As always, I find myself apologizing for my absence. It has been a rough year, but i hope to find the time and willpower to continue writing through this one. I am always motivated by comments. Please enjoy.

Clint gave up on folding the road map and tossed it roughly into the empty passenger seat. After confronting Romanov that morning, he had been trying to narrow down the possible areas for a safehouse that were near enough to the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound to facilitate a hiding spot for three fugitives. He had narrowed it down to three small cities one of which he had already scoped out that afternoon. Now that the sun was just beginning to set, he was ready to start on the second. His method was to drive around the residential areas and pick out the most likely spots for Romanov to establish a safehouse. Not very glamourous, but it was a tried and true method for the assassin. He would mark these areas on the map for later investigation.

...

I had wandered quite a way from the safehouse when I finally realized it was getting dark. I had exhausted my anger and was ready for just a while longer confined to the house. I had desperately needed to escape for a while, away from the tension between Loki and the Captain. I almost felt bad for my housemates. They were unable to get away, unable to take a much needed walk to clear their heads.

A slight breeze appeared as I slowly made my way back to the house. I watched my tall shadow walking in front of me in the dimming light. It was a pleasant evening interrupted only by the intermittent passing of cars.

It was almost completely dark when I reached the block with the safehouse. I slowed my pace a bit. I was not really sure if I was ready to return to confinement. I thought of abandoning the affair again for a fleeting moment.

"Elizabeth!" I spun toward the source of my name. I looked about in confusion for a moment before I understood that the shout had come from a slow moving black car. As I stood there dumbly the car moved enough for me to see into the open passenger window. My heart felt like it was pumping ice and all my hair stood on end. Gripping the wheel and staring intently at me was the face of agent Barton.

With a rush of adrenaline, I turned and fled down the nearby alleyway. I practically flew over the hard-packed dirt. Nothing guided me except the sound of my racing heartbeat and the blinding fear flooding my entire body. I had run down two and a half alleyways before the first coherent thought entered my head. In the next alleyway, I saw a clump of dense bushes. Still at full speed, the one word filled my brain: HIDE.

I reached the bushes in an instant and made a dive into the small opening between the base of the hedge and the tall wooden fence behind it.

...

Barton was beginning to have trouble seeing in the dusk light. He was about to switch on his headlights when he saw a figure on the sidewalk. It would have never piqued his interest if the posture had not looked so familiar. It was a woman, that was easy enough to tell from the long bleach blonde hair and the slight swaying in the step caused by having wide hips. Barton slowed the car to get a better look. He was sure he recognised the posture. Her head was down, watching her feet, her shoulders were hunched, but not collapsed into her torso. The stance of someone who was burdened and was trying to protect themselves from the weight, drawn into themselves for protection, but not broken. The stance he knew a certain girl had adopted so well.

But he couldn't be sure it was her. The likelihood of finding her wandering around was practically nonexistent. He would have to be sure. He rolled down the passenger window and leaned over the seat. When he was almost astride her, he let a shout escape him, carrying the name Elizabeth with it.

He felt an odd sense of satisfaction when the girl turned to face him and he saw he was not mistaken. As the vehicle passed by her at a leisurely pace, he saw that she had taken great pains to disguise herself, but no amount of hair dye and makeup can hide a reaction of unfiltered terror.

He felt a twinge of glee when she bolted down the alleyway. This part had always been a guilty pleasure. The chase was on.

...

I pushed and squirmed my way as far into the unkempt hedge as possible. As soon as I had pulled my feet in behind me, I froze in an effort to be silent. The position I had put myself in was incredibly uncomfortable. I had one arm half stretched in front of me, the other was tucked under my chest. I was able to see out of a small dead spot in the bush, but my neck had to hold my head at a rather odd angle and was already beginning to strain. My legs were curled under me as tightly as possible, forcing my hips a bit higher than my shoulders. My toes were still dug into the ground, ready to spring me up and away if need be.

I stayed as still and quiet as I possibly could. I forced myself to quiet my breathing and concentrate on listening as hard as possible for any sign of agent Barton.

A few tense moments passed and my neck and joints creaked, protesting the strain they were under. Just as my heart began to slow a tiny amount, I heard the crunching of footsteps on the gravel and dirt surface of the alleyway. Immediately, my system was shocked with another dose of adrenaline. Between the dried and broken twigs, I watched a pair of feet calmly make their way in front of my hiding place. In the remnants of the evening light, I could just make out the outline of the black shoes. I held my breath, my lungs already burning in protest, but fear kept me from allowing even a tiny wisp of breath. The feet stopped just outside my field of vision.

A few more moments passed.

Before I could really process what was happening, a hand grabbed hold of my hair and used it to pull me out of my hiding place. A cry escaped my still burning lungs. This was not a response to the scraping of sticks across my face and hands, the pain of having my hair suppourt my body so suddenly, or even to the sudden movement of my loudly creaking joints. My mind and body processed none of these. The adrenaline in my body made sure of that.

What it did process was the damp cloth pressed over my mouth, the sickly sweet smell that I could not force my angry lungs from gulping in, and the rapidly blurring figure pressing me up against the wooden fence.