AN: Thanks to my two reviewers! Your words were inspiring and I'll always be grateful. Thanks as well to my new followers and favoriters. I would love to hear from all of you as well but even knowing that you're reading helps make this story easier to write. Thank you.

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"Attention. Containment protocol continued. Isolation protocol continued. Threat not active. Repeat. Threat not active," Jarvis' voice came through. The gun toting guards visibly relaxed. "Await further instructions."

Bruce wasn't exactly sure what was going on but one thing he did know. It wasn't anything good.

We choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them. –Kahlil Gibran

5:13PM – East Coast Time (10:00PM London)

Clint disembarked from the plane with his new black and purple backpack over his right shoulder. It was large enough to carry a few changes of clothes, money, and his new iPad but small enough to be considered carry-on. Once in the airport he took a seat at an empty table in the Starbucks away from the rest of the guests. He pulled out the iPad and connected to the internet. He was getting so used to pulling up the site that he didn't even think about the IP address as he typed it in. He was more concerned with the images he saw when he pulled it up. Tony had finally stopped trying to grab everything in sight and had reverted to spinning around his computer chair like a bored child. If not for the extreme seriousness of the situation Clint might have found a way to get a still of the image. Natasha and Bruce were leaned against the counter and each other. Right in that moment, Clint wanted nothing more than to be there for Natasha, to let her rest her head on his shoulder. He could see the dark circles beneath her eyes, but alas he was here and Bruce would have to take his place. Finally, Clint looked over Steve's video feed. The man was facing a dark fear of the cold, alone and without information. Construction on Avengers Tower was still ongoing and the training rooms had yet to be connected to Jarvis.

Clint's phone vibrated. He put the iPad away and picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Agent Barton, I see you've made it to London okay and you've picked up some new technology while you were at it," Kline said.

Clint's eyes shot up as he scanned the airport for someone looking his direction. Somehow, Kline could see him. "You're watching me."

"Let's assume I'm always watching," Kline said.

Clint couldn't find anyone. "I got the iPad so I could keep an eye on them."

"I'm not upset," Kline said easily. "As long as you don't use it to contact anyone it's easier this way. I won't have you demanding proof of life every time we turn around."

"You know, the people you've so callously locked up saved your life. If Loki had succeeded-" Clint started.

Kline didn't let him get very far with it. "Death and destruction, have I mentioned your tendency towards the melodramatic? Besides, this has little to do with the Avengers and a lot to do with you, Agent Barton. Suck it up and do what I tell you to and we don't have a problem."

In Clint's opinion, Kline was very lucky to be out of Clint's shooting range. He doubted Kline could keep up that smug smile Clint could practically hear through the phone if Clint shot him between the eyes with an arrow. "I want you to move Captain Rogers, and separate Dr. Banner from Agent Romanoff."

"I'm going to have to say no," Kline replied.

Clint growled. "You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly," Kline replied. "I planned this out very carefully and did a lot of research into your friends before I launched into action. I'm highly aware of the situations I put them in and they were designed to keep the threat active. I won't lie to you, Agent Barton; they are in danger entirely to keep you in line. You therefore are not in a position to be demanding their release. Mr. Stark is very much human, Captain Rogers will at the very least be recuperating a long time if I order him shot in the head, and your friend Dr. Banner – while very hard to kill – will be devastated, I'm sure, to wake up and find he's killed your partner. I am not going to negotiate. I am not going to rethink this. I am, however, giving you one last warning that I am going through with this plan and would hate to have to kill an Avenger because you couldn't bother to follow simple instructions. Are we clear?"

Clint was silent. He felt cornered and helpless and neither of those feelings were something he was comfortable or even familiar with. He felt like a sinking ship with no way to call for help. After a moment, Clint swallowed his pride and replied tersely, "We're clear."

"Good. Now that we're on the same page I have something for you to do. First, I have been watching the same videos as you are. You are correct that the Captain is suffering. I would not like to put him through any undue pain. I would be willing to move all the Avengers into the same room if you complete the next step," Kline offered.

Clint frowned. "What's the next step?"

"You need to get ahold of a sniper rifle," Kline said.

Clint frowned deeper. "I do better with a bow and arrows."

"I'm sure you do but this job requires a bullet," Kline replied sounding slightly like one would when talking to a child.

"If you wanted someone to shoot a gun you could've hired anyone," Clint said. "Why me?"

