"Y'know, I thought the damn mountain was bad!" Eliot growled as he fumbled another stake, finally slamming it into the frozen ground with his boot and huddling back over to the main tent. Clint let him in with a faint chuckle, and Eliot plopped himself down in front of the biggest heater, grumbling.
"Stop yer bitchin', Hardison, we're all cold."
"Man, we are not cold, we are frozen clean through!" Clint just started laughing, and settled on his own seat, grinning.
"Hardison, you have no idea how cold it can really get around here. At least we're goin' into spring; last time I was here, it was the dead of winter, in the worst winter in decades...and Natasha left me out here, alone, with a hatchet, my bow, a quiver with five arrows, and Cold War gear that was not in good shape. Trust me. You don't know cold." He popped his shoulder and started munching on some of the homemade granola Eliot had whipped up right before they'd left, while Parker leaned into his back.
The last three weeks had been something of a blur, from interrogating Chisholm and Belova (and hadn't that been a treat) to tracking Natasha across the entirety of Eastern Europe and into Russia proper. With Putin's current uneasy status with most of the UN countries, Nate and Sophie had elected to stay in Prague while the other four slipped in undercover, in part because Sophie was still known in both St. Petersburg and Moscow. Clint, on the other hand, was in his element.
He'd commandeered T'Challa's supplies and made over the whole team on the king's dime, promising to not only bring back Romanov, but Rogers, Banner, Stark, and the rest. That was when they'd gotten the rest of the story: after their incarceration on the Raft, Clint, Wanda, Sam, and Scott had been busted out by Steve and given refuge in Wakanda, but Steve's rogue attitude about it all had pushed everyone away. Barnes was in cryo-sleep, despite Wanda's assurances that her powers might actually help him, and Stark...Stark was in a tailspin, and had dropped off the radar.
Clint had assured him that Wanda at least was safe with her own people in a little village that was secluded in the Hungarian mountains, while Scott and Sam were, last he'd known, headed to London. Steve was still in Wakanda for the moment, and Tony? According to Rhodey and Pepper, he'd vanished in Boston, but there was no sign of injury or death, and he'd taken his 'bots with him, so they were leaving him be.
All in all, it was starting to look like the hardest members of the team to find would be Natasha and Bruce. But Eliot had a few thoughts in that direction anyway, though he let them lie fallow for the moment. Clint was content to focus on his former partner for the time being, and Parker was curled up close, utterly unrepentant in leeching his body heat.
"Comfy, kiddo?"
"Surprisingly. You're bigger than Eliot, but not a lot, so I wasn't expecting such a large increase in heat." He laughed, clear and true, blue-green eyes nested in the crinkles of his face.
"Hardison, I can see why you fell in love." Eliot rolled his eyes at the hacker's lovey-dovey smile, and stretched his hands towards the other heater, letting himself thaw completely. "So, you three do pretty well by yourselves."
"We got a lot of practice when Nate was drinking himself into an early grave."
"Fair point. Kinda like my brother and I...and yes, Hardison, he's the one who has the family, not me."
"Oh, I kinda wondered about that, seeing as it's his name on the kids' birth certificates, and yours on the house."
"Yeah, Barney retired years ago from the whole criminal thing; he met Laura, they had the kids, and he asked if I had a place they could take up permanently. So, I gave him the only safehouse that was truly safe, and made sure all the bozos knew I was single, living in an apartment just barely out of Hell's Kitchen, and drunk more often than not. It's worked out pretty well, I gotta say; I don't look the fatherly type, so they don't even look deeper into the old SHIELD files."
"How do you feel about me hiding those files, then?" Clint gave him a faint smile, more grim than anything.
"I'd be obliged if you'd hide them so well that no one, not even another hacker, could find them. Or you can put them in the scramble zone; nothing will come out of that." Hardison paused, his jaw dropping, and Eliot sighed.
"And what might that be?" To his surprise, Parker answered.
