Sorry the these chapters are a little short - the story gets a little quicker around here which means that sometimes I have to cut it off a little earlier than usual. I'll upload this one and then another one at the end of the week :)

16 hours before the incident
The English Channel, Northern Hemisphere
51.0, 1.6

"Nat?"

A mumbled reply came from below him. Natasha was sleeping, almost soundly on the stubborn mattress. Clint had insisted on the top bunk. They had boarded the ferry early that morning, and, having been up for the duration of the night, all 3 of them had taken the time to rest. Now Barton lay wide awake, eyes staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts locked on the woman below him. She was taking her time coming out of slumber, orange strands of hair messily covering her face and the hard pillow.

"Nat." he said in a sing-song voice, one that he only pulled out when he was tired or drunk.

"Shut up Barton, this is the best I've slept in weeks." she grumbled, pulling the covers over her face.

"Natasha, why does everything we meet try to kill us?"

"Because we usually try to kill it first." she responded, her voice comically muffled.

"Not always." he jovially whined.

"Mostly."

"Where did Thomas go?"

Natasha threw her blanket back, sighed, then pried her eyes open.

"He's in the bathroom, throwing up." she said, and then, as if on cue, retching could be heard from the room's en suite, accompanied with a flush.

Clint swung himself over the side railing of the bunk bed, perfectly balanced so that he would not fall, but far enough so he could swing back and forth. He grinned at the sleepy figure below him.

"Remember what we used to do if we got spare time on a ship?" Barton's eyes sparked. The lighting in the small room was low and it was hard to make out his exact outline. Still, Natasha smiled at his goofiness, the grin plastered on his face pretty clear. She brushed aside her hair and pulled up to a sitting position. Crossed legged, she shuffled until she was eye to eye with the hawk. His breath gently hit her forehead.

"Caw caw." she said quietly, inching closer.

"No fair," he responded. "Yours doesn't make much of a sound".

"I am starving."

"What do you want?" he jested.

Nat smirked and grabbed Clint's ears with both hands. He watched her mouth closely, a challenge to him upside down. Through the emptiness of sound, he made out what she was mouthing.

A cheeseburger with barbecue sauce.

He smiled and said, his voice unheard to all but his companion, "I don't think they serve them here."

He wanted to kiss her. Of course he did. Clint looked closer into her eyes, gaze unbroken.

She wanted to kiss him. Of course she did. But she didn't. She removed her hands from his ears, the skin now warmed by her touch, and she rolled onto her back so she was looking up at him instead. Her head lolled at the side of the bed and she pressed her feet to the bottom of the mattress above her. They locked into the grooves of the bedding, and she took a moment to smile back at the archer. Clint unknowing, she pushed upwards so he lost his balance, gripping at the bed and almost pulling it with him as he tumbled over the side. Natasha laughed. She swung her self onto the hard floor, taking a moment to adjust herself to the slight swaying of the ship.

"You could have killed me there!"

"I would not giving that eulogy." she laughed.

Nat's ponytail swung violently, slapping against the cold, salt filled air. She ducked and spun, metallic pipe in hand, locked in a sparring match with Clint. The pipes clanged with a rhythm, the match not speeding up out of respect. Hit after hit, they seemed equally matched, although neither of them could really take an opportunity that would give them leverage. Indeed, they were scared to hurt each other seriously. So each swing was calculated to collide with the other, the pipe that is, and nothing else. The match continued. Natasha felt boredom slip into her mind and she slid the pipe down to the floor. Realising she was lining up for a jump, Barton let his pipe drop with a clatter to the ground.

"Hey!" he complained. "No cheating!"

"Oh come on!" she moaned, the wind dancing with loose strands of hair that escaped the elastic. In the background, she could hear Thomas vomit. Clint wandered over to the 19 year old and patted his back. Natasha ambled over and leant on the railing next to him. The view was stunning even though it was just water; morning had just settled and the sunlight looked as if it were dabbed on the waves in thick gold strokes.

"This next bit's gonna be tough, Tash." Clint sighed. He looked over at her, the morning sun etching itself into his cheeks. She stood, motionless, with her face angled towards the sun, and the moment was only ruined by Thomas heaving next to them.

"I know, buddy." said Barton, rubbing the boy's back. "I know."

When eventually they docked at Dover, the sun had nestled into some clouds. They took a train into the main body of England, Birmingham, and by 2pm they had settled into an apartment opposite to the hotel where the machine was meant to be.

"Marked positions penthouse include standard, 2 by window and 4 by exterior access points." Clint noted, binoculars secured to his eyes.

"Received." nodded Natasha, hair swinging slightly as she recorded the positions on a map. Formal clothing hung loosely over a fancy chair and the trio were now dressed in light but efficient gear. Thomas revised the plan out loud, occasionally pulling down the jacket he was wearing.

"Evacuation first, got that?" Clint checked when he noticed that the boy was missing out the key fact.

"Yeah, yeah." he agreed, then moved to perch on a chair further back in the apartment.

"It's not too late to back out, kid." suggested Natasha, watching him fix his prosthetic into place.

"Leave him alone, Nat."

"Alright. We got time to get all those people out?" she questioned with genuine concern.

"As many as we can. If it's the first thing we get done, then it should be alright."

"Hmm." she pondered. Natasha sighed and brought her hand to her chest. Her fingers danced around the outline of the arrow necklace, then enclosed around it. She glanced up and to the floor where the hotel room was. Both she and Clint knew perfectly well that they were expected to have come up with an exit strategy. Which they had, provided they were in good enough condition to run down. The only issue was that when they were in the reality machine, time was supposed to warp. A sort of protective dome, yes, but dangerous in its own way; its instability aside, it was meant to shut down at the expense of an explosion. The team were assured that they would be protected from the exothermic part, but if they were caught in the propulsion, they could be flung into wherever, and instantly killed. If they weren't tossed around, they would find themselves in the damaged upper floor of a crumbling building, and my, was there quite a distance to the ground.

It would be tough.

Clint fought his way through his own worry. He flashed back to New York, scraping for control. Loki had run wild in his head, even made him try to destroy his friends.

He wasn't keen on more mind games.

2 hours before the incident
Birmingham, England, Northern Hemisphere
52.5, -1.9

Natasha and Clint kept watch at the security room. On one of the cameras, only visible after shuffling the incapacitated guard a few inches to the left, showed Thomas wiring the fire alarm system. He had done this for 5 surrounding buildings, as well as now the main building. When he was finished, he turned to face the security camera. Adrenaline rolled down his spine.

He gave the thumbs up.

That's all for now,
I'm on the next chapter already ;)