Drops of Crimson: Searching

[ladydeathfaerie]

Title: Drops of Crimson: Searching

Chapter One: Hunger
Fandoms: a mash up of the Mutant Sues, the movie Sues, the Supervillainesses, and probably anyone else i can think of tossing in for good measure
Characters: various from the different universes
Rating: going with a pretty strong NC-17 here. seriously.
Warning: violence, sex, language, possibly other things. we'll know when we get there
Disclaimer: i do not own anyone from the Marvel universe. Dare is mine, but you don't want her. honestly. girl's a mess. oh, Mystery is mine, too. you don't want her, either. she's moody. Rose belongs to nanaeanaven 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: so, its like this. Drops of Crimson: Hunted was only supposed to be a one shot type thing. but i started writing and the bunnies kept twitching their noses and suddenly i was staring down the snout of a plot dragon. and... welp! here we are! is anyone really surprised by this? nobody? didn't think so. hopefully this won't be super long. you know. by my standards...

Summary: "He's calling to you, isn't he? That's why you woke up when you shouldn't have. Because his blood is singing in your veins, demanding you come to him."

Drops of Crimson: The Index

There was a song of fire echoing in his blood.

That was the first thing Clint became aware of. The refrain that sang through his veins, whispering at him and trying to convince him that he needed to be somewhere else. He came awake with a start, sweat beaded on his forehead and chest and heart pounding harshly against his ribcage. He sat up, limbs heavy and head fogged, and found himself in his bedroom at the mansion. A glance at the clock beside his bed showed him it was only midnight. He was supposed to be out hunting. In fact, he was pretty sure he'd been getting ready to do that after he and Dare had shared a meal.

A quick survey of his surroundings showed him his gear, propped neatly near the wall where he'd left it. He was wearing the black fatigue pants he wore to hunt in, though his feet were free of socks and boots. And his chest was bare. He frowned and tried to recall what happened.

Dare had been quieter than usual, which was saying something. Because she'd been pretty quiet ever since finding him and rescuing him from LeBeau's tender care more than a week ago. He'd been worried about her because she hadn't been that quiet when he'd first found her. So of course he'd asked her what was wrong. She'd given him a smile and a bullshit answer that he absolutely hadn't believed. Then she'd suggested they eat and get prepped for their first night of hunting since she'd brought him back.

Dinner had been better, but he'd been able to tell that something was bothering her. He'd decided to corner her about it because he needed to trust that she wasn't going to flake during their hunt. He wanted to be sure that she would have his back. No matter what came at them. So it was, when they were getting prepped for the evening, that he'd asked her what was really upsetting her. She'd told him point blank that he wasn't ready to hunt and she thought he should stay at the mansion. That she could manage the hunt by herself. He'd honest to God laughed in her face. And she'd responded by locking herself in the bathroom. He'd tried coaxing her out, offering her an honest and heartfelt apology, but it hadn't worked.

Then he'd heard the soft sounds of her sobs and he could have kicked himself for being an idiot. Clint had shamelessly picked the lock and let himself into the bathroom. He'd tugged her into his arms, hating himself for making her cry. Of course she'd been worried about him. And she'd had the right to be. He'd whispered his apology into her hair again and again until she'd lifted her head and her lips had found his. Her kiss had been desperate and deep and filled with hunger.

And then...

And then everything was just blank. Missing. He didn't know what she'd done to him, but he was sure she'd done something. She wasn't going to get away with it. He was going to have her ass for this stunt.

Clint was just coming to his feet when the door to his room opened and the Emerald Rose stepped in. He let her see the anger simmering in his eyes in an effort to get her out of his way. Rosalie Emerson had been a fixture at the mansion since he'd been rescued from LeBeau's clutches, offering creations she'd made in an effort to help him recover from the things that had been done to him. At first, he hadn't liked the idea of having villains making themselves at home within the walls of Avengers Mansion. But, after getting to know them, he'd realized that they had bigger concerns than committing acts of villainy inside his home. Rose offered him a smile.

"You should get back into bed and rest. You're not fully recovered yet," she said gently.

"I'm fine," he retorted, stalking across the room to scoop up the long sleeved black shirt he'd been going to put on earlier.

"No. You're really not," she countered. Clint glared at her, fairly certain she had no medical degree to back up her proclamation. "You're irritable. You can't sleep. You're jittery. Quick to anger."

He didn't like that she'd pegged how he felt so easily. And concisely. "You're saying I'm going through withdrawal? That I'm some kind of junkie?" he demanded, voice gruff.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. That, and more," she told him, drifting closer to where he stood. She laid a hand on his chest, over the thundering of his heart. "He's calling to you, isn't he? That's why you woke up when you shouldn't have. Because his blood is singing in your veins, demanding you come to him."

His voice, when it came, was hoarse. "How did you know?"

"That's why she didn't want you out hunting tonight. Because she's afraid he'll take you away from her," Rose told him gently, ignoring his question. Rose curled a hand around his arm and steered him back toward the bed, urging him to sit on its edge. When he was seated, she settled beside him and offered him a faint smile. "When she came to us, to Mystery and Keira and I, she was desperate. She begged us to help her, said she couldn't liberate you on her own. She was so positive that if she didn't get you out of there, you'd never leave. She was afraid then that she wouldn't be able to reclaim you. That fear is worse now. More intense. Because she sees how you fight against his blood."

"She should have told me. She didn't have any right to drug me or whatever in order to get me to do as she wished," Clint told Rose.

"And had the tables been turned? Had she been the one who had been taken by LeBeau? Would you have let her go hunting when he was still in her head the way he's obviously in yours?" The question saw his anger sliding away. After what had happened to him, he didn't want her hunting at all. Certainly not without him there to watch her back.

"No," he admitted.

"Don't be too hard on her. She did what she felt was best," Rose said softly.

"She should have talked to me about it," he returned.

"Take that up with her when she gets back," Rose replied, rising from the bed to move to the chair she'd occupied a great deal in the days since he'd been rescued from the nightmare of his captivity. Her words saw him rising to turn and look at her, eyes narrowed and temper starting to climb.

"Did you say when she gets back?" he asked. Rose nodded, either unaware of his temper or completely unfazed by it. He took the few steps required to close the distance between them, looming over her intimidatingly.

"Yes," Rose confirmed.

"Are you telling me she went hunting without me? That she's out there hunting those things without any backup at all?" He couldn't keep the anger from spilling out into his words. Rose only lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Yes. How is that any different than you hunting them alone?"

"LeBeau has as good as put a price tag on her head. If he or one of his cronies finds her..." The words trailed off as cold fear washed over him.

