[Trust]

"Widow, you cover the door. Barton, you're with me." Steve said firmly, his voice leaving no room for arguing. Not that it stopped Barton from trying.

"Nat and I work better together, Cap, I think maybe—,"

Steve was already shaking his head, dismissing Clint's idea. "No good. I need a long distance shooter with me. Let's go."

Steve could feel Clint's scowl on his back as he led the way through the warehouse, but he ignored it, focusing on the mission.

An arrow whistled past his head, slamming into a hidden man that crouched in the catworks above them.

"Nice shot." Steve said softly. There was no response from Clint.

Steve glanced behind him just to make sure that the archer was still at his six. He was met with burning blue eyes and a scowl.

"Eyes on the prize, Captain." Clint said, jerking his chin.

Steve's gaze narrowed at the tone, but turned back around to finish the mission.

…

Steve couldn't help the prickle of frustration as he watched Clint and Natasha lean their heads together, lowly talking about something. They were sitting across from him on the Quinjet; they still had a few hours to go before they would be back in DC for their debriefing. That was a long time for this little bubble of frustration to turn into a full grown explosion of anger against the archer.

Steve even knew that he didn't really have a right to be angry with Barton, but even he, the moral, all American, super soldier had times when he wanted to bit someone's head off. Unfortunately, Barton was at the top of his list. Mostly because of the attitude he had shown back at the warehouse.

It wasn't like Barton hadn't done his job, he had and he had done a good job, it was just that Steve was used to being obeyed immediately without anyone questioning his orders. It was also because Steve had a vague thought that Barton didn't like him and he didn't know why.

Clint let out a loud laugh at something Natasha had just said to him. He threw his head back slapping his right arm across his chest.

"Keep it down, soldier." Steve said in what he hoped was a calm tone and not the growl that he had imagined in his mind.

Clint's laughter stopped abruptly and his blue eyes locked on Steve's. "What was that…sir?"

"I said to keep it down." Steve said, rising to the bait.

"But, sir, we've just completed our mission and we're on our way home. Seems to me like we've got the right to a little bit of relaxation and laughter." Clint said innocently.

Steve couldn't really argue with that. But that didn't mean he couldn't try. "Yeah, well, not all of us want noise. We're trying to relax too. It's a little hard when we have some—," He cut himself off before he insulted that archer.

Clint's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Nothing." Steve said backpedaling. This was a grave he didn't want to dig.

"No, go on. Say it." Clint pushed, standing up. He wrapped a hand on the thick handle that hung down on the ceiling of the jet.

Natasha put a soft hand on Clint's other arm, cautioning him. He shrugged it off, not even looking at her.

The tension in the jet went up as everyone held their breath, waiting to see what the Captain would do.

Steve's mouth tightened and his hand curled into a fist on his lap. "Sit down." He said.

"I'm good standing." Clint sneered.

Without meaning to, Steve stood up. There was a sharp intake of breath from the rest of the team, their eyes wide as they watched the two men glare at each other.

"Do you really want to start something?" Steve asked, trying to calm down.

"What do you mean?" Clint asked, playing dumb.

"I mean, do you really want to have an argument up here in the air, with our teammates watching."

"I'm not starting anything. You're the one that's against laughing."

Steve paused as Clint brought back the reason for this disagreement. Had it really only been about Clint laughing? Just like that the anger drained out of him and he sat back down.

"You're right."

Clint blinked. "I'm what?" He clearly had expected a fight.

"You're right." Steve repeated.

Clint cleared his throat and sat back down, a confused look on his face. He stared at his boots for a few beats before his head snapped up and he glared at the staring faces of the rest of his teammates. "What is this some high school drama? Stare at something else!"

Immediately everyone focused their attention elsewhere.

Clint let out a long breath and dug his iPod from his bag. He screwed in the earbuds and leaned his head back, listening to his music.

Steve watched him for a few minutes more, wondering why this had gotten out of hand so quickly. Usually, he got on well with his men. He didn't know why there wasn't the same easy relationship between him and the archer.

Sighing Steve pulled out a paperback and started reading.

…

Steve eyes blinked open. He stared up at his ceiling, not really seeing anything; his ears straining to hear what had woken him.

There! He heard it again; a small creaking noise of a boot against the wood floor that lined his apartment.

Steve carefully rolled off his bed, his bare feet pressing against the cold floor. He padded through his room out into the hall, not making a sound.

There was a faint light shining from his kitchen that pooled into the hall. Steve peered around the corner into the kitchen. He caught sight of a hunched figure standing in front of the opened refrigerator. The man had his head poked into the fridge and was muttering to himself.

Steve strained his ears, trying to hear what was being said under the intruder's voice. His eyes widened slightly as a few choice swear words were mumbled. Steve frowned; he recognized that voice.

Stepping into the kitchen, Steve crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The man started, banging his head against the top of the fridge. He pulled himself from the cold box, one hand rubbing his head, and turned to face the Captain.

"Hey." Clint Barton said ruefully.

