Weeeelp, I rewrote this chapter at least six times and I'm skipping the Memories of Rain update this circuit because that chapter won't even let me write one rough draft.

I'm not bitter, I say bitterly, with a bitter expression.

Edited: 9/4/15 Thank you mutecebu for leaving such detailed edits in your review! :D I've followed all of your advice. Well, almost all. Everything except the comma thing. Maybe a couple of other things. Murder my darlings why don't you. (Seriously, you were a big help, thank you.)

Chapter Five - Measured

Her heart thundered in her ears and it was wonderful.

It had been too long since she could run and even though this was only a treadmill, Melanie could pretend that her racing heart and pounding feet (the motions and sensations of both seemed to blur, meld) were actually getting her somewhere.

Plus, it was impossible to be completely miserable if every fibre of your being sang with sweet, sweet endorphins.

Yeah, she'd probably gone too far and fast without a decent warm-up and would be feeling it tomorrow, but Melanie couldn't care less about the consequences in the face of short-term relief. With her blood pumping she could almost ignore the fact that Sitwell was watching her out of the corner of his eye, dutifully going over reports on one of the spare weight lifting benches. Just as she could almost ignore that there were currently twenty-four agents not including him in the room, no doubt covertly assessing the only non-SHIELD agent among them.

...And there went her endorphins again. Melanie dialled the treadmill down from eight to a more leisurely four and focused internally to check her time. Her time-sense was often nothing but an irritant, but over the years Melanie had become competent at tuning it out.

She knew that if she didn't then she would know nothing but the crawl and rush of every waking moment.

Tuning out her supernatural body-clock until it became a quiet and occasionally useful hum in the depths of her subconscious came naturally now, although that hadn't always been the case. Now Melanie could simply recall a precise moment since her mutation activated, then gauge the distance between it and a future moment to six decimal places. It wasn't a particularly useful skill, beyond how it collaborated with her main mutation, and basic day-to-day time-keeping. Setting internal alarms, for instance.

Stress and long periods of quiet always made her more aware of time's minute progression and it was worse at night, especially if she hadn't tired herself enough during the day to drop off easily.

Basically, after the great natural equaliser took up residence in the back of her skull, Melanie needed physical exertion more than ever to keep herself grounded. At least if her muscles were burning, or stretched and limber, she could focus on the real world rather than have her mind wander to the nano-seconds between the cracks of conscious thought.

(One hour, fifteen minutes, forty-seven point zero, zero, zero two nine four seconds and counting-)

Water break. Even marathon runners had water breaks. Besides, staring at a wall she would never reach was becoming tedious.

Melanie turned off the machine, mopping the sweat off her neck and brow with the towel provided before heading to the water cooler. She just about did a U-turn when she saw Creep- Coulson standing there looking impossibly comfortable, despite wearing a full suit in a gym. Melanie filled a paper cup without looking at him and downed it like medicine, so he had no illusions about her lingering.

"Well, you'll be pleased to hear that we were unable to retrieve any information from your laptop." Was his opening line, because 'hello' wasn't nearly secret service enough.

Melanie hid a widening grin behind the cup. "Oh, really?"

"Hm, yes, it turns out that your computer had an acid capsule fail-safe, designed to kick in after one too many incorrect password attempts, or the use of a scrambler. I regret to inform you that the hard drive has been well and truly... wiped." More like obliterated, Melanie would have loved to be a fly in the wall when they realised what was happening. If only all her things were such great secret keepers.

"Well, there goes my audio books. And photos." Melanie jimmied the lever for another cup, since Coulson was being so chatty. "What else did you take from my apartment?"

Letters, postcards, that dorky mug Michael had bought her before they split up, her mother's psychology journals and her father's books, both equally crammed with annotations which spoke to her like they had never left... There were too many things that Melanie hadn't been able to throw away, simply could not part with- and now those treasured possessions exposed her as much as they'd once tethered her. At least she had had the foresight to hide her correspondence with Seraphina, and her old gear from her days as a nominal member of the X-Men. With any luck they wouldn't find all her hiding places.

Coulson interrupted her train of thought. "Nothing more than what we required to conduct our investigation," the man looked so unassuming, it really was a remarkable façade. "I assure you everything will be returned promptly and we will replace your computer."

