Tony Stark was a multi-tasker. For the genius inventor, juggling half a dozen projects for Stark Industries, pending upgrades for the Iron Man suit, and miscellaneous Avenger's duties was as simple as mastering thermonuclear astrophysics overnight. In Tony's humble opinion, his intellect and speed of thought was rivaled by none except Banner, and Bruce was only in the running because he spent so much time with Tony.

So if Tony could handle all these tasks without a perfect hair out of place, he should have zero issues squashing HYDRA and finding Barton at the same time.

The Quinjet was already inbound for the suspected HYDRA base, the remaining Avengers having analyzed the mission information from S.H.I.E.L.D. and ready for the fight. Tony was doubtful they would find anything, the shack of a base not large enough to warrant a mall cop, much less a fully equipped army and security measures to protect something as powerful as Loki's scepter. Furthermore, Bruce said the Gamma radiation signal was weak. If anything, the building was temporary pit stop on the scepter's journey to HYDRA's secret vault of evil.

Still Tony thought, loath as he was to admit it, they might as well take a look for whatever secrets HYDRA was trying to hide. He could bypass security on their computers, try and track their activity to see where they took the scepter. If they could discover HYDRA's next move, they could get ahead of them and retrieve the scepter before HYDRA figured out how to work it.

His only solace in taking the mission was that he already had J.A.R.V.I.S. scanning street security cameras from their battle against A.I.M., monitoring the tower for any incoming signals, and breaking through S.H.I.E.L.D. firewalls to uncover information about their missing birdie. They were going to find him.

Tony estimated that the battle would last no more than thirty minutes, ransacking their computers less than twenty, and by the end of the night, Barton would be sitting back at Avenger's Tower, all thanks to the brilliant skills of one Tony Stark.

Tony was a genius. Everything was going to be fine.

Tony Stark would never admit that he was wrong. Hasty in his calculation? Perhaps. He may have given HYDRA less credit than they deserved when it came to their defenses. He definitely was not wrong, though. But he may have overestimated exactly how well the battle against HYDRA was going to play out.

The first few minutes were great. They had stormed the castle, so to speak, taking the first line of defense by surprise. They were nearly at the door when everything went downhill fast, reinforcements arriving to secure the building. Bullet's pinged off the Iron Man armor, not hurting Tony in the least, but they were annoying and drew his attention away from getting inside. Cap had his hands full, practically spinning in circles to keep HYDRA agents off his back. Thor was having similar problems and the Hulk? Well, the Hulk was pretty much unstoppable as he took out the bigger weapons, but the point was that without the Avenger's two resident assassin's helping to watch their back's, the battle was long and difficult.

What should have been a short and easy fight was actually an hour long struggle that ended with more bruises and scrapes than answers. Information in the compound was minimal. No revealing paperwork, all the computers were encrypted by heavy security, and it seemed unlikely the agents they captured would say anything.

This was going to take time, Tony realized resentfully. He hated waiting. His impatient streak was nearly as large as his ego, and his frustration only grew when he finally made his weary way back to the Quinjet hours later to discover J.A.R.V.I.S. had downloaded the information regarding Barton from S.H.I.E.L.D. but hadn't found anything useful about Hawkeye's location.

Tony couldn't muster up any joviality or sarcasm when he relayed the information to the others, sending copies of what he had acquired to each of them to analyze. He was angry at Fury for hiding Barton's absence, angry at himself for not noticing he was gone, and really angry at Rogers for his calm and unperturbed reaction to all of this. If the star-spangled man gave him that empathetic, "we'll get through this together" look one more time, Tony was going to punch him.

If they could only get him back, Tony was sure Barton would agree with him.

Clint Barton knew he was many things. Stubborn, hot-headed, self-depreciating…kind of an asshole. He was many things, a lot of them bad…but he wasn't helpless.

Nobody attacked him when he cracked open the door; however, the surveillance camera sitting above and to the left near the ceiling was going to be a problem. There was no doubt in his mind that even though the camera wasn't focused on him now, he'd be caught the second he stepped fully out of the room. He tested the weight of the reassembled pen in his hand thinking. It was heavy enough and sturdy enough to break the camera. With that in mind, Clint took aim and threw it with the type of precision that earned him the title of the world's best marksman.

