Chapter 29

The next few days went better for Frankie. The pills that Dr. Raynor gave her must have been doing their job because shadow Rory didn't come back. Her daily sessions with the good doctor were bearing fruit in that she couldn't remember any dreams when she woke up each morning. Her shoulders hurt less each day, so the antibiotics from Dr. Bennet were working also. She was almost feeling normal again. Now, she just needed to work on getting Fury to trust her enough to loosen her shackles.

She had her meals in the cafeteria with the rest of the campus population, though her company consisted of the two agents watching over her instead of her peers or friends. But with the quality and variety of food offered, she wasn't going to complain. Nope.

Saturday, she spotted Ruby having lunch with another woman. When she entered the cafeteria, the woman turned to look at her and a spark of recognition flared. She had seen the woman before, but she wasn't sure where. After staring at her for a few moments, the woman turned back to Ruby and the two proceeded to have an intense conversation. Unfortunately, Frankie wasn't close enough to catch any of it, but she would bet good money it was about her.

During her interviews with Fury and Barton, she filled in their knowledge of the Hydra base, sketching out a rough map from her memory. She was only able to give rough estimates of the number of people, equipment, and vehicles she had seen. She let them believe that Glenda was the one running the show, although they were skeptical that she didn't have someone higher up in the organization over her. Working with sketch artists, she provided descriptions of Glenda, Percy Adams, Jacob Stern, and several other department heads. The likenesses were strikingly accurate. She had a better head for people than places and equipment.

She was able to give a good physical description of the Hydra spacecraft but had no idea about the specifics of the propulsion system, the human interface, and other details that Fury thought important. When he asked how she, a new, coerced recruit gained access to such an important asset, Frankie told him that one of the team leads was trying to impress her to get into her pants. She was pretty sure he didn't buy it, but until she came up with a better response, that would have to do. Overall, though, every bit of information she provided bought her a bit more goodwill despite what she withheld.


On Monday, her interviews with Fury and Clint shifted in tone. As if sensing they had just about tapped out Frankie's well of knowledge on Hydra, or at least what she was willing to provide, their conversations turned towards the Avengers and SHIELD. It was so subtle that she almost missed it at first as Fury returned to the day that turned her life upside down.

"If you weren't a Hydra agent, why did you stab Barton?"

The anger she normally felt when she thought about that day and the reasons behind her actions didn't flare up and consume her like it usually did. It was still there, but instead of a raging conflagration, it was just a hot ember buried deep in her chest.

"That was just sweet revenge for Rory's death," she calmly told the director. She waved a hand in the air, "we've been over this already."

"And I want to go over it again," Fury responded. "Tell me again how Rory died."

Gritting her teeth, Frankie took him through her and Rory coming upon the fight between Hawkeye and the four thugs, the car crashing into the scaffolding that Rory and the two other boys were under, and Hawkeye running off after the final guy, leaving Rory to his fate.

"Did Barton see the kids? Or give any indication that he saw them?"

"Not that I could see from the end of the street."

"So, he probably had no way of knowing their fate."

"That doesn't excuse what happened," she snapped.

Fury shook his head, "you're right, it doesn't. This probably won't help either, but the remaining members of the Avengers were trying desperately to locate him and get him off the streets. They knew about his actions and were horrified by what he was doing. In the middle of the worst crisis in human history, with half their team gone, they were trying to stop him."

"They weren't doing too good a job of it."

"They succeeded, but it was a few months later. Too late for you."

"You mean Rory."

"And you," he met her eyes and held them. "You were just as much a victim as Rory was, only you didn't die."

"I might as well have," she wrapped her arms around her body in a protective hug.

Fury nodded, "so you lost someone you cared about and were consumed by anger and struck out at the target."

"Exactly," she agreed starting to feel uncomfortable at the direction this was going.

"At least you had a target to strike out against, even if he didn't actually kill the boy. He was a perfectly acceptable surrogate as far as you were concerned."

Frankie jumped up out of her chair and slapped her hands on the table, "oh, no you don't! I see what you're doing here!"

"What am doing?"

She pushed away from the table and planted her hands on her hips, "you're trying to suggest that what I did was the same as what he did!"

"It's not?" Fury leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, challenging her to deny it.

"Absolutely not! I didn't purposely go around hunting criminals to take out my anger on. I didn't do it with no consideration of what my actions would cost others."

"Really? Do you even know why he came to your bar?"