"It's a virtual black hole; the SSR designed it before the internet as a way to hide files that they didn't want to destroy, but couldn't risk being found. A lot of it was audio, so now it's got this kinda...static noise if you listen to it. SHIELD repurposed it for the same thing, and when the Triskellion fell, about a third of the files that were to be released to the public were actually dumped in there." Clint smirked, and offered her a cookie; she took it with a little squeak of glee.
"So sayeth the thief who tried to rob it."
"Well, computers aren't my thing, but it was kinda mesmerizing..."
“...Baby, it’s a good thing that we’re not alone, and that we’re stuck in the middle of cold-ass Siberia...”
“I do not want to hear about your sex life, Hardison. Now that you’ve managed to pop one over technology....again...why don’t we talk about the extraction plan?” Clint was laughing softly, and brought up the heavily redacted plans for the enormous old factory they were preparing to sneak into. A quick tap and he was translating the Russian for both Parker and Hardison while Eliot read through his own files, and Clint stood up, stretching a bit.
"Alright. Now, you three have worked well together for nearly a decade, so you know how you work. I'm the newcomer, and you know my skills, but now how I'll work with you, right?" At their nods, he motioned to the plans. "So, I think we utilize our strengths and our stealth, and we work together. Parker, you and I are the most capable of slipping in, think you can handle me as a partner?" She nodded decisively, eyes narrowed as she started to memorize the blueprints, and Clint turned to Eliot.
"You're a hell of a skilled hitter, but you're not a contortionist; can you handle staying back and staying warm with Hardison? I'd love to have you out and roaming the perimeter, but as strong as that blizzard is, you'll freeze to death."
"I agree...and yeah, I can do that. Two of us can retreat easier anyway, but I want a promise out of you two." He caught Parker's eye, and she straightened up, nodding. "I want you both to promise me that if anything gets real ugly-looking, you'll get the hell out. Alright?"
"Of course, Eliot." Parker's smile was warm and rather soft, and she lightly punched his arm. "You know our first instinct is to save our own skins." He rolled his eyes, knowing now how false that was, but let it go; they had far more important things to worry about.
"You got it. Alright...Parker, you're wearing that heated undersuit, right?"
"Right. I put it on back in Tsenogora when we resupplied."
"Good. And we are...here." Clint circled the small area just outside of the crest of mountains they were hiding under, then moved a half inch to the north and east, just a hair, to the entrance of a slender lake. "The base opens right next to this lake, and tunnels deep into the mountain for probably...hell, at least a couple miles. However, and this is where our skills are going to come in handy; the Soviets evidently hated the high ceilings that were put in for airflow, and covered them with a closer, false ceiling that goes through the entirety of the bunker to preserve the warmth."
"So, translation; it'll be really freakin' cold and we're gonna have to be quite as mice."
"More or less. I've got food, water, and weapons stashed in my back pack; yours has the same, only you've got a gun, not my bow." She hesitated, and he gave her a truly kind smile. "Don't worry, it's a dart gun. If you wanna add your taser, you're more than welcome to." She brightened at that, and went to examine her gear with Hardison, while Eliot gave him a long once-over.
"...How're you feeling?"
"Emotionally? Like shit. Physically...a hell of a lot better than I have in a long time. I appreciate the meals and the sparring practice; I didn't expect to get back into such good shape in so little time." Eliot shrugged, mouth pursing in a half-smile.
"It wasn't a problem, I was already cooking for the rest. Look, I...you saved our asses, did you know that?"
"Well, I did help out quite a bit with the Chitauri and Ultron after all the brainwashing crap..."
"No, you literally helped us out on a job." Clint blinked, and Eliot just chuckled. "We were working a con over this guy who thought it was funny to put little kids to work in a sweatshop; him and his whole family thought it was a huge joke. Well, we were in a bad spot when the con failed, and that's when this arrow shot through the window, imbedded itself in the rather ugly painting of the guy, and we ran for it because it was one of your explosive rounds. Totally blew the house all to hell, but saved our skins, and we got him completely shut down."
