Nick Fury truly has a gift for knowing something before everyone else finds out.

I had told no one that I planned on returning home after all these months – I hadn't even initially planned it at all if I were to be completely honest. One moment I had been sulking back to my car in defeat, preparing to leave the empty warehouse in Belgium behind me and move on to find the next possible lead. The next, I was back in my motel room hastily packing my bags, feeling more than ever that home was where I needed to be right now.

It had been a last-second decision, yet he still managed to figure it out.

Whatever it was that he had travelled all this way to talk about, he wanted to do so away from prying eyes and eager ears. So, we quickly moved to the front porch, forcing Clint to usher the younger members of the Barton clan back inside, promising to push them on the swing in the morning before school. With the kids distracted with television and books, Fury and I stand and sit respectively on the porch, a sense of anticipation filling the night air between us.

The sun has well and truly set by now, and crickets chirp and owls hoot in the inky blackness of the night sky, the air surprisingly warm and pleasant for this time of year. With my back pressed gently against the back of the bench I currently sit on, I can make out the dark outline of the two sheds down the road and hear the odd car drive down the highway in the far distance, their headlights like bright beacons in the night sky. I keep thinking that one of them might be Laura returning from a long day at work, but none of the vehicles have yet to make the turn down the long and windy driveway.

With my arms crossed lazily over my chest, I regard the Director of SHIELD leaving casually against one of the white pillars holding up the roof above us before me. He almost bleeds seamlessly into the dark night with his clothes – I swear to God, I've never seen the man dressed in anything but his black uniform and signature leather trench coat – but the orange haze from the front light above us is enough to illuminate his silent presence.

Drumming my fingers against the side of my arm and deciding to be the first to break the prolonged silence, I ask, "Are you here with an assignment?"

"I take it that your recent search didn't end as well as you hoped."

A spark of annoyance ignites within me at his decision to ignore my question altogether, and what exactly it is that his words imply. "Have you been spying on me?"

"Of course not."

"Then how the hell did you know that I would be home today?"

His lips purse as he is caught out on his lie. "… think of it as keeping tabs on you and your endeavours."

I hold back a bitter laugh. "That's invasive."

"It's a precaution. You went missing on us once already, Hathaway. I'd rather avoid that misfortune happening again."

Now it's my turn to purse my lips. Despite how genuine he sounds – or is trying to sound, at least – there's a part of me that doubts that what he's saying is the entire truth. This is Fury, after; the world's best spy, the least trusting person on the face of planet Earth. The man always has ulterior lies which he tries his best to conceal with more agreeable lies, and can be ruthless at times in achieving what his mind is set on. He may claim that spying on me was him acting in my best interest, but in reality, I can't help but think that in some way, he got some benefit out of doing so as well.

However, it seems that he has no interest in allowing me to fish for the truth, as he drops this conversation altogether and settles for a new one. Pushing away from the pillar and clasping his hands behind his back, he starts to slowly pace up and down the length of the porch. His footsteps are heavy and his one good eye is cast out towards the empty fields beyond the porch. "So. Another dead end?"

"Pretty much."

"You got some other leads to work on?"

"A few."

He slowly nods his head as he comes to a sudden stop. With his back facing towards me, it's impossible to get a read of his face and decipher what it is that is running through his mind at the moment, but he makes it abundantly clear when he says, "All these months with no real evidence or clue as to where to look or who to look for… you ever think about just giving up?"

Irritation irks me at his words, and I have to clamp down hard on my tongue to avoid anything too brash slipping from my mouth in response. A part of me has never really forgiven him for calling off the search for my captors when he had. With countless people and resources at the tips of his fingers – he was the Director of an intelligence organisation, his sources are practically unlimited - he has the means to continue trying to hunt down these people. But he had abruptly decided to stop one day without offering me any real explanation past the whole 'we're not finding anything' spiel. It's no secret that Fury is relentless – he is more than capable of achieving whatever he puts his mind to, and he doesn't care how he does it. Never one to give up either, his sudden surrender had thrown me.

And it had stung more than I would like to admit as well. A loyal agent since I first enrolled into the academy, who had risked her life in more ways than one for the organisation and its cause, and this is what I get in return.

"I probably should," I eventually bite out, trying – and failing – to keep the bitterness out of my tone. "But then again, who is going to try and help the hundreds of other captives – kids, that they took with them that day that Clint found me?"

The realisation that there are still other people who had been taken like me and are still likely being held against their wills and tortured for some scientist's sick glory is probably the only thing that has kept me going after all these months of disappointment. I had once been one of these kids, and I can still remember the countless nights that I had to lay awake in my tiny cell, hoping and wishing that someone would miraculously come and rescue me, taking me far from all the sweat, blood and tears and bring me home instead.

