Title: Of the Bonds Forged in Fire

Summary: Steve Rogers followed Strike Team Delta on a seemingly routine mission. But it turns out to be anything but, as the three Avengers are plunged into a fight for their lives and Steve will know what it truly means to be a SHIELD agent and partners. Set after 'Avengers' but before 'Winter Soldier'

Chapter title: All of Your Flaws and All of My Flaws

Author's Note: Hello, dear readers. It's me again with my second Avengers story! This is just a random little ficlet that popped into my head and that I needed to write. It was a long time coming and I would lie if I said all the trailers and posters for the new Avengers movie didn't help me on my way. Am I the only one that's completely psyched for the new movie? It can't come soon enough!

Anyways, a little off topic here. I figured Steve would need to see how a good old mission is really done in the 21st century, so this is basically a little exploration of Steve's mindset and how he kinda views the two master assassins and what they do for a living. So that will mainly be what it's about. Also featuring some heavy Clint whumpage because I just can't help myself.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership for any characters you might recognize. This is written for purely entertainment purposes. And frankly, if I owned Hawkeye or Captain America, do you really believe I would be writing this?

"In the flames of adversity and hardship are forged the strongest bonds."

The rain cascaded down outside, filling the small room with an almost deafening sound as the water drops propelled heavily against the large window. The water covered the glass and obstructed the view of the Slovakian streets like a silvery, shimmering curtain. The sun had gone down hours ago and aside from the few still working street lamps, it was completely dark outside and Steve found it easier focusing at his own face reflected back at him in the window than actually watching the streets down below.

"Will you stop fussing about? Everything's fine," Natasha's casual voice pulled him out of his reverie of watching the raindrops race each other down to the windowsill and he turned his head towards where the assassin was cleaning one of her guns meticulously, sitting leaned back on an old, worn leather couch.

The old couch and the wooden coffee table were basically the only furniture that adorned the small living room, aside from the large, fuzzy, red carpet that had seen way too many feet over the years. In the corner was a tiny little kitchen with a small counter and a rusted fridge, which Steve was surprised even worked. Two doors in the wall opposite the couch led to respectively an even smaller decrepit bathroom and a bedroom with a double bed covered by a thin blanket. In every room of the so-called apartment the floorboards were old and cracked and the wallpaper was torn and discolored. Steve didn't know what to think about SHIELD and their safe houses, when this whole apartment seemed more likely to kill you than the actual enemies they were there for. But he didn't complain or voice his concerns, because he knew that the mission was high-profile and required stealth and skill. And he was here to watch and learn.

"He should have been back by now," Steve argued and turned his attention back to the outside and watching the polished-looking rooftops for any kind of movement.

"He's scouting the target. That takes time. He's probably searching the area too," Natasha said without looking up from her cleaning.

"In this weather?" How she could remain so completely calm baffled him completely. He knew scouting took some time and patience was one of his trades, but Barton had left several hours ago. When the archer had left, the sky had been dry but dark with clouds and since then the weather had only gotten worse and angrier. The captain could see the occasional flash of lightening out in the distance. It didn't help the feeling of dread that was growing in his stomach.

At that, Natasha did look up. As she caught sight of Steve's concerned, questioning stare she sighed and put down the gun on the table with a small clank. "He's worked through worse weather. We both have. Believe it or not, this weather is only helping him."

Curiosity got the better of him and Steve moved away from the window and sat down on the couch next to Romanoff. "How so?"

"Visibility," she quickly explained, sounding almost bored. "When it's pouring down, people tend to look down more than up."

"But it also makes everything slippery. I've worked enough times in snow and ice to know how treacherous it can be. One wrong step can change everything."

"Rain, snow, sunshine or an extraterrestrial attack on New York. One wrong step can happen anytime at any place. The circumstances or weather can perhaps decrease or increase your chance of that step happening, but in the end that's up to you. You alter your approach so they fit the defined parameters. That's how you do your job."

"But a tiny mistake, no matter how unintentional, could still happen for the best of us."

