A/N: 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris. Again, no more teasers to the end of Part Two which is only one chapter away.

Namaste,

~Sandy

Avengers

As Time Goes By

Chapter 10

More tired that she'd been in a very long time, Natasha left the elevator and trudged into the common area of the residential quarters inside Stark Tower. Going into the kitchen, she reached for a bottle of Stolichnaya and poured a single finger downing it in one swallow. She wiped the back of her hand across her lips not caring if she was seen. Leaving the bottle on the bar, she walked down the hall to the stairs that led to the apartments assigned to Clint, Steve and herself.

With Steve still in Brooklyn, she and Clint had the floor to themselves. She knocked on Clint's door waiting impatiently for an answer. When none came, she knocked again. "Clint? Open up! It's Nat."

"Pardon the intrusion, Agent Romanoff, but Agent Barton is not in his room."

Casting her eyes up to the ceiling where she imagined JARVIS to be, she scowled. "Wherever he is, tell him I'm too tired to go to dinner tonight. I'll just get a bath and go to bed."

"Agent Barton has gone."

Crossing her arms, she kept her eyes on the ceiling. "Gone?"

"Yes. He's left the city."

She spun on her heel, hair flying and returned to the common room. "Where did he go?"

"I've been forbidden to say."

"What?" Tapping her comm, Natasha said, "Guys, Barton's gone off the grid and JARVIS won't say where."

Stark's voice was the only one to respond. "Come to the lab. I'll track him from here."

She jogged to the elevator, taking it down three floors to Banner's lab. As she entered, Stark was engaged in an argument. Not that it was a strange phenomenon. However, who he was arguing with was.

"…this is a direct order, JARVIS. Tell me where Agent Barton is or I will take you apart and sell you to a third world country for use in their microwaves."

"And as I've already said, sir, Agent Barton ordered that I not give his whereabouts to anyone, especially Agent Romanoff and yourself." The AI seemed very put out that Stark kept questioning him.

Stark paced three steps in one direction then back. "Can you at least tell us when he left and in what direction?"

JARVIS considered that request for a moment. "He didn't specifically order me not to, sir. Agent Barton exited the parking garage at exactly three twenty-two yesterday afternoon headed toward the west."

"West? What's west? Don't answer that."

Natasha leaned on the edge of Banner's lab table. "JARVIS, did he leave New York?"

"He did, madam."

Banner spoke up for the first time. "If you won't tell us where he's gone, how're we going to find him?"

"While I was ordered not to track him on his journey via the GPS devices, he did not forbid the use of other means." There was a pause. "From the direction, rate of travel, and with credit card purchases as confirmation, I have determined that Agent Barton is now in his former hometown of Waverly, Iowa."

Thor stepped up between Natasha and Stark. "Why would he journey home?"

"Immediately before he made the decision to leave, he requested information on Barney Barton. His brother."

"Send it to the main monitor." The group of friends watched the life of Barney Barton flash across the screen until Stark noticed something. "Stop! Go back. There."

Squinting at the screen, Thor's voice rumbled through the room. "He is dead and not honorably."

Stark snorted his opinion. "Barney Barton has been a very bad boy, and now his little brother is taking a sentimental journey."

Thor, as usual, was confused. "I do not understand."

Banner chuckled. "The prodigal son is going home, though I doubt he'll receive a fatted calf for his trouble."

Watching Stark's face, Natasha saw that contemplative gleam he got just before he said or did something that could get them all killed. She'd calmed down now that she knew the reason for Clint taking off. "Leave him alone. He needs some space, some time to himself."

Making an offensive sound as he headed for the door, Stark said, "Don't we all?"

"Natasha is correct, Stark." Thor's voice, always booming, chased the billionaire across the room. "We must give Barton what any one of us would want. If he wishes to be on his own to deal with his torments, then we must allow him this time."

Returning to the group, Stark met each set of eyes and Natasha knew they said the same thing. Let Clint fight these particular demons on his own.

"Oh, I get it. You thought I was asking for permission to go after Legolas." He shook his head. "Because I wasn't. So, I'm just gonna get into the suit and…"

Natasha took out her phone using her thumb to scroll the contact list. Finding the one she was looking for, she dialed and held it out so the others could hear.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Pepper. Natasha." Her smile came through in her voice as Natasha slanted a glance at Stark. The genius billionaire waved his hands trying to hold off the inevitable.

