Ok guys- wow. The response to the last chapter...on top of the response to "Fresh Out" is just blowing me away. I never expected Reliant to become something with this level of a following & it's just...wow.

At any rate- CLINT'S BACK!

Please read, review, PM me, ect. and enjoy!


April 17th, 2012 (Steve)

I sit in the main control room with Stark in silence. Banner and Thor are missing, the hellicarrier is still under repair, though flying, and Phil Coulson was declared dead a few hours ago.

Then Kansas- Arlie- she walks into the room with Owl beside her.

The dog's head hangs down, and he looks the picture of a mournful canine. She's pale, and her steps are slow and then I notice the blood. Her hands are covered in it and it's drying- flaking off of her skin as she walks towards the window.

"Kansas?" I ask, worried- it's a lot of blood.

"Arlie?" Stark chimes in, looking at her hands and then her face. "Shit- she's in shock, I think. Hey- Tiny- you in there?" he's about to stand up out of his chair when I go to her. I grasp her arms and force her eyes to meet mine.

"Kansas- Arlie- the blood-"

She stutters and her words are so soft I can barely hear her. "It's- it's not mine. Not mine."

I look again at her face and put two and two together.

God- she was with him when he died. And he was practically her father. Oh, god, no wonder she's practically comatose.

I move her to a chair and sit her down, my anger, my bitterness, every issue I have with her forgotten in the face of the fact that she just watched her father die.

I sit beside her and move to hold her hand despite all the blood when she stands back up and walks towards the edge of the raised platform we're all on, looking out the widow. The rising sun casts a light around her that is outlining her in gold and casting the red of the blood in sharp relief and makes the tear stains on her face look like tracks of silver. I'm about to go to her again when Stark clears his throat and shakes his head at me- she needs space.

Fury walks in, holding something in his hands. He stands in front of us at the head of the table, with the light of the morning sun shining in behind him. It turns him into a black shadow, cast on the table. But it continues to dance around her, the dust in the air swirling in patterns I can't understand as the sun hits them.

One hand rises in front of her stomach, palm up, as she examines it dispassionately.

Fury begins to speak after examining her for a brief moment.

"These were in Phil Coulson's jacket," he says, lifting what he has in his hand up slightly. Her hand clenches and she turns to see what Fury has to say, still somehow maintaining an unnatural level of stillness, so odd in a girl I'm sure I've never seen stop moving. "I guess he never did get you to sign them," he adds bitterly before tossing the objects in front of us on the table.

It's Captain America trading cards- covered in blood.

She chokes briefly and then blinks rapidly as her breath stutters.

"We're dead in the air up here," Fury continues as I reach to pick up a card. I see my own image saluting at me, standing tall- but the corner of the card is soaked in blood. It's spattered slightly on the table from when Fury threw them. "Our communications, the location of the cube, Banner, Tor, I got nothing for you. I lost my one good eye.

"Maybe I had that coming.

"Yes, we were going to build an arsenal with the Tesseract. I never put all my chips on that number, though, because I was playing something even risker.

"There was an idea, Stark knows this, called the Avengers Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people. See if they could become something more. See if they could work together when we needed them to. To fight the battles we never could.

"Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea. In heroes."

Stark stands swiftly, takes a quick glance at her, and leaves.

"Well," Fury says, "It's an old-fashioned notion."

Hill suddenly stands beside her.

"Agent Romanoff just called-" and before the Agent can even finish the sentence, Kansas- Arlie- she is running past all of us, Owl barely keeping up beside her.

I look at Agent Hill, confused. She looks back at me and says without inflection, "Her brother just woke up."


April 17th, 2012 (Clint)

When I first come to, I realize I'm no longer completely trapped in my own mind. But everything is off- the colors, the shapes- it's distorted, but then a voice comes to me.

"Clint," Nat, "You're gonna be alright."

There's still some rements of Loki inside of me, it makes me bitter, makes me angry. I push and push in an attempt to push them right out of my skull. I've got a monster headache that beats any injury I've ever had before.

I'd rather get shot again than have this pounding on the inside of my skull.

"You know that?" I ask her with a dark chuckle, "Is that what you know?" A part of me, the part that is me, focuses on Nat's voice, holds on to it, uses it to guide me past all the shadows and the blood and the parts of my brain that are still piecing back together after being pulled apart.

