The first postcard arrived a week after Darcy disappeared. It was of the sand dunes in New Mexico. Addressed to Clint, it had a quote on it, followed by a series of numbers.

The wind began to blow again. It was the levanter, the wind that came from Africa. It didn't bring with it the smell of the desert, nor the threat of Moorish invasion. Instead, it brought the scent of a perfume he knew well, and the touch of a kiss – a kiss that came from far away, slowly, slowly, until it rested on his lips.

55:67 96:137 96:138 5:41 67:12 114:201

There was no signature, no initial, nothing on the flimsy piece of paper to suggest an identity to the sender. However, the quote was reminiscent of something Clint remembered telling Darcy months ago – of how her perfume seemed to follow him around on the wind as he went on that fateful mission. (Was it forever ago? Or was it just a few months?)

Clint couldn't figure out the numbers, so he stuck the postcard on the fridge. Every time he went back to get a beer or a bottle for Blair, he traced the edges of the postcard, worrying about Darcy. That night, Natasha came over to make sure he wasn't drowning his sorrows in cheap tequila.

(He wasn't. He'd done enough of that on a beach in Mexico and damnit, he was responsible for another person now. Two other persons, if he was honest with himself, even if one of them wouldn't accept his help.)

She went to the fridge to get a bottle for Blair, the baby fussing in her arms. "Where is this from?" she asked, gesturing to the postcard.

Clint shrugged as he took a drink of his beer. "Dunno. I think it's from Darcy," he said, his voice catching on her name. "But don't ask me how I know that," he finished once he got his emotions under control.

Natasha removed the postcard from behind the magnet and flipped it over. Glancing at the numbers, she smacked Clint on the back of the head as she passed by him. "Darcy is giving you a clue, dumbass. JARVIS, can you get the team together in here?"

Within a few minutes, the team was gathered in Darcy's suite. Natasha, who had passed Blair back to Clint, stood in front of the TV in the living room. "Darcy has given us a clue. Who knows codes?" she asked, tapping the bottom of the postcard.

"I can write an algorithm for most code-breakers." Tony said.

"Okay, who knows their literature?" At everyone's blank looks, Natasha elaborated. "It's a book cipher. Darcy gave us a quote, now we just have to find the book it's from." She read the quote out loud.

"Oh, oh…I know this one!" Bruce exclaimed. "It's…" he jumped up and walked over to Darcy's bookshelf. Running his fingers over the spines, he finally found the one he wanted and pulled it from the shelf.

"JARVIS, extrapolate the information from that novel and cross reference it with these coordinates," Tony said before he started reading off the numbers on the postcard.

Clint watched in awe as his team jumped into action, solving Darcy's little clues that he had been too dense to see. Steve came over and put a large hand on Clint's shoulder. "We'll get her back."

Clint gave a bleak laugh. "Last time you said that, Darcy went into labor during a ninja attack."

Steve gave him a wry smile. "And look how that turned out."

Clint smiled down at the cooing baby in his arms. "Yeah, I guess it was alright," he said grudgingly.

"Darcy once told me that we were the best family she'd ever had. And family looks after their own." Steve said quietly.

"Can you tell me about her?" Clint asked suddenly. "I- I feel like you know her better than I do sometimes."

Just as Steve opened his mouth to respond, Tony yelled out, "Got it! Got it! The message is: 'don't try to find me yet.'"

Clint took hope at that silly little preposition. There was still a chance for a rescue.

Under the cover of darkness, Darcy and Logan broke into an impound yard. With a quiet snick!, Logan's claws cut through the padlock on the gate. Silently, they crept through the yard, trying to find an inconspicuous vehicle that would last long enough to get her to the next point.

Darcy finally found a beige colored, newer-model Impala. Picking the lock, she then leaned down and hotwired the car. "Hop in, cowboy," she said with a tired half-grin towards Logan. "Mama's still got the touch."

For the last 8 days, Darcy had been underground and off the grid: cash-basis only, multiple fake IDs, roachfest motels, no electronics save her iPod and borrowed cars. She'd hustled pool to keep her cash flowing, even winning a hundred bucks of a cute set of brothers in a backwater bar. After 5 days on the road, she bought a go phone and started to make contact with some of her…acquaintances from her days in juvie.

Her first six attempts had all run into a brick wall, but lucky number seven (a former art forger gone semi-legit) said he might have some information she would find…interesting about a certain pushy senator. Darcy packed her bags and switched out the plates on her car faster than you could say Razzleberry PopTarts. Her source had named a drop point, and she planned on being there by sunrise.

"Thanks for all your help, Logan," she said quietly, the darkness of the night swallowing them up.

"No problem, kid." She dropped him back off at his bike, parked a safe distance away from the impound lot. Before she sped off into the night, he leaned back on the car. "Be careful, and call the Institute if you need anything." Darcy gave him a salute. "You'll get 'em, kid."

The next postcard came to the Tower three days later, addressed to Natasha. It was from Lawrence, Kansas, and showed the Yellow Brick Road. On the back was written:

One never learns how the witch became wicked, or whether that was the right choice for her – is it ever the right choice? Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or if so is he not a devil?

243:112 56:201 12:35 311:2. 78:111 99:176 2:101 77:99 369:1 55:12. 227:32 401:45.

Raising an eyebrow at the oddly spot-on nature of Darcy's quote, she pulled out a battered copy of Wicked from Darcy's bookshelf. As she read off the numbers to JARVIS, he quantified the pages and words and came up with a succinct message for her eyes only, apparently.

Have something for you. Will let you know drop point. Don't tell.

