May 21, 2010

Maggie found herself once more alone in the cockpit of a jet, soaring over the Atlantic ocean. She'd uncovered a lead in her investigation into the drugrunning crime syndicate whose factory she'd destroyed in Gibraltar. In a chance piece of digital communication, she was pretty sure she'd found the syndicate leader's location: a villa in Tbilisi, Georgia. So she'd packed up her gear and left, sending her apologies to Pepper, who was due to officially become CEO today.

Tony still concerned her, as did the international pressure on Iron Man, but she knew that Tony would be alright by himself for a few days. Everyone back home was used to her leaving by now. Though Happy had offered to come with her, and tried to insist when she reassured him she'd be okay. He'd never done that before.

Maggie set the jet's autopilot, then stretched her arms. Time for the Wyvern to come out for the hunt.

Stark Mansion, Malibu

Later that day, Tony watched Natalie Rushman from Legal slam Happy to the ground with a thud.

He and Pepper both jerked in surprise.

"Oh my god!" Pepper exclaimed as the redhead held Happy in a chokehold, her knee clamped to his throat. Pepper and Tony both jumped to their feet. "Happy," Pepper breathed.

"That's what I'm talking about," Tony called. I definitely need this woman as my assistant. Pepper could accuse him of ogling all she liked, and she wouldn't be completely wrong, but there was something about this Rushman lady. She knew what she was doing.

Rushman released Happy and they both got to their feet.

"I just slipped," Happy managed to choke out.

"You did?" Tony asked. He dinged the bell on the corner of the boxing ring. "Looks like a TKO to me."

Happy shot Tony a red-faced scowl as Rushman climbed out of the ring.

She flicked her hair back, straightened her clothes and faced Tony. "I need your impression." She didn't even look winded.

"You… have a quiet reserve," he responded, peering into her green eyes. "I don't know, you have an old soul-"

"I meant your fingerprint," Rushman cut him off with a half smile, and magically produced the binder with the transfer paperwork.

"Right." Tony took the inkpad and binder and started pressing his fingerprint into the boxes beside his name.

Pepper finished checking on Happy and strode over, her heels clicking on the floor. "So, how are we doing?" she smiled.

"Great, just… wrapping up. Hey." Tony met her eyes as he peeled his thumb away from the paper. "You're the boss."

For a moment he and Pepper just smiled at each other.

Rushman snapped the binder closed. "Will that be all, Mr Stark?"

"No."

"Yes," Pepper smiled, "that will be all, Ms Rushman. Thank you very much."

Rushman dipped her head and strode out of the gym. Tony and Pepper watched her go.

Tony turned to Pepper. "I want one."

"No." Her stern look turned into a sharp smile. She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. "Did you hear back from Maggie?"

He blinked. "What?"

She sighed. "Remember I asked you to check if she was coming to the Grand Prix - never mind." She began to walk away.

"No, wait, I remember!" he called, and she glanced back at him. He pulled out his phone with his inky fingers and gestured it at her. "I'll do it now. Promise."

She shook her head at him - fondly, at least - and then strode out of the gym.

Tony set about texting Maggie before it left his mind again:

Hey. Pepper wants your RSVP to the Grand Prix. In or out? He sent the message, then added: Also I straightened out the issues with the Mark V delivery system. Works a treat, you should see it.

She responded ten minutes later: I'll try to make the Grand Prix, but I can't promise anything, sorry. Can't wait to see the new suit!

Tony switched off his phone with a sigh. He couldn't say he was surprised. But it would have been nice to spend the day with Maggie in Monaco. Leave her with a nice memory. His face twisted into a grimace and he shook himself.

I'm getting maudlin.

23 May 2010
Tbilisi, Georgia

Tbilisi glowed at night.

Well, Maggie supposed it was technically morning, given that the time on her HUD read 0400. The sky was pitch black as she soared over the city, which glowed like an orange beacon in the darkness. Its highways were orange streaks cutting through the twinkling suburbs, and the cathedral and historic fortress were illuminated in gold.

