Avengers: A Hidden Generation Chapter one The Child of Hawk and Siren: 8 years ago Clint Barton did not understand what was going on. Natasha and he never even saw the tranquilizer darts hit them. And given this was perhaps their fourth mission together, Intel had shown minimal risk if any at all of capture. The whole mission was to retrieve a flash drive of all things from another agent. They had been at a big social event, had collected the flash drive and had it in their possession. But then the event was hit by some group, the lights went out and so did his séance of awareness. Clint figured that was when they were hit by the darts, it had to be, and he felt all the symptoms of having been tranquilized by dart. If they had drunk anything at all he would have said the whole event was drugged, but they had not even drunk the water. So one minute he was aware of walking around at the party; the Next he woke up with a chain around his leg, and a bed under him. Off to one corner he saw an odd tank with Natasha in it. She had been stripped down to her underwear and sports bra. Something was off as he watched Natasha look around for an exit, and the only one seemed to be five feet out of her reach. No matter how hard she tried the jump was beyond her ability, and no space to build up a run either. Natasha and as Clint looked at himself, he noticed that they had a new mark, but after a quick evaluation it proved to be cheap permanent marker, that had penned the numbers 068 on Natasha's and 069 on his left hips. Clint made sure to take a full look around and take in his surroundings after seeing his body was marked with permanent marker, but otherwise not harmed at all. They had numbers that either meant this was one out of many tries that had already gone over with others, or they meant something significant to the one who marked them. "Tash?" Clint said trying to get Natasha's attention. She continued to look around for a possible exit. Walking to the container he banged on the clear wall. She finally looked at Clint, "Tash?" he asked again. Natasha pointed to her ear and shock her head in a clear 'not hearing you way'. Clint wondered what kind of material was used if she could not hear him through it. He spotted no cameras in her small container; which gave her hardly a foot on each side of her for movement. In the room were no obvious cameras, but another door he could not reach. And as he started to move around, the door opened, clearly into what looked like a hallway. A short man with clearly a flair for the 1940's mystery men look walked in, staying clearly three inches out of Clint's rang, with the chain on his leg. "Ah, Agent Barton; I see you are awake. Perhaps we can get this small matter done with and I can return you to your own people." The man said with a clearly bad German accent, Clint was not impressed, raising an eyebrow in return of that statement. "You Mr. Barton have a very impressive set of eyes. We would like to collect them." He then fished around in his jacket and spoke further, "I have no doubt you will comply with our wishes. Since its not you personally we desire." Clint felt a little confused, "What?" he spat out not sure what the man was asking for, nor what he intended of the eyesight that he so desired. What did they mean by collect them? The other man finally found what he was looking for and pulled it out of his jacket pocket, aiming it at the area above Natasha. Within a few moments a screen came down and showed another woman, who was likewise chained. The man then said, "You will copulate with her. She too has traits we desire, and while she will have to be drugged into compliance. You will only know that the choice is you bed her, or . . . well let's have a demonstrations shall we?" Another button was pressed and a hissing sound was heard. Within a few moments water began to flow from small holes in the inner rim area of Natasha's container. It was clear this man would fill that container until it drowned Natasha within it. Natasha was calm, but her eyes clearly showed, that came to the same realization. The man spoke again and smiled, "For every time you refuse I will raise the water level by six inches. For every attempt within the next month that you fail to complete your end of the bargain, I will raise it another eighteen inches. Her compliance in the matter is expected as not counting at all. So wither she helps you or no . . . matters little. Once we have collected her ability and yours, we have no need for you." Clint felt as if he was sucker punched; rape another woman so Natasha could live. Could he do that? Was it in harm to help? "We will begin tomorrow early, sleep well Agent Barton." The next morning a pair of guards came in and before Clint could do much he was hit with a tranquilizer dart. It did not put him under; it simply robbed him of his ability to move for the whole trip through the hall; into a lift and past three more rooms. Into