Intelligence and Information

Disclaimer: See previous disclaimer, for the truths held within have not changed in the time between then and now.

7:01 am Tuesday, September 23
Tony Stark's Laboratory #4, 59thfloor, Avengers Tower, New York City, New York

Bruce and Tony, Avengers Tower's resident geniuses, had spent the last thirty-two solid hours in the lab, after a surprisingly refreshing eight hours of uninterrupted sleep post-battle with what could only be described as half a dozen yellow and purple striped lobsters the size of caravans in the middle of Central Park.

The majority of those thirty-two straight hours were spent studying the strange glowing blue goo that the lobster creatures spat, which seemed to have the ability to hyper age any substance it touched. I.E. oxidized metal to rust in seconds, turned a slab of concrete to dust, and caused organic material to decay in two blinks of an eye – as they discovered when Tony got bored and decided to poke the stuff with a hot dog straight from the package, only to swear to never do it again when he smelled the outcome, a rotting blot of meat, the smell of which permeated the lab air for over three hours despite Tony's top of the line ventilation system – but they still didn't know the cause of it yet.

The rest of those thirty-two hours was spent bickering, bantering, and chatting about pretty much anything that came to mind, as were their usual. So when, nine minutes after Steve got the phone call from Clint – and three failed attempts at getting the scientists to the Avengers Meeting room two floors up only to decide that maybe they should just have the meeting in the lab, instead – and Steve, Clint, and Natasha walked in, no one was particularly surprised to find the two in the middle of a back and forth.

"I'm telling you, it's not bronchitis," Tony stated with a wave of the screwdriver he was using to tinker with a scanner of some sort. "It's just a cough."

"A persistent cough. And I'm just telling you that it could be," Bruce countered, not glancing up from the readouts appearing on the holographic screen in front of him.

"Yeah, well, it's not. Just a cough. See?" He let out an obviously fake cough. "Cough. What I'm more interested in are those fiesta crustaceans that were hocking hyper-aging loogies at us two days ago."

"I don't think you are the most reliable source when it comes to determining your own health, Tony," Bruce said lightly, ignoring Tony's attempts at distraction. "Remember what happened in Greenland? You were walking around barefoot in the snow for nearly an hour before SHIELD finally picked us up, then you had a cold for over a week because of it, which could have been avoided entirely had you just told one of us what had happened."

"Now, hey, that wasn't my fault. I had no idea that the nanobots were specifically set to my armor's titanium alloy density. It was pure genius on my part that managed to concentrate them on the boots only and keep the rest of the suit intact." Tony's head snapped up as Steve cleared his throat to alert them to their presence. "Big bird," Tony called, eyes on Clint and an easy smile on his face. "Just thought of an idea for a new quiver. Nanobot sustained automatic reload. You'd never run out of arrows again. The nanobots would just keep making more as fast as you use them." Clint began to approach as he turned his eyes to the screen he just opened to take notes. "And if that works, I could potentially condense the nanobots into a more manageable material, possibly into a lightweight, reforming body armor for Itsy Bitsy since she refuses the vibranium reinforced Kevlar plating I put in Spangles' and yours' uniforms. Which is understandable, I guess, since it adds an extra five pounds and isn't as flexible as hers, but considering how heavy that scalemail vest that SHIELD gave Capsicle was, five pounds is a dream, no offense to Coulson's designs. Even I have to agree that sometimes classic fits. After that, I could tinker around with—"

"Tony," Clint interrupted, gently placing his hand on the engineer's shoulder. "That'll have to wait. There's something we all need to talk about."

"What's wrong?" asked Bruce, finally taking in the unusually solemn expression on the normally sarcastic spy's face. Steve's face was a combination of confusion and a hint of concern, which told Bruce the Captain did not yet know what this was about, and Natasha's was unreadable, as per her usual when waiting for something or deep in thought.

At the question, Tony glanced up at Bruce, seeing his concern, before shooting over to Clint and finally noticed his friend's grave mood.

Without answering or looking away from Tony, Clint asked, "JARVIS, is this room secure?"

