If it was any other day, I'd be thrilled about being in the compound. It's not like it's a normal thing, to be taken to the Avengers facility. But yesterday has kind of ruined today. My bail must have been…

Let's just say that I really don't want to know what my bail was.

"$% # it, Fury, I've already said NO!" I press my ear closer to the door. They've been going at this for I-don't-know-how-long.

"I've already told you, Agent—"

"Former agent."

"Well then, Former Agent Barton, I've already told you that this doesn't involve you coming back into active work."

"$% # it, Fury," Barton says again, "When you told me you had a simple job for me, I figured it was just show up and look good for the cameras with the rest of the team, maybe shoot a couple arrows. This—this…" He trails off. I wish I could look through the keyhole.

"I'm asking you to help train a possible agent. She's apparently quite good at archery."

"You're asking me to take a criminal into my house! Have you forgotten that I have young children?"

"She was never convicted and the crimes that she was arrested for were exclusively nonviolent."

"I don't care! She herself said that she'd broken into—oh, I don't know, some ungodly number, where's that file—"

I faintly hear papers ruffling and a not so faint, almost squeakily shrill curse.

"WHAT?!"

Something slaps against the ground.

"Fury, you son—"

"Barton."

"You expect me to take someone with that kind of a record into my house?!"

"I expect you to at least try to believe that I am not, in fact, insane."

"No."

"Barton…"

"No. No. No. No. N—"

"Agent Six."

"I—" Barton's voice kind of chokes off, and the two men are silent for a while. Then, "I owe you my life for that. You know that. But I've never done anything for you that would make me owe the safety of my wife and children to you."

"Barton." Fury's voice has a pleading note in it.

"Still no, Fury." I hear a boot scuff the floor and papers crumpling. The boots stomp to the door, and I'm walloped in the side of the head by the door. I cry out.

"And Fury?"

"Barton?"

"Tell your little prodigy to stop eavesdropping." Then he, Barton that is, I don't think Fury has moved at all, thumps out the door. Halfway across the room we're in, he turns around and his glaring eyes lock with mine. "And that her hair looks stupid." And he's gone.

I reach up and touch my straight black hair, feeling how it slants from barely tickling my left ear to falling just below my right shoulder.

Rory liked it.

I shoulder my backpack and start to walk away too. I should feel grateful to SHIELD, they paid my horrendous bail, but I don't want this. I want to get off the street, yeah, but I want to go to college, not join whatever army branch they count as now. That's why I steal, not fight.

Well, I'm lost.

I should have known this would happen. Trust me to get lost in the building I'm trying to leave. If I hadn't gone through that window and into that pool last night, I might have been embarrassed.

I turn a corner and walk straight into a redheaded woman.

Seems like I'm destined to screw up my meetings with every famous person in the freakin' universe.

She gets up before I do, grabs my wrist, and pulls me to my feet.

"Thanks," I gasp. I think I must have bruised something when I hit the water, that hurt a lot worse than it should.

"No problem." She smiles. "You know, I don't know where you're heading, but this leads to the kitchen."

Funny thing, but I'm actually not hungry right now. It's a pretty nice feeling. "Oh. I was trying find the exit."

"Yeah, you should have taken a right turn a few left turns ago."

"Umm… ok. I'm Sophie, by the way."

"Natasha."

"I knew that already," I say, then blush, because, truth be told, I'm a bit of a stalker when it comes to the Avengers.

"Well, then I'm not ashamed to say that I knew your name too. Fury mentioned you, said he wanted Clint to train you."

"Yeah, about that—"

Natasha shakes her head. "So I gathered. I haven't seen him looking that thunderous since Budapest. No worries, Fury will find someone else to train you."

"Maybe he doesn't want me trained anymore," I say, trying to figure out if I should sound dejected or hopeful, because I really don't know which to be.

"That kind of bail? Yeah. He wants you trained." She motions for me to follow her. "Come on, want to see the team?"

Are you kidding me? The greatest risk is that I'll bounce so hard off the walls that I'll literally explode.

"Cap's sparring with them now," Natasha tells me as she leads me to the training center.

Look! I'm floating so much that my head is rubbing against the ceiling!

