Parallel Realities
By
M. Klindt
Chapter One
MFU 1960's
Kyle Clark and Joe Lewis staggered into the local pub that was used by many of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement (UNCLE) agents while assigned in the New York headquarters. Both of them felt worn and battered from the training for home base security or commonly known as Section Three.
"Hey barkeep!"
Joe shouted as he banged his hand on the wooden surface, making it sound like a gun went off. Many heads popped up with hands poised over their weapons.
"Joe," Clark hissed and grabbed at his partner's arm so he couldn't rapped the shiny surface again as the more sensible man turned to the nervous crowd and shrugged in apology. Slowly, the room went back to their own business.
"What?"
Clark stupidly smiled as he gawked at his embarrassed cohort and then turned back to see if the bartender had showed up, but instead of a pleasant man in front of him with a towel in his hand, he found a loaded gun one inch from his nose.
"Mr. Lewis, I presume." The gun clicked as the trigger was cocked. "This establishment is to be respected by its patrons. I've heard of your reputation as a smartass and it will not be tolerated." The burly bartender covered with tattoos from head to toe; lowered his gun, brought a beer up from behind the rolled edge, and then pointed to the wall next to the men. "My name is Ox and there are the rules. Waverly allows one drink during work hours. Menus are at the tables, find one or sit at the bar."
"Yes, sir," Kyle finished for Joe and accepted the other beer that appeared before him. Looking around the room, he finds a table near the middle of the room and steers his partner to it. All the tables in the back and against the wall were taken. "Joe, we've got forty minutes to eat and get back to the demo ran by Mr. Kuryakin."
"Ha, that Russian freak of nature," Lewis playfully snorted. "I'm still reeling from the chat we had with Napoleon about correct treatment of women here at UNCLE and those considered our enemies."
"Yes, I know." Kyle said softly before the waitress walked up to the table. He pointed to the burger meals for both him and Joe. She nodded her head, popped her gum, and left. "What do you have against Kuryakin?"
"Nothing and everything," Joe shrugged his shoulders. "I'm mostly jealous I guess. Like I said, he's a freak of nature."
"You'd better stow that attitude or the Ice Prince with eat you alive." Kyle warned. "Don't let him prove to everybody at headquarters what a prick you are right away, or then what are your chances in getting into Section Two going be? I still want you to be my partner after we go through Survival School. Don't be a jerk and start poking at him before he gets to know you."
"Why does everyone tolerate that scrawny guy anyway?"
"You are an idiot, Joe." Clark sat back as the waitress practically threw their plates in front of them before heading back to the kitchen. "Haven't you heard the rumors?"
"Sure, I have." Joe sat forward, munching on a French fry. "Deadly accurate eagle eye with any weapon you put under his nose, a science geek that knows every language ever spoken, and ice cold like his nickname suggests. When it comes to killing, he's some kind of an orphan that lived with gypsies, hell; it might have been with the circus as a contortionist on the high wire.
"No relationships with women around headquarters that anyone can tell, even though many females would like to date him in a heartbeat. Most of THRUSH thinks he's light in the loafers if you know what I mean. I haven't figured out which one yet, but undeniably loyal to UNCLE and his partner, Solo."
"All you need to know is that he's in Section Two, a super spy, out ranks us, he's one of Waverly's favorite, and is more deadly than a spitting cobra if you piss him off. He has to be to be working the top dog of Section Two, Chief Enforcement Agent Napoleon Solo. That man's got his own brand of luck, smarts, and loves his Russian partner. It's not up to me to know how deep their relationship runs and I don't care. They hold the world's safety and our balls in their hands."
"Ooooh Kyle, are you scared of that little shit?" Joe taunted his friend as he finished off half his burger in one bite.
"Yes and you better be if you know what's good for you." Lewis threatened while pointing a finger at his partner.
Clark silently chuckled as he finished swallowing the lump of food down his throat when an upside down shot glass wet with what smelled of vodka slammed down on the table in between the rookie Section Three agents.
"Gentlemen," A deep voice with a mixed Russian and British accent gained their stunned attention as five dollar bill followed the glass on the table. "You two have exactly ten minutes to be in workout clothes and in the gym. I would suggest if you really want to become Section Two agents and work around the world for our employer, that you remember at least some of your training by keeping your voices low and keep your backs to the wall.
"Many patrons in this establishment now know your opinion of me and my reputation. Mr. Lewis, you will assist me in demonstrating my skills, starting with archery. Go, now!"
