Balancing His Ledger

I beg your forgiveness for the extreme delay in finishing this story. All I can say is I'm sorry, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. I have two, maybe three chapters to go with a goal of April 29. I own nothing from the world of the Avengers and receive no compensation other than reviews. Warning- a little bit of cussing

Chapter 9 – Rescue Mission

SHIELD Agent Clint Barton pulled back on the yoke to lift the F-35 Lightning II off the tarmac of the Maymana Airport. They'd just dropped off Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. The former was needed to help the NATO troops with some of his purchased tech, and Banner went with him to help in the field hospital. The request had come from Director Fury as they had exited Peshawar's airspace.

The Quinjet was quieter with only Clint, Agent Natasha Romanoff, and Captain Steve Rogers. Natasha sat in the copilot seat as usual. They'd spent a day in Maymana, which had given them a chance to sleep. Surreptitiously she observed Clint. The bruises from the beating he'd received three days prior were purpling up nicely. The cracked rib was tightly bound, and the sleep had helped immensely. He'd always seemed to recover quickly, a benefit in his chosen career.

"You can stop hovering, Nat. I'm okay." He turned his head and gave her one of his smiles that reached his eyes. That alone told her that he was fine. Not necessarily fighting fit but obviously ok.

"It worked. The Morse code thing."

"I know it worked. You showed up."

"I mean no one caught on. Not Fury. Not Hill. Of course, now Fury knows about it, so it'll be on record."

Looking down at his hands that were clenched around the yoke, Clint spoke so softly Natasha could barely hear him. "Do we have a new handler yet?"

"No. Fury seems to be taking his time assigning us one. Probably trying to decide who can put up with us." She grinned at her partner. "Maybe they're drawing straws."

Clint snorted out a laugh. "Yeah, maybe Hill is deciding who's she pissed off at the most this month." His grin faded. Hill had fewer agents in the handler pool thanks to his guidance in the attack on the Helicarrier. Maybe Defense Secretary Pierce had intervened and refused to have Barton back on full status. Since the whole thing with Loki, Clint had been on detached duty here and there. He'd not been back to the carrier except to be briefed by Fury. He'd been out in the field or living at Stark's place. He'd gone to the Triskelion only once. Maybe that would become the norm. Sighing, he thought that might be for the best. He squeezed his eyes shut. A cool touch on his hand made him force himself to relax.

His name was all she said but there was a world of meaning behind it. She was his other half and understood as probably no one else could how he felt himself damaged beyond repair. She had been remade herself once. "Things will go back to normal."

"What is normal?" he asked. "I mean, we're trained to handle terrorists and as experts in espionage, and now we're dealing with gods and aliens and who knows what's next?" Clint turned to look at the one person he trusted. His guard dropped to allow her to see his fear. Was he the team's weak link? "I feel so out of place," he finally added lamely.

"I understand."

How could you? He knew the thought was unfair. He'd had a rough life. His parents' deaths, his brother's betrayal, had left Clint with little capacity to trust or forgive. With Coulson gone, only this assassin who'd become more than a friend was trustworthy to him. He knew her life had been as fraught with tragedy as his own. If he was honest with himself, her life had more tragedy. She'd been taken over by her country almost the same way Loki had taken over his mind. So she did understand. He reached out his right hand to meet her left halfway.

Rogers had been quietly reading in the back of the jet. He heard their conversation but knew he had no business in it. He bit his lower lip. Damn. Barton needed to allow himself to forgive himself. Watching Erskine die practically in his arms, Rogers understood revenge and overwhelming guilt. But Erskine's last gesture—a good man—reminded him of his own lowly beginnings and how it felt to be the victim. A lesson he'd never forgotten.

"Ship 844 come in," squawked the radio.

Natasha toggled her headset. "844 over."

"You have a new heading. Proceed to 35°57′N 68°42′E. You will receive further instructions then. Over."

"New course acknowledged. Over and out." She turned off her mic. "Well gentlemen, looks like we have a detour to Tajikistan.

0-0-0

They refueled in Qurgonteppa and headed towards a town near the Afghanistan border called Pol-e-Khomri.

