Hi guys,

Firstly let me apologise for the atrociously long gap between chapters, I've had a busy few weeks lately but I will make sure that I write the follow up chapters without such huge time spaces between them.

Secondly, a huge thank you for the lovely responses and reactions to my story so far, I hope you continue to enjoy it, and I'll start typing away at Chapter 3 for you lot.

Searing pain racing across her scalp told Natasha that she was awake again. Attempting to prise her eyes open, her eyelids fluttered multiple times, trying to adjust her vision to the bright light streaming through.

'This place must either have the world's brightest bulbs or no room in the budget for lightshades…'

She turned her head, laying her right cheek against the hard cool surface, momentarily achieving some relief from the pain of the light. She didn't bother trying to move the rest of her body, after all if Bruce had taken measures to the point of drugging, she somehow doubted that leaving her with the chance of waking up untied would be an idea circling through his head; even if she was in a worse for wear state for the time being. Instead she decided to try and focus on regaining her eyesight. The sedative, or god knows what it was that Bruce had given her, was one hell of a concoction; she couldn't remember much, but she knew that it had caused her to struggle in maintaining a grip on consciousness, and she was trained with immunity against many sedatives and harmful drugs. Finally summoning her eyelids to cooperate with her brain, they fluttered open, and in the same moment she wished they hadn't. Immediately closing her eyes shut, she instinctively pretended to be asleep.

"You can stop pretending, I've already seen you."

Natasha found herself taken aback by the venom dripping from the words, and realised she had been unconsciously holding her breathe while pretending to still be asleep. Squeezing her eyes tight, she eventually opened them again, sweeping up and down the figure beside her. Clint Barton was leaning back, deep into the material of the chair, but the white knuckles clenching on the arms of the chair revealed his pose was anything but relaxed. He was dressed in his 'fighting' attire, and Natasha noticed a fine layer of dust and specks of rubble resting upon the purple uniform. The trademark bow rested against the legs of the chair.

'No arrows, at least none I can see….don't be fooled into thinking this is a friendly visit though….'

It would hardly take a second for him to be aiming the arrow of his choice directly in her face if he decided that he didn't like what was going on. She had noticed in the moment of briefly opening her eyes beforehand that Hawkeye wasn't wearing his mask, and choosing not to look at his face; Natasha raised her eyes to stare up ahead at the light bulb swinging ever so slightly.

"What is Hydra working on with the Hulk's blood?"

The hostile words interrupted the awkward silence that had befallen the room and Natasha continued to stare blankly ahead at the light. Clint left the question to echo into silence, before taking a deep breath.

'He's calming himself down'

She didn't need to turn her head to watch him; she could mentally picture the actions of her ex-partner in her eyes. His eyes closing as he forced himself to take deep, calming breathes, his chest heaving up and down slowly, while his knuckles turned a paler shade digging into the arms of the chair. Her trained ears homed in on the barely audible noises of the chair and Clint's clothing as she leaned forwards in his seat.

"Why does Hydra need Hulk's blood?"

The second attempt of questioning was much shorter and snappier in the way Clint delivered it, and Natasha continued to stare straight ahead, ignoring the demanding in his tone. She could tell that he was hated every second of this, every second of having to be in the same room as her, breathing the same air as her.

'I guess I could see why I'm not exactly his favourite person right now…'

Clint would probably never forgive Natasha for her betrayal towards him, she knew that much. Ever since he had uncovered her working for Hydra, and she had framed him as the traitor, Hawkeye had been hunting her down. Not that she'd believed he would actually manage it. Sure he'd come close a couple of times, even tying her up and transporting her halfway towards the Avengers' mansion once, but as one of the world's greatest spies she had always been able to escape when and if she wished. This time was different, although she suspected that she was in some underground lab of the mansion belonging to the Avengers, she couldn't be certain; and as a woman whose survival ensured on being certain about situations, she didn't like this one bit. Particularly being left alone with Clint. Both times that she had encountered him after her betrayal, he had seemed angry, but this time was different, this time she didn't have a good grasp on what was going on, or an escape route planned. At least, not yet.

"Widow."

Clint's low growl cut into Natasha's thoughts, giving welcome relief from her imaginations of the ways this scenario could turn nasty. She knew Clint would not tolerate being ignored for much longer, fighting a smile as she remembered how Clint, always the calmer of the two of them, has practically thrown a tantrum when being ignored during an interrogation once. But that had been a long time ago, back at the start of their partnership, and while she knew that he still didn't enjoy being ignored, Natasha had a hunch that his reaction had probably altered over the years. Her ears picked up on a faint cracking noise she swore was Clint tightening his fist, and softly she cleared her throat,

"Let me go."

