"Where is Natasha Romanoff?"Faced with that question, even Clint Barton—who knew her best—could only shake his head.
The last message he'd received from Natasha mentioned that she had to take care of something personal. Clint had long been used to her coming and going unpredictably. But this time, her absence had lasted far longer than usual. Even when the Avengers uncovered new leads on Hydra, she had not returned. Steve Rogers first checked with Agent Hill, then with Clint Barton, but neither had a definitive answer. It was as if Natasha Romanoff had vanished into thin air.
"If she doesn't want to be found, it means there's something she doesn't want us to know," Clint shrugged. "If she needed help, she'd find a way to contact us—or leave a clue. I don't think she's in a situation worse than being captured by Ultron. I know her—she's faced tougher odds, and she's always found a way through."
"If it were me, I wouldn't be so optimistic, Clint."
The Avengers had inherited the intelligence network once built by S.H.I.E.L.D., and Agent Hill played a crucial role in tracking Hydra activity. Steve knew he could never hope to find what he needed in the sea of documents. Only S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top-tier analysts—those trained by retired agents from the Academy—could spot the slimy residue left behind by Hydra's writhing movement in the dark. They were one of the most valuable legacies S.H.I.E.L.D. had left behind after its collapse.
"Especially now, when we've just started picking up Hydra's trail," Captain Rogers sighed. "We need her."
"We've actually been talking about retiring, Cap," Clint said softly, worried his words might spark a tidal wave he couldn't stop. He quickly added an explanation. "I know we're good agents, but me and Nat—we're still just people. We'll retire one day. I have a family. And Nat, well…"
"I understand. I've seen comrades step down after war. I won't force either of you to keep working. That's why the Avengers bring in new blood," Steve replied with a smile. "Sam's adjusting well to the base. Pietro's abilities and processing speed are far beyond average. I believe we can wipe out Hydra's poison. It won't take long. Everything will be alright—your retirement included."
"Let's hope so." Clint gave a noncommittal shrug and sank into the leather couch.
The fact that Steve hadn't shot down his retirement idea was a huge relief. Right now, he just wanted a cold beer. Fortunately, the Avengers' lounge fridge was always stocked. Pietro had once demonstrated how he could clear out the fridge in under a minute and collapse onto the couch like a stone. After that, Tony Stark had the logistics team increase the resupply rate.
As for Pietro, Clint had his concerns. He believed the Avengers should have sent Maximoff to school like his sister—Wanda. Even though Pietro had a vendetta against Hydra, he still needed an education. That was the responsibility of older generations—to guide the young, not just train them or send them into missions.
However, Pietro had rejected that suggestion himself. Tony Stark supported his decision, believing Pietro should do whatever he wanted. Stark claimed Solomon had already taught Pietro enough STEM knowledge to be useful, and unless he was aiming for academia, it was sufficient.
Still, Stark did agree with part of Clint's sentiment. Especially after receiving updates on Wanda Maximoff's academic progress through Natasha's old intel channels, Stark, perhaps out of a sense of rivalry, promised to send Pietro to business school once the Hydra operation ended—at the very least to get an MBA so he could manage Stark Industries one day.
"Will Stark be joining this mission?" Clint asked, thinking of all this. "Still as enthusiastic as always?"
"No, he has other things to deal with," Steve shook his head. "Congress is issuing a wave of inquiries into the Avengers. The Supreme Court might be preparing something, and Stark has to work with his lobbying groups. I think Sam and Pietro are enough for the next phase—there's no need to involve Stark."
"We've still got Vision."
"Ah, Vision! He's our intelligence support. And I don't think we'll need him for a few mercenaries. Besides, with the current international mood toward artificial intelligence…" Steve's eyes flickered, unsure whether to continue. Vision was a problem. All sixteen U.S. intelligence agencies wanted access to Vision's capabilities—to breach networks and collect data. But Stark had refused them all. This made the government even more hostile toward the Avengers.
Maria Hill's sudden entrance into the lounge drew everyone's attention. Steve breathed a silent sigh of relief. He had no desire to burden his team with the pressure he himself was carrying. As someone from the command chain, he believed it was his duty to shield them from demoralizing news. His wartime training had taught him that for soldiers field-promoted to officers, the rule was always "support is on the way"—no matter how grim the situation was. The commanding officer had to say, "Hold the line! Reinforcements are coming, you idiots!"
Clint raised an eyebrow, asking Hill why she was barging in.
"Langley was attacked." Maria Hill tried to keep a straight face, but even she couldn't hide a trace of schadenfreude at her old rival's misfortune. "Perpetrator unidentified."
"Hydra?"
"According to the analysts, that's a possibility." Hill nodded. "Could be a retaliation to the Avengers' recent pressure."
"Need help?" Clint offered.
"That's not happening. Stark is in Washington, but his offer of assistance was rejected. The CIA absolutely will not let anyone near their server room—especially not someone like Stark, who has access to advanced tech. This attack was on the scale of MI6 getting hit, but Langley suffered greater losses. A modified Quinjet was seen fleeing the scene, which pretty much confirms this was a Hydra remnant embedded in S.H.I.E.L.D."
Hill's lips moved. It took effort to get the next words out. Whatever pleasure she'd felt moments ago had vanished entirely.
"It was a massacre," she said. "A fucking massacre. A lot of CIA agents died—including a department head. Not that anyone's mourning them, mind you."
Two days later, in a damp, trash-strewn alley in Clinton District, Victoria Hand handed a dossier to a hooded man. The foul stench hung above every puddle. She'd come to this place to meet one person—her mission objective.
"Your former superior, William, is dead. He was your target, wasn't he?"
"What do you know?" Frank Castle grinned. "Why'd you kill him?"
"I'm sorry. This isn't something to celebrate, but I assure you—it was a coincidence. Our agents made a small mistake while extracting intel. We had to send in backup. Your old CO from Afghanistan—the one who ordered the DHS informant's death—William had just been promoted. Unfortunately, he got in the way."
"I don't believe you."
(End of Chapter)
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