"слушайте меня. Assemble the gun completely in less than thirty seconds, Natalia, if you want to eat today.

The little girl's face was emotionless, but she cocked her head as she glanced down at the table in front of her. "But there is no barrel here."

"That is correct," replied the axe-faced matron. "Katerina has the barrel and will not surrender it. You must assemble the gun in less than thirty seconds. Go."

Natasha slowly opened her eyes and listened for her own pulse, willing it to calm. The bed was hard and uncomfortable as she shifted slightly.

"Bad dream?" her partner asked from his perch by the tiny window.

"Bad memory," she replied, blinking in the relentless sunlight. "It's too damned hot to sleep anyway. What time is it?"

"Almost 4," Clint answered, turning his attention back out to the busy Marrakech street below. "No sign of hostiles, I gave the all-clear for Counsellor Dodona's arrival a couple of hours ago. His security retinue will be taking over at 20:00."

"Mmffph," she grunted in affirmation, wiping the sweat from her face. "Do you want to catch a few Z's before we pack up?"

"Nah, I'm fine. Like you said, too hot to sleep. Just need to kill a few more hours in this sandbox. Warning you now, I'm flying home with the windows open."

Natasha smiled and stood up from the bed. She had earlier stripped down to panties and a camisole, which clung appealingly to her sweat-dampened skin. She stretched up onto her tip toes and spread her sleepy limbs out widely, and her partner groaned.

"Jesus, Nat! Can you not... I mean... come on. Really," he chastised her. "I thought we had an agreement about that!"

Natasha pulled her arms down and chuckled. "It was an accident, I'm sorry!"

He was shaking his head in disgust. "And in your underwear, no less. Temptress."

"Professional temptress," she corrected him, stepping towards the window.

"Hussy," he retorted, a grin appearing on his lips. "Trollop!"

"Did you swallow a thesaurus?" Natasha teased her partner.

"Shameless Jezebel," Clint replied, sticking his tongue out at her. She grinned, and he crossed his eyes.

She put her hand on his hot shoulder, and paused. "Wait a minute!" she exclaimed suddenly, gesturing at his attire. "Hypocrite!"

He gave her a sedate look. "I am in my boxers and undershirt because it's 126° in here. I am not wearing silk, stretching provocatively, or being aggressively adorable."

She rolled her eyes, and picked up her binoculars from the table beside the window. "Double standards are clearly in place, I see." She scanned the streets from behind the gauzy curtain.

"I'm your senior, I get to make the rules," he informed her casually.

She snorted in derision and picked up their duty log. "As the senior agent, then, you get to explain all these doodles," she said as she quickly flipped through the most recent pages. "Oh, I like this one!"

Clint glanced over, she was pointing at his cartoon drawing of Stark flying into a closed window. "Thanks, I am pretty proud of that one myself. I'm thinking of a series on that theme, everyone's favorite Iron Ma..."

Clint trailed off suddenly as a red light began to blink furiously on a small console at his side. He quickly started typing as Natasha jumped into action, grabbing her machine pistols from the dresser.

"Perimeter alarm," Clint grunted. "Someone coming down the hallway."

"Gun?" his partner asked as she strapped her tactical vest on.

"I'll take your Grach," he replied, and she handed him her handgun and his tac vest. A second light began to blink on the console. Natasha took up position beside the door to their tiny room, and Clint quickly pulled his vest on. Seconds later, there was a sharp knock on the wooden door.

Clint slowly put his hand on the doorknob and called out, "Muneh hun'akah?"

There was a pause, before a smooth male voice answered. "Dammit, Barton, my Arabic is rusty. Either you're asking me out for a game of tennis, or you want to know who this is. The answers are 'but I forgot my racquet' and 'Timo Vanalman'."

Clint's face relaxed into a smile and he nodded at his partner. Without lowering his gun, he pulled the door open. Standing in the hall was a grinning red-headed man, similar in height and build to Clint. He was fair and freckled, handsome in a devilish way in a light linen suit, and his hands were raised in supplication.

"Jesus, Clint, do you always answer the door in your undies?" he exclaimed.

The comment drew a laugh from Natasha, and Clint lowered his weapon. He gestured the man in, who obliged and gave Natasha a curious once-over.

"What the hell are you doing in Marrakech during a heat wave, Timo?" Clint asked as he cleared the chamber of his gun and put it back on the dresser.

"Shit, tell me about it," the man sighed. "Hey, let's send the ginger out into the desert again, watch him burn to a crisp, ha ha ha. Bah! I'm just early. I'm heading up Counsellor Dodona's security these days."

"No kidding?" Clint replied with interest. "I wondered! After they bumped you up to Level 8, bam. No trace of you."

"It's a nice change. Less rolling out of bed in the middle of the night, more cushy private jets and champagne," the man responded wryly. "So, you gonna tell me how you ended up in this hellhole in your skivvies with a Russian handgun and a lingerie model?"

Natasha was peeling off her tactical vest, and she raised her eyebrow at the stranger.

Clint chuckled. "Tash, this is Agent Timo Vanalman. He and I were in the army together, SHIELD recruited both of us outta there..."

