Chapter 2

Following the promising but also completely fruitless first contact with her target, the Black Widow returned to her safe house, ready for the debrief with her team. After briefly checking her own room for intruders, she made her way upstairs with just her phone, steeling herself for the interrogation she knew was to come. During her time at SHIELD, she had taken part of many interrogations, both as the questioner and the victim. And, although after she finished her probation period, she would never again be forced into the interrogee's seat, she knew it was an impossibility that after a meeting with a target of this importance, that she would not the victim of a discussion with Fury. She only hoped that Phil would debrief her in Fury's place, so as to be an intermediary of sorts.

As it turns out, she wasn't that lucky. As she opened the door, one of the specialists handed her an information packet, before gesturing towards the side room that had been set up with noise cancelling equipment and a high-security connection to facilitate secure communication with the SHIELD higher-ups across the pond.

She opened the door, which slowly closed behind her with a hiss. Lights in the room went out for a brief moment, before coming back on, with a red sign above the door saying 'CLEAR'. It was a standard SHIELD safe-room, with special EMP-shielded faraday tiles blocking signals in and out. If she had checked her phone, it would have had no reception, GPS, Wifi, or any other connections. It was a little overkill, but Nick Fury's unofficial was 'too much of everything' (there was another motto used to describe him, which perhaps I won't write here).

On the two monitors in front of her were two faces. The bad news was that Fury was talking to her himself (although over a video link). There was good news, which was that Phil was also there, and he could hopefully get the conversation back on track if needed.

They were SHIELD agents, and, as such, did not fumble around with needless pleasantries or questions like "can you hear me?" or "am I muted?". Rather, she went to begin, opening her mouth before she was cut off by Fury.

"Are you aware, Agent, that not six seconds after you made contact with the target, the cameras in your location were so completely distorted and obscured so as to be rendered completely useless? Not only that, only a few seconds after, levels of background static radiation in the air were so high that your phone was utterly incapable of sending or receiving any useful information. Moments after your contact with an unknown and highly dangerous target, you were flying entirely blind and without any support. I've told the research and development department that they have a week to produce something that can work in those conditions without dying, although they've been saying something about it not being possible."

She didn't have to indicate to them that she saw how serious this problem was. Not only was it dangerous, it was just inconvenient, as she would have to remember every detail, as she wouldn't have cameras until they were (hopefully) developed.

"What's the plan?" She asked.

"You can start by telling us exactly what happened on your meeting with Mr. Godric Gryffindor."

She began the mission report, giving an overall outline, before giving the smaller details. They then began the questioning in earnest.

"Did you notice him looking at cameras at all? Focusing? Did he have any device that looked like it could be controlling the effects?"

"No, I don't think he looked once at the cameras around us. He barely looked at me, and certainly didn't seem to focus on my bag with my phone. Is it possible it is a subconscious ability?"

At this point, Phil interjected. "Well, the analysts have just sent some information through. Apparently the cameras were slightly distorted as soon as he walked into the room, but they got much worse when we started watching through them, and when you came in. It looks like he keeps it at a low level by default, then activates it when it is actually needed."

She looked confused at that. "That doesn't make sense. Why keep it on, even at low levels? It'd just attract attention to always have it active. If he can somehow detect when he's being watched, why not only activate it then, rather than raising suspicions by breaking cameras when he moves around? You said he blew up a speed camera? As in physically destroyed?"

Phil nodded. "Just a few days ago, he drove past it on a main road, and the temperature spiked and then it lost contact. The police checked it yesterday and found the circuits melted – they have no idea what could have done it."

"I think the evidence points to his ability being subconscious. Either that, or he's just not very good at this."

They continued their discussions for a few minutes before switching to another topic – what to do.

"From now, assume the target is still unaware of our presence and your identity. If you get the opportunity, make contact again. In the meantime, when he goes on one of his regular trips into central London, I'm going to assign the Hawkeye to follow him."

"Clint? But he's on vacation?"

"I don't give a damn what he's doing. He is a SHIELD agent, and that means he is always on duty. He'll have to cut his holiday in the French countryside short – finding out who and what this guy is is now a top priority mission, and that takes precedence over visiting old French castles."

She nodded, and left the room, before leaving the apartment, leaving her barely-working phone on the main table. It was time for more waiting.

-o-

Clint Barton, grumbled to himself as he adjusted his position in his 'nest'. It was the first time he had taken an official vacation in years, and he was called back to watch a kid who SHIELD was too inept to properly follow. He job was to wait until the team spotted him somewhere in London and then follow him to wherever he was going. He had somehow managed to wring a concession out of Fury, who had agreed to double his vacation time to make up for it if he could catch "the pain in the ass".

After several hours of very annoyed waiting, he finally received word that the target was on the move. They had managed to find the road he normally took (one without cameras), and Clint was perched atop an old building on the side of the road, ready to spring into action. They hadn't seen the target on the move – rather, they read a report from the police department about a speed camera that had spontaneously combusted a few minutes ago. Apparently that was something people could do now. Now that he was thinking about it, he wouldn't mind being able to disable cameras himself – it would help with his sporadic trips to Missouri to visit his wife and children. He decided to ask Fury after they were done if he could have a camera destroyer.

Having received a detailed description of both the target and his vehicle, Clint immediately recognised him as he drove down the road. He didn't have a helmet on, which was not only illegal, but also not exactly the smartest idea for someone trying to go somewhere covertly. As he drew closer to the building where Clint watched, he pressed a button and activated their secret weapon. The lights turned red. It was a simple trick, and trivial for an organisation with as much control as SHIELD. Clint knew he couldn't outrun a motorbike, especially on the uneven rooves that he was on. So, SHIELD used its connections to keep traffic high and lights red. Aside from a slight increase in the ever-present horn-honking of London, and a few grumbling drivers, no-one was any the wiser.

