Disclaimer: The Avengers and its characters belong to Marvel Comics/ Disney.

A/N: Exciting things (at least for me) are coming. Stuff will be revealed, chapters/part of chapters will be written from Hailey's perspective, etc, etc. Not this chapter though.

Anyways, once again, thank for the reviews and follows. They mean the world and usually spur me to write more. Please keep them coming!

On another note, Nick Fury isn't the bad guy. He might seem a little villainous, but he's not. He's a man in charge of making a lot of decisions, choices that will affect a large population. He has to make those choices based on the greater good, and sometimes, he doesn't always play by the roles. That is all.

ladygris: Once again, thank you for your review. I'm still psyched about it.

Hedgi: Yes, our Nicky-boy does think his two master assassins have been holding out on him. Well, they have, but not about that, lol.

Lollypops101: He came to that assumption from a combination of bad timing, lack of sleep, similar physical characteristics between Hailey and Natasha, the SHIELD rumor-mill, and well, he's always suspected Clint and Natasha were hiding something.


Chapter Eleven

Natasha looked as confused as Clint felt. :What the hell? How does he know I knew Nat from before the hit? Coulson never would've told him. And what does that have to do with Hailey? Fear contracted his chest, making it hard to breathe. Clint managed to stutter, "I don't understand. What does Hailey have to do with Natasha?"

Fury gave him a look long on disbelief and short on patience. "You two are going to deny it? You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Deny what?!" Clint yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. He could feel his blood pressure skyrocketing. :The fuck is he talking about?

Then Natasha started laughing. Laughing. Not her usual laugh—this one was out of control, full-body, tears leaking out of her eyes, laughing. Aghast, Clint eyed his partner like she had grown horns. :…did I miss something? He shot a glance at Fury who was staring at one of his best agents with an arched eyebrow and a look of alarm. :No help there.

Mildly, he asked his partner, "Uhh…Tasha? You okay?"

Wiping away the tears, she choked out, "He thinks Hailey is our daughter. As in, I'm the mother." And commenced into another laughing fit.

Puzzle pieces clicked into place. :OH. With his daughter's height, eye color, and curls, Natasha and Hailey did look enough like mother and daughter to convince an outsider. Then his and Natasha's instinctive guard stances when Hailey was threatened. :Not sure where my looks are factoring in there, except maybe to dilute down Nat's red hair, but people see what they want to see. This realization had relief pounding through him: his and Natasha's secret was still safe.

A bubble of relief burst forth from his throat as a laugh—nothing like Natasha's, but a laugh nonetheless. Fury's expression grew even more apprehensive and frankly, Clint was surprised the man hadn't reached for his gun again, since his two top agents were literally cracking up in front of him. Brainwashings weren't that uncommon in their field that sudden personality changes could be written off. :Not the issue in this case.

Gathering his wits, he said, "Hailey is not our biological daughter. I found her living on the streets after New York. She was and, to an extent, still is in bad shape, but I took her in; she doesn't have any family except me, now. Natasha doesn't have anything to do with this."

Fury looked at Natasha—who managed to recover her usual poise—but got nothing from her except her stony stare before refocusing his attention back to Clint. "Prove it. DNA test her against your samples on record."

"You can go to hell. You're not getting anything from her," Clint replied angrily as he shoved up from his seat, hands braced on the table. Pain lanced through his leg from the sudden movement, and he clenched his jaw to keep in the cry of pain that tried to escape. :Shit that hurt.

Natasha cut in, "Relax Clint." Her green eyes locked onto his eyes and silently reinforced her words. He sat down, managing to make it look like his leg wasn't about to give out on him. Natasha nodded at his wise decision, then said to Fury, "Sir, I'm sterile, which you seem to have forgotten, or are over-looking. And I have been since long before I ever met Agent Barton. The Red Room doesn't want anything distracting their agents from their jobs. Hailey is not my daughter, nor is she Clint's. By blood at least." She offered a smile in Clint's direction at that.

:She handled that well. Completely leaving it vague as to how long we've known each other. And this is why she's the spy and I'm the soldier, Clint thought, mentally applauding Tasha's word choice.

"Regardless, part of your contract is that SHIELD needs to be aware of your family members, particularly children. Not to mention that members of Strike teams are chosen for their succinct lack of familial connections due to the…on-the-job…dangers." Director Fury trained his lone eye on Clint.

Clint didn't particularly like the emphasis and by the way his partner's eyes had narrowed, neither did Natasha.

That's when Natasha completely hijacked Fury's interrogation. She leaned forward, a deviously sweet smile on her face when she said, "Yes, just like in-house relationships are supposed to be reported to HR. Because I know everyone obeys that rule."

A stare-down between Nick Fury and Natasha Romanoff commenced.

