Woo! Some of you are interested in this which makes me immensely happy. I finished up my half written second chapter for you as a gift. There will be more at mostly regular intervals, but don't expect them to be out as swiftly as this one.
Natasha woke up in a white room lying on a bed, the bright lights and strong smell of antiseptic nearly overpowering her aggravated senses. Hospital room? She pondered. She heard a cough from outside the room, bringing her attention to the two armed guards standing by her door. No I'm in someone's medical bay.
She tried to move, but found herself immobile. Looking down revealed a set of restraints tying her to the bed. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes simply because she knew it would agitate the throbbing headache pounding a steady beat behind her temples. Did they really think some restraints and two guards would keep her in the room? There was a reason she was the longest surviving member of the Widow Program. Longest surviving so far she amended silently.
The cuffs were a joke, it took barely any skill to slip from their grasp. The guards were just as easy to take care of. Her bare feet made it possible to creep across the room without a sound. When she was behind the men she grabbed their heads, bringing them together with enough force to knock them out cold. The hardest part of the whole ordeal was dragging their bodies out of the hall.
Once the guards were properly hidden, she did a once over of the room. She needed clothes before she could leave, running through the base in a hospital gown would defeat the purpose of stealth. Her clothes weren't in the room, but that didn't sadden her. They'd been torn and bloody anyways. It was a bit of a surprise to find that someone had left clothes on a chair in the corner; a pair of jeans and a simple purple t-shirt. Natasha put them on without hesitation. They were too big for her, but tucking the shirt in and tightening the belt that came with the pants kept them from falling off.
She went to the door and moved down the left side of the hall, hoping it would lead to an exit. The drugs had left large blanks in her memory, including the layout of whatever facility she was being held in. She remembered flashes of a fight and the stupid blond who didn't know when to shut up, or kill his targets apparently. She decided not to dwell on the fact that she hadn't killed him when she'd had the chance.
The end of the hallway loomed in front of her, forcing her to take a right turn through an open doorway. A man walked under the archway at the same time, colliding with Natasha as she tried to slip through.
"Whoah there sweetie. What's the rush?"
The man was taller than she was and considerably older. His dark hair was streaked with silver as was the mustache brushing the rim of the coffee mug he was sipping from.
"Oh I'm sorry!" her American accent was flawless, as it should be. She hadn't practiced for nothing.
"It's not a problem, my coffee didn't spill."
"No, no this is my fault. I shouldn't have been rushing."
Natasha schooled her expression into one of baffled innocence.
"You see it's my first week and I was told to leave base and get -"
"The suits from the dry cleaners?"
The older gentleman looked down at her, a slight smile spreading across his face when she nodded her head.
"Happens to every new intern, this place is like a maze."
He pointed down the hall behind him.
"Go that way; take a right, a left, and then another left. You'll be by the elevator which you can take to the top floor and walk right out of here."
"Thank you so much sir."
He waved his free hand in recognition of the thanks, turning to walk away as he did so.
"Just call me Howard."
They parted ways. She swiftly followed the path he had outlined. Her escape was going smoother than planned.
"Идиоты"
Fury was mad, very mad. So mad that Clint would say he was furious, but he wouldn't because he wasn't stupid and he didn't want to get his head ripped off over a stupid pun.
The director had been ranting and raving for the last half an hour, screaming about anything and everything that had gone wrong today. It didn't surprise Clint at all. He was used to such meetings – he had a tendency to be a bit of a fuck up – and passed the time as he usually did, which meant nodding his head at everything the director said and promising never to do anything stupid again. He had a series of games he played in his head to pass the time. Today he chose to count the number of times Fury slammed his hands on the table. He was up to ten slams in the last seven minutes.
"Your mission was to kill her Barton! At what point did you decide bringing an enemy to the central base of our agency was a good idea?"
"About the same time I decided that killing a drugged sixteen year-old was something I didn't want to do."
Eleven slams.
"You are an agent of SHIELD. The moment you signed your contract you gave up the right to decide what you want to do."
"Well then fuck, why don't we just change the acronym on all our stuff to U.S.S.R.? That would clear up a lot of confusion."
The Director's expression was pure venom. Clint didn't know why he was so impudent all of the sudden, it's not like he hadn't been chewed out like this before. He supposed it was due to his new found conviction. He was right this time, the girl had needed saving. That and the fact that this argument was viciously repetitive and more exhaustive then the physical fight he had gotten into earlier. He really just wanted to go back to his chair in the medical bay and continue his watch. It wouldn't be uncharacteristic of Fury to pull some cloak and dagger shit and get rid of her while he was occupied.
"What did you expect me to do? Leave her drugged up and defenseless in the snow?"
"I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time she was left in a similar situation."
"Which means it's ok for it to happen again?" Clint scoffed. "Wow, my childhood suddenly makes sense now. I never thought my father was logical, I just thought he was an abusive drunk."
Fury's mouth set in an angered line as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He continued the argument, but several decibels lower.
"This mission was supposed to put an end to the trouble she's caused over the last ten years."
