A/N: This chapter is as much a conclusion to the previous two as well as a segue into the next section that will eventually conclude the story. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter though, so I really hope that you guys like it.

Of course, if you did, you can always leave a review… *wink wink nudge nudge*

But to you guys who did review, I love you so much and I'm so happy that you're enjoying the story! I'm glad that everyone who enjoys it is enjoying it!

Without further ado though…

Chapter Twenty Two:

When they entered the Bank, not even twenty minutes after leaving the apartment–and truth be told Steve was very impressed by Barton's ability to navigate through the winding traffic–it was the closest thing to an uproar that he'd ever seen. And nothing even appeared outwardly different; the night shift was all going about their business, agents flitting to and fro with their paperwork or en route to one meeting or another. It wasn't a visible representation of the disarray of the agency, it was in the subtle ques; the conversations were more quiet and urgent, a sort of nervousness that buzzed like a swarm of hornets.

"It's not even that Romanoff and Dugan were compromised," Clint explained in a low murmur, his eyes focused straight ahead as he blazed determinedly on. "It's the reason why; somebody leaked information to one of SHIELD's most dangerous enemies."

"They're wondering who the mole is." He realized, ears perking in new interest to pick up the nearby conversations.

"It was a sudden mission."

"There's no way they had a lot of people brought in on it."

"Maybe it came from higher up?"

"I don't see why everyone's so worried; it's the Black Widow and Sentinel. If anyone can get out of it, they can."

"That's what they said about Delta, and Barton lost his hearing. They should send in an extraction team."

Steve felt a little sick after hearing that last snippet and, judging by the sudden tension in Clint's frame he suspected that the SHIELD agent had heard it too. Steve had seen the archer take out his hearing aids the night they'd gotten back from his lunch with the President; it had only been for a second to clean them, but Steve had never asked how he lost his hearing. As someone who had been partially deaf at one point he understood how sensitive the topic could be. Especially if the circumstances had been violent, as he suspected they had. He couldn't deny the fact that he was worried about Nicole–God only knew what was happening to her right now–and he followed Clint straight to Coulson's office fully intent on demanding that they send him to help her.

"What the hell happened Phil?" Clint snapped, not even bothering to knock before he came blowing into the office. "Who dropped the ball?"

Coulson glanced over at them, not bothering to reply as he spoke into the receiver of a phone. "They just got here, I'm putting you on speaker."

"How are you going to extract them?" Steve demanded, hot on Barton's heels.

"We seem to have an audience." Coulson sighed, replacing the phone as he pressed a button on the machine. "Agent Dugan missed her rendezvous with Romanoff at nine, ten and eleven; at the moment we believe that David Monroe, a middle man for the Ten Rings has her."

"Know it for a fact, I heard Grimstad's wife on the phone with the bastard… they're keeping her for interrogations at the moment, waiting for her to wake up for a sedative." Romanoff's voice crackled out of the phone, sounding slightly hoarse. "At the moment I'm not sure where she's at."

"Can you find out?" Steve asked, muscles tense. "How fast can you get us out there Coulson?"

"Captain," Phil leaned back against the edge of his desk, gaze flickering over from the holographic display that currently represented a map of Norway, "I understand that you're concerned–"

"Concerned is an understatement." He interrupted, "all I've been told is that Nicole has been kidnapped by terrorists and I know what happened the last time these Ten Rings had someone of value in captivity."

He would steal a plane and fly over there himself before he let those bastards do to Nicole what was done to Stark.

"Yes, well, one thing you have to keep in mind is that Nicole is a trained operative of SHIELD. She is expected to handle situations such as this herself. That being said, we've got our team working on finding her location right now and as soon as we have a hit, Agent Romanoff will be en route."

"Is that the same team that leaked the undercover information?" Barton asked, a slight frown on his face as his gray eyes picked apart every inch of the map. "Any leads on that?"

"We've got a few suspects that are under investigation right now. We're bringing them in for questioning as soon as we can." Coulson answered calmly.

His jaw was clenched tightly, fingernails biting into the palm of his hand and Steve was almost worried that it would cut through if it weren't for his advanced healing.

"I take it you'll be letting me do the questioning?" There was something different about Agent Barton, a side of the man that Steve hadn't seen until this moment; there was a savage, bloodthirsty edge.

"Don't get too cocky Barton," This time there was a bleeding current of amusement in Romanoff's words. "You're still not as good as me."

The corner of his lip twitched slightly, stern features softening ever so faintly as the archer tilted his head at the noise. "You do remember I'm the one that brought you in, don't you, Romanoff?"

"I let you." Came the soft quip. "You do remember that, I hope?"

"Yeah, yeah–wait. Looks like we've got something on our end." A sudden blip, a flash of red on the map, drew three sets of eyes to the holographic display. "Just on the outskirts of the city…"

"I'm seeing it too, it looks like… well that's creepy." Natasha swore. "It's an abandoned asylum. I have to assume that Grimstad is there as well; the conversation I eavesdropped between Camilla and Monroe indicated that the doctor was to be brought in for questioning about his involvement as well."

Coulson brought up the address, as well as an old floor plan and several satellite images. Steve had already memorized the details and was planning the best way to get himself to Norway when he heard the senior agent speak again.

"Romanoff, get there as quickly as you can. Did you accomplish your objective?" His nostrils flared at that, and Steve turned to the door, a few steps bringing him into the hallway.

He didn't exit alone however.

"Off to go save the day?" The tension in Barton's frame seemed to have dissipated as soon as he'd heard his partner's voice. It must be nice, it really must have; anything could be happening to Nicole as they spoke and Steve wasn't there to watch her back. If there had been any doubt in his mind about the decision he had come to, it was gone now.

"Better than sitting around waiting to see what happens." He growled, the conversation taking him back to another situation not so different. "Better than doing nothing."

"Are you planning a rescue mission?"

"Yeah, it's called winning the war."

Just like with Colonel Phillips and the 107th, SHIELD wasn't able–or willing–to do anything to bring Nicole and Romanoff back. If they weren't going to do anything, then he would.

"You seem to be under the illusion that Dugan needs to be rescued." Barton snorted, "Specifically by one of us. Romanoff is already on her way to help clean up this mess."

"Mess is damned right!" He was worried, worried that he would be losing another friend because somebody hadn't had all of the details. He couldn't do it again. "How in the hell did classified SHIELD information get into the hands of a terrorist group? And why the hell was she assigned to a mission without me?"

"You're worried, I get that–"

"Wouldn't you be? Weren't you?"

"I'll admit, Cap, I don't like it when Nat and I are separated. I'm a lot happier knowing that I'm the one watching her back, but it's a hazard of the job. Even when things go south," Barton lifted a hand almost subconsciously to rub the back of his ear. "And they go south, I know that she's able to do her job. So is Nicole."

Steve took a slow breath, holding it in for a few seconds as he let those words sink in. He had fought against Nicole, he knew that she could hold her own in a combat situation. But what if she wasn't given the opportunity to defend herself? She had powers of her own, but that didn't make her invincible. Nicole, whom he'd seen in action and…

"Look, I've got to go. They're bringing in the suspected moles." Barton's words interrupted his spiraling train of thought. "There are plenty of two way mirrors, you can watch… or you can hang out with Coulson as he waits for mission updates."

