ladydeathfaerie: (Dare)
[personal profile] ladydeathfaerie posting in [community profile] marysuevirus
Title: Drops of Crimson: Hunted
Fandoms: set in the world of the Mutant Sues, this fic will have characters from the X-Men, the Avengers, and one Mutant Sue
Characters: Remy LeBeau, Clint Barton, Alasdare "Dare" Scott, a few others
Rating: going with a mild R rating.
Warning: sex, bad language, explosions, fire, and Dare. should be reason enough
Disclaimer: i do not own anyone from the Marvel universe. Dare is mine, but you don't want her. honestly. girl's a mess. i swear i'm not making any money from this. i just do what the sick voices inside my head tell me to. i write purely for my enjoyment. and possibly the comments. please don't sue, harass, or bother me. i have no money to pay you, but i do have a really nasty temper. and i know some good cuss words.

Author's Note: this whole thing stemmed from not being able to focus on any of my other projects. shocking, i know. i asked [personal profile] cathryne for a pairing. she handed me Remy and Clint. the rest is all me. Daz will recognize the title and some aspects to this fic, because the idea for it came from the Sueniverse and involved different Sues. but i loved the darkness of that world and someone has gotten really fed up with being ignored, so he came screaming at me with this. gee, i wonder who that could be.

Summary: "You got somet'ing dat belong to me. You gon' give it back to me. Or else you gon' suffer de consequences."

Drops of Crimson: The Index

The girl was hiding in a burnt out house, behind a pile of rubble that kept most of her hidden. He'd only found her because he'd heard the sobs. Eyes darting furiously from left to right, he carefully picked his way across the scorched concrete slab of a floor toward the spot where he'd seen a flash of skin in the shadows. His fingers were cramping from the grip he had on his weapon, but he wasn't about to let go. Not until he got himself and the girl locked safely behind the bunker's walls.

The world was in chaos. It seemed like an odd statement, coming from someone who had been at the forefront of trying to end the world's chaos, but it was the truth. And this chaos... They were having a hard time beating it back. People were disappearing at such alarming rates. Civilians. World leaders. His friends. People he'd known for a long time, people he loved and respected. People he considered family. He'd been lucky, thus far. If you considered surviving in a vastly expanding waste land surviving. But he was realistic enough to know his luck would eventually run out.

"Don't be afraid. I'm here to help," he said softly when he'd gotten close enough to see the profile of the shivering figure that had caught his attention. A smear of black was hidden behind the debris. Black clothes, black hair. Face turned to the corner and hidden from view. The girl had curled up on herself in an attempt to make her as small as possible. He couldn't even tell if he was looking at an adult or a child. "I won't let them hurt you. I promise. But we've got to move. They could find us at any moment. I've got a safe place to hide from them."

The head turned slowly, showing him the pale curve of a cheek and one eye. Hard to see what color it was in the shadows, but he could see it looking at him. It went wide, for a moment making him worry that one of them had snuck up on him. But then the face was turning toward him and he felt shock ripple through him. "Dare? Dare Scott?" he asked quietly, almost letting go of his bow.

"Hawkeye," she replied, voice hoarse and rough. As if she hadn't used it in a good long while.

"I thought... We were told you were missing. Presumed dead. Or worse. We were told Westchester and the school were hit first. How are you alive? How did you survive?" he asked, letting his gaze scan the area once again.

"Fire," she told him. Right. She had the best weapon in this fight at her disposal. He wondered how many of her friends and classmates she'd had to use it on.

"Come on. We can't stay here. They'll be back. We need to get out of the open before that happens," he coaxed, hoping that his tone was gentle enough. He held a hand out to her, the other keeping hold of his bow and the grip he had on the arrow. It wasn't the best weapon to fight them with, but the arrows had been specially crafted with real wooden shafts and the arrow heads were coated in silver. With those arrows and his abilities, their enemies didn't stand a chance.

She hesitated a moment, her eyes searching the shadows for any sign of movement. But she finally put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her hands were cold and shaking, eyes wild with fear. Dirt and soot smudged her flesh. He thought he caught sight of a bruise there somewhere, but it was hard to tell with the oily smears and the darkness. "Stay close. Be ready with your powers. If any of them come at us, burn them to ash. Don't stop until there's nothing left.

She nodded and fell in behind him, far enough back that she wouldn't impede his actions if he had to fire his bow. He started forward, bow once more at the ready. His fingers itched with the need to release an arrow or six, to put an end to a few of the bastards before they found their next meal. He was certain, with the pyrokinetic X-Man at his back, they'd make it to his shelter with little trouble.

The night was still and silent as they crept along, trying hard to stick to shadows. It wasn't always possible, with so many buildings having fallen victim to flames. Back in the beginning, people had panicked and had set fire to any building that they suspected harbored any member of this new plague. Any time they heard a noise, they halted their forward movement and faded into a shadow to wait. Not that it would help. The bastards could hear their heartbeats. Could smell their blood. But the shadows gave them a sense of security in the dark that was hard to come by these days.

Their journey took them the better part of half an hour to make, mostly because they stopped and hid for a time when something caught their attention. By the time they reached their destination, his muscles were tense and sweat ran in rivers down his spine. "Avengers' mansion?" Dare asked softly, eyes traveling over the solid steel gates.

"Its safer than most places. We had so many safety protocols in place when it all started," he explained as he keyed in the code that would open the gates. Dare had shifted around to stand where he could see her, her back to the steel slab behind her. Her eyes didn't stop moving, seeking out any possible danger that might be lurking in the dark. When the gate's lock had clicked to announce it was open, he reached up and opened one panel just far enough that a single person could slip between it and its partner. He motioned her through first, then followed behind after ensuring no one would be able to reach the gate before he closed it.

The gate shut on silent hinges. The lock turned, an ominous sound in the stillness, then Clint dropped the bar that acted as a second layer of security. He knew what Dare would see when she looked at the former headquarters of the Avengers. The fence surrounding the property had been reinforced with steel and topped with wicked looking spires meant to impale anything that tried to come over the top. The yard was littered with mines, only a few walkways available to them in order to make getting to the actual mansion that much more difficult. The trees had been removed and only a handful of small shrubs remained.

She followed behind him silently as he headed for the doors. Doors that were now steel. As were the shutters over the windows. A high tech net of lasers, invisible to the naked eye, wrapped around the entire exterior of the building. They were meant to slice and dice anything that tried to come through the walls but, as yet, they hadn't been put to the test. It was a bleak and barren place compared to the last time he knew she'd visited the mansion. They reached the door without incident and he let her enter first before stepping into the building and sealing them inside.

"Here we are. Home sweet home," he announced. He caught her staring around with wide eyes, as if looking for signs that the violence had reached this place. It hadn't, but that was only because Tony had started work on the safety protocol as soon as the spreading plague had come to light.

"Where are the others?" she asked, voice a hoarse whisper. But he could hear in her words that she really didn't want to know, that was simply asking because she felt that's what needed to be done. He gave her a look to let her know the answer to her question wasn't important, then motioned up the hall.

"Let's go to the kitchen. You look like you're in need a good meal. After that, I'll show you around and you can find a room to sleep in."

