A/N: 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris.

Thanks,

~Sandy

Avengers

Time after Time

Chapter 25

The already cold temperature dipped another few degrees around Clint. Not around all of him. Just one particular area. His chest tightened as pieces fell into place turning his insides stone-cold. Scrambling to figure a way out, he wanted to say something, apologize, explain, anything to make this right with the director, but instinct and the stiffness in Fury's back advised against it.

"Do you know why I never married, Agent Barton? Why most of our agents are single and without immediate families?" Clint didn't respond. It wasn't expected because he was here to listen, not talk. Fury turned from his contemplation, his one good eye glaring amidst the puffs of condensation. "The task that we have been assigned as the protectors of the Earth and her citizens is a dangerous one. We make enemies just by existing. If our foes were to learn of the presence of loved ones, they would be used against us making our job much harder than it already is.

"I'm not saying that you shouldn't make an emotional connection to others. We need human contact to stay sane, to keep us grounded and as a reminder that not everyone in the world wishes us harm. But those connections should be made with people who understand the danger."

Fury stopped talking and turned back to the window releasing Clint so that he was able to breathe again. The other man didn't continue right away, just kept facing the window. Gathering his nerve Clint said, "Sir, may I ask a question?"

"No, you may not, Special Agent Barton." Now his voice was clipped and angry. "Catch the man who is stalking Dr. DeLuca and bring him to me."

"And if he resists?"

Once again, Fury faced him. "Terminate him…with extreme prejudice. One way or another he is not to see another sunrise as a free man." And with that proclamation, Fury turned on his heel and entered the back seat of a limo that had been idling at the curb. Fury possessed such an overpowering presence that Clint hadn't noticed it. The long black vehicle pulled away from the curb and when it was gone, Clint too looked in the window catching Branson's eye. He nodded to her and turned on his heel, surprised to see that Coulson was no longer standing in front of the coffee shop.

Reaching inside his jacket, Clint pulled out his radio and shoved the earpiece into his left ear. Click, click. "Barton to Coulson."

~~O~~

Suzanne and Decker came out of the restaurant, turned left and went around the corner to the parking lot. Phil crossed the street and followed at a discreet distance. They stopped next to a high-end luxury sports car, Decker placed the bags he carried into the back seat, such as it was, and handed Suzanne into the driver's seat.

Before she closed the door, he kissed the backs of her fingers. Phil made note of the license tag though it wasn't necessary. He already knew where she lived. In fact, he knew everything about her. Perhaps even more than she knew about herself, and what he didn't know, he could easily get.

He watched her drive away then retraced his steps knowing that Bishop and Lewis were already catching Decker's tail. Going to his own vehicle, he followed in Suzanne's wake making sure to stay back far enough not to be seen. Her regard for the traffic laws left a great deal to be desired.

He reached her home within a few minutes, parked across the street and waited exactly thirty minutes before going to the door. It was answered by an older man with a permanent scowl. "Yes?"

Phil flashed his badge. "Special Agent Phil Coulson with the FBI. I'd like to speak to the lady of the house, please."

The butler gestured Phil in and shut the cold out before climbing the stairs. Removing his hat, he waited patiently for Suzanne to appear, not once looking at his watch or showing curiosity about his surroundings. In a few minutes, the lovely Suzanne, as he called her in his mind, came down the stairs. She had changed clothes and was now wearing dark brown slacks and a medium brown herringbone cashmere turtleneck, both of which must have cost more than Phil's home stereo sound system. And because she seemed to expect it, he followed her progress down to the bottom.

"You wanted to see me?"

Holding his hat in his left hand, he showed her his badge. When interacting with the general public, SHIELD's cover was FBI. "Special Agent Phil Coulson. I need to speak to you privately, if I may."

"Of course. My husband worked closely with the government and I'm happy to help in any way I can." She led the way into a large sitting room filled with Victorian era antiques. Once they were seated across from each other, she crossed her legs and clasped her hands together on her knee. Everything about her told him that Barton hadn't been lying. Her green eyes looked him over the way a starving man would a ham sandwich. "What can I do for you, Agent Coulson?"

"You were observed having lunch with Gary Decker today."

Her whole demeanor changed, the flirtatious mien shaded with caution. "What of it?"

Propping his hat on the arm of the chair, Phil projected casualness that was belied by his words. "He's a person of interest in an on-going investigation. How do you know him?"

Suzanne didn't answer immediately and a moment later the butler entered, set a silver coffee service on the table between them and departed without a word. She poured a cup of coffee, passing it to him before pouring one for herself. "I don't. Not really. We ran into each other in front of the boutique and had lunch together at Shay's. That's all."

