Clint and Natasha shifted nervously in their chairs, their gazed focused anywhere but on Fury's unflinching countenance before them. The director remained still, his single eye cutting into both of them. Finally, Natasha managed to speak. "We were sloppy. We lost focus, we made mistakes."

"Well if that isn't the understatement of the day. Never in my time as Director, hell never in all my time at S.H.I.E.L.D. have I witnessed two agents blow up a mission so spectacularly. I did not expect behavior like this from my two senior field agents."

"And let me guess," said Clint, "you're not mad you're just disappointed."

"Oh no, I am absolutely furious."

Clint swallowed. The cold, cutting tone of Fury's voice was enough to make even him refrain from pointing out the pun.

A sound bite from the TPE's speech at the gala came through the speakers. "Sound familiar? Can either of you two explain to me why the terrorist group I sent you to stop is threatening one of the most important cities in Central Europe? You had two objectives: uncover their plot and stop it. From the sound of it, you've done neither."

"Actually, Sir, we've kind of done both. You see - "

"Clint," Natasha hissed and flashed him a warning glance.

"Like I said, I better start hearing some answers very, very soon."

Natasha started from the beginning, all the while staring at a knot in the floorboards: Griggs, the paintings, the gallery, right up through their escape in the river. Of course she omitted a few details along the way.

Fury shook his head. "Oh, this just keeps getting better. Not only did you make a hideous, flaming spectacle of what should have been a routine mission, but you managed to poke the hornet's nest along the way."

Clint nodded. "They know we're tired and injured. They'll want their case, and they'll be out for revenge. We destroyed the case's tracking system, but it won't be long before they find us."

Fury shook his head. "And here I though the fun was over. Unfortunately we're going to have to cut this little chat short." Clint and Natasha breathed a short-lived sigh of relief. "A Support and Recovery team is being scrambled as we speak, but their ETA to Budapest is just over six hours. Do you think you can hold off the TPE for that long?"

"Yes Sir," said Natasha.

"And Agents, as soon as you are back on base, we are going to sit down and have a long debrief. By then you should be able to tell me exactly what went wrong. Think it over as you're waiting to take on the full force of a terrorist cell by yourselves." Fury's striated blue figure turned away from them and shrank slightly as he stepped away from the holographic projector, then his good eye flicked back over his shoulder. "Fury out."

The light cut out and the phone went silent. Clint and Natasha quickly unlaced their fingers. Natasha hid her face in her hands. Clint leaned back in his seat. "Wow. I feel like absolute crap now," he said.

"You mean you didn't before?"

"Good point."

"I have never been so humiliated. I've never made so many mistakes."

Clint got up out of his chair. "Come on. Fury's right, we need to get out of here. The Szabo boys both have this address on file. It's the first place they'll look."

Natasha stood up and waived a hand. "After you."

Clint crouched down behind the kitchen counter. Trying not to make too much noise, he unloaded the pots and pans from their shelves. When the cabinets were empty except for the powder blue contact paper peeling away from the plywood, Clint reached in and struck the back panel with his palm. It gave way with the bounce of a small spring and he slid the false back over to the side of the counter. "Haven't seen you in a while," he said as he pulled his neatly folded bow from its hiding place. "Come to Papa."

Natasha shook her head. She pulled a knife from the butcher's block on the counter and hurled it at the heavy bag. It buried itself deep in the course cloth, and Natasha strode over to meet it. She pulled down on the handle, slicing a longer slit it the bag and letting the sand and filler material drain onto the floor. Reaching into the center, she pulled out a large plastic tube. Shaking off the sand, she unscrewed the cap and pulled out one soft leathery corner of her Black Widow uniform. She could hear Clint's shades rattling around at the bottom of the tube.

"Careful with that," said Clint as he entered the bedroom. He stood on the mattress and lifted up the suspended ceiling tiles to retrieve another S.H.I.E.L.D. case, and pulled out the two guns strapped below their respective nightstands before he left. When he came back into the main room, Natasha stood behind the television with a screwdriver. She carefully pried away the backing and placed it on the floor. From tucked within the empty spaces between the electronics, she pulled out various metal components. With several sharp clicks she assembled them into two small black firearms.

"Here," said Clint as he tossed her a pile of clothes. "Our party clothes will only attract attention. Not to mention I'm starting to chafe."

"Be serious Clint," Natasha replied as she tugged on the black tank top, black sweatpants and cut off gray sweatshirt he'd thrown her. The dry cloths did feel incredible against her skin.

"That was a completely serious and legitimate fact." Clint pulled on a similar outfit and knocked the hood of his sweatshirt away from his spiked hair. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff."

Natasha ignored him and took inventory of the supplies they had collected. "We're missing two."

"Lamp," said Clint, and he climbed up on the coffee table. "Hand me the screwdriver, would you?" Natasha took it and whipped it the way she would throw a knife. Clint caught it easily between his fingers. "Watch it."

He unscrewed the overhead light fixture and carefully placed the frosted glass bowl beside him. Then he removed the plastic plate attached to the ceiling and let it dangle by the wires. Out of the hole, he pulled out two more identical cases, then hopped down onto the floor. "Well, that's it," he said. Natasha took one last look around the apartment, the books and photos smashed on the floor, the sand still dripping steadily from the bag, the pots on the counter, her now dull red dress in a heap on the floor. "Unless there's anything else you want to take."

