"I need a break…"

"We've only been walking for two minutes Barton…"

"You call this walking?"

Kyla and Clint Barton had been moving at a brisk pace through the complicated backstreets of the slums for about ten minutes now, and although she didn't show it, Kyla was worried. She had never had a problem with police before…in fact, she was beginning to doubt their existence in the slums. Was it really Clint Barton that had attracted their attention? If so, what the Hell was she doing saving his life?

A way out. He was her way out.

Kyla was trying hard to really think this through, but everything was happening so dang fast… Should she believe Clint Barton and go with him to SHIELD? Should she make a run for it and leave him for dead? Should she go with him, then make a run for it once she was out of Brazil? Did she actually have any choice in the matter?

Somewhat belatedly, Kyla realized that Clint was no longer ambling along beside her. She looked back over her shoulder into a shadowy ally, but he wasn't behind her.

Like it always did when she was on edge, Kyla's heart rate bumped up a few beats. It was too quiet.

"Clint?" She asked, quietly enough to be unheard by someone in another alleyway. No voice answered her, but in her peripheral vision she picked up movement to her right. She had her blowgun out and at the ready in seconds and held it lightly between her index and middle fingers, the foot-long wooden tube having been pre-loaded and at the ready under her black sweatshirt. In the narrow space between two brick buildings stood two men. One of them was Clint, the other was a scruffily dressed black man in his twenties. He had Barton restrained in front of him and a knife to his throat.

"Dê-me seu saco!" He yelled. ("Give me your bag!") " Dá-me o saco e deixei-o ir!" ("Give me the bag and I'll let him go!")

Well this is a little lopsided… Though Kyla, lowering her blowgun. Isn't he supposed to hold up the girl?

She figured he had grabbed Clint because of the broken leg, but it didn't really matter at the moment. Barton looked more surprised than anything, his leg still held straight by the brace she had helped him apply to his broken leg. He was grabbing the man's arm that he had around his throat, but was too out of it to stand straight, let alone win a wrestling match.

"Ok, eu vou dar-lhe o saco ..." ("Okay, I'll give you the bag…") She said, slowly lifting the strap of her backpack off of her shoulder and slipping her dart gun into her sleeve. She kept eye contact with the man so he didn't look at her hands as she did so, but Clint was catching on. "Só não machucá-lo." ("Just don't hurt him.") Kyla added, trying to sound afraid. She wasn't.

She dropped her bag slowly to the ground with a dull "thud" and raised her hands non-threateningly. The man hesitated, looking between her and the bag at her feet. She could practically hear the gears turning as he put it all together and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Why couldn't they be mugged by an experienced criminal? This was almost too easy.

"Leve o saco para mim." ("Bring the bag to me.") He commanded, tightening his grip on Clint.

"Dude, I've got a knife wound in the side, let up will you?" Hissed Barton through clenched teeth. The man looked at him in confusion.

"He doesn't speak English, smart one." Kyla muttered, picking up her bag and taking slow steps in their direction. Clint threw her a hurry this the Hell up look and she tried not to return the snide look with a snide comment. She hoped fervently that Clint had some wiggle room in the man's grip.

"When I say so, duck." She said in a calm, measured voice…in English, never looking away from the man holding the knife.

"O que você disse? O que você está dizendo?" ("What did you say? What are you saying?") He yelled, fear lurking behind his eyes. Great, a panicked mugger.

"Nada, eu só estava traduzindo para o meu amigo americano ... " ("Nothing, I was just translating for my American friend…") Kyla replied calmly. She had reached the man and was about an arm's length away. She slowly held out her hand with the backpack and he eyed it suspiciously before reaching out a hand to snatch it away, consequently loosening his grip on Clint.

"Duck." Kyla said with a polite smile to the man. He scarcely had time to frown in confusion before Barton had swatted away his knife arm and dropped to the ground. Kyla pulled out her blowgun and shot a dart into the side of his neck. He scratched wildly at the dart for several seconds, gave a horrible rattling cough, and fell to the ground unconscious.

There was a moment of stunned silence on Clint's part before he gave a groan, rubbing his injured shoulder. Kyla walked around the unconscious mugger and offered her hand.

"Well that was an adventure…" Barton muttered as she helped him to his feet. Kyla shrugged and together they took a moment to look at the man, Kyla in mild interest, Clint in shock.

"So, you're pretty handy with that thing after all, huh?" He said, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, well, lots of practice I suppose." She murmured offhandedly. She started to walk away in the direction they had originally been heading in, but Clint didn't move.

"Wait." He said. Kyla stopped, not turning around. Clint walked toward her, dragging his splinted leg behind him in a sort of zombie-shuffle. Kyla recognized his tone. He wanted answers, and she wasn't in the mood for talking about her past. She had a soft spot for this guy and was afraid that if she let him ask, she would tell.

"Don't bother." She snapped before he could say a word. She spun around and fixed him with a flat glare. "Don't bother." She repeated. Clint looked confused.

"I didn't say…" He began, but she cut him off.

"No. You want to know about me. You want to know about my past. Hell, you might want my freaking biography. I don't ask about your past, you don't ask about mine. See how this works?"

Barton's look made it clear that he did "see".

"Okay, fair enough." He said, starting to amble down the alley.

Kyla was surprised at how easily he had accepted her secrecy. It only added to her suspicion that he had something to hide himself. How else could he understand someone's desire to be mysterious? She started to walk after him down the alley, easily catching up with him. They walked in silence for several seconds and she wondered if she had come across as angry. To lighten the mood, she was the first to speak.

"I thought you wanted a break." She said in what she hoped was a teasing manner. Sociability wasn't really her strong suit. Clint looked at her and smiled.

"What, you getting sleepy?"

"I will walk you into the ground, Agent Barton." Kyla said, picking up the pace a little, failing to hide her grin. She heard the scraping of Clint's sprit quicken as he sped up to match her stride. For the first time Kyla heard him laugh; a real laugh, not the hollow, humorless one he usually gave.

"I take that as a personal challenge, Kyla Amano." He said, his voice covering his discomfort at their quickened gait.

Together they made their way down the winding alleyways and backstreets of the slums. Overhead, just out of view beyond a stand of tall palm trees, a glint of red metal shot through the smoggy and heat-rippled air.