"Hey! Let go! My lawyers will hear about this. Ow. Hey–easy on the sui–OW!"

Clint leaned against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest watching Rayner be escorted past him. The bastard leaned against their hold, struggling to wrench his zip-tied hands free.

Maria Hill stepped into the glow of helicopter lights, one hand resting on the gun at her hip. After The Blip, she'd wasted no time reclaiming her spot as Acting Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and not a single soul had dared to question it. At least, not to her face.

He glanced over at her before letting his eyes return to the scene in front of them. Two agents were forcibly shoving Rayner into the back of the copter. The bastard had his heels braced against the sides of the door like a dog trying to avoid a shower.

He didn't seem particularly worried. Pissed off, maybe. Entitled.

"Embarrassing." Maria shook her head. "What is it about millionaires that makes them such man babies?"

Clint grinned. "So what's the plan?"

"We'll take Rayner into custody, see what we can get out of him. Human trafficking isn't exactly a cheap charge."

"Mmm," Clint hummed in agreement. "And his training facility?"

Maria pulled out a pad with a shrug–tap, tap, tap. "So far the records check out, but we'll send someone over to investigate. Ask around."

"I doubt you'll get much out of anyone there."

"Probably not. Might be helpful to have a certain bow-wielding spy around to knock some heads."

Clint shook his head with a little smile, "Not yet. I still have things to do here."

Hill shook her head with a ghost of a smile, but he could see the edge of worry in her eyes. "Just be careful. There's no record of her in our database."

"I'm always careful."

"I'm serious, Barton. We have no idea what kind of enhancements she might have."

Clint frowned. "What about the dog?"

"What do you mean?" Maria jotted down a signature and handed the tablet off to one of the other agents.

"You ever seen a German Shepherd shrug off a bullet point blank to the chest?"

Maria's eyebrows twitched in a, 'fair enough,' kind of way. "Great, just what we needed, super soldier dogs."

"It was wearing one of these," he said, passing over the collars.

Maria took them both in one hand, twisting them around to get a better look. "Thirty-four?"

Clint shrugged. "They're emitting some sort of microwave signal."

"GPS?"

"Seems like it. Shock collar too. He had some sort of switch to operate it."

"Where's the switch?"

"I, uhhh, gave it away."

Hill gave him a sideways look. "Gave it away?"

"To the girl," he said, quickly adding, "I'll get it back."

She didn't look so sure. "We should really send a team."

Clint shook his head. "She trusts me. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"I just need a little more time. Leave me the jet?"

Maria stared at him for a moment and then rolled her eyes.

"Not a scratch on her," she warned with a point toward the quinjet.

"Yes, Boss." He saluted as she climbed into the front of the copter.

By the time he made it back to the shack the jungle was pitch black. Clint crawled into the meager shelter, knees creaking. He should probably go out and find her tonight. That ankle hadn't looked good. Chances were she'd still be alive by morning, but…

And yet it had already been such a long day. Clint unzipped his pack and fished out a bottle of aspirin. Two shook into his palm and he popped them dry.

Not done yet.

He was seriously regretting not packing some night vision goggles for this trip. Not that he'd expected to be tracking anyone down in the middle of the jungle. Well, Cross maybe, but from what he'd read, the guy wasn't what he would call subtle. He had a robotic eye for crying out loud. As Kate would say, branding.

Clint's attention snapped to the crack of a twig outside. His body stiffened, one hand on the gun. The other hand closed around a flashlight. His mind instantly went to images of the dog's teeth flying out of the dark.

The sight that greeted him was much, much worse.

The light flashed over his intruder's face and it wasn't some sort of bionic canine. It was Ember, squinting back at him through the fingers of her left hand. She was wearing a gray sweatshirt now, chest and stomach stained in dark blotchy rows. Blood dripped off her left cheek. Her right arm was tucked close to her body and soaked in red. Glazed eyes fluttered over the gun and he immediately lowered the barrel.

"Oh my God." He took a step forward and panic burned in the murky water of her eyes as she shrank down from him.

Without a second of hesitation, he set the gun on the shack floor and held his empty hand into the air between them. The beam of the flashlight shrank to her feet.

"It's okay," he said, easing into a crouch. "Let me help."

Her mouth opened, tears welling in her eyes, but the words didn't come right away. He edged his fingers a little closer. Her muscles tensed.

"I don't know where I am. I–" The words strangled out of her in a raspy jumble. "Everything's wrong."

"Hey, hey, hey. Shhhhhh," he said. His hand turned over slowly until he was almost cupping under her injured arm.

She leaned back with a shudder. "He's backwards. I..."

"We'll figure it out." His fingers brushed wet fabric and hazel eyes rolled up to his blue.

She yanked her arm out of reach and he watched a wave of nausea pass over her face. Broken? A compound fracture if all the blood and the shock was any indication.

"Please." She shook her head, pupils blown wide.

"Shhhhhh," he soothed. "I just want to take a look. Can I do that?"

She tilted her head, side eyeing him for a long moment. Her shoulders were trembling, but she didn't seem to notice. Finally, she nodded.

"Thanks." He slipped his hand back under her wrist without closing his fingers and gently guided her arm towards him. Her eyes unfocussed, jaw clenching. "That's it, that's it. You're doing great," he said with a sympathetic wince.

He set his flashlight on the ground to unzip the hoodie and her eyes rolled back into her head.

"Whoop," he said, catching the back of her head as she dropped.