So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name along with a place to post suggestions.

Don't forget to check out the Photobucket album listed on my profile page too.

DAY ONE

CHAPTER TWO

TUESDAY, MAY 1ST 2012

1719 HOURS

NASA & S.H.I.E.L.D JOINT DARK ENERGY MISSION, WESTERN DIVISION, PROJECT P.E.G.A.S.U.S

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

NORA ELAINE

The walk to the lab was quick and uneventful, unless of course you count his success in talking me into bringing him some more of those delicious country apple dumplings he is so fond of. I did negotiate a small truce though, that he could only have them after I saw him sit down and eat all of his lunch. He agreed, reluctantly of course. He also asked if there was a chance I would be willing to make that particular lunch too? I told him maybe next time.

That conversation took about is long is the walk, so with that bit of business taken care of, and the fact that I'm not allowed more than a few feet into the giant room itself without an escort due to my level one clearance, we said our goodbyes for the night, and he went back to his work.

Sans my purse of course.

I had to remind him to give me that back, because his mind had already gotten distracted by science and mathematical equations. He is very focused on his work, it's like a switch is thrown every time he is in this room. I'd even say with the level of dedication he puts into his research it might be akin to his own version of the Holy Grail.

Now with that out-of-the-way my attention turns toward the ladder leading up to the ceiling, and the other major half of my end of the work day routine. My rather unpopular 'big brother'.

Clint isn't actually my brother in the biological sense of the word. He isn't even a brother by some marital connections. We have no true family link between us, but I can't think of a more appropriate term for our relationship then that. He's more than a best friend, but less than a lover. I've never been able to think of a better label than brother.

He is of course way up in the scaffolding, in what the scientist's have not so endearingly dubbed the 'nest'. It's where he spends most of his time when he's on the clock, because according to him it's apparently the best vantage point to see what's going on as if that makes any sense.

It's also where I intend to go, that is at least if he says it's okay.

Now of course I'm not going to shout up at Clint to ask. As amusing as it would be, mostly for him, it would leave me down here with some very irritated scientists and personally I don't want that.

Fortunately for my well-being one of the first things S.H.I.E.L.D required me to learn was basic military hand signs. So I ask him if I'm allowed up there right now or not, using the motions 'me' and 'come' to form the question.

The response I get is a very Clint like one. Without turning to look down at me he returns hand signs of his own, and I have to repress the snicker that almost makes its way out. He told me to 'hurry up'.

After getting one of the guards at the entrance to escort me through the room to the ladder I situate my messenger bag sized purse so it rests against my back, and isn't in my way I make quick work of the ladder up to his perch. Clint finds its amusing that I need to prepare to climb a ladder, I think it would be less amusing if I fell and died because of my preference for this giant cloth sack.

By the time I reach the top of the perch I find that he doesn't seem to have moved at all, unless of course you count the fact that he has started twiddling his thumbs in apparent impatience, and is wearing a small smirk in response to my slight scowl. "So you know they think you're drugging me again." It's an observation, not a question.

That sentence to an outsider with no knowledge of him would sound like extremely out-of-place way to start a conversation, and to someone who has heard of him, probably even a dangerous thing to say to an agent like Hawkeye. Coming from me however, it's not directed at Hawkeye, just Clint and it's perfectly normal. In fact it's so normal it even makes his smirk turn into more of a grin. He doesn't reply though, he just pats the spot next to him is he continues to watch the scientist go about their tasks.

Following his suggestion I do just that and quickly regret it. I don't know how he does this every day, for hours at a time. I've only been doing it for a few seconds and already I've don't it long enough. This grating that makes up the platform can't possibly be comfortable to him, it certainly isn't to me. I even try sitting exactly like he does, it doesn't work. "And I hate your inability to cramp. Again."

"It's because you haven't learned the secret yet. Again." He throws back with a little bit of a chuckle as he watches me settle into a state of uncomfortable next to him. "So what am I giving you this time hmm? Is it anything good?"

I just tilt my head at him with a small but growing smirk. "An empty bento box to start with." That at last earns a quick laugh from him. Then he finally decides to move part of his body. His arms leave the metal railing in front of him as he twists to the side and produces the object in question that has up until now been hidden by his mass so he can hand it to me.

