Date: March 25th, 2014

The footage was janky and washed out. Jess was reminded of how fast technology improved, comparing the ten year old video with the high-def capabilities of cameras a quarter of the size of the one that had recorded this; which, when she thought about is, were about the size of a quarter.

She sat beside Dr. Banner on the small couch; it was a couch, not a love seat. No, not at all. They shared the pizza and watched the video in silence.

The image jumped and wavered with each arrow Clint let fly, his heavy breathing growing more apparent over the comm as the pursuit wended through the narrow alleys and up over the rooftops.

The audio was slightly out of synch and fuzzy. Since it was from Clint's comm link, his voice was much louder and clearer than Natasha's. Coulson sounded tinny but quite audible as he spoke from a SHIELD control room, his calm voice apprising his agent of traffic patterns and probable shortcuts.

"Nice work, Barton. I knew you could talk her into coming in. The director will be pleased," Coulson praised after Clint addressed him with an unnecessarily ostentatious, You get all that?

"Yeah, I know," Clint drawled with a weary sigh, "It's on me."

"What are you…?" Coulson began as Clint continued to talk over him.

"This is the right call, Phil. You know it is..."

Jessica snorted, imagining the slight shift of posture that was the Coulson-equivalent of someone throwing up his hands in exasperation.

"I hate it when he's smart like that," Jessica grumbled to Banner as Clint pretended to argue with his handler. "Because he's right. Natasha wouldn't have believed SHIELD wanted to recruit her… She would have assumed it was a trick. But she'd be all about this..." She shook her head, and felt a pang for the weary woman, grainy and alone, on the screen. She looked nothing like her confident, dry-humored best friend, the unflappable badass who could snap a man's neck with her thighs and, after the fighting was done, discuss literature, world politics or the latest episode of Dog Cops with equal relish.

Jessica missed her friend.

"Ok… I know. I take full responsibility. Just send evac, yeah?" he finished as Natasha leaned on the bricks for support.

"Don't overdo it, Agent." Coulson chided, but even his level tones conveyed relief in the precarious mission's success. "She doesn't look the least bit impressed."

"Blow me, Coulson," Clint responded, checking the effect of this exchange on his new charge. "Ok, you ready?" he asked her.

Clint released the catch to disarm the taser arrow; the electrified payload sparking out. Natasha, who had been looking greyer and weaker once all the fight had left her, flinched as the arrowhead bounced. Her knees gave way and she pitched forward.

The "catch-a-falling-body" reflex activated a half second before the thought: "Barton-you-dummy" seemed to register. He held her awkwardly, ready to drop her at the first hint of treachery, but she lay in his arms, dead weight and disheveled.

Coulson cleared his throat reproachfully. "Yeah, yeah, I know. She coulda killed me," Clint grumbled, the words pinched in this strained position. "Lecture me later. Just get the fucking bird here, ok?"

"It's 3 minutes out," Coulson said, "Be careful. Secure her, just in case."

"Shit. She's burning up," Clint murmured as he lay her on the roof slates. "Prep medical."

As the evac chopper thrummed in the distance, Clint secured her feet and cuffed her wrists in front of her. He rolled her gently on her side to examine the dark patch on her outer thigh. He cut away the cloth, opening the seam below her hip, down to her knee. The soaked bandage fell away from the wound without the tension of her clothes to hold it in place. "Jesus," Clint gasped, "Are you seeing this, Phil? How the hell was she even standing?"

Banner sat back, looking stunned, his first movement since the start of the video. He, doubtless, could diagnose the wound more specifically, but Jessica felt her revolted, "gah-eww!" was fairly comprehensive. The red ring around the injury bulged, stretching the flesh silvery and smooth. The white infection and red tissue were visible from the inflamed bullet wound.

"Hey, Coulson," Clint said as he stooped to gather up the unconscious woman, her head lolling against him and blocking the camera. "You know how I told her I wouldn't let you guys throw her in prison?" The engine and the wind noise from the evac team roared over Coulson's acknowledgment. "Not going to be an issue," Clint continued,"I doubt she'll survive the week."

Jess took another slice of pizza and folded it in half as the video ended. "Well, that was less than helpful," she sighed, "and gross. It confirmed that he didn't stun her into unconsciousness, but other than that…. Not much there."

"I'll be damned….How did we miss….?" Jess looked in surprise at her companion, his introspective look focused wholly on the screen. He reached for the sheaf of documents at his side, thumbed through them and fanned them at his side. He seemed to find the one he wanted and squinted at it accusingly.

With a mumble that might have been 'Excuse me,' Bruce gathered up the papers and left the room. His pace quickened as he hastened down the hall, pursuing whatever idea had struck him.

"Well, then," Jess said, holding the pizza up to the slender black robotic assistant, "are you going to help me finish this?"

Dum-E's ocular unit trained on the box, the gears that controlled its focal adjustment whirring and adding to the general impression of curious alertness. It cocked its clawed grip like a dog considering a proffered treat and, taking the box, trundled from the room.

As Natalia had rearranged her clothes, she pulled on the waistband of her pants and examined the faded pale line on her leg. The hideous wound now resembled a long-healed surgical scar, flat and precise. She flexed the muscle and felt no lingering tightness or pain. She scratched at the skin; it itched and tingled like most scars, like most old scars.

She sat sullenly on the shelf-bed, watching the door. All three had retreated after she rejected their latest manipulation and she steeled herself for their next salvo. She wondered idly which would try next.

She tried to conjure the sense of satisfaction she knew was the appropriate response to successfully thwarting her captors, but she felt numb.

The man who entered was a stranger, but she knew him from data files she'd been allowed to access. In the ones that looked like celebrity news reports, he usually had on an expertly tailored suit, looking both impossibly hip and carelessly rumpled. Today, he wore a faded t-shirt and no shoes. His toes poked through the holes in his socks and his dark hooded sweatshirt looked 15 years old. His jeans, though, probably cost more than many people on the planet made in a year.

"You look different without your suit," Natalia observed. "I thought you'd be taller."

"I am a little short for a stormtrooper, but I'm not here to rescue you, Princess." He waggled a slim device at her and dropped it into the chamber at the front of her cell. "This is however, the droid you are looking for."

She rolled her eyes. What was it with these people?

"Jarvis can interface with it for you, but I figured you wouldn't want it up there..." He waved at the wall on the onto which they had previously projected movies and images. "You enjoy your private screening."

Natalia waited until she was sure Tony Stark had left before she let her curiosity carry her over to the handheld. The screen was about size of a paperback and remarkably thin.

"Ms. Romanoff? Do you require my assistance?"

She bristled at the precise voice and her thumb brushed the device, illuminating the screen. Ignoring "Jarvis," she jabbed at the bright icons as she'd seen Banner doing. She easily navigated this simple interface after several days of studying the impossibly advanced tech second-hand.

The file names consisted of timestamps, all dating in early September of 2012 and usually in the middle of the night. An innocuous thumbnail image heralded each recording; an interior view of a simply appointed space shot over the shoulder of a man with short, sandy hair.

Natalia selected the one at the top: 2012-09-06T01:03:47 and began to view the recording. She skipped ahead at 2 minute intervals at to find the significant portion.

Once she did, she sat on her bunk and watched from the beginning, not bothering to conceal her stunned fascination.