phone, thumbs racing to find her name in his contacts.
"Barton, we've already—" Hill began, but Coulson raised a finger to stop her.
"If there's anyone she'd pick up for…" he murmured, and Hill nodded.
Barton raised the phone to his ear, Coulson and Hill watching steadily. The humming ringback tangled with his own heartbeat, which was suddenly audible. After several rings, the voicemail automation started, and Barton hung up. He stood staring blankly at the screen.
"We're gonna have to call in Search and Rescue," he said grimly.
Hill nodded. "We're working on it. We're getting ready to send in a team, have them make a sweep of the area."
"I wanna go with them," Barton said instantly.
Coulson and Hill shared a glance.
"Has medical cleared you for field work?" Coulson asked.
Barton scowled but didn't respond.
Hill sighed. "Barton, I understand that this is personal for you, but you know we can't let you back in the field until you're back at a hundred percent."
"I'm fine," Barton insisted. "I won't be engaging any hostiles, and I can't compromise a manhunt. I wanna go to China. I wanna help."
Hill set her hands on her hips. "You know I can't authorize that."
Barton huffed in frustration, raking a hand helplessly through his hair.
"Look, if I can't join the search team, at least let me go to the safe house," he said urgently. "Maybe I can help figure out what we're dealing with here. I just—I have to do something."
Coulson and Hill exchanged another glance.
"Okay," Hill said finally. "You can go to the safe house. I'll notify Search and Rescue before they move out."
Barton nodded his thanks. "When do I leave?"
"Quinjet's waiting in the hangar," Hill said. "Wheels up in ten."
S.H.I.E.L.D. SAFE HOUSE
HARBIN, CHINA
7:30 A.M. (LOCAL TIME)
Barton bounced haphazardly in the backseat of the cab as it rumbled through the crowded streets, jolting noisily over the pavement. Here, city traffic competed constantly with heedless pedestrians, and even the tall brick buildings jostled for legroom, glowing orange and gold in the rising sun.
Barton spied the apartment building where the safe house was located and motioned to the driver. "Right here's fine."
The driver pulled up to the curb, and Barton passed him a handful of yuan with a muttered "thanks" before heaving himself out of the car and starting to limp toward the entrance. Behind him, the taxi swerved back into the street, its growling motor briefly drowning out the distant echo of car horns.
"Agent Barton?" A well-dressed man had emerged from one of the first-story apartments and was strolling toward him.
"Yeah."
"I'm Agent Chan, I'm supervising the forensic investigation," the man said, shaking Barton's hand. "Deputy Director Hill told me that you'd be joining us this morning. Please, come inside."
Barton followed Chan to the concrete steps outside the door.
"So you were Agent Romanoff's partner, correct?" Chan asked as they trudged up the stairs.
Were. Barton frowned. "I am, yeah."
"Do you have any idea why she might have vanished so unexpectedly?"
"Not a clue."
Inside, the forensics team was a whirlwind of activity. Blue-clad agents were scattered throughout the flat, dusting surfaces, taking photographs, sifting through drawers and cabinets.
"So what exactly are we looking for?" Barton asked as they moved through the apartment.
"Oh, we have no idea," Chan replied. "Anything that could help explain why Agent Romanoff disappeared."
"Found anything yet?" Barton asked tensely.
"Unfortunately not. However we did find something that I think you'll agree is extraordinary," Chan said. "Take a look at this." He motioned Barton into the bedroom.
Stacked against the wall was a teetering heap of luggage: a valise, a duffel bag, a briefcase. Barton raised his eyebrows as Chan crouched next to the pile.
"She ditched her gear," he said in surprise. "Why would she do that?"
"Remarkable, isn't it?" Chan said, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. "Clothing, weapons, equipment, it's all here. She doesn't appear to have taken anything from the kitchen, either."
"Hang on," Barton broke in, frowning. "You said she left all her weapons? That can't be right."
"Unfortunately it is. I got a copy of the flight manifest; these are all the weapons she checked into the quinjet when she left New York." Chan offered him a pair of gloves. "Here, take a look."
Barton worked his fingers into the gloves, kneeling by the luggage. He unzipped the duffel bag, exposing the veritable arsenal of weaponry he had expected. Romanoff never skimped on firepower.