Was there a third option?

"And if you don't want to do either of those, you can hang out in one of the empty offices and see for yourself why we call her the Sentinel. Any of our computers can bring up video feeds from previous missions; interviews, recordings, everything we've got that isn't level 10 classified.

He liked that option.

IOI

She actually hated being drugged.

It didn't happen often, even in her line of work, but it happened enough. Enough to know that it burned through her body a lot quicker than for most people, leaving Nicole with stiff, aching muscles and a dry mouth. Compounded on that was the fact that there was a nasty odor stuck in her nasal cavities and a foul taste in the air, and she was not having a very good time.

"Asshole." She groaned, pushing past the aches in her body as she allowed her eyes to slit open.

Nothing felt injured, she realized in relief, with the exception of a slight tingling in her extremities and what was probably shaping up to be a gigantic knot on the back of her head. It throbbed every now and again, making her wonder if they'd accidentally knocked her head against something as they were transporting her to… wherever. Even with the admittedly poor look at her surroundings that she had, everything was dark and hard to make out.

While she wasn't exactly at her best right now, she certainly wasn't debilitated and as Nicole focused on her breathing she could feel the sluggishness of the drugs–had they used chloroform–leaving her body. As she sat there she was aware of the still present itch on her nose; she was still wearing the Photostatic veil, good. It would be bad if the Ten Rings got access to that particular piece of technology;

Her cover had been blown, how and by whom she wasn't entirely sure yet, but her cover had most certainly been blown. Which meant that Monroe or one of his affiliates could be coming in at any moment to begin questioning her. Nicole didn't have a whole lot of time to prepare herself, and her eyes opened more fully as that thought hit her. The details of the room blurred out of focus for all of two seconds before the dim overhead light cast them into shadowed clarity. The walls were brick, stained by water, mold, and who knew what else. Nicole herself was sat in a rusted chair, her feet tightly tied to each individual leg and her arms handcuffed in front of her, not unlike a suspect in an interrogation room. But this most certainly wasn't that; everything was musty and rusted and there was a bedframe with tattered remains of a molding mattress tossed against the far wall and left to decompose. What was the worst of it all, was the crawling sensation that tugged at her skin; something bad had happened here.

Strong incentive to get the hell out. She thought, carefully lifting her hands to brush through her hair.

In the act of adjusting her hair, trying to push the lethargy out of her body, she easily masked the action of pulling the sparkling bobby pin out of her hair. If she had been compromised, Nicole couldn't tell whether or not Natasha had as well. She wasn't too concerned for her fellow agent though; the Black Widow was a survivor and she'd be able to get out of any situation.

Her fingertip brushed against the small rhinestone, nail catching beneath the edge as she broke the adhesive holding it to the pin itself. Just a little bit of pressure and–there, the flash of red was barely perceptible but it was there. Under the guise of scratching her chest, Nicole carefully tucked the recording device away safely. It wouldn't do any good to lose it in her escape. Perhaps more importantly though, it would be able to transmit her location back to the safe house as well as back to SHIELD. The pin itself was pressed against her inner wrist as she neatly tucked her hands into her lap and leaned back in her chair. Now all she had to do was wait…

Vocally.

"Well, this is very cliché." She mused aloud, canting her voice so that it projected and bounced off of the walls. "What are we looking at here, abandoned hospital? Judging by the bars on the windows my next guess would be some sort of jail or rehabilitation center."

As she spoke, her eyes were picking apart every minute detail of the room. It certainly looked to be in a severe state of disrepair but she knew that in a lot of circumstances stone walls had a tendency to be stronger in moist climates; the humidity allowed for a much better chemical bond between the brick and mortar. If need be? She could probably blast the wall out with her powers, but there were two key components that kept Nicole from leaning towards that option. She had no idea how stable any upper floors were–and she knew there had to be upper floors–and she wasn't supposed to use her powers unless it was a life or death situation. And she didn't think it was going to come to that.

The bars rusted against the windows, the glass broken and littering the cracked tile floor. It was still nighttime outside, her internal clock telling her that only a few hours had gone past… assuming Natasha hadn't run into any problems on her end, her partner would be wondering why she'd missed her check in. Which meant that the signal sent by the device currently biting into her skin from where she'd hidden it would cue the Widow in as to what was going on.

But what was going on? The room itself looked absolutely terrible, except for the relatively new, heavy metal table and chair, what looked like a reinforced door and the camera that swiveled every now and then in the corner.

So, they were going to question her no doubt–probably under threat of violence–for information about SHIELD. Except that Nicole wasn't exactly a novice to physical pain so those assholes weren't getting shit out of her except probably some very rude sentences. She didn't know how their mission information had gotten leaked, or how much of it had gotten leaked, but that was an issue to worry about at another time.

"Oi, assholes." She made certain that her face was pointed directly at the camera. "You went through all of the trouble to bring me in so we could talk, let's talk. I'm not getting any younger."

Which was true; it was very, very true.

Nicole didn't have to wait long it seemed, because less than a few minutes after her low-key challenge she heard the click of the lock as the handle started rotating. She interlaced her fingers, tongue travelling over the surface of her teeth as she levelled an unimpressed look at the entering figure.

It was going to be a long night.

IOI

Natasha Romanoff was not a woman prone to making baseless speculation; it wasn't her style, she liked to have all of the details to look at. That being said, when she did find herself needing to make assumptions, they had a tendency to be fairly accurate. Chalk it up to the years of extensive training that she'd spent in the Red Room; learning how to read people, being able to micro analyze every slight twitch in their facial features, every nuance in their voices. As she disconnected the call with Coulson, washing the remaining blood off of her hands, she found herself in the habit of making speculations.

Not about the leak, that would be handled soon enough by Clint, and not even about the job itself. It wasn't hard to deduce the fact that Camilla was the one actually invested in and working with the Ten Rings; from her first meeting with the couple Natasha had seen that the wife had been much more ambitious than her husband. Assuming that Dugan found the scientist in the asylum, it shouldn't be hard for her to extract him. It'd be easy for Dugan and Natasha had no doubt that her current partner would be walking out the front door by the time that she made it to where they were being held.

No, what Agent Romanoff found herself speculating over as she began systematically wiping any trace of a presence out of the safe house, was a little closer to home.

"How are you going to extract them?" How angry Rogers had been, she had heard it even through the less than wonderful reception from the line.

She was almost impressed with how close Dugan had gotten to the super soldier, would be more impressed if it weren't for the fact that Natasha knew there wasn't any hidden agenda behind the friendship. Oh, Nicole was more than fair at espionage; the woman could handle undercover work with some of the best of them, but in the long run? The taller agent was too… optimistic. Nicole had a tendency to believe that there was good in almost everyone, she had an earnest, sincere personality that made her excellent as a negotiator or liaison. And Natasha knew that Nicole wasn't just pretending to be friends with Rogers, there was no fine line of professionalism between the two, and there was genuine emotion.