No doubt with a few extra additions too. I wonder if Forge would send me a bug sweeper... I haven't spoken to him in ages though, he might be annoyed if I call him out of the blue, especially if I put him on SHIELD's radar. Melanie really should make it her mission to be less anti-social in the future. No, jeez, why am I even considering keeping the darn thing? It's going straight to landfill.

"I doubt you came here just to tell me you killed my laptop." Melanie had already lost what little patience she had for espionage games. "Why are you here?"

As usual, the man looked unruffled. Of course, even when Melanie had been jumping out of windows and off buildings, Coulson had appeared completely in control. "I would like you to walk with me, Ms. Holt."

It was very difficult not to tense. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I will ask you again tomorrow," he said, perfectly mild-mannered, "and the day after, and the day after that. You can keep saying 'no' as often as you want, but what I wish to discuss with you deals with a security level above what can be discussed in the gym."

Melanie scrunched her cup, shooting it into the corresponding recycling container across the room and only meeting his eyes after she saw it clear the rim. "What on earth could you possibly tell me that is too sensitive for secret agents?"

"Well," he smiled that small, easy, smile. "You'll just have to follow me and find out."

Melanie bit her cheek, considering; Sitwell looked nonplussed, glancing up at them before returning to his paperwork. It's not like I have any choice, I might as well go on my terms.

"I would like to have a shower first, if it's all the same to you." She tried to make it sound more like a stipulation than a request.

"Of course. Shall we say... half an hour?"

"That's fine."

Her one consolation was over all too soon and Melanie's short-cut hair was still damp when there came a sharp rap on her door.

"Ms. Holt."

"Agent."

They walked in awkward silence and Melanie couldn't help but wonder why the guards were no longer posted outside: because she now knew there was no escape from a flying fortress? Because they thought she was willing to cooperate? Or perhaps because one Agent Coulson was worth as much as -if not more than- the three who has escorted her to Fury's office previously? Oh jeez, was it really just this afternoon? It feels like so much longer and it's not like I ever lose time.

Their destination was a conference room, the sort of thing that wouldn't look out of place in any corporate setting, except perhaps for the fact that there were no windows and all outside noise instantly cut off when the door clicked closed. Coulson gestured for her to sit before sliding into a chair across from her. In front of him was a small remote control and a stack of manila files. Melanie counted thirteen of varying thickness before Coulson pushed one towards her. "What is this?" She was almost afraid to open even the one she'd been given, in case she was detained indefinitely for reading what was contained therein.

"The latest file on SHIELD's interactions with Xavier's psychic network." He adjusted his cuff-links as Melanie pulled the file towards her. "You have a pretty good accuracy rate, given the patterns our techs mapped from the previous years."

Melanie scanned the first page in the folder marked '2010 - 2011 – Overview' which included two line graphs and a comparative synopsis with the previous years statistics, noting a sharp drop in reports after July 2010. Melanie went on to read the brief summary of reports which Coulson recited from memory with flawless recall.

"Two school shootings, an attempted bombing of the Wakandan Embassy, that train which never had the chance to derail in Queens, two flood warnings, multiple hurricanes and twisters, a major earthquake which makes it, what? Seven confirmations in the past five years world-wide?" Melanie kept her eyes on the page, her fingers leaving imprints on the paper. "And that's just what you went through Xavier's contacts with. How many anonymous calls have you made over the years?"

Melanie shifted uncomfortably, a flush creeping up her neck.

"I must say, the payphones near your residence and place of work have an interesting call history, you leave the name 'Cassandra' with the NYPD for small-time local crimes don't you? Your success rate wasn't very good at first, but it didn't take long for someone to verify your claims and start following up on them. All the New York precincts are under orders to record and report any Cassandra predictions now."

Melanie exhaled heavily. "That's why I change up which precinct I call. Human error. People are never prepared to trace a call or chase up CCTV footage unless they receive multiple calls in quick succession, long periods of inactivity make people sloppy. Personnel change on the phones all the time as well. Plus, even if there is a memo going around to pay attention to callers calling themselves 'Cassandra', the police are usually too busy trying to avert a crime to trace the call." She shrugged. "There are probably some officers who want to take the credit, others that feel I'm entitled to my privacy."