"Probably dealing out more of his kind of justice," she said smugly. "When I saw him, he was torturing Little Tito."

"He was there because alien weapons are being sold to common criminals and thugs. Do you have any idea the kind of damage those weapons could do on the streets? You saw the footage of the battle for New York and how conventional law enforcement fared against them. Little Tito was the go-between for the buyers and the sellers."

He continued when she didn't answer, "it was one of those weapons that shot the Quinn jet you were on out of the sky. Because of your actions, Barton wasn't able to track them down and now they're out. Every week, there are news reports of cops and feds being gunned down by them. We've developed armor to withstand them, but it takes time to manufacture and get into the hands of those that need it. So instead of stopping the problem, now we're reduced to dealing with it."

"That is all on you, Frankie."

"Now you wait just a moment. That is not my fault!" she protested.

"Whose fault is it then?"

"The people that sold the weapons and the ones that bought them, duh. That's a stupid question," she shot back.

"But your actions stopped us from intercepting them before they hit the streets."

"How the hell was I supposed to know that?"

"How the hell was Hawkeye supposed to know Rory was hiding under that scaffolding?"

She turned away from his stare and glared at the wall. She didn't have a good answer to that, but it wasn't the same thing at all.

"Ok, so how about this? What if you had killed him? Did you even think about his family? His wife and three children?"

"Again, that is irrelevant. His wife left him and took the kids."

"Did you know that at the time? Did you consider that he had a family at all when you stabbed him? If you had succeeded and he had died, would one of his children be justified in coming after you next? His wife may have left him, but those kids still love him. He's still their father."

She refused to turn around or answer him. After a few tense moments, she heard him push his chair back.

"I think that's enough for today. Why don't you go get some lunch?"


Back in her room, despite her best efforts, her thoughts kept returning to what Fury had said. Pacing back and forth, she tried again and again to pick apart his argument, to no avail. Grudgingly, she had to admit he made a good point. What she had done was no less vigilantism than what Clint had been doing.

Going to the door, she knocked and stood back. After a couple seconds, it opened to reveal Laura.

"Do you need something, Frankie?"

"Yeah, what are the odds of me getting a TV? I'm going stir crazy in here day after day with nothing to do."

Laura frowned, "I don't know, but I can ask." She hesitated for a bit, "there is a library on the campus. I can take you there so you can pick out a couple of books until we find out about the TV."

Frankie wasn't much of a book reader, but it was better than nothing.

"That would be great," she smiled.


The library turned out to be a disappointment. Very few of the Avengers, SHIELD agents, and trainees used physical media anymore. Steve Rogers' unease with technology lead to the installation of the library to make him feel more at ease. Most of the books on the shelves reflected that purpose, being published prior to the 1940's. The few that were published after that decade were more along the lines of biographies and history. One very new biography was prominently displayed near the door.

"The Life of America's First Superhero," Frankie read. "Really? You have Captain America's biography?"

"Of course, we do," Laura said with more than a touch of pride. "He's the foundation of everything the Avengers and SHIELD stands for."

"Wow," she said, replacing the book, "I think I'm going to throw up."

The agent picked it up and held it out, "you really should read this. It will give you some insight about this place and the people here." She shrugged, "if nothing else, know thy enemy."

"Ok, I guess it will be better than staring at blank walls for hours," she allowed as she took the book.

"And I will see if I can at least get you a tablet with access to more books than this," Laura smiled looking around the sad, little library.

In addition to the biography, Frankie picked out Of Mice and Men to take back to her room. They would have to do until she got something better.


She had managed to read the first two chapters of the biography before there was another knock on her door. Shoving the book under her pillow – she was kind of embarrassed to be reading it in the first place – before opening the door.

"Bored?" Clint asked leaning against the frame. He was dressed casually in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Uh, yes," she answered tentatively.

"Change into something to run in. I'll be out here when you're done."

Quickly changing into a pair of leggings and another tank, she pulled her hair out of her face into a high ponytail. At the door, she raised her hand to knock, but paused. On a hunch, she turned the knob instead. It was unlocked and the door swung open at her touch. Clint had taken up position leaning against the wall opposite the door. As she stepped out into the hallway, he straightened.

"Ready?"

Oh, boy, was she! It had been weeks since she had last gone for a run and she had missed it.

"Absolutely."

"I'll go slow for you," he told her as he held the door open.

She tilted her head up at him as she walked past, "the hell you will."