"Ten years?" the archer inquired. "How is that even possible? She would have been like what, six?"
"She's been playing this game a lot longer than you Barton."
The tone of the director's voice was gravely serious and, if Clint wasn't mistaken, a tad bit sympathetic, as if he might feel sorry for a child partaking in their line of work. His tone changed as he turned towards Coulson, apparently he was done drilling Clint for now.
"Agent Coulson, I seem to remember something about SHIELD handlers and how they're supposed to make sure their agents don't do something stupid."
"That is the general job description sir."
Clint watched Coulson as he looked up from the file he was reading. The suited man had been sitting at the conference table the whole time, his face an expressionless mask.
"Tell me then, why you didn't make sure Romanov was dead?"
So that's her name, or at least her last Clint thought. He mentally filed the information away with what little else he knew about the redhead. He really needed to start reading his mission briefs. Coulson cleared his throat, and his attention snapped right back to the man. He appeared to be mulling over his words, trying to find the right thing to say. That was bad. It usually meant he was about to say something that would get Clint in even more trouble.
"Agent Barton seemed to think she would be of some use."
He could have smacked Coulson right there. The man was supposed to assist him, fix things, make them better. He was not supposed to redirect the conversation back to his trainees so he could finish the crossword he had hidden behind the file in his lap.
"Is that true Barton?"
Fury's one good eye was focused on him once more.
"Well I just thought …. you know…"
But he hadn't thought, at all. He had no plan, no idea, nothing. The one thought that had come across his mind in Stalingrad was to get the girl help. Now he needed a plan, or at the minimum a solid reason for wanting the keep the girl around, because now Fury was expecting one. Coulson had effectively forced the archer to come up with an explanation for his actions rather than just chalk it up to a morality based impulse. The blond supposed there was a lesson in responsibility to be learned from this, but screw Coulson this wasn't Sesame Street.
"Wouldn't the only thing better than having her gone be having her on our side?"
Clint really hoped the Director considered that a valid point. He thought for a moment that it wasn't going to be accepted and Fury was going to berate him more, but the eye patched man said nothing. However, a voice to their left did respond.
"That might just be a good idea. Nice work kid, you used actual sound logic."
Unbeknownst to them, Howard Stark had slipped through the doors on the conference room. He tended to take liberties like ignoring "Do Not Disturb" signs, but when you founded and funded SHIELD you could. He moved to the table, taking one of the empty seats for himself.
"I didn't know you had a brain in there."
"Well I went to Oz last week and asked the wizard real nicely."
Clint's tone was dripping with sarcasm.
"You know, I used to come here to get away from sarcastic teenagers."
He looked pointedly at Clint before turning to Fury.
"If we are in possession of the Black Widow it would be in our best interest to absorb her. Turing liabilities into assets is good for business."
"I wish it were that simple."
Fury sighed. Clint could tell he was still angry, but not nearly as much as he was before.
"She's been on SHIELD's black list for years. The World Security Council is not going to approve of taking her in, not when she's killed so many of our contacts, witnesses, and a few of our agents without so much as batting an eye."
"She didn't kill me," Clint exclaimed.
"What?"
The director looked to Clint with a slight look of confusion. The blond looked back, making direct eye contact and holding.
"Today in the alley she had the opportunity to slit my throat with a knife, just like she did the others. She didn't though, she mostly succeeded at kicking my ass, but she didn't kill me."
"That doesn't mean anything."
"I think it means everything."
Clint was determined not to back down. He hadn't saved her to become an agent, but if that meant all his efforts didn't go to waste than she was going to be an agent. Coulson and Stark were on his side that had to mean the idea had some credibility. Then again Coulson hadn't openly declared and approval and Stark might just be drunk; you could never tell with him. Either way, he had come this far and he was not going to stop.
Fury must have sensed this. He looked at the blond for some time, then at the other men in the room. With each passing second his expression settled into a look of deep frustration, which only worsened when he received a message over his comm. He looked away from the table, with his hand to his ear. When the message was finished, Fury turned back to his companions.
"We may not have a choice in the matter. She's escaped from medical."
Howard's eyes widened as he came to a sudden realization.
"Phil please tell me the redhead with no shoes looking for the front door was actually a new intern you sent to go pick up your suits from the dry cleaners."
Every other man turned to Stark in sheer disbelief.
"Are you stupid!" Fury shouted.
Clint abruptly rose from his chair, pushing it back and sprinting to the door.
"No way," he declared. "You're not leaving after all that!"
He pulled a lever on the nearest wall right next to the fire alarm. Loud sirens began to shriek throughout the building, their shrill cries emphasized by flashing red lights and the rushed footsteps of the SHIELD agents now dashing about the halls. The facility was now in lockdown, all widows and exits were sealed leaving no escape. Assuming she had not already exited, Romanov was trapped in the building. Looks like it's time for more extreme hide and seek.
There we go, chapter two! The third chapter will be up as soon as I get it out of my head and onto paper!
As always I appreciate any and all support you show me through favorites, follows, and reviews.