COMING DOWN: PROLOGUE
2007
"Well, this is boring," Clint commented, as he moved by Natasha's side. His eyes swept from side to side, his bow loaded and ready to use at the smallest sign of movement. Behind them, ten other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents did the same. "I was expecting to come here and fight. They seem to have had some warning."
Natasha chuckled, though her eyes were narrowed. "It is an inconvenience."
They'd been investigating whispers within the intelligence community of an organisation rising. Their motive was unclear, but everyone had agreed on one thing: these people wanted to ruin the world as they knew it. They wanted to turn it on its head, instil fear, and in the end, take over. Why else would such a group exist, anyway?
The fact that they'd disappeared was beyond irritating. This wasn't the first group like this Natasha had to deal with. She'd had personal experience. But they needed to be stamped out now, while they were still rumours, before they gained momentum. That was when they became threats.
And threats were something S.H.I.E.L.D. could not tolerate.
"They might have had a warning system set up," she mused. "Either way, we need to find out as much as we can from what's left."
They ghosted through the corridors. Most of the doors were open, empty apart from papers hastily ripped or burned to prevent information being passed on, or someone's glasses, coats, or other belongings lying discarded on desks and shelves, forgotten in the haste to escape.
Most doors, that was. Only one in the entire stark white complex was partially closed; not enough to be closed, but close enough. Clint and Natasha exchanged a glance, understanding immediately. That was the room they needed to check out.
They edged toward the door and listened. There was no sound from within. Clint nodded at Natasha; she opened the door and instantly drew her guns, ready for a possible fight.
Though there would be no fight. The room was completely bare – apart from one lone figure.
A girl lay on the floor, eyes closed, chocolate locks sprayed around her head like a dark halo. Her caramel skin stood in stark contrast against the white tiles; underneath it, Natasha could see she was strong. She might be slight, but she was wiry, and Natasha knew not to underestimate her. If Natasha had to guess her age, it would be about nineteen years old. She would only be younger than them by five years at the most, Natasha could deduce that much.
"You think she's okay?" Clint asked, lowering his bow and instead looking in concern at the girl.
Natasha frowned. There was no evidence that harm had come to the girl; her skin was clear of blemishes and bruises, and she was a healthy weight. Her jeans and top were in good condition, with no tears or stains. No handcuffs bound her wrists, and the door had been unlocked.
No outward signs of damage, at the very least. Natasha had no way of knowing if these people had done anything to her mental wellbeing – or if she had even been at the mercy of this group, whoever they were. If she was this healthy, there was the very real possibility that she was been aligned with them.
"Only one way to find out," she murmured, and took a step forward.
As though this had been a sign, the girl opened her eyes.
Everyone froze, and weapons were raised; Clint aimed his bow, and Natasha gripped her guns. The girl didn't seem to realise they were there. She groaned and rubbed her head, wincing, blinking heavily. She pulled her hand away from her head and Natasha could see the girl swallow as her hand came away, sticky with blood.
Natasha hadn't considered what damage the girl's hair might be hiding. Now she looked closer, she could see blood matting a part of the girl's hair which she had not picked up at first sight. She began to lower her weapons.
The girl's head whipped around and rested on the group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents gathered before her. She screamed and backed up, clutching her hand close to her chest, her face taut with fear.
"Back off," Natasha whispered to the other agents. They complied without hesitation, leaving her and Clint closest to the girl.
The redhead lowered herself to the girl's level.
"Are you –" Nat breathed, but before she could get another word out the girl cried out and, with the agility and power of someone who had trained for years, she'd kicked Nat's legs out from beneath her and jumped back, panting hard.
"Hold your fire!" Clint barked to the other agents, as weapons were drawn, all pointing at the girl as Natasha clambered back to her feet.
Nat was glad he had spoken up; the girl looked like no threat despite her expert skills hand-to-hand. Rather, she was someone to be protected. Her eyes were wide, wild, flicking between everyone like prey cornered by predators. Her chapped lips were parted, her breath coming to her in sharp gasps for breath. Despite her fighting stance, Natasha could see the girl tremble.
"Who are you?" the girl whispered. Her voice was hoarse, like she hadn't used it in days.
Natasha stepped forward. Clint frowned, opening his mouth, but Natasha shook her head at him and faced the girl, raising her hands to show she was weaponless, a friend. "I'm Natasha," she said. "We've come to help you. I promise, we mean you no harm."
The girl bit her lip but didn't respond.
"What's your name?"
"I'm..." The girl paused, considering. Her eyes suddenly widened, the blood draining rapidly from her face.
