Disclaimer: I do not own Iron Man 2, Thor, or the Avengers, along with the characters, the quotes, and everything else associated with Marvel.
After a small nap that she had managed to take towards the early morning, Natasha left before Clint woke up and went outside to get them breakfast. Like anyone else with working taste buds, they avoided S.H.I.E.L.D food at all times. If she had decided to trade a lazy trip to the cafeteria for another hour of rest he would have made her eat that sludge with him. Her going out to hunt for a decent meal worked out as a mutually beneficial system.
In the bustling cafe a few blocks away from S.H.I.E.L.D, she waited until the cashier called her (fake) name and grabbed the paper bag from the counter in one hand, her coffee in the other. Then she navigated through the morning rush of people back to Central, taking treacherous sips of the boiling liquid that burned her tongue when she accidentally shook the cup.
Clint was already awake when she returned, talking to Coulson. Natasha tossed the paper bag onto his lap. "Sorry, Coulson. Didn't buy your share."
"It's ok. I had delivery. And um, I'll be going now." He gave Clint a weird look and hurried out of the room.
She sat down on the chair she had from yesterday. Clint tore apart the paper bag into a flat sheet to catch the drips from the sandwich inside. He crammed in every mouthful like he had a time limit, and when he finished he reached for the cup of coffee in her hands.
"I bought one cup for a reason, Clint. There's water next to you."
"Forget that." He dropped his hand and leaned in to her. "Coulson told me about the Expo."
"Kinda guessed that would be Hammer's M.O. Didn't benefit him or us that it backfi—"
"Natasha."
The heat of the cup made her palms itch. She took a sip and swished it in her mouth.
"Did what happened upset you?"
"He's dead. There's—"
"That's not what I'm asking. Yes or no?"
"No."
He shook his head at her, but didn't question further. Clint would never question further. He wouldn't dare claw an open wound that he tried to cover himself, seeming to know there existed some barrier, some electric fence at a certain point in her history that he never ventured near, much less touch. Yet although the prospect of a thorough questioning had no possibility of sprouting, she got up and left anyway. She couldn't sit there any longer that flaring lie around her.
The training room was empty, quiet save the tick of a clock high on a wall. Natasha opened her locker and unlidded the case of knives inside. It had almost been instinctual on her part to go here, and she never thought extensively on the reason why because the irony of it all would slap her in the face. Here she was avoiding a conversation on her past just so she could return to it by herself. Those knives stretched far before S.H.I.E.L.D, before the freelance assassinations. They've been there for as long as she could remember.
Today she couldn't bear to throw them.
—
Maria Hill's look of surprise was priceless when Natasha asked her for work.
"I am not authorized to assign you anything, that's Agent Coulson's job." Hill narrowed her eyes.
"No, I'm not asking for an assignment. I just want something to do. Like an errand if you may."
She rubbed her chin and nodded. "Wait here, I'll talk to Bryson." She crossed the room, then beckoned Natasha to come forth and shifted so she could see what they were looking at: a picture of a giant plated armor labeled "The Destroyer".
"This is the mechanism that flattened the New Mexico town. Director Fury is sending people to retrieve it, but we're not the only ones with eyes on this thing. We're going to need whatever defenses we have to make sure it gets to HQ without trouble." She paused to let Natasha think about it.
"What's the approximate duration?" Natasha asked.
"A day at most. There's a follow-up if you want to take it. Bryson, get his picture."
The image changed to that of an older man. "Erik Selvig" took up half of the screen.
"This is one of the astrophysicists that studied the local weather changes. Fury wants him shipped out to one of our facilities to aid the research of—" Hill typed in a command to summon a third image. "—this."
A blue cube glowed with energy. The Tesseract.
"And I'll be the escort?" Natasha wasn't surprised at the simplicity of the job. After all, she had no proper authorization.
"Yes. He's going to Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S, preferably within the next day or two."
Two days sounded fair, but she had Clint to think about. "Can I give you my decision later?"
"We scheduled 10:40 jets. Just show up outside if you're coming. And you know, I thought Coulson would keep you occupied better than this."
Her steps and spirit lifted considerably by the new task at hand, Natasha returned to Clint. A few nurses had manifested around his bedside in her absence, changing the dressings on his burns and whatnot. She approached and took the roll of bandages from one of them. "I can finish the rest."
The nurses left. Natasha sank down onto the side of his bed and continued bandaging where they had left off, winding the white cloth round and round his arm.
"Back so soon?" Clint asked, his gaze testing.
"Don't get used to it, I'm leaving in 20."
"What?"
"I got myself a stint." Natasha threw the old gauze into the trash and poured a pitcher of water over the burns, catching and wiping the drips with a towel underneath.
He forced a smile and raised his hand to her cheek, and the movement spilled water onto the bed.
