The New York Assignment

Thirteen

Natasha, Steve, Phil, and Edith all piled out of the SHIELD jet, parked in front of the Lincoln Memorial. They dashed inside the structure, Tony flying in moments later. A quick scan showed an elevator under Lincoln's chair. A keypad in the statue's back revealed the entrance.

Tony entered in a virus, and the statute began to ascend. The grinding told them all that it hadn't been used in some time. Once the elevator was completely uncovered, they walked in without a second thought, and down they went.

Tony displayed a holographic blueprint of the tunnels to guide them. It wasn't that hard. Tony cast a beam of light ahead of them. It showed only stone and concrete.

They walked for an hour. Two rights. One left. Another three rights. There was room upon room, but they checked only a few. The life signs were coming from the heart of the compound.

With each step, Natasha's heart rate sped up. Was Clint still alive? Was he being tortured? Was he even there? What if Trick Shot really wasn't there at all?

A horrible scream cut through the perfect silence. It lasted half a minute. The small rescue party all looked to Natasha. Her face was perfectly calm, though pale. It was a scream of pain. Someone was being tortured. She'd heard that scream from too many people to be mistaken.

She barked an order to hurry up. It may not have been Clint, but it was certainly someone in desperate pain. She couldn't say it out loud, but Natasha was nearly positive it was Clint. She felt it, more than knew.

They doubled their speed. Even Tony seemed concerned. They knocked down doors, but passed not one living thing.

On the final stretch, with the few dots indicating living people just ahead, a voice called from the darkness in front of them.

"Oh, you must be the rescue team."

Natasha knew that voice, and it didn't surprise her. Any other time, she'd have bashed the girl's head in. But not now. Not when Clint was counting on her.

The light from the Iron Man suit fell on the frame of Barbra Morse. Nothing had changed about her. Same dishonest eyes and yellow hair and clothes that clung a little too tightly. A smirk decorated her face. Natasha fought back the urge to slap it off.

"We don't have time for this," Natasha said, just as much to herself as to the people she was leading. She pushed past Morse easily and matched down the corridor.

"I can see why you like Clint. He's great in bed."

Natasha froze. She stood perfectly still for a long moment. How would Morse know that? Clint was many things, but disloyal wasn't one of them. Morse was just trying to play with her.

She glanced back at the blonde. The look in her eyes proved she wasn't joking. Natasha was painfully aware of four sets of eyes watching her warily as she stared at Morse.

In that moment, she questioned if she even wanted to see Clint. He'd betrayed her now, something he swore he'd never do. She couldn't leave him there, but could she face him?

Not with that woman alive, she decided.

"Coulson," she said, keeping the tremor from her voice, "I want you to lead the mission. Find Barton and get him out."

Phil obeyed without a word in argument. Natasha continued to watch her enemy as he directed everyone in the direction they thought Clint was.

"Natasha." She felt Steve's hand on her upper arm. "Come on. You know Clint wouldn't-"

"Get out of here, Steve," she warned.

He hesitated, but eventually relented. He followed the others down the hall.

Once she felt sure they were a safe distance away, Natasha spoke. "I was right about you all along. You're untrustworthy, sloppy... Whatever you had with Hawkeye was worth about as much as you are: Nothing."

Morse's smirk widened. "Who are you trying to convince of that? Because it sure felt like something."

It was Natasha's turn to smirk. It was dark and cold, and held a power taught in the Red Room. "You're still going to die for it."

Morse pulled a gun out, and faster than she could aim, Natasha had her pinned to the wall. Her hand tightened around Barbra's throat, before a foot caught her in the stomach. She took a step back. Morse threw a well-aimed punch. Natasha blocked. She countered with a high kick, and a jab to Morse's stomach.
She grabbed Morse's head and slammed it into the wall. Consumed by a fire she hadn't known in years, Natasha placed both hands on Morse's head, and jerked it.

_____________________________________________

The red hot poker was followed by a blow to the side of his face. Clint let his head snap to the side, and winced. Trick Shot smirked.

"You know... I think I'll kill her tonight," he mused. "Poor girl's been through enough torture."

Clint was panting in pain, and every part of his body screamed in agony. But he looked at Chisolm, and spat in his face. Trick Shot merely wiped it away. He pulled a knife out, and twisted it in his hand, as if testing the light. Clint felt a searing pain in between his ribs. He let out a short cry of pain. The knife turned, wedging itself between two of Clint's ribs. He could feel the warm blood flow over his side, and his vision clouded. Chisolm left the knife in Clint's side.

"Natasha asked about you once," he said. "You know, Clint, I think you were really starting to get to her. Heartless little thing like her couldn't ever love a backstabbing, worthless, no-talent waste like yourself. And she was so gorgeous before I cut her face up."

The thought of Natasha's beautiful face disfigured made Clint forget the name-calling instantly.

"And her gorgeous grey eyes," Trick Shot continued. "They really did look better in their sockets."

No. No, he couldn't! He's tortured her, disfigured her. All because Clint loved her. His stomach heaved. Chisolm pulled a face.

"None of that, if you please. I just had these floors dusted."

He picked up the hot spear again, and pressed it to Clint's neck.