Maggie had had some time to admire the beautiful city during the day, when she'd begun her investigation into the leader of the crime syndicate, Zurab Mamedov. She'd finally tracked down the specific villa where she suspected he was currently living, caught a couple hours of sleep, and was now off to do some reconnaissance. She planned to watch the villa throughout the morning and gather intelligence to send to Interpol.

She angled down through the warm night air as she grew close to the suburb by the river Mtkvari, at the foot of the main mountain that overlooked the city. This area was beautiful, the houses with their rustic red rooves built on the hillside, each one a little lower than the other on the way down to the river.

Maggie cut her engines and glided down until she alighted on a red shingle rooftop uphill from her target's villa. Her boots landed without a sound and she lowered into a crouch, pulling her wings into her back and listening carefully for any signs she'd been spotted.

She heard only the distant hum of early morning traffic, and the breeze whisking over the rooftops. Her clawed gloves made a soft tink-tink sound as she steadied her palms on the roof.

Maggie switched over to thermal vision on her goggles and peered down at the target's villa, scanning it. She frowned, then reached up to adjust her settings.

There's no one in there. The villa was large, with a balcony overlooking the city and a renovated open-plan interior. Maggie was certain that this was Mamedov's house - she had intel that he was in town, and there'd been digital activity within the house to confirm his presence. But her thermal readout showed her only blues and greys. So unless Mamedov was dead or a vampire…

Behind her, a male voice said: "Hey."

Maggie whirled, shooting to her feet and baring her claws.

A man stood at the other end of her rooftop. He wore a black tactical suit, and had something long and angular strapped to his back. He had short, sandy brown hair, a handsome face, and calculating grey eyes that didn't betray any fear or confusion at the sight of the red-eyed Wyvern in front of him, her dark wings spread wide.

Maggie's heart pounded.

The man cocked his head. "So, can I talk to you?"

Maggie assessed the evenness in his voice and the surety in his stance and the gun in the holster at his hip. Agent.

The agent must have seen her tense, because he held out a hand and said: "Listen, I just want to talk-"

Maggie didn't bother sticking around to listen. She turned and sprinted for the edge of the rooftop, her engines kicking into gear as she simultaneously scanned for other signatures nearby. Her mind whirled. They must be good, normally I can spot a trap a mile away. She'd gotten cautious after Rowes.

She glanced over her shoulder just as the man behind her pulled the thing off his back and aimed it at her. He fired and she jerked to the side, eyes widening as the projectile he'd loosed at her sailed past and disappeared into the darkness with an ominous crackle. A bow and arrow? What on earth…?

Maggie planted her foot on the edge of the roof and leaped off, her wings snapping wide and her engines roaring, ready to boost her up to the clouds-

She felt the arrow connect with her right wing as surely as if it had struck her in the back, followed by the crackle of stinging electricity and then shocking numbness. Her wings had shorted out. She tumbled out of the air and hit the next rooftop a few feet down, the breath knocked out of her chest. Thankfully the inbuilt resistors had prevented her from feeling pain when the arrow hit her wing, but the shock of the impact and the sudden loss of sensation jarred her.

Damn it, not again. Maggie fought to her feet, cursing. Her wings had automatically retracted into the wingpack this time, and she knew they would reboot soon, but whatever this agent had used was powerful. Powerful enough to short out all the anti-disabling tech she'd installed earlier in the year.

The man jumped down to the rooftop after her, landing silently. "Don't you know it's rude to leave mid conversation? Look, I know you're here for Mamedov but you don't need to worry, we've taken him into custody-"

Maggie snapped her wrist up and fired a scarlet energy bolt at him.

He dodged out of the way, then glanced up at her. "Okay then." He dodged again as she fired off three more bolts, then reached for his bow.

