And a couple of months later, she returns! So sorry, I got caught up in lots of stuff, as you end up doing at this age, and this chapter has evidently not come out as best as it could be.
His hands traced the steel in a suffocated half-panic while hers worked busily at the touch-screen panel to the left of the doors. Over several menu buttons, flashed in bright red letters OVERRIDE ELEVATOR, the light making Natasha's face appear to be pulsing a deathly crimson. Thomas' distress throbbed in time with the flashing words but did not seem apparent to the former S.H.I.E.L.D agent, like he was writing an SOS with a blunt pencil on a slab of rock.
Something could - no, would - always go wrong; he had just expected it to be less soon.
The lift descended quietly.
"Don't tell me, you're claustrophobic?"
Not usually thought the 19 year old, but the last day or so hadn't exactly fallen into the 'usual' category. He turned to Natasha, who stepped back from the screen and cast him a thin smile.
It was a little short of reassuring.
"We're going down. Looks like someone made us an appointment but forgot to put it in the diary. Kind of feels like we're not in France any more, doesn't it? Everything's in English and I haven't seen a baguette since this morning."
Thomas didn't respond.
"Come on, that was funny. You know funny? The whole 'I'd laugh at that' thing?" She shot him a look that tried to make light of the situation, but in truth was ripe with the underlying worry. He didn't seem too concerned with what she said, but instead was fiddling with his earpiece.
"The comms are gone."
"And you're surprised at that?" Natasha scoffed.
The lift came to a steady stop, its doors now carefully retreated to the edges of the enclose metal box, and led way to a dark, lengthy corridor.
"Isn't this like any movie ever?" remarked Thomas, not quite under his breath, as the pair sauntered out with caution.
"With what we're getting paid.." muttered his companion in response.
With guns raised and at the ready, they advanced into the dark. A voice guided them down the passage.
"Well, isn't this all very cliché?"
*i*
It was not new to be on his own. It was new, or perhaps just unusual, however, to lose track of both the people he felt responsible for at the same time. It was an odd thing, to feel so attached to two people, and it occurred to Clint that he should probably be feeling bad for this.
The whole thing had been strangely organised for such a last minute recruitment, but he had done more hasty things for less before that were executed perfectly fine. Still he thought. There was something not right about this.
A bullet pinged off the lift doors behind him, and he snapped back into reality. He searched at his side for his Colt, and when he found it, pulled it up and fired a few rounds. Better save the arrows for another time.
Clint rummaged around for tactics. His assailants were far enough back not to cause trouble, and they didn't seem to be amazing shots. Now, if he could just hold them off...
*i*
Nat observed her utility belt for a second. Her gun, her knife, and the teleport disc hung from it. She looked up again. From behind the disembodied voice, or at least what they could guess to be behind it, were the blueprints. Of course. As they would be.
"You alright with using that gun?" Natasha asked Thomas, who scoffed uneasily in reply. When they had reached the end of the long walkway, metal clanging with their every step, they reached a swivel chair, hosting a man in his, what, 60's?
"You got some blueprints for us?" Nat posed, walking significantly in front of the teenager beside her.
The man, short tufts of blond hair erupting from his ears and glasses perched on his nose, laughed heartily. Then, in a French accent (but in word perfect English), he said "I've got a bullet or two for your friend."
Nat smirked, catching him by surprise. "I'm sure he's happy to hear that."
"Your communication systems don't work here."
"You sure about that?" Natasha prompted. She clicked off the safety on her gun. "Hand over the prints."
"You have no authority to shoot me here." He said confidently.
"I don't need authority." She replied.
"You don't want to fire that gun."
For a second, she considered the implications - if they had the blueprints for such a device, then maybe they were into collecting similar stuff. And maybe, just maybe, firing a small capsule of metal into this guy's head wouldn't be so simple. She pondered it, a thousand calculations rushing through her head. Then, in a minute way, Natasha shrugged, and then shot the man straight in the head. Thomas stuttered back while Natasha strode onwards, pushing past the man in the chair and selecting a roll of some kind from further back. The walkway had mysteriously lit up, alongside a large cavity filled to the brim with shelves; this was a whole different layer of the warehouse, it was clear.
Thomas was a decently educated man, or rather, boy, but had never been particularly interested in books. Documents alone were much better accessed through easily studied internet formats, and what stories were not better seen on a screen? It fascinated him that people would still make paper copies, and without having any online trace whatsoever. It just seemed so, unhandy.
Natasha jogged back to the lift. It seemed perfectly accessible now, funnily so, and it was no secret that the pair would have a reception waiting for them when they resurfaced. When they reached the top, Nat shut the lift down to give herself a few moments. The wound on her arm, all but forgotten about before now, throbbed ever so slightly. The last couple of days had been rough.
Thomas was the one who reactivated the lift. With the doors open, they walked out and into a crowd of armed guards.
"You boys are out late." sighed Natasha, gun raised once more.
"Are you okay, Mr Barton?" asked Thomas. Clint was surrounded by 5 guards, hands on his head and grinning broadly.
"These guys are oddly hesitant." he replied. A small exchange of a moment ensued, and then Natasha fired a shot, and Clint instinctively ducked. Thomas lunged forward, taking down one or two guards on the way. He sprinted on, through a crossfire between the spies and the security, and then, suddenly, was brought down.
It didn't take long for the spies to have finished their handy work, barely a hair out of place.
"Thomas?" Natasha looked around. "Thomas?"
There was a groan from a little further away, and Clint rushed over to the boy on the floor.
"You okay?" he whispered.
"I told you not to bring him!" moaned Nat, who was picking up the artillery that Clint had dropped before he 'surrendered'.
"I'm fine, it just caught me off guard." Clint sighed when Thomas spoke. He lifted up his trouser leg to reveal a scuff mark on his prosthetic. Barton was about to say something when a glimmer of life rippled in his communication set.
"The ferry will take you to England."
"Hear that Nat?" he directed across to the frustrated Russian.
Her mind cast back to her remarks on the anglo-friendliness of the space earlier.
"Yeah I probably could have guessed that."
That's all for this week-
Can't guarantee more in the near future,
Will try though.