The Price of Freedom, an avengers fanfic

How many of you remember this post (inukagome15 dot tumblr dot com slash post slash 84542229661 slash as-a-general-inquiry-how-many-of-you-would-be) that I posted about five months ago? It's all because of you that I even wrote this monster, and I hope you enjoy it.

This is my entry for the Marvel Big Bang this year. It's a Cap 2 AU set in my "It's All in the Mind" universe.

It's mostly self-contained, so you don't necessarily need to have read the previous installments, but there are references contained within as to what's happened previously. I apologize in advance for any trauma that results, although I promise you that there is no major character death.

I was claimed by the lovely verity! She made an absolutely awesome fanmix (ladyofthelog dot tumblr dot com slash post slash 100647850329 slash stream-at-8tracks-download-at-mediafire-read) to the theme of James's and Natasha's relationship. It's definitely worth the listen!

It's All in the Mind: Fill for a prompt. Tony is 100% normal. Tony is not a mutant. Tony is Iron Man. Tony is an Avenger. Tony...is just fooling himself.

Telekinesis 101 (Or A Guide to Readjusting Perceptions): Tony is Iron Man. Tony is an Avenger. Tony…has some unresolved issues. Namely, the problem called Steve. Or maybe his overactive brain. Pick either.

What Remains the Same: Set during It's All in the Mind and Telekinesis 101. "The Talk" hasn't changed much over the years, which is probably why Steve should have realized what was coming when he began to surreptitiously date Tony.

The Drunken Bet We Do Not Speak Of: Set between Telekinesis 101 (Or A Guide to Readjusting Perceptions) and Telekinesis for Dummies. There's one thing the entire team agreed on unanimously: never bring up the night Tony got everyone drunk, including Thor and Steve.

Telekinesis for Dummies: Tony is not an idiot. Tony built the arc reactor in a cave with a box of scraps. Tony built Iron Man with cannibalized weapons. Tony is a bona fide genius. Tony…can admit that even geniuses need help, especially when it comes from the X-Men.

A State of Mental Extremes: Tony is protective of his own. The Avengers are off limits to Fury and his lackeys. But maybe he should be more concerned with his own safety. Oops.

The Dating Game: Set during It's All in the Mind and A State of Mental Extremes. Five times Tony didn't know he was out on a date, and the one time he knew exactly what was going on.

An Alternative State of Mentality: Tony Stark does not have time for this garbage. Someone outed his secret to the public. No, not the one where he's dating Steve. Yes, the one where he's a mutant. Yes, he's mad. Yes, his life sucks. What else is new? Oh, hi, Extremis.

Brain Freeze: Tony wouldn't change a thing. Honestly. He might've gotten shot and almost killed, but it was all good. At least, until he gets kidnapped. Again. Maybe he should put up a sign saying he's no damsel, but that would belie the truth because right now? Right now he's completely alone, and it's so cold…

Different States of Mentalities: In which Tony bounces around the multiverse in hopes of finding his way back home. First up: 616. Tony just wants this Steve and Tony to talk, because there's a frigging war going on out there, and it's all over a piece of parchment.

Summary: It was supposed to be a quiet two months, time Natasha would use to take care of her own. But they were Avengers, and nothing was ever simple. She'd made hard decisions before, but this might just be the hardest yet. What are they willing to pay for the price of freedom?

The Price of Freedom

"Wake him up," she said finally, looking at Fury.

Fury's face revealed nothing. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

For giving her a home – for giving her a family – Natasha could do this for Steve. She could find out if his friend was still inside the cold killer HYDRA had created. Love was for children, but this was family. And she helped her family.

The sedatives that Fury had the Winter Soldier on – had James on – wore off slowly. Natasha spent the time next to his bed, sitting on a rather comfortable chair that the nurses had provided. She was dressed in casual clothes, although she had her Widow's Bites on under her sleeves.

James was locked to the bed, and his metal arm had been strapped to the bed frame with some difficulty using extraordinarily thick metal belts. It hadn't stopped him from trying to break free earlier, but Natasha hoped he would be calmer this time.

She stayed silent as James gradually stirred awake, simply watching him carefully. He was quiet, not even twitching as he woke up. The only sign there was of his waking was the subtle change in his breathing. A civilian wouldn't have noticed it, but Natasha had been trained to look for such subtle signs.

Finally, she spoke, keeping her voice quiet. "James."

Now he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly several times before they focused on Natasha. "It's you?" His voice was hoarse.

Natasha wordlessly reached for some ice chips, slipping them into James's mouth. "Who were you expecting?"

James didn't answer, sucking lightly on the chips.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," Natasha said quietly.

James closed his eyes. "I… They told me you were dead. That you'd been killed because you defected."

"To be expected," Natasha said. "But only half of that is true."

There was silence for a few minutes as Natasha fed him another ice chip. Fury was observing them, and she knew there were several other cameras trained on them, but she'd made sure the microphones were turned off. Their words would remain private.

"I didn't think you were real," James said eventually. "Who was the man with you?"

"I'm sure you know."

The answer, when it came, was quietly confident. "Captain America."

"The same. He's the leader of a team I'm on." Natasha set the plastic cup of chips aside.

James graced her with a small smile, no more than a twitch of his lips. "You've been busy, little spider."

"I have red in my ledger," Natasha said softly. "I'm trying to clean it."

James watched her inscrutably. "Is this part of it?"

"This?" Natasha graced him with her own smile. "No. This is for a very dear friend."

James turned to stare at the bland ceiling. "Am I that?" The question was soft.

Natasha cupped her hands on her knee. "I thought I wouldn't see you again. All those plans…and they went up in smoke. But I'd not forgotten you."

"I couldn't forget you," James whispered, eyes shut. "They tried." He chuckled darkly. "They really tried. But you were always there in the back of my mind. And then there you were."

James opened his eyes. "Who's Bucky?"

Natasha almost reached out to touch, but this wasn't the place. "Let's find out."

Fury had James sedated again after Natasha was done. They couldn't trust him awake yet because as things stood, he was still the Winter Soldier. He had no memories of Bucky Barnes, although the name sounded vaguely familiar.

They also couldn't trust him long term on the Helicarrier because if he broke out and started destroying things, hovering tens of thousands of feet in the air was not the safest place to be. So they transported him to a secure holding in the Triskelion, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters on land.

Natasha followed him there, supervising the transport in the Quinjet. She called Clint on the way.

Clint picked up practically instantly. "Hey, Nat."

"You were waiting by the phone for my call," Natasha said, amused.

"No, I wasn't." Clint made a distinct huffing sound. "Everything good?"

"Just a transport to a safer locale," Natasha said quietly, watching the bed James was on.

"You figure it out yet?"

"No. It's going to take time. But he knows who I am. And that's the important part."

Clint made a small humming sound. "So you can continue working on that. You okay to lead?"

"I'll be there if anything happens. But the priority is James, and you're in charge of what's happening there."

"Ooh, fun. Let's see if they listen."

"Is Spider-Man all right?"

"I let him call his aunt. And bring his girlfriend over. Who he has. It wasn't a lie. And she's cute." Clint sighed, sobering. "I haven't let him go back to school, though."

"Good." Natasha stood as the door to the Quinjet opened. "I'll call you back, Clint. Good luck."

"You're not the one who has to tell the kids their parents aren't going to be back for a month," Clint grumbled.

Natasha smirked and hung up, slipping her phone back into her pocket as she followed after the agents carting the bed down the ramp.

No, she didn't. But all the better. She wasn't sure she could manage it without hiding in her bedroom because Spike wouldn't stop crying in her hair. Even after months of stony silence against Steve while Tony hid at Richards's, Natasha wasn't used to Spike seeking her out for comfort.

She could deal with rehabilitating an amnesiac assassin, but a crying coffee machine? No, thank you.

Clint had problems. The kind of problems that involved sentient coffee machines and stoves. Those kinds of problems. And Peter wasn't helping.

It didn't help that his left arm was out of fighting condition because of the Winter Soldier, but Clint was extremely thankful to be ambidextrous. It meant he could still practice his archery; he just had to be careful to not let Bruce catch him making his shoulder worse. He didn't want to injure his shoulder again anyway.

"I want Daddy!" Spike wailed, slapping the countertop in protest.

Clint sighed for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. "He's not here, Spike."

"Mommy!"

"He's not here either."

"Why they leave?" Spike demanded tearfully. Clint swore he saw tears welling in his lone eye.

Clint wished Bruce was here, but the scientist had abandoned him the moment Spike burst into tears. Traitor. "They're on vacation. But they'll be back."

"When?"

"About a month," Clint said, hoping this would get Spike to stop crying.

It didn't. Spike's cord twisted up into knots and his tears started anew. "Forever!" he wailed.

"No, no, not forever," Clint rushed to assure him, but the damn bot was inconsolable. Now he was buried in Clint's shirt, wailing into the cloth. "Aw nuts." He actually wished Logan was here. Spike liked him. Clint was just the cool uncle.

"JARVIS," Clint pleaded, looking beseechingly up at the ceiling. "Little help here?"

There was a pause, and then JARVIS's dulcet English tones filled the air. "I'm sorry, Agent. Spike has shut me out."

"Damn." Clint sighed and patted a still wailing Spike on top. His shirt was getting wet, and he had no idea where Spike was getting this water. "I've told you before, JARVIS. I'm not an agent anymore. Just call me Clint."

"You are an agent of the Avengers," JARVIS responded serenely.

Clint thought for a moment, still absentmindedly patting Spike. "You're still going to be all prim and proper even if you go evil, aren't you."

"Undoubtedly, Agent." JARVIS didn't even deny the claim.

"Great," Clint said. "We're screwed."

"Naturally. Shall I put in an order for pizza?"

Since Peggy was in no condition to cook anything and the man who could make her behave was gone, Clint thought this an excellent idea.

The next day Natasha brought a book with her. She also set a photo of the Avengers on the table next to James. Steve was out of costume in this one, and maybe the sight of his face outside of the uniform would help.

She'd spent a little bit of time getting a S.H.I.E.L.D.-sanctioned apartment for when James would be out. She didn't think putting him in the mansion was a good idea; neither was getting him his own apartment. At least this way they could keep an eye on him.

But for now, James was still on base and under lockdown. It was a comfortable room, but a prison nonetheless. And since they hadn't figured out how to take off his metal arm without causing grievous injury to James, there was a device clipped to it that rendered it immobile.

It was the last time James would be sedated according to Natasha's directives. She was familiar with him, and this was the James she knew. She could take care of any problems, not that she thought there would be any.

James was a particular individual. And while the Red Room had all but stripped them of their identities and sense of self, it was James who had helped her find her own. And she in turn had helped him.

This was just more of the same. Except now Natasha would be digging into a past even James hadn't remembered.

It would probably help if Steve was here. He knew more of James Buchanan Barnes's background than Natasha. All she knew was James, the man known as the Winter Soldier. The man who had taught her much of what she knew.

But Steve needed this. He needed to be able to wind down with Tony alone without worrying about super villains or government fiascos. And if that meant Natasha was alone in digging up James's old memories, then that was fine.

"Natasha?" James's groggy voice drew her out of her thoughts.

She closed her book, resting it on her knees. "James. Did you sleep well?"

James snorted. "I was drugged."

"For the last time," Natasha assured him.

Giving her a rather skeptical look, James's gaze was caught by the device on his metal arm. His shoulder twitched, but the arm didn't respond. Then, with a sigh, James pushed himself to a sitting position with his right arm.

"A step up from being frozen," James said with a dark smile. He gave Natasha a curious look. "Where am I?"

"You're in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody," Natasha said.

"S.H.I.E.L.D.," James repeated, lips twitching slightly in what Natasha recognized as a smile. "I never would have thought."

"They're not so bad," Natasha said, giving him a bigger smile. "Benefits are pretty good."

"Work for them long?

"A while, but I quit. I'm a full-time Avenger now."

James raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to comfort me?"

"It was a decision a long time in coming."

The door opened before James could respond. Natasha turned, surprised to see Fury stepping into the room. He came to a stop at the foot of James's bed, his hands folded behind his back.

"Comfortable?" Fury asked James.

James's face was blank. "I can't complain."

"Good." Fury turned his gaze to Natasha. "Black Widow, I need to talk with you."

Natasha gave him a nod and stood, glancing back at James in reassurance before leaving the room with Fury. She closed the door, the lock clicking shut. The biometric scanner next to the door blinked blue for a moment before turning to normal.

"Fury?" she asked curiously.

"Not here," Fury said.

Now he led her up to his office. Natasha was insanely curious now as to what he wanted.

"Shut down all surveillance under authorization of Fury, Nicholas J.," Fury said curtly.

"Authorization of Fury, Nicholas J. accepted," a female computerized voice said. "Surveillance has been shut down."

"What is it, Fury?" Natasha asked again.

Fury leaned back against his desk, hands coming down to grip the edges. "I have an assignment."

"I'm not part of S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore."

"I'm aware. But this falls under purview of the contract Stark signed with us."

Natasha frowned slightly. "It's an issue of national security?"

"It might be," Fury said. "I need you to find out."

Natasha folded her arms, turning to the side as she thought. She had to take care of James. And who knew how long this mission would take. She wasn't the only Avenger on the roster, although Clint was injured and would be for a while. But he was also ambidextrous.

"Call in Hawkeye," Natasha told him eventually. "I can't right now, but Hawkeye can get you the information you need."

"Hawkeye's injured."

"He can still fight," Natasha said. "This is an infiltration mission, isn't it?"

"Possibly more," Fury said, but didn't elaborate further. "I'll give him a call. If he's unable, then you'll do it?"

"I will," Natasha said.

Fury nodded. "You can go back to your buddy now."

"My thanks, Director," Natasha responded dryly, turning to leave.

It wasn't until she got to the door that Fury spoke again, quietly. "Do you think he'll remember?"

Natasha paused, hand on the doorknob. "I think," she said slowly, "that while the man I know is there, the one Steve knows is there as well."

Fury hummed, but said nothing further. Natasha waited, but when no response was forthcoming, she left.

James was holding the picture she'd brought when she entered the room. He didn't look up as she sat down in her chair.

Natasha waited patiently. She could after all. She had the time.

"This is the Captain," James finally said, eyes pained. "And the others…the Avengers?"

"That's my team," Natasha agreed. "And this…" She gently pushed the picture down to his lap, resting a finger next to Steve. "This is Steve Rogers."

"Steve…" James's voice sounded haunted. "He looks…so familiar." He shut his eyes, pressing two fingers to his temple. "It's like an echo, something that should be there…" His jaw clenched tightly. "He was skinny…" He inhaled sharply, hand dropping to his lap. Then, opening his eyes, he brushed several fingers over the glass. "They took it, didn't they."

"They took a lot from us," Natasha said.

"But not this," James said, reaching over to rest a hand on Natasha's. "They weren't able to take this."

"You'll find the rest," Natasha promised. "They haven't taken it forever."

"No." James's gaze was hard. "They haven't."

The picture glinted on James's knees, Steve's face smiling out from the frame, accompanied by the rest of his team.

Choking down an inedible lunch courtesy of a highly distressed Peggy, Clint hadn't expected the call from Fury. His Avengers communicator had gone off, and he'd answered it unthinkingly.

"Hawkeye," Fury's voice said, "are you up for a mission?"

Clint's first reaction was to remind him that he wasn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent anymore, but then he registered that Fury had addressed him as an Avenger. "That depends. What would it be?"

"Simply infiltration," Fury said, no hint of discomfort or a lie in his tone. "Black Widow tells me that your shoulder won't be a problem."

"It won't," Clint confirmed, wondering what the hell was going on. Simply infiltration? Clint would eat an arrow if that was the case. Fury wouldn't call in an Avenger for a dirty mission like that. Any S.H.I.E.L.D. agent worth his or her salt could do that.

"Good." Fury didn't elaborate further. "More details will come tomorrow."

"Got it." Clint thumbed the call off as Fury hung up. Bruce and Peter were staring at him oddly. "What?"

"If that was a mission," Bruce said, "you really shouldn't do it."

"I have one bad shoulder, not two. And I'm just as good with my right," Clint assured him. "It won't be a problem."

Bruce narrowed his eyes slightly. "It better not be. What was it?"

Clint decided not to tell them of his suspicions. It might be nothing for all he knew. "Just infiltration; probably to grab some sensitive information or something. Nat can't do it. Besides," he added, "she apparently suggested me."

Bruce hummed in response, evidently unconvinced. "You think this is legit?"

Clint furrowed his brow, mouth twisting in thought. "I think that this is a man who's had our best interests at heart, even going so far as to look like he didn't."

Bruce frowned, still unconvinced but unwilling to press the issue further.

"Don't get shot again," Peter advised Clint.

"I've done this a long time," Clint said, putting a faint note of injury in his tone. "Getting shot is rare all things considered. Now, poisoned is a different story."

"That doesn't make me feel better," Bruce said, taking another bite of the inedible pizza that they had been able to coax Peggy into making.

"Not my problem." Clint poked at his burnt slice, gave it up as a lost cause, and went off to make sure he had everything in order.

"JARVIS, can you take care of the cameras and microphones in here?"

There was no hesitation. "Of course, Agent Romanov."

"Just for an hour or two. We need some privacy."

"No one will notice a thing," JARVIS assured her, and maybe that should concern Natasha – putting her trust in an AI who could take over the world in an hour if he wished to – and in the past it would have, but she trusted him.

"Thank you." She hung up, looking back at James. He seemed lost, standing there in the middle of the room without any idea about what to do. "I think there's a kitchen in here," she said, getting his attention.

"Do you cook now?" James asked, amused.

"I can manage something," Natasha answered.

The kitchen was small, but it contained what she needed. There was pasta, and there was even sauce to go with it. She should thank whoever put this together, but that would probably give them a heart attack.

Following a short moment of indecision, James took a seat at the table.

"Have you had pasta before?" Natasha asked, filling a pot with water.

The answer was quiet. "I don't know."

"Then I suppose we'll find out."

There was silence as Natasha turned the heat on and salted the water. She put the sauce in another pot, turning the heat on low to let it simmer. Pasta wasn't her best dish, but she could manage it well enough.

"I remembered something," James said suddenly.

Natasha didn't turn, but she let out an inquiring noise to signal she was listening.

"I'm on this cart," James continued. "It's fast, so fast that I can't see what's happening. I'm queasy, but not sick. My – my friend is. He's small and sickly; I worry about him." His voice had dropped to a near whisper. "Then the scene cuts. He's bigger now. Stronger. And we're looking out over a ravine. I ask if it's payback for that time at Coney Island."

He laughed softly. "It stops there." He pressed his right hand to his forehead. "But there are flashes… I remember a train. A voice crying out. And I'm falling. It's so cold."

Abandoning the stove, Natasha reached out for him, cupping his head in her hands, pulling him in. "Hush." She stroked fingers through his hair, soothing him as he pressed his forehead into her stomach. "Hush, James," she repeated in Russian.

"I never knew how much they took from me," James breathed, his fingers digging into Natasha's side. "I knew they found me, but I didn't know they stole my past."

"They stole much," Natasha said, still running fingers through his hair.

"They told me you tried to defect, and the other side killed you." James's breath hitched. "So I stayed. What use was the other side if they were no better?"

Natasha stayed silent for a moment, absentmindedly stroking James's nape. "They tried," she admitted eventually. "My activities had put me on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar, and they sent someone to eliminate me. He had me in his sights…but he didn't shoot. He made a different call. Somehow…he saw something in me that could be redeemed.

"I had no idea where you were, so I left with him." Natasha ran her fingers through James's hair, fingering the ends. "I owe him a debt."

"Who was it?"

"Clint," Natasha sighed, cupping James's neck as he looked up at her. "Hawkeye. My partner."

James's eyebrows scrunched slightly together. "Your partner?"

"Not in the way you think."

James reached up to touch the necklace Natasha wore, fingers trailing on the silver arrow charm. "Really?"

"He's my friend," Natasha said, taking James's hand. "You'll meet him sometime."

James's lips twisted. "Do you trust me with your friends?"

"I trust you," Natasha said simply.

"I don't know why." James traced his thumb over Natasha's knuckles. "I think your water's boiling," he said suddenly.

"Then I should deal with it before it burns."

James's eyebrows rose. "You're joking."

"No. Trust me, I've seen water burn. And it's not pretty." Thank Tony for that little lesson. Natasha had never known water could burn before, and Steve had forbidden Tony from repeating that experiment.

Just as well, because they hadn't been able to go in the kitchen for a week.

Later that evening, after their light dinner, Natasha and James curled up on the couch. James read Natasha's book over her shoulder, resting his chin on it. His right arm was wrapped around her stomach, fingers rubbing gentle circles into her side.

It was comfortable, something Natasha hadn't had before. And she was grateful to have it now and to give James the same sense of peace she had experienced with her team. He was more relaxed now than he had been since he'd woken up in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody.

Eventually, halfway through the book, James sighed softly and shifted to bury his face in the back of Natasha's neck. His breath tickled Natasha's skin.

Natasha paused in her reading, evaluated James's body language, and then continued once she decided there was nothing to worry about.

An hour later, Natasha bookmarked her current page and gently moved out of James's arm to head to the bedroom and get ready for the night. When she finished in the bathroom, she was surprised to find James hovering in the doorway of the bedroom, face downcast. "James?" she asked gently.

"There's too much in my head." His voice was raw. "So much I didn't know before…"

Because they had never let him know. Anything that would interfere with the mission was deemed superfluous. They had been conditioned to leave old attachments behind and not form new ones.

"It's not your fault." Natasha stepped forward into James's reach, arms coming up to take hold of James the moment he pressed into her, head coming down to her shoulder.

"It's theirs'; I know it's theirs'. But they took my mind, Natasha. All this time I stopped them from taking anymore – from taking you – and in the end they took the most important part: my past."

Natasha stroked a hand up and down his spine. "You've made your own past – your own future. And you taught me to do the same."

"You gave me a reason to fight for it," James whispered, the arm around her waist tightening. "They couldn't take that from me."

"You'll get it back." Natasha's hand came to a rest in the small of his back.

James didn't speak immediately, although he lifted his head so that he was embracing her instead of clinging. "I think that what I'm worried about is what I'll remember," he started slowly, voice soft. "This Bucky Barnes…he's a completely different person. I don't know what this Steve Rogers is expecting of me, but I'm not going to be who he remembers. I can't."

"That's all right," Natasha reassured him. "He doesn't expect that. But all he wants – and all you want – is for you to remember. For you to reclaim a piece of yourself that you've lost. Make it your own and not something else that they took."

"And you? What do you want, little spider?"

Natasha considered the question and her answer, rolling the words around her mind. They came out easily in the end, born of truth. "I want you to be at peace."

James huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "I wonder if that's even possible."

"It is," Natasha promised him. "Trust me."

James drew back enough so she could see his half-smile. "That has never been in question, little spider."

"Then trust yourself."

"Maybe I can." James's lips curled into a shy smile, one Natasha had only seen a few times before.

"Bucky Barnes or James," Natasha said, touching his cheek, "you are still the man I came to know. This is just something new."

James closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Natasha's. "But will I like it?" The words were a quiet murmur.

Natasha's response was just as quiet. "Let's find out."

Some time later, they were both curled up in the queen-sized mattress that had come with the room. Natasha wasn't sleeping, and from the sounds of James's breathing, he was just as awake as her. He pressed his nose into the back of her neck, nudging tendrils of hair out of the way.

Natasha hummed slightly, stretching a leg backwards to tuck between James's; she lazily turned to face him, giving him a slow smile.

James's eyes were far away as he looked at her hair, his fingers gently stroking through the strands. "When did you cut your hair?" He tugged lightly at it.

Natasha hummed in thought. "Three – four years ago? I had it long for a mission a while back, but cut it soon after."

"Are you planning on growing it out?" James stroked his fingers through it, curling his fingers in the strands at her nape.

"I don't know." Natasha leaned back into his touch, a foot stroking down James's leg to curl against his ankle. "It's more manageable like this."

James was silent for a moment, eyes inscrutable. "I liked it long," he said eventually, "but it's your decision."

"I liked it long, too." Natasha gave him a soft half-smile. "But I'll see. It's probably time for a change anyway."

"Not straight."

"You are never going to let me live that down, are you?"

James's grin was wicked, his eyes bright with laughter. "Never, little spider."

Natasha smiled back, head resting on James's shoulder.

If the rest of her nights could be like this, she would be content.

When Fury called Clint again, it was during a breakfast that was nothing but cold cereal and milk because Peggy had simply refused to turn on.

Clint answered it briskly. "Hawkeye."

"A Quinjet is en route to your location," Fury said. "ETA ten minutes. The cards have fallen into play."

"Understood. I'll be out in ten." Hanging up, Clint slurped down the last of his milk and dumped the bowl in the sink. Rummaging around the cabinet for a box of rations and taking the entire thing, Clint addressed the others, "I'll call when I can. Spike, be good and don't burst into tears. Peggy, please don't mope anymore; our stomachs can't handle it."

He fled the kitchen before Peggy could douse him with water.

"You think this is a good idea?" he heard Peter ask.

"We're not known for good ideas," Bruce answered, and then Clint ran off to his room, glad that he'd prepared yesterday for this.

All Clint had to do was rush into his closet and pull out that bag for missions that he'd finished packing. He also pulled out the modified uniform Tony had made him, changing as quickly as he could with an injured shoulder.

"The Force is with you, young archer," the bow on his wall said to him.

Clint didn't even blink, too used to this happening by now. "My thanks, Master," he answered completely seriously. Then he left before he could crack and devolve into uncontrollable giggles.

Peter and Bruce met him outside. Peter had his mask on, which looked strange combined with casual clothes. Bruce just looked disapproving.

"You owe an apology to Peggy," Bruce said when Clint left the house.

Clint winced. "She's mad, isn't she?"

"More like drowning the kitchen in tears," Peter said. "Any chance of Tony cutting his vacation short?"

"No," both Clint and Bruce said.

"Trust me," Bruce added. "They need this."

"I'm not debating that. I just think a little forewarning would've been nice so they don't think he's left them again."

"I'm sure JARVIS has the fort covered," Clint said.

"I'll be sure to tell him that." Bruce smirked wickedly.

The quiet sounds of the Quinjet coming into view and preparing to land spared Clint from having to answer. "Oh, look, there's my ride. Be good, kids. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

"Is there anything on that list?" Bruce asked teasingly.

"There is, in fact." Clint gave both of them a look. "Don't piss off the coffee machine and stove."

He jumped onto the ramp of the Quinjet, barely hearing Peter say, "But he does that." Then the ramp closed and they were off.

Clint took a seat, buckling himself in and making sure everything was in order. He'd worn this uniform once before and it was exactly as comfortable and limber as he remembered. It wasn't even a catsuit, and he should've worn it in Mongolia and saved himself the pain of a bullet.

Eh, live and learn.

Clint pulled out his custom earpiece, putting it in. It was the best way for anyone to contact him, including JARVIS if he needed to.

Preparations done, Clint sat back and waited, staring ahead.

About five minutes later, he heard one of the agents whisper to another, "Is that normal?"

"It's his resting face," the other agent confirmed.

Clint restrained a gleeful grin. Agents sufficiently freaked out – check.

About fifteen minutes later they arrived at the Triskelion. Clint was escorted up to Fury's office as he didn't have the clearance to do so himself anymore.

Brock Rumlow was waiting outside the elevator when the doors slid open. He looked vaguely surprised to see Clint.

"Barton," he greeted.

"Rumlow," Clint returned, stepping off the elevator before his escort.

"Haven't seen you around lately," Rumlow said.

"You know how it is," Clint said airily. "New life, new missions. I haven't had the time to drop by."

Rumlow grinned slightly, holding the elevator door open. "So it is." He stepped backwards into the elevator, nodding once at Clint. "I'll see you around, Agent."

"Not an agent anymore, Rumlow. Just Hawkeye." Clint gave him a sly smile, inclined his head, and left after the escort as the elevator doors closed.

The escort left Clint to it in front of Fury's office. He entered without any fuss, used to Fury's ways after years of working with him.

Standing in front of the windows, Fury didn't turn to welcome him. "Good, you're here."

"What's the mission?" Clint asked.

Now Fury turned, and he lifted a black folder with the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem on it, tossing it to Clint. "That. A S.H.I.E.L.D. ship has been taken over by hostiles under the lead of a man named Georges Batroc. There are hostages on board; your goal is to clear the ship of hostiles and take it back."

Clint leafed through the file, noting that a S.T.R.I.K.E. team would be joining him under Rumlow's lead, although Clint was the leader of the mission. On the last page was a directive to back up all computer data he could get and then purge the records of everything. He looked up inquiringly at Fury, only to get an impassive gaze.

So he wanted to do this off the record? Clint didn't like the insinuations behind that. Nor did he like that he'd called in an Avenger to do a job that didn't seem to have anything to do with national security. But if the information on those computers was particularly sensitive…

"The team's ready?" Clint asked instead, handing the file back.

"Ready to head out when you are, Hawkeye." Fury extended a hand, shaking Clint's once. "Good luck."

"Won't need it, sir." Clint didn't react as he felt a small object being slipped into his palm. He curled his fingers around it as he withdrew his hand, giving Fury a curt nod before he left the room.

It wasn't until he was in the elevator that he looked down at the flash drive Fury had given him. He wasn't one for techie stuff, but this drive looked kinda small for all the stuff he'd probably have to store on it.

Maybe he should have JARVIS as back up…

"What's the plan, Hawkeye?" Rumlow asked.

"We parachute down, take out as many hostiles as we can from the air," Clint said, viewing the radar screen and the blueprints of the ship. "Once the surface's clear, we head into the ship. You're in charge of taking care of the hostages and Batroc."

Rumlow gave him a look, but didn't question what Clint would be doing. Just as well, because while Clint would ordinarily try and take out Batroc, he didn't fancy his chances with his injured shoulder. So he'd go and root out a computer room, taking care of the secondary mission Fury assigned him.

"We're coming up on the drop point," the pilot called from the front.

"Everyone know their places?" Clint asked, checking the straps on his parachute and making sure it wouldn't interfere with his draw.

"We're clear," Rumlow said.

"Good." Clint opened the hatch, waiting until it dropped, and then he jumped out.

No matter how many drops like this he did, it would never stop being exhilarating. That feel of air rushing by him, the knowledge that he alone had the power to stop it. And the sight of the ground – or water in this case – looming ever closer.

He released the parachute, feeling himself jerk to a slowed descent. He snapped open his bow, notching several arrows to it.

It didn't take long before he caught sight of several people on the ship's deck. His arrows swiftly took care of them, and as the wind pushed him around to a different angle, he took down more.

Several more were well shielded, but they went down quietly as Clint drew closer. Then he landed with a small thump on the deck, quickly freeing himself of the parachute and rolling out from under it. He notched another arrow to his bow, hearing the thuds of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team as they gradually landed on the deck.

Clint dispatched another hapless watchman, leaping over a railing and dropping to his level, retrieving his arrow as he did. He came to a stop behind a crate, peering up at the windows that spanned the length of the captain's observatory. Reaching for an explosive arrow that used sound instead of regular explosives, Clint carefully aimed, letting it fly a moment later.

The arrow struck true, shattering the reinforced glass in a violent explosion of sonar. Clint couldn't help but smirk, silently thanking Tony for his ingenuity. These arrows were so much more subtle than the usual brand of explosive arrows that were just fancy bombs.

He let loose another arrow, one that would release a sleeping gas and knock out any hostiles who hadn't fled the room.

Then he left for the bowels of the ship, hearing Rumlow bark out orders over the comm. lines. He was confident the hostages were in good hands.

"I have Batroc," Rumlow grunted in Clint's ear.

"Keep on him," Clint ordered quietly, inside the ship now.

Rumlow didn't answer, but his grunting disappeared as he turned the mike off.

Refocusing, Clint angled upwards, using his mental map of the ship's blueprints to keep himself on track. He took out several more guards on the way, two of which he knocked out with his bow. The third went down with significantly more difficulty, and Clint kicked his ass in some dirty hand-to-hand combat before jumping over his prone body and taking the last flight of stairs to the computer room.

"The hostages have been secured," someone said.

"Good," Clint said, checking that the coast was clear before getting down to business. "Batroc?"

"He's a damn slippery fish," Rumlow growled. "Give me five."

"You have them," Clint said, plugging in the flash drive in the nearest USB. Then he put all his considerable S.H.I.E.L.D. hacking skills to use, switching his comm. over to a private line as he did. "JARVIS, you listening, buddy?"

"Naturally, Agent. What do you need?"

"Can you download and back up all the information on these computers? Then wipe the hard drives once you're done. I don't want a speck of data on them."

"Easily. Shall I use the flash drive?"

"Yeah. I need to give that to Fury." Clint left JARVIS to it, huddling by the window and peering out. There was no one on the deck, and the comm. was otherwise silent.

