Murphy's Law «•Peter Parker x Y/N •»

Antarctic And The Docks

It wasn't too hard to see where Y/n got her archery talent from. Clint realised this too - and didn't like it. Just as his family finally stopped relocating, his real children had settled in to their schools, Laura had finally found the recipe she was looking for, a new problem that he thought was long gone reappeared.

He vented his frustration on to a single target. The red and white entrapping his focus, all of other sounds fading away. Hooking the arrow on to the string, he pulled, the distance seeming so narrow yet possible. With a satisfying thunk!, the arrow shook as it hit the target. As he lowered the bow, Clint saw the bullseye was pierced with the arrow.

But he couldn't block out the swarming problems around him. His long time friend and partner was refusing to talk to him, a new vigilante with a bow and arrow that just so happened to be his daughter and a new drug on the rise.

From what Clint had gathered, the drugs were delivered in packages, and caused extreme hallucinations. As Fury told him:
They transport you to another world, where you and your worries don't exist.

If that wasn't creepy enough, the dealers were almost always people looking to find a quick buzz, although more than often they wound up missing. SHIELD found no trace, no evidence and most importantly, no body.

Clint took the arrow out of the target, the cracks of sunlight entering the training hall. He ran his fingers over his forehead, heaving a deep sigh. Retirement, he thought, why couldn't I just stay in retirement?

Sliding the arrow back in to it's quiver, he slung the bow around his shoulder. Trudging along, Clint made his way too the conference room. Swinging open the doors, he was met with three familiar faces. Wilson, Rogers and Barnes.

"Glad you could finally join us, Agent Barton!" Fury mocked, clapping for their attention. "Do you want to turn your attention to this?"

The Director slid a package across the table. Steve recognised it as the one Y/N had taken the last night.

"It's one of the packages." He answered.
Fury laughed, before sending another plastic wallet down the table. It had a blue powder inside of it, and it shimmered in the lights. Not taking his eyes off of the package, Clint slid in to a seat next to Wilson. Palms flat, Fury leaned on the table as he explained. "This is what they call 'Antarctic'. Melts rapidly at a specific temperature, and is very hard to find."

He paused, before pointing to the brown-paper package in front of them. "That is what the dealers are using to get them around." Steve picked it up, inspecting the label. Nothing more than a couple of stamps and numbers.

"So, why are we being called to do this?"
Sam grumbled, and Fury scowled. Stomping over to get his third and final object, he threw a picture on to the table.

A picture of a dock, with boats idly floating around the huge storage building. Built out of rusty metal, it looked abandoned, apart from the barbed wire fence that lined the outside.

"That, Wilson, is one of the secondary places where they get this stuff. We are going to infiltrate it in a week's time, nothing more, nothing less." He glances around at the four men, and they all nodded in understanding.

"Get in, get drugs, get out." Bucky simplified, "Right?"

"Exactly, although things can very easily go south. We have teams on standby, but if we do it any time before next week, we won't have enough agents here to properly back you up."

"Got it."

(There's quite a bit of information in this chapter, sorry if it's a bit short.)