"What did you talk about?" He was annoying her and knew it, but it couldn't be helped. They could've apprehended Decker at the restaurant, but that wouldn't give them what they needed to convict him. Decker's father, a retired Marine, was now a senator for the state of New York and a personal friend of the Vice President. They had to tread carefully.

"He just moved to the area and doesn't know anyone. I gave him some ideas. He asked about the neighbors, if there were celebrities in the area that might have loud parties all night long. There aren't, by the way. Well, aside from Rick Castle, but he doesn't have parties that often."

"Did he ask about anyone specific?"

Suzanne shrugged and pouted. "No one in particular. Though he did ask if I knew a friend of his."

Taking a stack of photos from his jacket pocket, Phil held it up. "Do you recognize any of the people in these photos? Take your time."

She made a scoffing sound. From some women, it would be considered cute or even sweet, but she sounded like a pig looking for truffles. "Yes. Gina DeLuca. Her daughter, Naomi. And this hunk of hotness is Naomi's boyfriend. Did they do something wrong?"

He returned the photos to his pocket and got to his feet, passing her his business card. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Dupree. If you think of anything else, please give me a call."

Phil wasn't at all surprised when Suzanne slid the card into her ample cleavage. "What if I were to give you a call even if I don't think of something else? Would you still take it?"

He gave her his most charming smile. She probably thought herself subtle, but he could read her like a kids' book. "Ms. Dupree, it would be my pleasure to accept your call at any time of the day or night."

~~O~~

Gary's cell phone rang. A glance at the caller ID gave him a moment of apprehension, but didn't let that deter him. It might be the same caller who'd given him Naomi's whereabouts. "Hello?"

"Glad you decided to pick up. If it had gone to voice mail you wouldn't be hearing from me again."

"Why are you doing this?"

The voice changer made the chuckling sound creepy, like something out of a B- grade horror film. "Let's just say I have a vested interest in the successful completion of your undertaking." He paused. Gary wasn't certain that his mysterious caller was male, but judging by the tone and inflection, that would be his guess. "You're being followed by two FBI agents in a dark blue 2001 Chevy Lumina."

Gary's eye flicked up to the rear view mirror and sure enough, there it was parked at the curb as if waiting for him to drive by. They pulled into traffic just as the light changed to green. "Why would I care what happens to her mother?"

"You shouldn't, but if she should happen to get in the way…"

"Not going to be a problem." He hung up and put his phone aside to concentrate on driving. The timing had to be just right. He waited until an eighteen wheeler came along then made a fast U- turn just in front of it. The truck slammed on its brakes blocking the road so the FBI agents couldn't follow.

Picking up speed, he took a tour of the area to make sure they hadn't caught up to him then headed for his original destination, picked up the car he'd stashed there and got on the road headed toward the spa. The information that Naomi was there had been provided by his new friend, Suzanne. Pulling slowly down the small access road behind the stores, he came to a stop, got out and went around to the trunk. He pulled on a ski mask, leaving it rolled up like a knit cap, and gloves. Opening the silver case, he took out the handgun and pushed it into his waistband then shoved another in the back. Keeping his head down so no one could see his face, he knocked on the door of the Wingate Spa. "Delivery!"

A young woman opened the door to find the Desert Eagle staring her in the face. Before she could scream, he ordered, "Naomi DeLuca. Where is she?"

"Uh… in-in there." She pointed to a door with gold lettering saying it was the Serenity Room.

Spinning her around, he shoved her ahead of him until he came to a supply closet. He pushed her inside, and so she couldn't call out, he rapped her on the back of the head knocking her out. The ski mask covering his face, he shouldered the door open to see Naomi getting undressed. She gasped when she saw him, taking a step forward, but she stopped when the Desert Eagle came into her line of vision.

"I don't have any cash on me and my credit cards are at home."

"Don't want your money." He gestured her to go ahead of him and just as he stepped back into the hall, a Hispanic woman came around the corner, the badge and holstered weapon telling him she was the FBI agent assigned to guard Naomi. Not doing a very good job, are you?

She unsnapped the guard and drew in one fluid motion, both hands coming up to hold the weapon and aim. But she was a millisecond too late. Gary fired three shots one after the other into her chest. Her body jerked with the impact and she was thrown backward to slam against the wall. She slid down to a sitting position leaving blood streaks behind, a pool forming on the floor around her.

There was shouting, but Gary didn't stay around to listen. He dragged Naomi, kicking and screaming all the way, out the back door. Tossing her into the trunk, he used duct tape to bind her hands and cover her mouth faster than she could try to get away. A moment later, he pulled out into traffic in a vehicle the FBI wasn't looking for and headed for the place he'd picked out to exact his revenge.

~~O~~

"You wanna call him or should I?" Lewis asked her partner.