"Not until the sun comes up," she replied, sudden steel threading her words. Clint inclined his head but said nothing, simply motioned with his head that she should follow him. He heard her fall into step behind him, her boots thudding solidly against the tiled floor.

The kitchen was all sleek appliances and bright lights. After setting his weapon aside, he headed for the fridge and tugged it open. He spent a few minutes digging into the depths. When he turned, there were several items in his hand. "I can whip up a simple omelette. Nothing fancy, but it'll fill your belly."

"Its fine," she replied. She'd settled in one of the stools pulled up to the island. Her elbows had been planted on the island's surface, chin resting in her hands. She looked dead on her feet. There was a dull tone to her voice that told him she'd seen more death than she was comfortable with. She'd likely caused a good deal of it in order to protect herself.

"There's some water in the fridge. Or juice. I believe there might be a few cans of Coke in there, if you're interested," he told her, all the while bringing out the rest of things he'd need to make an omelette or two. He heard her feet hit the ground, boots making noise as she crossed the floor to the stainless steel fridge. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she opened the door and stared inside. Her face was blank and empty. She was shell-shocked. "You're safe here, Dare."

"Safe," she replied, snorting slightly as she said it. She sounded like she didn't believe it. Maybe she didn't. A good look at her told him she was thin, that she was dirty, that her clothes had been carefully mended time and time again. It was more than enough to convince him that she'd been living on the streets.

Automatically, his brain went over the timeline of events. The first reports started hitting conspiracy websites some year or more ago. Very few people had taken them seriously, had thought them to be the ramblings of seriously deluded individuals looking for some attention. But then people had started disappearing. Only a handful here and there at first. Then gradually more and more. Bodies turned up. The sightings were reported on the news. Grainy video footage from cell phone cameras shot in the dark. Things had ramped up about a year ago. The disappearances had started happening in larger quantities. Fear spiked and suspicions began running wild.

The plague had started in the U.S. on the East Coast. New York City, with its large quantities of people, had been one of the first targets. But they hadn't counted on the people of the Big Apple fighting back. So the progression of the plague was slowed. Not to mention there were a large number of heroes based out of New York City. The Avengers and the X-Men had been on the forefront of the fight, trying to push the plague back. Trying to end it. And then had come the news that Xavier's school had been hit. Of course the Avengers had gone to see if they could offer any help. All they'd found was rubble and ruins. And bodies. That had been more than six months ago.

"How did you survive the attack at the school?" he asked. He was sure it would be a painful subject for her, but he needed to know.

"I wasn't there when they came," she whispered. She was still standing there, staring into the fridge like it held all the answers to the world's problems. "My team had been on a mission. We were in Canada. They came back before me. I'd elected to stay behind because the Canadian authorities needed some help with a forest fire. They'd asked me to see if I could put it out. Or help contain it. Of course I said yes."

"I'm sorry," he told her. He meant it. "Have you been on the streets ever since?"

"No where else to go," she replied. When she turned to look at him, her eyes were hollow. "My parents and my brother were killed in the first wave. My team was gone. The school was rubble. And it wasn't even my fault." The last came out as half pained laughter, half hiccupping sob. She'd obviously meant that last statement as a joke, but horror and loss made it grim and dark. She closed the door to the fridge without having taken anything to drink out of it. She didn't turn a look his way. "I lost everything..."

He pointed to a plain looking cupboard on the other side of the kitchen. "Medicine cabinet," he told her. She moved toward it slowly, as if she was working on autopilot and only going there because he'd suggested it. The cupboard door creaked open to reveal the mini-fridge hidden there. She stared into it a moment, then pulled out a full bottle of rum and returned to her seat at the table. She didn't ask for a glass and he didn't offer.

Silence prevailed as he worked on their meal. She drank straight from the bottle, gaze unfocused and distant. He had a feeling she was reliving those first few traumatic events. When he finally finished their omelettes, she'd gotten through half the bottle. It was a sad statement that he couldn't even tell she'd been drinking. He took the bottle from her quietly, exchanging it for the plate with her dinner. She didn't protest, merely picked up the fork settled on the edge of the plate and started pushing the eggs around.

Clint took his seat across from her and took a bite of his omelette. Light, fluffy, and flavorful. Just the way Jarvis had taught him so long ago. The silence between them should have been awkward. Because he remembered her as the volatile member of her team. Granted, he'd really only met her once or twice, but those meetings were memorable. The girl had had a temper back then and she really hadn't bothered minding her tongue. The young woman he saw sitting across from him was a stark contrast to that brash girl. He wasn't sure he liked the change. Then again, the things she'd no doubt seen would have left a mark on her psyche and her soul. It would take time for her to find her way back to normal.

"What about you?" she asked softly, startling him. When she looked up at him, some of the emptiness had left her gaze. Maybe a hint of her old self peeked through. He couldn't be sure. He gave her a look that said he wasn't sure what she was asking. "Where is everyone? How did you manage to survive the first wave?"

"Luck," he replied quietly. She gave him a considering look. He could plainly see she didn't quite believe him, as if she was aware he hadn't told her the whole truth. It was as much as she was going to get. He wasn't ready to talk about that day just yet. But she let it go and nodded. "As for everyone... I don't know. The first wave saw us all scattering in an effort to try and stem the rushing tide. I've heard rumors, but nothing concrete. So I don't know."

"I'm sorry," she returned. There was sympathy in her voice, letting him know that she understood. He couldn't imagine what she'd seen.

The girl lapsed back into silence, taking small bites of the omelette. He left her to her thoughts. She'd tell him whatever weighed on her soul when she was ready. He knew it. He'd been there with other survivors. For now, he'd give her the peace she so obviously needed. Give her the safety she hadn't had in months. Give her food and shelter and companionship. And maybe, when the time was right, she'd give him the means to slaughter more of the fuckers than he was presently capable of.

Their meal concluded with Dare nearly falling asleep in her plate. One minute she was chewing a bite slowly, then next she was jerking upright, her fork clattering loudly against the floor. Clint decided that it was past time for her to get some rest. A quick check of the time told him that sunrise would be soon. It was safe to sleep. So he cleared away their dishes, stacking them in the sink for washing later, then gestured toward the doorway with one hand.

She trailed after him, eyes and feet heavy, as he escorted her to the stairs and then to the upper level. Unsurprisingly, she chose the room next to his. It had been Steve's and many of his clothes were still there. Clint gave her permission to raid Steve's drawers in search of something she could sleep in and they'd figure clothing out for her later. Then he sent her off to shower and went in search of his own bed.

~*~

He wasn't sure what woke him, but he just suddenly came awake on full alert. One hand was already reaching for the computer terminal set up next to his bed. The other was seeking out his bow, intent on being armed should the worst come to pass. But the security systems all read normal and a glance at the clock said it was barely midday. They were still safe. So what had woken him?

A soft whimper of sound from the other room caught his attention. Clint returned the bow to its spot on his headboard, then slid from his bed and padded across the carpeted floor to the door. He let himself into the room Dare had taken to find her curled up into a ball in the big bed, shivering under the covers. He sighed softly and, knowing he was taking his life into his hands, he crossed to the bed. "Dare, wake up. Its okay. You're safe."

She whimpered again, curling in tighter on herself.

