Spoilers: No real spoilers in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I still don't own the Avengers. I'm only playing with them. Marvel will get them back in one piece. Mostly.

A/N: This is has been the longest break between updates yet, and I'm so sorry to have kept everyone waiting! Life is just a busy as it was, if not more so, and this chapter argued with me like mad for months. On top of that, I've been working on my original novel which has taken up some of my usual writing time. But I hope that you'll think this next chapter was worth the wait!

To my anonymous reviewers:

To OWLS: I think I already thanked you, but I just wanted to say thank you again for taking the time to review all of those chapters! Your reviews really made me smile! I'm so glad that you're enjoying it. As for what will happen to Clint and Tony - well, no comment at this point, I'm sorry. But you will get to see more of both of them in this chapter. :D

To Guest on April 23: Thank you so much! You comments really do mean more than I can say. I'm definitely still working on this story, and I'm sorry that the wait has been so long! I hope you're still reading.

A/N2: As always, I thank my Lord Jesus Christ for his incredible mercy and grace and his many blessings. I'd be utterly lost without him.

I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think!

Previously:

Because it has been so long between updates, I wanted to offer a quick summary of the last few chapters.

Loki "healed" all of the damage that the Red Room did to Clint's mind, restoring all of his memories, and Clint collapsed as a result, his mind unable to take the strain. Loki then tormented Natasha, using his staff to restore bits and pieces of Natasha's memories as well, including how she and Clint met. She remembered killing Clint's brother, Barney, and remembered her conversations with Clint inside the Red Room. Loki also gave Natasha a brief glimpse of her own past, a moment when she was practicing ballet with her mother nearby, though Loki deliberately chose a memory where she did not look at her mother's face.

Loki intended to destroy Natasha's mind completely, but before he could begin, Tony and Steve arrived, having broken out of their own cells. In order to escape the cells, Tony blew up his arc reactor to take down the door. Tony told Natasha that after Obadiah Stane's betrayal, he created a magnetic back-up system that would help sustain him without the arc, but it only offered a 30 minute window, and already, by the time they reached Natasha, Tony was in fairly bad shape.

Of course, Tony and Steve's escape attracted a lot of attention, and shortly after Tony and Steve arrived to save Natasha, soldiers began flooding into the room. Natasha was restrained and unable to fight, so Tony held off the soldiers while Steve attacked Loki.

At this point, the Red Room still hoped to capture Steve and Tony alive, but both Natasha and Clint were on the "kill" list, and when Stark was fighting a solider who had tackled him, another solider saw the opportunity to take Natasha out. He was about to pull the trigger when someone shot him from behind, and as soon as he fell, Natasha realized it was Clint who had saved her. Clint met Natasha's eyes for a brief moment, and then collapsed again.

Here is the very last piece of Chapter 24:

It was the tell-tale sound of a gun cocking that drew Natasha's attention away from the fight.

She turned to find another soldier standing a few feet away, his sidearm drawn and pointed at her chest. Apparently, the order barring lethal force did not extend to her.

The soldier smirked faintly, his finger tightening on the trigger.

The shot, when it came, made her flinch, but the expected pain didn't follow.

Instead, the solider grunted, his body jerking suddenly before he fell forward, landing face down on the cement.

Natasha's eyes darted to the figure standing behind him, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Clint."

He lowered the pistol he held, his hands trembling; his breathing was harsh and his eyes were wild, but when his gaze found hers, a fleeting look of recognition passed over his features. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he joined the soldier on the floor.

Chapter 25

Natasha felt an unwelcome sense of déjà vu as she watched Clint fall, and for a fleeting instant, she wondered if this time he wouldn't be getting back up. But Clint was only still for a moment, and then he groaned lowly, curling in on himself, his hands reaching up to clutch at his head. His breathing was fast, his chest heaving raggedly, but the steady motion was a comforting sight nonetheless.

She allowed her gaze to linger there for a few seconds, but knowing that there was nothing she could do for him now, her eyes found Stark once again. The solider he was facing was standing above him, prepared to bring his foot down on Stark's abdomen, but Stark rolled away just in time, and then he twisted, bringing up his own legs and hitting the soldier behind the knees. The soldier landed hard on the floor, and an instant later, Stark reached the automatic rifle he'd dropped. He scooped up the weapon and scrambled back to his feet, then struck the solider over the head with the butt of the gun. When the man went limp, Stark brought the rifle to bear again, taking aim at the other soldiers now surging into the room.