The shattering of glass and cracking of plastic was worth losing his makeshift weapon as the tiny red light on the side of the camera flickered then shut off. Clint crept out of the room, moving through the thankfully empty hallway and crouched near an intersection to assess his situation.

His path was clear in both directions, not very useful since he had no idea where he currently was, but Clint figured he might as well choose a direction and go with it. He moved through the halls with all the stealth and speed of a natural thief turned S.H.I.E.L.D. assassin, quickly putting a fair amount of space between him and the room. The back of his neck prickled uneasily, each door he checked guarded with a blinking control panel that required a key card for entrance. On the bright side, after a few minutes of wandering, he managed to glance at a map before having to dart away when a nearby door suddenly opened.

This whole escape plan was going better than expected, Clint thought. He now knew he was going in the right direction, A.I.M. seemed to be too preoccupied to notice he was gone, and for the first time in a long time, he felt…not exactly confident, but close. Optimistic maybe? His current problem was that he needed to cross a series of labs and control rooms to before he could reach an exit, but truth be told, his luck had never lasted this long before. It was kinda nice being able to sneak around without running into anyone. Was this what it felt like to be Stark and Cap? Clint could get used to it. It was better than fighting off an army every time he was-

Lights flashed everywhere, the walls and floor vibrating, and damn, those alarms were loud because Clint swore he could hear the slightest ringing in his ears. Clint tensed. They would be looking for him, the halls would be swarmed with yellow suited henchmen hovering around like wasps, and Clint had nothing to defend himself with besides his hands and his wits.

Futz. He should have known it was too good to be true. Clint ducked into a corner, crouching down in a doorway to hide, and strategized. He was close to the labs, could nearly taste fresh air, except that was also the busiest part of the compound. If he could get into a room, maybe find some weapons or an air vent he could navigate, he might yet have a shot of getting out.

Clint watched as a group of weapon wielding agents ran down the main hallway in the direction of his torture room. It wouldn't be long before they discovered him. Making a run at them, catching them off guard, and hoping he could get a weapon before they realized what was happening was his best bet. Clint readied himself to run, eyes peeled to attack the next passing group, when suddenly a door ahead and to the left opened.

He didn't hesitate.

Running at full speed…and boy did Clint love adrenaline because it would've been nearly impossible without it…Clint rammed into the unaware, yellow suited A.I.M. agent and sent them tumbling back into the room. They crashed to the floor, a nearby chair sent flying, and they both struggled briefly to catch their breath.

Clint recovered first, his body screaming in pain, but he pushed the thought aside to quickly scan the room and register that it was both a personal bedroom and empty. His opponent used the time to recover, rushing to their feet and clumsily raising the weapon.

Clint lunged, grappling with the A.I.M. agent and managing to shove them against a wall, successfully knocking the weapon out of range. The portly worker fought back and managed to get a knee into Clint's side, getting loose for only a second before Clint kicked them hard. The assassin pushed his advantage and slammed his enemy's head into the wall, watching as the stunned A.I.M. agent slid to the ground. Clint didn't hesitate to yank off their helmet.

Needing to secure the agent's silence, Clint avoided the ginger haired man's attempts to ward him off and wrapped his good arm around the man's neck in a choke hold. Eyes watching the now closed door for intruders, the assassin waited until the man's thrashing stopped before releasing his grip.

The A.I.M. henchman wasn't dead. Clint checked the man's pulse, finding it slow but steady, before lowering him to the ground. He didn't like to kill people when it wasn't necessary, and for now, all he needed was for the man to be out of the way so he could have another moment to think.

The room was tiny with no vents or back door Clint could escape through. His only way out was through the door he entered, past the frantically searching mob of people. However, he had a weapon now. The A.I.M. henchman's gun was fully loaded, and the key card would allow him access to any room the man had clearance to access.

It was a huge gamble. They outnumbered him, and even if Clint could get to the exit, he'd still have to find a way off of the property. Think positive, Clint reminded himself. What can you do to increase your odds of surviving? His eyes roved the room and stopped on the unconscious A.I.M. agent.

This was one of the most ridiculous things he had ever done, Clint thought two minutes later as he stepped into the yellow hazard suit and zipped it up. It swamped his slighter form, the fabric hanging off of him and pooling at his feet. This definitely wasn't going to work; it was a stupid idea. Clint knew he was stupid for thinking about going through with it.

