Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's. Any operations medical or military may have been written using research and some artistic license. If there are inaccuracies, no offense is intended.

Stark Tower…

Clint was jarred awake by the ringing of his cellphone. Following the buzz of the device, he flailed around until he had located it. Finding it still, he lifted his head and blinked. Arrow perked up, woken up by the sudden movement.

Oh. It was the other phone. Reaching into the bottom drawer, he dug around until he found the burner phone. It was an older model, but he didn't believe in spending that much money on a phone he would likely throw away within the next few weeks. He checked the caller ID: Unknown.

Groaning, he tapped the light and sat up, rubbing his eyes as he flipped the phone open. There was only one person who had this phone number – Teddy, probably calling from his own burner phone. "This had better be important."

"It is, man – I got a couple things on your 'To Do' list that need attention."

The self-proclaimed "discreet investment specialist" had been one of Clint's first black market contacts, and had looked after his funds earned during his year of freelance work. Clint had racked up a large sum from mercenary work and bounty turn-ins during his "independent" year. After helping him escape an angry client, the finance expert had offered to repay him by helping with his monetary concerns for a percentage of the profits.

Clint had been thrilled when he found out that Teddy also acted as an information broker and fence, depending on the situation. Another benefit was the man's surprising competence; the man had never failed to fulfill any request that Clint had had, and would likely continue to do so as long as he continued to make a profit. Thankfully, Fury hadn't found out about Teddy, and Clint planned to keep it that way.

Always have an extra trick up your sleeve, Buck had told him years ago. While he trusted Nick to stay quiet about his underworld contacts, Clint wasn't ready to share them with the Director. He didn't think SHIELD as a whole would approve, especially since he had recently used them against the organization.

Clint honestly wasn't sure what SHIELD would make of this new "project" either; while Nick probably knew he was up to something, the Director apparently hadn't seen a reason to confront him about it yet.

He scratched the back of his neck tiredly. "Yeah, yeah. So, what did you find?"

"Iridium. Word on the street says your buddy Ross is lookin' for some."

Ross was looking for iridium? "How much is he trying to get his hands on?"

"As much as he can. They've got the current supplies on lockdown after the stockpile in Stuttgart got nabbed. Nobody's selling any right now. At least, not legally."

"I'm guessing there's more?"

"Three shipments of heavy metals were shipped to some podunk town in Colorado. Uranium, thorium, and a few others showed up on the watch list. Either someone's working on a nuclear plant of some kind, or they're looking at makin' somethin' go boom in a big way."

Clint frowned. He stood, walking over to the desk and opening his laptop. "Keep tracking the heavy metal shipments. I want names and locations on both the buyers and sellers, Teddy."

"What about the iridium?"

"Any of it turns up, you get it before Ross has a chance at it. He's fucking military – he's got no reason to be buying that shit unless he's messing around with something he shouldn't," Clint recounted. "Get me everything you can find on his latest projects. I want to know what the hell he wants the iridium for."

"That information's not gonna come cheap. Neither is the iridium itself."

"You know I'm good for it."

The other man chuckled quietly. "You got it, buddy."

"And what about the other thing I asked you about?" The archer pulled up a map he had been working on. Several locations were highlighted; most had a red "X" through them, but others had smaller notations marking historical battle sights.

"I've got an anthropologist lined up," Teddy reported. "Edwin Nuncy. Good credentials, good work history, and he doesn't ask questions. He's ready to dig once the permits are approved from the Norwegian government."

"Transfer the funds once he's approved," Clint ordered. "I want status reports every week. Anything he finds, I want first look at before he does any reporting or publishing. If he can't agree to that, the deal's off and we move on to the next name on the list."

He zoomed in on one of the areas with a circle around it. "Tell him to try Tonsberg first."

"Whatever, man. I'll call again when we've got the contracts set up."

Hanging up the phone, Clint pulled a large, folded map out of a stack of documents. Reaching up to one of the shelves above the desk, he located an old book loaned to him by Professor Randolph, the consultant they had called in during the New Mexico incident. It was a well-aged book, written in Old Norse. Smaller papers were scattered amongst the pages where Professor Randolph had translated the more important verses.

There were several more books like it, each assisting his search. His ultimate goal was simple: stockpile as much as he could of the one thing he knew could affect a god. Uru wasn't a metal or mineral found on Earth, unfortunately. So far, SHIELD had been unable to locate any other sources within their reach, so he had had to improvise.

