140

“Like, down down?” you ask him. “How down?”

“Yes, Agent Barton,” he says, and his tone is clipped; this is a disaster of fairly epic proportions, for the assignment, for the Avengers, for the post-mission paperwork. “Down down.”

“Fuck,” you say, but you’re already spinning through alternative plans in your head - you’re still on a mission; you still have to be practical, and everything else is just going to have to wait until later.

“You need to get to Captain America,” Natasha says, ever the consummate professional. “I can go help the others.”

It’s a plan, of sorts, and you didn’t have to be the one to make the executive decision, so you signal your agreement and leap off the truck cab roof, feet propelling you in the direction of the control tower as soon as you hit the ground.