Steve flicked on a light before facing the archer again. "Hey." He repeated. "That's all you've got to say?"

Clint shrugged. "Well, what else do you want from me?"

"An explanation would be nice." Steve said, trying to keep the annoyance from coloring his voice. "Start from the part where you thought it would be a good idea to break into your teammate's home."

"Ah," Clint said, holding up a finger. "Yes, well, I didn't really think it through when I decided to pop by, so I can't really tell you when I came up with the idea."

Steve sighed and uncrossed his arms. "Are you drunk?"

"Me?" Clint mouthed, pressing a hand against his chest and shaking his head.

Steve sighed again and moved to the faucet. He filled up a glass of water and handed it to Clint. "Here, this should help."

"Vodka, eh?" Clint said winking, as he accepted the glass. "Nat's favorite."

He took a long pull, before he gagged and choked, spewing water out of his mouth. Clint shot Steve a betrayed look. "It's water."

"Yes, it's water. It'll help with getting you sober."

Clint shook his head violently and leaned towards Steve, whispering conspiratorially. "I don't want to get sober. Everything's better this way."

Steve gently pushed Clint away from him and rubbed a hand down his face. This clearly wasn't going to be fixed with a glass of water and a good night's rest; there was something else going on with the archer.

"Come on, let's sit down." Steve guided Clint from the kitchen to his small living room and sat him down on the couch.

Clint sunk into the pillows, feeling very small all of a sudden. He stared, unseeing, at his hands that lay in a tangled mess on his lap.

Steve carefully took a seat next to the unmoving man. He waited a beat before speaking. "What's going on, Clint?"

Clint's eyes flickered up from his hands to the man next to him. He shrugged. "You don't have any beer."

Steve frowned. "Yeah?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah."

Steve took a breath, wondering what that had to do with anything. "I can't actually get drunk, you know. That's mostly the reason I don't have any beer in my fridge." Steve decided not to mention the bourbon that he had stored safely in a cabinet.

Clint huffed. "You can't get drunk? That must suck."

"Not really. It's probably for the best." Steve replied, thinking of all the times since he had woken up in a new century that he had wished to be able to forget everything. Being able to get drunk would have made that quest easier, but it would've started a downward spiral in a funk of despair. By not being able to feel the effects of alcohol, Steve was able to more easily accept that this was his life now and no amounts of wishing would return him to his old life.

"So," Steve started slowly. "Why do you want to get drunk?" He decided a blunt approach was the best.

"Get?" Clint snorted. "Brother, I'm already half-way there."

Steve didn't reply, waiting for Clint to stow the wisecracks and explain what was bothering him.

Clint settled deeper into the cushions, crossing his arms over his chest. He glared at the small coffee table, his mouth working as he apparently tried to figure out how to explain to the Captain what was bothering him.

"You don't like me." Clint finally said.

Steve cocked his head to the side. Whatever he had been expecting, it certainly hadn't been that. "What? Why would you say that?"

"Because you don't trust me." Clint said, his words slurring slightly. "On missions. You don't listen to what I have to say. You just tell me to get in line and that's the end of the matter."

"I expect that from all of my men." Steve said cautiously.

Clint shot him a glare. "Yeah? Well, before you came along Nat and I worked as a team. We didn't give each other orders."

"Things are different—,"

"No shit." Clint snapped, his face reddening. "Listen, it just seems like whenever I have an opinion about something, you don't even listen. But whenever Nat has something to say, you listen." He paused and looked away from the captain. "It's not just you. It's like all of SHIELD doesn't listen to me anymore. They don't trust me."

Steve swallowed. So that's what this was about. No one trusted Clint fully anymore since the incident with Loki. Maybe most of the men were doing it to Clint unintentionally; at least that's what it was in Steve's case.

"I didn't know." Steve said carefully. "I'm sorry."

Clint's head snapped up and his eyes searched Steve's face for a hint of malice or sarcasm. There were none.

He frowned, taking a moment to sort out the Captain's apology. "You really didn't realize what you were doing?"

"No." Steve shook his head. "I didn't and I'm sorry. I will try my best to…stop." Steve hoped that SHIELD would follow his example and begin to trust the archer again. If not, then maybe he would ask Fury to just have Clint work with him or Nat.

Steve pulled himself out of his mind and back to the present. He waited for a response from Clint and when none came Steve looked over to the archer.

Clint was nestled in Steve's couch, his arms lying loosely over his chest and his head tipped back. A soft sigh escaped the sleeping man.

Steve shook his head and got to his feet. He retrieved a blanket from the closet and draped it over the man.

As Steve padded back to bed, he sincerely hoped that Clint wasn't too drunk and would remember this conversation when he woke up. Steve didn't think he would be able to handle anymore moodiness from the man. Well, that and because he really thought that once they got past this issue they could be good friends.

…

A/N: So this is the first of (hopefully) a few one-shots about Steve helping/working through issues with the rest of the Avengers.

I would love to hear your thoughts or if you have any ideas about what each Avenger might be struggling with that I could possibly write about.

Cheers.