"Yes sir!"
Both men jumped up and raced to the door with Ox only shaking his head at their hasty departure. Then he gave the slight blond man a broad grin.
"You, Illya Kuryakin, are one mean task master."
"Thank you Mr. Ox," Kuryakin's lips twitched as he gave the bartender a gentry's salute then turned on his heels. "I've earned my reputation. Now off to find my merry men and cause some havoc. I like your new tattoo by the way."
After the overly proper gentleman gracefully left the pub, another man quietly got up from a booth behind the table where the action had been and dropped a couple of dollars on the table after he pocketed his notes in his jacket along with his pencil.
Before he could finish his turn, Ox was standing in his way to leave the restaurant. "Stan, get an earful today?"
"Lots of great ideas for my comic characters," Stan Lee smiled. "I finally got to see the myth for myself. I can't really use the Russian angle or the eagle eye reference, but I think I've met my Hawkeye from a small town near the University of Iowa whose mascot is a Hawkeye. I like the idea of a bow and arrow too! Thanks for your help Ox. The Russian part will have to be for another superhero."
"No problem, Stan." The mountain of a man grinned from ear to ear. "Who you really should be thanking is that old Fox Waverly, it's his grandkids that love your comics and I even heard that Mr. Kuryakin is partial to your Marvels as well. Keep coming back and you can get all the ideas you even need. Try to be here when Mr. Solo joins his partner; trouble always seem to ensue, he's a character all his own. "
"Will do."
Chapter Two
Avengers Present day
Hawkeye and his assassin partner, the Black Widow were searching a drug lords safe house and going from room to room checking for guards, guns, and explosives. Each had their weapon of choice drawn: Clint Barton, the bow and arrow and Natasha Romanoff, her guns out and ready for any movement.
"Clear." Barton called out as he silently walked into a back room that was used as a residence for the warring gangs selling and making drugs in this hastily abandoned worn down apartment complex in the Five Corners of New York.
Pointing her gun in the opposite direction, Romanoff takes off for the next doorway. Checking for the blind spots, she swung around the bare bedroom. "Clear. That's the last room."
Looking around, Natasha noticed that she's in the room by herself.
"Hawk?" The redhead turned and retraced her steps to find her fellow SHIELD agent standing in front of a television watching an old show that was left on during the criminals' hasty departure.
"Huh?" Clint took his eyes of the screen and looked at the woman in startled confusion. He quickly realized that he'd been distracted during a critical part of their mission. He'd left his partner wide open to get injured. Pure luck that no one was left was the only thing that kept them both safe. "Sorry, Tash..."
"What's the matter?" The Black widow lowered her gun and tried to figure out what had just happened. Clint's eyes got as big as saucers and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.
"Not now." Barton said softly through clinched teeth and took off back to the quinjet. "We're done here and clean up can handle the rest."
"Oh..kay.."
Romanoff pursed her lips into a small circle and quickly ran after the distressed man angrily adjusting his bow and quiver over his right shoulder as he trotted at break neck speed.
"Hey, Hawkeye, slow the fuck down." Natasha shouted. "We need to talk."
"No time, got to get back." Clint cut her off as he entered the jet plane and sat down. Effectively, he closed himself off to the world by grabbing his headphones and prepping the plane for takeoff.
No matter how hard Romanoff tried, Barton ignored her prompts to talk about the mission while in flight and he wouldn't take his eyes away from the plane's instrumentation. Finally, after giving up all hope for getting a response, Natasha huffed off to clean her guns while waiting to land. Revenge on her partner was going to sweet and painful, she thought, but then she began to think what had happen to for Clint to flip a switch in his demeanor.
Once the quinjet touched down on the decking to the helicarrier, Barton swiftly shut down the motors and dashed out the bay doors before they fully opened with his pack of weapons swinging awkwardly behind him.
Without thinking, Clint jogged up to his previous handler's office to dump his stuff. It's what he's been doing after missions since he was recruited to join SHIELD. If it hadn't been for Phil Coulson, Hawkeye wouldn't have existed, let alone be working at the organization's highest levels with Fury.
Grabbing the handle to Coulson's office, Barton was about to argue with his keeper about heading to Medical first, when he noticed that someone else was sitting in Phil's chair.
Reality struck the young archer like a thunder bolt. Phil was dead and it's been a few weeks now. Now he and the Black Widow had someone else that took care of their orders, assignments, training schedules, and funds for their personal and professional needs. His new handler's name was Kyle Lewis. Oh, he was competent enough to fill Coulson's shoes, but it was going to take time for him to trust the new guy.
