Chapter Three: Aliens
"I think she's ready, Fury" are the words I heard as I hid just around the corner a week later. My Animo outfit was on, and I'd been practicing with the wings and gloves, even climbing up the walls of the training room. My heart swelled with gratitude toward Barton and Romanoff, whom I saw talking with Nick Fury around the conference table.
"Are you absolutely sure?" Fury's chilly voice asked, requesting clarification that I was sure my two teachers could offer.
I pressed closer to the wall, sticking my hands to it. Then I proceeded to pull myself up until my head was brushing the ceiling. My boots sought out the little cracks in the metal wall. I was now resting horizontally, parallel to the floor below me. The view was much better from up there.
Meanwhile, Natasha was speaking up. "Positive," she said firmly.
I saw Fury shrug his shoulders. "All right then. Consider Animo an official Avenger. Excellent work, agents." The he began to walk away, opposite the direction where I was lying in wait for them.
Barton caught his arm before he could leave. "Fury." His quiet voice that barely reached my ears was urgent. "What's going on? Why is she here?"
I made a soft noise of irritation. What was that supposed to mean? Did he not want me here? Before I could blow my cover and shout out an angry response, Fury replied with, "We can't discuss this now. I believe our conversation is being listened to by uninvited ears."
It took me a moment to realize that it was me he was referring to. When I did, I blushed and edged my way over to the corner of the wall, where I peered out at them in embarrassment. "Sorry," I mumbled with a small half smile. I crept back down to the floor and crossed over to them.
"Never mind," Fury said quickly, tossing an anxious glance in my direction. "Congratulations, Mo, you're now an official member of the Avengers team."
Natasha grinned at me; Barton didn't take his eyes off of Fury. I tilted my head, wondering what the big deal was. "Fury," Barton said icily.
"This is a matter to be discussed at another time," Fury snapped, silencing Barton. "Mo, make sure you're in gear at all times. You never know when something will come up that requires Avenger attention." With those words, he stalked away.
Natasha gave my arm a reassuring squeeze, then left after Fury. That left Barton and I standing alone in the empty conference room.
"Well," I said awkwardly. "I guess I should go, you know, gear up, or whatever."
I turned and started to walk back the way I'd come in, opposite the way Natasha and Fury had gone. Barton cleared his throat; I stopped. "Mo," he began.
I stared at him with hardened eyes. I couldn't understand the irritation that was running with my blood. I suppose it had something to do with the fact that Barton was practically demanding to know why I was here. And I thought we were getting on quite well. "What?" I growled.
He stepped closer and reached into his pocket. I opened my mouth in alarm, but all he did was press something into my hand. I looked down and wanted to cry with gratitude. My iPod sat in my palm, looking no worse for wear than it had been when I'd left it. "But, how did you…?" I trailed off and just watched him with happy eyes.
"I swiped it the night we went to your house. You seemed to like it a lot, so I didn't want to leave it behind." He gave me a small smile, and before I could thank him or say anything more, he hurried away, leaving through the same door that Natasha and Fury went through.
I stood there, frozen in shock, for a few heartbeats before deciding that I looked stupid. Ducking my head to hide behind my hair, I returned to my room, where I sat on my bed and turned my music up loud, drowning out all the worries that plagued my tired mind.
oOoOo
That was in early November. On Thanksgiving, danger decided to strike.
I sat on my bed, nodding my head to the music. I had "Welcome to the Black Parade" turned up to full volume when the sirens began wailing.
I leapt off my bed, accidentally tossing my iPod to the ground in the process. I bent over to retrieve it and switched the music off before diving under the bed to grab my boots. I slid them on, made sure that the small dagger I'd been given was safely stashed in my pocket, and then ran out of the room, joining the mass of agents that were rushing to their different posts.
Confused, I stood in the center of the fray. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. Was this just a drill? If so, why had no one told me? Was this a test, to see how I dealt under pressure? I took a shaky breath.
