CHAPTER THREE

I wish I could say it had been a long time since I had taken a bus. One would think that with all the covert travel methods that SHIELD had it wouldn't be necessary. But the fact of the matter is that the bus is a surprisingly easy way to travel without being tracked. You can pay cash, buy a ticket on the spot, no one questions when you board with only a backpack, and people usually don't want to interact with you. Consequently, I found that I had needed to do it pretty frequently.

It's about five hours from DC to New York City. And what with everything going on, the buses weren't exactly running on time. I took a bus that let me off in Brooklyn. There were a couple of covert SHIELD bases in Manhattan and I figured getting off elsewhere would let me get the lay of the land. The last thing I needed to do was step off the bus and run smack into Hydra. By the time I got off the bus, the sun was setting behind the Manhattan skyline.

My first order of business was to find somewhere with free wifi and check the local news for reports of fighting. Four SHIELD hideouts were mentioned in police reports over the last day. So I had a pretty good hunch those were already compromised. There were two more that weren't mentioned; one in Brooklyn in Bed-Stuy and another in Harlem in Manhattan. I would have to check them out to see how things fell.

Bedford-Stuyvesant was a little ways north of where I was, so that was my first stop. The SHIELD hidey-hole was on Thompkins Ave, hidden inside a little Spanish-American cafe just across from the Brooklyn 79th Precinct. That made surveillance a little risky, of course, which was one of the reasons SHIELD had chosen the spot in the first place. Normally, I'd find a rooftop and watch for a few hours, but people tend to get edgy if they see a guy on a roof near a police station. And the inevitably fast response time from the station would make a getaway nearly impossible. So I had to get creative.

Looking around I spotted a van for a cleaning service. It was apparently operating somewhere in the area because the doors were open and no one was with it. It was pretty easy to pop in, find a spare jacket and hat with the same logo as the truck and some cleaning supplies. I chose a graffiti tag on a building next door to the precinct and got to work scrubbing at it. It was a pretty bold place to put a tag and looked like it had been hastily done. Probably some dare by a punk kid.

No one looked at me twice and that included the people going in and out of the cafe. I was able to watch the place for a couple hours. I was just beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, this spot wasn't compromised when I saw something that made my stomach lurch.

Doctor Deidre Wentworth came out of the cafe just as the "owner" was putting out the closed sign. I quickly bent my head down and scrubbed at the graffiti tag more intensely, letting the hat cover my face as much as possible without looking like I was trying not to be seen. Wentworth passed only a few yards away from me as she left and I could hear her end of a phone conversation.

"No, he hasn't turned up here," I heard her say as she went by, "nothing on any surveillance, either. If Barton came to New York, he's not in Brooklyn, as far as we can tell."

Crap.

At least that question was answered. Lay of the land? Futzing awful. For some reason, Hydra's goons were looking for me. I couldn't fathom why, at the time. I mean, what made me any more valuable than Cap or Tasha or Hill, at this point? Their secret was out, the world knew Hydra had festered inside SHIELD. So what was so special about me?

Still, it made my day harder, but it didn't change my end goal. I had one other SHIELD hideout to check in on and then I needed to get to Stark Tower. I let Wentworth leave without so much as a visible reaction and finished scrubbing the graffiti tag off the wall, then moved on after discarding the company clothes I had borrowed from the van.

Yes, borrowed. I left them at the van for the cleaning guys to find. What do you take me for?

It took me most of the night to get from Brooklyn to Harlem. I took a very round-about route, hoping to blend in with whatever activity there was in the ungodly hours of the night. Don't ask me for specifics, I don't really remember. There was a bridge involved.

Needless to say, the first open coffee shop I came across I stopped in and ordered the biggest, darkest coffee they had. And a muffin. I like muffins.

The last SHEILD hideout I needed to check off my list was on west 126th street, in a five-story row-house with a white facade on the ground floor. There was an empty row-house lot on the west side and I knew the entry to the hideout was hidden there. It was right across from a nice, tall building I could perch on top of to watch for a while.

No one came in or out of the place for several hours. By the time it was almost 10:00, I was beginning to think the place had been all-out abandoned after everything that had happened. I was just thinking about moving in to check it out up close when all hell broke loose.

A guy suddenly came stumbling through the empty lot, gripping a bag tightly to his chest. Hastily, he pushed his way through the meager chain link barricade that separated the empty lot from the street. Two other guys were hot on his heels and I could see a glint off of the metal of guns in their hands.

"He's got the hard-drive!" one of them shouted. "He's with SHIELD!"

Well, at least that told me who was who and what was up at the hideout.

Shots were fired a moment later and the first guy took off down the street amid a bunch of frightened screams and people scurrying for cover. The guy was probably as alone as I was, so I couldn't very well just leave him to the Hydra goons. My bow was out and I had an arrow notched quickly. The first Hydra goon didn't see it coming and was down with an arrow in his neck before he could pop off another shot.

That bought the agent a little bit of space and he scurried around the corner and on to Malcolm X Boulevard. I rappelled down the side of the building and landed on a rooftop only three stories up, just below it, following the chase around the corner. Being broad daylight on a busy street with storefronts and a lot of passing cars, I couldn't get a clear shot at the other Hydra goon from up there. I needed to get on the ground and run interference. There was a little wall banner just below me and I was able to use it to slow a jump to the sidewalk, ripping it down its length as I descended. Sorry Staples. Didn't mean to.

The agent hadn't fired back at all. Either he was unarmed, or he didn't have any ammo left. Either way, it was a lousy position to be in during a shootout. He needed cover, so I poured on speed and chased after him, letting off a smoke screen arrow between me and the Hydra goon. The agent was still running at a tear, but turned his head back just in time to see me after the smoke screen got up. I motioned to him to keep going and make for cover, somewhere out of sight. There weren't a whole lot of options, so we used the cover of the smoke screen to dart across 125th amid a lot of angry car horns and tire skids. There was a construction site on the other side of the street and we were able to hop the fence and land behind a solid, green barrier, out of sight, though hardly safe. The agent paused to catch his breath as I landed next to him.

"Jesus, where the hell did you come from?" he asked me. "Not that I'm ungrateful."

"Up top," I replied, keeping my voice low, "I was watching the safehouse, hoping Hydra hadn't gotten to it."

"Well, I can say with some certainty that they have," the agent replied, sticking out a hand, "Gabriel Reed, level 2, from the Manhattan office."

"Clint Barton, level 7, Triskelion," I replied, giving his hand a quick shake.

"The Hawkeye?" Reed asked, his eyes going wide. "Damn, I'm in it deep. What the hell you doing here?"

"Running. You?"

"Well, I was trying to keep an eye on them and sabotage from the inside," Reed replied, "but that ship's kinda sailed, as you can probably tell."

"What's in the bag?" I asked.

"Hard drive," said Reed, "it's got locations of a bunch of newer SHIELD hideouts along the eastern seaboard. Figured, if any of them were safe, they wouldn't be for long if that info stayed in Hydra's hands."

I held up a hand when I heard voices on the street on the other side of the construction barrier.

"Damn it, lost him!" exclaimed one.

"They couldn't have gotten far," said another.

"How can one, unarmed man get away from you idiots?" exclaimed a third voice, angrily.

I recognized that one. It was Wentworth again.

"He's not alone, ma'am," said the first voice, "that smoke screen came from this."

"The hell, man, is that an arrow?" said the second voice.

That's the problem with doing a job with a unique weapon. Everyone knows it's you. But usually, the advantages I get from my bow far outweigh that drawback. I don't suck with a gun, that's for sure, but bullets aren't as versatile as my own home-brew arrows. Explosives, grappling hooks, EMPs, sonics; I can put just about anything in an arrow head. I even experimented with a boomerang arrow, once.