There was a low clank, the distinct sound of a body hitting metal, and Natasha turned to see Rogers still locked in combat with Loki. It was the Asgardian who had hit the wall this time, and Rogers was trying to press his advantage, taking one swing after another, but as quick as he was, Loki was just a fraction faster, and it showed. He blocked the first three blows with his staff and the fourth with the gauntlet at his wrist, then he spun away, swinging his staff in a short arc that struck Rogers across the back. The force of the blow was enough to send Rogers through the air for several feet.

Stark must have seen it out of the corner of his eye, because he turned from the door and fired a round of bullets at Loki. The Asgardian used his staff to deflect them, lead striking the alien metal in a shower of gold sparks.

Rogers used the distraction to get back on his feet and he charged again, hitting Loki in a low tackle from behind, much like the one the guard had used on Stark only moments before. Loki landed facedown with a grunt, but when Rogers aimed a blow at his head, Loki twisted out of the way, and Rogers's fist struck the cement instead, a faint spider web of cracks appearing in the floor as a result. Loki was on his feet in instant, and Rogers jumped up with him, leaping into the air, bringing his right leg up in a spinning kick that struck Loki across the jaw. Loki stumbled back and Rogers brought his leg up once more, hitting him square in the chest with his boot. Loki fell again, landing on his back this time. He started to raise his staff, but Rogers got there first, bringing his foot down on the weapon, just below the gem that glowed an electric blue, trapping it against the floor. His right hand found Loki's throat.

Given what Natasha had seen of Loki's abilities so far, the Asgardian was undoubtedly strong enough to throw him off, but for the moment, he stayed where he was. Instead, he smirked up at Rogers, who was breathing hard and had a trickle of blood running down his face from a gash on his temple.

"You cannot win," Loki declared.

Rogers eyes narrowed, his hand tightening fractionally around Loki's throat. "We'll see."

Despite the unspoken threat, Loki laughed.

"Oh, yes, we will."

An instant later, Rogers stumbled, nearly falling over, because where Loki had been there was nothing. The Captain's eyes darted around the room, searching, and Natasha's gaze followed his, but Loki was gone, as though he'd never been there in the first place.

There was no time to wonder how such as thing was possible.

A burst of gunfire drew Natasha's attention to Stark. A small group of soldiers had made it through the narrow doorway, and other soldiers were surging into the room to join them. Rogers ran forward to help the billionaire, stopping only to pick up the weapon of one of the men Stark had taken out earlier. The noise from their combined fire drowned out nearly every other sound in the small space, but between them, Stark and Rogers stopped the rushing tide of soldiers, at least temporarily. Natasha wasn't foolish enough to think that the respite would continue for long, but it was welcome just the same.

Rogers tossed his spent gun aside and jogged towards her, reaching for the cuffs at her wrists. With a sharp tug, the metal gave way under his fingers, and she pulled her arms free. Her ankles were released a moment later, and she pushed past Rogers and Stark without a word, already headed for Clint. She was dimly aware that both men followed behind her, but she ignored them.

Clint was still laying where he'd fallen, curled in a fetal position, his fingers pressing into his scalp, his eyes squeezed shut. The gun he'd used to save her lay a few feet away, dropped when he'd fallen.

"Clint."

Her voice was hoarse, and it surprised her. But it was an effort to force his name past the lump in her throat.

Clint didn't react.

"Hey, what…happened…to him?"

Stark's blunt question might have bothered her more if he hadn't needed to pause twice in the middle of it to catch his breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see how pale Stark looked, the hole in his chest just as disconcerting as it had been before.

"Loki said he healed him," she answered simply. "He restored his memories. All of them."

There was a moment of uneasy silence.

"Is that even possible?" Rogers asked at last.

"He made me remember things."

Her voice didn't waver, but it was dull, flat in a way that might have been just as telling, because she could feel Rogers' concerned gaze on her back.

She reached out to grasp Clint's shoulder, and his muscles trembled beneath her hand.

"Clint?" she tried again.

Still there was nothing, no sign that Clint had heard her.

Maybe he hadn't.

"I really did heal him. All that damage, all the alterations the Red Room made…gone in the blink of an eye, and his memories returned…every single one."

She tried to imagine what that would be like. The few memories that Loki had restored to her had left her reeling, and the pain in her skull was sharp and unrelenting. Magnify that a thousand fold…

"The human mind is so very fragile…I'm afraid it simply couldn't take the strain."