Someone grabbed the back of my jacket and began propelling me forward. My first instinct was to struggle; I twisted in my captor's grip, only to find it was Stark who had a hold on me. He was in his Iron Man suit with the mask down so I couldn't see his face. His metal fingers released me, but his hand remained pressed firmly against my back. "Follow me," he said, his voice sounding robotic through his suit.
"Stark, what's going on?" I asked as we ran with the crowd.
"New York City is under attack by some form of extraterrestrial."
A tiny bubble of excitement rose inside of me. "Are we going down to stop them?"
Stark didn't answer.
We came to a halt in a large room that I'd only been in once or twice. It was a large, open space, with one wall made entirely of windows. Computer screens decorated every available space, ground and air, that wasn't occupied by people walking or people standing. Nick Fury stood in the very center, looking powerful and in control standing in front of a cluster of screens.
"What exactly is happening, Fury?" Stark asked as we walked up behind him.
"If you don't get down there soon, there's not going to be much left to defend. Get going, Stark," Fury commanded. Stark ran to the nearest window and, not bothering to open it, smashed through it and leapt into the open air. In a matter of seconds, Stark had his rocket things going and was speeding away from the helicarrier.
I looked to Fury. "How am I getting down there?" I asked.
Fury glared at me. "You're not."
My jaw dropped in astonishment. "But I'm part of this team, too!" I yelled. There was too much noise in the room; nobody heard me but Fury.
"This is too dangerous for you at the moment. For now, you will stay behind. You can watch what's happening from these screens."
I crossed my arms and glared at the videos playing in front of me. One showed Stark flying toward the scene. Another was of Banner, all green and Hulkish, wrapping one arm around Barton and launching them both into the air. Barton was set on top of a tall building before Hulk turned away and jumped on the nearest alien, about three towers over on the other side of the street. Yet another had Rogers climbing out of a cab in his Captain America suit. Natasha got out on the other side, and the two of them together began to fight off the aliens that threatened the city. Thor, on a different screen in a different part of NYC, was summoning lightning to his hammer to blast at a group of oncoming creatures.
Anger burned inside me. I wanted to be down there. I wanted to help. The only thing stopping me was Fury.
I looked back at the various screens. Several were playing news broadcasts on different channels. The overall message was the same: the city was in a state of panic.
The aliens that were attacking caught my eye. They weren't gross or crazily different from us, not like the ones that had attacked the previous year. These ones looked similar to us humans. The only visible differences were their eyes: they were yellow with thin, slit pupils, much like a cat's. The other change was that they were all growing extra appendages with long, silver claws. I genuinely feared for my new friends' lives. Even Stark's.
"Fury, isn't there anything I can do?" I pleaded.
"No!" he snapped, turning away to look at another screen. I could see it just fine with my peripheral vision, but I supposed with only one eye, his range was pretty limited.
Barton, or Hawkeye, rather, was flinging arrows into the throats of the human-like monsters with rapid speed and excellent precision. Not a single one missed. They aliens were much too slow; that, or Barton was incredibly fast. I decided on the latter.
On the ground, Natasha and Rogers were side-by-side and back-to-back, throwing kicks and punches (and Cap's shield) in every direction. Once or twice they hid behind the shield as an alien shot some unidentifiable substance their way. Then, half a moment later, they were back out and returning to the fight.
I watched Thor smash his hammer into one alien's stomach, sending it flying backwards into a group of more like it. The effect was like dominoes; they all tumbled to the pavement.
Hulk had two aliens by their throats and was slamming them into abandoned cars and through company windows. When they were down for the count, he grabbed two more and repeated the procedure.
Stark was twisting and turning through the air, occasionally launching rockets and missiles from his back and shoulders. In general, he was making sharp direction changes, leaving the aliens on their motorized scooter things to crash into buildings and cell phone towers.
In all, the Avengers seemed to be handling themselves pretty well without me.
"Where are they coming from?" Fury muttered to himself.
I squinted my eyes and searched the different screens. "There!" I exclaimed a moment later, pointing to a monitor on my left. Fury turned toward me and witnessed what I was referring to.