So it didn't surprise Natasha in the slightest that Rogers had been livid about finding that they had been compromised. Odds are, she would have been just as pissed if it had happened to Clint.

She finished wiping down the surfaces, using the rag to close the door of the building as she adjusted the weight of both of their bags on her shoulders. Regardless of how the night turned out they would be leaving the country early; SHIELD transportation was already waiting at the airport for them. As soon as she got Nicole—possibly Grimstad—they needed to be in the wind. And there were objectives in place if the doctor was not willing to work with them; what was more important was that the man didn't remain with the Ten Rings.

Loading all of the equipment and luggage into the trunk, Natasha scanned her surroundings quickly before sinking into the driver's seat. Between her call to Coulson and cleaning the apartment, roughly forty five minutes had gone past, and according to the GPS it would be a little over thirty minutes until she reached the abandoned asylum, meaning that Nicole would be left to her own devices for over an hour…

She had faith that the younger agent would be able to handle herself.

IOI

"Tell me how to fix the formula, Sentinel." The impatient snarl that accompanied the close fisted punch to her face made Nicole feel a little victorious; it seemed her personality was doing a wonderful job of pissing Monroe off, if the bloody nose and black eye were anything to go by.

On the downside, it hurt like a bitch and it was ruining her shirt, but on the plus side pissing Monroe off to the point where he was actively hitting her created an excellent distraction as she tried to work the locking mechanism on the handcuffs.

Luckily for her, Nicole was used to pain.

She arched a brow at him—not easy considering that her eye was starting to swell—and leaned forward slightly. "So this is your idea of date night, huh? I have to say, I am not impressed. I was expecting at least some waterboarding."

Monroe let out a harsh laugh at that, almost as startled by the noise as the two lackeys standing in either corner of the room across from her. "It is a shame, my dear, that you forced my hand in this. But I have to admit that I like you much more without the mask; the freckles add… what do you say? Character?"

"Aw, I'm touched, you think I'm pretty!" She could taste her blood in her mouth, fingers trying to navigate the bobby pin in the locking mechanism. It was smart of them to use a set with the double locking mechanism, smart though possibly unintentional, to tighten them just enough to start cutting off circulation as well; her fingers had lost some of their dexterity and her feet had been rocking the pins and needles for a while now.

"You were, at the very least." Monroe stepped forward, no concept of personal space apparently. "Even if your hips are a little too wide."

Excuse me? Now that just succeeded in pissing her off. That's it, I'm kicking your ass.

"But if you will not tell us how to fix the formula, Sentinel, then we will just have to beat it out of Ian. I don't think he'll be able to hold up under the pressure quite as well as you. It's a shame really, he was such a brilliant man… hopefully we won't ruin him." The greedy smirk on Monroe's face made Nicole think that it wasn't too much of a shame for the man, and she resisted the urge to incinerate him on the spot.

Life or death situations, Dugan. She reminded herself, and you've almost got yourself unlocked.

Her plans of just finding where they'd taken the Photostatic Veil and getting the hell out of dodge needed reevaluated now. There was no way in hell she was leaving Grimstad to this.

"What I don't understand is why? Why Grimstad?" She asked, "Of all of the people in the world, people who are legitimately making weapons under sanction of the law, you pick an idealistic scientist?"

Get him caught up in monologue and it would give her some time. Narcissist bastards always enjoyed monologue, in spite of the constant evidence that it always allows the hero to escape. But why wouldn't they? It gave them a rush of superiority, of arrogance, in thinking that they have their victim well and truly captured, with no chance of escape. It didn't matter if they revealed their evil plan, because the hero wasn't going to live long enough to get away and do anything about it.

"Ian is a very smart man." Monroe shrugged. "More than that, he's doing something to help save the world; do you know how many people remember the Roxxon oil spill and are still pissed off about it? How many remember the millions of gallons of crude oil spilled into the ocean, the years of clean up, where we can still see the scars of the folly of man? And employing someone who wants to develop a way to cut that recovery time in half? That will cause less environmental harm in the cleanup both to the ocean and the atmosphere? Nobody's going to look too closely into that."

"And then, if we take some of his research back, modify it slightly? Suddenly it's not just crude petroleum oil we can eat away with this mixture, it's all oil. We've found a new, potent biological weapon and nobody is the wiser." With a slight glare at her, Monroe reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out an easily concealed pistol. "At least we did, until SHIELD decided to get involved and made continuous alterations to the work. I'm impressed, Sentinel, at how efficient you were as well; small things that nobody else would really notice but if we attempted to replicate them it would all blow up in our faces. And your partner, slipping under Camilla's guard, gaining her trust… she will be dealt with accordingly."

Nicole couldn't help that, tilting her head back and laughing in their faces. "Do you even know who my partner is?"

Monroe's otherwise handsome face turned an interesting shade of mottled red, brows pinching together as he turned the safety of the gun off. "It doesn't matter, she will be dead along with you."

"Oh that's hilarious." The brazen laughter only succeeded in angering the man more, the gun waving in the air as he came to stand right across the table from her. "I don't even know if I want to bother with you after this. I might just let you eat those words."

"You still seem to be under the impression that you'll be walking away from us, Agent Dugan." Monroe snorted, aiming for that spot right between her eyes. "I am curious though, as to how exactly you plan your escape will go."

"Well you see," She coughed, the sound masking the click of the lock disengaging, "It's going to go like this; I'm going to get out of these restraints, and then I'm going to hurt you. It will be sudden, you'll be surprised, you'll drop your gun and your buddies back there are going to be stunned for a few seconds. That's all the time I'll need because then I'm going to get the gun and I'm going to shoot them. I may shoot you, I haven't decided yet. After that, however, I'm going to systematically go through the premises and terminate every Ten Rings member with extreme prejudice. After which, Dr. Grimstad and I will go outside and wait for my ride to pick me up, assuming that she doesn't get here early."

Now it was Monroe's turn to laugh, which was exactly what she'd been waiting for. Bracing her hands on the edge of the metal table, Nicole gave a strong shove that sent her chair skittering back a little bit but more importantly it sent the table itself flying forward directly into Monroe. Under the weight and sheer force of the table colliding with his body the man was slammed backwards, the gun flying right out of his hand and landing on the floor a few feet away from Nicole. As soon as the table had left her grip however, she'd already been bending down to pull the ropes off of her legs—the knots really weren't that great and what was this, amateur hour?

True to her prediction the lackeys had been stunned by that little display, giving her the time that she needed to scoop up the pistol and aim it. Nicole didn't hesitate and the first shot had been fired before the second man could aim at her. He'd pulled a little to the left, the bullet grazing her arm in a line of fire that made her hiss angrily.

"That was my drawing arm." She gritted, pulling the trigger for a second time. She didn't allow him another shot. "The fuck did you aim for my drawing arm?"

