Calling In A Marker

by

Alobear

Category: Gen

Notes: Written for WIP Big Bang 2018

I've been meaning to write a John Wick fic ever since the first movie came out, back in 2014. So, the WIP Big Bang seemed like the perfect opportunity to get it done. But I didn't have a plot, until I started thinking about where John might go after the end of the second movie, and it suddenly all came together...

XXXXX

Clint and Nat were doing weapons maintenance in one of Tony's labs at the Tower in New York, making the most of the chance to spend some time together without there being an imminent crisis.

"Ms Romanov?" Jarvis' ever-polite tones sounded in the empty air.

Clint looked up and caught Nat's eye.

"Yes, Jarvis?" Nat said.

"There is a man downstairs, asking to speak to you."

Clint raised an eyebrow and Nat gave a tiny shrug.

"Show me," she said.

A screen materialised above the worktop, showing an image of the tower lobby. A man in a black suit was leaning against the wall, his head down, his jaw-length dark hair obscuring his face. As they watched, though, he looked up, revealing handsome angular features marred by multiple cuts.

Clint heard Nat breathe in sharply.

"Well, that's a blast from the past," he said, "and certainly not someone I ever expected to turn up here."

"It's okay, Jarvis," Nat said. "Let him come up. We'll meet him on the mezzanine level."

"Very well," Jarvis said.

"Any idea what he's doing here?" Clint asked. Nat just looked at him with an inscrutable expression, the type that had a tendency to hide a multitude of secrets.

"I guess we'll find out." She gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

Steve and Bruce were in the kitchen nook when they got to the main lounge. The Avengers were between missions, and had all been enjoying the chance for a little down-time.

"We've got a visitor," Nat said, eliciting surprised glances from the other two.

Before she had the chance to explain further, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal the man from downstairs. He walked into the room stiffly, a sleek, brown dog at his heels.

"John Wick," Nat said, her tone casual, though Clint could see her shoulders were tense, and he couldn't blame her. The presence of John Wick always heralded blood and violence. "You look like you're having a bad day."

"You have no idea," John replied, his gravelly voice triggering intense memories for Clint.

Nat crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side.

"Oh, you'd be surprised how far news of your recent exploits has reached."

Recent exploits? Clint felt his own tension ratchet up a notch. What had been going on, and how come Nat already knew about it, but he didn't?

John stopped in the centre of the open space. "So you know why I'm here."

"I can guess."

Clint glared at Nat, resenting her earlier lack of reaction. He'd been sure she knew more than she was letting on. She ignored him, still focused on John.

"Why don't you sit down before you fall down," Nat said.

John grimaced. "I don't want to get blood on your couch."

He opened his jacket to reveal a wide red stain on the right side of his shirt.

"Tony can always buy a new couch," Nat said, then raised her voice a little and directed her words to the room at large. "Jarvis, Mr Wick requires medical attention."

"I will summon a doctor immediately," Jarvis replied smoothly.

Clint wondered at how quickly they'd all got used to having access to whatever they wanted, just by asking for it.

John looked startled by the disembodied voice, but recovered quickly and made his way to the couch, sitting down with a groan. The dog followed, and settled itself at his feet. Nat sat down opposite him, Clint following and sitting beside her. An unflattering comparison between him and the dog wasn't lost on him. He looked up to see Steve and Bruce staring at their little group. Steve even held a coffee cup, frozen halfway to his mouth.

"Does someone want to tell us what's going on?" Bruce asked. His drawn-in eyebrows suggested concern, while Steve's narrowed eyes were more suspicious.

Nat looked at John. "Do you want to explain, or shall I?"

John waved a hand, as if he was too weary even to hand over responsibility for explanations verbally.

Nat gestured at the rest of the seats around the coffee table. "Gentlemen? If you'd like to join the story circle?"

Steve and Bruce came over and sat down.

Nat said, "Allow me to introduce John Wick, one of the most feared assassins in the world, including present company." She threw a significant glance at Steve. "And recent missing persons."

Steve looked like he was sucking a lemon for a second, then schooled his expression back to neutral. They were still following leads on both the Winter Soldier and Loki's staff, but hadn't had much success on either project in the last few months.

Nat continued the introductions.

"John, this is Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner. Clint, you already know."