Recognizing that he had the long range advantage, Maggie dashed across the rooftop toward the agent and swung at him. He ducked her fist and then swept his bow at her like a staff, catching her by surprise. The bow glanced off her shoulder, setting her stumbling.

"My name is Agent Barton," the man said as he sank into a defensive stance. "I don't want to hurt you-"

Maggie struck again, firing a one-two bolt from each of her energy blasters and then driving her fist into Agent Barton's stomach; he twisted aside and her knuckles glanced harmlessly off the side of his tactical suit. He stepped back to get some distance and Maggie turned to run again, her eyes on the next rooftop. If she could lose herself in the maze of the city and buy some time for her wings to reboot-

Another arrow sailed over her shoulder, followed by two more that slammed into the roof tile just in front of her, as if he'd shot between her legs. She skidded sideways, aiming for the street below the house, but another arrow sailed just in front of her nose, making her yelp. She turned back to the agent, who had the audacity to smile at her as he stood with his bow aimed straight at her chest. The softly glowing streetlights turned his silhouette hazy.

"I'm just after a few minutes of your time, Wyvern."

Okay then.

Maggie sprang forward, firing another energy bolt at Barton's bow so he had to jerk aside. She closed the distance and leaped, hitting him full-force in the chest and tackling him to the shingles. Barton twisted as he fell, trying to get the advantage, but Maggie was already rolling away - slicing her claws through his bowstring as she went.

Barton took the damage in his stride, kicking out and catching Maggie's legs as she rose, knocking her back to her knees. "Who's funding you?" he asked almost casually as he rose to his feet. "I know you're not doing it alone. Tech like that" - he nodded at her wingpack even as she jumped back to her feet - "costs money."

Christ, does he ever stop talking? Maggie tried to back away now that he didn't have his long range advantage, but Barton seemed to be able to read her mind. He hounded her, cutting her off when she tried to run and bringing the fight in close, trying to sweep her legs from under her. Maggie dodged and weaved, striking back when she could. She couldn't turn her back on him and she also didn't want to let him corner her against the edge of the roof. Her heart pounded in her chest and Barton kept talking, trying to throw her off.

"What's your name?" he asked as he deflected one of her punches. He struck back and the back of his fist glanced off the side of her head, making her wince. "Do you speak English? Ty govorish' na russkom?" [Do you speak Russian?]

Maggie did her best to ignore his words - she would not let him distract her. She had the advantage here: her face and eyes were covered, but she could read his every glance. Not that he was easy to read. Despite his seemingly friendly words he was a serious fighter, moving fast and deadly.

Her rigorous self-training was paying off. She kept her centre of gravity low and balanced, and moved from attack to defense seamlessly, switching up her use of strikes, blocks, energy bolts, and body slams. Recalling another trick she had up her sleeve, Maggie spun under one of Barton's punches, slid a knife from a holster in her boot, and as she rose flung the blade at him.

The knife whistled between his arm and chest, and Barton glanced up at her. "Oh okay, you're fighting me."

Maggie didn't understand what he meant until Barton reached down and unholstered his gun.

That wasn't really what she'd wanted, but she worked with it. She dove forward and kicked at his hand, but Barton was faster. They swung and whirled around each other, Maggie trying to get the gun away from him and Barton trying to aim it at her. Their hands moved lightning fast now, striking and blocking and swinging. She could barely keep up. She realized now that Barton had been holding back before, trying to pin her down rather than beat her. But he was fighting for survival now. And he was better than her.

Breath rasping in her throat, Maggie slashed her claws at Barton's exposed face. He jerked his head back just in time and a crack pierced the air between them.

The bullet hit Maggie like a punch in the side. She gasped and staggered back, hand flying to her stomach. She felt for the wound, her ears ringing, and found the side of her flight suit torn open at her abdomen, dripping with blood. Fire lanced through her side, taking her breath away. Not a fatal shot, she told herself. Panic flared in her chest and rose up her throat.