"Relax, big boy," Rose said, absolutely unruffled by his tactics. "She's been out hunting every night since you were brought back here. And she was out hunting for you before that. I think she can handle herself. She's the one with the power of fire on her side, after all."

"Relax? Seriously? She shouldn't be out there alone, Rose! She doesn't know what LeBeau is capable of. I do. The last thing I want to see happen to her is his idea of a good time. He's twisted and he doesn't care what he does to anyone who gets in his way." Clint turned from her and headed for his gear, hand scooping up his shirt with the intent of going out to look for her.

"I'm under orders, Barton. You're not to leave the mansion before the sun rises," Rose told him, rising to her feet.

"And you're going to stop me?" he snarled, head poking through the neck of his shirt. His hands made quick work of yanking it down to cover his chest, the bottom hem getting tucked ruthlessly into the waist of his fatigues.

"If I have to," she responded, hands dipping into the pockets of her jeans in a move that gave her the appearance of being terribly unconcerned. He snorted at that, ass perched on the edge of the mattress as he tugged his socks and boots on.

"I'd like to see you try," he shot back, rising to his feet in order to scoop up his gear.

"Okay," she said. The next thing he knew, there were vines snaking up his legs from the floor. How the fuck were there vines in his room? Before he could even think to reach for his knife, the vines tightened down around his legs and pulled him to the floor. He hit hard, the wind rushing from his lungs as he did so. When he finally managed to roll onto his back, it was to find Rose staring down at him with a faintly sinister look on her face. "The next time, I will bind you from ankle to shoulder. I'll make sure to gag you, too. And I will leave you trussed up on the floor like that until Dare gets back. You are not leaving here until the sun is up."

"She's no match for him," Clint insisted.

The look on Rose's face softened and she gave him a gentle smile. "I have never met anyone more capable of taking on a vampire. Not even Mystery is as effective against them as Dare is. And Mystery is capable of some serious damage." She offered him a hand to help pull him up into a sitting position. As yet, the vines hadn't let go of his legs. He had the sneaking suspicion that they wouldn't for a while. Rose settled down to sit beside him, turned so that she faced him. She crossed her legs, hands resting on her knees, and gave him a knowing look. "Its admirable that you care about her enough to want to protect her. But this isn't something you can keep her from. As you've pointed out several times, LeBeau wants her. I can't imagine why that is. But his desire to have her puts her squarely in the middle of this mess. She won't let you hide her from him."

"She's got a history with him," Clint told her, doing his best to keep his voice even and empty. "They went out for a while."

Rose gave him a look that suggested the news was a surprise. But that lasted for a short amount of time and her expression softened even further. "Ah. I see. You're afraid that she won't be able to resist him if he finds her. Or she won't try to resist."

"He seems to think that she can't resist him," Clint admitted. He didn't like that he sounded so lost with the admission. Rose simply stared at him a minute or two in silent.

Then she laughed in his face. Loudly. And for a long time.

"Gee. Thanks," Clint retorted, voice and jaw tight. He pointedly shifted his gaze away from her.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh. And I'm certainly not trying to make light of your worries and fears. But the idea that she can't resist LeBeau is positively hilarious to me," Rose replied, still chuckling under her breath. He turned a glare her way. "Do you remember when I said Dare is more effective against the vampires than Mystery?"

Clint stared at her. What did that have to do with their present topic of conversation. "Yeah."

"Do you know why?" she asked, pressing on before he could actually answer. "Do you know who Mystery is?"

He had to admit, he didn't. Not really. He and the Avengers had dealt with so many villains before the plague hit. There was no way he could be expected to remember them all. Especially when it was likely he hadn't had any run ins with them. And he couldn't recall ever having an encounter with Rose or her friends. The only reason he really knew who Rose was happened to be because Tony had made an extensive file on her more criminal activities as they pertained to his company.

"Have you heard of Flare?" Rose asked when he said nothing. It was highly likely she'd seen the look on his face that said the name meant nothing to him.

Clint started. Now that name... That name meant something to him. Little was known about Flare beyond the fact that her mutant power allowed her to blow up just about anything. And she tended to do just that, whenever the whim struck her. As far as he knew, no one had any idea what she looked like. "Mystery?" he asked, eyes going wide. "The surly, amazing chef who likes to not so casually mention just how much she thinks I'm fuckable?"

"Yes. The surly, amazing chef who likes to mention just how fuckable she thinks you are is Flare," Rose confirmed. "With her powers and her temper, she's a force to be reckoned with. I've seen what happens when she explodes a vampire and it isn't pretty. But her powers are nothing next to Dare and what she can do. And where Mystery is filled with temper, Dare is filled with righteous rage. It burns hot and high, like the fire she controls. If LeBeau is unlucky enough to cross her path, I have no doubt that he won't last very long."

"I wish I had your faith," Clint admitted.

"You've seen her when she hunts. Tell me he can get one over on her," Rose said. She put a hand on his knee, a touch meant to be supportive and understanding. "I've seen her when she hunts. Its like she has a sixth sense where the vampires are concerned. Its uncanny. And its never failed her. LeBeau doesn't stand a chance against Dare. Not to mention... She has a reason to stay safe." The last was said softly. With certainty. Clint wondered at it, might have asked her about it, but his computer started blaring out Black Sabbath.

"Shit," he muttered and tried to pull at the vines. They merely tightened down further, making it next to impossible for him to feel his legs.

"What's that?"

"Its a call. I need to answer it. If I don't, nothing good will come of it," Clint told her. She gave him a look that clearly said she didn't believe him and felt it was a trick. "Honest. I need to take it. If I don't, protocols will be put into play that will mean nothing but trouble for you and your friends."

"If you try to run, you'll find yourself bound and gagged and hanging upside down like over-ripe fruit," Rose warned him. Then the vines were letting go and Clint scurried out of their hold toward the computer by his bed.

His finger hit the button to take the call just before it would have ended and all hell would have broken loose. The screen flickered a moment, then the image cleared and he found himself staring at the one and only Tony Stark. Well, through a camera lens, at any rate. It was the monthly call, a security measure that had been put in place when it had become clear what the plague was. If Clint didn't answer the call, it would be assumed he'd fallen and then Stark would send in the cavalry. "About damn time, Clint. I was just about to send in back up," Tony began, then stopped and squinted at Clint. "You look like shit. What's going on there?"

"Nothing, Tony. Nothing. Sorry. I was a little tied up." Clint barely heard Rose's snort at that, and he found himself hoping that Tony didn't hear it at all.

