Chapter 7

-Clint's POV-

The first sign of something being wrong was Taylor's bike.

She loved that bike. It was created from her blood, sweat, and tears. Maybe not blood, but definitely sweat and tears.

So to see it haphazardly parked in the parking lot was disturbing.

I can feel my shoulders tense and my hands twitch towards one of my many knives as I pick up the pace and jog towards the lobby doors.

Second sign: the lobby is dark. And from all of Stark's bragging, I knew that being the biggest name in clean energy meant that didn't happen. Ever.

I draw one of my knives as I get into building sweeping position. I cautiously fling open a door and jump out the way.

Nothing. The lobby is completely silent and ominously pitch black.

I flick on my flashlight beam and seep it slowly back and forth, looking for any signs of what happened.

I do a double take as something glints in the path of the beam. It's a blade.

A very familiar blade.

I race forward and crouch next to the blade, confirming it as Taylor's knife.

Her pistol is about a foot away. And about two feet past that is a charred black circle, about a foot and a half wide.

My breath catches as I recognize the scene from the pictures of Edison.

Which means Loki is involved.

I bolt for the stairs.

A~A~A

"What do you mean, Taylor's been taken? This is not funny, Barton!"

"Do you see me laughing, Stark? Why would I joke about this?"

"Because you joke about everything else! You-"

"Boys!" Natasha snaps, "Taylor is missing and every second yo two spend arguing is a second she might not have. So would it kill you two to act civil for a few hours?"

I nod once at Natasha before crossing the room to lean against the kitchen counter, infinitely grateful I left my sunglasses on so they can't see the pure worry that I know is leaking out of my eyes.

I shake my head and switch to 'assassin mode' – stoic, detached, and emotionless – as Steve, who sped up his flight home as soon as he heard the news, begins talking.

"One thing about this is clear: Loki was behind it all. Why he targeted Taylor, I have no idea. Where he took her, no idea. Any ideas?"

"I have a theory." Natasha's voice is even and steady, signifying she too has slipped into assassin mode. "On the why. The way I see it, Taylor is the heart of this team. Steve is the head, the leader, but a body is instantly dead without the heart. Taylor is also the youngest, therefore endowing all of us," she waves a hand around the room, "with a need to protect her."

Bruce snorts from his spot, leaning against an arm on the couch, arms crossed. "Well we didn't do a very good job, did we?" His voice is bitter, a bitterness I can see reflected on every face in the room.

"Yeah," I speak up from my corner of the room, "why was her Loki alarm the only to go off? He was just downstairs in the lobby, literally five floors away from the nearest Avenger. Nobody else noticed anything?"

Thor speaks up, his voice thoughtful with a slight dusting of frustration. "My brother's magic works in ways even the best sorcerers on Asgard cannot understand. He may have interfered with the signal or created illusions to distract us."

I shake my head. "It must have been signal interference. I was less than six inches away from Taylor when the signal went off, there were no illusions involved." I pointedly ignore Stark's dirty look.

Thor nods pensively but stays silent, so I turn to Steve. "So, Cap, what now?"

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his already messed up hair. "We have two options here: try and go solo here, which I advise against, or we can widen our search area and increase manpower. Which would mean asking S.H.I.E.L.D. for help."

I quickly glance around the room.

Traded glances and expressions show that the decision is unanimous.

"I'll call the Hellicarrier."

A~A~A

"Didn't we explain this already, Fury? No, we are not rejoining. We need help. Does the word liaison mean anything to you?"

I can't help but feel amused as I stand back and let Stark exercise one of his best talents: annoying people until they consent just to get him off their backs. Except he's madder than Fury himself, so I really don't know what this is anymore.

"Does the term Indian giver mean anything to you? The Avengers gained a copyright two years, eleven months, and two days ago, Stark. You can't just waltz back in here like you own the place and demand our resources!"

"I do own this place! The Hellicarrier was a gift, Fury, from yours truly. You're extremely lucky I haven't repossessed it yet!"

"You can't. Remember the contracts, Stark?"

Something snaps. Stark's normally humorous eyes darken, his spine stiffens, and his fists clench.

"Contracts? My daughter got stolen from right under my nose and you think I'm worried about contracts?" His voice is lower than usual, each word clipped and hard. "I will find her, Fury, mark my words. The speed at which we find her is the difference between life and death. If I find her body, I will not be happy." The last word is a mix between a hiss and a growl as he turns and storms out the door. I send my former boss a glare I am certain he can see through the sunglasses as I follow.

The first thing I do upon returning to the guest room I was assigned is pick up the nearest thing – the nightstand – and hurl it against the wall, leaving a shattered table and cracked plaster.

None of this is fair.

I am well aware that life usually isn't fair, but this seems exceptionally cruel.

Taylor has done nothing to Loki besides fight for the people and world she believed in.

I sigh as I drag a bow case out from my bed. It isn't mine, but I'm positive the owner would want me to keep it safe.

I sigh as I run a finer over the carved sparrow in the center of the polished black metal as I unlatch and open the case, silting with my back against the side of the bed as I gently cradle the bow.

I trace a finger over the delicate raised pearl design and sigh as I let my head fall back to rest on the bed.

Maybe that's what Loki thinks Taylor is, my mind reasons, delicate.

There are many words to describe Taylor Stark, the other side of my brain counters, but delicate is not one of them.

But then why do you protect her?

Because she trusts me enough to do so.

I wince. Because a) I'm arguing with myself, and b) that one side of my brain is right.

I am only able to protect her because she trusts me and my abilities enough to do so.

And I let her get kidnapped. Well, that trust just flew out the window.

I make a noise that is somewhere between a groan and a whimper as I lay her bow on my feet, pull my knees to my chest, make a pillow with my arms, and hang my head.

A/N

Aww, poor Clint. Anybody else feel like hugging him?

I wrote this, I knew this was coming, but it still breaks my heart.

Keep reading and reviewing and enjoying!