"I don't have to go if you'd rather I stay here." She swatted his hand away and patted his arm dry, coated it with a layer of Silvadene. Coulson did tell her to look out for him, so technically she went against orders by leaving base. If Hill knew she had specific instructions to stay she would never have offered her the job.
"Your choice. I'm not going anywhere."
Natasha snipped the roll of gauze off from the knot and put it in back on the tray. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten more minutes before the jets leave.
"Bye." She brushed the invisible dust from her hands.
Clint pressed a kiss to her cheek, more solid and more real than his first. For a second she considered staying.
New Mexico.
Hill stood with the rest of her party in the sun. Natasha waited a few feet away with crossed arms for her to finish instructing the others. As soon as Hill finished she nodded at Natasha and led her to the gate. "Stay close to the clean up crew when they're bringing the Destroyer in. Look for anyone suspicious. You know what to do."
They had moved the Destroyer to the base set up at the original crater site. Coulson hadn't shown up there, a huge relief for Natasha. In fact all the senior agents were gone. Hill said Fury had called a meeting with them but wouldn't tell what for.
At the original hammer site, the crew broke camp and shipped off the supplies. A familiar face showed up near the main research cabin. The man she saw on the computer earlier fumbled with a bundle of power cords straddling the space between the cabin and a beat-up van. A younger woman that she didn't recognize helped him untangle and wrap up the cords. A second girl loaded cardboard boxes into the van.
Natasha approached. "Erik Selvig?" She said to the man's back.
He didn't hear, and the girl helping him had to pat his shoulder and point him to her direction. Selvig turned around, dazed.
"...Yes?"
"Are you authorized to remove this equipment?" Natasha motioned towards their half-filled vehicle.
"They were ours to begin with. Your people took them from us." The woman behind him rebutted. She pushed her glasses up and crossed her arms.
"Darcy, quiet." Selvig chastised, then turned back to Natasha. "Yes, we had permission from Agent Coulson to take these. And you are...?"
"I'm here by Director Fury's orders to collect you. You're leaving by day's end."
"Excuse me?"
"I'll be back later to pick you up. If you attempt anything funny, I will use any method applicable to get you into a jet, so it would make both our lives much easier if you cooperate." Natasha spun her taser gun for emphasis.
Eventually the senior agents returned to help with the move. The second Coulson left his car he headed for where Natasha surveyed a team of workers, and she had no option but to face up to him.
"Romanoff, why are you here?"
"Agent Hill asked me to come." Not a complete lie.
"What about Barton?"
She snorted. "Not here, of course."
"Don't play with me. I told you to stay wi—"
"You can't expect me to follow him like a dog. He's fine where he is, Coulson."
Coulson didn't press further, but the look on his face told her she would pay for this later. Whether that would count as a disobedience mark on her files or a more solid penalty she paid no mind.
Natasha rerouted to supervise the exiting vehicles filing out of the fenced premises in a single-file. An agent stood by the gate, checking off their cargo from a clipboard.
An explosion went off from the far side of the exit. Natasha whipped around. One of the trucks went up in flames. Then another one, close by. Must be those looters Hill warned her about. The guards abandoned their posts. Natasha was about to follow them when it hit her: all the trucks with valuables had either been driven away or were in line by the exit. Those exploded trucks held nothing.
She turned on her heels and sprinted after the truck with the Destroyer.
The black vehicle rolled toward the gates. A hand popped out of the window and shot the guards before they could pull their triggers. The gunshots redirected everyone's attention. Shouts behind her. The rogue truck's wheels crushed the dead men in its way. Out in the open it increased speed. Its fifteen-feet difference from her would soon exponentialize.
Natasha pulled a length of cord from her suit and threw the attached grappling hook at the top of the truck. It caught and held. She pressed a button on her belt. The rope retracted, yanking her off the ground and flinging her onto the top of the truck. She released the hook and let the cord spin back into her belt.
A bullet penetrated the roof and missed her by inches. More came, insistent on hitting her. Natasha ran for the head of the truck. Gun in hand, she crouched down and peeked into the window. The driver had on S.H.I.E.L.D uniform. She knocked the gun from his hand and put her own to his head.
"Stop the truck."
The man looked at her, his expression more fed-up than anything. "If you say so," he said.
He pressed a button on the controls. A red light blinked.
Natasha flung herself off the truck.
The explosion chased her. She hit the ground hard on her left shoulder, and gritting her teeth from the pain, rolled away and onto her feet.
Glowing debris like embers showered down. The truck's remains scattered over a thirty-feet radius. Glistening pieces of bloody flesh mingled with the ash and sand. In the heart of it all, the Destroyer laid on its side, still gleaming and whole. Bless its durability.
The S.H.I.E.L.D cars caught up. The first load of agents fanned out amongst the ruins. Coulson jogged to Natasha.