"That's a steaming pile of bullshit," Tony shot back, the smile he'd been wearing sliding away into a frown of concern. "Spill it, Barton. What's going on over there? This doesn't have anything to do with that girl you've been training to hunt, does it?"

The questioned brought forth a much louder snort from Rose, prompting Tony's gaze to drift to the side. Shit. This was not going to go well. Tony was like a dog with a bone when something didn't add up. "Is she there with you, Clint? Is she why you look like shit? Been keeping you flat on your back?"

"No. She isn't here with me," Clint replied steadily. Maybe, if he kept his voice level and didn't look toward Rose, he could steer the conversation away from villains hanging out in the mansion like it was no big deal.

"Obviously, if the news coming from that part of the world is anything to go by," Tony said, putting aside Rose's snort for a moment. There was a touch of a question in Tony's voice. Clint blinked at him, wondering what he was talking about. "You haven't been watching the news this week?" Tony asked, when it became obvious Clint wasn't going to tell him anything.

"No. I've been out of touch with the news this past week," Clint admitted. Tony shook his head and started typing at a keyboard. In seconds, images were flashing across Clint's screen. Images of fires burning brightly against the dark of night, of flames licking hungrily at what were obviously buildings. Images of charred corpses laying forgotten in the streets.

"For the past week, New York's eleven o'clock news casts have been filled with stories of buildings going up in flames mysteriously. Bodies have been found, burnt beyond recognition. I've sneaked a peak into all the reports I can find and thus far, investigators have found no signs of accelerants in the fires. And witness statements put each of the burnt buildings as known vampire lairs. Tell me this isn't you."

"It isn't me, Tony," Clint returned. "I actually haven't been out hunting in a week or more."

"But your expression says you know who it is," Tony said. His tone suggested Clint should just tell him what he wanted to know.

"I might," Clint hedged

"You should probably tell him, Clint. We all know what he's like when he starts sticking his nose into other people's business," Rose's voice was sharp and possibly slightly bitter. The images were gone, replaced by Tony's face. His eyes were wide.

"Did I interrupt you in the middle of an assignation?" Tony asked. Clint ignored the touch of curiosity he heard.

"No. You did not," Clint said.

"That would explain why you took forever to answer," Tony said, a grin taking up residence on his face. It was filled with knowing.

"I was not getting naked with anyone," Clint maintained.

"I knew Stark was repulsive in his business tactics. But I was unaware that his repulsiveness extended to his personal life," Rose said. There was a good deal of distaste in her voice.

"Clint, who are you hiding over there? Come on, sweetheart. You can show yourself. I won't bite," Tony coaxed. Clint saw Rose move out of the corner of his eye and hung his head. This was not going to go well. Not at all. Of all the times for Tony to call...

"Biting would be a bad idea, Stark," Rose said as she stepped into view of the camera on Clint's computer. Tony shifted his attention to Rose. He stared a moment before his eyes went wide and his dragged his focus back to Clint.

"Why is the Emerald Rose standing in your room? Why is she in my mansion?" Tony asked, voice strangled with disbelief.

"Because I'm doing a favor for a friend. Tell him what's going on, Clint. Or I will. And something tells me you won't be happy with my version of events," Rose said, a touch of an order in her words. Clint sighed and shook his head, dropping it into his hands for a moment. Damn it all to hell.

"What events? What's going on? What is she talking about? Why is she there?"

"Because one of my hunts went sideways," Clint began, trying hard to ignore the throb that was starting just behind his eyes. This was absolutely a headache he didn't need. "And when I say sideways, I mean it went wrong in the most spectacular way possible. And in order for any of this to make sense, I guess I'm going to have to go back to the beginning and tell you everything."

"I'm all ears, Clint. This had better be good." Tony had his arms crossed over his chest, letting Clint know that if he didn't like what he heard, he was going to come in with guns blazing. Given the tech on his suit, Clint was fairly certain it wouldn't take him very long at all to make it to New York.

"You remember I told you how I found a girl in the rubble of a building when I was out hunting several months back?"

"Yes. You said you helped her get to safety," Tony returned, his gaze flicking to Rose briefly. They started going wide with sudden realization and Clint rushed to let him know that it wasn't what he was thinking.

"No. It wasn't Rose. I only met her a week ago," he said. Tony gave him a look that suggested he thought Clint was lying. "I swear, Tony. I've only known Rose for a week."

"So who was the girl, then? Because I get the feeling that the safety you got her to was inside the walls of the mansion." Tony frowned, obviously not happy about being lied to as he had.

"Dare Scott," Clint told him evenly. And he watched Tony's face as it sank in. It took a minute or two, the blank expression on Tony's face at the use of her name fading away as the computer he called a brain kicked in and latched on to what he'd actually said.

"Dare Scott. You mean Alasdare Scott? The X-Man? That Alasdare Scott?"

Clint sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes. That Alasdare Scott. Dare was... in shock and hiding. I recognized her immediately. So I got her out of there and brought her back here. She needed food. A drink. A shower. A bed to sleep in. Safety."

"It was determined that all of the X-Men died in the assault. How is she still alive?" Tony asked, though the question sounded like it was mostly for himself. Clint answered him anyway.

"She's a pyrokinetic, Tony. How do you think she survived?"

"The fires?" he asked.

"I believe so. But I can't say for sure. I wasn't joking when I said I haven't been hunting in more than a week." Before Tony could wind himself up and demand answers, Clint pressed on. "We know for certain now that Logan is dead. Dare confirmed it for me. She had to torch him. He came after her, claws drawn."

"They turned the Wolverine?" Tony sounded as shocked as Clint had been when Dare'd told him.

"They did. And he went after her. She wasn't at the school when the vamps hit it. She'd stayed behind in Canada to help with a wildfire. When she got back, it was to find that everyone she knew was gone. And then Logan attacked her. She burnt him to ashes. And she'd been on the run since that night. Until I found her." Clint paused as he remembered the sadness and the horror that had been in her voice when she'd told him about Logan. "I brought her back here. It was merely to offer her a sense of safety. All I could see was a scared kid who needed someone to lean on. It wasn't my intention to have her hunt with me. But she's a natural, Tony. She's good at it. Vampires don't stand a chance against her because her powers are... You really need to update your file on her."

"Do I?" Tony asked, sounding very affronted by the suggestion that he hadn't done his due diligence.

"Tony. She can wear flames. She doesn't need a source. She can conjure the flames up out of nowhere. She can call and control the fire. She's unbelievably strong and powerful. She's smart, too."