another room where, he was given three more injections, and witnessed a rather large dose of a strange blue liquid being injected into the woman on the bed; she was beautiful. Long strawberry blond hair flared out from her head, and a pair of what had to be the most beautiful forest green eyes looked back at him. Her skin was a tanned wonder of color, sun kissed skin begged to be touched and praised. If he had seen her during one of his breaks from missions, he would definitely have bought her a drink. She seemed to be drugged as well, unable to move, or speak. The guards did their job and within a few moments he found motions starting to be a real possibility. He figured that the amount they gave him was simply for the trip. That is until he felt like his blood was beginning to burn, his heart rate jumped and he felt himself become harder than he ever had in his life. The other man said that if he failed Natasha grew that much closer to drowning, and her cage looked maybe five feet around and ten feet tall. At the rate explained it mean, 15 days if he refused, 6 days if he failed to perform the demanded act and Natasha would die by drowning. As much as it disgusted him beyond anything else, he never wanted to have an unwilling partner. He did not even play fight during sex, it had been fun and un-stressing his whole life. It was now turned into a weapon, it hurt himself and no doubt it would hurt the woman he is now irrevocably charged with forcing himself on. As his body became more under his own control; his erection became more demanding. Clint wished that he just could not perform; however, they took that from him as well. The drugs would make sure he could perform as demanded. At least that is what it seemed. Clint pulled his mind away from the situation, as he moved to the woman and noticed she more only a bra, and what had to be the saddest excuse for panties he had ever seen. Flimsy was not even a word meant to describe them. She was still limp as an overcooked noodle as well. Her eyes poke him a little leaded with him, and it broke him a little more to have to perform the act after seeing them. He wished that he got this done in one try; he knew he would die if he had to perform again and again. Moving her body to the needed position he leaned to whisper in her ear, "My name is Clint Barton." His tone was empty, and he knows that he could get away with saying more. But what do you say to someone in this position 'Sorry' or 'its rape you or watch my friend die'? Somehow Clint knew that would not cut it, or make it easier to bear, nor would it have made him anything to forgive. If at all his soul was even ever going to be forgivable! He moved himself into position and closed his eyes. His heart ached further as upon his first move, a pained whimper came out. His eyes began to water as he forced himself to push his mind to another place, with another completely willing woman. Another SHEILD Agent, who had shared stress relief sex often. A coco colored woman from legal, with lips that would make Donatello weep, and a pair of legs that seemed to go on forever. The agent could do things with her lips and hands that left the gods themselves to stand in ah! He focused hard on that memory, he tried so hard, but could not block out the pained sounds that was truly around him. Clint felt his body striving for the demanded action. The real woman on the bed was so tight; it hardly made a difference to his body, even as his mind was in horror of what he was really doing. Three rounds were gone and done before the drug wore off, three near panic attack rounds, which slowly found the woman under him going quiet. Clint hopped that she fell asleep or passed out. Those sounds cut him to his soul. He would never tell Natasha what he had to do, never. Better to jump off the tallest building in New York with nothing to catch him. He would know she knew. She would have that understanding and question her trust in him. She had joined SHEILD because of him, she could easily leave it. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Two weeks later *-*-*-*-*-*-*- Natasha's tank was getting close to full; apparently the Barton swimmers sympathized with Clint. Nothing seemed to be making the demanded actions happen, three tests for the beginning signs of pregnancy done and three times it failed. Clint was exhausted and not sure what more he could do. Natasha's life was in his hands. If he did not do this, and manage to achieve the goal, he would be forced in his room and see Natasha's lifeless body bouncing around in the full container. The other woman was still that, she was always drugged and unable to move, so she never shouted at him, cursed at him or told him her name. Every time he was brought to her, he told her his real name. He promised himself this was so that she would know who to come after for vengeance. It was more than their captors would give her. He was left with her long