A/N - Well, my last "people get kidnapped" story has so far accumulated quite a following, so I figured I might as well bang out another one. Unlike "Signs of Life," though, this one isn't already finished, so I have no idea where it's going. Have a nice day and some worried Nick Fury...

Sometimes Fury wondered why, in a team full of "super-powered" beings, a good half of them were just skilled humans. The Fantastic Four, the X-Men, they didn't work like that. But there they were: on the one hand, a man who turned into a practically immortal monster, an alien straight out of Norse mythology, and a supersoldier made from an experimental serum.

On the other hand, world's best archer, most fearsome assassin, and best-known inventor. They fought with nothing but their raw skill, or in Tony's case, intelligence and some repurposed "scraps in a cave." It was ridiculous to ask them to live up to the standards set by their not-entirely-human counterparts, and yet they managed it. Day after day, fight after exhausting fight, they managed to survive circumstances that could have been the death of even a god.

So when he split the team in half for two separate missions, the director didn't really think about how to divide between regular people and impossible beings. He just assigned them as he saw fit: the assassins and the genius to protect the diplomatic summit, the supersoldier, Hulk, and demigod to forcibly break a Hydra base.

And when he heard one of his teams had been captured and were being held by potential terrorists, he honestly had to ask, "Which one?"

Because if there was one thing Nicholas J. Fury had learned over the years, it was that the all-too-human members of his team were not weaker than their allies. With one possible exception. The possible exception that made his blood run cold when he heard the full report, because there was only one person on that team who might not be able to defend themselves if they were left with nothing at hand to help them.

Without the Iron Man suit, not only was Tony Stark physically average (and since when had "physically average" meant anything more than "weak" in SHIELD terms), he also had the added handicap of having a several inch deep hole in his chest, with all the pain and shortness of breath that implied even with the arc reactor in place.

When the chips were down and they were thrown into circumstances that would kill a lesser man, Tony Stark without his suit was not the person you really wanted on your side.

Actually, if Fury had asked the Avengers, they all would have answered that if they already got Natasha Romanoff and Clinton Barton, Tony Stark was exactly the third person they would want on their side. But Fury didn't ask the Avengers.

Half of them couldn't answer at the moment, anyway.

It was times like these when Fury wondered why, in a team full of "super-powered" beings, a good half of them were just skilled humans.

Sometimes, Natasha reflected as she regained consciousness, she wondered why the hell she had agreed to become an Avenger.

After all, it wasn't as if a team like this needed her on the front lines. Well, New York had been an exception, but they had needed anyone in New York. When it came down to it, Clint and Natasha could be just as useful working behind the scenes in their normal roles, pairing up to take down high-profile targets and acquire valuable information.

Of course, they would have ended up kidnapped that way sooner or later, too. It had happened more than once (more than once a week one memorable Christmas vacation), and they had always managed to get out of it, with or without SHIELD's assistance.

She assessed her surroundings as best she could while blindfolded and tied to a chair. The number of people in the room was somewhere between five and seven depending on how still these people were capable of being. She would place money on five, but she wouldn't bet her life on it, so she assumed seven. She was tied up with actual rope, which wouldn't make this as easy as "the zip tie incident" of 2009. Maybe there was hope for the criminal class after all.

On the other hand, maybe not, because they hadn't even noticed she was awake yet, and she had even tested the strength of the ropes. Obviously nobody was keeping an eye on her wrist muscles or they would have noticed the tension. She still had an element of surprise.

The questions were, in order of significance: What weapons are present in this room? How many of my concealed knives did they notice? Where is my team - Clint? And finally, who the hell are these jokers and what do they want?

Unfortunately, she got the answer to the last question first, as someone roughly said, "She's awake." Whether it was the muscles in her wrists or some other tell that had tipped the man off, she didn't get a chance to find out. "Knock her out again," the man commanded, and something wet was forced over her mouth and nose. She tried the whole pretend you inhaled it and play dead routine, but the rag just wasn't pulled away.

The fact that these "jokers" were smarter than the average (or, really, even the high class) kidnappers she and Clint had faced in the past did not bode well for their escape plans, she mused, and felt her lungs strain for a breath of air. She refused them, waiting for the rag to depart.

One of the men hit her in the stomach, and her diaphragm involuntarily contracted, forcing her to breathe in. Immediately she felt unconsciousness tugging at her, and had time only to idly wonder whether Clint was faring any better than her.

It was times like these when she was glad that she still had her partner beside her even as they were part of a larger team.

Sometimes, when things got really tough, Clint was glad he had trained for hours in the middle of the night, when he could have been sleeping. It was times like these when he was glad he had never given up and refused to pick up the bow, when he was glad he had soldiered on.

Because there was no way he was getting out of this without every scrap of his skill. He was practically hogtied, a hood over his head and a gag stuffed in his mouth (which tasted terrible, thanks for asking). He could tell just by touch that he had no weapons on him, not even the tiny knife he kept in places you really did not want to know. That so far raised his estimation of whoever was holding them prisoner by several notches. If their security was as good at keeping them in as it had been at getting them in, any escape would have to be absolutely perfectly executed. He needed to find Natasha as fast as possible.

First, though - getting out of the ropes without so much as a toothpick. That was going to take time, probably more time than he had before someone realized he was awake. There was at least one person nearby. He widened his senses, trying to catch a sound, an odd smell, anything like that. There was just the man's steady breathing.

This was not going to be easy.

It was times like these when Clint was glad he never gave up.