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August 7, 1971

“What one do you want to hear again?” Watchlord asked.

“The one about the Eel,” Natasha said.

“Okay.” Watchlord got comfortable for the telling. “So, the Eel is working with Mr. Fear and Ox, right? And they've got this plan to lure Daredevil into this trap. Only, they have no idea when he will show up. It could literally be hours. And the only place they can hide while they wait is the closet.”

“The closet,” Natasha said with a laugh.

“Right, so the three of them are just standing there in the closet, for hours, waiting for Daredevil to show up. Ox is this huge guy and Mr. Fear has the big cape-thing going on, so it's really packed in this closet. So, after an hour or so, the Eel starts opening up to these guys, just to kill the time. He's talking about how he designed the slippery coating on his costume, but then he starts talking about how he wants superheroes to try and grapple him. By the time he asks the others if they like being grappled by superheroes, Mr. Fear has figured out where this is heading and is desperately trying to change the subject. Ox doesn't get it for the longest time, but when he does, he goes, 'Oh my God!' and tries to get out of the closet.”

Natasha laughed. It helped that Watchlord never took off his helmet and gaudy costume, which made it even funnier when he got up and acted like Ox. Natasha had long since stopped wearing her costume and was in cozy pajamas. They were her pajamas, as Zodiac had been nice enough to pack up some of her things when they abducted her.

“So, Mr. Fear has to calm Ox down,” Watchlord continued, “and the Eel finally figures out he's in a closet with two straight guys. It had actually never occurred to him that any costumed villains were straight!”

“Did you ever fight Daredevil?” Natasha asked, suddenly serious.

“No, I never fought any superheroes at all! If you try to escape, you'll be my first. No, the costume is just how you build a rep for yourself in this business. If you don't have a good costume, you're just a goon. A flunkie.”

“Is 'jailor' so much better?” Natasha asked.

“Hey, Zodiac is a great organization to belong to. It's a growing cartel with a lot of room for advancement. The benefits are pretty good too. You're not doing too bad as a prisoner yourself.”

Natasha had to admit to herself that part was true. The apartment was the proverbial gilded cage. The console table with its cherry finish and turned spindle legs, the leather-covered couch with its hardwood frame, the Juliette mirror with antiqued gold frame – Natasha wished she could take the furniture with her when she escaped. The smaller items she could have used as a weapon were bolted to the floor or walls, while the larger furniture, which Watchlord could presumably move with his telekinesis, was free to move. The kitchen was fully stocked and Watchlord happened to be an excellent cook. Maybe that was another of his mutant powers besides telekinesis and never needing to sleep.

Watchlord changed the subject to something safer. “More chocolate-covered popcorn?”

“Please,” said Natasha with a smile, holding out her empty bowl for him.

Watchlord unlocked the door to the kitchen – kept locked up because of all the obvious weapons Natasha could find inside one. As he disappeared into the kitchen, she sat back and looked down at herself. She had put on more than a few pounds in the last couple of weeks. It was natural, and so were her cravings, though what she really wanted more than anything else was her husband…

Where was Clint anyway? He should have been able to track her down long by now. With all the resources the Avengers had at their disposal she had expected it would be a few days at most until he would be able to recover her. Knowing it would take him this long she might not have surrendered herself so easily. What was the hold up? When she thought about it, she lapsed back and forth between anger and worry. Surely Zodiac had not defeated them. Watchlord received regular calls on the phone that could not make outgoing calls. Natasha had listened in as best she could on every one of them. Usually Watchlord was just checking in, but sometimes he went “uh-huh” a lot, as if being given further instructions or some news. If it was news, Watchlord usually told her. Yesterday it was letting her know that Apollo 15 was coming home from its four-day moon mission. And if it had been a public defeat, she would have known from the Friday edition of the Daily Bugle she was allowed to read each week.

All this time Natasha had been not only cooperating with her jailor but building a friendly rapport to test Watchlord and make him, gradually, let down his guard. The early tests were to make sure that Watchlord was not a telepath. He never claimed to be, but Natasha had been initially concerned he might have more than one psychic power after Watchlord gave her a demonstration of his telekinesis by levitating the couch. In all this time, though, he had never betrayed any knowledge of the little deceits she snuck past him, like the single sheet she had managed to sneak out of two separate newspapers and hide under the couch cushions. As long as he was not very good at deceiving her, he was not reading her mind. Now that she was confident of that, she was fairly confident she could take him down so long as she had complete surprise – knock him unconscious before he could begin to turn his telekinetic powers on her. The problem she faced, however, was what to do once she had dealt with him.

While her prison looked like a normal apartment building, that was merely the outer façade. On the inside were reinforced walls and extra-thick bulletproof windows with electronic locks on each floor that required codes and retina scans – the latter being technology she was surprised to see even Zodiac had – to bypass. When Natasha was brought in, Taurus had her blindfold removed once they were inside so she could see just how formidable the security was and to discourage her trying to break out. She had some knowledge of the layout of the building, but not where the building was or even where the entrance was as she had been given a shot of something to make her woozy on the way to her prison.

