I am doing another one of my mystery men imagines, because I love to leave you guys guessing. This is only going to be a two part story, so I will reveal all in the next part. Until then, I will leave you guessing.

Clint chuckled as he made his way from the cockpit of the Quinjet. He eyes falling on the slumbering woman that was laid prone over the seats. She had looked battered and bruised when he had picked her up from the extraction point. Like she hadn't slept or eaten in days. But that was (Y/n) for you. A spy amongst the spies. Most of her work was done alone. A shadow. A silent predator that would follow her target, unresting, until the job was done.

Clint, along with the rest of the team knew that what (Y/n) did, was one of the most dangerous jobs that you could get assigned to. To infiltrate and take down a target without having backup. Without anyone to call on if the shit hit the fan. Yet no matter how many of these solo missions that she had gone on. Despite how many times that she had been injured or nearly killed. (Y/n) would always go back for more. Tony happily dubbing the younger woman his Spymistress. A moniker that seemed to have stuck.

"Hey." Clint said softly. Carefully shaking (Y/n) from her slumber.

"We home already? One of these days you're gonna get a ticket for speeding, Clint." (Y/n) yawned in reply, as she slowly sat up and stretched out her aching limbs.

"You know, I swear that I am getting too old for this shit. God knows what I'll feel like when I'm as old as you, grandpa." (Y/n) chuckled. Her amusement growing as Clint huffed at being called out on his age.

"Watch it, trouble. I'll have you know that I'm not that old. And I can still run rings around you." Clint retorted, as he pulled (Y/n) to her feet.

"Now, smartass. Let's get you to Bruce so that he can give you the once over. You look like crap." The archer retorted, as he placed (Y/n)'s arm around his shoulder and helped her out onto the roof.

"I will have you know that you would look like crap too, if you had been camped out for the last month, and then had idiots shoot at you. That it would make you feel even worse that you had had to wait for your getaway driver to get his backside to the rendezvous point. Knowing that he was probably too busy polishing his arrows to remember that you were in dire peril." (Y/n) explained. Hissing slightly, as she almost stumbled. Clint coughing uncomfortably, as he realises that he had left her hanging.

"And as tempting as the thought of a trip to see the lovely doctor is, I think that I would prefer to drown my aches and pains in a couple of very large glasses of Stark's finest single malt whisky, and then a steaming hot bath. No point wasting Bruce's time for a few of bumps and bruises. It's nothing a few days back in my nice comfortable bed won't fix." (Y/n) assured, as the two made their way into the elevator.

Clint knew that he should insist. That he should drag her ass to see Bruce. He knew that she had sustained more than just a few, in her words, bumps and bruises. He could see where a couple bullets had sliced through her suit, leaving deep cuts into her flesh. Cuts that (Y/n) would brush off as mere grazes. He knew that she needed more than just whisky and sleep. But he also knew (Y/n) well enough to know, that even if he did drop her off at Bruce's lab, she would just up and leave. That she would stitch the bullet wounds herself. That again, that was just what (Y/n) did.

"Fine. But if you are going to raid Stark's stash of booze, make sure that you get the good stuff." Clint chuckled, as the elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside.

"Oh, don't you worry about that. I know exactly where Stark hides the best stuff. I really don't know why he tries any more. Old iron breeches isn't as smart as he thinks he is." (Y/n) replied. Hoping that since she had been away, Tony hadn't decided to move things around.

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(Y/n) reached over the bar. Her fingers feeling for the smoothness of a glass bottle. For a genius, Tony had never proved too imaginative when it came to his hiding places. (Y/n) smiling as she found what she was looking for, a bottle of fifty year old single malt from the Scottish Highlands themselves. (Y/n) grabbing a glass before making her way over to one of the sofa's and pulling out the cork. The brown liquor filling the cut crystal tumbler. The spy letting out a heavy sigh as she slumped into the chair.

She knew that Clint was probably right. That given how she felt, a trip to see Bruce wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. But that said, Bruce, with all the best will in the world, couldn't give her the medicine that she needed. He didn't have the thing that always made her feel better after one of these missions. Didn't have the touch that could take away all the aches and pains. (Y/n) knowing that here was only one man in the compound that could do that. Only one man that could make everything better. Now all she had to hope for, was that he wasn't on a mission of his own. And if he wasn't, she knew that he would come and find her when she was ready.

She had never intended to get so attached to someone. (Y/n) always feeling that it was better to not get too close to anyone. The possibility of losing them, in their line of work, making a relationship hard. Yet with him, it had been impossible not to fall. It had been impossible not to lose her heart. And when he had confessed that he felt the same, there was no turning back. Though they had kept their relationship secret from the others. Both of them needing something that was just theirs. Both of them needing a little peace in their otherwise crazy world. Both of them needing the other.

"And how is our Spymistress? Nice to see you back safe and sound, sweetheart. How did it go?" A voice enquired from behind her. (Y/n) smiling to herself, as she heard Stark's all too familiar tone.

"Oh, you know. Same old same old, tin can. Just been getting my ass shot at, so you and the others don't have to. Crawling around in the world's worst cesspits, so that you can keep that fancy suit of yours nice and clean. The usual." (Y/n) replied with a chuckle. Her smile growing wider as Tony moved to take a seat by her side and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. The spy always happy to see her favourite billionaire.

"Hey! Is that my best...........?"

"Yep. It is you fifty year old whisky. Why don't you pull up a glass and I'll pour you one? Oh, and while you're up, bring some ice." (Y/n) interrupted, pushing Tony back off the sofa. The billionaire making his way over to the bar.

"Every time. It doesn't matter where I put it. You find it.........."

"That is because I am a spy. Its my job to know everyone's little secrets. And you just happen to have more interesting ones than most, Stark. Now hurry up with the ice. This whisky will be sixty years old if you take any longer." (Y/n) explained. Tony shaking his head and laughing to himself, as he grabbed a glass and some ice from the refrigerator, before rejoining (Y/n) on the sofa, and dropping a couple of cubes into her glass, as she poured the whisky into his.

"Now, why don't you tell me what's been happening around here, while I've been away? And hopefully, by the time that you've done that, this stuff will have taken my mind off everything." (Y/n) added, clinking her glass with Tony's. The billionaire telling her all about Bucky and Sam's latest arguments. About something new that Bruce had begun to work on. And about how Clint had nearly burned down the training area with one of his incendiary arrows. (Y/n) sure that she had never been happier to be home. And sure that the best medicine was still to come.