muhahahaha...that is all.

Chapter 8

Morrissey rolled into a crouch, taking the men on the right while Clint focused on bottle-necking those entering from the hall. They were too exposed to stay there for long. As the fireball at their back died out nearly as quickly as it came, Clint made an executive decision and moved through the doorway again, tapping Morrissey's shoulder so she could go after him.

Barton sealed the entrance and turned to face the men attempting to scramble after them through the opposite door. The assailants were limited by the size of the doorway versus their own body mass, making it easier to slow them down. If Clint and Morrissey didn't get the door shut, however, their little standoff was going to end the minute their bullets and arrows ran out.

Clint grabbed his bowie knife in one hand and a round meeting table in the other. First he lifted and hurled the table across the room until it impacted the men and knocked them back. Then, he rushed the group with his knife and physically muscled them through the doorway. Morrissey came up behind him and, together, they shut the heavy oak door and dropped the closest filing cabinet in front of it. Out of the corner of her eye, Morrissey saw the first door jamb breakdown. Out of bullets, she reached to Clint's back and grabbed his P30 just in time to meet the second wave as it breached the entranceway. Clint raised his bow, but the first automatic rifle was already through the door. Morrissey appeared in front of him with her finger squeezing the trigger of the borrowed P30. The automatic jockeyed, fired, fell, and a splash of red coated the door.

Without waiting for another man to break through, Clint grabbed Morrissey by her shoulder and directed her to follow him. Together they raced through the back of the office, curved to the west side of Stark Tower, and barricaded another two doors between the assailants and themselves. From this side, they had access to the elevator system.

"Will they even work?" Morrissey asked as they paused outside the burnished metal doors. The indicator above the doorway reported the elevator was currently twenty floors up.

"This one will." Clint told her. He wiped his knife on his pant leg and replaced it in his scabbard. He was normally pretty clean when it came to slitting throats, but his left hand was covered in fresh blood. Clint preferred not to use his left hand if he could help it, and he knew he didn't do just now. His eyes went to Morrissey's light blue dress top and the expanding red circle in the shoulder he'd grabbed earlier.

"You're hit!" He exclaimed.

She shrugged her good shoulder, but wobbled on her feet. Clint seized her as her knees buckled and she began to sink. There were two more holes through the front of her chest.

"Yeah, guess I am." She mumbled.

The elevator doors opened and, before they could close again, Clint stuck his foot in the door and dragged Morrissey inside. He hit the number for the thirtieth floor, and crouched down to check her over.

"When did you get shot?" He demanded before the blood loss robbed her of consciousness.

"Few minutes ago, guy breaching door with auto." She replied.

Clint lifted her shirt to check the two lower wounds. Shards of blown apart ribs were apparent in both holes. There was no doubt in his mind she wouldn't be breathing very long unless he got her medical attention immediately. "You stepped in front of me and took three bullets in your chest? Correct me if I'm wrong, but that probably isn't a smart plan."

"Well, that's my problem." Morrissey said.

"No, it's my problem. I've got to get you out of here or else you better start making peace with whatever's on the other side."

"No . . . no . . . that's my problem." She repeated herself, trying to make him understand. "I'm the screw up agent, remember? The spy within the spies."

Clint looked down at her, their eyes meeting briefly as he listened to what she'd said. "You aren't a screw up." He said resolutely.

She smiled a little sadly. A cough brought a trail of blood down the crease of her lip. "Wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

She's not going to make it out of this elevator. He knew it. He'd seen agents go down in the field before and he knew the signs. Clint reached back and put his private code into the elevator. He'd intended to stop at Pepper's floor, get to Iron Man, and force him to jet Morrissey to the nearest hospital. But looking down on what he saw now, he knew the best place for her to be was at R&D.

Without saying anything more to her, he fished around her belt for her cell phone. She watched him, her lungs wheezing now as they struggled against the pressure of the outside air forcing its way in. Pneumothorax. Hemothorax. She was filling up with air and blood, and soon, she'd be drowning in it. As she coughed again, choking on blood, Clint eased her onto one side. With his other hand, he dialed Bruce.

"Fine here so far, how's it looking down there? Tony took Pepper to the hospital after the explosion. She's alright. He's on his way back now." Bruce was giving him immediate updates as per their usual arrangement. It helped Clint assess how close to Hulking out he was.

"Bruce, I need you to listen to me." When Clint spoke, his voice held no emotion. It was betrayal enough for his longtime friend to know something serious had happened.

"Tell me." Bruce replied, equally even.

"Meet me on the first level of R&D. We are on the elevator. We will reach it in one minute. Meet me at the elevator. Do it now. Do not Hulk out!"

Clint made it obvious he was saying nothing more and Bruce knew better than to pry. Clint hit the Off button and set the phone on the floor behind Morrissey. He leaned over to check on her again but the news was getting worse; she was slipping fast. He still had things to say, things he never knew he needed to say to her but, facing this, Clint couldn't stand to let the woman go out without talking to her.

"Blackstone – tell me!" Clint asked her first. Her eyes looked for him, but it was difficult for her to speak now. He didn't want her to disagree with him again. He wanted her to understand him.

"Not only did you take an undercover assignment in Stark Tower, you identified a bomb but warned us before hand and helped get people out. You cleared the floors with me like a pro, and when I wasn't fast enough, you were. You stepped into three bullets for a SHIELD agent. That's not a screw up, Helen, that's a top agent. But right now, you need to tell me about Blackstone. Who is behind it?"

She wanted to say something. He could see it in her eyes, but he knew she couldn't. She was breathing fast. Her pulse was fluttering and thready. Soon, this was going to be it. He stopped her before she could form her words and Clint heard the elevator chime. He turned to watch the doors open. A disheveled Bruce was already standing there. A black trauma bag they normally kept in the mission room was slung across his chest by a single strap.