An angry slash that resembled Harry Potter's scar was rippling about twenty feet above Central Park. Hundreds of those weird, almost human aliens were pouring out of it, either on scooters or on foot. The drop to the ground didn't seem to bother them; they only stood back up and ran into the battle.
Civilians were screaming and running in every direction. There was no order to their behavior. The police were trying their best to fight the creatures, but the only thing they were really good for was evacuating their people from buildings and overturned buses.
Slowly, horror began to creep into me. We were starting, slowly, to lose. Hulk was completely surrounded by the aliens, and no matter how many he took down, more of them just kept coming. Rogers and Natasha were sweating and panting. Their blows were weakening. Stark was on the ground with them, summoning up his available energy and sending feeble blasts at the monsters. One of his legs was smoking, most likely the cause of him being restricted to the streets and not the air. Barton had run out of arrows and was now trying the beat away one of the aliens with just his bow. Thor seemed to be the only one who wasn't tiring or being overcome, but even he could not keep this up forever.
What they needed was help.
Help from someone like me.
My fists were clenched at my sides as I watched Barton struggling. All he needs is one more arrow! Then he can at least turn this around, I thought. Oh God. I looked down at my waist. I had his arrow. The alien took one large swipe at him, creating a huge gash in Barton's side. Blood poured out of the wound. I gritted my teeth in frustration. No! I will not be the death of him!
I threw a glance at Fury, whose own hands were shaking with rage. Was I really going to stand here and let Barton die, just because Fury told me to stay here?
Of course I wasn't.
Before Fury could stop me, I dashed away from the semi-circle of screens. Shoving through the agents that were also in the room, I made my way to the window. "Mo!" Fury shouted, but I ignored him.
Gripping the handles at my waist, I lifted my arms, unfolding my wings, and jumped out of the same window that Stark had broken.
Air rushed into my ears and blew my curls back behind me. I angled my body toward the building where Barton was being attacked and let the wings do their magic, no flapping required. The wind caught on the fabric and carried me toward my destination.
Barton, I'm on my way. Just hold on for me, please. I was feverish with my need to get there before he…no, I wouldn't think like that.
I didn't see the alien at first, but when I finally noticed, it was already upon me. I turned my head to look over my shoulder, and there it was, speeding toward me on one of those scooters.
The aliens were apparently all male, because I hadn't seen one yet that had any feminine-looking features. This one had curls of blonde hair that fell to his chin and a lightly tanned complexion. If it weren't for his yellowed eyes and his two extra arms, he might have actually been handsome by human standards.
The silver claws that protruded at least three inches from his fingertips made a graceful arc through the air, aiming for my head. Without thinking, I tucked my arms in and crossed my wrists across my face. The wings folded around me. Since they were no longer catching the wind, I dropped several feet. At least I still had my eyes; the claws had missed by inches.
The alien wouldn't give up, however. As soon as I'd snapped my arms back out, he had zoomed in even closer than he'd been before. I clenched my hands into fists, making my own little claws appear. I swiped at him, taking the wing with me and opening a nasty gash on his upper arm. He bled some thick substance that looked orange, not red like human blood.
Red, the color of the blood that was escaping Barton.
I landed a sharp kick on the creature's jaw, trying to get away, but he'd also managed to aim a hit my way. Five shiny claws made five jagged gashes in one of my wings. Before I could even hope that it wouldn't make a difference in my flying, I was losing altitude.
Fortunately, the alien was speeding away toward the fights going on in the city, deciding that I was going to die when I hit the ground. Also fortunately, the wind was blowing hard enough in the general direction I needed to go that I was able to coast with one wing, albeit a little wobbly.
What hadn't crossed my mind was what I was going to do when the building was right there in front of my face. I threw my hands out so as not to smash my nose into the steel. The suction cups on my gloves stuck beautifully, and I dangled with about a fourth of the way to go before I reached the top where Hawkeye lay, bleeding.
I mimicked the sideways motion that Banner had showed me, and one hand became unstuck. I propelled myself up a little and reattached it to the building. And that was how the next ten minutes went as I tried as hard as I could to get to Barton before he…nope, not that thought again.
