Chapter 5: Defying Orders
I'm baaa-aaaaaaack!
Steve P.O.V.
"She's gone." Clint's panicked tone jolted Steve from his uneasy nap next to Tony's bedside.
"Who, Natasha?" He asked, shaking his head and rising to stave off sleep.
"Yeah. I went by to check how she was taking it, and she's gone. I asked Jarvis, who said that she left two hours ago." Clint's eyes flicked from corner to corner, and he flexed his hands nervously.
"Two hours, thirty-seven minutes, and seven seconds." Jarvis added helpfully.
"She's probably gone to Latveria. Let's go get her. Jarvis, can you watch Tony while we're gone?" At the affirmative, Steve motioned for them to go out the room. Banner wasn't in the room, so he asked Jarvis to tell Banner that they were heading to the Quinjet and to meet them there.
They fell into a stiff silence as they ran to the helicopter pad. Steve was worried for Natasha, and angry that she had gone against direct orders. She could get herself killed, or worse, captured. And now that she was going after someone with diplomatic immunity, SHIELD couldn't interfere. They reached the landing pad and saw that Banner was standing there, sleepy-eyed and rumpled.
"What's going on? All Jarvis told me was that I needed to get up here." Banner called out to them when he saw them.
"Natasha's gone. We're going after her." Clint bit out, sharply.
Steve felt a trickle of sympathy for the man, but shoved it away. He didn't need it now, but he did need leadership. "It's five hours to Latveria, so we'd better get started. We can wait for her there, then grab her before she can move in. Let's go. We can talk on the plane."
Natasha P.O.V
Natasha settled back on the controls of the stolen Quinjet. Sneaking into SHIELD and stealing it had been easy, barely fifteen minutes, and she was halfway to Latveria, Doom, and Tony's cure. Guiltily, her thoughts went back to her boys. They would be frantic, especially Clint. As soon as she was found out, they would come for her. The time range would be a little tighter than what she would have liked, but this wasn't the worst mission she had ever been on. Pushing the traces of guilt away, not conducive to missions, she put on autopilot, and turned to look at the files she had also stolen from Jarvis and SHIELD.
Three hours later
Natasha sipped at her coffee in small, measured sips. Latveria was a small, impoverished country, bursting with fearful adoration of Dictator Doom. She was currently sitting outside a coffee shop with a stunning view of Castle Doom, gathering intel on the comings and going of the entrances. Everyone minds their own business, so no one was paying her any attention, which was good for her.
She was there to see who and what goes in and out. Already, Doombots had gone out to police the region, and peasants had gone in to petition their dictator. There was no sign of Doom, which, she supposed, was good.
When she finished her coffee, Natasha left money on the table and got up. Making her way through the winding streets and short buildings, she ducked into an alleyway and quickly took off her stolen Latverian clothes to reveal her standard bodysuit underneath. She jumped on a garbage can to vault up on a rickety ladder, where she could access the roof. Running quietly from building to building, she was grateful that it was dusk, to mask her leaping form over rooftops. She was doing this to keep out of sight of any informants who might reveal her presence to Doom, and to give her a better view of any incidence that might happen down below. Come to think of it, she was acting rather like Clint. The thought made her guilty all over again, so she shoved it from her mind. Now was no time for sentiment.
When she reached the end of the town and the edge of the forest, she dropped lightly down and made her way to the trees, shooting the barking dog in the yard with a tranquilizer dart. It was cold, cold enough to snow, but not nearly as cold as a Russian winter. Thankfully, the forest was thick enough to provide cover, but sparse enough so that she could move quickly through. Soon enough, she arrived at the castle. Several Doombots patrolled the perimeter in front of her. They moved in periodic intervals, so it was easy for her to slip past them. It seemed silly for Doom not to have security cameras, but she supposed that came with having as massive an ego as Doom currently possessed.
Finding a security door, she was just about to pick the lock with a set of lock-picks in her shoes, when it opened to let a harried-looking cook out with a pot of … something that smelled horrendous. She had been able to hide behind the door when it opened, she snagged it after the cook hurried out, and ran lightly into a darkened stone corridor with an arched roof and naked light bulbs hanging down every so often to illuminate the mildewed floor. It stank, but what could you expect from a tyrannical overlord.
There seemed to be no Doombots inside, but she was still cautious, and knew never to take anything for granted during missions. Creeping along, lightly and quickly, she made her way deeper into the castle. The objective was to find Doom, get the needle and poison, then dismantle any Doombot operations so they were unusable. Hopefully, the rest of the team would be along soon to help her out.
The hallway she was in had no doors, but she came to a fork in the tunnel that did have doors. These were square pieces of silver metal with a label to the side. The one she looked at said "Boiler Room" and the next one she looked at said "Doombot Reparation Center" and the next said "Throne Room". Knowing that Doom was as egotistical as much as she was a killer, she chose the "Throne Room" to go into. It was locked, of course, but that hardly mattered to someone of her skills. Stealthily picking the lock, she spritzed a little oil she kept in a bottle on the hinges; squeaky doors had been the downfall of many a good spy, and she was determined not to be one.