Knowing where surveillance blind spots were also helped, although the removal or vandalism of many of the city's public payphones was becoming an issue. Really, Melanie should just buy a new phone for every tip-off she made, but she already went through her burners at a rate of knots and they were supposed to only be for the very worst of emergencies. Not to mention the environmental impact of it all, she could only donate so many 'barely used' phones to city shelters or charities before people started to get suspicious. Still, anyone trying to chase Melanie using her old phones would be led on a merry chase by New York's homeless population, who must own roughly two hundred of her old cells between them by now. She always made sure to leave some credit on them at least.

"SHIELD is dedicated to the privacy of its personnel, that extends to our informants. If we had known that you were one of Xavier's contacts, rather than a rogue psychic working exclusively for Lensherr, then our initial meeting would have gone very differently." Melanie snorted softly at the understatement. "Xavier told us a lot, more than we were ever expecting to hear if I'm honest. That a single operative could make such an impact on the psychic network is astounding, you should be very proud."

Melanie groaned softly. Apparently Charles had run his mouth more than he had told her on the phone, in either version of events. She would have to talk to Jean about that next time she made contact, stop the Professor from drawing any more attention to her. "Charles likes to exaggerate, I'm sure he's just worried about me. Honestly, he makes it sound like I'm a driving force behind the network, when at most I'm just a part-timer." Melanie just hoped Charles didn't keep feeding them information, whether to ensure her safe return or for an angle all his own.

"Everything that SHIELD didn't deal with or coordinate directly was filtered through Xavier's extensive list of global contacts." Coulson hummed, not giving the slightest hint whether he believed her or not. "It makes you wonder how your numbers might improve, if you just cut out the middle man."

Melanie scowled. The time-traveller was a devout follower of 'the devil you know' philosophy. While she and Charles didn't always see eye-to-eye, she still owed him some loyalty and trust, both commodities which SHIELD was deep in the red for.

Coulson continued talking, despite his less than enthusiastic audience. "True, natural disasters hold to patterns and for the most part the local forecasting services already saw the signs before you called them in, but you have consistently given notice of the events and detailed exactly what was going to happen. Magnitude and area effects are unpredictable and a couple of hours warning can make all the difference when it comes to human lives. As for your other predictions..." He smiled wanly. "Well, humanity is much harder to read."

"There isn't any difference for me, really." Melanie lied through her teeth with no small amount of practice. "Precognition is easy if you focus on the 24 hour news cycle, doesn't matter if it's human or mother nature taking a swing then."

"But you don't catch everything."

"Like I told Fury: No. Precognition isn't a switch I can turn on and off when I feel like it." Swap 'can't' with 'I have human limitations on my time, plus the media isn't always on top of these things' and it was almost true.

The agent leaned back in the chair, his positioning a textbook pose for putting others at ease. The fact that he was so well-versed in body language manipulation did exactly the opposite of what he intended. "Ms. Holt, I'm going to be honest with you." Who says that? Oh yes, liars. "There isn't much SHIELD can offer you that you cannot procure yourself."

Melanie found herself intrigued despite herself, conceding his point but wanting to see where he was taking it nonetheless.

"You choose to work, that much is evident, just as you choose to help others with your predictions. Many others would have simply taken the money and not given a thought for the rest of humanity, but for a psychic you've been relatively frugal." He exhaled the softest of laughs, "well, I do say relatively. Not many physiotherapists can afford a three bedroom apartment in TriBeCa."

"What can I say, the stock market loves me." Melanie grinned widely. Let him think I used my abilities to play the market, never mind that it's all just numbers and nothing speaks to me louder or clearer.

"And your maternal grandmother is doing very well for herself with her lottery winnings. What was it, the third largest state-wide jackpot in history after tax?"

"Fourth." Melanie hummed, brushing some fluff off her lap onto the floor.

"Mrs Salahori is lucky to have such a thoughtful granddaughter."

Melanie just kept smiling and side-stepped the obvious trap. "She hasn't gone by that name since the seventies."

"Mrs?"

"Any of it. If my parents had less sense 'Melody Moonchilde' would be on my birth certificate."

"...Now that's just cruel."

"Well, Grams did name her kids for the seasons, so I guess there are crueller fates."

"Which one was your mother again?"

"Summer, before the deed poll. Thank goodness Grams only had three kids, or someone would have been stuck with 'Spring'."

Coulson gave her a Look. Like he didn't believe her. Evidently he didn't know her Grams.

"How are things going over there?"

"Good. They were expanding the greenhouses last I heard." Melanie kept her tone flippant, like he hadn't trawled through Facebook or possibly even The Family Newsletter to get all this information anyway.