enough to get a few agonizing rounds done, his contribution. He always closed his eyes and every time felt himself crying silently. He never in his life wanted to do this. But it was Natasha's life or their sanity, and in this tug of war in his mind wanted to save its sanity; but his séance of duty was to Natasha. He was trying harder, thinking harder to put himself somewhere else, somewhere with someone more willing and playful. His efforts up to that point were remembering, one of the sea of SHEILD agents who had graced his bedpost, so to say. All of them fit and trimmed lethal killers, high level agents who used him like he used them. None of it was working, so he had to try something else, something closer to him, he pushed himself on the way there, and who was he going to remember. What memory was he willing to sacrifice in order to perform this time? It came down to first lover back at the Circus, a female clown; named Debbie. She had a thing for sex in a pile of hay, or behind the lion cage oddly always out of makeup. Debbie had been enthusiastic for his sixteen year old self. A warm and welcome partner and teacher, given that she was nineteen, and showing him the ropes of sex. Barney had rolled his eyes on the one occasion he caught them, commenting on how he was glad it was not Trick shot's wife. Debbie had been fun loving and playful; a real play on the idea of a clown, and clearly also an expert on the ancient art of genital origami . . . the shapes she made his dick into made him laugh. Clint pushed his mind hard and it worked, the memory was taking him away from the event he was perpetrating. The memory of Debbie's playful laugh and soft voice made his heart sore, the recollection of her soft skin, that would play with his nipples or playfully tickle him sides to stave off his climax. He focused so hard on that memory that he forgot it was not Debbie under him. He could almost swear that he smelt hay and hear the lion's reacting to the sounds Debbie was making. The male lions were always the ones who gave them away if one had the attention, they would react to Debbie's smell. Climax hit Clint harder than it ever had in his life, it slammed into him so hard and solidly it hurt. It lasted three minutes, each spurt of seed felt like a razor blade cutting him, and drained him more than any other orgasm in his memory. Silently he hoped that this one would do it, and get him and Natasha out of the horrible place. He knew that unless SHEILD found them, there was nothing he could do for the woman under him. Clint knew most of his sexual desire was dying as he was made to do this again and again. He did not know if he would ever be able to tell anyone, scratch that he knew that even a therapist or Phil Colson . . . no his mind refused to think this was real. This was not right, it was so wrong it had to be a horrible dream. He would die with this secrete still unsaid! Natasha most of all never was to be told, never. *-*-*-*-*-* Clint was aware for a gentle wind touching his arm, and oddly enough for the first time in weeks he was dressed! He felt the weight of his gear, minus his bow and arrow case, the strap was not on him, they had his bow and arrow, the bastards! He looked around and spotted what could have been a peacefully sleeping Natasha. Crawling over to her, he checked her over, still breathing . . . good. He looked at her hands and they were horribly pruned from the prolonged exposure to water. It was over, finally. Clint heard himself cry out joyfully, it was over. He could hardly contain himself, his eyes watered and he felt himself shaking, it was over. Only now where were they? Chapter two Child of Woe: six months ago She awoke in pain, and this was not new, the last four years had been like this. Captain Anderson liked to throw his weight around. He liked to watch to, when he would toss her to his men. Watch them break her, watch her cry. To her Captain Anderson was Satan himself, and should have died long ago. The white hair on the man gave no one reason to think him old time valued. He was not one of those old men who though a woman's place was in the kitchen and a young girls place was at school. She had endured this for going on three years, and her own father sold her into it. The drunk got four hundred dollars for her, and more than likely drank it away in a nights drinking at the bar. It had been years since she heard her own name, she hardly remembered that Faith, was herself; not anyone else on base. Her only solace had been in a soldier, whose last name she could pronounce. And this soldier was oddly romantic one, which allowed her to pretend. She was Persephone and he her Hades, it was a game he played with her; which was mostly spent in evenings where Hades courted Persephone. They read old books about Greek myths; as if newspapers, and singing to her; mostly from a band called Green day. He would brush her hair and bath her, mostly after the other men