Seriously! Because... well... boomerangs!

"I know you're here, Barton!" Wentworth shouted. "And if you had a shot on me, you would have taken it by now! You're trapped! Surrender and we might be able to talk!"

"I wouldn't," Reed whispered to me.

"No kiddin'," I whispered back. I pulled a spare piece out of a back holster and handed it to Reed. "We're going to have to fight our way past 'em. How many are there?"

"Not counting the one you took out already? Wentworth and three others, all level two field agents."

This wasn't going to be easy. There weren't a lot of options. Glancing around quickly, I realized that our best bet was to make across the construction site and head for 124th.

"All right, I'm going to give us some cover," I said, notching another smoke arrow, "but that's gonna give 'em our current position. Get across the construction site and run. I'll be right behind you."

Reed nodded, flicking the safety off my spare piece.

I turned and fired the smoke arrow into the construction site. It went off, spreading a patch of smoke that immediately spread and spilled over the construction barrier. We took off at a run straight through it.

"The construction site!" Wentworth shouted. "You! Head them off!"

The race was on. I used the cover of the smoke and a pile of bricks to vault above the construction barrier long enough to take out one of the goons. I had to duck a few bullets after that as they tore through the barrier. Reed made for 124th street as fast as his legs would go and it wasn't long before I heard gunshots through the smoke ahead of me. By the time I reached the street and came out of the smoke, I found that I was behind one of the Hydra goons, chasing after Reed. I put an arrow through the back of his head on the run, dropping him. The third Hydra goon was behind me and I turned and let off a flashbomb right as his feet. Wentworth was nowhere in sight, yet, and I figured she was probably checking 125th to make sure we didn't double back.

We headed east on 124th, ducking into a backlot about half way up the first block. Reed had slowed somewhat and I had been able to catch up to him. We found a fire escape behind one of the buildings and were able to climb up it to make for the rooftops.

As soon as we got up there and out of sight, Reed leaned back against a wall, breathing shallow and fast, holding a hand to his side.

"C'mon, we gotta move!" I said.

"I uh... I don't think so," Reed said, pulling his hand away from his side to show a thick coating of blood. I looked to his side and saw a large patch of dark red blossoming on his shirt. His legs gave way under him a moment later and he tumbled to the gravel-covered rooftop and blood immediately began pooling under him.

"Hey, hey, hey," I breathed out, trying to get at the wound and see what I could do. The answer? Not much. The bullet wound was through-and-through and it looked like it would have passed just inside the liver. From the amount of blood welling up, I figured it had severed the artery feeding the liver on the left. He was bleeding out fast and there was nothing I could do.

I heard sirens blaring, approaching quickly. Reed shoved my spare piece back into my hands and followed it up with his bag. "Go! Get this outta here!" he gasped out. "You can't help me," he said when I hesitated, "just go! Now!"

I knew he was right. He was losing blood way too fast. I couldn't make it out of the area on the rooftops while carrying him and I couldn't give myself up to the cops for his sake without risking the Hydra goons finding us, either. By the time he'd be found, he would be dead. And he knew it. Knowing that mine would be the last face he would see, I didn't have any words that were adequate. I could only nod, and follow his wishes.

"Give 'em hell, Avenger!" I heard him say as I headed off.

Quickly and keeping out of sight, I vaulted from rooftop to rooftop, hearing the echoes of the sirens fade behind me.

Funny thing about adrenaline. It keeps you going, makes you sharp, even when you should be limp as a wet noodle and blunt as a spoon. It slows down time, makes you see detail. Enough of it in your system and some people can actually go into sensory overload. Me? I'd spent so much of my life on an adrenaline high I knew how to use those effects. Have to, in order to keep up with the Avengers.

The crash when it wears off, though. That sucks major balls. And it's worse when you're tired because you have farther to fall. For the second time in as many days, I found myself in the tunnels of a subway, avoiding being seen as I moved around the city. It was dark and warm down there and after about a half an hour my adrenaline rush wore off big-time. I couldn't help it. I needed a breather, just a moment to collect myself, maybe shove an MRE and some water in my mouth.

I found a maintenance access doorway somewhere on the red line as I headed south and flopped down in it, out of the way of any passing trains and prying eyes. The world was kinda swimming around my head, so I closed my eyes and let it for a moment. I desperately wanted to just stay there for a while, but I knew I had to keep moving. A couple minutes later, I forced my eyes back open and got a bottle of water and an MRE out of my pack.

I couldn't get my mind to quiet down. You know how they say that you are your own worst critic? Well, that feeling is about a hundred times worse when you work in life-and-death situations. And right now, my mind was cussing me out for failing to save Reed, failing to keep SHIELD from falling, failing to get to Cap and Natasha... it went round and round in a swirl that made me dizzy and hopeless.

Dammit, I'm an Avenger! I should be able to save one damn agent from a handful of pissed off Hydra bad guys who are on the run themselves!

There had been a few times, back home with Laura and the kids, where I had broken down in the middle of the night with similar thoughts running around in my head. The quiet life on the farm was both a blessing and curse, that way. No running from bad guys to exhaust you and threaten your life every five minutes, but no running from bad guys to distract you from all the things you screwed up, either.

Laura was the only thing that could quiet those thoughts. She would sit up in bed with me and rub my shoulders and the back of my neck, wiping away the nightmares and whispering that they didn't matter, that I was a good person, no matter what my own demons said. The time after Loki was the worst, but she just pushed all that aside like cleaning a window, making everything clear. She would have been able to stop these thoughts with a caress of her hand and a kiss.

But she wasn't there. And thank God for that! I had to keep her away from all this, safe. If I lost her and the kids, I know I would go completely bat-shit insane. So, for sanity's sake, for those moments of pure peace, I put up with the slings and arrows when she wasn't with me.

I'm not sure when I had taken it out, but I found myself looking at the picture of Laura and the kids that I kept in my jacket. My hands were trembling a little. I wanted to be with them. I needed to be with them. Ultimately, that was what got me back on my feet again.

My heart thus re-armored, I moved on, into the darkness.

I wandered the subway tunnels until darkness fell up top again. I got a little turned around, since one tunnel looks a lot like another down there. Somehow, I ended up on the blue line and that dumped me out on 42nd and 50th, just on the edge of Hell's Kitchen. It took me walking a few blocks to get my bearings.

Stark Tower was on the eastern side of Midtown, one of the larger buildings that broke up 44th street. By the time I was able to figure out which direction I had to go, I figured out that I had gone completely the wrong way. It was also right around that time that I ran smack into a couple of cop cars, sitting on the street. They had apparently upped their visible presence and I figured it was in light of everything that had happened. I tried to continue to look like I belonged there, uncaring of them, as I walked down 9th avenue.

I passed a small laundromat and through the window, I saw a news broadcast. The news report was showing police sketches and in a flash, I realized that the report was about the shootout that had killed Reed. One of the sketches looked a lot like me. No name, though, and they were saying it was a "person of interest." But it was still a hell of a complication.

My feet never broke stride and within a few seconds, I was only steps from the two cops hanging out on the sidewalk near their cars. One of them caught my eye and I had to look like it didn't matter to me, so I give him a weak smile and a nod in greeting and kept going on. For a moment he looked like he was going to do the same and move on, but his brow furrowed a moment later, just as I passed right by him. As soon as the two cops were behind me, I immediately had that tingle in the back of my head again. I forced my pace not to change, hoping that they would dismiss whatever spark of recognition had just flitted through their minds.

And then, I heard one of them talking on their radio, requesting backup.

There was nothing for it. I had to move. I took off at a run, careening around the corner on to 46th street. I heard the two cops yell for me to stop, then shout something into their radios about being in pursuit.