"Hallelujah," Vanalman interrupted.

"... Timo, the gun came with the model, both are Russian. This is Agent Natasha Romanoff, my partner," Clint continued.

"Charmed," Natasha held her hand out, and Vanalman eagerly shook it.

"Partner?" Timo seemed surprised. "Damn. Never figured you'd partner up, Barton. What happened to the lone hawk routine?"

Clint managed to look somewhat abashed, and Natasha answered for him. "I'm a stray, he took me in. Daddy said he could keep me, but only if he promised to look after me himself."

"Worst mistake I've ever made," Clint muttered under his breath, and Natasha cuffed him lightly. "I mean, Tasha has a way of changing a man's mind."

"I... uhhh... I can see that," Timo replied, making an awkward hand gesture at her that suggested he didn't know where to look. Natasha smiled coyly, grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it on. She climbed onto the bed with her machine pistols and began checking the chambers.

"Most of the time, we're fully clothed," Clint supplied helpfully. "But this heat is a bit much. I got tired of wringing out my BDU's every five minutes."

Vanalman chuckled, and Clint gestured for him to take the extra chair. The men sat and Clint did a quick recon from his sniper scope. "So what's up, Timo? Why early?"

Vanalman spread his hands. "No reason, really. I heard it was you that called in the all-clear and I thought I'd drop in ahead of time and we could catch up. I didn't realize you were a duet now."

"Strike Team Delta," Clint nodded. "Highest success rate for the last four years." His voice had an undisguised note of pride.

"Wow," Vanalman said appreciatively. "I'm surprised they don't have you babysitting counsellors and swilling champagne, too."

Natasha paused almost imperceptibly as she was cleaning her guns, but Clint noticed as obviously as if she had thrown her precious Pernachs out the window. He pursed his lips. "I can't say they haven't asked."

"Too proud to live the good life?" Timo smiled.

"Too happy where I am, actually," he replied softly, looking at his partner. She was pretending she wasn't listening, and didn't meet his gaze.

"Ahhh," Timo nodded. "Russian, you said? SVR? GRU? FSB?" he named several Russian intelligence services.

Natasha's head snapped up. "None of the above," she replied with fire in her eyes. "Ex-Red Room. Very ex."

Vanalman's eyes widened. "Holy shit," he said after a pause.

"Indeed," she agreed. "I told you, I was a stray."

Clint's old friend shook his head slowly. "You always did know how to pick 'em, Barton," he said lazily.

"It's a natural talent," Clint replied with a grin.

Vanalman ran his hand through his short-cropped hair. "It's something, all right, buddy," he agreed. "And it really doesn't give me any options. I'm sorry."

Natasha tensed instantly at the change in his tone, and was already pulling one of her Pernachs up towards Vanalman when he pulled the trigger on the gun he suddenly had trained on her. Two shots, center of mass, and she collapsed back down onto the bed as blood gushed from her chest.

Clint shouted hoarsely, scrambling to grab his gun. Timo had already reached out to him, a small metal tube in his off-hand, and it discharged a stunning current of electricity as it came in contact with Clint's shoulder. Clint screamed as his muscles contracted painfully.

Timo quickly pulled several sets of handcuffs from his linen jacket and restrained the archer even as he continued to spasm. "Jesus, Clint," Timo gasped. "I'm so sorry, I swear to God. I had no idea you weren't alone, I just assumed. I didn't know about your partner..." Vanalman glanced at her, unmoving on the bed, and shuddered.

Clint hissed angrily between clenched teeth. "Gonna... k...kill... you...Ti..mo.." he ground out to his old friend.

Vanalman gave him a look of despair. "Clint, I swear to you, I wasn't expecting this. But Red Room? I had no choice. I couldn't zap you both and she could probably kill me just by looking. I'm so sorry."

Clint was growling and spitting blood, likely from biting his tongue during the shock. He began rocking and jerking the chair around, trying to get a view of his partner. "N..Na..tasha!" he cried jerkily.

"No, no," Timo begged, pulling the manacled archer back. "Just leave it, Barton, leave her. You can't help. Please, Barton, don't make me shoot you too." He grabbed Clint's jaw and tilted his head up to meet his eyes. Clint screamed loudly in frustration.

"Clint, please listen," his old friend pleaded. "I had to do this, you don't understand. If only you'd seen the... the corruption I have. The decadence," he explained, his voice rising. "You have no idea. The counsellors, they control us... all of us... they make decisions they claim are for the good of mankind. But it's a lie, Barton. They follow no code but the drive to preserve their own fortunes. We're all just puppets. I couldn't take it any more. I have a plan..."

Clint wasn't listening, he was pulling desperately at his bonds, at Timo's grasp on his chin and the chair, trying to see beyond him to the bed.

Timo sighed, and reached into his jacket for his cellphone. As he swiftly dialed, Clint began shouting broken obscenities at him. Timo frowned, but spoke assertively. "This is Vanalman. The destination is NOT secure, I repeat, not secure. Fortify Dodona immediately and initiate a counter-insurgency assault." He paused, giving one last regretful look at the raging archer. "Deploy maximum force to the destination."