That hope, fortunately, had become a reality for me. I was lucky enough to have a very determined uncle, after all. But to everyone else stuck in that hellhole, it remains nothing but a fading fantasy, any hope of being found and brought home slowly slipping from their fingers with every day that passes. If I can save them in the way that I was saved, then I will try to do so with every fibre of my being.

"Is that why you're here, Sir?" I question. "To try and convince me to finally stop?"

"I'd have better chances of winning the lottery, Hathaway. But no, it's not why I'm here."

"Let me guess; an assignment."

It's a statement, not a question, but he confirms it with a jerk of his head. "I need you to find someone for me."

"Who?"

"Bruce Banner." '

My brows instinctively furrow, and my head tilts to the side at the sound of the foreign name. Fury says it as if it holds some great significance but to me, it doesn't ring any bells. Whoever this Bruce Banner is, I've never heard of him before in my life. "Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"He's a former professor at Culver University, and a scientist that specializes in nuclear physics and biochemistry," Fury reveals. "He was pretty damn good at his job too. But unfortunately, he's spent the last two and a half years as a wanted fugitive; and he's still on the run."

"So you want me to bring him in for questioning."

"Not exactly."

I remain silent, allowing him to have the chance to elaborate on what he means by this, but it never comes. He only stares off into the distance, leaving me to only guess whatever it is that he's keeping from me. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the long and dramatic silence, I give a small sigh instead. "What aren't you telling me?"

He turns around, expression grave as always. "Almost three years ago, Bruce Banner was conducting experiments at Culver under the supervision of Thaddeus Ross, who happens to be the Lieutenant General of the United States Army. During the testing phase of the project they were running, there was an explosion, and Banner was accidentally exposed to an immense amount of gamma radiation."

"So, you're sending me off to look for a ghost?"

"What do you mean?"

"Gamma radiation is hazardous to any living organism. If this Banner guy really was caught in the middle of a gamma ray explosion, and a big one at that, then he shouldn't be on the run; he should be dead."

Much to my bewilderment, Fury only offers a wide smile, and I swear that I can detect a hint of excitement in it. "You're right; it should have killed him. But it didn't. It changed him."

Leaving me to stew in my own puzzlement, he reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls something small out of it. Before I can lean forward to get a closer look at the object, he tosses it towards me. I recoil back and raise a hand just in time to catch the object which is sleek to the touch. Opening my palm, I discover a small, grey USB waiting for me. Frowning and fiddling at it with the pads of my fingers, I ask, "What's this?"

"That's everything that we have on Banner," Fury says. "Files, surveillance footage, known locations – including his last one – and old contacts of his. This right here is going to help you find him, and make you understand what happened to him as well."

"Why not just save me the effort of having to search through all this and tell me what happened yourself?"

"Because you wouldn't believe me if I told you, Hathaway. Not without proof, at least."

Taking his word for it – but still finding this whole situation puzzling at the same time – I hesitantly pocket the USB in the back of my jeans, knowing that I wouldn't be able to resist looking at it later to discover whether there is any proof to the Director's words. But at the heart of all these confusing circumstances, there's still one question that wouldn't be provided with whatever it is that waits for me on the small device; why the hell am I tracking Banner down in the first place?"

"You know, you still haven't made it really clear as to why I'm being sent to go after this guy. If I'm not bringing him in for questioning, then what exactly is it that I'm meant to be doing?"

"It's a need-to-know basis."

I shoot him an unimpressed look. It's the higher-ups at SHIELD like him that have always taught the younger recruits and new agents to approach an assignment from every angle, knowing what it is that you're getting yourself into to better prepare for whatever the assignment may bring. It's the best way to get the job done without getting yourself killed, but here he stands, wanting me to willingly accept the assignment without telling me the details himself, but rather relying on a little computer appliance to fill in the blanks.

That, and he won't even tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do with Banner once I find him.

"I don't mean to sound rude here, Sir, but I'd like to know what exactly it is that I'm getting myself into here," I reply as calmly as possible.

"And you will; eventually," Fury assures me. "There's a right time and a place, Hathaway, but that time and place isn't right here or right now. Rest assured, you'll have your questions answered in the end. But for the time being, I just need you to find Banner, help him with any mess that he's currently stuck in, and pick up the phone when I call."