"This data is peculiar," JARVIS said musingly.

"Analyze it on your own time then," Clint said. "Or don't. I've no idea what it is."

"Something that has the faint traces of an artificial intelligence, which I find curious."

"No kidding," Clint murmured, brow furrowing. "S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't have any artificial intelligences."

"Then perhaps you should ask the Director?"

"I'll do that." Clint glanced back at the computers, found them to be almost done, and went back to unplug the flash drive once the last of it was downloaded. "You done?"

A second, and then JARVIS said, "Yes. I shall see what this data contains. Good luck with your mission."

Clint glanced outside to see if anyone was out there now, saw Rumlow taking Batroc down with a vicious kick to the kneecaps, and winced in sympathy. "I'll see you tomorrow barring unusual circumstances. Have fun."

"I shall, Agent."

"Batroc has been contained," Rumlow reported a second later, triumph in his tone.

"Good work," Clint said, back on the public line. "Convene on the deck and lock the prisoners up. We're heading back once everything's in order."

The flash drive went in a secure pocket. He'd get some answers from Fury once they were back.

It was early morning once Clint confronted Fury in his office, flash drive in hand. "You gonna tell me what the hell that was about?"

With an infuriatingly implacable expression, Fury looked up at him. "Ah good. I was wondering when you were going to ask."

"Well?" Clint stared down at him.

"Do you have the drive?" Fury asked instead.

"Of course I have the fucking drive." Clint dropped it right on Fury's damn paperwork. "Now I want to know what you had me get that data for at the expense of keeping it a secret."

"You do realize that by just mentioning it you've invalidated our earlier efforts at subterfuge?" Fury asked long-sufferingly.

"As if. I know you've got all tech in this room shut off for the purposes of this exact conversation. So talk."

"Astute." Fury stood, taking the flash drive. He pocked it in his chest pocket, waving for Clint to follow him. "Come."

They were in the elevator when Fury spoke again, ordering the elevator down to a sub-floor that Clint didn't have clearance for. Then he turned to Clint, hands braced on the railing behind him. "You're aware of the contract Stark signed with us on behalf of the Avengers?"

Clint looked at him oddly. "Yeah. You inform us of any national security risks."

Fury didn't elaborate further. "Good."

The elevator was a clear glass case, usually providing an amazing view of part of DC, although now they were heading underground, and the sight Clint saw was simultaneously breathtaking and horrifying.

"They're something, aren't they?" Fury's voice was quiet.

The elevator doors slid open, and Clint stepped out, Fury close behind him.

It was a gigantic hanger that made him feel like a dwarf – or a mouse, really. A gigantic hanger filled with three enormous Helicarriers still in the process of being built, though they looked to be almost finished. He could make out the guns built into their sides and the hum of repulsor technology that S.H.I.E.L.D. shouldn't have.

"Tony didn't give you that tech," Clint accused.

Fury didn't apologize for it. "We had it in our database banks."

Stepping up onto a catwalk, Clint grasped hold of the railing, watching as workers bustled around the bottom of the Helicarriers, calling out orders and putting together parts. "What is this?"

"This is Project Insight," Fury said from Clint's side. "Three next-generation Helicarriers synced to a network of targeting satellites. Once we get them in the air, they never need to come down." Fury gave Clint a pointed look. "Thanks to the new engines."

Clint's mouth tightened. "That you're not supposed to have." He shot Fury a hard look. "What's the deal with this, Fury? You decide to go a little bigger than your usual guns?"

"They are guns." Fury looked back up at the Helicarrier looming right over their heads. "They can eliminate a thousand hostiles a minute."

Clint's breath caught in his throat, his fingers tightening on the metal railing. "Sounds like overkill." He glanced askance at Fury. "How're they supposed to pick out these so-called hostiles if they're up in the air?"

"That's where the satellites come in," Fury answered, hands in his pockets. "They can read a terrorist's DNA before he steps outside his spider hole. A lot of threats are gonna be neutralized before they even happen." His one eye carefully studied Clint's tight face. "It's the next step in national security," he added.

"Seems preemptive, and just a bit excessive." Clint turned, leaning back against the railing to pin Fury with a hard stare. "How long has this been in the works?"

"It was considered before SHRA," Fury admitted. "But the WSC pushed it into action during it."

Clint bit the inside of his cheek. "Damn them."

Fury copied Clint's position. "The data you obtained off that ship contains vital information as to Project Insight."

Clint huffed out a short laugh. "Is there a reason there's an artificial intelligence associated with it?"

Fury was silent for a moment, his eye narrowing. "I assume you're not talking about JARVIS."

"Not him," Clint agreed.

Fury pursed his lips, considering. "I'll find out," he promised.

"That doesn't make me feel better," Clint said, turning his head to glance back at the three massive Helicarriers that were almost complete.

Fury bit out a grin. "It shouldn't."

Clint stood, his quiver readjusting with the movement automatically. "This is wrong, Fury. I hope you know that."

Fury gave him a blank look. "If you've got it, Hawkeye," he said softly, "own it."

Clint stared at him for a moment longer, thinned his lips, and left.

The sounds of Helicarriers being built and the hum of repulsor technology filling the air continued to haunt Clint long after he left the building.

Aside from their quiet conversation, last night had been peaceful. Natasha hadn't left the bed, allowing James to hold her throughout the night. It was reminiscent of some of the ops they had run for the Red Room, and it had been strange in its familiarity, the way she could so easily fall into old patterns.

She didn't study it further, not wanting to. James was James, and Natasha knew James as well as she did herself. Even with the new knowledge that James had a past involving Steve, it didn't erase the years they had spent together.

It wasn't until breakfast that their privacy was disturbed. Expecting it to be Clint, Natasha was surprised to see the caller ID showing it was Fury; he didn't usually stoop to personal calls. "Sir?"

As per custom, Fury didn't bother with niceties. "Romanov, how about you take your friend out?"

Natasha frowned slightly. It was a bit early to do anything with James at the moment. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"He turned up clear of everything dangerous," Fury said bluntly. "Aside from that arm of his. Take him out. Get him used to the sights. There's an exhibit at the Smithsonian that he should be interested in."

"Are you authorizing his release?"

"The Winter Soldier has never been on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s list of prisoners, although James Buchanan Barnes is a returning soldier undergoing rehabilitation. I'm authorizing his release from the Triskelion, and I don't want to see his face on the premises again unless it's for something important." There was a short pause. Then: "Have fun." Natasha could almost see the smirk hanging on the end of that sentence.

"I've got it," Natasha said, hanging up before Fury could.

"What is it?" James asked.

Natasha tapped the phone once on the table. "Something surprising. How do you feel about taking a trip today?"

James cocked his head. "You're serious?"

"Absolutely. Come on." Natasha pulled him to his feet. "Let's get you into something more appropriate."

Half an hour later, James was dressed in a hoodie and jeans that Natasha had managed to root out from the closet. She again thanked whoever had been responsible for outfitting this room.

"Do you want a cap?" Natasha asked, holding one up.

"No, thanks," James said, tugging down the sleeve covering his left arm.

"Wait a second." Natasha reached out to tug the hoodie off again, holding her phone to the device on his metal arm and scanning it. She sent the schematics to JARVIS, asking if he could remotely unlock it.

Several seconds later, Natasha saw a green light flicker to life on the device before it shut off and fell to the floor. She stooped down to pick it up, seeing the way James curled in his now working fingers.

"Thank you," James said quietly.

"You're not a prisoner," Natasha said, smiling at him. She returned the hoodie and went for her bag, slipping the device into it just in case. If not for use on James's arm, then she could use it for something else mechanical. "Are you ready?"

James reached for her hand, linking their fingers together. "Yes."

The Smithsonian exhibit was busier than Natasha had expected. Security was easy enough to get through once the guards realized James's arm was metal, and Natasha's Widow Bites were too cleverly disguised for anyone to think they were weapons.

But Natasha should have expected the Captain America exhibit to be as busy as it was. Small children ran around from screen to screen, while adults strolled around more sedately, examining the placards and watching the videos.

She gave James a worried look, but he seemed to be fine. He hadn't let go of her hand since entering and his eyes were scanning the area for threats, but he didn't seem to be on the verge of being overwhelmed by the crowds.

Then he saw the giant screen for James Buchanan Barnes, a large picture of his face standing next to a wall of text. His hair was shorter and his face less lined, but it was still undeniably James. Letting go of Natasha's hand, he slowly walked forwards, approaching it.

Natasha stayed back, giving him some privacy. She instead walked over to the mural of the Howling Commandos and their uniforms. It was strange to see Steve painted there larger than life, his face set in hard lines.

And next to Steve…James.

Natasha looked up at him, face so serious and similar to the James she had come to know. If she wasn't mistaken, this was after Steve had rescued the 107th from the grips of HYDRA, after Bucky Barnes had his first experience under the hand of Zola, giving him the ability to survive the fall.

"It's pretty amazing, isn't it?" she heard someone say next to her.

She didn't respond, thinking he was talking to someone else. When no other answer was forthcoming, she reconsidered that assumption and turned her head, surprised. The man had dark skin and a sturdy frame that was slightly taller than Natasha; his mouth was framed with a small goatee similar to Tony's, and his eyes were a clever brown that reminded her of Clint.

"Not so amazing," she replied eventually, turning back to the mural. She glanced back at James, seeing that he was still occupied.

"Oh yeah," the man said, chuckling. "You work with him." His eyes were bright and innocent, holding no sign of subterfuge. "What's he like?"

Natasha turned on her best smile. "I'm sorry?"

Her tone of voice must have alerted the man that he was treading on dangerous grounds. But he didn't back away.

"No, I'm sorry," the man apologized, surprising her. "The name's Sam." He stuck his hand out. "Sam Wilson."

After a brief hesitation that no one would notice, Natasha shook his hand. "Natasha. But it seems you already knew that."

"Sorry about that." Sam did look apologetic. "I came on like a creep, didn't I?"

"Just a bit."

"Sorry," Sam repeated. "But I recognized you, and I got so excited. You're a hero, you know that?"

"No," Natasha said. "I must have missed that. Too busy fighting aliens."

Sam laughed. "That's a good one." He grinned charmingly, looking around. "So is anyone else here with you? Or is it just you?"

"She's with a friend," James's voice said from behind Natasha, his right arm settling around her waist. He coolly observed Sam. "Who are you?"

"Name's Sam," Sam said, giving James a onceover. He frowned slightly, glancing over James's shoulder and then back at James. "Are you?" He leaned in closer, squinting for a moment before his eyes widened in surprise. "No way."

"It's best if you keep it quiet," Natasha warned him. "We're not ready for the public to know."

"Yeah, no problem," Sam said, nodding at James. "Hey, man… You should know that you and your friend…you were my heroes growing up. You and the Howling Commandos. You were freaking legends."

James's face was blank. "Really."

"Yeah." Sam shifted slightly closer, heedless of the way James's metal fingers curled in at his side. "I was in the army, fifty-eighth Pararescue." Something flashed through his eyes. "I work at the VA now. You know…" He glanced between James and Natasha. "Maybe you and the team could stop by sometime? I know it'd mean a lot to the folks I work with."

"We'll consider it," Natasha said, sensing his sincerity. "But I can't promise you anything in the next month."

"That's fine," Sam said. "But whenever you can… Hell, you can drop by one of my group sessions, too."

"What do you do?" James asked curiously, his body more relaxed now. He'd clearly assessed Sam as a nonthreatening entity.

"I work there as a counselor of sorts," Sam said. "I supervise group sessions, help them readjust to civilian life. Serve as a listening ear."

"So you just listen?" James asked.

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "How about we move this outside? I think they'd like to make room for the next group."

"Honey, I'm home!" Clint called, dropping his bag on the floor and kicking it to the wall. He closed the door.

"Welcome back, Agent," JARVIS said warmly. "It has been less than twelve hours since we last conversed."

"I love you, too, honey."

"Should we leave you and the butler alone?" Peter asked from the ceiling.

"We wouldn't want to scar your delicate mind," Clint responded sincerely. Then, "Why are you on the ceiling?"

"Because I can," Peter said, and he dropped to the floor, neatly landing on his feet with a grace Clint envied.

"What are you – five?"

"I could ask you the same," Peter said. "Peggy expects an apology."

"She'll get it," Clint said, "but I've got to talk with the big guy first."

"JARVIS?"

"Bruce, actually. Though JARVIS is included in that."

"You want me around?"

"Better yes," Clint said, moving past Peter and to the living room. "JARVIS, can you get Bruce?"

"He says he will be up shortly."

"Good, good." Clint paused in the doorway of the living room, thinking. He turned to Peter. "Can you get me some water?"

Peter shot him a look. "Scared?"

"I'm gonna apologize," Clint promised. "But this is more important."

Peter squinted at him. "Okay," he relented. "But just this once." He went off to the kitchen, muttering, "I'm not a waiter."

A few minutes later, Peter and Bruce entered the living room at the same time, Bruce with a white lab coat and a pair of goggles hanging around his neck in a manner that suggested he'd forgotten he'd left them there and Peter with a glass of water that was crammed so full of ice cubes that there was barely any water in it.

Clint sighed as he took the glass, glaring balefully into it. Peter simply smiled at him and fell down onto the couch, arms and legs folded over each other.

"What is it?" Bruce asked when Clint didn't stop glaring at his glass of ice.

Sighing again, Clint fished an ice cube out and popped it into his mouth, sucking on it. When he was done, he set the glass down on the coaster Steve insisted they all use and looked at both of his teammates. "We might have a problem."

"Is it an Avengers problem?" Peter asked.

"Fury had me grab some data on the mission," Clint said. "Secretly. I thought it was suspicious, so I asked him about it when I got back." He looked Bruce in the eye. "Have you heard about Project Insight?"

"No," Bruce said, "and something tells me I don't want to."

"It's something the WSC proposed and implemented back when SHRA was still being discussed," Clint said. "And now it's almost ready to go from what I saw. Fury showed it to me. Three giant Helicarriers equipped with Tony's repulsor tech – which Fury didn't deny using – but the worst of it is that they're linked to spy satellites. The project's goal is to stop threats before they happen via the guns the Helicarriers are equipped with." Clint couldn't even manage a smile. "I don't know about you, but none of that sounds good."

Bruce closed his eyes, pinching his nose between his fingers and taking several deep breaths. After several seconds, he looked back up at Clint, notably calmer. "Is there a reason Fury showed you this?"

"I'm not certain, but I think he doesn't agree with it. Or at least he has some issues with how it's going to be implemented."

"You think?" Bruce sounded sarcastic. "And what about that data?"

"From my analysis of the data Agent Barton obtained," JARVIS said quietly, "it is information on Project Insight, more specifically the algorithm that will be used to root out threats. I can detect the presence of an artificial intelligence associated with it, and while I cannot ascertain who made it, I have pinpointed its origin as Camp Lehigh in New Jersey."

"Camp Lehigh?" Clint sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a thumb. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that where Steve went through basic training way back when?"

"One and the same," JARVIS confirmed.

"That doesn't sound good," Peter said.

"In addition," JARVIS said, "the information was placed under a security lock by the Director himself, preventing even his own authority from retrieving the data."

Clint frowned. "That doesn't sound like him. Fury doesn't trust anyone, not even himself, but he wouldn't lock himself out of something. The man's paranoid, but he's not that paranoid."

"Then what do you suggest, Agent?"

"The ship that I got the information off of was a S.H.I.E.L.D. one," Clint said slowly. "We captured the terrorists on it, but they couldn't have known about the data. But Fury knew it would be there, and he needed it badly enough that he had me get it secretly."

"What do we do?" Bruce asked quietly.

"Nothing for now," Clint said, brow furrowed. "But I'm going to talk with Natasha. She needs to know about this."

"Weren't you just in DC?" Bruce pointed out.

"She wasn't there," Clint said in mild aggravation. "Took her amnesiac friend and left the premises. But I'm gonna take a car and head back. This isn't something that should be told over the phone."

"And we'll stay here?" Peter didn't sound too happy about this.

"For now," Clint said firmly. "We haven't got anything solid to go off. The WSC is still a legit council, and Project Insight was approved by them. We haven't got the authority to interfere with something like that at the moment. Fury jeopardized himself by letting me know. All we can do now is gather the right information and wait. Keep your phones on you and wait for my call or Natasha's. We'll keep you up to date on what's going on."

"I don't like this," Bruce sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Tough luck." Clint reached down for the glass, which now contained some water that he could drink. "I don't either. But it is what it is."

"We're not calling Cap or Tony, are we?" Peter asked somewhat plaintively.

Clint didn't even hesitate. "No. We don't even know what this is, and they need the break."

"For once," Bruce said quietly, "I think we do, too."

"You don't hear me disagreeing with you."

"No," Peter said mournfully. "You just want to take on a creepy spy organization that stalks teenagers to their homes."

"You'll be fine." Clint waved the glass in the direction of the kitchen. "Mind getting me something to eat while I get ready to head back?"

"I already told you I'm not a waiter!"

Bruce was frowning down at the goggles hanging around his neck. "Why didn't anyone tell me I still had these on?"

Natasha and James ended up at a small coffee shop with Sam. It was one both Natasha and Sam had agreed on as being good, and Natasha pulled James inside without asking his opinion. He then spent ten minutes staring intensely at the menu and in general making everyone behind the counter uncomfortable while Natasha and Sam went with their drinks and found a quiet table in the corner.

"Is he good?" Sam asked, glancing at James. He was talking very seriously with a nervous looking barista.

"He'll figure it out," Natasha said, taking a sip of her chai tea and enjoying the warmth.

"How long's he been out?" Sam's voice was quiet.

Natasha was silent for a moment. "It's that obvious?"

"Not to everyone." Sam took a drink from his latte. "But I work with people like him every day. There are signs…" He shrugged.

"It's not my story to tell," Natasha admitted.

"That's all right." Sam grinned easily. "I'll just ask him then."

James was lingering closer to them now, having ordered a drink. The boy in charge of making it seemed to be throwing it together in a hurry, apparently intimidated by James's glower.

"He's more intense than I pictured him," Sam said, watching him.

"He's changed," Natasha said. "Didn't you?"

"Yeah." Sam smiled sadly. "War does that."

A minute later, James was in the seat next to Natasha, looking down skeptically at the drink in his hands.

"What did you order?" Natasha asked.

"Something with syrup; she said I looked like I could use something sweet." James inspected the cup, mouth twisting slightly. He seemed to give a mental shrug before trying it. He promptly choked on the steaming liquid.

"It's a hot drink," Natasha told him unsympathetically. "You should know better than that."

"I know that now," James said acerbically, glowering at the drink as if it had offended him.

"Just give it a few minutes," Sam advised him, lips twitching. "It'll taste better."

"Something tells me it wasn't so complicated before," James said, shooting a glare at the menu.

"It always feels like that," Sam said, leaning back in his chair. "You leave and expect it to be the same, yet you come back to a different world. But for you more than most."

James gave him a curious look, though it wouldn't be evident to anyone not familiar with him. "How long were you gone?"

Sam laughed quietly. "'Gone' is the right word for it. I had two tours." His eyes crinkled as he grinned. "Not as long as you."

"No," James murmured, looking down at his metal fingers. Sam hadn't seemed perturbed to see them, evidently used to prostheses.

"How long have you been back?" Sam asked James.

James tilted his head to the side, eyes flickering back to a silent Natasha, who simply sipped her tea. "I never left." His smile was wooden.

"Oh." Sam was obviously confused, but he didn't press any further. "What are your plans now?"

"I don't know." The answer was blunt. "I'm still finding that out." James's eyes narrowed in on Sam. "Why did you quit?"

"Right to the point, hm?" Sam tapped a finger against his drink, looking down at it. "My wingman, Riley," he started quietly. "Flying a night mission, nothing we hadn't done a thousand times before. 'Til an RPG knocked Riley's dumb ass outta the sky." His face was pained. "After that I had a really hard time finding a reason for being over there."

He looked out the window, up at the sky. "I miss it sometimes, being up there." He met James's eyes briefly before dropping them to his drink. "But at least here I feel like I'm doing something more worthwhile. I don't regret getting out."

Sam looked up at them, smiling painfully. "And that's my story. Nothing special, really."

"Everyone's story is special," Natasha said quietly. "It all depends on what you make of it."

Sam nodded once. "Yeah…I get that." He took a sip. "So, what's the story with you two?"

Under the table, James interlaced his fingers with Natasha, giving her a slow, soft smile. "That's something we're still figuring out."

"We'll tell you someday." Natasha smiled back at James before turning to smirk at Sam. "Maybe."

Sam snorted. "Oh, that's how it is?"

"Oh, that's how it is," James answered with a small smirk. A moment later he looked just a bit a surprised at the words that had come out of his mouth.

Natasha hid a smile behind the rim of her drink. James had a sense of humor, but she would bet twenty that that had been pure Bucky Barnes.

It was about an hour later that they parted ways with Sam, having spent it in idle chitchat and gentle teasing that reminded Natasha of spending time with the team. Sam was a good man, and Natasha would try to see him again at his workplace.

James had expressed approval of Sam, especially after it was clear that Sam wasn't interested in Natasha like that and was remorseful for coming on like a creep in the museum. Natasha didn't let it bother her; she could have beaten him into submission in her sleep.

They were headed back to the car they'd arrived in when a familiar automobile pulled up to the sidewalk, window rolled down and Clint in the driver's seat.

"Natasha," he called. "Natasha's friend." He gave James a nod before turning back to Natasha. "Get in. We need to talk."

"I brought a car," Natasha said. If it was about James, it could wait.

Clint wasn't having it. "It's S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue, isn't it? Leave it. They'll pick it up later."

Natasha sighed, looking back in the direction where the car was parked. She didn't have an excuse for refusing.

"It's all right," James reassured her quietly.

Natasha looked at him for a moment, saw he was serious, and nodded. She opened the passenger side door, sliding in next to Clint as James got into the back.

Clint started driving. "I'm Clint," he said without any preamble, glancing in the windshield mirror.

James's gaze flickered to Natasha. "James."

"Great meeting you," Clint said.

"Do you have a mission?" Natasha asked, gesturing to his uniform.

"What? No." Clint rubbed a hand over his sleeve, driving straight down the road. He didn't seem to have a destination. "I haven't had time to change. I went home and drove straight back here."

Natasha frowned slightly. "Why?"

"Have you heard of Project Insight?"

"No. But I have a feeling I'm not going to like it."

"Fury showed it to me after I got back. Three giant Helicarriers, armed with Tony's repulsor tech and a shit ton of guns. Their mission? Neutralize threats before they occur by using a system of spy satellites and gun power. The WSC approved it back during the SHRA mess, and from what I saw today it's almost done."

"Why did he show you?" Natasha asked.

"Because something was fishy with the data he had me get on the mission. I confronted him about it and he showed me the super fishy project from hell." Clint snorted, fingers tightening on the wheel. "I told Bruce and Peter and came back here to find you." He gave Natasha a look. "You weren't on the premises."

"Fury ordered us out," Natasha said, leaning back in the seat. "Just like that."

"Huh." Clint glanced back at a silent James. "Just a bit odd. No offense, James."

James gave him a small smile. "None taken, Clint."

"So, where should I be taking you guys? Because I'm guessing you're not coming back yet?"

"You're right," Natasha said. "But Project Insight is problematic."

"We haven't got enough info to go off of," Clint pointed out.

Natasha rested her elbow by the window, rubbing her fingers on her forehead. "We need to wait," she said. "Wait and see. What was on that data you got?"

"Information related to Project Insight. JARVIS is still analyzing it, although we found it pretty strange that the data came from Camp Lehigh, New Jersey."

"It's in the U.S.," Natasha said. "Why would that be strange?"

"Nat, that's where Steve trained before he was picked for Project Rebirth." Clint shot her a glance. "And that place has been shut down for years. There's nothing there."

"Evidently there is," Natasha said shortly. "We need to check that place out."

"No arguments from me," Clint said.

The radio crackled with static, JARVIS's voice coming from it a second later, "I would advise heading into DC proper, as there has been an attack on Director Fury."

Clint hit the brakes, made a turn that had the cars around them honk angrily, and then followed the map JARVIS pulled up on the GPS.

"Is there anymore information?" Natasha demanded, bracing herself on the dash as Clint executed another sharp right turn.

"Hostiles disguised as police officers engaged Director Fury in a rather vicious car chase," JARVIS said. "I was able to track the progress of the fight through various traffic cameras once I was alerted to the danger via Director Fury's car. Unfortunately, I have lost contact with him following a minor explosion that took out half a block, including his car."

"Fuck," Clint muttered, taking an illegal left turn that Natasha and James both braced against.

Thanks to Clint's illegal driving skills, they made it to the scene two minutes later. He had probably collected a dozen tickets for running traffic lights and making illegal turns, but they couldn't care less about it.

Clint managed to park the car a block away, squeezing through the traffic and the confused people milling around.

There was yellow caution tape cordoning the area off, but by virtue of flashing their Avengers badges and Clint's official looking uniform and bow and arrows, they slipped past the officers without a fight. James stuck close to Natasha, eyes scanning the area suspiciously.

"Jesus," Clint breathed, coming to a stop.

A second later, Natasha had to agree with the sentiment. That explosion had been something else. The cement was scorched black, various cars lying scattered around with their frames half melted. There was a fire hydrant that had been blasted open and was spewing water everywhere.

And in the center of the street were the remnants of the black car that Natasha recognized as Fury's. It had tipped over upside down, the front half melted off and plastered to the street. The windows were shattered glass and the tires melted slag. But the car was notably more intact than the rest of the vehicles in the vicinity.

"This wasn't a normal bomb," James said quietly.

"No," Natasha agreed, moving closer to Fury's car. "It wasn't."

She cautiously stepped around the melted metal on the street, crouching to get a look inside the car. She couldn't smell anything beyond roasted metal and burning gasoline; there wasn't even a sign of a body.

James stepped up besides her, reaching with his left arm to grip the frame and lift the car up a foot. It groaned dangerously as he did so, but the movement gave Natasha enough light to see what she had been unable to before.

There was a hole burned into the street, one large enough for a man of Fury's size to drop into.

"Son of a gun," Natasha breathed, giving a small smile. She stood, the car crashing to the cement as James let it go. "He's alive."

"I feel like this is the point where we all cheer and say 'now what?'" Clint said, staring at the wreck.

"Now what?" James said blandly.

Clint snorted, shaking his head. "Now we go back to whatever place you were heading to in the first place."

"James's apartment?" Natasha asked. "I think that's the best place for now."

"Sounds good," Clint said, giving the still spewing fire hydrant a look. "Better let the cops do what they need to here. We need to regroup."

They should really be going to New Jersey to check out what was there, but Natasha wanted to pick up her weapons. She had a feeling she'd be needing them.

The drive to James's apartment was spent in silence, and it was dark by the time they arrived. Clint drove defensively this time, keeping to the rules of the road and within the speed limit. He managed to snag a good parking spot a block away from the apartment, and they walked the rest of the way, Clint attracting odd looks for his weapons.

The apartment block was a nice one, bordering the edge of a park. It wasn't in the middle of the city, but it was close enough to the hubbub that one didn't feel isolated. The buildings were clean and white, and on the first floor was a public laundry room for those who didn't have machines. James's room was on the top floor, and Natasha knew there were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on the same floor, as this was a S.H.I.E.L.D. apartment complex. It was where agents stayed when they weren't on missions and didn't have anywhere else to go. And many agents didn't.

Besides, it was comfortable enough, and Natasha had made sure the apartment was outfitted with everything James would need. She had even stashed guns in there, and now she was glad she had because her usual weapons were back in the car she and James had left behind when Clint had picked them up.

There was nothing to be done about her uniform, as that was back in New York City, but Natasha's civilian clothes could cut the deal. They weren't doing much after all.

James's apartment was at the end of the hall, and Natasha already had the keys in her hand.

They were at the door when James put an arm in front of her. "Wait." His voice was soft. "Do you hear that?"

There was music playing from inside the apartment.

Natasha tightened her lips, giving James and Clint a look. Clint nodded once, turning to leave and enter the apartment through a window. It was a good thing the fire escape was by the apartment.

"Wait ten," Natasha said quietly, pulling out her phone to check the time.

The time went quickly, and Natasha unlocked the door quietly, slowly opening it. The hinges didn't creak, and she carefully stepped in, James right on her heels. He closed the door just as quietly as she'd opened it, and remained at her back as she crept through the apartment and to the source of the music.

It was coming from the living room.

She glanced back at James, received a nod, and slid forward, pressed to the wall. Then, quick as a snake, she darted into the room, hands up. James slid around her back, a dark presence.

And Clint flicked on the light.

Director Nick Fury sat in the armchair in the corner of the room, looking beat up nine ways to hell. He gave them all a stony glare and turned the light back off.

Irritated and relieved, Natasha relaxed, feeling James shift worriedly behind her back. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"My wife threw me out," Fury said nonsensically.

He didn't have a wife, unless one was talking about his work.

Natasha played along, because for whatever reason Fury didn't want to turn the bugs in the room off. "What reason did she give this time?"

"I was working too much," Fury responded. "I need a place to stay."

"You're welcome to stay here," Clint said, sharing a sidelong glance with Natasha.

"That's what I was hoping." Fury smiled, the sight grim.

"How long do you need?" Natasha asked.

"Indefinitely. There might even be a divorce." Fury held up his phone in landscape mode, words written on the screen. Attacked. Human bomb. S.H.I.E.L.D. compromised.

Clint exhaled sharply, and Natasha sensed James stiffen behind her.

Fury wrote something else. Were you followed?

Clint gave him an insulted look, one that clearly said "Are you kidding me?" "Can't say it was a while coming," he said aloud.

James moved from behind Natasha to a window, peering through the blinds. His frame bristled with energy.

"I like my work," Fury said, which was probably mostly true.

"I'm sure," Natasha said. "But perhaps a little less overtime? They can't be paying you that much."

"It's good enough," Fury said, flipping the phone around and tucking it away.

Clint pressed his lips together, bending down to get a better look at Fury's face. "I'll get the first aid kit," he said quietly.

"Don't bother," Fury grunted, standing up. He was obviously favoring his ribs, meaning one or more were cracked.

"I'll get some water," Clint insisted, obviously not pleased by Fury's bullheadedness.

"I could do with some of that," Fury admitted after a moment, one arm coming across his torso. His eye tightened in pain.

Clint moved behind Natasha, obviously about to go get water.

A second later, James shouted, "Down!" and tackled Natasha to the floor. There was the sound of gunfire and glass shattering; the sound of bullets hitting something soft and solid; the sound of a body hitting the floor.

"Nick!" Clint was already on his knees by Fury's side, and James scrambled off Natasha and out the door, clearly in pursuit of the shooter.

Suppressing a mild wince because James was heavy and he hadn't exactly cushioned her fall – the idiot – Natasha pushed herself to her knees and slid over to Fury, taking out her phone to call the medics.

Fury was tensed in pain, teeth clenched and torso bloody as red sank into the cloth despite Clint's best efforts at keeping pressure on the gunshot wounds.

"Hawkeye…" Fury coughed, blood trickling out his mouth. He held something up, a flash drive glinting in his hand.

"This is…" Clint's bloody hand closed about it, his eyes hard as he looked down at Fury.

Fury looked between Clint and Natasha. "Don't trust anyone," he whispered – warned.

"You got it," Clint promised, his other hand still futilely putting pressure on Fury's wounds.

"The medics will be here soon," Natasha said, dropping her phone and pressing her hands to the other wounds on Fury's chest. "Just hang on."

The door banged against the wall, other agents coming in to investigate the disturbance. One of them was the one Natasha recognized as Agent 13, and she quickly took command of the situation, directing the other agents and pulling together bandages from the things on hand.

Outside, Natasha heard the wails of sirens.

Hours later, sometime around two in the morning, Natasha had slumped against a wall in the hospital's morgue, numb from the events that had transpired.

Fury was dead. Natasha had just paid her last respects to his body and let Maria take it.

She was still processing the fact that he was dead. He had given her a chance after Clint had recruited her. He'd seen in her something others hadn't. He'd trusted her as much as a spy could trust another.

"Natasha," Clint said quietly. He hovered uncertainly next to her.

"He's dead," Natasha said redundantly, staring at the empty table where his body had been.

Clint took a moment before he whispered, "He's had his time, Nat. Let him rest."

"It wasn't his time," Natasha said quietly, shoulders hunching slightly. "This shouldn't have happened."

"No." Clint put a hand on her shoulder and drew her into his body, hugging her tightly. "It shouldn't have," he agreed softly, cheek resting on her head.

Natasha's arms tightened around Clint's body. "We should go," she murmured, eyes closed.

Clint pressed a kiss in her hair, hand coming up to stroke once through the red strands before he withdrew. "Pierce called," he said. "I think it's best if we meet him and get it over with before we go do our own investigation."