John gave them all a tight smile. "I'm sorry to turn up unannounced like this. Natasha will be able to tell you that I don't like having to ask for help." He fixed Nat with a hard look. "But I'm calling in my marker."

Clint choked and stared at Nat in astonishment. "You gave him a marker?"

Nat sighed. "I had to. You know what he did. Without his help, I never would have been able to get out from under with the KGB and join SHIELD." She turned back to John. "So, what do you want me to do?"

"Hang on a minute," Steve said, putting on his 'in-charge' voice. "I get that you think you owe this guy. And, believe me, if there's one thing I understand, it's obligation. But I'm not sure how comfortable I am with you just running off to do the bidding of an uber-assassin."

Nat gave him one of her patented 'are-you-an-idiot' looks. Clint knew from vast personal experience what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of those.

"Steve, I am an uber-assassin. Switching my allegiance to SHIELD didn't really change that. So, if you have a problem with it, we may have to review my Avengers membership. Besides, you don't have any say over what I do in my own time."

Steve shifted in his seat and folded his arms, but didn't say anything more. Clint was sure that wouldn't be the end of the matter, though. The make-up of the Avengers team was a delicate balance of conflicting backgrounds, personal agendas, moral compasses and allegiances. It continually amazed him that they worked together as well as they did, despite a rocky start and frequent disagreements. They were gradually finding their groove as a unit, but things like this kept coming up to reopen the plastered-over cracks.

"Will it be dangerous?" Bruce asked.

This time, Nat's look was affectionate rather than disparaging. "Um, probably."

"No, I mean, of course it will be," Bruce said. "I just meant I could come along and, uh, watch your back."

"I don't think we'll need the Hulk," Nat said, then cocked an eyebrow at John. "Will we?"

He sighed. "There's an international open contract out on me for $14 million, so it wouldn't hurt…"

Jarvis interrupted them. "Ms Cho is on the approach."

The sound of helicopter blades reached them and they all looked round to watch the craft land on the pad outside. Helen Cho climbed out and crossed the open space to the building, the glass doors opening to admit her as she approached. She was carrying a large metal case.

"That was fast," Clint said.

"I'd just finished something up-town when Jarvis called," Helen replied. "What's the emergency?"

Nat indicated John. "An old friend stopped by, and he could do with a once-over. I suspect he's probably more injured than he's letting on, so be thorough."

Helen looked John up and down, all business. "Shall I set up in one of the labs?"

Steve spoke up again. "I'm not sure a stranger should be wandering the building, especially as Tony isn't here."

Before Nat could retort, Cint said, "I'll go with them, and make sure John doesn't fiddle with anything classified."

He stood up and stepped across to offer John a hand up. Remembering the bloodstain, Clint held out his left hand, but John still winced as Clint levered him up onto his feet.

The dog raised its head, but John gestured with one hand and said, "Stay."

A few minutes later, Helen had John stripped to his underwear and was marvelling over the range and severity of the injuries she'd discovered. He was covered in bruises, accompanied by a bullet wound in his side and at least two stab wounds that Clint could see. These had evidently been stitched up in the recent past, but the bullet wound had since been ripped open again and was oozing blood.

"I honestly don't know how you're conscious, let alone moving around," Helen said.

Clint snorted. "John Wick is a man of focus, commitment and sheer fucking will," he said, earning him a glare from John.

"Well, that's as may be," Helen said, "but he'll need to take it easy for a while, or some of this could get complicated."

"He's sitting right here, and taking it easy isn't exactly an option right now," John growled, then relented. "But I do appreciate the help."

"Give me a few months, and I'll be able to print new tissue right into your body," Helen said. "Then you'd be good as new in a matter of minutes."

John's interest was clearly piqued. "I know a lot of people who would pay very well for that kind of medical treatment."

"No, no, no," Clint said. "I'm not letting you drag Helen into your murky underworld. Getting Nat involved again is bad enough."

"She does seem to have landed on her feet here," John said. "I'm glad of that."

"So don't jeopardise it by asking her to fix whatever mess you're in," Clint said, crossing his arms. He was very aware that Nat wouldn't appreciate him interfering, but he couldn't just let this slide without throwing in his two cents.

John sighed. "Believe me, I wouldn't be here if I had literally anywhere else to go. But I've already burned every bridge there is. I just need some help to retrieve a few supplies, and I'll be gone forever. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," Clint said. "And you know I'll be coming along to make sure you keep your word."