Finally, my hands found a ledge. I pulled myself up, my arm muscles screaming in the effort. The first thing I saw was Barton, holding his bow up over his face. The next thing I saw was the alien that was after him. Its claws shined in the harsh sunlight as they swooped down to crash onto the bow. Hawkeye was doing his best, but it was clear it was a losing battle.
Sliding onto the top of the building, which was actually more of a large open space before the rest of the floors continued, I got to my feet. "Hey!" I shouted, hoping to distract the alien from its target.
It worked for only a few seconds. With impressive grace, the thing whirled around to inspect me with its yellow eyes. I must not have been a worthy target, however, because it turned back around to swing again at Barton. The edge of one silver talon made it past the bow and sliced into skin. Barton gave a cry of pain.
"No!" I growled, running a few steps before launching myself at the alien's back. I wrapped my arms around its shoulders, which were covered in some form of armor, the same kind that coated its entire body. A little space was reserved between the helmet this one was wearing and its shoulder pads, revealing about an inch and a half of skin showing. That's where I put my hands, trying to strangle it.
Barton was sliding backwards on the heels of his hands, getting out from underneath my battle. "Are you crazy?" he yelled at me. From the pained expression on his face, I knew speaking was hurting him.
"Shut up!" I retorted, dropping back to the cement. I ducked underneath the alien's arm as he took a swing at me. Reaching into my pocket, I drew out my dagger.
The next time it tried to hit me, I dug my knife into the underside of its wrist, meaning that I hand to duck once more under its hand. Once again, I was lucky enough to not get a hit landed on me. I pulled my knife back out. It was dripping with orange blood.
The alien began to make its way back to Barton. It really must have wanted to finish its job.
I dashed around in and stood in front of him, shielding my friend, holding my dagger at the ready. "Don't move," I ordered to Barton over my shoulder. To my satisfaction, he didn't reply, only squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.
The monster was clearly getting tired of my meddling, but I wasn't done. It came at me again. I raised myself onto my toes, to give myself balance in the way only I could. It only took a moment for me to decide what to do.
Both sets of silver claws were reaching for me, but I made my move first; with a little flick of my wrist, I sent the dagger flying. It buried itself in the alien's throat. The alien gave a choking gasp and fell to its knees.
Anger was rising inside me. I stalked toward it, lethal, like a lioness. I smiled cruelly at my little analogy. I was Animo. I was like an animal.
I wrenched the knife out of its neck, emitting another staggering breath from the thing. Then I ripped the helmet off its head, revealing dark brown locks that fell into its yellowed eyes. It took my breath away for an instant. He was beautiful. Not quite as gorgeous as Thor, but still. I had already made my mind up, however.
With a cry of fury, I stuck the knife into one of its eye sockets. It screamed in rage, trying to get at the blade, but I had already pulled it out. Just one more, I thought, stabbing into the other eye.
I pulled the dagger out once again. The vile creature was clawing at its eyes. It could no longer see. Taking it upon myself to end its misery, I shoved at it until it was close to the edge of the building.
He must have sensed what was going on. As I gave one final push, he swung one arm at me, slicing open my jacket sleeve and the skin on my left arm before tumbling down to the street far below.
I gritted my teeth at the burning sensation the cuts brought. I killed it, I told myself. Then, putting on a brave face, I turned back around and went to Barton.
His face was shiny with sweat. "It's okay," I said, kneeling beside him. "You're going to be okay."
"How bad is it?" he moaned, looking at me with pained blue eyes. They were surprisingly pretty, his eyes. I smiled at him for a moment before looking down at his side.
The material over the wound was completely shredded. The cut itself consisted of five deep scratches that were still oozing blood. I had to bite my lip and look away. Stop it, Mo, I snapped at myself. Don't do this to him. So I turned my attention to the other cut that the alien had made. This one was on his upper left arm, opposite the more serious marks. It was bleeding as well, but not as severely.
