Avengers - Part 3 - From Time to Time

by theicemenace

Clint comes back in contact with a woman from his past. But that past brings more trouble with it as they try to figure out what they are to each other. Will history repeat itself leaving them both alone and wary of possible relationships? What price is Clint willing to pay to get back the woman he loves?

11. Chapter 11

Avengers

From Time to Time

Chapter 11

Two Days Later

"Agent Barton to the bridge."

"On my way." Clint set off at a jog, and as he entered, Hill gestured him to her station. "What's up?"

Hill tapped the screen bringing up the message. "We received this just a few moments ago. It's a BOLO to all law enforcement agencies. The alert stated that Special Agent Trevor Alston had gone missing after his last check-in two days ago. In that message, he mentioned someone by the name of Dewey Gaynor. His next check-in was to be four hours later, but never came. And because he mentioned your alias, we thought you'd want to be involved in the search."

"He's an old college buddy. The FBI is running a parallel op on the Consortium. We ran into each other in Satisfaction." Something in his tone must have given him away, or Hill just knew him better than he thought because her eyes narrowed.

"What aren't you saying?"

He'd left the part about the bar fight out of his report. How could he tell her about it now? It had to be done though because she was a terrier. "We got into a bar fight with a bunch of rednecks." At her knowing glare, he added, "They started it."

Hill's fingers made quotes in the air. "They always do. So you were seen together."

"For a few minutes, and that was just to get out before the cops came. We did a little catching up then parted company and didn't speak again."

Clint shrugged sheepishly as Hill leaned forward to whisper, "You always leave out the best parts."

With a deadpan expression, Clint said, "Then what would I have to share on poker night?"

"You haven't played in months."

"I was ordered not to by you."

Hill huffed at him, but the glint her eye said she wasn't really upset. "That's because you always win. Wanted to give someone else a chance for a while, but we kinda miss you're ass so how about next Saturday? My quarters."

"Can't. Already have plans. Yes, with Naomi." Clint waved a hand in the air, one side of his mouth turned upward. "And sorry you lost the pool."

The senior agent shrugged as he followed her to one of the vacant stations. "Easy come, easy go. This is all we have on Alston and his op. He'd been to Satisfaction every few weeks working up his cover."

"So he was made. Send it to me and I'll take care of it."

"What if they've made you too? This is the same group who…"

Clint cut Hill of with a sharp gesture. "I know who they are. Tell the Director…"

"Tell the director what, Agent Barton?" The director was standing in the doorway of his private office, that one eye glaring as always.

For the last few days, Clint hadn't had any reason to speak to Fury and that worked out fine for the both of them. "The FBI's lost an agent working the same op as SHIELD on the Consortium. He's a friend of mine. I'm going after him."

Without changing his expression, Fury said, "You'll be going solo, I presume."

"Yes, sir. Leaving as soon as I've read Alston's reports." With a nod, Clint left the bridge, Fury watching him in that way he had that made all the junior and many senior agents squirm.

On the way to his room, he thought about dinner with Naomi the other night. They'd gone to a small out of the way Italian place owned by a husband and wife who'd emigrated from Italy in the early eighties. They'd laughed with the older couple, Clint taking the opportunity to use his Italian with a native to keep his skills sharp. It had been a fun evening with lively conversation as they talked over a few old times plus some of the new ones. He and Naomi hadn't held hands though they did kiss good night. Just a sweet kiss with no expectations or demands. He'd gone back to his room and she to hers.

With so much to take in before heading back to Montana, he didn't have much time to spare. He hoped she wouldn't feel insulted by a short email to let her know he would be gone for a few days and she'd make her next trip to the community center without him. Trying not to think about the last time, he hoped a few days was all it would be.

In his room, Clint booted up his computer then went into the bathroom to gather the personal items he needed for the trip. He examined his face in the mirror, running his fingers though the beard he hadn't bothered to shave. It wasn't a good look for him, but it did change him enough that anyone who hadn't seen him in a while might not recognize him. Anyone still with the Consortium after all this time most likely wouldn't either.

Pulling his computer over, he began reading Alston's reports, committing them to memory. Hours later, he finished packing and boarded a quinjet for a ride to his previous rendezvous point where he would pick up the same truck he'd used last time.

Within six hours, he rolled into Satisfaction and checked in at the Independence Hotel. The desk clerk remembered him and asked if he wanted the same room. Since it didn't matter, he took a different room then hummed off key as he swept for bugs. It was clean for the moment. He was hungry after the drive so he'd check again when he returned from the diner.

