One year later

Kyla thought she was done with helping people. In fact, she was sure of it. Helping Agent Coulson of SHIELD had cost her way too much to risk it again…She had lost her livelihood, her status, and nearly her life.

She had once lived in a moderately waterproof apartment, and now she lived in a shed. Not a shack, not a barn, a shed. She was sitting on the side of the road, one hand in her pocket, reflexively clenching the handle of her knife. The other hand was lying on her bent knee, the unhealed black ring around her wrist still there a year after the druggy had twisted it. It was probably broken, but Kyla honestly didn't care. She only needed one hand to steal food from street vendors.

She was done helping people. It had brought her nothing but trouble.

Well, fate sometimes screws with you when you make a decision like that…

On this day in particular, Kyla had been having a moderately successful morning of thieving. She had under her jacket a stolen passion fruit, small bag of rice and a bottle of boiled (and thus clean) water. She stood up from her customary place on the curb and started off for home, blending in easily with the masses of poorly dressed and malnourished people on the streets. It was the height of the day and the venders would be closing up for a short time until the sun settled down. No one wanted to shop in the stifling equatorial heat.

As Kyla walked, she tried to correct the limp she had suffered ever since her time with the dealers. They hadn't gone easy on her because she was a young girl. In the slums, children were just spies with a couple less pounds on them. Anyway, she had been 16 at the time…and that hardly counted as a child.

There was an alley that cut through a backstreet and led directly to Kyla's shed, but she rarely used it for fear that she would be followed by prowlers. Today however, she was too tired and the sun was too hot to do much walking.

This decision to take the shortcut changed her life. As she walked along the building that sheltered her small home from the main road, a life-changing thing dropped out of the sky…quite literally. Kyla screamed and jumped to the side as something fell off of the roof of the building and thudded to the ground. It lay there at her feet. It was a person. She stared at them, and they didn't move. It had been a while since she had seen a jumper…but there were some pretty depressed people in the slums. She took a step away and started to walk back to her shed, praying that the body would be gone the next morning.

A rattling cough echoed in the alley behind her. She froze. Slowly she turned, gaping at the body. They were certainly dressed strangely. They were wearing a black and maroon muscle-shirt style top and fitted black pants. It was only now that she noticed the weapon that had fallen beside them. It looked like a bow and arrow set, quiver and all…

"Excuse me?" She said quietly, unaccustomed to using her voice. This figure, a man, moved a little but could only manage a groan. Kyla had a flashback to the horrible things that had happened to her because of someone needing her help. She turned and walked defiantly back to her shed.

No, not today, not tomorrow, not any day. I don't care who they are, I don't care why they're dying in my front yard, I'm not interested! She thought, but she couldn't lie, not even to herself.

She stopped at the old wooden door of her home, her hand reaching for the long-broken latch. She slowly peered over her shoulder. The guy was trying to get up and was obviously failing to do so, flopping back to the ground like a dying fish.

"Oh, Hell…" Kyla murmured as she ran back to the pitiful man's side.

He was struggling to get up but was unable to last more than a few seconds before gasping in pain and falling back down.

"Pare! Pare! Deixe-me ajudar ..." She said, trying to hold him down. This didn't seem to help. The guy was moving like he was trying to run away from something, but he was still on his stomach and Kyla couldn't see his face. "Stop moving!" She said, switching to English. "Let me help you!" The man's body went limp and he flopped back to the dirt. Kyla saw him raise a shaking hand, pointing at something down the road. There, about one block down, was a rather large group of angry-looking men with guns…Of course.

"Okay, are they after you?" She asked, exasperated. They hadn't seen her and the man yet, but it was only a matter of time…they were headed their way. She saw the back of the man's head as he gave a small nod. "I need you to hold your breath, got it?" She regretted having to do this, but without knowing how badly the guy was hurt she couldn't help him. She waited until she saw his body shift as his lungs filled with air and then, as quickly as she could manage, she rolled him over onto his back. She slammed a hand over his mouth as he let out a blood-curdling yell of pain. Kyla looked up and almost met the gaze of one of the gunmen. She left her hand covering the man's mouth and dragged him toward a sheltered spot between a pile of scrap and the building. She didn't want to know what this must feel like, being dragged along dirt and asphalt with who knows how many broken bones, but if those guys got a look at them they were both dead.