It was already tough for Hawkeye to be trusted the members of SHIELD because of what Loki did; taking control of his mind and having Barton wreak havoc on the helicarrier, causing millions of dollars in damage and the deaths of several fine agents and staff. Even with Natasha's help, the guilt still crept in the shadows of his mind.
"Clint, still taking the back way to get here," Lewis asked casually while keeping a steady eye on the startled man. The new handler knew the agent was still caught up in the memory of his friend. Coulson's persona was hard to fill when it came to keeping track of this new group called the Avengers. The Hawk and Widow were his main concern right now. "Have you forgotten the rules: Medical, Psych, and then back to me in that order?"
"Sir," a confused and frustrated man never let go of the handle as he swung the door shut as quickly as he'd opened it.
Lewis could see the tightness across Barton's shoulders and remembers something before the door fully closed. "Hey, Barton…"
No longer interested in the current conversation, Clint ignored his handler like he did most of the time and let the door snap shut and took off to his room to drop off his bow and quiver. Clint knew that he had to do as he was told, but that didn't mean he had to make it easier for the staff in Medical and resident Psychologist, Joe Clark.
Instead of throwing himself on his bed like he felt like doing, the agent took a few deep cleansing breaths before heading out of the door. His room was his sanctuary, but there was another place he could go to be by himself and try to shake this feeling to dread and sadness if he could only get there. Unfortunately, it was to Medial first.
AVAV
Natasha Romanoff stood at the door of Medical and patiently waiting for her partner to walk out of the post-mission physical. She'd already talked with the local shrink, Dr. Joe Clark, about the sudden change in Clint's attention during the check of hostiles in the drug lord's meth lab.
Joe was fascinated with how Barton handled trauma in his life starting from when his parents' died in a car crash, living in foster homes, orphanages, eventually joining the circus as a teen and finally the military through Coulson, because of his talents in killing people.
Romanoff's past was equally fascinating to the doctor and they were both still traumatized from their encounter with the Demigod, Loki, but in different ways.: Barton for losing control of his mind and Romanoff for having her hidden past brought up to surface by the mad man.
"And you don't know what television show was playing?" Joe leaned next to the redhead, keeping some distance between them, but close enough to hear her soft, lilting voice.
"No, I could tell it was really old." Natasha shrugged. "I would hazard from the seventies or the sixties."
"Hey, wait a minute, was it a spy show?" Joe stood up from leaning against the wall, remembering something Phil Coulson had written about Hawkeye.
"I don't know." Romanoff scrunched up her brows and shook her head. "We didn't stay in the room long enough for me to know, why?"
"I have a hunch…Barton, I see that you're done," Dr. Clark jumped into the path of a determined Hawkeye trying to flee Medical. "You and I have an appointment, but I have something for you I need to get first. Meet me in my office in ten minutes and don't make me chase you. You know that I can't stomach the height of your secret spot up top. I'll have Black Widow hunt you down and beat you up."
"What did you say to him," Clint snarled at Natasha, losing the steam while grudgingly agreed to do as he was told. "I still can take you whenever I want to…"
"Don't threaten the staff, Barton." The doctor jumped in, neither of them taking the archer's words seriously. "You're not that popular with the staff right not for them to hide you. You need Widow here to watch your back…"
"Why do all you medical professionals bring out the best in me?" Clint grimaced. "I really am sorry I didn't want to talk with you on the plane, Tasha; bad thoughts."
Natasha knew what the words "bad thoughts" meant to both of them. It was a sort of a code word when memories from the past surfaced for a short time. "Well, why didn't you say so on the mission? Find me when you're done, you know where."
"Thanks, I know." Barton watched his partner leave down the hallway; he was no longer worried about Natasha being still mad at him and then turned back to the shrink. "Ten minutes in your office, Clark? I think that I have just enough time for me to shower…"
"Good, because you stink, literally and figuratively; ten minutes and not a second later."
AVAV
Clint felt better after a quick shower, but a deep longing still lurked around his shoulders like a weight pulling him down to the ground. Thoughts of his past circled angrily and brought images to his eyes he couldn't blink away.
With a heavy sigh and a rub of his damp hair, Barton trotted warily up to Dr. Clark's office. He wasn't so sure that what he was feeling could be easily explained away. Hearing noise on the other side of the door, the SHIELD agent knocked on the door.