Clint schooled his expression to one of neutrality, but really a mixture of curiosity and surprise were eating him up. :What's Nat got on Fury?

And he wasn't going to find out right now—apparently—because Fury elected not to call Natasha's bluff, if she was bluffing. Clint figured 75/25 that Natasha had something on Fury that the SHIELD director had been previously unaware of. She was a collector of secrets; even when she wasn't working, it was amazing what she picked up on.

In the silence, Clint picked up the earlier thread, surprising even himself with the amount of ice and venom lacing his voice when he countered, "You're jumping down our throats about Hailey when the real issue here is that we were fed bad intell, and it nearly got several of us killed. If it hadn't been for my daughter, Tony, Natasha, and I would probably be dead. That tiny rebel group turned out to be a small army armed with Phase 2 weapons in addition to high-grade explosives. Your concern should be tracking down your 'missing' agent that fed you the intelligence about the weapons and not harassing us about our personal lives," Clint bellowed, his blood boiling.

Taken aback, Nick Fury arched an eyebrow and demanded, "Why was I not informed of this last night?"

"We did every according to protocol. Natasha, Steve, and I filled out our field reports on the ride back to base and reported to Agent Hill when we arrived. Our biggest concern at that point was that Hailey and Tony were going to be alright."

Clint didn't mention that Natasha had done his report for him—she wrote his signature better than he could—so he could sit with Hailey and keep her awake. The medics were more concerned about the unconscious Tony, whose left lung collapsed after being loaded into the helicopter. There were several frantic minutes of Bruce and the medics working over Tony where the others weren't sure if he'd make it.

"I'm still not understanding why I wasn't notified. I assigned the Avengers to this mission."

Natasha's temper flared. "Listen, take that up with Hill. You weren't here, and we reported to her. We were screwed over, and you're lucky the team is still intact. So back off."

Fury and Clint both looked at Natasha in surprise. She rarely lost her temper in a verbal fashion, especially in debriefings; in fact, she usually talked Clint down when he got worked up about the questions being asked about their missions. Director Fury wisely decided to reappraise the situation.

"Apparently, I need briefed on this mission in its entirety," Nick said finally, winning the understatement of the year. He leaned forward on the table, face solemn, all ears.

:You think? Clint sighed, preparing himself for another verbal sparring match, "Then we need to round up everyone."

"Except Tony," Natasha chimed in. "I doubt he's cleared to leave the hospital bay."

And technically not Steve, since he was sitting with Hailey. Clint would probably have to fight Fury over that too, but he knew the soldier wouldn't willingly leave Hailey's side. At any rate, it would take someone special to forcibly remove Captain America from the hospital wing. Hailey's guard was secure.

The director's face crinkled in distaste, but nodded in agreement. He held his hand up to his ear, activating the comm-link, "Hanson, locate Thor and Banner and have them come up to the C-level briefing room. Tell them Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff are already present."

He was pleasantly surprised. Fury hadn't even mentioned having Steve come up here for the briefing. The only other alternative would have been to conduct the briefing in the hospital wing, in either Hailey's or Tony's room, which would've been a tight fit. The hospital rooms weren't designed to house seven people—several of which were well above average in size—comfortably, let alone house seven overlarge, agitated egos. :Good.

Clint heard a garbled response from Hanson from across the room, and several tense minutes passed before Bruce, followed a minute later by Thor, arrived at the door. Bruce glanced around the room, noted the expression of those present, and laughed sarcastically and muttered under his breath, something about a time bomb. Natasha bit back a smirk about that, but Clint didn't get it. :Must've been when I was under Loki's spell. Thor squeezed past the others to take a seat—so no one would have to crane their neck to look at him—placing Mjolnir roughly on the table in front of him. The metal table buckled slightly under the hammer; Clint suppressed a grin at that, but more so at Director Fury's nostril flare in response to the vandalism.

"My apologies," Thor said amicably, trying to push the table back into position. He was might too successful and ended up pushing the table-top up, forming a small dome. The god frowned and made a move to force it back down, Fury stopped him.

"Jus-Just leave it," the SHIELD Director ordered wearily, rubbing his eye before refocusing on the group before him.

The Avengers sat calmly, waiting for the interrogation to start. Nick Fury eyed each of them in turn before finally asking, "Now will someone please explain to me how Agent Barton's thirteen year-old civilian daughter ended up in Bosnia in an Iron Man suit?"


Clint knew this conversation was coming. Two hours later, those present of the Avengers staggered out of the debriefing room, a dissatisfied Nick Fury following behind them.

They'd been able to ascertain what went wrong and verify that all the weapons had been destroyed, but no one could come up with a plausible explanation to explain how Hailey wound up half-way across the world in a piece of tech supposedly only Tony Stark had the clearance and passcodes to access—much to Nick Fury's chagrin. :Can't tell him anything I don't know myself. The SHIELD director hadn't liked it, but by the end of his questioning, it was clear the Avengers knew nothing about how Hailey got there, other than as a stroke of pure luck. He'd been forced to let them go.