The unamused expression remains on my face long after his last reassurances flow from his lips, and I'm not at all comforted by his words in the slightest. He seems to realise this, as he lets out a heavy sigh and holds up his hands, almost in a silent surrender. "I know it's not ideal, but trust me when I say that it will all eventually make sense, alright? Time is of the essence here though. Like I said, that USB has his most recent whereabouts, but considering how there are some unwanted parties on his tail, I don't how much longer he'll stay there."

"Unwanted parties?"

"Thaddeus Ross – the general that was having Banner do the experiments in the first place? He's been trying to find him non-stop since the day he took off. He's determined to bring him in and will stop at nothing to do so."

"Should I be concerned?"

"Only if he manages to catch up to you. And if he does and I were you, I would be limiting the usage of your powers in front of him," Fury warns, and I can't help but stiffen where I sit. "Ross has been known to be quite power hungry, and has a bit of a fixation when it comes to people with certain abilities."

A shiver runs involuntarily down my spine with his words, and for the first time, it suddenly dawns on me what exactly this mission will mean for me if things go south. If Ross wanted Banner because of some sort of ability that he has (judging from Fury's warning and cryptic words, I assume that this is correct) then there's no telling what he will want from me if I manage to cross paths with him and he sees what it is that I'm capable of. I've managed to stay out of the limelight ever since returning home with my new elemental abilities, and I would very much like it to remain that way. Taking this mission might jeopardize this, however.

"If that's the case, then why not send someone else?" I question. "Someone who can keep a low profile – like Nat?"

"She's currently preoccupied with an assignment for me in Tokyo," Fury reveals. He opens his mouth as if to further elaborate just what kind of work he has Nat doing, but he is cut off by the sound of tyres slowly rolling across some gravel. The two of us simultaneously turn towards the sound and are greeted with the sight of two headlights in the distance as a car travels down the dark driveway; Laura is finally home.

A bright smile almost splits my face in half at the thought of seeing my Aunt after so long and I pull myself off the bench, sensing that my conversation with Fury will quickly come to a close. My suspicions are right as he hastily asks, "What's it going to be, Hathaway? You willing to do this or not?"

I refrain from scoffing. "Do I really get a choice, Boss?"

The corners of his mouth flicker up in amusement, though I can detect some relief in there as well. "How soon can you leave?"

"Give me a day to go over everything on the USB and figure some stuff out."

He nods, happy with this answer. "If you need any assistance, then ask either myself, Hill or Coulson; no one else. I need this assignment kept under wraps as much as possible, understood?"

I pointedly tilt my head towards the front door of the farmhouse where somewhere beyond Clint waits for me. He wouldn't like me taking off so suddenly after briefly coming home, and he would demand answers; answers which I would happily give. There's very little I would keep from my uncle, who has practically raised me my entire life and who has become my best friend in many ways, and Fury knows this. In the past, if I ever needed help with an assignment that was given to me, then Clint was always someone I would go to first for help. If I really was accepting this one, then it wouldn't be different to any of the others.

Taking the hint, Fury makes a small noise which is somewhere between a frustrated groan and an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Barton too."

My smile turns into an evil grin which he glares at, but I am saved from a lecture about the importance of secrecy by Laura slowly walking up the porch steps. Her light brown orbs flicker between Fury and I with surprise; we were the last two people that she would have expected to be on her front porch that night, I'm sure. I can't help but notice there's a warmth in them though when her eyes land on me and my grin softens back into a gentle smile.

"Hey, you two," she greets almost uncertainly, liking picking up on the underlying tension between the two of us. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine, Agent," Fury nonchalantly says before I can get a word out. "Just business, as per usual."

She shoots me a questioning look but I only offer her a shrug – despite Fury's warnings, I would also be informing her of all this later. She and Clint were a joint package, after all, and the former agent of SHIELD has proved many times that I can also rely on her if I ever needed to.

Understanding the hidden meaning behind the gesture, she lets it go for the time being and turns back to Fury. "It's good to see you, Nick. But I'm not an agent anymore," Laura reminds him not unkindly.

"Sorry – old habit," he says with a rare and genuine smile. Never one for small talk, Fury decides then and there that his time here at the Barton farmhouse is done. Nodding his head towards both Laura and I, he moves past Laura towards the porch steps that she had just walked up, and begins to descend them two at a time. Stopping on the last one, he turns to shoot me one final look. "Good luck, Hathaway. And remember - "

"Don't worry, I'll call," I promise.

Satisfied, he gives a small jerk of his head before taking off once more, trench coat flaring out behind him dramatically. Laura and I silently watch him go until he disappears once more into the night, not a trace of him left behind.

