Fears of the Widow

How to Escape

A sharp pain erupted from Natasha's ear as blind strikes hit her face and body. The thin fabric covering her eyes did little to shield her sight from the shadowy figures looking over her, but she couldn't tell when one was about to strike.
She curled her fingers together, feeling the nausea as one of the men slapped her cut. Natasha shrieked and fell off of the creaky chair, curling into a ball in the unknown room.
"ENOUGH!" A voice barked from across the room. It was Zarcov, she guessed, by the thick accent in his English words and the roll of his GH sound.
There were grunts and then the shuffling of feet followed by the slamming of a door. Then squeaky shoes stepped up to Natasha's face, the outlines clear through the fabric. A hand brushed over her head, and then piercing lights invaded her pupils as Zarcov stared down at her hatefully, "you should have simply answered my question, Ms. Romanoff."
Natasha blinked back her migraine and glared up into the piercing eyes gazing down at her, "I'm not going to talk."
"Very well then," Zarcov sneered before storming out of the room and locking the door behind him.
Nat suddenly became very aware of what she was in. The room was no more than a 3x4 with low, water stained ceilings and a musky scent. The only light was a low can descent bulb hanging from the ceiling with a cord attached, and two chairs and a table sat to her right up against the wall. On the opposite side of the small space was a pile of blankets on a warn mattress and then the iron bolted door with a slide space for food.
She was totally trapped.
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Clint stared ahead of him as he was steered towards a questionable looking building producing sifts of smoke from its outer edges.
"My night guards must keep warm," Kretsky spoke up as if to read Clint's mind before adding, "very sorry for the broken nose. An accident, yes. My temper wares me these days, but if you were a father you would understand the love of your daughter, no?"
Clint didn't respond. He continued walking on the greyed path, beaten by constant use, he guessed.
"Milan," Kretsky suddenly stopped in front of a small building outside of the factory sized warehouse, and a tough fellow trodden their way, "take Mr. Barton to our... Guest room, please."
A bulky looking fellow stepped out from the shadows of the building and pulled on Clint's restraints before huffing at the Avenger to move forward.
Kretsky nodded curtly in Clint's direction, "we will be seeing each other very soon."
Milan roughly pulled Clint towards a squat looking shack connected to the factory. Upon opening the door he revealed shackles that stretched towards a rusty sink, bucket, and warn mattress.
"Don't be stupid," he barked as he trapped Clint in the wall shackles before walking towards the door, "breakfast in few hours. We come to you. You eat. Make at home."
Clint nodded at the man, not wanting to speak or make the big guy mad. The moment the door shut, Clint tried to pull on his restraints, fighting the heavy chains hooked to the cement walls.
I have got to get out of here and find Natasha. They're going to kill her.
He tried everything he could think of, pushing and shoving, falling back on them, twisting them painfully, but nothing would work. He needed to escape. He needed to find Natasha.
Clint tried to think back to how Natasha always escaped when she was captured... Like the first time he brought her to SHIELD.
She had come willingly after their Budapest incident, but then fury had gone ballistic and put her in a holding cell. Nat had blamed Clint for everything.

"I can't believe this!" She had screamed at him from her shackles.
Clint had gained slightly. She had looked feisty fighting against the restraints in her cat suit, "I will get you out soon enough."
"You put me in to these damn things, jackass now get me out!"
He had been amused, "that's not my choice but I will get you out!"
"That's not soon enough, Clint!" She had sneered. Next thing he knew she was free, and he was laying on his side with immobile arms.
Fury had come in, shocked, "what on earth!"
Nat stood across from Clint and Fury rubbing her wrists, "he was getting on my nerves."
"But how did you..."
She peered up at the director, "a magician doesn't reveal her secrets, but I would suggest getting tougher agents."
"Hey!" Clint had groaned though he had been just as impressed.

Now how had Natasha done that? Kretsky's restraints were no where near as high tech as SHIELD's were. There had to be a way to escape.

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The smallest portion of food she had ever seen slid out from the food space in Natasha's cell. She picked up the small plate of potatoes and mashed mystery meat complete with lukewarm water and a spoon, and poked at the food. Disgusting.
"The hell is this?" She groaned before flinging the food tray across the room. The disgusting slop squished to the floor as the tray and spoon clattered to the floor.
Spoon. Now she felt stupid.
Nat picked up the spoon and chiseled the walls with it, braking the spoon part off. That revealed a point underside perfect for picking locks. She noted that the guards had left before picking at the iron lock as fatigue and hugger gnawed at her aching body.
Natasha Romanoff would escape if no one was going to come help her.