Stark's girlfriend made a long suffering sigh. "What did Tony do this time?"

When Natasha opened her mouth to speak, Stark tried to take the phone from her. Never a good idea and she didn't let him get away with it this time. He shrugged to let her know that he would leave Clint to work out his troubles on his own. "Nothing…yet."

"Ah. A pre-emptive strike."

Lifting one eyebrow, Natasha asked the question and Stark reluctantly agreed. "Thanks, Pepper." She clicked the phone off and shoved it back into her pocket. "Now that it's settled, I'm going to bed."

"Good night." Banner smiled and waved.

"Dream well, Natasha," Thor said in the softest voice she'd ever heard from the demi-god.

Back upstairs in her room, she tossed her torn and dirty clothes in the laundry before sinking into a tub of hot water scented with Samsara, groaning as her aching and abused muscles slowly relaxed.

~~O~~

"Three million…" Clint's throat started closing up as the ramifications bounced around inside his head and he didn't like the looks of the ones that stuck. How does a guy making barely sixty thousand a year turn that into three million? Clint's mind made a quick calculation of the debts Barney had owed at the time of his death and came up with the only scenario possible. Whatever his brother had done, it couldn't have been legal.

"Yes."

"That's…unexpected."

Taking an envelope from the briefcase, Bagley pushed it across the table. "He also left this."

Clint took the envelope, obviously a letter to him from Barney and stared at it for a long second before shoving it into his inside breast pocket. The server brought their meals and Clint thanked her in a distracted tone. She returned a short time later with the bottle of wine he'd ordered. "More wine, sir?"

"No, thank you." Though Bagley tried to hide it, he'd been surprised that Clint had turned down the second glass of wine. Apparently his family had made an impact on the attorney. Clint cut a piece of the prime rib, putting it in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully as he watched Bagley. He swallowed then asked, "You knew my father?"

Nodding, Bagley wiped his mouth and returned the napkin to his lap. "Your mother too. We all went to high school together. Of course it was brand new then. I remember this one time…"

"If you don't mind, Mr. Bagley, hearing stories about my father is not high on my to-do list."

"Of course. There are some papers for you to sign to make it all official, but we can do that after we eat."

Keeping his features impassive, Clint poured dressing over his salad, but suddenly was no longer hungry. Throwing his napkin on the table, Clint got to his feet. "Excuse me."

Sitting in the cab of the truck, Clint gripped the steering wheel tightly, still stunned with the events of the morning. Taking out the phone, he called JARVIS again.

"How can I assist this time, Agent Barton?"

Sighing at the put out tone of the AI, Clint said, "I need you to follow a money trail."

"Of course, sir. I assume it has something to do with the previous inquiries regarding your brother."

"Yeah. Thanks. Oh and one more thing, and you can't tell anyone about this." He hung up before JARVIS could respond, shut the phone off and tossed it in the passenger seat. Backing out of the parking space, he took off in a cloud of dust. When he reached the county line, he pulled over and got out, took off his jacket and threw it in the front seat.

He unhooked the safety cables holding the bike upright in the bed of the truck, rolled it down the ramp, started it up and drove it into the woods. He felt like shooting something, anything, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He just rode through the trees, avoiding the thicker undergrowth. Eventually, coming to a pond, he shut down and propped the bike against the trunk of a dead tree, the burned areas indicating that it had been struck by lightning in the past year or so.

Taking off his shoes and socks, he rolled up the legs of his pants and waded out into the water. Hidden as it was by the surrounding woods, the water was still cold, but it felt good on his heated skin. His hands he shoved into the pockets of his jeans and there he stood for a long time trying to sort out everything in his mind. Barney, the money, his feelings about being back, Loki, the team, Coulson. And Naomi.

As always happened, his head began to throb with the force of trying to remember. Most of their time together came to him easily, but when it neared the time of their separation, the memories wouldn't let themselves be seen. For nearly twelve years he'd dealt with the possibility that he'd be on a mission and run into someone who had been there when he'd infiltrated the Consortium base. At the time, they hadn't been that big a deal, but the potential had been there. They had gained that potential and SHIELD had been trying to bring them down ever since.