"I've got no window. I have to flush him out."

"You have to level out, it's going to take some time," Nat's voice is even, it's sensible, it's beautiful as it comes to me and the room clears of its distortion finally.

"You don't understand," I mutter, "You ever had someone take your brain and play? Pull you out and stuff something else in?

"Do you know what it's like to be unmade?"

"You know that I do." With that final sentence, I'm back. Panting slightly, I realize: I'm back.

I hadn't thought I'd ever come back. "Why am I back?" I question Nat, trying to turn and see her, but I'm restrained to the bed, "How'd you get him out?"

"Cognitive recalibration," she says, moving to sit in front of me. "I hit you really hard on the head."

I look at her- her hair, her eyes, the slope of her nose, the cut of her jaw. I can smell gunpowder and citrus from where I recline- the scent of Nat. I could cry from all of this being suddenly in front of me again. And then Nat begins to untie me.

"Thanks," I tell her, still not quite believing she's in front of me. She looks up at me and smiles. It's a special Nat smile- one that's just for me. With that, I believe.

"Natasha- how many agents did I-?" I begin but she cuts me off sharply.

"Don't," her eyes contain a warning of the darkness that waits at the end of that train of thought, "Don't do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki. This is… monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for."

"Loki," I ask, "He get away?"

"Yeah. Don't suppose you know where?"

"Didn't need to know," I reply as she gets up from the bed, "Didn't ask," I move to sit up and grab the water she had poured for me. Trust Nat to know what I'd need for this. "He's gonna make his play soon, though," I tell her, "Today." I'm certain.

"We've gotta stop him," Nat says, turning around to fix me with a burning look. I've seen her determined before, but now she's practically on fire.

"Yeah, who's "we"?"

"I don't know," she says, still not fazed, "Whoever's left."

I nod. "Well…if I put an arrow through Loki's eye socket, I'd sleep better, I suppose."

Nat moves to sit beside me, a relieved smile on her face. "Now you sound like you."

"But you don't. You're a spy, not a soldier. Now you want to wade into a war. Why? What did Loki do to you?" I ask, worried. If Loki went after Nat...I'll need more than a single arrow in his eye socket. I'll need to make him bleed, make him wait for the final death.

"He didn't. I just," she stops herself, turning her eyes inward as she attempts to unravel her feelings, her thoughts.

"Natasha," I whisper, calling her back to me.

"I've been compromised," and her eyes are scorching, "I got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out."

"Compromised?" I ask.

"Phil," she whispers quickly and my heart stops briefly.

"Phil?"

Nat shakes her head, once, quickly, but it was all the confirmation I need. My head falls down into my hands without conscious thought. Phil's gone? How is that possible? Phil's not supposed to die- he's…he's Phil Coulson, damn it.

"Loki's a dead man," I say, feeling the anger building higher and higher. I'm just about to get lost in it when Nat's voice cuts through to me again.

"Arlie's here."

"What?" I turn to look at Nat, confused.

"She's safe. Fury and Phil tried to send her to Japan when you were taken, but I called her. She would have been safer where we could watch over her. Besides, I figured you'd do everything to keep Loki from finding out about her."

I nod, "I did- he got to Phil and you, but I managed to hide Arlie."

"Good," Nat nods, "He'll never see her coming."

"She's not fighting him," I answer, feeling myself get angry at Nat. I can't remember ever actually being angry with the red head before, but she's risking Arlie now.

"She was with Phil, Clint," Nat tells me as my heart stutters, "and it's up to her. Now I promised I would call her when you woke up- ok?"

"Yeah," I reply hoarsely, just wanting to see my sister. Natasha gets a hold of Hill and tells Fury's right hand woman to send Arlie to us.

"She's been helping since she found out Fury sent her on a false trail," Nat tells me, sitting down beside me again. Our hands find each other and link, and she leans in to me slightly, not quite touching, but close. "She actually socked Fury across the jaw. You should've seen it," I chuckle- I can just picture my tiny little sister punching out the Director's lights. "She was quite…impassioned. Banner and Stark really like her, and I think once Rogers gets over the fact she's not really named Kansas-" I cut off Nat.

"Wait- he found out her name? How?"