Taking a table where he could watch the door, he ordered the meatloaf special with decaf and a slice of cherry pie. And though he seemed to be indifferent to his surroundings, he kept a close watch on who came and went. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner and no one seemed to have any special interest in him aside from that usually shown to a stranger in town.

~~O~~

It was lunch time at the community center. Those with kids returned home or to the shelter leaving Naomi, Manuel and "the monkeys" on-site. Naomi was tempted to lock herself in the equipment room and take a nap instead of eating, but Clint was adamant that she needed to refuel. She finished her roast beef and cheddar on rye then ate the potato salad washing it all down with a bottle of electrolyte enriched drink. It tasted horrid, but it would help replace what she'd lost during her exertions.

She still had some time before work would resume so she excused herself and went to take a nap knowing the guys would look out for her safety. Whenever she came to the site without Clint, Manuel and his team would sleep in the auditorium for her protection. No one ever messed with her while they were around.

A sound jerked her awake though she wasn't certain if she'd heard it or it was her imagination. Just about to doze off again, she jumped when the door was kicked in and three masked men came in. Two of them held her down, she felt a prick on the side of her neck and the world went black.

~~O~~

"You're sure it was him?" Dietrich sat in his chair, fingers laced together in front of him, forehead resting on the overlapping thumbs as he awaited a response.

"I've been over the photos and videos a thousand times. He's a lot older and has a beard, but it's him."

While he digested that information, Dietrich contemplated his assistant. The younger man was different than Dietrich's last second-in-command. William had been a sniveling obsequious sycophant who had constantly agreed with everything his leader said no matter how outrageous. And one could only take so much of that before one snapped, which is what had happened just a few weeks ago. When Dietrich couldn't take it anymore, he'd pulled his weapon and shot the man.

Two of the guards outside the office had coming running in, weapons drawn. But the third strolled in behind them, took one look at the body and just shook his head while the first two stared with horrified fascination. Dietrich knew they were picturing themselves in the same predicament. But it had been the third that he'd spoken to. "What's your name?"

"Jacob." Dietrich liked that the other man hadn't added "sir" on the end.

"Well, Jacob, it seems that a position in upper management has just opened up. It's yours."

To give the young man credit, he did make a good show of thinking it over while giving nothing away in expression. No matter the situation, Jacob looked and sounded bored. "Okay." Immediately taking to his new position, Jacob gestured for the others to take away the body of his predecessor.

Coming around the desk, Dietrich stood in front of the wall mounted monitor displaying numerous photos of a man at various ages, most recently standing up to an alien invasion in New York City. "Tell me why a master assassin, spy and the lone survivor of an encounter with this organization would come back."

"With the change in management, he mostly likely believes there's no one still here who remembers him. Want him brought in?"

Dietrich tapped a finger against his chin thinking it over. "Not just yet, but I do think he needs a distraction. Send Bailey. Tell her to go by the name Frankie. Their meeting should seem accidental then have her seduce him to find out what he knows."

"Of course." Jacob didn't take his leave or even wait to be dismissed. He just left and as long as he showed respect in front of the staff, Dietrich didn't care.

Alone in his office now, Dietrich opened the wall safe and accessed the hidden compartment in the back, taking out a pre-filled auto injector. Superficially, it resembled an Epi-Pen, but it didn't contain epinephrine. What it contained wasn't available on the market, retail or black. The medication he was forced to take once a week kept him physically and mentally fit.

Eleven years ago almost to the day, he'd been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer that resisted all of the conventional and most of the unconventional courses of treatment. When he'd found out that the government was doing extensive research into his condition and were looking for test subjects, he volunteered. It had been a blessing and a curse.

Without the drug, very similar to the one that had made Nick Fury what he was today, he'd have died within six months. With it, he could go on for years. A few months later, the knowledge that his lifespan could be cut short within a week of halting the drug had made him reassess his life and priorities. It made him take risks he'd never dared before, and when his former partner had called him on it, he resigned and had taken his talents in another direction. One that paid better.

And now, here he was. The Man. The Big Kahuna. The Top Dog. The Head Honcho. His staff could call it whatever they wanted, as long as when he said "jump" they asked "how high?"

