"Peterson wants to meet you."

John's words rang in my ears on a loop as I took a deep breath in front of the black door. Security had checked my ID card and patted me down before reaching this impasse, so I was already jingling with anxiety.

Would he see right through me?

My plan for the current moment was this—act like Agent Romanoff.

I wouldn't cross her if you paid me. Cool, calm and confident. That's what I had to be.

I knocked twice and took hold of my necklace for comfort.

The door opened on its own, which I would have normally thought was pretty freaking cool, if not for the fact that a pair of blue bordering on gray eyes was assessing me.

Peterson had a big forehead, topped with a pile of white hair that was still thick. He had wrinkles around his deep set eyes, and a firm, thin mouth that curved into a smile when I walked inside. He didn't stand when I entered, just gestured to one of three seats in front of him and smoothed a hand over his red tie.

"Ah, Ms. O'Brien. It's good to finally meet you."

I dropped my hands from my locket—the last thing that I needed was for him to think I had a nervous tick. I pulled my shoulders back and took a seat in the studded chair.

"And you, Mr. Peterson."

He kept his gaze on me for a moment and I kept my expression neutral.

"A lady not interested in idle chatter. I like that."

"I figured you would, sir."

"I like to meet all of my employees, Ms. O'Brien." Peterson cupped his hands in front of him. "It helps when you're in a complex business such as ours."

"I understand. Is there anything you'd like to know?"

"Why did you accept this job?"

Infuse with truth.

"There was an accident at my last job. When the opportunity came up, I figured it was the best option to get back into a more related field."

"John gave you the highest praise. Said nobody could read a person like you."

"It's easy." I said, feeding him words I thought he might like. "Just expect the worse until you find otherwise."

He chuckled at this, which I took as a good sign.

"I agree."

I bit my lip, weighing my next words.

"If you have a question, feel free to ask it," he said, noticing my apprehension.

"You took John's word about me." He nodded, urging me to continue. "But you know about our last position together. If you know about his past indiscretion, why did you hire him?"

I thought of getting fired. Of the burning shame, John's eyes as he pleaded with me not to break up with him. My father, already in prison, and my mother-fearful that I wouldn't work again, that someone else in the family would be a disappointment.

"Now you're putting me on the spot." He paused, giving me a wry smile. "I knew John's father. And to be quite frank with you—the person that bribed him last time was me."

My jaw slackened in surprise. I opened my mouth before closing it-unsure of what to say.

"Yes, yes, probably not something I should admit," he said, shrugging. "But it was more of a test of loyalty. And John chose to be loyal to me. His expertise has already helped grow our client list. I'm hoping you will help him continue to grow?"

"That's the plan, sir," I said, suddenly realizing that John didn't miraculously get this job by having a good interview. It'd been in the works for months.

"Good. Now, don't go thinking poorly of John just because of me. We all have our secrets, and our prices."

I swear, sweat glands I didn't know I had opened all over my body. I swallowed as indiscreetly as possible and fought the urge to crawl out of the room, covering my head.

But it didn't seem like he knew. Or at least, my body and emotional well-being hoped he didn't.

"Tell me, did you study criminal justice because of your father?"

I inwardly sighed and unclenched my muscles. Secrets—he thought my father was a secret. I nodded, acknowledging he had researched me.

"No, sir." I straightened in my chair. "My father was arrested while I was in college. He skimmed money from the business he worked for, trying to help pay the hospital bills when my mother had breast cancer."

I didn't mention that I had to take on three part time jobs while my dad's trial went on, I didn't mention my mother's sleepless nights when she'd wander around, not speaking for days until I shook her out of it.

"And now?"

"Now he's serving time, and my mom's in remission. She was just sent on a research project, actually."

"I'm glad to hear it. I assume because of that, you work hard to prove yourself trustworthy."

"I am trustworthy, if you'd let me show you."

"I count on it," Peterson said, giving me a grin of teeth just a shade under blinding white. I did my best to send one back. "Here is a contact that I've wanted to do business with for a long time. They have connections in many different places. You and John need to check all their past dealings and report anything back to me."

I took the manila folder from his outstretched hand, willing my fingers to stay steady.

"Right away, Mr. Peterson."

"Welcome to the team, Ms. O'Brien."