Laura lets out a slow breath. "Well, that was unexpected," she remarks, before turning to shoot me a warm smile. "Hey, honey. How have you been?"

"I've seen better days – but I'm happy to be home," I reply, before moving forward to pull my aunt into a tight hug. She welcomes the gesture and reciprocates it with a hug of her own, her dark, loose curls lightly tickling the side of my face.

"Another dead end?" She asks as we pull away. I only offer a sad smile, not particularly wanting to delve into the details of yet another failure once more. Her mouth turns down in displeasure. "I'm sorry, Lyd."

"It's fine," I brush off, hands dropping to casually slip into the back pocket of my jeans. My fingers brush over the small USB still in the left one. "Looks like I got back home just in the nick of time anyway."

"Yeah – what was all that about?"

"It's a long story – I'll explain it to you and Clint once we're inside."

And with that, we move into the warm house, closing the front door behind us. There sound of multiple light feet slapping against the floorboards trails down the hall as Cooper and Lila rush excitedly into the entrance where we stand, the two children happy to have their mother home after the long day. A chorus of greetings and laughter fills the air as Clint appears as well, a soft tenderness that he seems to reserve for only Laura at times on his face as he leans down to peck her lips. Lila and Cooper make noises of protest at the sight, making Clint plant more over her scrunched-up face.

I hang back by the door, a warmth blossoming in my chest at seeing my whole family together once again after all this time. It helps ease the feelings of failure from yet another dead end and unease from my chat with Fury and ultimately has a welcoming calming effect on me. Yeah. It had definitely been the right time to come home.

As if sensing my gaze, a grinning Clint lifts his head and his crystal blue orbs land on my silent presence by the door. He tilts his head in a questioning manner but only wave him off with my hand. "Fury's gone," I reveal. "I would have thought that you would say goodbye to him. You know, with him being your honey and all…"

His face flushes as red as a tomato. "I thought it was Laura!"

"Sure you did."

"What's this about?" Laura turns to ask.

"Your husband was shamelessly flirting with Fury tonight," I'm quick to tease, biting my lip to hide an evil grin as Clint is left a sputtering mess at my words. "I think you might have some competition, Laura."

Laura tips her head back to allow a bubble of laughter to seep past her lips, while Clint waves a finger in my general direction trying his best to fight an embarrassed grin of his own. "You're a shit stirrer, Hathaway. You know that?"

"She's a what, Dad?" Cooper pipes up.

"Nothing," Laura is quick to reply, any and all traces of humour on her face fading as she shoots a sheepish Clint a look of both amusement and exasperation, not noticing how I hide a snicker at his expense behind my hand.

Yeah. It's good to be home.

The rest of the evening passes in peaceful bliss. Lila, Cooper and I spend some time together out in the yard before I eventually head in to help Laura with the dinner. As we flutter about with ease and in perfect synchrony with one another, I relay the reason behind Fury's visit with both her and Clint between chopping vegetables and slicing meat. The small USB sitting in the bottom of my pocket starts to feel heavier with every mention of it, but I resist the urge to duck upstairs and plug it into the laptop just yet; I want to spend time with my family. Especially when there's no telling when I'll have to leave to find Bruce.

Dinner is filled with laughs and cheer, the atmosphere warm and the food tasting delicious – Laura has always been the best cook I've ever known – and the five of us chat about our days and reminisce about simpler times and fond memories. Once we are full to the brim with food, Laura ushers the kids to bed while Clint and I clean up in the kitchen.

Soon after, I clamber up the rickety stairs and collapse on my bed, dragging my laptop with me. Sitting in front of it now with a pen in my hands poised over a notebook balanced on my lap, I plug the USB in and proceed to open each of the links and files that the small device contains.

Three hours. It takes me three hours to read through every new article and classified files presented on the screen before me, and I have to say, the content that I'm reading seems like something plucked straight out of a horror story. Or the beginning of one, at the very least.

Explosion Incident at Culver University: Two Dead, Three Critically Injured. Images of the wreck of what was once a laboratory, but resembles nothing of the sort in the black and white stills that flash across the screen. Newspaper clippings about some green monster and even green sasquatch sightings from all over the states. Something about laboratory equipment and information being uncovered from the sight. A militia request for the usage of Stark Industries weapons was approved. Manhunts travelling all over the world, ranging from populated cities to more recluse areas. Images of Bruce fill the screen – a man likely in his late thirties to early forties, with shaggy brown hair and a tan face with gold-brimmed glasses. A list of his known relatives – both parents deceased, a younger cousin alive and studying law – and a woman known as Betty Ross keeps popping up here and there as well. Apparently, Bruce tried to get in contact with her several months after the accident.

