Four and a half years ago, Berlin, Germany…
Peter was not amused with the arrow in his thigh. No, not amused at all. Flashbacks of a harpoon used by his newest trainer through his gut hit. He sucked in a breath as he ripped it out in a definitely against Hydra's combat medic training regulations sort of way, chunks of muscle caught on the serrated edges. If the ten-year-old wasn't the recipient of the weapon's carnage he'd be extremely impressed with the design. Especially if Hayate was its victim;
Alas, the thorn-in-his-side was in Osaka doing a cushy body-guard detail, while Peter was deflecting explosive projectiles in the middle of a Berlin data center. Sometimes being the best Asset meant drawing the worst stick and beating yourself with it. Hence, this mission inside a government guarded facility all alone.
The arrow was tossed aside as his opponent was taking things to close range. Cloaked in black kevlar and padding on key joints, Hawkeye faced him with the impassiveness of a spy doing his job, and that killing Peter would not be personal. Peter did the same.
Volleys of fists and legs met in battle, and on instinct Peter caught the bow that was swung towards his head, lunging backwards and snapping it over his knee. In the dark where only his enhanced sight let him see detail, the brown eyes staring at him narrowed in fury.
Peter felt he understood that feeling. When someone stole his favorite knife two missions ago, he let himself kill the woman slower than her comrades to attempt to retrieve it. Unfortunately it had been dropped into the Artic Sea on their flight from Peter's team. It had been a gift from his trainer, for surviving to be a full agent.
It was the only gift Peter remembered ever receiving, and the still human part of his brain latched onto it. He told himself he was better off having it taken so early in his career. No hindrances. No weaknesses. No. Attachments.
The story leading up to his intimate encounter with the arrow was a long one, involving running into one of the Avengers. His eyes would have widened in shock at the meeting had Hydra's intelligence not given him a heads up the archer was 'in the area, but not anticipated to be a problem' as his trainer had said.
Peter leapt over towers of computer servers, twisting like a corkscrew to avoid several knives aimed at vital organs. He landed on his right hand and springboarded backwards to a crouching position. Suddenly a sweep from the right had him landing on his back, left hand being used to block a knife determined to pierce his trachea.
'Not a problem, huh. First solo mission and I'm about to be stabbed in the throat by Hydra's number six enemy.'
He used his enhanced strength to crush the man's hand and found vindication in the slight yelp elicited as the bones broke. Peter did not let himself make a sound at such minor injuries. Even the knife being ripped out of his palm, the injury throbbing, caused no more than a grimace.
He kicked the older man off of him, who crashed into a server tower three feet away. Before the impact Peter was crouched on the opposite row's top, looking down. His gun, which he rarely bothered to use due to the sound, was cocked and aimed at the enemy's temple. Even the swiftest draw of the bow- which was snapped in half- could not compete with the sheer speed of a bullet.
They both knew it. Neither pleaded or tried to bargain, they were professionals.
The man, Hawkeye, grinned, feral. "You're pretty puny for a Hydra grunt," he mocked. "Don't they feed you on the dark side?"
Or not. Was this an attempt at begging? Or Humor?
Peter tilted his head, sensing the Shield agent was waiting for a response. Making conversation with the enemy was against Hydra's tenets of a perfect combat scenario. Agents were to be silent unless trying to glean information from the other side. Or if you were dying and shouting loyalty to the cause.
But Peter already had the disc he was sent to grab, information for his superiors taken, and he was far from expiring. There was no reason to speak, and really no reason to leave this Shield-Avenger-opponent alive.
For reasons Peter was unable to understand, he hesitated momentarily. At the sound of explosions in the next room- reinforcements, probably Shield's Delta team- he bolted to his own pick up spot.
Before the week was over, Peter was bleeding out in the Altay mountains following a search and destroy mission, and the brief fight with Hawkeye was pushed to the back of his mind.
Present Day, outside Casablanca, Morocco…
The warehouse, so much like London's despite being over seventeen-hundred miles south and a quarter of the size, had become their home for the past week. They had picked up a tail, Peter had snapped several necks, and Lila had cried over them at night.
So a week to let noise die down on chatter and relax was perfectly acceptable.