Clint had plopped down on the crate, utterly surprised, and Eliot gave him a light slap on the shoulder, which finally seemed to jar him out of it.
"...Well I'll be damned..."
"I hope not, you're the one leading this one, after all." He snorted, smirking over at the hitter, and Parker interrupted them with a bitten-off swear. Eliot spun and stalked over to the monitors, Clint a shadow behind him, and the four of them looked over the hacked security feeds, playful mood going grim as they watched Natasha stalk down the hallways, green eyes blank, red curls neatly in place under the fur hat, and her long coat flowing over her curves. She had five men surrounding her, quite clearly to keep her in line if she broke the programming...
And then they turned a corner and vanished.
"I'm sorry, guys, I can't go any further in without those spikes you two need to plant."
"It's alright." Clint's voice was deadly quiet, and he wrapped himself in the short, thick wool coat that matched the pants over his heatsuit. Parker was in a similar get up, hers a little bit thinner due to her naturally higher body temp, both loose enough and silent to do their contortions without even a whisper of sound. "Parker, you ready?"
"And rarin'. What's the escape plan?"
"Get the hell out if we're sprung and run for the Quinjet; you two, break cover if you have to, and wheel the jet around to get us if you reach it first. Eliot, you remember the controls, and Hardison can navigate." They both nodded, lips pursed in thin, serious lines, and both he and Parker pulled on their masks, gloves, and packs, turning on the suits before stepping out into the cold night.
Hardison took a long, deep breath, and activated his own suit; at Eliot's quizzical look, he nodded to their extra gear.
"I get the whole cut-and-run thing, but we might wanna get some of this moved to the jet, because we won't be able to carry all of it...and I'd rather not leave the Red Room anything they can use."
"...Good point. Get your mask on, and we'll get the first three crates out; after that, the blizzard will be too dangerous."
"Yeah, it will; alright, beacons are ready, and off a different signal." Eliot nodded, and flicked the switch to his own suit, feeling the warmth settle over his skin.
"Let's go."
Vents, ducts, pipes, and pretty much anything else she could climb on were Parker's favorite things in the world, and she found to her surprise that coincidentally, they were some of Clint's too. They wove their way slowly through the maze of supports and piping, silent and careful...and she'd never moved so well with anyone else. Not even Archie.
Neither of them were showing off right now, in no small part because that could and would get them killed, and Parker was quite attached the living world these days. She could afford to be a little reckless on a skyscraper; not in a bunker surrounded by a lot of grumpy Russians with guns. Finally, though, they'd made their way through the long corridor after having entered through the ice-covered ventilation (and that had NOT been fun), and to the first branching.
There, with infinitesimal care, she spiked the main communications line, and relaxed when Hardison's soft voice murmured in their ears. Directions given, she gave the bud a light tap, just enough for him to register their acknowledgement, and they started off down the northern tunnel. And down was actually right in this case; she gauged that they were dropping about six inches every six feet, roughly, and when the first wheeled packing crate came around the T-junction ahead of them, it made sense why.
After all, why go to all the trouble to cut stairs into the solid rock when you had large amounts of weapons, drugs, and probably people from time to time moving down your passageways? It was much simpler to grade down the rock until it was smooth, or lay concrete, as they had done. She caught Clint's eye and he nodded; alright, time to get to the junction and spike it too. She slipped ahead and got to work on that, while he followed, eyes narrowed behind the mask that they both wore.
"Good job, baby, alright...I'm trying to get a fix on the Black Widow's position."
"You can do that?" Her voice was barely a murmur, and while Clint gave her a warning look, she just waved her hand a bit. It'd be okay, Hardison's tech was sensitive enough to pick it up without her going louder.
"I can; helps that when she passed by those cameras, I was able to get a lock on her tracking device and follow it through their system. In any case, turn to your right, towards the east again, and keep going; you should come up on three or four branches, all within a hundred feet of one another." She tapped the bud, Clint nodded, and they crept on, pausing only once to turn down their suits.