Tony blinked at him. "Do I hear some admiration in your voice? Are you smitten on the girl? Is that what's been going on there?"

"Whether I'm smitten with her or not is beside the point. She's an amazing, natural hunter."

Tony gave him a look, then shook his head. "If she's so amazing and natural, why is she torching half the damn city?"

"She's looking for Remy LeBeau," Clint told him.

"The Cajun is still alive?" Tony asked, sounding surprised. Three shocks in less than ten minutes. It had to be some kind of record.

"Sure. In the loosest sense of the word. If you consider drinking blood being alive," Clint replied. His answer made Tony frown.

"LeBeau was turned?" he questioned softly. Clint could hear the regret and the sadness. Could hear the recrimination. And he knew, without a doubt, that Tony was already trying to work this newest piece into the puzzle he had in his head.

"He was. He was the one who sent Logan after Dare. He wants her for some reason. He wants her bad enough to destroy lives."

"What did he do to you?" Tony asked. Clint wasn't surprised by the question. Tony was too smart for his own good on all the days that ended in day.

"Almost a month back, I started hearing chatter about a big gathering of the undead. Rumor was, they were grouping together for some thing they planned on doing. I should have seen it for the ruse it was, but I didn't make the connection right away. So Dare and I prepped for the hunt. We worked out a way to do the most damage with the least effort. And when the night came, we went out." Clint paused as he recalled the evening in question. A shiver passed down his spine as the night's events rushed through his mind. Rose put a hand on his shoulder, anchoring him in the here and now. "We realized in the middle of it all that it was a trap and we tried to get the hell out of there. We got split up and LeBeau grabbed me."

"He grabbed you. Why?"

"I told you. He wants Dare. He tried to force me to give her to him," Clint explained.

"Because you're sleeping with her," Tony said. There was very possibly a small measure of disapproval in his voice.

"She's an adult. I'm an adult. What we do together is none of your business unless it directly affects my ability to do what I'm supposed to be doing here. Which it doesn't," Clint informed him, the edges of his words and his voice hard with the reminder that Tony wasn't his father.

"How did he try and force you to give her to him?" Tony asked, leaving the topic of Clint's sexual partners alone. For the time being.

"Torture. LeBeau style. He used sex. And pain. And blood. He was trying to turn me into his blood whore. He was sure, once he did, I'd give him Dare. It was only through sheer stubbornness that I kept her location from him for as long as I did. Just when I was ready to give in, Dare showed up with help and got me out of there. Rose and some of her friends helped Dare find me and get me away from LeBeau's depravity."

"He fed you his blood and hasn't used it to call you back to him?" Tony sounded skeptical about that.

"He's tried. But I'm brilliant with potions and unguents and things of a similar nature. I've been using one of them to help break the connection between Clint and Remy," Rose said, her tone suggesting she wanted Stark to call her on it. But Tony stared at her as her words sank in.

"You found a way to break the connection between a vampire and their blood whore?" Tony asked. His brain was already spinning. Clint knew it.

"Of course I did," Rose said, voice filled with pride.

"You are going to have to tell me how you managed that. It could help stop the spread of vampirism," Tony began. Rose gave him a cold smile.

"I'm not going to do anything to help you. Not when you look down your nose at me and what I do," she said, then gave Clint a look. "Dare should be back soon. She hasn't been spending more than a few hours a night out there. I'm going to go ensure that there's a meal ready for her."

Clint nodded and watched her go. When he looked back to the computer, Tony was regarding him with intense scrutiny. "Please tell me that you haven't allowed a villain unleashed access to my home."

"I've been in bed the better part of the past week. He was either going to make me his blood whore or he was going to kill me," Clint told him pointedly. "Whether you like it or not, Rose helped get me back and she helped get me back on my feet. More importantly, Dare has made friends and that's something she needs."

"I don't see her friend out there, trying to stop her from destroying the city," Tony pointed out.

"I doubt Dare is trying to destroy the city. I suspect she's leaving a message for LeBeau. She's letting him know his days are numbered and she's going to be the one to end him. For daring to harm me."

Tony stared a moment. "You have the oddest taste in women. I remember Alasdare Scott as being a rebellious teenager with candy striped hair and a really bad attitude."

"Well, now she's a rebellious adult with candy striped hair and a really bad attitude. And enough power to wipe half the eastern seaboard off the map."

"Sounds exactly like your type, Clint," Tony grinned. "Does she feel the same way?"

Clint shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know. I think so? But we haven't really talked about it. It didn't become an in your face thing until after she got me back. I'm taking it slow with her. She's skittish about a relationship after Logan."

The statement saw Tony blinking at Clint. "You're saying that she and the Wolverine were an item?"

"It was logical. He's the only one I know of who could survive her flames if she had an accident."

"Apparently not," Tony said, shaking his head. Then he heaved a sigh and glanced at the time. "I'm going to have to let you go soon. We're taking a break from the lab work, but we'll be going back to it in a few. I expect to meet this girl, Clint. She'd better be worth risking your heart and your neck for."

The connection closed before Clint could say anything more. Which was just fine by him. He was getting tired of having to defend his actions. He was fairly certain that he'd hear more on the subject of Rose being in the mansion at a later date. So it was a good thing that Tony didn't know anything about other villains being there. The man would have kittens if he were to find that bit of information out.

The call couldn't have come at the worst time. Clint would have liked to have had his story in line before having Tony up in his business. And he certainly would have liked to have been able to tell his story without a known villain standing at his back. Ah, well. There was no hope for it now. Tony knew almost everything. And Clint was more than certain he was going to have to do a good deal of explaining in the days to come. Because Stark wasn't going to let it go.

Clint frowned and rose from his spot on the edge of the bed. It was time to put Tony on the back burner because he had other matters to deal with. Rose's comment about Dare returning soon was a reminder that she and Clint had a conversation ahead of them. A serious one. He was going to be downstairs when she came in. He was going to be the first thing she saw when she came through the door.

He took a step toward the door to his room, then stopped and frowned. One hand reached up to rub absently at his chest while he did his best to pretend that his blood wasn't on fire and there wasn't a song burning in his veins.

~*~*~*~*~

Dare had to force herself not to slam the door shut behind her. Her temper was simmering at a low boil, waiting for an opportunity to go up in flames. She'd been out every night since she'd brought Clint back to the mansion, looking for Remy. And every night, while she'd torched a minor lair here and there, she'd come home empty handed. Of course the first place she'd looked for Remy was the home where he'd holed up while he'd tortured Clint. It had been empty when she'd gotten there, not a sign that anyone had been there. Nothing other than a single arrow head and the ace of spades left in the room where he'd kept Clint. Remy's way of telling her that the game was on and he planned to win.