Raising a brow, I quickly scribbled the name down with the rest of my notes, but making sure to underline it; I might need to contact her regarding information on the elusive Bruce.

But the worst of the lot is easily the last, classified file; the security footage from the day of the explosion at the lab, three years prior. Wanting answers more than ever, I drag the mouse over the file and eagerly click away.

It's strange seeing the laboratory put together and in one piece after digging through the photos of the aftermath of the accident. Equipment is spread out everywhere, and there are two separate spaces divided by a protective glass. A tall woman with flowing dark hair and wearing a white lab coat stands on one side of the glass, and I immediately recognise her from the photos that I had sorted through before; it's Betty Ross. She must have been working with Bruce on this project.

She smiles at a figure sitting in the middle of a white chair of some kind, and I quickly realise that the figure is Bruce. While there is a nervous tint to her smile, Bruce seems entirely at ease and even relaxed, offering her a brief wink before the chair whirs to life and begins to tip back. It's almost scary to see him so calm when I know that in a few moments, all hell will break loose somehow.

Sitting as still as a statue, he stares straight ahead as a smaller, white machine passes over his eyes. There's a green flash and Bruce's scream of agony echoes through the air, before the lab and everyone in it disappears momentarily in a blinding, light.

For a moment, nothing but smoke and shouting fill the screen, but it's too hazy for me to be able to make anything properly out. Narrowing my eyes, I lean forward to inspect the screen but immediately recoil back when a huge, green and bulky figure appears through the smoke with a thunderous roar that chills me to the bone.

What the hell?

My jaw hangs open like a snake as I watch the figure pull the remains of the chair from the ground as easy as picking up a small child, before throwing it carelessly through the air. The screams of shock and pain that follow in its wake inform me that it's hit people and sure enough, when the smoke clears, nothing but crumpled, bloody bodies remain; including Betty Ross.

I watch in horror as the green, hulk-like figure stomps through the debris until it comes to a stop over the bodies, towering over Betty's lifeless form. Whether or not it wants to finish the job off or help her I don't know, but I never find out. A man with thinning, white hair dressed in military clothing that is stained with blood suddenly appears out of nowhere and throws himself over Betty, covering her body with his own. He screams wordlessly and holds up a hand as if to try and ward the figure off. To my surprise, it actually works. With one last raw it tears from the room by crashing into the wall below the security camera, consequently knocking it off the wall. It falls to the ground and the screen goes black on impact, leaving my silent and more than stunned from staring at the blank screen in front of me, unable to draw my eyes away.

Holy. Shit.

Jesus Christ.

What the hell did I just watch?

Fury had certainly been right about one thing; there's no way that I would have believed him without any proof.

I don't know how long it is that I sit in front of the laptop trying to process everything – minutes? An hour? – but it's long enough for someone to knock gently on my bedroom door. Finally dragging my attention away from the screen, I see Clint's face peering at me through the crack. "Hey," he softly greets, likely trying not to disturb the sleeping children down the hall. "Just about to turn in, but I wanted to check on how you're doing. Find anything yet?"

Wordlessly, I drag the mouse over the screen to restart the video, pausing it before it can start to play. Flipping the laptop around, I beckoned him to come deeper into the room. "Come see for yourself."

He frowns, but nevertheless moves forward without complaint, stopping just short of my bed and bending down to peer at the screen. I lean to press the space bar for him before retreating back, keeping my eyes glued to his face for the entirety of the clip to try and gauge his reaction. His features scrunch up with concentration but it isn't long before other emotions sweep over him in tidal waves. Confusion, horror and then, finally, shock, his eyes as round as saucers and threatening to pop out of his head as the screams and crashes filter from the laptop's low-quality speakers.

He blinks once, twice and then a third time, mouth parted like mine had been moments before when I first watched it. It isn't until I reach forward and push the laptop screen down that he finally weakly comments, "That – that thing is Banner?" When I nod my head, he lets out a small squeak. "How?!"

Finding my voice for the first time in a while, I reply, "I don't know the exact scientifics behind it, but he somehow managed to survive the exposure to the gamma radiation. How it turned him into this though – " I cut off with a confused huff, throwing my palms upwards.

"Fury wants you to find this thing?"