So was the chance to let his Bug almost forgive him. She had screamed at him and even lobbed a knife at his head.
(Peter would remember that fondly, that his apprentice had the tenacity and will to do such a thing).
But like most children, Lila had taken his spilled vomit of reasoning and come to the conclusion that he was not irredeemable.
She was too naive, a voice in his head mocked. She should run far away from him, or at least not still talk about him living on her farm and feeding her chickens.
Casablanca, an hour to the west, was the next convoluted stop on their quest to get Lila home.
Well, to the Avenger's tower in New York, that is. He felt that taking his apprentice to an isolated farm filled with traps was not the wisest course of family reunion.
At least he hoped there were plenty of traps. No one could be stupid enough to trust isolation to keep the monsters out, right?
Maybe he should stop by Lila's farm after this was over, just to test that they were good enough. He could even drop off gifts, as Lila loved stuffed animals.
Peter's chest tightened at that reality. Before the month was out, his Bug- no, apprentice, even if not really- would be safe with her family, away from this world he introduced her to. Safe from him. If he survived the pass off- and that was a submarine sized if- then Peter would likely never see, much less speak to her again.
Laughter to his side as Lila did a running handspring and landed in a perfect crouch (just like he taught her, his chest felt funny) took him out of his gloom. She turned to him, seeking his approval and tentatively saying 'I forgive you' with her eyes.
It was involuntary for a tiny smile of his own to meet hers. He was uncertain when he started smiling so much, but he found he did not mind them, no matter how many rules that had been pounded into him that it broke. He went against his training further when he copied her move and poked her shoulder.
"As you say… tag?"
Lila's eyes lit up as they chased each other, Peter telling himself the game that Lila had tried initiating last week was perfect training for placing targets on a fleeing target. She had held back tears when he told her it was too dangerous, that they were on the run, that playing games was a waste of energy when he had too much to teach her. Things that would actually keep her alive.
But she had practiced the knife moves without complaint.
Hydra said emotions were weakness, that they distracted and made an agent inefficient. Every traitor to Hydra had fallen - several by Peter's hands- and amongst the many reasons given, one was pounded in over and over: they let emotions get in the way.
They fell in love, and therefore it could be exploited.
They failed to realize the necessary sacrifices Hydra made, and thus wouldn't go all out in a fight to protect their lives while on the run.
But the cause of Peter's weakness had made him stronger than ever. He was beginning to believe that. He had to, that Lila was his strength.
She was the reason he fought so hard. She was the reason he hadn't curled up with a beacon in an alley.
'Soon she won't be with you though. And then what? What will you do? Papa is probably disappointed, too'. The childish section of his mind still focused on being a disappointment, of what would happen if his father learned of his treason. A worm inside tangled up and spit out fears of if he was doing the right thing. Lila was his world. Could he walk away?
'Might as well go on a shoot out with Hydra. They would put you out of your misery.'
Or could he stay by her side? Even in the shadows, perhaps?
"Pete?" Lila's voice shook a bit, and it was only then he realized he had frozen while on his downward spiral. Her brown shirt with butterflies was being twisted at the hem in her hands, a nervous tick he hadn't trained out of her yet. Or would; the limited amount of time he had left had to be spent on what would keep her alive, alive, breathing, not dead-
"I'm good, Bug; just listening for any visitors is all. Let's make this a real training exercise, though." He breathed out a few times as he focused on the lack of heartbeats in a quarter-mile radius.
She groaned. "Not training! We were having fun. Like I did at home with… with Cooper", she trailed off at the end.
He tried to work a mischievous smile on his lips, but it felt fake. Lila brightened up slightly though, so it was passable.
"I believe you will like this kind of training."
"You said that about knife throwing!"
Peter was affronted at the tone towards his favorite childhood activity.
"I thought you liked knife throwing."
Shield Black Site, Somewhere in Gibraltar…
Clint stood around the computer consol with the other agents, Natasha giving a debrief. The images were standard, ones he's seen- and inflicted- many times before.
But his daughter had been present for the inflicting of the the ones he was seeing.
"Spider has taken out several Hydra tails, including this H-5 squad, leaving them in a dumpster a quarter mile from here." A map with a pin replaced the broken necked men, men who were known to only be tasked with taking out Hydra defectors.