"Dare?" he asked quietly, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. The action brought a scream up her throat, then she was thrashing wildly under the covers. Clint reacted without thinking, climbing up onto the bed to sit on her, caging her with the blankets so she couldn't move. "Dare! Wake up! You're having a nightmare!"

Her eyes flew open and he swore he saw the flicker of flames in them for a moment before she looked at him. She settled almost immediately, her cheeks wet with tears. When he was sure she was calm, he got off her and off the bed. She said nothing, simply threw herself from the bed and raced for the bathroom. There was no missing the sound of her retching in the oppressive silence that had settled over them. Soon, the toilet flushed and then the faucet in the sink ran. Moments later, she returned to the bedroom.

There was no missing the silvery scars that marred her arms and legs. He frowned. They looked an awful lot like... "Logan," she said, voice hoarse again. Her word jolted him from his thoughts, bringing his gaze back to her face. It was empty. And the haunted look had returned to her eyes. She must have caught him staring at the scars.

"Tell me," he said. Because he could see that she needed to tell him.

She stared at him for a moment, eyes and face devoid of anything. For a while, he thought she'd ignore him. Then she reached for the hem of the t-shirt she wore and tugged it up over her head. He was startled and had it in his head that he was going to look away. But then his eyes caught on the silvery scars that traced across her shoulders. Her belly. She turned and showed him that they criss-crossed her back. She pulled the shirt on again before facing him once again. "They got him. They shouldn't have, but they did. And he came for me."

Clint motioned to the bed, watching as she settled down onto it once more. She sat, back pressed tight against the headboard, knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped around them. He let her know he was going to join her, then settled on the edge of the mattress, sitting so he faced her. She didn't look at him, eyes focused on the end of the bed. It was likely she was seeing it all over again. "Its okay, Dare. Nothing's going to happen to you here."

"It was just after I'd gotten back from Canada. Right after they'd assaulted the school. There were bodies everywhere, left to lie and rot in the sun. It smelled horrible. So much blood spilled. So many dead. The school was shattered, like... " she stopped, voice trailing off. "I was standing there, staring, trying to find some sign of my friends. Of family. Of loved ones. I didn't realize how close to dark it was until he came barreling out of the trees at me. I barely got out of the way of a set of claws meant for my belly. He was... wild. Rabid."

"Had he been fully turned?" Clint asked.

"I don't know. All I know is he wasn't himself. He missed me, swung around and came back. I tried to fight him off, tried to find any of him that was left. But he didn't hear me. All he did was slash at me, try to stab me. Anything to incapacitate me. The only reason I didn't fall to him on that first pass is because he trained me himself."

That puzzled Clint. "Logan trained you? He isn't really what you'd call a melee fighter. He's more like a Mack truck that hits you and runs you over when you aren't looking."

She lifted her eyes to his face and gave a ghost of a smile. Then one of her hands lifted away from her knees and flames sprang to life on her palm. He watched for a while as they twisted and turned, danced and swayed as if they were alive. Then they were gone and so was her smile. "He's the only one who could survive my flames. Back in the early days, the professor was afraid I'd accidentally set anyone who trained me on fire if I lost my temper. So Logan got nominated."

"Makes sense," Clint nodded. "His healing factor."

Dare nodded and picked at the edge of the blanket. "So he trained me. And it helped. But not enough. Because he eventually got me on the ground. I was bloodied and every inch of me hurt, mentally and physically. And he was going for my throat. I swore I could feel his teeth on my flesh. That's when I set him on fire because I realized that I didn't want to die. I poured every last inch of my power into him and I burned him. He kept me pinned, screamed and howled in rage and pain, all while I hit him with everything I had."

"I'm sorry. That had to be hard,"

She lifted her head and gave him a look. "No. Not until the very last moment, when it was too late to stop it. He gave me a look and I could see... him. In his eyes," she paused and swallowed, the tears coming fresh and new. "For the last moment of his life, he was himself again. And he just stared at me. And thanked me. And... then he was gone. That was when it got hard. When I could see him again. I've been running and hiding ever since."

She didn't say that she'd been hiding from her own conscience. From her memories. There was no need. He inched closer to her, telegraphing his motions so that she wasn't startled by anything he did, until he was sitting beside her on the bed. He slipped one arm around her shoulders, gently tugging her into him. She sighed, shuddering as she put her head on his shoulder. "They're all gone," she whispered.

"A lot of people are gone. But I'm still here. And so are you," he said. "That means there's still hope."

"Hope died a long time ago," she replied. What she didn't say was she'd died a long time ago, too.

Clint held her for a little while longer, then nudged her with his shoulder. "You should sleep. I get the feeling its been a long time since you had a really good night's sleep. Its only midday, so you have time to get a few more hours before we need to be up and on alert."

She nodded, reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. When she was done, she turned to look at him. "Can I... Would it be weird if I slept with you?" she asked. Her voice was that of a scared child. Clint gave it thought for a while, then nodded.

"Come on. I'll keep the bogeyman away tonight," he replied, holding his hand out to her.

She offered him a timid smile before putting her hand in his. Clint hauled her to her feet, then tugged her along behind him. She was silent as they stepped into the hall. As they stepped into the bedroom next door. As she climbed into his bed. She didn't cling to him. She didn't cuddle close. But she curled up and went right to sleep, her breathing slow and deep and even. Clint considered it a moment, then closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

~*~

He watched the girl go through her warm-up routine, her motions slow and steady and sure. Careful. He saw a lot of himself in her. She had a smart mouth she used to hide her insecurities. And she was intelligent, but in ways that people didn't consider to be a part of intelligence. She obviously had street smarts. She'd been able to survive on the streets since the plague had started without ending up as someone's midnight snack. A dig into the files Tony had compiled on Xavier's various X teams had shown him she'd lived on the streets as a teenager, had survived them then, too. He found that she was studious when he gave her something to learn. Providing she was interested, of course.

"You gonna stand there and watch me, old man? Or are we gonna spar?" Her question brought him out of his thoughts. She was staring at him, waiting. Ready to go. He tossed her a lazy grin and set his towel down on the bench. It was amazing what regular sleep and food had done for the girl. She'd put on weight and gained back some color. She'd even found an almost peaceful place and the nightmares came less often than they had at the beginning. She still shared his bed with him, but she always kept her distance. And he kept his.

"We're going to spar. Eager to get your ass kicked?" he asked in return. She was good. Logan had taught her a lot. But he'd been training with Steve for a good long time. He knew a trick or two that he figured she didn't.

"You're so full of yourself, Barton," she said, a touch of laughter in her voice. She had yet to call him by his first name, despite having been there for a few weeks. As if she was intentionally putting distance between them. He wondered at it, but not so much that he pressed the issue.

"You forget, Dare. I trained with Cap," he told her. She rolled her eyes at the reminder.

"One old man training another. Did you guys need walkers?" she teased, moving toward the center of the mats. It signified she was ready to start. Clint grinned at her teasing and moved to join her on the mats. She eyed him up and down, her grin coming slow. He noted that it was filled with her natural cockiness, something that had taken time to show up.

