Stark had been more than generous, Clint grudgingly admitted as he put away his clothes. He didn't like the reasons behind the move-in even if he had, secretly, wanted the Avengers to reunite. That Loki's wife was sleeping on the same floor as him made his skin crawl. Some part of him insisted that it would be better for him, for everyone, if he just slipped into the shadows and put an arrow through her eye. Then, there would be no need to worry, no need to lay awake at night and wonder what she might be planning, when Loki might return for him. Then Loki would have lost something precious to him.
As he shut the drawer, he glanced at the bow SHIELD had allowed him to bring with his belongings. It wasn't technically his, nothing was, but he knew every sinew, every fiber of the wood and metal frame like he knew his own hands. He knew the strength of the string and exactly how far back he would have to pull it to loose an arrow at close range. One little twang, barely even a sound, and it would be done. His last kill. If she died by his hand, his arrow, then Loki would find him and the nightmares would be at an end. And what an end it would be if he could manage it.
His eyes swept around the room, noting the distinct lack of personal touch. He had no past, he had made sure to let go of everything when SHIELD took him in. There had been nothing and no one he had wanted to hold onto. If he succeeded, and he was fairly certain he would, then Nat would be the only one to miss him and if he could secure the world against another invasion, then even the pain he would cause her would be worth it.
He ignored the little part of his mind that whispered doubts. If Sigyn was Loki's woman, then she would be like him and if she were like him then there was every chance that more people would be ensnared and hollowed out as he had been. Decided, he moved without a sound through the dimly lit room and snatched the bow up from its place by the door.
It was the triggering of one of the internal, silent sensors that roused his systems to full activity. Jarvis had tracked each occupant to their rooms and determined that they would have no further need of him before entering into his stasis mode. Running a quick signature scan, he registered that the heat output of the body matched that of Hawkeye, one of the tower residents.
Plotting the course he was on, Jarvis determined the man's destination. If he had been human, he would have scratched his head. The Hawk was not on course to the kitchen or one of the communal areas of the tower. Running the statistics, he came to a conclusion and made a search for orders concerning this kind of situation. Finding none, he activated the vocal output in the room that was the Hawk's destination.
She was roused by the steady voice she had come to identify as Jarvis. "Ms. Sigyn, please wake. It is important that you know another tower occupant is moving towards your room and carrying a weapon. Biological scans suggest that it is Hawkeye. What is your preference for dealing with this issue? Mr. Stark has input no specifications for circumstances such as these, but I am authorized to use lethal force to neutralize any threat."
Blinking against the sleep that clouded her eyes, she looked up at the ceiling. "Wha-" she started, her mind still trying to process both the unfamiliar words and the situation. Clearing her throat and pushing herself into a sitting position, she scrubbed the sleep from her eyes and asked, "What was that, Jarvis? I only caught the last half of what you said."
There was a moment of silence before Jarvis said, "I believe that Hawkeye-the dark haired male you met today-is coming to your room with hostile intentions. If you wish it, I can render him unconscious before he reaches you."
She hummed thoughtfully. "Will he be hurt if you do?" she asked.
Another pause and she guessed he was checking on the Hawk's position. "There is a ninety-three percent chance that he will not be harmed. Depending on how he falls, there is a seven percent chance that he will strike his head against the wall and cause damage to himself."
"Thank you, Jarvis, no. Allow me to first attempt to handle the situation and if I should fail then you have my blessing to do as you see fit," she said. There was no answer.
The door was shut.
Of course the door was shut.
Clint considered the door and the possibility that he would wake his target with the opening of the door, but the hall was dark and no light would be allowed in should he open it. He opened the door just wide enough and slid inside, closing it softly behind him. As the door clicked shut, he felt the coiling tendrils of the spell as it sank into his skin and held him immobile. Had he been able to, he would have cursed his own stupidity in forgetting that Loki had always set spells when he had retired.
There was a movement as a figure moved into the line of light cast by the moon. He couldn't see her face, didn't need to. If she was like Loki in any manner, then she would kill him for intruding and by his death, she would mark herself an enemy.
"Jarvis, lights please," she said and the room was suddenly bright with illumination.