But moments after stepping out of the room, Natasha grabbed Clint by the arm and led him off. He followed her through the maze of halls—albeit slowly on his injured leg and empty stomach—down two levels and into the engine room. It would be near impossible to carry on a conversation amongst the bumps, hisses, and grinding sounds of the Helicarrier's running engine, but it would be even harder to try to listen in on a conversation. Precisely Natasha's plan.

"There something you need to tell me?" Natasha asked, suddenly spinning on heel to face him; apparently, she'd deemed them out of hearing range.

He scrubbed his face with his hand, apprehensive about finally coming clean. With a sigh, "I can't prove it. And just know the reason I didn't tell you in the first place, was because I thought it'd do more damage."

His partner's eyes narrowed to slits. "Damage to what?"

"SHIELD wasn't particularly pleased that I disobeyed the orders to kill you and instead brought back the enemy's top agent. Coulson and I were able to convince Fury and the Council to give you a shot. But you know that already."

Her right eyebrow arched up, and she motioned him to move along.

Clint continued, "Well, they imparted that I was fully responsible for you—including if you went rogue—and implied that they wouldn't entirely mind if you did. Then there would be a reason to eliminate you. I didn't care about me, but you, I wasn't going to let that happen to you."

Natasha's expression softened, out of surprise, but she quickly brought her neutral poker-face back up. :Sorry…not the easiest thing to hear.

This was the hard part: the mission they never discussed—Sarajevo. Clint clasped his hands in front of him and looked down, then swiftly back up. :Better get this over with.

"When you were captured in Sarajevo, I knew I couldn't call in for back-up. It'd been made abundantly clear that it wasn't of concern, whether you made it home or not. I thought I'd lost you, and I panicked; I called Coulson directly."

Her eyes had widened at the mention of Sarajevo, and he literally could see the wall go up. They just didn't bring it up. But he pushed on.

"He helped me. Managed to track the car you were taken in on those shitty cameras that a few stores had back then for a few blocks, so I at least knew what direction they were headed. But if hadn't been for this little kid, I wouldn't have found you. He couldn't have been more than six, but he remembered the car and was able to tell me what road it turned on, once it was off the main streets."

A pause to collect his breath and his thoughts. "That narrowed my focus enough, so I followed his direction and ran around in circles for hours, looking for any clues. I had nothing, the sun was setting, and I'd nearly been shot by one of those bloody snipers twice when I stumbled across a building that was a little too heavily guarded for the area."

"You know the rest. But when I finally got you back to base, just the look Fury gave me during debriefing—it set off every alarm bell in my head. And when I accused him of setting up your kidnapping…well, he just sorta smiled and walked away. Didn't say a word."

"So I have no idea if your kidnapping was arranged, or if it's all an elaborate scheme to fuck with my head. Fury's never claimed responsibility or refuted it to this day."

Natasha crossed her arms, and Clint noted the tightening of her forearm muscle as she clenched her fists. Didn't need a psychic to tell she was pissed that she'd been left in the dark. "You had no right to keep that from me," she spat.

A flash of anger ran through Clint's mind; all of this had been to protect her. "Oh yeah? Do you remember Natalia? Remember how many times she almost killed me for trusting you and turning my back? Remember how no one but me would come near you, 'cause they were terrified you'd snap on them?! Hate to break it to you Nat, but you didn't have too many fucking choices at that point. You were either a SHIELD employee or dead. I was trying to keep you alive."

She snorted, "You wouldn't have killed me."

"No shit Red, but I wasn't the only guy back then that could aim a weapon."

Her chin jerked up in defiance, "I could've handled them. And the truth."

"Like hell you could've. I hid plenty of things that happened, just no one would have excuses to try to get rid of you. I've told you everything, except about Sarajevo. You wouldn't have handled it, and it would've poisoned the little trust you had in others, aside from me," Clint fired back.

The injustice of her words heckled him. :Like she doesn't have a boatload of secrets. That thought ensnared him, and he threw it back at her. "And as if you still aren't keeping secrets from me. Like what the hell was that about with Fury?"

Standing scant inches from his partner, Clint stared right back into Natasha's glare, his anger at her seemingly unjustified anger being more than enough fuel to get him to forget about the fire in his leg and the lack of food in his stomach. Natasha finally caved first; she sighed and broke eye contact as she murmured, "So nothing else you haven't told me?"