"Hold on!" shouted Clint right before he tilted the jet onto one side. A missile shot underneath the plane and impacted against a building half a block behind them. Clint brought the Quinjet in to a hover above the military unit that was pinned down by insurgents. Opening the hatch, Natasha and Rogers jumped out and joined the soldiers. They needed intel fast. Natasha went to the edge of the building, gun drawn, while Rogers found the colonel whose nametag read McNeil.

"We're here to help, sir. What are we looking at? The message mentioned a tank as well as possible anti-aircraft missiles."

If Colonel McNeil hadn't been forewarned, he would have ignored this blond man. The fact that he carried Captain America's shield made him pause. The worn bomber jacket wasn't a part of Captain America's uniform though. The redhead was dressed in a skintight black uniform, but he hadn't been able to see her unit patch clearly enough. "Your pilot's good! We lost our cover to the missiles."

"Did the pilot survive?"

Pointing over his shoulder towards the building behind him, the colonel answered. "Medic's got him. Says he should be ok if we can get him out of here. Maybe your pilot can take him…"

"Let's take care of these insurgents and then get you all out of here."

"The convey that we're escorting needs to get to Balkh; we've got supplies they desperately need."

"I understand." Steve thought a moment then reached for his mic. "Barton? You in position?"

After dropping of Natasha and Steve, Clint took the Quinjet up high enough to survey the city. Spotting the missile battery's location, Clint fired rockets of his own to collapse the building the anti-aircraft missile battery was on. Satisfied that it couldn't fire at him again, he looked for a place to land. He sealed the controls; it wouldn't do for someone to steal their ride. Fury would have his ass. Grabbing his bow off the rack, Clint did a tuck roll out of the plane and rolled to a stop against the parapet. He carefully looked over the edge to see what he could see and waited for Rogers.

"I can't get a clear view of the tank; it's about 35 yards to the north of your position. There's a building in my way. I'm going to get closer…"

Steve cut him off. "Negative. Tell me what else you can see."

Clint ground his teeth together. That's why he only worked with Natasha…and Coulson. Both trusted him enough to know what he was doing.

Rising to a crouch, Clint scanned up and down the street parallel to his position. He saw a cluster of men further down the street to the south but was unsure of which side they were on. "I'm moving position to get a better view." He moved to the north corner of the building and could see much better and wished he hadn't. If it had just been the three of them, he knew they could have handled it. Shit. They'd taken out way more Chitari and those were super-strong fighters, not mere humans. But they had a unit in the mix, and he didn't know how many wounded. He leaned out a bit to see further and spotted the barrels of several machine guns; they looked like EMERKs. They were protruding from several different windows on the east side of the building that Rogers and Natasha were against. "Rogers. Does our side have gunners in the building you're against?"

Steve turned to McNeil and learned that they did not. So they had a tank and machine gunners. "What else do you see?"

"I can't get an angle on the gunners from where I am. They're on the second floor." Clint rose from his crouch to shift to the right. The rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire echoed down the street. Clint fell back from view.

"Clint!" Natasha waited for his voice to say focus but it didn't come. She waited a moment and repeated her call. Nothing.

"Barton! Report!"

McNeil had seen a figure stand on the building across the street and then rock back and fall down. He realized it was one of theirs. He hoped it wasn't the pilot.

Steve and Natasha exchanged a look. Her left hand came up to the hollow of her throat to grasp the small silver arrow she'd started wearing after the battle for New York. Her fingers clenched the thin chain; she could feel the edges of the fletching digging into her fingers. "Hawkeye!"

Pain brought Clint back to consciousness. His right arm hurt. Turning his head, he saw the bullet hole that pierced his upper bicep. He hissed as he tried to sit up. He felt like a baseball bat had hit him; it hurt to breathe. Looking down, he saw the four bullets embedded in his chest. He heard the fear in Natasha's voice and knew he'd better answer with more than the word focus. "I'm alright. It looks like the armored cloth that Stark and Banner were working on worked. I just had the breath knocked out of me."