had sexually used her so much she could hardly move. After the first few rounds of this game sex clearly was not happening; and Hades had to explain that he was not interested in her like the other men. He had to pretend to so they would not have to ask, in order for him not to withhold telling. And that was how it was for the longest of times, until one evening Hades finally kissed Persephone, and it was a kiss that caused her toes to curl. They could not explain it, Hades was normally after other men, but slowly one step at a time Persephone was becoming interesting. At first it was odd to Hades, and Persephone would let it go. They started to practice dancing, after all the Lady of the Underworld had to know how to dance right? He became enamored with teaching her to be a lady, like in the classical books. She loved him for it, and while MRE's were hardly gourmet food made by servants of the house; they enjoyed them all the same. There games were far apart, which lead to a lot of reading. When the men were not playing with her, they had locked her in a bunker with boxes of ignored books. The years of boredom lead her to be well read on strategy and fighting styles. She became well read on the history of war, and how different wars were done. She learned a lot that way, and it made the game with Hades even more treasured. For almost a year now they had been playing their game, not necessarily like clockwork but close; an hour or two before she was too tired to stay awake here, or a whole weekend there. Hades was nothing if not complete in his courting of the beautiful Goddess of the spring, and in return Persephone was as ever attentive to praising Hades in his gentlemanly acts. However, tonight of all nights, the night that they were finishing the book on Hercules's labors; they were caught. Captain Anderson walked in and spotted the footlocker that had always been under his bunk pulled out. And the bolts of beautiful black and grey cotton exposed, and the sewing kit alongside it. He laughed hard and called for two other men in the hall to come in and see. Hades was taken away and in his place three of the men decided they had to use Hades room. They tore off her body the beautiful gown that Hades had made, and from the hall she could hear that they were beating him, accompanied by the sounds of his body impacting a wall or the floor. "Oh stupid, stupid Fitzgerald, I always wondered about him. Maybe we can cure him now that it's clear. You made him soft, we can fix that." Captain Anderson motioned the other men and left the room, clearly more interested in watching the solider get beaten. They were on her hard, and this time pulled at her limbs, they were aiming to make it hurt. It seemed to go on and on for hours. After a while her head could not hold itself up, and she saw why. Blood coated the inside of her thighs, lots of it. Blood and semen and burses coated her lean legs as she took in the damage to her body. This all because Hades would not use her like everyone else? It was then that she also spotted an inconspicuous item; a radio. Hades had the radio he used for work, but did not keep it out when they played their game. As she became aware she noted the location was different to, this place was cleaner, and the windows were dirty from the outside. She ached in placed she did not know she could ache. It made her wonder if hair could really hurt. She looked around and spotted Hades, rummaging around in the cabinets of what looked like medical supplies. She looked around more and came to the conclusion that this was not a medical wing, but a lab; why had Hades taken her to a lab? Hades looked bruised up and part of his face was swollen so badly half of his eye could not open on his left side. Gathering strength she spoke, "Hades?" she managed in a pained voice. He was at her side in a moment, "Persephone, don't move. You have several broken bones and I don't have a clue what they did to your vaginal cavity. But you're in bad shape, so lay still." It was too much, their game had been destroyed. Hades of legend would have utterly destroyed the intruders, who dared come into his domain. However, all too human Howard had been pulled away, had been beaten and humiliated. Had been made to hear her screaming out in pain and the jeers of the men who used her; Howard was all that was left. "Faith, please say it, please call me by my name Howard." Faith begged, breaking the rules of their game. Howard looked struck in the chest, and his shoulders fell in defeat, "Faith please lay still. Let me help fix you up." Faith closed her eyes, it was too much, it was all too much, and the only solace she had was now tainted. She was broken and had no way to hide. Hiding had hurt the one person that had been kind to her. Who had showed her love of any gentle manner, treated her like a human and a lady. She had to end his torment. But how? He walked to her side again after searching through a