Code Of Conduct

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Avengers. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Part One: Living With Ghosts

"Life is about choices. Some we regret, some we're proud of. Some will haunt us forever." - Graham Brown.

Chapter Thirteen: Advice

In her own time, Gwen researched. The SHIELD database was a wealth of knowledge, and it didn't take her particularly long to find what she sought. The depth of depravity Cross Incorporations hid beneath a vernier of humanitarianism and positive press was loathsome, the CEO, William Cross senior, more so.

Worse, however, was what she uncovered with regards to William Cross Junior.

He'd been raised by his disillusioned mother, Meredith Jones, in Colwyn Bay, where he'd spent his childhood involved in petty crimes - petty theft, vandalism, public nudity - and later drug trafficking based out of Cardiff. He'd been absorbed into his father's illegal trades seamlessly, and he'd spent the last five odd years creating a name for himself within the underbelly of Europe, North America, and to a lesser extent, Asia.

It was, unfortunately, not only drugs trafficking, but most every other form of trafficking trade imaginable: weapons, organs, humans - it went on - and again, Gwen doubted herself.

How had she not seen it?

Was it simply that Gwen had not wanted to see, or was it something else entirely?

Brought from her thoughts as her - their - office door clicked open, she glanced up, and relaxed upon sight of Clint in the doorway.

"This is really eating you up inside," he observed.

"I just…"

"You were fresh out of a war," Clint reminded her, "PTSD, right? Not to mention, you were grieving, you were rebuilding your life from scratch. No one holds this against you, Gwen."

"I hold this against myself," she answered, "How can I do this job properly, when I can't even pick up on the fact a bloke I called a friend was actually up to his armpits in international trafficking?"

"That's the thing," Clint answered, "You weren't working at the time. You weren't looking for criminals, or murderers, or traffickers. You were retired, and that's not particularly conducive to kicking ass. Why are you dwelling on this?"

Gwen grimaced, unable to offer up a reason why. She'd learned, early on, that there was no point dwelling on past mistakes. They couldn't be changed, and all she could do was learn from them, and to make sure she wouldn't repeat them in future. And yet, Gwen couldn't let it go.

Clint cupped her face. "Don't let this mistake define your career here, Gwen. There will be other successes, other failures, and you can't dwell on the first."

She sighed. "I know. But that's easier said than done. He played me like a fiddle."

Clint arched a blonde eyebrow, and crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you going to do about it?"

She paused to consider her answer, and a slow, calculating smile crossed her face. "I'm going to get even, of course."

He nodded, unsurprised. "I thought so."

-!- -#-

'The Golden Rose' was a cafe located in downtown DC. It was the capitol's equivalent of 'The Leaky Cauldron', and to its credit, it was significantly cleaner, too. Gwen had never visited it, but she'd staked the place out her first week in the US, and thus, she didn't have trouble locating it once again.

"Hello," she greeted, and made no attempt to smother her accent, "I was hoping to receive directions to Elizabeth Avenue."

"Out back," the barista replied, "You can't miss it."

Gwen nodded her thanks, retreated to the back of the shop, and found herself in an empty alleyway. She cast her gaze around, bewildered, but before her, an archway shimmered into being, and through it, Gwen caught sight of a paved strip mall so much - and not at all - like Diagon Alley as to send a pang of loss through her heart.

Diagon Alley would never be the same again.

With an unsteady breath, Gwen stepped through the arch, cast her gaze up and down the avenue, and determined she was well and truly out of her depth. It had been over a year since she'd stepped foot into any sort of singularly magical community, and moreover, the British were so far removed from the US as to be laughable, and Gwen had no idea where to start. Then she caught sight of a standing directory to her right, and she smiled to herself.

It was exactly what she needed.

Eventually, Gwen found her way to a nursery, and proceeded to purchase everything she'd need to create veritaserum. It was an X grade restricted substance, and thus she couldn't simply buy it at the local chemist, but she'd learned to brew it with the unspeakables, and thus, she didn't need to.

The annoying thing, however, was that it took a month to make, and she unfortunately didn't have any in stock. She wasn't a Potions master, after all, and the only things she did keep in stock were liquidised poisons.

There was probably an irony in there, though Gwen didn't care to dwell on it.

Instead, she returned to the Triskelion, dropped into Clint's lap, and pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek. Even as he frowned at her, Clint wrapped his arms around her middle.

"Now I have your spit on my face."

"You'll live," Gwen answered, lightly scratched her nails across his scalp, and continued, "Thank you for earlier. I needed that kick up the arse."

"No problem," he answered, pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, and then turned back to the backlog of paperwork he'd been putting off for ages. "Happy to help. Do you want to help in return?"

"With your paperwork? I don't think so, Barton."

Gwen returned to her own desk, dropped heavily in her swivel chair, and opened up a game of Tetris to pass the time. When she got home, she'd start with the veritaserum, but until then, she had an afternoon free. Natasha was filing her nails at her own desk, and Usher was filtering from Clint's speakers, and Gwen wondered why she had to be in the office at all.

She asked as much, and Natasha explained.

"Team rule," Clint explained, "The team that kicks ass together, does paperwork together."

"That's a shit rule," Gwen determined. Clint offered her the finger, Gwen laughed, and the afternoon passed. Before long, it was early evening, Clint was done, and Gwen had revenge to organise. She would make William Jones, or Cross, or whatever his name was sing like a canary, or so help her Godric, he would make her crazy.

Thus, she went home, she unearthed all of her Potions supplies, and she began to prepare. It was weird to brew again, but her stride was easy to pick up, and it was as though she'd been brewing every day for the last twelve months.

And most surprisingly of all, she enjoyed it more than she could say.

Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed. Big thanks for all of your support. Leave a review, and share your thoughts. They're always appreciated. Except flames. Anyway, until next time, -t.