Bishop shrugged. "Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Forget it. I'll call." Lewis took out her cell, hit speed dial and waited for Coulson to answer. "Hey, boss…we lost him…sorry…yes, sir."

"Well?"

Putting the car into gear, she made a U- turn and headed back toward town. "Back to base. He is not a happy camper."

Covering his mouth with a fist, Bishop coughed. A deep wracking sound that went on longer than it should have. "Neither will that other guy. It's his girlfriend that's being stalked."

"Yeah. Speaking of which, why're we wasting our time chasing some loony bird instead of hunting down terrorists?"

"Don't know. Maybe she's related to some bigwig in the government. All I know is it's friggin' cold! Let's stop at that coffee shop on the way."

Lewis snickered. "You buyin'?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm drinkin'."

~~O~~

Clint stood beside Coulson watching them take Branson's body away on a stretcher barely able to keep from going after the guy who had killed the agent and kidnapped Naomi. Two things kept him from doing that. The first was Coulson. The second was the fact that they had no idea where Decker had taken Naomi. So he paced instead, rubbing the back of his head and snapping at anyone who got in his way.

"I want to see Clint Coulson!"

Gina's voice pierced the somber atmosphere while Clint and Coulson exchanged a glance. The moment of truth had finally come.

"I told ya, lady. There's no Clint Coulson here. All we got are bunch o' federal agents and Southampton's finest."

"He's here, I know he is. His truck is parked down the street and he would not leave my daughter alone. If you don't let me see him…"

His voice low, Coulson said, "You and she have a lot to talk about. I'll finish up here. Take her to the coffee shop."

All Clint could do was nod steeling himself for the battle to come. At the front of the store, a uniformed officer was still arguing with Gina and trying to keep her out. She saw his approach and her excitement level, already high, climbed into the rafters.

"Clint! Oh, thank God! This…person won't let me in."

The officer looked to Clint for approval and he nodded. "Thank you, Sergeant. I've got her."

As soon as she reached him, she threw her arms around him. He held her tight feeling her body shaking. When the shaking stopped, he eased her away, leading her down to the coffee shop. He kept one hand on her shoulder giving it a squeeze. When she looked up at him, he felt the moment she noticed the badge hanging from his jacket pocket and the 9mm clipped to his waist.

"Clint, what is going on? Naomi said you were a cop on study leave. And if you are just a cop, why does your badge say FBI?"

Gina's questions didn't afford him the time to respond so he just let her run out of steam. She paused for breath and he shoved his response in the space. "We're going to find her. I promise." He sat down next to her and took a photo from his pocket. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

She snatched it from him, keeping her eyes on him for several telling seconds before looking at the photo. He had purposely changed the subject and she knew it. "Yes. I think his name is Gary. He works at the university with Naomi."

"Is there anything else you can tell me about him?"

Gina had apparently decided to let her earlier questions go for now, though Clint knew there would be hell to pay later. "It was so sad. His fiancée died just a month before their wedding."

"Do you remember her name?"

"No. He was really broken up about it. Took a six-month leave of absence. And when he came back, he was better, but…different. Naomi said he'd started acting a little odd. And who can blame him?"

Clint took down everything, using his PDA to send it to Coulson. An awkward silence broken by the sounds of people talking, music and the coffee machines settled over them. He got her a cup of tea and set it in front of her. "Gina…"

A moment later she grabbed his hand. "She's my baby, Clint. What am I gonna do if…"

Reaching out, he took her in his arms again. "That won't happen. I will rescue her. Kidnapping is a federal offense. He'll go to jail for a very long time." If I don't kill him first.

She tilted her head back to look into his face. A man and woman in plain clothes, also with badges hanging on their front pockets, came to the entrance to the shop and tapped on the window. Coulson joined them a moment later. "Agent Barton, a word please?"

Clint looked up automatically and felt the hard stare that Gina was giving him. Oh, yes. He would pay dearly for lying, that was certain. He waved to let them know he would be right there then looked down at Gina again.

"Go. Find my daughter."

Clint nodded, gave her shoulder one last squeeze and joined the others out on the sidewalk.

~~O~~

The four agents huddled together, hands in their pockets and shivering from the cold. Lewis and Bishop each had hot coffee making Phil envious and Lewis had the good grace to be contrite. "Sorry, boss. We shoulda gotten you one."

"I'm good. We just received new information on Decker. It seems that his fiancée died fifteen months ago, less than four weeks before their wedding. Her name was Rachel Crosby."

"How'd she die?"