Time might very well prove that Loki was right, Natasha knew. But Clint had saved her, and she refused to believe that it had been a fluke. His mind couldn't be broken, not completely. He was still in there. Somewhere.

She gripped Clint's shoulder a little more firmly and shook it. "Clint."

If she hadn't been watching him so closely, she might have missed it - the faint intake of breath, the barely audible groan.

She shook him again. "Come on, Clint. Open your eyes."

His eyelids fluttered, and then finally, she saw the barest hint of blue-gray. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes cloudy and unfocused, but slowly, his gaze cleared a little and he blinked.

"N'tas'a?"

Her name was barely understandable, but it was quite possibly the best sound she had ever heard.

"Yes."

"Wha…" His gaze left her face to drift around the room, uncomprehending. "Где я? (Where I am?) I don't… Кто? (Who?) Как? (How?)"

The jumbled mix of Russian and English trailed off into unintelligible mumbling, and he groaned, his fingers digging into his scalp once more. She gave him another shake, harder this time, forcing him to look at her again.

"Clint, we have to go. More soldiers are coming. Do you understand?"

There was a long pause and then he gave a small jerk of his head that she assumed was meant to be a nod. She pulled his hands away from his scalp and stood, tugging him up with her. He swayed, immediately listing to one side, but Rogers reached out to help steady him.

Clint didn't react to the touch at all - Natasha wondered if he even knew that the two other men were there.

"So, where to?" Rogers asked, looking at Stark.

"I think…we should head…to the armory next," the billionaire answered, the words still caught between ragged breaths. "According to the…base's mainframe, the weapons they…confiscated…from us…should be there. Even if…they're not, we'll probably…be able…to find something…we can use. 'Sides…the mainframe said…Banner and Thor are in a…maximum security wing. We'll need something better than…a few…stolen guns…if we're planning to get 'em…outta there."

Natasha frowned. "The armory is an obvious target. It will be guarded."

"You have…a better idea?" Stark asked.

She thought for a moment then shook her head. "No," she admitted.

Rogers didn't look particularly happy either, but he nodded. "Alright, then, armory it is. We'll free Dr. Banner and Thor, and then we go after Loki."

Their plans made, they did a quick search of the room, taking guns and extra ammunition from the fallen guards. Rogers and Stark both chose assault rifles like the ones they'd carried earlier, and Natasha picked up a couple of Makarov pistols. The grips felt bulky in her hands compared to her Glocks, but they were obviously well-maintained, and the magazines were full. Knowing that she would need to have her hands free, she found a couple of thigh holsters as well, and she studied Clint as she tightened the holsters around her legs.

He was already wearing a holster of his own, but it was empty, and he hadn't moved to fill it. He simply stood there, swaying a little, staring at a point on the floor, his brow furrowed, his eyes glassy. Making a quick decision, Natasha bent down to pick up the handgun Clint had dropped. She released the magazine and quickly checked the number of rounds it had left, then slid the magazine back into place and reached for Clint's hands, carefully wrapping them around the gun. Clint still didn't respond, but his grip adjusted automatically, his fingers moving to rest lightly on the trigger.

She turned around to find Rogers's gaze shifting between her and the gun Clint now held, and though he didn't say a word, it was easy enough to guess that he was questioning the wisdom of arming a man who was barely coherent.

She didn't particularly care what Rogers thought - Clint wasn't going anywhere without a weapon.

Thankfully, Rogers seemed to know when to pick his battles, because a moment later, he issued the order for them to move out. Stark rolled his eyes at the command, but he obeyed nonetheless, following behind Rogers while she and Clint took their six.

The hallway immediately outside of the interrogation room remained empty, and they made good time down the corridor. Clint was walking with all the coordination of a drunk, and twice she had to call his name and remind him to keep going, but at least he was moving under his own power, and so far, he was managing to keep up.

They slowed as they reached the end of the passageway, and Rogers pressed his back against the nearest wall then peered around the corner.

A volley of bullets answered him.

Apparently, the Red Room no longer felt that non-lethal force would be effective enough.

Rogers threw himself back, pressing himself even more firmly against wall behind him, and Stark made a quick dive for safety next to the Captain. Natasha followed, grabbing Clint's arm and pulling him beside her. They weren't at risk for a direct hit - the bullets were striking the wall opposite the one where they stood - but ricochets were a real threat, as evidenced by the gouges now visible in the concrete floor.