~~O~~

In a corner of the bar, Clint sipped his beer while he played a game of pool with another patron. Luckily no one recognized him from the bar fight. He would've sent money anonymously to help pay for the damages, but the other guys had started it so he didn't feel obligated. At least they weren't around tonight to pick up where they left off.

The pool game was friendly for the most part. The guy who challenged him had obviously thought he was the best the town had to offer. He swaggered and strutted around leering at the women and joking with the guys. Though he could've taught the fellow a lesson, Clint held back to increase his opponent's confidence then sank the last three balls one right after the other with the eight ball dropping into the left corner pocket just behind the two.

Clint turned down a rematch, paid his tab and shoved his arms into his jacket. Not looking where he was going as he adjusted the collar, he ran into a young woman causing her to drop her drink. He apologized and offered to buy her another, but she turned him down. Ignoring her protests, he walked with her to the bar and put her in a seat. "Bartender, another one for the lady please."

"Diet Coke comin' right up." The man behind the bar was soon back with a tall glass, a paper umbrella stuck in it along with a plastic sword holding two cherries.

Standing beside her, Clint got an odd feeling. It was as if she were purposely avoiding looking at him as a show of indifference. She'd smiled, but in a way that set his teeth on edge. In fact, everything about her had all of his senses on alert, and not in a good way. The young woman was pretty enough though not what he would call beautiful, average height, light brown hair, green eyes, slim to the point of being skinny.

Women didn't fall all over him when he was out and about, but this level of disinterest was deliberate. She wanted him to pursue her, and that made him want to know why. "Sorry I'm such a klutz."

"At least it spilled on the floor and not my clothes." She was wearing blue jeans that fit just right. Not too tight and not too loose. Her shirt was a color of green that brought out the blond streaks in her hair that was pulled back on the sides and secured with clips making her appear younger than his original estimate of early thirties.

Belatedly, he stuck out his hand. "I'm Dewey, by the way. Been passin' through town on my way to and from Blackfoot for business."

"Nice to meet you, Dewey." Now her smiled seemed genuine and that put him even more on edge. "My name's Frankie."

While Frankie sipped her drink, Clint lifted her keys, excused himself then slipped out to search her car, the only Prius in the parking lot. There he found several handguns. He checked the serial numbers and wasn't surprised to find that she didn't have permits being as they were part of a gun shipment that had been hijacked over ten years previously in Georgia.

He came back inside and returned her keys without her being any the wiser. They moved to a table and ordered a pitcher of beer. Thirty minutes later, Frankie was giggling as he did his best to entertain her with a story he made up on the spot. "…so after losing tha bet, I'm standin' there on the side o' the road with my college pals wearin' this gold sequined evening gown, four-inch heels and this crazy wig when a pair of cops screech to a stop in front of us. They asked what was goin' on. I thrust my hip out to the side, waved my arms in the air, and in my best James Earl Jones, sing 'I enjoy bein' a girl!'" And with that, the tenuous hold Frankie had on her laughter failed and she literally almost fell out of her chair. Clint reached out to catch her, and getting himself under control, passed her a napkin to wipe her eyes. "To this day, the guys won't let me live it down."

"Oh Dewey, you're a riot." Frankie checked the time, finished off her beer and pushed away from the table. "Sorry to cut this short, but it's time for me get home."

Clint helped her into her jacket then hooked her purse over her shoulder. "Give you a ride?"

"Got my car. Thanks though."

Taking her hand, he smiled, letting his voice drop down into a sexy growl. "I meant to my hotel."

Her slight intake of breath told him she was surprised at the offer, but her body language gave her away. All while they were talking, Clint had been using interrogation tricks to gauge her normal way of speaking. She'd told the truth that Satisfaction was her home town, that her only living relative was a great aunt living in a retirement home in Billings, and that she was thirty-two. However, she'd been lying about her name, and where she lived.

Her slow, slightly shy smile was enough of an answer. He laced their fingers together and drew her after him out to the parking lot. The ride to his hotel was quiet until they got into the elevator, then she was all over him. On his floor, he opened his door and they nearly fell inside, their lips locked in battle. He pushed her jacket off and onto the floor taking her purse with it. All of which were deliberate moves on his part. In the elevator, his hands had roamed over her body touching as much of her as possible. That and the weight of her purse told him she was unarmed.