Barton's face went grim but he didn't stop. He strode forward, his stance low.

I need to end this.

Maggie feigned another staggering step back, and Barton launched forward. But Maggie planted her back foot and turned the move into a high spinning kick, and her metal prosthetic heel cracked across Barton's jaw harder than either of them expected.

Barton dropped, clutching his face with a groan, and Maggie fled. She sprinted for the edge of the rooftop and leaped, hitting the next roof a few feet away at a run.

She didn't look back. Maggie dashed from rooftop to rooftop, her boots thudding over shingles and her knees jarring with each impact, one hand pressed to her burning side. She made it half a mile before she heard the low whir of her wings coming back online. She didn't pause to run diagnostics. Sobbing in relief she flung her wings wide and rocketed upward, disappearing into the dark sky.

Back on the shadowy rooftop Clint cursed, clutching his jaw, even as he knelt down and soaked a torn-off piece of his shirt in the dark blood gleaming on the shingles.

Hotel de Paris, Monaco

That afternoon, Tony tested his blood alone in the fancy hotel bathroom, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal the spidery dark blue lines around the arc reactor, and the false smile missing from his face. He'd been looking forward today - he enjoyed racing, and coming to a beautiful city with Pepper by his side was his idea of a good time. This was supposed to be his vacation.

But this was all still a show, and today the show didn't feel like a game. Pepper was unhappy with him because he'd hired Rushman, and then Justin Hammer had showed up and started spouting off about presenting at the Expo. That smarmy ass was the bane of his existence.

And Maggie hadn't come. He hadn't heard from her since yesterday.

Tony flinched back from the finger spike, then eyed the scanner.

Blood toxicity: 53%

No wonder he felt so tired. This was deteriorating fast.

Tony leaned forward, bracing himself on the bathroom counter, and eyed himself in the mirror. 53%. He didn't want to waste any more energy on the things that weren't worthwhile, and the idea of going back out there to talk to Justin Hammer and pretend in front of Pepper that everything was fine…

He used to watch the Grand Prix races with Maggie, talking about the designs of the cars and the skills of the drivers. They hadn't done that in years. He doubted he'd even be able to see much of the race from the hotel, what with the all the politics and press packed in the main room.

He sighed and met his own eyes in the mirror. "Got any other bad ideas?"

Yerevan, Armenia

Later that evening, Maggie stopped running. She'd gone completely offgrid in her escape from Tbilisi, going through seven different modes of transport, three different countries, and ten disguises. She'd shut down all her devices. She'd even flown over a mountain range to get totally away from potential surveillance. Not even the best intelligence agency would have been able to follow her, she was certain.

Now, in a hotel room she'd checked into disguised as an old woman, Maggie allowed herself to relax. She closed the curtains, locked the door, turned on the TV to mask any sounds she might make, and then retreated to the bathroom. She slowly peeled off her disguise, groaning. With the grey wig, bulky clothes, and hasty makeup gone, Maggie looked at herself in the mirror.

She looked how she felt - bruised, bloodied, and tired down to her bones. Her skin was clammy and pale and dark shadows hung under her eyes. A lump had risen on the side of her head, the purpling bruise stretching beyond her hairline to the corner of her eyebrow. Her skin was caked in grime, and the heels of her palms had been skinned when she fell over earlier today, without her gloves to protect her hands. She could feel other bruises forming on her back and knees from the fight, but her eyes went to the compression bandage she'd hastily wound around her abdomen while fleeing Tbilisi. It was stained scarlet.

Gingerly, Maggie peeled back the bandage to properly inspect the damage. She winced at what she found.

Overall, she thought, she'd gotten lucky. The bullet had gone clean through the side of her abdomen just above her hip, only an inch of unmarked skin between the entry and exit wound. The whole site was bloody and swollen, no doubt from her continued movement throughout the day. She gingerly touched above the entry wound before hissing and pulling away. The area was sensitive and raw like the edge of a nerve. But she didn't think the bullet had hit anything important. She suspected Agent Barton had not been aiming to kill.