"Fury tried to keep her from knowing what was going on by saying she had no legal right according to SHIELD to know your whereabouts, she stood in the middle of the main control and announced herself to the room."

I sigh, "Damn it."

"It was really only a matter of time, Clint."

"I know. But still- it's- it's Arlie."

"I know. But she was the one to figure out how to bring you back, anyways."

"She did?" I smile at that, "I always said she was smart."

Suddenly the door bursts open and my sister is in practically in my lap as she throws herself at me. I wrap her up in a hug, noticing Owl jumping up on Nat with a whimper and Nat petting the massive dog as he struggles to fit his massive self on the bed with the rest of us. Arlie's got tears streaming down her face and so I rock her like I dimly remember our mother doing when I had nightmares.

"Arlie- oh, Arlie- don't cry- c'mon, I can't let you cry," I tell her as she hiccups and sqeezes herself closer to me.

"You were gone," she chokes out.

"And now I'm back."

"Phil-"

"I know."

"I was with him."

"Tasha told me."

"I've got blood on my hands." Her voice is tiny and higher pitched than usual, and at first I think she's being metaphoric (which caused my heart to squeeze) and then I realized she was being literal (which caused it to break) and there was dried blood all over her hands and part of her upper arms and it was flaking off her skin.

"We'll clean it up." I tell her.

"But what if they need it for… I don't know, evidence or something or Phil needs," she's getting slightly hysteric when Nat steps in, placing a hand on Arlie's head and shushing her.

"It's ok- they won't need it. You just wash it right off. Here," and she stands up, goes to the water pitcher by the bed and begins to use it to wash my sister's hands of Phil's blood.

It's one of the most surreal experiences I've ever had: sitting on the bed with Arlie in my lap, Owl to my left, and Nat kneeling before Alrie, washing Phil's blood off my sister's hands.


April 17th, 2012 (Steve)

I find Stark in the room Phil Coulson died- the room meant for the Hulk, used for Loki, from which he escaped.

"Was he married?" I ask, fairly certain he wasn't, but I couldn't be sure what Kansas had told me was true and what wasn't. It gutted me to be still uncertain.

"No," says Stark quickly, "There was a uh- cellist. I think," the last bit is whispered.

"I'm sorry," I say, as its clear Stark knew the man. Maybe not as much as Kansas- Arlie- her, but she was with her brother right now and Stark was alone. "He seemed like a good man," I add.

"He was an idiot," Stark corrects me.

"Why?" I ask- not believing the man was actually saying that about the dead man. "For believing?"

"For taking on Loki alone."

"He was doing his job," I defend.

Stark scoffs, "He was out of his league. He should have waited. He should have-" he shakes his head, unable to continue. "Her hands," I hear him whisper slightly to himself. I know what he means- the image of her hands is probably burned onto the back of my eyelids. It's right next to the image of Bucky falling.

"Sometimes there isn't a way out, Tony," I tell him.

"Right," he says bitterly, "I've heard that before." He's passing me by as I realize what the problem is here.

"Is this the first time you lost a soldier?"

"We are not soldiers!" he tells me, almost accusingly. He's quiet for a long moment, struggling with what to say. "I'm not marching to Fury's fife," he finally tells me.

"Neither am I," I say, agreeing that SHIELD won't be any good here, "He's got the same blood on his hands that Loki does." The blood that is literally painting Kansas's arms. "But right now we've got to put that behind us and get this done." Stark looks over at the section of wall where Agent Coulson had died, "Now Loki needs a power source, if we can put together a list-"

"He made it personal." Stark says suddenly.

"That's not the point," I tell him, not wanting him to go off on a personal mission of vengeance.

"That is the point," he corrects me, clearly with something going on in his head. "That's Loki's point- he hit us all right where we live. Why?"

"To tear us apart," I reply. It's obvious.

"Yeah. Divide and conquer is…great, but he knows he has to take us out to win, right? That's what he wants. He wants to beat us, he wants to be seen doing it," Stark's on a roll, "He wants an audience."

"Right," I nod, "I caught his act in Stuttgart."

"Yeah. That's just previews. This. This is opening night and Loki, he's a full-tilt diva, right? He wants flowers, he wants parades, he wants a monument built to the skies with his name plastered-" Stark cuts himself off. I raise my eyebrows, realizing what he's saying here.

"Son of a bitch," Stark says, dashing off.