"I might be an old man, but I can still kick your ass," he informed her. She laughed at that, tossing her head so that her thick braid slid over her shoulder to rest on her back. He marveled at the colored streaks still breaking up the solidness of the black.

"Not today," she replied, sounding very sure of herself. He watched as she swung her arms, as she flexed her hands and rocked from one side to the other into deep lunges that stretched the muscles in her legs. "I've got a good feeling that today is the day, Barton. Today is the day I am going to kick your ass."

"Bring it on, girl," he invited before taking up his ready position on the mats.

She studied him a moment, eyes alight with mischief, then launched herself into a complex tumbling routine that she hadn't used with him before. He recognized Gambit's touch. He should have told her that she was expending too much energy and would tire herself out a lot faster if she did that. But then feet were flying at him and he realized she'd lulled him with the act. He ducked to avoid the foot aimed at his head, but didn't take into account that there was another foot to go with the first and it caught him in the leg, tipping him to the side. Clint recovered himself, springing backward in a flip that he hadn't used in years, and gave her a knowing grin. She stared at him, not at all surprised by his actions, and waited. Gave the appearance of being bored. Cocky little shit.

Oh, it was so on.

Some ten minutes later, they were still standing. Both of them were sweating and, despite having gotten in a few good hits here and there, neither of them were ready to give up. Sweat ran down her face, plastering the few strands of hair that had pulled free of her braid to her skin. Her chest heaved ever so slightly, an acknowledgement that she was exerting herself. But her eyes were bright and her hands were still up before her, wrapped with tape and curled into loose fists. And she was grinning like a maniac.

"Ready to give up, Barton? Want me to go fetch you some prune juice, old man?" she asked him. He only shook his head at her.

"Its going to take more than that to put me on my back, Dare," he informed her. So far, she'd gone through every last move she'd ever used on him. More than once. Her form was good, though there were spots where he noticed the laziness that came with relying on her powers more than her fists and her brain. She had yet to attempt anything that would surprise him, but he had the advantage of having watched Logan fight a few times so he knew the moves to look for. What kept him on his toes was the fact that she threw in bits of LeBeau here and there. If not for those moves, he'd probably have downed her before this.

"Well, why didn't you say so earlier?" she asked lightly, then started forward in a rush that he knew came straight from Logan. He readied himself to counter it, hands ready to catch hers and throw her whole momentum to the side. Unfortunately for him, she changed up on him at the last possible moment and came to a halt at the same time she spun her leg around from behind her in a roundhouse that he hadn't prepared for. Her foot caught him in the shoulder and hit with enough force that it turned him to the side. Somehow, she came out of the kick and went back into her forward rush. Her shoulder hit his arm with enough force to drive him to the mat. His back had barely hit down when she was on top of him, legs pinning his arms to his side and hands pressed against his chest, just below his throat.

It was a position he could easily get out of. But she'd be able to slide her hands down to his throat before he could even throw her off. And she knew it, her smile going wide with an evil grin. "See?" she said softly. "I told you I could kick your ass. Old man."

He smiled at her, as if accepting his defeat. And then he rolled up, legs coming up to wrap around her body so that he could sit up and put her back to the mat. His hands pinned hers above her head to keep her from throwing a punch. And her legs were bent at the knees, caught against his abdomen with her feet flat. "Always make sure you have your opponent pinned before you claim victory, girl," he told her, smirking down at her knowingly.

"Cheater," she hissed, trying to squirm out of his hold. Which only lasted as long as it took her to realize just what her position was. Because certain body parts of hers were caught up next to certain body parts of his and her squirming was not doing what she'd hoped it would do. She froze, eyes wide as she stared up at him. Clint let her go, unfolding his body from hers in order to let her up. This was not what he'd planned on happening when he'd showed up for their sparring session.

She remained flat on her back on the mat, staring at his face as if she'd never seen him before. He'd backed off to her side, resting on his knees as he worked to regain his equilibrium. She seemed to be frozen where he'd left her and he worried that he'd scared her.

"Dare. I'm sorry," he apologized, voice soft. "Its been a very long time since I've been with a woman, much less around one. I didn't mean..."

"Shut up, Barton," she hissed, coming up off the mat so quickly that he almost didn't see her limbs move. Then she was coiled around him, her mouth seeking his while her body pressed tight to his.

He'd managed to get his hands up, had set them against her ribs so that he could push her away. But her fingers were twined in the overgrown length of his hair and her mouth was hot on his. Her breasts were soft where they pressed against his chest and her crotch was molded to his. Instead of pushing her away, he slid his arms around her back to crush her against him even as he took them both down to the mats.

The kiss was sloppy, hard and without any kind of finesse. She didn't seem to care. Her hands left his hair in order to fist around the back of his shirt and pull. When the shirt didn't move, she left off and let her hands trail lower so that she could find the waistband of his work out pants. It was easier for her to work with the elastic waist and she got his pants down quick enough. In the meantime, his hands were pushing her shirt up, working their way up under the sports bra she wore so that he could shove it up toward her shoulders. He tore his mouth away from hers in order to latch on to a nipple. She arched into him, her hands curled tightly around his ass. "Come on, old man," she panted, letting one hand slip between them so she could fist his dick. "Some me what you got."

He groaned, the sound rolling up his throat to vibrate against her breast, She said several very bad words, fingers tightening around his erection in an effort to convince him to strip the rest of her clothes away and bury himself inside of her. Not that he needed much convincing.

His hands found the waist of her leggings and slipped between her flesh and the waist band so that he could shove them down. Thank God for elastic because he wasn't sure he could have handled anything more involved. It didn't take him long to rid them of the remainder of their clothes. His shirt was pulled off unceremoniously, his sweats kicked off. She rid herself of her own shirt, the sports bra proving a little more problematic. She eventually got it over her head at the same time he removed her leggings and panties.

She dragged him down to her, wrapping her legs around his waist so that her body was pressed to his. His cock was caught between them, and he couldn't stop the shudders when she rubbed herself against it enticingly. Her mouth was pressing kisses to his lips and his cheeks and his throat. There was no finesse to her actions, but then there were none to his, either.

His hands caught her legs and pulled them from his waist, positioned them over his shoulders so that her spine was curved and her pussy was raised up. He took all of five seconds to ensure that she was ready for him, his fingers pressing inside for a heartbeat. When he drew them out, he wrapped them around his cock and stroked it. Then he was pressing himself into her to the hilt. Her nails scored his back as she keened out her pleasure.

Fast and hard. That was all he was capable of. Not that it seemed to matter to her, because she muttered a string of filthy words into his ear between gasping for breath. Despite the way he held her, she managed to match her hips to his so that each stroke left him balls deep. "Come on, old man. Fuck me. Harder."

"You've got a filthy mouth, girl," he retorted, doing just what she'd said. She grunted at the feel of his dick driving deep and pressed another kiss on him.

"I know. I also know exactly what to do with it," she promised. Her words were accompanied by a nip at his chest, teeth catching his skin between them. "Holy fuck, that's good. More."

Her dirty words drove him on and it wasn't much longer after that he finally hit his peak and came hard. Her pussy clung to him and milked him dry. He was pretty sure she hadn't gotten off, but it was hard to tell with the blissed out look on her face. When he'd fully spent himself, he shifted himself around so that she was laid out flat on the mat once again. Or mostly, because she refused to uncurl her arms from around his shoulders and only moments after letting her legs down, she wrapped them around his waist and clung to him.