Worst of all, Natasha knew if she did try to bust out she could not afford to fail, as she would only get that one chance. It would have to be perfectly planned so there was no risk of injury. She owed her baby that and, if she failed, she would have erased all the good will she had with Watchlord. Indeed, it seemed to her that her best bet of escape was getting Watchlord to help her do it.

“Here you go,” he said as he returned with a bowl of the freshly made popcorn treat. “Be careful, it’s still a little hot.”

Natasha ate one and then winced as she slightly burned her tongue. “You’re right, but not as hot as things are going to get around here.”

“Oh?”

She set the bowl aside in order to let it cool and looked at Watchlord pointedly. “How do you think this is going to end?”

“Um…” the costumed man faltered. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean…when the Avengers come for me.” Natasha gestured expansively around the room. “When they do they’re going to crack this building open like a walnut, and everyone in here is going to be arrested.” She met his eyes with warmth and seriousness. “Now, I promise you when that happens I’m going to tell them, as well as the judge at your hearing, about how you tried to help me. On the word of an Avenger I think I can assure that you’ll get a much lighter sentence than the rest will. Maybe only five or ten years at most…”

“Five or ten years, huh?” Watchlord said with mild alarm.

“As you mentioned, the Zodiac is a growing criminal enterprise, growing all the more immense and threatening by the day.”

“And do you want to know why?” he counted. “Because not only are our leaders geniuses, but your Avenger friends and the rest of the hero community have been getting a little too big for your britches lately and spreading yourselves out way too thin.” Watchlord began counting off on his fingers as he recounted some recent events that were common knowledge. “The Fantastic Four building an international space program to replace NASA. The Avengers settling international disputes and involving themselves in arms limitation talks with the Soviets.* Iron Man in Sudan playing peacekeeper.”


“What’s your point?” Natasha asked him, though she had a good idea where he was going with this.

“My point is that most of you costumed heroes have given up on dealing with street crime and those that haven’t are all outmatched.”

Natasha cringed a little to think of how Daredevil was one of them and sighed. “I’ll grant you the Avengers are busier than they used to be, but the Zodiac are in their sights, especially after they kidnapped me. I was just doing some of the initial groundwork for them. But if you don’t think they’re going to be here sooner or later you’re fooling yourself. Now, I’m offering you a deal: if you help me escape I could probably arrange for most of the charges against you to be dropped.”

“Free, but with a mark on my head the size of Yankee stadium.” He shook his head. “Sorry, Natasha, but the Zodiac is where I want to be. Before them I was nothing. Now I’m the Watchlord. In another year Zodiac might even give me my own city to run, like Philadelphia, or San Francisco.”

“I’m afraid it’s going to be a room in Attica or Riker’s for you,” she told him, shaking her own head sadly. “Have you ever noticed that supercriminals tend to turn on the people under them instead of rewarding them?”

“It won’t happen to me. Look,” Watchlord said with what sounded like earnest sympathy, “I wish I could help you, I really do. But–”

The phone rang, cutting him off in mid-sentence. Watchlord reached out with his hand and the receiver flew off and came to him. “Yeah?” he asked with uncharacteristic rudeness.

Natasha could hear the gunfire and the explosion on the phone from where she was sitting. She stood up.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh,” Watchlord was saying. When Natasha moved towards him, Watchlord stretched out his hand and telekinetically pushed her back. This was serious, she knew, for he had not once used his powers on her all this time.

“It’s the Avengers, isn’t it?” Natasha asked.

“Be quiet. Sit on the couch,” Watchlord said as he hung up the phone and ran to the door to the apartment. He listened at it.

“They’ll be here any second, won’t they?”

“Be quiet!” Watchlord yelled, completely losing his cool. “It’s not all the Avengers,” he said when he regained his composure. “It’s just Hawkeye.”

Natasha’s heart skipped a beat. She had been waiting all these weeks for Clint to show up, but now that he had, she was terribly worried for his safety. “Watchlord…” she said in a pleading voice, wishing she knew his real name to appeal to, “…we’ve been like friends these past few weeks. Surely you wouldn’t allow harm to happen to my husband…”

“I told you to shut up!” Watchlord said as he turned on her and gestured with both hands. Natasha was pushed back into the couch and the couch toppled over.

There was another explosion – this time on the same floor and clearly audible through the door. Watchlord tensed by the door, apparently ready to ambush Clint.

Behind the turned over couch, Natasha fished the two sheets of newspaper out from under the cushions. She was out of time and out of weapons, except this one desperate move. She folded the paper hurriedly, not even looking up when she heard Clint’s voice out in the hallway.

“’Tasha!” Clint called out. “Which door is yours?”

Watchlord turned around when he noticed Natasha did not answer as he had expected her to. Indeed, there was no sign of her in the room. He took a step away from the door to peer over the tipped-over couch and, in that moment, felt the improvised garrote of folded paper cross the front of his neck.

