A/N: I have never gotten tired of watching The Avengers, and this little scene is something that has always caught my attention. And really, isn't it interesting that Steve doesn't have more of a reaction to accepting the help of a man that had just tried to kill all of them?

(Eh-heh, missed a few typos. Sorry, guys!)

They needed more people. It wasn't something that could be ignored or scoffed at. But the only people who had a chance against the deranged man from another planet had been scattered and battered and beaten.

How could they do anything to stop Loki, when he had so easily played them all?

This might be the end of Steve's fight, regardless of his willingness and readiness to fight, because he couldn't fly one of those jets on his own. He wasn't going to ask one of the few SHIELD agents who had survived the attack unscathed to fly him there, not when they stood such a great risk of dying in the coming fight. Stark couldn't very well carry him to Manhattan with his suit still undergoing frantic last-minute repairs in the hope it would get him far enough to reach the newest version at his tower. Steve had only one option left, and he wasn't sure it would make any difference. Natasha Romanov had been in the Quinjet that had taken him to Stuttgart, but she had manned the weapons. She hadn't piloted.

And she was still his only hope.

So Steve Rogers pulled on the last of his uniform, left the face mask down for the moment, and made sure his shield was propped out of the way and ready for when he got back.

Then he strode out of the door to his quarters, making quick strides for the room that had been placed under guard while Natasha Romanov waited for an unconscious Clint Barton to wake up, hopefully sane and himself once more.

These rooms he was power walking his way past didn't seem to be very…hospital like. They were stark, dark, gray. Utilitarian. Mostly just beds and an attached bathroom. No medical equipment he could see visible. They locked from the outside, and seemed more like cells than anything else.

Well, it wouldn't really surprise him if SHIELD had a wing of the infirmary dedicated to captured agents, and potential brainwash victims. This was a combination of medical and secure.

It made his brain hurt.

But as he neared the room – whatever it was, it held the person he was looking for, and that's all he needed to know, really – something struck him as off. As he marked off the rooms he strode past, counting down until he reached 31-F - he figured it out.

There were no guards. Clint Barton might be a SHIELD agent, but he'd been compromised, brainwashed or magicked or – whatever Loki had done. He had turned and attacked his former comrades with no mercy and there should be guards outside his room. They didn't know if Romanov had managed to break Loki's hold or not. Her own report – given over the comms as she'd called for assistance in moving him somewhere secure - hadn't been very optimistic.

"Barton's been neutralized. Loki's hold seems to have shattered; he knew me. I knocked him out just to be sure it wasn't an act."

Had it been an act? Had Barton regained consciousness, and outwitted all of them to get free and finish the mission he'd started?

He almost expected the missing guards to be piled haphazardly inside the room, cooling corpses. But the only person in the room as he peered through the window was Natasha herself, cool and composed as ever.

Steve drew a steadying breath and unlocked the door, striding in with confidence. Wherever Barton was, that wasn't his concern. No guards, a composed Natasha. Everything was still under control in that situation. Barton had probably just been moved.

He hoped.

"It's time to go."

"Go where?"

Into the inferno, he thought, slightly irreverent, but he didn't say it. It wouldn't help. And they didn't have time. Loki's final play would be soon, whatever it was. He had to get to Stark Tower, and he had to do it fast.

"I'll tell you on the way. Can you fly one of those jets?"

The bathroom door – which he hadn't really noticed had been shut – opened and Barton stood there. He looked tired and worn, but he was steady on his feet and casually drying his hands on a towel. Steve felt his muscles lock in place as he held himself back from the knee-jerk reaction that wanted to either tackle Barton to the ground and neutralize the threat or grab Natasha and get them both out of danger as quickly as possible.

"I can."

There didn't seem to be anything overtly wrong with the man and he kept his hands in plain view, making no indication that he was going to move until he received a response from Captain America. Steve was still didn't relax. He didn't know how to handle this new agent, or even if Barton had regained his sense of self yet. The lack of guards made even less sense now that he knew Barton was awake and unrestrained. Unless...the guards were only necessary as long as Barton was a threat. Did this mean she had succeeded in breaking Loki's hold on the other SHIELD agent? He looked to Natasha.

There wasn't any doubt in her eyes and she nodded, once, at him.

