One Less Problem

Max Miles lied beaten on the cold floor for about 15 minutes before he decided to quit wasting time. They were still on the loose. And Strucker would be pissed. His nose and leg were broken. Other HYDRA agents were there just as the two vigilantes escaped. He refused their help, as his leg was in serious pain. What could they do? It wasn't their prerogative to fix him in this situation. He had to everything himself, as usual. For a second he wanted to just lie there and reflect on his service to HYDRA momentarily, thinking he just might develop some insight. Though, he dismissed the whole idea and realized how stupid he sounded.

The nose would be the easy part. Bracing himself, the rugged man placed his hand over his nose, taking in a deep breath before finally snapping the bone back in place. His comrades watched uncomfortably on the side. He didn't scream, though he did groan quite loudly, as it was far from comfort. His eyes began to water as a substitute for screaming. Then it was time for the hard part. His leg.

For Miles, pain was tolerable. Pain was never allowed to get the best of him. To him, it was only a feeling, nothing more. On the other hand, it was easier said than done. Only able to raise his torso about three inches off the ground before the pain began to kick through the rest of his body, Miles took in an even deeper breath than before. He struggled for quite a while before finally snapping it in place once more. This time he grunted heavily, and then screamed once it was complete. Never more in his life did he hate his job. It was only the times where he had to suffer to get the job done that he despised it. But now he knew what needed to be done next. He rose to face his HYDRA comrades, staggering as he did so from the pain, and started barking his orders.

"Get me Colt and Forester, now!"

With that, two men immediately ran back the way they came to find the men Miles requested. They were his top guys. Whenever he needed a job done, it was always with the two of them. Together they made a trifecta of lethal assassins. Though really, they weren't very much assassins as they were like mafia men. Their tactics were those that neither SHIELD or HYDRA conducted. Both intelligence ops were more clean-cut and organized. But Miles and his gang were more brutal and dirty with their work. There was always a guarantee for there to be blood. Nothing about that has changed so far. And all Miles was doing was looking for more.

Sneaking off the island by boat seemed like the only way out. Natasha spotted one by a small dock occupied by two men. Since they were wearing uniforms like the rest, Natasha could assume they were armed as well.

"Over there," Natasha got Peter's attention. "There's a boat we can take."

Peter's looked to where she was pointing and noticed its size first and then the men standing over it. They didn't look so much as they were on guard rather than just setting it up as though to use it for later. It was a basic motorboat that could fit probably a maximum of four people, maybe five if they were really skinny. For Peter and Natasha it would do just fine. Now they just needed to get there.

From where they watched, the two were perched on top of a shipping container hidden from enemy sight. Luckily there weren't many men on the ground patrolling the perimeter. The pair jumped onto the ground once they knew they were in the clear, and stealthily approached the vicinity of the docks. Peter frantically searched left and right, front and back, checking every direction to make sure they weren't being watched. It was an automatic thing at this point. Thanks to Natasha. Natasha kept moving forward, having already checked where she needed to know they were clear. Of course, had Peter been just as experienced, he would know that he didn't have to keep checking each time. He was so close to getting off the island that his mixture of excitement and worry got the best of him. At this point he had forgotten about the rules of being a perfect spy like Natasha. All he wanted was to finally leave this hellhole.

Natasha went first. She leaped on top of the taller man, managing to take him out with a blow to a pressure point in his neck. Within an instant, he was knocked out cold. Peter followed with an elaborate acrobatic kick to the other guard's face. He too fell down with his comrade. This was a lot louder than Natasha's move, and Peter then knew he should probably ease himself just a bit with his excitement. But he couldn't. He'd gotten this close. For a second this worried Natasha, but for them to get off this island, it was now or never.

"Come on," she quietly called to him.

They stepped onto the boat, immediately going to start it up. It wasn't unusual for Peter to assume Natasha had done this sort of thing before. After all the stuff she's mentioned to him about her stories in the field, the fact that she conveniently could operate a motorboat didn't surprise him one bit. If he could tell other people about some of the stories she's told him, they'd think she was something straight out of a James Bond film, because no matter what sticky situation she was in, she always found a way. Sometimes it was too good to be true for her to be on his side. However, it was taking a while for her to get the boat to start up. And even once she did, they would have to move fast, as nearby patrol guards would hear.

Through all of this, a thought came to Peter. He can't actually believe he forgot. First he tried guesstimating the time, but he honestly couldn't distinguish if the time were 10 p.m. or 3 a.m. His Aunt May could either be at work right now or in bed. The difference between which was crucial. Then a rotten god-awful sensation grew like a plague in Peter's stomach.