It was some five minutes later that she finally let go of him, her limbs flopping back down onto the mat without ceremony. Her face was buried in his shoulder and her breathing was mostly normal. He knew he should get off her, that he had to be crushing her, but he just couldn't bring himself to do so quite yet. The feel of flesh against flesh was far too heady to let go so soon. "You okay, Dare?" he asked softly.

Her head dropped back to the mat, pulling away from his chest so that he could see the flush still staining her cheeks. Her eyes were bright and there was a touch of a smile on her face. "If I was any more okay, I'd be picking out baby names right now."

The sentence didn't make any sense, but it did make him chuckle. He slowly, carefully pulled himself out of her hold so that he could sprawl on his back on the mats beside her. The moment he did, she rolled up onto her side and settled an arm across his abdomen. Her chin came to rest on one of his pecs and she stared at his face intently. "Not bad for an old man. But we might have to do that again a few billion times for me to be sure," she said, voice deep and throaty.

He stared into her face and considered her statement. He was older than she was. Not that she was still a kid, but she was young in a way that had nothing to do with age. Not naïve, exactly. But certainly not as worldly as she maybe could be. It gave him a moment's pause. He had to wonder if he should really be doing this with her. Once could be excused away as a heat of the moment thing. But more than that? He felt like he was being a dirty old man. Maybe he should put her off and pretend this never happened.

"I know that look, Barton. Don't you dare say it," she warned, a touch of anger coloring her words. When he focused on her face, it was to find that she was frowning and there was knowledge in her eyes that belied her age. "I am not a kid. I'm an adult. I can sleep with anyone I want. I chose you. Don't turn it into some sick fucking thing."

"Dare," he began. She sat up and frowned down at him.

"No. I needed this. You needed this. We need it to continue. We're both human. We're both still alive. We both need to continue feeling alive. It isn't horrible to need someone that way." He watched as she curled up on herself, hiding her nudity with her lower legs. "Besides. I instigated the whole thing. So don't you dare sit there and consider telling me that I'm too young and I don't know what I want. Because I know exactly what I want."

She stood then, moving to gather up her scattered clothes. His eyes were drawn to the scars once more. She didn't seem to mind them, acted like they weren't there. But that didn't mean she didn't see them and feel them. And some scars... They lived beneath the skin. Sighing, he considered his options. Tell her that they couldn't do it again and watch her shut herself away. And he had no problems believing that's exactly what would happen. Or he give in to his baser needs with her because she seemed amenable and tell himself that he wasn't too old to fuck her. Not exactly the best choices out there.

She stopped at the door and turned to look at him, cocking a brow in his general direction. "Come on, old man. You gonna shower? I'll wash your back for you, if you want." She tossed a saucy grin at him over her shoulder, then walked out of the training room and headed for the showers.

Aw, hell.

~*~

They settled into a routine. They shared the same bed, trained together, hunted together. It was a good thing to have her at his back, because she was sharp and alert when they were on patrol. And it didn't take more than a thought from her to set any of their prey on fire if the need arose. She was almost more capable than he was when it came to stopping them. Almost.

Clint worried that he was doing the wrong thing where she was concerned. She was still young and he could tell that her kills were taking a toll on her psyche. She did her best to hide it, but sometimes he heard her crying when she was showering. He was torn as to what to do. On the one hand, he'd survived this long hunting by himself. On the other, he enjoyed the company and it was terribly handy to have a pyrokinetic at his back. What made it worse was he couldn't decide if sleeping with her was the lesser of the two evils.

She curled up beside him every morning, her lithe body pressed to his, when they finally climbed into bed to sleep. She rarely dreamed anymore, could have gone back to Steve's room and slept there. But she hadn't done it. And he hadn't pressed the issue. Truth be told, he enjoyed the feel of her skin on his. Enjoyed having someone warm and willing and alive within reach. There were nights when his own nightmares woke him in a cold sweat. Those nights, he merely had to put his hand on her arm and she would strip her clothes off before she climbed up on top of him and fucked the memories away. And there were nights where they both wanted something softer and sweeter. Something that wasn't primal. Those nights, he would make love to her, letting his hands and his mouth and his tongue and his teeth tease every last inch of her flesh until she writhed beneath him and begged him to finally take her.

It wasn't a love match. Not by any stretch of the imagination. At least, not yet. He was sure, given enough time, it could be love. Or something very close to it. He wasn't sure if that's what he wanted to happen. Given the way things were, having someone you cared about at your side was asking for trouble. If they found out you had a weakness and they caught you, they'd find a way to exploit that weakness to their benefit. He didn't want her to become his downfall. And he didn't want to be hers. If he could keep it as nothing more than some hot sex with another human being, they'd both be good.

"Penny for your thoughts, old man." Her voice pulled him away from the mess in his head. Clint looked up to find her standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but a thin shirt, a pair of lace panties, and a knowing smile.

"My thoughts are worth more than that," he mused, turning back to the arrow head he was working on.

"Hardly. Your thoughts revolve around sex, your dick, arrows, and Geritol," she teased. He looked up at her.

"Geritol? Where the hell did you get that? Do you even know what it is?" he commented.

"I do know how to operate a computer. YouTube exists. Wikipedia. There are also grocery stores," she returned, her tone indignant. Apparently he wasn't allowed to question her research skills. Her heard her cross the room, her bare feet slapping softly against the tiled floor. In fact, her feet always slapped or thumped or thudded when she walked. The only time her steps were silent was when they were out hunting. He wondered about that briefly, then she was pushing his arrow aside so she could sit on the edge of the table before him. That put her crotch only a little bit below his line of vision. She spread her legs wide, an open invitation that he had to fight to accept.

"I need to work on these arrows, Dare," he said, though there was little strength behind his words.

"I'm only interested in one of your arrows, Barton," she told him, shifting one foot so that it settled on his crotch. "I want to see if you can hit my bullseye." He gave her a look. They both knew good and well that he could. She rubbed his dick through his jeans, her foot gliding up and down its length slowly. He took a deep breath and tried to keep the blood from rushing south. It was a losing battle with her foot pressing ever harder against him.

"Dare, baby," he began. "Really. We shouldn't. We have a big hunt coming up. I've been monitoring some chatter on the radio that says we need to be ready for some big event. People are saying they're gathering together. Working together. I don't like the sounds of it."

"You worry too much, Barton," she said softly. "Besides, you've got me. I can burn anything that comes our way."

He smiled at her. She could. But she was still only human. While her power may not have limits, her body did. "You can't hold them off forever, sweetheart. I know how taxing it is to use your powers. You aren't an endless energy source. You need to rest occasionally. Which means I need to have arrows in reserve."

She took the rebuff better than he'd expected. He knew well enough that she didn't like it when someone turned her down, often times taking it to mean that they didn't like her for some reason or another. This time around, she seemed to understand what he was saying. So she picked up the arrow he'd been looking at and studied it. "This is awfully lightweight," she commented, then lifted it to eye level. He watched as she stared down the middle of the shaft. "Hollow. You planning on putting something inside of it?"

