June, 1999

Los Angeles, CA

It was funny how much a life could change. It'd been only six months since Spencer had joined with SHIELD and yet so many things in his life had changed around. No longer was he stuck at the Facility, undergoing testing in all of his down time, put through experiment after experiment, and only allowed to leave for the 'missions' they sent him on. Yes, the people here at SHIELD kept Spencer on lockdown a lot. Not to test him, though. So far no one had tried to test him. The most that he'd had done, medically, was a basic physical. They hadn't even drawn blood. That, Spencer wouldn't have allowed, no matter what they said. No one else in the world needed to get their hands on his blood.

There were other things that had changed as well. For the first time that Spencer could truly remember, he found that he had a… a friend. Someone that he was getting to know and who seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with him.

Part of Spencer kept reminding him that he couldn't trust this. Someone like him didn't have friends. People didn't actually like him. That was the part that told Spencer, late at night when he was alone in his room, that there was no way Clint was really trying to be friends with him. Why would he be? Most likely he was just trying to soften Spencer up so that he could eventually start asking the questions that SHIELD had so far refrained from. Oh, sure, Spencer's handler had asked a few, probing a little to see how much he knew about the Facility, what kind of information he could give them, and he'd also tried to help figure out what kind of skill level Spencer had. That was to be expected, though.

But no one else had really asked him about anything more than that. They didn't try and get too many in depth questions in. No one asked him about past missions, the things that he'd done or the people he'd killed. Though sometimes Clint would tell him stories about the missions he'd done. Usually while they were hanging out in Spencer's room. The man liked to come and visit a lot, never once seeming bothered by how little Spencer spoke with him. It happened often enough that Spencer had stopped being surprised at coming back from meals or from meetings or training-or his new, dreaded therapy sessions-to find Clint sprawled out somewhere. The man was like a cat. He just sort of laid himself out wherever he felt was comfortable, be it a couch or a chair or the countertop. Once, Spencer had found Clint asleep on his bathroom counter. His bathroom counter! Who on earth did things like that?

Still, for all that things had changed, there were some things that stayed the same.

Anytime Spencer left his room, he had to work to avoid the people around him. Very few of them trusted him. The downside of his powers meant that he was able to know that with absolute certainty. He could feel their emotions and occasionally overhear the thoughts that were strong enough to push past his initial shields. It was hard not to pick up on those. There were plenty here who claimed to have training in telepathic shields. Spencer wondered sometimes if he should let them know just how bad some of them were at it. If they were trying to keep him from finding out any secrets they were doing an abysmal job at it.

For the most part Spencer just kept to himself. When Clint wasn't around, Spencer ate alone, stayed in his room except for when he was needed in certain places, and avoided contact with anyone he wasn't required to talk to. When Clint was there, he often dragged Spencer out. Sometimes to the mess hall, sometimes out and about in LA to various places that he always claimed had the 'best' food. He wasn't always right.

But Spencer was starting to get a bit antsy. He'd signed on here to work for SHIELD. Not to sit around all the time. Yes, he knew they had to try and trust him first. They had to be sure that he wasn't going to screw up on a mission or betray them or run away while he was free. As if he'd be stupid enough to risk that. They had his Mom under their protection. SHIELD agents had actually been installed as staff at Bennington. Spencer wasn't going to be stupid enough to risk anything happening to her.

Still, they didn't trust him yet, and Spencer knew he couldn't do anything but wait.

He should've realized that Clint would notice how bored Spencer was becoming and that he'd take it upon himself to find a way to fix it. There was a sort of care and affection to Clint's emotions when he was around Spencer that the young genius was still scared to define most days. But even though he didn't fully trust the agent, he could at least admit that part of Clint seemed to honestly care for him, at least in some way. It was strange and yet Spencer had felt the emotions. He couldn't deny that.

It was just over six months since Spencer had joined when he came back to his room from one of his many therapy sessions to find that Clint had once more let himself in while Spencer was gone. The archer was upside-down in one of Spencer's chairs, head and arms dangling off the chair and legs lifted up to rest over the chair's back. His bow was in his hands and Spencer watched while coming inside as the arrow flew to land with a group of others that were decorating the moulding by the ceiling. They looked to be in a perfectly straight line, starting in one corner and moving all along the moulding, spaced what Spencer estimated was an inch apart. There were seven up there so far.

Spencer raised his eyebrows as he looked that over. Then he lowered his gaze down to the man who was nocking another arrow. "Is there a reason you're mutilating my walls, or were you simply bored?"

"Bored." Clint replied immediately. The next arrow flew, landing an inch to the right of the last one. He turned his head just enough to flash Spencer an upside-down grin. "I was waiting for you, though. Got something for you." Another arrow was drawn out and Clint used it to lazily point in the direction of the coffee table before he went back towards his pointless shooting.