This is the tradition we do. I fill the small stackable tin container with is much dried food is I can fit in it and give it to him so he has something to eat during his long hours up here. I also make sure it isn't too salty or spicy because he isn't supposed to leave his post more than a few time a day. I have three bento boxes I use for this, so we can exchange the empty one for a full one, both in the morning, and in the evening and I still have two to fill for the next day.

Once we make the trade I set it on my lap, raising my legs just a little to make sure it doesn't roll down the slope of them and fall. I wouldn't want to even think about the trouble that could get me in, the noise alone would scare the scientists straight out of their skin.

Then, when I'm quite sure it won't go anywhere I twist around a little, and pull my bag back around to my side. It takes me a few seconds of groping blindly in the black hole that is my purse, and I once again find myself wondering why I even like this thing so much. Sometimes it is just so much work to find what I'm looking for in it.

I forget all about that annoyance just as quickly as I always do though when my hands finally feel out the shape I am looking for, and succeed in freeing it from the depths.

It's handed off to Clint quickly, but for the time being it only takes up its usual spot at his side. A full Thermos is also exchanged for his empty one in the same manner.

Once he has them he decides its his turn to dig for something, but in his case its information. "Nora, your breath smells like a banana muffin?" His question doesn't have anything to do with him having doubts about his nose, it has more to do with the finicky nature of my stomach. "Yes Clint, I took my prednisone before I ate them like a good girl." I throw back rolling my eyes with a grin at his big brother concern. The doctors say I have a minor sulfite sensitivity so I'm not supposed to eat things like vending machine muffins but did I mention HE introduced me to them?!

"So?" For a second the question confuses me a little, then I remember the question from not even a minute ago. "Oh right. The other drugs 'you're giving me'. Uhm, I'm not sure. I mean, if you're slipping me things to make me hang out with you I hope their good. I think I deserve at least that much."

This time the laugh is a longer one. "Oh yeah..." I can see his shoulders shaking a little even as he manages to mute the sound.

It was really irritating at first to both of us. But I think it bothered him more than me, because it was always 'he did something' to me. He was always the villain. There's just this belief here that a girl like me and a guy like him shouldn't have anything to do with each other, and the fact that we do must mean something is wrong.

A belief I unfortunately know Erik has had a large hand in perpetuating.

But we've both reached finally the point where we just don't care anymore. Yes it's still irritating sometime, but the fact of the matter is we're friends, more than friends even, and we don't need to justify that to anyone else but ourselves. If they can't understand it that isn't our fault or our responsibility to make them.

Now it's mostly something of a joke to us because really it shouldn't be so impossible to believe, and some of the reasons they come up with are just absurd. "...I only get the best mind altering substances for you kiddo."

I finally give up my latest attempt to find out just how Clint stays comfortable sitting like that, and opt for laying down and stretching out instead. It makes it at least a 'little' less uncomfortable I think. "So..." I trail off as I fold my arms under my head to pillow them so the grating isn't gouging into the thin skin of the back of my skull. "... boring is usual then?"

From this angle I can't see his face very well, but I can still see his cheek muscles crinkle up at the edges with a smile. "You sound disappointed."

My response is a silent shrug, one I know he will still somehow catch even with his back to me just because history has proven that to me many times. "I am."

As I continue talking I let my eyes drift over the ceiling. "I mean, we have this super cool piece of space tech..." They eventually notice a rather distinct looking pock mark in the ceiling above us, and begin forming a story to its existence.

"...and all they do is poke it all day. That has to be so boring." The story I was forming turned into a question, and one I still can't come up with the answer to, so I just ask. "Did you blow up the ceiling by any chance?"

"You are aware..." There is a pause and a chuckle when I ask that question at the end before he continues on. "...that we want the 'super cool piece of space tech' to stay boring right? Boring is good."

"Boring is boring." I fire back, now holding up one of my fingers and phantom tracing the small crater out of my reach, trying to see if somehow I can pinpoint the epicenter of the supposed blast. Maybe if I study it carefully enough I can even figure out what arrowhead he used.

I let my arm fall back down in limp disappointment when he tells me that mark was already there. Then letting out a sigh because I was sort of becoming attached to the idea of Clint pulling a Robin Hood moment, I lift my legs up, and pushing them against the lowest bar use the force to pivot my body back into a sitting position. "I was really starting to enjoying that theory, thanks a lot."