"No – he wants me to find Banner," I correct, flipping through the notebook still balanced on my lap, eyes scouring my neat scribbles until I find what it is that I'm looking for. "According to what I've read so far, it's Fury's belief that Banner isn't stuck as this… whatever it is, forever. Rather, he can change between both it and his human form, though how and why he reverts back into it he doesn't know. There's a whole lot of blanks that need to be filled in here…"

"Maybe he should find someone else to do them," Clint says darkly. When I throw him an incredulous look at this, he continues, "You just watched the video; you know how dangerous this assignment can be. It could go sideways at any minute – "

"And if it does, then I will be more than prepared to protect myself," I firmly interrupt. I hate what those bastard scientists did to me, I really do. I never asked for my abilities, and there's a part of me that will probably always resent them and the constant reminder of what I've been through. But I would be lying if I said that there wasn't a part of me that feels grateful for them, in a sense. They've made me able to protect myself and help others in ways that I never dreamed of before. And Clint knows this too.

But it seems now, he isn't entirely convinced. Running a hand down his tired face, he offers, "I can come with you?"

I start shaking my head before he even finishes speaking. "You've got some time off. You need to be here with your family as long as you can before Fury drags you back in with another mission."

"Well, you're my family too," Clint fires back. "And I'm not gonna lie; the thought of you taking off to find this guy worries me, alright?"

His voice cracks on the last word and it's almost as if an invisible barrier falls down at the word. All the worry that he has been trying so hard to conceal since I first told him that Fury had come all this way for an assignment seeps onto his face for me to see, and I watch as his shoulders deflate, almost in defeat. It's enough to tug painfully on my heart, so I move further onto the bed and tap the free space left behind for him to sit on.

He moves without complaint and it isn't long until he settles on the mattress beside me, leaning on the edge so that his elbows rest on the top of his thighs. His fingers fiddle together almost uncertainly, and it isn't until my eyes drop down to my lap that I realise that I'm doing the same; one of many habits that I have picked up from him over the years, it seems.

For a few moments, we sit in complete silence, left to quietly stew in our own troubled thoughts to try and get them together before we could talk reasonably. But I can't help but think that our thoughts revolve around similar troubles and conflicted emotions. I know that his words and concerns stem from a place of worry for me, and the last thing that he wants is to see me hurt. It's been his duty to raise me and keep me safe since I was twelve years old, but if I were, to be honest, he's been a father to me longer than that – practically since the moment I was born, really – so he can't help but feel the need to try and protect me now. He knows what I am capable of and that I can protect myself if need be. But there will always be that whisper of a voice in the back of his head that will feed to him seeds of memories of me as a helpless child in need of someone to look after her.

I love him for it. I really do. With my cold and distant relationship with my mother and no biological father to count on, a caring and nurturing parental figure has been what I needed all these years. But he must realise that I am a grown adult now; I'm old enough to make my own decisions, including this one.

"I wouldn't have taken this assignment if I thought that it was beyond my capabilities," I quietly admit, finally breaking the silence between us. "I know that you're worried and I appreciate the concern, I really do. But this is my choice, OK? If things turn south even just a little bit, I'll step back and call you. I promise."

Clint just shakes his head, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly flicking upwards. "Jesus," he murmurs, no real bite to his tone. "I forget just how stubborn you can be at times; just like your mother was."

My mouth automatically presses into a thin line at the mention of her. She might have clothed me and kept a roof over my head for the first twelve years of my life but other than that, I have nothing really nice to say about the woman.

He lets out a weary sigh before leaning back, hands clasped firmly together in his lap. "I take it that you're going to leave straight away if you get a lead," he says.

I duck my head, causing my loose, blonde waves to fall in front of my face and conceal the victorious smile that threatens to spread across my face. "Pretty much," I admit. "There's a part of me that doesn't want to leave so soon. But the quicker I leave, the sooner I will be able to track him down. Besides that, this Ross guy – the one who's been chasing him for the past few years – wants Banner. Badly. I have to find Bruce before he has the chance to beat me to it and do God knows what to him."

It doesn't take a genius to put together the pieces of the puzzle here. If Ross was really as power-hungry as Fury claims, then it's safe to say that he would love to get his hands on Bruce now that he can turn into that green thing. I can't help but think that it's all connected to the army as well, with Ross being the Lieutenant-General. Whatever the case, the sick pile of dread sitting uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach tells me that it isn't good.

"Do you even know where to look?"

"Rocinha, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. According to Fury's notes, he works in the local bottle factory there."

Clint just nods his head, a faraway look on his face that suggests to me that he is only partially listening to this conversation, if not at all. I follow his gaze and I am surprised to see that he is looking at my six-string placed almost unforgotten in the corner of my room, dust coating the dark case like a second skin. I haven't touched it in the two years since I was first taken in Greece, albeit not necessarily just by choice. I've been pretty occupied with chasing down any leads that I can get my hands on, after all.