Oh, wait, that's my grin. I wipe it mostly off of my face. Less maniacal. Good.

Then we're there.

Look! Avengers!

Captain America, Falcon, Scarlet Witch, the Vision, and War Machine! And Black Widow is standing right next to me.

That pop was my brain imploding. Watch the mess.

Captain America looks up and salutes Natasha. "Agent Romanoff!"

"Hey, Cap."

"Who's that you have with you?"

"Fury's bailout."

"Barton didn't agree to train her?"

"Barton threw a hissy fit."

"Ah." He salutes me. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's fine."

"Sure." He motions towards the ground. "You want to come down here?"

Are. You. Kidding. Me? YESIWANTTOCOMEDOWNTHERETHEREAREAVENGERSDOWNTHEREAAAAAAH!

"That won't be necessary."

Oh crap.

Oh, crap.

Natasha turns around. "Clint?"

"Hey, Nat." He smiles at her. Then his gaze comes back to me and the smile disappears. "You." He nudges his chin towards me. "Come on, you're coming with me."

Natasha smiles too, but her eyes look strained. "Changed your mind, Clint?"

"Laura changed it for me." He nods down into the training area. "Captain."

"Barton."

Scarlet Witch looks up at Barton and smiles. "Hello, Clint."

He smiles again, too. He doesn't look so evil when he smiles. "Hey, Wanda."

He's not smiling for long, though.

I've been in a lot of awkward situations, but this is awkward. I hitch my backpack up higher on my back and start to walk away from the training arena. Barton says, "Be seeing you, guys," and walks away too. We don't look at or talk to each other until we reach a white SUV, one of the ones with the sliding doors in the back, like a business van.

"Get in."

I open the door to the seat next to the one that the driver sits in, shotgun, I think it's called, and get in. I'll admit it, this is only the third time I've ever ridden in a car. And I've ridden both others in the past twenty-four hours.

Barton glances my way. "Seatbelt." Right. Seatbelt. I knew that. Must not ride car while not wearing seatbelt, or lightning bolt will fry car.

(What, exactly, is the point of a seatbelt, anyways? It's not like I'm going to start dancing while the car is moving.)

The car kicks to life and we start driving without another word. After ten minutes or so I get bored and take out a prized possession of mine, an iPod. Yes, it's stolen, yes, it's something that would be worth more to me pawned, but Rory-

"HEY!"

I grab Barton's arm and the car swerves wildly, causing other drivers to honk their horns and wave their fingers around and whatnot.

"Hey! Hey! Kid, let go of my arm!"

"Give that back! That's MINE!"

Me still hanging on his iPod-holding arm, Barton swerves out of the lanes into a parking spot and screeches to a halt.

"What exactly are you thinking to do?"

"GIVE. IT. BACK!" I yell, pounding my fist against his arm.

In response, he switches the iPod to his other hand and twists his arm out of my grasp. I unbuckle my seatbelt and dive over him, grabbing hold of the iPod and pulling with all my might.

I feel the pain in my wrists almost before his free hand comes down on them. I let go with a gasp and shrink back into my own seat.

No, not my seat, I don't want anything this—this creature has touched. The seat.

He holds up the iPod—ok, amending that, I don't want most things that he's touched, it's still my iPod, not his—and looks at me. Not quite lasers this time, but still smoldering.

"This one of the things you've stolen?"

"It's mine."

"Answer my question."

"It's mine!"

"Stolen." He drops it in his pocket, and I start to dive at him again, but my wrists don't comply, so I stay in my seat after all.

"Give. That. Back."

"I'm going to. To the police, so they can give it to the rightful owner."

He starts the car up again and drives back onto the road. It's a full five minutes before I come up with a retort. Not a good one, but maybe…

"I really hate you."

"The feeling is mutual," Barton sighs, turning left out of the city, "I assure you."

Like I couldn't tell before.

So, hi! I'm IceFyre3170 (like you didn't notice before), and I'm new to publishing fan fiction. (I've written it a lot, but just for myself, and the results can be... less than stellar.) I have some concept of how this site works after reading a few works on here, but me being me, I've probably gone and screwed something up. Please review! The good, the not-so-good, every comment helps :) I should update fairly frequently, time and school permitting.