Kyla made she they were out of sight behind the scrap heap before breathing a sigh of relief and propping the man against the brick wall. She didn't remove her hand from his mouth until he was done yelling and swearing some pretty nasty things her way. She waited for him to say something else, but he appeared too stunned by her sudden actions to do much of anything. Kyla glanced over her shoulder at where they had just been. A rather incriminating trail of blood would have led anyone straight to them, but the ground was already filthy so it probably wasn't noticeable at a glance. Then again, that was a lot of blood…

Kyla turned back to the man, finally getting a good look at him…though "good" might be a touch optimistic. He was white, so probably not from around here. His short-cut brown hair was caked with blood on one side and his scowling face had a large bruise forming across his left eye. These weren't all injuries from falling out of a second story window, these were from a fight.

"Who are you?" She asked, not bothering to hide her Brazilian accent. The man's closed eyes didn't open and he was breathing heavily.

"Bow…" He groaned.

"Huh?"

"Where's …m…y bow…?" He slurred, his eyes opening but unfocused. Bow? What… Kyla looked over her shoulder to where she remembered seeing the bow and arrows. It was a weird thing to be requesting after falling off a building…

"Alright, I'll give you your bow, but first tell me your name." She demanded. He gave her a searching look and looked like he was about to say something, then slumped against the wall in a dead faint.

"Pelo amor de Deus…" ("For Lord's sake…") She hissed. The voices of the men on the street had been stopped a few doors down, but now they were moving again, probably searching alleys and houses for this man, whoever he was. She wasn't going to be able to move this guy all the way to her shed by herself, at least not in time. She pulled her knife and made sure that the pair of them weren't visible from the street. She waited in an alert crouch, her heart rate rising as footsteps approached. She was very out of practice, not having to use her combat skills for well over a year, and prayed that she wouldn't be seen. In any fight between one person with a knife and eight men with guns, the odds weren't good.

Kyla reflected on the situation…five minutes ago her biggest problem was starvation, and now she was probably going to be shot over an argument she was never a part of.

Damn my big heart… She thought to herself, slinking deeper into the shadows as the men passed by the alley. For a moment she was sure they were going to pass by without a second glance, but just as they were moving on the man at Kyla's side let out a raspy cough. She slammed a hand over his mouth but it was too late. One of the gunmen had turned and was pointing in their direction, yelling to the others that he had heard something.

Kyla muttered a few choice phrases under her breath and was about ready to slap the man beside her when his eyes opened. Kyla looked from him back to the advancing men and did a mental assessment of the situation… The injured man wasn't going anywhere, there were eight guys with guns ten feet away, and all she had was a six-inch pocket knife. Well…She suddenly thought. I've always wanted to try acting…

Kyla made a split second decision and surprised the hell out of the gunmen by dropping her knife and jumping to her feet, running out in front of them. Was this a last ditch effort or what? She looked at them with a look of absolute terror and misery and coughed pitifully. She fell to the ground in what she hoped was a convincing faint. The men talked in hushed voices for several seconds. Kyla kept her eyes slightly open, her head facing the still-hidden man behind the scrap pile. He was more awake now by the looks of it, and he seemed to have caught on to her game and was silent. Kyla let her eyes close as one of the men laughed and leaned over her.

"Mendigo sujo!" ("Filthy beggar!") He cackled and Kyla tried not to yell as he kicked her hard in the stomach and, laughing, led the rest of his gang back into the street. Kyla waited until she heard their voices drifting away into the road before opening her eyes. She groaned involuntarily as she struggled to a sitting position, holding the rapidly forming bruise on her stomach. She had braced herself for the blow, but nothing can really prepare you for a solid hit like that.

"You're tough kid." Said a voice. She spun around, almost forgetting the reason she had let herself get kicked in the first place. The man was peering at her with a curious gaze, his head slightly tilted to the side. She slowly got to her feet and stayed a good distance away, unsure how to approach him. She was also confused, he was American. The last American she had seen in the slums had been Coulson…

"Why are they after you?" She asked. He didn't answer. He wasn't ignoring her, just making clear that the question was going to go unanswered. She tried again. "Why did you fall off of the roof?"