A dent suddenly appeared in the metal of the wall just above Stark's left shoulder, and he spat a startled curse, ducking down a little more. "What…I wouldn't give…for some armor…right now!"

"Good idea," Rogers said.

Turning so that he faced the wall, Rogers set down the assault rifle he carried, then pulled back his right arm and struck the metal with his elbow. The metal panel shrieked in protest as it caved in on itself and the edges were thrust upwards, and Rogers quickly reached for those edges, prying them up until the metal panel pulled away from the wall. He was left with a warped, rectangular metal sheet that was roughly a foot wide and two feet long. He turned the metal on end, so that the greater length would protect his head and torso, and then he bent his knees, placing as much of his body behind the make-shift shield as he could.

"Cover me if you can," he said simply.

After that he was running, charging out into the gunfire.

The soldiers clearly weren't expecting a direct attack, because frantic shouts soon joined the noise of the gunfire. An instant later, one of the soldiers was sent flying through the air, striking the bullet-ridden metal wall and landing in a heap on the cement.

Stark seemed to see that as his cue, taking up position at the corner and bringing up the assault rifle he held, firing off a round of his own.

Natasha moved behind him to look around the corner as well, making a quick assessment of the fight before she glanced back at Clint. His handgun was now holstered at his hip, but otherwise, he was standing where she had left him, leaning against the wall, staring at the floor like he had earlier.

"Clint."

He jumped a little at the sound of his name, but his eyes slowly rose to meet hers.

"Stay here with Stark," she told him.

He frowned faintly, and a for a moment, she wondered if he was going to argue, but then he just nodded and his gaze drifted back to the floor.

Something twisted inside Natasha's chest, but she pushed it aside and turned around, reaching for the Makarovs at her sides, drawing them as she broke into a sprint. She dropped down as soon as she rounded the corner, sliding across the cement like a baseball player sliding into home plate, firing as she went. Three soldiers dropped before any of the others realized she was there.

Finally, one of them spun around, shooting at her in return, but she tucked into a summersault, rolling forward and landing in a crouch, then she swept her right leg out, knocking the soldier off his feet. An elbow to his throat took him out of the fight permanently.

Another soldier had already stepped up to take his place, but he had gotten no further than raising his gun when she re-holstered her Makarovs and did a handspring onto his shoulders, using the combination of her momentum and her body weight to throw him over her head. He struck the solider behind him, taking the other man to the floor, and Natasha landed in a crouch, drawing her Makarovs again and firing before either solider could get back up.

She stood, looking down the corridor, and saw Rogers was using the metal sheet like a battering ram now, running straight through the remaining soldiers, leaving them limp and unmoving in his wake. There were only a few who were still on their feet, and she guessed that there couldn't have been more than around twenty men to begin with. There were undoubtedly many more waiting for them elsewhere, but this particular corridor was too small to accommodate a larger force.

She started for Rogers, intending to help him dispatch those who were left, but a shout from Stark brought her up short. She turned and immediately broke into a run when she saw that the solider Rogers had thrown against the wall had gotten to his feet. Stark had his gun raised, but his physical condition was obviously worsening - his hands shook as he pulled the trigger and his shot went wide.

She was too far down the hallway to stop what happened next.

The soldier gave Stark no time to shoot again, but slammed straight into him. Stark hit the wall behind him and crumpled the floor a moment later, clearly stunned. The solider ripped the assault rifle from his hands as he fell, and Natasha expected him to turn the gun on Stark, but he must have seen an opportunity to bring the billionaire in alive because he brought the gun up, away from Stark. Instead, he pointed the rifle down the corridor where there could only be one other target - Clint.

For an instant, everything seemed to slow down, even as Natasha forced another burst of speed from her muscles.

She rounded the corner just as the solder's finger tightened on the trigger. Clint was still standing where she'd left him, just a short distance from where Stark had been, and she wouldn't reach the soldier in time to keep him from firing. The bullet would hit Clint point-blank.

A shout of denial lodged itself in her throat, her heart pounding behind her ribs, and then, suddenly, Clint was moving, leaping at the soldier, using his left forearm to knock the gun aside, and bringing the palm of his right hand up under the soldier's chin, forcing his head back with an audible snap.

The soldier collapsed, the rifle clattering to the concrete next to him.

Natasha stopped running, her steps slowing as her momentum carried her to Clint's side.