He knew she was looking for him. There was no way to miss the messages she'd been leaving for him. A week's worth of 'fuck you!' in convenient crackling flame form. Every building torched had been her calling card. Her way of saying that she would play his game. And she would play it to win. He would be lucky if she burnt him the moment she laid eyes on him. Not that she had any intention of letting him die that easy. She wanted him to suffer, the way he'd made Clint suffer. She was still devising ways to torture his undead ass. If she could ever find him. It was as if he'd vanished into thin air. Mother fucker.

She caught a glimpse of her face in the entry way mirror and frowned. There were smears of soot on her cheeks and across her forehead. Her hair was limp with sweat and dirt. A not so casual sniff of her armpit told her she smelled of ashes and garbage and death. Looked like a shower was the first order of business. She started for the stairs to the upper level, where the bedrooms were all located, intent on getting clean.

"We need to talk."

Shit.

Those four words saw her coming to a stand still. Dare turned and found Clint lingering in the shadows of the living room, just beyond the archway. He was clad in the black clothes he'd been putting on to hunt in, and his arms were crossed over his chest. He did not look happy. And he didn't look well, either.

"Son of a bitch," she spat, not bothering to hide it from him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Clint asked, coming into the light of the hallway. He made a point of getting up into her personal space so that he could loom over her. Dare didn't let him intimidate her, merely tipped her head back so she could glare up at him.

"Hunting for the mother fucker," she replied, not bothering to pretend she didn't know what he was asking. She crossed her arms over her chest and continued to glare.

"Alone?" There was something in his voice beyond the anger and the sense of betrayal.

"I'm more than capable of handling a few blood suckers," she retorted. Why did he want to believe she was incapable of hunting unless he was at her side? Why did he have to be like practically every other man she'd ever known? Why were men such egotistical pigs?

"You are not capable of handling LeBeau," he told her quietly.

"I know Remy better than you do," she returned pointedly. He shook his head, one hand reaching up to rake through the length of his hair.

"I spent plenty of time with him. I think I know him well enough. You shouldn't be trying to take him on by yourself," he insisted, voice strident. Heaving a sigh, Clint shook his head and reached out to put his hands on her upper arms. "I don't want to see you hurt." His voice was intentionally soft, his words fairly generic. She understood what he wasn't actually saying.

"He isn't going to get away with trying to fuck you up the way he did. And he isn't going to get away with trying to use you to get to me. If he wasn't such a chicken shit asshole, he could have had a face to face with me already." Her voice was hard as steel, every last word bitten off with the sharpness of her anger.

"You can't go out without me again. And you are not going to drug me into staying here," he warned her. Dare frowned up at him and stepped away, putting distance between them in more than just the physical sense.

"You're not ready to go out there and hunt again. Not when his blood is still in your veins," she told him. She made sure there was no give in her voice, so that he knew the topic wasn't up for debate.

"His blood is not still in my veins and you don't get to make that call for me," he snapped.

"Of course his blood is still in your veins. You think I don't know what a junkie looks like when they're jonesing for a fix? I used to live with junkies. I know the signs better than you do," she snarled. The way his lips thinned and his eyes narrowed let her know he didn't like that she'd called him a junkie. Tough shit. He hadn't heard the things he'd said in his sleep, hadn't heard how he'd begged and pleaded for just a little more. He hadn't watched the shakes and tremors take him, hadn't wiped the sweat from his brow. He hadn't seen any of it, because he was so fucking messed up in the head from the way Remy'd been polluting his body and mind. "You're a fucking junkie, Barton. You want to go back to him for just one more fix. You want the rush that his blood brings. You want him to fuck you over six ways from Sunday just for the sensation of his blood burning under your skin again."

"You don't know what I do or don't want," he said quietly.

She frowned at him, shook her head at his denial. Of course he would deny that he was hooked on that fuck's blood. Addicts very rarely admitted to being addicts. "I know you want his blood inside of you. I know you don't care if he pours it down your throat or if he fucks it into you. You want the rush it brings. You want the way it makes you feel. You might not be a full on blood whore, Barton, but you're damn close. And I refuse to let that happen. I've already lost too many people I cared about to that peckerhead. I will not lose another."

"You know? You know what it was like, having to wonder if each encounter would be our last? You know what it was like to feel the burn of his blood as it slid under your skin? You know what it was like to worry that you would fuck up and give him the one thing you couldn't afford to give him? You know what it was like to worry that you'd hurt the one thing you were trying to protect and save?" he demanded, voice getting sharper with each question. By the end, he sounded like he was so close to becoming unhinged. And she could see in his face that he didn't understand a damn thing about her.

Dare let the flames lick at the inside of her skin. She knew when her hair rose on the thermals, saw it in the way his eyes flicked to the halo it made around her head. And she knew when the unease kicked in, when he started to wonder if she would lose control and torch something. Or someone. She saw it on his face. Just like she'd seen it on other faces so many times over the years. "Do you have any idea what its like to have your own family be afraid of you? To see the fear in their eyes when your temper spills over and something suddenly starts smoldering? Do you know what that feels like?" she asked him softly. Flames sprang to life at her wrists and glided up to cover her hands like gloves. "Do you know what it feels like when you realize that you're the worst thing they can imagine?"

She stepped closer to him, got right into his personal space and made sure he was staring down into her face.

"I was their own personal boogie man, Barton. I was the one thing they feared most. And it fucked me up six ways from Sunday when I realized that they had good reason to be afraid. Because I could take their lives in the blink of an eye if I lost control. And back then, it was so easy for me to lose control. I was always angry. I was always on the verge of exploding. My own flesh and blood was scared of me. It must have been a mercy for them when I ran away."

She couldn't help the soft sound of pain that rolled up her throat with the memory of that time. Couldn't help the burn of longing that blazed through her. "The best thing about living on the streets was that I was with people who knew what I was. It was also the worst thing about living on the streets. Because I was a tool. Do you know what it feels like to have people use you to their own ends? To use you as their personal attack dog? As a weapon meant to stop their enemies? I fit in with the gang when I was on the streets, but I certainly didn't belong. Because all it would take to destroy everything was a spark set to the fuse of my temper."

His eyes slid up from the flames that had crept up her arms to her shoulders, back to her face so that he could look her in the eyes. She didn't know what he saw there. She didn't care. Because he was going to understand that she knew what he was going through a hell of a lot more than he thought she did. No matter how much of her soul she had to bare to him in order to do so. "But do you want to know what the worst thing was?"