"Are you alright?" He asked.
She smeared the blood on her cheek that a flying shard had painted. "Fine. But this can't be all, Coulson. That truck was rigged to blow."
"Did you get anything out of the driver?"
She shook her head. "No, but he wore agent clothes. You might want to check the rest of your boys."
A buzz in the horizon. Black dots approached in the sky.
"Those are not ours, are they?" Natasha squinted.
The attack that shot down answered her question. Within seconds the enemy jets hovered overhead. She aimed for the engines on the closest one and fired, bringing the aircraft down. The rest refocused fire on her. She ducked behind a piece of the blown-up truck. Someone shot a wing and another jet tumbled in the air, then detonated in a cloud of smoke. On the ground, the fallen jet went off at the same time. The rest of the flock turned and flew off.
Natasha scuttled out from her hiding place and hurried to Coulson, who was rounding up everyone.
"I need Quinjets tracking down the three enemy jets that retreated, and one cargo aircraft at my location within a half-hour. We need the load out of here quick as we can," he spoke into his walkie-talkie while counting off the agents lined up in front of him.
"Self-destruction. No markings. Whoever's behind this is very meticulous, Coulson." Natasha stared at the charred heaps of metal. "They'll play light and shadow. Whatever it takes to stay under."
"We'll still find out."
"You want me to sift out more double-agents?"
"I'll take care of that. I need you to bring Selvig. If they're after the Destroyer chances are they wouldn't mind a genius brain for a raid-one-get-one-free."
Natasha took one of the cars and headed back to base. Hill must have had the same idea that Coulson did, and posted a flock of guards around the petrified-looking scientists, who huddled at the back of their van.
"Dr. Selvig, with me." Natasha stopped a few feet away from them.
"So soon? What's going on?"
"We're under attack, so unless you want hostiles shipping you off, get in the car."
The pesky one, Darcy, sucked in her cheeks to stifle a laugh. Natasha realized the irony in her words.
"Well, you still didn't explain what—"
"I'll explain this much: walk, or drop." She ground her gun into his temple.
The two girls behind him went rigid.
"Alright," Selvig stuttered. "I'll gather my things."
"We don't have time for that. Get in the car."
He nodded and stumbled towards said vehicle. She trailed the gun down to his back and used it to push him forward. He crumpled into the backseat and waved to the women.
"Jane, Darcy, I'll see you soon." Selvig's voice cracked.
They waved back, just barely.
Coulson was overlooking the extraction when she returned. Selvig huffed when he saw him, and slammed the car door before walking over.
"Your girls are worse than the boys," he said without humor.
Coulson turned. "Dr. Selvig, thank you for coming."
"Yeah, yeah. 'thank you for coming.' As if I had a choice with her pointing that gun at my brains."
"Agent Romanoff will be your escort until we get you to Director Fury."
"Escort? She'll turn me into pulp!"
"She's an efficient agent. I'll have you two board the Hudson-092."
Selvig gave Natasha a long, critical look before hobbling towards the jet, but didn't argue.
Coulson blocked her path with his clipboard before she could follow Selvig. "You mind him, I don't want you scaring his wits out. It's not a good impression."
"Why don't you listen to your own advice, then?"
That jab with Coulson must have awakened Selvig's ego. Sitting across from her in the jet, he looked her; looked at her like scrutinizing the believability of a statue in a wax museum. Natasha tucked the hair falling over her eyes behind her ear and returned his stare.
"If there's something you need, Dr. Selvig, then say it."
His gaze wavered. He leaned back on his seat. "Would you... be able to tell me our arrival time?"
"Twelve minutes max."
Selvig nodded. "And where exactly am I headed?" The words came out slow.
Natasha traced the scratch on her cheek with a finger and rubbed off tiny flakes of dried blood. "You'll know soon enough."
"What are you planning? Kill me somewhere else? Well we're going awfully far."
"I've got no plans for you other than to drop you off to the Director," she snapped.
When their Quinjet landed and the ramp lowered, a roar of engines and harsh wind whipped back her hair. Selvig followed behind her, stretching his neck out.
"C'mon, let's get you inside," Natasha said. Striding across the deserted deck she led him inside the aircraft. The door slid open with a swipe of her ID card and she pushed Selvig in, pressing a button on the wall to seal the door after her.
They went down a flight of stairs to penetrate beneath the flight deck. Selvig stopped at the first intersection, not knowing which path to take.
Natasha didn't often visit the Helicarrier, but she knew enough to get around. They had a few choices: to the left, on the same floor, was the control and interrogation rooms; the right held the elevators to the the quarantines, detention, and research levels. It seemed appropriate to bring Selvig to the labs, but then like Hill said: secrecy until the last second.