Both teammates sagged in relief. "Barton, can you take care of the tank?" asked Rogers. "Natasha and I will get the foot soldiers." He turned to the lithe redhead. "You take care of the ones in this building, I'm going after the ones that shot Barton."

While Natasha wanted to go after the ones who had shot Clint, she knew that Rogers with his shield would be better protected. Nodding, she turned and entered through the nearest door.

Steve raised his shield and started to zigzag down the street. Using cars and piles of rubble, he advanced while trying to spot anyone who was trying to shoot him.

Natasha dove through a broken window and rolled to a stop against the far wall in a crouch. She waited but could hear nothing. With guns leading, she ghosted up the stairs to the third floor and eased down the hallway towards the front of the building. Idiots. No one was watching the doorway. A few moments later, the gene pool was reduced by five. A bullet splintered the doorframe next to her head. Ducking back into the room, she paused and examined her options. Pulling herself to the top of the open door, she looked out into the hallway. They didn't see her as they expected to see her at head height or at best, knee. Balancing her torso on the edge of the open door, Natasha leaned out and shot the two men that were stalking her. Bracing with her hands against the door, she spun around and down and landed softly. She examined all the rooms and cleared them. "Clint, you're clear on this level."

"Thanks!" On the roof, Clint was deciding how best to descend to the ground. He didn't want to use his grapple arrow immediately. He might need it to get back to the quinjet. Spotting a metal light pole only 2 yards away, he leaped.

McNeil heard gunshots in the building next to him. He guessed the beautiful redhead was taking care of those soldiers. He watched as Captain America disappeared down the street. He could follow his progress by the sound of bullets hitting his shield. He kept his head down. There was a high risk from ricocheting bullets, and he didn't want to get caught up in that.

His Master Sergeant Lyttle came up behind him to report. "The medic got the pilot stabilized. Who showed up?"

"Would you believe Captain America?" A smile twisted his lips at his senior NCO's expression "I'm not kidding. He just went down that street while his companions are dealing with other problems."

"Who came with him?" Lyttle hoped it was Iron Man. He'd always wanted to meet him.

"I don't recognize them."

"Oh," came the disappointed response. "Well, if they get our asses out of this fire, I don't care who they are."

Sudden movement caught Lyttle's attention. He spotted the figure as he leaped off the roof. A shout was swallowed. The jump seemed to be intentional. "What the fuck?" How could anyone survive a four-story drop?

Both soldiers watched as Clint dove towards the light pole, grasp it with his left hand and spin around it a few times and dropping two stories. Bracing his feet against it, he balanced for a moment and then pushed off towards a bus several yards away in the intersection. Hitting the roof with his shoulder, he did a tuck roll until he came to a stop. He was still too high for his plan. He pivoted on his left hand and swung off the bus onto the roof of a burned-out car. Crouching with his back against the bus, Clint keyed an arrow and drew it out. His arrow flew down the street and vanished.

"An arrow? What the hell can anyone do with…" A loud explosion stopped the rest of his sentence.

Clint smiled with satisfaction. Pieces of the tank shot all over the deserted street. His arrow had gone right down the barrel of the tank's gun. A whistling noise made him dive for cover on the ground. The bus exploded up in the air. Apparently there was another tank. Activating his mic, "Natasha! Can you see from where you are? They've got another tank somewhere."

Natasha went to a corner room to see what the problem was. Peering around the window frame, she spotted a tank that was aiming right in her direction. She spun and turned to exit the floor. The falling ceiling was what caught her.

"Damn it! Rogers! How close are you to that tank? Nat, come in!"

Steve had been having his own fun. The area was littered with men who would not get up again. He tossed his shield towards the third floor where two gun muzzles extended from a window. The guns flew out of their owners' hands and into the street. Retrieving his shield, he spun to his left and dove under a hail of bullets. "What was that Barton? I didn't hear?"

"A tank just took the top of the building off next to the soldiers. Natasha was inside, and she's not answering. Can you go after the tank? I'm at a bad angle…there's nothing I can stand on that will put me at the right height."

"Negative. We need to take out that tank first. I'll finish off this group and circle back around to the building."