"I've come up with another rule. Don't ask questions," Kline replied. "You'll get information as you require it and not a moment before."

Clint thought about the Avengers again. Moving them into the same room wouldn't put them in any less danger. If anything, the danger increased by sticking them all in the same room with a potentially lethal Hulk. The pro was their being together. In the end, the image of Steve shivering alone is what made him agree. "Fine. One sniper rifle and you put the Avengers in the same room at a normal temperature. Any specific type of sniper rifle?"

"You'll need a .338 Lapua Magnum in desert tan," Kline replied.

"That's a very expensive gun," Clint replied.

"I know for a fact that you are a millionaire, Agent Barton. Over two million dollars in your bank account. Surely, you could buy a six thousand dollar gun to help out your friends, right?" Kline asked.

Clint scowled. "Excuse me? Now I'm funding your hit as well?"

"I'll reimburse you," Kline replied simply.

All jokes aside Clint could see where this was going. "You don't want anything connecting you to this hit?"

"Does anyone really want to be connected to murder?" Kline asked.

Clint couldn't fault him that. He took a deep breath and then asked, "What exactly am I getting myself into?"

"Rule number two, remember? No questions," Kline said.

"Alright, I'll get your damn gun," Clint said.

"Get the gun. I'll call you," Kline said.

There were only two places to get the gun in London. After making a dozen calls Clint discovered one very small and very legal gun shop with the Lapua Magnum and a private seller. Although, nowadays he got most of his weapons through SHIELD there had been times both before and during his time with his SHIELD that he'd had to procure a gun on his own. He'd quickly learned that gun shops, while great for the average citizen and/or criminal, for an assassin on a deadline there were simply a hassle. On the other hand, the private seller was one he'd dealt with in the past and for a long story short, it hadn't ended well. This, Clint thought, was where the saying stuck between a rock and a hard place came from. Naturally, the last thing he wanted to do is put himself into another bad situation with the private dealer but using the gun shop would open up a whole can of worms that could get his team killed and SHIELD on his trail. Clint decided on the risk with the seller. Better him than his team, right?

He took a cab to the man's estate and paid a hefty tip to the driver with the request that he not mention Clint's trip. The cabbie shot off to the city after counting the money and nodding. The gate was locked tight but to the left a little box was attached to the wall and Clint pushed the button to signal his arrival. The box crackled before a distorted voice asked, "Hello?"

"My name is Clint Barton. I need to speak to Vincent," Clint said.

"Do you have an appointment?" The voice asked. Clint couldn't contain the urge to roll his eyes.

"No. Just tell him Clint Barton is here to see him. I'm sure he'll want to see me too," he replied. Actually, he'd be lucky if Vincent didn't tell this guy to shoot him at the fence.

"One moment," The voice said and even through the box it sounded very put out. After a long moment the voice was back. "Someone will be waiting for you at the front door."

The gate swung open long enough for Clint to walk in and then swung shut again. There was someone indeed standing and waiting for him at the door. Clint recognized her as Vincent's almost wife as in she'd dragged him to the alter four times and yet somehow Vincent was still unmarried. She was dressed in something a little too tight and a little too revealing for a woman of her age but she still managed to look dazzling in it so who was he to really judge? Without a word she led him to the back of the house where Vincent was sitting comfortably in a patio chair no more than ten feet from his pool.

When he was close enough, Vincent motioned for him to take a seat across from him. Clint took the seat reluctantly but took a page out of Natasha's book by trying to garner some favor. He certainly wouldn't do that by going with his typical sarcasm and insult attack. "Hello Vincent."

"Do you have an appointment with Mr. Dominick?" The voice asked.

Clint couldn't contain the urge to roll his eyes. "No. Just tell him Clint Barton is here to see him. I'm sure he'll want to see me."

"One moment," The voice said. A moment later and the voice was back, "Someone will be waiting for you at the front door."

The gate swung open long enough for Clint to walk in and then swung shut again. There was something indeed standing and waiting for him at the door. Clint recognized the woman as Vincent's almost wife. He'd heard stories that she'd dragged him to the alter four times and somehow remained unmarried. She was dressed in a red cocktail dress a little too tight and a little too short for a woman of her age. Without a word she led him to the back of the house where Vincent was sitting comfortably in a patio chair no more than ten feet from his pool.

When he was close enough, Vincent motioned for him to take a seat across from him. Clint took the seat reluctantly. He swallowed down his typical sarcasm and attitude in favor of charm. He was going to need as much as he could get. "Hello Vincent."