"Clint?" Bruce's voice faded away.

Clint reached over to the doorway and pulled the stop button then he locked the doors to keep them pushed open. He tried to stand, but Helen's hand stopped him. Clint bent back down toward her. She forced out the whisper like a ghost breathing into his ear.

"Hydra."

He wanted to ask more. He wanted the time to interrogate her, to understand what an age old organization had to do with the Blackstone agents that infiltrated SHIELD. But there was no time. He got out of Bruce's way and whispered to him. "She does not have long, Bruce. You have to talk to her." Clint said.

Bruce grew roots in the doorway, the color draining from his face. The trauma bag, the explosions, the men making their way up Stark Tower, none of it mattered now. He wanted to know what happened, he needed to know. He felt like his world was beginning to rot away like a corpse in a pond. All he could see was the blood.

Clint eased his hands against Bruce's back and carefully edged him forward. He whispered again. "Bruce, you need to go to her."

The dam broke. Bruce hit his knees beside her. He picked her up gingerly in his arms and let her bleed into his chest. His hand brushed her hair from in front of her face so his lips could press into her forehead.

"I don't know what to say." He admitted. "This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't going to happen. I don't know what to say." He looked up at Clint. His eyes were filling with tears he tried desperately to hold back.

Clint bit his lip.

" 's ok." The small voice wheezed. Morrissey's hand was cold. It was a struggle, but she managed to raise it up to his face. When her weakness made it fall, Bruce grabbed her with his hand and held it longer against him. He blew his breath into her palm, hoping to press a little life into her. But it was too late and he knew it just as much as Clint did. With his head buried against hers, and Morrissey pulled tightly against his chest, Bruce let the words come out.

Clint remained by his side. He didn't come close enough to hear what Bruce said that made Morrissey smile despite the pain. He could read Bruce's lips, but decided not to. This was private. This was what Clint may one day be forced to do with Natasha. This was Bruce's moment and it wasn't fair for him to intrude on it. Should the day come where Natasha was bleeding, dying, in his arms, Clint could only hope the same gentle words would come to his mind. He made the mental decision then to prepare for just that moment.

Bruce had only held her for a minute and a half before Agent Helen Morrissey died in his arms. Bruce knew she was dead, but he couldn't let her go. He adjusted her in his arms. now that she was no longer in pain and pressed his cheek beside hers. He rocked gently as the emotion began to hit him.

Now, he felt it. Now, the loss was sinking in.

The pain welled up and, soon, there would be no controlling it. His eyes were rimmed in radiant green when he focused on Clint.

The agent hadn't moved. He stayed, knowing what was to come. There was no caging the Hulk from this pain.

"Go on." Clint told him. "I'll take care of her, Bruce. I'll swear to that. I won't leave her. Go on, if you need to."

Bruce paused. His muscles rippled beneath his shirt. The seams were beginning to split. But, he was still in control. Bruce gathered Morrissey's body in his arms and carried her out of the elevator. Her right hand fell at his side and the pool of blood that collected around her clavicle made a trail along the floor as he carried her. Clint moved ahead of him, anticipating where Bruce was going. There was a table of equipment laid out and Clint wasted no time shoving the articles to the floor. He held Morrissey's head as Bruce set her down.

"You don't leave her here." Bruce told him. His voice was deep and gravelly. His skin hardened, changed.

"I'm not leaving, Bruce." Clint assured him.

Bruce changed. Usually, when he became the Hulk, it was an explosion of energy. The sheer anger and rage were so palpable, the air itself altered around him. The coming of the Hulk was issued with butterflies in stomachs. Even those closest to him knew to keep a safe distance. And regardless of Clint and the Hulk's strange friendship, there was nothing to prevent Clint from being cautious himself.

This time was different. Bruce was completely in control. Slowly, the Hulk came out of him and, where once Bruce stood, the Hulk now appeared. The Hulk looked down at the bloodied body. He had an aversion to such things but now his face didn't turn away.

"If you want the men, they are still in the building." Clint told him.

The Hulk grunted, not moving away.

"I'll watch her. I promised Bruce I would."

"Hurt him." The Hulk said.

Clint raised an eyebrow in surprise. The autonomy of the Hulk's thoughts and those of Bruce were never fully understood. To hear now that not only did the Hulk recognize Bruce's pain, but the person who caused it, was something Clint never expected.

"I think he really loved her." Clint admitted.

The Hulk walked toward the elevator. There was no easy way for his size to get out of the first level of R&D. Clint could tell he intended to tear his way down the elevator shaft and wasn't about to stop him.

"Bruce did." The Hulk said as he walked away.

The Hulk ripped a hole into the bottom of the elevator as if he was opening a can of sardines. He disappeared from sight and never came back. Clint was left in the lab alone. His hand found its way wrapping around Morrissey's cold fingers. In the equipment on the floor, Clint found a comm. He picked it up and held it to his left ear. He adjusted the frequency until he could hear JARVIS and Tony bantering to one another. Steve, as well, was on the line now.

"I've got the first ten floors cleared. Let me know if you want me to keep coming up or keep the ones off the stairs." Steve said.

"I'm in Pepper's office now. I think she might enjoy the new bay window." Tony said back. "I was thinking of renovating anyway."

"I believe, sir, Dr. Banner's alter ego has made a new bay window on the thirty-third floor." JARVIS chimed.

For a few minutes Clint listened to them. From the sound of it, Steve's one-man wrecking crew, the Hulk's temper, and Tony's need to avenge Pepper's ill treatment that the situation was soon going to be under control. Clint tapped the receiver on the comm and his voice projected to Stark and Rogers.

"I'm in R&D." he said. "Helen's here with me. She's dead."

coming up: the final chapter!