While Helen finished up her ministrations, Clint rustled up one of Tony's shirts from somewhere and offered it to John to replace his ruined one. It was a little short in the sleeves, but John didn't complain.

When they got back out to the main room, it seemed Steve had taken the opportunity of their absence to renew the argument from before. He was on his feet, pacing around the room, while Nat regarded him calmly from the couch, Bruce shifting uncomfortably on his own seat to one side.

"What if it was Bucky?" Nat was saying. "What would you do if he turned up here now, asking for your help?"

"That's completely different," Steve said.

"How?" Nat wasn't going to let him off that easily.

But Steve was adamant. "He's under Hydra control. He doesn't have a choice about what he's doing."

"And if he wanted to escape that control? Would you help him find a way? Would you do whatever you could so he had other options?"

Steve stared at her. "Of course! But that's-"

"That's exactly what John did for me. After growing up in the Red Room, being trained and groomed from a young age in the art of espionage and assassination, do you think I really had a choice about what I was doing? And do you think they would have just let me go when Clint came along and offered me a job at SHIELD?"

Clint turned his attention back and forth between Nat and Steve, as if he was at a tennis match. John was standing, tense, at his side. Clint saw John's hand twitch out of the corner of his eye and the dog, who had been lying forgotten by the couch, sprang up and trotted over to them. The motion drew everyone's gaze in their direction, interrupting the argument. Steve looked relieved that he didn't have to answer Nat's last question, rhetorical though it may have seemed.

Nat got up and came over as well. "All good?" she asked.

John rolled his shoulders. "Much better, thanks." He flicked his eyes to Steve and then back to Nat. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," she said, not looking round. "Where to?"

"There are some things I need to get from my house," John said. "But I suspect it's being watched. All I need is back-up to get me in and out." He glanced at Bruce. "And maybe some help breaking through some cement."

Bruce got up. "That I can do. But I'll maybe leave the rival assassins to you and Natasha, if you don't mind."

"And me," Clint said. "I'm coming, too."

Steve rose to his feet, threw his hands in the air and stalked out of the room.

John regarded Nat. "I'm sorry to be causing so much trouble."

"Oh, he'll get over it," she said. "And a marker is a marker. How are you fixed for weapons?"

John reached beneath his jacket and produced a handgun. "Ammunition's a little low."

"I expect we can do something to rectify that," Nat said. "Follow me."

#

They stocked up on weapons and protective gear, then headed to the hangar, John explaining where they needed to go on the way. Even John Wick couldn't hide his amazement as he climbed aboard the Quinjet. He spun slowly on the spot, staring around, eyes wide. The dog was pressed up against his legs.

"Pretty impressive, huh?" Cint said, with a smirk.

"I'll say," John replied. "I guess being an Avenger has its perks."

"It has its moments," Nat said, brushing past him to the co-pilot's seat. She gestured at the chair behind it. "Grab a pew and strap in."

As Clint prepped the flight controls, he finally asked the question that had been going round and round in his head since John turned up. "So, what did you do to piss everyone off so bad?"

Nat snorted, not giving John a chance to answer. "He shot Santino D'Antonio in the head. In front of multiple witnesses. In The Continental lounge."

Clint stared at John open-mouthed for a moment. "Well, that'd do it."

Bruce was shifting in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Nat opened her mouth, presumably to explain the significance of the act, but he held up a hand to forestall her.

"I think I'm happier not knowing," he said.

She shrugged, then turned back to John. "What did Winston say?" She put on a exaggerated tone, with an accompanying pout. "Was he very disappointed in you?"

John's mouth tightened as if in pain. "That's an understatement. He still did his best to protect me, but there's only so far even his influence can reach. And I can't blame him for not wanting to join me in exile. It was entirely my choice and I knew what the consequences would be."

Clint concentrated on getting the Quinjet safely in the air and heading in the right direction, but kept an ear on the conversation at the same time. He knew Santino had been a dick of the first order, but he must have done something pretty horrific to incite John to shed his blood on Continental grounds. Clint had only a peripheral connection to the assassin underworld through his early interactions with Nat, but even he understood how serious that was. He wondered what John was going to do once they'd helped him collect his stuff. The assassin network reached all the way around the world, and was very well connected. John had mentioned there was an international contract out on him and had said he had no other allies to fall back on. So where was there left that he could go?

