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Shadows walk this place
Lifeless tree branches
Like a limp, hanged criminal
Now frozen in time
And in the river below
Blurred reflections dance
And cold waters make cold hearts hum
A haunting chorus
Yes
Shadows walk this place
It was almost four in the afternoon when Natasha finally let the speedometer dip below 100. The storm clouds had dissipated and now the late afternoon summer sun filled the car with warmth. Despite the relaxing atmosphere outside, the situation inside of the car was much more tense. Barton had one eye permanently fixed on her, waiting for the second she would start to show signs of being controlled. As the minutes slowly ticked by, Natasha's knuckles became whiter and whiter, her nails digging into the leather steering wheel, and her lips pressed into a fine line. The houses they passed were in a state of decay; windows boarded up, doors hanging on hinges, roofs collapsed in on themselves. Natasha made a sharp turn onto a narrow street and pulled over to the shoulder. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
"Nope. C'mon, we don't have any time for you to be taking a nap sleeping beauty. You're not going to quit on me now Romanoff."
"Three minutes."
"Nope. Let's go."
"I hate you."
"I know."
Natasha muttered a string of curses under her breath before kicking her door open and getting out. She limped forward a few feet, before gesturing for Barton to follow. There was a small path that led them through a copse of trees and into a clearing where a lone house stood. It was nicer than the houses that they had seen farther back, a white two-story farmhouse, with only a few broken windows and shingles missing on the roof. A river gurgled happily along one side of the house, and the woods surrounded the rest. The path had led them to the back of the house, and Natasha led the way through the thigh-high grass and into the house. Barton followed, some distance behind.
The interior was covered in a thick layer of dust, the wall paper was peeling and faded, and the furniture was slowly disintegrating. Natasha walked through the grime as if she was in a trance, occasionally dragging a hand along a wall, blinking slowly, becoming a dusty silhouette. She came to a stop in the kitchen, which over looked both the road and the river. She knelt down and brushed away the dust from the floor. Barton looked over her shoulder from the entrance to the kitchen and saw a large dark stain embedded in the black and white linoleum tiles. Barton averted his gaze, and instead took to glancing around the dingy room. A circular oak table was draped with an ivory and lace tablecloth, now yellowed with age. A rusting pot of something sat on the ancient looking stove, and a small stack of dishes were stacked neatly in the sink, but there was a distinct absence of a refrigerator, there was however, something he believed to be called an "ice box" in the corner.
"Uh, Nat? When was this house built."
Natasha stood up, her brow furrowed.
"Not sure, maybe 1927, 1928?"
"So it must've been old when you moved in...right?
"No, not really, I'm pretty sure it was still new."
There was a long silence before Barton spoke again.
"Nat...how old are you?"
"...Old."
"That's not really what I was-"
"Why is my age so important?"
"Because if I'm right, I'm pretty sure you're over seventy years old."
"The serum does slow aging drastically."
"I'm never going to know how old you are, am I?
"Never. When is the jet supposed to be here?"
Barton sighed and checked his watch.
"Five minutes."
"Are you sure?" Natasha forced the front door open.
"Positive, why?"
"This isn't good then."
"Again, why?"
"Because-" she stopped abruptly and held out a hand "Gun, Barton."
"Not a good idea."
"Gun. Now."
"What's going on?"
"We've got company. The bastard followed us."
Barton stepped out onto the porch and caught sight of a military-esque truck racing toward the house.
"What do we do?"
He looked over at Natasha, hoping that she would have some sort of plan. But she stood fixed in place, silent, fury burning like one thousand suns in her eyes. She seemed to be straining against some invisible force, a mixture of pain and frustration crossed her usually placid face. Barton heard a door slam and the sound of of people crashing through the undergrowth. Barton drew his bow moments before they became completely surrounded. The soldiers facing the pair were in bad shape; most were bleeding profusely, a few seemed to be heavily concussed, and all looked to be exhausted. But they were pointing guns at his head, which was enough for Barton not to underestimate them. Razin pushed his way through the circle, a bandage wrapped around his his head and he was limping heavily.
