I really, really don't know where I'm going with this. Seriously, it's a complete mystery but it was haunting my mind like a bloody ghost. (I'd blame Loki, but this isn't his thing). Anyway, enjoy.

-Illusinia

"Clint Barton?"

A soft voice Clint didn't recognize cut through the air, drawing him out of his head and into reality again. Reality; possibly the last place he wanted to be right now. Glancing at the bottle in his hand, then the drop below, he reconsidered for a moment if drinking while sitting on the edge of the roof of Stark Tower was a good idea. Okay, there wasn't any reconsideration. He knew it wasn't his brightest move ever. No one could blame him though, not with the way they looked at him. Even Natasha looked weary, like she couldn't completely trust him. And he didn't blame them one bit.

He'd killed people important to him. Yeah, he'd been brain-washed while doing it, but he'd still been the one making the shots. The one who's hand released the arrow. No one should trust him right now. And they definitely shouldn't be sneaking up on him while he's sitting on the edge of a roof, drinking. That was just a bad idea in general unless you wanted to be scrubbing blood of the sidewalk. "Didn't your parents ever teach you not to sneak up on people?"

"Actually, my dad encouraged it," replied the voice, female and dismissive. Like his surly attitude didn't matter. "But then again, I couldn't sneak up on him."

Finally lifting his eyes away from the ground below, Clint glanced behind him to see who was actually stupid enough to come talk with him. The first thing he noticed was the bulky sweater she was wearing; the color patterns across the surface were simple geometric shapes and a little hard to miss. The second thing he realized was that the sweaters bulk wasn't actually all bulk. The girl definitely had a good-sized rack under the sweater. And he really shouldn't think something like that about someone as young as this girl. Seriously, she was 10 years younger than him at least.

Forcing his mind from the gutter (where it definitely didn't need to be), he managed to focus on her face. He had to admit, she was pretty. Her hair was a little untamed, but it somehow worked; gave her a more wild look. Black-framed glasses rested on her nose, bulkier than he would have thought a girl like her would wear but somehow flattering. It was her eyes that surprised him though: honest, calm, fearless orbs of blue that almost seemed to look through him in so many ways he didn't want to consider it.

"I'm going to take that snark as a 'yes' to my initial question, by the way," commented the girl, drawing him again from his thoughts and into reality. She didn't seem fearful of him at all as she approached and dropped onto the roof-top beside where he was sitting. Apparently, heights didn't frighten her. "Steve said I could find you up here. He also said you might have beer; I'm hoping that part is true."

One of Clint's eyebrows rose but he tossed one of his beers at her none the less. If she was brave enough to face him up here, she at least deserved a beer for her efforts.

She fumbled a little as she caught it, just managing to not drop it into the dust on the roof. "Thanks."

"No problem, Babe Ruth," replied Clint, his eyes watching her face for signs of insult. He'd never met this girl before; hell, he's pretty sure he'd remember if he'd even seen her around. But if she was in the tower talking with Steve, obviously she wasn't a stranger and didn't have any villainous intentions. At least, none anyone knew about.

The woman just snorted and popped open the beer. "Hey, we can't all be baseball legends. Or basketball ones for that matter." Taking a gulp, she set the bottle aside and refocused completely on him. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume you don't know who I am."

"Good assumption," confirmed Clint, sipping at his own beer. "'course, I've always been told my assumptions make me more of an ass and to stop making them, so maybe I shouldn't talk."

"Probably not," agreed the woman. "At least if some of the assumptions I've heard about you making are true." She offered him a smile before introducing herself, though she carefully kept her hands occupied so she didn't have to offer him either. "I'm Darcy Lewis, just so you know."

Clint nodded, not sure what to say to that. It had been a while since he'd had normal, civilian conversations. At least, ones where he wasn't undercover. "Good to meet you?"

Darcy smirked a little, sipping her beer. "You don't sound so sure about that."

"Depends on why you're introducing yourself," replied Clint with a shrug. "So, why are you?"

"Fury," replied Darcy easily. There's a pause and he can see her debating what she's going to say next. She seems to decide though, pushing forward. "And Phil."

