"I hope you are not underestimating me, Miss agent," Clint muttered, a small smirk playing on his lips and a challenging glint in his eyes.

The training room buzzed with energy, Nora stood at the center, her moon-like hair tied in a high ponytail, that gracefully cascaded down her back. She was clad in the usual training gear of her's, adjusting the sleeve that ended at her wrist she bounced from one leg to another, her face though calm had a hint of smirk, "Would never dream of it, Agent Barton,"

The sparring session started– their training to be precise. Something they held regularly so that they could keep their skills polished and know each other's skills and tricks so that coordination would be easy on missions. Currently though, it was just a method to test her skills-- to know how much power and agility surge in her veins.

To see what Fury had seen in her.

Clint and Nora's movements blurred— swift jabs, calculated dodges. Nora's lithe form weaved through the air, surprising everyone with her agility. Clint's eyebrows shot up in mild surprise; perhaps he was the one who was underestimating her after all.

Her agility, after all, was not a skill to be taken lightly, each movement was fluid and precise, and she looked like she soared in the wind.

Well, to be honest she literally did for a brief second.

"Impressive," he admitted, ducking a roundhouse kick, before twisting his way out of her immediate reach and grabbing her feet in the air, "But agility won't save you every time,"

With a swift motion he twist her leg, she would have landed on her face– if she hadn't freed her foot with a kick, executing a flawless backflip to land several feet away from him, "I have been in this game for a long time too Clint, I know what will save me,"

Nora was relentless.

She ducked, twisted, and countered. Her fists danced; and soon enough– in a few more seconds– she landed a solid hit on Clint's shoulder. He staggered, momentarily off balance. Seizing the opportunity, she swept her legs under him, sending him crashing to the ground. His surprised expression was almost comical.

"That was some good moves," He muttered, "But just so you know, I work with arrows more precisely than with fists,"

Her lips quirked in a curve– something that was half smile and half smirk– it was almost comical to see the tint of embarrassment in his face. She didn't blame him though, she knew he was right, he was a sniper after all not a hand to hand combat assassin, "Why, Thank you, Agent Barton. Not to worry though, I do know your expertise with a bow and arrow,"

In the right corner of the room, Natasha watched her intently, not with the gaze of speculation but suspicion.

Those moves were a hell lot like the training she had been through– not exactly but a replica of them for sure. She knew brute training when she saw moves, and her's was definitely like that. How her expression lost the shine when the sparring actually began, the blankness in her expression, the subtle eye movements and the gait of someone who knew they could keep up with danger.

SHIELD didn't give this kind of training.

The kind of training that someone's moves get so precise and expert– like death awaits them if they fail.

Natasha would know, of course.

That was the difference in training between SHIELD authorities and other programmes– HYDRA, Red Room, Quantum X and a lot more.

But normally, if someone does associate with any of the illegal programmes their files are marked specifically. With a purple cover– a sign of post connection with less than appropriate authorities, a cover to signify that they were different from others.

But there was nothing on her.

Not a single fucking word.

It was like her identity was not even registered in SHIELD, she had gone through the physical files secretly and found nothing. Even when Natasha knew that maybe Nora wanted to keep it private, there was no way Tony's tech wouldn't have pulled something up from the database.

But there was really no file on her.

Fury had not told them anything about her past-- and now this. Natasha's instincts were rarely wrong, and she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Nora Reyes than met the eye.

Something dark.

Something– though not guaranteed– could possibly disrupt the family she had found.

The day was spent in their usual routine, just a little different for the new addition in the family. Though, all day long, even though Nora didn't mention it doesn't mean she didn't feel the suspicious glances Natasha would cast upon her.

It was unsettling to say the least.

She doesn't want the game of speculations and blame to start again.

***

The crescent moon hung up in the sky like a twinkling ornament, lighting up the way for people--even in the darkest hours, a light always lit up the sky. But there are moments, moments when no light is seen, the only thing around is eternal darkness, just like a moonless cloudy night.

Laid on the couch in the dimly lit common room, Nora's frame twitched, her knuckles white with the force they were holding onto the leather cover of one of her books-- described the agony in her dreams.

"You are an assassin, your work is to kill people," the man who stood at a towering height of 6'5, said– his grey hairs conveying the amount of his experience– while harshly kicking the girl in her guts.