Looking around his vicinity, Clint needed to distract the tank's crew. He fired off a series of flares from one arrow as cover as he ran across the street. He spotted the tank which was further down the street but downhill of his position. He needed to get lower. Using piles of rubble for cover, he zigzagged down the street. A slight noise made him turn, bow raised; the stray cat stared at him before limping off in search of safer territory.

McNeil and Lyttle followed the man in black's progress; used to weapons, neither could understand how an archer could succeed against vastly superior weaponry. "I remember seeing some footage of the Battle of New York. I'm pretty sure this guy was there too," said McNeil. "I just don't remember a name."

"Well, if he's with Captain America, he must be good." Lyttle felt this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he'd seen the man somewhere; he just couldn't place him. Maybe if he got a closer look.

Ignorant of the soldiers' musings, Clint was scanning the street before him. It was clear and gave him no usable cover. The tank was a M1 Abrams that could fire 4 rounds a minute if it had a good crew and no autoloader. That gave him about 17 seconds between shots when one added in time to reposition the gun after firing. He pulled out earplugs from a small pouch on his sleeve to place in his ears; he would be awfully close to the blast and didn't want to blow an eardrum or worse. The vertigo might kill him since he wouldn't be able to run straight. It would put him out of contact with the others, however, since he had to remove his earbud to insert an earplug. "Going off of comm," he said.

"Wait!" said Steve but only silence responded. Damnit! While he respected the SHIELD operatives, he really hated how they went off on their own. He smiled at his own hypocritical thought. If he hadn't gone off on his own, he would never have rescued the men who had become the Howling Commandos. He turned his focus back to the job at hand and entered the building that Natasha was in and climbed the stairs warily. When he reached the third floor landing, he found debris from the ceiling clogging up the hallway. A splash of red led him towards the wall; Natasha's hair was the only thing visible. Afraid of what he'd find, Rogers lifted the fallen bookcase and knelt down next to the agent. Blood ran down the side of her face, but her pulse was strong. Squatting, he picked her up and carried her to the ground floor. Finding the medic, he left her with him and headed back to the battle.

Scanning the walls on either side of the street, Clint was looking for a cable, a tattered awning, something that could help him climb. He slung the bow across his torso to leave both hands free. Clenching his right hand a few times, Clint felt confident enough that he could grip whatever he needed to and pull himself up. The building across from him had a canopy above the doorway. It didn't give him a better angle, but he needed to move much closer before trying his attack. Using the hood of the car near it, Clint jumped and chinned himself up and over into the hammock-like cloth before rising to grasp the balcony railing above him. This exposed him to any enemy but he kept moving hoping speed would help protect him along with his armored suit. A decent sniper would aim for the head and then it would be over, but they didn't seem to have one of those. Lucky for him. Reaching the roof, he raced across one rooftop and leaped the short walls separating the units. A quick balancing act across a bundle of cables helped him cross the road at a run. His arms spread for balance, Clint had no idea his actions were seen by those he'd come to rescue.

"Who is this guy?" said Lyttle. Like all officers and Master Sergeants, they'd watched all available film of the alien invasion of New York. They'd seen Iron Man and Captain America and the Hulk like everyone else. But the redhead and this guy, not much had been shown about them. McNeil was beginning to think these two were Special Forces; they definitely had the training and skills. He leaned around the corner and let loose several rounds to remind their attackers that the military was still there. A bullet whined past the corner as he drew his head back. A feral grin split his face; with reinforcements like these, he could help take out these insurgents and deliver the needed supplies.

Clint came to a halt fifteen yards from where the tank rested. He nocked an explosive arrow but didn't key it. He was choosing and discarding plans when he heard a loud clang. Turned back the way he'd come, he realized it was Rogers hitting a wall with his shield while looking Clint's way. He waved to get the archer's attention.

Clint dug out the earplug and replaced it with his comm. "What?" he said, irritated.

"Natasha is with the medics; she may have a concussion, but I think she'll be ok."

"Thanks," said Clint, regretting his snappish response. "Look…" he started to explain.

