Rescue Mission

Segment 4

"Your son Mr. Frank Falcone, sir," the placid, female voice over the receiver ceased before the voice of Alistair Falcone's son lifted.

"I hear you're havin' some trouble overseas there. De snitch escape over de border yet?" Frank questioned, casually sniveling in his leather-lined chair within his father's New York City corporation.

"Boarded half an hour ago an' headed your way as we speak. You remember Miss Evans, Frankie."

There was a pause on the other end. "Yeah, remember her," he answered with a sharp edge to his voice, "Shame we have to waste her, I'd planned on takin' that doll somewhere different than the morgue."

"Plenty more dolls to play with, son," Alistair calmly exhaled, "Listen to me. Don't head 'em off at the airport. She's got a travelin' partner, and he's dangerous. He has to be government, bringin' a witness home for investigation. You have to eliminate 'em both, and you have to work fast."

Heaving a sigh, Frank replied, "I think Jess said she lived with her parents, to help 'em out. The doll won't be able to stand puttin' her sweet liddul modah in danger. I'll grab the old lady first."

Jessica started, tensing and catching herself from the sudden fall she'd dozed into. She cringed when Clint had turned his head to check on her, but the soft smile toward her ceased the embarrassment. "Did ya doze off?" he asked quietly.

She laughed a little shifting to face him instead of the window. "I must have." As Clint nodded, reseating a magazine he must've gotten bored with, Jessica rubbed the hazy, sleepiness from her eyes. "How long have we been up?"

Clint shrugged. "An hour. So we're…1/7 of the way there," his joking smile made the information slightly more bearable.

Jessica chuckled, hugging her jacket close against her to occupy her arms. "Never really liked math…I think 'we're part of the way there' or 'we've got a bit of a stretch left' might be more comforting," she teased sleepily.

Clint snorted, raising an eyebrow at her. "'Bit of a stretch'? That sounds way too long! Least with 'we got six hours left,' you got something to go on."

"Aw, you had to say 'six hours'!" Jessica playfully dropped her head back against the seat.

Clint smirked, eyes shifting back toward the aisle when a flight attendant moved by.

Jessica's smile faltered in the pause, thoughts rushing in once more of all that had happened. So much to worry about, yanking her attention every which way until was stretched far too thin…'like butter over too much bread' as Tolkien's Bilbo Baggins would put it. Not only did she fear for herself but thoughts of the danger her family might face flashed before her in troubling 'what if's…anyone she loved could be someone Falcone might use to ensure her death. Clint had answered her questions in the car. She needed to record her testimony then she would be taken into protective custody somewhere; standard procedure, just a terrifying situation. Incidentally, the flight had been booked for Wyoming, a few hours from her parents' house. Almost before she'd asked, Clint assured her that they, too, wouldn't yet be alerted but that they would be protected. All she really had to do right now was wait. But waiting in the silence only stacked on more anxieties. In her fearful rush of thoughts, the moment Clint spoke up again came as a break in her tense silence.

"So…" he began, not very awkwardly, merely to get her attention, "You always lived in Wyoming?"

The question was…sociable, like hers had been in the morning car ride. "Uh-no, actually. We moved around a lot when I was growing up, all across the states," she answered with a soft laugh. Then, something occurred to her, "You don't…already know that?" she paused to sound less direct.

Clint shrugged a little. "No, I do…" he answered, eyes crinkling just subtly in her direction. "You like it there?"

Though stunned by the friendliness, she was also warmed by it. "Well…yeah, I mean, it's friendly, weather's nice, except the never-ending wind," she groaned a little for emphasis.

He smirked, shaking his head. "I've basically only driven through the state; never stayed there long."

Jessica smiled, tilting her head to face him but still relax against her seat. "Well, next time you come through, at least stop in Cheyenne for drive-thru. We must have the best Chic-Fil-A there is."

Clint nodded, smiling subtly while he seemed to search for something else to say.

"Where…do you live? I mean, where's home for you?"

Clint's eyes watched hers briefly, before shrugging in his response. "I got a place up in Iowa. Never really there."

"Mm, don't you ever…get downtime in your line of work?" her eyes softened, watching him curiously.

Clint smirked, glancing in her direction. "Yeah, now and then, but I don't use it to visit an empty house."

Jessica's smile faltered just slightly. He'd spoken the words so casually, words she herself would have spoken out of loneliness. "Heh, yeah," she relaxed more, attempting to establish some connection to the statement, "my dad always said he dreaded the day all four of us left home. Didn't look forward to an empty house…"

"Yeah," Clint scoffed a bit lightly. "That wasn't my dad. He couldn't wait to get rid me and my brother…"

Jessica's eyebrows knit in surprise, mouth opening to reply but finding no words to gracefully comment with.

