Chapter One.
The shadows were deep and unforgiving; a man could get lost in them. Exactly the way he liked it. Exactly what he wanted – needed – tonight. That the night itself was troubled and on the edge of a storm only helped his purpose. People tended to stay indoors during a storm, tended to shut the curtains, bolt the doors and pay less attention. Footsteps, his footsteps, were all but silent as he moved closer to the door. He hummed under his breath as he moved, cat-like in the darkness.
The museum was silent, save from the slight padding of his muted feet as he weaved his way carefully through the cases. Ever cautious not to touch the glass, he slipped in and out of the gloom between the exhibits. He knew roughly where he might find his target, had at least some inkling but he still had a sense of cat and mouse. He assumed, as usual, he would be the cat.
"And if that mockingbird don't sing-" He broke off, smiling to himself. "Well, that's not an option."
With that, he caught a movement, the barest hint that most humans would miss, in the gloom, stepped forward smartly and loosed an arrow drawn from the quiver strapped to his back. It thunked into the wall opposite, inches from his target, which whipped around at the noise only to find that he had followed.
Wide blue eyes matched his, and he registered a cloud of dark hair framing a small face, the young girl trembled as the arrow still quivered in the wall beside her. Thick-rimmed glasses, white shirt and tartan skirt shivered under his steady gaze, a name badge pinned haphazardly to her chest shouted to him in bright blue lettering that her name was Sarah and she was happy to assist. She was small, and looked utterly petrified.
He stuttered out an apology as he backed away. She raised a hand to her glasses, pulling them away from her face. "Ca-can I help you, sir?" She managed, slow Southern vowels spilling from her lips, still staring at him as though he were about to kill her. Which, in fairness, he had been fully prepared to carry out just moments before.
He stepped back, dropping his bow by his side and running a hand through his hair with the other. She was still backed against the wall, afraid to move, clutching at her glasses with both hands at her chest. "Uh no, no miss – my apologies." He reverted to stock civilian interaction training. "I didn't mean to startle you, we've been called to check out the building and ensure that there are no irregularities." He pasted an all-American good cop smile across his face to smooth the words.
She breathed out as he finished, he realized that she had been holding it for some time – waiting, he assumed, either for assurance or action. It was the only movement she seemed prepared to make, despite his explanation. She blinked, slowly, and moved her glasses back to her face. She darted a glance briefly at the arrow, embedded in the wall to her right. He jerked forward – she breathed in sharply as his face passed by hers, he almost paused - and wrenched it back out.
"Uh, thank you for your co-operation, miss." He tipped the arrow towards her in a show of deference, inclining his head slightly as he did so. She made no reply, nervously tugging at the end of her shirt and dropping her gaze to the floor. He took that as his cue to back away and leave. When he looked back, just seconds later, the girl had vanished.
His earpiece crackled and spat into his ear. "Barton," It barked, piercing into the silence. "Is the target secure?"
"Negative, sir." He muttered, scanning the corridor as he did so. "False alarm."
"False alarm?" The ear piece spluttered. "In what capacity?"
"Civilian." He answered, passing by the alarm system control panel.
"What civilian would be in this building at this time of night?"
"Sir-" He broke off. The alarm system was disabled. The alarm system was disabled.
"Barton!" The deep booming from the earpiece affected him not, he broke into a sprint, bow at the ready and that horrible voice banging on the front of his mind, berating him for being so, so, stupid.
He checked rooms as he ran, allowing his superior sight to work as it should have done earlier. Barely stopping, scanning, moving on. Room after room after room until-
"That's it, princess. Just turn around. Slowly." He hadn't noticed any weaponry about her person earlier but then again, he'd clearly seen what she wanted him to see at the time. The slight figure in front of him paused, shrugged and turned about to face him, spinning on her heel.
"Princess, is it now?" She said playfully, and he realized that she'd even faked the accent. British, he guessed. London, most likely. Well-spoken, from what he knew of the place.
"You're a long way from home, sweetheart." He said levelly, prepared for anything she might – literally – throw at him. He stared at her, taking in as much as he could this time. She was small, barely stacking 5'2". Slight; well, she'd need to be, in her line of work. Dark hair, blue eyes, the ghost of a smile playing around pink lips and one arched eyebrow as she gazed back at him.
"Home is where your rump rests." She said lightly, and took a step forward. Wrong move, sweetheart. The arrow tip flashed up faster than even he'd really expected, the point resting neatly inches from her forehead. "Nice bow," she breathed, making the wise decision not to move any closer. Or indeed, at all.
"Be nicer not to use it." He dead panned. "Be nicer still if you'd come with me quietly, little lady."
"Little. Lady." She echoed, and seemed to be trying not to laugh. "Hey, why not? Be easier all 'round, huh."
Why so simple? His eyes narrowed. He did not lower the bow. "And you are playing what game, exactly?"
At this, she did actually laugh out loud. "No pleasing some people, is there?"
"You're not what I was expecting."
"And you were expecting, what, exactly?"
He stayed resolutely silent.
Her lips formed a perfect, pink, 'o' as she breathed out, knowingly. "Not a man, you mean." It wasn't a question.
He had the feeling he was somehow having the tables turned on him, he wasn't sure how and, more disconcertingly, he didn't mind.
She inched closer; he didn't drop the bow but made no other move. Serious blue eyes fixed upon his own, and she reached up to his wrist – laying her fingers slowly one by one against his skin. There was a flash of silver in the dark, a sharp snapping sound and she stepped back, ruefully.
"You move quickly for a first date, most men I know don't crack out the handcuffs until at least the third." She tipped her head to one side, regarding both him and the addition to her slim wrist.
"Let's go, princess." He tugged her arm, firmly but ultimately gently. No sense causing a scene if it could be avoided. For whatever reason – and he didn't trust it, whatever it might turn out to be – she seemed willing to come quietly and that was good enough for his purposes at that moment.
"Are you sure I don't have the right to an attorney? Or silence? What is it you boys usually say?" She grinned up at him, seemingly unbothered by her current predicament. He noted that. She'd almost escaped him once. This one was smart, and smart usually meant dangerous. Sometimes it meant useful. Time would have to tell.
"That would be the police, sweetheart." He walked her smartly towards the side entrance; backup were waiting alongside the museum in one of the loading bays. It would be easy enough to bundle her into the van if she had differing plans once outside. He'd learned not to underestimate small women, though. Lord knows Romanoff had taught him that lesson squarely.
For the first time, she looked as though she wasn't in control of the conversation. Her face snapped up to his, just about managing to school her expression into something akin to nonchalance as her eyes met his. Anyone else would probably have missed the flash of almost fear in them. "If you're not the police, then who the hell are you?"
"I'm from the Strategic Homeland, Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."