"Let me have a look at that manifest," he said, frowning into the jumble of weapons.
"Of course." Chan passed him a sheet of paper, and Barton pawed through the bag, double-checking each entry. Seven firearms: four handhelds, two sniper rifles, one full-automatic. Three knives. A bazooka, for emergencies. One icer, two aerosol repellents. An assortment of incendiaries, also for emergencies. Widow bites. A stockpile of ammunition. All accounted for, down to the last pistol.
Barton stared into the duffel bag, dread welling up in his gut. He couldn't begin to conceive a reason for her to leave the building without so much as a handheld, especially as she was clearly in trouble. Something was terribly wrong.
"Now, this I found particularly interesting," Chan was saying. He slid the briefcase over and snapped open the latch. Suspended in the foam padding within was a small glass bottle, filled with a clear amber liquid.
"Do you have any idea what this could be?"
"Actually… yeah, I do," Barton said slowly, his mind jumping to the briefing file he'd studied meticulously on the flight. "It's a bioweapon. They call it the Goldfire Virus. She was supposed to keep it out of the hands of some illegal weapons dealer; that's why she was sent out here in the first place."
Chan nodded thoughtfully. "Apparently she completed her mission objective before leaving."
"Agent Chan?" a voice called from the next room. "Come look at this."
Chan stood and hastened toward the sound. Barton hoisted himself off the floor and followed, peeling off his gloves.
One of the forensics agents working in the living room waved them over, pointing at something tiny and dark on the wall. Barton leaned closer and distinguished four digits penciled neatly onto the wallpaper.
"Nineteen sixty-three," Chan read aloud. "Does this mean anything to you, Agent Barton?"
Barton shook his head. "Not a thing."
"Hm. Well, this may be evidence, or it may be half-century-old graffiti," Chan said. "Agent Jyun, make sure you photograph this. We'll send a print down to Graphology. Also, it may be useful to compile a list of SHIELD agents who have used this safe house recently, perhaps eliminate some possibilities…"
Chan's voice faded to a distant hum on Barton's consciousness as he moved vacantly to the window and gazed at the focal skyline, thinking. If she had left without a single weapon on her, she hadn't left voluntarily. But had she been overpowered, there should have been some evidence of a struggle in the apartment, which couldn't have escaped the forensics team. Besides which, if the safe house had been breached by a hostile, it would have shown up on the security feed, unless someone had miraculously managed to incapacitate Natasha Romanoff in under thirty seconds. Nothing made sense, and the more he tried to rationalize what he knew, the more mystified and worried he became.
"Romanoff…" Chan had joined him by the window. "She was Russian, correct?"
Barton shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah."
"Hm. You know, we're relatively close to the Russian border." Chan gestured toward the skyline. "Roughly a day's drive in that direction would take you directly into Vladivostok."
Barton glanced at him. "You think she'd go there?"
"I don't know. But if I were supervising the Search and Rescue team, I'd suggest that they start there."
Barton looked at the distant skyline again, and it registered with crushing finality just how much ground they had to cover. The more time that passed, the longer their search radius grew, and the slimmer their chances of finding her became. He sighed, his heart sinking, and rubbed agitatedly at his forehead.
"Okay," he said with grim resolution. "I'll let the search team know. They're gonna need all the help they can get."
HI GUYS ! Me again :) It's been a hot second! I'm not sure if you readers are now mostly mine olde homies from back in the day, or a new generation of Clintasha shippers. To the former, I MISSED you guys, and to the latter, welcome to the family! :)
I was re-reading some old fics and the kind, encouraging reviews that were left on them and well, I was inspired. Also, based on the responses to my poll, it seemed like people wanted to read what I've written so far! So here it is.
This one has been a LONG time in the making. Embarrassingly long. This is the second or third rewrite, because I would start writing, and after the time it took me to finish the fic, I would go back over and think "I can make this better!" So here's the latest and, hopefully, greatest version:)
Ok enough rambling. I'm just happy to be back ^-^ This story is currently unfinished but I'm determined to keep working at it, and I have a decent amount of content for you to read in the meantime! I hope you enjoy it. xoxoxoxoxo