And a kid- no, an Asset- took them out with an ease few could.
And the security camera footage showed damning evidence of him actually caring for Clint's princess.
One doesn't cover hostages or those they're trying to train into assassins up with a jacket.
Clint wasn't sure why the thought of the kid- Asset- having a modicum of decency perturbed him so much.
"Our psychologists have assessed that Spider might be going through a breakdown," Natasha continued. "We are not sure why he is keeping this girl alive, or why he is acting like we would on a rescue and retrieval. But remember: he could snap at any moment. You have to be cautious, or when he does…"
Clint's blood freezes everytime he hears this part.
"He could take Lila with him".
That's why he felt worse than if she was a simple captive. Because maybe then her chances would be higher.
Park Ibn Msik, Casablanca…
"Rules" he asked, sitting on a park bench eating sugar coated peanuts, a common street food in the area. He scanned the pedestrians in the bright sun beneath tourist sun-glasses. Lila licked her fingers, having almost forgotten what sugar tasted like with the week of bread and peanut butter back in that warehouse.
"Stay with you. Stay silent. If you drop my hand, I go on the shipping container in port 46 and hide in one." She sounded displeased with the idea of doing that without him.
"And?" He prompted.
"And it will be okay because you'll be there soon."
"Like always".
"Yeah."
A sticky hand grabbed his.
That was three hours ago, and public transportation had been a close call with the hordes of people, but Peter held Lila in the back near a window, ready to lunge out.
They were walking through ornate arches that were older than Peter cared to think about, Lila glancing in wonder at the designs. Peter did not like that they were here, but it was the best place to catch a plane.
Mainly because of the small fact that he had never officially been here. Running through the city to steal a car and drive a hundred miles east to a safe house two years ago may have happened, but it had been kept off his report. He had omitted it back then because Casablanca was a known Shield stronghold before they moved north by several hours, and loyalties could be questioned. That Casablanca car had been one of four used that night, and no-one had questioned his report of only three.
Now he was grateful for his past self. Shield may still hold a base on the adjacent city of Gibraltar, but the sprawling metroplex was a confusing mess of ancient and modern.
Peter would rather take his chances of dying in a Shield interrogation chamber than running into Hydra any day.
They were dressed in more traditional garbs, the long robes doing wonders for Peter's arsenal stash. Lila walked next to him in an ankle skirt and long sleeves that covered her vice-grip on him. His grip was firm but as gentle as he could make it. All his senses buzzed as a man smelling of drugs and gun-powder shuffled past, fading only when he heard him turn a corner.
'Normal crime, do not engage' his mind supplied. It would not attract attention if he sliced his throat… probably. But no danger was being aimed at Lila, so he couldn't justify it.
As they came to a fork in the path, cobblestones and tall housing buildings boxing them in, Peter hesitated.
Going left would take them directly to where Peter needed to be to stow away into either a cargo plane with a pilot, or a cruise ship. They could take a cargo ship, his bag holding enough rations until he could steal more from the crew. Cargo ships were a last resort though. Something seriously had to be screwed up to go with that option. Peter had been in those containers before.
But right technically would let him lose any tail they could have picked up, one he could have missed. It would add six hours if the route his mind was already supplying was taken, and they wouldn't be able to leave for another day, but safety was paramount.
Peter knew there were no tails.
Peter chose the fork to the right.
Peter tried not to feel guilty.
Sixteen-hours later, in a shipping container…
Lila awoke to the sound of her own heartbeat. It was painfully loud, and almost as bad as the smell that hit her.
Must. Pain. Death. Blood.
She opened her eyes, the dim light from holes in the metal box she found herself in afforded little detail to what she was looking at.
But it was enough. There was a limp body that was still- too still- curled up in a sitting position. It was gripping a gun aimed at the door, and blood was drying in a pool below it.
She crept towards the body, ignoring any training and the confusion of the last day. She had to know, because she wanted it to be a Hydra monster, or another kidnapper. Lila's arm shook from fear and hunger as she poked a shoulder. The figure fell to its side. Please, this was a Hydra agent she prayed. It could not be-
"Peter!"
End!