few cabinets and came out with a small army of chemicals, a few were really easy to remember Peroxide to clean her wounds; and it showed her that his own wounds were being ignored. He was hurting himself and was still going to take care of her first, it had to end. Allowing her mind to slip back into the built roll of Persephone, the answer came. Moving was horrible, it ached and cut into her resolve, but she managed to use her focus. It hurt horribly but she moved her hand against his chest, "End this please." But as much Howard stopped and looked very afraid, "I cannot, I won't. You will be alright Faith." He rushed and tried to move, however, with the last reserves of her strength Faith held fast. She summoned up all her remaining strength to speak and tried to sound convincing. Howard of all people had to understand. "I have been here for years Howard. I was sold here by my own father who did not care. Abandoned by a Mother who felt I was too much of a bother to save. Used by a group of men, who saw me as a sex toy. Please at least one person in my life, let them love me enough to set me free. End this life, where I am a toy. I would ask of you please, please Howard. Let me go. They can't use me to hurt you if I am dead. End it so they can't bring me back, I don't want to be saved. Hide me away so my body can't be used. Give me the send off no one ever care enough about me to give." Howard visibly struggled with her words, his eyes filled with tears. He considered all the things she said, and moved away from her. He walked and opened up what sounded like eight cabinets, until he came back with a large test tube labeled 'Banner'. He put it in her hands and moved to go through a few drawers, and came back with a syringe. He pulled every drop of the red fluid from Banner's test tub and spoke softly to her, clearly back in his role as Hades. "This is blood from a man named Bruce Banner, and every volunteer who had subjected themselves to it has died. There is no way to stop its effects, and from what I read it took less than an hour to fully destroy the cells of the test subject's body. Seeing as were both so damaged, it should be faster on you." After the syringe was full he pulled out his MP3 player, and put the headphones in, and soon after soft music began to play. A tune he had often sung to her, 'Wake me up when September ends'. She closed her eyes, and cleared her mind. A few moments later, the needle of the syringe pressed against her ribs, and was then forcefully shoved into her body, piercing her heart. A gentle hand touched her face as she felt small pulses from the syringe, pushing the red substance into her body. It was moments later a bun began. Tears fell from her eyes, and she felt herself lip singing the words, and the burn grew. She waited and her mind became muddled, as her heart pumped the deadly substance through her body; she could feel her heart growing weaker, and her limbs felt heavier. A soft kiss gracing her lips was the last thing she was aware of. *-*-*-*-*- Faith felt something, a twinge, a pulse of something as she came to. She felt different, stronger! She inhaled deeply through her nose and smelt it, it enraged her; Captain Anderson! Can't he allow her body to be given burial? She burned in wraith, and felt something snap in her mind, her body moved and she could hear a frightfully powerful roar, to which a beat would be frightened. She could see nothing but red. She felt her body move and her anger built as something tried to prick her body all over. It was a stretching and pulsing sensation, what was going on? She moved and slowly her eyes awoke in some way where she could see what she was doing. She hardly understood what she was seeing. What had to be her own limbs moved, powerful limbs if the very toned and lime green? She stood taller, if the distance to the ground was any indication to her. Her body was not answering to her mind, and so she watched as she tore through the very men who had used her and abused her. Whipping them around like rag dolls; it gave her a feeling of satisfaction! Now the harmers were indeed the harmed, karma was exacting its price. The fight went on for a few minutes and the feeling of pins on her skin, turned out to be bullets shot at her. She spotted Captain Anderson, who looked shocked. Once she finished with his men, minus one Howard; who was missing, the MP's must have taken him. She felt herself roar one more time and then run, surprisingly quick into the forested area. She had to leave, had to run. Howard was safe from them using her against him, if she was not there. Chapter three The event that shined a light: (Alternate reality) after 1st movie Steve woke with a start, the mission was a complete FUBAR, no it was worse, and it was the MOTHER OF ALL FUBARS! He and Agent Sandoval were supposed to go in, rescue the hostages and get the hell out of dodge in less than twenty minutes. It was clear that the Intel