It's A Long Way Home

by 1bluejay2u

When the killing of a S.H.I.E.L.D traitor to protect valuable intel sparks a massive underground operation intent on revenge against Strike Team Delta and their connections, Clint and Natasha will do anything to get their friend back alive, even if it means not returning home themselves. The question is, will there be enough time? Never. Assume. You. Are. Safe.

Chapter One:

Night fell softly over the base, caressing the unforgiving steel walls and stealing silently through the open door finally coming to a rest at the top of a flight of stairs. Long shadows, thrown carelessly by the moon, clawed their way up the walls, climbing higher by the minute. A door slammed and muted footsteps echoed through the hallway, seconds later a foreign looking man in a winter hat crept cautiously around the corner. He paused at the turn, peaking around the tempered metal, the faint light tossing a glint onto his weapon. He waited a second more and then sprinted for the door, making it ten feet before harsh and unexpected gunfire sounded and he dropped, dead even before he hit the ground. The shooter stepped gracefully from the curves of darkness, lowered the gun, and calmly approached the body. "Never assume you're safe" the feminine voice whispered in the ear of the dead man. And then she turned, stood with the grace of a cat and as quickly as she had arrived, she disappeared.

Nick Fury inclined his head slightly, nodding after the retreating figure, deep in thought. Slowly he stood, shaking his head in disgust, his one good eye piercing the darkness around him. Leaving the body and the blood spattered ground behind him, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D made his way to the top floor and locked the door to his office. Moving quickly, Fury punched a string if numbers into the phone on his desk and after four rings that seemed to last a lifetime, the other line was picked up.

"Hello?"

"It was Garrish."

There was a pause, "You are sure about this?"

"Ambassador would I be calling if I wasn't?"

"Okay alright Fury no need to get your knickers in a twist."

"If this gets out of hand it won't be MY knickers that are twisting McAllister it'll be yours."

There was an audible gulp from the other end of the line. "I'll let Furgate know in the morning."

Fury's eyes flashed, "no Ambassador, you will let him know now."

"Or I could do that, yes that's true."

A knock sounded at his door, a heavy wooden thing reinforced with steel just in case anyone came around trying to kick it down. "It seems I'm needed, call me when he knows understand? Not one second before and not one second after. Got it?"

"I'm no child Fury."

The Director ground his teeth, "then don't act like one." The knock came again. Fury swore and glared in the direction of the offending noise.

"I hav-"

He hung up with a decisive click and slipping the phone into his pocket, Fury approached the door and swung it angrily open. The hallway was empty, no one stood before the door, no one stepped from the shadows and announced their presence. Nick Fury fingered his gun, then stopped as he took in what lay at his feet. It was a note card, rectangular and white, he frowned and picked it up. Adorning the blank side, written in thick black marker, spelled neatly, was one word. Never.

Fury frowned, worry creasing his forehead. He drew his gun and cocked it, stepping over the threshold in one smooth movement as the gun came to rest in its familiar position. Creeping down the darkened passage the Director strained to hear any little noise, anything that would sound out of place. Footsteps were suddenly distinguishable and Fury swung around, his pulse elevated, expecting the worst, and coming face to face with Clint Barton.

"Director."

Fury glowered at the younger agent. "Your brains could have just taken a siesta to next week Barton."

Barton raised an eyebrow at him. "I didn't realize I had any vacation days left" he paused "or any vacation days."

"Cut the crap Barton, what did you haul your ass up here for?"

"This." Clint reached into his pocket and drew out a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it, a flicker if tension crossing his face, and handed it to Fury. "Found this in my mailbox, thought it might be a prank, but I figured I'd get a second opinion."

As the Director took the note and opened it, his expression soured. "Is this a joke Agent?" Barton looked suitably offended, "no Sir" he said, his eyebrows drawing together. "And you saw nobody leaving your apartment? No sign anyone was there?" Barton shook his head. "Could you have missed something?" Fury asked the younger agent, watching as the man narrowed his eyes. "I'm no rookie Sir, respectfully, I don't miss things." The Director ground his teeth and glared at the blond haired agent. "Get out Barton, go do something normal for a change, have a drink, get laid, just get your scrawny ass out of my sight until Monday." Barton snorted and left the office tossing a few choice words over his shoulder, "my ass isn't scrawny and I always do normal things."

The door closed with a heavy thunk and Fury sank down in his chair, his one good eye roaming the paper for clues. There was nothing. He stood, lay the second notecard next to the first and then leaned over and picked up the telephone. "May? Get the council on the line." He paused, "We've got work to do.