"Forget it or tell me later. What's the plan?"

"I need to get the tank to fire before I get into position. I think I'll have 15 seconds to make them swallow an arrow."

"Want me to be bait?"

Knowing that Rogers was more than capable to do the job Clint and Natasha did for each other, he said sincerely, "Yes. Thanks."

"Where do you need them to aim?"

Sighting along the barrel of the tank, Clint determined that he needed the barrel raised another 15 inches and told Rogers that.

Holding his shield directly in front of him, Steve zigzagged down the street towards the tank. He heard the tank fire and threw himself down an alley. A cloud of dust boiled in behind him.

Smirking, Clint leaped to the middle of the street, drew back his string, and let loose the explosive arrow. Ten seconds later it detonated throwing metal and flesh into the air.

McNeil relaxed as he saw the second tank explode. His unit was now safer than it had been a few seconds ago. He turned to Lyttle and delivered the order to check on the men who had been taken to the medic. He himself stepped out into the street to meet the returning Captain America. He kept an eye out for the archer as well. He really wanted to figure out where he'd seen him.

Clint jogged back down the street. "Nat?"

Leaning against a sandbag, she reached up and activated her comm. "I'm here?" Enemy?"

"Tanks eliminated." He kept an eye out for enemy soldiers since he knew they'd not killed all of them. He slung his bow across his chest and drew his sidearm. "Rogers, what's the plan?"

"We get these soldiers back together and start their convoy on its way," Steve said as he approached the Colonel. "Sir. How soon before your men can move out?"

"My Master Sergeant is checking on the wounded; I need to wait for his report. Then we'll check on the vehicles. We lost our air support. I don't suppose…" He stopped talking. He felt that asking Captain America for such a mundane job would be beneath him.

"We're tasked with getting your convoy on its way. I do know you have air support coming in. It should be here within the hour." He smiled at the officer and turned towards where his own transport had been left. "We'll stick with you until it comes, and then we need to return to our original mission."

"Of course." Colonel McNeil was relieved. He scanned the streets but didn't see Roger's companion. "Where is…" he started to ask.

"Probably with your medic checking on our teammate."

Master Sergeant Lyttle stood up from where he'd crouched next to the medic. The pilot would live; he was the worst wounded. Behind him, he heard the murmur of voices, one of which was feminine. Turning, he saw the redhead reaching towards the other man.

"You need to get that taken care of," she said reaching toward Clint's wounded arm. She pulled out a gauze pad and using a bottle of saline, started cleaning the wound.

Clint gritted his teeth and dropped his head. He knew protesting would be pointless. He pulled his sunglasses off with his left hand and draped them over his left knee. He pinched the bridge of his nose to combat the fatigue headache that was forming. Looking sideways out of the corner of his eye, he caught Natasha looking at him. They exchanged small smiles; both were happy neither one was seriously hurt.

"We'll get Bruce to check this out but it was through and through. Nothing to dig out. Now these bullets…" she said touching the ones embedded in his chest. She swallowed heavily. Without his new armor, these would have killed the archer. Clint grasped her hand and pulled it down away from the bullets.

"It worked," Clint started to say when Master Sergeant Lyttle came up. Clint realized who he was a split second faster and wished he was still wearing his glasses. That would have given him a chance to hide his recognition and maybe confuse the man who he'd met in Bagdad weeks prior. He nodded at the dumbfounded man and stood. "Your training helped. Thank you." He didn't clarify on purpose exactly where he'd used the training. Clint turned back to Natasha and grinned before regaining his poker face.

Master Sergeant Lyttle remembered the man who his unit had helped train in EOD. He nodded that he'd heard the comment and stood back to allow the man to help the woman stand. The three went back towards the street and ran into Colonel McNeil. Clint grinned at the dumbfounded look on McNeil's face.

Colonel McNeil had realized that Lt. Colonel James was SHIELD but he had never in a million years thought he was part of the Avengers. He held out his hand and was confused when James? held out his left causing him to switch. He spotted the bullet wound in James' shoulder and realized why. "Thank you….?"