"Like what?" he asked. She'd never shown any interest in the arrows or any aptitude for the science part of them. Didn't mean he couldn't indulge her and find out what she had on her mind. Other than the obvious, that was.

"Like liquid explosives," she suggested, still studying the shaft.

"That isn't a reliable method. Liquids throw off the balance of the arrow, which throws off the trajectory," he told her. It wasn't like he hadn't tried it already.

"So change the trajectory," she shrugged, handing him the arrow shaft. He stared at her.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't aim to hit them. Aim for their feet. Can you do that? Can you adjust the trajectory so that they think you're aiming at them? But the arrow could land at their feet and maybe whatever was in it could ignite and explode when it hit. Or you could fill them with some kind of highly flammable liquid and I could light them up before they hit."

Clint stared at her. He hadn't considered it that way. He'd tried with liquid filled shafts before. And they never landed where he wanted them to. The shifting liquid made them too unpredictable to use. But he'd never considered for not aiming at his target directly. If he went for close to their position, he might be able to manage it. And if he used gasoline or jet fuel in the arrows, they'd be the perfect low tech bombs. "Baby," Clint said, setting the shaft aside so that he could tug Dare into his arms. "You're a genius."

She smirked at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and draping her arms over his shoulders. "You're damn right I am. Now shower me with your love and admiration, peasant," she ordered.

Clint chuckled, hands already working their way up under her shirt. His mouth took hers in a kiss that was equal parts sweet pleasure and dirty promise. Dare's fingers fisted around his hair and tugged his head back so she could stare into his eyes. Then she claimed his mouth and ground herself against him.

He groaned and pulled back from her. "Baby, you're killing me."

"You don't like my foreplay?" she asked, grinding down against him again. His only response was a groan. Dare grinned at him, then tugged her shirt off. She went after his sweats next, doing her best to shove them down even though he was sitting. "Clothes. Off."

Clint rose, taking her with him. She let go a wild laugh when he nearly slammed her down on the table top on her back, then she moaned softly when his hands tugged her panties off. He ditched his sweats in record time and shoved himself inside of her with little fanfare. She grunted softly, then once again wrapped her legs around his waist. "Hard, Clint. I want you to fuck me so hard, you rattle my brains."

He paused, staring down into her face with a touch of surprise. The demand wasn't unusual. Their first sexual encounter of any evening was generally fast and hard. Bruising. They would go soft and slow later. What was throwing him for a loop was the use of his first name. It was the first time he'd heard it from her. Her favorite term of endearment for him seemed to be 'old man' and she used Barton when she had to call him by an actual name. He had to admit, he liked the sound of his name on her lips. In that husky voice she used when she was eager for him.

"As the lady wishes," he replied and buried himself to the hilt with a single hard shove. Dare let go a throaty moan and tightened her legs around his waist. Clint drew back before surging forward again, shoving his dick deep enough to make her wince. Her fingers curled against the surface of the table, as if searching for something to squeeze. He distinctly heard the scraping of her nails against the table top, making him glad that she hadn't gotten the chance to dig them into his flesh. "Fasten your seat belt. Its going to be a bumpy night," he told her. She gave him a wicked grin, her heels digging into the small of his back. He drew back and held himself on the edge of slipping free, then he slammed himself back home. Dare let go a noise that was half moan, half howl.

"Fuckin' A!" she gasped. He took that as a sign that she was good, so he pulled back and did it again.

~*~

"Okay. Let's give this a try," Clint instructed, nocking an arrow to the string of his bow. He motioned toward the silhouettes set up down at the end of the alley. There was an X on the ground some distance from the silhouettes. "My goal is to hit the X with the arrow. Your goal is to set the arrow on fire just as it hits the X. Think you can do that?"

He expected a smart comment from her. She was full of them. But he watched her size up the distance between them and the X. He didn't think she computed distances and trajectories and wind speed and things like that. Not like he had to. But then he had no clue how her powers worked. It wasn't something he'd gotten into with her. For all he knew, she had no clue how her powers worked.

"I'm pretty sure I can," she replied. He watched as she assumed a relaxed position, hands loose at her sides. He knew she was ready when her hair started floating around her head on a breeze that didn't exist because they were inside the mansion. It weirded him out to know there was an outward sign of her pyrokinetics at play. Putting his slight discomfort aside, he turned his attention back to the task at hand.

"Since this is a test run, you don't need a big fire or anything. Just a little one. Enough to ignite the arrow and set off the small amount of explosives inside the shaft. Understand?"

She rolled her eyes at him, but nodded her head. It was a little unsettling with her hair shifting around her head in a way that did not match the up and down motion she gave him. Right. On with it, then.

This was the first test of his new arrow design. He'd taken Dare's suggestion to heart and had figured out a way to create an arrow that she could make explode from a distance. Not that he was sure what kind of range her powers had. They hadn't really taken the time to explore that, nor was it something that had been in the files Tony had compiled about her. Then again, Xavier had never seemed to fully understand what she was capable of. Clint had to wonder if the man ever really knew anything his people were capable of.

He let that thought fade away in order to focus on the target. He was going to fire the arrow at the silhouettes on the other end of the run with the intention of the arrow hitting them. He knew, from other tests, that the arrow tended to drop before it hit the actual target. Which was where the X on the floor came into play. If his calculations were correct, the arrow would hit there. A bit of Dare's flame would see the liquid inside ignited and, if luck was on their side, it would explode and set their actual target on fire.

He gave her a look, then drew back the bow string, taking the back end of the arrow with it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hands raise, saw her hair lift a little higher around her face. He took a breath, eyed the silhouettes, and let the arrow fly. He watched as it soared toward the targets on the other end of the run. It felt straight and true for a while, then began arcing gracefully down toward the ground. His eyes tracked the path, mind turning over whether or not his calculations had been correct. The arrow was nearly to the X and still hadn't caught fire yet. He was worried that she wouldn't be able to accomplish it. And then...

A small flame licked its way up the shaft. He had a second to see it before the arrow landed on the X just as he'd projected. The flame grew, then came the explosion as the flame caught the liquid inside on fire. The explosion that rocked them was loud within the confines of the run, and Clint watched as arcing jets of fire shot forward toward the targets. Soon enough, the silhouettes were blazing away. The flames were high enough to trip the fire suppressant system and flame-retardant foam covered the silhouettes quickly and efficiently.

Clint turned to stare at the woman at his side. She looked indifferent, but he knew she was beyond pleased with herself. "That was good, but that was the first of several test runs. We need to be sure it isn't a fluke before we can test it in the field."

"That wasn't a fluke, Barton. I'm that damn good," she shot at him, conceit touching her words. He lifted a brow at her. Here he thought he was the only one who was any kind of arrogant showman. He watched as her lips thinned and her gaze flicked briefly to the still soaked silhouettes at the end of the run. The next thing he knew, they were blazing away as if they'd never been drenched in retardant. "I'm not just capable of controlling fire. I can call it and I can burn anything. Tell Stark he's getting lazy if he doesn't know that."

The flames died in an instant, then she pivoted on her heel and marched from the room with an arrogant swagger in her hips.

