The shadow moved, lengthened as the man dodged from one precipice to the next, intent on taking down the target. Sharp eyes noted the strewn soldiers, the abandoned weaponry, the broken walls and the vantage points upon them. Hawkeye did not miss much as he ran, stringing up another arrow after tapping through the setting on his bow. The others were occupied, too occupied with their individual targets to go after the major player, but he could do it. Amidst the chaos upon the flat, dry plains, he had to keep his mind in a state of peace. It was difficult to shoot if one was seeing red…or green, in the case of his colleague. The distant roar of the Hulk barely fazed him; he was too intent on his objective.

The flight had been tensed, strategy discussed in calm, hard tones as the team made its way to Natasha's location, smack dab in the middle of Sudan. Reviewing the information she'd passed along through JARVIS, the team could conclude that HYDRA were ready to make their stand. After all the months of hiding, waiting, they were ready to come forward, reclaim their right to purge the world of the unworthy and me it their own. The forwarded modifications on the weaponry and vehicles they would be operating made even Tony's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Chitauri technology utilized and warped for another nefarious purpose, none of which was possible without the scepter's power. As their comrade had told them, it was bad.

It was time to put a stop to it.

Given the layout of the base, it was best for them to start with an aerial attack, with Stark providing additional firepower as they targeted and destroyed shield generators. The Iron Legion, primed and ready to go, joined him, JARVIS's commands directing them to contain the barrage as low to the ground as possible. With the lack of coverage from the plains surrounding them, an open assault made more sense than an attempt at subterfuge. Clint had taken control of the quinjet, sweeping it left and right to avoid the shots as they peppered the air around them. Steve and Thor clung tightly to the overhead bars, while Bruce was rocked from side to side in his seat, gripping the shoulder straps so tightly his knuckles had gone completely white.

All it took was one good shot, though, and the quinjet was spiraling down to the ground. Banking along an outcropping of rock and sand, Barton managed to hold on long enough so that it would come to a full halt. The second part of their plans was in full swing: ground assault. Bruce, still jarred from the crash landing, meekly agreed to stay behind for the time being. It wouldn't do them any good if he launched fully into a "code green" (not the most clever name for it, Stark had posited, but it got the point across) too early.

The hailstorm of bullets and bolts crashed around them as they stormed out, Captain America leading the way into the fray as Iron Man zoomed in low behind him. Rockets fluttered from his shoulders, impacting the ground and showering the combatants with dirt and pockets of fire. The hammer flew, clanging as Thor leapt against a rolling tank, swinging down hard on the barrel of the cannon and crumpling it. Clicking the sensors on his bow, Clint hit the oncoming battalion with armor-melting arrowheads, stunners taking out the foot soldiers as they made their way into the base.

They'd found Natasha in the open courtyard, commandeering a Jeep and slamming it into a group of fellows with flamethrower cannons strapped to their arms. Save for the bumps and scrapes, she'd come through her ordeal alive. When she was overwhelmed, Jensen had had her locked in her private quarters, with the intent of sending her off to Baron von Strucker. However, Natasha Romanoff never, ever took to being a hostage, and so once word had spread about the Avengers' arrival at the base, she'd enacted her own escape.

"If they'd buried me underground, they would've had a better chance," she told Barton on the fly, claiming a few of the guns off the scattered bodies and taking point as they moved forward. Fluid, as one, they worked together, slipping in and out of their enemies' grasp like water through a sieve. Lightning crackled and scorched the earth, repulsors blasted through the concrete, and the bounce of the shield ricocheting permeated the air. Bolts of energy flashed in return, but the tide was turning in the Avengers' favor when a great, green mass rumbled into the base. The Hulk was unleashed, his vengeance coming swift upon his enemies.

It was then that both he and Natasha noticed a commotion happening several yards ahead of them. Behind a barricade, they spotted a few of the bloodied foot soldiers ringing around a single person, a single woman. Her head shook violently as they pleaded with her, their wild gesticulations towards them indicating the futility of the attacks. Without another word, she pulled away, taking up a fallen soldier's armor and strapping it onto herself. Blue light gleamed along her forearms as she powered it up, the soldiers around her darting away, intent on putting as much distance between them and the battle as possible. The woman turned on her heel, facing down towards the remaining fighters, and held up her arms.

