PART SEVEN
Recover

Black Widow had sprinted as fast as she could for as long as she could, weaving through the debris-strewn streets of a dying New York City, running and dodging until she finally collapsed in the sub-basement of a large office building.

She'd entered the building, hacked through two electronic locks, and descended six flights of stairs in near-pitch-blackness to find a deserted room far below the ground. No other people had escaped into there.

The basement was a bare-bones science lab with concrete floors and walls, and a few desks and chairs on one side of the thirty-foot-high room. The building's foundation was several huge, round columns, reaching up to where plumbing pipes and air conditioning vents twisted along the ceiling.

Natasha had tried using the computers and phone she found in the basement, with no success. The building had lost power after the first day, and the room was bathed in a harsh red emergency light from above its doorway, which she had barricaded with several of the desks and chairs. The red light was dim, and it eliminated all sense of color, casting thick, black shadows.

Natasha's eyes adapted a nearly constant squint. She rummaged in desk drawers and cabinets for some food, and found enough packets of crackers, various snacks, and cans of tuna to live by for two weeks, if she was very frugal. She slept often and fitfully in a corner of the room, on the cold cement floor, using magazines and old lab coats as bedding. The basement's plumbing still worked enough to deliver clean water, and there was a small bathroom on one side of the lab.

She had lived through much worse conditions, for much longer, before.

But what made this solitary confinement worse than any other she'd experienced, was the feeling of uncertainty. She didn't know if the whole world was destroyed above her. A nuke could have been dropped over New York, and she might not have felt it this far underground, beneath hundreds of thousands of tons of steel and concrete. She had no way of knowing, and she was too scared to leave, unless hunger eventually drove her out.

After four days, she started hallucinating. She was constantly hungry and tired, shifting in and out of sleep without realizing it. The red light burned her eyes, until she thought she might go blind. Her ears rang with the oppressive silence, and when she did make noise, it was deafening in contrast, echoing off of the walls and ceiling and pounding in her ears.

After seven days, she stopped checking her watch.

And then he came for her.

How Hawkeye found her hiding place was a mystery. But when he arrived, she didn't know what to do. At first, she thought he was another hallucination. Her mind was sheltering itself.

He had busted through the basement door, pushing easily past her makeshift barricade.

"Tasha? …Please answer. It's me, it's Clint." His voice echoed through the dark, cavernous space.

She huddled, still and silent in a corner, peeking out from under the pile of magazines and lab coats that had become her bed.

"Natasha," came Clint's voice again, grating against the walls, cutting right through the darkness and the redness and stabbing into her ears. She wanted to cover her ears with her hands, but she couldn't move.

He stepped further into the large room, and his footfalls sounded like gunshots. "Please let me know where you are. I'm here to help." His voice was too calm, too flat. She wanted to get up and run to him… but every instinct told her to keep still. She was in no shape to fight him, if he was changed. It had been hard enough on the helicarrier, and there was no way she'd be able to hit him in the head like that again—he'd be on the lookout for it.

For a few seconds, Clint stood still in the center of the room. Natasha watched his head turning slowly, and despair lanced through her as she saw his blue eyes glowing through the red light. He was changed…

Suddenly, he started tearing up the room, overturning the desks and chairs, then slamming open the bathroom door. The sounds were like physical blows on Natasha's head.

As Clint made his way around the room and gradually neared the corner where she hid, he slowed down, opening cupboards less violently and choosing not to smash science equipment on the floor.

Soon, there was nowhere left to check except her corner. And when his gaze finally fell on the roughly human-sized pile of lab coats and magazines, Natasha saw him tense.

He walked towards her with agonizing slowness. She started to feel herself shake, and closed her eyes tightly, inching backwards as much as she could.

He was changed. He would kill her. Just like Loki had promised… This was the end.

When she heard him stop right in front of her, she held her breath... And when she felt a warm hand rest on her shoulder, she almost screamed.

"Natasha," Clint breathed, and knelt down beside her, pulling away the makeshift covers. "Thank God. You're alive… Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

She felt his arms circle around her quivering body and lift her up, cradling her against his chest. She sensed that he was warm, and her heart suddenly ached. He wasn't attacking her… even though he was changed again, he sounded almost normal. He was rescuing her? She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't this.

Natasha had been through interrogations, tortures, extended solitary confinement, and many other incredibly taxing events… But now, despite all her efforts, the simple familiar touch of Clint's hands undid her, and she began to sob, tense muscles relaxing, shaky hands reaching up and grasping his shoulders.

"I'm so, so sorry. I tried to find you sooner," he said softly, holding her tighter as she cried.

"You're.. compromised," she managed to whisper, her voice scratchy from disuse.

"I was changed. But I'm not here to hurt you- I've been searching for you. I'm so… so glad you're alright," he said, his tone breaking a bit with emotion.

Natasha made herself look up, into his softly glowing eyes. He smiled down at her, though it was a smile burdened with concern and regret. She couldn't believe he was real. How could he be emotional? It was a horrible trick. Loki would appear at any moment and…

She shook her head. "No… no, you're lying…"

"No, it's alright. Loki changed me, but he didn't.. take away as much of me as he did last time. Only the parts of me that might resist him."

"What…" she started, but fell silent as Clint lifted her up in his arms, standing and walking back to the door.

"Let's get you out of here. Hang on," he said, and she obeyed, her weakened arms hugging his shoulders for dear life.

A gold glow surrounded them, then the room started to spin. Natasha hid her face against Clint's shoulder, and felt him stumble slightly. Gravity seemed to shift, making her stomach turn. She heard and felt a whoosh of air… then suddenly, the space around them felt lighter.

"It's okay," Clint said after a moment, and Natasha lifted her head and looked around.

They had teleported, she suddenly realized; it had to be a power of Loki's. They were now in some sort of living room with slate and brick walls, and floor-to-ceiling glass windows curving around an elegant cement balcony. It was too dark outside the windows to gauge properly, but it seemed like they were high in the air...

Natasha started to figure out where they must be, and then her eyes fell on the only other person in the room.

"Welcome back," Loki said with a smile.