Chapter 18: Unraveling Threads

The two walked down another street in silence until James finally spoke up. "We lost this one. It happens. There's no shame in admitting it."

Seeing Peter's lingering doubt, James handed him the black arrow. "Take a look at this."

As Peter reached for it, he noticed James's grip on the arrow.

"What's up with this arrow?" Peter's hand trembled. "There's no arrowhead!"

James's tone was grave. "The archer never intended to kill us, hence the lack of arrowheads. Otherwise..."

Recalling the recent skirmish, Peter interjected, "Even with arrowheads, you'd have dodged them. I saw you dodge those shots earlier. And what about the flames afterward? Was that from your 'Thousand Tigers Dance' practice? And that Barton guy, the archer from before, do you know him?"

"Why the third degree?" James shook his head. "That's the result of the close combat training I've been teaching you." 

In an effort to push Peter to excel in close combat, James stretched the truth a bit—a white lie.

Seeing Peter's eager expression, James continued, "As for the archer, I was skeptical at first, but his expression gave Barton away."

"I've only heard of Barton, never met him. He's an expert archer with arrows that serve nearly 30 different functions."

"If he had used those special arrows, we might not be standing here right now."

Peter scratched his head. "That powerful, huh? Where'd you learn all this? Sounds like something out of a comic book."

James regarded Peter seriously. "Peter, remember this. You may have a sixth sense for danger, but don't underestimate this archer. His name is..."

"Hawkeye!"

This wasn't an exaggeration. Hawkeye, the only non-superpowered Avenger, had a skill set and combat prowess that matched—and sometimes surpassed—their own.

With that settled, James and Peter continued their walk in silence.

Seeing James's solemnity, Peter nodded. "Got it. Hawkeye."

"What now? Let it slide? There were more than just those two in the van. Shouldn't we do something about it?"

James shook his head. "We can't ignore it, but we're not equipped to handle it."

As they pondered the night's events, James couldn't shake the feeling that something bigger was at play. Clint Barton, Hawkeye, was a seasoned S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

But why was he guarding a gangster's hideout instead of on a covert mission with Black Widow?

Was there more to this kidnapping case than met the eye?

Perhaps, like Gwen Stacy's father in "The Amazing Spider-Man," they were letting small-time crooks operate to catch a bigger fish.

So who was the big fish behind this Russian mafia? Was it really just the FSB, the Russian Federal Security Service?

James vaguely recalled encountering the Russian mafia in "Daredevil." Could it be the same group?

But that was after the New York War. How did it tie into the present? And where did S.H.I.E.L.D. fit into all of this?

As they arrived at the orphanage, a silver pickup truck's headlights illuminated their faces. A familiar figure leaned out the window.

"James! Peter! There you are."

"Thompson?" James and Peter exchanged puzzled glances.

"You guys are late," Thompson said as they climbed into the truck. "I drove Uncle Will's car over. He told me not to worry and get you home. Let's roll."

"Since when did Uncle Will have this car?" James asked casually.

"Uncle's got interests you don't know about," Thompson replied, starting the engine and pulling away.

Back at the orphanage, Mother Hana was waiting in the lobby, her expression stern.

"Why are you back so late?" she asked.

"We were with Uncle Will," James replied, using him as an excuse.

"Don't hang around with that old man," Joan scolded. "And don't go out. Miss Potts from Stark Industries is coming to pick up Clarice. You'll be responsible for her."

"Got it."

With Mother Hana's words hanging in the air, James retired to his room and dialed Peter's number.

"Hey, did Uncle Ben chew you out?"

"It's fine. I can handle it. What do you need for our gear upgrades? I've got the browser open."

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