Why not just let them catch me, you're asking? Surely Hydra would have had a hard time getting to me if I was in a jail cell, right? Well, see, Hydra has this reputation of having eyes and ears everywhere. They also didn't give a crap about collateral damage. If I turned up in a local precinct, odds were good I would just be fish in a barrel and several innocent boys-in-blue would go to the great beyond with me. It sounds like a lame excuse, but I was trying to protect the cops from getting caught in the crossfire.

Just past the end of the block on 46th, I spotted a fire escape that I had a chance of reaching, just next to a big yellow sign for a place called Ai's Sushi which proclaimed itself to be a "Japanese food place."

Don't know why that detail stuck with me. It just did.

There was a little wrought-iron fence just below the fire escape that I was able to kick off and jump up. The ladder pulled down with my weight, but I was already climbing it, swinging over onto the fire escape stairs and running up. Below me, I heard the cops shouting to each other, coordinating the best way to cut me off. But rooftops are my domain. Those every-day gumshoes wouldn't have a chance of catching me, especially in the dark. Once at the top most level of the fire escape, I leaped to the one next door, then took a running jump and grabbed the bottom edge of one next to that that was on the roof level. It only took a couple of seconds to pull myself up and land on the roof.

Out of sight of the cops, I vaulted from building to building along 9th. I circled around, keeping to the shadows and managed to leave them far behind. I headed north again, hopping rooftop to rooftop. It was on the rooftops of the block between 49th and 48th that things got really weird.

I had just landed on one rooftop that was a story lower than both the last and the next, looking for ways I could parkour up to the next one. The sirens were a few blocks distant now, but I still wanted a little more space before I was back on my way to Midtown.

Something made me stop, that tingle again. The only light on the rooftop was from light pollution, so I used my ears more than my eyes. I had my bow in my hand a moment later and slowly drew a standard arrow from my quiver.

And then, there was a thump of feet landing behind me. The guy was fast. By the time I had turned around to aim at the noise, he was already inside the point of my arrow. Muscle memory made me release it anyway and it flew past the guy's ear to stick in the brickwork beyond. At nearly the same instant, the guy was swinging a fist at my face. I danced aside of it, but suddenly found my legs swept out from under me. I landed hard on my back, feeling my injured rib protesting vehemently. I ignored it and rolled to the side, the guy's fist landing in the gravel of the roof where my head had been. I had just enough time to kip up to block the guy's kick. We went blow for blow for several exchanges, neither of us landing a hit. Finally, we swung around in a tangle of limbs, sending us each skidding in opposite directions, breathing hard.

I had a moment to take stock of the guy. He was a little taller than me, dressed all in black, including faceless mask. He was clearly alert to my movements, but didn't seem to be looking at me, per se. It was kinda creepy.

"Why are you running from the cops in my city?" the guy said gruffly.

"Your city? What, Hydra run out of funds for actual clothes?" I quipped back. "They got you runnin' around in your pajamas, now?"

"I'm not Hydra," he responded.

"Right, and this is your city," I bit back sarcastically.

"I won't let you hurt anyone," he said, launching himself at me again.

It wasn't quite her style, but it was a fight Nat would have been impressed with. The guy was clearly highly trained in a number of martial arts and knew parkour pretty well. He also didn't seem to have to see me to know where I was, which made life really hard. Our deadly dance took us up to the next roof top and across it. I'd like to be able to say that the whole thing had ultimately gone the way I had intended, but I'd be lying if I said that flying off the side of the building had been in my play book. To this day, I'm still not sure how the guy flipped me. It happened that fast.

To my surprise, I didn't die in the four-story fall. I landed instead in a dumpster full of trash. Really smelly trash. I heard a crack and felt my busted rib give way on impact. I was pretty sure another one had given way, too. And I could feel numerous stings and lacerations from things that had sliced into me. The fall stunned me for a long moment and it was only the sound of leaves rustling in a nearby tree and feet hitting the ground that snapped me out of it. I scrambled for my bow as I heard footsteps approach the dumpster. As soon as I thought the guy was close, I popped up and dropped a flash bomb arrow right on the ground between him and the dumpster. He gave a yelp of surprise and I took the moment to haul myself over the far edge.

I hit the ground running, taking off into the back alley of the block. The guy was hot on my heels, as if he wasn't blinded by the flash at all. I was slowed a little, feeling pressure on my side where my ribs were flopping around loose. I rounded a corner, hoping for an alley back out to the street, but getting no luck there. It was just a featureless brick wall of a dead end. I quickly pulled a grappling arrow and fired it off. It anchored above me and I tripped the mechanism to reel me up the cable only to find the guy's arms around my middle a second later, grinding my aching ribs together. We went back up to the roof together, rolling onto flat surface in a tangle. My bow went skittering away and the guy ended up on top, holding a pair of batons over my throat.

"Stay down!" he barked. "Like I said, this is my city. Now, why'd you say I was Hydra?"

"Well, you're not a cop," I replied through my clenched teeth, "and Hydra's the only other ones after me at this particular moment."

"I'm not Hydra!"

"Yeah? So what do I call you, New York Ninja?"

"Some call me the Devil of Hell's Kitchen," he replied, "but frankly, I don't really give a damn what you call me. I'm not letting you start trouble here."

"Hey, you attacked me. I'm just passing through," I said.

"Yeah, while running from the cops," he bit back, "give me one good reason why I shouldn't knock your lights out and dump you off to them."

He had a point. And I didn't have much to say in reply to that except the lamest words I could have possibly said at that moment.

"Uhh... I'm an Avenger?"

He looked at me like Cthulu had just crawled out of my mouth. I suppose I would have done the same if I had been in his shoes. But he did seem to focus on me for a moment.

"You're the archer?" He asked. "The one they call Hawkeye?"

"That is who you are presently, sitting on, yes," I ground out, feeling the ache in my ribs growing.

He focused on me without really looking at me again, his head tilting slightly. "You're not lying," he said, sounding amazed.

"Glad we both know that! Would you get off!?"

Finally the Devil rolled off of me, putting away his batons, and standing back to give me some room. With a groan, I rolled over, one hand holding my side and the other pushing me up.

"This city owes you a debt," the Devil said as I climbed to my feet.

"Yeah, well," I said, wandering over to pick up my bow, "it would be nice for it to remember that because this city's not treating me very well today. The hell's your deal, anyway?"

"Tired of hearing the violence and doing nothing."

"Great," I bit out, "vigilante. Perfect. Well you got skills, I'll give you that."

"Files that came out yesterday say the Avengers were a SHIELD project," said the Devil, "is that why Hydra's after you?"

"No, they're after me because I'm a SHIELD agent and I hit them in the futzing eye," I said, probably sounding more insulted than I should have. "Frankly, I've got bigger fish to fry than you. So how about we go our separate ways and don't bother each other any more."

"I'll do you one better," said the Devil, "you're being tracked. I'll help get them off your back."

"Oh, you will, huh?" I said. "And just why would you do that for me?"

He gave a shrug. "Like I said," he replied, "this city owes you. And like you said, it seems to have forgotten. Someone's gotta step up."

"Oh, hell," I said, scrubbing my face with a hand and looking skyward, "why not? I can't be choosy, anyway. You got something in mind?"

The so-called Devil of Hell's Kitchen was really a creepy kinda guy. He never seemed to look at me so much as through me. And that's if he could see through that stupid mask at all. It was really, really disconcerting. He also never seemed to have to be looking at something to know it was there. And the way he moved around and had little regard for his health... it made me wonder if he was some kind of enhanced. It just wasn't possible for a normal person to do what he did.