Overexertion and overheating was always a problem with this sort of tech, and as it warmed up inside the bunker, Parker found herself sweating and panting, just a little. It was downright balmy in here now, and she marveled at it for a long moment...until the answer hit her. Geothermal vents. Of course. This was probably the base of a long-dead volcano, and using the excess heat from the earth to heat this monster of a place was really the only way to do so without spending millions on fuel and electricity.
That probably also explained the source of the lights; they were drawing power from the core of the volcano. She mentally checked off 'break into a secret volcano lair' off her bucket list and followed Clint now, grinning as she eased through a particularly tough snag. He paused at the first junction, scanning the halls below them with a critical eye through the holes in the ceiling, then continued.
He paused twice more, but it was on the fourth one that he turned back towards the north, fury in his eyes. Parker crept up beside him, looking down through the tangle of pipe and thick electrical wiring, and felt her heart freeze in her chest. There she was, the Black Widow...this particular branch led into a research lab instead of a hallway, and Parker had to keep a hand tight over her mouth to keep quiet.
Natasha's blank eyes were fixed on the ceiling, her whole body nude and exposed...and there was an impatient and ugly man in a suit readying a scalpel...then, to her horror, he viciously lashed at her abdomen, no anesthesia, no preparation other than her nudity and his gloves, nothing. He tossed the blade aside and pushed a hand inside her; Parker had to look away, willing herself not to vomit, and she glanced back a moment later, obscenely grateful that he'd withdrawn his hand...until she realized that he was holding a plastic sealed SD card, though it looked nothing like the ones she was used to.
"Dispose of her. She is no more use to us." Her Russian was very bad, but she managed to get the gist of his orders, and glanced at Clint...only to realize that he was gone from her side. She almost threw herself into the lowest pipes, clinging to the top of them so she wouldn't be noticed, and realized that he'd slipped down behind the operating table, undoing the few restraints they'd put on her...and as the man left the room, door sealing shut, he rose like a vengeful shadow.
The fight was short, brutal, and utterly ruthless; five minutes later, he motioned Parker down and was carefully dressing Natasha's wound, wiping away the blood with a gentleness that brought tears to her own eyes. She turned away, feeling a little awkward to see a moment of such obvious love, and busied herself with planting the third spike and pulling the unconscious lab techs out of sight. She stripped two of them, pried off their helmets, and came out of the tiny office after getting herself dressed.
Clint had gotten her mostly dressed, in a heatsuit that he had to have pulled from his pack, since it was open now, and onto a wheeled stretcher, over which he was laying a heavy white sheet. He took his own outfit, changed, and his voice was only a little harsher than usual when he caught her eye again.
"...Sorry for the nasty fight you saw; it was that or lose her forever, and we're already in enough trouble because of that capsule..."
"So you know what's inside it?"
"...No, and that's what scares me the most. C'mon, I'll push, you lead; we need to get outside before these idiots wake up." She nodded, swallowing nervously, and dropped the helmet over her head, grateful for the black faceplate. Now, they had to go out the side entrance, which wasn't all that hard in retrospect; the soldiers at the gate were easy enough to get past, especially because they kept the stretcher while she and Clint made their way to the 'dump site'...before turning back to the west and heading straight for the Quinjet, activating their heatsuits along the way.
And a good thing they had; the blizzard that had been blowing up earlier was in full force now, and only the small compass in her hand and the beacons they were steadily passing gave her any hope of reaching the jet. And then suddenly, they were there, and Eliot was hauling her up onto the landing ramp while Clint staggered in behind her, Hardison was closing everything up and getting ready to take off...
And Clint had settled Natasha on the floor of the jet, his helmet tossed to the side, blue eyes wet with tears as he gathered her close.
"C'mon, sweetheart, come back to us, I know you're there...you've done this so many times before, every time they caught you and you fought it...c'mon, Tasha, come home, come back so you can give Tony shit and smack Steve in the head....You can do it, you can beat this shit, because you gotta see Thor and Bruce again, you gotta see how Rhodey's doin' and Wanda and Pietro and Sam...C'mon, honey, come back to me...please, God, come back...please come back..."