Her words were a simple statement, just as she had desired them to be. She had refrained from including his name, not made eye contact; basically avoiding anything personal. The decision to not look at him had been her first. The edges of her vision blurring slightly was the first clue to Clint's reaction. Cursing herself for not keeping her hearing trained on him, Natasha forced her head to turn against the sharp, harsh sensation of fingers digging into flesh. Black spots began to swim around the corners of her eyes, but somehow she seemed to perceive Clint's face in almost perfect clarity.

Clint Barton's face, which usually held a kind, calming quality to it, had contorted into a cross between glaring and scowling. Natasha wasn't completely sure if it was the pressure on her neck or not, but his skin seemed to be reddening, and the vein in his right temple was protruding so far that she was sure if she concentrated on it, she would see it pulsating. If the grasp on her neck wasn't so constricting, Natasha might have found this situation funny. But between the vice-like hold on her windpipes, and the malicious intent wild in Clint's eyes, this scenario was definitely not funny. Instead of leaning closer to her, Clint dragged Natasha's face forward, pinching her skin as his grip tightened around her throat, until the body restraints forcibly halted hiss moving her. Wincing at the pain as the straps dug into her skin, she knew that discomfort had been visible in her expression, as Clint seemed to stop pulling her forwards, although his grip didn't release at all.

'Maybe personal was the way to go….'

He had her right where he wanted her. Her head was still raised slightly from the metal bench it had been resting on, and the hard grip on her throat ensured that she couldn't sweet talk her way of trouble. At least not until he wanted to hear her answers. She could feel the desperation rising in her eyes as her own continued to hold his stare. The anger had transformed his pale blue irises to a deeper stormy ocean colour, vivid against the bloodshot red. She presumed this was due to sleep deprivation and tiredness,

'No doubt I'm to blame for that.'

"You're gonna have to repeat that again for me Natasha, cause to me, it sounded like you were telling me to let you go! You'd have to be an idiot to believe I'd do that!" Clint paused, leaning closer to her face, until there were mere centimetres of air separating them, "And we both know you're not an idiot don't we?"

'Something tells me that might have been a back-handed compliment there…'

Natasha opened her mouth to speak, she could hardly avoid responding now, and after all she had evaded doing so for a considerable amount of time. But as her mouth moved to form the words Clint was clearly so desperate to hear, her vision began to swim even more, to the point where she was sure that she could physically feel her pupils retracting and expanding. Either Clint was intentionally pushing her to the brink of unconsciousness or his hold on her neck had increased in pressure. Realising what he was doing, Clint withdrew his hand, causing her head to smack back onto the metal surface. Hard.

'Jesus Christ Clint!'

If the pain flooding across the back of her skull at the impact was intense, it was nothing compared to the sudden surge of air forcing its way down her windpipes. Gasping and choking, as the impact of the oxygen re-entering her lungs temporarily winded her, Natasha's hands instinctively moved to protect her throat from further damage; but still bound by her restraints, she settled for hopeless attempts at digging her fingertips into the flat, cold metal.

"Sorry, habit I guess," Clint's tone held no inkling of remorse, although as she carefully focused her gaze on him, he did seem to display mild confusion at his actions. The furrow in his brow disappeared as he quickly noticed her studying him, and regaining his seething expression, he lowered his voice to a vicious growl, "Although you are about as trustworthy as a snake in long grass."

He gave her a few moments to recover the ability of speech, before becoming impatient again, "Well…weren't you about to concoct some elaborate lie or scheme about how I should just release you?"

Natasha continued to maintain Clint's gaze, even though the way he was staring at her right now seemed likely for his vision to bore straight through her head, "You need to let me go Clint," the quality of her voice was raspy and although it cracked in places, she managed to resume the firm, calmness she had spoken with earlier, "or Hydra will."

She wasn't sure exactly what reaction she had been expecting from the man stood before her; perhaps for him to storm out of the doorway and alert the others to a potential invasion, to resume his hand's suffocating gesture around her throat, or even on some level she had anticipated for him to grab his bow and arrow and kill her right there and then. She had not in any instance expected a small chortle to emerge, and subsequently erupt into a booming chuckle. It took him a few moments to recompose himself, but Natasha was completely certain that the expression of bewilderment was still etched across her face by the time that a relatively calm Clint was looming over her again. Turning her face away from his, the breath hot against her cheek revealed how close he was,

"You think Hydra are coming for you? Your precious Hydra left you for dead, which you would be by the way, if we hadn't have scraped you off the pavement." She could hear the malicious grin in his voice as he savoured them, "So I think you can give up on that rescue mission."

Natasha Romanoff continued to stare blankly ahead, as Clint Barton marched his way out of her newfound prison cell without another word.

'Crap.'