Author's Note: So, I was planning to wait for another couple of days before posting this chapter, but my husband asked about it this morning before work. "When are you posting the next chapter of New York State of Mind?" Since he did sit and help me come up with some twists in my next story, I figured I'd indulge him.

So, here's the final chapter in my first-ever Avengers story. I never intended for it to go as deep or as long as it has, but I have enjoyed writing for all of you. This chapter doesn't end as happy as I originally thought, but you'll understand why when you reach the end. Big thanks to theicemenace who beta'd and listened to me brainstorm and to all of you who reviewed! Hope you enjoy this chapter, and drop a line to let me know what you think! ~lg

oOo

Nick Fury had very few friends. Over the years, most of them had died in a series of explainable—or unexplainable—incidents. Some had simply succumbed to old age while others had been targeted due to their involvement with him. Phil Coulson was just the latest in that long list.

Now, Fury sat in his office and stared at the young man before him, impressed with how Clint Barton's eyes never wavered from their direct stare. The archer had just presented Fury with a request for an indefinite leave of absence, and he would not be dissuaded from his goal. Unfortunately for him, Fury refused to sign it without having some questions answered. "How long, Agent Barton?"

"I'll be back by Christmas, sir," Barton replied succinctly.

"Back with the Avengers, or back to work with SHIELD?" There was a big difference in Fury's mind, and the request for "indefinite" leave left him feeling as if SHIELD might lose one of their best assets.

"I can't say."

Fury narrowed his eye. Coulson had trusted this man and had passed that trust along to Fury. Granted, Barton had caused more than his fair share of trouble by refusing to follow certain orders, but he had managed to get his name added to Fury's rather short list of people he would turn to in a pinch. In fact, he had turned to Barton during the latest situation with the Chitauri, just not in a direct manner. Watching Barton face down the Council time after time and knowing that the man had to feel the same guilt over his actions as the Council suggested. . . .He sighed. "Four months, then? I'll expect a decision by then."

Swiftly adding his signature to Barton's request for a leave of absence, he stood and extended a hand across his desk. "I hope you find what you need."

Barton shook his hand, his grip firm and steady. "Thank you, sir."

As the archer turned and slipped out of the office, Fury dropped back into his chair. Coulson had trained Barton well, having taken a chance on a carnival-attraction-turned-criminal and succeeded in turning him into one of the sharpest men Fury knew. Barton's intelligence wasn't traditional or even eccentric. The man had come up in the almost cutthroat world of trapeze artists and swordsmen before joining a covert terrorist organization. He'd faced down his own demons long before he ever ended up on SHIELD's radar. When Coulson brought the file he'd built on The Amazing Hawkeye—a kid with more street smarts and skills than common sense and tactics—to Fury's desk, Fury had literally laughed in the other agent's face before issuing the biggest bet of his career to date. Agent Coulson, you bring that man in and turn him into a SHIELD agent, I'll eat my eye patch. Now, Fury gently fingered his eye patch while smiling softly at the memory and Coulson's reaction. Wouldn't taste very good, Director. I'll settle for a bottle of Courvoisier VSOP Exlusif.

Yes, Coulson had trained Barton well, but he had groomed Romanoff to become his replacement. Fury shook his head as he opened Romanoff's file. She had been Barton's choice, he realized. He and the Council had wanted the Black Widow dead, but Barton knew her and obviously saw something in her that caused him to stand down when he should have put an arrow through her heart. It had caused some chaos and left Barton still on the Council's black list, but Fury couldn't help wondering just what had allowed the archer to see what everyone else now knew. Natasha Romanoff was a valuable asset to SHIELD, and Coulson had called upon her whenever he couldn't be on location. She could handle the job Coulson had done with grace as well as fulfilling her role as the Black Widow.

Decision made, Fury stood and left his office. His assistant, Maria Hill, stood on the massive bridge of the helicarrier, overseeing operations as flawlessly as ever. The wounds she'd sustained during Loki's escape from their custody had healed, leaving only a minor scar over her eyebrow. Now, she raised that eyebrow expectantly when he stepped to her side.

Fury tucked his hands behind his back. "Call Agent Romanoff," he said softly. "I have a job for her."

