At nine they left the house. They thanked Milne and Nina for their hospitality and took their bags, cautiously proceeding. The snow was past their ankles, half way up their shins. Their boots kept most of it out. Mark had his bag held to him tightly; Clint had his hand on the letter, the other in his pocket. And Bell had the GPS. They got to the entrance of the small town easily enough and crouched behind a big, wide pillar that marked the entrance of the Glowing City. There were words inscribed on it in a different language. Bell fiddled with the GPS, figuring out which house to break into. Clint noticed Mark's protective look towards Bell. He wondered exactly what history they had.

"It's number 42, on a street that isn't in English. I can find the street but keep your eyes open for 42, ok? We shouldn't go down the main road so you two follow me close behind, ok?" She mumbled some more instructions to herself before checking out the security. "I don't know how many people are patrolling the streets?" She grimaced at the inconvenience. Mark whipped his bag down and got out a small disc like thing. It was hard to see in the dark but it had a lump on the top and sticks coming out of the bottom. Then he got another, flatter disc out and a screen flickered to life on it. The first disc buzzed quietly to life and the lump on top whizzed around. It was a camera. Using his finger on the screen, Mark controlled the disc robot which moved rather quickly, the camera was pretty high deff to. He sent the robot sneaking past the entrance and then gave the screen to Bell who led it down a side street. Bell tip-toed after it, followed by the boys. They kept about 10 metres behind it and frequently stopped and started.

They came across several pairs of soldiers roaming the streets. They could easily hide from them because they weren't really looking for people sneaking around. They most likely had the situation under control, overconfidence shining through them. But at once stage they got into a bit of a situation. The little screen showed a group of seven walking in a line. These were the strict ones, the class favourites, teachers' pets. Clint recognized them immediately. He remembered his own training times, spending days picking on the uppity, tight-bummed ones. These would be a pain because they'd be looking. And sure enough, they were. Mark and Bell crouched on one side of the road behind a cement fence outside a house. Clint, from up a tree, covered in snow, on the other side of the street, could see that their heads were visible. Too late to tell them now.

The seven were getting closer and closer. Their heads were going to be seen. Clint screwed up his face, getting ready for a jump. He'd have to act quickly.

It happened in under a minute.

One of the seven, the one closest to Mark, pointed at Mark and Bell. He gave an order quickly. Three others began to head around the cement wall. Mark and Bell hadn't even realised yet. The other four were standing back, in case they made a run for it. They didn't use guns at first, didn't want to make a scene. One of the soilders was walking backwards under the tree. Three more steps, two, one… Clint jumped down on him with a knife. He slit his throat quick and deadly silent. No one noticed. He dearly missed his bow and arrow and cursed himself for not bringing it. He had to make do with a knife. He sprung onto the next one, a woman. Oh gosh, killing women was always harder.

"Sorry," he muttered and cut her throat, once, twice and dropped her. Someone had noticed. They spun around with their gun and pointed. Clint noticed the people rounding on Mark and Bell. The cement fence was long and they had planned to go around it, not over it. Amateurs? He hoped so.

"Hey, you! Hands behind your-" throat slitted. But he had time to yell out. The yell died to an agonized moan before he fell to the ground, completely limp and lifeless. That was three down, one more close to him. Three more dangerously close to Mark and Bell.

**BANG**

**BANGBANG**

Clint jumped for his life and automatically launched towards the person shooting. Years of being a master assassin had taught him a few techniques. He went in for a spear tackle that the shooter wasn't expecting. His gun was in the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up breaking his hand. Clint slammed the man down onto the ground and straddled his chest with lightning speed. He had already stabbed him in his stomach. This man, he had seen before. Clint took one moment too long looking at the man's face. He should have moved on but he was mesmerized. He went to slit his throat just as the words: "Clint Barton, Brutal Barton…" slipped out. He hadn't been called by that nickname in years. Not since his training… He had trained with this man, he had bullied this man. He slit his throat with difficulty and stumbled off of him. He shook his head, focussed again. He noticed that the pang had gone. That was definitely bad, that killing people was his calm spot. Three left. The three going to Mark and Bell. They had finally noticed Clint's silent work. The gun shots might have been a giveaway. Two spun around and came at Clint, guns a blazing. Clint rolled and took one down but the other was further away. He had to run back from him, away from Mark and Bell and away from the shooter. He followed. Definitely amateur. Clint slowed his run and ducked suddenly so that his pursuer kept going but stumbled a little. Clint took him down.