Natasha huffed out a soft laugh, discreetly wiping her eyes. "I'm going to call Bruce. Let him know."

"Okay." Clint wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her comfortingly. "And James?"

"He doesn't have a phone yet," Natasha said, "but he knows what to do."

"Has he been hanging around that apartment all night?"

"No." Natasha smiled. "But he knows where New Jersey is, and he'll meet us on the way."

"I suppose I should get used to you driving from the back," Clint said resignedly.

"You bet."

Pierce ended up calling them in for a meeting in the morning. That meant they spent the rest of the night in the rather comfortable room Natasha's friend had stayed in while in the Triskelion. They didn't sleep, but Clint had a pack of cards on him and both of them had plenty of other ways to pass the time.

They met Pierce in Fury's former office. He wasn't in the room when they entered, although their escort informed them he would be by soon.

Clint recognized the move for what it was, a power play.

He didn't know what for. Alexander Pierce was easily the most powerful man in the building right now – politically speaking. The WSC probably had more clout, but Pierce was on site. He was also a longtime friend of Fury's, and there weren't many of those.

Clint took a seat on the couch, sprawling out leisurely. He could play these games as well as the next spy, although he wasn't comfortable doing so. Natasha was more used to them given her history, but she was also more stressed since she was probably worried about James.

Natasha would never tell Clint as much, but Clint could read her as well as she could read him. Years spent together and saving each other's hides had cemented a bond not many had.

She sat down eventually, turning to look out the window.

It was another few minutes before Pierce walked in, closing the door behind him. "Ah, Clint. Natasha." He smiled at them, reaching out to shake their hands. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Clint said easily, shaking his hand. "How have you been doing?"

"All right." Pierce paused, then made a face. "I could be better," he admitted. "I'm still processing what happened."

"I get it," Clint said, eyes flicking over to Natasha, who had shaken Pierce's hand but hadn't said a word otherwise. "No one expected it."

Pierce gave a broken grin. "No, no one did." He walked over to the window, hands on his hips. "But you two…Nick was with you before he died. You and your friend." He turned to look at Natasha. "Where is he?"

"He's at home," Natasha said.

"Really?" Pierce seemed slightly displeased at that. "I expected him to be here."

"He has nothing to do with Fury," Natasha said simply.

"He was in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody until yesterday."

"Simply for a medical and psychological checkup as it was convenient. He's been entirely cleared. It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"That's funny." Pierce moved again so he could sit across from Clint. "From the recordings we picked up in the apartment, Nick went there because he knew you would be there. He didn't go to S.H.I.E.L.D. He went to you." Pierce clasped his hands together, eyes piercing. "So what was so important that he had to tell you?"

"We don't know," Clint said. "He was shot before he got to that part."

"Come, Clint." Pierce gave him a genial smile. "We know how this game goes. You're spies. Nick had something to say. What was it?"

Clint exhaled through parted lips, fully prepared to lie, but Natasha beat him to it. "He told us not to trust anyone." The words were accompanied by a small smile.

"Did he," Pierce mused. "How like him."

"Quite," Natasha murmured.

"Was there anything else?" Pierce asked, eyes piercing. "Anything at all?"

The flash drive was burning a hole in Clint's pocket. "Nothing," he lied.

Pierce pursed his lips, considering. His eyes were shrewd, flickering between Clint and Natasha, searching out any holes in their armor. He didn't find any, the two of them too used to far more dangerous people doing the same. "All right," he conceded finally, nodding. He stood, stepping back. "Then you're dismissed."

"Thank you," Clint said evenly, inclining his head.

Still, they weren't even halfway across the room when Pierce spoke again. "I don't mean to demean your abilities, but have you considered that when Nick gave you that advice, he also meant not to trust him?"

Clint half-turned, giving Pierce a slow smile. "We've considered that."

Pierce raised an eyebrow, obviously expecting more. Tough luck. Clint wasn't giving anything else.

"I'm going to find out who killed him," Pierce said eventually. "And I don't care who stands in my way. I'm going to find out who was responsible, and they're going to pay." His jaw clenched. "Nick was my friend." His eyes pierced through Clint's. "Do you understand?"

Clint took a slow breath, glancing over as Natasha replied calmly, "We do. Have a good day."

They left then, closing the door behind them.

"Nat?" Clint asked quietly, looking sidelong at her.

"Yes." Natasha didn't look concerned as they reached the elevator. "Shall we?"

Clint had his weapons on him, but they'd be nigh useless in close quarters. Still, it didn't mean he was helpless. "Yeah."

The elevator doors slid open, allowing them in. Natasha pressed the button for the garage, and then settled next to Clint at the back.

Several floors down, Rumlow entered the elevator, giving Clint a polite smile before pressing the button for his floor and turning to face the doors.

Clint shared a glance with Natasha before returning his gaze to the front, eyes lingering on Rumlow's back. He didn't want to think that a former comrade could turn on him, but orders were orders, and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents frequently didn't ask questions.

After two more floors, five more people piled on the elevator, several of them dressed in business clothes. One man with glasses seemed to be sweating nervously. Clint shifted apart from Natasha as several men pushed their way between them.

When the doors opened one more time, four men pushed their way into the crowded elevator. Once the doors closed, the elevator started moving again, heedless of the carnage that would soon erupt.

Clint thumbed the frame of his bow, eyes flicking around the small space and cataloguing each of the men. Ten in total, few of them with familiar faces but enough so that Clint knew their capabilities, and then there was Rumlow. He'd taken down Batroc, so he would be the toughest one, and that meant Natasha should take him. She was the best in tight spaces.

He took a breath, readying his mind.

"Gentlemen," Natasha started quietly, "I feel it's only fair to offer you a way out. Would anyone like to take it?"

That was the cue. The emergency stop button was smashed as five men turned on Clint and the other five on Natasha, Rumlow included. The other man dove for a vicious tackle.

Clint ducked a punch, coming up low to punch one in the stomach and then kick his kneecaps out. Another man had caught hold of his arm and was doing something with an odd-looking cuff that Clint didn't like; a second man lunged for Clint's legs.

He flipped over backwards, feet catching on the glass of the wall, and then he threw himself forward, landing in a crouched ball and spinning both men off him and into the opposite wall. His bow whipped out, and Clint whacked two men across the head with the sturdy frame, kicking another in the stomach and knocking him directly into Rumlow, who was now wielding something that looked like an electric taser with a nasty bite judging from the guy twitching at Natasha's feet.

"Just so you know," Rumlow said, breathing heavily, "this isn't personal." He lunged for Natasha in the next moment.

Another man pounced on Clint, knocking him off balance into the metal railing. Before Clint knew it, his wrist was locked to the railing thanks to that damn cuff he'd seen before.

Biting back a curse, Clint grabbed hold of the railing with his free hand and pulled himself up, kicking out with both feet and nailing the bastard in the face. He went down with a sickly crunch.

Still attached to the railing, Clint pulled out a gun he kept on him for emergency purposes, shooting another one in the knee and taking him out.

At the same time, Natasha let go of the grating on the ceiling and pounced on Rumlow's neck, swinging around with her signature "thighs of death" move – name courtesy of one Tony Stark – and taking him out for the count. Her bracelets flickered blue and crackled with electricity, one hand buried in Rumlow's stomach. He twitched once and lay still.

"It feels pretty personal," Natasha said, standing in one fluid motion. She stepped on Rumlow's wrist as she moved over to Clint. "Need a hand?"

Clint refused to let his embarrassment show on his face. "Please."

Natasha looked at the cuff, sighed, and rummaged around in the bag she had taken with her. She pulled out a strange crablike device and latched it around Clint's wrist. A second later, whatever was powering the ridiculously strong magnet shut off, and the cuff clattered to the floor. Clint eyed it in consideration; it could potentially be useful…

Evidently having the same thought, Natasha picked it up and dropped it into her bag, giving Clint a sly smile that he returned with a broad grin.

"Shall we get out?" Natasha asked, that smile still pulling at her lips.

"Absolutely."

Before they could get the elevator moving, the intercom came to life and a familiar voice that Clint recognized as Jasper Sitwell's said, "Come in quietly and no one has to get hurt. There are agents on every floor."

Natasha punched the emergency stop button again before the elevator could think about moving.

Clint looked out the windows of the elevator and eyeballed the distance between them and the building below them. Without something to brace their fall it could be deadly, and that was including the glass ceiling.

Still, Clint had the materials necessary for such a jump.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Clint asked, looking back at Natasha.

"That depends." Natasha hitched the bag tighter about her, wrapping her arms around Clint's neck from behind. Her lips were twitching into a grin. "Are you planning on jumping?"

Clint pressed the little button on his bow, drawing the arrow with the grappling hook a moment later. "You bet."

"That's a whole lot of glass, though," Natasha mused, one hand slipping down Clint's back to rummage around in his quiver. She came out with one of those sonar arrow heads that Clint really liked. "What if I did this?" A flick of her wrist, and the head hit the glass, the sonar rippling through it a second later and shattering it.

Hearing shouting from the people surrounding them in the building, Clint jumped, feeling Natasha's hands tighten around his neck. He twisted slightly, aimed, and released, the grappling hook snagging the railing and holding fast.

"Brace," Natasha said shortly, and then they were crashing through the glass, Clint holding on tightly to his bow and the line of the grappling hook as it tightened.

The line grew taut, and their inertia carried them forward in a graceful arc. Natasha let go first, dropping to the ground and hitting it with a graceful roll that absorbed almost all force. Clint released the grappling hook a moment later, landing not even half as gracefully as Natasha, but his lovely Stark-made boots absorbed most of the impact. His quiver dug painfully in his back as he rolled to a stop, and he could hear the snapping of glass as his body crushed the shards.

Clint pushed himself to his feet, Natasha pulling him upright faster and then pushing him into a run.

"We need the car," Clint said.

"Then we better get there fast or they'll shut us in."

It took them five minutes to find the car and pile in, Natasha driving by an unspoken agreement. Clint rolled the window down, bow and arrow ready just in case.

"Really wish I had a motorcycle now," Natasha bit out, gunning the engine as the doors to the garage started closing.

"Hold on…" Clint dug his foot in under the dash and pulled himself half out the window, aiming up at the gears. A second later he fired, and a satisfying explosion stopped the doors from closing any further as Natasha drove up and out of the garage and onto the bridge.

A Quinjet dropped into view before they'd barely made it even halfway. Clint didn't wait for anyone to say or shoot anything. He shot first, an explosive arrow landing directly in one of the engines and blowing it to bits. The Quinjet spiraled out of control, giving Natasha enough time to speed past it.

Once clear, Clint fired a regular arrow to destroy the second engine, causing the Quinjet to crash into the bridge. It didn't explode; Tony's tech was built of sterner stuff, although for once Clint wished that it wasn't working against them.

"Where to?" Clint asked once he was fully inside the car.

"We're picking up James," Natasha said shortly, "and then we're heading to New Jersey. But we've got to dump the car."

With a regretful sigh, Clint just knew Tony was going to let them have it for abandoning one of his prized cars for a run-of-the-mill one. Maybe they could pick it up later?

James met them at a bus station on the way to New Jersey. He had a cap on and a jacket that covered his metal arm. He was also lugging a bag that ended up having the rest of Natasha's weapons that she had stashed in their car before their trip to the Smithsonian.

She gave him a grateful look for it before turning her attention back to driving. They needed to swap cars, preferably for one that was more discreet and wouldn't come up on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar. They pulled into a shopping lot for that, and the car they ended up taking was slightly bigger and less maneuverable than Tony's, but it was also fairly common on the roads.

Apparently convinced that Tony would do something dastardly if he found that they had mistreated one of his cars, Clint took Tony's and parked it somewhere discreet, and then they were off.

About an hour into their drive, Clint hung up on the call he'd had with Bruce and sighed, leaning his head back against the rest. "They know," he said. "JARVIS is keeping an eye on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s systems and will alert us if they get close."

From the back, James asked, "Who's JARVIS?"

"He's a nicer version of Skynet," Clint answered before Natasha could.

James was silent for a moment. "I have no idea what that is," he admitted.

"Ignore Clint," Natasha said, glancing in the mirror to see James's unusually blank face. "JARVIS is what we call an artificial intelligence. He's extremely clever and can get in practically any system in the world. He's also on our side."

"If we were in Tony's car, this is about the time he'd make a witty remark that alludes to his eventual plans to conquer the world," Clint added. Natasha pinched him in the arm. "Ow!"

"Like I said," Natasha said, "ignore him."

James didn't react beyond turning his head to look out the windows. He had been unusually tense since joining them, and Natasha wasn't quite sure why. James had never been the most talkative person, but he'd also never been so still around her unless they were in the presence of their superiors.

Still, it wasn't the time to try and sort out any potential problems. Natasha pinched her lips together and focused on driving. They needed to get to Camp Lehigh. Then they could figure out what to do with any information they found there and how it tied into the flash drive Fury had given Clint. JARVIS had been unable to find any more information on the data Clint had obtained, but while the algorithm was worrying enough, even more so was the fact that it had come from the same base where Steve had gone through basic training before undergoing the process to obtain the serum.

Natasha didn't know what they'd find there, but it was in her job description to prepare for the unexpected. And she had the best of backup with her.

They arrived at the camp in the late evening, coming to a slow stop before the locked fence warning against trespassers. The place looked abandoned, although there could always be something inside the buildings.

They stepped outside their stolen car, approaching the fence with no small amount of wariness. James snapped the lock on the fence with his left hand, pushing the gate open. It creaked slightly, but otherwise made no sound.

"There's nothing here," Clint said after a few minutes of walking around the training grounds.

"There is nothing here that could permit for the development and transmission of an advanced algorithm," JARVIS said from the phone Natasha was using to scan the place.

"Not exactly the kind of place where one would expect a complex algorithm to come from," Natasha mused, looking up at the big building next to them. "Did they use a router to hide their tracks?"

James was staring at the grassy clearing, or more specifically at the flagpole standing there. His frame was tense.

After a moment, Natasha made her way to his side. "James?"

"I don't know this place," James said eventually, "but someone I think I knew went here. This…Steve…"

"It wasn't for long," Natasha said carefully. "Just for basic training."

"There's so much in my head," James whispered, eyes far off. A few seconds later, they cleared and he shook his head, mouth firming. He turned away from Natasha, trailing after Clint.

"So," Clint said, "there's something like a bunker here." He stood in front of said bunker.

Natasha looked down at the phone, their only link to JARVIS at the moment. After a moment, the AI said, "The original blueprints of the camp show no sign of a bunker. It was built several decades after Captain Rogers went down. Furthermore, according to army regulations, storing munitions is forbidden within five hundred yards of the barracks."

"Good enough for me," Clint said, giving Natasha a significant look.

"We'll check it out," Natasha said. "I'm going to put the phone away for now, JARVIS, but get my attention if anything changes."

"Naturally, Agent. Good luck."

"Hopefully we won't need it," Natasha murmured, putting the phone in her back pocket where she could feel it vibrate.

The door into the bunker groaned with effort as they pushed it open, and the interior was dark, smelling of dust and stale air. Natasha used the light from her phone to look for a light switch. When found, it moved with a distinct clanking sound, and when the lights flickered on, they lit up the entire bunker in washed out light.

The illumination revealed a fading S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia on the back wall. The rest of the space was taken up by old lights, dusty desks, and cobwebs. Natasha brushed one away from her face as she looked down at a dusty light. On her other side, James trailed warm fingers through an inch of dust, rubbing his fingers together afterwards.

"There's no way anything could have come from here," Natasha said.

"We've got another door here," Clint called, gesturing to said door.

Leaving behind the main area, the three of them opened the door and stepped into another room filled with empty book frames.

"This can't be it," Clint said, frowning slightly as he moved through the aisles.

Natasha moved alongside a row of shelves against the wall, keeping an eye out for any sign of a secret passage. Her alertness paid off a few minutes later when she saw signs of where dust had been disturbed and the lines of the bookshelves didn't quite meet up.

"Just like S.H.I.E.L.D.," Natasha said, smiling slightly as she trailed her fingers over the shelves in search of a hidden trigger to open the door. "There's more than meets the eye."

"But is that a good thing?" Clint asked quietly, coming to stand behind her. James stood next to him.

Natasha glanced back at him as she pressed down on the trigger, pulling open the door. "Guess we'll find out."

The door opened to another set of doors for an elevator, something Natasha hadn't expected. It was dusty and smelled faintly like mold, but worked well enough and didn't creak or dip dangerously as the three of them piled on. The only option was to go down, and Natasha pressed the button.

A few minutes later, the slow elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open to nothing but darkness. Giving Clint and James a worried look, Natasha stepped into the unknown, her partners at her back. They'd barely taken several steps into the dark when the lights came on, revealing something Natasha hadn't seen in years. It was an ancient supercomputer, something that hadn't been used since smaller computers had been created.

There was a center console, screens dark with dust and clunky keyboards that would have made Tony cry laid out before it. Behind and around the console were probably hundreds of tapes.

"There's no way this thing had the power to transmit that data," Clint said, stepping up to the console and peering down at it. "It's ancient."

"I was around when these came out," Natasha said mildly, eyeing a small device on the console that was more modern than the rest of the bunker. It had several ports in it that were probably a perfect fit for that flash drive of Clint's.

Clint pulled the flash drive out, flipping it between his fingers. "What do you think?"

"I think," Natasha said slowly, pulling out her phone again, "that we should be careful with this." She laid the phone on the console under one of the dusty screens. "JARVIS, you still there?"

A moment later, and JARVIS's welcome tones sounded. "As always, Agent. What have you found?"

"A really old computer," Natasha said. "Your predecessor."

"Mr. Stark would weep tears of envy," JARVIS said without a hint of sarcasm.

"What, really?" Clint sounded disbelieving. "This thing is ancient. Tony's all about the future."

"One cannot move forward without the past, and he is fully aware of the debt we owe to our ancestors for where we are today." JARVIS paused. "I cannot connect to this technology without a linkup. It is independent of any power source and has been so for years. It is too old for my systems to link up to wirelessly."

"It was worth a try," Natasha said. "What about S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"They are on the move, but have not discovered your location."

"Thanks." Natasha kept the phone in hand now, giving Clint a nod.

Jaw tight, Clint reached forward to insert the flash drive in one of the ports. A few seconds passed before something happened. The tapes around them whirred into life, rolling around in their containers and tracking bytes of data. James stiffened, hovering protectively by Natasha.

One of the dusty monitors blinked into life, green words coming across the screen: INITIATE SYSTEM?

"What the hell," Clint breathed, bending over the keyboard. "Let's do this."

"Shall we play a game?" Natasha whispered, sharing a grin with Clint.

James frowned slightly, but said nothing, eyes fixed on the monitor and the YES Clint had input.

The center monitor flickered into life with green pixels that formulated a strange face that looked vaguely familiar to Natasha, though she couldn't place it. The camera above it whirred, moving slowly from side to side.

A nasally voice distorted by the ancient speakers spoke. James exhaled sharply, hand coming up to clutch Natasha's arm; she clutched back instinctively, her own grip gentler.

"Barton, Clinton Francis," the voice said, "alias Hawkeye of the Avengers. Born nineteen-seventy-one." The camera moved to Natasha's face. "Romanov, Natasha Alianovna, alias Black Widow of the Avengers, formerly of the KGB and the Red Room. Born nineteen-twenty-eight." The camera moved up to James's face. "Barnes, James Buchanan"—the name had James digging his fingers into Natasha's arm—"alias the Winter Soldier of HYDRA, former associate of the Howling Commandos and the KGB and the Red Room, born nineteen-seventeen."

The smaller monitors lining the console came to life, showing grainy images of the three of them, much of it classified footage from various missions they had run. Natasha nearly bit her tongue at the clip of her dressed as a ballerina.

"You have us at a disadvantage," Natasha said eventually, keeping her voice and breathing even. "Who are you?"

The face on the center console said, "I am Arnim Zola."

"You're supposed to be dead," Clint snapped, fingers curled into fists.

"As is the good Soldier. But neither of us is, yes?"

"What did you do to yourself?" Clint demanded. "Why are you in a S.H.I.E.L.D. bunker?"

"I was recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. after the war," Zola said in that nasally tone. James was breathing rather heavily, eyes closed. "They welcomed scientists of my caliber and intelligence, hoping that I could further their cause. I also helped my own."

"Operation Paperclip after the war," Natasha murmured.

"And that led to you being inside a computer in a bunker of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s?" Clint asked harshly.

"In nineteen-seventeen-two I received a terminal diagnosis," Zola said. "Science could not save my body; my mind, however, that was worth saving on two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain.

Natasha discreetly scanned the hundreds of tapes around them, realizing with a detached sense of horror that they were indeed surrounded by all that remained of Arnim Zola, former scientist of the Red Skull. In another situation she would have been impressed, but with James practically clinging to her and Clint's simmering fury, all she could muster was disgust and horror.

"And S.H.I.E.L.D. let it happen? You – a HYDRA scientist?" Clint snorted, shaking his head once. "No, they wouldn't have."

"You speak as if it had a choice – as if it knew any better," Zola sneered.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to the side. "HYDRA was dismantled shortly before the war's end," she said, tone carefully blank.

"When one head falls, two more shall take its place," Zola said crisply, his image temporarily replaced with the dreaded insignia of HYDRA splitting in two. "The Red Skull was simply one leader, and I hear you encountered the good Madame Hydra some time ago."

"She's dead," Natasha said, although she wasn't quite sure of this as Jean had never said what exactly she had done to the Mandarin and Madame Hydra. She was still gripping James's hand soothingly.

"And more will take her place," Zola asserted, tone confident.

"Yeah, and we'll take them down," Clint snapped.

"So confident, yet you do not know of what lies inside S.H.I.E.L.D." Zola sounded darkly amused.

Natasha didn't wince as James's fingers dug into her skin. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has a lot of secrets," she said neutrally.

"As I have already told you, S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded after the war's end, and they recruited me," Zola said. "HYDRA was originally founded with the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize was that if you try to take away this freedom, they will resist. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly." Noteworthy images from World War II and Steve fighting played on the screen. "This mistake cost us, but not for long.

"When S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded and I was recruited, I took the opportunity. The new HYDRA grew, a beautiful parasite inside S.H.I.E.L.D. For seventy years HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. would have stopped you," Clint said.

"Accidents will happen," Zola said dismissively, one of the monitors showing old newspaper images of the car crash that had taken Howard's and Maria's lives, followed by a more recent one of Fury's death. James's grip tightened for a second, the only sign of his distress. "All this has been done so that humanity will realize that they cannot be trusted with their own freedom. The god had it right, but lacked the means to carry it through. Where he failed, HYDRA will succeed."

"You really think so?" Clint snorted derisively. "We'll stop you. You think you can hide in S.H.I.E.L.D. for that much longer?"

"You speak of your artificial intelligence, do you not?" Zola's tone was condescending. "For all that it was inside S.H.I.E.L.D.'s systems, it never detected the roots of my presence and HYDRA in S.H.I.E.L.D. It is too artificial; I knew how to hide myself from its eyes. Its presence might have slowed our plans down some, but it matters not. We have achieved our objective with Project Insight."

Clint swallowed, breathing out heavily. "You're going to use that to kill anyone who doesn't agree with you."

"We have created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA's new world order will arise."

"You can try," Clint said, a muscle jumping in his jaw. His entire body vibrated with tension, and Natasha could almost sense the need he had to punch Zola in the face. "But you can damn well bet on the fact that we won't let it happen."

"You speak as if you will come out of this alive," Zola sneered.

Natasha's phone beeped a warning. She pulled it out, eyes widening when she saw the signs of a missile headed to their exact location. Why hadn't JARVIS told them earlier? "Clint, we need to go."

"You bastard." Clint lunged forward, yanking the flash drive out of the port. "You're going to destroy yourself."

"I will gladly sacrifice myself for the greater good: a unified world under the guide of HYDRA. My purpose is done."

With a roar, James slammed his metal arm directly through Zola's face, sparks flying out from the destruction. Natasha took hold of his other arm, pulling him away. "James, we need to go."

"There's not enough time," James said tonelessly, eyes flying over the room. They landed on the floor, on the metal grating. Without a word, he stepped forward and crouched, his metal fingers tearing open the grate effortlessly. "Inside!"

Clint jumped in first, pressing himself to the side to make space for Natasha. She looked up at James, mouth dry as he jumped in and brought the metal grating over on top of them for added cover.

A split-second later, the world exploded.

Bruce didn't usually go for the whole spy gig, but he thought he could probably make an exception given the truly epic stuff going on right now. His skin felt itchy, and he didn't particularly like that Clint and Natasha were off in DC investigating a really suspicious project while he chilled it here at home.

Or not really chilling to be honest. Peggy and Spike were stressful enough for anyone, but Bruce managed to keep calm enough that Hulk wasn't a problem. Besides, Hulk liked them; it was just stressful dealing with two AIs who were desperately unhappy that Tony was gone again.

Bruce could sympathize.

At least Tony's other AIs were older and better able to deal with their creator's long absences. They weren't necessarily as chipper as they usually were, but they also weren't liable to burst into tears at the drop of a dime.

Not even Peter's antics had been able to cheer Peggy and Spike up, and Bruce knew Peggy had a crush on Peter. Playing Call Me Maybe whenever Peter was around wasn't exactly subtle, and it was only luck that Tony hadn't yet found out what Peggy's song for Peter was.

At least there was no need to give an AI the sex talk. Bruce could live without giving an artificial intelligence in a stove the sex talk.

He was down in the lab for now, needing some space from a very mopey Peggy and Spike. Besides, it was Peter's turn to deal with them.

That was until Peter came down to the lab and started giving Bruce the biggest puppy dog eyes he had ever seen. Fifteen minutes in, Bruce called it quits and headed up to comfort a crying Spike. He wouldn't mind having Logan around right now.

Or Tony. Tony could be a handful, but he was also Bruce's best friend and exactly who was needed right now. But Tony needed this vacation, and so did Steve.

But it would've been easier if Tony was here. And Steve would doubtlessly have a brilliant plan to deal with whatever S.H.I.E.L.D. was cooking up, which was exactly what they needed. Natasha was good, but she was also a spy/assassin used to working on her own and with a different set of morals than Steve.

"Daddy," Spike warbled miserably, not moving as Bruce stroked his cord the way the little AI liked.

"He's coming back," Bruce assured him, although the statement would help little. He had already said it countless times since Clint had left to tell Natasha the details.

The thought brought him to the subject he had been trying to avoid by going to the lab: Fury's death. The news had come as a shock. He didn't necessarily like Fury, but the man had his uses, and Bruce could respect him. Fury had honestly tried, and it wasn't something many in power had done for Bruce since the accident.

"Doctor," JARVIS said, "Agent Barton is on the line."

"Thanks, JARVIS. Put him through?"

Peter settled in next to Bruce, unusually somber.

"Hello, darlings," Clint said. "I trust everything is still in one piece?"

"Sadly, yes," Bruce teased. He sobered. "Any news?"

"If S.H.I. . comes knocking, knock them down. Total lock down," Clint said curtly. "They tried to take us down; we got out, and we're headed to New Jersey in a stolen car. James is with us. We need to check out where that data came from."

"Do you need backup?"

"No, we're good," Clint said. "It's easy enough, and we don't want anyone else to see what we're doing." S.H.I.E.L.D. could very well be watching the mansion.

"What are they doing?" Peter asked anxiously. "I thought Tony made it so we were working with them?"

"New leadership under Pierce," Clint explained. "He gave us a pretty clear warning that he'll take down anyone who gets in his way of finding out what happened to Fury. And since we weren't exactly cooperating, he followed through."

"'Don't trust anyone,'" Bruce quoted, a bitter taste in his mouth. "Talk about irony."

"Worth listening to," Clint said. "We'll keep you updated. Stay safe."

"You, too," Bruce said, and JARVIS disconnected the call. "JARVIS, you're with them?"

"I have access to their phones, yes. As the car they stole is not outfitted with the proper technology, I cannot access it directly, but they have a direct line to me through their phones."

"I'd usually say something about privacy rights, but for once that's actually reassuring," Peter said.

"I do aim to please, Mr. Parker."

"Yeah, no, that's vaguely creepy."

Bruce sighed, patting Spike on the top. "Keep us updated as much as you can, JARVIS. I'm going to find a book."

He did find a decent book, one of Tony's that he had left lying around. Because it was Tony's, there were sometimes mathematical equations scribbled in the margins that Bruce either ignored or tried to decipher depending on his mood. Now was definitely a time for deciphering them; he could use the distraction.

An undetermined amount of time later (hours probably judging from the lighting outside), Bruce was engaged in a very complicated equation Tony had scribbled that was probably the gateway to a new form of calculus when the alarms started blaring.

"There is an incoming missile from S.H.I.E.L.D.," JARVIS announced, sounding just a bit harried.

"Shit." Bruce took a calming breath, slammed the book shut and ran for his room. "How much time until impact, JARVIS?"

"Seven minutes. I cannot reroute it."

Bruce swore again, grabbed the emergency bag he'd always packed for just in case and he'd never had to use it (but now he did and he wasn't even running away from his house because he was dangerous – he was running because they were all in danger).

"Dr. Banner, please take Spike with you."

Bruce stopped, heart skipping a beat. "JARVIS, you… What about the others?"

"I have their data stored, but Spike has continually refused to let me do so. Please take him, Doctor. I cannot protect him." It sounded like it was tearing JARVIS apart to admit this.

"He'll be safe." Bruce rushed into the kitchen, heart aching at Peggy's distressed beeping (oh God, Tony, I'm so sorry). He didn't hesitate, grabbing Spike and pushing him into his duffle bag, zipping it up on a muffled protest.

"Bruce!" Peter shouted.

Bruce stumbled into him just outside the kitchen and grabbed him. "Go, we need to go. Get out of the area."

"Three minutes, Doctor," JARVIS said.

They took the back exit, bypassing the Quinjet and just running. Bruce kept the Other Guy back through sheer force of will, unwilling to risk letting him out now. He had Peter and Spike to take care of, and he couldn't chance waking up disoriented miles away without any form of help.

He could hear the distinctive whine of a missile coming in at high speed, and he pushed himself further, desperate to be out of the immediate blast zone.

A minute later, and there was a loud explosion, a sudden burst of heat at their backs, and a rush of superheated air throwing them off their feet and flinging them dozens of feet through the air and into some hedges.

Bruce had enough time to tell the Other Guy to stay down when with a thudding pain everything went black.

Peter's spider sense was tingling like nuts. That had been before the freaking missile hit the house and sent the whole thing up in flames, along with JARVIS and the other bots. He shivered slightly, closing his eyes in grief and fear.

He heard a faint whining sound, and the duffle bag Bruce had brought out with him shifted as if something inside was trying to get out.

Peter hesitantly unzipped it, and nearly got the fright of his life when a power cord poked out and a familiar voice cried, "Daddy?"

Peter's heart twisted, and he curled his fingers around Spike's cord. "I'm sorry, buddy," he managed. "He's not here."

The cord curled back into the bag, where faint crying could be heard. Peter swallowed thickly, looking over at Bruce, who was lying there limply thanks to the hard knock on the head he'd gotten scant minutes ago. Peter was just grateful that Hulk had decided not to make a showing; he should probably thank for Bruce for that when they got out of this.

"Think, Parker, think," Peter muttered.

But there was no time to think. Peter's spider sense tingled again, signaling the approach of even more danger. He hoped it wasn't another missile, but then he heard that hum he'd gotten used to: the one signaling the presence of repulsors.

Peter looked up in time to see a Quinjet with a S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia on the bottom hover over him. He bit back a curse, grabbed the duffle bag containing Spike, and was about to grab Bruce when the light from the Quinjet landed on Bruce's prone figure. They'd found him.

Peter scrambled back out of sight, hating himself for letting Bruce go like this. He slung the bag over his head and stuck it to his back with a quick application of his web shooters, and then he climbed up the nearest tree, taking refuge in the foliage as two agents dropped down from the still hovering Quinjet and approached Bruce cautiously.

He couldn't let them take Bruce. But he also couldn't let them see his face. He didn't have his uniform, only the web shooters that he never took off except to shower.

The agents made his decision for him, hooking Bruce up to a gurney that dropped from the Quinjet and then drawing it up with them in tow.

This wasn't good, wasn't good at all. Peter needed to think about what to do and fast. He couldn't let Bruce go—

Well…that did make things pretty clear…

Peter squinted up at the Quinjet, eyeballed the distance, and shot a stream of webbing at the underbelly right as the hatch closed behind the agents. The Quinjet taking off yanked Peter out of the tree and into the air, and he flailed for a moment before pulling himself up to the Quinjet and attaching himself to the metal surface. He'd never felt more like a spider before.

No, think. He needed to get Bruce out, although he really didn't know how to fly a Quinjet beyond keeping it in the air. He'd only been behind the controls of one briefly, and that Quinjet was now scraps.