Curiosity had Spencer taking a step forward. When he saw what was sitting there, he went completely still. That… that was a manila folder with the SHIELD insignia emblazoned on it. Spencer had seen enough of the like, with an entirely different name on them, to know what it was. He lifted his eyes from the folder and back over to Clint. He found that the man was still smiling, though it was a bit softer this time. "Is this real?" Spencer asked him.

Another arrow flew through the air. "Yep!"

"For me?"

"Wouldn't have brought it here otherwise."

Spencer couldn't contain himself anymore. He hurried forward and grabbed the folder. Then he folded himself down onto the corner of the couch where he could open it up and spread it out on his lap. The very first thing he saw was a photo of an older man, early-to-mid fifties. Salt and pepper hair, green eyes, and a sort of hardness that showed someone who had seen and done plenty in their life and carried the marks from it. Beside the picture was a name: Stanley J. Iverson.

"SHIELD thinks that Mr. Iverson had some connections to Hydra that we're not entirely sure about." Clint said suddenly, his words breaking into Spencer's thoughts. The young genius didn't stop reading what was in front of him but he listened to what Clint was saying. "We think he might be helping to supply them with weapons. In one week Iverson is having some sort of gala at his place and intelligence suggests there are going to be Hydra agents there for some kind of meeting. We're not sure what."

"They want me to try and find out." Spencer guessed.

He heard Clint shuffling and knew the man was sitting up in his chair. "Bingo. You fit his type, both parts of you do, and you've got the skillset to be able to get the most information out of this. Fury wants us to go in and try to collect as much information as possible."

Spencer nodded along with that, his eyes already skimming over that part of the file. Gather intelligence, assess situation, build profiles, do not engage. This, it was a milk run. A simple intelligence gathering mission. Sure, it was important. It was Hydra after all. But it wasn't that important. This was a test for Spencer. A chance for him to go out there and prove to them that he could do his job and that he was going to be loyal.

Abruptly Spencer's brain backtracked and locked onto one word in Clint's last sentence. He looked up at the other man in surprise. "Us?"

Now sitting up, his bow hanging from one hand off the side of the chair, Clint smirked and nodded. "You're too young to go in alone. Especially to a party like that. I volunteered to go with you."

"You do realize I've probably been doing this sort of thing longer than you have, correct?"

Clint winked at him. "You'd be surprised." Then he shifted forward and folded his arms on his legs, his expression just a bit more serious as it shifted toward work mode. "I'll be going as your brother, a rich businessman looking to invest in Iverson's company. You'll be coming with me as my guest, because our parents are dead and I have custody of you."

The story made sense. "So, young and slightly traumatized, maybe still grieving a bit, likely stuck with an overprotective brother and in a country I don't want to be in. Ripe for someone with the type of tastes you suggested to swoop in and strike."

"Exactly. And don't worry, I won't let him get too far with you."

Spencer lifted a hand and waved it negligently. His other hand was turning a page in the file. "I'm not worried about that."

"Spencer."

The use of his name, and in such a sharp tone, had Spencer's head snapping up. He found Clint staring at him with a far more serious look than he'd been wearing before. Spencer furrowed his brow, wondering what on earth had made that change in the other man. "Yes?"

"I wasn't kidding." Clint said lowly. Gone was the goofy, sarcastic guy that Spencer had been getting to know. In his place was someone serious and just a bit deadly. "I will not let Iverson get that far with you. Until you're old enough to give legal consent, that's not going to happen on any mission we send you on. Even then, it still shouldn't. Got it?"

His voice was firm and his eyes were sharp, locked right on Spencer. The emotions he was feeling made it clear this was something important to him. Some sort of big deal. Why, Spencer wasn't sure. Sex was a tool just like anything else. He'd been trained to use it long ago. Why did it matter if he used it now? Still, he knew better than to question the mission parameters. "Of course."

"Good."

The hardness faded away from Clint's face, but there was still a wariness to his emotions as he sat back in his chair. He didn't quite believe Spencer. And he was still bothered by this whole thing, for whatever reasons.

Spencer shook his head. He'd sort of grown used to the idea that he wasn't ever going to understand Clint and all his shifting moods. Besides, it wasn't that important at the moment. Not when they had this to deal with. "When do we leave?"

Apparently the answer to that was 'right away'. It only took a half an hour before Spencer, switched over to the female form she preferred for missions, and Clint were on a jet with the rest of their team, on their way to London, England to get set up and start to prepare for the event they'd be attending. Aside from Clint, there were three other agents with them, and Clint also told them that their respective handlers would be on call for emergencies if needed.

