Sorry for the wait, but I had to work out some plot stuff before I continued. I think I've got it now, so on with the show!

Also, I like to think that I know a lot about architecture, but I really don't. But I still like to think it. So cut me a break.

They were in a hangar. Asa had vague impressions of high-tech machinery mixed with a total disregard for cleanliness or organization before the guards showed up. Then it was mostly noise and fighting, over so quickly that she barely had time to get in one really good groin kick before they'd both been handcuffed and were being pushed through a large set of whoosh-y doors.

They left quite a few prone bodies behind. Or rather, Hawkeye did.

Once they'd been thoroughly captured, though, he made no attempt at resistance, so she didn't either. Instead, she tried to make herself useful. She had the nagging feeling that Hawkeye would remember every turn they made, and notice anything important along the increasingly luxurious hallways. So she ducked her head and studied their guards. There were six left, and they all wore neat black uniforms and a truly dazzling variety of weapons. They all kept their faces blankly stern- despite a lovely display of injuries- but they didn't walk in step or anything ridiculous like that. They pushed the two of them along with a martial inflexibility that Asa had a hard time keeping up with.

Hawkeye was having no such difficulties. His dark uniform blended with the guards', and he was so utterly at ease, that if it hadn't been for the intent with which he watched everything around them, he would've all but disappeared. Asa wondered how anyone he ever watched had ever missed that stare, then remembered how shocked she herself had been when the first arrow had appeared.

The wrappings on her feet were grimey and starting to pull loose by the time they were pushed through a set of large oak doors. Her mouth tweaked up at the heavy Victorian Gothic revival carvings in such a distinctly Neo-classical hallway. Hawkeye glanced at her with what she thought might be a question, so she waved him off while smothering a giggle.

She almost laughed out loud when the room they entered proved to be entirely Baroque in nature. The laugh died in her throat when she saw the woman waiting for them.

Asa was staring at herself.

Clint knew immediately that the woman in the chair with her hands folded in her lap was the woman he'd been sent to kill. Physically, she was an exact replica of Asa in every way. If a mirror could take open shock and turn it into a languid, threatening smile, they might've been reflections. When Agent Liretto spoke, the quality of her voice was so similar to Asa's that the different intonation was disorienting.

"So good to see you both. Sit down, won't you?" Liretto indicated a carved, upholstered couch across from her chair. The guards took a step back, and Clint touched Asa's elbow to pull her out of her shock, then sat. Asa shook her head, blinking rapidly, and collapsed next to him.

"I'm so sorry I don't have any tea to offer you, but that's rather cliché anyway, don't you think?" Liretto's smile was wide, but controlled in a way that Clint thought was completely beyond Asa. He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. Liretto raised her eyebrows.

"Forward little thing, aren't you? And so talkative! Alright then, I think introductions are in order. Why don't you start?"

He debated not saying anything, but he needed to know who this woman was. The silence would come later, when she started asking questions she didn't know the answers to.

"You know who I am."

"Of course, Agent Clint Barton, the infamous Hawkeye, one of Earth's mightiest heroes!" She sounded entirely sincere; Clint narrowed his eyes. Asa, on the other hand, was staring at him quizzically, and he could all but see her repeating his name to herself, cementing it in her memory.

"And Asa Liretto, of course. So pleased to finally meet you properly."

Asa opened her mouth, closed it again, shook her head, then spoke.

"I'm pretty sure I don't know you. At all. One hundred percent sure I have never seen you in my life." Liretto's face lit up in a parody of Asa's enthusiasm.

"Oh, of course you wouldn't recognize me. I didn't look like you when we met; how could I?" She laughed, almost a titter, and let the question hang. Clint hesitated, wondering whether to take the bait, but Asa beat him to it.

"Look, I'm super confused. How can you look like me at all?"

Liretto smiled again- Clint was really starting to hate that snide grin- and stood.

"It's an awful lot to explain. Why don't I show you? Agent Barton?" She held out her hand, palm up. He stared at it.

She tsked. "Your hand, please. I just need to touch it." He clenched his fist, but the confusion on Asa's face mirrored his own emotions, so he unclenched it slowly and held it out, just under Liretto's hand. She pursed her lips at his refusal to touch her, but reached out and stroked the back of his hand with one finger. He pulled his hand back with deliberate slowness, but Liretto was no longer paying attention.

There is a look that people get when someone is scratching their back, and they hit just the right spot. That was the look on Liretto's face: her eyes were closed, one corner of her mouth curved up luxuriously. It was the most natural expression Clint had seen on her yet, and he couldn't figure out why it was there.

Until she started melting.

Upwards.

She started melting in the opposition direction of gravity, starting at the feet and working upwards, and everywhere she melted, something changed. Dainty ankles and legs became thicker, wider. Her waist and bust disappeared, replaced by a bulk of muscle and broad shoulders. Her slim arms gained new definition, and her soft, fine features became more rugged.

And suddenly, Clint wasn't staring at Asalynn Liretto anymore.

He was staring at himself.

In a dress.

It was a good thing she hadn't offered them tea, because if she had, he would have choked on it. The absurd, hysterical part of his brain could not focus on anything but that damned red dress, and how ridiculous his hairy legs looked poking out from under it. Clint took a deep breath, told the hysterical part of his brain to shut up, and forced words out of his mouth.

"Well, that explains a lot."

So, has anyone figured it out yet? ;)