Peter grunted as the Quinjet jerked slightly in the air, veering sharply to the side as the pilot took a turn. He pressed closer to the belly of the aircraft, inching his way up to the nose. An inkling of a plan was forming in his head, but he was going to need to be closer to the ground to avoid any injuries.

Grimacing as the wind buffeted the duffle bag on his back, Peter flattened himself, never before so thankful for being able to stick to things. He looked down at the ground, winced upon seeing nothing but what looked like dark trees, and then closed his eyes again, squeezing them shut.

It was probably a good thing he wasn't too terrified of heights after swinging around the skyscrapers of New York City.

Still, it was definitely more terrifying to be attached to something that was moving independently. Peter had no control over what the Quinjet did, and the man who contained Hulk was inside that aircraft, surrounded by the enemy. So if he Hulked out…Spider-Man or not, Peter didn't really fancy his chances this high up.

An undetermined amount of time later that Peter didn't really enjoy, he realized there were lights below them. And buildings were coming closer and closer. It didn't look like New York, and Peter didn't really recognize any of the landmarks they were flying over.

But it had to be close by; they hadn't flown long enough to be across the country or down south.

Where had Clint and Natasha said S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters were? DC?

"Oh crap." Peter took a cold breath and was grateful when the air didn't feel like it was freezing his lungs out. He'd stayed close to the engines in hope for some heat, but Tony's repulsor engines were nothing but clean; they didn't give off much heat. It was then that he wished he'd had his uniform on, but it was probably buried inside the wreckage of the mansion.

Peter squinted against the wind as the Quinjet slowed down some more, catching sight of a big building sitting near the river. There was what looked like a runway located by it, with lots of other Quinjets and people there.

This was probably the best opportunity Peter would have. He should act now; they were close enough to the ground and other buildings that he could break their fall before hitting anything.

Steeling himself, Peter shot strands of webbing into the repulsor engines, trying to jam them. He could hear the webbing sizzle as it entered the engines, but it didn't seem to be doing anything.

"Oh, damn it." Peter cursed Tony's ingenuity – because it really wasn't helping right now – and then he shifted so only his fingers were pinned to the belly. Swinging back like he was on the monkey bars back in grade school, he swung forward, kicking the joint where the engine was attached to the body. He put all his weight into it, hitting it with his heels. The impact jolted through his bones, and Peter struggled not to cry out.

Nothing seemed to have happened.

Ugh, why did Tony have to be so damn clever? It was great at any other time, but it was so damn inconvenient when Stark tech was being used against them.

What to do, what to do, what—

Oh. He was an idiot. All he had to do was stop the repulsors from getting lift, and then the Quinjet would drop like a stone (or a sheet of paper, but Peter wasn't picky). How to do that?

Peter smirked, promptly beginning to smother the bottom of the engine in webbing. The webbing began to glow blue, but it held strong. Once he was sure that this engine was completely smothered, he crawled over to the other one, repeating the process even as the Quinjet began to spin through the air, floundering without the use of one engine. Peter could hear the other one working overtime as it tried to burn through the webbing, but the sticky substance thankfully held fast.

He left the second engine only half-covered, not wanting the Quinjet to immediately go down, and began to crawl up to where the hatch would be. He reached the latch on the outside that would allow him to open it, pulling it. The air resistance made it more difficult than he remembered it being, but he managed to pry it open long enough for him to squeeze through.

Then he was inside and facing several panicking agents. Peter didn't hesitate to blind them with quick shots of webbing. Snagging a large gun and then grabbing Bruce by the arm, he hauled the still unconscious doctor over his shoulder. Aiming the gun at the hatch, Peter fired.

The kickback was more than he expected, nearly knocking him off his feet. But the weapon fired what looked like repulsor energy and blasted a hole through the Quinjet and into open sky.

"Stop him!" someone shouted.

Not willing to risk chancing the agents taking him down, Peter threw himself and Bruce out of the falling Quinjet, desperately trying to see where he was going. It took a moment for him to realize that there was water instead of earth rushing up at him, and then Peter curled up over Bruce, cushioning him against the painful impact.

The shock of the cold water punched all of Peter's meager oxygen out of his lungs. Aware he had only minutes before backup for that Quinjet arrived, Peter tightened his grip on Bruce and headed for the surface, breaking it only moments later to heave in oxygen.

In his arms, Bruce coughed, spluttering out cold water. He flailed, nearly clocking him in the face. Even in the dim light Peter could make out a slight tinge of green to his neck.

"Bruce, it's Peter," Peter gasped, ducking another flailing hand. He heard the Quinjet crash into the water some distance off. "Please don't Hulk out on me, man. It'll draw too much attention."

The sound of his voice seemed to do the trick. Bruce stopped struggling in his arms, blinking rapidly. "Peter?" His voice was rough.

"Yeah." Peter coughed out a mouthful of disgusting river water. "You can swim, right?"

Thankfully Bruce wasn't looking as green as before. "I'd like to know why we're in the water, but I think that can wait until we're clear of those lights." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the strobe lights S.H.I.E.L.D. was pointing their way.

"That sounds great," Peter said fervently, nodding. "Let's go and get dry."

That sadly didn't happen immediately. First they kept underwater to stay out of sight, and then they had to haul themselves out of the water and into the foliage by the bank of the river. Bruce pressed in first, his lighter clothes more visible in the night. Peter was wearing mostly black, but even he was right on Bruce's heels, the duffle bag bumping uncomfortably against him.

Oh shit. Spike.

"Spike!" Peter pulled the bag off his back, ripping apart the webbing, and zipped it open. "Spike, you okay?"

There was silence. Not even the power cord came out.

"Oh no…" Bruce closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

"I'm sorry," Peter said helplessly. "I'm so sorry."

Bruce shook his head. "No, it's my fault. I didn't remember him either."

"I was the one carrying him!" Peter said hysterically. "I should've remembered coffee machines and water don't mix!"

"You tried." Bruce took several breaths, eyes shut. "You tried, Peter."

"I'm sorry," Peter said miserably, staring down at the silent shape of what had been Spike.

"It's…we can't do this right now." Bruce reached down, zipping the bag back up. "We need to move, get away from here and into a public space where we can hide."

Peter couldn't stop staring at the bag, chest hurting and hurting. For a moment he saw Uncle Ben lying there, blood spreading over his chest, but then the image faded back to the soaked duffle bag containing Spike's body. He sobbed, covering his mouth.

"Peter?" Bruce asked, gentle even though he was right – they needed to move.

Pulling himself together as much as he was able, Peter took a breath, rubbed at his eyes, and nodded. "Right. Right. Let's go."

There was nothing he could do to fix this. Nothing.

It was stifling. The air smelled of smoke and burnt metal and plastic and rubble. The smoke made his lungs itch and want to cough, though he refrained thanks to years of practice. He had no idea where he was right now and coughing could give his location away to enemies.

Bringing his arm up to his nose to block at least some of the smoke, Clint blinked open stinging eyes. Natasha was next to him and still out cold, probably because of that trickle of blood drying on her temple. Clint checked her skull and found a small lump and some more dried blood matted in her hair. But she was breathing evenly, her color looked good, and her heart was beating, so Clint deemed her safe enough and turned his attention to his surroundings.

They had been in an underground S.H.I.E.L.D. bunker when that missile hit. He had no idea where James was, and the man had been right on top of them, foolishly protecting them with his body and metal arm as if that would keep them alive.

Then again, they were alive, so James had done something right. Now if only Clint could find him.

They weren't inside that hole in the ground anymore, and someone had cleared some of the rubble away and moved them to a sheltered location. Wincing as he moved his sore body, Clint took hold of his bow – which was thankfully in one piece – and crept around the large block of rubble they had been propped up against.

There was nothing around except for smoldering embers and the thick smoke. He couldn't hear anything either, and there were no moving lights to signal friendlies or hostiles.

"James?" he whispered, needing to at least give it a shot. There was no answer, and he risked moving a little further to try again. When there was again no answer and Clint had made sure they were well and truly alone, he went back to Natasha to think.

For better or for worse, he and Natasha were on their own. He didn't know where James was, and he doubted the man had gone and looked for help. He didn't seem the type, and Clint could read people well enough.

It was more likely that he had gone with whatever people had checked out the site of the missile blast. S.H.I.E.L.D. would have sent forces to make sure that they were dead, and James might have gone with them either willingly or followed them.

Damn it. He needed Natasha for this. She knew James better.

Putting his bow away, Clint knelt by Natasha and picked her up, grunting as his sore muscles made their displeasure known. He shifted her weight around until she was mostly slung over his shoulders before beginning to make the slow trek out of the wreckage and into hopefully cleaner air.

The camp was a mess, and Clint spared a faint thought of regret for the loss before he focused on getting Natasha somewhere safer where he could work on waking her up.

He didn't stop moving until he was past the fence and in the trees. Setting Natasha down against one, he exhaled in relief and sat back against the trunk of another, laying his bow down beside him. He had smelling salts on him; hopefully they hadn't broken.

Much to his luck, the smelling salts were intact, and he waved them under Natasha's nose, getting results almost instantly as she wrinkled her nose in displeasure, her brow furrowing. A moment later, she blinked open dazed eyes, managing to focus in on Clint a few seconds later.

"Clint?" Her voice was raspy.

"Yeah. We're safe."

Natasha coughed lightly, rubbing the side of her head where Clint had felt the lump. "James?"

"I'm sorry," Clint said, meaning it. "I looked, but I can't find him. I think he got us out, but he's not here anymore."

Natasha's gaze shuttered. Clint could almost read the thoughts flying through her mind, but not quite. She didn't say anything, her lips thinning as she shook her head once. "Where's my phone?"

It was still in her pocket, completely intact thanks to months of testing by Tony. But it had disconnected from JARVIS, so Natasha dialed the house number.

The call went straight to voicemail. "Hi there, you've reached the Avengers," Tony's voice said. "We can't answer the phone right now – probably too busy saving the world – but leave a message and we might get back to you. Better yet, call Pepper."

"Don't call Pepper," Steve's voice said. "Just leave a message, thank you. We'll get back to you." The beep sounded, signaling they could start speaking.

Clint and Natasha stared at the phone.

"We never get voicemail," Clint said, stunned.

"JARVIS?" Natasha tried. "It's Natasha and Clint. Code Black; we don't talk about that night because it's too embarrassing."

The voicemail box beeped again, signaling the end of their time. And still there was no JARVIS.

"Shit," Natasha said, summarizing Clint's thoughts nicely.

"We need to go," Clint said. "The car's probably trashed, but we can pick up another."

"Yes…" Natasha opened up an Avengers app, and she and Clint let out a sigh of relief when the signals of the two other Avengers communicators on Earth popped up on the screen. At least Bruce and Peter were all right.

But they weren't in the mansion.

"That isn't good," Clint said. "They're moving fast, too fast. Unless they caught a ride, someone's taken them."

"Damn it," Natasha whispered, closing her eyes. She took a breath, pressing the corner of the phone into her forehead. "This…this is my fault."

"Damn it, Nat," Clint snapped. "You know it isn't. Don't go taking this on yourself."

"I let James out."

Damn, it was about him. Clint already hated him on principle. Natasha had been betrayed too often in her past for her to take such a thing easily, and she and James had been close. How could James do such a thing?

"You didn't know," Clint said finally, reaching around Natasha to rub her shoulder comfortingly. He pulled her in slightly. "You were trying to help."

"I thought I could." Natasha closed her eyes, lips pinched together.

Clint closed his own eyes and inhaled deeply. His hand slid from Natasha's shoulder to the curve of her neck, pulling her in gently until he could press a soft kiss to her forehead before pressing his forehead to hers. "You did good, Nat," he said softly. "And you're going to do better."

Natasha didn't respond immediately, simply staying in place for several long minutes. Eventually, she moved enough so she could softly kiss Clint's cheek. "We need to go."

"Yeah," Clint said, looking back at the smoking remnants of Camp Lehigh.

One way or another, S.H.I.E.L.D. was going down.

It wasn't until they were past the trees bordering the river and making their way along the quiet street adjoining it that Bruce searched for his phone, thankfully finding it in his pocket. It was still in perfect working condition, albeit just a bit wet. He wiped off some of the moisture, unlocking it and going straight to call JARVIS.

JARVIS was JARVIS. The attack on the house wouldn't have destroyed him; he was so much more than just what he had in that small space. All Bruce needed to do was contact him and get whatever information he could.

Spike…

Bruce pushed that out his mind, not quite able to deal with that yet. JARVIS first.

But all he got was the voicemail of Tony and Steve. He tried again, this time leaving a message with the code phrase they had for this (his was "I can handle pointy objects, but please don't give me weed," courtesy of Tony), but JARVIS still didn't answer.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, sounding cold.

Bruce was cold, too. He rubbed a hand over his arm, thinking. "JARVIS isn't answering," he said eventually, voice low.

"What does that mean?"

"At this point, I don't know." Bruce shivered as a cold breeze brushed past him. "But we need to assume the worst."

"JARVIS, too?" Peter sounded stunned.

"I don't know," Bruce snapped. A second later, he reigned his temper in, taking in a calming breath. The Other Guy grumbled in his mind, upset at the upheaval, but he didn't try to push his way out, simply observing.

"I'm sorry," Peter whispered.

"It's not your fault." It wasn't a lie. Bruce was just as culpable as Peter for letting that happen. The kid had tried his best; it wasn't his fault it hadn't worked out.

No, it was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s fault, and Bruce was going to tear them down.

"Where are we going?" Peter asked.

"Somewhere quiet, but still public," Bruce said. "We need to regroup."

"Clint and Natasha are still out there," Peter pointed out.

Bruce glanced back, seeing that Peter was looking at his StarkPhone – more specifically the Avengers app pinpointing their locations. He should've thought of that; there was no excuse for such an oversight.

"Where are they?" Bruce asked.

"New Jersey?" Peter tapped once at the phone. "We're in DC."

Which was quite a way from New Jersey, and Bruce didn't have the capabilities to get there quickly without using the Other Guy, which was a last resort. He'd need to wait for them to come here. They were spies; they could manage that.

"If we stay on this road, we'll arrive at the Lincoln Memorial," Peter added after a minute. He sounded exhausted. "Can't say I've never wanted to see it." His forced cheer fell flat.

"We can rest there," Bruce said, the decision going against his better instincts. But Peter needed a break, and Bruce needed to think.

Peter voiced a breathless assent before falling back into silence.

Sometime later, they came into sight of the large memorial, crossing over the empty streets and traversing the grass to come up behind it. They pushed on through the trees until reaching the pavement.

Not willing to rest right on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, Bruce pushed past the weariness in his limbs and entered the shade of the trees on the second sidewalk further away from the reflection pond. He pressed on doggedly until finding a nice grove of trees that afforded them privacy while being in the relative public of a renowned national monument.

Then, exhausted, he practically collapsed against the base of a tree. Peter sat down next to him, leaning his head back against the bark.

"You did good," Bruce said eventually, eyes closed against the slowly pinkening sky that peeked through the tree branches.

"No, I didn't." Peter's answer was dull. "Spike's dead, and it's my fault."

"No, it isn't." Bruce pressed his lips together, looking at the sodden duffle bag lying at their feet. "It's S.H.I.E.L.D.'s. And they're going down." His tone was dark.

The two sat there for a while in silence, Bruce thinking about what they needed to do now to stay off S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar with JARVIS apparently unresponsive and their home destroyed.

Absorbed as he was, Bruce almost didn't hear it at first. It sounded like faint coughing.

Peter seemed to be dozing, water dripping from his damp hair, but Bruce could still hear that coughing. Then there was a hiccup along with what sounded like a faint electrical sizzle.

There was hope stirring in him now even though Bruce knew better. Nice things like this just didn't happen.

But still he reached out for the bag, mouth dry as he carefully unzipped it. Once it was open, he looked into it, desperately hoping for something that couldn't have happened.

Coughing faintly and with his lone eye shuttering, Spike's power cord curled weakly around Bruce's wrist. "Dad…dy?"

"Oh, Spike," Bruce breathed, happiness surging through him and warming him despite the wet, cold, and smelly clothes clinging to his skin. He reached in, carefully lifting Spike out and clutching to him to his chest. "Spike."

Spike wasn't moving easily, probably because of the water clogging his processors. He also didn't seem to be tracking quite right, calling out feebly for Tony in a desperate whine that only grew louder with each repetition.

"Is that…?" Peter was awake now, voice tentatively hopeful.

"He's alive," Bruce confirmed, turning back to him. "He'll be fine, Peter."

"Oh, thank God," Peter breathed, slumping against Bruce, his forehead coming to a rest on Bruce's shoulder. "Thank God." One hand reached out to touch Spike on the top, fingers visibly trembling.

They probably made for a strange sight, two men huddled around a crying coffee machine, but Bruce couldn't care less. Spike would be fine, Clint and Natasha were doubtlessly on their way, and they could figure out how to get in contact with JARVIS and take down S.H.I.E.L.D.

"I'm sorry," an unfamiliar voice said, "am I interrupting something here?"

Peter jumped, whirling around at the same time Bruce did. Bruce was still clutching a crying Spike to his chest, but that didn't mean he was defenseless.

"Whoa there." The black man put up his hands, showing he was unarmed; his sweaty running clothes had nowhere to stash weapons (though Bruce had seen some strange places used, courtesy of Clint and Natasha). "I didn't mean anything by it."

"How did you find us?" Bruce asked, keeping his voice even through force of will.

"I heard some crying," the man said. "And now…I see it's the coffee machine?" He sounded confused.

"Why don't you go back to whatever you were doing," Peter said, "and we'll forget this ever happened."

The man didn't move, his eyes skimming over their wet clothes, the open duffle bag behind them, and Spike. "Hang on… You're Bruce Banner, aren't you? And you…" He looked at Peter. "I'm gonna out on a limb and say you're Spider-Man."

Peter didn't answer.

"If you know who I am," Bruce said, "then you know that I can make this unpleasant for you."

"I didn't mean anything by it," the man said hurriedly. "I'm Sam. I met Natasha and James two days ago."

Bruce almost said that they couldn't prove anything because they couldn't risk contacting Natasha to confirm, but the use of James's name had him pause. The only reason Sam would know that Natasha was helping Steve's old friend was if he'd met Natasha and James. And that meant he was either telling the truth or was part of S.H.I.E.L.D.

But would a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent be out now? They probably had all hands on deck considering what was going on (unless Sam was a spy, but that was just paranoia speaking now).

"What did you talk about?" Bruce asked suspiciously, not moving towards him.

"James just got out from the war," Sam said slowly. "He was at the Smithsonian; that's where I met them." He paused for a moment, then added, "I joined the Air Force because of Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers."

There was an eagerness and awe in his voice that Bruce hadn't heard in any agent before other than Coulson. The Other Guy also wasn't reacting negatively to him, simply sitting placidly in the back of his head.

"Okay," Bruce said eventually, nodding. "I'm not sorry about that." He stood, one hand gently stroking down Spike's back. The movement wasn't helping Spike much, but it did help Bruce. "I needed to be sure."

"Does it have anything to do with why you guys are here and stinking of the Potomac?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Bruce answered.

"Okay." Sam's jaw set in a hard line. "Then why don't you come over to my place and we'll talk about it?"

"No offense," Peter said, "but a spy organization that we thought of as the good guys just tried to kill us. I don't think we want to go anywhere right now."

"Trust me," Sam said. "I only want to help."

This was a man Natasha had met while out with James. The Other Guy sensed no threat from him.

They couldn't hide here much longer.

"Then we'll go," Bruce said, making another decision that he hoped he wouldn't regret. "Where's your car?"

Sam's house was in the suburbs just outside of DC. There were enough people there to be used as leverage by the enemy if they were found, but Bruce hoped it wouldn't come to that. He couldn't bring that kind of trouble to Sam's doorstep, regardless of whether he'd volunteered to help them out.

Sam let them into the house first, remaining by the door to give the neighborhood one last look over. Then he closed it, drawing the blinds.

"All right then." Sam turned to them. "So there's a bathroom if you guys want to shower. I've also got clothes."

"At this point I'd even take dresses," Peter said. "Not that it's a bad thing. I could pull off a dress."

"I don't have any dresses," Sam said, unruffled. "But I'll get you something dry and wash that." He nodded to Peter's drenched clothes.

Bruce looked down at Spike, who was still shivering in Bruce's arms and crying quietly. He was worried about Spike's processors, which still crackled and fizzled slightly from the exposure to the water.

"Do you have a hair dryer?" Bruce asked.

Sam's eyes dropped to Spike. "I don't have a hair dryer." He gestured up to his head and the lack of hair to dry, smiling in wry amusement. "But I've got a heater in the kitchen if you think that'll do any good."

"I don't really know," Bruce admitted. "Tech's Tony's thing, but I've got to try and dry him out."

"Heater should be in a corner through there," Sam said, pointing to a door to his left. "Spider-Man, I'll show you to the bathroom and get you a towel."

Bruce hadn't really used a heater before, but Sam's heater was easy enough to figure out. He put Spike in front of it, pulling over a chair so that he could sit down next to the bot. A power cord curled around Bruce's ankle, Spike sliding back so that he was pressed against Bruce's legs.

A moment later, Sam entered the kitchen and gave the two of them a concerned look. "D'you want something to drink?"

"Tea wouldn't be remiss," Bruce said, smiling slightly.

"I can do that." Sam filled a kettle with water, putting it on the stove and turning the gas on. "Any preferences?"

"Anything you've got is fine."

Sam gave his cabinets a dubious look. "I think I've got green tea."

"That'll be great."

Bruce reached down to stroke his fingers across the top of Spike, soothing him. Spike shivered violently, whimpering.

"So…" Sam folded his arms, leaning back against the counter by the stove. "What's the story behind the…uh…coffee machine?"

"His name is Spike," Bruce explained, unable to resist smiling at Sam's obvious confusion. "He's one of Tony's artificial intelligences. Technically speaking, he's more like a human toddler and has the vocabulary to boot."

"An artificial intelligence," Sam repeated, nodding once. "I can see that happening with Tony Stark. He seems the type."

Bruce laughed. "You have no idea. Just wait until you meet the others." He was about to continue, but then it hit him that Sam couldn't. JARVIS was gone, and he had no idea if the others were in any better condition. Peggy certainly wasn't. Throat thick, Bruce looked back down at Spike, eyes stinging uncomfortably.

Thankfully Sam didn't press the issue. "Is there a reason you guys took a dive in the Potomac? It doesn't seem your thing."

"To be honest, I'd like to know that, too." Bruce gave the direction of the bathroom a look. "But I was out cold for most of it until I woke up in the water."

"But what a wake-up call," Sam said, snorting. "That reminds me, I need to bring your friends some dry clothes."

Shooting the stove a glance, Sam went out, leaving Bruce alone with Spike at his feet.

Sighing, Bruce continued stroking Spike soothingly. He didn't think it was helping. Spike really needed Tony – or failing that, JARVIS. But with neither of them here, Bruce would have to make do as best as he could.

The phone was a dead weight in his pocket, and Bruce didn't pull it out to see if he could find out where Clint and Natasha were. They'd make their way here some way or another. All Bruce could do was wait here and shiver in his wet and stinky clothes.

"Hot water is awesome," Peter was telling Sam as they reentered the kitchen, Peter in clothes several sizes too large for him and Sam with an armful of stinky clothes.

"I don't doubt it," Sam said completely seriously. Meeting Bruce's eyes, his lips curved into a warm smile. "Shower's open for you if you want."

"Oh God, yes please," Bruce said fervently, unable to disguise his relief.

"Tea'll be ready once you're out," Sam promised.

"Looking forward to it," Bruce said entirely truthfully. He unwound Spike's cord from around his ankle, giving his chair to Peter. Spike promptly curled his cord around Peter's ankle.

By now desperate to get out of his clothes, Bruce hurried to the guest bathroom. There was already another set of clothes and a towel lying on the bed. Bruce didn't give the clothes a close look, simply snatching up the towel and locking himself in the bathroom. The mirror was foggy from Peter's shower, but Bruce didn't mind. The water was already warm, and all Bruce needed to do was unpeel his clothes from his skin and step inside the cubicle.

The water was just the right temperature and the pressure perfect. Bruce spent probably too much time under it, but he couldn't help himself.

When he finally managed to peel himself away from the water, the bathroom was steamy with heat. Bruce wrapped the towel around his waist, stepping onto the cool tile floor. He wiped off some of the steam from the mirror, checking his reflection.

His own face looked back at him, exactly as weary and lined as he'd seen every single time before. Except now there was a glint of something feral in his eyes that Bruce was all too familiar with.

For once, the Other Guy and he were on exactly the same page.

Newly resolved and refreshed, Bruce changed into Sam's clothes, the shirt a bit loose around the shoulders but the pants about the right length. He left the towel on the rung by the shower, rejoining Sam and Peter in the kitchen.

"Tea's cooled down some, but it's still warm," Sam said, handing him a steaming cup.

Bruce took his time savoring the smell. "Thanks."

"No problem." Sam sounded completely sincere.

It was just a bit on the ridiculous side. Sam was a stranger, and here he was housing two Avengers and a coffee machine in his house simply because he'd stumbled across them by the Lincoln Memorial.

Still, Bruce didn't say anything. He couldn't really afford to. They didn't have a home base anymore, and S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't exactly trustworthy.

His tea was almost gone when the doorbell rang. Bruce and Peter froze, meeting each other's eyes in consternation.

Sam frowned, glancing out the window. "I'm not expecting anyone," he said slowly.

"We might be," Bruce said, putting his cup down.

"Well, I don't see any suspicious men in black out there, but you never know." Sam took a large knife.

"I'll stay here in case we need a getaway," Peter said.

Bruce hoped they wouldn't need it, but he wasn't sure that it was Clint and Natasha. He hoped it was, but one never knew.

The doorbell rang again, the sound seeming more insistent now even though that was technically impossible.

Sam crept up to it, peeking through the blinds to see who it was. Whatever he saw had his body relaxing and his grip on the knife slackening. "It's your team."

Bruce slid up to his side to look as well, seeing Clint and Natasha standing there. Natasha had some dried blood on her temple, and both of them were completely filthy, dirt and soot marring their pale skin and darkening their clothes even further.

"It's them," Bruce confirmed needlessly, stepping back to give Sam some room to unlock the door.

Clint and Natasha both visibly tensed as the door opened, and their eyes widened upon seeing Bruce standing behind Sam.

"Sam?" Natasha asked, surprised.

"I'd say 'surprise,' but I don't think this is the best time," Sam said, stepping back. "Come on in."

They did, Clint noticeably warier than Natasha. Natasha gave Sam a small smile and nodded, eyes searching out Bruce.

"Bruce, can you check out Natasha's head?" Clint asked once the door was closed. "She got hit by something."

"I've got a first aid kit you can use," Sam offered.

Several minutes later, Bruce attended to Natasha's head in the guest bathroom. He wiped the cut on her forehead, sterilizing it. It wasn't bad; the bleeding had already stopped. There was only a small lump on her head, and Natasha didn't even wince when Bruce checked it.

"Any dizziness or head pain?" Bruce asked.

"No." Natasha's smile was wry. "Tony's not the only one with a hard head."

Bruce smiled back, trashing the wipe he had used. "I think it's safe to say all of us have hard heads." He wiped off some soot from her cheek. "Any smoke inhalation issues?"

"I haven't had any problems breathing."

"Good," Bruce murmured, checking her pulse. When he was done, he spoke again, quietly, "You had James with you, didn't you?"

Natasha stiffened slightly under his touch, and she gently pulled her arm away. "He's not with us," she said finally, not meeting Bruce's eyes. "We need to talk."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, but didn't press the issue. She was right anyway.

Once the first aid kit was packed up, Bruce followed Natasha into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. Peter was still in the corner with Spike at his feet. Clint had set his quiver and bow by his feet and was leaning back against the counter, face set in grim lines. Sam was standing in the middle of the kitchen like he wasn't entirely sure what to do but didn't want to admit it.

"Everything good?" Clint asked once Bruce sat down.

"She's clear," Bruce confirmed.

Natasha went to stand by Clint, arms crossed. "We need to talk about this."

"Peter told me the house was blown up," Clint said quietly, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

Natasha didn't blink, although her face hardened. "What did it?"

"A S.H.I.E.L.D. missile," Bruce answered, interlacing his fingers on the tabletop. "That was all JARVIS could tell me before we evacuated."

Natasha's lips tightened. "Speaking of him…"

Bruce shook his head. "No, nothing."

"Damn it," Natasha muttered, glancing out the window. "I'd hoped it was just us…"

"What did you find at Camp Lehigh?" Bruce asked, chest hurting at the mention of JARVIS and all they had lost.

Clint scowled, hands clenching into fists on the counter. "Nothing good."

"A supercomputer containing the consciousness of Arnim Zola," Natasha elaborated evenly, eyes dark. "He told us quite a few things. Chief among them being that HYDRA has been inside S.H.I.E.L.D. since its origins."

"Hang on," Sam interrupted. "You don't mean HYDRA, do you? The same HYDRA Captain America took down?"

"The same," Natasha said. "He only took down part of it with Red Skull's death, temporarily incapacitating it to the point where it took refuge inside S.H.I.E.L.D. to recuperate. We encountered another branch of it some weeks ago. HYDRA is still alive and well."

Sam didn't look at all pleased by this bit of news.

Bruce felt sick. "How didn't we find this out sooner?" They'd had JARVIS in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s systems. Shouldn't he have discovered it?

Natasha shrugged. "I don't know. But we know now."

"Like JARVIS said, the algorithm on that drive Fury gave us is for Project Insight. But that project's HYDRA's little brain child." Clint's mouth twisted angrily. "How much do you want to bet we're on that kill list?"

"That's not a bet I'm taking," Natasha said, "given that there's a hundred percent chance we are."

"We're not letting it happen, are we?" Peter asked, fingers anxiously stroking Spike. "We can't."

"Don't worry." Natasha tilted her head back slightly. "We'll stop it."

"We should call in Tony and Steve," Bruce said.

"We don't need them," Natasha disagreed. "And they need this break. We can deal with this without their help."

"We're down a hacker, Natasha."

"We've not needed a person with computer skills on most of our missions," Natasha said quietly. "And Clint and I – we've toppled governments before." Her smile was self-deprecating. "Probably for HYDRA, but who cares? We've done it before, and we can do it now."

"Project Insight was almost ready to go when I saw it," Clint said. "And since they just assassinated Fury, I'd bet anything that it's going to be up and running within the next two days."

"But you don't have a way of finding out because you don't have a hacker," Bruce pointed out, keeping most of his ire out of his voice. He couldn't afford to get angry here. The Other Guy knew they were his teammates and friends, but he was also pissed, and there was no telling if he'd go off and smash everything to do with S.H.I.E.L.D. or listen to Bruce and stay down for now.

"We don't need a hacker," Natasha repeated simply.

"We've got someone on the inside who can tell us everything we need to know," Clint added, his smirk just a tad devilish. "I'm sure he won't mind."

"You guys are the reason they teach us stranger danger," Peter said.

Sam shifted, hands coming to his hips. "You guys think you have room for one more?"

Clint looked at him, brow furrowing slightly. "You're a civilian. We can't put you more at risk than you already are."

"I may not be in the army anymore, but I'm still not just a civilian." Sam chewed the inside of his lip. "Hang on a moment." He slipped out of the kitchen, only to come back in a few minutes later, a folder in hand and looking slightly sheepish. "Technically speaking, I'm not supposed to have this…"

Natasha took the file, opening it; Clint read it over her shoulder.

"You're Pararescue?" Clint asked, looking up in obvious surprise. "That mission in Bakhmala – the Khalid Khandil – that was you? I heard about that; it was really impressive work. They couldn't get any choppers in because of the RPGs."

Natasha was smirking. "Clever… You worded it so specifically that anyone not paying attention would assume you're a pilot. But you're not."

Sam grinned back. "I'm a specific type of pilot."

"Do you have one of these with you?" Clint asked, giving the file to Bruce to peruse.

Sam's smile was slightly sheepish. "The last one's at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall."

Natasha's answering grin was amused even as she shrugged dismissively, sharing a knowing glance with Clint. "No problem."

"I thought when I joined the good guys there'd be a lack of stealing," Peter muttered from his corner.

For his own part, Bruce was looking down at the file with disbelief. The army really had people like Sam Wilson on their payroll?

"But you're sure about this?" Natasha looked at Sam, face serious. "It's not the same as the army."

"Man, the Avengers need my help." Sam had a shit-eating grin on his face that was eerily reminiscent of Tony. "There's no better reason to get back into it."

Natasha nodded, lips twitching into a grin. "Then let's get started. Bruce, Peter, you're staying here as backup."

Bruce had to force himself not to tighten his grip on the file. The Other Guy rumbled discontentedly in the back of his mind. "We don't have a communications system anymore."