"Hand over the girl and we will let you go." Razin spoke through gritted teeth, while holding out a hand.
Barton remained silent, but narrowed his eyes as they fixed upon their target.
"Very well. Doctor Avilov, the panel."
An elderly man with a white hair spattered with blood shuffled forward and pressed a metal box into Razin's hands. Razin flipped it open and started tapping wildly. Barton meanwhile remained still, watching, waiting, numerous plans forming in his mind. How long did he have until S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived? Three minutes? Two? Razin suddenly stopped, shut the metal box closed, and hastily shoved it in his jacket.
"Obey my orders, Romanoff. I'm tired of playing games with you."
Natasha turned her head slightly, with great effort, and turned her blazing eyes on him "N-n-n-no. No. W-won't"
"Very well then. Doctor? Let's give her a taste of what's in store if she disobeys again."
Avilov took out a pen-like object from his torn white coat pocket and pressed a button at the top. Seconds later Natasha dropped to the ground, her hands clamped to her ears, writhing in agony. "NO, STOP IT. STOP IT. I DIDN'T MEAN TO KILL HER. I DIDN'T. I DIDN'T WANT TO. STOP. PLEASE."
"Thank you, doctor. That should be enough." said Razin silkily, his lips turned up in amusement as he listened to Natasha's screams die away. She remained curled up on the ground, shaking, her fingers digging into her skull. Barton looked on, a horrified expression crossing his face.
"Now stand up Romanof, and take care of your partner here" Natasha stood, her eyes out of focus, blank, empty.
"Yes, sir."
The soldiers backed away, edging closer and closer toward the woods. Natasha locked her eyes on him. She attacked him with a ferocity that he had never seen. He landed with a thud on the ground his bow still drawn. He resisted the urge to take it easy on her, knowing that if he did, there was a slim chance of him survivng. She was attempting to claw his eyes out, a crass and unrefined method that he knew she rarely, if ever, used. He knocked her aside, planted his boot firmly on her stomach, and swept the area for Razin. He spotted him a ways away, nearly to the trees, and carefully aimed at his chest. Natasha quickly flipped herself over, caught Barton by surprise, and tackled him around the middle, sending the arrow flying into a tall oak tree. Razin smirked, but it slid off his face when he saw the sleek black jet hovering above them.
Soldiers wearing S.H.I.E.L.D. Uniforms dropped down and began peppering the copse of trees with bullets. Razin ran, and disappeared into the forest. Barton called off the attack, and went back to defending himself from Natasha's attacks. She was darting in and out of his attempts to make contact with her flesh, and had an unnerving grin stretching from ear to ear. He picked her up and tossed her onto the ground, realizing that it wasn't the best way to deal with her, but it gave him a moment to take in his surroundings. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were waiting for him to tell them what to do, the jet was still hovering steadily in the air, and Natasha seemed to have been subdued momentarily. Barton pulled a small vial and a syringe from his quiver, two things he had packed hoping he wouldn't have to use them, walked over to where Natasha had landed, filled the syringe with the liquid from the vial, and swiftly jammed the needle into Natasha's neck. He pushed down on the plunger, making sure that every last drop was gone, and pulled it out from her neck. She struggled to stand for a moment, before slumping to the ground once again, her eyes closed. Barton flung her over his shoulder and trudged over to the jet. He motioned for the other agents to follow, gripped one of the lines, and felt himself being pulled up, away from
mother fucking Russia.
Inside the plane, he watched as the others handcuffed, chained, and locked Natasha near the back of the cabin. Her head hung limply, and lolled from side to side. Barton looked away, sat down heavily on one of the comfortable bed-like benches, stretched out, and fell asleep. They were safe, for the moment.
I really hope you liked this one lovelies, I spent a lot of time trying to get it just right, which is why it took me so long to update. As always, please review, you have no idea how much it helps me to grow and progress as a writer when I read your comments, constructive criticism is welcome too, of course. I hope that wherever you are in the world right now that you are safe, happy, and healthy.