Steve's POV

"On your right, Cap, and you have more on your tail."

I turn and slam into an alien and duck to avoid another one flying over my head with a burnt hole in its side. "Thanks, Beta. Let's start wrapping this up, shall we?"

"Yes, please, I'm hungry!"

I roll my eyes at Tony's whine. "You've gone longer without food, Iron Man. You'll be fine."

He huffs something about brainpower not needing food, but I just slam down another alien and look around. "47th is clear."

"Fifth avenue is alien free."

"I've cleared Broadway."

"Main street is a little worse for the wear, but okay."

"I have cleared the road of ninth!"

Hulk roars a few blocks away, so I dust off my shield and start jogging back to the rendezvous point. "Great job, guys. Home, shower, food, sleep."

"Shawarma?"

"Fine. Yes, Taylor, Shawarma."

We all eventually make it back to the jet, a little mussed and scraped but none seriously injured.

"Okay, everyone stand still for a head count. Taylor?"

"Here, Capsicle."

"Tony?"

"Spangles."

"Natasha?"

"Present."

"Thor?"

"I am here, Captain."

"Is Bruce back yet?"

"Right here, Steve." He announces, jogging out of the shadows behind Tony.

"Clint?"

No response.

"Clint, report!" I call out.

Still nothing but the settling of debris and heavy breathing.

I bite my lip. "Did anyone see him as they were coming back?"

Everyone shakes their heads and mumbles about thinking that he was with someone else.

I sigh and open my mouth, about to tell them that he was probably fine and walking back as we speak, but then suddenly something – an alarm of some sort - starts wailing out of Tony and Taylor's suits.

I look on curiously as Jarvis talks to them, then as they look at each other and then back to us. "Jarvis found him, and he's encroaching on Code Purple territory."

I suck in a deep breath. "Take us there."

Tony nods. "Natasha, with me. I'll lead, so Steve, Bruce, keep your eyes on the skies."

I watch as Natasha runs over to Tony and hops on – piggy back style – and he shoots up, with Taylor directly on his tail.

I take of through the streets, ducking into alleyways and jumping over boulders, glancing up every once in a while to track the red, gold, and black blurs in the sky above me.

We eventually reach a secluded dead end, and there – surrounded by rubble – is Clint.

He's staring straight ahead, eyes unseeing, and I can see his chest heaving from nine feet away.

Taylor, Tony, and Natasha land about three feet to my right.

"What set him off?"

I look around our immediate area for any sign of something that would have sent Clint spiraling.

"There!" Taylor shouts, and I turn to see her scrambling over debris towards a huddled shape on the ground.

I walk over to see that it is an alien carcass. Once I help flip it over, I found our trigger.

The eyes.

One is pierced straight through by an arrow, but the other has the eyelids peeled open. This alien's eyes are blue, almost Tesseract blue, and they do not have pupils.

Natasha and Taylor both mumble something Russian that I probably did not want to understand. "Who should talk him down?"

Taylor shrugs. "He has not started screaming yet. If he had, we would know. So this is a joint effort?"

Somehow, I don't think they mean the team.

Sure enough, only Natasha nods back. Then she turns to the rest of us. "Just in case any of you have to step in, remember: no mentions of code names or aliases, S.H.I.E.L.D. or any of its affiliating members, Loki, or the Tesseract. Understood?"

We all nod, so she and Taylor quickly strip all their weapons, minus two small knives, and tell us to watch them before walking slowly and nosily towards Clint.

Once they are about three feet away, they both raise their hands and sink either to their knees or into a crouch.

A silent decision is made, and Taylor speaks up first. "Clint? It's me, Taylor. Do you hear me?"

As soon as she speaks, his head snaps towards her, fast enough to give him whiplash. His hands twitch slightly, no doubt ready to grab at one of the many weapons he has on right now.

"Clint." Natasha tries this time, her voice soft but steady. "It's just us. You're safe, we're not going to hurt-"

She never finishes her sentence, because as soon as 'hurt' passes her lips, Clint is moving, just a blur, and within three seconds she has a serrated knife pointed at her throat.

I start to step forward, but Taylor gives me a glare and a cut throat sign over his shoulder. She slowly moves to re-enter Clint's field of vision, her hands still empty and looking completely unfazed by the knife trained on Natasha.

"Clint." she whispers. "Who are you seeing? Who are you trying to save?"

He keeps his eyes focused on Natasha, still not seeing anything, and he starts to mumble. "Loki…bad snake…Taylor…lost….no….Loki…..no, no, no, nonono…"

Taylor glances at Natasha, who nods, and then starts slowly moving her metal arm. She inches the sliver-tinted metal towards the exposed skin on Clint's wrist.

Of course. They're using physical touch. Panic essentially destroys your mental sense, so they are trying to draw Clint back out using the one feature Taylor has the no one else does – her metal prosthetic.

She taps his wrist with a finger, and the hand that isn't holding the knife still pointed at Natasha instantly grabs her wrist. Everybody jump at the sudden movement, then going totally still and waiting for someone to make the next move.

Clint does. The knife clatters to the asphalt and he sags back into Taylor, who catches him with a few stumbles backwards. Natasha is at her shoulder in an instant, lift some of Clint and helping all three to sink to the asphalt.

Clint curls into a ball, still holding Taylor's wrist in a vice grip, so she shifts her hand so their fingers are laced together instead. She pulls Clint's head onto her lap and combs her fingers through his hair while Natasha kneels stiffly by his exposed back, both of them creating a bubble of warmth, strength, and protection around the exposed archer.

Fury wanted a team? Well…here ya go.

Tony and I go and collect their piles of weapons, putting each pile into the respective girl's field bag, depositing the bags by their owner's sides.

Then Tony, Bruce, Thor and I just hover awkwardly, shuffling our feet.

"Go." I snap my head up to see Taylor staring directly at me, her leader. "You can go home. We'll help him get back home." she promises, and I have a feeling she is not just talking about the trip back to the tower.

I hold her gaze for another few seconds, until I give her a small nod, which she returns. I start walking back the way we came, towards the jet, motioning for the other three to follow.

Before I leave completely, though, I can't resist a glance over my shoulder.

Clint is still curled up, with his head in Taylor's lap as she plays with his hair, and I can see her lips moving as she softly talks to him, a smile forming every now and then. Natasha is curled against his back, her lips slowly moving to form shapes I don't recognize – but Taylor does, so Russian lullabies, probably – and Clint is visibly relaxing as she rubs a hand up and down his arm.

The widow, the sparrow, and the hawk.

Three of the most dangerous and influential people in the world. Their trust is a precious thing, not easily gained and never fixed once broken.

I watch as Clint rolls over and his other hand grips Natasha's. I turn away and catch up to the group.

He's in the best hands possible, in the arms of the two closest people to his heart.