Phil didn't spare a glance at Barton for his question. "Single car accident. She'd gone to San Francisco on business and was taking the Pacific Coast Highway to an appointment. When she didn't return to her hotel by morning, her colleagues reported her missing, but it hadn't been twenty-four hours so there was nothing they could do. When they did finally start looking for her along the route she was to have taken, the police found her car at the bottom of a cliff. She'd only been dead for three hours. If the local police had started looking for her when she was first reported missing, she would have lived."

Bishop huddled deeper into his coat, the hand not holding his cup covering his mouth as he coughed hard several times. When he was done, he finished off his coffee and tossed the cup in the trash. "Must've lost control."

Shaking his head, Phil consulted his PDA. "There were no skid marks because her brake line had been cut. The police questioned her associates, friends and family, but everyone had unimpeachable alibis. Unusual for this type of investigation, but true."

"Shame." Lewis shook her head and finished off her coffee while Phil continued.

"Dr. DeLuca had been informally treating Rachel for depression so her company wouldn't know. Rachel goes to California, seems to have killed herself and Decker's now blaming her doctor for not helping when she wasn't even a doctor at the time. But he's all over the map alternating between his twisted version of love and wanting revenge for his fiancée's death."

"But how does that help us find her?"

Grinning, Phil shifted his feet and shivered when a gust of wind pushed at them. "We found his hotel room and searched it, but didn't find anything that would help. However, I may have an idea. According to Rachel's mother, they'd planned on having their wedding at the chapel on Pierson Road in Sag Harbor with the reception at the Continental Hotel. We've had people on his apartment, the university and his parents' house for thirty-six hours. But he hasn't shown though he has had plenty of time to get close to any one of those places."

Barton got it before the others. "He's taken her to the chapel."

"There or the reception hall, but my money's on the chapel." The last words were barely out of Phil's mouth before Clint was sprinting down the sidewalk to his truck. Phil, Lewis and Bishop caught up with him before he could even start it up. "Let's take the car, Barton."

"Truck's faster."

"I know, but we won't all fit and you can't do this alone."

Clint ignored him, taking out his Glock and chambering a round. He shoved it back into the holster and opened the truck to get in, stopping at the hand on his arm, making a sound of acute stress and frustration he had to be feeling. "Phil, this has to end now! He won't stop unless westop him."

"You mean, unless you stop him." The shrug was meant to be uncaring of the consequences, but Phil couldn't let him ruin his life for revenge. "Clint, you have to think this through. Decker is not a high priority target for SHIELD. Granted, he's a creep and needs to be stopped, but letting our best marksman go after him alone…" he shook his head, "…there's no way it would be anything more than murder."

"But that's what I do. You can't have it both ways. Killing from a distance or up close, it's the same. Someone who was alive is now dead. And as far as Decker's concerned, I'm okay with that."

"So Decker's dead and you save the girl. Are you really willing to spend the rest of your life in prison?" There was no answer, but the look on Barton's face was an open book to someone who'd come to know him as well as he ever let anyone know him. "Well, I'm not okay with that. When we take this guy down, it will be my way to ensure that it's a righteous kill."

Knowing Phil was right, Barton gave in. Taking a case from behind the front seat, Clint said, "Then let's go. I'm driving."

Again Phil stopped the younger man. "Lewis, you drive."

"Yes, boss." She did as directed, Bishop sticking the emergency light on top, and soon they were on the road, the siren blaring as they roared through town with Barton pouting in the back seat next to Phil.

~~O~~

When Clint went outside to talk to the other agents, Gina watched with only half of her attention. Then someone came in and she caught a few words of their conversation. Something about Sag Harbor. Leaving her cup on the table, she edged closer to the door. Their concentration was so deep she doubted they would see her listening in.

The one who seemed to be in charge chased after Clint when he took off, the other two following. A few moments later, the group returned and climbed into a four door sedan. Gina could see Clint wanted to drive, but the female agent received that assignment. Good thing. In Clint's state of mind, he might get them all killed.

Once she was sure they were gone, Gina pushed out of the shop, cut across the street and jumped into her car. Just to be safe, she put on her seatbelt. She'd be of no help to anyone if she got killed on the way.

Just outside the city limits, she lost sight of the agents' car. No matter. She'd been to Sag Harbor on many occasions. She knew the chapel they were talking about and it wasn't far. After breaking a good number of the traffic laws, she arrived at her destination.

The car Clint had been riding in was parked a block up the street and she parked behind it. Going to the trunk, Gina opened it and unzipped the carry case she'd put there when she'd been told what had happened at the spa, lifting out a Remington 870 Express Super Magnum with pump action.

No one messes with me or my daughter! He wants a fight then he's damn well going to get it!

She loaded it quickly and efficiently, shoved more rounds into her pockets, slammed the trunk and set about finding a way into the chapel without being seen.

TBC