~*~

"Stay close," he whispered, bow and arrow already in hand. "I don't need to worry about whether or not I have to go back for you."

"You worry too much, old man," she hissed back, a touch of tension and annoyance in her voice. "I can fucking take care of myself. Just worry about your sweet ass."

Clint said nothing to that, stomping down on the instinct to pull her into an alcove and give her a stern talking to. He knew that was the lingering remnants of Steve shining through. He couldn't count how many lectures the man had given him over the years. And the girl could use a few. She was cocky and brash in ways he'd never been. Sure, she was young, but she'd already seen what kind of shit their prey were capable of. She should have been a little more sedate. Maybe scared. She sure as hell needed to be taking this seriously. There was no room for error on their hunt this time around.

The information he'd been compiling had pointed to their targets making some kind of move tonight. While there were a few people left in New York City that were actively fighting them off, very few of them had the skills and resources he had. The way he figured it, he was the city's best hope to stave off the massive attack that had been reported to be happening this evening. He and the girl at his back. But he couldn't do his job to the best of his ability if he had to worry about her.

He heard her heave a sigh behind him. "Did Stark's file not mention that I can go all Human Torch if I need to?" she asked him, voice barely above a whisper. That brought Clint to a halt. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, eyes wide with disbelief. She frowned and some of the petulant young girl he saw in the photos Tony had collected showed through. "Some super genius he turned out to be. The flames are part of me. I can wear them like armor if I have to. Anything that grabs me will be burnt to a crisp in short order. So stop worrying about me, old man. Worry about your own ass because only one person is immune to my fire and it ain't you."

"You couldn't have mentioned this to me months ago, when I first found you?" he asked, voice a soft hiss in the shadows. He knew she heard the anger in it when she crossed her arms over her chest.

"You never asked, so I thought you knew. Excuse me for not being fucking Jean Grey or some shit," she snapped at him. Then she tensed and her hair started floating. He watched as her eyes shifted around the area. She returned her stare his way and made a motion with her head to indicate that there was someone behind her. That's when Clint realized that there was someone in front of him. Shit. That smelled just like a trap. The next thing he knew, they were surrounded by a ring of fire and all expression had left Dare's face.

"You can't stay inside that ring forever, morsel," a voice hissed out of the shadows. It was like listening to bare tree branches scrape against glass and Clint had to fight back the shudder. Someone was using power to try and get to them.

"Oh, yeah? Try me, shit for brains," she replied. "You obviously haven't got a fucking clue who you're dealing with."

"I know exactly who I'm dealing with. Dare," the voice continued. The flames started to dip lower. He heard her mutter a curse under her breath, then they rose up again. Clint wondered what was going on because this was obviously someone who knew who his partner was. And, judging by the look on her face, she knew who the unseen speaker was. "I can snuff out your flame anytime I want to."

"You and what army, dickbag? You're second rate," she replied, sounding unconcerned by the threat the other person had just made.

"You aren't the only one who owns the flames, you know," he countered.

That earned a scoffing sound. "You think you own the flames? You're a pathetic piece of shit who couldn't burn his way out of a paper bag. You can manipulate the flames. I live and breathe them, dickhead. That's going to be your downfall."

"So full of yourself, girl," the voice continued. Clint wanted to check on Dare and see how she was taking this, but he didn't think he should take his attention from whatever was on the other side of the ring of fire. "Its going to be so sweet to put you out of my misery."

"How do you propose to do that, St. John?" she asked. There was something in her voice. Clint couldn't place it because he'd never heard it before. But he knew it was there. She sounded different. Almost... anticipatory. "After all, you can't call the flames. You have to have a source. I know all about your little disability." There was a very clear double entendre in her statement. He heard the sound of a lighter flicking from the other side of the circle, back in the shadows. More to the point, Dare heard it, too. Because she let go a soft laugh of triumph. "Unlike you, I am the source. And you just gave yourself up."

For a second or two, there was nothing to let him know that anything was happening. Then the entire area lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. A monstrous fireball shot up into the sky, the accompanying explosion loud enough to wake the dead. Clint thought he saw, vaguely, a humanoid outline in the midst of the fireball. Thought he heard inhuman screaming. But the fireball rose too high too quickly for him to be sure. Then a smaller ball of flame and heat shot past him, barely missing his shoulder, and a loud scream rent the night.

"What the fuck was that?" he demanded, already firing off one of his regular arrows into the shadows. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder to find that Dare was holding a fireball in each hand, the flames flickering across her face to give her an almost maniacal expression. Her eyes were staring at something beyond her ring of fire.

"St. John Allerdyce. Pyro. Liked to think he was hot shit. Well, he was always shit. And he's definitely hot now. That's what happens when you need a goddamn source for the flames. Tanks tend to explode. Loudly," she explained. She launched another fireball into the gloom. "I've wanted to do that for a long goddamn time. Fuck, that felt good."

She'd barely finished speaking when he heard a scream from behind him and a quick glance showed him that there was a figure off to her left engulfed in flames, arms flailing as it tried desperately to put itself out. He'd known she was a force of nature, but he hadn't really known. Not until now. She saw him looking at tossed him a grin that was much darker than a grin had a right to be. Then her attention turned back to the matter at hand. Clint decided it was maybe a good idea if he did the same, so he shifted his focus back to the darkened corners of the alley before him and wondered, briefly, if this was actually a bad idea.

Shadows shifted, prompting him to draw back and fire. There was a meaty thud, then a loud hiss. It never ceased to amuse him how vampires, supposedly capable of moving faster than the human eye could track, always seemed to walk right into his arrows. Another shadow moved and the opportunity to enjoy his kill was gone. He nocked another arrow and fired before he'd barely gotten the string drawn all the way back. A fireball flew by him, straight into the shadows he was firing into. The flames showed him a lot more vampires than he was comfortable with. "Time for one of those new toys, old man?" she asked him. He heard another scream, letting him know she'd set another of the undead on fire.

"I think so. Can you make the flames move with us?" he asked as he reached for his newest arrow.

"I've never tried," she told him honestly. "But if you're worried about running into a crowd of them, I can take care of that. Let's just light one of those bitches and get the hell out of here. I know you said there would be a lot of them, but there are way more than your intel suggested."

He heard in her voice the words she didn't say. That she felt this had been some kind of set up. He had to agree. He'd never seen quite so many of the bloodsuckers in one place before. Arrow nocked and ready to fire, he stared into the darkness. "Can you see them?" he questioned softly.

"Yes." There was a mix of anticipation and exhaustion in her voice. He didn't know how she managed to keep the ring of fire going around them even while she was launching fireballs and attacks into the night. There was silence a moment, then she spoke again. "Empty can."

He saw the can she was talking about. It was about five feet from the first group of vampires. It would be a perfect spot to drop the arrow. Giving a nod, he took aim. Drew air into his lungs as he sighted down the shaft toward his target. Held his breath as he pulled the bow string all the way back. Exhaled in order to clear his lungs and his mind. The arrow flew forward as soon as his fingers released. He had a moment to see the arrow arc gracefully through the sky. Then the vampires were shifting forward.