Parker felt her eyes well up and she shuddered, turning into Eliot's chest to cry, his own chest hitching...it would have taken a harder heart than any of them had not to feel that pain. Clint was murmuring now, his tears dappling her cool, pale cheeks, one big hand stroking her cheek, her hair, his begging so heartbroken...and yet, nothing. He paused, seeming to check her pulse...
And gave a wracking sob, hugging her tight to his chest as he broke down completely when there was nothing there.
Returning to Prague was the quietest trip they'd ever done; Natasha lay, wrapped in the same white sheet had protected her, on the small stretcher Eliot had cobbled together, Clint still kneeling right by her side.
He hadn't moved more than enough to lay her down and wrap her properly, and now he stared at his hands, unmoving...but Eliot knew he saw nothing. Or if he was seeing something, it was nothing good. For his part, he felt a little grief of his own; it wasn't ever easy to bring home a body, or sometimes even less than that, when those who'd sent him out had had proof of life.
He wondered if Clint blamed them, then dismissed that thought; no, all the blame was gonna go on the bastard that had cut her open and done whatever it was to kill her. And rightfully so...in fact, he'd already decided that when Clint went for revenge (and he would), he was going to offer his skills as well to track the son of a bitch down. He wondered if Yelena would help, and decided that she might. It wasn't a guarantee, but anything was better than nothing. He just hoped that Sophie and Nate had had better luck...
"Thank you." All of them paused; Hardison glanced back from his position as pilot, and Clint lifted his head, slow and weighed down by not only rage, but inconsolable grief. The tears had left his eyes shadowed, his skin pallid under the tan, and Eliot leaned forward from his seat, swallowing.
"You don't need to thank us...I...if we'd only gone sooner..."
"He would have just shot her in the head. At least...at least this way, she gets the funeral she deserves. The honor she deserves. I...Thank you. For all of this. And this...this is gonna distract me from finding the others. But when it's all said and done...I'm gonna put that fucker's head on a pike."
"You've got help, if you want it." That was Parker; Eliot looked up at her in surprise, and she swallowed, her own eyes and nose red from the tears. "Don't give me that look; I might not have your body count, but...well, that asshole deserves it."
"...Fair enough. Yes, he does." Clint glanced between them, and nodded slowly.
"...Thank you. Both of you. But right now, I...I want to bury her."
"We can let T'Challa know when we land..."
"I'll do it. I...She was my partner. It's only right." He nodded, bowing his head in respect, and deep down, he hoped that he'd never have to do the same for either of his partners ...he'd come close, once or twice...And he never wanted to feel like that again.
"...You know, I think Prague was the first city I tracked you to when you went rogue from the Red Room. You used to go shopping, we'd walk by the river and feed the ducks...y'know, normal people shit. We were...well, hell, yeah, we were a couple, we were a thing...I still love you, you know that? I'll always love you, just as much as I love Phil, even if I am still mad at him. I...God, I miss you so much already." Clint couldn't stop the next wave of tears, and he didn't even try.
Natasha's still form was still resting on her little stretcher, set up in the coldest part of the basement in the hotel they were staying in. The rest of the team was working hard on looking for Steve's location, while Clint held his vigil. T'Challa and his elite Dora Milaje were on the way to gather her body...He would go back to Wakanda, gather up everyone he could, and grieve, let her go...and come back and put his team back together. According to T'Challa's message, Steve had vanished, and what little evidence he'd left pointed to Canada or Mexico, but he wasn't honestly sure which yet...not that Clint cared right now...
The hardest part was the fact that his heart was beyond broken now...he felt like his heart was ashes...
"...why the hell am I wrapped in a nasty white sheet?" His head raised slowly, eyes wide, as her body...no, Natasha grumbled weakly and pushed at the sheet, sitting up with a low groan. "And why the hell do I hurt so damn much?" Clint felt all the tightness in his chest completely unravel with a weak laugh, and he came over to her, helping her out of the sheet, snot running down his nose, tears soaking his face yet again, but the smile he wore hurt so damn good.