The sun tracked across the sky and headed for the west horizon before he walked back to shore, put his shoes and socks back on, got on the bike and returned to the truck. He climbed into the cab and turned on the phone seeing that he had three missed calls and three messages.

The first was from Natasha. Not that he was surprised, though he'd hoped to put off talking to her for a while. Her message was short and to the point. She cursed him out in several languages, ending with "call me." From her tone, she knew he wouldn't.

Call number two was from Bagley apologizing profusely if he'd said something to offend Clint and advising him that he could come to the office to sign the necessary papers to turn control of Barney's estate over to him. The trouble was Clint didn't want the money and had no idea what to do with it.

And the third was from JARVIS advising him that the information he'd requested would be couriered to his hotel that evening. For just a moment he wondered how the AI knew where he was then he remembered that he'd used his personal credit card to pay for purchases on this trip. That meant the rest of the team would be able to track him as well. He should've known better than to try to go off the grid with Stark running the show. The only way to keep them from finding him was to pay cash for everything.

Going straight to the attorney's office, Clint signed the papers and left again within just a few minutes barely noticing the young woman sitting at a desk in the corner. She called to him, but he ignored her, needing to get away from this place.

With his stomach complaining all the way, he drove to the first fast food store he saw and picked up a bacon burger combo before returning to the B&B. He waved to Bessie then went to his room.

A couple of hours later, she was there with a thick package in a sealed envelope. Propping pillows up on the bed, he spread the papers out and began reading. He spent the next several hours following his brother's trail from the day he was accepted into the Army until the day he died. In between, he ate his burger and fries and sucked down the chocolate shake.

JARVIS had included additional information that showed a correlation between large deposits and the failure of certain ops that the DEA had run leading Clint to the obvious conclusion that Barney had been as crooked as the IA investigation alleged. It was a good thing he'd been killed prior to actually being charged or he'd have ended his career in disgrace. If this info got out now, his memory would bear the ignominy as well as Clint himself considering his actions during the Loki incident.

He'd been having occasional trouble sleeping so McNeil had prescribed Ambien, but he didn't want to take it anymore than he had to. It would become a crutch and the last thing he needed was to be hooked on sleeping pills in addition to all his other problems.

Going into the bathroom, he filled a glass from the faucet and took out one of the pills. Looking at his face in the mirror, he flashed on his reflection on the surface of the monitor in Loki's safe house. His eyes had been blue then. Not just the irises, but the whites too. And his expression had been brutal and unwavering in his allegiance to the self-proclaimed god of Asgard.

With a growl of frustration, Clint popped the pill and washed it down with the entire glass of water then returned to the bedroom where he gathered up the papers still spread over the bed and shoved them back into the envelope.

Clint changed into pajamas, lay down on top of the covers and stared up at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

In the morning, he packed and carried everything down to the lobby. As always, Bessie was behind the desk, her smile in place. "Leaving us, Mr. Barton?"

"Yes, ma'am." He signed the credit card receipt and pushed it across the desk after taking his copy.

"You find what you were lookin' for?"

Clint's forehead crinkled in confusion. "Sorry?"

Bessie gave him a knowing smile, patting him on the hand. "When you rolled in here the other day, you looked more than a little lost. Still do, but not as much."

He thought about what she was saying. "Maybe I'm on the right track then."

"Well, good for you! Where you headed? Back home?"

"No, ma'am. Taking some time off. Do a little traveling. Canada, maybe."

She squeezed his hand again. "Have a safe trip then."

Clint picked up his cases and duffle bag. He packed them behind the seat, got in and took off. As he neared the cemetery, he eased off the gas, but didn't stop. Instead, he floored it and didn't slow down until he hit the Wisconsin state line where he filled up the tank, got something to eat and headed out again. Headed north, he changed his mind and turned to the west. Using the phone Stark had given to each of the Avengers, he located the address of Coulson's ex-girlfriend now living in Portland. He had something to give her and it had to be in person.