"Shit," Dare muttered. A second later, the arrow caught fire in mid-air. Clint grabbed her hand and pulled her into a run, not willing to wait around and see what kind of damage the arrow would do. The amount of liquid he'd used inside the shaft was more than in the test arrows. He was sure that they'd be caught in the explosion if they didn't move fast.

He tugged her around a corner after him and kept going. Which became a million times harder when the flames touched the jet fuel inside the arrow shaft. The ground shook beneath their feet as the explosion rocked the alley behind them. Dare swore fluently and he felt her hand slip from his. Clint was just about to stop and turn when a wall of flames rose up behind them and literally roared toward the entrance of the alley they'd turned into. Screams followed them as they turned out onto the main street and ran like mad for their vehicle.

They were halfway to the armored car when Dare's hand slipped out of his again. He stopped and turned to find her staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing. He took hold of her hand again, intent on tugging her back into a run. But she pulled out of his hold one more time and stepped back. "Dare, we don't have time for this," he hissed, eyes scanning the street for any sign of the undead.

"Its a trap," she whispered. Her gaze slid left, then right. When she looked back at him, she was already shaking her head. "We have to split up, old man. If we don't, they'll follow us right back to the fortress. I know its got safety protocols and precautions and all that shit. But it'll be better if we split up. Go. Take the tank and go back. I'll meet you there in the morning."

"Are you out of your fucking mind? You won't last the night out here," he hissed back at her. Dare shot him a dirty look, as if to remind him that he'd found her on the streets at night. And then she was covered in head to toe flames, only her face and hair normal. One eyebrow shot up in silent question. As if she was asking him how he could forget so easily that she had her own built in armor.

Clint wasn't prepared to let her go, but now wasn't the time to argue. She knew her own capabilities better than he did. Still, he didn't like the idea of leaving her to fend for herself with that mess out there. She muttered a curse under her breath, the flames dying instantly. Then she was before him, hands fisting in the material of his shirt so that she could tug him forward and into her. Her mouth met his and there was a hard promise in her kiss. "I'll be fine, old man. I can manage better than you can. Just go. Don't worry about me. I can leave them a bonfire and make them rethink trying to take us down."

Clint took hold of her, the hand not holding his bow fisted in the hair that hung at the back of her neck, and dragged her forward so that he could press his own fast, hard, heated kiss on her. When he pulled back, he leveled a glare on her. "We are definitely going to talk about this when you get back. Don't think seeing you in your underwear will change that."

"I love it when we have those talks. They always end with the best fucking," she replied, voice a soft whisper. She pulled from him before he could even think about keeping her there, then turned and ran, disappearing into shadows. Clint stared after her a moment, still uneasy about letting her go. But standing in the street wasn't smart given what was after them, so he picked his feet up and ran for the car. He was almost there when something came barreling out of the shadows to smashed into him. The force of the hit saw him airborne for a few seconds. Then he came back down, hitting the ground hard.

Pain shot through his body and his head spun, lungs aching as they tried to draw air back into them. He had to run, had to go before they caught him. His mind kept screaming at him to get up, to loose his arrows. Told him to get to the armored car. He had to get back to it. He had to return to the mansion and wait for Dare. He wasn't going to leave her out on the streets. Not alone. Not without some kind of backup.

His piece of shit body didn't want to work, though. His limbs were still limp, his brain only capable of simple actions like 'breathe' and 'hurt'.

Clint had just managed to roll up into a half-sitting, half-leaning position, elbow planted solidly in the concrete of the sidewalk, when he heard the unmistakable sound of feet scuffing their way across the road. At first, he thought that perhaps it was Dare coming back to make fun of him for getting knocked on his ass. But then he picked up the distinct sound of cloth rustling. He was pretty sure he remembered her wearing clothes that didn't rustle while she moved. Moments later, he was staring at a pair of feet that very much weren't Dare's.

A hand was there to curl into his hair. It pulled, forcing him to put his hands on the attached wrist lest his hair get yanked from his head. Clint climbed to his feet, mad at the fact that he hadn't seen this coming. He should have known that the intel was fake, that the whole thing was nothing more than a trap.

When he was finally on his feet, the hand shifted from his hair to his throat. Fingers squeezed just tight enough to restrict the flow of oxygen without cutting it off completely. Again, he curled his fingers around the attached wrist in the futile hope that he could pry the hand off his neck. His gaze followed the length of the extended arm until it got to the face said arm belonged to. And he frowned.

There was a street light not far from where he was standing. The terrible light from it was shining down on a face he knew and recognized. It prompted a deep sense of disbelief. Remy LeBeau, the mutant thief from New Orleans, had always had charm and good looks at his disposal. Now, it seemed, he had a lot more. His eyes glowed like coals and the smile on his face barely hid the fact that he sported a pair of very pointy fangs. Vampiric strength made it easy for him to hold Clint in place, as if keeping someone who weighed over two hundred pounds up on his toes was no big deal.

Clint managed a mockery of a smile. "Hello, Gambit. Surprised to see you here. I'd heard you were dead," he got out around the hand at his throat.

The greeting saw Remy giving him a full smile. A dark smile, and Clint found himself staring at the man's fangs. "Clint Barton. De scourge of de New York vampires," Remy intoned. Clint wasn't aware anyone considered him the scourge of anything. He was kind of impressed with the title. "As you can see, Remy not dead. Not yet."

"Not for lack of trying on my part," Clint remarked, allowing the cocky attitude he was well known for to shine through. It earned him a scowl and the fingers at his throat tightened down. Just a bit.

"You luck just run out, Hawkeye," LeBeau hissed, drawing him closer so that he was staring at Remy's face from only inches away. Clint was pretty sure he didn't like being this up close and personal with a vampire and it made his hand drift toward the knife strapped to his thigh. Unfortunately, Remy caught the motion and batted his hand away. The knife went flying only a couple seconds later. Then they moved in a blur and Clint found himself slammed into the solid mass of a car. Stars exploded across his vision and the air was driven from his lungs once again. He found Remy almost nose to nose with him, those red on black eyes boring into his own.

"Now. I'm only gon' ask you dis once. You tell me what I want to know or you gon' experience a world of pain. You understand me?" Remy asked, his voice low with warning. Clint nodded his head. "Good. Dat's good. Dat gon' keep you alive."

Clint did like staying alive. Breathing was one of his favorite ways to pass the time.

"You got somet'ing dat belong to me," Remy told him, voice light and almost cordial. "You gon' give it back to me. Or else you gon' suffer de consequences."

Clint's frown returned, and it brought with it confusion. He had something that belonged to LeBeau? That was news.

The other man stared at him a moment, then leaned in and sniffed. Clint heard him and had to wonder what this was all about. He didn't have to wonder long. "Mmmm. I smell her on you. Smoke and ash and anger. Tell me where she at and I don' hurt you. Much."

The threat might have had more impact if Clint's mind hadn't been reeling. Smoke and ash and anger? Shit. He wanted Dare? There was no way he was giving Dare to one of the vampires. It didn't matter who that vampire was. "Go fuck yourself. You can't have her."

LeBeau seemed momentarily surprised by the vehemence in Clint's response because he stepped back and stared. To be honest, Clint kind of was, too. "I see. Dat de wrong answer, Clint. I guess dis means we do it de hard way."

Next thing he knew, he was seeing stars...

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