I can see him smirk at that, his eyes once again pinpointing some minor detail I can't see. "You're welcome." That earns him a fake huff. He then informs me that this is apparently a 'bow free zone' for a reason, which makes up for my disappointment, because I can bet it means he probably thought about it too, or maybe even did something like it once.

This is why I like Clint so much. Most people don't understand it because all they can see is his reputation and his job description. They see him as nothing except one of S.H.E.I.L.D's assassin's. But I knew Clint before I knew that word, let alone the meaning of it. I know the Clint behind that shell.

When he isn't on the job he's a lot less serious and unapproachable, unfortunately he is on the job most of the time here and he wears that demeanor like it's a cloak made of Kevlar when he is working. His job doesn't exactly encourage the idea of making friends in the work place, most of the time it requires him to be intimidating and depending on the orders, perhaps fatal as well. Unfortunately for Clint's social circle, even if he says he doesn't care about it, scaring people is a thing he seems very good at.

But if they could just hear even one of our conversations and see him smile they'd know why I swear up and down that he isn't always as bad as they think. They would know why 'innocent and sweet Nora' chooses to spends her time with 'him'.

"Uhn..." Those thoughts die is I feel the invading force of another one of those pulsing twinge attacks push its way up behind the bridge of my nose, prompting me to try and knowingly fail to massage it away. "Another headache?"

Letting my fingers drop away in defeat from the bridge of my nose I glance at his profile yet again and shake my head. "More like a dull throb this time."

It's no secret that I've been having headaches semi frequently ever since I came to this base. My body just can't seem to come to terms with the desert environment out here, or it's just stubbornly refusing to. So every once in a while my head ends up suffering because if it.

That response gets a small albeit unconcerned nod from Clint. He knows it's nothing very serious, only an annoyance that warrants some aspirin every now and again which is why he suggests it in his own unique way. "You're almost out, I have some."

"No thanks..." That earns a curious look from him. Clint has one the greatest attentions to detail I have ever seen and sometimes I just can't figure out how he knows the things he knows. Like right now, when it's a little creepy how he knows the number of pills in my bottle. "...I still have enough for a dose." I tell him, receiving another of his casual shrug is I twist back around to dig them out of the oversized bag at my side.

After the few seconds of blind searching my fingers recognize the rough texture of its snap on cap, and the sound of the pills shifting in the small plastic container reach my ears. Then wrapping my fingers around its shape I pull it out. "See, I ..." But suddenly end up throwing it as those words terminate and I shriek out, "SWEET JESUS CLINT!"

I turned around, only to find he has given up him human statue routine and his face is now less than an inch from mine, scarring me enough that I almost jump out of my skin.

His recovery is substantially quicker than mine. Even while laughing at my expression he manages to rescue my falling bottle of pills by catching it with the top of his foot and kicking it back up into his awaiting hands. His exceptional eye - hand coordination that allows him to be such a great marksmen extends to his other appendages is well.

"Careful butter fingers." He says, still looking at me directly instead of from the side with that giant self pleased smile on his lips.

"You're a jerk, just for the record." I tell him as I catch my breath with a glare. That only makes him laugh as he tosses the pills back to me. "Just for the record..." He grins even more and holds up his hand is he makes a point of shifting each finger. "...that's five times."

This is a little game of his, and one I never actually agreed to either. If he can catch me off guard ten time, I have to go out for a beer with him. As much as I hate that he's right, he is. He has gotten me like that a few times since I was reassigned to P.E.G.A.S.U.S and it's horrible. He shouldn't be able to do that. I'm not a jumpy person. Or at least that's what I keep trying to tell myself.

The moment kind of comes to a standstill for both of us though when a note of static echoes from the radio at his hip, and is then followed by the familiar and irritated voice of none other than Erik. "I'd appreciate it if she continues breathing Mr. Barton. I would be hard pressed to find someone 'willing' to replace her."

My initial reaction was just a look of blank surprise is I realized he was sort of implying I did the menial labor nobody else wanted to do. It only gets worse when I see Clint roll his eyes, snatching the radio off his belt to deliver a snarky reply. "My apologies, Doctor. I'm not done with her yet, and you've already had your turn today so you're going to have to wait."

