The Nikki Wolf Chronicles || Avengers

CHAPTER (5) FIVE

From his position, chained to a chair that is, Thor growls in frustration. He's gotten back some of his fight, after a long sleep on the ground. Upon waking, he'd shouted at the camera in the corner of the high ceiling until the man who had taken him hostage turned on video to accompany the mic, which he keeps on like a baby monitor.

The man had just woken from his own nap and was rather grumpy to be disturbed. Having slept for a long period of time, and still wanting more sleep, he hadn't quite processed the fact that Thor is his captive, not a coworker. So, tiredly, he'd grunted, "Shut up," turned off the audio and camera, and went back to sleep.

Thor had been watching the camera closely, and was satisfied to see the red recording light click off. After yelling some more, Thor finally declared that no one hears, nor sees him-- at least for the time being.

He's been trying to unleash the chains that bind back his hands. The man holding him prisoner had sent some of his 'friends' to deal with him. Had it been one, two, or even five men, Thor would've been able to take them all out with his bare hands. However, it seems the whole damn army had decided to tag along.

It doesn't help that Thor can't seem to get his hammer.

Taking a deep breath, Thor uses absolutely everything he has left in him. The thick links snap, and Thor rubs his wrists. Then he sets about prying the binds from his ankles. He doesn't understand why the man hasn't just killed him, like he's threatened to do and done to Jane.

Thor thought maybe he's being used as bait, but he'd dismissed the thought. The man said so himself that nobody knows where he is. He plainly ignores that other thing the man said.

He walks over to the door that had been taunting him ever since he'd been shut down. Placing his huge hand on the door knob, he gets ready to break the lock. It opens easily, and he peers down the hall, curious.

Everything is empty. Thor walks out of the building, completely unharmed, and feels the sun on his back for the first time in six days. He reminds himself to come back for his hammer, just after he rests up and gets some American food and coffee that's he's grown so fond of.

--- --- ---

Natalie's face contorts into a look of anger, and I feel a chill crawl up my spine. I hadn't noticed at Max's concert how intimidating Natalie can actually be. However, I stand up straight and tall and await her. Why does she even have a right to be this pissed off at me?

She slams through the door where a waitress walks up to her, but she pushes past and walks right towards me. I prepare myself for a huge argument, so you can imagine my surprise when she then pushes me aside and confronts Clint.

I expect her to slap him or at least clock him in the jaw. I would think that maybe they used to date and he cheated on her or something. I despel the last part from my mind, though-- he doesn't seem like someone who would do that.

She snatches Clint's arm and drags him outside. He has such a look of surprise on his face, I wonder if he even knows her. After all, he said, "Romanoff." I stare out at them as Natalie yells at Clint about something. It had felt so good getting everything off my chest, and she comes around ruining my peace.

An elderly man with glasses looks at me, then outside at the two of them talking. He begins to chuckle, as if thinking of his wife. Turning the page of his newspaper, he stirs his coffee and takes a long sip. I raise my eyebrows and look back outside.

When Natalie starts jabbing her finger towards me, and jabbing her finger in Clint's chest, that's when I begin to move. I lay five dollars on the booth and storm outside, my thoughts tumbling across a desolate, hot desert. I know it's none of my business, but the fact that she's pulling me into this pushes me the wrong way.

My hiking boots slap the wood floor with satisfying thuds until I reach them outside. The change from the warm atmosphere to the chilly, Manhattan air is drastic, and I cross my arms. I hear Clint start to say "Her father," but Natalie raises her voice to be heard over him. Now I'm worried that he's using everything I had just spilled to him to get out of trouble with her.

"It doesn't matter! He was a good agent, but he's--"

"What's going on?" I cut in quickly. I have a sneaking suspicion that Natalie was going to say something bad about my father, and I don't exactly want to hear about him being dead coming from someone else's mouth other than Clint's and my mother's.

She snaps around, her hair just barely missing Clint's face. She's at least four inches shorter, and has a lean muscled figure, but her hair is long enough to be used as a stinging whip. Clint averts his eyes over to me. I guess he'd been too absorbed in the argument to see me coming. I watch Natalie's eyes flare.

"What are you doing in Boston? Are you purposely searching for him?" Natalie shouts, obviously meaning Clint. "Cause, you found him! Quit stalking him on the News! He has enough on his platter to begin with!"

I pause, my eyes darting between the steam coming from Natalie's ears, and the nonchalantly calm expression that Clint is upholding.

"Hawkeye?" I ask him. His front falters, and he coughs.

"No. Wrong person, sorry," he responds, but then that's when I see the resemblance. I mean, the goatee certainly makes him look a lot different, but everything else is pretty much the same. I notice his muscle and his suddenly manly looking apron.

"Oh, my god."

Clint, Hawkeye, how ever he goes by, looks at me, his eyes pleading. "Please, don't change how you think of me because I'm a--"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself. I've never thought of you or Hawkeye," I say, maybe a little more coldly than he deserves.

"Nikki," he starts.

"Nikita, to you."

He pauses, maybe a bit hurt, or maybe just stunned. Natalie looks at him and starts yelling again. I don't bother listening, and Clint, a.k.a. Hawkeye, turns his attention back to her. Being ignored doesn't feel too hot, so I turn on my heel and start walking away. A little piece of me is hoping to hear Clint or Natalie's voice calling out to me, but all I hear is them bickering like an old, married couple.

When I turn the corner, I run head long into Natalie.

"What the hell?" I exclaim. She sighs audibly and opens her mouth to speak. I don't want to hear whatever she has to say. She knows about my father, and she doesn't seem all that affectionate about him, even if she did say he is--was-- a "good agent."

I turn around to walk the other way to my mom's house, but I slam into a firm chest. I might have bounced back and landed on my butt, but Clint's hands grab my shoulders and I steady myself. I shimmy out of his grip and pull my jacket closer around me, the March temperature getting to me.

"What do you want?" I ask. I try my very hardest not to come across as a spoiled brat. I don't want to seem demanding, but I think I deserve to know why they just appeared around me, seemingly from nowhere, and stopped me in my tracks.

"Why don't you tell her," Natalie says, looking at Clint. "Since you've already made yourself available."

I bite the inside of my cheek, before venturing out to say, "I'm guessing you know each other from way back?"

"Nikita..." Clint hesitates with my name, almost ending in a question. Then, he puts on his tough guy attitude and looks straight at me. "We have a lot of information for you."

--- --- ---

Banner squares his shoulders and combs his hair. He notices some gray, and he wonders when they got there. At least a little graying is normal. He drank a lot because it's what normal human beings do. Alcohol doesn't seem to affect his system, but he does what he can to fit in.

But his mind is on other, less normal things now: He's seen Clint Barton on the News. The reporter peppered in that he's in Boston, and Bruce is only about a day's drive away. He thinks it'll help to be around someone he's gotten to know really well, which always seems to happen when you're saving lives. You just start to bond with the people you're fighting side by side with.

Yes, Bruce will find Clint, and maybe they'll go off to find the others. Just maybe, it wouldn't be such a bad idea to assemble again.