The senior agent—and the one in charge of this op as far as Spencer could tell—was a man in his early forties by the name of Dominic Lewis. The other two were their pilot, Lacey May, and their technical support, Sasha Crown. What exactly 'technical support' was, Spencer wasn't sure, but she held in her questions. It wasn't her place to question what their superiors decided. She was here to do a job and nothing more. Questions only caused trouble.

Agent Lewis had walked them through everything. It was basically a reiteration of what Spencer had read in the files and what she and Clint had already figured out on their own. For the most part, she tuned Lewis out, focusing on him with only part of her attention. Just enough that she wouldn't miss if her name was called or something else important. It was a trick she'd learned a long time ago. The rest of her focus was on the feel of the new outfit she was wearing—jeans and a t-shirt, even a new jacket and shoes that fit surprisingly comfortably—and, more importantly, the weapons hidden on her person. It felt amazing to once more be armed. She didn't think about how weird that was; how she was more relaxed now, on a jet surrounded by agents, just because she could feel the knife in her boot and the one at her back.

They hadn't wanted to give her a gun and that was fine. She knew how to use them—preferred long distance rifles over any close combat gun—but she had a preference for blade work. It was where she'd showed the most skill. Besides, with a knife you could control just how much damage you did a whole lot more than you could with a bullet. It was much more precise.

An elbow to the side drew Spencer out of her thoughts. She snapped her eyes up to focus on Clint beside her, who wasn't even trying to smother his grin as he looked over at Lewis and then rolled his eyes.

Spencer tried not to snicker.

"Are you two quite done?" Lewis asked. He had a faint hint of a British accent to his voice that was mostly overridden by a twang. Spencer had noticed it earlier and been amused by it. The man had to have been raised in quite a household to come out with an accent like that. She didn't think he'd appreciate that amusement right now, though. He was glaring at them in a way that made Spencer want to tense. She deliberately did not.

Clint, however, just grinned even more. "Probably not."

That earned him a long suffering sigh. Lewis didn't look as tense, though. "You're a horrible influence, Barton. Why did we bring you again?"

"Cause 'Yes likes me marginally more than she likes the rest of you." Clint answered promptly.

This time it was Spencer elbowing Clint. The look she shot him was a warning not to antagonize their superiors. She didn't have any clue how SHIELD worked on actual missions like this. Somehow, though, she doubted that they'd take all that well to their agents sassing them like this, or their newest recruit actively not liking them.

It didn't seem that Lewis was bothered by it, though. He was the one rolling his eyes this time, yet he looked even less tense than before. "I guess there's no accounting for taste."

"Aw, Lew-Lew!" Clint put a hand over his heart, affecting a horrible attempt at an offended face. "Words hurt, man. You're breaking my heart over here."

"Wouldn't you have to have one, first?" called back Sasha.

The conversation devolved into gentle ribbing and laughter after that. Spencer watched them all, not quite sure what to make of them. She leaned back a little on her seat and drew one foot up until she could rest it on the edge of the seat. That allowed her to put a very minor barrier between her and them as well as allow her to be in a position that would be easy to launch up from. These people made no sense to her. The way they did things, how they acted, it was nothing like what she was used to working with. Then again, the rare times she'd ever worked with someone had been back when she'd been so young they hadn't been able to send her out without risking her getting picked up by the authorities, and their time together had been geared towards working or waiting. During the waiting time they had all had the mindset that children shouldn't be heard. Or, well, that weapons didn't speak. They just did what they were told to do when pointed in the right direction.

It wasn't until Lewis went back with the others that Clint turned his attention back to Spencer once more. He nudged her with his shoulder and waited until she was looking at him before he gave her a raised eyebrow look. "How you holding up?"

That was a loaded question. One she knew she had to answer carefully. "I'll be fine."

"Yeah. Still, gotta be different than what you're used to."

She tried once more not to snort. That was an understatement. Still, "I can do my job, Clint."

"Woah, hey." He held his hands up in a sign of peace. "Never said you couldn't. I just meant it's gotta be weird. What I got out of your file, seems like you were used to working solo."

Drawing in a breath, she blew it back out. No point in getting upset with him just because he was apparently trying to look out for her. She wasn't used to that kind of concern from anyone except her mother. People didn't usually worry about her in the sense of her emotions. When they worried about her, it was for much more deadly reasons. "I was." She allowed, voice low so as to keep the others from trying to listen in. No one seemed to be looking their way but she wasn't going to take any chances. "I'm sure I'll adjust. I just need to figure out the new parameters of working here, that's all." Speaking of—that brought to mind a question she'd been wanting to ask since she'd looked over the file. Now seemed like a good enough time. Turning herself, she faced him a little more, looking up past some of the curls that had fallen towards her face and making a mental note to grab a ponytail. "How exactly does SHIELD like their information gathered?"