"Asshole," she hissed, because he'd still shot her.

I'll need stitches, she realized as the jagged bulletholes began to seep thick, red blood. A rush of tiredness hit her. She looked back at her own reflection, and tears prickled at her eyes. She hadn't had a chance to stop and think all day, and it all seemed to rush over her.

Deep breaths, Wyvern. Maggie drew in a long, slow breath through her nose and released it from her mouth as she reached for one of the white hotel hand towels, rinsed it in warm water, and began to clean her wound. She'd treated plenty of her own injuries before, and though she'd never treated a bullet wound she'd read up on it in advance. So she slowly went through the motions.

When she left the bathroom to get her medical supplies, however, she stopped in her tracks at the sound of her last name on the TV.

"- Stark was attacked mid-race by an unknown assailant using a form of homemade armor," a newsreader's voice said; judging by her accent, the hotel TV had access to American channels.

Maggie glanced over at the screen, towel pressed to her side to stop the bleeding, and her stomach dropped at the image beside the grim-faced blonde newsreader: Iron Man in the Mark V armor, standing on the Monaco raceway wreathed in what looked like a glowing, crackling cord, facing off against a man wearing a snarl and an improvised mechanical harness.

The screen switched over to live footage as the newsreader continued to report:

"Viewers of the Monaco Formula One Grand Prix were shocked when at the last minute Tony Stark announced he would be driving his own car in the race" - the footage showed Tony in a blue STARK racing suit and sunglasses, waving to the crowds as he slid into the driver's seat of a racecar. Maggie's heart leaped, but she didn't blink.

"Midway through the race, the unknown assailant walked onto the raceway and attacked several cars with an improvised device, including Mr Stark's car." Maggie stared at the footage of the bulky man striding onto the road, two crackling, glowing cords extending from his arms. The footage abruptly cut to a clip of the man bringing one of the crackling whips down on the blue and white Stark car, cutting it clean in two. Maggie flinched, then had to set her hand against the wall for support when the Tony's car flipped into the air, spewing sparks and smoke, before slamming into the ground.

This had to have been hours ago, she realized as she watched the car screech across the ground and collide into a barrier. Her eyes darted over the screen. And they still haven't said what happened to Tony. Her skin felt hot and tight, and her vision blurred.

"A duel then ensued on the raceway between Mr Stark, who later donned the Iron Man armor, and the individual whom some have given the moniker of 'Whiplash'."

A dizzying array of images: Tony in just his racing outfit, backing away from the swinging electric whips as fire raged on the raceway. A black sedan hitting the assailant, driven by - is that Happy? And Pepper? Then Tony in the red and silver armor, this time captured in shaky cellphone footage as he snared himself in the electric whips, getting close enough to slam the assailant to the ground.

Maggie let out a breath.

"The perpetrator has been taken into the custody of Monaco police. Six Grand Prix drivers were injured in the attack and are being treated at local hospitals, and..."

Maggie pushed off the wall and hurried to her go bag, digging past the medical supplies and pulling out her dead phone. She switched it on and hurriedly ran a trace wipe. When the program was done, she scrolled past her missed calls and messages, and hit speed dial for Tony.

She sat on the end of the hotel bed, towel pressed to her side, listening to the ringtone. When Tony didn't pick up, her heart skipped a beat. But he looked okay. The news would have said if…

She hit the next number on her speed dial.

Pepper picked up almost instantly. "Maggie! I've been trying to reach you all day, Tony was-"

"I saw on the news, is he okay?"

"He's fine, save for some scrapes-"

"And are you okay? I saw-"

"I'm okay, so is Happy. We got really lucky. Hold on a second, Maggie - Natalie, could you take that call from PR for me? Thanks."

Maggie stood up and made her way back to the bathroom, grabbing her medical supplies on the way.