Two days later, Clint rolled into Portland exhausted from driving the last leg of the trip without stopping for more than gas and food. He checked into the first motel he came to then walked to the thrift store across the street where he bought jeans, a T-shirt and a flannel shirt. In his room, he washed a pair each of socks and boxers then hung them over the heater to dry.

Awakening refreshed, he grabbed a quick breakfast then drove to the Portland Symphony rehearsal hall. The doorman let him in when he flashed his FBI cover badge. The orchestra was in the middle of Pachelbel's Canon in D so he dropped into a seat at the back of the room and waited. When they finished, the maestro called a break.

Clint hurried forward to catch Abigail Brasher before she disappeared into the ladies room. He introduced himself as a friend of Coulson's and presented her with the letter addressed to her. She impulsively hugged him briefly then hurried away, but not before he'd seen the tears glistening in her eyes. Kicking himself for making her cry, he crossed the lobby, hit the exit, jumped in his truck sitting at the curb and peeled out of the parking lot.

A couple of days later, Clint crossed into Sault Sainte Marie, Ontario and was stopped by the border patrol. He didn't think anything of it because the stops were random and he'd apparently drawn the short straw this time.

"Welcome to Ontario…"

"Agent Barton, FBI." He passed over his ID and the guard carried it to his computer where he did a quick check.

When they'd finished searching the truck, his bike and all his personal belongings, and the dogs had sniffed everything within an inch of its life, the guy handed his ID back with a smile. "Sorry about that, Agent Barton."

Clint returned the smile with one that he managed to make appear genuine. "I understand, officer. Can't be too careful."

"No, sir. Have a great visit."

Just before he closed the driver's door, Clint said, "I intend to."

Five hours later, he rolled into North Bay where he stayed the night. When he'd left Waverly, aside from coming to Canada, he had no real destination in mind, so from North Bay he made the drive to Four Mile Lake where he camped out overnight in his truck. From there he journeyed to Otter Lake, again camping out for two nights this time.

He rolled into Redbridge then on down to Camp Champlain and over to Mattawa. Leaving Mattawa, he had the urge to see Niagara Falls. From there it would be only a short, for him, drive back to New York City. And if he didn't feel like going back yet, he could go somewhere else.

Clint finally made it to Niagara Falls, but didn't go straight to the falls. First he checked into a hotel that provided a view of the water without the noise. His plans were to stay a couple of days, visit the falls, go hiking in the Niagara Gorge, maybe even take the Cave of the Winds tour. He'd been to Canada many times, but never as a tourist. It felt kinda good not to have an agenda or be running an infiltration op.

That night, he fell asleep without needing the Ambien, but unlike the one night he'd used it, his dreams were scattered, jumping from one scene to another without rhyme or reason. One moment they were frightening, the next dull then transitioning to terrifying. There wasn't a lot that Clint was afraid of, but having Loki inside his mind again was one of them. More than once he wished that he'd managed to take him out before Thor or the others could stop him because every day that Loki lived was another day that someone else could be taken over by him. He didn't know if having succumbed once he'd be even more susceptible the next time or if it had built up immunity. Either way, he didn't want to chance it.

In the morning, he went down to breakfast then signed up for the gorge hike hoping that by the end of the day he'd be so tired he would just fall into a dreamless sleep.

No such luck.

His second night in Niagara Falls was the worst since he'd left New York. In his nightmare, he killed each of his friends in the way they feared most then their ghosts came back to point fingers, to accuse him of following Loki willingly. Even Natasha, who knew differently. He told them over and over that they were wrong, but they kept coming, joined by all the other agents whose deaths had been at his hands or because of something Loki had made him do.

Clint awoke suddenly to someone pounding on his door. He rolled out of bed reaching for the gun under his pillow.

"Security! Open up!"

His heart was beating so fast, his breaths rasping in and out like he'd been running a race. His subconscious was still in the nightmare, but his conscious mind told him that he must have been screaming in his sleep. Why else would security be knocking on his door at two in the morning? Scooping up the remote, he hid the weapon as he staggered to the door and opened it to find two uniformed security officers and a man he assumed was the manager. "Yeah?"

"Excuse me, Agent Barton, but your neighbors heard noise coming from your room. I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to step out in the hall while it's searched."

