A/N: Phew! It's WAY too late but I just can't resist posting this before going to bed. First, though…

OH MY GOSH! You guys, THANK YOU, a million and one times, for your absolutely amazing reviews, listings and support! It makes me feel insanely good that so many of you are eager to join the ride. (HUGS) I really hope that this'll meet your expectations!

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's go! 'Hope you'll have a great ride.

Looming Threats

Natasha had always had good instincts. She was particularly good at sensing looming threats. It was what kept her alive through Red Room and especially the nightmare that could barely be called a life which followed.

And something was wrong with the Barton family.

It took days of trying before she finally got a hold of Laura. The woman greeted her call with an exhausted sigh. "Look, Nat… I appreciate your concern. But… We're all trying to settle into this whole thing and… Well."

"I'm not calling in Clint's behalf. I'm calling as your… friend." It felt strange, even after all the years, to use that word. Natasha gritted her teeth and frowned. Her skin tingled, which was a sure sign that something was wrong. "Are you alright?"

Laura emitted a small, bitter sigh. Or maybe it was a sob. "No", the woman admitted honestly.

There was a brief silence before Natasha finally spoke again. Asked what was swirling on her tongue, burning it. "Why now?" It was clearer than clear that she meant the divorce.

Laura was quiet for so long that the redhead checked if the call had been disconnected. "You've seen why. Because the man who came back after New York… He isn't the same person I married." There was bottomless grief in the woman's voice. But also something entirely different. Someone could be heard, faintly yet still, calling out. "I've… gotta go. I'll be staying at my dad's. You know, to do some thinking."

All alarm bells went off in Natasha's head. Because that was one of the many emergency-codes they'd agreed on. 'At dad's' meant that Laura and the kids were safe but something was wrong with Clint. Also, there was clearly a good chance that someone was listening in on them.

"Nat?" Laura was definitely fighting back sobs. "Just… Look after Clint, okay? You know how he is."

"I will." And Natasha meant it, from the bottom of her heart. Her eyes narrowed with determination. Familiar steel hard resolve overruling the strange, infuriating panic that wanted to break through. "You look after yourself, and the kids."

"I will", Laura swore, and definitely meant it. A shuddering sigh followed while the woman pulled herself together. "I've gotta go. But I'll talk to you soon." They both knew that it'd be a while before they'd be able to chat again, at least freely.

After brief and tense goodbyes they braced themselves for a battle, even when neither could even imagine what they were fighting against.

Much later that evening Nick Fury entered his apartment. He froze as soon as he'd switched on the lights and closed the door. His one eye narrowed at the space surrounding and ahead of him.

He wasn't alone.

While one of his hands slid subtly towards his concealed firearm Nick's gaze scanned the apartment. Very soon he spotted droplets of already dried blood. Cold sped through his veins and he gritted his teeth. A few soundless strides later he reached the living room and came face to face with the intruder.

The intruder could be found from his couch, which was a very good strategic spot because it couldn't be seen through a window and it opened a full view to the apartment's only entrance. Clint Barton lay there in a light sleep, a deep frown on his unhealthily pale, bruised face. 'Bruised' was a very good descriptive word, actually. With the black T-shirt the younger man wore it was easy to see similar marks on his arms. Those were almost as alarming as how the Hawk was trembling. The most worrying of all, however, was the blood staining the back of Clint's shirt.

Before Fury had the time to process what he was seeing Clint shuddered. In a flash those eyes flew open and darted towards him. For a few dangerous moments a quick and ready hand reached out towards a weapon until that gaze finally recognized him. Clint didn't relax, however.

"Well. This is a surprise", Fury admitted honestly when it became apparent that his unexpected guest wouldn't utter a word. "I'm not going to ask how you found out where I live because I don't want to know. But I'm curious to hear what made you desperate enough to come."

Clint pushed himself to a sitting position although it seemed to require whatever little strength the man had. A hint of the tension seemed to melt away, though. "I… needed someone who wouldn't ask too many questions to patch me up."

Fury fought the urge to sigh valiantly. His shoulders slumped, and although he would've never admitted as much worry twisted in the bottom of his stomach. "You do realize that I'm not a medical professional, don't you?"

Clint shrugged. "It's you or someone from a ER asking all sorts of stuff that I don't feel like answering. Besides, it's not like you've never done this before. Remember Rio?" The archer was obviously getting irritated. "I'd handle it myself if I could, you know?"

Fury sighed. Loudly and heavily. "Just show me. And I swear, if you bleed out on my couch…" He left the rest hanging but knew that the younger man heard, loud and clear.

Clint rolled his eyes. But not before a flash of something very troubling could be spotted by a quick, careful glance. Suspiciously slowly, visibly reluctantly, the Hawk began to take off his shirt. Despite all his skill Fury had hard time disguising how he felt when the full extend of the injury became revealed.