Oh it hurt, in fact it burned like the fires of hell with tiny demons pissing in the wound with each movement. Nicole didn't have the time to clean the wound and treat it properly, she needed to get Grimstad and get the hell out of this shit hole. The graze wouldn't kill her, and her body was already in the process of controlling the bleeding and treating her injuries; her eye hadn't swollen up to the point of affecting her vision and the blood flow out of her nose had already been staunched. There were times, Nicole mused as she ripped at the t-shirt of the man at her feet to make an improvised bandage, that she really liked the fringe benefits of her hybrid body.

Granted, the adrenaline running through her body right now was doing a really good job at blocking out the pain.

A quiet groan drew her attention to the third man in the room; Monroe was shifting slightly under the overturned table, eyes fluttering slightly. With a disgusted snort Nicole padded over to the man, the moist tile cold on her feet and making her feel not a little disgusted. Everything about this place, oppressive and moldy made her feel like crawling out of her skin. It reminded Nicole of the time she'd been dragged to the Moundsville Penitentiary for a tour; it had been a little worse—there wasn't the intense feelings of violence here—but that didn't mean she liked it.

"If I get fucking haunted," She muttered to herself, "I swear I'm going to snap."

"I will have you know," Nicole growled, flipping the table off of Monroe, "That my hips are phenomenal."

Her words, followed by the jerking action as she dragged the shorter man to his feet, succeeded in drawing him out of his stupor slightly. "They are a mile wide and full of sin, perhaps, but that's not a bad thing. And sure it sometimes makes it hard to find nice shorts, or skirts, but how dare you come in here and insult my body. And have you seen this derriere? I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure that there's a religion based on my buns!"

"Get your hands off of me!" Monroe reached up to strike at her, trying to break her hold on him and while the slap did connect soundly, he was disoriented enough that it didn't have his full strength behind it.

"Not my fault you decided to reveal your evil plan." She shrugged, slamming him hard into a wall. "Also not my fault that you are absolutely terrible at your job. Really? Handcuffs and rope?"

Frankly it was insulting.

"I was expecting a pool of sharks with lasers on their heads." Nicole tsked, crouching low to punch the man hard as he slumped against the ground. "This is weak."

After a little bit of swearing and sweating as she restrained Monroe, Nicole looked down at her handiwork with a slight smile. There was only one problem however; she was wearing a rather tight skirt and she could confirm—with more than a few stories—that those were absolute shit to be wearing when caught in a combat situation.

"Well, Mr. Monroe," She sighed, glancing down at the gagged and unconscious man. "Looks like you're about to have a wardrobe malfunction."

The pants were rather tight across her hips—surprise, surprise—and a little uncomfortable around her backside, but it was a much more welcome change to the skirt; at least she could move her legs more freely now. Armed with three handguns of various ammunition and ready to begin her escape, Nicole made her way to the door. She had no idea where the rest of her personal effects were, her cellphone, jacket, or anything, but one thing that she knew for certain was that she would kill for a cigarette.

There wasn't a guard outside of the room—again, poor security here—and after a cursory glance around the corner she stepped into the flickering overhead light and began moving. Nicole stuck to the shadows, somewhat pointless considering the fact that she was wearing a rather light colored blouse. It had to have been almost forty minutes now since she'd triggered her GPS location, and though Nicole had no idea when, or if, Nat would be heading this way, she knew that she really didn't want to wait here.

The halls were devoid of other life, more black mold climbing up them and chasing away the paint to leave chips and flakes on the walls and on the floors as well. It most certainly was not a safe place to be walking barefoot and Nicole realized a little too late that she probably should have been wearing shoes as well. She didn't know if she should be angry, or grateful that they'd taken hers.

"The doctor is not responding.*" She stopped as she came near another corner, pressing herself against the wall as her ears perked to the hushed conversation.

"Then start breaking his fingers, that'll get him to talk." Another answered gruffly. "Monroe told us that if he couldn't get the SHIELD bitch to cooperate that the doctor was our last chance."

Nicole frowned at that, pressing closer to the wall as she peered around the corner. The two men were facing one another, standing in the hallway beside a door that was bathing the dim hall with rather strong lights. That had to be where Dr. Grimstad was being held, especially if one considered the fact that on the other side of the two that were having a conversation were about four other men.

Carefully easing herself back into her hiding position, Nicole allowed herself a deep breath for what she knew was about to happen. On the exhale she felt a familiar tingle in her scalp as she allowed her hair to return to its natural red coloring, thankful that the braid was still holding up under the current circumstances. She shifted the weight of her arm, grimacing at the dull bite of pain before tightening her hold on her weapon.

Can't back out now, let's go. She swung herself around the corner, lining up the shots that she would need to take. She felt the recoil three times, the two men having their conversation dropped, before she had to throw herself back around the corner of the wall to safety in the hall. For a brief moment all she could hear was the sharp rapport of the discharging weapons and the explosion of plaster and brick as the walls were laden with projectiles. And then, as the scent of expelled gunpowder filled her nose and blocked out that foul taste in the air all she could hear was the roar of her own blood in her ears. That was typically how gunfights went; her body sort of went on autopilot, falling back on her training as her brain assessed and reassessed her surroundings over and over again, adapting, moving, fighting until some bastard got in a lucky shot and she felt the sharp stabbing pain right through her calf.

Nicole fell to the ground with a shriek of pain, gun skittering out of reach and teeth gritting as she felt tears stinging her eyes from where the bullet had pierced her leg. The pain was overwhelming, running up and down her veins and she could feel the hot, sticky blood leaking out along her skin. Sadly, the pain was also very familiar; Nicole had been shot more than a few times in her life, enough to know that she should be lucky that it went through and through.

"Mother fuck me!" She snarled, glaring up at the man. He approached with an arrogant smile, raising his hand gun again and glancing down at her.

"I don't know how you got this far, but I'm going to get a nice pay raise from killing you." He purred.

She quirked an eyebrow, reaching for the second gun tucked into her waistband. "Evidently you're not."

"Hello? Hello? Someone?" The words were muffled, spoken with an edge of desperation and fear. "Please help me! Hello?"

"Doctor Grimstad? Can you hear me?" She called back, forcing the quiver of pain out of her voice as she inspected the hole in her calf. "I need you to remain calm."

"Colette? Is that you? What are you doing out there?" He demanded, pounding on the door. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, I didn't want you to get involved with this!"

"Yeah, well," She snorted, pulling herself to the body. "We don't always get what we want. Give me, ugh, like two minutes."

Not for the first time she found herself using the clothes of a dead man to patch herself up, and Nicole resisted giving into the urge to throw up in her mouth as she forced herself to look away from those lifeless eyes. She didn't particularly relish killing people, it was why she preferred to remain a negotiator more than anything else, but that didn't mean that she wouldn't if needed. She didn't know if this man, with the scar on the cleft of his chin, was a father, or a brother? He was somebody's child, and no doubt he had friends… friends that would never see him again because of her.

Not the time. She thought to herself, patting down the man's coat.

"You have to let me out, I think the man with the short black hair and the scar on his eye has the key. Please, as soon as we get out I'll call the cops and–"

"Ian." She stressed, cutting him off, "I've got this handled. Just give me a few minutes to get my feet under me."