"And what was it like, growing up on a meliorist commune?" His words were light, expression surprisingly not mocking, perhaps his interest was even genuine.

"I don't know, I didn't spend all my time there, what was it like growing up where you did?"

"Awkward. Boring. I read a lot of comic books. Our sports teams almost never won." Melanie squinted, trying to detect a lie. Coulson smiled and slid another folder across the table. "Here, I thought we might get the benefits package out of the way, since it's unlikely to sway you no matter how many zeroes we stick on the end."

She skimmed over the summary, wondering if she should be surprised by the full dental and medical coverage. "Hmm. This is for a consultancy contract. Is that really what you'd want me to do, consult?"

"SHIELD bureaucracy has a lot of legal terms, but I don't think we have one tailored for your unique circumstances."

"Then give it to me in laymen's terms."

"We both work to make the world a safer place. SHIELD wants you to keep doing what you do, with one exception-"

"Answer to you."

"Keep us in the loop." He corrected, like semantics actually made a difference. "No more anonymous phone calls, or relying on a single very busy man to filter your warnings through a myriad of world-wide contacts, many of which are SHIELD in the first place."

Melanie watched the light glint off Coulson's tie pin as she ordered what she wanted to say in her head. Defying all preparation, the words stumbled out stiff and stilted. "SHIELD... I never heard of your guys before all this. I don't know who you answer to, or what your goals are, all I know is what little you and Charles have told me and neither sources are without bias. SHIELD is secretive to the point of public invisibility and as far as I have seen first hand, a law onto itself."

"Ms. Holt-"

"You have lied to me since the very beginning and you are keeping me here now with the intent to change my mind about you, not because all flights to North America are grounded, or the Blackbird is magically out of commission." Melanie scoffed. "Don't kid yourself, there are two reasons why no one's come for me. One: Fury wants more time to turn me, or at least make me more amenable to this organisation. And two: The threat to my person isn't high enough to warrant a rescue attempt."

"I'm sorry." The words sounded so genuine, for a moment Melanie almost believed him. "While it's true that we asked Xavier to hold off on sending someone, it's not a lie that we cannot spare an aircraft and pilot to take you back to New York, they really are all tied up with other projects. We took you into custody under different perceived circumstances after all."

"And made no plans to return me home. That's not creepy at all."

"I can only extend my apologies. As for what you said earlier: SHIELD faces more global threats than any other organisation, covert or non. It is precisely because we are not tied to a single country or government that we are able to protect people as well as we do. But there are some things SHIELD cannot prepare for."

He picked up the small remote that had been sitting idle, for the first time since they sat down, causing the projector overhead to light up and cast a horrific image onto the opposite wall. "This is 'The Abomination', as he was aptly named by New York tabloids. A gamma radiation-altered human, augmented by a splinter cell within the US army."

"He helped destroy half of Harlem, yes, I remember." It was hard not to notice when someone started knocking holes in your city. "I thought he was a member of my community, at first."

Charles had used Cerebro and verified that both gamma 'mutants' as they were wrongly designated by the press lacked an X-gene. Melanie was still angry that Charles had sat on his hands even with the extra time she gave him. Buildings had been demolished, people had been put in the hospital- but the X-Men just weren't willing to risk exposing themselves to the public when the perpetrator wasn't a mutant.

Melanie wondered if Charles had told SHIELD instead, if they had had teams operating in the area. If they had chipped in on clean-up, if they had helped clear the area before and during the event. "What happened to him, 'Abomination' I mean?"

"In custody." Was Coulson's bland reply. "The one designated as 'The Hulk' disappeared entirely however."

That video from the Culver college campus had been suspiciously pulled from the internet, Melanie had only watched it a few times before the link stopped working. Apparently the file had even been wiped from personal hard drives too, through an internet virus which targeted only that video and its stills. Melanie hadn't even bothered trying to track down any surviving Harlem Incident footage after that.

I'd put my money on SHIELD having something to do with that too. How deep does their influence go exactly? And while we're on the subject: why should I trust an intelligence agency that suppresses information?

"I'm not sure how someone that big could have just vanished, not that I'm complaining. Hulk had a much better attitude than the other one." Protecting that woman at the college and then shielding civilians in Harlem- Melanie was willing to give him not only the benefit of the doubt, but a good deal of sympathy. Everyone thought he was a monster, but he still protected them. Hadn't anyone learned the moral of Frankenstein? Would any of her non-passing mutant friends be able to come out without facing the same stigma and brutal military response?