:Nothing you'll actually listen to, Clint thought, holding back a sigh. The reason he'd disobeyed orders, the reason he'd endured the worst missions for two years, and the reason he was still sane after all this time—he was in love with Natasha Romanoff. The I'll-jump-in-front-of-a-bullet-meant-for-you, track-your-torturer-to-the-ends-of-the-earth, happily-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-waking-up-to-your-beautiful-face in love with her. And he'd never said those words to her. On one memorable (drunken) occasion, he'd slurred out, "Tasha, I love-", but she'd shut down every wall she had ever let down and left the apartment before he could finish his sentence.

Clint, of course, tried to stagger after her, but he was no match for Natasha in his inebriated state. She found him asleep in front of the door of the apartment the next morning, having forgotten his keys in his drunken rush after her. No words were spoken about the previous night. Ever.

:Moral of the story? Don't try to tell Natasha you love her. So Clint shook his head in response to her question.

"And I have told you everything…everything that could matter at least," Natasha said in a defeated tone, looking at the floor.

Clint felt a twinge of guilt in his chest, and he stepped forward, wrapping her in a hug. She rested her head against his shoulder; he savored the moment before whispering in her ear, "I know that. Sorry I got mad."

She rolled her head to the side a bit and smiled wryly up at him, "I'm sorry too." A beat, then with a catching grin, "Fury and Hill."

It took a minute for his brain to catch up. :Fury and Hill? No freakin' way! Clint looked at Natasha incredulously, "You're messin' with me. Fury and Hill? Just…how…what…when?"

Nat's expression scrunched up in distaste (:Reliving a memory?), "No joke. And I promise…I can never un-see that. Or un-hear it."

Clint held her at arm's length. "You can't just say something like that and not tell the story!"

She smirked at his curiosity, but decided not to keep him in suspense any longer. "Remember the time after Bucharest? When we couldn't—err—wait to get back to a safe house?" Clint nodded (did he ever). She continued, "Well, after you left that old debriefing room, I was waiting for a few more minutes, so it didn't look too suspect. Just as I was getting ready to leave—I was standing in the bathroom at this point—who barges in but Fury and Hill. I didn't know what to do, but then they were at it, sucking on each other's faces like they were trying to devour the other person. It was, disgusting. I'm not going to tell you the rest because, frankly, I might vomit, but you get the gist."

She shuddered, shaking off the image. Clint grinned—he'd managed to keep that mental picture at bay and responded, "No shit? That's freakin' perfect." Then he couldn't hold it in; he started laughing. :Hill and Fury? How does that even work? They're just…no!

Regaining his composure, Clint brushed a lock of her hair aside—his stomach promptly gurgled—kissed her forehead, and then said, "Now, if you don't mind…"

Natasha laughed and finished where he left off, "Food."

So then, they walked out of the engine room, Clint's arm slung around Natasha's shoulders, on a mission for some warm food.


"Looks like there's no residual effects from the concussion." (Hailey snorted lightly at that, though made no eye contact when Clint shot her a probing look.) "The legs are going to hurt for a while, and for the first couple of days you might need some help walking," Dr. Hernandez told Hailey, then turned to Clint, "The bruising is going to get worse before it gets better. Don't be too alarmed about that, but if her legs start swelling and she loses any sensation, get her back here or to a hospital immediately. With that type of injury, it can lead to compartment syndrome."

Hailey and Clint grimaced simultaneously. :God that hurt. Clint remembered all too vividly of Natasha having to slice down the length of his calf muscle with his bowie knife when they were caught in a building collapse and were hours from being rescued. That had been the most intense searing pain of his life—which was saying something—given the injuries he had sustained over the years.

Dr. Harrison noted Hailey's expression though and asked, "I take it you know what compartment syndrome is?"

Hailey bit her lower lip nervously before answering, "Yeah. One of my foster brothers took a car on a joy ride with one of his friends and wrecked it around a tree. The car was totaled and crushed around his legs. Luckily, we were all wearing seat-belts. Even though Jared was drunk, he still hollered until the ER doctor relieved the pressure in his legs."

Clint and Natasha met eyes, both realizing this was the first time Hailey had volunteered information about her past, though neither commented on it at this moment. Dr. Hernandez nodded and continued with his instructions and an admonition to be more careful and wait until she was actually on SHIELD payroll before trying to save the world. Clint sent a death glare at him for that—:Don't give her ideas—which the doctor didn't notice, or ignored.

But Clint waited until the doctor left the room, then turned quietly to his daughter, his tone as neutral as he could manage, "And you were in the backseat of a stolen car with a drunk driver, why?"

Hailey flushed and stammered, "He wasn't drunk when we left. I needed out of the city, and Jared and his friends borrowed cars and drove them outta the boroughs all the time. So I tagged along, but once we got outside the city limits, I fell asleep. And apparently while I was sleeping, they shoplifted a bottle of rum, drank most of it, and decided to drive back home. I woke up on impact." Her eyes were steadfast on the sheets.