Her leg was still burning, and Nicole didn't want to try and put any weight on it unless she absolutely had to. No doubt if she tried it would end badly, so instead she crawled to the corpse in question, fingers digging into his pockets. The key was in the chest pocket of his shirt, and Nicole also found a cellphone as well as–

"Fuckin' A." Nicole breathed happily, pulling out a cigarette and placing it between her lips.

"What is it? Did you find the key?" Grimstad called, shuffling and jerking at the handle of the door.

Pausing long enough to light the cigarette and tuck the rest of the pack into her pocket, Nicole allowed herself a long drag before answering. "And then some. Here, I'm unlocking it now."

The rush of nicotine entering her system was a relief, and she allowed the small cloud of smoke to waft out of her mouth in enticing curls before using the wall to pull herself up to her feet. She had to keep as much of her weight as possible off of her bad leg, a combination of hopping and inching getting her to the door.

"Does it swing inward or outward?" She asked, sliding the key into the newer lock.

"Outward, I think." Came the quiet reply, causing the redhead to sigh. "Are you alright?"

"Eh, not really." Considering the fact that she'd been shot? "Go ahead and start pushing. Slowly though, if you will, I don't exactly have the best reaction time at the moment."

Nicole had to clamp her teeth together as she carefully shifted her balance, lowering her right foot to the ground. That hole in her calf was definitely going to leave a scar, and of course her body had to reminder of the fact that it was very unhappy with every small movement. She was just grateful that the graze on her arm was already scabbed up and barely twinging at this point.

Whew, wouldn't Steve be surprised when she got home?

And then there was the issue of the Photostatic veil, which she had no idea where it had disappeared to. She would have to warn Coulson about it and hope like hell that she wouldn't get reprimanded for losing it. Though with the way her night went, if someone decided to get snippy she might just have to put them in their place. Violently.

"Alright, it's opening. Thank you so much Collette, though I still have no idea how–" It was actually quite hilarious to see Dr. Grimstad's jaw literally drop when he stepped out of the holding cell, the much stronger lighting filling the hall and painting her in a slightly sallow fluorescent light. "Collette?"

"Ah," The redhead gave the doctor a sheepish smile. "Nicole, actually. Nicole Dugan, agent of SHIELD. I was sent on a mission to see why exactly you were working with a terrorist organization. Also, I've been shot in the leg so I'm gonna need a bit of help here."

"Oh–of course!" Her arm was slung over his shoulder, another hand going around her waist as her weight was partially supported. "You're from SHIELD? I've never heard of them."

"Strategic Homeland Intelligence Enforcement Logistics Division, it's one hell of a mouthful I know, we're an anti-terrorist and intelligence agency." She explained, exhaling another plume of smoke from her nose. "As soon as we got wind of the work you've been doing for the Ten Rings, we decided to take an active role in figuring out why. So I have to ask, doc, why were you working with Monroe?"

Grimstad looked shaken, his face pale and his glasses cracked as he helped her down the hall. The man bit hard on his lip, indecision and emotional distress dancing across his features. "It was my wife, she met Monroe at a party and the next thing I knew I was being offered more funding than I could have dreamed of for my research. Research that is apparently malfunctioning now."

"Ah, yeah." The redhead grimaced, pulling at her cracked lip. "Sorry about that. It's actually not that hard of a fix, really… I would just have to go through and actually catalogue everything that I messed up."

"I'm impressed actually, Ms. Dugan. It was really rather clever of you to do that." He paused to look over at her. "But what happens now?"

"Well," Flicking the butt of the cigarette to the ground, Nicole watched the embers flare briefly before she stomped it out. "SHIELD is interested in your research doc, my boss is under the impression that your heart was in the right place and so was hoping you would accept an offer to work for our agency. Or at the very least, to continue your work under their supervision. This is as much a safety issue for yourself as it is for anyone else; it's entirely possible that the Ten Rings will seek retribution for this."

"What makes SHIELD so different from the Ten Rings though? What's going to change?"

They paused for a short break, Nicole leaning back against the wall as she glanced over at the doctor. He looked out of place here, more so than obvious. It was evident that Ian Grimstad wasn't a spy, a soldier, or anything of the like; he was a scientist, just trying to change the world for the better.

"SHIELD wants to protect people, doc." She exhaled. "Make it a better place. I'm not saying you have to work for us, and we definitely won't be constantly checking up on you. What SHIELD is willing to offer is a lab, interns, and funding. It'll be just like in an academic setting, you'll draft experiment proposals, apply for grants, and our board will consider them. The only thing that we ask in return is that you keep us updated on how your experiments are progressing. What's working, what's not, practical applications and the like."

"Ian, you told me when we first met that you wanted your research to change the way we look at the world. That's what we want too; SHIELD isn't interested in weaponizing your research, which is exactly what Monroe and his board of investors wanted. We want it as it's presented, to clean up oil spills so that we don't have a repeat of the Roxxon fiasco." The man looked at her critically, scanning her features for any falsities.

"I suppose I have no choice." He sighed. "After all of this, I should consider myself lucky that I don't get arrested. What about my wife?"

"I… don't know. As of right now, there is strong evidence that your wife was willfully working with a known terrorist group. I'm not sure that there's a whole lot that we can do." Nicole answered honestly, sympathetically.

Dr. Grimstad didn't answer that, his frown deepening as they made their way through the building. It was slow moving, and every now and again they ran into more Ten Rings agents, but for the most part Nicole was able to hold her own against them. She didn't get shot again, at the very least for which she was infinitely grateful. And with the exception of a short break they didn't stop again until they were at a set of double doors that would lead out into the main lobby.

"There may be more out there." Dr. Grimstad noted.

"Yeah, I think it's about time that I call our ride." Never gladder for the fact that she had memorized the number for the burner phone, Nicole punched in the number and waited.

"Well, look who finally decided to call." Natasha answered on the second ring. "I'm almost there."

"Everything alright on your end? Did you get the information?" Nicole asked her partner, head pressing against the back of the wall as her thumb dug under the tight waistband of her pants. "Also, you should call the cleanup team… and the paramedics."

There was a pause on the other end. "For you or Grimstad?"

"Me. Also, they took the veil and I haven't found it as of yet so there's that." She scratched at the indentations on her skin, already looking forward to being able to change into a pair of sweatpants and not move for a few hours.

Natasha muttered something in Russian that she couldn't quite catch before Nicole definitely heard the rev of the engine. "Give me three minutes and try not to get killed."

"Yes ma'am." She inched up to the reinforced glass panes of the doors, eyes scanning back and forth in the main lobby where she didn't see any movement. "We'll be outside."

An hour and thirty minutes later Nicole hobbled her way to where Natasha was sitting on the jet, leaned back against her seat with her eyes closed. "Well, good news is I'm not dead yet. Bad news is that apparently I have a horrible attitude and am almost insufferable to treat."

The blonde cracked a green eye at that, shifting slightly to allow Nicole to ease down beside her. "I could have told them that."