"Hawkeye will do," said Clint taking some pity on the officer. He wasn't authorized to give him his real name. Hawkeye was a known member of the Avengers.

"That was just…you all were just…Thank you." Colonel McNeil put the force of his feelings into the words and hoped these people would understand how much their assistance meant to him. He was one of those officers who cared about the well being of his soldiers; they were not just bodies to order but men with lives and, in many cases, families.

Embarrassed, Clint stepped back to allow Natasha or Steve handle this. Standing in the shadows, he felt another come up behind him. Turning, he saw that it was Lyttle who said, "There's someone you need to talk to."

Confused, Clint asked "Why?"

"Just please give me a moment."

Deciding that arguing took too much energy, he followed the Master Sergeant who led him to a cluster of men. "Fernandez!" he barked. "Someone you said you needed to speak to."

Fernandez turned around and glanced at the Master Sergeant before turning his gaze to the man beside him. He recognized him as one of the ones who had come in to save their asses but why would Lyttle single him out?

Smirking, Lyttle took pity on the mechanic. "He once gave you a rather forceful order to check a C130 engine."

Squinting his eyes, Fernandez took in the man's physique and stance and connected it to the hint that Lyttle had given him. "You!" he said and took a step forward stopping as the redhead behind the man moved towards him and half-drew her sidearm. "You told me to check the engines." He heaved a big breath; he was not one to apologize. "You were right. There was damage and if that plane had taken off again, it might have crashed. You saved lives."

Clint looked the mechanic in the eye and nodded. "Glad I could help."

Both Fernandez and Lyttle were taken aback. Both had expected the agent to give an I-told-you-so and didn't get it.

Barton, can you bring the Quinjet down? came through Clint's comm. He nodded at Fernandez and pulled his bow off his body as he turned. Natasha whispered to him as she turned to join him walking away, "You're done here?" There was a wealth of questions in that single question.

"Yes." He was glad Fernandez had actually listened to him; he didn't feel the need to crow about being right.

"Wow," said Fernandez. Lyttle echoed him softly. Whether the men were referring to the reveal about the identity of that soldier being an Avenger, about his acceptance of the apology, about their rescue, or just about the gorgeous redhead neither would ever admit to the other. Maybe it was all of the above. They watched the archer shoot an arrow towards a building's roof and use the line to ascend. A few minutes later, they heard a jet engine start and the jet that had originally dropped off their rescue rose slightly before gently dropping down into the street.

Turning to Colonel McNeil, Rogers said, "We'll fly cover until your own shows up. ETA about 10 minutes."

Not believing he was actually shaking the hand of Captain America, McNeil straightened into full stature and saluted him. "We owe you."

"You were just doing your job. I honor that." Steve smiled and turned towards the jet joining Natasha in walking up the ramp that Clint had lowered.

The Quinjet rose into the air and hovered high enough so they could see the surrounding area.

Turning to his unit, Master Sergeant Lyttle bellowed, "Assholes and elbows! Let's move like we have a purpose people!"

His unit was still stunned about the events of the past few hours but quickly reformed the convoy in a manner satisfactorily enough for the demanding NCO.

Above them, Rogers watched in satisfaction as the soldiers and trucks quickly and efficiently lined up. The radar pinged as the new escort came into range. All three heard "We have it from here. Thank you for your assistance. Over."

"You have the watch. Over," said Natasha as Clint turned the yoke to take them back to Maymana to pick up Stark and Banner.

"We'll need to land to let Bruce finish patching you two up," said Steve. While that was happening, Steve planned to contact Fury to demand his team got a week downtime. They all needed a break but the SHIELD agents needed time to heal. Not for the first time Steve wondered if this continual wear and tear was usual for them; both were young yet from an overheard comment of Bruce's, they were very battered. It's not the years but the mileage came to mind. He'd just crossed off the Indiana Jones movies from his list. How true that was. He'd had more years than any, but Erskine's serum had thankfully limited the damage. He rummaged in a locker and gave each agent a bottle of water while taking one for himself. They needed a break. They would get one but not for long.

I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Please let me know what you thought and for those who've stayed with me on this journey, thank you!