Summary:

In which Clint Barton is an ex-mercenary, ex-military, world's greatest marksman, SHIELD's best sniper and one of the two legendary assassins on pay check, one of the sharpest men Nick Fury knows, and recently the Alien god's minion until he got a really hard punch to the head (thank you, Nat).

All of the above mentioned are common knowledge by now. Only Laura knows about his thing for fixing stuff like the broken rocking chair by the porch and renovating the various rooms in their house for his pet projects. Well, her and Fury. But really, no parental instinct and sniper-patience would probably be enough to re-assemble what is best described as "chemical mixture that makes chaos… A time-bomb" that is the Avengers and make it work.

This is a story of how the Avengers came to be a dysfunctional family from being a ticking bomb.

Inspired by Natasha Romanoff's line, "Are you sure he's going to be okay? Pretending to need this guy really brings the team together." On AoU :3

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Warnings: Swearing

Notes:

Set between the first and second movie. Mostly tries to be canon. May be a one-shot. I dunno. Depending on the reactions. And I really need a beta *lies hopelessly on the floor

It took months but felt like forever: months of agonizing mind-prying and psychological torture that came with having your brain controlled by some lunatic of a god, of dealing with New York in shambles and the masses hounding on the mysterious group of superheroes who just saved the world, of the recurring nightmares of memories painted in a sickening blue and bloody red, of trying not to think of the names soaking his ledger in crimson and how the hate, doubt, and judgment from other people kept tearing at the cracks of his shield. Of months trying to fix himself if not for his own, but for the few people who remained as his anchor.

It took months but it sure felt like forever. But now, finally he's cleared from all the psychological and threat assessments SHIELD and the Council could think of (some that may have involve a lot of loyalty tests that made him want to walk away forever in resignation- but if he does then Loki, that bastard, and all his enemies will be proven right and he is a stubborn asshole to not let that happen so easily). New York has quickly rebuilt itself as fast as it could, too, so that's two out of his long list to not worry about anymore; Clint was sure that was a good start.

It's a good start as any when he slipped inside the Director's office and found Nick Fury in his usual scowl. The one-eyed director took a glance to the archer. Like ingrained instinct though, Clint noticed how the older man's features seemed to bleed out a bit of tension from his imposing frame. From experience, that was either a really good sign or extreme bad luck. Usually it leaned on the 'this looks bad for me' side.

"Agent Barton. Good to see you back." Fury gave the slightest of smiles that's both predatory and a bit of relieving. The man was hard to read but years of working under him made a good progress. Clint returned the gesture and replied, "Thank you, sir."

Fury made a motion with his hand and immediately Clint sat himself on the chair directly across the director. The older man twined his fingers and placed his elbows on the desk. "How are you holding up?"

"Well," he snorted, the humor working more as a deflection, "I'm pretty holding up well considering I just had my mind fucked by an alien god."

Fury's one good eye twitched, "Glad to hear your old self is coming around, too, Barton."

Clint shrugged. The light conversation was over.

The tension that once bled out from the director was now back in full force and Clint mentally checked that as a part of 'this is going to be bad' list of signs. However, the other man seemed holding back something as he announced his agent's terms for the two-month leave. A paid leave, no trackers, no communications with work, just vacation I'll deal with the stubborn rich asses at the Council, for the moment you are under my orders and they don't get to say something about it. After that, he'd get his ass back to HQ and report. Hopefully, there won't be any world-scale dominations happening again during the two months so until then, he could make use of the down time to just fly away for a bit. Clint knew Fury was already stretching the time period for his leave, having the higher-ups still not convinced that he wasn't a threat anymore. He knew the director was doing the best that he could in his position since the man himself proved that he wasn't going to take shit from the same people who ordered a nuke on Manhattan. It had been months of grappling with them, too. But since Barton had already done what he could and that politics wasn't really his type of game, he let Fury handle it.

Fury was a stubborn mule, too. He won't admit it out loud, but he really doesn't want one of his best agents thrown aside for a mistake not his own.

Clint knew he owed the senior agent. Perhaps for all the differences Fury, Natasha, himself, and... and Coulson, and himself had, they shared a common trait that valued the meaning of favors and how they were returned. He nodded, knowing unnecessary words were not Fury's favourite. It was quiet for a long time. Clint was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"What do you think of the Avengers Initiative, Barton?" The director's voice suddenly cut through the thick silence. To say that he's surprised would be a contrast to his persona, so Clint collected himself immediately and answered.