"Had the TV up too loud." Even though he was in his boxers and T-shirt, he stepped out into the hall after first flipping on the lights. "Have at it."

The manager nodded and the security guards stepped inside. They did a quick search of the bathroom, closets and the bedroom giving the mangled covers a cursory glance, finding nothing amiss. "I do apologize for the intrusion, but you understand that we have to check these things out when someone makes a complaint."

"Yes. I'll keep it down from now on."

When they were gone, Clint sat on the foot of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, one hand rubbing through his hair finding it wet with perspiration. He'd thrashed around so much that the covers were half on the floor. He was still tired, but there was no way he'd chance descending back into that nightmare and get himself thrown out of the hotel.

Stripping off his clothes, he took a quick shower then lay down with just the towel around him. Taking out the documents JARVIS had sent him, he examined specific pages again, and the longer he looked at them, the more ideas went through his mind. And his mind was telling him that The Consortium had to be behind not only his brother's downfall, but that of the other dead agents too.

The Consortium had paid them to blow specific ops and when they were of no more use to them, they'd had the five men and one woman killed. All of the deaths had occurred during firefights so they hadn't drawn suspicion. And just because those six were the only ones being investigated didn't mean they were the only Consortium moles in the DEA. Hell, they probably had them all over the place. FBI, CIA, ATF, maybe even in SHIELD.

Clint still couldn't remember his time as their captive. He told the doctors and Natasha that it didn't bother him, but it did. A lot. Especially those events leading up to his capture. His and Natasha's visit to Gina had brought home to him that there was much about those days that had been very special for Naomi and he though he couldn't remember it.

He'd been thinking of her more and more lately, wanting to know what she'd been doing since they'd last seen each other and if she was happy. He was happy…sort of. At least as happy as he ever expected to be. Well, less so now than before Loki.

While he'd been sitting and thinking, the world had roused itself from its overnight slumber so he changed into workout clothes and went for a run. After a while, his mind settled down enough for him to be able to think more clearly. He came to a park where kids were playing. A Frisbee sailed over his head. He used the bench to jump up and grab it, coming down on both feet and going into a somersault. The kids cheered and he spent the next hour or so showing them a few circus tricks that were easy for them to learn. And that gave him an idea.

Back in his room, Clint showered and went down to breakfast before joining the tour to the falls. He'd been here with Coulson to meet a contact they had hoped would give them the information they'd need to bring down a rebel group running guns in the Congo. That hadn't panned out and though both men had wanted to take in the sights, they'd been needed back at SHIELD.

Now Clint took the time to just watch the water flowing, imagining it washing all his cares and torments away and drowning them at the base of the falls never to be able to return and haunt his dreams or his waking world ever again.

Standing at the railing, elbows resting on the top and hands clasped together, he let his mind just drift. That is until someone jostled him from behind. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw nothing but the same people he'd started the tour with and none of them seemed to be paying him any attention. He went back to his contemplation of the raging water, felt the spray on his face and took a deep breath of the tangy air. That breath became trapped in his lungs when someone bumped into him and he heard a voice say something that sounded like, "Merry Christmas, a*****e!"

Though Clint knew he couldn't have heard what he thought he heard, the words caused a strange sensation to flow through him. Old injuries began to ache as if fresh and the tips of his fingers burned. Brief flashes of being tied to a chair while he was beaten and tortured rocketed through his brain leaving a trail of fragmented memories that blinked and flickered all out of order as if someone had gone in and rearranged them to confuse him.

He saw himself, bleeding and bruised, lying on a thin mattress in a darkened cell.

Being given unpalatable food but eating it anyway to keep his strength up though it ultimately did no good.

Kneeling in front of a dirty commode, puking his guts out again and again.

Drinking water that burned his mouth and throat.

Being punched and kicked and brutalized, yet never giving them what they wanted. Never straying from his original story.

Intense pain roared inside his head making him dizzy. Hands touched him. Voices spoke to him. But he didn't respond. Couldn't respond. His heart rate and the pain climbed to an intolerable level as his body went into self-preservation mode and shut down. Clint didn't even feel it when he lost consciousness and hit the deck.

TBC