Pepper's voice returned: "Where have you been all day? We were worried." She certainly sounded it - her voice was high and brittle. She must've been through a lot today.

"I just had my phone off, I'm really sorry," Maggie responded, setting the call to speakerphone. She began arranging her supplies on the counter. "Where's Tony? He didn't answer my call."

"He went with the Monaco police about half an hour ago, I'm sure he'll call you back. Listen, I know you were going to try to meet us in Monaco but the Grand Prix is obviously cancelled and we're going to head back to the jet in an hour. I need you to head back home, we're going to need your help."

"Help?" Maggie selected her needle and sutures.

"With the damage control. SI's already in a fragile place, and now Iron Man's just been challenged by some crazy guy with an arc reactor."

Her fingers stilled. "That guy had an arc reactor?"

"Yes, and I've already got the DoD and half the engineering world leaping on my back-"

"I'll head back first thing," Maggie reassured her, frowning. "We'll handle this, Pepper."

She was met only with a tired-sounding sigh. "See you soon, Maggie."

The call disconnected. Maggie frowned at the phone, a million thoughts running through her head. A fully functioning arc reactor? What does this mean?

But then her side throbbed, and she winced. One disaster at a time.

She threaded the suture needle, drew a steadying breath, and then got to work.

Maison d'Arrêt, Monaco

"You come from a family of thieves and butchers," was the first thing Ivan Vanko told Tony in the grim, bare prison cell. He was a grim looking man himself, even as he sat shirtless and shackled, with scars and tattoos all over his body and a cunning glint in his eye. He had a thick Russian accent. Tony hadn't been expecting him to say that, but it made sense - if Vanko had a personal grudge, that explained why he didn't just sell the Arc Reactor tech to the highest bidder.

Vanko did not shy away from Tony's gaze. "And now like all guilty men, you try to rewrite your own history. And you forget all the lives the Stark family has destroyed."

"Speaking of thieves, where did you get this design?" Tony countered. He'd looked over Vanko's arc reactor tech, and the design was sound.

"My father. Anton Vanko."

"Well, I've never heard of him."

Vanko looked him up and down, his eyes stopping on the glow of the arc reactor in his chest. "My father is the reason you're alive."

"The reason I'm alive is because you had a shot, you took it, and you missed," Tony replied evenly.

"Did I?" Vanko questioned, eyes glinting. "If you can make god bleed, the people will cease to believe in him." His voice dropped. "And there will be blood in the water. And the sharks will come. The truth, all I have to do is sit here and watch as the world will consume you."

Tony cocked an eyebrow. "Where will you be watching the world consume me from? That's right - a prison cell." He got to his feet. "I'll send you a bar of soap."

He strode for the door, shaking off Vanko's grim aura like a bad dream.

"Hey Tony, before you go," Vanko called after him. "Palladium in the chest…" Tony paused at the door, his back to Vanko and his heart pounding. "Painful way to die." There was a smile in his voice.

Tony let out a breath as he knocked on the cell door. Not even Maggie has worked that one out. The door opened and he strode out, nodding to the police officers who'd brought him down.

His heart pounded erratically in his chest. He'd never had anyone acknowledge the truth apart from himself and J.A.R.V.I.S.

On his way out of the prison, Tony checked his phone to see he had a missed call from Maggie. Finally. He called her back, but the call dropped out. She messaged him back shortly, though:

Sorry, reception is patchy. Are you okay?

He tapped out a quick reply: I'm fine. Where are you?

As he strode over to the car where Happy waited, her response came back: Heading home. I spoke to Pepper, will meet you both there.

Tony sighed. See you then. His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment. There were so many things he wanted to say. But he just hit send.

He nodded to Happy, who opened the car door for him. As he climbed in, his phone buzzed again:

Love you, Maggie had written. Glad you're okay.

Followed a second later by: The Mark V delivery looked great.

Smiling, Tony buckled his seatbelt as Happy drove them off into the night.