"The Initiative is a good strategic defense, sir." Fury's eyebrow arched, clearly not the answer he was looking for. "It's highly effective acting on world-scale domination threats despite having short notice and the members' clashing differences. But I don't think that kind of teamwork would happen again anytime soon except if another alien is to invade New York again. These guys are like puzzle pieces badly fit together, sir. It's going to be their weakness." Clint didn't mention how he pointed that out when Loki asked while still under the thrall of the mischief god. He figured the director already knew the implication behind the words. The attack on the Helicarrier (led by himself- goddamnit not now) was enough of a proof.

Fury's lone eye bore straight to Clint's soul, intense and unreadable. He nodded, which made the archer want to jump out of his skin because he really didn't know what was coming, but it's giving him the bad vibe already.

"You have other things to say other than kicking my ass off this carrier?" The bluntness directed to the senior agent required guts to say the least but it wasn't really a surprise coming from the sniper who made it a point to give Fury a headache at least twice a month for his attitude.

Fury leaned in, eye gleaming in some kind of a sharp light that made lesser men quiver, but then sighed and for a moment he looked years older than he should be. "When you're done rearranging your nest, Barton, I'd like to offer you a new mission. More like I'd like to ask favor. I want you to make the team work the way it should be."

Clint opened his lips, gaping and then shutting it a few beats later. There's just too many mistakes in those choice words, okay. What? First of all, why? Why him?

"In case you forgot, sir. I'm the last person they should trust. I don't care if we made it work the first time, but second's hardly a charm, sir. And anyway, why can't you just have Natasha or Hill whip them to shape anyway? Or better yet, you order them to get them working together." Coulson would be the perfect choice for this. He knew how to handle this, he knew a lot of ways to do this stuff. Coulson knew how to catch stark's attention, he knew more about the thunder god, he had the patience for Banner and his alter-ego, and he would have the chance to fanboy over Captain America as a plus. He could handle Natasha. He could make things actually work his way. It's part of the dangerous charisma the man possessed beneath the unassuming pencil-pusher demeanor. Clint is everything but, except being able to handle Natasha as his partner and best friend.

(He's also dead. In that attack, which he le- Not the time!)

Fury levelled the lower ranking agent with a glare that could melt an iceberg. "I believe you are perfect for his, in fact. They knew you and worked well with you. You saved the world together. I think they will give that a little credit in trusting you."

"This isn't in my skillset." Or job description.

"This is in your talent, Barton. Fixing things, making them work." The director answered with a deadpan.

"You make it sound like a few screw-fittings would solve the problem." Clint threw back, crossing his arms. Now he was getting childish, but Fury wasn't sounding reasonable either.

"It doesn't change the fact that you can see the problem clearly, and I know you can do something about it." Fury relented. "I'm just saying you think about it, Barton. Two months is a long time to think. Maybe I'll pray you get hit with a haystack or something to change your mind. But don't say no right now."

Clint did huff at the stubbornness that was his superior. But this wasn't right. He shouldn't be given this kind of mission even though the psychs cleared him for missions already. It's too far from his job description. This idea is insane. He could fail and ruin the Initiative or not help at all. "This isn't another test, is it?"

At that, Fury seemed to clench his jaw. He's pissed the director somehow. That's never a good sign. He's ready for a bitching when the other man's voice interrupted his spiralling thoughts. "No, this is me asking you a favor. For the success of this Initiative. For giving this green Earth a chance when another time comes again. This is me asking one of the remaining people I trust with a vital mission."

Clint tried not to let the words garble inside his head, tried not to read between the lines that implied something at the word remaining (Coulson is dead. Nick Fury's other eye is not coming back…) and tried to focus on the other word, trust.

These past months, trust was a word he barely recognized anymore. But this man right here spoke it like he meant it. Fury rarely trusted anyone but he's also a manipulative bastard. Yet to see such sincerity and firmness in the Director's otherwise stern expression was something of a rarity.

Clint saw that. He wasn't Hawkeye without gifted eyes. His eyesight did not limit to amazing distances but he was also brought up with a skill only learned when faced with a tragic childhood and a series of betrayals.

It took a struggle to finally nod and get the words out of his mouth. "Yeah, I'll think about it."

Oh, god. He needs Laura. He needs his kids. He needs to come home.

Notes: Continue? or nah? comments? suggestions? anything? chat you guys in the comments!