He wasn't moving any more, just standing there again, staring down at his hands like he wasn't quite sure that they belonged to him.

She had just reached out to lay a hand on Clint's arm when the sound of heavy boots hitting the floor made her spin around and fall automatically into an attack stance. She relaxed when she saw it was Rogers. In his right hand, he still held the metal panel he'd pried from the wall, and it was noticeably more warped now, with a few deeper indentations that had clearly been caused by bullets, but the Captain himself seemed to be uninjured.

His gaze darted quickly around the corridor, and then he was bending down to help Stark who was now struggling to get back up to his feet.

"You alright?" Rogers asked, frowning when it became obvious that he was taking most of the billionaire's weight.

"Oh…I'm just…peachy…can't you…tell?" Stark retorted breathlessly. He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head as though trying to get the fog to clear. His right hand rose to rub at his chest, but then he straightened up and pushed the Captain's hand away. "Doesn't…matter…how…I am. We've gotta…keep…moving."

Rogers looked like he wanted to argue, but Stark was right - there just wasn't any time to wait for him. Giving Stark one last look, Rogers bent down to pick up the assault riffles that now lay on the concrete at their feet - both the gun that the solider had taken from Stark, and the assault rifle he'd left behind earlier. He gave Stark his gun back, then hefted his own rifle once more, slinging the strap over his right shoulder before adjusting his grip on his makeshift-shield that he held in his left hand.

Stark started doing a quick inspection of his gun, obviously wanting to make sure it hadn't been damaged in the fight, and knowing that they would be setting out again soon, Natasha's gaze darted back to Clint. His hands had fallen back down to his sides, and they clenched and unclenched every few moments, his fingers almost twitching as they curled into his palms. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes cloudy once more, but just like there wasn't time for Stark, there wasn't time for Clint either, as much as Natasha wished there was.

They couldn't wait.

"Clint," she said lowly.

Natasha couldn't deny the relief she felt when he looked back at her.

"We need to hurry."

He didn't answer, but when Rogers and Stark started down the corridor again, Clint fell into step with her automatically. Rogers, she noticed, was keeping less distance between himself and Stark than he had before, clearly keeping an eye on the billionaire. If Stark was irritated by the Captain's concern, he couldn't muster the energy to complain about it. He did, however, stop them as they reached the end of the hallway where the last group of fallen soldiers lay.

"Hang on…a second," Stark said, bending down.

He dug through the field vest the soldier was wearing, checking the various pockets. He smirked suddenly as he reached one of the larger pouches. "Thought…so."

He stood up, something in his palm, and when he held out his hand, she saw the reason for his smirk.

A grenade.

Stark gave it to Rogers who studied it with a faint frown. "Doesn't look that different from the ones I remember."

"It's not, really. It's an…RGN…the Soviet…standard. Biggest…difference…is the time delay…fuse."

"Blast range?" Rogers asked.

"Lethal radius is around 13 to 33 feet," Natasha answered immediately.

Stark turned to stare at her for a moment, then shook his head. "Right. Shoulda…figured…you'd know that." He glanced at the fallen soldier again. "Wanna bet…this guy…wasn't the only one…packing…a little extra…fire power?"

He wasn't. A quick search of the nearest bodies turned up two more fragmentation grenades, and in the end, they stripped one of the fallen soldiers of his vest and gave it to Stark, agreeing that he would be the one to carry the ordnance. It would allow all of them to keep their hands free, and hopefully, it would offer Stark a little more protection during the fight as well.

The hallways of the Red Room were empty as they left the basement and reached the ground floor of the training center, but the blatant lack of opposition was hardly comforting. If the Red Room wasn't guarding these corridors, then that meant that they had chosen to deploy the majority of their troops elsewhere…in all likelihood, protecting high value targets like the armory.

The question was, just how many men would they be facing?

Natasha frowned as she called up the Red Room's layout in her mind. She remembered the armory clearly - it was here, on the ground floor, within easy reach of the officers and soldiers who spent the majority of their time inside the building. (It had never escaped her notice, however, that it could be found on the end of the building opposite the trainees' barracks, close enough so that they could also be easily armed, but far enough away that the Red Room's leadership would be guaranteed valuable minutes should those same trainees ever attempt to rebel and arm themselves.)

Moreover, the armory was positioned at the center of a long hallway so that anyone attempting to reach it would have no available cover to protect them from incoming fire. That hallway was twice the width of the other corridors, meaning that the Red Room would have far more room to assemble their troops when needed.

