The New York Assignment

Eight

One week later, Clint stood staring at an old house in Kentucky. There was nothing special about the house or the neighborhood or the city. The perfect hideout. He couldn't believe it had been so easy to find this woman. It was almost like she'd wanted to be found.

He walked up the path to the front door and knocked. He'd prepared himself for whatever might happen on the drive there, and there was no going back. He was going to find Trick Shot if it killed him.

The door opened to reveal a tall, blonde woman with baby blue eyes and perfect curves. She wore a low, slightly transparent top and short shorts that showed off her gorgeous, long legs. A look of shock lit up her beautiful face.

"Clint," she breathed.

"Morse," Clint greeted.

"What are you doing here?"

"Let me in before I break down the door," Clint threatened. He wasn't going to take any crap tonight, not from her. He'd get his answers and get out.

"Sure," she said softly. She opened the door and let him in.

The first thing he noticed when he walked into her house was how clean it was. Modern decorations set a pristine tone. Everything was in whites, blacks, or greys.

"Can I get you anything?" Barbra asked. Her voice was a soft purr.

Clint turned on her. "Tell me about your boss."

She nodded. "I figured that's why you're here." She walked over to a white cabinet and pulled out a bottle and two wine glasses. "Want something to drink?"

He set his jaw and didn't answer. She poured two glasses of wine anyway. The red liquid made a stark contrast against the greys of the room. He watched her raise a glass to her lips and take a sip.

"Where's Trick Shot?" Clint demanded. She looked him up and down and he felt his face heat up.

"Why do you assume I know where he is?" she asked evenly.

"Because you work for him. Now tell me where he is!"

"And what if I don't?"

"I'll tear you to pieces until you talk."

She smirked. "Sounds fun." She closed the space between them until it was only a couple of inches wide.

Clint glared at her. "You played me once, Morse, you're not doing it again."

"Oh, neither of us believe that." She trailed a finger down his jaw. "Where's Romanoff?"

Clint slapped her hand away. Natasha's name left a harsh sting in his chest. "Gone." His voice barely quivered.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said sarcasticly. "So is that why you're really here? To get your mind off her? Well, I'm happy to-"

Clint grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the wall. The glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. He wanted to hit her but refrained. "Where. Is. Chisolm!?"

"You're cute when you're angry."

This time, he did hit her, right across the mouth. Her head snapped to the side. She wiped at the drop of blood on her broken lip lightly, seemingly unfazed.

"I'm through playing games!" Clint snapped. "Tell me where he is, or I'll drag it out of you!"

She sighed. "Fine. He's in New York, or somewhere around there. He's waiting for you."

"If you're lying-"

"Why would I? I hate the man as much as you do."

Clint scrutinized her for a long minute, before letting her go and taking a step back. "What's his game?"

"To get at you, of course." She smirked. "However he can. He's going to destroy your reputation, kill the people you love, and then kill you. He's been planning it for a long time."

Clint ran a hand through his hair. He had to kill him. That was the only way. Find him, and kill him.

"I missed you."

Her statement caught him off guard. He looked at her. There was nothing but sincerity in her eyes.

"Wish I could say the same," he spat.

"Yeah, so do I." She paused. "Hey, why don't you take a load off? SHIELD won't find you here."

He shook his head. "I can't."

She walked back to the coffee table and picked up the glass of wine. "You can stay a little while." She held the glass out to him.

His eyes moved from the glass to her tan legs, then up the rest of her body, coming to rest on her eyes. She seemed sincere. And when she did betray him... well, he was expecting it now. His mind screamed at him to get out of there... but he was so tired and so sick of being constantly on guard.

"Lord, help me say no to this," he muttered.

She shrugged. "Why? It's just a glass of wine."

After several moments of arguing with himself, he gave in. He took the glass of wine and sat down on her couch. He took a sip.

Before he knew it, over half the bottle was gone. Bobbi leaned forward and kissed him, and he let himself get lost in the kiss, his fingers tangled through her hair.

___________________________________________________

Natasha put her head in her hands. Her head hurt, right behind her eyes. She'd poured over the files and examined them from every angle she could. There had been two more murders since Clint had disappeared. Fury was breathing down her neck. She'd done every trick in the book to make him believe Clint was still there with her, even seeking Stark's help again.

Her phone rang. She answered reluctantly. "Agent Romanoff."

"Where's Clint?" a familiar voice demanded.

She sighed. "I told you, Coulson. He's here, with me."

"You know, there was a time when you trusted me with things like this."

"Phil, he's here with-"

The front door opened and Coulson walked in. He gave her a soft smirk, and hung up the phone, putting it back in his pocket. Following behind him was Edith Barton.

Natasha groaned. "What are you doing here?"

"Where's my son?" Edith asked.

Natasha looked at them for a long time. She knew the secret was out. She was out of time. "I... I don't know."

"That's what I thought," Coulson said. He closed the door and walked over to Natasha. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"Because you didn't stand up for him! You've been distant ever since the battle!" Natasha shouted. She was scared, and Phil knew it.

"Relax," Edith said. "We're not going to tell SHIELD. The three of us should be able to find him, right?"

"Five of us," Coulson corrected. "Captain America and Stark are in on this, too."

Edith rolled her eyes. "Great."

Phil sat next to Natasha and placed a comforting hand on her back. "Why don't you tell us exactly what happened?"