Andrea knew the attack was coming from behind even before she felt the minute shift in the air. Sidestepping deftly to her right, she used her assailant's momentum as she grabbed the offending hand and pulled, flipping the attacker over her shoulder to land with a thud at her feet. But they were fast. Rolling away from her, they were up onto their feet before Andrea could blink, certainly before she could catch her breath. She didn't have time to block the foot to the chest that sent her flying backwards. She used her own momentum to continue the roll and got herself back up onto her feet and into a defensive stance. To remain on the ground for even a second too long would mean the end. Her attacker was still coming.

Right, left, left, kick, right. She blocked each of the blows, waiting patiently for an opening for an attack of her own.

There it was.

She dropped to the ground like a stone and swung her leg out, taking her assailant's legs out from under them. She knew her opponent would try to roll away so she rolled with them. With a strike to the back she succeeded in aborting the roll and pinned her attacker. She knew before she delivered it that this would be the final blow. Her attacker had slowed. It was barely noticeable, but they'd rolled just a breath too slow.

Bringing her fist down towards their face, she finished it.

The only sound in the room was the sound of heavy breathing.

"I'm impressed, Agent Barton," Natasha Romanov commented from her place on the mat beneath her.

"You shouldn't be, Agent Romanov," Andrea Barton replied with a still breathless laugh, "you're the one that helped train me."

With that, Andrea stood up and and extended a hand to her friend who grabbed it gratefully.

Brushing herself off, Natasha turned to the blonde. "SHIELD fell, Andrea. I'm not technically an agent anymore," she chastised.

"Well, there's a new SHIELD now, Nat," Andrea reminded her, "and plus, you'll always be an agent to me - even if you're a full-time Avenger now," she added teasingly as she walked over to their gear to take a generous drink of water.

"You could've come with me, you know," Nat replied taking her own drink.

"I'm not Avenger material, Nat," Andrea told her once again. This was an old argument between the two.

Natasha had invited Andrea to come with her to the Avengers after she and Captain America had taken down SHIELD. Andrea could understand why her mentor and friend had asked. She knew she was an extraordinary agent – second only the Hawkeye in marksmanship and had just demonstrated her mastery of hand-to-hand against Black Widow herself. Those skills alone would have made her a welcome addition to the Avengers.

But the blonde agent had still flatly refused. Andrea was adamant that she would remain with what remained of SHIELD until ordered to do otherwise. But she, Natasha and Clint all knew that this was just an excuse. The trio had been a team since long before the Avengers and Andrea would have loved nothing more than to keep them all together. But she couldn't risk it. She couldn't be around people like Iron Man, Dr. Banner, Captain America himself and the goddamn god of thunder and continue to avoid detection.

You see, Andrea Barton is a mutant. And only Clint and Natasha knew that.

Clint Barton was nine years old when his niece was born.

With her mother wanting nothing to with her and his brother Barney predictably MIA, the baby girl came to Clint's parents to be cared for. Or, more realistically, Clint himself. Craig and Anne Barton weren't what Clint would call loving or nurturing parents. They couldn't even be bothered to name her. That responsibility, like so many others in his short nine years fell to Clint. Casting around desperately for what to name a baby girl, Clint turned to the only source of wisdom he'd ever trusted – Disney. Toy Story being his current favorite, the girl was christened with the name Andrea "Andy" Frances Barton.

Andy was about nine years old when her powers first manifested. Clint was almost nineteen and still living at home, something that surprised everyone who knew Clint. Everyone in town would have wagered on Clint being out of the house as soon as he turned eighteen, if not earlier. Everyone, that is, except for Andy. She was sure, as sure as she was that Uncle Clint's mac n' cheese had magical properties, that Clint stuck around for her. Not only because he was the one that had raised her up to this point, but because they both knew that with Clint gone, Craig Barton would need a new punching bag. So, Clint stayed.

There was one day in April that found Craig especially angry and particularly drunk. On this particular day, his anger was focused on Andrea.

"What is all this shit?!" Craig asked in disgust, taking in the sight his living room full of dolls and pink.

"Grandpa, they're my dolls," Andy responded as if it was obvious, not yet sensing the danger of the situation.

"Get them the hell out of here," he ordered, roughly shoving a pile of doll clothes off of the rocking chair and plopping down into it.

"Hey! Stop it you big dummie!" Andy yelled angrily, moving towards her doll's clothes.

Craig grabbed the girl by the arm and yanked her close so that they were almost face to face. "What did you call me you ungrateful little shit?"

Andrea was too scared to answer.

"Hey, asshole!" came the voice of her beloved Uncle Clint from the entryway. "Get your fucking hands off her!" He strode quickly forward and shoved Craig back and gently pulled Andrea away. He didn't need to tell her to hide… she knew the drill.

Andrea scrambled behind the couch where she was hidden from sight but could still keep her eyes on the situation. She couldn't stand the idea of Clint getting hurt.