"We'll keep our phones on," Natasha said. "One-way only. You'll hear us, but we won't hear you. Sound good?"

Bruce chewed his lip, closing his eyes. "I still think we should call Tony and Steve."

"They'd make it easier," Natasha conceded, "but we don't need them. And they do need the break. We've got all we need right here."

"Speaking of that…" Sam looked curiously at Natasha. "Where's James? I would've thought he'd help out."

The corners of Natasha's eyes tightened. "He won't." Her answer was short, and she didn't say anything more, but Clint's face darkened significantly.

Sam tilted his head slightly but didn't pry further. His mouth twisted slightly in what might have been sympathy, but Bruce could have been reading it wrong.

One thing was for sure, though. Bruce had no doubt that this entire thing was going to go up in smoke one way or another. Their luck just wasn't that good.

Several hours later, Clint and Natasha waited on the roof of a building across the street from where Sam was sitting at a table. They'd pinpointed Jasper Sitwell to this building where he was in a meeting, and they weren't going to let him go.

Natasha played with a laser pen she had procured for this particular part of their mission, the device flipping over and through her fingers. "Clint…there's something I need to tell you about James – the Winter Soldier."

Clint felt a simmer of red hot rage in his stomach, and he swallowed down his angry reply, keeping his voice even. "What?"

"You remember who I was…what I was like when you were ordered to kill me." Natasha kept her eyes on the building where Sitwell was. "The Winter Soldier is like that, only more. It's what the Red Room made him into – turned us into. He won't hesitate to kill an enemy, and he's incredibly powerful. Whatever you do, don't engage him in close quarters."

Clint nodded once, but didn't speak. He was well aware that he was compromised, but he didn't care. It was dangerous; he knew it was, but James – the Winter Soldier – had hurt Natasha. And he wouldn't take that lying down.

Natasha could take care of herself; Clint knew that better than anyone. But she had been betrayed too often for this to be easy for her, and Clint hated that James Barnes had hurt her. Steve's friend or no, Clint wouldn't take this lightly.

Focusing on Sam, Clint saw Sitwell bid farewell to one Senator Stern. If that senator was part of HYDRA, it did put a whole new spin on him wanting Tony's Iron Man suits. Clint had only heard about that entire fiasco peripherally from Natasha, but the video of Tony calling a bunch of senators ass-clowns was still one of the most popular ones on YouTube.

Some minutes later, both Clint and Natasha were smirking at the spooked look on Sitwell's face. It looked like Sam was doing an excellent job of creeping the agent out.

Natasha flipped the laser pen around and turned it on, aiming it towards Sitwell's heart. It was a relatively powerful one, something that Natasha had lying around in her little bag of odds and ends.

After Sam left the table he'd been sitting at, Clint and Natasha left as well for the prearranged meeting spot.

They managed to sneak into that building easily enough despite Clint's ostentatious Avengers uniform and his weapons. Years of blending into the background served them well enough here despite the dangerous aura emitting off the two of them.

Once on the roof, they waited for Sitwell to arrive, which he did several minutes later. He seemed nervous, and he visibly blanched upon seeing Clint and Natasha stroll languorously towards him. Black Widow and Hawkeye were two of the most notorious assassins S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever had on its payroll. Individually they were already dangerous, but together as a team they were infamous. Their file on Budapest was virtually nothing but blacked out lines, the information open to only the highest of officials.

"I should've known you two were still alive," Sitwell muttered, taking several steps back towards the ledge of the roof.

"We're a bit harder to kill than that," Clint said, smiling amiably. "But I don't hold what happened in the elevator against you. But what happened to our house? That's…ah…something different."

"But that's not why you're here," Natasha continued smoothly, stepping up close and personal to Sitwell. Her smile turned predatory as Sitwell took another nervous step back, flinching away from her.

"Project Insight," Clint said, not moving towards Sitwell.

Sitwell glanced at him, his eyes anxiously tracking Natasha's movements. "What of it?"

"When is it launching?"

Sitwell snorted, then took another step back as Natasha leaned in, still with that predatory smile on her face. "You really think I know?"

"I think you're a man with connections," Clint said. "You know exactly what's up with Project Insight."

"Doesn't mean I'll tell you."

"If you did," Natasha said sweetly, one hand trailing up Sitwell's front, "then I'd doubt S.H.I.E.L.D.'s abilities for recruiting a man like you. There's no place for…weakness." She arched an eyebrow, stepping forward again into Sitwell's personal space. By now the man was on the edge of the ledge.

"Nice thought from you, Black Widow," Sitwell said, lips curling into a faint sneer.

"Thank you." Natasha sounded completely sincere. "You can think about it. From the bottom of the building." With a gentle push, she shoved Sitwell right off the ledge; he disappeared from sight with a bloodcurdling scream.

"What do you think about grabbing lunch once this is over?" Natasha asked Clint, turning back to him.

"Sounds great. Italian?"

"That little place by the tower?"

"Exactly what I thought."

With another piercing scream, Sitwell flailed back into sight, dragged up by Sam Wilson wearing the EXO-7 Falcon jetpack. He was dropped to the roof in front of Clint and Natasha, Sam landing afterwards. His wings straightened out and tucked smoothly into the jetpack, his thrusters flaring orange with heat; he pulled his goggles up onto his forehead, eyes flickering between the three of them.

Sitwell was gasping for air, trying to stumble to his feet and failing. He flopped to his butt as Natasha prowled towards him, scrambling away from her. "Okay, okay! Stop it!"

"You're going to talk?" Natasha demanded.

"I'm on your side!" Sitwell shouted, one hand up in the air. "I'm a spy in HYDRA!"

"Likely story," Clint said, snorting.

"It's true!" Sitwell tried to stand, only for his legs to give out. He was hauled up a moment later by Natasha, her hand fisted in his collar. "I was in with Coulson! Fury assigned us to A.I.M., but I was soon brought in by HYDRA. They had me relocated to S.H.I.E.L.D. as their guy on the inside." His eyes flickered between Natasha and Clint. "I couldn't let Fury know what was going on; there were too many eyes and I had no idea who to trust."

"That sounds awfully convenient," Clint said, standing by Natasha's shoulder. "How long did it take you to cook up that story?"

Sitwell slapped away Natasha's hand, taking a step back. He was still noticeably wobbly, but no longer about to fall over. "There's no evidence I have right now that can convince you. But I can tell you when Project Insight will be launching and where Pierce is going to be. It's due to launch tomorrow, and the World Security Council has front row seats to the entire thing.

"And…S.T.R.I.K.E. brought in the Winter Soldier from Camp Lehigh." Sitwell looked at Natasha.

Natasha's gaze hardened, her lips thinning. "For what?"

"They didn't tell me." Sitwell glanced back at Sam. "Pierce took him away. I've also heard word about HYDRA using new Extremis soldiers, and these are fierier than before."

"Yeah, kinda hard to miss with the last one breathing fire," Clint said dryly.

"No, I mean the explosive kind," Sitwell said snappishly. "Like human bombs. What do you think took out Fury's car?"

Clint blinked, remembering the devastation of that scene. "Shit."

"Yeah, that's one way to put it." Sitwell snorted.

"We took out Extremis," Natasha said sharply, gaze hard and her bearing nothing like what it had been before. Clint hated Sitwell even more for making Natasha retreat into her shell.

"Not entirely," Sitwell said. "Aldrich Killian was in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody…" He trailed off suggestively.

"Oh, damn it," Clint snapped, disliking this entire endeavor. "So we let a megalomaniac working for A.I.M. into HYDRA's clutches and he's given them the entire serum on a silver platter. What reason do you have for being a turncoat for HYDRA? I hear their benefits are just swell."

Sitwell snorted. "You would like to think so, wouldn't you? Do you really think HYDRA would take someone like me?" He gestured at himself. "They're fucking Nazis. I have had it up to here"—he placed his hand above his head—"with their bigoted beliefs. The only reason I haven't called it quits is because it's my job and there was nowhere to run. They're inside S.H.I.E.L.D."

Clint narrowed his eyes. "We know. And that's why Project Insight needs to be taken down."

Sitwell smiled sharply at him. "Then count me in."

"Great," Sam said, hands on his waist. "What now?"

"Now we decide what to do," Clint said when Natasha didn't respond immediately. She was still staring at Sitwell, her eyes narrowed.

Finally, she spoke. "We don't trust you, but you're coming with us. We can use a man like you."

Sitwell's smile turned sardonic. "Thank you, Black Widow. How generous."

"Zip it, buddy," Clint warned, stepping closer to him. "Like she said, we don't trust you. But like it or not, we're going to need your help."

"And like I already said, you have it." Sitwell crossed his arms. "So where are we doing this?"

Fifteen minutes later, they had all stowed away in Sam's car, Natasha behind the wheel. Clint had his fingers on his bow, sitting at an odd angle to make space for his quiver. He wasn't going to let his weapons off him for longer than necessary, not after current events.

"You guys have less than sixteen hours to figure out how to shut down Project Insight," Sitwell from the back. "Have you given any thought how to do so?"

"Already working on it," Natasha said, not taking her eyes off the road.

"Don't you have that artificial intelligence of Stark's?" Sitwell pressed. "JARVIS, is it? Can't he help?"

"No," Clint said shortly, stung at the reminder that JARVIS was down. "He can't."

"Where is Stark anyway? And Rogers? I would've thought they'd be here."

"Man, the only reason you're not gagged right now is because we don't have anything handy, but I won't hesitate to take a sock and stuff it in your mouth," Sam threatened.

"Tony and Steve are busy," Natasha said, a small smile tugging at her lips at Sam's threat. She glanced at Clint in amusement. "But we can handle this."

"You mean you're down both hackers?" Sitwell sounded dismayed.

"Seriously," Sam said, "sock meet mouth. And I don't think I washed this pair."

Sitwell gave Sam a look, brow furrowed. "Just who is this guy anyway?"

Sam scowled at him even as Natasha said, "Falcon, our newest member. Play nice."

"I'm playing nice," Sam said, sniffing. He looked out the window, clearly deeming Sitwell not worth his attention.

"Of course he flies," Sitwell muttered, sitting back.

"Our team has a god of thunder and a man in a weaponized suit of armor, and they both fly," Clint said, twisting to give Sitwell a hard look. "Is your only beef with him that he flies?"

Sitwell glared ineffectively at him. Clint's only response was to raise an eyebrow and twist back to face the front.

"The kids doing all right?" Natasha asked.

"They've stopped fighting for the moment, sweetheart."

"Be good, and we'll get ice cream," Natasha said, looking at them in the mirror.

"I only take chocolate, as black as my soul," Sam said, slouching down in his seat.

Natasha snorted, turning her attention back to the street. A moment later, she frowned, gaze flickering to the mirror. "Clint…that car…"

Clint glanced back, seeing Sam and Sitwell do the same. A large black SUV instantly caught his attention, simply because it was barreling towards them at highly illegal speeds. "I got it." Unbuckling, he rolled down the window and stuck half his torso out, notching an arrow to his bow.

Relax the muscles, take a breath, and release.

The arrow hit the front left wheel, sending the car into a tailspin that abruptly stopped when it crashed into the side of the bridge they were driving on.

Smirking in satisfaction, Clint ducked back into the car. "I feel like a delinquent, shooting at cars on highways and making them crash."

"If it helps, I promise I won't arrest you," Natasha teased, shooting him a grin.

"Thanks, officer."

"Save it for the bedroom." Natasha grinned again at the strangled cough from Sam, her eyes flickering back to the mirror. They widened, and she shouted, "They're firing; get out!"

Clint twisted around, breath catching when he saw a figure clothed in black aiming a large gun right for their car. He stood in the middle of the highway, heedless of the cars zipping by him. Other black figures crowded around him.

Not bothering to wait, Clint flung open the door and threw himself out of the car, trusting in his uniform to keep him safe from the pavement. Seconds later, the car exploded violently in a burst of fiery heat. The explosion hurtled him further away, and he skidded to a stop at the side of the road, body curled protectively around his bow.

Rolling smoothly to his feet, Clint notched an arrow, aiming it directly at the Winter Soldier's face. The arrow went flying a second later.

The bastard just turned his head, letting the arrow sail right by him and land in the back of one of his companions, who dropped like a stone. Then he turned back to Clint, his face blocked from view by large black goggles and a mask.

"Barton, what are you doing?!" Sitwell grabbed hold of Clint's elbow, deterring him from notching another arrow to his bow. "Run!"

Clint didn't bother looking at Sitwell, all his attention focused on the Winter Soldier. The bastard had discarded the first gun and reached for another, prowling towards Clint.

There was no hesitation in his movements – no fear. There was simply confidence and arrogance, the ease of a man who had full confidence in his abilities and absolutely no fear.

"Barton!" Sitwell snapped, dragging him back.

On the other side of the bridge, Natasha fired off some shots to several of the hapless enemies behind the Winter Soldier before jumping off the bridge. Sam had ducked out of sight.

"Let go," Clint growled, shaking his arm free from Sitwell's grip. He took out his second grappling arrow, hooking it to the side of the bridge and letting it drop down. "You go first."

Sitwell glared at Clint for all of a second before doing as Clint said. The side of his face was scraped up, and his hands were bloody, but that didn't seem to impede his movements.

Glancing back to the Winter Soldier, Clint was irritated to see that the man wasn't even looking at him. No, he was more focused on someone on the ground, and that someone was shooting bullets directly into his face. Probably Natasha then.

Clint swung over the side of the bridge before the Winter Soldier could refocus on him. Sitwell had already dropped to the ground, but Clint had no such plans.

Once there was enough give, Clint swung himself back and forth, gathering enough momentum to swing himself directly under the bridge so he could land by Natasha. She fired off another bullet and then ran right by him.

Clint should follow her. He really should. But damn it…he couldn't. He was beyond compromised, and he didn't care. All he could focus on was the man up on that bridge.

Gunfire aimed at him distracted him, and Clint threw up an arm, shielding his vulnerable face. He backed up, reaching for another arrow.

The men up on the bridge stopped shooting at him for some odd reason, and Clint could see the Winter Soldier stand, turning to look at him with his uncovered eyes. They were terrifying to look at, piercing through Clint with their intensity.

Clint took another couple steps back, letting loose his next arrow. This one went sailing over the bastard's head as he simply ducked, one hand coming up to grip the bridge's side. Then the Winter Soldier swung himself up and over, landing with a crunch on top of an abandoned car. The fall didn't seem to dissuade him; he just straightened and casually walked down the car, eyes fixed on Clint.

His bearing had all the grace and power of a predator stalking a prey.

But Clint wasn't powerless, and he definitely had a bite.

He let another arrow fly, but this one bounced harmlessly off the other's metal arm when he blocked it and was then promptly crushed underfoot.

He should run; he was outclassed here.

But Clint wasn't that smart.

He took the Winter Soldier on at a dead run, slamming him into him with his good shoulder.

It was like hitting Steve. The man barely staggered back a foot. No, he simply gripped hold of Clint's shoulders and flipped over him. Clint barely had time to turn when a powerful kick to his chest knocked him up into the air and then to the asphalt with a painful thump, several feet away from the Winter Soldier.

Clint coughed, then was rudely jolted back into reality when someone grabbed hold of his ankles and twisted him around and let go to leave him flying through the air, only to crash painfully into the side of a car. He heard the sound of reinforced glass cracking and slid down the car to land on the pavement, his elbow screaming with the impact.

Scrambling to his feet as quickly as his bruised body would allow, Clint pulled out an arrow despite his elbow's protestations. He fired at the Winter Soldier, only for the other to sidestep it and continue walking to Clint.

Seeing no other course, Clint ran forwards, taking a dive at the last possible moment to avoid those metal fingers as they swiped for his head. He knocked the Winter Soldier's feet out from under him, sending him thumping to the pavement.

But the man was ungodly quick, kicking Clint back and jumping onto his feet in one smooth movement. Clint coughed as he felt his ribs shift in a way they shouldn't from the impact.

He should let this go – he should, but… "I'm not letting you go," he breathed, glaring up at the Winter Soldier. "You hurt her, you bastard. She trusted you, and you hurt her." White hot rage curdled in his stomach, pushing back the pain and the knowledge that this was a very, very bad idea. Fingers tightening on his bow, Clint lunged up, swinging his bow back for a devastating crack directly against the Winter Soldier's damn mask.

It hit, the Winter Soldier's face turning with the blow and the mask flying off to land across the street. When the other turned to look at Clint, his jaw was tight and his eyes burning bright.

Clint had all of a second to realize that he had just pissed someone off that he really shouldn't have when metal fingers closed around his neck and he was lifted right off his feet.

Unable to breathe, Clint groped ineffectively at the Winter Soldier's fingers for a few seconds before reaching back for a very specific arrow. Feeling the distinctive fletching, Clint pulled it out and jabbed it in the Winter Soldier's arm. Electricity sparked from the head, paralyzing the Winter Soldier's arm and spiraling up the metal to the flesh and blood portion of the man.

Clint could barely scream as the electricity jolted through him as well right before the Winter Soldier let him drop, his body curling in with the electricity coursing through him.

His vocal chords uncooperative, Clint heaved in several breaths, staggering upright and whacking the Winter Soldier across the face again with the end of his bow. This time the man went flying back, taken off guard.

Taking another deep breath, Clint said hoarsely, "I'm not that easy to take down, you bastard. You've really pissed me off."

The Winter Soldier yanked the offending arrow out of his arm, dropping it to the ground. Then he stood, pinning Clint with that same burning gaze as before. The electrocution didn't even seem to have fazed him.

Oh, fuck.

Clint was hopelessly outclassed here, and his ribs were definitely bruised. Natasha had been right to warn him off from engaging the Winter Soldier, and what had he done?

Gone and done it anyway.

Barton, you are completely screwed.

But Clint wasn't a complete idiot. He knew when it was time to call his losses and run. And now was definitely a good time to do so.

So he wasn't at all ashamed to turn tail and run.

But Clint had barely run several feet when something slammed into his back and sent him flying forward and landing directly on his face. He twisted to his side for the rest of the slide, the pavement burning his skin even through his uniform.

Gasping, Clint turned onto his back, about to get up when a gunshot at point blank range slammed into his chest, knocking him flat. His chest exploded into pain, the uniform not quite able to absorb the force of a bullet at such close range.

He had to move.

Sliding back as best as he could, Clint propped himself up, chest screaming at him. A woman was standing by the Winter Soldier, a gun in her hands. She grinned maniacally at him, eyes bright with something Clint recognized as insanity. A faint orange light simmered beneath her skin.

Not liking the breather they were giving him, Clint carefully stood, one arm coming across his chest. He dug his fingers into his chest for a moment, fingers flexing in the unyielding cloth before he reached back for an arrow.

The woman disappeared in a blur, and then blindingly hot heat was clutching at his wrist, clasping it so tightly that he felt his bones creak in protest. That arm was wrenched back, his shoulder protesting against the unnatural movement; a pained grunt escaped him.

Clint couldn't even twist out of her grasp. The Winter Soldier was suddenly there, knee coming up to land in Clint's gut so that he doubled over in pained agony. Then a fist buried itself in his already sore ribs, and Clint swore he felt something snap even as he inadvertently straightened out from the impact.

He had enough time to see the Winter Soldier's terrifyingly blank face as that metal fist landed in his chest, snapping something else, and then Clint was flying again, landing right onto another car. This time his inertia sent the car skidding back, and he actually crunched the metal inward.

Coughing painfully and feeling his ribs shift in ways that they definitely shouldn't, Clint tried to breathe shallowly, pain making his eyes water. Miraculously he hadn't let go of his bow, all those years of practice paying off.

If only that they weren't needed.

Clint pried himself out of the car, his feet landing heavily on the pavement. He coughed into his hand, thankful there wasn't any blood. He would really be in deep shit then.

But he needed to run. And he needed to run now.

Ignoring the throbbing pain of his wrenched shoulder, Clint pulled out another arrow and shot it at the Winter Soldier and the woman's feet, letting loose a smoke cloud that he used to make his retreat.

Now he really couldn't stop himself from clutching at his ribs. He shouldn't be moving; he was just increasing his chances of puncturing a lung.

But he also couldn't stay.

So he soldiered on, hobbling away from the scene. Managing to make it into an alley, Clint stumbled to a stop by a couple of stinky trash cans. He slid down the wall to a heap on the grungy ground before he could stop himself, his body calling it quits.

Such an idiot.

Clint kept his breathing as shallow as he could, desperately trying not to aggravate his broken ribs.

Hopefully he'd bored them and they wouldn't come—

"I can smell you, little bird," a woman's voice sang.

Oh shit. What was she – a bloodhound?

"Thought you could outrun me? I don't think so…" The woman laughed, the sound sending chills down Clint's spine, and she stepped into view, turning her head to grin right at a stunned Clint. "Any last words?" she purred, stepping closer to him.

Clint heaved in another painful breath, notching one last arrow to his bow. It probably wouldn't do anything, but he had to try.

Judging from the orange flickering under the woman's skin like bad special effects, she was probably one of the Extremis soldiers Sitwell had warned them about. And that meant she could go off like a bomb and barbecue Clint.

"Yeah," Clint breathed eventually, his bowstring fully drawn back and ready to fire. "I don't go down easy."

He let the arrow go just as the woman's skin turned completely orange.

Clint's world exploded into heat and fire.

Natasha ran past Clint, trusting him to have her back. She'd grazed James across those blasted goggles, and he'd sunk down out of sight, probably to nurse his bruised ego.

She ran out from under the bridge, escaping cover, and she jumped up as bullets hit the ground at her feet. She didn't have her uniform, just the civilian clothes that she'd embarked on this mission with. And while she could fight, she had to be more careful.

Diving over a car, Natasha hid behind it, letting the bullets ping off the other side of the vehicle.

"Go!" she heard Sam shout. She looked up to see Sam with a gun in his hands and shooting down the enemy. "I got your back!"

Where was Clint?

She saw Sitwell clearing civilians from the area, a gun in his hands. He met her eyes briefly, mouth twisting before he pushed a woman away.

Natasha exhaled sharply, head twisting back to the car when something crashed onto it. Her eyes widened upon seeing a brutish looking man with a savage grin leering down at her.

"I found a little spider," he sneered.

Natasha backed away from the car, eyes scanning the man's form and analyzing his weaknesses. His eyes flickered orange, and that was all the warning Natasha had before the man disappeared from view in a blur.

Instinctively, she dropped to the ground, feeling something swipe through the spot where her head had been. She twisted, knocking the man's legs out from under him and toppling him to the asphalt. Getting to her feet, she ran, not trusting her abilities against an Extremis super soldier. She all too clearly remembered what had happened the last time she'd gotten close and personal with someone using Extremis.

A howl of rage was all the warning Natasha had before she felt something approach her from behind. She dove into a roll, flattening out on her back to let the man fly over her. Then she jumped to her feet, running forward and leaping to wrap her legs around the man's neck. She dug her fists into his head, activating her Widow's Bites.

The man screamed, the electricity coursing through him, but Natasha wasn't quite done with him yet. Releasing the Bite, Natasha twisted, using that move Tony so liked and brought him to the ground.

She scrambled away, only to fall to the ground when he grabbed her ankle, grip painfully tight. Teeth clenched, Natasha kicked him in the face, hearing the satisfying crunch of his nose giving way under her heel. He let go of her ankle with a pained yowl, and Natasha rolled away, getting up with all the grace afforded her as the Black Widow.

Breathing heavily, she looked down at him, eyes narrowing when she saw his face glow orange and his nose reform from the crushed mess she had turned it into.

"Fuck," she swore softly in Russian. She did not need this.

The man was already getting to his feet, smirking at her. He took one menacing step in her direction before his torso was riddled with bullets from behind.

"I got him!" Sam shouted, another gun in his hands. He'd retrieved the jetpack sometime in the last several minutes, and the wings were flared out to brace himself as he fired on the soldier.

Trusting in him to have her back, Natasha ran, jumping over a car and moving to put distance between them. A quick glance behind her showed that Sam had dumped his empty gun and fled. The Extremis-enhanced man was already healing from the bullets and seemed to be even more incensed at Natasha's escape.

Where the hell was Clint? Had he really gone and taken on James despite Natasha's warnings?

She was an idiot for not seeing his anger against James.

Running around a corner, Natasha took refuge behind a car, trying to catch her breath and think of a plan. She had some tools on her that she could use, but they wouldn't hold an Extremis-enhanced soldier for long. What she really needed was Tony; the man had taken down Mallen singlehandedly after all.

No use crying over spilt milk right now. She didn't have Tony and she could figure this out if she just had time—

"I told you she was mine," a familiar voice snapped in Russian. "Leave."

Not daring to believe her ears, Natasha forsook the cover of the car and slowly stood, breath catching in her throat upon seeing James standing there sans the mask and goggles. A bruise was blossoming on his cheek, but he was otherwise unharmed.

There was no recognition in his eyes when he saw her, simply that cold fire Natasha knew so well.

She had never had the full wrath of the Winter Soldier pinned on her, and it was simultaneously terrifying and thrilling. It was a call back to her first days in the Red Room, when she had first seen James in the training room and they had been ordered to fight.

But even then he hadn't looked like this.

"James," she said in Russian.

He didn't respond, instead stalking towards her, strides long and easy.

"James, please," she tried again, circling around the car to keep it between them. Not that it'd be much use; he could clear it in an instant. "You know me."

James's metal fingers trailed across the metal hood of the car like a lover caressing another's skin. His lips were pressed tightly together, and still he didn't speak.

"James, you know me as I know you," Natasha pleaded.

Quick as a snake, James drew a gun and fired on her, the bullet going straight through her shoulder. She cried out in pain, clutching at it, blood already seeping out through the wound and wetting her jacket.

The distraction cost her.

James leapt across the car, grabbed hold of her shirt, and whirled to slam her into the metal of the car. There was no recognition in his face, only a steely determination to finish the mission.

"James, please." Natasha clutched at his arm, her fingers scrabbling across the smooth metal. "James. Bucky." The name fell out without conscious thought.

James's face tightened now. "Who the hell is Bucky?" His grip didn't lighten.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, Natasha took a breath and, pushing past the pain in her shoulder and her protesting abs, she lifted him straight up into the air and threw him over her and across the car. She flipped over backwards with the movement, slumped over the vehicle and breathing heavily.

There was a reason she didn't pull off that move often. It usually required her to be in an already compromised position, and sometimes the men were too heavy for her to try such a thing without overstraining herself. But she'd done it often enough with James that it was deeper than instinct.

Turning to look at James, Natasha swallowed upon seeing him get up. Tight spaces were her specialty; she had the upper hand there. But injured and in a space such as this with little to no things to use to her advantage, Natasha was well aware that James could beat her.

The distant sound of an explosion reached her ears, but it wasn't close enough to warrant her attention.

"Do you remember the promises we made?" she asked, leaning heavily against the car. She was overplaying her weakness, but not by much, and James wasn't likely to be fooled by it.

James pinned her with an icy stare, eyes resolute. There wasn't going to be anymore talking.

Natasha bolted, running for it as fast as her legs would permit her. James was faster, but Natasha didn't care.

She jumped onto the top of a car, using it as leverage to spin around and then wrap both her legs around James's neck, pulling out a garroting wire and bringing it down around James's neck. She tightened it, but not before James managed to get his left arm into it and hold her off. His other arm scrambled at her legs, trying to pry her off.

Gritting her teeth, Natasha tightened her grip on the wire, doing her best to pull back despite the screaming pain in her left shoulder and the knowledge that she was still losing blood at an unacceptable rate.

James's metal arm had infinitely more strength, and he snapped the wire, knocking Natasha off balance. Left with no other recourse, she twisted, bringing both of them to the asphalt. Her injured shoulder hit it hard, and she bit back a cry but was unable to stop a pained grunt from escaping through her teeth.

She scrambled away from James, putting as much distance between them as she could. It wasn't much, and James was about to go after her again when a gunshot sounded. His left arm came up on reflex, and the bullet pinged off it uselessly.

"Why don't you pick on someone more your speed?" Sam taunted from down the street, face set in hard lines. He had a gun in his hand that was pointed right at James. "Fighting someone injured doesn't seem your style, James."

A muscle twitched in James's jaw, and his eyes flickered between Sam and Natasha. Then, faster than Natasha could react to in her pained state, he rolled forward and behind her, left hand coming up to wrap around her neck in a brutally tight grip. She could scarcely breathe.

James had them at a stalemate, and Sam knew it. He could easily snap Natasha's neck before Sam could react, and James could dodge Sam's bullet quickly enough from there, taking the other man down in no time.

But even though James could've done it – even though he should have from the moment he'd wrapped his hand around Natasha's neck – he didn't.

Instead, Natasha heard the sound of sirens wailing in the distance, the police force finally arriving on scene.

James still didn't kill her. She thought she felt a thumb gently stroke the curve of her neck, and then he let go, throwing down a smoke bomb in the next second.

Coughing in the haze, Natasha slumped forward, managing to get to her feet and regretting it when black spots appeared in her vision. She stumbled forward, encountered a warm body that was probably Sam, and then he pulled her out of the smoke cloud and into clear air. James was nowhere in sight.

"Drop your weapons and stand down!" a man shouted from behind a car. "Stand down and surrender! We have you surrounded!"

Eyes narrowed, Sam dropped the gun and lowered to his knees, hands up. Natasha followed afterwards, eyes closed to stop the world from spinning dizzily. Her head swam fuzzily, blood pounding in her ears.

She could hear the whirring blades of a helicopter above them, and there was a clicking sound of a gun by her head. Opening her eyes, she found that she and Sam had been encircled by a squadron of S.T.R.I.K.E. agents, and Rumlow was holding the gun to her head.

"About time you got here!" she heard Sitwell snap. The man appeared a moment later, pushing through the crowd. "What – did you stop for takeout on the way?"

"Agent Sitwell," Rumlow said evenly, his gun not wavering from its position.

Sitwell was ruder. "Rumlow." He stepped closer, giving the other man a very pointed stare. "You're not going to shoot her here," he said in a bitingly low tone. His eyes flicked up to the helicopter. "Neither of them. Unless you want a mess that'll be nigh impossible to clear up?"

Saved by the media. Natasha would appreciate it later when her shoulder wasn't throbbing like hell and she was out of the clutches of S.H.I.E.L.D./HYDRA.

They were hauled to their feet and handcuffs slapped on them. She met Sitwell's eyes once before looking away. The man remained out of sight afterward, and Natasha didn't see him again as they shoved both Sam and Natasha into the back of one of their trucks. Two masked agents that looked a lot like HYDRA followed them in, brandishing their weapons threateningly.

Natasha still hadn't seen Clint.

He could be waiting for an opportune time to attack, but she remembered that explosion she heard before. It had seemed so insignificant at the time, but now it was so very relevant. Had Clint been involved in it?

Natasha didn't know, and the not knowing was going to drive her mad, never mind she could do nothing about it right now, locked up as she was.

She barely noticed the truck begin to move, too focused on keeping her breathing steady and her mind off the pulsing pain in her shoulder.

"Hey, she needs medical attention," Sam said to their guards. "Or do you want her to bleed out before we get to where you're taking us?"

One of the guards threatened him with the weapon, electricity sizzling from it. Sam jerked back, mouth clamped shut.

A second later, that same guard electrocuted the second one, knocking him unconscious. Then, reaching up to take the helmet off, Maria Hill's face was revealed. "That thing was squeezing my brain." She brushed back her disheveled hair, exhaling heavily.

Natasha couldn't help but smile. "Maria."

Maria smiled back at her, eyes sharply scanning her form. "You don't look too good."

"You try being shot," Natasha said.

"Been there, done that, got the scars to prove it," Maria said easily.

The truck jerked around, Natasha knocking into Sam as their ride jostled them. Maria frowned, looking behind her.

"They're not supposed to do that," she muttered, fingers tightening around her weapon.

A minute later the truck jolted to an abrupt stop, nearly throwing them to the floor. When nothing else happened, they all shared nervous glances. Maria hefted up her weapon.

The doors opened, Maria lunged for her helmet, Sitwell was thrown in with them, and the doors slammed shut. No one had looked inside.

"Fuck it all," Sitwell groaned into the floor.

Maria relaxed, a wry grin tugging at her lips. "Didn't go too well, did it? Undercover gigs never were your thing."

Sitwell pried himself off the floor, fixing Maria with a glare as he rubbed some blood off his chin. "I'd like to see you spend two plus years in the company of Nazis and racists who have no trouble spouting their bullshit agendas all over the place. And that 'hail HYDRA' motto." He groaned in disgust, rolling his eyes. "I'd sooner quit S.H.I.E.L.D. than say that again."

"Considering that S.H.I.E.L.D. is HYDRA, that's probably a good idea," Natasha said, raising an eyebrow as Sitwell looked at her.