Hill nodded and moved away to make contact with the Black Widow. Fury wandered over to the large window allowing sunlight to flow into the bridge, unimpeded by the clouds now below them. Life had changed since Loki made his first appearance on Earth. The Avengers Initiative, originally scrapped due to personality profiles, had proven itself to be Earth's largest asset. Fury should have felt triumph, but he instead sighed. Yes, the Avengers had succeeded, and yes, they would return when Earth needed them the most. He just hoped the Council had the good sense—and a large enough fear of Tony Stark—to stay out of things whenever that happened. And he silently prayed to whatever God really existed that Clint Barton, the Amazing Hawkeye, would find whatever he needed to find during this time and return to them whole and without a doubt of his place in this world.

oOo

Clint Barton let out a deep breath once the door to Fury's office closed behind him. He really had not known how that meeting would end, and he had made up his mind to outright disappear if Fury hadn't agreed to his terms. The last eight weeks had drained him like nothing else, and he needed to find a place where he could just be, as Bruce had put it.

That conversation floated through his mind as he turned to walk off the bridge of the helicarrier. The still-suspicious eyes of men and women who nearly lost their lives followed him, but he refused to care.

". . .we all need to get away, too," Bruce had said. "Some place where we can find who we are without all the. . .extra baggage. Where you can be you and not Agent Barton or Hawkeye."

Clint sighed as he remembered his response. "I don't even know who that is anymore."

"Maybe you should find out," Bruce had replied, prompting him to glare at the other man. "Look, I know you can't leave until this inquiry wraps up, but that should happen any day. You might want to think about taking some time to get to know yourself again. You wanna know what truly helped me, Agent Barton? Deep down? I know who I am, and that allows me to handle anything The Other Guy does. What he does doesn't affect what I do. I had to learn that the hard way, and I'm still learning it. It does get easier, but it takes time. And killing yourself in those streets to rebuild something beyond your control while you mentally castigate yourself isn't going to help you figure out your problems."

Clint reached the quinjet before the memory ended. He'd felt so low that night, looking down on the work that still needed to be done to repair the city. But Bruce had been right. He didn't know himself anymore. He had, in the past, known exactly who he was and what his purpose had been. But those days had faded along with Loki's influence on his mind. Learning of Coulson's death had shattered what little hope he had that things would go back to normal, and a deep longing to know who Clint Barton was had started burning in the depths of his heart. Even before the Council cleared his name, he had considered slipping away under the cover of night just to find answers to his questions. But then he remembered his old way of coping: he ran away. When he couldn't handle what he experienced in the orphanage, he ran away and found another thing to occupy his mind. When he needed to find time for himself over the years, he simply disappeared. That changed with this inquiry, and Clint felt a small shiver of victory for breaking his old habit.

Back at Stark Tower, he stood in his luxurious room and looked around. He liked it here, and he trusted the men and women who lived in the tower. Thor had helped him tremendously with his words the previous evening, and Clint had thought on them as he filled out the leave-of-absence form. "You are not broken. You may not feel victorious, but you still stand. And your enemy is vanquished. That is what matters, Agent Barton. That is what makes you victorious over Loki's influence." Thor's assertion that, no matter what he felt, the fight had ended in his favor had shored up Clint's shaken will. Next time he faced down someone like Loki, he'd be better prepared to defend himself physically and mentally.

A knock on the door paused his preparations. He stared down at the simple black duffel bag on his bed, uncertain if he wanted to answer the knock or ignore it. Natasha's voice came from the other side. "I know you're in there, Clint. Answer the door, or I'll pick the lock."

Clint smirked at that. He crossed the room in long strides and allowed Natasha to saunter past him. Her eyes swept over the area, taking in the untouched living space and the bag on the bed. "Were you planning to leave without saying goodbye?"

Clint met her eyes. "No."

She lifted her chin and accepted his answer. It had always been that way between them. Once trust had been established, neither one questioned the other's judgment. Which made what Loki had done even more devastating. "Where are you headed?"

"I don't know." Clint returned to packing the few belongings he'd brought to Stark Tower into the duffel bag, as well as some electronic gadgets he took everywhere with him. Frequency detectors, frequency jammers, and devices to keep him from being compromised by someone out for revenge. "I thought I'd start in Waverly."

Natasha, who had moved to the window, froze. "You certain?"

Clint straightened and joined her at the window, crossing his arms over his chest and planting his feet shoulder-width apart. "What would you do if you had the chance to go back? To learn who you were before the Red Room and the Black Widow Program?"