But what choice did he have, Clint argued with himself. He picked up the helmet and pulled it on, taking a deep breath before stepping out into the hallway.

The area was crowded with A.I.M. employees, everyone jostling about from place to place as they searched for Hawkeye, A.I.M. becoming more frantic by the minute. Clint regulated his behavior, mimicking those around him and blending into the crowd as he followed them toward the center of command. Sweat trickled down the back, his hand clenched around the weapon in case someone outed him and he had to fight. He hated the fact that he not only couldn't hear, but the futzing masks everyone wore prevented him from knowing if they were staring at him or saying anything. It set him on edge and would have made him paranoid if Clint didn't stamp down on those emotions before they made him screw up.

It was a small relief when the center of the compound came into view and Clint used the stolen key card to enter one of the smaller labs. Three scientists stood over test tubes on the far side of the room, looking up immediately, and Clint wasted no time in shooting them. The tranquilizer bullets in the gun were an unexpected but happy surprise when Clint first inspected them, and it was even better watching all of the scientists fall to the ground unconscious.

The chair to Clint's left made a fantastic door block, guaranteeing Clint at least a few minutes alone as he moved to the computer furthest from the door. He wasted no time hacking into the grid, and while he wasn't as good as Tony, it wasn't long before he had opened a secure, private communication line to S.H.I.E.L.D. where they could track his location and hopefully access A.I.M.'s system.

Clint was about to leave, satisfied that whatever happened to him, S.H.I.E.L.D. could trace his location, when a file caught his attention. He wasn't a spy for nothing, Clint thought as he opened the file labeled "M.O.D.O.K.", scanning through the collection of documents. This was what the Scientist Supreme must have been talking about. There were blueprints, biological integration simulations, and about a dozen other scientific documents that would've had Stark and Banner drooling. Whatever they were planning, they were close. All they needed to do was ensure complete control of their human-machine hybrid. One of the pages even listed prospective investors, and Clint recognized a few HYDRA representatives as one of the buyers.

Director Fury would kill for this information. It had been almost ten minutes, too long for him to stay in one place, but Clint copied the data and sent it to S.H.I.E.L.D. anyway. He hesitated, uncertain whether it was the right move, before also forwarding the information along to Tony. Stark routinely hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D., Clint reasoned, it wasn't like he wouldn't find out about it on his own.

Clint hid his activity, returning the computer to its normal appearance and moved to the desks, ruffling up papers and opening drawers. He made a mess. If they thought he was searching for information on paper they wouldn't immediately scan the computer and find his attempts to contact S.H.I.E.L.D..

Pleased with the small-scale destruction he had caused, Clint moved aside the chair and stepped outside. He carefully closed the door behind him, ready for a casual stroll to the exit…and he could hear Natasha's voice in his head telling him to walk, don't run when hiding…when it happened.

Clint bumped into someone. That was all that happened. A tiny bump that didn't even move the person, but made them take a glance. Clint could tell by the way their hands moved that they asked him something, but hell if he knew the answer. He took a chance and turned, trying to lose himself again in the crowd and make his way toward an exit, but a glance back showed the person opening the door of the room he had just left.

They must have yelled. It was the only explanation for the chaos that erupted, everybody raising their weapons and pointing them around. Clint tried working his way swiftly out of sight, except someone had spotted him in his too large suit and realized he was ignoring the shouts. They rushed toward him, directing people to capture him, so Clint started shooting.

He took down more than a dozen people with his own gun, a handful dropping from friendly fire when he used them as shields. Clint took a head shot from a random fist, helmet flying off, and kept going. The assassin scrambled for the exit, kicking and punching to gain inch after inch, desperately fighting with all the energy he had left.

It was too much. There were too many of them. Clint left a trail of unconscious bodies behind him, but they still overwhelmed him. The A.I.M. henchmen dragged him to the ground, a swarm of bodies covering his, and he couldn't move. When he felt a sudden prick on his neck, the room starting to fade in and out, he knew the fight was over.

It didn't stop him from working up enough strength to land another kick on the person holding his legs. He grinned when they jerked away, shaking out their hand and caressing broken fingers. S.H.I.E.L.D. would find him, Clint told himself. HeAnd in the meantime, Clint would start planning for his next escape.