Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey Stuff
Natasha paced through the halls, not straying far from the hostages. She walked closer to the cryogenic chamber that housed Bucky. Knowing he was inside, she tried to keep her distance but was drawn closer and closer, dragging her nails along the wall as her hips swayed with each step.
She stopped mid-step. Looking behind her, she identified Clint at the end of the hallway. He spoke not a word, yet Natasha knew he was calling her over. She strode confidently towards him, noticing his every move and predicting what he was going to do next.
Clint fixed his eyes upon the assassin, but, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pool of blood on the hardwood floor. “Let them go,” he ordered when Natasha stood two arms length from him.
“I will...once you’re dead.”
“I surrender,” he said, dropping his bow and quiver to the floor. He kicked both items over to her, showing he was not going to fight her.
“That was easy. Have I found a weakness, agent?” she scoffed.
He stared at her. She looked the same as when she was sent back. It was almost as if nothing had happened, and this was the normal Natasha. He couldn’t help but notice that her eyes were different, though. Her once bright blue eyes, filled with joy and passion, now faded to grey from the darkness and loss she has seen. Breaking the silence, Clint threatened, “this is my family you’re messing with. I want you to know that. And when you mess with my family, you mess with me. And you don’t want to mess with me because I will win...I guarantee you that I will always win.”
She cocked her head, “You’re wrong, Barton. You will lose spectacularly.”
She jumped off the wall, smashing her knee into Clint’s face. He retaliated, throwing punches to no avail. She knocked him to the floor and climbed onto him, grabbing his bow from the ground. She struck him with the bow. She paused, wondering why he wasn’t resisting. “What? Don’t want to hit a girl?” she asked.
“I’m not gonna fight you, Nat. I can’t,” he spat blood.
“Suit yourself.” She continued pummeling the archer, laughing with every hit. Eventually, she threw the bow down that hall and proceeded to punch him. Finally, she stopped, panting lightly.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked.
“Are we friends now?” she inquired sarcastically. “I’m listening.”
“You’re pulling your punches.”
Natasha became infuriated. She grabbed her gun from its holster - a .357 revolver. She emptied all of the bullets but one and, spinning the barrel, she held it to Clint’s temple. “Russian roulette. How fitting,” he remarked.
She pulled the trigger once, he flinched but nothing happened. A second time...nothing. A third, a fourth. “There’s only one shot left. Any last words?”
“I don’t think this is how the game works.”
“And? I was sent to kill you and I intend to do that,” the cold barrel of the gun felt like knives against his skin. Her finger tightened, and, suddenly, she disappeared, leaving Clint on the floor. He laid on there, confused.
Laura walked out of a room saying, “Hey hon’. What’re you doing on the floor?”
“I don’t know.” He stood, brushing off the dust and dirt from his clothes. He kissed Laura on the cheek and proceeded to the Quinjet.
Checking his phone, Clint noticed a text from Steve that read, “We have Natasha. Get over here.”
At the compound, Natasha stood, holding the wrist of the little girl. Her arm was drawn back as she was ready to punch the girl. Steve approached her slowly, cautiously. She stood, trying to comprehend the events that had just occurred. Steve snatched the little girl from Natasha’s grasp and he jumped away from the spy. “Natasha?” Tony said. Her eyes remained fixated on the wall, though the image she saw was a recapitulation of everything leading up to that point. Suddenly, she collapsed onto the floor and Wanda, recently awoken from her slumber, levitated handcuffs over to the assassin and locked them on her wrists.
As Clint ran into the compound, he was greeted by Tony. Clint asked, “you have her?”
“That’s what we said, wasn’t it?”
“How is she?” Clint stopped.
“Russian as ever,” Tony told, “there was something strange, though.”
“What?” Clint ran through the possibilities of what Tony could mean by ‘strange.’
“There was a child with her...a little girl. We’re not sure who she is, but I’m running tests right now.”
Clint pondered what this could mean. Did they alter time and space forever? That would certainly be a bad predicament.