He was about as good on the rooftops as I was, which was pretty nice. I sure as hell didn't want to be seen on the street with a guy wearing black pajamas and a mask and he probably didn't want to be seen on the street with a guy who looked like a police sketch. So it worked out pretty well.

We ended up on a tall building on the corner of 43rd and 10th. We had a long conversation about what was going on. It was a little like the conversations I had had with Sitwell a couple days ago, where we were both trying to get more information than the other was willing to give. I never really did get any insight into who this guy really was or how he did what he did. But his motives seemed genuine and it didn't sound like I needed to worry about him going off the reservation and beating someone to death. For a vigilante wearing a mask, he was surprisingly reasonable and grounded.

Like I said. My day got weird.

He told me he had been watching me since my run from the cops. Apparently, he had heard the cops calling after me to stop, though he wouldn't say where he was at the time and I don't remember anywhere he might have been hiding. Shortly after that, a woman had begun to follow me as well, using a harness and other climbing gear to move along rooftops as well, though she clearly wasn't as good at it as he or I. This woman also seemed to be avoiding the cops, very carefully.

I knew there was only one person this could be; Wentworth. She was the only one who would be chasing after me who would know enough to constantly be seeking me on the rooftops. She knew enough about how I operated to check for me there, though she likely had trouble keeping up with me. Clearly, the woman was out for blood.

I filled the Devil in on Wentworth and my background with her, that she was apparently a Hydra agent and was until the last couple days known only as a scientist. He had a lot of the same questions that I did; why was she, of all people, in the field, chasing a highly-trained SHIELD operative? And why did a scientist seem to carry the authority that Wentworth did? I didn't have any answers to those questions myself, but they were certainly relevant.

We waited atop the building for several hours. Between his ears and my eyes, we had the area covered. I downed some more ibuprofen, which seemed to be what I was living off of the past couple days. The ache in my ribs receded a little, but it was still pretty intense.

It was about half past midnight that the Devil's head cocked a little. "They're coming," he said.

"Where?" I asked, joining him near the edge of the building he was standing next to. He pointed, not moving his eyes that direction. I was still able to follow his direction exactly. About a block away, six figures were creeping over the rooftops, moving our direction, using grappling hooks and other climbing gear to make their way more easily. "Wentworth brought more friends. I'm flattered."

"You draw 'em in," said the Devil, moving to the nearby wall that marked the end of a portion of the roof one more level up. He sprang up on an AC unit and landed in the shadows, out of sight.

"With pleasure," I said, notching an arrow on my bow and lining up a shot. I let out a breath and let loose the arrow a moment later. It sailed down and landed right in the middle of Wentworth's team, spewing gas in all directions in an expanding cloud. All six of them began coughing and came to a halt, trying to clear their eyes and looking around for the source of the arrow. One of the flunkies pointed up at my direction and then they started moving again.

I stood back from the ledge as six grappling hooks shot up from far below and hooked over the side of the building. Their cables went taught as they began to make their way up the side of the building. As soon as the first of them showed his face over the edge, I let off a smoke arrow and started moving, readying another arrow. As soon as the first of the goons emerged from the smoke, I let fly and the arrow lodged in his throat. Three others came out of the smoke all at once and rushed for me together.

These guys were better than Wentworth's last lot up in Harlem had been. They actually used, you know, tactics. As soon as I had taken aim at one of them, the other two split off left and right. I was already back up against the wall, so I didn't have any more space. I was just about to let fly another arrow when a black blur dropped down on the guy I was aiming at. The Devil threw a punch right across his face and the guy dropped, unconscious.

The other two were on top of me now and I had to go hand to hand, using my bow as a quarter staff. Yes, I'm well aware of the natural pun, there and that's why I chose "quarter."

Wentworth and her last goon had gotten up to the top of the building now and the goon was rushing in to join the fray. The Devil joined me on my right and in short order we were back-to-back with the three remaining goons circling us and Wentworth looking on.

"Well, Agent Barton," she said, "so you've found yourself another friend here in New York. Shame what happened to your last one. Did you tell this guy."

"He did," the Devil answered, "you're a murderer, lady, and I don't take kindly to that in my city."

"Again with the 'your city' stuff," I mumbled to him.

Fighting back-to-back is a romantic idea. You see it all the time in TV shows, movies, books, comics, and everything else. It makes for an awesome visual, but let me tell you, it makes for a lousy time in a fight. If you and your partner are back to back, it means you've been flanked or surrounded and that's a terrible position to be in. Fortunately, the Devil and I were both good enough to hold our own, on the defensive, but it also meant we weren't making any progress.

"Gotta break this up," I bit out over my shoulder between blocks.

"You go take care of Wentworth," said the Devil, "I got these three."

With that, he dropped into a spin, kicking his legs out. I managed to jump over it at the last second and the three goons each took a couple steps back.

The space that gave me allowed me to step inside of a punch on one of the goons, grabbing his arm and pulling him off his balance. He went tumbling toward the Devil and the other two goons, leaving me open to go after Wentworth.

She was in motion immediately, giving the Devil and his opponents a wide berth as she ran toward the roof on the other side of the building. As she went, she fiddled in a pouch on her belt for something. Before I could get a shot off, she was around the corner, out of my line of sight. I chased after her and rounded the corner just in time to see her remove a syringe from her arm and drop it on the ground.

The look in her eye was not good.

With a yell, she threw herself at me. She was suddenly impossibly fast and dodged the arrow I loosed at her with uncanny speed. As her fist drove into my right kidney, it occurred to me that she had just juiced, somehow, because that was not a normal punch. My bow went skittering off somewhere as I bounced back a couple steps. Wentworth was on me again, backhanding me in my left eye. I swore I heard something crunch a bit as my head whipped around, spinning me to the ground as my head swam.

She allowed herself a moment to gloat, backing off as I crawled to my feet. "Now we'll see who's the superior agent," she crowed.

"Lady, either that's the fastest acting steroid on the planet," I said, "or you've been using your genetic research for naughty stuff."

"The endless pursuit of another super soldier," she said, "others are working on the same, but I've managed to make a version that is a little more stable. Sadly, the effects are only temporary. So you'll have to excuse me for getting down to business."

"Bring it, lady," I said, setting my feet wide and bracing for her attack.

She charged at me again and I danced out of the way at the last moment. She had some reach on me, so I moved to stay out of the no-mans-land, that interval where she could reach me and I couldn't reach her. Putting some of the AC and exhaust units that were on the roof between us, I maneuvered around, putting my stronger left hand where it could strike while her stronger right hand was out of the way. I landed a few punches, but she seemed to shrug them off.

It wasn't good. I was taking a lot of hits and she was just shrugging off hers. I couldn't keep going like that. I needed to play to my strength and that meant getting my bow back and fighting at a distance. As we were fighting, I spotted it a ways off behind me. I risked a roundhouse kick at her sending her back a few steps, then turned and dove for the bow, rolling back to my feet again. Once again, though, Wentworth was on top of me and had me in a hold, throwing me over her shoulder. I crashed head-first into one of the AC units and saw stars.

"We found out what you did, you know," she said as I painfully got back up and spat blood out of my mouth, "we know that you were the one who got the server blades to Hill. Captain Rogers may have been the one to set them in the Helicarriers, but you gave him the opportunity. Hydra was exposed because of you!"

"Glad to be of service," I quipped. Probably not my best choice of words just then. She gave an enraged yell and came at me again, fists flying.

I still hadn't shaken off the blow to my head and she took every advantage of my slower speed. She landed a series of blows to my stomach, spreading an ache all across my abdomen. Then, with a series of kicks and throws, she got me closer to the edge of the building. I fumbled with an arrow, trying to draw one, but she charged me, sending me tumbling over the side.