Clint closed his eyes at the mention of his former boss. His former friend. The friend who's dead because of him. Because he led an assault against the Helicarrier. Because he wasn't strong enough fend off Loki's mind control. And that wasn't even touching on the fact that he'd tried to kill his partner/friend in the process. God, he was a fuck-up. Just like his father had always said. Like his brother had implied more than once.

"It isn't your fault, you know," commented Darcy mildly, one hand fiddling with her beer bottle. Her voice brought him back to reality again like a bucket of cold water. "What you did under Loki's power, it wasn't you."

"Right," scoffed Clint, voice grim and weary. "That's like saying Natasha wasn't actually the one who killed a bunch of people for the Soviets."

The look Darcy gave him was a combination of 'really?' and 'you are so dense'. It wasn't the look he was expecting from someone who Fury wanted to help him. "When Loki touched his scepter to your chest, it was like he reached into your very soul, right? Removed your conscious, removed your ability to control your own actions, and ultimately turned you into a living doll."

Clint was definitely looking at Darcy now. He was looking at her with a slack-jawed expression that he knew conveyed his surprise. And why wouldn't he be. It was like she'd somehow reached into his mind and saw what had been done to him. A feat he'd recently learned was completely possible.

She continued though, completely oblivious to any discomfort he was showing. "He didn't change you- he blocked part of your being so you couldn't get to it. He trapped you in your own body by putting up a handful of walls."

"So, what, you're saying you've experienced this?" challenged Clint at last, choking a little on his words. "You've been trapped inside yourself?"

"No," corrected Darcy, voice still calm and even. "I've never been in your exact position, but I can still understand what he did to you. And I know how much it can screw a person up."

It was starting to unnerve him how unreactive she was to everything. To him. She should be afraid of him, so why wasn't she? Why wasn't she hiding inside with the others? Why was she up here on a roof with a man who'd tried to kill his own friend? Who's actions had caused the death of one of the few people he trusted. "Why are you here."

Darcy shrugged. "Like I said, Fury asked me to talk to you." She paused again, fingers rolling the bottle's neck easily. "It was Phil's idea, originally. He wanted me to talk with you when they got you back- and no, it was never a question. Phil was determined to get you back. But he knew...he knew you'd need someone to talk with afterwords. His plan was to bring me in when you were secured so I could talk with you."

"So why didn't that happen?" challenged Clint. "If that was the master plan, why didn't any of you go through with it? And why you?"

"Fury didn't like it," replied Darcy with a touch of a growl. "He didn't like the idea of bringing a civilian onto the Helicarrier, especially not to play therapist to one of his agents."

"He has trained staff for this shit," pointed out Clint. "And a military complex isn't a place for a civilian."

"After the attack, Fury felt the same way," confirmed Darcy, face still drawn into a scowl. "That's why he left me in Norway with Jane rather than coming to get me like he was supposed to."

Clint nodded, eying Darcy wearily. Apparently, Fury had changed his mind. What Clint wanted to know, and what Darcy still hadn't told him, was why. "Apparently he changed his mind. Now, why you?"

Darcy shrugged a little. "Like I said, it was Phil's idea."

"Right," growled Clint, "'cause Coulson would ask a civilian to play therapist."

Again, she shrugged. "I'm pretty sure Phil picked me because he thought it'd be easier on you." Tilting her head back, she finished the beer he'd handed her and stood. "And there's two things I already know: you don't trust me and you're wondering why I'm not afraid of you."

He raised both his eyebrows while simultaneously attempting to keep his panic down. Seriously, how the hell did she figure out what was going through his head? The whole mind-reader theory was starting to look less like horse crap by the minute.

Offering him a faint smile, she waved slightly as she turned to walk away. "Fury still wants you to talk with me, but clearly you need to talk with him before we do. Come find me when you're feeling a little less defensive. I promise, I don't bite." With that, she slipped through the door that led onto the roof, leaving him sitting at the edge of the building feeling somewhere between a little scared and borderline violated. Seriously, who was this girl?