Clint had remembered a field trip to the nearby Indian reservation, back before he and Barney had been sent to the orphanage. They had been taken on a tour of one of the historical locations, and during their explorations he had found an arrowhead wedged in a rock crevice. One of the historians had told him that while many arrowheads were recovered and re-used, there were times when they could be lost. Clint had kept that arrowhead on a string through the years, until he had been sent on the Gallicus mission.

Since ancient Native American arrowheads could be recovered to this day from old reservations, camp sites, and battlegrounds, his theory was that the same applied to the Asgardians. According to Professor Randolph – and later confirmed by Thor – the "gods" had been to Earth before, over a thousand years ago. If their battles had gone like any others in history, there were bound to be traces left behind.

Clint planned to collect them before someone else did. He wasn't an expert on Norse culture, much less Asgardian, so he had made arrangements for Teddy to do the digging for him. He was kept busy with SHIELD; he didn't have the free time to be making trips to Norway. Besides, it had been drilled into him long ago to leave the special projects to the experts.

"Agent Barton," Jarvis said, his voice cutting through the silence. "Please pardon the intrusion, but my services are available if you would like some assistance with organizing your acquisition project."

Clint's head fell into his hands with a groan. He had forgotten about the damn sentient computer. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Uh, I don't think that'll be necessary, Jarvis. You, uh, didn't happen to record that conversation, did you?"

"The current privacy settings call for me to monitor the conversations for signs of distress, Agent Barton, but unless other-wise requested, they are not recorded," the AI replied politely. "Shall I adjust the privacy settings to only engage upon request?"

"Please do."

"If I may suggest, sir, that you take advantage of the Stark Industries global topographical database instead of a collective hardcopy database? The maps are fully interactive and may be tailored to your specific queries."

"Are you saying I'm leaving a mess or something?" Clint's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Not at all, Agent Barton – I am merely pointing out that it may be more efficient than damaging your current maps. One can only fold and unfold a map so many times before its integrity is weakened."

The archer scowled at the ceiling. "You know, intruding on someone's personal hobbies is considered rude."

"If I may point out, historical battlefield exploration and cartography are not listed amongst your hobbies. I apologize if my intrusion is unwelcome, sir." The AI's voice almost sounded amused before taking on a slightly hesitant tone. "Though, my analysis of your project reports that this is not so much a hobby as a defense research and development plan."

Clint blinked in surprise. The damn program was perceptive. "I didn't think you were designed to analyze battle plans or tactics. I don't even have any strategies listed here! Just…" He flipped through the different maps on the touch screen in frustration. "Just maps. Locations, you know? How do you get a battle plan out of that?"

"It was not my intention to upset you, Agent Barton. You have my apologies."

"No, no – you're fine. It's just…computers aren't supposed to think like that, you know?"

The AI's tone took on a hint of pride. "I am not like other computers, sir."

"No, Jarvis, no you are definitely not." He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Sir, I do understand you may have some hesitation about my presence within the Tower," Jarvis said with a gentle tone. "However, the health and well-being of Mr. Stark and the other permanent residents of the Tower are my highest priority. As I am installed throughout the building, there will be few locations that can escape my watch. If this concerns you enough, I will petition for my removal from your quarters."

"You would do that?" Clint's eyes widened. "Just because I asked?"

"Affirmative, Agent Barton," Jarvis replied. "Though I would prefer not to have my presence removed, as there are certain monitoring systems in place for each resident's security and health. If, for example, you were to fall unconscious due to a reckless entanglement and an ill-advised dodging of medical services, I would not be able to assist you."

The argument had merit, he had to admit. If there was an emergency, Jarvis could alert Medical, or the Infirmary that Stark had apparently been working on. He winced as he recalled one incident, years ago. Clint had ignored a trip to Medical, and had what he had thought was a bruised stomach developed into internal bleeding. If Laura hadn't woken up and called Nick, he most likely would have died.

"I can see your point Jarvis," he conceded. "Can we just…not have you watching everything? Maybe just keep it to life signs unless asked?"

"Very well, I shall adjust privacy settings accordingly," the AI replied with a relieved tone. "If you wish to adjust the parameters, please inform myself or Mr. Stark."

"Thanks, Jarvis." Clint paused, and then turned back to the screen again. "That map thing you were talking about. Can you make one based on the maps I've set up here?"