"Indeed, Agent Barton," replied the cool accented voice easily. "I detect no listening or viewing devices, active or otherwise, within the vicinity of this room that are not already under my full control."

"Good, keep it that way."

"Of course."

Tony was frowning questioningly at Clint, waiting – rather patiently, in his opinion – for the archer to finish addressing the A.I. and explain.

By this time, Steve had moved to stand beside Bruce to better see the situation, while Natasha took a position at Clint's side, facing the door as though to protect them from an unknown threat. Or maybe a known threat, Bruce couldn't tell.

Clint glanced around at his teammates, eyes lingering on Tasha until she gave him the slightest of nods and he looked back at Tony, taking a calming breath. He didn't bother beating around the bush. "The World Security Council has sanctioned your assassination, Tony."

A tense silence, a shocked hush, settled over the room, like the calm before a torrent, until –

"What?!" Steve demanded at the same time that Bruce shouted, "No!"

Steve took a step forward. "How is this possible? Why would they do that? How could they do that?"

"I knew SHIELD couldn't be trusted," Bruce ranted under his breath, presumably to himself. "I should never have trusted them. . ."

Natasha remained a statue, transfixed in her attempts to protect the group from outside threats, unconsciously trying to make up for not protecting them from the greatest of inside threats.

Meanwhile, Tony stayed silent through Steve's rapid-fire questions – he being the one with the most respect of authority from having been trained, first and foremost, as a soldier – and Bruce's conspiratorial tirade – understandable, given his past experiences with government agencies of all types – his eyes locked on Clint, who could clearly see the barely visible concern wrinkling the industrialist's brow and turning down the corners of his lips.

For a moment he thought that concern was directed inward, concerned about himself like any normal person would when told someone was trying to kill them. But then Tony proved not only that he was a genius who easily understood entire situations before most have even recognized the first steps, and because he was so distinctly not normal, but also that everything everyone writes about the "infamous" Tony Stark in those trash newspapers and magazines about him being entirely self-centered is, was, and forever will be wrong, when Tony asked , voice low and serious, emotion hiding just beneath the surface, "They want you to do it, don't they?"

Clint let out a small sigh, looking away. "Yeah."

"Bastards," Tony huffed in quiet anger. Glancing up, they locked gazes once more, and Clint was stunned by the startling combination of sorrow and kind understanding shown in his friend's dark eyes (Clint would never call it compassion, not on Tony Stark. Not mixed with that much trust and anger for another. 'Compassion' wasn't a big enough word for it.). "What are we going to do?" the billionaire asked the archer, as though it was completely Clint's decision. As though he wasn't talking about his own life and the possibility of his eminent death. As though –

Oh.

As though there was never any question of if Clint would actually do it. Because there wasn't. From the moment Fury told him he was to be the one the WSC would request, he had been fervently denying it. Refusing outright.

In his lifetime, he had taken many assignments, many without complaint, in which his primary, or only, objective was to end someone's life. Accepted and accomplished. But even the thought of looking down a scope or an arrow shaft at Tony, when it wasn't in defense to watch and protect Iron Man's back in a fight, nearly made him shudder at the pure wrongness of it.

So no, there was no question. He would never do it. Not without a pretty danged good reason, and even then he wouldn't obey blindly. And he certainly hadn't been presented with one, as of yet.

But before Clint could answer Tony's question, Bruce, ever the more observant than people usually assumed from him, and still pretty quick at grasping things given a bit of time, asked one of his own. "You don't seem very surprised, Tony. Do you know why the Council wants you dead?"

Suddenly, all eyes were on Tony, waiting for an answer.

To be continued. . .

Author's Notes: How bad is it? Is it horrible? I feel like I am ruining the characters. Being slightly OOC is understandable when facing something they have never faced before, but I don't want to change them all completely. Any tips or suggestions to help keep them all in character? And yes, the cliffhanger is a bit weak, but I figured you all waited long enough. Hope it was enjoyable, to at least some degree.

Also, I discovered halfway through that I had been using 'Counsel' instead of 'Council'. Oh dear. I went back and fixed it in the first chapter, as well. Love ya all! Take care! God bless!

-TheOneThatGotAway99