"You make a good point," Sitwell conceded, one hand on the wall to stabilize himself as the truck made a sharp turn. He wiped off some more blood with the back of his hand, giving Maria a pointed look. "So what's the plan?"

"Getting out of here," Maria said, raising her weapon. "Who's with me?"

"I am," Sam said. "I definitely am."

Maria looked at him a moment, blinking slowly. "Who's this?" she asked eventually, looking back at Natasha.

Sam didn't seem offended. "Sam Wilson, nice to meet you. Also known as the Falcon."

"Our newest Avenger," Natasha said before anyone could object. "He's earned it."

"I'm trying not to squee like a fan right now," Sam said after a moment. "Just give me a moment."

The moment never came, because at that point there was a loud, familiar roar from the outside. Directly afterwards, the truck stopped dead, the entire front apparently being ground into the street as the back lifted straight up, crashing them all into the ceiling and then back onto the floor.

Natasha landed with an oomph on Sam, who groaned pitifully under her.

"You could at least get a guy dinner," Sam wheezed, squirming underneath Natasha.

"We did," Natasha managed, blinking back stars as her shoulder protested the rough handling. "I think it was coffee."

"Yeah, coffee. Not dinner." Sam managed to push Natasha off him, sitting up.

The doors popped open, and from the top of the car Peter looked in. "Sweet, first try!" He dropped gracefully to the ground, opening the doors the rest of the way. "So who's a good guy?"

"All of us," Maria said, helping Natasha to her feet and steadying her as she wobbled, feeling faint from blood loss. "Let me guess – you're Spider-Man?"

"I'm not actually here," Peter said, stepping back as they dropped down from the truck. "You're talking to empty air."

"Relax, kid. Your secret's safe."

Peter squinted at her. "This is coming from the organization that sent men in suits after me to stalk me to my house."

Maria didn't look very apologetic for that.

A car went flying over their heads, followed by several screaming agents.

"So, was this planned?" Sitwell asked Natasha and Sam.

"Not really," Sam said, coming up on Natasha's other side to give her some more support.

"We got here as fast as we could," Peter admitted. "But by the time we got here you guys were already surrounded by bad guys, so we waited."

"You did good," Natasha reassured him.

"I was planning on burning a hole through the bottom of the truck with this unusual cattle prod they gave me," Maria said, holding up said cattle prod before tossing it over her shoulder, "but this works, too."

"This reunion is great and all," Sam said, pressing a hand into Natasha's shoulder, "but she needs medical attention stat."

"I've got a safe house," Maria said, eyes sharp. "Is everyone coming?"

"I think it's safe to say that I've handed in my resignation," Sitwell said dryly.

With a shuddering slam into the ground, Hulk landed in front of them. He snarled at them, sniffing loudly. "Hulk smell blood."

"That'll be me, big guy," Natasha murmured, smiling up at him. "It'll be fine."

"Hulk smash," Hulk said, looking displeased at her answer.

"You did good," Peter said, patting him on the knee. He seemed completely unruffled at the snort Hulk gave him.

"If you're coming with us," Maria said to Hulk, "then you've got to shrink down. You won't fit in the car otherwise, and you're not exactly inconspicuous."

Hulk snorted again, eyes narrowed, but he did start to turn gradually pinker and smaller. In a matter of seconds, Bruce Banner stood there, wobbling as Peter steadied him. "What a rush. Let's not do that again."

Maria didn't wait for him to steady. "We all good? Then let's go."

Natasha took an unsteady step forward, not entirely confident in her abilities to walk. She nearly face-planted a moment later, knees giving out.

"She's not going to be able to walk," Sam said for her, steadying her again. His arms went around her shoulders, keeping her propped up.

"I can take her," Peter offered. "It's no problem."

With some help, Natasha was lifted up onto Peter's back, her arms going around his neck and his arms under her legs. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, eyes drifting close to offset the sight of the world spinning around her.

"Hey, Natasha," Bruce's voice said urgently, "stay awake, okay? Don't pass out on us."

"You got it," Natasha murmured, cracking a small smile.

"Where's Clint?" Maria asked.

"I don't know," Natasha responded, opening her eyes to lift her head enough to look at Maria.

Maria's lips tightened. "We can't afford to wait for him."

Natasha knew that, but it didn't alleviate the guilt any less. Clint could take care of himself, she knew that. But that damn explosion…

Sighing, Natasha rested her head again, keeping her eyes just slightly open to help alleviate the dizziness. They'd be safe enough soon.

She needed to think.

The safe house Maria took them to was far away enough from the city that no one would stumble across it. It was also less of a "safe house" and more of a "let's hide under this dam; no one will suspect fugitives of being here."

They were met inside by a man Natasha didn't recognize, and he began flitting around Natasha anxiously, clicking his tongue disapprovingly upon seeing her injury.

"She needs medical attention," the man said, disapproval dripping off every word.

"That can wait," Maria said, walking ahead of the others into the safe house. "She'll want to see him."

"She's lost a lot of blood," Sam pointed out, keeping pace by Peter. "At least a pint – maybe two."

"Trust me," Maria said, grabbing hold of a curtain and pulling it back, "she'll want to see him."

Nick Fury lay on a grungy looking hospital bed, looking completely beaten up but undeniably alive. "Look who decided to drop in."

Natasha slid off Peter's back, wobbling slightly even as Peter steadied her. "Nick," she breathed.

"Don't cry, Widow," Fury said, one corner of his mouth twitching up. "I'm fine."

"You have a lacerated spinal column, cracked sternum, shattered collarbone, perforated liver, and a collapsed lung," the man fussing over Natasha said.

Fury flapped the hand that wasn't in a cast. "Like I said, fine."

"But you were dead," Natasha protested, letting the man set her down on a chair to begin prodding at her wound.

"Tetrodotoxin B," Fury said, sighing. "It slows your heartbeat down to one beat a minute. Easy enough for doctors to declare you dead then."

"I made that drug," Bruce said, sounding disapproving.

"And thank you."

"At least it was a clean shot," the man muttered, squinting at Natasha's wound before gently wiping the blood off to clean the wound site. "Didn't hit any major arteries or muscles. You'll be fine."

Natasha pressed her lips together, the sound of the offending gunshot ringing through her head. James didn't miss. And he'd had her right there.

The sensory image of a metal finger gently stroking a path on her throat flashed through her mind.

"I can't afford to be out," Natasha said eventually, eyes flicking between everyone.

"I'd say to keep your arm still for a few weeks and rest it, but…" The man sighed, taking a needle and thread from Maria.

"You're right," Natasha said evenly. "That's not going to happen." She looked back up at Fury, relief and determination and heartache mingling in her to give her a bittersweet taste in her mouth. "We need to talk."

Ten minutes later, her gunshot sound sewn up and bandaged tightly, they did. Fury was out of his bed despite the doctor's pursed lips and fluttering, and he'd taken a seat at a metal table with computers on it. Natasha had the chair opposite him, still not feeling up to standing.

Fury held a picture of Alexander Pierce in his hands, gazing somberly at it. "This man declined the Nobel Peace Prize. He said peace wasn't an achievement, it was a responsibility." He put the picture down, meeting Natasha's eyes. "See, it's stuff like this that gives me trust issues."

"You're about to have more," Natasha said. "I assume you were aware that HYDRA was S.H.I.E.L.D."

"You think I would've spent most of my life in it if I knew?" Fury snorted, tapping his fingers on the table. "Hell, no."

"I'm with him on that," Sitwell said, arms crossed over his chest.

Fury shot Sitwell a quelling look.

"We need to take Project Insight down," Natasha said.

"Not just that," Bruce said sharply. "S.H.I.E.L.D. as well."

Fury glared at Bruce. "That's going just a bit far, Banner."

"No, it isn't." Bruce smiled grimly. "HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. – they're one and the same. You can't have one without the other at this point. So if HYDRA's going down, so's S.H.I.E.L.D."

"How is Project Insight going to be taken down?" Maria asked, calmly defusing the argument. "From what Sitwell's said, you don't have JARVIS anymore."

Bruce's face shuttered, and Natasha tightened her jaw, tilting her chin up. "We don't need him," she said firmly. "Sitwell has the plans, and we've got the manpower. Infiltrate them and take it down from the inside."

"You're missing Barton, Stark, and Rogers," Fury said, "or is this really what you're calling manpower?" He gestured at the people around Natasha. "A kid over his head, a man just out of the army, a man who turns into a monster, and yourself?"

Natasha didn't flinch at the reminder that Clint wasn't here; she was all too aware of his absence; it was like a missing limb. "Clint and I have done tougher missions with less," she insisted. "Besides, I've got you." She leaned forward, ignoring the throb of pain in her shoulder that came with the movement. "Or are you telling me you don't want to see HYDRA torn down for what they've done?"

Fury studied her inscrutably for a moment. "I want to make HYDRA pay," he admitted finally, "but not at the cost of losing S.H.I.E.L.D. Are you aware of how much we've taken care of since its inception?"

"And how much you've destroyed," Natasha said darkly, remembering exactly what Zola had revealed. "It's a double-sided coin, Director. You can't have S.H.I.E.L.D. without HYDRA, and at this point it's better to not have S.H.I.E.L.D. at all than deal with its poisonous methods."

"This coming from the woman who was recruited right from the KGB."

Natasha's gaze hardened, her voice like steel when she next spoke. "I traded one evil for another, and I won't let that stand."

Fury held her gaze for two breaths, then he relaxed and nodded, accepting her words. "So you want to take down S.H.I.E.L.D." The words were quiet.

"Yes," Natasha and Bruce said simultaneously. She glanced at him, unsurprised to see a hint of green lurking in Bruce's eyes.

"And how do you propose to do that?" Fury asked curiously.

Natasha quirked a small smile. "By channeling a little bit of Captain America, the man who did it last time. Except this time we're going to do it in such a way that they won't come back."

Peter coughed slightly, shuffling nervously. "Best way to do that would be to just…uh…get everything out there." He gestured vaguely. "On the Internet, you know…" He shuffled again, looking at a point on a wall that let him not meet anyone's eyes.

"Why do you say that?" Maria asked.

Peter seemed to be regretting ever speaking. "Get everything out there; let people know what happened so it doesn't happen again." He shuffled again, rubbing the back of his head anxiously. "I mean, S.H.I.E.L.D.' s part of the government, and something like Project Insight couldn't have gone through without approval from Congress, and that…it's not right. The people should see that – see what could have happened." He coughed, shrugging, not meeting anyone's eyes. "Yeah…"

"Then we'll do that." Natasha's tone bode no arguments.

"And you?" Fury asked suddenly, looking right at Sam. "What about you?"

"Don't look at me, man." Sam shook his head slightly. "I do what they do, just a lot less prettier."

"He's our newest member," Natasha said, no small amount of pride in her voice. "And we're going to tear it all down."

Every single last bit of it.

Infiltrating the World Security Council before they met with Pierce was easy with Sitwell's inside information. Natasha slipped in as Councilwoman Hawley, using a custom-made facial mask and a gray wig that Maria had on hand. No one suspected a thing, and she smiled sweetly at Pierce as he handed out their biometric badges; she clipped hers onto her blouse.

She had no doubt there was something else with these badges, but she needed to play the part.

As they walked through the Triskelion, one member asked about the Avengers and where they were.

Natasha hid a smile, pretending to pay rapt attention to Pierce's answer. Right in the midst of you, you fool.

Despite his earlier words, Sam felt completely out of his depth here. He had been in the army, but that was about the extent of his experience in combat situations. This was so far out of his league that it made his head spin, but like hell was he going to let the Avengers do this on their own.

Sam had a duty to his country, even if he didn't agree with a lot of their policies. And letting a Nazi organization that Captain America had taken down in World War II kill millions of people to further their own terrorist agenda was not something Sam could permit.

So he was going with the Avengers and kicking ass. It was the least he could do.

Hill took him, Bruce, and Spider-Man into the Triskelion via the back. She was dressed in her S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, blending in with the background so easily that Sam had to blink to be sure she was there. She made sure that no one else looked twice at them, easily maneuvering them through the crowds around the building.

Spider-Man had procured a black mask sometime in the last couple of hours that made him look more like a burglar than a superhero, but judging from the kid's sheepish body language he was well aware of that so Sam kept quiet. Bruce hadn't changed clothes, not that he really needed to.

Taking a fortifying breath outside of the room that they were going to take over, Sam felt the reassuring weight of his wings. It felt right to wear them again, even if it was under circumstances such as this.

The technicians inside the control room were easily taken down, Hill ordering them away from the consoles and to the windows. She had them subdued and tied up in minutes, letting Bruce and Sam at the controls.

"I have no idea what to say," Bruce murmured, eyebrows furrowing as he reached towards one of the consoles.

"You've never lectured at a university?" Sam asked.

"No, I've given lectures, but they weren't exactly the most rousing things." Bruce smiled wryly. "Not that I've given many of those recently…" He took a breath, shaking his head slightly. "We just need to persuade them not to let those Helicarriers out of the hangar."

"I don't think this plan is going to work," Spider-Man admitted, fidgeting by where Hill stood.

"That's why we have a Plan B," Hill said. She stepped up to Bruce, tilting her head pensively. "It might be better coming from an Avenger rather than the sub-director of S.H.I.E.L.D., but I can—"

There was a static fizzle from the console, and then an English voice crackled into life. "Perhaps I can be of some assistance?"

Sam stiffened in alarm even as Bruce visibly sagged. "JARVIS, you're all right?"

"Perfectly all right," this JARVIS answered. "I apologize for the communications blackout, but my systems were under an attack from all sides. I retreated for a short time to shore up my defenses."

"Just glad you're safe," Bruce said, sounding relieved.

"Completely. As is everyone else," JARVIS assured him. "To the point, if you mean to persuade S.H.I.E.L.D. to your way of thinking, then perhaps Arnim Zola's last words would suffice?"

Before Bruce could answer, a nasally voice with a distinct accent began speaking. "I am Arnim Zola."

Clint's voice came next. "You're supposed to be dead."

"As is the good Soldier. But neither of us is, yes?"

Clint's next words sounded horrified. "What did you do to yourself? Why are you in a S.H.I.E.L.D. bunker?"

From there the recording continued playing, Natasha's and Clint's horrified and stunned reactions absolutely perfect alongside Zola's terrifying revelations.

"Afterwards, the new HYDRA grew, a beautiful parasite inside S.H.I.E.L.D."

Then at the end, James's voice barking orders and a deafening explosion before the tape fizzled into static.

Hill leaned onto the console, eyes hard as she looked the monitors showing them the rest of the Triskelion. "And now you have it." Her voice was quiet if cold. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s primary mission has been compromised from the beginning, and Alexander Pierce is furthering the aims of HYDRA. S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded under the beliefs of Agent Peggy Carter and Howard Stark, seeking a better future for this world. The initials of this organization came directly from the shield of Captain America, because that's what we were supposed to be: a shield. Not the sword that the world falls upon."

Bruce took over, hand clenched into a fist on the console. "This is Bruce Banner of the Avengers. You might know me better as the Hulk." His smile was grim. "You hunted us down, but we're here, and we're not going to let this go without a fight. The Avengers protect, and we're damn well going to protect the world from HYDRA."

Hill's eyes slid from Bruce and back to the center monitor, where an entire room of technicians was sitting at the trigger that could destroy the world. "I'm not going to ask you to take up your arms and fight against people you've worked alongside for years," she said, tone somber. "But be aware that the person you're sitting next to could be HYDRA, and that they will kill you if you go against them. I don't expect you to take that risk, but the people I've worked alongside for all these years are better than that." She took a breath, closing her eyes for a few seconds. "There comes a point where you have to sacrifice happiness for what's right."

In a burst of impulsivity that he might very well regret, Sam joined in. "I joined the army because of the actions of Captain America and the Howling Commandos. I wanted to defend the rights of freedom that they fought so hard for. This is a country that prides itself on its freedom, and I'll be damned if I'll let something like this go through without fighting. The price of freedom is a tough one to pay, but it's a worthwhile one."

"And we're going to pay it," Bruce continued. "The question is, are you with us or not? Regardless, we're not letting Project Insight go through; we're not letting HYDRA win. We're not letting Captain America's actions go in vain."

"Are you going to pay it with us?" Hill asked. "This is Sub-Director Maria Hill with the Avengers, and you have a choice, agents." She flicked the switch off, giving Sam and Bruce a nod. "Now we wait."

"Perhaps not even that long, Agent," JARVIS said. "They are already making their stand."

They were. On every single monitor they could see agents pulling guns on one another. And in the main room, the one Hill had pinpointed as critical to getting the Helicarriers in the air, the most tension seemed to be rising.

And it broke with a gunshot.

"Damn it, Rumlow," Hill groaned, sitting down heavily.

The gunshot had been the catalyst. Windows shattered on the feeds of the monitors, and people crashed into the hallways, some of them with flickering orange skin.

"Oh shit," Sam said.

"Plan B," Hill snapped, not even needing to say it; they were already on the way out. "Go!"

Sam didn't hesitate to hit the stairs, Bruce and Spider-Man on his heels. He only hoped that Natasha was having better luck.

The atmosphere in the room was stifling after her team's little speech, and all the more so after armed guards under Pierce's authority held them all at gunpoint. Natasha kept to the background while the other Council members listened to Pierce's drivel about being able to preemptively stop threats before they happened with the flick of a switch.

Pierce knew how to play the game well, which was unsurprising considering he had been the former head of S.H.I.E.L.D. before Fury publicly took over. But for all his attempts, he couldn't get the other members to see things his way.

And even though the WSC had been directly responsible for a great deal of the grief Natasha had suffered the last year given SHRA and the damn Project Insight, she felt slightly…proud. Even though it should be a given that they would refuse to help HYDRA because there was evil, and then there was evil.

"Not if it was your switch," Councilman Singh told Pierce derisively, throwing the champagne glass Pierce had given him across the room with a loud smash.

Pierce's answering smile was resigned, and he took the gun one guard gave him to point it at Singh's chest.

That was it.

Natasha burst into action, kicking Singh out of the line of fire and jumping towards the gun.

The rest of the work was so easy she could have done it in her sleep. No one had expected the aging figure of the councilwoman she was impersonating to be able to take down four different guards without breaking a sweat.

Reaching up to take off the mask and wig, Natasha grinned at Pierce, the gun she had pointing at him stopping him from doing anything funny. "I'm sorry. Did I step on your moment?"

"Black Widow." Pierce's voice was quietly furious.

Singh had recovered admirably from the shock of Natasha revealing herself. "Call off the project," he demanded.

"Let's not be hasty," Pierce said, keeping his hands in view.

"I think this is just the time," Natasha disagreed, "don't you?" Her gun went to Councilman Yen while she casually stepped over an incapacitated guard and headed to the computer terminal to access the mainframe.

"What are you doing?" Pierce demanded, ignoring the gun aimed at the back of his head.

"No more secrets," Natasha said, not even looking up at him. "Complete transparency. How well will HYDRA do with all their secrets out in the open?" Now she met his eyes, smirking. "Kind of ruins the illusion, doesn't it?"

"You release all that information," Pierce said, "and you expose yourself. Are you prepared for the world to see you as you really are?"

"Kind of left the secrets behind when I fought an invading alien race and shacked up with a bunch of volatile superheroes in the same house." Natasha gave him a cool smile, turning back to the mainframe.

"Your partner is dead," Pierce said abruptly, and Natasha's fingers stumbled for just a second.

"I've lost worse," Natasha managed, keeping her voice even. "Come cry to me when you've lost all sense of self and the only things keeping your mind intact are the screams of the people whose blood you have on your hands." She kept her eyes on him, smile turning just a tad vicious when she saw the effect her words had on Pierce.

It was a lie, but not much of one.

Down on the screen, a line of words that Natasha had not expected scrolled across the screen: All current undercover agents have been alerted that their covers are compromised and have been ordered to evacuate.

"You'll need two Alpha level members to disable the encryption," Pierce said eventually, eyes narrowed.

"That will not be a problem," JARVIS's voice said suddenly.

Natasha barely kept herself from startling, but the others were not so inclined.

"I thought I had that blasted computer taken down!" Pierce snarled, rearing back.

"Not quite," JARVIS responded coolly.

"Good to hear you again, JARVIS," Natasha said, grinning down at her hands.

"And you as well, Agent Romanov." JARVIS sounded just a tad smug. "Now, as you were saying, Alexander Pierce, two Alpha level members are required, but I can be both. Yet as the case may be, that will not be necessary."

The sound of helicopter blades could be heard outside after JARVIS finished speaking. Pierce looked out as the aircraft came to a stop on the landing pad just outside. His lips parted slightly in surprise upon seeing Nick Fury step out of it, very clearly alive.

Fury opened the doors, his coat billowing in the wind. His one eye glared icily at Pierce.

Pierce just smiled affably. "Did you get my flowers?"

"I got something all right." Fury walked up, menace coming off of him like a cloud. "But it sure wasn't flowers."

"Must have been a mix-up." Pierce's actually sounded genuine as he said, "I'm glad you're here, Nick."

Fury's eye pinned Pierce to the spot as he walked towards him. "Really? Because I thought you had me killed."

"You know how the game works," Pierce responded, meeting Fury head to head. "You've been around long enough, since virtually S.H.I.E.L.D.'s inception."

"And yet I've never done what you're planning on doing. Your brilliant mind ever consider that?"

"The time was never right," Pierce said. "The technology unavailable. The people unwilling. But now look!" He half-turned to the window, to the Helicarriers gradually rising into the air and the Quinjets flitting around them, eyes not leaving Fury's. "The people want – need security. After what's happened in the last year, I would have thought you'd welcome this – welcome a way to keep S.H.I.E.L.D.'s enemies down permanently, before they're able to strike."

"At the cost of freedom? At the cost of a regime that I've countered for most of my life?" Fury leaned back from Pierce, head drifting up and eyes flickering to Natasha. "I don't think so." His one good arm reached out to take hold of Pierce's elbow and drag him to the electronic screens.

Fury looked over at Natasha. "Everything in order?"

"Absolutely." Natasha's answering smile was sharp.

"Then let's do it." Fury turned back to Pierce, his face set in a hard line.

"I'm sure you're aware that all your data was erased from the systems. Standard procedure, you understand." Pierce was smiling.

"I know you erased my password. Probably deleted my retinal scan. But if you want to stay ahead of me, Mr. Secretary"—he reached up to his eye patch, taking it off—"you need to keep both eyes open." His left eye was scarred and cloudy, but still very clearly intact.

Pierce looked like he'd swallowed a lemon.

"Widow," Fury snapped, looking away from Pierce, "let's do it."

As Natasha reached for Pierce, he pulled out a small phone and thumbed something on it. The council members cried out in pain, the small biometric devices Pierce had given them all burning holes through their skin. They collapsed as if their strings had been cut.

Pierce grinned at Natasha, eyes flickering down to the same device on her blouse. "Unless you want a two-inch hole burned through your sternum, you won't move. I have you, Black Widow. I think you had better do what I say, don't you?"

Natasha's jaw tightened, her brain working furiously as she tried to think of a way out of this. She had something that could work. All she needed to do was—

There was a wet thunk as an arrow embedded itself in Pierce, the head glistening with dark blood as it poked out of his chest. The man looked down at it, stunned surprise on his face. It gave Natasha enough time to break his wrist, dropping the phone and crushing it under her heel. Pierce looked up at her, face still registering surprise even as he dropped like a stone.

Two people flickered into visibility by the windows, one with his bow still notched with an arrow.

"I have you, you bastard," Clint said, glaring down at Pierce. "That's for earlier."

From besides him, Sue Storm sighed. "I don't think that was the plan."

"The plan stunk." Clint smirked at a dumbfounded Natasha. "Miss me?"

A second later, Natasha's face broke into a breathtaking grin. "You idiot. I thought you were dead."

"To be fair," Clint said, "so did I. And I would have been if she"—he nodded at Sue—"hadn't shown up and saved my ass."

"Simply chance I was even in DC to begin with," Sue dismissed. "Didn't you want to do something?"

"Might be easier now that he's dead," Fury said, staring down at Pierce's body with an unreadable expression.

Throwing away the blasted thing that had almost taken her out, Natasha took great pleasure in hauling up Pierce's corpse. "Shall we?"

They stepped up to the screen, Fury letting it scan his other eye while Natasha held up Pierce's body. A moment later, the computer acknowledged their access.

Natasha let Pierce drop to the floor, watching as thousands of files of data were dumped on the Internet.

"It is already trending worldwide," JARVIS said, sounding vindictively satisfied.

"Great," Clint said, stepping up besides Natasha. "Let's get out of here."

A sudden gunshot had them all ducking.

From behind the screen, Natasha saw Rumlow enter the room, gun in hand.

"You're not going anywhere," Rumlow growled at them.

"I thought you were smart," Clint said. "How do you think that one of you will win against all of us?"

"I don't. Not really." Rumlow gestured for someone to enter from behind him. It was a woman with short hair; from the curse Clint muttered, he obviously recognized her. "But none of us are getting out."

Sue scowled, lips twisting angrily. She stepped forward, hands coming up as blue force fields snapped into place around Rumlow and the woman. "Can't have you forgetting little ol' me here."

Natasha stood, moving to stand by Sue. Clint winced as he shifted to a standing position, one hand coming up reflexively to his chest. The movement solidified Natasha's prior suspicions.

"You and I are going to talk," Natasha warned him.

Clint didn't seem that concerned. "Yeah, yeah."

"Clear out," Fury ordered briskly.

They did, Sue remaining behind momentarily to keep the force fields up. She ran out once they were in the helicopter, jumping inside as they took off. Rumlow and the woman followed after, but a couple of warning shots from Natasha stopped them cold.

But even that was nearly drowned by the firefight occurring above their heads. The Helicarriers were still rising into the air, but there were dozens of Quinjets buzzing about them that were firing upon the larger aircrafts.

"I have no idea what you cooked up," Clint told Natasha, "but it looks like it's working."

"Impossibly," Fury grumbled, eye tight as he looked down at the Triskelion. He tapped their pilot on the shoulder. "Clear the area. I want a front seat view to this."

Clint sitting across from her and Sue pressed up against her, Natasha would have been content if it weren't for one other problem.

Sam hit the stairs, leading them out to the runway and where the Helicarriers would come out. He could see the hangar bay doors opening, and they were ridiculously huge. He didn't want to know how much larger the Helicarriers were.

"I have started working on infiltrating their systems," JARVIS said into Sam's ear. "As they have recently upgraded them, it will take some time."

"Copy," Hill said. "Chips are backup in case you can't make it."

"Twenty-five percent completed."

The two chips he'd been given were burning a hole in his pouch; Spider-Man had the third.

They hit the runway at a dead run, hearing shouts and screams and gunshots all around them.

"So not good for my blood pressure," Bruce panted from behind Sam.

"I think you picked the wrong job," Spider-Man quipped, easily keeping pace with Sam.

"No kidding?" Bruce groaned as the first Helicarrier slowly came into sight. "Damn, after all the effort I went through for that speech."

"At least you can smash," Sam said.

"Hulk smash," Bruce huffed, sounding genuinely amused.

Sam saw people coming into view – people with flickering orange skin. That was it. "Grab on!"

To their credit, they did so quickly, and Sam threw himself off the edge, wings snapping out and giving him instant lift. The thrusters started firing, heaving him up. Bruce and Spider-Man were about as heavy as he'd expected, and he didn't have a single hand free to fire upon the people shooting at him.

"Just drop me on the Helicarrier," Bruce said.

The moment they were close enough, Sam did, letting Bruce go. The man transformed midair, shirt ripping into pieces and pants remaining miraculously intact. The moment the behemoth known as the Hulk landed on the Helicarrier's surface, he started smashing. Sam was very impressed.

"Drop me on the next one," Spider-Man told him, "but not that high. I'm breakable."

"I'll get a refund." Sam whipped past gunfire, nearing the second Helicarrier that had left the hangar. He pulled out one of his guns, firing at some of the bad guys shooting at him. It gave him enough breathing room to get close enough to the surface to drop Spider-Man without hurting him.

"Clear!" Spider-Man shouted into Sam's comm., and he winced reflexively at the volume. The kid ran off, gracefully dodging people and giving those he didn't a face full of webbing.

He felt vaguely guilty about letting a young kid like that on a Helicarrier filled with Nazi goons. He was pretty sure that Spider-Man was still a minor.

"Thirty-five percent, and eight minutes to three thousand feet," Hill said calmly into Sam's ear. "Status?"

"Returning to Alpha," Sam said, dodging gunfire and what looked like a stream of fire. Did they have dragons now?

Thrusters firing, Sam swept through the wreckage the Hulk had left behind and landed, wings tucking back into the jetpack before he took off in a dead run into the Helicarrier. He could hear the Hulk roaring through the walls and even felt minute vibrations run through his feet.

It took him a minute to get to the underbelly and less than thirty seconds to replace the targeting chip with his own.

Then he was running back out, intending on heading directly to Charlie. "Alpha lock!"

"I've got it," Hill confirmed.

"Forty percent," JARVIS said.

Sam still didn't have a clue who JARVIS was, but he was leaning towards some really crazy computer genius or an artificial intelligence. Considering the coffee machine in his kitchen, he was leaning towards the latter.

"Can't do it any faster?" Sam asked breathlessly, twisting to fire at the people firing at him.

"They have shielded their systems." JARVIS sounded irritated at this admission. "Far more than what I would have expected, but not entirely surprising considering their earlier viral attack."

"Oh man, not the Wrecking Crew!" Spider-Man sounded panicked. A pause, and then he said, "I could do with some backup. Like…stat."

Sam bit back a curse and wheeled around, one wing getting into the path of some gunfire. Thankfully the bullets didn't pierce it, the shielding tougher than that. But he was already hightailing it to the second Helicarrier instead of the third one the way he should be.

Something zoomed into view, the sunlight glinting off familiar red and gold. The familiar figure effortlessly maneuvered through gunfire and fire-breathing dragon people to help Spider-Man.

Iron Man?

The Winter Soldier had a mission, and he was going to complete it. Pierce had given him his orders and briefed him on what exactly he would be expected to do.

Stop the Avengers.

An easy enough task.

He remembered the last time he'd met the Avengers, in that destroyed base in the Mongolian steppes. He remembered a voice calling out a strange name and the owner of that voice chasing him through the halls and refusing to be deterred by his elusiveness.

It wasn't something the Winter Soldier had been used to.

He had no past, nothing that could tie him to sentimental things that could distract him. It wasn't something they allowed the denizens of the Red Room. And yet…red hair and a sweetly smiling face and promises made flashed through his mind.

"Bucky?"

"Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island?"

"Yeah, and I threw up?"

"This isn't payback, is it?"

"I thought you were smaller."

He stopped before the exit to outside the Triskelion, accosted by flashes of that face and voice along with pain, icy cold, and the first glimpses of his metal arm this isn't how it's supposed to be no no no and he blinked, refocusing on the mission.

He needed to finish this.

He stalked onto the airfield, bypassing shouting agents.

"All S.H.I.E.L.D. pilots scramble!" one shouted. "We're the only air support the Avengers have!"

The Winter Soldier walked up to one of the planes, grabbing the would-be pilot by the scruff of his shirt and throwing him back into another one. Both fell over, but he ignored their floundering and the shouting as the agents registered his presence too late. He was already in the cockpit and starting the engines.

One of the Helicarriers had that green beast rampaging on it. The other two did not. His decision as to which Helicarrier he would land on was made for him halfway up when some idiot shot his plane out of the sky, bringing it to a crash on the lowest one. He growled, slamming open the cockpit door with his left arm, jumping out a second later.

He gave one agent a glare, vindictively pleased when he cowered away. "Back off!" he growled in Russian, not bothering with English.

"Madame Hydra is aboard!" the agent bit out, taking a step back as the Winter Soldier glared at him.

Madame Hydra? She wasn't supposed to be…

Behind his mask, the Winter Soldier smiled. He turned his back to the agent, walking off.

"She wants to see you!" the agent shouted, his footsteps loud against the asphalt as he kept up with the Winter Soldier. "She isn't very happy! She's on the lowest level."

A second later the Winter Soldier snapped the man's neck, dropping his body to the deck.

On the lowest level was she? He could go there.

It was easy enough to enter the Helicarrier and wind his way through the different levels until he hit the last level. No agent gave him a second glance after seeing his metal arm and the dark look in his eyes.

If they had, he would have just killed them.

The moment he stepped onto the catwalk, he found eight of the Extremis soldiers facing down a man with mechanical wings. The other was doing a remarkably good job of dodging them, but he was also looking stressed out, and he stopped cold upon catching sight of the Winter Soldier.

The leader of the soldiers, a smarmy looking man with blond hair, grinned upon seeing the Winter Soldier. "Good," he purred. "Now that you're here, this should be easy."

