Jessica was clearing the dishes from her breakfast when she head the shouting a few stories down from her window. She opened it and leaned out to see Clint in an argument with a couple of men in tracksuits on the sidewalk below. She sighed and rolled her eyes. She turned off the faucet, dried her hands, and went out to back him up.

"Bro," she heard as she joined Clint, "you were the one who started this. We're going to be the bros who finish it."

"Clint," said Jessica, placing a hand on his shoulder, sauntering her way into the conversation. "Are these boys causing you any trouble?" She flashed the two mobsters a devilish grin.

"Jessica…" said Clint, finding himself unable to say anything else. His mind was flooded by her, and he found it hard to focus on anything else. She rolled her eyes at him, and he thought it was the most beautiful show of emotion he had ever seen.

Jessica turned away from the puddle that was Clint Barton to the two men in tracksuits, who were not fawning over her, thanks to the pheromones she was now letting seep from her skin. She felt slimy about it, and would kick herself later about its effects on Clint. However, she couldn't have him getting in a fight that might include guns in the middle of the street in the day, if she could help it.

"Bro…" uttered one of the tracksuits, a sloppy grin spreading across his face.

"You two aren't here to cause trouble, are you?" Jessica leaned forward slightly, allowing the men to get a good view of her cleavage in her tank top. The way they practically drooled almost made her gag.

"Not at all, bro," said the mobster. He straightened up, suddenly, realizing his posture was bad in front of this lady who was suddenly an object of his utmost desire.

"Why don't you boys do me a favor and just get out of her for a little bit," said Jessica, doing her best to make that sound like the sexiest course of action. The bros just nodded, and she marveled at how dumb men could really be.

"Bro, I want to see you again always," said one of the mobsters, and the two of them stumbled away. Jessica shut down her pheromones to the best of her ability and grabbed Clint's arm, leading him—with puppy dog eyes—up the stairs to his apartment. She plopped him on the couch and opened a window to get in some fresh air.

She leaned against his kitchen counter, and wondered if Clint might actually have some food in his fridge—but didn't check for fear of seeing something moldy—and waited for him to come to his senses. It didn't take too long, but Clint realized what happened the instant Jessica's pheromones had seeped out of his system. He turned to her.

"You might have to have those chemicals tested on yourself one day," he said.

"Sadly, I'm immune," said Jessica. She shrugged. "It's not like a Taser, when you have to get tested to carry one as a policeman."

"Thanks," said Clint. He held his head in his hands before standing up. "I don't' know what I would've done to stop them."

"I'm sure you'd've figured something out," said Jessica. "But what I can't figure out is why they're here at all. As I understand it, you put them off with your little rampage."

"That sounds like something Kate would say."

"Who says it isn't something she said?" She grinned, but it quickly fell. "Why," she continued, gravely, "are they still around?"

Clint shook his head, his fingers going to his ear to be sure his aid was still there and working. "I must've not scared them as much as I meant to," he said. "Also, could you speak up, a little?"

"Sorry," said Jessica. "So: what're you going to do about it?"

Clint looked down. "I don't know," he said, with a melancholy sigh. He leaned backward into the couch. "Jess—the people who live here are good people."

Jessica's mind jumped back to the last Sunday's rooftop barbecue. She had been laughing with Erin and Kimberly about something ridiculous some celebrity had done. The kids were weaving in and out between the legs of the adults, playing tag, and their parents were discussing their lives, light beer in hand, while they waited for the burgers to be done. A few guys, including Clint, were micromanaging the man at the grill, who wasn't, apparently, up to the usual standards.

Jessica knew what Clint meant when he said that they were good people. They were a community, and they came together just for the sake of being with each other.

"I first took this building from the tracksuit mafia because they wanted to kick these people out," said Clint. "And I figured that would be the end of it—I didn't' want anything else to happen. I didn't want anyone else to get hurt."

"Clint," said Jessica. "No one else is going to get hurt."

"Clint turned to her. "Jess. There is no way you can promise that, and you know it." He looked away. "If we bring on a fight, someone is going to be caught in the crossfire."

Jessica's mind flitted to the apartment she now inhabited, and the untimely end of its former inhabitant. She thought of the men who had returned even after Clint had gone in and brought some sort of vengeance. She thought of the gall they must have to even show their faces here, at this building, after everything.

"We didn't start the fight," said Jess. "That's the first thing we need to remember."

"I doesn't matter who started it!" shouted Clint. "This isn't Rambo! Or third grade!"

Well, what I mean is that if we don't' do anything, they'll be back."

"We?"

"I live here, too," said Jessica. "We're in this together. Hell, you can call in your Hawkeye super team, too, if you feel like you want to have Kate and Barney in on this, too. But I'm a part of this fight."

"It's a fight that's going to hurt the innocent people who live here…" He sighed, and then his eyebrows furrowed. "So what the hell are we supposed to do?" asked Clint, throwing his hands into the air.

"We take the fight to them," said Jessica. "We ensure the ones in the crossfire are their goons, and we use this to send a message."

Clint grinned, the expression somewhat reluctantly crossing his face. "What message is that?"

"The message you've been sending all along," said Jessica, her grin joining his. "Don't fuck with Hawkeye."