Well well well. It seems that little Darcy had some espionage in her after all. Natasha smiled a feral smile to herself and went to pack a go bag.

The next day, Clint received a second postcard. It was a silly little postcard, from a tiny town in Iowa, but it surprised Clint that she would know that about him. The quote was much shorter this time.

Journeys end in lovers meeting.

22:13 67:34 12:1

Clint wasted no time in having JARVIS decode the message.

Be back soon

He smiled to himself.

The two week mark of Darcy's disappearance came, and Natasha found a second postcard in her mail. The postcard was for New York City, and on the back was an address. Natasha smiled to herself as she walked out of SHIELD (effectively scaring no less than five junior agents).

Natasha made it to the address – a coffee shop – and her phone rang. "This is Natalie," she said pleasantly, for all intents and purposes appearing to be another businesswoman on a coffee run.

"Hey Nat." came Darcy's tired voice through the phone. "Anyone follow you?"

"Oh, no, I forgot to get the papers from Clint," she said, hoping Darcy understood.

"Good," Darcy said, picking out the important words in the conversation. "If you ask to pick up the order for Gershwin, you'll find a USB drive along with your favorite kind of muffin and coffee. On it should be everything to connect Senator Brackenthorn with the man who threatened me."

"Oh you did get them? Just bring them by my office this afternoon."

Natasha could feel the eye roll Darcy was giving her. "I won't be back until I know that he is safely behind bars," she said quietly.

"In fifteen minutes?" Natasha/Natalie glanced at her watch. "That won't be a problem."

Darcy let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Thanks Nat. I owe you…well, a lot more than just one." She smiled to herself as Natasha hung up the phone. From her vantage point across the street, she could see her pick up the pastry and then head back out the door.

Darcy slunk back to her (third) stolen car, and then hightailed out to the Institute to hide at Logan's until the shit hit the fan.

Clint was watching the news a few mornings later in the communal kitchen when the headline suddenly changed to Senator's Brackenthorn's step down from his run for re-election. "Huh. Isn't that the guy who was trying to use us for an ad campaign?" he asked around a mouthful of cereal.

"Yeah, I think so. He tried to get to me at the Stark Gala but Darcy stopped him," Steve said absentmindedly, playing with Blair's toes.

An idea was niggling at the back of Clint's brain, but he didn't have enough details to flesh it out. Natasha had disappeared for most of yesterday, but he didn't know enough to connect her to the senator. Pushing it aside for now, he went back to eating cereal.

"So…Cap. What can you tell me about Darcy's family? Or about Darcy herself?" he asked offhandedly, as if he was asking about the weather or whatever sports game had been on last night.

Steve's head shot up. "Um...not that much. Just that her parents were divorced, and it was a very messy one. Her dad used to play baseball. She has a stepbrother and two half-siblings, but never talks to any of them. That's about all I know about her family."

"What about her?"

Steve shrugged. "Her comfort movie is The Princess Bride and she's ticklish around her knees. She hates pickles and can't sing worth a dang. Her favorite superhero is Pepper and when she's tired, she develops an accent." Steve rambled out.

"Huh." Clint said again. It was kind of pathetic that his teammate knew more about his girlfriend (?) than he did. "Okay. Thanks." Time for Clint to do a little recon.

After dropping Blair off at the SHIELD nursery, Clint shimmied into the air ducts. After fifteen minutes of twisting and crawling, he made it to HR's personnel files room. He wanted to do this the old-fashioned way; anymore, they kept an electronic track of who accessed what files. If he does it by hand, no one has to know.

Silently, he scanned the filing cabinets for Darcy's file. When he got to the L's, he looked and looked, but he couldn't find Lewis, Darcy. What was going on? Hearing the beep of an access card, he quickly bolted back into the air vent.

After that failed attempt, he tried to pester Coulson for her file. Coulson gave Clint his best ninja stare, and Clint felt chastised enough to go do something productive with his day. He spent the afternoon in the range, testing out the new bow Stark had made him.

Around 7, he picked up Blair from the nursery and went back to the Tower, dejected at his inability to snoop in Darcy's life. He had tried everything from hacking into the SHIELD mainframe to interrogating his teammates but to no avail. On paper, Darcy Lewis didn't exist prior to enrolling in Culver University at age 18. On all of her SHIELD forms, Coulson was listed as her emergency contact. No family was listed anywhere.

Curiouser and curiouser.

When he got to his – no, Darcy's, because technically he still had his own suite of rooms – suite, a postcard was taped to the door. It was the New York skyline at dark. Juggling baby and diaper bag and quiver, Clint eagerly ripped it off the door and flipped it over.

Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.

There were no numbers on the bottom, so Clint wasn't sure how this was a clue. JARVIS helpfully unlocked the door for him, and Clint went into the living room, depositing bags on the floor by the door.

The suite was dark, but he weaved his way around couch and stroller to the nursery. He swiftly changed Blair's diaper as he theorized about what the postcard could mean. Laying Blair down in the crib, he went into the bedroom to change into sweats. Staring at the floor, looking for a clean pair, he flipped on the light.

Glancing up, his heart leapt into his throat when he saw the familiar head of curly hair sticking out from the top of the blankets. Quietly, he took off his shoes and slid under the blankets next to her.

Mumbling in her sleep, Darcy immediately rolled over and curled into the crook of his shoulders. Clint stroked her back, searching for any bruises or swellings that might indicate that she hadn't disappeared willingly. Nothing seemed amiss, so he wrapped Darcy in his arms, breathing in the scent of that perfume had traveled across the winds for him.

She had come back, and for that fact, Clint was willing to do whatever it took to keep her there.