Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!
Special note... The updates will probably slow down for the next few chapters as I work on catching up with the storyline, so please don't get mad!
Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.
The SHIELD teams made their way to the Quinjets after receiving word about the imminent implosion. Strike Team Mike regrouped, with Chavez and Stark entering the rear compartment last. Hawkeye and the scientists had already been secured, and the jet lifted off with a course set for the Helicarrier.
Selvig had borrowed a phone from Sitwell, and was smiling. Tony assumed he was checking in with his protégé, Dr. Foster. He spoke quietly, holding the phone away from his ear at times due to the young woman's frantic voice.
Tony slid down to sit next to the cot that held Barton, who was semi-conscious. Chavez had taken charge of doing another stabilization exam, holding a penlight and looking into the older man's eyes. Sitwell, who held onto a handle fastened to the overhead near the ramp door, began questioning him about the extraction details in order to prepare to debrief Fury.
"So," Tony began, scooting himself closer to his teammate after Chavez had moved to take a seat nearby. "Where did you get your minions? I want some. Preferably, your minions."
"Not mine," Barton slurred. "Can't have 'em. 'Sides, you got Happy."
"Happy is on vacation. Seriously, Barton. I want your minions."
"Can't have 'em," the agent repeated, groaning as the jet hit a small wave of turbulence. "Oh shit."
"Alright, I'll take half of them, you keep the rest. We'll split them. Fifty-fifty!"
"Take it up with Asgard, bastard. Now go away before I puke on you."
Like any sane person with an aversion to vomit, Tony took that moment to move away, letting the agent rest. He took a seat next to Chavez, setting his damaged suitcase behind his feet and buckling himself in. Looking at the medic, he decided to strike up another conversation.
"So," the engineer said cheerily after Sitwell had moved over to look at Reagan's cache of drives. "I believe his words were 'Stark's shitty little box' or something like that? I think there's a story there."
Chavez shrugged, packing his tools back into his bag. "I'd rather not, sir."
"If there's some feedback that could help improve my designs, I'm all for it," Tony challenged. He despised criticism when it came to his inventions; too much criticism led people to go to Justin Hammer, and that was unacceptable.
"Leave it, Stark. I'll tell ya later," Barton mumbled. Chavez gave him a grateful look.
Tony decided to leave the matter alone for now, having been promised an explanation later. He looked over to Sitwell. "Where's Agent Coulson and Agent Romanoff? I would have thought they'd be all over this rescue."
"Agent Romanoff is currently watching over Dr. Foster. The doctor has been receiving death threats for the last two weeks, so Dr. Selvig asked Director Fury for a favor," Sitwell replied with a smile. "She was a little upset at being left out and took it out on some muggers from what I hear."
"And Zurich is usually so nice this time of year," Tony quipped, rolling his eyes.
The suited agent smiled. "As for Agent Coulson, he's taking care of the investigation on Tuller. We thought it was Dr. Kopersky, considering his rather unusual fascination for certain projects, but after the analysts did a little more digging, we found out about Tuller's connection to HYDRA. Director Fury has ordered a full inquiry."
"Well," the engineer shrugged, closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat, "let me know if you need some help with that. I'm pretty good at digging around in your database, and these guys just put themselves on my shit list."
Reagan's voice piped up from where he sat, digging through the satchel of purloined equipment. "Geez, Alonzo. You just told them to get the drives, I bet?"
"Right," Chavez said, looking up from his seat. The tech was digging through the bag, pulling out several devices and tossing them on the deck. "What's wrong with the drives? It looks like he got all of 'em."
Reagan snorted, raising his eyebrow at his team leader. "Really? You couldn't have been more specific? You know how those two are. They brought all the drives."
The tech rummaged through the bag and held up a small, rectangular component. "All the drives- including the damn optical and floppy drives. They don't even hold data!"
SHIELD Helicarrier…
"I believe you owe me a story, daddie-o," Stark said, propping his feet up on a chair in a small armory workshop. He had stayed to keep his teammate company after being checked out by Medical, waiting for a lift home. The strike team was busy in a debriefing with Director Fury, and the other agents he was comfortable with were busy cleaning house after Tuller's infiltration.