"Turn right," she ordered, and they took the elevator down four levels. Walking out into the infirmary, she led him through the winding corridors until they reached the triple glass doors she looked for.
Selvig watched her press the codes. "Where are we?" His voice was high.
"Quarantines. I have to put you somewhere, and if I know one thing about S.H.I.E.L.D, it's that their security systems are stricter here than anywhere else in the ship. If you attempt to leave, well, you can't."
The last door opened. The smell of detergents was so strong Natasha could taste it, bitter on her tongue. She stopped by the closest empty room down the aisles. "Get in," she ordered Selvig.
He shuffled forth and peeked into the small window on the door, then entered.
Natasha locked the door as soon as his heels went in. Selvig spun around, his face filled up the window, his eyes two wobbling gray marbles. She offered no comfort and left.
After seeing The Destroyer's delivery to the Triskelion headquarters off, Coulson arrived at the Helicarrier. He and Natasha went to fetch Selvig for the last stretch of his transferral.
Coulson tried making conversation with the scientist on the flight to Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S while Natasha piloted; talked about S.H.I.E.L.D, sweetened it up at the right places and made Fury sound like a god. Whatever S.H.I.E.L.D needed Selvig for they needed it bad.
Selvig tried to loosen up, commenting and asking questions every once in a while. Multiple times he asked about Fury's intentions for taking him, and without fail Coulson would reroute the conversation, deepening the frown on Selvig's face.
The part of the Adirondack mountains they flew over held sparse vegetation compared to the lush green further away, a giveaway to the close-by "hidden" facility. Built atop flattened land and spanning over a mile in length, complete with trees and bushes on the sidewalks, it resembled a miniature city surrounded by the wilderness. The staff here stayed years on end without going back to civilization.
"Sir, I'm perching the bird. You'll want to wake him up." Natasha swung the jet starboard to line up with the runway. Selvig had fallen asleep.
After they touched down and handed the jet to the ground crew, Coulson drove them through the streets to the head of the facility.
"What is this place?" Selvig asked, looking out the window.
"You'll find out soon." Coulson still refused to give away anything, though the answer became progressively obvious. Selvig's forehead wrinkled and he gripped his jacket tighter when they passed a sign: JOINT DARK ENERGY MISSION: WESTERN DIVISION.
Coulson parked in a half-full parking lot and led them into a building two blocks away: an incandescent-lighted, unassuming office room. A small old lady sat behind the desk, knitting.
Natasha lingered by the door with Selvig and let Coulson do the talking.
"You must be Agent Grace." Coulson unclipped the nametag from his coat to show the woman.
"Agent Coulson, huh? Director's down at 205. Who're your friends?" Her voice was raspy but strong.
"This is Agent Romanoff and Dr. Erik Selvig." He clipped the nametag back on.
"Ah, the brood from Puente Antiguo. Well go on ahead, he's expecting him." She pointed at Selvig with her knitting needle and resumed her work.
Coulson walked to the staircase behind her, bent to grip the edge of the lowest step and lifted. A quiet squeak, and the stairs flipped over to reveal an opening. He ducked into the other side, his party following close behind. An elevator took up the new room. Coulson pressed 205 into the command board.
How low did they descend? Through the clear glass of the elevator the floors flashed by like a roll of film. What little Natasha glimped of them was smothered in darkness, dotted here and there with lights.
The elevator rumbled to a stop. When its doors opened the pungent smell of earth and chemicals swarmed in. A hot, stuffy heat draped over her. Murky blobs in the outline of employees wormed around, pushing carts and working the machinery. Guards stood at the corner of every corridor and room.
"S'place is like hell," Selvig muttered.
"This is as far as we can go, Doctor," Coulson said. "Just keep walking straight until you pass section 19A-5, then take a left." He smiled his customary smile and went back into the elevator.
Coulson turned to Natasha as soon as the doors closed. "I have someone to see. Wait at the front room for me, I'll be just a minute." He punched in 128, and stepped out when they came to his floor.
Resurfacing to the ground level, Natasha pushed the hidden door up and went back to the yellow room with the old woman. She sat down on one of the chairs in a corner.
After a while Grace spoke. "You know what they do down there, Agent Romanoff?"
Natasha looked back at her. Grace had settled her knitting onto the table before her and clasped her hands.
"Researching the Tesseract," Natasha answered. "Why?"
"Oh, just wondering. What with S.H.I.E.L.D letting you bring in Selvig I thought they'd tell you the full scope."
What full scope? The uneasy feeling she had about this entire, urgent operation washed back through Natasha. But before she could question Grace, Coulson came in the room.
"We'll be going, Agent Grace."
"Mhmm. Take care, Coulson, and don't get too excited."
"I'll try." Coulson's smile stretched wider.
As he herded Natasha out of the room, she looked back at Grace, who gave Natasha one last mysterious look before resuming her knitting.