"I didn't sign up for this stupid daycare of yours, Fury." Clint picked at his dirty fingernails while he stood in a dank motel room, pushing an old cell phone against his cheek. Through his tinted sunglasses, he could see the person of interest sitting on a musty couch by the window overlooking the motel balcony, reading a magazine with careful interest. She looked over to where he was standing at the "daycare" comment and stuck her tongue out at him, to which he just pulled out a birdie in reply.

"It's only for a few hours, Barton. You're under direct order to make sure she isn't kidnapped or killed, got it?"

He huffed into the receiver. "I understand, sir."

"Good, then get back to work." And with that, the SHIELD director hung up.

Clint flipped the phone shut and sat down on another couch. He didn't talk or make any effort to have a conversation, just sat and fiddled with the fletching on one of his arrows.

"I can handle myself you know, if it's such a problem."

Clint looked up to where a face hiding among a mess of black curls was looking back at him. She made a little "hmm" sound and looked back at her magazine, as if waiting for an answer.

"I'm under direct order to stay here-I couldn't leave even if the building was on fire."

"Well, isn't that a comforting thought? Hopefully that means I would be able to leave." She licked the tip of her index finger and flipped another page.

Clint allowed himself a smirk. "I don't think so."

"Damn! Well, let's hope that if that happens that the firemen will get here before we burn to death then."

"Doubt it."

She grinned. "Yeah, I wouldn't count on it either."

He started cleaning his arrows this time, more intent on passing the time. The silence was deafening, as there wasn't much going on outside.

"You're pretty quiet, you know."

"I'm just not interested in conversation at the moment."

"And why not?"

"Because it'll make the time go slower, and the faster the time goes, the faster I can get back home."

"Oh, okay."

He figured she had taken the hint, until she piped up a few minutes later.

"So where do you live?"

"New York."

"Oh, that's cool."

"Yeah." He narrowed his eyes at the girl staring back at him.

"…so where do you live in New York?"

He looked up again with angry eyes at the girl.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I'm sorry; I just haven't met many people who don't like talking other than me. It's weird, I feel like I need to fill the awkward space."

"Trust me, it's not awkward." He stood up to get something to drink in the kitchen. Fingering through the cabinets, he found a coffee maker.

"It actually kind of is."

"Is not."

"Is too!"

"You have a book, an IPod, two magazines, and a TV-what more do you need?"

"Someone to talk to that isn't on their man period."

He looked out from the corner to where she was leafing through a magazine again. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing." She muttered.

"That's what I thought." He set the machine on HIGH and sat back down, flipping the TV onto the news channel. On the screen, multiple helicopters were flying around an apartment building that was set on fire. Clint tried flipping the channel before she could see, but she noticed the headline before the screen switched to the cooking channel.

"Wait, what was that?"

"Nothing."

"It said 'gas leak at apartment building on Arch Street, five dead.' Hey, flip back to the news." Her face was hard and stony, which only made Clint feel more guilt.
"No."

"Clint-"

"You don't need to see that."

"Yes, I do. Now flip the channel."

"I said no, and that's final."

"But-"

"How's your magazine?"

She raised an eyebrow and looked back at the marksman. "Seriously? You really want to play that game?"

"Yes."

She gave him an incredulous look and walked over to grab the remote, but he held it out of her reach.

"Please give me the remote!"

"No, you don't need to see it!"

"Yes I do! My parents could be dead, please, I need to know!" He paused and watched the face looking back at him. She wasn't crying, wasn't screaming, she was just staring with deep concentration. "Please?" He didn't want to impose on her any further. Slowly, he held the remote in two shaky hands and flipped back to the news channel, where smiling faces were appearing in older portraits to name the fallen victims.

"Two victims have been identified, five year old Clarisse Wells and her grandfather, eighty-four year old Michael Wells. The other three have yet to be identified by police-"He turned the TV off to a black screen. In it, he saw her careful reflection that looked back at him with big eyes.

"See, they're probably fine, nothing to worry about. Now let's go get something to eat." He stood up and grabbed his keys on the nightstand, but she didn't move.

"It wasn't a gas leak, was it?"

He was quiet-he didn't know how to respond.

"That Loki guy…he sent someone in to kill them, right? To get to me?"

"You don't even know if that's your apartment building."

"I saw the address, and I would know where I've lived for the past eight years of my life!"

"Anise-"

"What if he kidnapped them? How would we know?"

"Loki wouldn't do that"

"But how do you know, really?"

"Because I've worked for that psychopath before against my own will. I was the one he sent in for those sorts of things. Trust me, I would know."

She was stunned, staring at him with her mouth agape.

"Now are we getting something to eat, or what?"

"I guess."

"Good. And put a jacket on, it's chilly."

She smirked as he picked up a gun and tucked it into his jacket. "And since when were you my dad?"

"Since Fury signed me up for his little daycare business." He was smiling a bit, enjoying himself a little too much. "C'mon, slowpoke."