Nat changed the subject. "We had an encounter a few months back that might interest you. How much do you know about the Winter Soldier?"

"About as much as anyone, I guess," John said. "What's his reputed total? Twenty-five kills since the 60s? It's not exactly an impressive count, given the length of time. Besides, isn't he just a horror story someone cooked up to frighten people?"

"Says Baba Yaga…" Nat said, with a wry smile. "Well, he's not a horror story any more. Steve and I actually fought him. And he is one tough customer."

"Was he involved in that mess in Washington?" John asked.

Nat nodded. "So, you've been keeping tabs on me too, have you?"

"It's hard not to. Your activities aren't exactly, uh, low-key these days. But how come you know so much about what I've been up to?"

"I like to keep abreast of what's going on," Nat said. "In case anything might come back to bite me. And the channels I keep track of have been pretty much full of nothing else. You haven't exactly been keeping a low profile." She cocked her head and raised one eyebrow. "Though there were a few hours when nobody knew where you were..."

John gave a tight smile. "I sought refuge with the Bowery King."

Clint was now completely lost. His knowledge of Nat's past contacts only went so far.

But Nat's eyes widened. "Wow, you must have been desperate. What did he say?"

John sighed. "He gave me a single handgun, with seven bullets, then kicked me back out on the streets."

Nat laughed. "That sounds like him." She shook her head in disbelief. "But that didn't stop you. You really don't know when enough's enough, do you?"

John shrugged. "It's kind of my trademark."

Clint was watching the display readouts. "I think we're here," he said. He looked out and down, and saw the a wide patch of burnt rubble. "That's your house?"

John sighed. "Used to be. Set down as close as you can get. We need to access the basement. And, if there isn't anyone here already, there will be soon enough."

#

If Clint was honest, he was pretty impressed with how he managed to manoeuvre the Quinjet so there was as little open ground between it and the remains of the house as possible. As John stood up, the dog sprang to its feet and looked up at him expectantly. But he gestured with a flat hand, said, "Stay," and the dog lay back down with a quiet whine.

Nat insisted on staying behind to cover them as Clint, John and Bruce sprinted into what was left of the kitchen. A bullet pinged past Clint's ear as he ran, and he immediately set up a position behind what used to be one of the external walls. John fired some rounds into the treeline and Nat hustled to join them. It wasn't a great location for a pitched battle, but they didn't have much choice. Clint was already starting to wonder why he'd been so insistent on coming along.

John gestured at the entrance to the basement. "Are we all going down?"

Clint looked across at Nat and knew exactly the same train of thoughts was going through her head as his own. John needed to be there to identify what required retrieving. And, if Bruce was going to unleash the Hulk in a confined space, Nat would need to be there to talk him down afterwards. And there was no way Clint was staying up top to cover every approach to the house on his own. They'd be much better off sticking together and only having one entry point to block off. Of course, having only one entry point necessarily meant they had only one way to get out, and might easily get trapped. But they'd just have to deal with that if and when it came up.

Nat nodded, and Clint said, "Yes. Same formation as before."

They repeated their transfer from the Quinjet, with Nat letting off a few shots as the three men made their way through the door. Clint turned back in the threshold to make sure Nat made it across safely.

"We don't want to get completely boxed in," she said, voicing his own concerns.

"So the two of us stay at the top of the stairs and do our best to keep our exit clear," Clint said. "Once John's got what he needs, he can switch places with you while you sort out the Big Guy. And then we're gone. Easy."

She looked askance at him. "Sure. Easy."

Clint kept both eyes on what he could see of the house, and one ear on what was happening in the basement below him.

"So," he heard Bruce say in his slightly hesitant way. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

"Everything I want is under the floor," John replied. "We just need to get it out and up to the ship. I'd usually use a sledge hammer to gain access, but I don't think Dr Cho would approve of that right now."

Bruce sighed. "Basically, Hulk smash, then… Okay. You might want to stand back a bit."

Clint would have liked to have seen John's reaction to the transformation, but the startled yelp that reached his ears was almost as good.

Then, Nat said, "Bogeys. Three o'clock and seven o'clock."