"Har-dee-har, you're hilarious Romanoff. The even better news is that I can't feel much of anything because they gave me Vicodin." It was stronger than the average prescription due to her advanced metabolism, but it was Vicodin and everything was pleasantly tingling.

"And you're still able to form cognitive sentences?" There was something off about Natasha's words, something languid and slow that had Nicole cutting a glance to the woman sitting beside her. "That is amazing."

"Mmm," She hummed in the back of her throat, shoulder bumping gently against the Widow's. Most agents–and by most she meant practically all–would never have dreamed of trying to touch Natasha Romanoff; the woman was lethal and she was not typically a people person. Nicole on the other hand, whether it was a suicidal tendency or just a trust of her fellow agent, felt no such fear. Which was, perhaps, why Natasha opened her eyes a little wider to study her.

"How long has it been?" Nicole asked quietly, her tone pitched low so that none of the other agents, the medic or the few others that were moving along the private jet, could hear her. "Since you've last slept."

"I'm fine, Dugan." Natasha answered just as quietly, her face going blank.

She wasn't buying it for a second. "Of course you are, I never doubted otherwise Nat. I'm just saying, if it has been awhile, we do have about ten hours if you wanted to get some rest."

"Hm." Was all she got in response, and Nicole couldn't help the grin of victory. Oh, it wasn't an admission of need or anything as whimsical, but she did feel her fellow agent lean a little more against her and Nicole adjusted her crutches so that she could get more comfortable.

"We'll be back before we know it." It was her last conscious statement before the pull of the painkillers won out and she fell asleep too.

IOI

"Thanks for the heads up Coulson, I'll find him and let him know." Steve looked up, brows pinching together at the crick in his neck from where it'd been bent at an uncomfortable angle, at the sound of Clint's voice outside. "Yeah, no, sang like a bird. Shouldn't be too hard for Internal Affairs to deal with. My recommendation? Set Agent 13 on them; she'll tear the assholes apart."

How long had he been sitting in the dimly lit office–Anais Montgomery's office to be specific–watching training videos and grittier security camera feeds anyway? It was a small comfort to actually see Nicole in action; he knew that she could handle herself in most hairy situations, but there was something to be said about seeing the proof himself. Judging by Barton's voice, however, there was an update on the mission and that took precedence. Steve barely remembered to close out of the database and shut the computer off before he was hurrying towards the door.

Clint quirked a slightly amused smile as the door was pulled open, lowering his hand. "I've got good news."

"Yeah?" He forced his tone to remain professionally cool. "Did Agent Coulson get an update?"

"A clean up team arrived at the asylum over an hour ago and Romanoff and Dugan are on their way home now." Clint answered, stepping out of the doorway so that Steve could fit himself through. "The mission has been deemed a success."

That was probably a good thing, but at this point the super soldier didn't really care. "Any injuries?"

"Nothing life-threatening." Barton answered. "Dugan got a little roughed up though, and she'll be off her feet for a couple of weeks."

"I don't think that constitutes as a little roughed up." This time there was no keeping the harder edge out of his voice. "What happened?"

"Bullet wound to the calf, clean shot though it went right through the muscle and out the other end. Like I said, it will only be a couple of week's recovery at the least." The archer shrugged. "Could have been worse."

But it could have been better too.

"How long will it take for them to get back to New York?" From Norway back to the United States, it was definitely going to be a long time.

"Eleven hours, give or take, not including the debriefing." Clint told him. "And they'll call us to let us know when they arrive.

Eleven hours.

About half of the time had passed pretty quickly once they'd returned to the apartment; Steve had been exhausted and had taken the time to walk the dog and brush his teeth before he went straight to sleep. It had been past midnight when they'd gotten back, and when he woke up bright and early at six thirty he realized that his internal clock really didn't care. He'd stumbled out of the bedroom careful not to jostle the small dog that had taken up residence in his bed while Nicole was away and went straight to the coffee maker. And just like every other morning for the past four days Agent Barton was stretched out on the I-beam above the bookshelves, back propped up against the wall with an arm dangling over the edge.

I like being high up. The sandy haired agent had explained the first night, before pulling himself up onto the beam. Steve hadn't pressed the issue, he'd just tossed up a blanket and pillow and went about his business.

Business this morning was coffee and possibly a run. The coffee was easy enough to sort out even for his still fuzzy brain, just press a button and the machine would start up so much easier to do.

"Is that coffee?" Steve looked over–and then up–at that voice, where Clint was blearily rubbing at his eyes.

The agent looked like a mess, his sandy hair sticking up in every which way like a bird's nest. "It is. Would you like a cup?"

"I'd like the whole pot, but yeah, a cup will work." There was a thump followed by a groan as the agent dropped to the floor, heel pressed into his eye as a yawn was pulled from his mouth. "What time is it?"

"Just past six thirty." Steve answered, earning a disgusted grimace. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"'S fine." Clint shrugged, stumbling his way to the table. "I wouldn't have gotten much more sleep anyway."

As evidenced by the loud vibrating of the agent's phone on the table. Clint glared at the small device impotently before he reached out to grab it, muttering to himself as he squinted at the bright screen. It seemed that Steve wasn't the only one who was having problems getting his brain to work this morning.

"Barton." He barked, squinting harder at the dull drone of a voice on the other end. Steve didn't pay too much attention to what was being said–it wasn't exactly any of his business–and other than the occasional hmm and grunt from Clint the only sound in the apartment was the steady drip drip drip of the coffee maker.

"I'm on my way."Barton sighed, hanging the phone up and dropping it back on the table. "Kill me."

"Everything alright?" Steve asked lightly, offering one of the larger mugs to the man with his head on the table.

Clint lifted his head at the potent smell of coffee, hand grasping for the cup. "Come in as soon as possible, they said. Got more work for you, they said. You'll get some time off after your last mission, Barton, we promise. Filthy fucking liars is what they are."

"Ah." Steve allowed the agent to continue mumbling in frustration, the words steadily dropping in pitch and volume until it was just a dull growl. "Is it related to last night?"

"Yeah. You don't have to come with me if that's what you're thinking, though. No point really, I've just got to tie up some loose ends and a less than thrilling debrief. I'll probably be there most of the day." Steve had never actually seen someone drain a 12 ounce mug so quickly in his life. "Ah, so much better than that SHIELD crap."

"I'll stay here then, if it's all the same. Will you be back?" Steve had actually enjoyed getting to know the sandy haired agent over the past couple of days.

Barton pushed himself up and, with a quick sweep of the apartment he was at the door with his bag and phone in hand. "Yeah, I'll drop Dugan off after her debrief."

"Okay then." It would give him time to do some grocery shopping then. He wanted to do something nice for when she got back, maybe make lunch or something. The problem was that between himself and Agent Barton they'd gone through a lot of food. And that was including all of the pizza that Clint had ordered in the past four days.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you, Clint." Before the agent left, however, Steve offered his hand for a firm shake.

Grey-blue eyes grinned back at him. "The pleasure was all mine, Cap."