Opening the door carefully, she was struck by how cold the room felt. Almost cold enough to snow. The room was made entirely of metal, and columns filled the sides leading up to a throne, ostentatious as she expected. But no one was in the room. Turning to go, she felt the hairs on her neck raise. Something wasn't right. Someone was in there. She got out her double guns and sneaked forward, tensed and coiled at the first sign of trouble. Nothing whispered, but she felt a cool wind swirl around her ankles. Her spy-der senses were tingling, and she didn't like it. Didn't like it one bit. A slow clapping filled the air. She cocked her guns and pointed them at the source. Doom was standing in front of the throne now, how he had gotten there without her seeing was beyond her.
"Hello, Agent Romanova. I have been waiting for you. It's never polite to keep a world leader waiting, Natalia." He purred.
"Where's the needle, Doom?" She cut to the point, her eyes and guns unwavering.
"Why, my dear Natalia, I must say that I have no idea what your are talking about." He came down a step, and she shot a warning shot at his feet.
"Stay where you are or you'll get a bullet to the eye." He stopped, and she couldn't help but feel that he was amused by the whole proceedings. "Now tell me what you injected Tony with, give me a sample, and let me go, and I might just let you live to regret what you've done to my team."
"It's a little chilly in here, isn't it?" He changed topics suddenly, confusing her unpleasantly. "I must apologize. My new allies have the unfortunate effect of producing cold."
"What allies?" She was worried, which never happened. This could be bad. If Doom had new partners, they were unknown variables.
"Oh, I don't think you've been introduced. Let them come out and say hello."
Suddenly, out from behind every column, a blue humanoid emerged, some with daggers of ice sprouting from their hands, and all with fur loincloths. Bloodred eyes regarded her balefully and bloodthirstily, and plumes of icy breath fanned out from each mouth of pointed teeth. The smallest was still taller than Thor, and just as broad. Natasha ran. Doom's laughter echoed behind her, twined with the sound of her footsteps. She normally hated running from an enemy before wringing out all the information she could, but she wanted to live, and the team needed this information.
Sprinting down the corridor, the giants followed her, leaping and jumping over each other in their desperation to get her. She threw a tear gas pellet and a couple Widow's Bites behind her. The tear gas did little, but the Bites hit a giant apiece and sent them to the ground, seizing. At least she had that going for her. They were gaining, and Natasha felt a hand swipe her back, before she jumped up and used the head of a giant to push off, spin, and break the neck of another with her legs, and threw a couple more Widow's Bites. Then, taking advantage of the high ceilings, she used the leaping giants to boost her momentum and took out enough to block the rest. They roared at her, and she faced them and roared back. They blinked, taken aback, and she used their confusion as a distraction while she set up a grenade at the keystone of the ceiling and ran. She detonated it when she was far enough away, and just in time, as the giants started to get over the blockage. A press of a button caved in the roof and the giants howled in dismay as they were crushed by chunks of falling rock.
Smiling slightly, she sped up and exited through the same door she entered. It had started snowing, and already a carpet had lain down on the ground. It crunched underfoot as she ran, thinking about strategies and escape plans. On an impulse, Natasha drew out an old mission statement and wrote a note on the back of it. She put in under a rock and drew an arrow pointing right in front of the rock.
She had to evade the giants, because the burial wouldn't hold them for long, and get to the quinjet. She had to get this information to the team. It was too important. She had to –
Something hit her back and she cried out. It felt like a knife, and it was lodged in her shoulder. She fell, clutching at her arm. The snow felt warm against her cheek. She wasn't coughing blood, so her lungs weren't hit. And she wasn't dead yet, so it missed her heart. She felt the knife, and her fingers came back wet, but not with blood. Water. The meaning of this escaped her as her thoughts were spinning out of her grasp. The team – the team had to know … something. Her vision was fuzzy.
The last thing Natasha saw before the world faded to black was a set of eyes as red as her ledger.
I told you guys that I would post again, and I did! I'm so proud! So, anyways, Girl, Nutty, and I still have that poll going on, and me and Girl are still tied at three votes. Pleeeeeeeeaaaaasssseee vote for meeeeeeee! I need to win! Seriously, I'm really competitive, and if she wins, she'll hold it over my head for years. Don't let that happen. Please.
If you favorite, you get to comfort Clint in the plane ride. If you follow, you get to have coffee at the café while Doom is stuck with Mjolnir on his chest under the table. If you follow and/or favorite me, you get to have an unlimited supply of cyber grenades and Widow Bites. And if you vote for me, ohmigoshpleasedo, and PM me telling me your user name and something you want me to write, I will seriously write a one-shot for you.