That earned her a snort, "you are still recovering from some serious injuries. Especially the cracked ribs."

True. But she wasn't about to let a little pain spoil her run. Who knew when she would get to do it again?

He led her to a track tucked between what remained of the pool and the river. It was so new that the white lines marking the lanes along its surface were almost glowed with their own light. Stepping on it, it felt springy as she pushed off, yet had no give when she put her weight on in.

Seeing her puzzling over the incongruity, Clint explained, "it's a prototype for a new surfacing material using recycled plastic and rubber. It absorbs the kinetic energy of your step impacting it and converts it into force as you push off.

She hopped up and down in place to test what he told her and frowned, "seems like cheating to me."

"The sports federation and Olympic committee agree with you, but it's a lot easier on the runners' joints. You'll end up with fewer chronic hip and knee injuries on this surface."

"Huh, that doesn't sound too bad. Let's see what it does for me."

After stretching, Frankie and Clint started off at a slow jog for a warm-up lap. True to his word, running on this surface was a lot less jarring than on a normal track, so even though her ribs ached with the exertion, but the pain wasn't debilitating. The scars on her shoulders pulled annoyingly but weren't too bad either. She wasn't in too bad a shape for the condition she was in, she thought with a grin.

"What's so funny?" Clint asked.

She shared her thought with him, and he just shook his head and groaned.

"Oh, come on. That was funny."

"If you say so."

"Jerk."

"Hack."

She reached out and shoved him off the track, laughing as he stumbled to maintain his footing in the softer dirt inside the ring and picking up her pace. Warm-up was over. Behind her, she heard him coming up behind her as he hurried to catch her. Even though he was only a few inches taller than her, it gave him enough of an advantage that he came up alongside her before she had run a quarter of a lap. This time, however, he put her between him and the inside of the track.

"That's playing dirty," he complained.

"What? The big, bad Avenger can't handle a little girl pushing him around?"

"You may be a lot of things, but you are definitely not a little girl!"

She laughed and gave herself over to the joy of running. Running was the only time her mind would stop racing. It just went blank as she focused on putting one foot in front of another and regulating her breathing. Everything else disappeared and all her worries dropped away for those long minutes of exertion. Six laps later, though, the last few weeks were getting the better of her. She was wearing out and losing steam quickly.

"How about racing me this last straightaway?" Clint was red in the face beside her but didn't appear to be struggling as much as she was starting to.

"I don't think…," he started to answer, but she had already picked up her pace in an all-out sprint.

"Damnit, Frankie!"

She laughed and poured every last bit of energy she had into to her sprint. Maybe she had enough of a head start, she could beat him over this short a distance.

It wasn't to be. He handily caught her halfway down the stretch, pulling ahead to finish several yards ahead of her. She didn't care. She gave it her best and didn't give in to her body's protests.

Trying to catch her breath after a run like that but not expanding her chest to the point of pain proved to be too much for her. As she walked off the run, she wrapped her arm around her throbbing ribs and struggled to catch her breath. Damn, but it hurt.

Clint caught her by the arm to bring her pacing to a stop, "put your hands on your knees. It'll slow your heartrate faster."

Doing as he directed, she bent slightly to put her free hand on the corresponding knee. At first it didn't seem to make a difference, but after a minute or two, her breathing slowed enough to quit hurting her ribs.

"You have to be the most stubborn, irresponsible woman I have ever had the displeasure to meet!" Clint ranted beside her. "What the hell are you trying to prove?"

Blowing out a final breath in that position, she stood straight and grinned like the idiot he thought her to be, "that was amazing! Can we do it again tomorrow?"

He gaped at her, "do it again tomorrow? Do you have a death wish or something? Christ, what the hell was I thinking?"

She held up a hand to stop him, "you're right. That last sprint wasn't the best idea I've ever had, but the rest was amazing."

He blinked, "can you say that again?"

"Um, which part?"

"The part where you said I was right."

"I'll say it again if you promise we'll do this again tomorrow," she bargained.

"I have got to be out of my mind," he huffed as he walked over to a cooler and pulled out a couple bottles of water. Tossing one to her, he took a long drink from his before answering. "If the doctor says it's okay, then, maybe I'll come get you for another run tomorrow."

"I hate to be the one to point out the obvious, but shouldn't you have checked with the doctor before we did this today?"

He gave her a crooked little smile, "I never said I was the smartest Avenger."