Clint groaned, his face pale as he suffered through the next bout of nausea. He hated Ketamine. Dr. Osterhouse had cleared him without hesitation, stating he had a new intern again and didn't want the poor bugger scared away for another two months. His doctor also understood his need for peace and quiet after his little tantrum in Tuller's base. "Seriously, Stark? You're pushing this on me now?"
The price for his release from Medical had been a promise to stop by the Psych department within two days as well as an order that he wasn't to be left alone for the first 48 hours until the chemicals had cleared his system. Clint had always had a bad reaction to certain sedatives, and Ketamine usually left him either puking, loopy, or both. Tuller had to have known, and used the paralytic drug to try to ensure he was in no shape to get away.
"Do I look like I've got anything better to do with my time? Hand me that hex wrench, will you?" Stark held a hand out, nodding towards a small, star-headed tool. "Thanks. Since we're here for an undecided amount of time, I may as well get working on this. Jarvis, full diagnostic please."
"Commencing scan, sir. Approximate wait time is seventy-three minutes."
Clint shook his head with a smile. He had had worse company, he supposed; he and Stark got along well enough, though it had taken a while for everyone to realize that their witty and sometimes vicious insults to one another was just their way of bantering.
The first thing Stark had done when they had arrived was to demand his backup phone from the Iron Man compartment on the carrier. He had quickly updated the device and reconnected to his AI, who was understandably frantic. Stark then asked for a secure compartment to take a look at the damage done to his suitcase. The engineer didn't seem to trust the Iron Man compartment to not be bugged, for some reason. It was also possible that he just didn't want to deal with gawkers from the Helicarrier crew as the chamber had little by way of solid walls.
"C'mon, Jay- you can do better than that!" Stark scolded his AI. "You can cut out the paint integrity scan. I just need to know the equipment status, not whether or not it'll be presentable at the next Expo!"
"Very well, sir. Approximate wait time for scan completion is now fifty-five minutes," Jarvis's tinny voice replied.
"Now we have time," Stark said with a smile. "So, you called something of mine a shitty little box? It seemed to have some effect when I asked that Chavez fellow."
"Christ, you're stubborn," Clint complained, turning to his teammate. The man wasn't going to let up, though to be fair, he did sort of have a part in the story. He sighed, picking up a small screwdriver to begin aligning the compound bow laying in front of him. "Let's just say you and that kid both have more in common than you think."
"Does this have anything to do with Afghanistan? He mentioned that's where you two met, back when you were making a rather impressive display of berserk rage."
"About four, maybe five years ago I got a phone call from Fury. Some old war buddy of his had a squad of Force Recon Marines disappear in the hills of Afghanistan. Most of the military resources there were either dodging insurgents or out looking for you, so they didn't have a lot of time to spend on a search party," the agent explained, wincing as he pinched his finger in a cam. "The colonel didn't want to give up on finding them, much like your friend Colonel Rhodes."
He set the bow aside, reaching for a box full of standard arrowheads and a bundle of arrow shafts from a locker behind him. Stark was paying rapt attention to his actions, turning back to his damaged suit every so often and prying at the release to try to get to the control panel.
Clint began examining target tips and fletchings as he continued. "Your 'shitty little box' was some kind of scanner that the Intelligence was field testing. Do you remember anything about it?"
Tony sat back and tapped a screwdriver lightly against his bottom lip, deep in thought. "Backpack unit, about twenty pounds? Encrypted control panel?"
The archer's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. That's the one."
"Son of a bitch," Stark cursed, tossing the tool down on the workbench. "Tom Delaney. I think I know the incident you're talking about now. That idiot cost me several contacts overseas on multiple occasions. We finally found out he had been embezzling funds from the contract accounts; he's occupying a jail cell at the moment. That scanner prototype wasn't even supposed to be out in the field."
"That might be a little comfort to Chavez. His squad protected that damn box of yours and got captured for it. They didn't give up the access codes, though."
Stark nodded, his head hanging down. "Fury sent you in after them? I see you were successful."
