Partner in Crime
Clint was running, running through viscous air. It seemed as though he were running in slow motion. Slowly, running towards a shadow in the distance. The shadow was screaming for him, crying out for help. He got close enough to see the person underneath the shadow, Natasha. She was on the ground, an arrow sticking out of her stomach. “Tasha!” he called. He was so close to her now, still pushing through the immense air resistance that held him back. Suddenly she disappeared leaving nothing but a small pool of blood behind.
Clint woke up sweating. His shirt was completely soaked through. He sat up and grabbed his phone from the table beside him. He called Laura, saying to her, “Hey, love.”
“Hi. How are you?”
“I’m good,” he lied.
“Have you found anything yet?”
“No, nothing. Listen, I gotta go check on Wanda. Say ‘hi’ to the kids for me.” He hung up.
Steve sat in the lab, staring at his exposed chest in a mirror. There was a bullet scar right in the center. He knew how that happened, but according to the list of memories he wrote, this was new. Tony walked in, staring at his phone. “Tony,” Steve called.
As Tony looked up, he said, “no, no. This is my lab and you have to put a shirt on if you’re going to be here. I don’t want you particles all over the place.”
Steve turned around, showing the scar to Tony. “I have a new memory of Nat,” he claimed.
Tony rushed to the computer. “Tell me when that happened.”
“2001.”
Tony modified the search parameters to the year 2001. Suddenly, Clint walked in, going over to Wanda to check her status. Steve looked at Tony and shook his head, a signal that he would deal with Clint. “Can I talk to you outside, Clint?”
“Yeah,” he said, suspicion in his eyes.
They walked out of the room, and Steve shut the door behind him. “We figured out when Nat was sent to.”
“You did...” he noticed the scar on his chest, “...is that new?”
“Yeah. Well no, but it happened because of our Natasha...in 2001.”
“2001? What you’re saying is she’s working for Russia?”
“We think so. She attacked me in trying to find something. She was clearly brainwashed. There’s no other explanation for why she would do that.”
Clint became angry, knowing that his partner was in the one place that hurt her the most. He stormed off, leaving the compound. Steve went back to Tony, who asked, “where did he go?”
“God only knows.”
Clint paced outside, contemplating what to do next. He spotted a truck parked in a nearby lot. He ran over to it and smashed the driver seat window. He hot wired the car, and rested his hands on the steering wheel. He knew just where to go.
Driving along a small dirt road, wind blew into Clint’s face from the smashed window beside him. Finally, he pulled up in front of a small cabin. Walking inside, he addressed a man inside, “ya know nobody can see this place, right?”
“Sometimes seclusion is good,” the man said.
“Preach,” Clint mentioned, taking a seat at a counter facing various spirits and liquors.
The man walked behind the bar saying, “what’ll it be? Whiskey, scotch, beer?”
“Nah, just a soda.”
“Alright,” the man said as he grabbed a bottle from the refrigerator. “The name’s Scott.”
“Clint,” he told.
“So, Clint...what’s got ya down that you dragged yourself out here?” he handed Clint the soda.
“My partner is...in a bad way,” he said.
“And your partner...a significant other or?” Scott wondered.
“No, my partner in crime. No, I’m married to someone else,” Clint said.
“But you love your partner?”
“Not so much love as I just care about her. I saved her from a bad crowd and now she’s back with ‘em. It’s not her fault.”
“Then who’s fault is it?”
“Mine. I...hurt her,” Clint recalled.
“I doubt it’s your fault, man. This Natasha seems like she can hold her own,” Scott observed.
Clint was quiet for a moment until he mentioned, “I never said her name was Natasha.”
Scott grabbed a bottle of scotch and smashed it against the counter. He held it out at Clint, threatening him.
“Scott, you don’t have to do this,” Clint tried to reason with him.
Scott moved from behind the counter, stepping closer and closer to Clint. He charged at Clint, who dodged him and knocked him to the ground. Clint punched scott until he went limp, releasing all of his anger. “I’m sorry, Scott.”
Back at the compound, Clint’s phone lay on the end table beside his bed. It buzzed and buzzed but Clint wasn’t there to pick it up. On the caller ID, the phone said “Laura.”