How long would they have to hide behind prosthetics, image inducers, or ill-fitting clothing designed to obscure what was beneath?

"Abomination is not the only threat to the world's security which the armed forces have been ill equipped to deal with." Coulson continued. "The prototype Iron Man suit, stolen and altered by criminal elements last year in Miami. Dr. Victor von Doom-" Melanie couldn't help but smile at the name, "-who attacked the Baxter Building in 2005; these are only the events happening on American soil in recent years. Think of the situation worldwide, what will happen in years to come."

"Yes, but-" Melanie stamped down the urge to throw her hands up, "our proposed solutions are vastly different from one another. You want me to join SHIELD, consolidate our skills and resources, but history doesn't paint a good picture of super powers that try to do everything on their own." She rubbed the nape of her neck, hair slowly dripping dry, and tried not to lose her temper. "Frankly, I'd rather stay on my side of the fence, but improving communications isn't out of the question. If SHIELD did indeed help stop some of my predictions coming true, I might consider a closer relationship in the future." When pigs fly.

Coulson hummed, flicking through a few images of the Abomination and the Hulk attempting to grind one another into the ground. "From what we've see, you haven't picked a side of the fence, rather you prefer to perch." He raised his hands placatingly when her face fell back into a scowl. "Just an observation."

"I made my own space, that hardly counts as 'perching'. You make it sound like I'm torn between options, when really I'm exactly where I want to be." She had worked very hard to carve out that position for herself too, operate without starting power struggles, help people regardless of 'sides' and be under no pressure from various factions to hoist their banners. The set-up had served her well and she couldn't think of any reason why she'd want to change it.

Then Coulson hit her with a curve ball.

"Ms. Holt, I know you have every right to distrust this offer." He clasped his hands on the table in front of him and held Melanie's gaze. "I also know that mutants are not going to stay a secret forever. Do you know SHIELD has an entire department dedicated to keeping mutants under wraps?"

Wide eyed, Melanie shook her head mutely.

"Well, for now other governments and organisations in the know are following our example, but we cannot pass off every adolescent mutant outburst as a failed military training exercise. Charles Xavier and telepaths like him cannot wipe every mind, just like we cannot pull every piece of incriminating evidence off the internet. Cats are already escaping the proverbial sack; more people believe in 'The Mutant Conspiracy' than a fake moon landing, and it's only going to get worse. In a few short years something will give."

Melanie hadn't realised that she was trembling until Agent Coulson gently touched her hand, startling her.

"Don't you think it would be a good idea to have more mutants positioned in places like SHIELD, so that when the news breaks, the public knows not to fear your people?" Coulson shrugged, his smile boyish and making him look younger than he surely was. "After all, it's an on-going betting pool: which is going to hit mainstream media first, mutants or SHIELD."

Shoulders hunched, Melanie tugged her hand away to twist it in her lap. "I'm afraid you've got the wrong person, if you're looking for some kind of spokesperson, or- or example of a humanitarian mutant. There are others who would be much better in that kind of role than me." Hank, who was so smart and driven yet always had time to listen to other's worries, who played the guitar and could quote a million different authors off the top of his head. Or Jean, who was intelligent yet humble, who loved so fully and loyally while still striving to reach her own dreams, attempting all diplomatic options before attack or even retaliation. Perhaps Ororo, who had a saint's calm and considered solutions- never problems, the fierce protector and patient teacher whom anyone was blessed to know. Melanie couldn't begin to compare to any of them.

"I think you underestimate yourself, Ms. Holt. Why don't you think it over?" He rose. "Keep the files, all of them, just please don't show them to anyone or leave them lying about in public areas."

"All right, but I still think this is a terrible idea." Melanie gathered the folders in her arms, pointedly not looking at the far wall where the images continued to cycle one after the other.

"The next transport to New York isn't for another week." He smiled. "During that time I have absolute faith in our ability to change your mind."

The next morning, Melanie grabbed breakfast to go, cramming two plastic salad boxes fit to burst with a variety of cold foods, so she wouldn't have to brave social interaction again until dinner time. Then she set off in search of somewhere to be alone.

True, she could have slipped back to her room, or found an empty table in the cafeteria, but she was so sick of neutral toned walls, glass, and chrome. Melanie wanted sunshine.

