It was a cloudy day in 1952 and pickpockets, mobsters, small time thieves and other rascals shared the New York streets with corrupt cops, corrupt judges and a few honest men and women.

It was dark, darker than it should be.

In one of those streets, Clint Barton walked to his office, calm.

The office didn't have the best lighting or the best location but when Detective Barton set foot on it, it felt like home. Silvertongue and Barton investigations, it said on the door but, let's face it, only one out of ten clients ever came to see him. This is the Hawkeye, his partner would introduce him, the man with the deadliest aim of this great country. Nevertheless, most people came to see the other half of the investigating duo. But he didn't care - Clint was just happy to be a part of it. He was happy that of all the partners in New York, Loki had chosen him.

"You have heart." He told him, long ago. "A heart of gold. Precisely the very thing I lack."

Loki pretended to be on the verge of evil, almost a criminal, a wild card. But Clint could see through it - he wasn't half as bad as people painted him. He was just lonely and a bit peculiar. He'd gotten a bit famous for his strange methods: the lies, the manipulation, the little tricks. Loki was terribly fond of magic and his parlour tricks had helped solve quite a lot of cases. His methods weren't orthodox, sometimes they weren't even legal- but they solved the cases. You didn't get much smarter than Loki Silvertongue. Hated by cops, estranged from his family; Loki was a lonesome individual, but no one had trouble going to him when they had a problem.

Clint himself used to be one of those cops who hated him. He was a young hot-headed cop, always following the orders of Commissioner Fury - no questions asked. And if Fury hated Loki then he probably had good reason, Clint used to think, hating as well. He was a good cop, not excessively ambitious but with morals: the kind of cop you can't buy. Which had given him problems with the mob on more than one occasion. He'd got off without problems thanks to his aim, until he was too outnumbered. One dark rainy night, on a deserted alley they ambushed him. Stark's men, probably, seven of them with more guns than he could count, and snipers, just in case. Loki had appeared seemingly out of nowhere (another one of his tricks) and snatched him out of there. So, when he asked him to work with him, he didn't hesitate.

And after the hate, there was the opposite. Clint was fascinated by the man, how he moved, how he acted, how intelligent he was. He followed his lead, anywhere, everywhere, even doing things an outsider could consider shady. His girlfriend, Nat, had been scared that he was somehow being brainwashed or something of the sort, always following Loki. With time, Clint had set some distance between them and made a name for himself on the P.I. business - it wasn't easy, but he was good.

That morning he found Loki behind his desk, reading some yellowed book.

"What you reading?"

"Old Norse myths. Lovely stories."

Loki was pale as a sheet, too thin and had bright green eyes. He was wearing only a white shirt and a green tie, the jacket, the hat and the trench coat thrown carelessly on the windowsill behind him. And his hair fell past his ears and sometimes shadowed half his face, even his eyes.

"When are you going to get a proper haircut, man?"

"Who knows? Probably the day you go to the authorities and tell them you live with a russian spy." Which meant never.

Loki was one of the few people aware of Nat's true identity. She was Natalie Roman here, but she'd been Natasha Romanoff not so long ago.

Clint sat on his desk and started reading the newspaper. Nothing, nothing, boring things about... Until something interesting appeared. Something not good. Something that could get his partner (and probably himself as well) in a world of trouble.

"Loki...I think you should see this."

The taller man was behind him in seconds, looking at the newspaper.

"Oh, boy."

POLICE OFFICER MISSING

NYPD offers a reward for anyone with information concerning the whereabouts of Officer Coulson.

Clint read it quickly.

"They found blood at the scene... neighbours reported hearing shots around midnight... "

"They are going to say it's me." Loki declared. "You heard Fury saying that I had made him very desperate, that he was going to put me away for good. This is the perfect way to get everyone against me."

"This is the guy who shot you, right?"

Four years ago. With an experimental gun. Right in the chest. He almost died.

And they had ruled it out as self-defence, even if Loki was only using a trick in which he pretended to stab him.

"Which gives me motive." Loki concluded, unhappy. This could go downhill very fast.

"But I was with you at your place from six p.m to three a.m.!" It had been a long night. Nat was off doing some shady spy business and Clint was sad and worried for her and so he went to Loki's, where they drank too much scotch. Way too much. "You have an alibi."

"But you are not the most unbiased source, are you? You could be lying to protect me because if I was charged you would lose half of your clients." No, that wasn't a good alibi.

"Half? Three quarters of them, easy." Clint admitted. "But you're right. Fury and everyone else will point their fingers at you, the guy had no enemies and getting revenge on the man who almost killed you seems a pretty good motive."

He sighed. Loki looked down - when one problem disappeared, another one appeared.

But Clint had an idea. Get them before they get you.

"Well, then we have no other alternative than finding the actual guilty party before they invent some evidence against you. We find them, get them to confess and you're free."

Loki looked at his partner, grateful but careful. It was nice to have someone to watch your back but he had already asked too much of Barton.

"You realise there's no client on this one, right, Barton? No economic compensation whatsoever."

He knew Barton wasn't in it for the money, but still. He had to warn him.

"If you get convicted, friend, that's when my economy goes to the gutter."

Loki smiled at him, what was pretty rare and Clint winked at him.

"Where do we start?" Loki asked, going to back to the article. Clint did so too, looking for possible clues. There was no time to lose.

"Here it says that the next door neighbour saw a shadow leaving the place after the shooting." Clint mentioned. "A man called Steven Rogers, a world war two vet. He could know something."

"Well then, Detective Barton, it seems we have a new case."

They took their hats and trench coats and were back again in the dangerous streets of the city.

Ready for action.