"It's not bad," I lied, not meeting his eyes.
"Really?"
I looked at him with a small smile. I couldn't lie to him. "No. You're pretty beat up."
He closed his eyes and laid down on the cool cement. "Is everyone still fighting?"
I scooted away from him to look over the edge, even though I was pretty sure of the answer. Down below, the rest of the Avengers were still trying to push back the force of aliens. "Yes."
Barton heaved a heavy sigh. "God, I'm such an idiot."
I went back to him. "No, you aren't. Stop talking. You're making the bleeding worse."
He opened his eyes and looked at me in confusion. "I'm bleeding?"
Now it was my turn to be confused. "You mean you can't feel it?"
His eyelids were heavy. "I can't feel anything."
Gently, I took one of his hands and ran his fingertips along the wound on his side. He watched me, following my movements with his eyes. I brought his hand back up and showed him his fingers. "I am bleeding," he said quietly.
I let his hand fall onto his stomach before standing.
"Where are you going?" he asked, alarm in his eyes.
"I'm not going anywhere. Stop talking." I wiped my dagger's blade against the edge of the building, removing the strange orange blood.
"Am I going to die?" He sounded like a young child, lying there in a pool of his own blood.
"You will if you don't stop talking. Your movements are making the bleeding worse."
His fingers grazed the back of my leg. "If I'm going to die, I don't want it to be in silence."
I bit my lip, trying to decide what to do. Was there a way I could stop the bleeding, or at least slow it down? I looked down at my knife, then at my clothes. I had some to spare, surely.
I unzipped my jacket and slid out of it. Cool November air hit my bare arms, but I hardly felt it. I was too focused on fixing Barton. With the knife, I cut the stretchy fabric into strips. I detached the wings and let those fall to rest beside my feet. Those wouldn't be much help.
"What are you doing?" Barton asked as I began wrapping one of the strips around the gash in his arm.
"Trying to keep you alive" was my muttered reply.
He ripped his arm away from me. "No!" he protested. "You don't need to do that. If I'm going to die, then I'm going to die, Mo!"
"I'm not going to sit here and watch you bleed out!" I snapped, grabbing his wrist and pulling his arm back to me. I tied a knot in the fabric; there was one wound left.
"Can you sit up?" I asked him, quieter and nicer than I'd been before.
Slowly, with my help, he managed to get into a sitting position. Then I went to work cutting away the small amount of covering that still hung across the larger wound. Then I took one end of a strip of fabric and stretched it until it went all the way around Barton's stomach. I repeated this several times, until I was out of fabric. There were places on that cut left to cover.
So I took the knife to my pants, cutting away at each leg until I had shorts that stopped just above my knees. With the new stock of black bandages, I finished wrapping him up. He looked like a crude Christmas present now.
Barton groaned. "I can feel it now." Agony lit up his face.
I leaned him back until he was resting on the cement again. "It's okay. That should stop you from bleeding out," I murmured softly to him.
"You're still bleeding," he mumbled.
I looked and saw my own blood making lines down my arm until it met up with Barton's blood that coated my hands. When I turned my gaze back to him, I saw he was lying motionless.
I'll admit, I panicked. "Ba – Hawkeye!" I cried. I almost called him Barton, but I caught myself. I didn't know if it would be appreciated if normal people knew who he was.
I leaned over until my ear was just above his nose and mouth. Slow breathing registered in my brain. He was alive, just unconscious.
Now what to do with him? I was the only one of us who knew where the aliens were coming from. I could find a way to stop it, or at least let someone know who could. On the other hand, I couldn't just leave him here.
There were another twenty or so floors reaching to the sky on my right. Grabbing Hawkeye under his arms, I dragged him over to one of the windows.
Crash!
I kicked the window, send shattered glass flying inward. Walking backwards, I continued to drag him until he was safely inside. Well, lying on broken glass. That was safe enough, given the situation.
Someone sneezed.
I whipped my head around. I was standing in an office building, apparently. And all the workers were still here. Idiots, I thought. Desks were overturned, and faces peered at me from behind them. Cowards.