Clint's attention was taken up with spotting and eliminating approaching assassins for a while. It was like old times. Stuck in a foxhole with Nat, pointing out targets to each other, working together to cover every angle, and not allowing a single enemy to get close to them. They operated almost like one entity, knowing exactly when and how the other one would act, and compensating for any potential blind spots or weaknesses. Dimly, Clint was aware of a lot of crashing and banging from below, but he didn't let it distract him. In that moment, his only job was to keep an eye on the task at hand, so he had to trust that everything else would work itself out one way or another.

After they had dealt with about six operatives trying to breach the house, there was a lull.

"Think they're regrouping?" Nat asked.

"They'd be pretty stupid to keep trying a frontal assault at this point," Clint said.

John's voice reached them from below. "Natasha? Do you have a moment?"

Nat glanced at Clint and he nodded. "Go. I've got this."

She ran down the steps behind him. Clint risked a brief look and saw John and the Hulk standing together, looking down at a large assortment of crates and boxes.

"That's a lot of stuff, John," Nat said. "How are you proposing we get it all up to the jet? The opposition are taking a breather for the time being, but I doubt they'll just let us wander out there with all your luggage."

A massive, rumbling voice said, "Hulk carry."

It always surprised Clint to hear the Hulk speak in actual words. Since he usually only made an appearance in combat situations, they'd never had the chance to have a proper chat, so Clint had no real concept of how articulate the Hulk could be. But he mostly responded to instructions in battle and reacted to situations tactically, so he must have a certain level of awareness and cognition. The way Bruce talked, they were two completely separate entities, which must be a pretty weird way to live. Though, Clint supposed everyone had multiple personalities living in their head to a certain extent.

"Yeah?" Nat sounded sceptical.

"Hulk strong."

There was a hint of petulance in the words, and Clint risked a split-second glance to see tiny Nat facing off against the Hulk's massive frame. The Hulk was hunched and defensive, while Nat looked up at him sternly. It was an amusing visual.

"I know you are, buddy," Nat said. "But there are bad guys upstairs and they'll be shooting at us."

"Hulk carry."

"Okay, if you're sure."

Nat rejoined Clint at the top of the stairs. "Did you get the gist of that?"

"Yeah, but is taking the Hulk out into a firefight a good idea?"

"Probably not." She shrugged. "But I'm not sure we have much choice. A couple of bullets aren't going to bother him. So, as long as he stays relatively calm onto the jet, I can do the lullaby on the flight back."

Clint and Nat went first, taking cover as best they could in the ruins of the house. Their movement flushed another couple of assassins out of the treeline, but they were quickly dealt with. John emerged from the basement, gun drawn, with the Hulk close behind him. The sight of the Hulk laden down with baggage was pretty ridiculous, and he lumbered out onto the grass, not reacting at all to the hail of bullets that flew in his direction. Clint had a flash of an idea that the Hulk could start up a removals business in war zones, and had to stifle a laugh. Clint, Nat and John made their way to the jet in stages, covering each other, until they were all aboard and taking boxes from the Hulk in turn and stashing them out of the way.

Clint caught sight of a flash in the distance and looked up to see someone brandishing a hand-held rocket launcher at the edge of the trees.

"Incoming!" he yelled.

The Hulk looked around, spotted the threat and planted himself directly in the path of the rocket. It impacted his chest and he staggered back a step or two amidst the ensuing explosion. Then he gave a roar of pure rage and took off at a run towards the trees.

"Shit," Nat said, then turned to Clint. "Get the rest of the stuff on the jet and get in the air. I'll go after him."

Before Clint could argue, she had jumped off the ramp and was sprinting away.

"Come on!" Clint said to John, and threw the last of the boxes inside.

He clambered to the controls and went through the pre-flight sequence as fast as possible. John nearly tripped over the dog, which was bounding around his feet, barking frantically. He managed to strap himself into the co-pilot's seat, and the dog settled at his side.

"Now what?" John asked.

"We go after them," Clint said. "And we hope the Hulk doesn't do too much damage in the meantime."

It was easy enough to follow the Hulk's trail once they were in the air. There was a clear path of downed trees and scattered bodies. It only took a couple of minutes to catch up to where the Hulk and Nat were fighting a very one-sided battle with the remnants of the opposition, who mostly seemed to be trying to get away. By the time Clint had managed to get the Quinjet on the ground again, it was all over.

Clint hit the button to bring the rear ramp down, and watched as Nat approached the Hulk, walking as if she was trying not to scare off a rabbit.

"What's she doing?" John asked.