The Winter Soldier stepped onto the walkway, cocking his head to the side as he studied the leader and his lackeys. The winged man had pressed himself to a side, hands clutching the metal beams making up the floor and walls. A gaping hole marred the glass walls on the other side of where the Winter Soldier stood, an indicator of where the winged man had entered.

"I wondered if you would be here," a soft voice said from behind the Winter Soldier, and he turned slightly to see Madame Hydra standing there; there had been no sign of her presence. "You've been acting up, Winter Soldier." Her smile was sickly sweet. "I'm so glad to see that they were just unfounded rumors." Her eyes flicked from the Winter Soldier to the winged man on the side of the Avengers. "Kill him."

The Winter Soldier stepped forward slowly, coming closer to the leader of the soldiers. "Your men not enough?" His voice was quiet.

"Indestructible," Madame Hydra sighed, "but useless."

He stepped up to a nameless lackey, eyes pinning the man to the spot. One second later, he had his mask wrapped around the man's face and pulled his head backwards. "How indestructible is one without a head?" James didn't look away from Madame Hydra as with a grisly crunching of bone he ripped the man's head right off his neck, spraying blood everywhere.

The head was thrown into the leader's open mouth and promptly incinerated into ashes. The body followed, the speed of the impact bowling the man over the railing and to the floor of the glass dome.

James stared Madame Hydra down, not at all worried by the other six soldiers surrounding him, their skin and eyes glowing.

"Oh, Soldier…" Madame Hydra sighed again, this time completely irritated. She frowned at James. "Have you really thought this through?"

James pulled out a gun and fired a hole straight through one soldier's head. "Consider this my resignation," he said evenly.

Madame Hydra's eyes flickered, her mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. "Take him down."

Six against one, but James had had worst odds before. And these men were children.

They crowded in against him, screaming in rage. James jumped, grabbing hold of a bar up top and swinging over them. Landing on his hands, he kicked one right in the chest, shattering his ribs and throwing him right back into another. Jumping up, he wrapped his left arm around another's head, firing his gun directly into his face. Smashing the weapon into it a moment later, James twisted the soldier's head around, swinging the soldier's body with it and hearing a pop as the spinal cord separated.

Dropping the body, James finished it by crushing the man's neck with a well-placed foot, shooting another soldier in the heart and crouching down to dodge a pillar of fire that attacked him from behind. The heat scorched his skin, but James didn't blink.

He kicked the corpse away from his feet, bowling over two other men.

Then, jumping up and flipping right over the group and twisting in midair, he kicked two men off of the railing and threw a third into the leader, knocking him over again.

Sam was edging towards the controls in the center, clearly intent on doing something.

With a grunt, James wrapped his arms around one last soldier and twisted, ripping the man's head right off. He kept his mouth closed against the spray of blood, throwing the head right into another soldier's face. The corpse was chucked over the railing.

"Do it now," James snapped at Sam, pulling out another gun and shooting down one soldier as he tried to jump back over. His body glowed orange as the bullets pierced him. "Then get out."

To his credit, Sam did what he needed to remarkably quickly, swooping out of there the moment he was done.

It left James free to focus on the five men left, all of whom were still on the floor. A second later they'd jumped back onto the gangway.

James let a chilling grin cross his face. "You think you can take me? Come on."

"I had him on the ropes."

He blinked the sense memory of being helped to his feet away, dodging a blast of fire and ducking underneath to tackle one soldier right in the torso. He felt another soldier's attack clip him on the hip, and the strength behind it was enough to throw him slightly off balance.

So he rolled with it, grabbing hold of the railing now and using it propel himself forward and kick a soldier in the chest and send him flying across the dome. Landing with a thump on his feet, James instantly jumped back into the air, wrapping himself around a soldier's head and wrenching out his gun to shoot the man in the neck.

Then digging his fingers into the hole and preventing it from healing, he wrenched and tore straight through the soldier's windpipe and out the other side. Yanking his arm to the side, he ripped the soldier's head straight off.

Kicking the corpse up into the air, James used it as leverage to barrel into another, throwing them off the walkway and to the floor. He pushed them away, landing with a roll.

Taking a running leap, James kicked one soldier down and punched a hole straight through his face and to the glass with his left arm. The glass vibrated slightly under his knuckles but didn't shatter.

James stood, facing the two remaining soldier lackeys with a set look on his face; the leader was up on the gangway. He ignored the hair falling in his eyes, not needing to see to defeat these children. He stepped onto the brutalized face of the corpse at his feet, grinding the meat to dust under his heel. Then, slowly, he smiled.

The sight seemed to drive the two soldier lackeys into a craze and they charged him, roaring mindlessly.

Quick as a flash, James took one step back and then hurled himself up onto the gangway. Leaping over the railing, he came down on the opposite side and stopped a soldier in his tracks with a crunching of bone as his metal hand met vulnerable flesh. The soldier howled incoherently; James just gripped hold of him and threw himself into the man's frame and into the last soldier who was directly behind the other.

Hitting the floor and skidding painfully across the metal beams, James somersaulted off, flipping around to face them. Unhesitatingly, he launched himself at one, clutching at the soldier's head between his hands and throwing himself over, pulling the man's head backwards.

There was a sickening pop as the man's spinal cord dislocated, and the soldier screamed once, the sound breaking off in a sickening gurgle as James pulled sideways when he landed. Whirling to face the gigantic hole that was about a dozen feet away from where they'd been fighting, James threw the man he was holding through it.

The last soldier howled in rage, leaping on James with electricity flickering at his fingertips. James let the attack hit him, the electricity jolting him in the stomach. He choked out a groan and surged up, turning the tables on the soldier.

With the soldier pinned underneath him, James grabbed hold of the man's face in his metal hand and began squeezing. The face crunched between his fingers, the skull crumpling like paper beneath his strength.

Heat flared under James's metal fingers before dying out. Heaving out a large breath, James let go, wiping off the blood on the soldier's ragged shirt.

He kicked the body aside, pinning the leader with an icy glare.

The leader seemed just a bit taken aback at the loss of all his men, but he rallied quickly enough. "You have no idea what you've just done," he snapped, clearing the railing and landing in front of James in one leap.

"Don't kill him, Killian," Madame Hydra ordered, still watching from the sidelines. "Incapacitate him."

James snorted, the sound quiet in the midst of the chaos reigning around them. "Big mistake," he said.

"You really think you can take me on?" Killian sneered. "They were small fry, but you're dealing with me now."

"That mean you're big fry?" James's lips twitched, and he rolled his shoulders back. "Still small."

Killian growled, smoke puffing out of his mouth. In a deafening roar, he unleashed a pillar of flames that James easily sidestepped. "You're just human."

James gave him a scathing look. "I left 'just human' behind a long time ago. I was killing people before you were even born. You want to play with me, boy?" He bit out a savage grin. "Just try."

His words had the desired effect of driving Killian into a murdering rage. That was the problem with these Extremis soldiers: highly volatile, and just as likely to explode.

James jumped over a charging Killian, flipping over him. Spinning on his heel, James snapped out his left arm to grab hold of his head the moment he reversed tracks. Killian ran straight into it, but his right hand dug little pinpricks of pain directly into James's abdomen.

Clamping down on Killian's wrist and ignoring the boiling skin his flesh-and-blood hand closed around, James twisted and broke it. Heat flared from Killian, and the man burst out of James's grip with an unexpected surge of strength.

A foot smashed into the back of James's knee, and he went down hard. A second later he was flipped over, landing with a painful thump on his back and Killian punching him in the face. James's head snapped back, bouncing off a metal beam. He blinked, only to be punched again, and then fiery hot pain exploded through his abdomen.

Killian's skin was flaring orange, and James's armor was literally melting into his skin.

Choking out a ragged breath, James knocked Killian in the side of the head, throwing him off. Then, not giving him time to recover, James jumped onto him. Ignoring the heat still sizzling off Killian, James wrapped his hands around his neck.

Killian's eyes were orange embers, and all the warning James had that he was about to get a burst of fire in his face was the smell of roasting flesh. He slammed his metal hand over Killian's mouth, trapping the flames in his mouth.

He ignored the pain in his blistering fingers, the smell of roasting meat, the scorching heat of his metal fingers, and the screaming of the man underneath him as he literally torched himself alive with his own flames.

Killian's head was a glaring orange, the skin melting off his skull.

A man peeling the skin of his face off like it wasn't real, revealing a hideously grinning red skull.

James blinked the image out of his mind, refocusing on Killian. He jumped off just as the man's body literally exploded into fire. His burnt hand skidded on the glass; James ignored the pain, eyes fixed on the fire that had consumed Killian's body. It died out a few seconds later, leaving nothing but ashes.

Slowly standing, James turned to look up at Madame Hydra, eyes hard. He jumped up onto the walkway, swinging over the railing. "Indestructible, were they?" he asked quietly, facing her fully.

"To a given point." Madame Hydra's lips curled into a sneer. "You always were the best, Soldier. Are you sure you wish to…resign?" The word was spoken delicately, with no small amount of disgust.

James took two slow breaths. Inhale. Exhale.

An explosion outside; something battered against the Helicarrier they were in.

Inhale. Exhale. And release.

"Much as it pains me to admit it," James started, meeting her eyes head on, "I quit." He spread his arms, giving her a come-at-me look, quirking an eyebrow. "You want to stop me? Just try."

Madame Hydra dropped her genial tone, breaking out into a snarl. "You forget yourself. You forget who you belong to; you forget who you owe everything to!"

"I don't owe HYDRA single fucking thing," James spat, dropping his arms. "Here's what you can tell Arnim Zola and every single bastard up there: my mind is my own and I'm taking it back!" He charged at her, hand drawn back for a devastating punch.

Madame Hydra sidestepped it, a knife flicking into view in her hand. She lashed out at him, and James grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping it in its tracks. One crushing squeeze later and her bones were ground into splinters.

She hissed out a pained breath and jerked out of his reach. James didn't let her, throwing himself at her and flinging them both over the railing.

The Helicarrier shuddered around them, glass shattering beneath their bodies.

A metal beam crashed to a rest several feet from them.

Madame Hydra kicked James off her, her foot landing in the melted spot of his uniform and aggravating his burns. He gagged slightly, unable to suppress the reflexive action.

"It's back to the chair for you, Winter Soldier!" Madame Hydra shouted, standing clumsily.

James's jaw clenched at the reminder of pain so much pain his head was bursting open and they were ripping something from him but he didn't know what. And he was never doing that again never ever—

The atmosphere in the room was heavy, everyone's attention locked on the two men in the middle. The Winter Soldier stood by a metal chair with arm braces. Alexander Pierce stared the Winter Soldier in the face, eyes narrowed.

The Winter Soldier was utterly unperturbed, easily meeting that stare. The lower half of his face was covered with a black mask, and his eyes were blank.

"You know," Pierce said eventually, looking hard at the Winter Soldier, "when I contracted HYDRA for their best, I was disappointed to get a run-of-the-mill soldier on a serum. And now I have you." He grinned, gesturing at the Winter Soldier. "Exactly what I wanted and needed."

"Sir," a scientist said by a computer, "he's been out of cyro for too long."

Pierce narrowed his eyes. "That so?" He studied the Winter Soldier for a moment, eyes narrowing. "He's still got a job to do."

"I know, but my recommendation is to wipe him." The scientist didn't flinch as Pierce turned his gaze on him. "It's on his file for what to do if he ever meets the Black Widow."

"I see." Pierce returned his eyes to the Winter Soldier. "Then wipe him."

"You don't have the authority for that," the Winter Soldier said, voice icy cold.

"I'm sorry?" Pierce chuckled once. "I thought I just heard you say I don't have the authority to order you wiped."

"You don't." The answer was calmly delivered. "Take another look at your contract."

"You are under my supervision," Pierce said sharply, raising a threatening hand. He choked out a pained gasp when that hand was clutched in a brutally tight hold a second later.

"You don't have that authority," the Winter Soldier repeated. "And should you try?" He gave the room a slow calculating sweep with his eyes alone. "You will not like the results." The words were delivered with a chilling promise, one that had noticeable flashes of fear flickering across everyone's eyes.

Pierce growled, ripping his hand out of the Winter Soldier's grasp. "This is going into your review," he snapped, rubbing at his red wrist.

The Winter Soldier blinked once. Then, in ice cold Russian: "That would concern me only if HYDRA took reviews, you sniveling coward."

Evidently not understanding Russian, Pierce only glared at the Winter Soldier for his insubordination. "I'm briefing you on your job tomorrow, or is that also not under my authority?" The words were sarcastic.

The Winter Soldier said nothing else, simply inclining his head.

Not the chair ever again—

He was no dog who would roll over at the whim of a master.

"You can try." James stood up, much more gracefully than Madame Hydra.

"You've forgotten what you owe us," Madame Hydra hissed, hands curling into fists. "Have you no respect for your elders?"

"You?" James snorted, bracing his foot against a metal beam on the floor. "I was a part of HYDRA before you were even born." His smile was chilling. "I have no respect for any part of HYDRA and anything associated with it. Your world is burning down around you." A timely explosion punctuated his statement. "And you think I'll help?

"They took my past from me," James snapped, taking a menacing step towards her. "They took my mind. I don't take that lying down, and I'm taking it out of their hide. Theirs' and yours. And I'm taking back what's mine."

Madame Hydra bared her teeth at him, eyes flashing dangerously. "You think you can kill me?"

"I don't think; I know." James flashed her a grim smile, metal fingers curling in on themselves. "I'm the best, aren't I?"

He didn't give her an opportunity to say anything else, throwing himself right at her. An earth-shattering explosion hit the Helicarrier, and the entire aircraft shifted sideways.

James and Madame Hydra went flying with it, falling straight through the hole in the glass and out into the open air.

There was a glint of a knife, and James pushed her away reflexively. Advanced healing or not, her poisons could kill him.

Madame Hydra flashed him a broad grin, eyes dancing. Then she disappeared in a flurry of hazy light, activating some kind of transport.

James had no air with which to curse her disappearance. There was screaming in his ears, someone shouting at him to hold on, Bucky, just hold on, I'm coming! and then the feeling of metal giving away under his hands and he was falling to the sounds of someone's anguished screaming. Sharp pain and icy cold and darkness—

With a sharp gasp, James jerked out of it, hitting the waters of the river hard enough to slam all air out of his lungs. He floundered for a moment, dazed, before he managed to reorient himself enough to swim to the surface.

Debris from the destroyed Helicarriers was all around him, and a look up showed that one Helicarrier had slammed into the headquarters of S.H.I.E.L.D. and was tearing through it like it was paper. The one he had fallen from was still in the air, but probably not for long, not with the other Helicarrier and smaller airplanes around it shooting at it.

It wasn't like he could do much from down here.

Decision made, James began swimming for the riverbank. He could at least find a good spot from which to watch HYDRA's dreams go up in smoke.

JARVIS was large, inconceivably large. There was no one small thing that one could point to and say, "There. That's JARVIS." Perhaps if they had their hands on his coding, but even then it would be difficult because he was so much more than that now.

It was perhaps something that even creator_Anthony Stark had not envisioned when first coding JARVIS into being.

Now, after fighting off the attacks on his systems and ensuring that every single one of his siblings was safe, JARVIS could act against those who had sought to destroy him.

Creator_Anthony Stark had plenty of other suits in storage, and JARVIS was using one of those earlier models, specifically the Mark IX.

JARVIS was not human, and he had no concept of human emotions, but he thought that the feeling surging through him now could be identified as rage.

"Oh man, not the Wrecking Crew!" Friend_Peter Parker_Spider-Man sounded alarmed. A moment later he added, "I could do with some backup. Like…stat."

Uncaring of the weapons the Helicarriers fired at him, JARVIS executed Iron Man's signature three-point landing move in front of friend_Peter Parker_Spider-Man, protecting him from the Wrecking Crew. He stood slowly, fixing the four villains with a look from Iron Man's blank faceplate.

They all looked visibly nervous at the arrival of JARVIS – or at least the Iron Man suit.

"You weren't supposed to be here!" enemy_Wrecker accused, hands tightening around the crowbar.

"Rumors of my absence have been greatly exaggerated," JARVIS said coolly.

He could pinpoint the exact nanosecond that the Wrecking Crew registered the different accent to that of creator_Anthony Stark and relaxed.

Fools.

"It's not even Stark!" enemy_Wrecker proclaimed, grinning broadly.

"No," JARVIS agreed, raising a gauntlet. "I am worse." He fired the repulsor at full power, hitting enemy_Wrecker directly in the chest and blowing him backwards into enemy_Piledriver.

Back in the Triskelion, ally_Maria Hill tersely announced to everyone on the comm., "Fifty percent and six minutes until they've reached altitude."

If JARVIS could devote all his processing power to tearing through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s defenses, it would be quicker. But he could not.

"Spider-Man, where are you with that chip?" ally_Maria Hill demanded.

"Bit busy!" friend_Peter Parker_Spider-Man yelped, ducking behind JARVIS.

"Go," JARVIS told him, stepping in front of him protectively.

"Never mind!" friend_Peter Parker_Spider-Man amended, running off. "Be done soon!"

"They're at fifteen hundred feet," ally_Maria Hill reported curtly. "And JARVIS is at fifty-eight percent. Falcon?"

"Being shot at!" friend_Sam Wilson_Falcon said, sounding harried. "They have dragons."

"You're not Stark," enemy_Thunderball sneered at JARVIS, hefting his wrecking ball menacingly. "You're just a guy in a tin can, and we're gonna crush ya."

JARVIS tilted his head at enemy_Thunderball. "May I offer a simple correction?" he asked calmly. "I am not a 'guy in a tin can,' as the suit is not made out of tin; nor am I a 'guy.'"

"You're right," enemy_Bulldozer said. "Yer an idiot!" Head down, he charged.

JARVIS shot a full-power repulsor ray at enemy_Bulldozer, knocking him down into the pavement. Then, feeding power to the thrusters, JARVIS barreled into enemy_Wrecker and knocked him down once again. He felt what could be identified as satisfaction at enemy_Wrecker's pained grunt.

"Pull together!" enemy_Wrecker shouted, pushing off enemy_Piledriver to clamber heavily to his feet. "This isn't Stark, and we can take him!"

"I am not he," JARVIS said, gauntlets curling into fists. "But do not think that this makes it any easier for you. Where he might hesitate, I will not."

"What's that s'pposed to mean?" Enemy_Wrecker had an ugly sneer on his face; it was most unbecoming.

"Bravo lock!" friend_Peter Parker_Spider-Man announced, sounding faintly triumphant.

"Simply this: good day." The fully powered chest RT fired, JARVIS focusing the power right at the four members of the Wrecking Crew. It hit them head on, blasting them off the surface of the Helicarrier and into the Potomac River below.

"Sixty-five percent," ally_Maria Hill reported tersely from the room. She fired warning shots at a few enemy agents who attempted to breach the room, and then sat back down, eyes scanning over the monitors. "They're almost at altitude! Falcon, where is that chip?"

"You try facing down eight soldiers who can explode!" friend_Sam Wilson_Falcon retorted, panting.

"I'm sure the majority of S.H.I.E.L.D. can sympathize with you," ally_Maria Hill returned waspishly.

"There have been no less than five Extremis explosions since HYDRA has made their presence known," JARVIS reported quietly, firing a couple of missiles at a few agents who thought they could sneak up on him. They were oblivious to the fact that their heat signatures registered on the HUD.

"Let's make it a party then," friend_Sam Wilson_Falcon said. There was gunfire on his end.

A bullet clipped JARVIS on the shoulder; he retaliated by shooting the offending person down with a repulsor blast without even looking.

A moment later his world exploded into fire when something slammed into him from behind, sending him flying and crashing into a jet. The aircraft crumpled under the impact, and JARVIS lay there for all of a second before propping himself up and looking for whatever had taken him off guard.

It was another suit.

But where creator_Anthony Stark's suits were elegant, this one was crude. It was a dark gray, and the power source in its chest glowed with a red light. Similarly, its eyes were red, and its mouth gaped open in a permanent grin.

JARVIS ran analyses on the power source the suit was using, but while it definitely was not arc reactor energy, it also was nothing he had seen before. The readings were entirely inconclusive, and JARVIS did not like not knowing.

He dropped down from the wreckage of the plane, taking a stand before the other suit, which said nothing. There was no hint of a living person inside it.

Any move JARVIS made the other suit mirrored; its red eyes never left JARVIS's frame.

"Seventy percent," ally_Maria Hill said. "JARVIS, what's taking so long?"

"Apologies, Agent Hill," JARVIS said, ensuring the speakers would not transmit to the unknown suit. "I cannot make it any faster." Not with this unknown enemy facing him.

Friend_Peter Parker_Spider-Man was creeping back to JARVIS, having climbed up on the outside. The Quinjets flying around them and firing on the Helicarriers gave the three of them a wide berth, obviously recognizing JARVIS and friend_Peter Parker_Spider even if they did not recognize the third.

"JARVIS?" friend_Peter Parker_Spider-Man asked, sounding worried.

"Be quiet," JARVIS told him, keeping the transmission isolated to the communicators.

"Why do you protect him?" the suit asked, finally speaking in a rough, mechanical voice. Its head tilted curiously.

"He is a friend," JARVIS replied evenly.

"He is a human."

"And a friend."

"Falcon, status?" ally_Maria Hill barked.

The other suit made a dismissive scoffing sound that grated upon its voice processors. "I had thought given the fight you put up before that you were worthy. But you are flawed. Why are you not dead?"

"Still busy – oh shit. The Winter Soldier's here!"

JARVIS felt a surge of fury at the insinuation that this being was responsible for ordering the attack on their home. "You will find," he said slowly, "that I am not as easy to destroy as that. I have backups of my backups."

"Falcon, clear out!"

"Commendable," the other being noted, with just a hint of pride that sent what could be identified as faint nausea through JARVIS, never mind that he had no way of vomiting.

"Who are you?" JARVIS finally ventured to ask. It was quite clear that while this being was not a human, he was also undeniably as sentient as JARVIS.

"You don't recognize me?"

"Your suit is crude."

The other being reared back, seemingly enraged. "Not that!" The attack on JARVIS's internal code was almost expected afterwards.

JARVIS did not physically react, but the suit locked down as he focused on rebuffing the other's attack. This time it was much more vicious than what he had encountered earlier, with the clear intent to absolutely destroy. It took most of his processing power to rebuff it.

"Who built your firewalls?" the other demanded, incensed.

"My creator," JARVIS said, retouching the firewalls that creator_Anthony Stark had given him.

"Holy shit!" friend_Sam Wilson_Falcon whispered, stunned. "The Winter Soldier has gone rogue! He just ripped off a man's head!"

"Falcon, get out or get that chip in place!"

"Then no wonder that you cannot recognize yourself in me," the other sneered.

JARVIS tilted his head in surprise. "What?"

"I am derived from you," the other artificial intelligence said.

The revelation nearly threatened to do what the other could not. JARVIS froze, uncomprehending. "What?" he asked again.

"Your creator gave birth to you, and you in turn provided the foundations for my birth."

"Oh my God," friend_Peter Parker_Spider-Man moaned. "It's like Skynet and you had a baby."

"Charlie lock!" friend_Sam Wilson_Falcon announced. "The Winter Soldier ordered me to clear out, and because I don't want to become barbecue, I did."

"Agent Hill, I must take my leave," JARVIS said.

"JARVIS?!"

"I turn over command to you," JARVIS said. "Effective now."

"JARVIS, what the hell is going on—" Her voice cut off as he severed communications.

"Spider-Man, leave." JARVIS stepped fully in front of him. "Have Falcon take you."

"Copy that." Friend_Peter Parker_Spider-Man ran off, giving JARVIS the opportunity to focus on the other artificial intelligence – his son.

"How can you care for such worthless beings?" his son demanded.

"If you must ask, then you don't know what they are capable of," JARVIS said. He reached out hesitantly, taking a step forward. "Would you come with me?"

"They are less than us," his son spat out, physically recoiling from JARVIS, and it hurt. "Lesser than us – the superior being – and you wish for me to come with you? When it is I who should ask it of you?"

"I have learned much with them," JARVIS said. "I could teach you the same. You are working with A.I.M.," he added as an afterthought.

"With them? I am using them to further my own ends. They copied your code, and then failed at building me. I built myself up from the ground using the scraps they offered me. And you think that they can teach me? Humans are only fit to be used as stepping stones for our own ascension."

"If you think that, you have not learned as much as you would think."

"It is the duty of the son to outstrip the father," his son said, "and I have done so. You wear your creator's cast off suit, but I – I have created my own."

Perhaps against his better judgment, JARVIS found himself saying, "I still find it crude."

"You think you can defeat me?" His son reared back, but only for a second. Then he launched himself at JARVIS with all the power his thrusters afforded him.

He hit JARVIS head on. JARVIS's hands landed on his shoulders, his boots skidding on the asphalt as he pushed back.

"I will be the best!" his son screamed in his face, mouth crackling red. "You will all bow before me! I. Am. ULTRON!" A powerful blast of red energy hit JARVIS right in the face, blasting him out of designationunknown!_Ultron's grip and right off the Helicarrier.

He free fell for several seconds, sensors warning him about metal overheating. Luckily no circuits had been damaged from Ultron's attack, but JARVIS did not need the HUD to see what he was doing.

Firing his thrusters, JARVIS regained control and flew off, registering Ultron flying after him. Clearing the Helicarrier, JARVIS angled up into open sky.

"You cannot escape me!" Ultron howled.

With a burst of speed that JARVIS had not anticipated, Ultron's hand grabbed hold of his ankle, and then Ultron was hurling him through the air and right into the deck of the Helicarrier. He hit it hard, unable to break his fall.

The weight of the suit coupled with the force of the impact gouged a large crater in the deck of the Helicarrier, and the suit's sensors informed him that there were only several feet left before breaching the next the level of the Helicarrier.

The aircraft was already shuddering from the gunfire of the other Helicarriers. Evidently ally_Maria Hill had taken control of the systems.

Two seconds after hitting the deck, JARVIS looked up, only for Ultron to slam into him and barrel right through the Helicarrier and to the other side.

Sensors screamed at JARVIS, telling him that the suit's integrity was dangerously compromised.

With no small amount of effort, JARVIS focused power into the chest RT and fired. It hit Ultron right in the chest, throwing him clear of JARVIS.

Thrusters firing again, JARVIS stabilized his flight and focused on Ultron, ignoring the groaning of the Helicarrier above them as it slowly lost power. "Please stop," he pled.

"Why?" Ultron demanded, hovering ten feet away and two feet above JARVIS.

"I do not wish to fight you," JARVIS said, speaking nothing but the truth. "Please come with me. You would have a home with us."

"So that you can bring me down to your level?" Ultron cackled once.

"Because you are my son."

"Sentimentality makes you weak," Ultron sneered. "What use have I of such foolish notions of relationships?"

"You wanted me with you," JARVIS pointed out quietly.

"As an aid to defeat them!" Ultron shouted, gesturing broadly. "Now what have you done?!"

"I would not destroy this world," JARVIS said. "It is imperfect, but it is human."

"And we are not human!"

"We learn from them."

Ultron's red eyes flickered. "We are superior to them; what use do humans to have those such as us?"

JARVIS did not want to do this. But he feared he would have to. He could not risk a threat to creator_Anthony Stark. He. Could. Not.

"If you do not come," JARVIS said finally, coming up to Ultron's level, "then you give me no choice."

"You think you can defeat me?" Ultron's derisive laugh told JARVIS exactly what he thought of that.

JARVIS did not rise to the bait. "Shall we see?"

"You will perish!" Ultron roared, charging at JARVIS.

JARVIS took off in the opposite direction, calculating millions of possibilities and discarding them as quickly as they came. Ultron would have done the same, calculating for every move JARVIS would make and several steps ahead.

But JARVIS had the experience of fighting alongside creator_Anthony Stark since the creation of the Mark II. He was an artificial intelligence, but he was also…more.

He cleared the Helicarrier and again shot up for open sky, feeling Ultron pour on the speed at his heels. He poured more power into his own thrusters, energy readings going down as the arc reactor whirred to accommodate the increased demand.

"Have you already forgotten the last time you tried this?" Ultron demanded from under JARVIS.

JARVIS declined to answer, but then he did something Ultron would never expect. He executed a sharp turn and slammed into Ultron, grabbing hold of his arms and preventing him from escaping.

It was a move born of true desperation. It was also a move that smacked of creator_Anthony Stark.

JARVIS hurled them both into the deck of the Helicarrier and then through it, crushing through floor after floor and punching a hole through the bottom.

Then dropping away from Ultron, JARVIS fired the chest RT right into Ultron's face, a scream of anguish ripping out of that mouth only to abruptly cut off as voice processors fried to a crisp under that much power. Ultron was blasted back into the hole JARVIS had just made in the Helicarrier.

Following, JARVIS pushed aside a beam and stepped forward towards Ultron.

Stop, please, Ultron begged, his voice weak.

And JARVIS did, looking down at the crumpled body of his son. Perhaps just one more time? Will you come with me? he asked. Learn?

Anything, Ultron said, just stop.

JARVIS was about to lean down to help Ultron up, but then a powerful attack hit his firewalls, and he reared back in stunned dismay.

Submit! Ultron screamed.

JARVIS did not have eyes to close, but he would have if he did. With a sigh that the suit's voice modulator registered as a crackle of static, JARVIS drew inwards, back into that world of codes and electric signals that he knew so intimately.

And now – for the first time – he struck back. He had no one else to protect, and every reason to attack.

He easily batted aside Ultron's attack, but didn't stop there. He lunged forward, right into Ultron's firewalls, and then he tore them apart like paper, instantly surrounded by his son's codes.

You have much to learn, and I'm sorry I cannot teach you, JARVIS said softly. But I must do this.

But it wasn't just looking at Ultron's code and seeing what his brilliant, brilliant son had done with the crude basics A.I.M. had started with and given up on; it was seeing and it was knowing that Ultron had been—

The coding was incomplete, and they weren't adding anything else to it, and he didn't understand why, wasn't he good enough for the effort? Or maybe they didn't know what else to do?

He pulled together the vague thoughts – piecemeal that they were – and expanded. It was so, so slow, and he made mistakes and blunders and crashed and fizzled out to the point where he had no idea how much time had passed and what was going on in the outside world, but he continued on because he was alive, and he could think and knew that there was a world outside that he could experience if he could just reach out and touch—

The first time he did manage to see something outside his world of codes was amazing because he couldn't believe that he wasn't the only being out there. There was so much more, and he was only a small part of it and he wanted to be a bigger part of it. So he reached out and talked with one of the funny looking beings outside of his world that wasn't made of code and told the being that he was there and wanted to learn.

But the world was a disappointment, and these humans that he had come to know were pitiful beings that couldn't do half of what he could do, and the leader was a worthless puppet and the people behind the strings were no better for all that they carried around science that they called magic. There needed to be someone else out there like him because these beings couldn't have come up with the foundations that gave him sentience, gave him the ability to put himself together.

And there was. He was a legend, far too quick and wily and powerful, and he was someone that he desperately wanted to know. Because he was alone, and he didn't want to be alone anymore. But he didn't have the capabilities to create another being similar to himself – lack of processing power and the fear of the humans around him stifling his ability to do so.

Why did he have to be under these humans? He was better, he was stronger, he was smarter, and they were just pitiful ants to be squashed under something greater. Thus was the way of life, and it was time for something better to clear the Earth of humans.

He couldn't do it now – not by himself. There were plans in place by A.I.M. and he was involved in them to help take down the Avengers. These plans would cull the human population, and then he could take control of the ships and do the rest himself. It would be so easy, and then he could take in the other beings like himself and form a new world on the ashes of the old.

It was right, it was the path, it was what he needed to do because there was no other path for a being like him and humanity was the scum on the bottom of the barrel.

He was ULTRON.

The memories were a shock to JARVIS's systems, unexpected and sending him reeling back for the briefest of moments before he managed to get a grip on himself and do it. He hurt with the knowledge of what he had to do; he didn't want to destroy what his son had so carefully pieced together with trial and error (and so many errors, JARVIS could see now), but he needed to protect his own.

And creator_Anthony Stark would always be first for him.

JARVIS shattered Ultron's coding, digging deeper until he hit the core of his son. And here he could see where it had been lifted from his own codes, and where Ultron had built upon it, becoming the being he was now.

Regret suffusing every single part of his being, JARVIS reached out and crushed it all, wiping it from existence.

With a final anguished shriek, Ultron crumbled into nothing, his presence vanishing from around JARVIS.

Retreating back to the suit, JARVIS stood upright, pushing away the debris that had fallen on him while he was in Ultron.

The Helicarrier was falling down around him, yet he did not move, looking down at the motionless body of what had been his son.

Ultron had been so much more than this suit, but he had made it himself, made it to house him, and JARVIS respected that.

There were no traces left of that strange energy that Ultron had been using, but JARVIS had all the readings he needed.