There was so much bruising and other damage – old and new – that it seemed to make a back-sized map. And there, just a hair from what looked like a lethal spot, was a stab wound. Clint had done what he could to handle it but the white bandage had long since been drenched in red.

"And how, exactly, did that happen?" was all Fury could think of uttering.

"Someone brought a knife to a fist fight." (1)

"You and your clever movie references…", Fury muttered. He was starting to get a feeling that he wouldn't be savoring the glass of Brandy he'd been dreaming of anytime soon. Biting back some vulgar words he began to head towards the bathroom. "I'll go and get the first aid kit." Although he would've much more gladly called for an ambulance.

Clint was silent as Fury began the work. Which was, admittedly, very worrying. Fury was pleased to discover that although there'd been a lot of bleeding and the wound was very, very deep it wasn't life threatening. If he'd clean it up well and the idiot of a former assassin would actually let it heal the archer should be fine. "You'll live", he announced, and sounded more relieved than he would've cared to admit.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Clint shivered only slightly, didn't even hiss, when the wound was cleaned although it had to hurt. Exactly four seconds of silence ticked by. "I'm indestructible."

"You've been spending too much time with Stark." Fury gritted his teeth, glaring at the gaping hole that was sneering at him. "So, here's the deal… While I've got all sorts of stuff at hand I've got nothing to numb the area with."

"And you imagine that sewing that thing together's gonna hurt more than being stabbed?"

Of course it hurt. A lot. But there weren't exactly a lot of choices. Fury worked the best as he could, trying to stay oblivious to the way Clint started trembling in his handling. The younger man kept muttering the entire time and from the sounds of it the words – coming fast and in more languages than the one eyed man could catch – didn't sound like anything pleasant.

At last it was done. Fury cast a very unimpressed half glare at the final result. "Well. It's not going to be pretty."

"Chicks dig scars."

"Laura doesn't." As soon as the words slipped through Fury's lips he knew that he shouldn't have uttered them. He could practically see how the mental walls surrounding Clint slammed closed, and the visible tension was a solid proof. A tiny part of him wanted to comfort the man but it would've been painfully awkward. He'd never been a comforter and Clint didn't appreciate empty promises after facing far too many throughout his life. So instead he gave the man a chance to put his stained shirt back on, to obtain at least that much security and dignity. Then, at last, he went on. "You alright?"

"Yeah." Too quick. Unconvincing, to both of them. Clint remained with his back turned on him. "I just… I needed a breather, you know? A moment out of… all that."

Fury processed that for a while. "So… You came here, of all places?"

"Yeah." And that, apparently – along with the earlier comment about not wanting too many questions – was clearly all the answer he'd get. The archer sounded defensive and exhausted. Never a good combination, especially with all that stubbornness. "I made sure that I wasn't followed."

"Of course you did, you're not an amateur. Barton." Their eyes met, Fury's gaze hard and commanding the truth. "Do you need an out?"

Clint looked at him. And for a moment, just one, seemed tempted to give in for once in his life. The archer, however, shook his head firmly, whatever vulnerability there'd been disappearing like a trick of imagination. "No, I don't", the younger man practically spat through tightly gritted teeth. "I need that bastard in a prison. And this is our only chance to make that happen."

"You won't get anyone sent behind bars if you get yourself killed first", Fury snapped back, the young man's stubbornness threatening to break his usually flawless self-control.

Clint lifted his chin defiantly. But those eyes… They didn't quite show the fight he was used to seeing. "I'm not planning on getting killed. I'm going to destroy him."

Fury groaned. "That doesn't comfort me." Seeing that the younger man was beginning to sway, he decided that they could continue with this… exchange later. "Now get some sleep. No offense, but you look ready to drop."

More eye-rolling and muttering followed, which was actually comfortingly familiar. But in the end Clint actually did curl up on the couch, careful with his back, and settled so that he had a view to the door. Fury kept an eye on the man until he stilled before beginning to make his way towards his bed. He stopped at barely audible words. "Hey, Fury? Thanks. And sorry. I owe you a new couch."

How many times had Fury already sighed heavily that evening – night, morning? He was glad that he didn't have any hair because Clint would've surely turned all of them gray by now. "Yeah, you do. And I never wanna see your blood on the new one."

Fury did his best to stay awake because he knew that his fidgety patient was a runner. But despite having proven many people otherwise quite successfully he was a human being. One with limits. And eventually he dozed off. Only for fifteen minutes but that was enough.

When he woke up Clint was gone.

The Avengers Tower began to awaken to the new day slowly. They'd agreed to have the first half of the day off from training for once, for which Tony was endlessly grateful. He emerged from the room he shared with Pepper at eleven thirty, grinning like a cat that just caught a juicy canary.

And, well, he found a Hawk.

The sight was so unexpected, worrying and – if he was honest with himself – adorable that it froze him for a while. Clint had most likely been aiming to down a mug of coffee. Which, evidently, never happened. The archer sat on a couch nearby the kitchen area, eyes closed and snoring softly, the already cold coffee resting on a table.