The blinding blasts of energy rained down upon them, regardless of affiliation. All had to take cover as she let Hell loose upon them. Tony attempted to make a move, though a glancing blow forced him away. Thor and Hulk tried an advance next, but she stood her ground, driving them back. The captain, having taken shelter near them, risked a glance around the overturned vehicle and frowned.

"If they lose her, they lose the fight," he noted, shifting back down and looking at the two ex-agents. Natasha nodded, seeing the sense in his words. If they forced her down, the battle would be over quickly.

"I could do it," she said, making as if to rise. Barton put a hand on her elbow, forcing her to stay in her crouch.

"She'd expect you, after everything that went down." He shook his head, tapping a finger against his chest. "I'll do it."

A moment passed in which Natasha stared at him, a protest hovering on her tongue but never voiced. He made sense, but she didn't necessarily like it. Eventually, she breathed out softly, her chin dipping down.

"I'll cover you." She darted a glance over to Steve, who inclined his head slightly and braced his shield on his arm. Clearing her throat, she amended her statement. "We'll cover you."

Putting a hand to his ear, Steve called out over the coms, "Avengers…get ready…"

At his signal, they sprang up as one, firepower and might directed upwards at the doctor. Momentarily taken aback, she returned with full force, willing her soldiers to get back into the fight as she did so. Each member soon had a ring of survivors around them, distracting them, but Clint had had the opening he'd needed to get closer. Now, as he approached, the energy blasts from her arm cannons forced him down. Jensen had spotted him outright, and she refused to let him have his chance. She tracked him as he circled her, shots chipping away at his cover as he attempted to move between them.

"You think you can stop me?! Your medieval technology cannot compare to the advanced might of HYDRA!" she shouted, all her focus bent on him. He smirked to himself; it was just as he intended. A shower of concrete dust fell on his head, and he let out a few stuttering coughs as he moved along, evading her blasts.

"You know, the villain speech isn't really necessary," he crowed, brushing the dust out of his hair. Craning his neck, he could make out her dark expression, the fire in her eyes as she tried to find him again.

"Humorous. Meanwhile, the facts remain that you are nothing compared to the rest of us." The doctor paused, pivoting on her heel and letting out another shot. The sudden smile on her lips was laced with acid. "To the rest of them. The expendable Avenger, the easiest one to lose."

The words flew true, struck him and dug into his skin. Barton, from the very first time he stepped out with the team, was unsure of his place, his confidence and surety rocked after a being driven out of his own head. Rebuilding himself was difficult, making amends to the wrongs he'd done. Mind control or not, his actions preceding the Battle of New York were reprehensible, something he felt he should have fought harder against. Fighting against the Chitauri was supposed to reaffirm his position, right his wrongs, but once he was an Avenger, he didn't know how to cope with it. The last on the team, unstable, broken. The first to throw himself headlong into danger, thinking it better to lose himself than lose the others.

"The traitor." There, she had said it, had laid his past sins on his doorstep. "You are nothing!"

Though her speech bit into him, he knew something she didn't: despite his mistakes, he was something. He was someone, he had something she didn't. He had a team, he had friends, people who knew him for what he was and what he did that still stood by him. Automatic rounds pelted the wall closest to the doctor, a flash of red and black disappearing as Jensen wheeled around and shot in the direction of the attacker. Slipping behind an outcropping directly behind her, Hawkeye pressed his fingers, the arrowhead in the quiver attaching to the shaft smoothly. Swiftly, he stood, sighting his shot and pulling the bowstring taut.

"Then this shouldn't be a problem for you," he murmured quietly, the arrow gone before he even finished his sentence. The ping of the projectile landing squarely on the fuel tank echoed in the doctor's ears, and she did not have time to even register what had happened. The explosion of the weapon rocketed her forward, driving her away and bouncing her along the ground, knocking her unconscious before she could come to a full stop. All was silent; the distant pops and shouts melted away as the seconds ticked by.