No time. He didn't really know either of them, but he knew Natasha took her duties seriously. She wouldn't have let Barton out of his restraints if he was still a danger to them. He had to trust her judgment.

"Got a suit?" he threw at the other man, and received another of those single, solemn nods. The quiet affirmation that accompanied it seemed more like an afterthought. "Then suit up."

Steve was back out the door and walking quickly; he heard the door to 31-F shut behind him, just as the two SHIELD agents caught up to him.

"We'll meet you in the hangar," Natasha said, unspoken question hanging in the air.

"Bay 6," Steve replied. "There's less damage there, be easier to take off. And Stark's suit is there."

"Right. Five minutes, Captain." Barton turned sharply to the left as they reached an intersection and Steve hesitated.

"Agent Barton," he called. The man paused, turning to face him. There was no time but he couldn't not ask. "Are you medically cleared to fly?"

Are you too injured to be running into a fight?

And, darker, quiet but insistent, in the back of his mind. Are you a liability to us? Are you still under Loki's power?

A quick quirk of the lips. "I've flown with worse than scrapes, bruises and a slight concussion. I'll be fine, Captain."

Then he and Natasha were gone, darting down the corridors with easy familiarity.

Steve knew that had not been an answer.

And there was still no time. He continued, back to his own room for his shield and then on to Bay 6.

Broken and unstable as it was, this rag-tag team was the only chance they had of stopping Loki.

God help us, he desperately prayed, breaking into a run.

Steve had arrived in Bay 6 with two minutes to spare, and Stark didn't pay him any attention at all as he half-skidded to a stop by the work bench.

At least, Stark didn't give any physical indication he'd noticed Steve's arrival. He kept making small corrections to his armor, never looking up as he spoke.

"Cutting it close, Cap? Where's Romanov? She can fly one of those jets, right?"

Steve sighed. "No, but Agent Barton can."

Stark paused long enough to throw an incredulous look over his blow-torch at Steve. The soldier stared back, refusing to second-guess himself now.

"Romanov says he's recovered." He raised his eyebrows at Stark. "Unless you have another pilot ready and willing to fly into a warzone for you?"

Stark huffed, and went back to his repairs. "For you, Cap. I got my own ride." A few last bursts of the torch, and Stark shut it off, setting it aside with finality. "Robin Hood have his weapons? I thought his bow got confiscated when they recaptured him."

"It did."

Both men jumped, spinning to see the two master assassins standing behind them. Natasha wearing the smallest grin Steve had ever seen, and holding a mechanized bow in her hands while Barton stood just behind her, his gloves held in his teeth while he adjusted his arm guard, his quiver already full and strapped firmly to his back.

"We have three minutes before someone notices we shouldn't be taking one of the jets. There's one that's already prepped for flight. Are you ready?" she continued. Barton, still silent, spat out his gloves and pulled them on with quick, practiced moves. Natasha, without looking, passed his bow back to him just as he reached out for it. His hands ran over it quickly, making last minute checks, before he settled his grip on it and made a quick snapping movement with his hand. The bow sprang to full form, already strung.

Steve could feel Stark staring along with him.

"So…" Stark began, falsely contemplative. Steve tried to hold back a wince. "You're not playing possum by any chance, are you, Barton?"

Barton laid a hand on Natasha shoulder as she tensed. "You haven't bothered to check your hacked SHIELD access lately, have you?" he asked, expression bland. "My status reads as "under medical suspension" now. Not "compromised."

Natasha glared at Stark. "We're wasting time. I confirmed Clint's status myself, and you already know I was the one to bring him back in. Let's go."

"Yeah," Stark muttered, rolling his eyes. "By ramming his head into a railing and then decking him hard enough to lay him out cold for two hours. Even I know he's probably not medically cleared to fly, let alone cleared for missions by Fury yet."

Steve stepped in before it could get too much worse. "That's not relevant right now. Barton can fly Romanov and myself to the Tower. You've got your suit fixed enough to get you there. We had a three minute window when they got here. Let's not waste anymore of it."

"Yeah, yeah, Capsicle. Don't get your panties in a bunch." Tony clapped his hands together and started the arming process for his suit. As the helmet closed over his head he declared, "Let's go, children. We have a world to avenge."