Clint's jacket fell to the floor and very shortly, his shirt joined it to be followed by Frankie's shirt and jeans confirming that there were no hidden knives or other weapons. Arms around her, he urged her onto the bed with him kneeling over her. Frankie's nimble fingers unbuckled his belt, but before she could continue, he took hold of her hand. "I'll be right back."

"Where you goin'?" Her obvious arousal made her breathless.

He gave her one last kiss before moving to the foot of the bed. With an awkward smile, he nodded at the bathroom door. "I'm just gonna…"

She nodded understanding then lay back with her head on the pillow. "Hurry back."

In the bathroom, he opened the cabinet under the sink, his left hand feeling for the Glock he'd hidden there earlier and shoving into the back of his pants. From the false bottom of his bow case he took out a ring and a pair of handcuffs. The ring went onto his right hand and the cuffs into his left back pocket.

Returning to the bedroom, Clint took just a moment to appreciate how Frankie looked in her matching bikini panties and bra. He was a guy, after all, and she was somewhat attractive. But other than her obvious charms, which were few as far as he was concerned, she had only one thing he wanted. With a smile that told her he would be making all her dreams come true, he crawled onto the bed, holding her hands above her head and kissing her. His legs trapped hers so she could barely move. He curled her fingers around the edge of the headboard as he reached into his back pocket.

She jerked her mouth from his when he snapped the cuffs around her right wrist and the bedpost. He jumped back off the bed when she tried to kick him. "I am not into any kinky stuff, Dewey. Turn me loose!"

"Sorry, sweetheart. No can do." The Glock came out as his entire attitude changed. The smile was replaced by determination.

Her struggles stopped and in a sing-song voice, she asked, "What's goin' on, baby?"

Clint ignored her for the moment as he used his phone to take her photo. Within seconds, he knew everything about her. Dragging the desk chair over, he straddled it, his arms resting on the back. "I'll ask the questions. Let's start with your real name."

"I told you. My name is…"

Keeping the Glock trained on her with his left hand, Clint used his right to scroll the information displayed on the screen. "Bailey Sharon Layfield, thirty-two, divorced, no siblings. Oh, look at this. You were a very bad girl in high school. Shoplifting, vandalism, driving without a license, criminal trespass, criminal mischief, disorderly conduct, underage drinking, misdemeanor drug possession. Looks like you cleaned yourself up in time to graduate from Rocky Mountain University with a degree in business and marketing. Unfortunately, it didn't keep your parent's business from going under after they died in a house fire. You worked as a cashier at a Wal-Mart in Kalispell until 2009 when you suddenly stopped reporting earnings to the IRS, yet somehow you could afford a brand new Prius, and you have over sixty thousand dollars in a high yield offshore account. How'm I doin' so far, baby?"

Her green eyes shot daggers at him. "You a cop or somethin'?"

"Or something, but you knew that or you wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of arranging a meet."

"You ran into me, not the other way around."

Clint went to the minibar and took out a bottle of root beer, twisted off the top and took a swig. "Want one? No? We're gonna have a little chat and you're gonna tell me everything I wanna know."

Her laugh was nothing like the ones they'd shared in the bar. This one was harsh and bitter. "And…?"

"And then you'll go to prison." Going to his duffle bag, Clint took out his ID, holding it up so she could see it. "Special Agent Clint Barton, SHIELD. Bailey Sharon Layfield, you are under arrest for treason, illegal possession of firearms, possession of stolen property, money laundering, engaging in domestic terrorist activities, tax evasion. I could go on, but you get the idea. You'll be going away for a very long time. Now you can take the fall alone or take the others down with you. Your choice."

Bailey lifted her chin stubbornly, her eyes never leaving his as she digested what everything he'd said. The gold ring flashed when the light hit it. "And what's your wife gonna say when I tell her what you and I were doin' here tonight?"

"No wife, fiancée, girlfriend or friend with bennie so talk away. And to anticipate your next attempt at blackmail, my superiors believe that the end justifies the means. Being a part of the Consortium, you should be familiar with that concept." He waited while she thought it over.

"I'm not telling you anything."

Clint got up and sat on the side of the bed, leaning over her, twirling a lock of her hair. She batted his hand away. "I could add propositioning a member of law enforcement to the charges. Granted, it's not as big a penalty in comparison to the charges of domestic terrorism." He moved back to the chair

"You can't prove that!"

He drank down the last of the root beer and shrugged one shoulder. "Don't have to. I already know you work for the Consortium. That's enough to create the suspicion of domestic terrorism. I'm sure Homeland Security will be happy to take over."