It was a long way down and she had hit me hard enough to send me flying out a couple of yards. Switching tactics, I reached for a grapple arrow and let it fly as I fell. The line went taught and I triggered the mechanism to reel me in, bracing for the inevitable impact against the side of the building. Just as I did, though, Wentworth grabbed on to the arrow and yanked it loose. I continued sailing backward into the open air.

The only thing that saved my ass was that I was falling toward the top of one of those air-pressure supported sports domes. I knew there would be a bit of give, but even so, it was still going to hurt. As I landed, I felt a blinding pain in my left ankle. It must have taken most of my weight. I was pretty sure I heard it snap. It wasn't exactly a picnic for the rest of my body, either. I'm pretty sure I blacked out for a second because the next thing I remember, I was sliding off the side of the dome and tumbling to a heap on the concrete edge of the arena's roof.

I laid there thoroughly stunned for a long while. I could hear the zip of a cable as Wentworth descended on her own grapple and landed next to me. I couldn't even make my limbs move as she stood over me and hauled me up by my shirt.

"It is a shame," she said, "I had hoped to be able to study you a little, find out what it is in your genetic makeup that makes you such a good shot. But you are too much of a nuisance to leave alive."

I finally found my limbs and moved to throw a punch across her face. She grabbed my fist and spun me around, pulling my arm around to my back and up. I felt a nauseating pop in my shoulder and a new batch of blinding pain came a second later. With a kick to my back, she dropped me back to the concrete roof. I tried to get up, but just couldn't find my feet. I saw Wentworth pull a knife out of a sheath on her belt and she charged at me, holding it viciously.

In a desperate last-ditch effort, I kicked my legs out and planted them in her chest as she got near enough, using her forward momentum against her. She went over the side of the roof, tumbling down to the ground four stories below. I didn't hear anything after that, so I hauled myself up with my one good arm and looked over the side of the building.

Wentworth was below, motionless, a bright red patch blossoming from her chest and the hilt of her knife sticking out of it.

Utterly spent, I flopped on to my back, breathing hard and feeling sensation seep out of my dislocated arm. I must have blacked out for a moment again because the next thing I knew, the Devil was crouching next to me. He looked like he had some pretty nasty bruises and scrapes, but wasn't too much the worse for wear.

"Hey, you alive?" he asked.

"Oh, that sucked balls," I moaned out.

"Hell of a drop, there," he said, getting under my uninjured shoulder and helping me sit up. "We're going to need to set that," he continued, gesturing to my dislocated shoulder, "here. Brace yourself." Before I could protest, he grabbed my wrist and gave a fast tug. Fire spread across my shoulder and I heard it pop again. I'm not ashamed to say that I let out a small scream. But once the fire cooled, I began to regain feeling in my arm.

I sat there for another long moment, just breathing and trying to get my bearings.

"You need to get patched up," the Devil said, "I know someone who-"

"No, no," I said, shaking my head, "I can't get anyone else involved. There's still a lot of Hydra out there, probably lookin' for me. It's too dangerous." I held out my good hand. "Just get me on my feet."

"That one's broken, you know," he replied.

"I am painfully aware," I said, flailing my hand a little, "c'mon."

The Devil looked at me a little skeptically, then gave a shrug and pulled me up to my feet. I gave a groan as pain flared in my abdomen and on my left ankle. For a moment, I wobbled and the Devil put a hand on my shoulder to steady me.

"I hope you've got a plan," he said.

"Yeah, same plan I had when I came here," I said through clenched teeth, "I know one place that's safe and I need to get there."

"Where?"

Silently, I looked at him, hoping that my rapidly swelling eye would still allow him to see the look I was giving him. No way I was telling a complete stranger where I was going.

"Can you at least tell me how far it is?"

"Nope," I replied with a shake of my head, "look, appreciate the help, pal, but I need to keep out of sight and get to my safe house. And given that we just took out six people, we'll probably want to scatter."

"Actually, mine are just unconscious," he said, "yours is the only one that's dead."

"What the hell are you?" I asked him, unbelieving.

"Like I said, I'm the Devil of Hell's Kitchen," he replied, "if you really feel so strongly about splitting up, it's no skin off my teeth. I'll see to it that those guys up top are found by the right authorities. Don't keel over."

With that, he took a running start toward the edge of the building and into the alley below. He jumped back and forth between the two buildings until he landed on the ground and took off running. I watched him go for a few moments.

"Futzing freak of nature," I mumbled, then steeled myself for the long walk to Stark Tower. I shuffled off at a snail's pace, each step agony. I knew it was going to take me a long time to make it.

Somehow, I'm not real clear on the details, I managed to drag my ass to Stark Tower. I chose a back entrance rather than coming in the direct way. It was in an alley, away from most prying eyes. I figured it was my best bet to get in under the Radar.

Light was beginning to show in the sky above, but it was still dark on the streets of Manhattan. I'm not entirely sure what time it was or how many of the stars I could see were real.

As I stumbled up the few steps to the alley entrance, a bright light flashed on above me thoroughly destroying my night-vision.

"Motion detected," a voice primly announced from a small speaker by the door, "please identify yourself."

JARVIS, Stark's weirdly personable computer. It reminded me of a passage from a book I once read; your plastic pal who's fun to be with, or something.

Leaning against the door frame a little more heavily than I would care to admit, I brought my face close to the panel where I knew there was a camera.

"Hawkeye," I ground out, "I need to talk to Stark, JARVIS, get him on the line and tell him I'm here."

"Voice pattern verified," the computer responded and I heard an audible click from the door lock. "Welcome, Agent Barton. You are on Mister Stark's list of approved visitors. Please do come in."

"Really?" I asked, yanking on the door handle and not looking a gift horse in the mouth as I stumbled inside. "When'd that happen?"

"Just after the Battle of New York," JARVIS replied as I closed the door and leaned against the wall. A recording came on the speaker, then, Stark's voice.

"Any time you guys wanna drop by, you're welcome. After all, we're the Avengers, now."

"Well, not that I'm ungrateful," I said, starting to shuffle toward the service elevator, "but isn't that kinda literal?"

There was no response.

As I flopped into the elevator, I jarred my busted ankle and collapsed against the wall, letting out a small yelp.

"Agent Barton," JARVIS came on the speaker again, "my sensors indicate that you are in physical distress."

"No kidding!" I ground out.

"Are you in need of medical assistance?"

"No, no, not yet" I breathed out, "gotta talk to Stark first. Is he awake?"

"Mister Stark has yet to sleep this evening. He is in his workshop. I will let him know you will meet him in the sitting room."

"Isn't it morning?"

"The time is 4:12 AM."

"Thanks."

The elevator took an agonizing amount of time to get to the penthouse floors. I leaned against the wall, feeling it move and concentrating on staying vertical. Stars continued to zip in and out of the edges of my vision. I was getting to my limit. The good news was that I hardly felt the rib any more. The bad news was, from the way my shoulder was feeling, I was pretty sure the bow I was carrying around on my back was going to be decorative for the next couple months.

At last the elevator lurched to a halt and the doors opened on the main floor of Stark's penthouse. The place is all glass and metal and windows and has a magnificent view of New York. I saw none of that at the moment, since I had to look down at my shuffling feet to make sure I didn't fall over. There was a swanky black leather sofa not too far from the bar. As I wobbled toward it, I fumbled for the buckle that held my quiver in place and let it fall to the floor just behind it. Finally, I was able to flop into the sofa, allowing some sweet relief to my beach-ball sized ankle. The stars receded somewhat as I let my head fall back onto the leather.

"JARVIS, we need to have a little talk about the approved visitors list," I heard Stark's voice echo up from the stairs to his workshop, "drop by any time generally means call first so it's not four in the mor-"

He stopped short as he came around the corner and caught sight of me, staring like a gaping fish.

