"Clint!"

Clint Barton whips his head around and catches a blur of the Black Widow flying through the air at him, leg chambered for a kick. He sidesteps barely in time to avoid it, with the unfortunate Maya Lopez taking the brunt instead. Kate Bishop is revealed to be right behind her, bow swinging. The woman ducks and spins easily out of the way, taking the bow with her. She catches him behind the knee with it and he puts out his arms to break his fall.

Clint rolls to his feet as the tip crashes into the tarpaper, chips of costly filigree exploding outward in a bright moment of dazzle, and kicks it away. As the two of them grapple, he spies something over her shoulder...

His heart turns to ice in his chest, so suddenly it staggers him. Maya is lifting a knife behind Kate's back. There's no time to even shout a warning, no time to open his mouth. Paradoxically, time seems to slow before his eyes. The split second it must have taken for Maya's arm to complete its arc and begin to swing back down plays out with agonizing inevitability. Not ag-

The girl springs into the air and performs an apparently effortless back flip, the inky streamer of her ponytail floating beneath her. Her feet land atop Maya's head and the would-be assassin drops unconscious, followed quickly by Kate's slightly bobbled three-point landing and a bizarrely stricken look up at him.

The Widow takes advantage of Clint's bewilderment to shoot a series of angry red Widow's Bites onto his neck. From his new vantage point convulsing on the ground, he can see Kate somersault through the air and handspring off into another somersault that takes her out of his field of view. At least she's moving away, but what the hell?

His racing thoughts are cut short by powerful black-clad thighs clamping down on his shoulders. One hand grips the side of his head. As the other tries to slip under his chin, he understands what's about to happen and reaches up, groping for the edge of the mask. A wind rushes past his hand simultaneously with a feminine yelp. Blood sprays down, boiling on his icy hand, and the mask comes off as the Widow releases him and stands.

It's surprisingly heavy with electronics. Clint lets it drop, rolls onto his side and cranes his neck, scrabbling at the Widow's Bites with clawed fingers. Kate has a nocked arrow leveled at what he can now see is the blond woman. It dawns on him that she caused the bloody notch in the woman's ear. That pale braid bobs in what he interprets as a headshake, then she crouches to pick up the mask just as he rids himself of the last sparking ring. His brain blissfully begins to reconnect with his limbs.

He struggles to his feet as the Widow shoots a claw down into the tarpaper and races for the edge of the roof. She mounts the lip and pirouettes, locking eyes with Clint on her way into an ass-first freefall. A chill goes down his spine. He's seen unbearable hate before, but never directed squarely at him.

There's no time to worry about it: the prone form of their other problem is already stirring. "Time to go."

Down on the street, Kate, who had been hanging back, touches his arm. "My aunt's place is the other way."

"We can't go back there, not with a Black Widow assassin looking for me. That means- never mind. I'm taking us someplace that'll be safe for tonight."

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

The two of them sit across from each other. Clint stares stonily at Kate, who avoids his gaze.

"Uhhh... Missy brought the outfits over," Grills offers. "Would you like to see them?"

"Maybe later. I tell you what..." Clint produces a wallet from his inside jacket pocket. "Why don't you go get some pizza? My treat."

Grills waves away the extended bills. "I can't take your money, man."

"Oh, it's the least I can do."

After the door closes behind him, Kate looks down at her archery suit. "You know, I should get some pockets sewn into this. Didn't really think about that. Before." When Clint doesn't answer, she looks up almost defiantly. "Say something."

"Is there something you'd like to tell me? About what happened back there?"

She shrugs. "Maya took me by surprise. I just reacted."

"Now, that part, I believe. Look at me. Kate, look at me."

"I just- you know, just-" Kate's hands trace flustered circles in front of her. "Come on, Clint. I've been working toward this since 2012. You didn't really think I'd never been in a brawl before, did you?"

"2012?" That catches his attention. "But you would have been a-" Something clicks into place. "-kid."

"What building is my mom's penthouse near?" she gently nudges.

Clint's expression, which has already passed through determination, reproach, and confusion, shows brief surprise before melting into anger. "So we've been out risking our lives and you held back?! You got yourself captured on purpose?!"

"No! No, that actually was an accident. But I may have downplayed my skills a tiny bit."

"You lied."

"Just the little white kind."

"For God's sake, whatever for?"

Kate's eyes shift somewhere to the vicinity of his left ear. "I wanted you to stay," she mutters.

"What?"

"It seemed like the best way to convince you to stay and teach me was to be a bit... helpless."

"Did you even really not know how to use a butterfly bandage?"

Her sheepishness is all the answer he needs. Very slowly, his eyelids droop. Even more slowly, he exhales through pursed lips. "You looked capable enough on the roof. I don't see why I shouldn't get on a plane tonight."

"Because I'm not a superhero!" she bursts out. "You can do so many things I can't. All those tricks you have in combat. Knowing how to follow people-"

"Tradecraft."

"Yeah. I guess."

"So why not go into Intelligence? They'd teach you all the tradecraft you can handle." The stricken look is returning to Kate's face. "Ah. 2012."

"Ten's way too young to know you're about to die. I couldn't even scream when I saw a giant alien, of all things, flying straight at me… and then it was gone, and I saw you. I saw you on that rooftop, no superpowers, no supersuits-" She cracks a small smile. "- just a person fighting aliens with a stick and a string."

Clint slumps in defeat. "Just, please, I'm begging you- no more feigned helplessness."

"No more." In that one instant, Kate has already perked up.

"And no more lies, little, white or otherwise."

"You got it."

"Because someone has hired a Black Widow. Do you understand what that means?"

"I think so."

"That means shit just got real. That means all the other times we almost died were kindergarten compared to this."

"Figures."

He holds up a finger. "Don't talk. Listen." An expectant pause follows as he considers what to say next. "It's too dangerous now to return to any place that's been associated with either of us in the past. No aunt's apartment, no mom's penthouse, no loft. Not even for a visit."

"All my stuff probably burned up anyway. I'll buy new stuff. It's as good an excuse as any to get my mom to reinstate my credit cards."

"No cards. They used to be able to track those. I don't know if they still can, but I'd rather not find out the hard way."

"Well, can't I just withdraw a cash advance from an ATM?"

"Cash advance, huh? Must be nice. Sure. Why not? Just be sure not to use an ATM close to where we're staying."

She throws him an injured look. "No more Calamity Kate, remember? Now I'm going to go get an ice pack before my eye swells shut. Want one?"

He holds up three fingers, indicating he wants three. As she watches him tie them on through a single exposed eye, he feels compelled to mention, "You know what else is good for a shiner?"

"What?"

"Preparation H, Clear Eyes and Orajel. Preparation H for swelling, Clear Eyes for redness, Orajel for pain. Just don't add too much Orajel or you won't be able to feel your face. Believe me."

She smiles. "See? I just learned something new." A grunt is her only reply. "You know... as long as we're going out for supplies, I have a friend who can hook us up with a relaxation aid."

His eyes narrow. "Is this 'relaxation aid' legal?"

"In New York? Technically not yet."

"I thought you didn't have any money?"

"Oh, she knows I'm good for it."

Clint ponders the Ziploc bag tied to his wrist with a towel as Kate waits in motionless suspense.

"The hell with it."