"'Course he was kind of a reckless drunk," he shrugged easily, glancing toward her with almost a humorless smirk.

She didn't know why, but there was a strange comfort in talking to him…one she never felt in comparison to avoiding any sensitive topic with a new friend, but...with this new friend, it almost felt natural to just ask. "What happened?" she softly released the question, still unsure of how he'd react.

Even in the midst of the experience, Jessica couldn't describe it. One moment they were casually conversing until the topic of home somehow drifted them into far deeper discussion. Jessica learned a little of Clint's past; he so readily shared it, fearing nothing of her infringing his privacy. Hours were filled with soft-spoken stories of a kid named Clint Barton, orphaned at a young age with his brother. Tales of how they survived, how they lived, how Clint had learned so many skills in circus and festival settings that he still used today as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Over a difference of morals had Clint and his brother separated. A man had once approached Clint with an offer to split profits of heists with him in exchange for his rare talents, but Clint refused. Disgusted by the moral choice made over the "wise" choice, Clint's brother Barney had ended up offering his services instead.

Though Clint had told her all of this with such nonchalance, Jessica was almost certain some pain remained and flickered in his eyes for all that he had lost. Slightly overwhelmed by that confidence he'd taken in her, Jessica struggled with knowing how honestly to react to the background, but the seeming comfort he bore in so easily sharing it eventually lifted her to fully truthful questions and responses while listening. She usually feared offended or arrogant reactions from people when she did so, but it soon seemed safe with him. "Do you know what ever happened to Barney?"

Clint's mouth twitched, his eyes growing distant. "No, he…" he inhaled, somehow needing another breath to finish, "The last time I saw Barney, he was standing over my body and left me for dead…after that I-didn't care-I didn't have a brother anymore…" After a short pause, his eyebrows furrowed subtly and he turned his gaze toward hers as though to read her expression.

Jessica, not quite sure how to feel about the story, nodded and dared to look straight into his eyes when saying, "I'm sorry."

In spite of the casual smirk, his eyes stayed steadily on hers. With a shrug, he mumbled, "What're you gonna do? Can't choose family."

Just then, the tone of the pilot addressing the plane sounded. "Attention, passengers, we are two hours out of Cheyenne and expect to arrive on-schedule. Enjoy the rest of the flight, and do not hesitate to consult a flight attendant should you require any assistance."

Jessica frowned with surprise. Had the time really passed so quickly?

"You know, you're brave though," the statement arrived abruptly and halfway under Clint's breath, but he looked at her after saying it. Upon receiving Jessica's questioning gaze, he elaborated. "Lotta people these days'd be too greedy or too freaked with a boss like Falcone. You stood up and left anyway, knowin' a bit of what he's capable of."

Jessica smiled just a little, eyes lowering under the weight of a compliment. "I was just doing what I thought was right…"

"Hm," Clint chuckled a little, almost with some bitter amusement, "Maybe if more people did that, the planet wouldn't be breakin' up around us."

She smiled a little more, eyes crinkling toward him admiringly. Eventually the conversation quieted, drifting Jessica back to rest. It had been a while since she felt relaxed enough to ease her eyes shut, but this plane ride had done the trick. Even with weariness overwhelming her, daring her to doze again, she remained half-conscious as thoughts of the discussion ever-flowed through her brain, all that she had learned of Clint Barton keeping her mind too active. The more she knew about him, the more questions she had. How much he had been through, terrible, life-shattering events she could hardly imagine having to survive, let alone come out of sane and stable. The more she learned of how many opportunities he'd had to go down a bad road, the more she realized maybe heroes really did exist, knowing the choices he made instead, kind of like the storybook characters she so admired in her teenage years; men made heroes by the choices they made, not by birth or inheritance.

A gentle touch to her shoulder opened her eyes once more. "Plane's about to land," Clint explained with a friendly half-smile.

"Mm, already?" she gradually straightened in her seat.

"Yeah," Clint chuckled, "You get any rest?"

"Mm-hm," Jessica nodded, her tone optimistic.

Clint chuckled. "And here I was worried some minor turbulence might have you screamin' in panic," he commented with a small grin. However, by now, he was pretty sure he could count on her not to panic irrationally. After that gunfight, after she'd sat through hours of his life story, if she hadn't screamed by now, she might not ever. She was a pretty easy client to be around. As they accompanied the rest of the passengers off the plane, Clint felt his phone vibrate in his jean pocket. The Caller ID read: Nick Fury.