First and foremost, this was not her fault. Their intel hadn't been quite as solid as was billed and thus what should have been a cakewalk at a rest home devolved into the next to last boss fight in DOOM. There had been way more HYDRA goons than anticipated, so when the initial mission went sideways, Xo opted to protect the team instead of hitting the intended target in what had rapidly become a suicide mission.
She'd caught Clint after one of his ridiculous second story falls without a net and between the two of them, they cleared a path of egress for the rest of the team. Xo chose to ride back to the compound in the back of the Quinjet, segregated from everyone else because she was covered in blood and gore from head to toe and didn't want to stain anything else. Cleaning the skin and gunk out from under her fingernails was going to be quite the pain in the ass when they got back, and she pondered the merits of just setting her uniform on fire and having Tony make her another one.
To describe Cap as displeased was to gloss over the magnesium based white-hot glare he'd leveled at her when she'd finally made it aboard the jet to bug out. He'd watched her evade one goon and eviscerate another with her bare hands, and yet somehow he had cornered the market on pissed off. He started yelling the moment they hit the conference room for the debrief.
"The mission was a shitshow from start to finish. What the fuck were you thinking, Tecuani?" he railed, getting right up in Xo's face as she stood off to the side of the room. She would have sat but alas, debrief before shower apparently.
"I was thinking about not letting my teammates die because my team leader can't manage to get us quality fucking intel," she snarled back at him. She hadn't been on the team very long, but Captain America's brand of hotheadedness got right under her skin. He may have been sinfully sexy in that goddamn stealth suit, but that didn't give him the right to demean her.
"The fuck did you just say?"
Chest to chest, chin up, she wasn't afraid of his wrath. She was related to bigger, meaner predators, he was but a kit in comparison. "I said," she rolled her head around on her shoulders working out a kink in her neck and enjoying the accompanying pops, "whoever does your intelligence gathering needs a guide dog because that sure as hell was not a 'mostly abandoned HYDRA facility'."
"You still should have been able to complete the assignment," he sniffed disdainfully.
Xo ran a thumbnail over an itch on her cheek, feeling the flakes of dried blood fall from the furrow she created. "I caught him," she gestured to Clint, annoyed at the flakes of blood that fell from her fingers, "after he fell thirty feet, and damn near landed on some protruding rebar. He and I managed to cut a path through the chaos to ensure everyone else had a way out. I don't think a little gratitude would be out of line."
"Gratitude? For a failure? You couldn't even be assed to complete the damn mission and you want gratitude?" He was close enough for her to see the green flecks in his otherwise flawless blue eyes. Close enough to bite his lip, and damn if she wasn't tempted.
"At this point, we don't even know if the actual research was ever there. Your shoddy-ass intel—" she cut herself off on a sharp sigh and a distinct click of her teeth. He wasn't going to admit he was wrong and he was never going to see she was right, so there was no need to keep arguing. Peaceful now, she disengaged, turning her back to him to head out of the conference room. "I'mma go hit the showers."
"We're not finished," he ground out as she opened the door, the scent of rage and potential violence rolling off of him in molten waves.
"You misunderstood me, then." She flashed him a show of teeth that could have been mistaken for a grin over her shoulder, keeping her tone deceptively light. "I wasn't asking permission. I disemboweled a guy today with my bare hands. I smell like a goddamn abattoir and, at the very least, I'm a biohazard. I'm not going to keep standing here so you have to send a team in to clean up the trail of heme that follows me." Without even waiting for a response, she carried on down the hall to the showers, heedless of the muffled yelling behind her.
Three times Xo had to wash her damn hair. Instead of the shower relaxing her, all it did was piss her off further. Her unruly black locks now in a wrist-thick braid to her waist, she left her uniform in a biohazard bag and changed into her cleanest gym clothes she'd left in her locker before heading out to spend some time on the heavy bag. There was no point in going to her room if all she planned to do was punch holes in the walls.
The gym itself was unoccupied, a small favor really, and the lights came up the moment she stepped in the door. Wrapping her hands, she made her way over to the heavy bag hanging from the reinforced hooks that were designed with Cap in mind.
"Captain goddamn America," she muttered balefully as she stretched her neck and flexed her fingers before taking her first swings. Just thinking about Steve Rogers had her seeing red and beating up the sand-filled canvas bag like it had disrespected her homeland and her momma.
He was a decent leader, tactical genius, but the margin for error with him was always razor-thin, and gods help you if fell on the wrong side of that margin. Having him yell at her was tough, because in her experience, that kind of thing always preceded a violent shift and an even more brutal fight. Walking away had been the best thing for all involved in order to prevent further bloodshed.
Xo was so lost in her swirling haze of rage-filled thoughts she missed hearing or scenting anyone entering the room. Thankfully Clint's reflexes were good because she swung the moment he touched her shoulder to get her attention. "The fuck, dude! I coulda killed you!"
Clint rolled to his feet with an easy grin. "Nah, you saved my life tonight. I don't think you'd mess that up by doing it yourself." Her best friend was dressed in some distressed black basketball shorts and a faded purple tank top like he planned to work out too, though he wasn't normally given to sweating that late in the day unless they were on a mission.