"Ning," he finished, then waved a finger in the air the way he does when he's searching for something snappy to say. "Unless it's a situation like this."

"Sorry," I slurred out as he slowly paced toward me, "woulda called first but my schedule got a little full." My damned shoulder chose right then to start throbbing and I couldn't stifle the grimace. "I could use some help."

"Uh, yeah," Stark said finally stopping in front of me, looking up and down. I must have looked a sight because it was several seconds before the world's foremost expert in gab found anything to say. "What the hell happened do you, Barton? You look like shit."

"Feels worse," I replied, shifting a little to ease some pressure on my shoulder. "Cap hit me. Then I fought with a juiced-up Hydra psychopath. Then I fell off a building in Hell's Kitchen."

"Looks pretty bad," Stark said, "JARVIS, give me a reading. What's he look like?"

"Agent Barton's injuries are extensive," JARVIS said, "fractured left ankle, bruised kidney, two broken ribs, some minor internal bleeding which is already slowed to non-threatening levels, a recently-dislocated shoulder with a torn rotator cuff, a possible concussion, hairline fracture of the left orbital socket, and a fever of 100.23 degrees."

Well, the fever was a surprise, anyway.

"Aw hell, JARVIS," I cracked, an odd feeling of euphoria setting it, for no apparent reason, "thought you said extensive."

"Tony?" came a voice from the next level up where I knew Stark's loft bedroom was. Footsteps descended the stairs, bare feet padding on the floor as Pepper Potts made the scene. "I heard voices down here. What's going-oh my god!"

"Whoops! Woke up the missus," I cracked, trying to give a smirk.

"My god! Clint?" Pepper said, immediately coming over to the couch and lighting next to me. "What happened, what are you doing here?"

"Hey, Pepper," I slurred out as her hand gently landed on my not-so-injured shoulder, "kinda had a bad day at work." I rolled my head back over to look at Stark. "Could use a place to lay low for a few days. I lost the Hydra goons tracking me, so I doubt they know I'm here, but..." I lost the sentence as it was leaving my mouth and my eyes drifted shut. Vaguely, I felt Pepper's hand move from my shoulder to my forehead.

"Tony, he needs a hospital," she insisted.

I snapped my eyes open and shook my head as best I could in protest. "No, no, I can't turn up in an ER," I pressed, "not with Hydra looking for me. It'd put everyone there in the line of fire." Apparently, my body wasn't quite done betraying me yet because something caught in my lung and set me coughing. The stabbing pain in my ribs returned, sending white hot pain through me with every diaphragm contraction. I felt something wet on the corner of my mouth and Pepper gave a gasp. On reflex, I curled in around my abdomen, trying to make the terrible coughing stop. I felt four hands on me, keeping me from listing to one side or falling off the couch entirely.

"Easy enough to bring someone here," Stark said, uncomfortably close to my face, "JARVIS, make a call to Mercy General and get in touch with-"

"No!" I exclaimed, through the last of the coughs.

"Dammit, Barton!" Stark exclaimed. "I'm not going to let you croak on my couch!"

"Jesus, gimme a break, Stark!" I exclaimed, collapsing back into the couch again. "I know you've downloaded the file dump Cap and Nat put on the web, you know what's happening! This is the only place I've got, right now! No one can know I'm here! Anyone who does is in danger, too."

"Yeah, thanks for that, by the way," Stark groused.

"Oh please, like Iron Man can't take care of himself? C'mon, Stark, I thought you were a genius." Yeah, a low blow, I know, and not all that creative, either. But my vision was starting to go grey around the edges. What do you want from me? "Banner," I finally said, "Banner's still staying here, isn't he?"

"Really?" said Stark. "You wanna wake up the guy who turns into an unstoppable monster when he's stressed out of a deep sleep?"

I couldn't help but gasp at this point. My vision was starting to do that Bugs Bunny Hole thing, where it shrinks down to a little point before disappearing entirely. I could barely get the air out. "He's got the other guy, he's got it," I rambled, unable to stop myself, "only one I can trust, right now."

That was all I had in me. My vision finally completed its grey-out and I felt my eyes drift shut. I could hear things for a little while longer, though, so I heard Pepper pleading with me to stay awake and I knew that Stark instructed JARVIS to wake up Banner, gently. A warm mist drifted up around me, then, leeching away pain and finally allowing me entrance to the best darkness I had felt in a long, long time.

Things get pretty hazy after that and I don't remember much. Just foggy flashes here and there. There were a couple of times I thought I heard Natasha nearby and I remember red hair, but based on what Stark said later, it was probably Pepper looking in on me.

The next thing that I can clearly remember is the world fading back into existence around me, my body aching all over. I was laying in a hospital bed, the head inclined a little so I was sort of sitting up. My left arm was in a sling and there was a cast on my left leg. A pinch on the back of my hand told me an IV was there and the slightly swimmy quality of everything around me told me that I was probably on the good stuff.

Carefully, I turned my head to look around. A ways away, through a few layers of glass and over the edge of a mezzanine, I made out the skyline of New York City, so evidently I was still at Stark Tower. Banner was stretched out in a chair next to me, his head tilted back and eyes closed, a folded up newspaper on his chest and his glasses resting on a nearby table.

My back felt stiff, so I shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable. That was a mistake. A flare of pain traveled all the way down my abdomen, causing me to give a little whimper of surprise.

Banner was awake in an instant, snapping upright in his chair and hovering his hands over me to try and keep me in one place as the pain subsided. "Oh, hey, hey, hey," he exclaimed, "Clint? Be careful, don't move around too much. You actually with us this time?"

"Think so," I breathed out, settling back into the pillow and trying to swallow away the thickness of my tongue, "wha' happened?"

"Well, you've been in and out of consciousness for 34 hours," he replied, reaching for a cord with a switch on the end of it that was dangling from the side of the bed and pressing a button, "we were able to stitch you up and set your leg, but then your fever spiked to just over 104. Doctor Cho said you had some kind of an infection in one of the nastier cuts."

"Well, I did fall into a garbage bin, so..." I said, then something that Banner had said penetrated the fog. "Wait. Who's Doctor Cho?" I asked.

"That would be me," said a woman as she brushed into the room. She was a short, skinny little Asian chick in dress pants, a blouse, and a lab coat. Her face was kind of impossibly smooth, like she hadn't smiled in about ten years. She immediately picked up a chart and scribbled a few notes.

"Agent Clint Barton, this is Doctor Helen Cho," Banner said by way of introduction, "I called in a favor and Tony flew her in from South Korea."

"Thanks an' all, doc', but you really shouldn't be here," I said.

"Mister Barton, if I wasn't here you would most likely be dead, right now," she said, setting aside the chart and looking at me with that ridiculously matter-of-fact expression that doctors get when they feel like they've been insulted.

"Tony told me what you said before you passed out," Banner put in, obviously seeking to head off an argument, "and I'm flattered you think I'm that good. But I'm a geneticist and a bio-technician, not a medical doctor. I was out of my depth with... all this." He waved his hands to indicate pretty much all of me. "Helen helped me out a couple of times while I was on the run from the Hulk-Busters. She can be trusted."

"I'll be staying here in the tower for several days," Cho said, "Hydra will have as much chance of getting to me as they do of getting to you."

I gave a resigned sigh. "Well, what's the damage, doc?"

"The hairline fracture around your left eye should heal on its own," she said, "but you did sustain a concussion, so you might be a little loopy for a few days. We set your ribs back in place and from the looks of them you probably know the drill on them healing up. Your left ankle was a complete mess and we had to do some surgery to put it back together. You're now sporting a couple of brand new Stark Industries steel pins in it. It was incredibly stupid to walk on it, by the way. You'll need to keep that arm in a sling for a few weeks to keep tension off your shoulder. And you have a total of 47 stitches closing up various lacerations all over your body. The self-dissolving kind, so no one will need to put up with you to take them out. Is there anything that I've missed?"