"Natasha," Peter said to her, not trying to hide the fear in his voice. This was enough to steal her attention, but she kept starting up the boat at the same time. "My Aunt May. We have to warn my Aunt May. I don't know what time it is or anything, but if she's still at the hospital- "

Peter was speaking faster than he had to out of his uncontrollable anxiety, but Natasha already knew his concerns.

"They won't lay a finger on her," Natasha coldly stated, revealing yet again her eyes of ferocity. That was enough to let Peter know that he needn't worry. In the back of his mind, however, if they didn't get off this base soon he would only start to worry even more.

The three men entered the vehicle, Colt taking the wheel and Forester taking shotgun. Miles sat in the backseat, with the most serene condition, loading his handgun as though he weren't ready to blow someone's brains out. Forester peaked in the rear-view mirror to see Miles only looking back, returning a malicious bloodthirsty glare. When he first met Miles, Forester was kind of unsettled by his nonchalant composure, despite his ruthless ways. It's not always what someone does, but also how they do it. And how Miles did things sometimes overshadowed in severity to what he would actually do in the end.

After breaking out of an entire base run by terrorists and pulling through, Peter found himself losing it again. He couldn't breathe properly because he was too panicked about the whole thing. What if his aunt wasn't fine? What then? Nothing. That's what. She'd be dead, and he'd be done. He didn't know what he would do with himself after that. While Natasha was steering them over the seemingly endless body of water, Peter was in his own world full of madness. On an otherwise better day, this would have been a beautiful view of just nothing but pure sky and sea, but while he was stuck out here, Aunt May was in a place completely separate from him, neither of them having no idea where the other was.

"What makes you think they would be after your aunt?" Natasha questioned.

He had almost forgotten how until he had to think about it for a second.

"Back on the island," Peter started. "Miles had mentioned every now and then about her. About how he'd threaten to kill her if I didn't cooperate."

The spy kept her eyes on the horizon of water ahead, still taking all of this in.

"You assume that's what he intends to do?" Natasha asked him.

"Yes," said Peter, intrigued by her question.

Both of them found themselves stuck in a sticky situation that was all too screwed up. Natasha didn't like that fact that she didn't exactly have a plan just yet. She usually always has a plan. But the problem was that she couldn't get the radar on the boat to start working. If they had no clue where they were then it was pointless.

"Well once I can figure out where the hell we are..."

She fumbled with the radar a little more, and this time something did change. Usually working with radars wouldn't be an issue, but Natasha wasn't quite familiar with HYDRA's technology, which made it all the more complicated. Peter's looked to see what had changed, as though he had a clue. What displayed was a green glowing radar like other typical boats had. Natasha could read it just fine.

"We're not too far from Manhattan. Not too far at all. On average it'll take us a good 15 minutes," Natasha answered, but not to Peter's satisfaction.

Even if she told him it would take five minutes, that wouldn't kill Peter's concern. He no longer had his phone with him, so there was no way of reaching his aunt until they reached land and found a phone booth. Peter imagined that she must have called him numerous times when he was held captive. Then a sharp pain jabbed into his head.

Noticing by his shriek and his hands clasping against his forehead, Natasha questioned immediately what was wrong.

"I don't know," he answered as best as he possibly could.

The pain only got worse. It was by far the worst headache he'd experienced, and he didn't get headaches that often, not unless they were part of his spider senses warning him of oncoming danger. But there was no danger, at least not any immediate danger. Perhaps it was just him worrying too much about his aunt's safety. That was the danger ahead. But then Peter started noticing something else. He began to lose his balance and grabbed onto the rail to support himself.

"What is it?" Natasha asked, not able to do much since she was maneuvering the boat.

Peter knew, he just didn't want to accept it after they'd made it this far. He could feel it in his hands and his feet, most importantly his aching head.

"They're shutting down," he mumbled. "They're shutting down."

Natasha caught what he had said the second time, and after that still didn't know what she could do. It didn't matter, actually. In a sense it was as if they were taking turns almost. First she protected him, then him her, now back around. Though that isn't what it actually seemed like in Natasha's head, she grew more concerned for the interim of his powers than his body actually switching them on and off. She knew that the drug they shot him with would wear off eventually, but the entire cycle of his powers being reemerging and whatnot were very obscure.

"I thought the drug wore off?" Natasha said as more of a statement than a question.

"Could I be relapsing?" Peter wondered.

"Maybe... I'm not sure."

They kept on cruising over the clear ocean, hoping to reach Manhattan as soon as possible, but still not as soon as Peter would like. He needed to get there now. He needed to warn his aunt of her safety. And he had to do this all again without his powers. Natasha was his guardian again.