Clint, exhaling slowly and slinging his bow along his body, removed himself from his cover and jogged lightly to her side. The weapon was still flaming as she lay on the ground, still. Burn marks scorched her arms, neck, and back, dirt smeared on her face. However, the rise and fall of her chest told him she was not mortally wounded. Grimacing, he knelt beside her, taking the knife from his boot sheath and cutting away the straps of the arm cannons. Once they dropped away, Clint put away the knife, bracing himself for a moment before next opening her mouth. Taking her incisor between his thumb and forefinger, he twisted sharply and pulled it out. The pain was intense enough to rouse her, Jensen's screams echoing around him as he crumbled the cyanide capsule in his hand. She started to curl in upon herself, blood staining her lips, but Barton would not let her rest.

"I don't…I don't understand…" she whispered, her dark eyes unfocused as she was hauled to her feet and restrained. Barton pushed her forward, marched her towards the front of the destroyed base, the evidence of her failure filtering past her. She looked at it all, confused and broken. "All our power…"

"Power doesn't mean jack when you have no one to back you up," Hawkeye stated flatly. He didn't need to tell her to look around, to see what her actions had reaped. He didn't need to make her understand how many lives she'd cost in one afternoon, to know how in those last moments she'd cost herself a victory through her own hubris. It was all in front of her. He saved his speeches for the times when they would matter.

The authorities of the country were swarming around the destroyed base by that point, a NATO representative on hand for Jensen to be turned over and the remaining soldiers to be arrested. Reporters and cameras had made the trek out onto the plains, desperate to catch a glimpse of the heroes before they flew off. The roars of the Hulk drove them away for the time being, though thankfully Natasha was quick to perform a lullaby before he raged out of control again. With the quinjet out of commission, Tony had JARVIS commandeer another plane for them, the Iron Legion piloting the jet back for repairs. With belongings fetched from the hold, the team only had to wait a couple short hours before they were homebound, back in the air and recovering from the fight. Med kits were found, each treating their cuts and bruises to the best of their ability as they ascended.

"Well that went about as well as expected," Tony piped up, a washcloth in hand as he dropped down into his seat, the suit stowed away. A tumbler of whiskey was on hand, one that he drank from liberally as he leaned back. Private charters, what a lifesaver.

"Better. We shut down an army, and HYDRA's grasping at the proverbial straws now," Natasha put in, the brightness of her gaze belying the placid look on her face.

Clint snorted, casting a swift glance at her. "And all it cost was secrecy and your safety."

"Spies aren't allowed to whine about another spy's activities," Tony cut off Natasha's reply, wagging a finger at him. Barton almost glared at him, knowing that he was intentionally glossing over the point. Sure, it was likely the battle would not have been avoided in any case if she'd confided first in the team, but they could've done better damage control. They could've watched out for her.

She crossed her arms, her spine stiffening. "I did what I thought was necessary. I'm not apologizing for it."

"Nobody's asking for that. What we need is to be on the same page, all of us, from now on," Steve said, arresting everyone's attention. The authority in his tone brooked no argument. "We're a team, we need to act like it, even if we have to act separately. Compartmentalization is not what we are supposed to be about."

The significant look he shot at Natasha could not be missed, and she at least had the grace to look a little chagrined.

Thor sat forward, folding his hands as he rested his elbow on his knees. "We are far too close to achieving the ultimate victory to be turned off the path now."

Steve nodded, scratching the back of his neck, flakes of dust and dirt coming away. "For now, let's just concentrate on the task at hand. We've got things to figure out, one of which being how we can drive out the rest of HYDRA."

"And get Strucker into custody," Bruce mumbled, unfolding his body and attempting to sit up straight. The effects of the lullaby lingered, though he was recovering fast. "Having him running around is more dangerous than anything. I shudder to think what he has planned next."