"If so, you won't live long enough to regret it. And if you do, perhaps it's time to find another line of work." Her tone wasn't cold or accusing, but it held a certain icy touch underneath that suggested she wouldn't talk about it anymore.

Steve took the hint and changed the subject slightly.

"But aren't you worried? Not a little bit?" he asked instead. Though he hadn't been with Barton and Romanoff for long, he had seen the two partners interact with each other, including the battle of New York, and knew the two of them to be close. He refused to believe they didn't worry about each other. Something flashed behind the Widow's eyes, but before Steve could identify what it was, it was gone.

"You may have been in war, Rogers, but this is something quite different. Clint and I learned a long time ago that needless worry leads to nothing good. We trust in each other and our skills. That's all I need to know," she finally said. She took one of the bullet clips that lay next to the gun, eyed it quickly and when she was satisfied with it, she placed the magazine in the gun. She clicked the slide into place. Her green gaze fell to Steve again with a reassuring smile.

"Clint's a big boy, Cap. He can take care of himself."

Time stretched on and the clouds continued to pour their wet contents down upon the city, blocking out the light of the moon and stars of the night sky. Despite what Romanoff had told him, it had not erased the sinking feeling Steve had in his gut that something wasn't quite right. With every minute that passed by without word from Barton, the feeling only grew and festered.

And he knew that it had reached unusual because a little over half an hour ago, Steve noticed Natasha had begun to pace around too. It was subtle hints and nothing in her face suggested her unease. But she hardly stayed stationary in one place for more than a few minutes at the time, finding excuses to move and do something with her hands before they started fidgeting. She switched between loading and re-loading her guns and checking her watch or phone. Steve had never seen her so restless and he instantly knew that something was definitely wrong. Thunder boomed weakly in the distance.

Another half hour passed and after seeing Romanoff check her watch for the umpteenth time, Steve couldn't take it anymore. "Natasha," he said and paused at the look he received. It was hard but he could detect the concern that shone through. "He should have been back by now." He repeated his words from earlier, but this time she didn't dismiss his worry. The floorboards creaked as she supported her weight on her arms on the kitchen counter.

"I know." Her voice was steady and calm, as it always seemed to be, but even with her back to him, Steve could see all of her muscles were tense.

"Shouldn't we go look for him?"

She turned to face him with her green eyes that were as hard as steel. "And where do you suggest we look? We have no starting point."

"I don't know, but we can't just sit here and roll our thumbs. He could be hurt or-" he cut himself off. He had been worried why his teammate hadn't made it back yet, but somehow his mind had refused to think the unthinkable.

"Dead," Natasha quickly finished for him without a hint of remorse for saying it out loud. Her face was completely closed and blank. She didn't show anything for Steve to guess what she was truly thinking. "If he is, then there's nothing we can do for him. If he isn't, then this is the first place he would turn to."

"And if he's indisposed? Should we just leave him then?"

"And if we go out to look for him? He comes back to find this place completely empty and what good would that do? We would still be in the same situation that we are in now, only in different locations."

"One of us stays here in case he comes back."

"Splitting up more than we already are is the worst idea."

"We can't just do nothing!" Steve didn't even notice he raised his voice. What Natasha was suggesting was ludicrous. She was asking him to leave a man behind and that was one thing he refused to do. If this is what it meant being a part of SHIELD then he was absolutely certain it was not a road he would willingly take. But he could also see the sense in her words and knew they came from her own experience from a life, she had more knowledge in than he had. But he refused to sit down and wait. Not when there was something he could do. "I'm refusing to leave a man behind!"

"I'm not asking you to!" Romanoff's voice reached the same noise level his did and immediately the fight left Steve. In her voice he saw the tiny tear in her emotional armor and he knew she was just as afraid for her partner as he was. Perhaps even more.

He held out his arms despairingly. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

She never got a chance to answer. Just as the question had left his lips, a loud boom echoed from the skies outside. The sound culminated with that of glass breaking as a black figure came hurtling through the window. Glass exploded inward and rained down on the floor in different sizes as the figure rolled around several times in the crushed shards before coming to a dead stop in the middle of the room.

It was Barton.

TBC