"Dare," he began, a catch in his throat that told her he was well aware of the emotions that were eating at her.

"It was finding a place where I belonged, because everyone else was a freak like me. Only I didn't belong, because every goddamn one of them was afraid of me. Afraid that I'd lose control and set them all on fire. Afraid that I'd go dark side and end the world. They were plain assed afraid of me." She paused and called the flames back, sucked them back in like they'd never been. Continued to glare up at Clint.

"My whole life, I've been an outcast. A freak. Unwanted, even among others who were unwanted. And I deserve that. Because the flames whisper to me. They talk to me. They tease and tempt and cajole. They burn under my skin with the desire to be set free. They want me to use them, to let them run wild. They want me to use my full power. And I really want to do that. I really want to give in and let them free. Because I like the way they make me feel."

She let him digest that one, then gave a snort and shook her head. "You think I don't know what a junkie looks like, but you're wrong. I see one every time I look in the goddamn mirror. So fuck you if you think you can lie to me and tell me you're fine. Because I know you're not."

She didn't let him say anything. She simply turned on her heel and stalked toward the stairs. Stomped up them to the second floor and headed to her room, the one she never used or slept in anymore. She made sure the walls shook when she slammed the door shut behind her.

~*~*~*~*~

The echo of the door slamming was still on the air when Rose and Mystery stepped into the hallway. They gave him a look that suggested he was being an idiot, which meant he probably was. He'd gotten that look many, many times over the years. And from many, many people. Muttering a curse under his breath, Clint started for the stairs. "Don't go up there unless your intention is only to hold her. Because if you open your mouth right now, Barton, I think she'll set your nuts on fire." There was perhaps the faintest hint of pleasure in Mystery's words, which left Clint feeling like she'd really enjoy seeing such a thing come to pass.

"What Mystery means," Rose said, voice a little terse as she shot a glare toward the other woman. The look bounced off Mystery without notice. "Is that you shouldn't go up there to try and convince her she's wrong. About herself or you or whatever. You should only go up there if you plan on holding her and telling her you're sorry for being a monumental idiot about it all."

"Preferably on hands and knees. While naked. With a bouquet of roses clutched between your--" Mystery began, but Rose shut her up with a sharp elbow to the gut. Mystery shot the woman a look before giving her attention back to him. "My point is that you should play the penitent soul and beg for her mercy."

"Maybe you should stay out of this and let me succeed or fail on my own merits," Clint said, not bothering to keep the annoyance from his voice. It wasn't like he didn't know he'd fucked things up. And it wasn't like he didn't know he needed to apologize. What he did know is he didn't need Mystery putting her nose into his business. Things were tense enough as it was without her unique brand of advice. She snorted at him, a sound that told him exactly what she thought of that statement.

"Dare is a sweet girl," Mystery drawled, staring at him with a gleam in her eyes that would probably mean nothing good if they'd met under other circumstances. "And, for whatever reason, she's attached herself to you. I don't want to see her hurt. And I don't want to see her cry because I had to blow her boyfriend up for being an absolute shit stain about everything."

"You don't care if she cries. You just don't want her to set your leathers on fire," Rose retorted smugly. Mystery gave the woman a look that did little to rattle Rose. Rose ignored her companion and offered Clint a faint, soft smile. "Mystery is right. Dare is sweet. And she is still a girl. We've grown fond of her. Neither one of us wants to see her hurt."

Rose's meaning was clear. She thought Clint was too old for Dare. And she thought he was going to break the firestarter's heart. Which was highly likely. Clint tended to be a disaster when it came to relationships. But that didn't change the fact that his feelings for her were real. And he thought her feelings for him were the same. It certainly seemed that way. Not that they'd talked that part out yet. Dare hadn't seemed to be willing to discuss her emotions and feelings just yet, so he'd let her be.

"Dare isn't a child. She's young, yes. But she isn't a child. And whatever relationship we have was as much her choice as it was mine. I didn't force her into anything," he told them both clearly. "Also, I would like to remind you that she used to date Logan. If I'm too old for her, what does that make him?"

He didn't bother waiting for a response. Leaving the two of them to chew on that bit of information, Clint finished his trek to the stairs, then took them two at a time. There was a gnawing worry in his gut that said he needed to apologize soon, or bad things would happen. He couldn't be sure why he was filled with such a feeling, but he was. There were times when he felt like Dare was two different people. And maybe she was. Hadn't she just told him that her powers talked to her like they were a separate entity? Maybe she really did understand the things going through his head better than he thought.

He pushed everything from his mind beyond his apology as he strode down the corridor toward Steve's old room. He had no doubt that she'd retreated to the safety of the room she'd chosen her first night in the mansion. She likely saw it as a place to retreat and hide while she got herself back together. Maybe she thought he wouldn't follow her there. And maybe, any other time, he wouldn't. But he was going to follow her this time, Even if that wasn't what she wanted. This needed to be sorted. Before it could fester and turn into something dark and terrible.

The knob turned under his hand, surprising him for a moment. Part of him had been expecting the lock to be engaged in an attempt to keep him away from her. So to have it turn so easily threw him for a moment. But he shook the surprise off and let himself into the room.

It had changed very little since Steve had last used it. Pictures of his life were clustered on the pale green walls, and on the wooden desk situated in one corner. An easel stood near the windows, still holding the painting he'd been working on when the vampires had launched their assault. Clint wasn't sure it would ever be finished, which left an ache in his heart for various reasons. The bed was made, thick grey comforter pulled up to a pair of plump pillows. The matched furniture stood silent vigil, as if guarding the room for its owner and waiting patiently for his return. Clint knew he could open one of the dresser drawers and find that it was still full of Steve's clothes. The same could be said for the closet. He was assailed by memories, so many memories, for a few seconds before he gently nudged them back into their box and turned his attention to the open bathroom door.

He could hear the shower running, could see thin clouds of steam slipping out between the door and the jamb. Clint considered the best way to handle the situation and decided that a full on frontal assault was the way to go. So he headed for the bathroom, intent on doing whatever he had to so that she knew he was sorry. And he understood.

The door to the shower was shut, but the clear glass let him see that Dare was huddled around herself with her head bent under the spray of water. Even without seeing her face, he could tell she was miserable, and it made him feel like absolute shit to know that he was the cause of that misery. He closed the distance between himself and the shower with a handful of steps. Let himself into the stall without a word.

Dare didn't move, not even to look up at him with anger and accusation in her eyes. He put a hand on her shoulder, felt the soft trembles that shook them. He didn't know if she was crying or if something else was going on. He didn't bother to find out. He simply wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back into his embrace. "Dare. Baby. I'm sorry."