Dark haired, fine boned, clothes a rumpled mess from sleep, and green magic sparking around her hands as she approached him. Fear lanced through him and he tried to struggle, to find a weakness in the spell, but his muscles barely twitched in answer to his commands. It was going to happen again, he was going to be erased and hollowed out and nothing but a puppet waiting for commands. He would have to fight Nat again. He closed his eyes and held his breath against what was to come, but nothing ever touched his skin. There was no touch of slender fingers against his heart as Loki had done, no reaching of magic seeking to rip apart the core and realign the parts to fit the need.
"You fear me," came a soft voice, not the one he had been expecting. The spell released itself and he stumbled forward, his bow sliding from numb fingers. Small fingers caught his shoulders and pushed him back before he could fall. He jerked away, a gasp ripping itself from his lips. Eyes flying open, he saw that she was closer than he had thought, and his gaze darted towards his weapon, but she stepped between him and it. "Settle yourself, Hawk. I've no wish of violence, but I will protect myself."
He swallowed convulsively, recalled the strength Loki had displayed against Thor and stepped back from her. Any element of surprise he might have been able to use would have been negated with her strength and the training she had likely received as an Asgardian. Her head tilted back to hold his gaze and he noted that she was nearly a full head shorter than him. Silence settled between them and when it stretched even further, he shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet.
A small smile curved her lips, but there was a strange kind of sadness that tugged at her eyes. It made him want to look away. "You are not the first to have attempted to kill me in the dead of night, Hawk," she said. "Will you tell me why?"
"No." It was past his lips before he thought about it.
She lifted one shoulder and let it fall again. "It is of no consequence," she admitted. "Merely a curiosity, but I find myself required to ask if you will be making another attempt. You owe me that."
"I owe you nothing," he ground out and the look on her face slid to one of bland consideration.
After an uncomfortably long silence, she spoke again. "You were hurt personally by Loki. That is usually the reason that assassins sneak through the night to kill me. To strike at him in an area that would devastate him and avenge the wrong they perceive was done to them," she observed dryly.
The tone of her voice, the delivery of such an astute observation made his mouth twitch. He stepped forward as anger nestled itself in his chest. "You know nothing of what he did. You've no idea what it's like to be unmade," he snarled before he could stop himself.
Her gaze was calm, almost tranquil as she met his approach. "Mind control, then," she said and he gritted his teeth. "That your mind is own now should tell you enough."
There was no thought, no plan, just a desire to move and corner her. When he leapt at her, she moved with him, placing her hands on his shoulders, planting her foot in his stomach, and launching him towards the bed as she fell to the floor. He landed on his ass, limbs sprawling ungracefully around him. The wind was knocked from his lungs and when he regained his scattered senses, he sucked in a grateful breath of air and blinked rapidly.
Her face appeared in his line of sight and though she looked slightly amused, he could see lines of worry pulling at her eyes. She knelt at his side, but he jerked away from her touch and sat up. They stared at each other for a long moment, then she looked away and rose gracefully to move back towards the other side of the room. That she hadn't done more than defend herself made him wonder, made him almost look at his own actions with disapproval. She was holding back, he realized, and he wasn't sure if that terrified him or not.
"Hawk, if he had wanted to keep you for his own, he would have made the spell permanent," she said when she was a respectable distance from him. "You have your doubts, I understand that. Ask Thor in the morning. He understands the principles behind most forms of magic. If that still does not satisfy you, then you may challenge me in any form of combat you wish. But do so in full view of your teammates so that they do not lose faith in you."
The pain that stabbed through him wasn't entirely physical. She had hit it on the nail. His team. He had been compromised once and they had taken him back with no real resistance. If Sigyn had killed him, he would have been beyond caring, but he wasn't and he knew that Stark and Steve wouldn't take kindly to a stealth assassination attempt on one of the tower's occupants and their opinions did matter to him. She was giving him a chance to retreat, offering him a way to keep his dignity. Clearly, he had chosen the wrong approach in attempting to kill her and maybe it was for the better that he had failed. He said nothing as he rose to his feet and collected his bow. There was nothing to say in the face of a retreat like he was making. Even if he did manage to kill her later, there would be no erasing the shame of this failure.
As he slipped through the door again, she said, quietly, "Hawk." For a fraction of a moment, he considered ignoring her, but then he paused and glanced back at her, waiting for her to say her piece. "I have been unmade in the fashion that was done to you. Pray you never meet Amora." He was good at detecting lies, had been trained by the best, and there was nothing in her body language, the tile of her lips, or the movement of her head that told him she was lying. Even Loki had had a telltale when he lied and the memory made his heart skip. She wasn't lying and wasn't that something new to ponder.