The sliver she found could barely constitute as such, but Melanie basked in it all the same. More than a few agents gave her odd looks as they passed her on the third floor, sitting cross-legged in a patch of sunlight supplied by a tiny corridor window. If the helicarrier (as she had been informed it was called) turned she would lose the bolstering warmth and she would have to find somewhere else to lurk.

"You know," a familiar voice broke the silence, "there's an observation platform one floor down."

"No thank you, Agent Barton. I'm good here." Melanie dared the man to say anything further as she stabbed her meaty-leafy-beany jumble pointedly.

He didn't take the hint. "So Phil told you, huh?"

Melanie hummed non-committally.

"Did he use the powerpoint? He loves the powerpoint."

This time Melanie didn't even bother responding. Maybe if I ignore him he'll go away.

"Look, I'm crap at this." His tone abruptly changing from light-hearted-interest to shoot-me-now-it's-too-early-to-deal-with-this. He plonked down beside her, leaning heavily against the wall with one knee drawn up. Melanie tensed, but took some comfort in the fact that he was unarmed (probably) and she had a deadly, deadly fork.

"At what...?"

"This." He gestured between them. "I'm crap at making people like me. Better at pissing them off to be honest; I can start a bar fight in ten seconds flat." He shrugged one shoulder with a self-deprecating grin. "But you know what? I'm not going to cosy up to you just to feed you the company line. You want out, you get out. Not my business keeping you."

Melanie blinked. "Okay... You just decided this now?"

"Pretty much." He shrugged again. "I mean in work terms I was told to play nice about five minutes ago, since I just clocked back in again."

"Right. Well." Melanie was lost for words. "Thank you, I suppose." She had a horrible thought. "Is this reverse psychology?" It was too early to deal with reverse psychology.

"Nope." He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "I'm just being selfish."

Despite herself, Melanie was intrigued. "Selfish how?"

"I hate these types of missions. Up close and personal? No thanks. If you want to help SHIELD you'll help, I'm not the one to razzle dazzle you. Besides, if I fail spectacularly enough at this then maybe I'll stop getting these gigs."

"'Razzle dazzle'?" She couldn't help but smile.

He batted his eyelashes at her. "I'm not dazzling enough for you?"

"Nope." She shoved his shoulder lightly so he'd stop fluttering at her. "You're, uh, a five. A five point eight, tops."

"Ouch." He winced. "I'm losing my touch. Usually I'm at least a seven."

"If you say so." Melanie spooned a bite of her concoction into her mouth to avoid coming up with anything wittier to say.

A long moment of silence passed before Barton spoke again. "We're having pizza and bad horror movie night tonight, in the first sub-level rec room, if you're interested."

"Horror's not really my thing."

Another moment passed. "There's a library on board, people don't bother you in there. And there's the sparring gym, great if you want to let off some steam."

"I... might do that. Later. I think I just want to sit right now."

"Sure."

They sat in companionable silence for fifteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds, far longer than Melanie thought the archer would stick around for. It was nice, oddly enough. If only because she didn't feel out of place sitting by herself any more, nor did she get as many odd looks from passing agents.

"Do you like working for SHIELD?" She asked at last, stacking her empty tub atop the full one and leaning back so her face was in line with Barton's, although maintaining a sizeable gap between their bodies.

He visibly thought about it rather than just blurting out 'yes', which earned him some points in her book. "Yeah, I do. It took a while to get used to it, since I was never the military type growing up. Overall it's been a hell of a ride. The job's rarely boring, I've got people I trust to cover me and I wouldn't want to go back to the way things were before."

"What was it like, before?" Melanie broached, watching the man carefully to see how far she could push him.

"Lonely." Was his immediate response.

Seven point two seconds later, Melanie recovered from her surprise enough to respond. "Thank you. For telling me." She clarified. "I... won't reciprocate."

"I'm Fury's man, I get it." He held his hands up and cocked his head with another self-deprecating smile. "If I were you I wouldn't trust me either." Barton looked considering. "If it's really eating you, you could tell me something pointless."

Melanie thought about it. "Like what?" Discovering the sort of thing he found 'pointless' might be a good gauge of character. Cooperating with Barton might also ensure no one else tried to work her from another angle.