"We call it the lullaby," Clint said. "She and Bruce have been working on it since the attack on New York. It's tricky involving the Hulk in any situation, as you've seen. He's fine as long as nothing really pisses him off. But once he completely loses control, it can be hard to get him back under control. But he and Nat have developed a bond. She knows he won't hurt her, so it's become her job to calm him down after a fight."

The Hulk spun round to face Nat and roared directly in her face, his massive arms spread wide, huge hands clenched into fists.

"You were saying?" John said. "Shouldn't we do something?"

He looked more ruffled than Clint had ever seen him, which wasn't unreasonable, given the circumstances.

Clint shook his head. "Just watch."

Nat didn't even flinch, which seemed to take the Hulk by surprise. He backed up a step and it was as if all the fight suddenly went out of him. He slumped to the ground, punching the grass once or twice, then falling still. Nat reached out a hand, and he slowly mirrored the action, allowing her to stroke her hand down his forearm. She rested her hand palm-down in his, maintaining eye contact and murmuring words Clint and John couldn't hear from where they were. Moments later, Nat was supporting Bruce Banner as they made their way towards the waiting jet.

"Wow," John said.

Clint grinned over at him. "I know."

Once Nat had Bruce settled in the back, she came to join the others.

"Is he okay?" John asked.

"He'll be out of it for a while," Nat said. "He doesn't like it when the Hulk loses it. But he'll be fine once he's had some sleep. So, mission accomplished? Where can we drop you?"

#

On the flight back, Clint thought back to the only other time he had met John Wick. It was after Fury had sent him to kill Nat, and he had instead offered her a job with SHIELD. That had been a tense meeting in and of itself. Frankly, given their previous interactions, Clint had been amazed she'd even agreed to speak to him. When he'd posed his question, she had looked at him with that penetrating gaze, and he'd had absolutely no idea what she was thinking. She could have been about to kill him, or she could have been about to break down in tears. Knowing her as he did now, he was sure the former had been much more likely than the latter. But, on that occasion, she had picked a different option.

"Okay," she said, taking a sip of her coffee as if they were simply exchanging pleasantries. "But I'll need some time to sort a few things out."

"It's a limited time offer," Clint said. "I can only keep my boss off my back for so long before he takes things into his own hands." The slight tightening of her lips told him Nat had understood the veiled reference. He pushed on. "And it's way easier to ask forgiveness than permission on something like this."

Nat placed her coffee cup back on its saucer, her movements careful and precise. "I understand. But it's not as simple as me coming with you right now. There are -" Her lips twisted. "- complications. My bosses won't just let me walk away, especially straight into the arms of the enemy, as it were. I'll need to apply some pressure in the right places, to make sure I can limit the potential consequences. For me, and for you."

She steepled her fingers and regarded Clint solemnly. The clinical way in which she was discussing what was sure to be a series of dangerous and violent activities sent a chill down his spine. Clint felt very glad he'd come up with this solution. He hadn't wanted to tell Fury his concern that he might not actually be able to take her down. Now, they would never have to find out who would ultimately have won.

"Fair enough," he said, thinking through the logistics on his end. "I can give you three days."

She nodded. "You'll hear from me before then."

Clint went back to work, having to put in quite a bit of effort to avoid Fury over the next couple of days. Eventually, though, his covert tracking of his boss' movements failed and they ended up in the same elevator.

"Progress report?" Fury said, getting right to the point.

Clint looked at the floor. "Working on it. I'll have an update soon." Or at least he hoped he would. The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and Clint ducked out, even though he wasn't remotely on the right floor.

Two days after their meeting, Nat called him on the burner phone number he'd given her.

"Meet me tomorrow night in the alleyway behind the Continental Hotel. Nine o'clock."

She hung up before Clint had a chance to say a word.

Still wary of drawing too much attention to what he was planning, Clint went to the rendezvous alone. He just hoped it wouldn't turn out to be the worse, and probably last, mistake of his life. He realised he was risking a very great deal to recruit someone he still knew almost nothing about. But he had a sense he was making the right choice. He parked his SUV at the end of the alleyway, and padded silently towards the hotel's back entrance, bow at the ready. At the first squeak of the door, he had an arrow nocked and pointed.