"Yeah," Clint confirmed with a nod. "You could say that. Half the squad was dead, the other half in a cave, and all because some Intel puke decided to do some moonlighting for the wrong people. Chavez got into it with your guy Delaney and some officer with connections. It didn't go so well for the kid."
"That's no reason to lose your temper," Stark commented stiffly. "Did you see what he did to Delaney? Not that I have much sympathy- the guy deserved it. Still, it was not a situation that ended well for anyone."
The archer leaned back, sighing. He turned to look at Tony again. "He got screwed and you know it. Chavez had a good career ahead of him: recommendations for officer candidacy, halfway to a degree, had the respect of the men… all of that down the tubes because of a piece of your equipment and a bureaucratic asshole. You might want to keep that in mind when you poke the proverbial stick at 'im."
"Point taken. So, let's change this rather awkward subject, shall we? What is this place, anyway? It looks like an armory, but it doesn't seem to have a lot of actual firearm material here," Tony commented, looking around the room again. "A typical armory also doesn't have a Level Five reinforced hazmat locker, either."
"That's because it's mine," Clint replied with a shrug. "I don't let R and D touch my weapons. It's more of a workshop than an armory, though. I just don't use it a whole lot these days, ever since I moved into the Tower."
The workshop was more of a large closet, with a workbench, three equipment lockers, and the heavy steel hazmat locker. An oscilloscope sat on an upper shelf of the bench, along with a spectrometer, Marconi multimeter, and several other pieces of electronic test equipment. An RF soldering gun was attached to the tabletop, as well as a strong set of clamps.
Test cables hung neatly on the rack next to Stark, and a large tool organizer sat against the wall, full of various precision tools and very small electronic components. Each was neatly stacked, sorted and labeled. It was possibly one of the most organized and tidy shops he had been in besides Bruce's lab back at the tower.
Stark sniffed slightly. "It's very… neat, I'll give you that. I can hardly smell the WD-40. So, let me get this straight: you've got a perfectly good, if small workshop to make your bits of pointy doom, and yet you don't use it. I'll be damned- you're constructing explosives on your coffee table, or something like it in your apartment now, aren't you? And you're not even bothering to invite me?"
"Kitchen counter, actually," Clint mumbled, ignoring Stark's bewildered look. "It's not a big deal, Stark."
The engineer frowned, giving him a look of disbelief. "Not a big deal… You do know that I gave Bruce his own lab, Natasha has a firing range and obstacle course, and Steve has a rather impressive gym to play with. You haven't asked me for anything but a patio balcony large enough to hold a container garden, and here I find out that you need a fully loaded ballistics workshop that Uncle Tony would be thrilled to provide? Good lord, man- you should have just said something!"
Clint shrank back in his seat slightly, refusing to look at Stark. "You've already given me a home and a safe place to stay, Stark. I couldn't ask for anything more from you."
"It's not about asking for more from me," Tony admonished quietly. "Barton… Clint, you're my teammate and I'd like to say my friend, provided you don't kill me in my sleep for it. It's about sharing what I have with the people most important to me, and making sure that you all have the tools you need to keep yourselves and me safe. You can't do the job right unless you have all the tools to work with, Legolas!"
The engineer reached for a test lead, setting up the Marconi meter and connecting the test lead to a port on the suit's control panel. "You and I are going to have a serious talk when we get home."
"You sound like my wife," Clint muttered softly, rolling his eyes.
Tony's ears perked up. "What was that?"
The archer just shook his head. "Hand me the torque five screwdriver, will you?"
Stark gaped, finally putting the pieces together after remembering what Selvig had said about Hawkeye during their imprisonment. He turned to face Clint again, his eyes wide. "You crazy little sneak. You're a damn engineer on top of the whole killer agent thing, aren't you!"
"Sounds like you caught me," Clint admitted with a dramatic sigh.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"You didn't ask."
Clint actually looked shy as his friend sputtered at him like a cat that had been dunked in the bathtub. He finally waited for Tony to make a coherent sentence. His teammate seemed to be more angry at himself for not figuring it out earlier. Stark finally calmed himself.
"So, self-trained, or do you have a degree?"
Clint sighed; it was too late to try to dodge it. "Physics Engineering with a Ballistics specialty."