"Like... your favourite movie, or ice cream flavour. Something stupid like that." Preferences like that couldn't really tell you much about a person, although people would always draw their own conclusions. It was a faux science at best, barely psychology at all. Besides, Melanie would stand to gain a lot more in return, if she kept the game going, particularly if she rebooted the conversation using her powers to work different angles.

"Is that the standard SHIELD agent deal? You tell me something personal and I give you something worthless back?"

"For a limited time only." He grinned. Melanie wondered how often he'd practised that expression in the mirror, to get it looking so guileless.

"Okay..." she smiled back, not as practised, "my favourite flavour of ice cream is pistachio."

"Seriously?" He wrinkled his nose. "That's a sucky flavour."

She stuck her tongue out at him. Manipulations on both side notwithstanding, no one hated on the pistachio in her hearing range.

"Okay. Uhh. Crap, I'm bad at feelings." Barton looked up at the ceiling for inspiration, tapping out a rhythm on his knees. "Okay, when I was a little kid I used to be scared to heights."

"Huh." She took a moment to digest that. "That's weird, coming from the guy who chased me over rooftops."

"Used to be scared. I got over it. You've got to tell me something now."

"Uh..." Melanie racked her brain for something completely innocuous. "I've never left the continent?"

"Cheater, that's on your file." Well, it was obvious there was one, now I know he's read it. Melanie filed that away for future reference, pleased that her strategy was already bearing fruit.

"Fine, hmm. Well, when I was little I wanted to be a professional skateboarder." That was perhaps too close to 'personal' but she wasn't twelve any more so it hardly mattered now.

He sniggered. "Really?"

"I liked the stunts." Melanie defended her much younger self. "Had a complete skater phase in middle school. Never could pull off the grunge look though." She poked his shaking shoulder. "Your turn."

Barton visibly straightened his face as he came up with a new factoid. "Uhhh... I like dogs?" Melanie looked unimpressed. "No seriously, that's a total secret! Don't tell anyone around here I've got a soft spot for puppies, they'll never let me live it down. Plus, bad guys? They'd throw dalmatians at me and escape with their death ray plans. Not cool."

Melanie snorted into her hand, for the mental image alone. "Okay tough guy, your secret's safe with me." That made her mind swing to another, vaguely related, topic. "Speaking of secrets, why did Agent Coulson give me so much information after I told him to shove his job offer?"

"He- hell, everyone on that op is trying to make up for bad intel." He rubbed a hand over his shorn crown of hair. "Intelligence says there's a low-level mutant who's aiding a suspected super mutant terrorist? Bring her in for questioning. Find out she's involved in jackshit aside from saving lives with her mind powers? Instant guilt."

Melanie rolled her eyes. "Coulson didn't seem very guilty." And beneath all the fakery, neither do you.

"Eh, he's a complicated guy. I think he has maybe three facial expressions, they can mean a million different things."

"Hmm." Melanie still wasn't convinced. "I think it's less of a moral obligation to right a wrong and more of a 'oh crud, this person might actually be useful to us', also: not a terrorist."

"Yeah, that helps." Barton stretched his arms up over his head, cracking his spine before slumping back against the wall. "But yeah, you're probably right, SHIELD doesn't hire people out of pity. Genuine psychics are hard to come by and your prediction rate is pretty good, right?"

"All or nothing." Melanie smirked wryly. "I either get it or I don't."

"Pretty damn useful if something pops up that doesn't come with a pre-disaster warning. Your man Xavier gave us a pretty long list of your past warnings and colour us impressed. If you know when bombs are going to go off then you're pretty much hired."

"I have to leave myself open or I... I miss things." Melanie muttered, looking anywhere but Barton. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life waiting around for bad things to happen and I get the feeling that if I signed on with SHIELD that's all I'd ever be doing." Same if she stuck with Charles, or Erik, permanently. There would always be 'one more mission', 'one more quick fix', it would never end. The Raid had been enough for a lifetime.

The marksman shrugged. "Yeah, the hours can be killer, but it's not like the lot of us don't have vacation time stacked to the eaves and our SOs bullying us to take it. Some of us get sent on dummy missions to the Bahamas just so we'll take a break. Some of us work nine to five and get home on time every night for partners and kids. Others work flexible hours, or from home since not all of us are field agents. The helicarrier is just a big shiny boat in the sky, hardly any of us are stationed on it full time. Don't like the sound of a special task force? No problem. You could pick any State-side location you like and Fury would send you off with a six figure pay-cheque and a great medical plan. Just say the word."