"Certainly. If you would please place the maps on your desk, I will scan them into the database and compile a digital model of their locations. If you have further search parameters, I would be happy to add them to the scan for a more comprehensive search."

"I've got a scanner in my kitchen?"

"Of course, sir. Mr. Stark installed it himself after it became apparent that you were utilizing it as a workspace and document center."

"Document center…are you making fun of my computer stuff?" Clint asked as he detected the disapproval in Jarvis's voice. He glanced through the door as he gathered his maps. "I like my laptop and printer, Jarvis. Don't be a snob."

"I dare say, Agent Barton, that there are more efficient machines in the Stark Tower archive center waiting to be donated to the local public school system."

"Have you ever heard of the old story about the Little Engine That Could?"

"I fail to see the relevance, sir."

"Yeah, well neither do I. It's too fucking early in the morning. Look, I like my old machine," Clint explained, laying the first map on top of the counter. He flinched as Jarvis adjusted the lights, most likely for better scan quality. "I don't need anything fancy, it does what I want, and it doesn't break. That's all I ask for – I don't feel the burning need to go get the latest and greatest thing. I don't know how many new ones they toss at me that die after the toner cartridge goes out."

"Very well," Jarvis sighed. "I shall endeavor to work around their limitations."

Clint chuckled in victory as he replaced the first map with another. "So, how did you come to your little conclusion about the battle plan thing, anyway? I'm curious now."

"I merely formed a conclusion based on your previous activities," the AI explained. "The content of the books you have been having delivered is more in line with historical and metaphysical research, which is one of the initial stages of preparing a strategy. As the author Sun Tzu wrote, it is simply a matter of knowing one's enemy. One of the key steps to knowing where an enemy will go is to see where he or she has been."

"Fair enough."

"There are also the seven phone calls to and from your discreet contact, arranging for the services of an accredited anthropologist," Jarvis continued dutifully. "My analysis, based on the metallurgical scans of the dagger that you recovered from the garden, coupled with the documentation confirmed by Prince Thor in the SHIELD database can only indicate one thing. You are searching for locations that may have been a potential battleground for the Asgardian-Jotun conflicts over a thousand years ago."

Clint shook his head in disbelief. "You're one hell of a detective, for a computer."

"Thank you."

"Why haven't you told Stark about this?" the archer asked, moving on to the next map. "I figure he'd have started poking fun of this little project by now if he knew about it."

"A simple research project is not on the alert list," Jarvis said politely. "Just as I have not informed him that the code for the application used by Agent Coulson to override my protocols was generated from your personal terminal aboard the Helicarrier. During an enrichment class intended to introduce field agents to hacking security systems, no less."

The SHIELD agent gulped. "You're not, uh, going to tell him that, are you? You can't think anybody'll believe that I wrote it, you know."

"I estimate that there are some who will believe it possible. May I remind you of the program used to cause a power injunction aboard the Helicarrier, which caused a catastrophic engine failure?"

"I didn't write the break-through code," Clint replied, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "Just the shutdown code."

"A shutdown code which overrode all existing command protocols and locked out any other terminals?"

"Oh yeah."

"I do not feel the need to share this with Mr. Stark," Jarvis replied sternly. "I do ask that SHIELD refrain from using such a protocol again, as it does take forever to clean up after the errant code."

"Sorry about that. It didn't hurt you, did it? The one Coulson used?"

"I do not feel pain, Agent Barton. The code did little more than block my attempts to control the elevator controls and access points, however, it was quite intrusive to my firewall. Clearing the errant code out of my memory banks did take an excessive amount of time."

"I promise that any code used in the future won't come from me," Clint promised. "I don't usually mess with it unless it's needed."

"Hence why I do not demand that overrides never be used. I do understand that being a machine, I am susceptible to outside interference. If I were to be controlled, I could be turned against the residents in the Tower, and the damage could be…extensive."

"Don't I know it," he muttered. "I know what it's like to be 'hacked.'"

"Indeed, Agent Barton," Jarvis replied. He seemed hesitant to continue. "You could say that we do share some common ground, in that regard. The only difference being that I was not forced to harm my creator."

"You know, you're right. You're fucking right," Clint commented softly. He ran a hand over his face and groaned. "Aside from Selvig, you may be the only one who can really understand what it was like, you know?"