they got was faulty at this point. Steve calmly collected himself and was fine till he tried to move. He quickly found his arms were pinned behind his back. Twenty minutes of struggling showed they were clearly designed with him in mind. He then looked down and blushed brightly. Clearly someone was into either very dark images for modeling for a painting or someone was just plain sick! He was naked as the day he was born. His feet were restrained in what looked like stirrups . . . he knew about those only because he walked into the wrong examination room once, and saw what Natasha had to put her feet in for her cervical exam, which lead him to get her chocolate after each one. Anyone put in that position needed a reward! Steve took a full self evaluation, restrained arms, yep; restrained feet, yep again. A strap across his chest and just above his groin, double check and dame now that he was aware of it; it was dammed uncomfortable to boot. It was not long after he finished his self evaluation that a man entered the room where he was. A short man with clearly a flair for the 1940's mystery men, having lived it Steve was sure this man had to have done his research well. Had he not known the year was 2011; he would have thought himself back in his own time. "Ah, I see you're awake!" the short man said with a germen accent, clearly a refined one; too much like Schmitt if anyone asked. The man pulled out a small case with six syringes in it, all of them full to the brim with an oddly green fluid. The man placed the case on a nearby table, it was clean. The room smelled like a freshly cleaned surgery room. Having watched over Tony's surgery and helped out in the SHEILD medical facility; it was a smell he was familiar with. "Unfortunately we have had to acquire more of your time dear Captain. The sample we received a year ago was sadly unusable. We are hoping that since it has been a few months since your full defrosting, that your system is back to normal." The short man then picked up the first syringe as he signed; almost bored with the situation. As if the whole event was done just to bore him to death. "What do you mean?" Steve ventured slowly; Intel was needed and if this man talked a lot, more the merrier! The shorter man perked up, "I mean good Captain, that our operative collected a sample of your semen while you were still in a cryogenic state. By the time it got to us all the tails were damaged and even much of the sample was damaged. I do hate rush jobs." Clearly this was a talker, so half the job done. Now just play stupid and ask the right questions, which were not hard to fake given that in the 1940's a semen sample was not even on anyone's mind. "Rush job, I don't understand." Steve asked lamely, playing off the 1940's expected mentality. The shorter man then began to explain that due to the cryogenic state he was in; most of the semen sample was in a likewise state. I.E frozen, and when semen is frozen for a long time it degrades and becomes useless. The shorter man lamented over that fact, sighting how 'if only he had competent people with him still' and a few other things in broken germen. He did however, sound excited as he said, "And the universe has given me another, oh General Ross though he bested me. But even the Gods give me a boon. She is young and clearly from her I can acquire the piece I need to complete my set!" Steve was back to being in the dark, what set? "Set of what? I know Agent Colson collected the cards they made of me during the war." Give information to get information that was the price at times. The short man stopped and considered it, he then walked to Steve and plunged the syringe into Steve's inner elbow, it burned just a bit but otherwise nothing felt different, "Well if you must know . . . I had for years now been collecting people with gifts. I aim to make humanity into a superior race. But unlike Hitler, or I dare say all the other half witted morons that have tried it. I have the formula that will work. You see all I want are the products of conception, once they are born; I get rid of the genetic donors. They tend to get attached and or territorial. You would think I wanted their arm or something, yuk." The small man walked back to the table and replaced the now empty syringe, clearly now he was more talking to himself rather than answering Steve's question. The man clearly had an ego that was as Tony would say, 'was bigger than his dick' and Steve understood the phrase much better. "I am a man of science, and human nature does not even compute. How do I build a race that is superior of the inferred race clings to my beautiful beginning?" Sighing again dramatically he picked up the second syringe, and looked at it carefully. Looking for what Steve had no idea; the vial was so full of liquid any air would have been forced out a while ago. The man did however; need no prompting as he continued, "Needless to say your physiology would have