Her eyes dropped to her lap, her free hand pulling the covers up to her chest. "What do you wanna know?"

"Access codes, number of guards and their schedules, staffing and the layout of the base, specifically where the cells and interrogation rooms are located, the names of all prisoners. Oh, and the name of the person in charge."

Setting his phone to record, he just let her talk until he was satisfied with her answers then shut it off and shoved it into his back pocket. He went into the bathroom for his bow case, setting it on the dresser next to his Glock before going back to the bed. "Sorry to have to do this, but I can't risk you sending up a flare."

Bailey glared daggers at him, her chin coming up in one last show of rebelliousness. "Hit me and I'll sue you for assault."

"I'd never hit a lady. But then you're not a lady, are you?" Before she could respond, Clint flicked a small button on the side of the ring and a short needle popped out. He touched it to the side of her neck and within seconds she was asleep. Gathering up his bow case and weapon, he took the "do not disturb" sign from the inside doorknob and hung it on the outside then quietly closed the door before going to the truck and taking the main road out of town.

~~O~~

"Director Fury to the bridge!"

Fury rolled out of bed at Kripke's call, shoved his feet into his boots and slipped the comm over his ear. "On my way." As he hit the door, he put on the eye patch to cover the scar where his eye used to be. He broke into a jog slowing down when he reached the bridge. "Go."

"We received a call on a secure line, but it wasn't one of our agents."

"Who is it?"

The agent consulted the monitor in front of him. "Says his name's Manuel Salsado and he's a friend of Agent Barton's." Kripke stared over Fury's shoulder awaiting his next order.

"What did he have to say?"

"Three armed and masked men have taken Dr. Marks. They left a note stating they were from the Consortium and if we wanted to see her alive, we'd send Agent Barton to their location immediately. Transmitting the particulars now and I've already sent a sweeper team to the community center to run interference."

Fury stood at his station taking in the information moving across the screens faster than most would be able to see with two good eyes. His right hand shot out to halt the flow on the first screen. "Agent Kripke, get me a co-pilot and Tony Stark on the line." He paused a moment. "Inform Agent Barton of the situation."

"Done, sir." Within a few moments, Kripke pointed to let Fury know he was on with Stark.

"What the hell do you want, Nick?"

The director wasn't upset by the billionaire's tone because it was expected. "We're putting together a strike team and need Iron Man's help."

Stark snorted. "Why would you call me about a strike team?"

"The Consortium has taken my daughter hostage and we're going after her."

For once, Stark was speechless, but it was a momentary aberration. "Where?"

Fury nodded to Kripke. "We're sending you everything we have on the Consortium. Their current location is Satisfaction, Montana."

In the background Fury heard the startup sequence for the Mark X Iron Man suit. "I'll be ready."

"We'll pick you up in thirty."

"We?"

Turning from the screen, Fury strode quickly from the bridge while Kripke made the arrangements for transportation. "The team will be led by me and Agent Hill will be joining us."

Out on deck, Fury strode to the first quinjet and dropped into the pilot's seat. Before he completed the preflight checklist, the co-pilot's seat was taken by Agent Hill. He didn't say a word as he rushed through the start-up sequence while she buckled in. "Flight, Delta five three ready for takeoff."

"Roger, Delta five three. You are go for takeoff."

Fury had only been in the air a few minutes when Kripke contacted him. "Say that again."

"I've attempted contact with Agent Barton both by phone and pinging his comm unit. There's no response."

"Acknowledged. Keep trying."

~~O~~

Stark headed for the helipad. "Stark to Banner. Suit up and meet me on the roof. We got a couple of live ones." Hopefully. He didn't wait for a response, tapping the control unit on his left wrist. Inside the tower, the Mark X Iron Man suit powered up, shot out through its launch tube and hovered over the helipad. The quinjet piloted by Fury arrived within moments, Stark, Banner and the Mark X boarded and they were off. "Romanoff is on location with her work detail. We'll have to swing by and pick her up. Couldn't get ahold of Cap."

The quinjet lifted off again and Hill spoke over her shoulder. "Hold onto your butts."

Stark and Banner strapped themselves in just as Fury brought the quinjet up to maximum speed. Within minutes, they could see Natasha standing on the roof of the tallest building in the area. Once she was on board, Fury turned in the direction of Montana and nudged the thrusters up to maximum.

TBC