She was stiff in his embrace, probably because she didn't want him to touch her. To offer comfort. To offer an apology. That left her silent for far longer than he was comfortable with. He had to wonder if she was going to respond or if she was going to ignore him. "You're still wearing your clothes," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse with unshed tears. With suppressed memories. With choking emotions.

"They'll dry," he replied softly. "You're more important."

"Am I?" she asked, not bothering to lift her head. It was hard to hear her over the rush of the water pelting them. With the thick, soggy curtain of her hair between them. "Am I more important than your clothes? Am I more important than him? Than his blood?"

He heard the fear in her voice, even though she kept it soft to try and hide her emotions. That fear broke his heart. Because it was a fair question. Because the way the song called to him... Clint turned her to face him, one hand catching her chin in order to gently tip her head up so that he could look her in the eyes. There was fear in them, turning them dark grey. He offered her a faint smile before bringing his other hand up so that he could cup her face between his palms. "There is nothing more important to me than you."

She stared up at him, looking so very much like the young girl Mystery and Rose had just called her. He saw in her stare a vulnerability that she kept hidden away beneath a veneer of anger and hostility. Beneath a blanket of overt sexuality. It made him wonder if the bravado he got from her time and again was real or if it was some kind of clever charade she played with people. Was this Dare, the doe-eyed girl staring up at him, the real Dare? "I don't want him to get his hands on you again. If he takes you... I don't know if I'd be able to get you back. And if I did... Would it even be you?"

He wanted to deny her words, tell her that LeBeau would never get his hands on him again. But he wasn't going to make empty promises. He wasn't going to lie. She deserved better than that after she'd risked her safety to get him back. So he simply wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close. "I don't want him to get his hands on you, babe," he told her gently. "We've both got a reason to want to protect each other. But I can't protect you if you go off on your own. And I'm no good to you right now. I need you to be safe, Dare. For my own peace of mind."

"He has to pay for what he did to you," she returned. He saw flames flicker at the back of her gaze and wondered, briefly, if LeBeau truly understood the firestorm he'd invited down upon his head.

"I don't care about that. I care about you. I don't want to even think about what he'll do if he gets his undead hands on you, babe. It scares me. Because I have no problems believing he will fuck your mind up one side and down the other." Clint let her see the honesty in his eyes. "I am afraid of losing you."

She stared at him, eyes wide and filled with emotions he knew she'd never give voice to. And he saw it when the scared little girl folded away, when the bold and assertive woman he knew rose to the surface. Then she was rising up on tiptoes so that she could press her lips to his own. There was hunger in her kiss. Desire. Need. Fear. Her hands curled into his wet shirt, pulling the material out of shape as she clung to him. When he pulled back, it was because they both needed air. Her eyes had darkened so that they were dark, steely grey with her passion. Her nails scratched his abdomen when she grabbed the hem of his shirt in order to shove it up and off. It resisted, the water soaked into it making it want to cling to his flesh.

Dare muttered a curse, prompting him to huff a soft laugh. She glared up at him, but let go of the sodden garment when he pushed her hands away. Watched as he pulled the thing up and off with little effort. It hit the floor with a splat, forgotten as he reached for the fly of his fatigues. Her fingers trailed over his chest, fingers tweaking and tugging at his nipples. A shudder rippled through him when she leaned forward and latched onto his flesh with her teeth. "Dare. Baby. I can't get my pants off if you keep that up. And I really, really, really need to get my pants off."

"Hurry up, old man. I need you. It feels like its been an age since I had you between my thighs," she replied, voice deep and husky. But she stepped back and gave him room to work, watching his hands as they made quick work of his fly. As the shoved his pants down to his ankles. It took work to step out of the wet material, but he eventually kicked the black fatigues away so that he stood naked before her. Dare's hands, warm with heat and filled with eagerness, slid over his skin. He watched as her gaze dipped to his cock, then one hand reached for it and gave it a soft, gentle stroke.

"Dare," he groaned, hips rocking into her touch without thought. He wasn't sure this was the time to be gentle. Not when she'd just moments ago been trying to rip his clothes off eagerly. It was an odd change that he didn't understand.

"I know he used sex to get into your head, Clint. And I know we haven't had sex since you got back. I wanted you to recover. To understand that I wasn't going to use you like he did. To know that you always have a choice," she whispered. They were odd words, spoken with so much force that he knew without a doubt that she had a reason to say them.

He brought a hand down to tip her head back up and found himself startled by the look in her eyes. The understanding. The fear. The lingering cloud of memories. "Dare?" he asked, leaving the rest of his question unspoken. Her gaze shifted to the side for a moment, then came back to him.

"It was a long time ago. I was young and stupid and naïve," she said dismissively. As if it was no big deal that someone had hurt her like that. "I just wanted you to know that I understand how scary it can be the first time after... Its okay if you say no or tell me you want to back out. I'll understand."

"Baby," he returned, voice soft so that she couldn't hear the anger that lived in it. "I am so sorry."

He didn't let her respond, didn't let her try and blow it off as something less harmful than it was. He covered her lips with his own, a sweet and gentle and chaste kiss that made promises he would never speak aloud. Dare melted against him, her hands reaching up to twine into his hair. She held him close, pressed her body to his in a silent effort to make him forget. What had happened to him. What had apparently happened to her.

Her lips were so soft against his own. So gentle and sweet. She matched him kiss for kiss, opened to him when his tongue touched the seam between her lips. Sighed and clung to him tighter. Moaned softly when he deepened the kiss. When his hands clutched harder at her ass so that his cock was trapped between them, hard and aching with need for her. He let his hands play over the curves of her ass, let his fingers tease between her thighs. She shuddered and dragged herself from his kiss. Her lips were swollen, eyes glassy and pupils wide. Her cheeks were stained pink with her hunger.

"Please, Clint," she begged. "I need you inside of me."

"Wrap your legs around my waist, baby," he told her, already turning them so that he could press her back up against the slick wall of the stall. Dare did as he'd instructed, lifting her legs so that she could wrap them around his waist. It put his cock so much closer to her pussy. The heat of it was enough to drive him insane.

He reached between them, took hold of his hard dick and moved it into position. Her swollen lips brushed the head. He felt her quiver in anticipation, her thighs squeezing his hips. It was a silent plea to fill her. He made sure she was looking at him when he slowly pressed himself inside of her, when he filled her so completely that he was buried to the hilt. He held himself like that for a few moments, let her body adjust to him. Let him memorize the feel of her wrapped around him the way she was, arms and legs clinging to him as tightly as her pussy clung to his cock. And still he stared down at her, watched her as her emotions flashed across her face. As they filled her eyes and darkened the grey of them until they were almost black.