Hotel de Paris, Monaco

Natasha Romanoff sighed. She hadn't had a minute alone since the morning, and the day had been… less than ideal. She'd just watched, helpless, as Stark fought off an attacker with electric whips on the Monaco raceway. Hogan and Potts had helped save him, for god sakes, leaving her in the hotel. It still took some getting used to: being responsible for keeping her targets alive, rather than making them dead.

Thankfully Stark was in one piece and the attacker was in prison, but she knew she had a busy few days ahead - both as Stark's PA and as the SHIELD agent assigned to protect and monitor him. He certainly made the job interesting.

She'd already sent off her report on the day to Fury, and packed all the necessaries for the jet back to the states, which would be leaving in - she checked her watch - an hour.

Alone in her hotel room, Natasha kicked off her heels for a moment and stretched, before pulling out her burner phone.

She shot off an encrypted message to Barton: You okay? Heard you were in medical.

Fury had mentioned it when she called him after the raceway incident. Natasha had only known Clint Barton for slightly longer than a year, but he was the closest person in her life - not that she was close with anyone. He'd folded her into his life with open arms and an open heart after bringing her in to SHIELD, even confiding in her his greatest secret: his family. Natasha was neither emotional nor sentimental, but she appreciated Barton. Hearing that he'd been injured was… concerning. She didn't know anything about his assignment, nor did he know much about hers.

Clint's reply wasn't too long in coming: Yeah, they said I cracked my mandible. I'm going to be eating through a straw for a few days, but they've got some experimental treatment which they say will fix me up quicker. I'm tracking this real tricky target, she's cocky enough that you'd think she'd be easy to intercept but somehow she keeps slipping away.

Natasha's lips quirked. I know what you mean by cocky. My assignment should by all rights be dead in a ditch.

She'd just raided her room's minibar when Clint responded again:

That would be a hell of a lot easier. But my target could be a real asset for SHIELD if she got her head out of her own ass.

Natasha's brows lifted. I'd be concerned we're talking about the same person, but I'm not assigned to a female.

Clint responded almost instantly: Maybe once we bring them in we should put them on a team together.

I don't think my guy's a team player, she wrote back.

Nor mine. Oh well.

There was a knock at the door, and Natasha slid the phone under a cushion on the hotel room seat. "Enter."

Happy opened the door and stuck his head in warily. He'd been wary around her ever since the boxing ring incident. Good. "We're heading to the airfield now, are you ready?"

"Yes, I'll be right there."

He nodded once and vanished.

Natasha grabbed the burner phone and sent off one last quick message: Rest up, idiot.

The Triskelion, Washington D.C.

Agent Phil Coulson strode into SHIELD's medical wing and spotted Agent Barton straight away. He lay on the bed closest to the glass doors, his head swaddled in bandages like a cartoon character. He had a few bruises on his arms, but the main injury seemed to be the jaw. Clint looked up at the sound of the door sliding open and waved. The nurse on duty looked over as well, nodded to Phil, then turned back to her paperwork.

"Agent Barton," Phil greeted, striding over to his bedside. Clint gave another small wave. "Can you talk?"

"A little," Clint murmured, moving his mouth as little as possible. The bandages kept his jaw mostly immobilised.

"How are you feeling?"

Clint tipped his head from one side to the other. "Good, aside from the broken jaw." He lifted the edge of one of the bandages to show a shockingly purple bruise on his chin. Phil winced in sympathy.

"You've got some time to submit your mission report, but I wanted to get your verbal report now," Phil explained. "I take this" - he gestured to Clint's face - "to mean that the Wyvern wasn't happy about being contacted?" He recalled David Marlow's warning. She's got claws, y'know.

Clint grimaced, as much as he was able. "Not very. Don't think she liked being surprised. Or being cornered."