The silence that followed that statement was almost deafening. The evidence against Strucker was damning, and the possibilities of what else he could do were frightening. It was soon resolved that they would go through the digital files on Strucker and his closest associate, Dr. List, back at the Tower, and try to pinpoint most likely locations for the head of the organization to reside. When they separated, Clint and Tony took up the seats closest to the on-board television, intent on watching world broadcasts and sussing out public opinion on their endeavor, the others dispersing as they saw fit.

After a long moment spent staring at the screen, the flashes of the battle driving deep into his mind, Barton sighed aloud.

"Hell of a fight," he grunted, pressing against the leather of his seat. Once out of the fray, he began to ponder everything that he had seen, and something stuck out to him. "Cap was hitting a little harder than usual today."

Tony snorted gracelessly; though Steve was not particularly vicious, it was hard to ignore that fact. The captain was aggressive during the fighting, an extra pack to his punches and his jaw clenched tighter than normal. JARVIS had reported his elevated BP before they'd even gotten into the fray, so that was a tip-off. "You think?"

Clint glanced over his shoulder, discreetly eyeing up their leader as he leaned against the bulkhead, his back to them and somewhat out of earshot. "Wonder what's up?"

Tony kept his eyes focused on the mounted television, shaking his head minutely. "I'd say trouble in that little slice of DC paradise, most likely. Judging by personal experience."

"Maybe." Barton frowned, the feeling in his gut being that Stark wasn't entirely correct in his guess. "Doesn't seem right to me, though."

"Well, you would know. Given how many girlfriends I've seen hanging around over the last few years."

The archer grinned humorlessly. "Gracie Lou might be involved, but I don't think it's necessarily something she did."

The billionaire arched an eyebrow at him, lips twisting in a questioning smirk. He merely shook his head again, sighing.

"Don't ask."

"Whatever. Either way, I'm not getting involved in that," Stark remarked, shrugging his shoulders a little. "I've got my own stuff to worry about in that regard."

Barton chuckled then. "A lot of experience there."

At the other end of the cabin, Steve closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He'd caught smatterings of what they'd said, but he wasn't about to let on that he knew. At this point, they could speculate all they wanted. He knew the truth, and he would rectify the problem the moment he got stateside, when he got back home. Thor came out from beyond the kitchen area, having chosen to explore the new craft he was in for a while. Noticing the pile of clothes on the counter, he picked them up, a questioning glint in his eye.

"Friend Steve, are these yours?" he asked, proffering the bundle to Steve. Shaken out of his reverie, the captain nodded, a quick grin on his lips as he took them from him.

"Yeah, thanks." He'd intended to change right away, but it was too important to hash out the details of what needed to be done to do so. Now, when they had a few hours left before landing, he could do so. Shifting around the bigger fellow to find the bathroom cubicle, something from the pile dropped to the ground. The god was faster, snatching it up before Steve could do anything about it.

Thor's brow furrowed as he examined it. A blue bag, soft to the touch, a stiff object inside, he ascertained with a swipe of the thumb. "What is this?"

Reaching out for it, Steve frowned. "Nothing, Thor."

Sensing his comrade was not being entirely truthful, he smiled, holding it out of range. "I think not. Else you would not be turning that shade of red."

It was true; the captain was blushing furiously, trying his best to keep his composure as he was forced to swat for it. It was a game Thor had played many times as a child, keeping things out of Loki's reach, and he very rarely lost. Once Loki had learned to lash out properly, though, it had stopped. The commotion was beginning to draw attention, and Steve's jaw was beginning to take on a mulish set as he stood there, refusing to play along after a few moments.

"Thor...just give it back," he said, maintaining his dignity as best he could. His blue eyes were earnest, willing him to understand what he could not say, conveying how much the little bag meant to him. "It's important, please."

The sincerity in his actions compelled Thor more than anything else. Carefully, he handed it back to the captain, the relief in his face impossible to miss. Clasping a hand on his shoulder, the god gave him a gentle grin, his other hand clenched in a fist over his heart.

"Very well. I wish you joy of it, my friend." He glanced at the bag again, the corner of his mouth turning up. "Whatever it is."