"I can't remember the last time that you played," he mutters almost sadly.

Since well and truly before Greece, but I don't voice these words out loud to him, fearing that I will upset him more. It hasn't just been me that it has been hard on in the past year; it's Clint too. He hasn't ever really forgiven himself for not finding me sooner, and I know that there is a part of him that never will. The guilt has continued to stew uncomfortably inside of him after this year, and it doesn't help that things hadn't miraculously turned back to normal when I first returned home as well. He had to deal with a traumatized me who had struggled to find proper control over my abilities. Back in the facility, I could only use them for a certain period of time, thanks to the depressant drug the guards had so eagerly injected into my arm after every experiment session. Back home, I had my powers twenty-four seven and there had been more than a few accidents where they had spiralled beyond my control.

Including the incident with Cooper…

I squeeze my eyes shut and give a small shake of my head, refusing to allow my brain to waltz down memory lane; especially as one as painful as that. It wouldn't help present circumstances in the slightest.

"For whatever reason, Fury wants me to handle this assignment," I instead try to reasonably point out. "I don't know why, but it's not like I can turn it down – he's my boss, after all. But I'm going to try and get back home as soon as I can, alright? But I have to do this assignment. I have to find Bruce – whatever it takes."

He finally turns to look at me at this, a sad smile tugging on the corners of his lips. "Yeah. I know Lyd," he acknowledges quietly. "That's what I'm so worried about."

36 HOURS LATER

The only bottle factory in Rocinha looms in front of me where I stand across the street, my hair pulled up and tied away from my neck as a sticky heat coats the air, making my clothes sit uncomfortably against my skin. The building itself is large though run-down, with multiple amounts of the windows panes missing their glass, and graffiti splattered across the white bricks in colourful patterns. Readjusting the strap of my duffel bag so that it no longer digs uncomfortably into my shoulder, I stifle a yawn as I continue to look at the building. It has been the third plane ride for me in a matter of two days, so the jetlag is slowly starting to catch up with me.

Drowning out the noises of bustling pedestrians, cars honking, bike engines revving and the faint sound of music with cheery, jazz undertones that trails softly through the air, I look both ways before darting across the street, weaving through the slow traffic with ease.

I avoid heading towards the main door, knowing that the place is probably locked for the night, but doesn't take me long to find the entrance, or a back one at least – one rickety, little door that is thankfully unlocked on the other side of the building. Pushing past it, I find myself standing in an empty locker room with blue lockers and dirt-covered, cream walls. Half of the lockers hang open and there is a stale scent of body odour hanging in the air, and it takes everything within me not to gag at the smell. It's enough to make my eyes water, however, but I press on not particularly wanting to stop now.

I take all of three steps before a door on the other side of the room swings open, and a short man with greying hair steps forward, his crinkled, dark eyes glaring at me. Judging from the old, blue suit he wears, he might be in charge of the factory. Or, at the very least, one of the higher-ups that work here.

"Ey!" He exclaims with a disapproving wave of his finger. "Fechamos há duas horas. Você não deveria estar aqui!"

We closed two hours ago. You're not supposed to be here.

I suddenly feel very thankful that Portuguese was one of the few languages that I decided to learn during my SHIELD academy days. Though not fluent, I understand and can speak the basics.

I hold up a hand to signal him to wait just a moment before I reach into my coat pocket with the other to pull out a now crumpled piece of paper. Unfolding it, I hold it up to show him a photo of Bruce Banner that I had found and printed off the Culver University page. It's more than likely that since going into hiding, Banner has been using different aliases to cover his tracks, so I don't bother to ask the man if this is Bruce. Instead, I explain, "He's my primo. Meu primo – estou à procura do meu primo. I'm looking for my cousin."

The man steps closer at my words until he's just mere feet away from me. He leans forward and pulls the gold-rimmed spectacles down on his nose as his eyes narrow while he looks at the picture. It doesn't take long for his eyes to light up with recognition, and a wide grin spreads across his face and threatens to split his face in two. "Yes!" He exclaims in heavily accented English. "Yes, he is the best worker here! He lives … " he then trails off in a torrent of Portuguese at a pace that has me blinking owlishly at him.

"Mais devager!" I plead. "Mais devager, por favour."