"Peterson worked himself up. He knew Stark would always be on top of the weapons industry, but he was going to get close, and he was going to get rich."

"Who has he been selling to, sir?" Clint asked, switching the phone to his other ear.

"That's the thing. In the beginning, it was military grade stuff. Now...it's almost like he's going smaller."

"What does that mean?"

"He seems to be focusing on making more deals than bigger deals. That's why it's harder—there's more to trace."

"And this isn't illegal?"

"I'm sure we can find something illegal. But we need to get him on something much more, and I know there is something bigger underneath it all."

"So we sent Taylor in on a...hunch."

"O'Brien agreed to it." Fury's voice turned firm, and Clint had to remind himself who he was talking to. "And she is our best lead right now. Has she told you anything yet?"

"It's only been three days."

"Well, there's been another explosion in Egypt—our contacts have shown the same signatures as the bombs in Spain. We think they can all be linked back to Peterson."

"Sir, it doesn't sit right with me." Clint pinched the bridge of his nose. "That we sent a civilian into this."

"So you've said, Agent Barton. But we chose the best option we could," Fury assured him, although his voice gave very little comfort. "We just have to trust her. If there's a problem, I can have you removed from the case."

Clint's stomach protested at that, thinking of someone else on her case. Probably Bradley, who could give a shit if she got caught, or Ivan, who would have her hacking the computers at the next chance.

"No sir. No problem."

"Good. Call me with news."


Clint assailed me the moment I walked in the door.

"So, what did you learn today?"

"We learned colors and shapes, Ma."

He fixed me with a look that could have frozen lava.

"I really like the janitor," I kicked off my shoes and walked farther inside. "We ordered out for lunch."

"Funny," Clint said, his arms crossed in front of him. I noticed vaguely that this made his muscles more defined, but ignored the shape of his veins. When I didn't smile, his smirk faded. "Oh god, you're serious."

He ran a hand over his face.

"You can't eat lunch with the janitor—you're supposed to be uncovering secrets, not learning how to gets stains off the carpet."

"Larry does way more than that," I protested, enjoying frustrating him. "Plus, it's all marble and wood in that place. It's like they want you to slip down the hallway."

Clint rolled his eyes.

"Look, I know this isn't easy—"

"I am trying, I promise," I said, realizing he was real mad and not just sarcastic mad. I dug through my pockets, pulling out the wad of paper "I did make this. It's a map of the place—labs, offices, elevators...what's restricted, the codes they gave me, the doors with codes that they didn't give me..."

"Oh," Clint said, retrieving the paper in surprise. "Good."

"I met Peterson today, too. He seems...well, he doesn't exactly trust me. But he didn't kick me out or kill me, so we're off on the right foot I'd say."

"You met him? We didn't even go over what you would say."

"Well, I'm not totally incompetent. He even gave me my first real assignment, so I'm hoping I'll have some more concrete info to give you soon."

Clint's shoulders sagged—in relief, or what, I'm not sure. But he looked immensely conflicted in that moment, so I kept my mouth shut and waited. If he wanted to say something, he would—I'd learned to let him do it in his own time, or else he wouldn't do it at all.

"I'd like—can I show you some stuff?"

"What stuff?"

"It's just you...in that place, with literally no one to trust? I could kill you ten ways before you'd even notice me coming."

"Gee, thanks."

"What I mean to say is that I would—well, S.H.I.E.L.D. would, feel better and benefit more if you could, you know, at least defend yourself a little bit. And we can talk about your people skills while we work on some moves."

"I did always envy your outstanding people skills, Barton."

He sighed.

"Humor me, O'Brien."

Clint's eyes were ringed with red. I forgot that he had a job when I wasn't around, and probably did and heard things I couldn't dream of. This was just one operation to him, and god knows what bigger things were at play.

So I caved, even though I wanted to crawl into bed and watch Law and Order until I fell asleep.

"Okay. But just because I don't want you to kill me in one of the aforementioned ten ways."

"Leave your quips at the door, Rapunzel." He cracked his knuckles, and gave me his first smirk of the day. "And change into something you don't care about getting blood on."

"God, I hope you're joking."


What? This story is alive? I haven't updated in a billion years-literally the last I wrote, I didn't even know about Clint's random home life- and to be honest, I didn't love that plot point, so I'm glad to continue with my version. ;) Let me know if anyone is still interested!