Steve watched at the agent left the apartment, waiting for a few minutes before a small sigh of relief escaped him. It wasn't that he didn't like the agent, he really had, but if he was honest Steve was really looking forward to a bit of alone time. There were some things that he'd like to get done today before Nicole got back. He had missed his morning jogs around the city since his jogging partner had left for missions, and he really enjoyed those. Especially when he left early enough that there wouldn't be a whole lot of people out on the streets. He also needed to do some laundry and catch up on the cleaning, and it would be nice to get a start on the book that Nicole had loaned him.

Steve looked down when Chauncey bumped against his leg, the dog trotting to the door and back.

First thing's first, I suppose. He thought, sipping at his own coffee.

Morning passed into afternoon quickly between all of the errands he'd had to complete. By noon he'd had plenty of time to get in a good work out, take care of the dog, dishes and cleaning, as well as pick up some groceries and breakfast. At the moment he was in the process of setting out the ingredients for the lunch that he wanted to make. Chauncey, smelling the food and hoping for a treat, was of course underfoot the entire time and rather than be annoyed, Steve couldn't help but laugh at the pudgy dog.

"You are far too spoiled, little man." The blond tutted, frowning slightly at his phone as he tried to remember the application that would bring up the radio.

It begins with a P? He thought, flicking through the list full of things that he wasn't entirely sure what all they were for, Pandora?

Steve felt a swell of relief when the screen lit up blue, before bringing up a familiar display of his selected stations. It took only a few seconds for the music to start playing, comfortable and familiar. The blond then turned back to the counter, all of the measured ingredients arranged in small cooking bowls. The first thing that the recipe called for was to boil the pasta, so he took the time to fill the pot and set it on the stove. In the meantime he began the rest of the procedure. It wasn't hard to make the dish, and contrary to any teasing, he was a decent cook. The process itself was rather soothing, reminding Steve of a simpler time when he'd be left to scrape together some dinner while Bucky was at work.

It was getting easier to think about his best friend; his brain still shied away from the more recent times, the war, the train—nope. He could remember when they lived together in Brooklyn, or that time that he'd convinced his best friend to take an art class with him. It was bittersweet, slightly painful and nostalgic, but it didn't cut into him like it used to.

The chirping notification of his phone made the blond pause and, placing a big spoonful of peanut butter into his mouth, he reached out for the device.

From: Smaug the Dragon

Steve this is do boring Cole break m3 0ut 9f SHIELD.

He quirked an eyebrow at the message, pulling the spoon out as he read it. He had to assume then that she was doing her debriefing and he typed out a quick reply.

Shouldn't you be paying attention?

The response was almost instantaneous.

From: Smaug the Dragon

Pft. could on gas no idea 5hqg in k. My pine. This is so lane s43v3 I need 6ou.

"I—what?" Her message made even less sense this time, and he had to wonder if the medics had given her some sort of pain medication. That would be the logical reason why her response was… that mess.

Are you on something right now? He asked, chuckling in exasperation. Setting the phone down he reached for the jar of peanut butter again. It was, perhaps, one of his favorite things to snack on and Steve was more than a little disappointed to find that the jar was practically scraped empty. There was a little bit left that he could probably get if he tried…

The sensation of a paw on his leg through his jeans made the blond look down and sure enough Chauncey was eyeballing the near empty jar with a desperate expression. Realizing that he had Steve's attention, the dog hopped around excitedly with his tail wagging.

"Do you want what's left?" He had to admit that the dog had been pretty well behaved the past couple of days.

And he was kind of weak to those big eyes.

"Don't say I never gave you anything." Chauncey let out a happy whuff at that, sniffing at the plastic container that he set on the floor. The dog grabbed at the jar, nose first as he scampered away to the pillow next to the couch.

From: Smaug the Dragon

They gave me c7dqd8n ax5yqo0l. Vyt that doesn't mean you shouldn't xone,get my. Help me 8v9 wqn,ien 8 y97e2,my 9hoy hope.

Another message was sent almost immediately after.

From: Smaug the Dragon

Phone privileges have currently been revoked from Agent Dugan. And to answer your question, she's been given Vicodin to deal with the pain. Shame on you for encouraging her bad behavior and responding to these messages.

That made him chuckle, and Steve had a feeling that the next couple of days would be fun.

But then the pot started bubbling and hissing, reminding the blond that he was, in fact, cooking food.

IOI

"You're no fun." Nicole glared at Natasha, arms crossed over her chest and a pout on her lips.

"You're a child." Natasha replied easily, unperturbed as she shut the cellphone off.

Coulson was sitting at his desk, trying very hard not to laugh at the two agents who were sitting on the other side. Instead he cleared his throat, making a show of rearranging the paperwork in front of him. "We're almost done, Nicole, I promise. Just a few more things."

The redhead turned to him next, trying to focus over the fog in her brain. She was tired, she was hungry, and right now she really just wanted to go home and sleep. "What's left?"

"You said that the Ten Rings wanted to use the research for a biological weapon. In your honest opinion, do you think that Dr. Grimstad was aware of that?" Coulson was watching her with a sympathetic expression on his face, the words calm and clearly enunciated.

"No." She answered with a shake of her head, "No I really don't. He was naïve and idealistic sure, but if he'd have known about the plans there was no way he would have cooperated willingly. The entire time I was there he kept talking about how he wanted to make the world a better place, how things like this could save the environment."

"Will he willingly work with SHIELD?" That was a bit of a tougher question to answer.

Nicole thought out her words carefully, chewing on her lower lip as her fingers tapped against the gauze still wrapped around her left arm. "If we're straight with him. Don't try and get him to develop weapons, don't try and trick him into developing weapons. Let him work on the projects that he wants to work on, and treat him with respect. That'll be what gets him on our side. He's just been bullied and lied to by the Ten Rings… right now we're not too different in his eyes."

"I'm inclined to agree with Agent Dugan," Natasha nodded. "His wife was manipulative, and it strained their relationship visibly. Same thing will happen here if we're not careful and SHIELD has had enough issues with pushing intelligent people that don't want to be pushed."

Coulson nodded slightly in agreement at that, flipping through his note pad before glancing back over at that. "I think that's everything. You two did a great job, even with the wrench thrown into our plans. We've got Grimstad on our side and we've got some good information about the Ten Rings workings. Not to mention the fact that you brought us Monroe and secured one of their safe houses. Agent 13 is taking care of any loose ends involving the leaked information and I've already got the paperwork processed and turned in for your medical expenses."

"Nicole, Dr. Maurer recommended two weeks off of your feet for recovery but I'm clearing you for three. You're off duty until the 24th." He informed her, making the redhead squint.

"At which point you're going to start giving Steve and me missions?" She asked.

"That is correct." A small flicker of amusement crossed the older Agent's features then, before Coulson stood up.

Natasha followed suit, and Nicole heaved herself out of the chair that she'd been sitting in as well. Before she could make even a single step, the set of crutches that she was really starting to hate was being offered to her.

"Thank you, Agent Romanoff." She grumbled, lifting her weight off of her bad leg. It didn't even hurt that badly—though that was more a result of the narcotics—and she hated hobbling around on the stupid things.