I tried to find something witty to say in response, but her attitude had pretty well shut me down. I would later get to know Doctor Helen Cho a little better, learn when her gruff and logical exterior was hiding a more caring attitude that could handle jokes a little. But that first meeting - and the drugs I was on - pretty well kept me quiet.

"Uh, no," I mumbled, "I think that pretty much covers it."

"Good," she replied, "and one more thing, you're stuck in this bed for at least two days. I don't want you trying to move around too much until we're sure the internal bleeding has completely stopped."

Letting my head fall back into the pillow, I gave a groan of protest as Cho swept back out of the room.

"What are you, twelve?" Banner asked me after she left.

"Just please," I said, holding up my good hand, "just tell me you have a book or something for me to read. Maybe a nice long movie marathon?"

"Aha! He's coherent!" Stark's voice echoed off the walls as he came storming in a moment later. "Welcome back to the land of the living, gimpy! I was just coming up for my shift on Barton-watch and Helen told me you were awake."

"Barton-Watch?" I asked, incredulously.

"Yeah, there were a few times when you woke up that you weren't exactly with it," Banner said, his hand scrubbing at the back of his head, sheepishly, "Pepper was checking in on you the first time and said that having someone there was the only thing that seemed to calm you down."

"She set up a rotating schedule after that," Tony put in, "threatened me with... well, withholding... fun..."

I snorted a laugh. Laura had threatened me with the same on a couple of occasions. Earth's mightiest heroes, indeed! Our women have us wrapped around their little fingers.

"Not funny," Stark groused.

"Yes it is," I replied, immediately.

As Stark and Banner started to fill me in on the events of the last day and a half, and what they had heard of Cap and Nat and Hill and everything else, I settled into my pillow for a long haul. At least, with them around, I wasn't going to be bored.

I was in and out of it for a few days, after that. Banner and Cho kept me on the good stuff, saying I needed to get plenty of rest. Between naps, I caught sight of Nat at a Senate hearing on CSpan. There was only one word for her right then and that's "magnificent." I'm close to her, so I knew how tell-it-like-it-is she can be, but the rest of the world doesn't. The Senate, at least, learned pretty quick.

Banner and Cho finally let me get up and move around on day three. It was a given value of "move around," of course. Ever had a busted ankle and a dislocated shoulder on the same side? It makes using either crutches or a cane nearly impossible. Stark had thought ahead about that, though and had cobbled together some kind of a new boot-cast-doohicky out of some spare Iron Man suit parts he had laying around. One morning, he swept into the lab, told me to hold still, and pressed some kinda future-ish-injection-whatsits against my knee - which hurt. A. Lot. I might add - and rattled off something about the gadget interacting with my nerves, somehow.

The man's bedside manner is terrible. But, I gotta admit, the mechanical boot-cast was futzing amazing. Somehow, the mechanisms in it kept the weight off my ankle when I stood on that leg. It still hurt, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the breaks I had had before.

Crutches? Cane? Pfft. Whatever. I have Stark tech. Sure I had to put up with a few nicknames for a few days. Everything from "Dain the Ironfoot" to "Iron Lad the Sidekick." But it's a pretty sweet trade off, all things considered.

Stark and Pepper were pretty generous with their home. Told me I could stay as long as I needed and no one would know that I didn't want to know. They were mostly true to their word. The one time they weren't it wasn't really their fault and I didn't really mind, in the end. I mean, really, it's not like anyone in Hydra can match an Asgardian.

It was yet another morning that Stark was hosting me for breakfast. He had insisted on pouring some of his concoction of green smoothie stuff down my throat each morning. After about five days, I had actually started to like it a little. To this day, I still find I kinda like it. Some kind of weird form of Stockholm syndrome, I think. Whatever. Doesn't hurt anything. The day was clear and the New York skyline actually looked bright and sunny. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, so it was a little beyond weird when the windows rattled with the repeal of thunder.

"Sir," JARVIS intoned a moment later, "Thor has just landed on the observation deck."

"The hell's he doing here?" I asked, looking up at Stark.

"Dunno. Last I heard he was still in Asgard," Stark replied, setting his tablet aside and getting out of his seat, "by all means, open the door for him, JARVIS."

Leaving the green sludge behind, I levered myself out of my seat at the bar and slowly followed, the boot-cast humming mechanically with each step. Thor was just clapping Stark on the shoulder in greeting when I made it to the doorway.

"It's good to see you, friend Stark!" he said, in that weird, archaic way of talking that he has. "You are looking well." His eyes drifted my way a moment later. "You look like you have seen better times, however, friend archer."

"Yeah, I think you're cute, too, Thor," I cracked with a chuckle, shuffling forward and extending my good hand. Thor grabbed it at the elbow in greeting. "How's things in Asgard?"

"Quiet, for now," Thor answered, "the Bifrost has been repaired, so I am once again free to travel back and forth between Asgard and Midgard."

"Not to sound grumpy to see you, Sparky," said Stark, motioning us all back inside, "but what brings you?"

"Heimdall informed me of some upheavals, here," Thor replied, "the fall of your SHEILD and the chaos that has followed. Glad I am that you have survived the fighting. What of Fury, and Maria Hill, and the Black Widow?"

"Last I heard, they're all right," I said, stiffly perching myself back on my previously vacated barstool.

"Wait, the news is saying that Fury's dead," Stark put in, "the web, too."

Blithely, I took a swig from my smoothie, giving a look to Stark in order to cover a smirk. I didn't bother to do that good a job.

"Well, that jackass," Stark said after a long, silent pause, "and to think I offered Hill a job. Does she know?"

"She told me," I replied.

"Huh. I feel... used. Wait, I feel like I shouldn't know that. Should I know that?"

"You gonna tell Hydra?"

"Well, no."

"Then who gives a crap?" I said. "It's not like I have the rest of SHIELD to answer to any more. I figure... with no one to tell me otherwise, I get to decide who I trust with what all on my own. Just don't be an idiot about it and I won't have to put an arrow in your head when you don't expect it."

"Deal," Stark replied.

"Your SHIELD did keep a great deal of secrets," Thor put in, "and Heimdall told me that many of them are out in the open, now. Also, that Hydra plundered a number of dangerous materials and artifacts."

"I've been contacting some of my back channels," said Stark with a grim nod, "the Vault, the Cube... they've all been looted."

I nodded in understanding. There was a long, uncomfortable pause while the three of us pondered the situation. Having any SHIELD facility looted by neo-Nazi terrorists was bad enough. But without SHIELD to track, recover, and protect those things... it was bad news, to say the least.

"That is why I have come," said Thor, "one object in particular concerns me most. Barton, do you know what has become of Loki's scepter?"

If I had had any mirth left at this situation, it would have dissolved right then and there. As it was, the thought of the blue glowie that Loki had used to get inside my head and screw with me made me want to toss my cookies. I had to close my eyes and count to ten before I trusted my voice to respond without shaking.

"Last I heard," I said, "it was at the Vault."

"Which means..." Stark started.

"Yeah," I interrupted him, my voice barely above a whisper, "Hydra's got it."

I couldn't look at anything but the top of the bar. It hit me harder than the punches I had taken from Wentworth a few days before. I wanted to crawl inside a dark hole and pull the ground in over me. God, I can't believe I hadn't thought of it! I deserved to be tossed off a building and I was beginning to wish that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen had missed the garbage bin.