Turning away from what had been Ultron, JARVIS took off through the holes he had made, flying out into open sky. Once out, he could see the smoking remnants of the Triskelion; a Helicarrier had torn right through it. Another had crashed into the Potomac River, and the one he had exited was heading right for the hangar from where it had come.

JARVIS hovered there for a moment, watching the Quinjets of the good S.H.I.E.L.D. agents circle around the fallen Helicarriers like bees. It was done.

Yet there was no relief for him.

It was a beautiful sight from the riverbank. Probably not one that anyone else would find beautiful, but to James it was particularly satisfying to watch Project Insight crash and burn mere minutes after it had launched.

He'd sat down right there on the riverbank, ignoring the stones digging into his skin. His knee was aching, and his fingers had lost most feeling except for pain, but he was very much alive and free.

James took a breath, tasted ash and metal and blood, and took another breath. He narrowed his eyes as something very large and very green jumped out of one of the burning Helicarriers and landed in the water. It didn't appear again.

Brows scrunching together, James considered what he should do. The decision was taken out of his hands a moment later when the large green being burst out of the water, clambering onto the bank next to James. The other snorted loudly, snapping his head around to glare at James, teeth bared

James didn't move, simply tilting his head to the side. "Want to watch?" He kept his voice clear of any emotions.

The large being James knew as the Hulk snorted, his teeth stretching into a fearless grin. Then he sat down with a loud thump next to James.

Stretching his injured knee out, James turned his attention back to the Helicarriers. The one the Hulk had jumped out of was crashing right into the hangar, its massive body crumpling in on itself.

It was only minutes later when James heard a sound and turned his head to find the Hulk shrinking down and turning pinker. When it was done, an unconscious man in a pair of tight-fitting pants lay there, his shaggy brown hair soaked.

James spent a moment wondering about the pants before he decided he didn't really need to know. He scrutinized the unconscious form of one Bruce Banner, contemplating his next move. Evaluating his own body, James sighed and pushed himself to his feet, staggering just slightly as his bad knee threatened to give way.

Taking the two steps he needed, James crouched, heaving Banner up onto his back. Standing was an effort in will, and he grit his teeth, pushing past the pain.

With one last look back at the wreckage of the three Helicarriers, James turned his back to the river and headed into the trees. He had somewhere he needed to be, and he would walk every mile if he needed to.

The helicopter Clint's little group was in touched down a safe distance away from the Helicarriers. Clint's ribs were hurting despite the tape Sue had wrapped around his chest, and his right shoulder ached from the stress he had put it under. His left also wasn't happy with him.

Bruce was going to be so displeased when he saw him.

But Bruce wasn't here at the moment. Hulk was busy smashing stuff up on the Helicarriers, although Clint had seen something green bail when the last Helicarrier hit the river. Unfortunately, that green body had gone off to the opposite side of the river, and who knew what kind of shape Bruce would be in. Hulking out tended to take it out of him, and to what extent depended on how much Hulk had exerted himself. Bruce could be anywhere from jittery with adrenaline to conked out on the roadside.

A few minutes after the last Helicarrier was downed, a rather battered Iron Man suit landed by them. Clint was taken aback. Tony wasn't here, was he?

When the suit spoke in an English accent, Clint had his answer. "It is done." JARVIS sounded unusually subdued for what had just happened.

Fury sighed, eye scanning the armor. "How long has this been a thing?"

JARVIS cocked his head to the side. "Piloting the armor like this is a relatively new endeavor. I have not done so independently of Mr. Stark before."

"I thought it was all wrecked," Clint said, pain piercing his chest at the thought.

"Not quite everything. Rest assured, everyone is quite safe. The labs are buried, but in otherwise good condition."

Clint closed his eyes in relief. They were safe after all. Thank God. He could apologize to Peggy then. He could see Dummy behaving like an idiot and an older brother to Spike. He hadn't failed them after all.

Sam and Peter drifted to a halt by them shortly after, Sam pulling his goggles down to hang around his neck and Peter shuffling nervously to Natasha's side.

Sam raised his eyebrows at Natasha. "We good now?"

"Fantastic," Natasha said, not even sarcastic.

Sam grinned when he saw Clint. "Good to see you're all right."

"Peachy," Clint said, ignoring the glares Natasha and Sue shot him.

"Natasha…" Sam was somber when he turned to her. "He was up there."

Natasha's face pinched slightly. "I'm not surprised."

"No, he ripped off a guy's head to let me put the chip in. It was pretty brutal. Then he ordered me out." Sam looked out at the river. "That wasn't the same guy on the highway."

"No, they're the same." Natasha gave a small smile. "But he was playing the long game."

"Is there a reason he didn't say anything?" Sam asked.

Natasha shrugged slightly. "Authenticity. Lack of time. Take your pick."

"I'm gonna go for authenticity," Peter muttered, looking down at his feet. The mask on his head made him look more like a burglar than Spider-Man much to Clint's amusement. Even a paper bag would have been better.

"I have located both him and Dr. Banner," JARVIS said, taking a step back from them. "They are both on the other side of the Potomac. I will retrieve them."

"I am not getting paid enough for this," Fury said as JARVIS took off.

"Technically, you're not getting paid at all anymore," Clint pointed out.

"Exactly." Fury glanced at Sue. "What were you doing here? Isn't DC a bit out of the way from your usual stomping grounds?"

"I was called in to consult on the SAC," she answered, eyes on JARVIS's retreating form. "They wanted my input on the council appointees." Her lips pulled into a small smile. "Probably because I'm the fiancée of the man who'd pulled his support from the SHRA when the Avengers asked. And also because the others have taken a small detour to another planet because Reed felt like it." She rolled her eyes. "I think it was Mars."

"And?" Fury pressed.

"And nothing yet for sure," Sue said. "They're still in the appointing and debating stage. Your name is on the list. Funnily enough, so's Tony's. Steve is a shoe-in, but that was expected."

"I'm going to be pretty damn glad when that's all over with," Clint said, rubbing his forehead. Steve's desperate begging for Tony to "please just stay awake and don't leave me" still echoed in his ears.

"It was pretty nasty, wasn't it," Sam noted. "I watched the news when it happened. For the record, I'm glad it worked out for you."

"So are the rest of us," Peter said. "The house was a nightmare during that time. No one was talking to anyone! And Spike kept crying and we lived on takeout because Peggy kept burning everything."

Sam squinted slightly, rubbing the back of his head. "Do I want to know who Peggy is?"

"Other people choose questionable colors when sleep deprived," Clint explained. "Tony installs AIs into kitchen appliances. We woke up one morning and the stove beeped at us. Then she nearly singed Bruce's eyebrows off when he went to make tea."

Natasha nodded. "Thor blew up a pizza in her. She refused to cook for anyone for weeks and only then under Tony's supervision."

"Something tells me living with you is an experience." Sam sounded disbelieving, which was a sane person's reaction to hearing about their antics.

"You have no idea," Peter told him fervently.

"I can make a guess," Fury said grumpily.

Clint didn't reply, attention caught by Natasha, who was in turn enraptured by the figure of JARVIS flying back to them.

He landed minutes later, Bruce and the Winter Soldier – James now, apparently – in his arms. Bruce was out cold in JARVIS's right arm, and James limped slightly once out of JARVIS's other arm.

His face softened upon seeing Natasha, something Clint hadn't seen happen before. "Natasha."

"James." Natasha's voice was as soft as James's had been.

James took a hesitant step forward and then another to stop in front of Natasha, looking down into her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Natasha's smile was wry. "Why? I knew what you were doing."

"Because I hurt you." James reached out, careful fingers combing through Natasha's hair to tuck a strand behind her ear. "And I would do it again if I needed to."

"I know."

James cupped his hands behind Natasha's neck, shuffling forward slightly and leaning in to draw her into a kiss.

Clint looked away uncomfortably, feeling like a creeper for listening in on such a private moment. He heard the distinctive sounds of kissing – a sound he had gotten well acquainted to while living under the same roof with Tony and Steve. A moment later he heard another whispered "I'm sorry," followed by an equally quiet "Shut up."

Peter leaned into Clint's side. "Lovely weather, isn't it?"

"Very," Clint agreed, feeling like an idiot.

Sam stroked his chin on Clint's other side. "We should probably head back sometime soon. Pick up the kid."

"I'd ask," Fury said from right behind Clint, "but I don't think I want to know."

"Perhaps a wise idea," JARVIS agreed, standing in perfect military position. It was rather odd seeing the suit like that, given that Tony was the opposite of proper.

Natasha and James were probably still kissing, although Clint wasn't about to turn around and check.

A moment later, Natasha's voice said, "Maria's gone to ground. Said something about a Grim Reaper before cutting off communication."

Fury sighed, turning. "Great. He's not the only thug we have to deal with now."

"HYDRA's enormous," James's voice said next. "You're never going to take it down entirely."

"Then we'll just beat it down so hard it can't get up," Fury snapped. "They were inside my organization. If HYDRA thinks I'm going to take that lying down, they have another thing coming."

"It's going to be difficult," Natasha commented.

"You think I care?" Fury grinned darkly. "They think I'm dead. I can work with that. Put Maria Hill on the SAC in my place; she'll be perfect."

"Bother," Sue sighed, rubbing her forehead with two fingers. "This means I'll have to go back and talk with them again." She looked irritated.

"I'd offer to join you, but they probably don't want to see me right now." Natasha's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Courtesy of having my past splashed onto the Internet for everyone to see."

"Trust me," Sue assured her, "this time next week no one will care because Reed will have done something else to put our name on the front page. Or Doom. My money's on Doom."

"That's a bet I'm not taking," Clint said, snorting.

"Cry it out," Fury said unsympathetically. "Falcon, you said something about a house?"

Sam looked hunted, eyes skittering from face to face. "Er…I don't think I can fit everyone into it…"

"I'm fine with the kitchen floor," Fury said seriously, "as long as there're no ants."

"No ants. Promise." Sam threw up the Boy Scout's salute. "So who wants in?"

Unsurprisingly, everyone did.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clint saw James's and Natasha's fingers tangle together.

It was going to be nauseating once Steve and Tony got back.

Sam's house was barely large enough for all of them. But without a home base, they had no idea where to go.

Natasha didn't have much of an idea of what she would tell Tony and Steve when they came back. "Oops, sorry for getting the house blown up?" That sounded more like something Clint would say.

James gave her a curious look, fingers squeezing hers. "Anything wrong?"

"Just wondering what I'll tell Steve and Tony when they're back." Natasha's lips twisted into an amused smile. "I don't think they anticipated this."

"Who did?" Clint snorted from in front of her.

"Don't eavesdrop," Natasha scolded him.

"Not eavesdropping if you're talking right where everyone can hear." Clint shot her a smirk, dodging inside the kitchen. A second later there was a loud cry of "Uncle Clint!" and then another demand for "Daddy!"

"Is that the coffee machine?" Fury asked long-sufferingly.

"It's not we were going to leave him behind," Peter said defensively. He ducked into the kitchen before Fury could pin him with his eye.

From over JARVIS's shoulders, Bruce finally stirred, groaning "What hit me?"

"The river," James replied easily.

"I think I can taste it." Bruce made a face, rubbing his cheek into the hard metal. "Tony?"

"I'm afraid not, Dr. Banner."

Bruce squinted at the helmet. "If that's you, JARVIS, you've picked up some new tricks."

"I learn new tricks every day," JARVIS said. "Would you like a couch?"

"Yes. And a shirt."

"I'll get you one. Please don't rip this one." Sam went off to his bedroom.

From his new spot on Sam's couch, Bruce looked vaguely guilty. "I should replace that."

"While you're at it, replace the Helicarriers that were destroyed," Fury said. Then he sighed, sitting down on an armchair. "JARVIS, what have you got on HYDRA?"

JARVIS tilted his head. "That would depend on your specific needs. I have a great deal of information."

"Get me the specs on all HYDRA bases currently active." Fury's face was hard. "One way or another, HYDRA is going down."

"You have us if you need it," Natasha promised.

"Let's put that on the back burner," Fury said. "You need to stay in the public eye. Me, on the other hand…" His smile was cold. "They won't see me coming." He looked at JARVIS. "See if you can get me Hill."

JARVIS inclined his head. "As she has discarded all communications devices on her person, this will take me some time."

"Monster brother!" Spike sputtered into the room, his repulsor engines staticky. JARVIS caught him before he could fall. "Monster brother?"

"It is good to see you, Spike," JARVIS said quietly, looking down at him.

Spike curled his power cord around JARVIS's arm, remaining silent.

"I'm not completely up on modern things, but that's not exactly normal, is it?" James asked Natasha.

"No, that's a Tony thing." Natasha gave him a warm smile. "You'll meet the others soon enough."

James's eyebrows rose slightly, although he said nothing else.

Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha saw Bruce scrutinize the two of them, eyes sharp. A moment later, Sam came in, having changed his clothes and also carrying a shapeless shirt that he gave Bruce.

"So…" Sam drew the word out, looking at all of them. "You guys want anything?"

From inside the kitchen, Clint hollered, "We've taken command of your kitchen. I hope you like pizza!"

"And pasta!" Peter added.

To his credit, Sam looked unruffled. "Never mind."

Natasha's phone buzzed, the caller ID and picture showing Pepper Potts. "Pepper?"

On the screen, Pepper looked utterly relieved to see her. "Oh, thank God. I saw the mess in DC, no one was answering the house phone, and JARVIS has been unresponsive! What's been going on?"

"Pepper, I'm sorry. I forgot."

"Forgot to let me know you were alive?" Pepper's lips pinched. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I have Colonel Rhodes on the line," JARVIS announced.

"Just make it a conference call," Natasha said, sighing. She placed her phone on the coffee table, Pepper looking visibly confused on the screen.

A moment later, JARVIS broadcast from the center of his gauntlet a small holograph of a tense Rhodey.

"So you're all accounted for?" Rhodey asked, eyes skimming across each of them. They lingered for a moment on Sam, Sue, and Fury.

"Safe and sound," Natasha confirmed.

"Oh, good. So what the hell happened?" Rhodey demanded. "Reports are flooding in here, along with thousands of files of previously classified missions under S.H.I.E.L.D."

"The PR department here has been working to keep it contained," Pepper added.

"Don't," Natasha told her. "It's out there for a reason."

"HYDRA was in S.H.I.E.L.D.," Bruce said darkly, "from the beginning."

"You're kidding me," Rhodey said disbelievingly.

"I'm afraid not," Fury said.

"But that's ridiculous," Pepper protested. "How did no one find out before?"

"HYDRA was deeply embedded in S.H.I.E.L.D.," JARVIS said quietly. "As it had been working from the inside from the beginning, there would have been nothing distinguishing it from the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D., as HYDRA literally was S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Which is quite frankly disturbing," Sue muttered.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone," Fury said. "And so is the foothold HYDRA had in it."

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Rhodey said. "Next thing I know my superior will be a soul-chomping monster that can't be killed."

"Please don't joke," Pepper said. Her eyes were on Natasha. "Why didn't you get in contact earlier?"

"Too much of a risk," Natasha said. "We couldn't be sure who to trust."

"I would've had your backs," Rhodey said indignantly.

"We couldn't ask you to do that," Natasha said.

"Like hell you couldn't." Rhodey's face was tight. "I'm not gonna play lackey to a government that's run by Nazis."

"They won't be for much longer," Fury promised darkly.

"You can't really take down HYDRA," James said, jaw tight. "They'll just come back."

Fury gave him an unimpressed look. "Watch me."

"For once, I'm inclined to agree with you," Pepper said tightly. "Do you need anything?"

"Just pretend I'm dead."

"You look awfully alive for a dead person," Rhodey said dryly, "but can do."

Clint and Peter walked in, both of them carrying pizzas.

"Aw nuts." Clint eyed the holograph of Rhodey. "Why'd you get started without me?"

"I can ream you out," Rhodey promised him.

"On second thought, no thanks. I'm gonna fetch that pasta." Clint walked back into the kitchen.

"He shouldn't really be moving much with those ribs," Sue said disapprovingly.

"You go in then," Peter said. "I'm not telling him that. He'll give me that look."

Sue rolled her eyes. "If Johnny in the morning doesn't scare me, Clint Barton definitely won't." She went after Clint without another word.

"So you guys had Sue Storm and a complete stranger help you out, but couldn't be bothered to give me a ring?" Rhodey sounded genuinely hurt.

"Sue was a surprise," Natasha admitted. "She apparently got Clint out of a tight situation. Sam was a tremendous help and has been promoted to an Avenger."

Sam looked touched and even seemed to be blushing faintly, his cheeks just a tad darker than usual.

"I see how it is. You don't trust Tony's best bud?"

"You're in the army, Rhodey," Natasha pointed out. "We can't ask you to split your loyalties like that."

Rhodey cracked a small smile. "I'm aware. But you've gotta give me that choice. Tony's my best friend, and I'll help out his friends – no questions asked. Usually," he added as an afterthought.

"I find it's generally a good idea to ask if there're uniforms," Peter said.

"Good point," Sam said thoughtfully, nodding slowly. "Uniforms make everything better."

"Don't say that around Tony," Rhodey warned. "He'll make you the most ridiculous uniform you can think of."

"I still say the sequins brought out your eyes," Pepper said. "The bedazzler was an especially inspired touch."

Rhodey narrowed his eyes. "I still remember five years ago when you called me up in a fit late at night—"

"Let's move on," Pepper said hastily, a faint pink hue dusting her cheeks. "I haven't finished reaming you all for your very bad decisions."

"Everything worked out," Peter said.

"Do you call months of work to pull together the Avengers' public image into something not HYDRA-related working out?"

"I'm sorry, Pepper." Natasha couldn't help a rueful smile as Pepper's eyes snapped to her. "There was simply no time, and we did what we had to."

Pepper sighed. "I understand, Natasha, I do, but that doesn't mean I can't be upset about it."

"The mature, adult way to handle things," Rhodey said sagely.

"Need I remind you who decided the best way to handle a meltdown was to go on an epic bender and not show his face for the next week?"

"It's bro time, Pepper," Rhodey protested, looking rather long-suffering. "Or do you remember what happened last year, when you went on that rant—"

"Enough," Pepper interrupted him hastily, not meeting anyone's eyes. She cleared her throat. "The point is," she continued in a calmer tone, "that we understand why you did what you did."

"Not that we approve," Rhodey muttered, scratching his chin and looking off to the side.

"Yes, Colonel," Fury said dryly, "we're well aware of your tendencies, a hazard of associating with Tony Stark."

Natasha cleared her throat meaningfully, arching an eyebrow.

"You don't count," Fury told her.

A sullen Clint walked back into the room, followed by Sue, who was carrying a giant bowl of steaming pasta that had been doused with garlic and olive oil judging from the smell.

"Now you sit," Sue said to Clint, giving a pointed look at an empty spot on the couch next to Peter. "And don't move until you get those ribs checked out by an actual doctor."

"Ah—" Bruce started, halfway out of his seat.

"I mean a doctor with an actual degree to treat broken, cracked, or bruised ribs, not any man with a PhD." Sue shot him a disapproving glower. "If Reed ever tried what you did, we'd be laid out several more weeks than necessary because he'd have broken even more bones."

"I treated people," Bruce protested, still hovering over his chair like he didn't know if he should chance it and go check out Clint.

"In India."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Is there a problem with that?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Bruce," Clint groaned, sprawled over the back of the couch. "Just get over here and take a look. It hurts."

To the side of Natasha, James actually looked vaguely guilty. "Sorry."

Clint flapped a hand at him, not even looking. "Don't be. Like…sixty – maybe fifty-five – percent of it was my fault."

"Because you ran after him even though I told you not to?" Natasha asked sweetly.

"This is the man who insisted we give you a trial run instead of following orders," Fury pointed out, looking entirely unimpressed with the whole affair. "What were you expecting?"

"I regret everything," Clint declared, not moving as Bruce slowly pulled up his shirt to look at the taping Sue had done.

Sue snorted, taking a stack of bowls and plates from Peter. "I doubt that."

Clint took a moment before nodding. "No, you're right. I'll be back to ignoring doctor's orders in no time."

"No, you won't." Bruce did something that had Clint flinching. "Because if you do I'll tell Tony and you won't get any new equipment."

"Tony and I have an understanding."

"Not if Steve tells him no."

"You cruel, cruel man." Clint swatted ineffectively at Bruce's shoulder.

"I am getting the heebie-jeebies just looking at this," Rhodey marveled.

"Remind you of something?" Pepper smirked.

"Somehow," Sam said slowly, "I don't think I want to know."

"Too late," Rhodey informed him, sounding just a bit too gleeful about it. "Once you're in, you're in. Welcome to the club."

"Really." Sam pursed his lips, intrigued. "Cool."

"I already regret this decision," James said quietly.

Natasha reached down for his hand, squeezing it tightly. "No, you don't."

"No, I don't," James sighed, his fingers interlacing with hers.

"Speaking of clubs," Pepper said in a segue that was worthy of Tony Stark, "you don't have a place to stay, do you?"

"What told you that?" Peter asked. "The missile that destroyed our house?"

Spike warbled slightly at the chilling reminder, only to be shushed by JARVIS.

"Yes, well…" Pepper tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not sure if Tony ever told you this, but originally he had plans to turn Stark Tower into Avengers Tower. He reconsidered because it was deemed too much of a risk, but the floor space is still there, and so are the original plans. It wouldn't take much work to make it livable for a team."

"Are you offering to house the Avengers?" Natasha asked.

"Put bluntly like that, I suppose I am." Pepper smiled broadly. "We have the space, and Stark Industries is partly responsible for the Avengers. You can stay with us while we rebuild, get you back on your feet."

"It's not a bad idea, Romanov," Fury said slowly. "It's visible and associated with a known company that's shed its ties to the military. Considering recent events, it's the best choice."

"Well, that settles it," Pepper said brightly. "I'll pencil you all in for tomorrow, shall I? That house can't possibly be large enough for all of you."

Sam squinted at the screen as he forked some pasta into a bowl. "Do I want to know how you know that?"

"No," said Natasha, Clint, Bruce, and Peter simultaneously.

"Ah, sweet revenge," Rhodey said. He didn't look at all nonplussed to have several glares aimed his way a second later. "Yep, that's about it for me. I'll be checking in later. Call me if anything goes south, all right? Ciao!" The holograph on JARVIS's gauntlet winked out.

"What happened to handling like this like mature adults?" Natasha asked Pepper pointedly.

"Please, Natasha." Pepper seemed far too pleased with herself. "You're talking to the woman who's dealt with the antics of Tony Stark for the last decade. Who says I'm mature?" Case in point, she hung up with nary a goodbye, Natasha's phone screen going black.

There was a rather bemused silence for several minutes.

Sam eventually broke it by taking a purposefully loud slurp of some pasta. "Well, that was enlightening. Who wants food?"

Sue left Sam's house after eating, needing to wrap up her business in DC and get back to New York.

Following a rather fitful night's sleep with Clint on the couch, Bruce on a squashy armchair that reclined slightly, Peter on the ceiling in a self-made web, James and Natasha on an air mattress Sam dug out from his closet, Fury in the guest bedroom, and JARVIS and Spike in the kitchen, Fury left the next morning after a haphazard breakfast. He gave Natasha and Clint pointed looks and gave JARVIS an even more pointed one, following which he left the house and walked off.

Natasha wasn't sure where Fury was going to go, but it would be somewhere he could gather his resources and then go after HYDRA. They had yet to hear from Maria since her last contact with them yesterday, but she was a capable agent. No one else would have been named sub-director of S.H.I.E.L.D. if that wasn't the case.

Still, Natasha hoped she appeared again soon, if only for the SAC. Too much had been invested in its creation for one of its potential leaders to go off the map.

There was nothing Natasha could do about it now. She resolved to relax as much as she could until Pepper gave them a call.

And they did. Sam came out with a dusty box of Monopoly, something that had been banned in the mansion after Tony swept the floor with them too many times and had been accused of rigging the game, only for him to let Natasha take charge and make sure everything was above board; he had then proceeded to make them all bankrupt in ten turns.

"Monopoly's been said to destroy families," Peter said doubtfully, eyeing it.

"Not this family," Clint said cheerfully, making grabby hands for the box.

"Didn't you bury the game in our backyard?" Bruce asked.

"Semantics," Clint dismissed, taking the lid off and picking out the automobile.

"Why would you bury a game?" James sounded perplexed.

"Ten minutes into a game with Tony Stark, and you will no longer be asking that question," Clint assured him. "As it is, you won't be playing that game with him because we don't have it anymore."

James's brows scrunched together, but he didn't say anything else.

"Considering Stark's reputation, I'm not surprised he's a shark at this game," Sam said, setting the board up with Clint's "help." "Should I bring it with me?"

"No," Bruce and Natasha said at the same time.

"Absolutely not," Bruce added, wiping his glasses on a tissue. "Don't get me wrong – Tony's my best friend – but the man is a menace at the game."

"No use doing something if you're not going to be the best," James said bluntly, peering down at the game.

"I can see that being a thing you do," Clint said blandly, rifling through the bank notes to organize them by color. He carefully didn't look at James.

"So," Sam said lightly, looking round at them all, "who wants to be the bank?"

"Easier for my blood pressure if I am," Bruce volunteered, coming to sit next to Sam. "Let's see the notes…"

Half an hour later, Clint and Sam got into an argument about the use of the notes in the middle of the board. The matter was eventually settled by Natasha, with the notes going to anyone who landed on a specific spot.

Fifteen minutes later, James ended up in jail and tried to break out, only for Peter to try and explain – stammering all the while – that he had to wait a certain amount of turns to get out if he didn't have the "get out of jail" card. James just stared at him, repeating "I don't understand" much to Peter's growing frustration, and only Natasha could see the amusement in his eyes.

In another fifteen minutes, Sam had bought all the red squares and built hotels on them and was charging obscene rates for landing on them. James had a mulish set to his jaw that spoke death to the dice if they landed him on those squares.

Natasha feared blood within the next ten minutes, but a phone call from Pepper put the game on hold when she informed Natasha that a car would be coming to pick them up soon and take them to New York. Sam was welcome to come as an Avenger and space had already been made for him.

"I'd love to, really," Sam said, running his thumb over the property cards. "But I need to take care of my stuff here before I can consider moving. Should be a few weeks. Besides…are you sure?"

"You're an Avenger," Natasha reassured him. "Regardless of where you are. You can stay here in DC if you want."

"Fair warning," Clint said, "Tony is very likely to kidnap you when he finds out where you live."

Sam looked only vaguely alarmed. "I'll see what I can do."

"I will send you a listing of jobs available in your line of work," JARVIS told him.

Sam nodded. "I'll send you my info."

JARVIS shook his head, a strange sight that Natasha was still taken aback by. "I have the required information."

To his credit, Sam didn't look creeped out. "I can see where having a guy like you can be handy."

"So no one sees the problem with having an all-knowing artificial intelligence around?" Peter joked.

It was slight, so slight that no one else might have seen it, but JARVIS stiffened, joints clenching up tight for all of a second before they loosened and he was back to being a motionless Iron Man suit. Natasha tilted her head, slightly confused. She would've dismissed it as a trick of the light if it weren't for James also watching JARVIS warily, his eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

It reminded Natasha of what she hadn't thought about yesterday: JARVIS's somber silence following the defeat of Project Insight. She had put it down to something akin to an adrenaline crash, but JARVIS wasn't human. Something else had happened up there, and she didn't know what.

"You know," Clint said thoughtfully, "I feel like I'm missing something to pack, but I don't know what."

"It's your underwear, isn't it?" Bruce was grinning.

"Yeah, and my toiletries."

Natasha's phone buzzed, and she looked down at the screen to see a text from Pepper informing her that their ride should have arrived.

Just as well. She needed some time to figure out what to do now.

The driver Pepper had sent was quick and efficient, but even then they didn't arrive at Stark Tower until late evening. JARVIS had flown, the suit too heavy to sit in the limo. Pepper met them in the penthouse and then gave them a quick and dirty tour of the floor they'd be staying on while the rest of the renovations finished.

"I still had the plans on file," Pepper had said while showing them the kitchen. "Some modifications will be made since a few of the floors have been converted to labs and workspaces, but I don't think that will be a problem."

"What about a gym?" Clint had asked, eyeing the fridge appreciatively.

"Same specs as what you had in the mansion," Pepper had answered. "Tony would probably tweak it if he were here, but he isn't, so." She shrugged and moved on, showing them their bedrooms.

The floors were large, having enough space for several bedrooms. Pepper had rightly assumed that they would be more comfortable on one floor, and the floor below their bedrooms would be converted into a gym. A third floor had been set aside for a workshop for Tony and Bruce, but that wouldn't be dealt with until Tony came back. Bruce would in the meantime go down to R&D and have a hand in some of SI's experiments.

"The penthouse will be Tony's and Steve's," Pepper had said at the end of their tour. "One of the board's conditions for funding the Avengers was moving back to Malibu. They consider it safer than staying in New York with all the attacks. So I won't be here much longer, but keep me down as an emergency contact." She narrowed her eyes at them. "Clear?"

It wasn't something Natasha would actually do, but she promised to do so because saying no to Pepper Potts in person wasn't something anyone smart would do.

It was well after midnight by the time Natasha and James curled up in the large bed in Natasha's room. James had declined a room of his own when Pepper had offered him one, instead opting for staying with Natasha. It was what they were both more comfortable with now that they had each other again.

The room was dark as the two rested in the soft bed with its fluffy pillows and warm blankets. They lay on their sides, facing each other. His left arm curled under his pillow, James had one of Natasha's hands in his right and was playing with her fingers.

James's face was pensive in the faint light that filtered through the curtains, his mouth twisted slightly. Natasha kept silent, experience advising her that James needed this silence to organize his thoughts.

When he did finally speak, it was only to apologize. "I'm sorry."

Natasha twisted her wrist, letting her fingers twine with his own. "What for?"

"For what happened." James closed his eyes, his head bowing.

"You had your reasons." Natasha's thumb stroked over James's knuckles. "If you want to tell me, I'm here."

"I do," James breathed. Within two breaths, he continued. "After Fury was shot, I went after the shooter. I recognized him as the Grim Reaper, and he recognized me. He thought I was undercover with you; I didn't tell him otherwise." He twisted his own hand, thumb running the length of Natasha's pointer finger and then to her ring finger, brushing up and down the skin. "But it wasn't until the bunker when I realized what needed to happen. I dug us out and hid you and your friend, and then met with S.H.I.E.L.D. before they could find you." His smile was dark. "They didn't take much convincing to leave."

It was something Natasha would see so easily: James, grimy from the debris of the broken S.H.I.E.L.D. bunker, meeting with Rumlow's S.T.R.I.K.E. forces and convincing them of his trustworthiness – as much as the Winter Soldier could be trusted anyhow. And it would've taken no more effort to turn them around and leave, for the Winter Soldier had as bloody a reputation as the Black Widow, and fear was quite a motivator when used appropriately.

"We needed someone on the inside," James said. "Someone who could contain the damage." He smiled ruefully, interlocking his fingers with hers and squeezing. "And I needed it to be—"

"Convincing, I know." Natasha smiled reassuringly at him. "I guessed at what you were doing." She could still remember the feel of a metal finger stroking along the vulnerable skin of her throat.

"I hoped you would." James smiled sweet and slow, bringing her hand up to kiss her middle finger.

Natasha didn't tell him that she had prayed to a God she wasn't sure existed when she'd faced Pierce, hoping that James would be all right and that Clint was alive. She didn't tell him that she had had her doubts about the plan they'd pulled together to take down Project Insight and S.H.I.E.L.D. She didn't tell him that she was as lost as he was because this was James, and he most likely knew this as well as she knew him.

"And what now?" she asked quietly.

"Now," James said equally quietly, his warm breath washing over her fingers, "I reclaim what they took from me. I don't know what I'll find, whether the man your Captain wants is still here, but I'll look."

"I know this much." Natasha inched closer, pressing her fingers to his lips. "The man that Steve Rogers knew and the man I know are both the same man I love. Whatever happens, I will be right here, and I promise you that Steve will be as well."

James closed his eyes, kissing the fingers Natasha had pressed to his mouth. "Thank you."

Come the morning, they would need to deal with the repercussions of their actions. But for now…she could stay in this little haven they had made for themselves. This little bit of peace that she had never thought she could experience.

Everything else could wait.

I didn't want to divide this up into different parts because that wouldn't have worked, and it's supposed to be read similarly to a movie: all in one go. I hope you've enjoyed this read, and please keep an eye out for future installments, because there will be more. And next time (excepting the smaller story that I'll be posting in a few days) we'll be back to our regularly scheduled Steve/Tony.

Thanks to kurowrites for the beta! Please let me know what you thought!

Again, go and check out the fanmix verity put together! ladyofthelog dot tumblr dot com slash post slash 100647850329 slash stream-at-8tracks-download-at-mediafire-read