One of the workers, a man, stood. I snarled at him, and he got back down and put his hands up.
I stepped forward, balling my hands into fists at my sides. I lowered my voice, making it huskier than usual. With my dark curls falling around my shoulders, my angry eyes, and the blood dripping down my arm, I bet I looked terrifying. I motioned to Barton with my bleeding arm. "If any of you touch him," I growled. "I will come back, and I will kill you. Get it?"
My question was met by several frightened nods. Satisfied, I gave Barton's unresponsive body another worried glance, and then ran back outside.
The fighting was still happening down on the streets, but at least it looked like we were beginning to regain the upper hand. Hulk had managed to get free of the group of aliens surrounding him and was now clinging to a building nearby, bashing one of the dumb creatures against the steel.
"Hulk!" I shouted. With a grunt, Hulk dropped the alien, letting it tumble to the ground. Then he was in the air, leaping to land on the building where I stood. I grinned. "Can you take me down there?" I asked.
He looped one arm around me and jumped. There was a short sensation of falling, and then we were on the ground, albeit inside a little crater that we'd made when we landed.
Hulk set me down. "Thanks," I told him, and then he was off again to find more aliens to smash.
The wreckage of the Thanksgiving Day Parade was spread out from where I stood to three blocks away. I hoped everyone got out and away safely. I didn't want anyone to hurt the way Barton was.
I spotted Rogers and Natasha nearby, backs pressed together, each fighting off their own monster. I ran at them and dug my dagger into the nearest evil back, which happened to be the alien Natasha was battling.
With a swift upward movement, I created a large jagged line parallel to the alien's spine. It whirled around, screeching in fury, and that's when Natasha delivered the final blow, twisting the thing's arm to stab it with its own hand. It crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Next to me, Rogers had finished off the other one, leaving us with a momentary break from the fighting. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, coming over to stand in front of me. "Fury said you were being kept in the helicarrier."
"I wasn't a fan of his orders," I replied, looking at Natasha out of the corner of my eye. She winked.
Roger's gave moved from my face to my arm. Gingerly, he took my wrist and raised it up. "I see one of those things got to you. Where were you fighting at?"
I pointed at the building I'd just left. "Up there. And one of them attacked me in the air."
Rogers was still inspecting my arm. "You were lucky not to have been hurt worse. How's Barton faring?"
I swallowed. "He got hurt."
Two pairs of alarmed eyes looked to me. "What?" Natasha asked.
"He ran out of arrows, and one of the aliens attacked him and cut his side open. I jumped out of the helicarrier. I couldn't just leave him there to die!" The words were tumbling out of my mouth, tripping over each other and making a jumbled mess, to my mind at least. Rogers and Natasha got the gist of it.
Rogers dropped my arm. "Why are most of your clothes are missing?"
I flushed. "I needed to stop the bleeding."
"So what did you do, just leave him up there?" Natasha asked, her green eyes worried.
"Of course I didn't!" I said defensively. "I put him inside the building. Nobody's going to bother him in there."
Rogers was nodding. "So what are you doing down here now?"
I looked around, trying to find the direction to Central Park. "The portal the aliens are coming from. I know where it is. We could close it."
Something landed right behind me. I tensed, but Rogers held his hand up, a sign that meant I wasn't supposed to attack. "Would someone mind telling me how Kitten is down here?" Stark asked. His voice sounded normal; he must have put his faceguard up.
I turned to him, glaring at his pet name. "I jumped out of the helicarrier. That's how."
"As soon as I left? I didn't realize Fury had decided to let you fight. I would have taken you with me."
I snorted. "No. I jumped as soon as Barton got injured. Fury probably isn't too happy with me now, but that can't be helped."
Stark looked thoughtful. "That'd probably explain why Barton wasn't answering me."
"He's unconscious," I told him, also addressing Rogers and Natasha. "Now, if you guys don't mind, I need to be getting to Central Park. I think that's where the rest of the aliens are."
"Unless they've already retreated," Stark noted.