He reached down, grabbed his digital binoculars, and pressed them to his eyes. A few seconds later, he began to see the effect that the other agents had described, the camera display rippling as he watched. He even felt the eyepieces heat up on his skin, before he tossed them to the side, useless to him. Luckily, his name, Hawkeye, was not just ego – his eyes were phenomenal, and he began taking notes on what little he could see of the target. He was wearing a jacket of an unknown dark blue material over what looked like a nice collared shirt. He couldn't see any weapons, although the rippling material of the jacket didn't show much of what was beneath it.

He stood up and began walking to the side, climbing a small ledge onto the next building, matching the target's pace. At this point, Clint, still dealing with a slight talking-to-himself problem, uttered words to himself which quite possibly doomed the entire enterprise.

"This isn't too bad, what tricks could you possibly have?"

As if the universe was listening, ready to dish out some cosmic karma, the cars in front of his target all began moving smoothly, the minor gridlock vanishing as if the drivers had all suddenly become very considerate and skilled drivers. Some even changed course, indicating left or right, and deciding to take an alternate route, which, conveniently for the target, left his route almost entirely clear. His speedometer was now displaying 40, which in the dense city centre, might as well have been Mach 1. Luckily for Clint, the light ahead of him was still red, which would give him some time to catch up.

The light turned green.

Clint swore to himself, and grabbed the phone from his bag, shouting angrily at the technician on the other side.

"Why the hell is that light green? I did not signal you to make it green? What on earth possessed you to decide that the light should change when I am over thirty meters behind him?"

The technician stuttered back an apology, saying they had no idea why it changed, and that the light somehow overruled their commands. Clint couldn't hear him, as he had put the phone back in his bag, and was sprinting across the roof, trying to make up ground.

He saw the light on the side of the bike indicate, the driver readying to turn. How considerate. This was good news for Clint, as the upcoming main road was completely clogged with the typical start-stop traffic that Londoners all knew and hated. Then, the bike turned early, going into a side alley before reaching the main road. Clint was now both tired and confused, but grateful, as the alley was a dead end, and would give him some brief respite to catch his breath.

He reached the end of the building overlooking the alley. It was dark, with a few bins and windows looking down onto it. It was tight and cramped, without any real places for a target to hide.

It was also completely empty. He swore again to himself (a common occurrence that day), and began looking around frantically for his target. But there was no sign of him. He spent another twenty minutes looking in vain, before reluctantly radioing in that "due to a technological malfunction on the part of the technicians, the target was able to successfully take evasive action against him". It wouldn't fool Fury or Phil, but hopefully the other agents wouldn't realise that he, the great Clint Barton, the Hawkeye, the greatest tracker in history, had lost a target. It was insulting, really, as if he was back in school.

He made a pronouncement which, in any other story, would be accompanied by thunder and lightning.

"I will catch that man, if it's the last thing I do."

Unfortunately for him, the uncommonly cloudless day refused to accompany his declaration with special effects.

-o-

The next day, following her smug looks at Clint, the Black Widow once again left the apartment, having received word that her target was on the move once again. He seemed to be heading for the same café, although he was on foot this time. With luck, she could beat him there and be placing her order as he came in.

She hurried out of the house, grabbing the new, but mostly unmodified phone given to her by the support staff. The only difference of this phone was a radiation detector, and an external camera they hoped would survive whatever the meeting would need.

On the short walk to the café, she didn't have much time to dawdle, but her mind was already at the café, thinking of introductory phrases (she refused to call them pickup lines, although that was, in essence, what they were, only for a different kind of pickup), subjects of discussion, and, of course, battle plans (she was, after all, the Black Widow).

As she entered the café, her phone reported that her target would enter the café in around a minute, so she stood at the counter, pretending to consult the menu until she heard the door open behind her. Forcing herself to keep looking forward, she waited until she felt a presence next to her, and looked at him 'surprisedly'.

"You again? What are the chances of seeing you here again?"

He continued looking at the menu, charmingly handwritten on the blackboard-paint above the counter, for a few seconds, before realising that she was talking to him. He turned quickly.

"Oh, it's you again," he said in a completely monotone voice as if he barely recognised her. "Are you following me?" he asked, not really out of suspicion, more out of a futile attempt at making small-talk.

"I was here first, silly," she responded in a voice so airy that Clint would be cringing. "I guess you like this café then?"

He grunted. It might have been an affirmative.

"Right, right, sure. Good." Here came the big one. "I didn't catch your name last time, mister?"

He looked at her quizzically, before replying

"James. James Black," he lied, extending a hand.

"Natalie Rushmore," she lied, knowing that both of them were.

Natasha Romanoff took his hand and shook it, before speaking again. "Well, James, what do you say we spend some more time together? Maybe you could show me some of the other cafés around here?" It was a pretty transparent attempt, but hopefully it would work.

He smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It looked pained, almost guilty. "I'd love to."

Internally congratulating herself, she turned around, towards the counter once again.

She remembered something. She hadn't completed the mission report for her previous mission. Fury would kill her if she left it any longer. This mission could wait, she had already made contact, and it wasn't all that important – he seemed normal. She turned and, muttering a hasty apology, rushed out the door.

Harry Potter put his wand back into his jacket pocket, sighing sadly to himself. It was for the best, after all.

-o-

A/N:

I've just realised FFnet wasn't saving my asterisk line breaks between scenes - have remedied this, although I am a little unsure why asterisks and similar characters seem to be banned as separators.