"Because, you managed to clock out for about twenty hours, and I..." Those weary green eyes turned to him, blinking, and she studied his face for a long time...then gave him a soft, light kiss on his forehead, hugging him close. "God, I'm sorry, Tasha...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a weepy mess..."
"...Shut up, Barton. Shut up, and tell me what the hell's happened lately, alright?" So he did, from his chase through to Budapest to the new team that brought him in, and helped him in turn bring in both Chisolm and Yelena...The whole time, he was helping her into the clothes he'd brought from their shared safehouse, the ones he just hadn't had the heart to unpack. Her favorite comfy leggings, he helped her into the sturdy old boots she'd bought in Milan so many years ago...she winced at all the bruises as he helped her put on her bra and one of the big, fluffy sweaters she'd stolen from him a couple years ago, when things were only just starting to turn to shit...
"They took that capsule out of you..." She heaved a sigh, and shrugged with a wince.
"I knew they would, I didn't get to kill all of the ringleaders. It's a dud, though; I had Tony extricate the original ages ago, and implant a blank one that would read as live." He blinked, staring at her, and she gave him a weak grin. "I'm not gonna give them the satisfaction of winning, you know that." And he certainly did.
Through it, they laughed, they both cried, and they clung to one another...and Clint's heart felt so full to bursting now, like a phoenix freshly risen...and that phoenix was her right here, right now...Which was why he couldn't stop the dopey smile when Eliot brought in T'Challa, followed closely by his guards and the rest of the team.
"Hey, guys...so, uh, she's not as dead as we thought." Tasha leaned into his chest, still pale and weak and so tired, and waved, grinning just a little bit.
"Hi." The King started to laugh, low and gentle, and he came forward, gently clasping her too pale hand in his own dark ones.
"Hello yourself, Black Widow. I must admit, I am so deeply relieved to see your smile again, and not the corpse I had been grieving for on the flight here. But you are exhausted, you are clearly ill, and I think it is best that you do not join your partner on this quest I have asked this team to embark on...if you would agree to come back to Wakanda with me?" She gave Clint a long look, and he returned it with a very tiny nod; she sighed, then smiled again.
"He'd never stop mother henning me if I didn't come back with you and heal up. Alright, I'll fly back with you. But...I'd like to join up with this crew when I'm cleared. Sound good to you?" He nodded, his eyes glowing golden with joy.
"Nothing would make me happier, Natasha. Shall we get you stabilized? I think it wise to let the Dora Milaje's doctor take a look at you." She laughed, just a little, and Clint eased a little more behind her, supporting her upright while the doctor looked her over, then he carried her to the Quinjet after wrapping her up in his own warm coat once she'd given her seal of approval. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, and smiled as he strapped her in, chuckling at her grumbles.
"Keep me up to date when you get back, okay?" She only smiled, ruffling his hair and making him laugh.
"I will. And you better be keeping me in the loop too; otherwise, I'm using that fantastic ass of yours as target practice."
"Oh, believe me, I will. Selfies with Eliot, Parker, and Hardison are hella fun, Nat, and I can't wait for you to join us."
"I look forward to it...and...do me a favor."
"Anything."
"...Tell Steve that...for a little while, we had a home. And that I want that again. Tell him that it wasn't worth the fighting, it wasn't worth the pain we caused one another...and tell him he owes us all a goddamn drink." Clint smirked, and gave her a cheeky salute, while she rolled her eyes back.
"You got it, boss lady. Now get outta here; you've got a lot of healing to do before you're ready to fight again." He slipped off the jet quickly enough; T'Challa was more than ready to get her back home, and he had a feeling that doctor was eyeing him with a knife at the ready...and as they took off back to the south, he turned back to the hotel, his steps lighter than they had been in...well, a damn long time, and he grinned to himself at the thought of their next job.
They had a super soldier to catch.