Taking a shaky breath and swallowing, Steve glanced up at him once more before he turned on his heel, ready to get out of his uniform. "Thank you."

As he moved away, Thor glanced back, catching Natasha's eye. Settling her borrowed magazine in her lap, she raised an eyebrow at him and smirked.

"She better say yes," she muttered, low enough so that the god barely heard her. He turned to look at her fully.

"What do you mean?"

A smile and a flick of a page was her only answer.

xXxXxXx

Holly stood behind the couch, watching as Steve toyed with something and stared at the opposite wall. He'd come back to DC only a few hours before, the news of the Avengers' battle in Africa hitting the airwaves well before his arrival. She was so relieved and grateful that he'd come back safely to her, was stunned that he'd basically made only a pit stop in New York before he got on the road again. He was there, safe and sound, bruises on his body and knuckles, cuts on his arms and face, but still alive. The need for each other was undeniable when he arrived on her doorstep, sweeping her into his arms and driving them onward. Once the clouds dissipated, she found him holding her close, arms tight around her as if he were afraid to lose her in that second.

When they both rose and changed back into their clothes, she let him wander off, his intense gaze catching hers before he wandered off. Following him out into the living room, she hesitantly reach out, stroking a few fingers through his hair.

"Steve?"

He jerked his head around, attention captured. He leaned back into her touch, eyes closing briefly.

"I..." The words froze in his mouth, articulation gone in an instant. Gesturing to the open spot beside him, he waited until she was seated before taking her hand. A blue velvet pouch was transferred into it, and when she looked up at him, he merely nodded for her to open it.

Loosening the drawstrings, Holly could feel her heart thump a little harder in her chest. Turning it over, she allowed the content of it to slide into her palm. Tracing it with a finger, she turned it to face her. In simple gold, the ring formed two hands, a crowned heart clasped between them. Though it had been cleaned recently, it was clearly not a new thing. Swallowing hard, she took a shaky breath, recalling the name of this particular ring design from the back of her mind.

"A claddagh."

Steve nodded, eyes fastened on the jewelry in her hand. "My dad brought it over. It was in his family for years, and his mother wanted him to use it at the right time, when he left. No daughters to pass it on to, so it had to go to a daughter-in-law. And before my mom passed, she gave it to me. To use at the right time, to give it to..."

Buried in his personal effects, hidden away so deeply that nobody but he still knew of its existence, the ring had been recovered along with his father's Purple Heart and other such things, rescued from inquiring minds and prying historical societies. His mom would never want it on display, this treasure from her husband, from Éire. It was part of the family...the family that he wanted Holly to be a part of, entirely. Reaching over, he picked up the ring, taking her left hand in his, the slightest tremor racking through him.

"So, like I wanted to ask before..." He inhaled sharply, bright blue eyes locking onto her dark brown ones, hope and love maintaining him in that moment. "Will you marr—mmph!"

Hands had cupped his jaw, his mouth crushed against hers in a searing kiss. Sinking into it, he let a few seconds pass before he needed to break away, to breathe. To have an answer.

The happiness, the sheer joy in her eyes, was almost too much to take in, as well as the tears beading in her eyes. She didn't even hesitate with her answer, cutting him off before he spoke again.

"...Yes. Yes."

A/N: Alright, who order all the cheese and the corn? ;) Enjoy the fluff, my friends, enjoy it.

Holy cow, it took FOREVER to write about that battle. In comic canon, Clint was a major factor in it, so I did not want to take that away from him. So, there ya go: Clint's perspective. I hope I did alright with it.

I own nothing from the MCU. Any other film/television/etc. references, I don't own those either.

Claddaghs are beautiful rings; I have one myself, though I wear it more for pride in my Irish heritage than what it's actually supposed to be worn for. It can be used for engagement/wedding purposes, but it also lets people know whether you're single or taken, depending on which way you wear it and on which finger.

Also, January 19th marked a year since I started "At Day's End" and introduced Holly Martin into this corner of the universe (also made it her birthday). Happy one year!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!