Where to Go From Here

Fat Harvey sat on the sofa in his apartment, looking at the murderous Hawkeye in front of him. With a helpless sigh, he set down the phone in his hand...

Hawkeye rolled his shoulders. A few bullet grazes made it difficult for him to move freely.

Yesterday, after reporting the news Pietro had brought him, he'd been about to head back to Washington when he ran into a group of gunmen on the way.

They were highly skilled and professional, and they knew Hawkeye's habits extremely well.

Hawkeye hadn't even brought all his weapons with him. After taking a few hits, he'd sensibly retreated to Hell's Kitchen to ask his colleagues for help. It was the only place where outsiders wouldn't dare cause trouble.

Things had gone about as he'd expected. Once he entered Hell's Kitchen, his pursuers had only tested the waters before giving up on following him in and taking up positions around the perimeter instead...

Looking at the phone in Harvey's hand, Hawkeye narrowed his eyes slightly. "Are you one of them too?"

Harvey held both hands out, palms down, and pressed them gently toward the floor. "Calm down, calm down!

"I just answered a call. Someone tried to give me an order.

"I'm just a low-level agent, a nobody who doesn't matter. Why would anyone waste time scheming against me?"

As he spoke, Harvey motioned for Hawkeye to stay calm. Slowly, he drew a pistol from his waistband and set it on the coffee table. "Listen, I don't belong to anyone or any organization.

"I just work for S.H.I.E.L.D. That's all—just a job!

"John Garrett contacted me a long time ago. He's a Level 8 Agent, so of course I had to show him respect.

"When a senior agent asks a low-level one like me to