I ignored him and turned in what I assumed to be the right direction. "I'm going."
"Wait, Mo." I stopped at Rogers's command. "We're all going."
Satisfied, I let him take the lead, happy that I was actually doing some good.
As we walled, I took in the sights. Windows were smashed, walls were knocked down, cars were overturned, and small fires burned in a few places. The bodies of aliens littered the streets, along with a few humans. It looked similar to the results of the fight against Thor's brother, Loki, and his army.
I understood what I was a part of in that moment. This was not some fun group that sponsors events and goes bowling together. This was the fight for humanity.
We reached Central Park without being attacked. There, Thor waited with Banner, who was back to his normal self. "The portal has closed," Thor said as we neared the two of them.
"They retreated?" Stark asked, throwing an I-told-you-so smirk my way. I scowled.
"It would appear so." Thor came to stand beside Rogers.
"Why?" I questioned, looking to the sky where the portal had been before I'd left the helicarrier.
Banner followed my gaze. "I'm not sure" was his quiet reply. "But all the aliens are gone." He looked at me and smiled. "For now."
I was cool with that. "Thor?" The god turned toward me. I pointed back the way we'd come. "We need to get Barton. Can you carry him?"
He smiled and strode over to me. "Do you question my strength, you weak mortal girl?" I laughed and he wrapped an arm around my waist, lifting me off the ground. "We shall meet the rest of you at the helicarrier once we have retrieved Barton." With that, he swung Mjolnir around in his other hand. When he stopped, we were in the air.
I laughed again and watched the city spread out beneath me. "This is fun," I told him.
He chuckled a little. "Even more so now that you are not pulling on my hair and screaming."
I blushed. "Sorry. Did it hurt?"
"Not in the slightest." He smiled to himself. "In what condition will we find Barton?"
"He was unconscious when I left him. He should be waking up by now."
At this time, we were landing on the roof of the building where Barton lay. It looked relatively unchanged. Thor put me down. "And if he is not?"
I ducked through the shattered window. "Then we'll just have to wake him up ourselves."
Barton was still lying in the pile of broken glass. I felt a little bad about leaving him there, but that couldn't be helped now. The pieces of my clothing that I'd tied around him were blood soaked, but they were still in place. The office workers cowered behind their overturned tables, looking ever the more frightened now that I had Thor with me.
I got down on my knees, careful of the glass. Barton wasn't moving. I had been wrong; he hadn't woken up yet. I nudged him a little. "Hawkeye," I whispered.
"He is not dead, is he?" Thor asked.
I leaned over Barton like I had earlier. His breath hit my cheek. "No, he's alive still," I answered. But he wasn't waking up. I shook his shoulder, more vigorously this time. "Hey, wake up! They're gone!"
I sighed in relief as Barton mumbled something and moved his head a little. I picked a piece of glass out of his hair and he moved again. His eyelids fluttered, his fingers twitched. "Come on, Hawkeye. You're safe. The aliens are gone," I murmured softly to him. Thor stood behind me, watching.
Barton's blue eyes opened. I grinned, happy that he hadn't died in the span of time between me leaving him and arriving again at his side. "Mo?" he asked, looking at me with confused eyes. Then he closed them again. "Mo," he sighed. A little smile crossed his lips.
"Can you stand?" I inquired, not wanting him to drift off again. When he shook his head, I looked to Thor.
Thor got the message. He bent over and slid his strong arms underneath Barton's injured body, lifting him easily. I stood with him.
"Excuse me?" some voice asked. I looked in the direction of the workers and saw a young man standing up. The rest of them ducked behind the tables once more, escaping my gaze. "Who are you?"
I smiled, not a happy smile, but rather a smirk. The kind Stark often showed. I replied, "I'm Animo." Then we were out of the building before anyone could say anything back.
Thor adjusted Barton so that he was slung over one shoulder. I climbed back into Thor's arms and put one hand on Barton's back to steady him so Thor had his other hand free to use his hammer. We were back in the air once more, returning to the helicarrier, leaving astonished faces behind.