"Stop. Hands behind your head, now." Clint stood up slowly, knife in hand, and put his hands behind his head. He turned around and saw a woman holding two guns, one pointed at Mark and one at Bell. Clint took a step closer and another before she told him to stop. The moonlight was dim but reflected off the snow, it showed a rather blue face with a dark spot around one eye. This wasn't a normal soldier. He remembered her. Domino. Expert with guns. Ex-X-man. He was in trouble now.

"Hello, Hawkeye," she spat the words. She was obviously proud of herself. Clint was racking his brains for something to do. He couldn't be responsible for his best mates death. And Bell's.

"Domino, how can I help you?" He was very tongue and cheek, not by mistake. He planned to tease her until she faced him instead of the other two. He had seen enough cartoons and movies to know how to do it. She stepped towards him, guns still pointed at Bell and Mark. Now she was in front of the two, getting closer to Clint. One arm swung around and pointed at him. One gun now pointed to Mark and the other, Clint.

"You can help me by-" Her face tightened and then relaxed and then she fell, dead. Bell had stabbed her back.

Clint took a gulp of breath. "Well… Well done, Bell!" He staggered forward to her, regaining his footing as the rush of adrenaline died down. He firmly patted the two on the shoulder and wiped his brow before moving on. The pang inside him was echoing through his head now, begging him to find her already. Bell and Mark kept close to them now, having discarded the robot because of the damage it had received. They turned another corner and saw, their eyes having adjusted to the darkness efficiently, a homely street covered in snow. The little undergrowth that was there was sprinkled with snow, very pleasant looking. The houses on this street weren't as damaged and prison looking as the previous streets. A few lights were still on, shadows of happy families moving through them. Bell and Mark stopped and looked at the oddly situated street. Bell nodded when asked if this was it. Clint's first assumption was that this was where the Russians were staying. The one street that wasn't trashed was usually kept for the ones in charge. A sinking feeling came through Clint. Maybe she was here with Russia. Maybe she was working with them. As much as that would be better for Nat and easier for him, it meant that the earlier killings were unnecessary. He couldn't bare that. Being honest with himself, there was nothing he could think of worse than unnecessary killings, even in the current situation. He had committed enough of them in his time.

He professionally scanned the street for signs of… well, anything. And then he saw, in front of one small, dark house, a small, dark pool in the snow. Blood. He silently moved forward to it, bending and ducking to avoid being seen. He dipped a finger in it and flinched, it was thick and sticky. Healthy blood. Cold, but not cold enough to be old. He looked to the house that stood next to him. It was smaller than the rest of the houses and colder looking. Bell and Mark had caught up with him and were crouching against the wall of the small house. They were holding hands. Clint couldn't supress a smile as he crawled over to join them. His fear of Natasha being with the Russians fell away as he remembered the contents of her letter paired with the information Milne had given him. The situation of her being sided with the Russians didn't fit. Also, as he turned his head, he saw the number 42 nailed to the wall. Above the number was a broken window. He peered through and saw one small room, raided. There was a pantry, its door swinging open and the shelves inside it empty and dusty. There were two small chairs in the corner, one draped in women's clothing.

Clint pushed open the door and it creaked. He screwed up his face until the noise ended. He crept in, still crouched over. Mark and Bell went to follow.

"No, wait here. It might… get messy," He ordered.

"Messier than before?" Bell snapped back, staying true to her usual flare.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation. He didn't look back but he knew that Bell moved back, arching her back into Mark's chest.

Clint moved forward cautiously. The small room was darker on the inside, smaller and colder to. He could feel his bare hands going numb. He wasn't sure if it was from the cold or those never ending nerves chewing down on him. When he was certain that the small room was empty he straightened out and walked over to the pantry. He ran his finger over the dusty shelves. It wasn't thick, only a day or two since it had been disrupted. But the more interesting thing about this pantry was the massive crack running down the middle of it, through all the shelves and the backing of it. It took two seconds for Clint to settle on the explanation that someone was pushed into it with a lot of force. He found the smashed remnants of a chair in the corner. As he sifted through it he saw a blood stained knife. He flicked it over and saw an 'N' carved into it. Was it Nat's?

He backed off and stood in the middle of the room and looked around. There were no shelves or desks or tables, only the broken pantry, two useable chairs and a broken one. Fairly boring and simple. He then turned his attention to the small, wooden door at the far side of the room. It led to another room, presumably, directly behind this one. He nodded at Mark and Bell who were, predictably, curled up with one another in an awkward looking position. They were making as much contact as possible while still being able to run at any given time. Seeing them together made the pang ring through him again. He ignored it and pushed on.