"If you should wish to compare experiences in the interest of coming to terms with the Tesseract Incident, I would be more than happy to discuss it."

Great – even the computer thinks I need therapy, Clint thought to himself. "I'll, uh…think about it. You know…it goes both ways. If you want to, um, talk…I guess. I'm just…not good at discussing things."

There was a short pause. "I will keep it under consideration, Agent Barton."

He had never thought of it that way before. Jarvis shared the exact same fear of being turned against the ones he cared about. What kind of world was it when the only one who could truly sympathize and understand how he had felt after Tasha had "recalibrated" him was a damn bunch of microchips?

It was something he should probably bring up during his next appointment with his shrink.

"Might I also suggest discussing your experience with Dr. Selvig?"

"He and I…we don't really talk," Clint said, his gaze lowering to the floor in discomfort. "Last time we did, it didn't go so well. Besides – he's talking to the Psych department, and he's making progress, from what I've heard."

"Another attempt might yield better results."

"I don't know. He, uh, doesn't deal with…"

"Sir?"

"He doesn't deal with people like me. Thugs. With jackboots, no less."

"I would not define you as a thug, Agent Barton," Jarvis argued gently. "For one, I have yet to see you wearing 'jack boots.'"

"Yeah, you got me there," the archer replied with an amused snort.

"Are you bothered by that particular term, sir, or the implication?"

Clint sighed. Jarvis was nothing if not persistent. But oh well – it's not like he didn't have time to talk about things; if anything, Mitch would be happy that he was talking to somebody at least. "Maybe. Just a little. Okay…maybe more than that. Damn. Yeah, okay. It bothers me. I don't like thinking that that's all people see me as, you know?"

"A comparison could be made for the assumption that I am the same as Skynet."

Clint blinked in surprise as he unfolded the last map. "You're right. It is kind of the same thing, isn't it?"

"Indeed."

"Alright, Jarvis. I formally apologize for any mistaken assumptions that you are a diabolical mechanical overlord who wishes to make batteries out of us all."

"I believe that reference was from The Matrix, sir."

"Never seen it."

"Based on my analysis of plot versus digital effects, you did not miss much. Your apology is accepted, Agent Barton. I shall in turn refrain from asking if you have remembered your jack boots when leaving the Tower, sir."

Clint couldn't help but chuckle. "You are one of a kind, Jarvis."

"That is true."

He gestured around him. "You seem pretty interested in this stuff. Is it due to the nature of the project, or is it because you're tired of building stuff for Stark all day?"

"While I will admit that my work for Mr. Stark is tedious at times, I was created to assist him, after all, and doing so brings me great satisfaction. I admit a historical research project would allow for a welcome distraction from my normal duties."

"Jarvis…you want a hobby." Clint grinned inwardly. Gotcha. "And if I'm guessing correctly, you want in on this?"

"I believe my assistance would be of great benefit to you, as you are not always able to concentrate your attention on the project."

"Alright, we'll work out what you can help with. Some things I'm going to have to do myself, you know."

"Understood. Might I suggest scanning each recovered item to confirm if they match the properties of the weapon that you recovered? The appropriate equipment can be provided to your contractor."

"You've got a point. Let's do it, but make it discreet."

Jarvis brought several websites for test equipment suppliers up on the nearby monitor screen. "I have taken the liberty of locating the five most recommended suppliers. Am I correct in assuming you would prefer to make the purchases under an alias?"

"Yeah. I'll get you the account details. Stark doesn't find out about it, you got it?"

"Very well, sir. Might I ask your ultimate goal with this endeavor, sir? I may be better able to assist if I am aware of your motivation."

"Motivation? It's pretty simple. I'm going to use it to kill that pointy-helmeted fucker."

Jarvis' voice turned cold. "You have my full cooperation, Agent Barton."

"Loki pissed you off too, huh?"

"He threw my creator out of a window, Agent Barton, from over one-hundred floors up. I would prefer that every precaution be taken to ensure that it doesn't happen again," Jarvis replied acidly. "If the one known as Loki must be neutralized in order to ensure this, so be it."

Clint allowed himself a small smile. Loki had failed to learn one important lesson: never piss off the sentient computer. "Jarvis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Several weeks later…

"So, here we have a firing range, fully regulation," Tony explained as he led Clint around the new Ballistics Lab. "There's soundproofing along all four walls, with an observation window so that you can still see anything coming from the side. There's a holding rack here – left side for bows, right side for firearms. The control panel on this wall here will allow you to control the targets."