Two figures emerged from the spill of light around the door. A tall, slender man supported a much shorter woman, his arm around her waist. They made their way slowly and painfully to where Clint waited, uncertain. The woman's head came up, casting her face into the brief light of a streetlamp, and Clint saw it was Nat. Her expression was strained, and she was limping. They stopped a few feet away and the man regarded Clint with suspicion, his dark eyes narrowed.

"John Wick, Clint Barton," Nat said. She shifted her weight away from John's support and gave him a level look. "Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome," he said, his voice low and intense. "Now, I suggest you get out of here while you can."

With that, he turned and disappeared into the darkness of the alleyway, back towards the hotel.

"Friend of yours?" Clint asked.

Nat grimaced. "After a fashion. He gives good advice, at least. Shall we go?"

Clint helped her to the car and they drove off into the night. It was an inauspicious beginning to what would become a highly effective partnership.

#

Back on the Quinjet, John asked them to fly further out of the city to a patch of waste ground by the river. When they landed, he jumped off the jet and crossed to small copse of trees, the dog at his heels. He cleared some brush away and revealed a car that had been hidden beneath it. Nat and Clint helped him transfer all the crates and boxes into the car. Clint wondered how long the car had been there. It was possible John had similar vehicles and other stashes of supplies hidden in various places. Clint was glad he didn't live a life where that was necessary, and that John had helped him give Nat different options as well.

John reached into his jacket and pulled out what looked like a large, ornate coin. He pressed something on its edge and it flipped open to reveal some parchment inside with a bloody fingerprint on one half. He pricked his thumb on a needle that had sprung out from the top and placed it in the blank space, leaving a second red print on the paper. He clicked the whole thing shut again and handed it to Nat.

"Marker paid back in full," he said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Nat said. "What will you do now?"

"It's probably best if you don't know," John said. He pulled a folded note from his pocket and held it out. "Could you deliver this for me?"

Nat took it and examined the addressee written on the side. "Sure. And good luck."

John nodded and let the dog into the back seat of the car before climbing in himself.

Nat and Clint stepped aboard the Quinjet and set off back to Manhattan.

Steve was waiting for them when they got back. He stood, watching them disembark from the Quinjet, arms folded, expression stern. Nat had her arm around a groggy Bruce as they entered the tower, but handed him off to Clint before squaring up to the disapproving Captain America.

"Is it done?" he asked.

"Not quite," Nat said. "We won't see John again, but there's a visit I have to pay. No more danger or questionable activities involved, though, I promise. Then it'll be done."

Steve humphed. "Good."

#

The following day, Clint followed Nat into the lobby of an opulent hotel he'd only ever heard about in her stories. Its entrance marked the corner where two streets met in a Y-junction, and the hotel spread backwards along both blocks. It was large and beautiful, but the other passersby completely ignored its presence. Clint couldn't help staring up and around at the lavish furnishings as they went in, until Nat jabbed him in the side and threw him a lethal glare.

"You're embarrassing yourself," she growled. "Don't make me regret letting you come along."

They walked the length of the lobby, and it seemed as if everyone seated in the chairs to either side was studying them minutely while pretending to be looking elsewhere. The man behind the marble counter at the other end was resplendent in an impeccable suit. He looked up at their approach and smiled in welcome, though Clint could see caution in his eyes.

"Ms Romanov," he said in cultured tones. "Always a pleasure. It has been some time."

"Thanks, Charon," said Nat. She produced two ornate gold coins apparently out of thin air, and laid them on the counter. Gesturing at Clint, she said, "He's with me. Would it be possible for us to see Winston?"

Charon's smile grew wider, as he slid the coins out of sight. "Mr Barton is welcome here as your guest. Please proceed downstairs. I believe you know the way."

"Thank you," Nat said, then had to nudge Clint again to get him to stop staring at Charon and follow her to the staircase.

"How does he know who I am?" Clint hissed. He was used to being the most invisible member of the Avengers, and generally liked it that way.

"Charon know who everybody is," Nat said with a shrug. "It's part of his job. I'd take it as a compliment, if I were you. He must think you're important if he's made a point of remembering your name and what you look like."

Clint wasn't sure how to feel about that. He knew there was a lot more to the assassin underworld than he had ever seen, but the idea that they might be keeping tabs on him was disconcerting, to say the least. He trailed behind Nat as she walked down the stairs, stopping in front of a formidable door. She knocked and a slot opened at eye height. Nat fed another of the coins through the gap and Clint heard bolts sliding back. The door opened inwards to reveal a bar lounge, complete with red velvet booths and a singer in a slinky dress. The bar staff had fifties-style hairdos and multiple tattoos, adding distinction to the old-time ambience. If it hadn't been for the fact that the entire clientele made their living from killing people, Clint would have found the place very appealing.