"Barton will take you home." Coulson informed her gently. "Natasha, will you be around for a little while? There's something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"I'll be here." The shorter woman confirmed. "I'm going to get a head start on all of this paperwork."

"Have fun with that." Nicole smirked, making her way out of the door. "And give me my phone back!"

"Hic tu, lacerare." Taking the device, she shoved it into her back pocket as she stuck her tongue out in response.

"And I'm the child?" That earned her a slight smile from Natasha as she was walking away. "She's mean."

"Hate to break it to you," Coulson offered mildly. "But that was Natasha being nice."

"You're mean." Coulson was walking with her to the main exit, through the big, wide glass doors that made the Bank actually look like a professional work facility. Which, she supposed, technically it was.

"Uh-huh." The older agent smiled, her duffle bag in his hand as he opened the main door. "Keep telling yourself that. Could be worse, could be making you fill out a report too."

"That would be terrible." She gasped.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up." Clint was leaning against the back of the car, trunk already popped and waiting. "Took you long enough."

"Did you eat all of my pickles?" That did succeed in getting a snort of laughter out of Coulson, who was tossing her bag into the trunk.

Clint grinned at that as well. "I did not eat all of your pickles. Why didn't you tell me you had a dog?"

"Not something that comes up in conversation. I guess I should have just introduced myself like 'Hi, I'm Nicole, I have a dog.'" She pulled open the back door, sliding the crutches in. "What was I thinking?"

"I wasn't aware that you thought anything, Dugan." Clint quipped back.

"Really, because I was just thinking about the birds nest I'm going to have to clean out of my rafters, Hawkeye." She snarked back.

She liked that about Barton; he was a cheeky spy, and fun to bicker with senselessly.

"Nah, I slept in your bed this week." The archer replied demurely. "Though there are a few pizza stains now."

"You are a walking disaster, Barton." She laughed. "Take me home."

Clint gave a jaunty salute at that. "Yes Ms. Daisy. Coulson, if you're gonna make me play chauffer more often I want a fancy hat."

"I'll see what I can do." The senior agent wasn't even phased, a good natured smile on his face as he stepped back onto the curb. "Enjoy your time off, both of you."

"They finally gave you time off?" Clint was one of SHIELD's best agents; as such they had a tendency to work him longer and give him more extensive missions. "Is it real time off?"

"As opposed to fake time off?" He quirked an eyebrow. "It seems like I'm actually getting some vacation. A month they said."

"A whole month?" Gripping the door handle tightly, Nicole tried to hold herself still as they zipped in and out of traffic. "You should use that time to learn how to drive."

"You're not dead, miraculously." The blond scoffed, waving a hand at her. "Even if you look like it."

"Real nice, pick on the person who's been shot." Her face was still a mottle of bruises, and her lip was mostly scabbed over, but the injuries were still apparent. And Nicole had to admit, she really didn't look that great. Luckily for her however, the bruises were already yellowing so they should be almost completely gone by tomorrow.

"It's how you know I care." He smirked. "We worried."

"Yeah, I bet you did." Buildings flew by them, some familiar and others less so. "How was your week, nice and quiet?"

"It was like a mini-vacation. I enjoyed eating your food."

"Figured you would." They chatted a little more after that, the periods of silence becoming progressively longer the closer they got to the apartment. As soon as she saw the familiar brick building a wave of weariness went through her. She was functioning fairly well on the pain medication, but something about seeing the safety of her home made Nicole aware of just how much her body had been put through in the past 24 hours.

She was going to sleep so well tonight.

"You need a hand?" Clint asked casually from his seat, parking the car next to hers.

"Can you grab my bag?" She hated being invalid. "And the doors?"

"Got'cha." But if there was anyone who understood the sensation it was Clint 'can't go a week without an injury' Barton.

She wobbled slightly on her feet, hopping over to the passenger's door to grab her crutches again. "Was I missed?"

"Rogers was a little twitchy when we got the news." The archer told her. "I thought he was going to steal a quinjet and come get you himself."

Now that would have been a sight to see.

"Are you sure you can get to the elevator?" There was a teasing light in those grey-blue eyes now. "You are sort of debilitated."

Nicole didn't answer, instead pushing the button on the panel that would take her up to the top floor.

"Oh, the silent treatment, eh? You wound me."

"I'm going to."

It was a short ride, at this hour in the day almost everybody was at work. And since it was a housing building for the field agents, there weren't any children or elderly running around either.

"Easy now old lady, nice and slow. Don't want you getting lost now." Clint grinned, making the redhead growl.

"I swear to God, Barton! My judgement is not even that impaired!" She huffed.

"Not even that out of it? It was a miracle that you made it to the car with how doped up you are." He shot back.

Cheeky fucking spy.

"Just open the door!" She squawked.

"Now who sounds like a bird?"

"Barton—"

The blond reached out to push the door open, the laughter in his eyes not translating to his perfectly neutral face. Almost immediately Nicole was hit by two things; one being the scent of something delicious and cheesy, and the other being the prancing dog that was hopping around her feet.

"Well at least someone's happy to see me!" She hobbled her way into the apartment, taking the time to lean the crutches against the wall as the couch and chair came into better view. "Honey I'm home!"

"I'm gonna toss this in your room and then I'm heading out." Clint told her, navigating his way around her. No doubt the archer had his own business that he was eager to attend to—especially considering that he was getting some down time as well.

"Yeah, thanks bird man." She called absently, limping farther into the apartment. "Steve?"

Chauncey leapt onto the couch when she neared it, and Nicole took the time to properly greet her dog with plenty of ear scratches and a belly rub. She saw the pan of mac and cheese on the counter that separated the kitchen, but her flat mate was nowhere to be found. That was until she heard the flushing of the toilet and the sink turn on a few seconds later.

Steve walked out of the bathroom with a slightly anxious look on his face, and suddenly Nicole felt a little nervous. She wasn't exactly sure why, it had only been a couple of days, but she straightened with a small smile.

"Hey, how was your—" And then she was being pulled off of her feet, which was frankly an astounding feat, in a tight but careful hug.

She really had been missed.

IOI

"You're about to see me, did you really have to call?" Natasha's voice sounded exasperated, but there was a warmth in it that the assassin reserved for an exclusive number of people.

"What can I say?" Clint smiled into the phone, "I missed you."

"You're getting soft, Barton." She chided.

Clint rolled his eyes; of the two of them there was no doubt that he was the soft one though why Nat decided she needed to bring it up every time was beyond him. "Yeah, yeah. I have a question though. Are you sure about Rogers and Dugan? Like absolutely sure? Because I'm pretty sure they're a thing."

He could hear the amused sigh on the other end. "You know people say the same thing about us."

"They're right though." What he had with Natasha, it was something that had been built up over years of being partners and friends. They didn't show it, there weren't public displays of affection, there weren't profound declarations of love, but it was there. And even before their feelings had grown into anything, there had been rumors. Because Nat had trusted him, and she didn't really trust anybody.

"It's not the same." The assassin informed him. "I'm positive."

And he believed her. "Damn, I guess that means I owe you."

"Come get me, and we can discuss ways that you can pay up."