"Pretty deep sleeper," Natasha commented, her tone suspicious.

"I guess."

Clint's turn. "Why'd you need out of the city?"

"Too many people."

"Don't like crowds?" he queried.

"Do you?" she retorted feistily, now looking up at Clint.

Natasha answered, "No, only because too many things can go wrong, too many people can hide out in them. What's your reason?"

Hailey looked at Clint and Natasha in turn, her expression guarded. Her voice came out scarcely audible, "Makes me feel like my head is going to explode. Too loud—too many voices and people."

:Well, I guess that answers our question of 'Is it agoraphobia?'. Now how am I going to help her? He felt bad, having drilled her like that, but it was nice to finally have one answer at least; Clint swallowed reluctantly before saying, "That's why you never want to leave the Tower?"

Hailey nodded, avoiding eye contact again. Clint walked up to the bed and reached for her hand; Clint sensed Natasha slipping out of the room to give them more privacy. She didn't flinch away like he expected, but he almost let go—her hand was unexpectedly cold (:Need to get her more blankets). "Why didn't you say something?"

His daughter barked out a cynical laugh—filled with darkness and disappointment—that made him unbearably sad. All he wanted to do was take away everything that had happened to her to make her that pessimistic. Then she said, "Yeah, I've gone that route. Excuse me for not wanting to watch my childhood continue on repeat."

That duped him. :Why the hell would someone toss her away when she told them? Bastards. "That doesn't change anything Hailey. But if you need help, I'll get-"

"Why?"

Clint frowned, baffled by the question, "Why what?"

"Why did this scare off everyone but you?"

:Good question, though I think it has more to do with the character of those who threw her away, than mine being stellar. Clint took a seat on the edge of her bed. "I can't speak for anyone else, but honestly, I've known all along you're not a big people person. Nothing wrong with that. I'm not too big on crowded places either—that's why most of my safe houses are rather remote. But if you'd told me sooner, we could've moved out of New York. I want you to be able to enjoy yourself. Go outside, play, soak up some Vitamin D. You know?"

"Leave the Tower?"

"Yeah, leave the Tower. I worry about you Hails."

"But what about everybody else? Uncle Steve and Uncle Tony, and Aunt Pep-"

"We'd still see everyone. Don't worry about that. Anyways, we can talk about this later, when you're feeling better."


"Never seen that much water?" Clint asked his daughter as she stared enraptured out the front window of Tony's jet. :No doubt one of the perks of being top-side for this ride, he thought, since Hailey had finally admitted she'd stowed away in the luggage compartment for the ride to Bosnia. Clint set the auto-pilot and turned to watch her; he smiled at her fascination. The bruise on her forehead had faded slightly—it was purple ringed with yellow and green on the outer edges right now—and the tightness of her face had left once they took off from the Helicarrier.

Hailey shook her head slowly in response to his question, never taking her eyes off the water. With an air of distraction she murmured, "How far up are we?"

Clint grinned and checked the altimeter, which read 31,453 feet, before speaking into the headset, "About 31,500 feet. A nice cruising altitude."

She twitched, probably at his voice right in her ears, but made no comment. Clint checked all the meters and dials again; everything was squared away and there wasn't even a blip on the radar to signify another plane coming. :Good time to take a piss.

"You got it for a minute Hails?"

Her eyes flicked over him, to the control panel (ascertaining that she wasn't truly in charge of flying), then back out the window before settling in her seat. "Yep," she said, a crooked grin sneaking onto her face.

With that, Clint unbuckled the restraints and slipped out of the cockpit, into the cabin. Natasha and Steve smiled up at him from their card game—poker from the looks of it—where Steve appeared to be holding his own. That, no doubt, was an illusion Natasha was propagating for the moment, until she swooped in for the figurative kill. Clint never played poker with his partner unless he wanted to end up losing all his clothes. He had never won a game against her and had lost several somethings, including his dignity on one particular occasion. They'd made a pact to play only strip poker after that. :Least that way, even if I lose I still win.

He noted that Pepper had nodded off, her head propped on Tony's shoulder. Tony had his right arm wrapped around her waist, the left flipping rapidly through images on the 3D computer projector. The billionaire didn't even look up from his preoccupation. Bruce had on headphones and was tapping his fingers in time to the music, but nodded a greeting to Clint as he walked by. Seated the furthest back was Thor, reading Pride and Prejudice. :Jane must've recommended it to him. Clint tried not to snicker (but was only mildly successful). It made quite a sight, seeing a six and a half foot tall, hulking Norse god reading a Jane Austen novel. :Someone needs to take a picture.

However, confusion etched on his face, Thor glanced up from the book he was reading as he noted Clint's presence outside the cockpit. The god demanded, "Hawk, who is flying the metal bird?"

Putting on his best poker face, he said nonchalantly, "Airplane. And Hailey's manning the controls."