"What do you mean?" Clint asked curiously.

"What I mean is, what form do they like the information to be in?" She lifted one hand and gestured vaguely, palm up, between them. "Do they want photos of documents, copies, actual physical proof, or do they accept things less tangible?" Her… well, previous employers, for lack of a better term, had preferred physical proof while quite open to anything else that she could gather.

Her questions had gained her Clint's full attention. He stopped fiddling with the bag in front of him and turned himself so that he was better facing her. "Less tangible?"

Spencer bit on the inside of her lip as she tried to think of how to word her answer. "With my powers, it's not difficult to steer conversation a certain way and then… skim the surface thoughts on the subject we're talking about. Or to even delve deeper. The second option is more likely to be noticed, but it gathers almost impeccable knowledge. The first is far less invasive but doesn't always share everything the target knows."

She snuck a look up through her bangs and found that Clint was looking just a little bit pale. His expression had blanked, something she'd learned meant he was trying to hide what he was feeling. For some reason she found herself pulling up her own shields high enough to not have to feel his emotions. She didn't really want to know right then. "You're…" Clint paused, licking his lips. He looked ill. "What you're asking is my permission to mind rape someone."

Spencer had never heard anyone use that term for it before. Anyone other than herself, that is. The people who'd held her had never thought of it like that. They'd wanted the information—she'd provided it. How she got it hadn't been important. What was important was what she gave them in the end. Reaching into someone's mind and forcibly removing the information she needed had always made Spencer feel sick; disgusted with herself. It was rape—there was no other word for it. Yet when she'd tried to do it a different way, the punishment had been enough to convince her to do as she was told.

For the first time, she was faced with someone who not only understood what she was talking about, but who found it just as disgusting as she did. Spencer swallowed down the lump in her throat and ignored the part of her that suddenly liked the man beside her that much more. "No." She said softly, letting down just a tiny bit of the wall she usually kept around herself. "I was asking if that was what you were asking of me. I think I've got my answer." For a second she hesitated. Then she lifted her hand and reached out to just lightly lay her fingers against his arm. His eyes lifted to meet hers and she offered him a small smile. "Thank you."

Someone up front called out that they were coming in for a landing and Spencer turned her attention back towards the others. She ignored Clint for a bit, uncomfortable with that random show of emotion between them, but she couldn't ignore the little bit of warmth down low in her stomach.

It felt frighteningly like hope.

Whatever Spencer had expected on this mission, all the scenarios she'd conjured up, she had never anticipated a moment quite like this.

This was torture.

Spencer held perfectly still and tried with everything she had not to let any of her emotions show on the outside. She kept on the fake smile, the low aura of innocence and happiness that she'd wrapped herself in, but on the inside she was seething. It only got worse when she could sense the amusement from her companion on the other side of the screen.

When they were at the hotel they'd be using for the duration of their visit and Clint had told Spencer that they needed to go and get her a gown for the gala, she'd understood the necessity. She needed to wear one just like everyone else did. Blending in. Only, she had expected to go and pick one up, to find something in the premade area that fit her size as close as possible. If necessary she knew how to make minor alterations. The Facility had usually provided Spencer with a readymade bag of things to take with her on a mission. She'd never had to do…this before.

'This' involved standing on a little stool while a woman and two assistants moved around her and made sure that the gown she'd picked out fit her just right. One was currently pinning something at her waist while another was holding up the hem of dress so the woman reached up and under the dress to the inside.

"This is going to look beautiful on you, my dear." The woman said, smiling broadly up at her.

Spencer forced herself to dip her head and act flustered, eyes lowered and lips curving in a pleased little smile. "Thank you, ma'am."

She felt Clint's amusement grow and reached out to give him a mental 'poke'. /Quit laughing at me, Barton! You're gaining far too much pleasure out of my discomfort/ she scolded him. It was sort of satisfying to feel the way that he jumped at the projection of her mental voice. When she felt worry overtaking the other emotions, it wasn't hard to figure out the cause of it. /Calm down. You have decent mental shields. More than most, really. I can't sense your thoughts unless you chose to let me in. However, I can still send you my own thoughts. You still have your mental ears 'on', so to speak/ she paused and tried not to snort or shake her head. /Whatever telepath taught all of you how to shield was ridiculous/

He didn't say anything, his emotions moving towards contemplative now, and Spencer let it go. No point in pushing that. Knowing him, he'd bring it up later. Usually when she least expected it. Instead, she focused back on the mirrors, letting her eyes run over her own body as she planned out just how she wanted to play things tonight. She was going to prove to SHIELD that she could handle the job. Maybe then they'd finally loosen the leash a little bit.