Hearing that, I can't stop the small bout of giggles that form which gets me a grinning wink from Clint. This isn't really anything new. Erik has radioed up here to check on me before, and after the first few times of taking it seriously, Clint began to find it annoying, and decided that nothing is his assignment objective said he had to humor the doctor so he began to toy with him instead. As for me, it isn't like I can really stop either of them. I Should know, I've tried.

With that in mind I just let my eyes roll knowing this might go on for a while and sort of just filter the conversation out. I take the time instead to deal with my early issue of the throb that if left alone will end up growing into a headache, and pop a few of the aspirin, chasing them down with my bottle of tea.

Only I end up almost choking on it when I hear a particularly attention catching sentence from Clint. "You don't need to worry about my influence Doctor, it won't start kicking in for at least another ten minutes." I can't believe he...!

My outrage about him playing on the rumor that he is drugging me, especially at the specific instance when anybody looking can see me taking some pills is a little delayed by more choking, thanks to the now half melted aspirin that is lodged rather aggressively in the back of my throat. Ugh, god it burns!

His entirely unsympathetic reaction to my distress that he caused only makes me more upset. As I let out a sort of gagging hiss, he just turns to look at me with a raised eyebrow and snickers with a poorly repressed laugh. That earns him a small plastic projectile aimed at his head, which he of course catches with infuriating ease.

"Try gargling." He suggests, finally showing some humanity even if he's still wearing that annoying smirk. The suggestion earns him a suspicions sort of scowl, which only makes him grin more. He just wants to see me make another funny noise, I know it. "What? It will help. Trust me."

That just makes my eyes narrow yet again, and his expression becomes even fuller of false innocence.

I do it though, just because it's starting to feel like the aspirin's going to melt through my esophagus soon. And much to my annoyance it works, and makes him look far too pleased with that success.

"Oh shut up" I growl at him a bit hoarsely, letting out something of a cross between a cough and a laugh at the end. "And give me the radio." I need to tell Erik I'm fine, I just forgot how to use my throat for a second.

He surrenders the little black block of technology without a fuss, dangling it in front of me by the antenna before I snatch it from him with anger that is about as genuine as his look of offense.

"Nora?" I disregard him for a second as once again I hear Erik's concerned voice coming from the radio. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah..." My throat decides to make me cough again right there. Seriously, the Universe is ruining my credibility today... "Everything's fine" I tell him as I do a quick check below to figure out which one is him down there, not that it's hard considering he is one of the few who isn't in uniform or a lab coat.

"Clint's just being difficult..." I turn my eyes to him at that point with a 'I dare you to say something' look. It only succeeds in temporarily silencing him because the idea that I could actually shut him up is ludicrous. "...and I swallowed an ASPIRIN wrong. Don't worry, really, everything's fine, promise."

There is a moment of silence on the radio, and the fact that he is too far away for me to see his expression doesn't help me judge the situation either. Neither do the words that he finally does send over the radio. "Put him back on please."

"What?! Why do you want to talk to him again?!" My response is a rather quick and passionate one, but I am justified in that annoyance. It seems like when it comes to my well-being, my opinion just doesn't count. I said I was okay! Why is that never enough?

My reaction naturally prompts another one out of Clint first. "What, now people can't talk to me?" Since he has been so dead set on being a smart ass through this whole conversation I give him smart ass remark back. "No, now shush."

Apparently however that was the wrong thing to do. His eyes widen in surprise for a second, then narrow in annoyance. "Nora..." Even his tone sounds a little dangerous. "...give me the radio or I'm gonna tickle you."

It's out of my hands and airborne before he can even finish that sentence. "Here ya go!" I say back quickly is I squeak out that sentence with a voice that belongs in a body half my age.

He just grins for a second at my frightened nervousness, then goes back into serious 'Kevlar cloak' mode. "Barton here."

Erik doesn't offer so much as a semblance of a greeting back. Instead his voice sounds stern with some warning edge in there as well. "I'd like to remind you, Agent Barton, that as the lead scientist on this project, she is part of my staff and so are you. So when you are 'done with her' I'd like her back, with all her pieces still functioning and accounted for if you think you can manage that."

I can tell this time that it is less amusing and more annoying to Clint, it's even a little annoying to me. I understand Erik's concern but I trust Clint and that should be enough for him. "I'll do my best 'sir'" He offers back, his building distaste for my scientist friend showing and if I'm totally honest even I am getting a little tired too of possessive over-protectiveness he's developed since I came here.