"Door's open."
Barton stoically pushed down on the handle and made his way into Clark's office and sat in the overly padded leather chair, grudgingly waiting to see what the shrink had to say.
"Clint," the doctor said without looking up from the file he was reading or questioning how the younger man was feeling. "Tell me what bad thought made you stop and lose focus at a critical time during a mission."
"It was a rerun of a T.V. show I saw when I was at my first foster home. The lady was nice enough when she wasn't drunk, but when she and the Mister got to drinking away the check they got for keeping my brother and I away, things got nasty." The Hawk shrugged his tightening shoulders.
"Was it a good memory or a bad memory?" Clark brought his eyes up from his desk to look at shocked agent over the rims of his eyeglasses.
"Both," Barton said as he let out a sigh of relief as he chewed on the Psychiatrist's request. "Good, because at age five, I loved to watch reruns to dream that I was in those shows and had normal parents; not the ones I had that died in a car crash. It's was an escape…"
"And bad?"
"And bad, because that Mister in that first foster house I was in came home four sheets to the wind, angry, and ready to fight. Before I knew it, I ended up in the hospital with several cigarette burns, a broken arm, and a severe concussion from trying to help protect my foster mother before he finally killed her."
"Were you and this woman watching a rerun when you two were attacked?" Clark's voice remained calm as he waited for Clint to digest what he was asking.
"Yes, I was caught up in the show; it was one of my favorite." Barton nervously swallowed. "I was pretending to be one of them."
"What was the show's name?"
"It's not important," the younger man shook his head. "All that was just a foolish dream for me, I couldn't be a good guy, because I killed that Mister just before I blacked out. All I can remember is the look in his eyes, the cold determination to take our lives on a whim.
"When I saw that show, it triggered those visions and memories I didn't want to think about anymore. In this line of work, things like this happen, I just got distracted. It shouldn't have happened and I'll get a handle on it by beating on a bag in the gym."
"What was the show's name?" The question came up again and Barton groaned in vivid frustration.
"It was Man from UNCLE if you must know." Clint shouted. "The super spies of the United Network Command for Criminal Law and Enforcement. Those agents saved the world from bad people. I just wanted to be in Section Two, be super smart, shoot or capture bad people, and get the girl in the end."
"Did Coulson tell you that he liked the early television show very much?" Joe smiled at the younger man; remember seeing the hugely popular show the first time around as a boy.
"No," Clint said in astonishment and then laughed out loud. "That dork!"
"Here," Clark picked something up from behind his desk and handed to Barton. It was a cardboard box that was made to look like a silver suitcase. "This was in Phil's office."
When Barton looked at the box, he noticed it was a complete collection of all the Man from UNCLE television episodes, four seasons, and just over a hundred episodes. "Cool…"
"And that's not all, Agent Barton of Section Two." Dr. Clark smirks with merriment. "All throughout Phil's personal notes as your handler, he relates you to his favorite character…Illya Kuryakin."
"Ah, the Russian sidekick…"
"Sidekick, my ass!" Joe pounds the desk with his fist. "A sharp shooting, brainiac, who is a fiercely dedicated agent with the nickname the "Ice Prince" that could have any woman he wanted. His skills in knowing multiple languages while being able to hide in plain sight are remarkable. How long did you know Coulson?"
"He's the one who saw me in the Circus after I'd left the state school lockup in Nevada when I was fifteen. He's the one who put me through school, taught me how to use my talents of sharp shooting from when I had hunt to eat. Hell, he even forced me into the military to help me grow as a soldier."
"So, Agent Barton of the Supreme Headquarters of International Espionage Law-Enforcement Division," Joe Clark smiled at the acronyms used by each group of spies. "I believe that you can now rationalize that this is a good memory and something to be proud of, that Coulson like you so much of you that he made you into a copy of his favorite T.V. spy. Good thing it wasn't after his other hero, Captain America."
"I do miss him, you know." Clint sadly and then genuinely grinned. "Even though he was a big pain in my ass."
"That's what handlers are for and you should give Agent Lewis a chance to fill the man's shoes…"
"I'll think about it." Barton huffed, stood up, grabbed the silver, cardboard box with the DVD's in them, and turned to leave. "I think were done here. Right doc?"
"Yes, we are for now." Clark waved him off as he started to make a phone call to Lewis. "Go shoot at something with the Black Widow instead of climbing on your perch."
"Will do."