She tried to entice him into motion. She clenched her muscles down around him. She tried rocking her hips, but his body held hers still, kept her pinned to the wall. She dug her nails into his shoulders, twined her fingers in his hair and tugged at it sharply. She whimpered and whined and pleaded with wordless sounds. But he held still, kept her impaled upon his length without mercy until she subsided. Until she sank into him and went limp in his hold. Only when she was soft and plaint against him did he start moving.

This was nothing like any of their other times. Usually, they let their passions and emotions carry them away and they fucked fast and hard. The sex always ended quickly, with the two of them panting for breath and trembling with need. Then they slowed, their actions gentled so that they could both enjoy the encounter.

This time, Clint started soft and slow. Moved against her as if she was the most precious thing on earth. Because she was. She'd accepted him for who and what he was in a time when very few people had the ability to do so. She'd joined his personal crusade without being asked, without complaint or criticism. She was soft and hard, a woman and a child and a warrior rolled up into one unique and tantalizing package. He saw a lot of himself in her. She was an unconventional hero, using something utterly destructive to save lives. To preserve and protect. But she was a hero. And she was worthy of respect and love and worship.

This one time, Clint planned on doing just that. He planned on worshipping her. Of showing her how much he appreciated her companionship. How much he respected her as a person, how much he respected her abilities. He was going to show her how much he loved her.

So he moved slowly, hips rolling in a gentle motion that saw him sliding in and out of her hungry body at a snail's pace. And Dare, his vivacious and volatile partner, clung to him with arms and legs. With her mouth as it met his again and again for hungry, possessive, tender kisses. With her emotions and her very soul.

Her back pinned to the wall, her arms and legs coiled around him as they were, he was free to let his hands roam and explore. He cupped his palms under her ass for a while, memorizing the way it filled his hold. Used them to occasionally encourage her to move more intensely against him. Let them skim up over the curves of her hips and the soft expanse of her belly. Her breasts were heavy when he curled his fingers around them, her nipples hard and peaked and begging for the touch of his lips against them. His mouth watered to take possession of them, to lavish them with attention. But he made sure his gaze never strayed from her face, from the soft look in her eyes. The wonder he found there.

"You're so beautiful, baby," he whispered softly, a prayer spoken between the two of them. Her eyes were large as they sought out the truth in his own. He leaned in, pressing himself deep and holding there, so that he could deliver a kiss so intense it saw her heels dig into his back. "You're so beautiful. And I'm so lucky to have you. I'm going to do everything I can to prove that to you."

"Clint," she said, his name filled with everything she was feeling. Everything she had yet to give name to.

"Shh, baby. I know," he promised, leaning in to kiss her again. When he drew back, so did his hips. He pressed them forward in a long, slow stroke that brought a soft, strangled sound from her throat. Her fingers found his hair and curled around the sodden strands tightly. "Let me love you, Dare. Let me show you how important you are to me."

He peppered her cheeks, her lips, her chin, her throat, and her shoulders with kisses. His hips moved with excruciating slowness. Each stroke slid deep, drew a panting gasp from her throat. She clung to him, eyes wide and luminous as she watched him, breath sharp and ragged in her throat.

She was so soft against him, but so hard at the same time. There were muscles strung tight under the silken expanse of her skin. Muscles that clung to him so sweetly that it made him ache. Each time he drew back, each time he pressed forward, wonderful friction sent sensation screaming along every single nerve until his brain was on overload and all it wanted was for him to fuck her into the wall. The only acknowledgement he made of that desire was the occasional hard thrust that saw Dare's nails digging into his shoulders.

He didn't know how long they stood there, water washing over them while he thrust himself into her with slow, slow strokes. He didn't notice when the water started cooling. Didn't care that goose flesh was coming up on his flesh where that water hit. Didn't care about anything but showing her how much he wanted and needed her. And he made love to her until his muscles ached and quivered. Until his body screamed for release.

Then he made love to her some more.

Finally, when she begged him so sweetly with a voice that was hoarse from panting for more, he sped his pace and started the journey toward completion. His hips thrust against hers harder. Faster. His strokes shortened as his own need built and built. Became a screaming desire at the back of his brain. A pressure building low in his body.

His fingers slipped between them, found her clit and rubbed it almost too hard. She squirmed in his hold, thrust her hips against his questing fingers and his driving cock. Spasmed around him. Her body went rigid, her mouth dropping open in a strangled cry of release that was drowned out by his own cry of completion. By the rush of the water around them.

He spent himself inside of her body, her muscles milking every last bit of his orgasm from him. He kept her pressed to the wall for some time to come, worked on learning how to breathe again. Her legs slid from around him, dropping until her feet touched the floor. She still held him, but her head was pressed against his chest and her lungs worked hard to haul air into them. She was quivering in his hold. He leaned in for another kiss, let her know without words how much she meant to him.

When they were capable of drawing apart, when he was sure that her legs would hold her, he set about cleaning them both up. She stood silent and sleepy as he shampooed the night from her hair. She leaned against him when he soaped her skin, eyelids growing heavier every second. It let him know that she'd been expending a great deal of herself when she'd been out looking for LeBeau. He remembered Rose saying something about food, but he was starting to suspect that she was going to end up falling asleep before she could eat. Given how rough she'd looked the past week, he thought maybe sleep was more important than food.

Fully cleaned and rinsed, Clint shut the water off and gently nudged Dare out of the shower stall. She stood silently as he wrapped her hair up in a towel. She let him buff her skin dry. A robe hung off the back of the bathroom door and he wrapped her in it. Of course it was too big for her. It was Steve's, after all. But it would be good enough until he got her back to their room and into bed. After getting her taken care of, Clint took another towel and used it to rub the water from his skin and hair. Upon finishing, he slung the towel around his waist and wrapped her in his arms. Then he prodded her out the door.

She let him tuck her into his bed, eyes drifting shut when her head touched the pillow. Clint tossed his towel aside and climbed in next to her. He pulled her against him, settling her back against his chest. It took almost no time at all to drag the blankets up over them, then he curled his arm around her and held her against him.

He lay in the darkness, listening to the soft sounds of her breath as she slept. It was a pleasant sound. A peaceful sound. Her presence soothed him, drove the tension from his muscles. He realized, laying there with Dare in his arms, that felt better than he had in a while.

He realized, laying there in the dark with Dare in his arms, that there was no song raging in his blood.