If Erik had a reply to that last note of sarcasm neither of us heard it. Instead the next sound from the radio was a small click, and the little green light from it fades out. It won't stay off for long of course, but just long enough to get the message across.

"That old prick deserves a muzzle." I won't tell him he shouldn't call Erik that, or threaten him either. Another automatic response I don't verbalize is the reminder that Erik is just trying to look out me. I don't say any of these because I know Clint knows this already. He's told me himself that he is glad I'm making friends and that the old man cares about me, which just makes Erik's behavior even worse.

"Natasha might have a few you could borrow you know, they're probably sized for Tony Stark though" Is the response I give him instead. It succeeds in getting the reaction I hoped for, the annoyance leaves him for his amused smile once again.

"And that, my little coffee girl, is why you're so awesome." He says with a chuckle giving my shoulder a playful nudge.

I give him a fake pout as I proceed to smooth out the nonexistent flaw of my uniform. "I'll have you know mister, that I am no mere coffee girl. I have been trained in the fine art of never decaffeinating, by the great Goddess Caffeina herself." I even go so far in my silliness to stick out my tongue.

For a few seconds his response is just blinking, then his mouth forms into a lazy half smirk. "I think they're right. You're definitely on drugs" I can't even pretend I'm offended by that, and trying to suppress the laugh that bubbles out of me is even more impossible.

"Now get out of here oh Priestess of Percolation." He chuckles. "Go home and get some rest."

I nod, standing up stretching out as my feet settle on the flat surface under them. I really don't know how he does it, but I'm glad I don't have to. Secret or not it would drive me nuts.

Re-adjust my bag over my shoulder and against my back before I make my way back down the ladder I offer up a few more parting words in the form of a very important question. "Oh yeah, want anything for dinner tomorrow?"

Wednesday is one of the two days a week he gets the evening off so he usually comes over to my house for supper and to just relax for a few hours. Even a highly trained super assassin needs time away from people who hate and or fear him every once in a while.

I can see him think about it for a moment, then he just shakes his head. "Nah, surprise me. Whatever you make, it will be good anyways."

That earns him a chuckle and a nod. "Alright then. Surprise it is. Oh, and Clint? Don't work to hard."

He doesn't answer me back verbally, opting for a snort and half-hearted wave instead as his attention drifts fully back to his job and I begin my descent down to the lab below and beyond.

Reaching flat ground once again I don't miss the way Erik's eyes seem to be looking higher than his screen, even if his head hasn't lifted with them. I offer him one last wave goodbye, but follow it with an over dramatic motion telling him to get back to work.

The security guard who met me at the bottom of the ladder doesn't miss it either by his grin, and as we reach the doorway I realize neither does Tina given that she is audibly chuckling.

She is one of the scientists that we have from NASA working with us, and part of Erik's personal team.

As usual she has her blond hair pulled up in a neat bun, and her spotless white lab coat buttoned up without a wrinkle present. According to her she likes to present a professional image in the work place. According to me it's because of the 'academic crush' she admits to having on Erik and that it might just be a little more than academic. "He is watching you leave again, let me guess..."

I nod back with a small smirk. "Their harassing each other, as usual." I say with a smirk. "Try and keep him on task please?" Erik is far less likely to annoy Clint if he is kept busy.

Her smile says I have nothing to worry about even if her words don't. This isn't the first time Clint and Erik have butted heads, nor most likely the last. It's also obviously not the first time I've asked Tina to do this favor for me. I'm not sure if we've known each other long enough to call it friendship yet, but we certainly get along just fine when we run into each other.

But then our few free seconds in passing are used up, and I let her get back to entering the lab. She still has to get to work on schedule and doesn't have time to stand around talking to me in the hallway.

I too have things I need to get done. Getting out of here is top on that list, followed closely by a mini debate about whether a bubble bath or a movie marathon as my relaxation method of choice tonight. That will be the last major decision of my evening before I go to bed tonight, which I will settle during my car ride home. Hopefully.

NOTES FOR THE READERS:

This is going to be part of a series, which is obvious since I listed it is such, but in terms of chronological order, this takes place as the 5th story in the series. As you read on I am sure you will come to understand why I started the series at this section of my characters life.