"Little Hawk? She knows of flight?"

Tony piped in, "Of course. She's a hawk isn't she?"

Clint continued on towards the bathroom, suppressing a grin—just like the others who'd tuned in to the conversation—and in his peripheral vision, he saw Thor swing up from his chair (thankfully leaving Mjolnir where he'd been seated. Clint wasn't sure what effect the hammer would have on the plane's navigation, nor did he want to find out at 30,000 ft.) He was reaching for the lavatory door when a twinge of foresight hit him and he spun around. :Shit…

"No-no-no-no! Don't touch that! Please sit in the chair." His daughter's voice carried back to him clear as day; Thor's response was so deep it was only a vague rumble to his ears where he stood at the back of the jet. "Thank you." Another rumble. "That? That tells the pilot if the plane is flying level." Rumble-rumble. "The altitude...how high up we are." Grumble, rumble-rumble. "No, I'm not flying the plane. It's set on auto-pilot." Rumble? "It's a setting that keeps the plane flying on a projected path." Silence, then rumble? "Umm...I'm not sure. Maybe you should ask Uncle Tony."

Thor's head poked out of the cock-pit and sighted in on Tony, intent on having his questions on the inner working of auto-pilot explained by the genius. Hailey flashed Clint a thumbs up from the co-pilot seat, then returned her attention to the controls. :That's my girl.

Clint walked out of the lavatory to hear Steve sputtering at Natasha's hand. "But how?" the super soldier managed to stammer. Steve was too much of a gentleman to accuse the lady of cheating—or was otherwise smart enough to be aware of the possible consequences of that particular course of action—though he'd be hard pressed to prove it anyhow. Clint never went down that road (even when he was drunk off his arse), and he didn't even think even Stark was suicidal enough to bark up that tree. Didn't matter if she had or not; Natasha had a reputation to uphold amongst the boys at SHIELD and in the world of espionage. It was a bad idea to accuse her of cheating, even if she was guilty.

Natasha blinked innocently as she swept the winnings to her side of the table before flashing Clint his favorite, wicked grin.

He clapped Steve on the shoulder as he passed on his way up to the cockpit, "Better luck next time brother."

"I could've sworn all the kings were..." Steve sputtered, before trailing off, defeated. His sad puppy face wouldn't get very far with Natasha, which he must have realized; he pushed off to go sit with Bruce. Natasha counted her earnings, then turned on appraising eye to Tony.

:Stark won't know what hit him. Clint snorted and moved on to the front of the plane.

He slipped into the cockpit and took his seat, quickly checking the controls before turning his attention to his daughter. Clint asked, "How's it going kiddo?"

Hailey turned to him—she was pale and had beads of sweat running down her face. She'd been fine when he left. :Airsick? Clint slid to the edge of his seat and reached out, concerned. "Hey, you feelin' okay?"

She shrunk away from his hand—Clint froze—waving him off. "I'm fine…Just feeling a little nauseous."

"Need me to get you an airsick bag?" He was already reaching for a cubby behind her seat. :Poor kid.

Hailey took the bag he handed her, but it seemed she was holding her stomach for the moment. With a sigh, she rubbed her forehead and then leaned against the side window, resting her face against the cool plexiglass.

On a hunch, he asked, "It's your head, isn't it?"

There was silence from the other side of the cockpit until he heard a whispered reply. "Yeah…it just feels…funny. Comes in spells."

"What do you mean by funny? You feel dizzy?"

Hailey shrugged, but then suddenly she was up, airsick bag in hand as she raced to the lavatory. Clint sighed, checked the radar and the autopilot settings, then pushed off and made his way to check on his daughter. :What am I going to do with her if she won't tell me stuff?


(the day after the interrogations)

"How did you get to Bosnia?"

"Carefully."

"That isn't an answer Hailey."

No response. She averted her eyes, once again finding something very interesting on the bed linens. Clint raised his voice ever-so-slightly, "Hailey."

Twisting the sheets between her hands, she whispered, "You wouldn't like the answer."

"Try me."

Hailey studied him and for the briefest of moments, Clint thought she'd tell him, but she suddenly shut down on him—arms crossed in front of her chest, veiled eyes, and a stubborn jut of her chin. From the body language, she wasn't going to answer him any time soon. :How did she get there?

Clint was considering three options. One: she stowed away somehow in one of the cars, then snuck on the plane and later the quinjet. Two: she caught a cab, then stowed away on the jets. Or three: she caught a commercial flight to Bosnia and somehow found the quinjet where the Mark 5 was. Though all seemed as unlikely as the next.

:Option one is out because I saw her in the elevator when we driving out of the Tower and there's no way to have gotten in the cars once we were driving away. Three's definitely out, since she couldn't have gotten out of the country without money and a passport on a commercial flight. Clint glanced at his daughter. :Could she?