The sound Tony's phone made when he took a picture made the archer shiver, startled back to full awareness. "Good morning, sleeping beauty", he teased, despite the constantly growing ball of worry in the pit of his stomach. Something was off. "Sorry I woke you up, though. You look like you needed the rest."

"I wasn't sleeping", Clint argued. One blue eye was cracked halfway open. It was unnervingly bloodshot. "I was meditating."

Tony wasn't sure if he wanted to scream, laugh or roll his eyes. He produced what was a very weird mixture of them all. "Right… Sorry, buddy, but I'm not buying. You were snoring."

"It wasn't silent meditation."

"I'm still calling bullcrap." Well, at least Tony's snide remark succeeded in coaxing a tiny smirk. Hard as he tried he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a full Barton-trademark-grin. His eyebrows furrowed.

As did Clint's. "Stop that. Right now." The archer went on before he could ask. "You're thinking."

Tony blinked slowly. Still suffering from lack of actual sleep and coming down from… Well. "Yeah. And?"

"Stop it, you'll hurt yourself."

Tony had a witty remark coming up until Natasha walked into the room. She gave both of them a single glance and a warning look appeared to her eyes. "Knock it off or I'll end it", she warned, then focused on Clint who seemed to be struggling to wake up properly. "You okay?"

"'Course", Clint answered a little too quickly, working the words out through a yawn. All of a sudden he tensed up. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven forty-five", Tony announced. "Why? You got a hot lunch date or something?"

Clint didn't take the bait. Instead the man paled and got up. Only to shudder, agony loud and clear on his face for a few unguarded seconds.

"Hey!" Okay, that was it. Tony was honestly worried. "What…?"

"Stiff back", Clint cut him short. Making it very clear that he wasn't interested in offering any clarification. The archer licked his lips, the shivers dying down slowly until they were no longer visible.

"Where are you going?" Natatasha inquired.

"Don't worry, I'll be there for Steve's afternoon drill." With that Clint was gone. Like those words were all the answer needed.

Tony stared for a few seconds. Then blinked slowly, again. "That… was weird." He groaned, loudly, and ran a weary hand down his face. "We're gonna have to find out what's wrong, right?"

"Yes", was Natasha's – or perhaps rather Black Widow's – sharp and to-the-point answer.

Tony groaned again. Somehow feeling incredibly old all of a sudden. "I'm gonna need my suit for this. And a stiff drink."

Clint knew that he was late. He also knew that being late meant consequences. It took all his skill to hide how he was feeling when he entered the expensively furnished room.

He was just taking a glass of water when a voice spoke from directly behind him. "You made me worry that you ran, after all. That you betrayed me. You, my favorite pet. After all the liberties I've given you."

Clint was whirled around quickly and sharply, so that his injured back was slammed against the counter. Unable to stop himself he emitted a whimper of agony when it felt like he'd been stabbed again, repeatedly. For a second or two his vision swam and the glass slipped from his grasp, shattering to the floor.

But oh, that wasn't the end of it. A hand grabbed his throat, merciless and nauseatingly tender all at once. "You should know better by now, than to make me worry that I've lost you."

Clint's fists balled in a reflex as adrenaline spiked. While black spots danced in his line of vision he saw red. He was a fighter, not someone to be pushed around like this. Especially when he was already hurting. He was a fighter, even when he knew that it'd make things a thousand times worse.

Those eyes looking into his… For a while he imagined that he saw green tinged blue, until they returned to brown. The chilling threat in them didn't disappear for even a second. "I am going to ensure that you never forget your place again."

The two large men stood outside the room's door didn't flinch or look at each other when the noise began. Shouts, grunts, thuds, smashing and breaking items… They'd been ordered not to budge unless they were summoned and that was exactly what they'd do. They valued their health, after all.

TBC

1) 'Indiana Jones', in case you're wondering. (grins) (Me no own the original version!)

A/N: Oh dear gosh, poor Clint…! (shudders) At least Nat and Tony have a hunch, now. Let's just hope that they'll be able to help before it's too late!

SOOOOO… Was that any good? At all? PLEASE, do leave a comment down below to let me know! It'd seriously make my day to hear from you.

THE RATING OF THIS STORY WILL MOST LIKELY CHANGE TO M AS FROM THE NEXT CHAPTER, OR THE ONE AFTER THAT!

Until next time, you guys! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

Guest: Okay, so… There's absolutely no way I could say 'no' to that. (grins) I REALLY hope that you'll be as pleased with what's to come!

Huge thank yous for the review!

Anonymous: I TOTALLY get the feeling! (hugs) We'll see what comes out of this… I REEEEEEALLY hope that what's to come meets your expectations!

LOL, hurting Clint IS way too much fun!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

Nightshade: I'd NEVER say 'no' to such kind words. (hugs) I REALLY hope that you'll keep having a good ride! And that this doesn't become as sad as THAT story…

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.