The girl barely fifteen sprawled on the ground clutching her stomach-- coughing up blood. Her eyes were barely open, pain surging through her body, ripping her apart, she could feel the red liquid on her hands, his sharp pointed shoe cutting through her skin.

What had she ever done to someone to deserve this?

"I don't want to," she managed to rasp out, her voice weak to even her own ears, "I-I am not a kille-"

But her words were interrupted by her own scream, as her neck which was roughly grabbed sting. A single droplet of blood fell down, at the same time as the syringe that clanked on the grey floor.

Her already grey world begins to whirl in a moment of blurriness and dizziness, "You need a good lesson," the cold tone of the voice made her shiver, even in her almost unconscious state.

The black void took her under its cold embrace soon after... and as horrific it was– she was glad, it was always better to be under the black arms of coldness rather than to feel the cold hands of those people.

Her memories flashed, the blood on her hands, the screams of agony of others mixed with her own– the begs, the pleas.

"Please, I beg you."

"But you are my father."

"You are a monster!"

"I have a family to support."

"Follow the orders."

"You deserve this,"

"STOP! Stop! Please-"

Tony, who had come downstairs for a cup of coffee to sustain his three-day bout of sleeplessness, was confused when he saw Nora in the common room. The half-finished cup of coffee and the book in her hands retell that she was expecting to stay awake.

Though it looked like her body had betrayed her.

Her chest fell up and down erratically and the death grip on the book gave him enough signs-- that she was suffering through pain, not in the realm of reality but within the confines of her dreams-- something more harrowing than the waking world.

Something he suffered through on a daily basis too.

He quickly made his way to her form, his steps fast with a quiet concern and an unknown desperation when his eyes fell on her wet eyes, the tears lingering on her long lashes that framed her cheeks. He kneeled beside the couch, hesitating for a second– his hand stilling just an inch from her shoulder before he gently shook her, "Nora," he whispered, "Wake up,"

It was a...warm touch.

Her eyes snapped open when his warmth pierced through the coldness that draped over her like a long lost friend, cold sweat lined her forehead, her chest fell erratically while she sat on the couch, still disorientated from her unintended slumber.

For a fleeting moment, she believed...she thought she was back there– the cold floor biting her skin.

"Are you okay?" his voice sounded like a distant echo, her mind still trying to find its way out of the labyrinth of memories. His brows furrowed, eyes helding a distant need to help, his heart thudding painfully when a few tears slipped from her eyes. "Nora, ar-" his words were cut off as she stood abruptly, her eyes haunted.

He noticed how she instinctively recoiled from his touch, her body shifting to the farthest as it can manage. For a second, their eyes met. And instead of the composure and distance they held in day time they were filled with something more– something more painful.

Fear.

"I-I am okay," she stuttered, clenching her trembling hands in a try to steady them, "sorry, I-...I have to go,"

With the words being said, her panic driven self, fled from the common room, leaving Tony standing there who heaved a sigh.

His gaze darted toward the blue cardigan that fell off her shoulders. Stepping forward he grasped it, his fingers gently tracing the embryoid patterns of flowers on it.

His mind raced– thoughts drifting from one place to another before again coming back to her– as he made himself a cup of coffee, the familiar scent of artisanal cocoa beans helped a little easing the tension in his shoulders while his mind was working on overdrive, more on overdrive than it usually does.

Her eyes.

The way she recoiled from her touch.

That nightmare she was having.

Normally, Tony wasn't someone who would put much thought on someone's pain or life, he had enough shit to deal with as it was. If he would think about someone else– he would just spiral into his thoughts and lose track of what he could do. But there was something about her, something that drew him in.

It wasn't just her looks– though they were striking enough. It was the aura she carried, the sardonic edge in her voice when she talked... the vulnerability she tried to hide.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping the warm brew, he couldn't help but dwell on the moment Nora had left—the myriad scars etched on her arms, though old but prominent, mainly concentrated on her shoulders.

And weirdly, he could feel his heart strings tugging with worry. Maybe it was because of the guilt that still lurked in his heart after knowing that his weapons were once used to destroy innocents.

That now-a-days led him to believe that anyone with wounds or scars, might be just because of him.

Or maybe, because the fresh encounter with her-- seeing her struggling with nightmares, when he himself knew how it felt battling with your own subconscious in dreams felt, stirred his heart.

Her eyes held secrets that seemed darker than she even knew, and he couldn't help but think– if it is wrong that he wants to know those secrets.

After all, she was definitely an equation--that could change his life. 

(edited)