Tony blinked. "This… is going to be awesome. I mean, Bruce is great to talk to since he understands things on my level, but you… you know the fun stuff! "
"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" the archer asked nervously.
"What, afraid it's going to ruin your image?"
"Yes. No- hell, I've got the tech department bugging me enough about the arrows I've designed over the years, and it's gotten worse since I made those new ones in the Tomb."
Stark nodded. "You did those? I've studied the notes from your research department. They looked much more advanced than your earlier designs. That USB arrow, by the way, very nice work. A bit more specialized, but it's unique enough to go into my 'cool stuff' collection. Who gave you the design?"
"Nobody," Clint replied hesitantly. He glanced out the small window to check to see if anyone was peeking in. "Look- this doesn't leave here. Understand?"
Tony nodded again.
"The Tesseract… it taught me things. Secrets. It taught Selvig how to build that portal, but for me… it took what I knew, taught me more that I didn't know, and made it just… I don't know. Make more sense? I mean, there were things I touched on back in college or from reading those 'For Dummies' books, but I wouldn't have used them or even remembered them until the Tesseract showed me how. The doc was right; it wasn't just knowledge- it's truth."
The inventor gave Hawkeye a sad look as the archer hung his head and continued. "It knew that I needed the tools; that I was a killer, and a damn good one. Then, it made me better."
Fury watched the recording salvaged from the HYDRA database drives in the comfort of his office, not happy with what he had seen so far.
He watched as Barton bucked in the chair once Tuller pressed the tip of Loki's scepter to his chest. The video flickered shortly, but stabilized again. The process repeated multiple times for several hours as Tuller tried to re-apply the mental control over his agent.
Each time the scepter was applied, Barton's eyes seemed to blacken as they had before. A bright, marbled blue filled the irises for a second, but flared violet before the agent slipped into unconsciousness. It was unnatural, creepy, and altogether different than when Loki had used the scepter.
The one-eyed soldier wasn't sure whether the new eye colors were a sign that the experiment was working, failing, or if it was a sign that Barton had resisted. He hoped it was the last option.
"What do you want us to do with the information, sir?" Chavez's quiet voice asked. Fury had almost forgotten the young man was there.
Fury leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands. "Who have you shown it to?"
"Agent Sitwell, sir. He hasn't seen the entire thing, though. Just clips. Reagan too, since he's the one that decrypted the drives," the agent reported. "Other than that, nobody. We were advised it was for your eyes only.
"Good," the Director said with a nod. He wasn't sure if Hill was a wise choice to bring in on the newest chapter of the Tesseract drama. Maria Hill was a damn good agent, but there were times when her tendency to stick to the rules without question became a liability. The fact that she had gone behind his back and ratted out Barton to the Council was another factor. She hadn't done anything like that since, but the damage was already done; her lack of faith in Fury still stung. "Destroy it."
"Sir?"
"Do I need to repeat myself, agent? Destroy it. All of it," he repeated, ejecting the disk and handing it back to the team leader. "Keep an eye on Barton, and report any concerns directly to me. If their experiments have had any effect on him, we need to know right away."
Chavez nodded before speaking again. "What about the Council's orders?"
"Son," Fury replied, "do you honestly think I plan on putting any sort of mind control technology in the hands of the people who tried to nuke Manhattan? Do you think I'm stupid?"
The younger agent shook his head, coming to attention. "No sir, I don't."
"Good. Now, what happened to the scepter? The video feed cuts off shortly before your team arrived."
"Horrible accident, sir. It sort of… shattered."
"Shattered," Fury repeated. "So what do you suppose we say to the Asgardians?"
Chavez looked his leader in the eyes, holding a stern expression. "It's like my Mama always told me: if you leave your toys laying around, they tend to get broken."
"I'll take that under advisement the next time Thor comes by for a visit," the Director said, a wry grin on his face. He paused, remembering something.
"One last thing, Chavez." Picking up the large box laden with odd bits of rope, netting, and random pieces of equipment, he shoved it at the Minion leader's chest. Fury gave him a warm smile, enjoying the look of confusion on Chavez's face. "I believe these belong to you?"