taken me months to figure out. I would have needed to perform tests and taken multiple samples. It would have taken me months to get to where I am now after only a week of work." Pausing he pulled out a small piece of paper from the case and checked over a small list, then continued, "Because most of the documents pertain to your metabolism and health are tricky to get, but not for me; nope I know how to get what I want. But I know now, I know. You see most drugs don't affect you long or even at all, due to how your body renews itself. They are more fast acting, and when you try to make them potent enough to power through your hyper metabolism you need more of it. Well that though process does not need to happen." Walking to Steve again the shorter man touched his nose and smiled, "The trick, the absolute trick is to make your body ignore it until its job is well under way! So simple yet all these other big brains don't understand it. Ignorant of anything other then what they think, I thank my father for teaching me this at a young age. I had to learn, and I did." Steve wondered what tangent this guy was on now and interjected, "Learn what?" The short man stopped and laughed, placing the syringe in Steve's neck, and pushing the plunger down, slowly; slower than before. "I learned that a powerful man is able to wait. A powerful man can make what he wants happen. And I have, my father started this great work and then Hitler came and took all of our subjects. They all died and the wonderful future we could have had was lost. But I learned how to make it work. It had to be secrete, and done quietly; the government would come and steel it all away, all away gone. But me, no I give to the few what they want, and keep the rest a secrete. You think your SHEILD knows that I collected so many of their people? NO, why? I humiliate them, I make it such a traumatic experience that they never want to look my way. They don't want to think about it, they don't talk about it. Because I had made them evil, I controlled them, owned them. They were mine!" Steve noticed that now he was getting light headed, and most embarrassing was he got hard. Off nothing touching him and that was saying something all things considered. After SHEILD woke him up he had quite a few exceptionally embarrassing classes they demanded he go to, to be better acclimated to the current time, and understand the conversations and people around him. There had been three classes JUST on sex and sexuality. His face burned during those classes. Some of the things they suggested about modern fellas . . . as long as Tony never found out about those classes; he would be fine. "So now we collect you." The man said excitedly and moved to the final syringe. This one the biggest one of all three; this one was jabbed into his chest, and went for his heart. "I had to make this special. Not like the other fertility booster from old. No your system would have burned through that." The short man said as he slowly in small amounts depressed the syringe plunger. "The first two were to confuse your system, and honestly they will wear off in a few hours. But the last, I may have you for a full week. I will command you, and you are to be mine. I will own you!" Steve felt his body start to sweat, and his vision blurred. He burned and was dizzy for what felt like an eternity. His mind hardly registered much but it registered oddly everything in perfect sensations, someone was on him; in the most intimate of ways. Someone unwelcomed in such a position as far as Steve was concerned; and anyone welcomed there would be called Mrs. Rodger's first! He went in and out of knowing what was going on and clearly three faces were remembered. Three different faces, one smiling as she was on him and two others tearful and sad. Why? Chapter four A mini Hawkeye? Phil Colson was officially confused as the mission came to a close. They had been investigating a store that was smuggling stolen tech, Chitari tech to be exact. The Pawn shop was a go between point that bought and sold the parts to the traffickers, all the money was cleaned through the establishment. The mission was to have an agent go in and the place would be cased, easy. They already had gone through several of the employees backgrounds. While the owner was dirty, two of the employee's were oddly clean or their backgrounds only went back so many years. A part of Phil Colson missed working with Iron man and the Avengers, but this was clearly still his life. The mission was done, but exit no yet made. As a perfect replica of Clint Barton AKA Hawkeye ran in, lunch tin in hand, with Iron man embossed in its metal. The child's eyes were not the same, and it was clear who his mother was. A strawberry fire blond weapons expert who worked there, and had a paper trail outside of her birth that only went back nine years at most, she also had such shapely eyes that Colson figured Steve would want to sketch them they