Dedicated to JasmineRaven and The Real F'n Scorp for their support of the Small Comforts series.

Barton swiped through the tablet, trying to figure out where to go next. The kid in Forest Hills had been a pain in the ass. Barton had spent hours skulking around, trying to make contact with Parker while avoiding outing the teenager's vigilante pursuits to his oblivious aunt. Hell, he'd had even managed to laugh at the corny jokes… it had been tiring, but fruitful. Eventually, he'd gotten Parker to download Tony's Avenger Initiative spyware – um, app – onto his phone and despite the kid's youth and annoyance factor, he had unique powers that might one day be useful. He'd sent the file through an encrypted email to Coulson this morning, but now he was at a loss.

There was a group of potential candidates in upstate New York, but the weather had turned bad and hitchhiking North seemed like more trouble than it was worth.

The guy in Hell's Kitchen, then, he thought. Although, I think Coulson's info might be bad on that one. On top of being a lawyer, he's blind. Barton sighed.

The tab under the file of Matt Murdock lit up, alerting him of an incoming email. He switched over, glad of something to delay his decision.

[Trip is dead.]

Three words from Coulson, and Barton's inconsequential worries vanished. Barton thought of the innumerable faces of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that had died during his years of service. Too many of them had only faces, no names. The driver in Kiev, the IT guy in Tijuana, the woman who always had a cup of green tea for him when he arrived for debriefing with Fury… lives and faces that became blurry and indistinct through the years of professional death.

Trip made good chili, Barton thought as his mouth watered. He hadn't eaten well since he'd left the hub.

[Do you need me to come in?] he replied.

There was no immediate reply, so he went back to reading Murdock's odd history. Radioactive material? All we need is a blind Hulk.

[No, we're alright for now. You're doing important work] Coulson's reply came in five minutes later.

[Let's not play whose work is more important, Phil. If you need me, I'll come.]

[No, stay the course. I just wanted you to know.]

[Thank you, Phil. *bro hug*]

[What do the asterisks mean?]

[You're getting old, my friend. Ask Skye.] Barton chuckled and closed the email. He was suddenly hungry. People dealt with grief differently. Some fasted, some gorged. Some slept through it, and some needed activity.

He picked up the motel phone and dialed Murdock's office.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, when the woman on the other hand asked if he needed help. "I'd like to meet with Mr. Murdock about my situation. Can he meet me at Hallo Berlin's tomorrow for lunch?"