Nat made a beeline for a booth in the far corner, where a man sat, surveying the room. He was just as smartly dressed as the concierge, and had an air of authority. He raised one eyebrow as he spotted them, looking at them over his glasses.

"Natasha," he said in warm, English tones. "What a pleasant surprise. And Mr Barton, welcome."

"Clint, this is Winston," Nat said. "He runs the joint."

Winston spread his hands. "Do sit down."

"Thanks," Clint said, as he slid into the booth. "Impressive place you've got here."

Winston gave him a wry smile. "I'm glad it meets with your approval." Then he turned to Nat. "What brings you to my door after all this time, my dear? I hope nothing unfortunate."

"Just some minor business," Nat said with a smile of her own. "Nothing to worry about." She withdrew the marker from inside her jacket and pressed the button to flip it open. Then she laid it on the table in front of Winston, displaying the pair of thumb prints. "John Wick called in his marker."

"I see," Winston said, his tone remaining completely neutral, though Clint saw his mouth tighten ever so slightly. "And how is Jonathan?"

"Very well, as of yesterday," Nat said. She pulled the folded piece of paper from another pocket and handed it over. "He sends his regards and regrets being unable to return the marker himself."

Winston took the piece of paper, unfolded it and read whatever was written on it. His expression didn't change, but Clint saw his shoulders relax an iota. He slipped the note inside his waistcoat.

"Thank you, Natasha," he said. "I appreciate you bringing me this. And I also appreciate you helping Jonathan."

Nat shrugged. "A marker is a marker. And this one has now been paid in full."

"This is a little unorthodox," Winston said. "As traditionally, the holder of the marker should be the one to present it to me and record it as completed. However, given the circumstances, and the note from Jonathan, I think we can make an exception in this case."

He raised a hand and a waitress materialised at the side of the booth.

"Bring the book, please," Winston said.

The waitress nodded and strode off.

"So, Natasha," Winston said, "you've been leading an interesting life since last we met."

"That I have," Nat said. "Though in some ways, things haven't changed all that much. A mission is a mission, after all." She glanced at Clint. "It's nice to have a team at my back, but I do miss being able to disappear into the shadows like I used to."

"Indeed," said Winston. "The shadows can only conceal us for so long, however, as Jonathan has recently discovered to his chagrin."

"Well,"Nat replied, "it's not as if he didn't know what would happen. It was his choice."

Winston sighed. "We always have a choice. Though sometimes it may not seem as if we do."

They exchanged a glance that had so many layers, Clint was left feeling rather excluded. There were some things he figured he was better off not understanding, though. This was not a place, or a world, he wanted to inhabit, despite its luxurious trappings.

When the waitress came back, she was carrying an enormous ledger, which she put down on the table with some difficulty. Winston reached for it and levered it open, rifling through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. The entries were hand-written in a flowing script, all with at least one accompanying thumb print, and most with two.

Nat picked up the marker again and released the needle from its edge. Stabbing her thumb, she reached out and placed her print on the entry that bore her name.

"Pleasure doing business with you," she said to Winston.

"Always," he replied, closing the book. "And allow me to wish you all the best for the future. I suspect it will continue to be interesting."

"Oh, I have no doubt," Nat said.

She slid out of the booth and waited for Clint to do the same.

"Nice to see you again, Winston, though you'll forgive me for saying I hope it won't be repeated any time soon."

Winston inclined his head in acknowledgement, and they made their way back out of the hotel and onto the street.

"Wow," Clint said once they were outside. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "That place is amazing. Let's never go there again."

Nat laughed. "Made you nervous?"

"And then some!" Clint gave a shudder. "I felt like there were malevolent eyes on us the whole time. My fingers kept itching to nock an arrow."

"There probably were," Nat said. "But nobody would have made a move on us. Not on Continental grounds."

"Still, time to head back where we belong, I think," Clint said, thinking that John's recent actions demonstrated the lie in that principle.

Nat looked at him, their whole history shining in her eyes. She bumped his arm with her shoulder.

"Yeah," she said. "Let's go home."

THE END