"Not on purpose, no." She shook out her arms trying to rid the shimmery electric tendrils of adrenaline winding through her. Fear and the associated hormones made her dangerous to people around her, and it wasn't a discriminating response.
"So you're still pissed at Cap, huh?" His playful tone had her on guard, and the way he moved suggested a predator stalking prey, so she found herself shifting her feet and keeping him in sight.
"What gave you that impression?" she asked warily.
"Well…" he gazed intently, innocently at the ceiling before rushing over with an aggressive shoulder check that almost knocked her off her feet. "I don't speak Nahuatl, but the Spanish words I recognize. I can tell swearing when I hear it."
"Some swearing," she granted with a nod, "some speculations about his parentage, but yeah, that's fair." Xo snorted in amusement, deftly avoiding his next attempted shove. "What are you doing?"
"I want you to fight me." He says it like he's asking what she wants on her pizza, wrapping his hands in tape like hers, his grin pure mischief.
She blinked at her blond friend, who had a blooming bruise on his bicep from where she'd grabbed him during the mission and a couple butterfly bandages over an eyebrow, unsure if this was an act of stupidity or head trauma. He was one of three people who knew exactly what she was, and the damage she could do if pushed. Today alone she'd managed to tear a swath through HYDRA's forces without even changing form other than her hands. Bringing a werejaguar to a sparring match was a 100% terrible idea. "I'm not going to fight you."
He beamed as he wrapped his hands like hers. "Sure you are. It'll help you."
"Help me how exactly?"
Moving over to the mats, he leaned down in a deep stretch. "You're here because you can't sleep, right? We go a few rounds and you're too tired not to sleep. Plus you can't keep fighting with Cap."
The growl that rumbled in her chest was entirely involuntary. "The hell I can't. I'm not going to stand there and let him talk to me however he feels like, especially if he's patently wrong."
Clint snorted as he rotated his shoulders. "You and he have that in common."
Xo kicked off her shoes and stomped over to the mats, teeth bared and voice losing octaves rapidly. She didn't need a mirror to know her dark eyes had shifted, color perception and sharpness adjusting for their new configuration.
"Have what in common?" She finally shoved him back, her irritation coming fully to the fore. If the archer wanted to play, she was suddenly in the mood.
"There you are, Goldeneye," he murmured softly, his grin slipping from playful to feral with barely a blink. He beckoned her closer with one hand while keeping his other up to guard.
"I hate that nickname," she muttered, dropping into her stance and circling him slowly. Stark gave her that nickname when she shifted in front of him and Cap, showing off her other form. Almost seven feet of sleek muscles, fur, spots, and a tail, her golden eyes were as distinctive as her massive, lethal paws, it was sexy as it was dangerous. Of course Tony had to make a joke about it, and like most of the nicknames he conjurned, it stuck. Much to her chagrin.
Her blond bestie licked his lips and winked. "Then fight me for it." That was all the warning she got before he lunged at her like a deranged spider monkey.
Barton was fast and strong, pulling no punches as he tumbled and kicked, grappling and swinging at her with practiced ease. A fight between them was fairly well matched so long as she didn't engage her full strength. He was one of the few that made it tempting, though.
Clint leapt onto her back, his arm around her neck, his legs wrapped around her waist as he drove her to the cushioned ground. But she wasn't going down without a fight. With her strong legs, she crouched and pushed to her feet before purposefully dropping to her back, crushing him under her full weight and moving in with an elbow strike to the ribs. His arm loosened, just enough for her to slip out and flip on him, bringing to bear her own spider monkey skills, finally coming to rest by sitting on his chest, her knees on either side of his head, her hand braced on his stomach as she wiped the sweat from her face with the other.
Xo threw back her head and laughed finishing with a roar that echoed through the room. "Fuck yes!"
Barton's cheeky grin between her thighs was comical. "I told you you'd like it."
Between heaving breaths, she asked, "You never did tell me, what do Cap and I have in common?"
He laughed breathlessly. "You're both stubborn as hell and stand up for what you think is right."
She growled and tightened the grip of her thighs. "Shut the hell up, dude."
He tapped on the outsides of her thighs and the mat frantically. "Or what, you'll smother me with your puss? You're most of the way there now! And what a way to go."
"God, you're a pain in my ass." The rest of her witty retort was stifled by a subtle cough coming from the doorway of the gym. Head lolling in that direction, she was met by the fiery sapphire gaze of one Captain Steve Rogers. In his tight white t-shirt and fists wrapped for brawling, he leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching her and Barton tussle. If she didn't know better, he almost appeared to be smiling.
She wondered what he saw, her and Barton in such an intimate position, how long he'd been watching. His scent drifted over to her then, clean, citrusy, curious. Fuck that. Shifting her stance, she rolled smoothly to her feet and pulled Clint up as well.
"I'm out." She stopped over by the bag to grab her belongings before heading in the direction of the women's locker room on the opposite side of the room from the man in question.
"Sleep well, Xo," her bestie called over her shoulder. She heard Clint snicker behind her as he, too, headed for the showers. "Cap."
"Barton."
Even his voice was sexy irritating. Bastard.