Melanie wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, I saw the medical plan, I'm just stuck at the 'working for SHIELD' part. Plus, I love my job."

"But... you're a physio." Barton looked confused. "SHIELD agents get code names, snappy suits, and a shooting range."

"I already have my dream job." Melanie tried not to sound too defensive. "It's what I've wanted to do since- well, for a long time. Besides, your uniforms are not 'snappy'. I've seen those jump suits most of the agents wear. True, some of you can pull them off but that doesn't make them snappy."

"Hey, don't diss the uniforms. You will make someone in outfitting cry."

That garnered another snort. "Sure." She got to her feet, stretching out muscles cramped from too long on a hard floor. "So, are you still on 'turn Melanie to the Dark Side duty' or do you have other stuff to do?"

"Eh," he checked his watch, "it's this or paperwork."

"Well, I'm not that cruel." She extended a hand to him before she realised what she was doing and almost withdrew it. The silence stretched for a long moment and neither were willing to make the next move. Finally Melanie held out both hands and helped pull Barton up when he extended his. "Do you- er, could you give me the nickel tour? I'd like to the see the library and the other gym you talked about earlier." At the very least I can get the lay of the land, right?

"Sure, I can do that."

"Hey." Clint padded softly across the pitch black room without bothering to turn the light on. "Mind if I stay here tonight?"

Natasha breathed her assent, withdrawing her hand from under the pillow where he knew she kept at least one beretta and a stiletto knife. "Against the wall." Clint knew better than to argue after he had just woken her up, so he toed his shoes off and slid into the space between her back and the wall. "Gibson again?" She asked.

"Yeah, sorry. Guy snores like a foghorn."

"It's fine." She leaned back into his chest to relish his warmth and he returned the gesture by loosely wrapping an arm around her waist- maintaining contact without pinning her down. "How did it go with Holt today?"

"Pretty well actually, she was responsive to the 'rebellious agent' and 'it's-not-reverse-psychology-really' double play."

"That's adorable." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I'll have to listen to the recording later."

He grimaced. "Yeah, about that..."

"You were bugged, weren't you?"

"It's not that, I had my mike on. I just told Phil to keep the audio file and most of the transcript classified."

"Did she say something incriminating?"

"Nah, not really. I just gave her more of the truth than I liked to get her talking." What had started out innocuous had quickly progressed into sensitive territory. He could have lied, but Clint wasn't a great actor. Short-term lies were fine, but maintaining a fake back story was too much for him to remember. Also, he had to stay truthful in case Holt caught him in a lie later, especially if she ever stayed on long term. It wasn't like the organisation lost anything by him spilling his guts anyway.

"Oh, Clint..." Natasha's tone was equal parts sympathy and reproach.

"It's fine. One time thing. Besides," he went for humour, "you never know when we'll need to know about an asset's favourite brand of running shoes, or how she takes her protein shakes."

She squeezed his arm in response. "I need to teach you a better way to establish trust."

"Sure." He yawned into her shoulder. "Maybe after this op."

"Do you think Holt will take the offer?"

No. "You're the people person, you tell me."

"I'll get back to you on that." Natasha shifted the pillow out from under her head so that half of it was on Clint's side of the bed. He held himself aloft until she rearranged her weapons as needed.

Then they closed their eyes and slept as deeply as assassins could.

A.N.:

Because I know I am going to get a ton of emails otherwise: I left it up to the reader whether or not Clintasha is fic canon or not. They could be codependent assassin bros, or ex-lovers, friends-with-benefits, soul mates, whatever. I honestly don't mind what you read in their actions.

Greek Myth Undertones: Since everyone cares about my Greek myth allusions so much, this chapter is Lachesis' chapter; the Fate of measuring mortal lives. Not only would Lachesis decide the length of a human's life-span, but also what a person was capable of. In short: Lachesis mapped peoples destinies and determined how they would interact with one another. Some threads catch together, others fray apart, the tapestry of life is ever changing. No matter what you do, you can never see the same scene twice.

Fun drinking game: Take a shot every time a character lies obviously, lies subtlety, lies with their body language, maybe lies but you can't prove it because there is simply too much material that the author hasn't yet covered in-story. Become a transcendental being made entirely out of your liquid of choice before you get halfway through the chapter.

...No, don't do that. That is a horrible idea. You will die. Even if you take shots of water you will over-hydrate and die. Please don't.