He shook off that thought, :She must've caught a cab, and then stowed away on the jet when we weren't looking. But how did she know what airport, or even what hangar we were in? I never told her.

Clint knew how insane that sounded and having to explain it all to Fury the day before had made him acutely aware of the lunacy of the situation. That somehow a girl with no training managed to sneak aboard two aircrafts—one with no nearly no storage areas to hide in—in the presence of one demi-god, three varying levels of super-humans (one of which was a SHIELD agent of extremely high clearance), a genius, and him, SHIELD and army trained sniper and spy. Without being seen. Then proceeded to piggyback their comm-link frequency, override the security in place on the Mark 5, and fly in the Iron Man suit to come to the Avengers' rescue.

Any guesses he made were shots in the dark. Even if he ever found out how she managed it, he'd still probably have a hard time believing it. Hailey's feat was in the realm of fantastic.

Clint sighed. Nothing about his life made sense anymore. Long gone were the days where he did a mission, then disappeared off the map (usually with Tasha) until SHIELD called him in again. They'd rotate safe houses—a different country every time—with no real care. Then the Avengers Initiative and New York happened. And Hailey.

He could never go back. Hailey had filled a void he hadn't known was there, but damn, did it leave him feeling like he was stranded in the narrow median of the Jersey Turnpike at rush hour. One wrong move and…

:No use dwelling on it. Gotta move on. He got up from the chair and ambled over to the bed. Hailey peered up at him, a question in her pure green eyes. Clint started, "What do you say, we take a little break from New York? Maybe a week or two? Just get away from everything. Go from there."

"Where?"

"I have a place in Alaska, in the Yukon. Nothing there but moose, bears, caribou, and wolves. But don't worry, I'll keep you saf-"

Her eyes lit up, "There's wolves? Really?"

Clint smiled—guardedly—at her enthusiasm and was a touch concerned at the succinct lack of fear when he mentioned bears and wolves. He'd have to watch her. And the wolves. Hesitantly, he replied, "Yes…there are wolves."

Hailey's response was interrupted by her Aunt Pepper wheeling her Uncle Tony into the room. Tony looked a little worse for wear; he had a bruise to rival Hailey's that sprawled across the corner of his temple and down around his left eye, dark rings under both eyes, and a bruise that seemed to cover what could be seen of the left side of his body, but at the same time, Clint didn't think he ever seen the man happier. Stark smiled at Hailey, "How's my favorite micro-superhero doing?"

She flashed him a smile. "Pretty good. My legs hurt, but Dr. Hernandez says I can go later today."

Clint noted that she was careful not to mention her head, much like earlier. :Interesting.

"Lucky you. I'm still being held hostage. Apparently I'm not even trusted to walk by myself."

She beamed at her uncle and replied with a gleam of mischief in her eyes, "We were wondering how you were doing. Hadn't heard anything from you today…thought someone might've made due on her threats from yesterday."

Tony laughed and collapsed over on himself, wheezing. :Broken ribs. Pepper leaned over Tony, her hand rubbing a small circle on his back; slowly, Tony regained control of his breathing and sat up, his face a bit pale.

Pepper eyed Hailey reproachfully. "I'm still really mad at you, but I can't be that mad, since from what I'm hearing, you saved the day. And Tony. But if you disappear like that again, without even leaving a note, I'll, I'll…"

Hailey had the sense not to snicker (like Tony) and the control not to break into a smile (like Clint); she simply looked up with unabashed eyes and waited for Pepper to finish. When Pepper couldn't find any more words, she said softly, "I'm really sorry. I should've called or left a note."

Resolve faltering, Pepper sighed and walked over to the bed to give Hailey a hug; the girl managed not to openly wince, though Clint noted the pained expression on her face at the contact. Pepper whispered something in his daughter's ear—sounded like "I was so worried"—to which Hailey responded with another hushed apology.

"Are we done with the tears now?" Tony said, a smirk fixed on his battered face.

Pepper rolled her eyes at Tony's words, but didn't comment, other than to vaguely smile, wipe away a tear, and move back to her wheelchair-bound Tony. She glanced at Clint's bandaged leg and queried, "How're you holding up?"

He smiled at her concern and shrugged his shoulders. "Ehh, decent. It's a bit sore, but it was just flesh. It'll be healed shortly."

The frown on Pepper's face indicated that she didn't consider a gunshot through the leg to be 'just a flesh wound', but she didn't get a chance to elaborate on those sentiments. Tony couldn't contain himself anymore.

"Pepper and I rented a place in the Bahamas, before this mission. We were going to get away for a little bit. But now we've got reason to celebrate, and we figured, why not invite the team? Everyone's been running around, going here and there. Everybody could use a vacation," Tony said, his face stretched in a grin under the bruises and the stitches Clint just noticed (the black thread was the same color as the bruise).