"Don't tell me what to do in my own house, boy!" Craig snarled, getting to his feet.

"Then don't fucking touch Andrea and I won't have to, old man!" Clint yelled back, not backing down.

Craig didn't bother with words at that – he just swung. Hard. Clint was clearly surprised by the hit. He either thought his dad too drunk to hit too hard or just wasn't expecting the fight to turn physical so soon, but the hit sent him reeling backwards onto the coffee table which crumbled under his weight. Craig was on him in an instant. Just hitting, and hitting, and hitting.

Andrea couldn't take it anymore. "Stop…." she mumbled. Nobody heard her.

"Stop it." She said a little louder. Still no acknowledgement.

Finally she came out from behind the counter, reached towards her uncle and screamed "STOP!" Suddenly there was a blue flash and Craig went sailing backwards. Clint opened his eyes to see a blue forcefield between him and his father. Looking over at Andrea with wide eyes, it was clear that she had no idea what she'd done because she was still looking at Craig with nothing but hatred and anger in her eyes.

"Stop hurting him!" she yelled. "Don't touch him again!" tears were streaming down her cheeks. The forcefield slowly shrank away as her breathing returned to a somewhat normal level and she lowered her arms. Craig was stunned almost speechless. Almost.

"You… You. You freak! Stay away from us. Do ya hear?! Stay away!" and he scurried out of the room.

Andy looked down at her hands, confused. Freak?

Clint's soft voice broke into her thoughts, "Andy…?"

"Hey, kiddo," he continued when she wouldn't look at him, "kiddo, I need you to look at me."

She looked up and her eyes filled with tears at what she saw – Clint's bloody face.

"I'm sorry! I tried to stop him! I just wanted him to stop! I just wanted you safe!" she exclaimed, terrified that she might see the hatred in her uncle's eyes that she'd seen in her grandfather's.

"Andy… Andy, I need you to breath deep for me, kid."

So she did. She took deep breaths, mimicking what Uncle Clint was doing. "Good girl."

"Now, don't be scared, kiddo, okay? We'll figure this out, I promise. I'll help you figure this out."

"But… But I'm a freak," she mumbled tearfully.

"Hey," he said sharply, "You're not a freak, do you understand me? You. Are. Not. A. Freak. Never let anyone talk to you that way, okay?"

Andrea offered him a watery smile. "Okay, Uncle Clint."

Smiling at his niece, Clint couldn't help but pull the little girl into the comfort of his arms. Oh, god, he thought as the girl wrapped her arms around his neck, what the hell am I gonna do?

Clint considered and quickly discarded the idea of running away with Andrea. He doubted that Craig and Anne would report her missing but he couldn't know what kind of a life he'd be able to provide for his young niece. He knew that his parents didn't love her, and now that she'd presented as a mutant they downright despised her, but at least she still had a roof over her head and clothes on her back.

He was back to square one.

The answer to Clint's worries came a week later from his parents of all people.

"Saint Brutus's School for the Gifted?" Clint asked incredulously, flipping through the pamphlet.

Things in the Barton household had been extremely tense for the past week. Since Andrea's first display of her mutant powers, she had barely came out of her room and, when she did, the only person that would interact with her at all was Clint. Andrea couldn't be more thankful that Clint didn't treat her any differently. It was as if nothing had happened, but he didn't ignore it either. They talked about it, whether it had ever happened before (it hadn't), would it ever happen again (probably) and what to do if it did (no fucking clue…). Her grandparents, however, avoided her like the plague.

So Clint was extremely suspicious when his parents sat him down in the kitchen and presented him for a fancy looking flyer. "What is this shit?" he asked.

"It's a place for people like her," Anne sneered.

Clint merely rolled his eyes at his mother's attitude.

"You want to just send her away?! No way in hell," Clint argued, carelessly tossing the pamphlet on the table.

"It's not up to you, boy," Craig responded, "those people will be here tomorrow to get her."

"You can't do this!" Clint yelled, jumping to his feet.

"Sweetheart," Anne started, reaching for her son.

"Don't 'sweetheart' me, ma! You can't send Andrea away. You just… you can't," Clint finished lamely. He was starting to feel desperate. He loved that little girl. She was his sister for all intents and purposes. He needed to protect her. He couldn't do that if his asshole parents sent her away.

"The fact of the matter is that she can't stay here, Clinton," his mother replied, ignoring his temper as usual. "We won't allow it. At the school she'll be around people that are like her. She'll learn how to control her… abnormality. She'll learn how to hide it."

"Don't either of you act like you give a shit about her," Clint responded. But he couldn't help but consider his mother's words. She'll learn control. She'll be around people like her… He'd seen how afraid his niece was, both during and in the days after the episode. Maybe his parents were right about this place, despite their skewed reasons for wanting her to go.