were so perfect. "Mamma, I got an A!" the possibly eight year old boy said with joy. Only upon further examination the child also had a split lip. His mother picked him up with what looked like perfect ease, as if the child weighed nothing, she inspected his face with scrutiny, "And got into a scuffle with the William's boys again I see." She then walked over to the office and pulled out a small first aid kit, "What was it this time Kevin?" She asked gently. In answering her, the child groaned, "Ma, I got an A and you're worried about me getting into a fight?" Phil was pleased with this and walked out. He was always pleased to see that some parents took their job seriously. Upon getting back to the bus Phil received a communiqué from Fury himself that they were to report to HQ, and on the double. Fury was not pleased, but then again when did the man give away an idea that he was happy? Colson marched to Fury's office and upon entering when bid; he spotted a table full of what looked like Polaroid's. Keeping his eyes forward he waited for Fury to indicate what was the reason for the call. It did not take long as Fury pointed to the photos, "We have a traitor in our midst Phil. And this one had been with us for years or it's cycling agents within our ranks." Fury's voice was cold as Colson took a closer look at the images. Several of them he recognized Agents from the past. Few had retired without a really clear reason; they seemed spooked in the worst way. The photos were arranged by date and as he moved towards the end of them Colson froze. Natasha with the number 068 pens on her boy and Clint with 069 with the word Collected penned over it. They were both sleeping our out cold when the images were taken, which if the dates lined up would explain why Clint's sex drive became more a farce, a joke. Clint after that date became more withdrawn, and took to at times living in a few of the air ducts, hell he knew that after tony learned this, several areas of his air duct system became lavish nests before Clint could sneak up a blanket or stuff keep the time interesting. Clint was the tenth person in all the photo's that had the word 'Collected' written upon it and as far as that meant, it could mean Clint was a double agent in their midst. This could not stand; it had to be proven or disproven. And sadly, even Colson's heart ached as the very last photo shown was Steve, '085 Collected' written on his clearly restrained chest. Colson's heart sunk, "How is Captain Rodger's?" He enquired. Fury's frown deepened, "When we only had to deal with the Steve before it was easy. Now it's getting to the point that he is not sleeping at all, hell he freaked out Stark. And we both know how hard that is, after everything Starks seen and done. Natasha has returned back to HQ until we can get him to talk, and that's not going to happen soon. Steve can't look at her without a panic attack hitting him. We can't find out what's wrong and without anything to give m incentive, were chasing our asses." Colson felt vengeance burning in his belly. Steve would bounce back, he did. It was his hero after all; he could fight all day long. Even as a little guy Steve Rodger's was not one to count out. *-*-*-*-*-* Tony was trying hard to figure out what the hell went wrong with Steve. When he got back he was at first silent and almost walking around in a daze. But once the man tried to sleep he would wake up screaming bloody murder. Jarvis had taken to trying to pump in chemicals to aid the hero in getting decent sleep. Bruce was at his wits end, and slowly it seemed was trying teas to calm the man down. Punching bags were not enough, even though his body should have been shutting down. Steve had not eaten since he came back and that was four going on five days ago. They nearby had to tackle Steve as, as soon as he spotted Natasha; a full blown flight response kicked in and the window was his potential goal. Clint was not sure what to do, but had taken to sleeping in the same room as Steve; oddly those nights the screaming ended sooner. Whatever Clint did was working some magic for them. Natasha realized that she was potentially what was making it worse for the super solider and temporarily headed to her quarters at HQ. Today Bruce was trying to just be out of the way. Steve's fear was making Bruce have Hulk problems. So it was Tony in his workshop trying to work on something to sooth the clearly startled beast in Steve. Coming to a point where he wanted to rip his hair out, he asked JARVIS to patch in a video feed of Steve. Within a few seconds Clint's voice could be hear, JARVIS cleaned up the feed and amplified the voice. "They are not here. They won't be here." Steve's voice was muffled as Clint held Steve facing himself. "No, no . . . trust me they don't come when you're around others protected like this. Trust me I know." Clint's voice softly soothed Steve as he stroked Steve's blond hair. To Be Continued . . . .