Phil sighed. "Well we didn't have many other options to contact her. You did the right thing." He thought about it. "She won't fall for another setup like that, but perhaps we could reach out in the form of offering a bounty, see if we can tempt her with something." He frowned even as he said it - the Wyvern had proven herself notoriously selective with missions, and he knew this failed contact attempt would likely drive her further into hiding. "If we can't seriously contact her, we'll have to think about switching tacks and looking into shutting her down."

But Clint smiled. "I'll do you one better." He shifted, grunting, until he reached the tub full of his clothes beside the bed. He rummaged in the tub for a moment before retrieving… a plastic sandwich bag with what looked like a dark scrap of cloth in it.

Phil raised an eyebrow. "And that is…?"

Clint waved the bag at him, and Phil noticed dark smudges on the inside of the plastic. "That, Agent Coulson, is the Wyvern's blood."

Phil's eyes widened.

Clint smiled wider, then winced and reached up to touch his jaw. "Ow." He handed the bag over and Phil took it carefully, already eyeing the amount of blood and figuring out whether the SHIELD analysts would have enough to work with. "So, not a total mission failure after all?"

Phil looked up. "Certainly not. Well done, Hawkeye."

May 24, 2010
Over the Atlantic Ocean

Pepper looked down at the soggy omelette Tony had made in the jet kitchenette, startled. Then a softer, more considering look came over her face, and she looked up at him.

"Tony," she murmured. "What are you not telling me?"

He'd been glancing out at the clouds, bathed golden in the sunrise as the jet soared high above them. But he glanced back at Pepper and his throat constricted at the look in her eyes. It was the look she wore so rarely, the one that stripped away his layers of charm and jokes and acting.

"I don't want to go home," he said, completely honest. "At all."

Pepper smiled, tired lines around her eyes. The sun slanted through the jet window over her face.

"Let's cancel my birthday party and…" he thought about it. "We're in Europe, let's go to Venice, Cipriani. Remember?" They'd both been there for a business conference, a million years ago. It was one of the first times they'd had a real conversation, hiding from the lobby full of businessmen together on the roof, under the stars.

"Oh, yes," Pepper smiled, her eyebrows lifted. She was remembering the part after, when Tony had gone skinny dipping in the fountain.

But the idea had struck something inside Tony. A place to get away. "I'll invite Maggie, you know she'll take any chance to skive off work, and she does love to travel. It's a great place to…" he pictured it. "To be healthy."

Pepper sighed. "I don't think this is the right time," she said apologetically. "We're in… kind of a mess."

"Yeah, but maybe that's why it's the best time."

"Well, I think as the CEO I need to show up." She arched an eyebrow.

"As CEO you are entitled to a… leave."

"A leave?" she echoed, incredulously.

"A company retreat," he persisted. "Both Starks'll be there, that counts for something-"

"A retreat, during a time like this?"

Tony's gaze dropped. He couldn't bear to look at her, couldn't bear to think of the mess he'd leave her in when he inevitably… he swallowed. "Well, I'm just saying, to recharge our batteries and… figure it all out."

"Not everybody runs on batteries, Tony," she said softly, and when he looked up at her she was smiling. It tugged at a smile on his own lips and for a moment they just looked at each other. And for just that moment, it was enough.

Probably no midweek update this week, sorry! You'll have to hang in suspense until Sunday ;)

Reviews

DBZFAN45: I'm glad you liked all the POVs from last chapter, we've got lots of different characters in the game now! Hopefully you enjoyed getting to see both Natasha and Clint this chapter! See you later :)

The1975Love: You are too kind, thank you ❤ I have always appreciated your enthusiastic reviews! I'm glad you were excited for this chapter… and hopefully it delivered ;)

Wyrleen: Tony is just as bad with his secrets as Maggie! Though his secrets are catching up with him as well. I can promise we'll have a Natasha/Maggie interaction next chapter! And you clearly know me too well, I enjoy dramatic angst with a side of action and comedy which hopefully there was plenty of this chapter! As for what I'm planning… you'll have to wait!