Natasha snapped her head forward and grabbed all the cases she could carry. "No. Let's just go."

Clint placed a tiny sensor on the door frame, then shut it behind him. The next time the door was opened, he'd know. They piled the cases into the rickety elevator and hit the warn star of the lobby button. At the last second, Clint also hit the number 4. "Actually, there is one more thing I need you to do."

Natasha stepped out on the fourth floor and knocked on the door marked 4B. Boris and Marika Bognár took no time at all in answering the door. "What the hell are you kids doing up there?" Boris shouted. "It's 2:30 in the morning!"

"Do you two have friends or family in the city? Someone you could stay with?"

"What? Well sure, but -"

"You might consider taking a little trip. Tonight if possible. Spread the word to anyone else on the floor," Natasha said, then turned away and stepped back into the elevator.

"What a strange girl," said Marika. She and Boris exchanged puzzled glances. "Well? Pack a bag."

"Thanks," Clint whispered over the clatter of the elevator.

"No problem."

The elevator jerked to a stop and they hustled out. Clint hoisted one of the larger cases onto his shoulder and held two more with his other arm. With his bow strapped carefully to his back, he surveyed the empty street. "Clear," he said, and walked down the crumbling concrete steps to the curb.

Natasha slung the costume tube across her back, stowed the two guns and followed him, the remaining cases clenched in her hands. "What's the plan? Are we going to run?"

"And let them destroy god knows what to find us?" Clint shook his head. "Besides, I've run away enough for one day."

"Clint, we can't fight them all, not by ourselves. We barely made it out the first time."

"Fine, we'll make it as far was we can, then we'll hide. If they can't find us before S.H.I.E.L.D. gets here, great."

"And if they do?"

"We'll be ready."

They hurried away from the apartment as fast as their burdens would allow. Sparse streetlights flickered as they slid from shadow to shadow. The muted crunch of sand beneath tires rang out loudly on the deserted street. Clint and Natasha automatically ducked into the nearest alley and froze themselves in the deepest shadow. The car crawled by slowly. Clint and Natasha pressed themselves against the wall as the old car's headlights lightened the shadows in the alleyway. Eventually the two points of yellowed light disappeared down a distant street. They waited a few more silent minutes before peeling themselves away from the dew-covered brick.

"We have to get off the street."

"I think I know a place," said Natasha. A few blocks away she came to a stop in the shadow cast by a thick brick pillar marking the corner of a tall wrought iron fence.

Clint peered around the rectangular pillar at the playground behind it. "A school? That's a little sadistic, don't you think?"

"Not the school, the building across the street. Three stories, all office space, so it will be empty for the weekend. The school should be too. If they do manage to find us, no one else needs to get caught in the crossfire."

"It'll do." They hurried across the worn pavement, only to hear the eerie squeal of tires again.

"Think it's them?"

"Don't care to find out."

They threw themselves behind a dumpster sitting against their chosen building. The opposite wall grew brighter and brighter as the car approached. Clint ran up the half-staircase leading to a small deck and side entrance. A chain and padlock snaked their way around the doorknob. He yanked on it, then immediately cringed at the jangle that reverberated through the silent alley. When he looked back at Natasha, her eyes flashed wide as Clint's face began to glow with the reflected light of the approaching car. Clint scurried down the steps as quietly as possible, then crouched on his knees beside Natasha. Her slender fingers wrapped around the peeling metal of the basement window. Clint added his hands and with one burst of effort they wriggled the window casing free from its concrete foundation.

Clint nodded and Natasha slipped through the rectangular opening. She landed on her feet in a dark, musty basement, then immediately rose up and stretched her hands up to the window. As fast as he could Clint handed the cases through the narrow opening and Natasha stacked them against the wall. The entire alley glowed with the soft yellow light of the headlamps, leaving Clint no place to hide. The dull hum of a motor crawled to a halt beside the alley.

Natasha waved frantically at Clint. He shot his legs through the hole in the concrete, but his body jarred sharply when he reached his shoulders. Really? Really? he wanted to shout. He wriggled his torso as much as he could, trying to wrench his shoulders free. Natasha wrapped her arms around his calves and pulled. Clint bit his lip as he fell through and the rough concrete tore at his arm.

As soon as he his the floor Clint sprung back up and climbed on top of the nearest plastic case. He reached out and grabbed the window casing, trying his best to put it back in place. Outside, footsteps crunched on the dirt. Clint remained where he was, nudging the window back exactly as they found it. It's gotta be perfect or else - The footsteps grew louder and Natasha grabbed a fistful of Clint's sweatshirt and dragged him down to the ground.

They sat there, huddled against the wall, trying to listen to the footsteps over their pounding hearts. Down here they were sitting ducks. If András or whoever was in that car saw them, so much as suspected they were there, it would be all to easy to take them out. If the body attached to those footsteps found anything in the alley out of place, he could kill them with two quick shots through the basement window. They wouldn't even have time to run.