"I didn't fall…" He said in a croaky voice. "I was pushed."

"What is your name?"

The pause that followed was enough to ensure Kyla that this man wasn't completely innocent. Only criminals conceal their true names.

"Call me Hawkeye."

"That's not a name."

"Are you saying I'm lying?"

"I'm saying that that's not your real name." She frowned, eyeing him suspiciously. This usually intimidated people she was speaking to, but this guy was unmoved. "Fine. I'll call you 'Hawkeye'." She agreed

"And what should I call you?"

Kyla stuttered, something she rarely did. Who was supposed to be asking the questions here? Her. He owed her his life after all…but somehow she found herself unable to avoid the question.

"Kyla." She said tersely. He gave her a pained smile.

"Thank you Kyla."

"No problem." She said. She glanced over at her shed. "Can I trust you?"

Hawkeye laughed, which made him cough again. "I should be asking you the same thing. No one helps a total stranger around here." He made a wide gesture to the slum outside the alley, wincing as he moved his arm. "People are too worried about taking care of themselves. Charity is suspicious."

Kyla was beginning to like this guy.

"Fine. I'm abnormal."

Hawkeye gave a kind of uncomfortable smile. "You can trust me. Honestly, what'll I do? Bleed on you?"

Kyla shrugged in a so-so sort of way, somewhat enjoying the first conversation she had held in over a year. "Come on…" She said, stepping over to him and offering a hand. "I live over there." She nodded to her shed and he followed her gaze.

"Nice…" Hawkeye muttered under his breath, but Kyla heard him.

"What?" She snapped with a murderous look.

"No, really. Looks…cozy…" He said quickly. He did the smile again. Kyla decided to let that one slide.

Hawkeye looked slightly put out by the prospect of getting up, but with some hesitation he took her hand. She hoisted him to his feet and he immediately had to lean against the wall for support.

"Easy!" He barked angrily, rubbing his shoulder.

"Fine, walk yourself." She said, taking a step back and raising her hands sarcastically. She had a thing about people yelling at her. She turned and walked toward her home with blunt directness. She was a good ten feet down the alley before she was stopped.

"Wait…" Said a grudging voice behind her. She allowed herself a satisfied smile before turning around.

"Yes?" She said with an infuriatingly passive look. Hawkeye was still frowning, obviously embarrassed about what he had to do.

"I need help." He said in a low voice, and Kyla got the impression that this was a difficult thing for him to say.

"Thank you for asking nicely." She said, letting her face change to a smile of pity as she returned to his side. He didn't seem to care for this either. He somewhat reluctantly put his left arm around her shoulders, leaning on her for support. She stumbled a little bit at the added weight but she held her footing, holding his arm with her left hand and putting the other somewhat awkwardly around his waist. Kyla tried to look calm about it, but couldn't help but notice that his black shirt, though it was hard to see, was stained with red. She looked up to him before moving and he gave a little nod of affirmation. One step at a time, they moved in the direction of her shed. A sharp intake of breath and muffled complaints accompanied each stride and Kyla tried to make this go as quickly as possible.

By the time they reached the door and Kyla kicked it open her entire right side was red with Hawkeye's blood. She didn't have a problem with blood, she had drawn plenty of it herself, but she found herself almost worried about this guy. Something about him was just, likable…In a weird, grumpy, smarty-assy sort of way.

As they entered…well…fell into the room Kyla tried to direct Hawkeye to the small mat bed in the corner. He just managed to collapse on it before he was out like a light. Kyla leaned against the metal-sheeted wall and heaved a sigh. She looked at the passed out man on her bed, at her blood-soaked clothing, and at the ceiling.

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, telling herself to relax a little. All she had to do was get this guy back in working order and kick him out…She'd never have to see him again. The whole incident could be forgotten, disregarded as ancient history, a horrible mistake she would never make again.

That's exactly what she had thought as she lay broken and bleeding in the drug dealer's warehouse one year ago. I'll never help anyone but myself ever again…

She looked back at the man she knew only as Hawkeye.

"Que diabos eu fiz para mim mesmo?" ("What the hell have I done to myself?") She groaned, holding her head in her hands and wondering where she was going to get a new set of clothes.