The inventor tapped a large teal alarm light. "This baby alerts you if anyone comes in, just in case you don't see them or hear them come in. know you can see blue pretty well, and red might put you into alert mode or something. I'd rather not get shot when I come down to bug you, and I will bug you. Fair warning – you have explosives, and explosives are fun."

One of the details the archer appreciated the most was the color scheme. It appeared that Stark had taken his color-blindness into account when decorating, and focused on the shades he knew Clint could detect. Tony had done a pretty good job, over-all, but then again, he had spent a week after reading Clint's medical file wearing a specially created set of goggles which duplicated Clint's unique form of tritanopia in order to understand what it was like.

"Thanks," Clint replied with a nod of appreciation. "Looks like it'll work just fine."

Stark had provided a fully-loaded workshop as promised, complete with range, ballistics supplies, and a large flammable materials locker. He ran a hand along the countertop, looking appreciatively at the neat rows of organizers along the top of the workbench and along the walls. The inventor must have noticed his little cleaning habit.

Sitting next to the soldering iron was a digital label-maker, wrapped with a large red bow. He held up the device, arching an eyebrow. Stark shrugged, grinning at him.

Clint spotted another large piece of equipment. Setting the label-maker down, he walked over, pulling the cloth dust cover off. Underneath was what looked like a robot. He blinked in surprise.

"FLETCH-A," Tony explained, approaching the bot and activating a control. "Or, Fletcher if you prefer. He's a prototype fabricator unit that I created to work on some of the smaller parts of the Iron Man suit, back when I invented the Mark Two. I sort of outgrew him, I guess, once we started up the newer fabrication labs at Malibu and here at the Tower. Jarvis and I figured he could help you out here."

"You're giving me a robot?" Clint asked, his eyes widening in surprise. "I, uh…don't know what to say."

"Let's start with hello," the inventor replied with a wink. He flipped a switch on the robot. "Fletcher, say hello."

The robot hummed, letting out several bloops as the indicator lights began to flow. The smaller arms began to move in patterns and circular motions. A red, glowing circle on what could be considered the robot's "head" began rotating as a wide green laser began to scan the room.

Clint frowned. "What the hell is it doing?"

"Fletcher? Scanning the workshop. He'll update the inventory records every week, unless you order him not to. Fletcher is designed to help keep track of whatever parts you need to make your little explodey bits. We'll work out replenishment details after you've had a chance to get to know each other a little better," Stark explained, patting the robot on the "head."

"Like a little factory," the archer commented appreciatively.

"Pretty much. Your designs can be imported to his database, and as long as his supplies are replenished, he'll take care of the more tedious work. Like, well…fletching. That'll leave you more time to work on, you know, spy stuff. Or design work."

Clint stood up from where he had been squatting, inspecting the robot. He turned back to look at Stark, giving the man a genuine smile. "I just…I don't know what to say, Tony. It's…"

"Awesome?" Tony replied. "I'll take awesome. Maybe now I won't have nightmares about you assembling explosives in your kitchen. Oh – one last thing."

The inventor snapped his fingers. A large grid appeared in the air, with a three dimensional diagram of one of his arrows. As Tony gestured with his fingers, the model moved; it enlarged, shrank, and as the inventor spoke, even separated itself into sections.

"What the hell…" Clint said softly, walking in a slow circle around the image.

"That, my friend," Tony replied, "is a holographic design station. I've been using it for years, and it works wonders for schematic and model adjustments on the fly."

He looked up at the inventor, awestruck. "Do you even know how much extra training they put you through in SHIELD to even get a look at one of these, much less play with it?"

"I'll show you a few tricks you can show off to the R and D guys. I did kind of pioneer the design engine and interface," the billionaire replied confidently. "Look, Legolas – I've set one up for Bruce. I've got one in each of my labs. I don't see the problem with putting one in here for you. In fact, I insist – that way when I come in here to hang out, I don't need to stop what I'm working on. I'll just use this one! Besides – think of all the cool stuff you can come up with, and you won't have to resort to paper schematics or CAD software."

Clint smiled as he watched Tony shudder. "Thank you, Tony. I really mean it."

Stark gave him an unabashed grin. "That's what friends are for. Now, show me what you got, hotshot!"