Clint dropped back down into his chair defeated. He buried his face in his hands and breathed deeply. She'll be away from them at least, he thought to himself, resigned to his parents' plans for his niece.

"Uncle Clint?" he heard from the doorway.

"Hey there, kiddo," Clint responded, putting a smile on so as not to scare her. "C'mere a second. I wanna talk to you about somethin."

Timidly, Andrea came into the room and stood next to her uncle.

"We'll leave you to it," Craig sneered before dragging his wife out of the room. Clint noted that with his parents gone, Andrea was finally able to relax a little.

"So, listen, kid…." Clint began. Clint wasn't surprised to see the tears beginning as he told Andrea what was about to happen. When he finished, she had tears falling steadily down her cheeks.

"You don't love me anymore?" she asked between her tears.

"Hey, hey, no. That's not it, kiddo, I promise. I'm always gonna love you. But this place will be good for you," he promised.

"Will I see you again?" she asked quietly.

"Are you kidding?" he asked with a forced laugh. "I'll come visit all the time. And we'll write and talk on the phone and everything!"

That got a small smile out of the girl. "Okay, Clint. I'll go…"

With that, Clint wrapped the girl in his arms and hugged her with all his might. Tomorrow she'd go to this school for children like her and everything would be okay.

Clint wouldn't see his niece again until she was seventeen years old.

Andrea had just gotten back to base from her latest solo mission and wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a long nap.

"Excuse me, Agent Barton?" a junior agent whose name she couldn't remember approached her tentatively. Andrea missed the days when she could feign ignorance at someone asking for "Agent Barton," and could point them in the direction of her uncle.

"What can I do for you, agent?" Andrea asked wearily.

"Director Coulson wants to see you in his office, ma'am," he replied. At her raised eyebrow he quickly corrected himself. "I mean agent. Agent Barton, sir," he stammered out. It was fairly common knowledge that Andrea couldn't stand anyone calling her ma'am.

"Thanks, Agent Klein," she replied, gleaning his name from his uniform. "Tell the director I'll be there presently."

"Yes, sir," he answered her, scurrying off back to Director Coulson's office.

So much for a long, hot shower, she groused to herself as she swung by her quarters to drop her stuff off. As a senior agent she was entitled to a much larger living situation, even on SHIELD 2.0's limited budget. But she preferred the more meager offerings of the junior agent quarters. They were smaller but located closer to the training facilities. The less space between Andrea and the shooting range, the better. In order to get to the director's office, however, she had a ways to go.

She only stayed in her quarters long enough to dump her go-bag on the bed and run her fingers through her hair. She wasn't a vain person by any means but she believed in looking presentable for the director. She pulled her dark blonde hair back into a ponytail and took in her reflection in the small mirror on her desk. Her sea green eyes were alert despite the shadows under her eyes. It'd been a long mission. Deciding that she looked presentable enough for whatever Director Coulson had in mind, she made her way to his office.

There was no one at the reception desk when she arrived so she bypassed it and knocked directly on Coulson's door.

"Come in," came the muffled reply.

Andrea walked in and, out of habit, stood at attention in front of Coulson's desk.

Coulson let out an exasperated sigh at her behavior before he finally addressed her, "At ease, Barton. You know how I wish you wouldn't do that." He leaned back in his chair as she took a seat opposite him.

"And you know how I wish you'd stop telling me to stop doing that," she replied with a broad smile. They'd known each other a long time and were quite close friends. Still, he was the director now and Andrea believed that earned him a certain degree of respect and deference.

"So, your mission…" Coulson began the debrief. Andrea gave her report in short, clipped sentences, using the military-esque shorthand that she'd grown accustomed to over the last ten years.

"Well it sounds like you had it all in hand," Coulson commented after she had finished her report. It wasn't as if he was surprised. With Clint and Romanov gone, Andrea was by far his best agent.

"Yes, sir," Andrea replied.

"Have you talked to Clint lately?" Coulson asked abruptly. He knew he caught her off guard by the slight tensing of her shoulders. It was difficult to catch Andrea Barton off guard.

"I'm sorry, sir?" Andrea questioned.

"Clint. Have you talked to him?" he repeated the question, enjoying his agent's confusion.

"No, sir, I haven't. He's been on missions with the Avengers. Is he okay?" she suddenly asked, sounding worried.

"Yes, yes, he's fine. I'm sorry, Andy, I didn't mean to worry you," Coulson apologized.

Andrea relaxed only fractionally.

"I only ask because it pertains to your next mission," Coulson continued. At the mention of a mission, Andrea sat up straighter, ready to hear the mission parameters.

"What are my orders, sir?" she asked, ever the professional agent (unlike her uncle).

"Actually, I'm reassigning you," Coulson began, trying to gauge his agent's reaction.

"Sir?"

"I'm putting you on an indefinite assignment with another agency," Coulson continued.

Andrea didn't like the sound of this. "What agency, sir?"

"The Avengers."