At some point while I was wallowing in self-loathing, Stark had made his way to the other side of the bar. Three brandy glasses appeared on the counter and the one in front of me got filled first and highest. Without a word, I snagged the glass and knocked back the amber liquid, expecting a well-deserved burn, but feeling just a little warmth.

Heh. Stark always gets the good stuff.

I up-ended the glass on the bar and fell back into silence as Stark and Thor began to nurse their drinks. Without so much as acknowledging that it had been emptied, Stark turned my glass over and re-filled it.

He's a jerk, but he's our jerk, God bless him.

"I've been thinking about just this problem," he said, as he put the bottle back under the bar, "all that stuff out there and no SHIELD to get it back. Someone's gotta step up or Hydra's going to run rampant."

"Did you have something in mind?" Thor asked.

"Fury, Hill, and Coulson brought the Avengers together for a reason," Stark continued, casually leaning against the bar, "what was it he said? 'To fight the battles we never could.' Well, seems like SHIELD can't really fight any battles for itself, at least not for a long while. And it seems a shame to waste the Avengers on being a support group."

I looked up at Stark in disbelief. "You want to make the Avengers a... thing?"

Stark gave me a smirk and pointed a finger at me around his brandy glass. "I knew you'd be the first to sign up, Barton, and I accept."

"Now, wait a sec," I began.

"By Odin, that is an idea!" Thor exclaimed, sounding a little disturbingly enthused. "If Loki and the Chitauri could not stand against us, what hope to those vermin of Hydra have?"

"Wait, hold on!" I tried again.

"Exactly!" Stark exclaimed, steamrolling my protests once again. "We can start with finding the Hypno-Glowstick. Get it back to Asgard, where it's probably safer. And after that-"

"Just hold it!" I all-but-shouted, throwing up my good hand in protest. I finally got their attention and they both turned blank looks on me. "To do all that, you'd need contacts, a research lab, secure transport, a... a fighting force..."

"I believe he intends us to be the fighting force," Thor put in, looking at me as if I had just donned his brother's horned helmet.

"And seriously, Barton, what is under your feet?" Stark shot back.

I couldn't help it. I put my head in my one good hand and leaned on the bar. "A research lab and secure transport," I admitted.

"Exactly," Stark pressed on, "and you, Hill, and Romanoff have the contacts, so, there we are."

"Oh, now you're volun-telling Natasha!" I exclaimed, sarcasm dripping from my voice. "That's going to go over like a lead balloon, Stark. And I suppose we'd all be working for you, huh?"

"Aw, Barton, your vote of confidence is heart-warming," Stark cracked back, "now, I admit that I am charming as hell, but I'm not really the boss type, for this sorta thing. I was thinking more along the lines of Capsicle." He pushed off from the bar and wandered over to his hologram-projecting table. With a flourish, he turned it on and a wire-frame image of Stark Tower appeared, though it looked heavily remodeled. He had obviously been thinking about this for some time.

"And now you're volunteering Cap, too?"

"Hey, just because he hit you," Stark tossed back over at me, "holding grudges is bad for your health."

"He hit you?" Thor asked me. "Why did he hit you?"

"Long story," I replied around a sigh.

"Well, it seems like everything is properly in place," Thor agreed with a shrug.

"Oh god!" I moaned, put my head back in my hand. I just couldn't believe what I was hearing. "I'm in the presence of madmen!"

And yet, I had to admit, there was a rising sense of excitement, almost dare I say it, a renewed sense of purpose creeping into me. It was in-viable! It was outrageous! It was insane! And it sounded ten kinds of futzing awesome!

Stark, perhaps sensing my weakness, closed in for the kill, wandering closer to me like a shark closing in on prey. "C'mon, Barton, you know someone's gotta do it, why not us?" he said. "And I've read the original Avengers Initiative. I know that Coulson thought you should be a part of this. Besides, wouldn't you like to give Hydra a black eye or two for this whole past week?"

Now, that idea was really attractive. Everyone likes to think they're thinking about other people. It makes it all nobler and high-minded and shit. I'm not really sure what it says about me that Stark finally got me on board to avenge my own losses.

Well, guess that's why we're the Avengers.

I sighed heavily, rubbing my face with my good hand and looking to the sky. At last, I gave a chuckle and looked back at him, not quite believing that these words were about to come out of my mouth. "What the hell, who am I to argue with Coulson?" I said. "I'm out of a job and it's not like my skill set is all that marketable, anyway. What else am I gonna do? I'm in."

"Great!" Stark immediately said, as if any sort of pause would make me reconsider. He forged ahead. "I assume you can get in touch with Romanoff and from the looks of it she can get Steve. Banner and I have the science covered. Thor will be our Asgard liaison and he and Hulk will be our big muscle. I'll get Hill on board to work operations and we'll be all set."

"An excellent plan!" Thor agreed, clapping a hand on my uninjured shoulder. "May our enemies beware our wrath and the gates of Hel be prepared for the lamentations of our vanquished!"

"Oh god," I moaned once again, looking skyward.

"That's that, then!" Stark exclaimed, a child-like grin on his face. "From this moment on, this is no longer Stark Tower. It's Avengers Tower! Let's assemble the team!"

"Agreed!" Thor intoned, raising his brandy glass and knocking back the remainder of its contents and then up-ending it on the bar with a slam. "Assemble!"

So, that was that. There's not much else to tell about that week. That was what I was doing when Hydra toppled SHIELD. That's how the Avengers stepped up to the challenge. And we've been Avenging ever since, chasing Loki's scepter and giving as much grief to Hydra and other bad guys as we can.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Here I am, palling around with demi-gods, geniuses in invincible metal suits, super soldiers... and I've got a stick and a string from the paleolithic era. And yeah, there are days when it looks bad and feels worse. Laura worries, and we've never hidden my day job from Cooper and Lila, so there's that. But in the end, I doubt I'd have it any other way.

SHIELD was gone. That part of my life was over. They took me in at a pretty shitty part of my life when no one else would have me. They became a sort of weird family and now I didn't have that. But you know, the Avengers are kinda the same way. Just a bit weirder, really, if that's even possible.

Who am I kidding? Yeah, it sure as hell is possible! I mean, just look at us! We are futzing magnificent!

We're still tracking the Scepter. Hill said she's turned up some new intel about its location. Some little country in eastern Europe called Sokovia, I think. We're due to head out there tomorrow to kick some ass.

But enough about me. Go watch the news. It's gonna be great!

*******
FROM THE EDITOR...

And that's that. I hope you all enjoyed. Just a few notes for you.

Deirdre Wentworth in the comics is a Hydra super villain known as Superia. The fact that she was equipped in a climbing harness is something of a nod to her costume in the comics. In my head, she's wearing black and the harness is yellow, but I couldn't quite bring myself to actually describe it that way. For some reason, Clint didn't think it was important.

This chapter also contains the other random plot bunny that popped into my head after watching Daredevil on Netflix (good series and I highly recommend it, by the way). With Matt Murdock hanging around New York, it occurred to me that he might know a thing or two about the Chitauri attack and the Avengers. That got me wondering how he would interact with them. As soon as I decided that Clint was going to need to go to Stark Tower, the plot bunny attacked and wouldn't let go. It was surprisingly fun to write and I finished that whole part in about a day or so.

In other news, my one and only reviewer as of this posting pointed out that we actually do know what Bobbi was doing during the fall of SHIELD. I... er... completely forgot about an entire episode of AoS. That's what I get for writing fic after seeing the second season of AoS only once. I may do a redux of chapter two at some point to make it AoS-compliant, because, well, I obsess about this stuff. But for now I'll keep things as-is because I like it and it's my fic. :-p

As always, remember; fic authors love feedback. Please review and thanks for reading!