Clint and Hailey turned to look at each other simultaneously—he had to laugh at her pleading stare. :I wanted to take her up to Alaska, but I'll leave it up to Hailey and Natasha. He was also intrigued about the news Pepper and Tony had to celebrate, but he wasn't going to bite. It'd drive Tony crazy, his utter lack of curiosity.

"It's on a private island. There are more than enough rooms for everyone, and it has its own skeleton staff that maintains it. It's closest to Grand Bahama island. Not very big, but it has a fresh water lagoon and a cove that's great for snorkeling on the inland side. Plus a zip-line through the canopy of the small rainforest too."

Clint noted Hailey's piqued interest at the words 'private island' and mentally wrote off Alaska with a smile. :Another time. To Tony and Pepper he said, "That's actually kind of perfect. Hailey and I were just discussing getting out of New York for a little bit. But you're sure you don't mind us coming?"

"No, no. It's a big house. Plenty of room for everybody and then some," Pepper said, while gazing at Tony in adoration. The feeling was mutual, judging by the softening of Tony's face and the goofy smile that slipped into place. Clint averted his eyes from the intimate moment and saw that his daughter was blushing, staring at the sheets of her bed.

:I'll have to remember stuff like that embarrasses her.

They finally broke it off and Tony said, "We want the whole team to come. It'll be fun."

Clint grinned, "Well, I think that's a yes from us." Hailey nodded fervently and everyone chuckled. He added, "I'm sure Natasha would like to come, but ask her if you see her first."

"Great! Thor and Steve already agreed to come. Now that just leaves Bruce and the ninja ballerina."

He cracked a grin at that, then asked Tony, "How soon until you're ready to leave?"

Tony shrugged his shoulders and answered, "Tomorrow? Hopefully. A certain individual seems overly concerned about my brain and its functions." There was a pause where everyone in the room eyed a cross Pepper, then quickly looked away.

It was then that Dr. Hernandez's voice carried down the hall. "Mr. Stark?"

"In here," Pepper called.

The doctor peeked his head in the door, doing a cursory examination of his patients before saying, "Good to see you out of bed Mr. Stark. How's the head?"

"Feeling worse than the ribs…unless I laugh…or breathe."

"I hear that happens, when you get blasted by a dark energy gun, then hit the ground with accelerating velocity."

Tony smirked, "Actually, I think it was the couple tons of rubble, but who knows? I wasn't awake for it."

Dr. Hernandez failed at suppressing a grin. "Glad to see you've still got you humor."

"It'll take a lot more than that to shut him up," Clint muttered, just loud enough for Tony to hear. He grinned wolfishly when Stark shot him a baleful glare.


When Hailey finally vomited everything she'd eaten—it seemed for the last several days—she came out of the lavatory, drank a bottle of water, and promptly fell asleep on a bench seat next to Steve. Clint retrieved a blanket out of a stowaway compartment and laid it over her, making sure she was completely covered before returning to the cockpit, with one more backward glance for his enigma of a daughter.

He was concerned that she'd left medical care too soon, though the doctor had mentioned that she might continue to feel the effects of the concussion for months to come. But if she didn't start getting better in the next few days, he might take her back to a doctor. Tony's private island was only a fifteen minute chopper ride from Grand Bahama at any rate, so she was close to medical attention if need arose.

They would be making landfall in about three hours at the Grand Bahama International Airport in Freeport, where they would all switch over to a helicopter and fly to the island, which had its own landing pad. :Nearly there.

Clint sincerely hoped Hailey started feeling better soon; she needed this vacation and he wanted her to be able to enjoy it to its fullest. :Time will tell I guess.


"Come on Hailey, I promise, I won't let you get swept away," Clint called back to his daughter, who was standing at the water's edge. Hailey was wearing the pale lavender two-piece bathing suit she and Pepper had picked out at the airport and a worried expression on her face. From here, he could clearly see the red scar across her abdomen, her ribs and hipbones sticking out, and the massive bruises on her legs; those visuals served as reminders of how far she'd come and how far she still had to go before she was healthy. He hoped the time away from anything she'd known would help with that.

Steve (clad amusingly in red, white, and blue swim trunks) chimed in from beside him, "Come on, the water's great. Don't be afraid."

Clint reached his hand out to her, though she was too far to reach it, and motioned her on. Hailey wrapped her arms insecurely around her middle, but sidled right up to where the waves ended on the beach. She waited until the tide pulled out, then she skittered forward, and with forced bravado, jumped the incoming wave and landed in about a foot and a half deep of water, with another good-sized wave on its way.

In the next moment, she uttered a bone-chilling scream—clutching her head—and collapsed, disappearing completely from sight as the next wave washed over her.