His words hit home, as he knew they would. Natasha remembered nothing of her days before the Red Room. She had one memory that might have been of that time, but it had been so lost in the haze of her training and subsequent career as the Black Widow that she could never fully trust it. She often said her life began the day Clint refused to kill her, and he had not understood the depth of that statement until after one particularly difficult mission. She had finally come to trust him and had shared everything about her life. Now, she looked at him with sympathy. "You flying?"

Clint shook his head. "Takin' a Greyhound," he said, deliberately adding a touch of blues to his voice.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "On the Hudson River line?" she asked sarcastically. Without giving him the chance to respond, she jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Fury called. He wants to talk with me, and I think he's going to offer me Coulson's job."

Clint nodded without answering, letting the silence stretch for a moment. Phil Coulson had been a friend to both of them, one of the first men they both completely trusted. Finally, he spoke. "You'll do a great job."

Natasha accepted his assurance with a hand on his arm. "Just don't leave without saying goodbye to the others. They won't understand like I do."

She started to leave, but Clint caught her arm. A moment later, he surprised her by pulling her into a hug. "Thanks, Tasha. I know it was you who sent Rogers my way."

She returned the hug. "Just don't be gone too long."

"I'll be home for Christmas," he promised.

"You'd better." She stepped away and nodded. "Be safe."

Clint watched her slip out of his room with a smile. He didn't know what she'd said to Rogers to get their team leader to speak to Clint, but it must have been quite a request. Either that, or she'd turned on those Black Widow charms to get her way. It didn't matter to Clint. What mattered is that Rogers's words had impacted his life. "It's not about the one mistake, Barton. It's about living day by day, doing what you know to do. Eventually, it does get better. It gets easier. And it starts by trusting yourself and trusting those closest to you." Those words, so true and so needed, had brought him to Stark Tower and stopped the downward spiral he'd started when he figured out the Council blamed him for the entire invasion.

After he finished packing, Clint threw his duffel over his shoulder and picked up the case that held his bow and quiver. One of his reasons for traveling by Greyhound was that he could take his weapon on board the bus. He double-checked that he carried his certification with him, knowing he simply needed to flash his official SHIELD badge to be permitted. It kept the beloved weapon close and available should anyone come gunning for him.

Walking into the Commons, he blinked when he saw the group gathered. Rogers and Bruce sat quietly on a couch while Stark paced in front of the window. Thor stood next to the elevator, his arms crossed.

Stark spoke first. "So, you were gonna slip out when we didn't notice?"

"No." Clint dropped his duffel bag. "I was planning to track down each of you."

Stark nodded once. "So, you're leaving. Does that mean you're out, completely?"

Clint smirked. "Have you ever known me to quit, Stark?"

"Based on your file, no."

"I find it a little scary that knowing you've seen my file doesn't worry me."

"And I find it a little scary that over half your file has been redacted," Stark rejoined.

"Around seventy-five percent, actually." Clint stuck out his hand. "Thanks for the place to stay."

"It's yours when you get back." Stark shook his hand. "When will you get back?"

"Christmas." Clint turned to Rogers. "Cap."

"Agent Barton."

The two men shook hands, not needing words to say goodbye. Clint followed that with a handshake for Bruce and then picked up his bags to face Thor. The Asgardian nodded slowly. "May you find what you seek," he said softly.

"Thanks." Clint offered to shake Thor's hand, not surprised when the big man clasped his forearm. "And I hope you get everything worked out, too."

With his goodbyes said, Clint slipped past Thor and stood impassively as the elevator doors closed on the first place to truly feel like home in a long time. He almost laughed at the hangdog look on Stark's face or the thoughtful expression Thor had, but he instead settled for a final nod. As he rode the elevator to ground level and then walked out of Stark Tower, he sighed.

He really was leaving. For so long, he'd only known New York City, SHIELD, and covert ops. Before that, all he could remember was training, the circus and abuse. But Loki's arrival changed all of that. Clint needed to learn who he was so he could heal from Loki's actions. He wouldn't do that here, with the battle scar to remind him of what had happened. Instead, he needed to be out there, revisiting his past and putting his nightmares to rest. Only then would he be able to return home.

I don't have any reasons, I've left them all behind.
I'm in a New York State of Mind

oOo

~The End~

oOo

Coming Soon!

Long Time Comin'

Clint Barton left New York to figure out his life and who he really is. Now, he retraces his steps as a child, facing those old nightmares and hoping to heal from Loki's attack. He is being followed, however, and the reason might hit a little closer to home than he would like.

Sequel to New York State of Mind.