"Hello to you too," Vincent said. "I was more than surprised to find out you wanted a meeting with me."

"Look, Vincent, I-" Clint started.

Vincent didn't let him get far with it. He held up a hand to stop him. "Don't make excuses. I hired you for a contract and instead you chose to take shots at me. That's betrayal no matter what you say."

The truth was not how Vincent made it sound. Indeed, Clint had been hired for a contract hit but had neglected to inform him that the hit was on a seventeen year old kid. The young man's mistake? He'd gone to the police with information proving one of Vincent's goons had killed his parents. Clint didn't kill kids, especially when they were innocent. Clint helped hide the kid and tried to teach Vincent a lesson. Looking at the man now, the lesson hadn't sunk in. Clint couldn't stop himself from replying, "I told you from the very beginning that I wouldn't kill kids."

"Seventeen is hardly a child," Vincent said.

Clint ground his teeth together but found he didn't really have time to argue with him. "I'm sorry. Now, I need to talk to you about a gun."

"What gun?" Vincent said with a frown, at least for now distracted from their past dealings.

"A .388 Lapua Magnum in desert tan," Clint said.

Vincent's brows rose. "Specific of you."

Clint sighed. "Do you have it or not?"

"If you're here and you're asking you obviously know I have one," Vincent said. "And since you're here that must mean there aren't a whole lot of them around. How badly do you want this gun, Clint?"

Clint didn't like this. "There are other places to get the gun, Vincent."

Vincent's eyes narrowed. "Just for a moment, let's pretend I'm not a complete idiot. You are here asking for my help when I specifically told you that if I ever saw you again you'd taste your testicles. You don't just want this gun, you need this gun. Let's skip the shop talk and get down to business. What are you willing to do for this gun?"

Clint eyed Vincent warily. "I guess it depends on what you want done?"

"Would you kill someone to get it?" Vincent asked.

Clint nearly growled. He'd build the gun from scratch before he allowed himself to be blackmailed into another contract killing. "No."

Vincent sighed. "Alright, you can pay me for it."

"Money?" Clint asked. "That's all you want."

"Not exactly," Vincent said. "I want compensation for the hit I paid you for all those years ago and then you can pay me for the gun too."

Clint was not thrilled at this idea considering he was living off a government salary but he still nodded his head in agreement. The Avengers came first. "Fine."

"I'm also going to require something for my pain and suffering," Vincent said with a smile.

Clint sighed. "How much?"

"Not monetary," Vincent said. "After all the pain and suffering I went through I think you can go through a little of the same as well."

Clint glared at him. Vincent was proposing that he let his goons use him for a punching bag. Any day of the week, normally, Clint would have walked out long ago. The price he was suggesting was too steep for any gun. Clint entertained the idea of actually making the gun from scratch but only for the shortest of moments. "I have to be able to walk out of here and complete a hit."

Vincent shrugged. "We'll go easy on you."

Vincent's almost-wife brought out a sleek laptop computer. Within moments Vincent had it booted up and ready for money transfers. "Go ahead, Clint. Keep in mind that's a six-thousand dollar gun."

Clint busied himself by putting his numbers into the computer and then deposited sixty-six thousand dollars in the bank. "There, that covers everything."

Vincent examined the transfer and shook his head. "I forgot how expensive you used to be. You contract killers are like prostitutes though, you get what you pay for."

Clint really didn't appreciate being compared to a prostitute but he didn't say anything in argument. "Alright, how are we doing this."

Vincent arched an eyebrow. "You're really going through with this? You must really want to kill someone."

"I don't want to kill anyone," Clint snapped without thinking.

"Then you must really want to protect someone," Vincent said. "Either way…"

Vincent snapped his fingers and two hefty gentlemen in black suits came to either side of Clint. They handcuffed his wrists to the arms of the chair and then dragged him out a ways from the table. "I promised Clint here that he'd be able to walk out of here when you're done. Make sure I keep that promise."

They started in on his stomach. He arched as much as he could to soften the blows, a natural reflex but the goons quickly got the idea and one stood behind him with an arm wrapped around his upper body to keep him straight. After five or ten minutes of that and a coughing fit that didn't seem to want to end the bigger man socked him in the jaw. His head snapped to the side and made him see stars for a moment. He got punched in the jaw again before gasping out, "Vincent!"