"What's wrong?" Natasha probed. She risked another step forward. "We can help –"
"I'm Delaney. Delaney Esquivel," the girl blurted. "I think. I don't know. I – I don't remember... I don't remember anything. At all. It's all gone." Her voice trembled; Natasha could almost feel the terror surging through the girl. She gripped her brunette locks, breathing heavily. "I – I don't know who I am."
"Delaney -" Natasha whispered, her heart breaking for the other girl, but Delaney was paying Natasha no attention, frightened, she continued to babble a torrent of words under her breath.
"I don't know how old I am. If I have parents. If I have friends. I don't know how I got here – I don't know who you are!" The girl gasped and suddenly stepped back from the others. "Who are you? What have you done?"
"We've done nothing," Clint spoke up. He too stepped forward, a gentle expression in his eyes. He smiled; there was something reassuring about Clint's smile, Natasha thought. He was so warm and you couldn't help but trust him. "Delaney, I promise you, we've just arrived. Let us help you."
"I don't believe you," Delaney whispered. "Go away – stop!" she shrieked, as another agent stepped forward. She glared at him with the intensity of a wild, caged animal. "Stay away from me!"
The agent, who Natasha recognised to be Evan Wilde, suddenly stopped in his tracks. It was an abrupt motion, mid step, and he hadn't exactly been moving slowly, either. It was like some other force had taken control of his body, made it act without his consent.
Some other force... Natasha's gaze snapped back to Delaney, who had covered her head in her hands. Stop, she'd screamed. Stay away from me.
And without warning, Evan had stopped.
Feeling cold all over, Natasha turned to Evan. "Evan?"
He shook his head. "I can't move forward," he breathed. "I can't approach her. I can move back, but not toward her. At all."
Natasha and Clint exchanged a glance and took in the terrified girl. She wasn't as harmless as Natasha had first supposed. She was dangerous and, if she fell into the wrong hands, it could mean a catastrophe. The ability to take over the mind of another... Natasha suppressed a shiver. She could, if she was powerful enough, if she was trained... She could stop an army in its tracks.
The situation had turned far more delicate.
"Delaney," she whispered, in her gentlest, most reassuring voice. "We mean you no harm. Look, we're weaponless." At this, she dropped her weapons to the ground. Clint lowered his boy and shrugged off his quiver of arrows. At their lead, the other agents lowered their weapons as well, the metal clattering against the floor.
Delaney peeked up from her hands warily. As she saw the variety of weapons on the floor, after a brief hesitation, she lifted her head and lowered her hands to her side.
"Do you promise?"
She sounded so much like a child; vulnerable, exposed, terrified, but with an element of hope entwined with her words. Natasha wasn't surprised. Waking up with no idea who you were and being surrounded by armed soldiers would be overwhelming for anyone.
"Of course." Natasha continued to walk forward until she was beside the girl. With a smile, she offered her hand. "We'll do whatever we can to help you. We can help you control your powers, and protect you."
Delaney's eyebrows furrowed. "What powers?"
Natasha resisted the urge to look back at Clint. Instead, she peered intently at the brunette, and realised she was telling the truth. She was so confused – she truly didn't know that she had powers.
Which meant she wouldn't know how to control them.
"Later," she said breezily. "Come on – we need to leave. I'm sure you don't want to stay for much longer."
Delaney chuckled weakly. "I suppose not." She touched the back of her head; more blood covered her fingers. "I mustn't have been very welcome here."
"Ah, yes. We'll have that looked at."
Delaney nodded and reached her hand to take Natasha's, gingerly, as though afraid Natasha would break it. Instead Natasha hauled the girl to her feet and squeezed her shoulder and directed her toward Clint, who grinned.
"Hey, Lane," he said, and Natasha let him take over. He would be better for this than she was. Even now, Clint rested an arm around Delaney's shoulders. "Are you hungry?" he asked as they made their way through the other agents toward the exit.
"A little."
"We'll grab some food before we take you anywhere. Pizza sound good?"
Her face brightened. "Sounds great."
Natasha smiled. Delaney Esquivel might be a mystery, but she was sure with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s help, they could assist her discover who she was, what had happened her. Maybe through her, they could find this group before they could become a viable threat.
That was, until S.H.I.E.L.D. discovered that Delaney Esquivel didn't exist. There was no birth certificate, no sign that her name had been changed. They couldn't even discover who her parents were. And Delaney's memories didn't return over the next five years.
Even though Natasha spent her days training with Delaney and Clint, laughing, and exchanging jokes, Delaney Esquivel remained as much a mystery to her as they day they first met.