After what feels like an eternity, I am finally able to comprehend the directions that the man is giving me, and I thank him before leaving both him and the bottle shop behind. The journey is mostly uphill, unfortunately, and makes me sweat even more. The streets are vibrant with life, however, and it is enough to spur me onwards. People crowd the streets and talk cheerfully to one another, while some set up stalls and trade goods, the clothing colourful and the smell of the food mouth-watering. The music that flows from the instruments plucked carefully by the artists that have parked themselves in the middle of one of the streets thrums through my veins, and I can't help but stop and watch as a small group of people come together to dance, with laughter on their tongue as they swing their limbs in time with the music.

But with the beauty comes the poverty, and unfortunately, Rocinha is filled with it. The people – especially some of the smaller children – could do with a bit more meat on their bones, and there are beggars lying around every corner. The shanties stacked almost carelessly on one another reach almost eleven stories high and fall apart in some places, and the streets are almost considered overcrowded with people. It's truly saddening to see, but I can easily understand why Bruce would choose to come here; it's easy to blend in and hide with so many other forgotten, lost souls.

It takes me just over an hour to climb the steep, everlasting hill and climb a few more stairs before I reach Bruce's small home. A sigh of both relief and exhaustion seeps past my lips as I reach up to thud a fist against the door, the bag on my shoulders feeling heavier than ever.

I'm left to stand in silence for almost a minute before the door opens a crack, and a pair of dark eyes peer through the small gap. They narrow when they land on my exhausted, sweaty form. "Who are you?" He asks warily, not daring to open the door the whole way. "What do you want?"

"Are you Bruce Banner?"

"I don't know who you're talking about," the man is quick to say, panic lacing his tone as he attempts to shut the door in my face. As quick as a flash, I raise my hand and splay it out, a huge gust of wind spiralling in front of me and causing the door to swing backwards, almost taking the man with it. With no barrier between the two of us now, I am delighted to see that it is in fact Bruce that I have been talking to. His dark locks are a lot longer than they have been in any photo or video clip I have seen him in, and his skin has a brown, tropical glow to it, though he looks far from healthy. He's quite lanky, wearing clothes that look almost two sizes too big for him, and he is in desperate need of a shave.

Nevertheless, I can still see traces of the man he once was in him now. And thankfully, he's not big and green either.

"How – ?"

"Dr Banner, my name is Lydia Hathaway. I'm not here to hurt you, I promise. I'm here to help you."

He steps back, fingers clenching and unclenching by his side in a nervous fashion, his eyes darting from each and every corner of the room as if trying to find a way to escape. "How – how did you find me?"

"It's a long story and I'm happy to sit down and explain it to you, but I need to assure you first, that I am in no way, shape or form associated with General Thaddeus Ross – "

His face turns as white as a paper at the mention of Ross, a bone-chilling fear taking hold of his face. "You know about Ross?"

"I know almost everything – including the lab accident at Culver University almost two years ago." He flinches at this. "Bruce, I promise that I'm not here to hurt you or bring you in. I need you to believe me when I say that after seeing everything that happened that day of the accident, I'm here to help you in whatever way I can."

"You can't help me – "

"We won't know unless we try, Doctor."

He shakes his head, his dark locks swaying to and fro with the movement. "No. No, despite whatever it is that you believe, I can't be helped. You need to leave. Now."

I can't help but let out a huff of annoyance at this. Feeling like I could drop at any minute due to my extreme fatigue, my clam façade slips ever so slightly and cracks of irritation begin to seep through to my surface. "Look, I get why it is that you don't trust me, alright? But I'm not just about to turn around after coming all this way without at least explaining myself and why it is that I'm here. I'm tired, I'm hot and I want to sit down for five minutes and get this damn bag off my shoulders. If you give me just an hour of your time, I can do all this and tell you everything at the same time. And I will tell you everything, so it's honestly a win-win situation for both of us here."

A silence follows my annoyed spiel, and the firmness in both my tone and words leaves no room for discussion with Bruce. I meant what I said; I won't be leaving anytime soon until I have told him everything that I have to. Still, I let him believe that he has the choice here as I leave him to ponder cautiously at my words, his hands continuing their nervous gestures by his sides.

A minute passes. Then another. Just as I'm about to run out of patience and once again reiterate my words of assurance, he reluctantly negotiates, "Half an hour. That's all you're getting."

"Done deal." With a slow nod of his head, he slowly steps to the side, allowing me entrance into his small home. It's pretty small with the bedroom, kitchen and living room all meshed together, and plates of tin keeping the walls up, but the few potted plants scattered here and there give it a rather homey feel. I make a small noise of relief as I drop the bag from my shoulders with a thud, and immediately make a beeline to the worn sofa in the far corner of the room,

No sooner have I sunk down into the rough yet welcoming furniture, Bruce stands before me with a fierce untrusting look on his face. "Tell me everything you know."