The door had several dents in it, probably just old wounds. Maybe from a recent fight? He braced himself for what he might find and pushed the door open, jumping into an attacking position. There was no one in there. The room was smaller than the last one and a lot more cramped. There was a make shift bed made of bundles of hay covered in a moth-eaten blanket. It was half under a wooden desk that was littered with bits of paper and candle wax. Next to Clint's foot was a half burnt candle that had rolled away from the desk leaving a trail of wax. He stepped up to the desk and sat on the rickety chair that matched it. The papers were all about Vibranium and featured pictures of Captain America's shield. There were plenty of papers with, what he could tell were, fakes and decoys in case the owner was found. All the papers were pushed to one side and Clint looked down the edge of the desk that was pressed up against the wall. There were even more pages stuffed down there. Whoever was here had been eager to hide their work and leave. As he sifted through the papers, Clint found an old battered photo. It was of him in his Hawkeye uniform.

This was Natasha's desk and she had been the one eager to leave. Clint's mind raced for an explanation. If only he could contact her! He had tried earlier but she didn't have her phone on her. He found it under the scattered papers. 23 missed calls: Clint Barton; 34 new messages: Nick Fury, Clint Barton, Russia International Library, Peter Parker, Nick Fury, Nick Fury, Nick Fury…

He pocketed the phone and sat on the bed, holding his head in his hands.

He pictured the scene. Natasha sitting at the desk scribbling down the last bits of the letter. She got up and handed it to the boy with a bit of money and he ran off. She took off a jumper and draped it over the chair. Now she was in just her uniform. A text from Nick Fury confirming the incoming threats (he had gone through the messages to and from Nick Fury, just to find out what had happened.) She stood in the middle of the room and waited. She couldn't have run because they'd be able to track her down and she could very possibly have been in a worse situation then. She could only prepare. She got out her knife and gun as the first few came bursting through the door. The first one got shot. As Clint re-enacted the battle in the first small room he now saw the splattered blood on the wall from the gun shot through the head. The second one got shot the same way. Two dead bodies for the third to jump over. As he jumped, he launched onto Nat, who protected herself by swinging the chair up onto him. Disorientated by the chair, she could stab him easily. The crushed chair then hastily kicked aside, she took on the next one. He came running at her for a physical attack. She would have swung him around and ditched him through the window with ease. Having finished, or thought she was finished, she ran outside to check. One last man was there waiting for her, a couple fired bullets that missed, that Clint now saw lying limp against the back wall, and then she jumped on him, stabbing him and twisting to prove her point. He leaked a pool of blood. Natasha had always been well capable of hiding bodies; he imagined that they were stacked behind the house.

He very fondly imagined Natasha then wiping her hands and returning to her bedroom. But why wasn't she there now? He flicked through the messages from Nick Fury:

We got someone in, they're recording the 'V's behaviour. The assassins placed there are doing well and still haven't been discovered. You're not needed yet. – 3 days ago

Both assassins have been found and, so far that we know, killed. You have to go in. - 2 days ago

I don't know if you'll get this, I've seen you've moved out. I assume you noticed the dangerous 'V' levels. Also, I assume you noticed the weird looks the Russians have been giving you. – Yesterday

Natasha, 5 soldiers heading your way. To kill you. Be prepared. Finish them off. – Yesterday pm

Well done. Now you need to-

***NEW MESSAGE***

Clint opened the new message.

Where are you positioned? I repeat, give your position. – Just now

Fury had just texted Nat. But she didn't have her phone. Clint rubbed his face in frustration. There was no sign that she had died, and if she had – the pang smacked him across the face – Fury and SHEILD didn't know. He decided to check back with Mark and Bell.

As he walked to open the door, he sensed something wrong. His gut clenched and brain clicked as he prepared for the worst.

Bell and Mark were bound together with ropes, blindfolded and gagged. Expertly. Clint's natural reaction was to make sure there was no threat. He put his back to the couple and checked, double checked, triple checked that there was no one around. Then he spun round and started cutting the ropes. He took off the blindfolds and put a finger to his lips in a be-quiet sign. Their eyes were filled with panic and fear. They scrambled up and took out their gags. Ignoring Clint's instructions:

"Clint! Out of no-where-"

"Snapped us up and tied-"

"Shoved us down-"

"Then she left-"

"Didn't see her-"

Clint clapped his hands over their mouths. He ran everything he had understood over in his mind and settled on one thought.

"She?" He cocked his head and braced himself for the worst. The both nodded furiously, pinned to the wall by his hands.

Then their eyes filled again with panic and Bell gently pushed Clint around to face their attacker.

Clint's eyes widend, his jaw dropped. Their attacker took a step towards Clint and wrapped her arms around him. He did so back to her as she quietly sobbed into his neck. The pang fled from his body through a single tear rolling down his cheek.