"Stop!" the man shouted. The goons backed off instantly. Clint let his head drop a little and tried to breathe evenly and ignore the pain. Sure he'd been through worse but pain was pain. Vincent got up from the table but a flash of light drew Clint's attention to the steak knife he'd grabbed. He came right up to Clint and positioned the knife over Clint's heart. Clint didn't dare move. "I think he's been roughed up quite enough but, I don't know if he'll remember it."

Vincent raised the blade so that it rested just below his collarbone. He pushed the tip in and dragged it across Clint's chest. All he got from the archer was a painful sounding hiss. Finally he pulled the knife away and said to him, "I hope it scars, Clint."

Vincent motioned for the goons to release him and then the woman brought him the rifle in the box. Clint checked to make sure everything was there and then nodded. "Can't say it was a pleasure doing business with you, Vincent."

Vincent shrugged. "I thought it was exhilarating if I do say so myself. You'll see I included the scope free of charge."

Clint didn't even dignify that with an answer as he walked around to the front of the house, down the driveway and out of the gate. He made only one stop on his way to the hotel room and that was to pick up some antiseptic and gauze. He bandaged himself, hid the gun, and promptly fell asleep on the hotel bed. Clint knew he should stay awake and finish this but he couldn't find the motivation in himself. He'd been running for this man since nine this morning and they were approaching midnight for London now. He dreamed that the Hulk married an Iron Man suit in a cold chapel. The Avengers were there in the pews, including Bruce and Tony, and Vincent was the priest. Strangely, Kline didn't make it into the dream at all and that was the only thing Clint remembered when he woke up. Kline was never there.

Pepper picked up her phone again. No missed calls from Tony, no messages sitting there and waiting to be answered, nothing. She wasn't worried about him, Tony would hate for her to be worried about him, but it felt odd. Usually, even exhausted she rated a small good morning text or a call to ask exactly how much paperwork she had left so he could have the cook start dinner. Maybe staying up for thirty-six hours straight was his limit before he crashed and burned without worrying about his precious technology. She pushed the button to get her assistant. It always felt weird to call her assistant here considering she'd been the assistant to Tony for so long. Angela came in near silently, "Yes, Miss Potts?"

"Go ahead and cancel all of Tony's meetings for the next few days. He's not feeling well," Pepper said.

Angela gave her a warm smile. "That's the excuse you used last time, Miss Potts."

Pepper flushed. "Right, well…"

"I'll come up with something," Angela said before taking her leave.

Pepper dropped her head into her hands. She probably should have made Tony get up and go. It was no one's fault but his own that he'd stayed up for three days straight but she couldn't help but feel like he deserved some rest. Just because he stopped being CEO of Stark Industries did not mean he didn't have responsibilities where the company was concerned. If you added that to his duties to the Avengers, his fervent attempt to make Stark Industries run on clean energy, and the day to day activities of being famous and it was no wonder that every so often Tony crashed.

Of course, the worry was still there and it was that worry that almost made her leave for the day and see how Tony was doing but she still had an hour or two's worth of work and surely Tony was fine.

Tony was not fine. He was bored and he was tired but he was not fine. The hours he'd managed to stay awake were making him miserable. The headache he was starting to get made him feel like Clint had shot him in the head with an arrow or the Hulk had put him through a wall. As it was he couldn't actually get to sleep. Exhaustion may have been keeping him drained but it was fear that kept him awake. Alone in a room where his own creations had finally turned against him and Tony's body had decided he would not fall asleep and be vulnerable.

The Iron Man Robots, because although they might normally be used for suits they were certainly not doing his bidding right now, had made if painfully clear that Stark wasn't going anywhere, wasn't building anything, and any attempt to do either would result in his immediate physical harm. Do not pass Go and do not collect two hundred dollars.

"So…are you able to talk?" He asked them for what may have been the hundredth time. Silence greeted him as usual. He tried another of his hourly questions. "Are the rest of them okay?"

Nothing. Not like that was anything new, they'd been ignoring him from the first minute but it was still frustrating. Perhaps Tony Stark hated being in the dark, figuratively not literally, more than anything. "Eventually, you'll get tired with my incessant talking and you'll reply. Everyone breaks eventually."

Somehow, though, he'd managed to retain that wit of his. Tony Stark was not fine.

He was okay.

AN: So…yeah. There's Chapter Three. Hope you liked it! Oh wow, here's something. If you liked it you could tell me by reviewing in that little white box. And if you didn't like it, well, you could tell me that there too! Wow. Review please!