“Think I’ve put on so much weight I don’t know how to sneak up on someone?” she asked with an angry growl, letting her long frustration with captivity vent. “Hawkeye! In here!” she screamed.

Watchlord used his telekinesis to try to push Natasha off of him, but the garrote held and her grip held – Watchlord literally pulled himself off his own feet and the two of them fell backwards into the console table and knocked it over.

Outside the door was the clap of gunfire and the door imploded in a shower of pieces. Clint, dressed as Hawkeye and holding his smoking arquebus, proceeded into the room and quickly appraised the situation. His solution to what he saw was to charge the helmeted man grappling his wife and swing the butt of his seemingly antique rifle down at the helmeted man’s head. Although Clint was not within line of sight, apparently Watchlord was able to bring some of his telekinesis to bear and made what should have been a solid strike a glancing blow. Or perhaps Watchlord was just too distracted tearing the garrote from his throat so he could safely shove Natasha away.

“Stupid move, bringing that old gun,” Watchlord said when his throat was clear to speak. “I’m not giving you time to reload.”

“I don’t need to reload to take you down,” Clint said, reaching into his gunpowder bag.

“No, don’t!” Natasha warned, but it was too late. Throwing gunpowder into people’s faces to blind them was a trick Clint had been using for awhile now, but Watchlord telekinetically snagged the cloud of gunpowder and redirected it back into Clint’s face. So they would not lose whatever advantage they had, Natasha had to risk more direct confrontation and delivered a vicious kick and a neck strike to Watchlord in quick succession. Though Watchlord went down on one knee, his power meant he did not need much mobility to fight back. Perhaps because of their friendship, Watchlord again refrained from using lethal force on Natasha, but only flipped her around in the air and sent her tumbling away.

By the time Watchlord swung around to deal with Clint again, Clint could see out of one eye again and was swinging the barrel of the gun like a baseball bat towards Watchlord’s midsection. It was a solid hit this time, too quick for Watchlord to block. Clint then followed up quickly with a left jab to the face and, after switching hands on the arquebus, a right hook to the side of the head that knocked Watchlord down.

“So,” Clint said to Natasha, “do you want to go or stick around here a while longer?”

Natasha was already back on her feet and had planned to use the now-open door to exit, but Clint’s words made pent up anger burst out. “What was that supposed to mean?” she asked, staying right where she was.

“Forget it, let’s just go,” Clint said, coming towards her.

Natasha, still angry, backed away. “No, what did that mean? Do you think I wanted to be here this long?”

“Well, it’s not like you’ve been hurting for comforts. And you’ve had helmet-head here for company. I hope nothing was going on–”

“You jealous jerk!” Natasha yelled, slapping Clint. “Watchlord never tried anything! He happens to be homosexual.”

“He’s a what?” Clint asked, surprised, but the conversation was interrupted by Watchlord’s recovery and the couch flying across the room between the married couple. The couch struck the wall with enough force to break in half.

“And what’s your excuse?” Natasha asked as the room filled up with flying furniture that they both had to dodge. “Why are you so late coming to get me? Just thought you needed a vacation from me?”

“It’s not like that! Ow!” Clint protested as a lamp caught him in the shoulder. “You don’t know what’s been going on out there! No one does! The Kree are coming in full-force! Some of their ships are already here!”

“And these aliens left Apollo 15 alone?” Watchlord interjected incredulously.

“Not that anyone asked you, but Apollo 15 only landed safely because we asked Thor to guard it. We’ve been fighting their advanced scouts round the clock, but their armada is coming!”

“There’s something else coming,” Watchlord said. “I haven’t even begun to show you the extent of my power yet!” The inside wall of the living room began to crack and tear. Then the whole wall suddenly broke apart into huge chunks. “I’ll bury you both!” Watchlord roared over the noise of the wall tearing apart.

Apparently expecting them to run or cower, Watchlord was completely unprepared for the running kick to the stomach Natasha gave him. He stumbled backward, lost his concentration and fell to the ground as sections of wall fell on his head. Without pausing, Natasha spun back around on Clint and said, “If you’re so busy, then why come get me now?”

“Because…” Clint said as he came right up to her and looked into her eyes. “If the end is coming, I want you and our baby with me.”

“Oh, Clint…” Natasha said as the anger melted out of her. “I love you, you big idiot.”

They turned to go, only to see that Watchlord was still on the ground, but watching them. “Well, what are you two waiting for?” Watchlord asked with a playful grin. “The surveillance devices that were embedded in the wall are probably broken now. You should get out of here while I’m knocked out!”

“What about the Astrologer?” Natasha asked. “Is he a prisoner here too?”

“What, you mean this guy? He called out to me on the floor before this one.” Clint was pointing to the now visible hallway beyond the collapsed wall where a familiar, scraggly old man was peeking from around a corner.

“The parallel cycles are converged. Are the two constellations now one?” the Astrologer asked and, for once, everyone had an idea as to what he meant.

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To Be Continued...

Next: In Black Widow #5: The end isn’t here yet! Natasha has time first for a very important dinner date. Be here next time for “My Dinner with Gwen.”

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