When they arrived at the end of the hallway where the armory was located, it was immediately obvious that the Red Room was using this fact to their full advantage, and Natasha bit back the Russian curse that sat on the tip of her tongue. There were at least two platoons stationed there, perhaps sixty men total. They had been spread carefully along the corridor, giving each man enough room to maneuver, while still guaranteeing that she and the others would need to fight for every inch of progress they made.

"Looks like they're not gonna make this easy," Rogers muttered as he peered around the corner, taking in the scene. He turned around to face them once more, his gaze moving between her and Stark. He glanced at Clint too, but Natasha knew without looking that Clint's blank stare had returned. She could feel his unnatural stillness beside her, and every once in a while, she could hear him mumbling to himself, though she couldn't make out the words.

"What do you think?" Rogers asked. "Any way to go around?"

"No," Natasha answered. "This is the only access point for the armory."

"What about the air ducts?"

Natasha's eyebrows rose faintly. "This is a prison, Captain. A very elaborate prison, filled with highly trained inmates. Do you really think they would overlook such an obvious security flaw?"

"They didn't," Stark interjected. "I checked the…HVAC system…while I…was digging around…in…the mainframe. They managed…to make the ducts…too small…for anybody…to crawl through…without compromising…the system's…efficiency. Not a bad…piece of…engineering…really."

Rogers sighed, his expression resigned. "Hard way it is, then." He paused, obviously considering their options. "Can we split up? Take them from both sides?"

"I wouldn't chance it," Natasha answered. "If we tip them off while getting into position, we lose the element of surprise."

"Don't know…how long…we'll be able…to surprise them, either," Stark pointed out. "I took down…the cameras, but…you know…they've gotta be…working…on getting their…systems back up, and I'm betting…the cameras and comms…will be top priority…so they can track our movements. Better to take 'em on…when they won't see…us coming."

Rogers nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. "How long is the time delay fuse on those grenades?"

"Impact fuse…triggers after 1 to 1.8 seconds," Stark answered. "If it hasn't…hit anything…time delay fuse detonates…after 3.5 to 4 seconds."

"Alright. How long would you say this corridor is?"

The billionaire crept forward to get a better view of the corridor, and tilted his head in contemplation. "Ninety-five…maybe…a hundred feet."

"That's what I thought." Rogers set his make-shift shield down against the nearby wall and held out a hand. "Give me a grenade."

Stark opened one of the pockets of his scavenged field vest and obliged the Captain. Rogers stared at the grenade in his palm for a moment, his expression grim, but when he looked up again, his eyes were filled with resolve.

"I'll throw the grenade into the wall on the other end of the corridor. That should thin out their numbers. Whoever is left…the explosion should drive them towards us. Any objections?"

Stark shrugged. "Works…for me. Romanoff?"

"Sounds like our best bet," she agreed.

Rogers nodded in acknowledgement, then glanced at Clint again. "Is he gonna be able to help?"

Natasha followed the Captain's gaze.

Clint still hadn't moved from her side, and he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that they were discussing him now, but so far, in every fight he'd been a part of, he'd managed to respond. Maybe it was simply the result of Red Room-ingrained instinct, a trained reflex so strong that not even Loki's meddling could stifle it. Or maybe, somehow, a part of Clint's mind was still able to grasp the situation they were in, and he wanted to fight…understood that he needed to. She hoped it was the second - that he was fighting by choice and not just because his body knew what to do even if his mind didn't.

"He'll be fine," Natasha told the Captain at last.

It wasn't quite an answer to the question Rogers had asked, but the truth was, she didn't have an answer to give him. Would Clint be able to help? She had no idea. But he would be fine. She'd make sure of it, whether Clint managed to fight or not.

Rogers seemed to hear what she wasn't saying, and he nodded again in silent acceptance.

Then, drawing a deep breath, he turned towards the corridor once more, the grenade clutched in his right hand as he prepared to throw it.

"Ready?" he asked.

They were, and Rogers darted out into the open, pulled the pin from the grenade, and threw it with all of his considerable strength.

There was a frantic shout of "граната!" Grenade!

An instant later, the explosion ripped through the corridor.

TBC

A/N: I'll do everything I can to make sure that the wait for the next chapter is much shorter, though please know that life really is very busy for me right now, and hard to predict. But I promise that I will do my best.

As always, I hope you enjoyed this and please let me know what you think!

Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)