Clint is a liar. Lying is how he survives, how he makes a living. No honest man could ever do what he does, what he did. An assassin who cannot lie his way around the bullets in his teeth is a dead assassin. Even though he had left his career in silent murders, and joined the far more reputable Avengers Initiative, Clint could not leave that portion of himself behind. To stop lying would be akin to leaving his bow behind; it was a part of him. That isn't to say he's compulsive by any means. Clint is more than capable of separating necessary falsehoods from pointless lies. He is just too accustomed to secrecy. Secrecy is what spawns lies, the shallow half truths and bold misrepresentations. As long as Clint is living, he will lie.
When he is in his apartment,staring at his fairly empty pantry with vacant eyes, and the phone rings, he lies.
"Yes." No, I'm not. Don't ask me to go.
"Of course." I haven't even fixed my torn uniform from the last time.
"On my way." I'm going to take my time, I'm sick of being treated as your lapdog, to be ready at your beck and call.
Clint takes his time changing into his uniform, maneuvering so he doesn't tear the seam on his shoulder even more. He carefully places his arrows and bow in his duffel bag, grabs a twenty from under his mattress and leaves his apartment, not bothering to lock the door. After all, anything he'd miss, he was carrying with him. By the time Clint reaches the busy New York road, he has already prepared a list of things to tell the team. Tony, as usual, will ask him obnoxiously personal questions, to which Clint will simply reply, "around, here and there.". Steve is subtler, and will ask how he's been since the last time they saw each other, because golly, it's been months, hasn't it? Clint will try a small smile, and say he's just fine, just fine. On and on the pleasantries will go, each new arrival greeted with a shout and clap on the back, and each new bout of enthusiasm will have Clint's stomach in knots and acid in his throat. Clint will lie, and lie, and lie, and the biggest lie he tells, no one will even question; why would they? Clint Barton, Hawkeye, Spy and Assassin, is trained to lie. There are three people on Earth who can catch him in a lie, and two taught him how to deceive, the other, the other he never lies to. Lies by omission don't count, anyways.
When Clint reaches the block that is home to Stark Towers, he has already worked out his plan of operation. He will show up, be cordial, answer probing questions with vague answers, complete the mission and go home. His feet take him to the smooth, futuristic door that is the ground floor entrance to Stark Towers. A small whirring noise tells him that the cameras are analyzing him, making sure Clint Barton is really Clint Barton, and then the door opens with a whoosh quite similar to Star Trek. Tony's sense of humor was usually too crude for him to enjoy, but Clint actually found his nerd humor slightly enjoyable. He took his time walking inside, and entering the elevator. He pressed the button for 7th floor, and as the speakers pumped out AC/DC's TNT, typical of Tony, Clint adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder, using the strap to cover the tear in his uniform. The elevator comes to a smooth stop, and opens on a large, comfortable bar and sitting room. On one couch, Tony sits with an arm slung over the couch behind Pepper, and on another he sees Steve inspecting his shield, and muttering something under his breath to Bruce, who chuckles. Clint steps out of the elevator car and Tony grins up at him.
"Hey stranger, long time no see." Clint half smiles, and gives shrug as Tony leaves the couch and begins to walk towards him. "Seriously though, where the hell have you been? I've tried to get ahold of you at least a dozen times."
Clint's smile becomes fixed, and he answers offhandedly, "I had some personal things to do. Sorry." He allows Tony to clap him on the back, before he turns toward the bar, intending on making himself something harsh before the debriefing. Natasha is already there, and holding up a small glass for him to take. He takes it from her, and before he can bring the glass to his lips, her fingers close around his wrist. Clint looks down at her hand, small and impossibly fragile. He had, on many occasions, seen her punch men twice her size in the face, blacking their eyes and breaking their noses. In the midst of the fight, she is full of adrenaline and pain doesn't hinder her much. But later, after the mission is complete and they are on the way back to wherever they're hiding, Clint has seen her cradle those delicate fingers to her chest, broken and bruised. She squeezes, and his eyes drift up to meet hers. They question him, not accusatory, but concerned. He forces his smile wider, and says, "Thanks, 'Tash." before pulling his hand away and bringing the glass to his lips. He turns his back to her and faces the rest of the room. Tony stares at him, his eyebrows quirked, but after a moment of Clint staring coolly back, shrugs and begins.
"So, Fury called. He was completely rude and didn't even bother asking how I was. You'd think with a bunch of on the edge, capable of anything super heroes he would be a little more diplomatic in his dealings, but no, he just starts barking orders-"
"Tony."
"Right, er, Sorry Pep. I was saying, we have a potentially dangerous situation unfolding in eastern Bangladesh right now. All kinds of signs and flares started showing up on our radar and sensors, it's looking otherworldly. And, seeing as how right now Thor is back in Asgard, probably eaten live oxen or whatever it is he does, we're all there is."
Steve half raised his hand to get Tony's attention. "So, do we have any idea what we're dealing with here? Define...otherworldly."
Tony pulled a small laser pointer from his pocket, and aimed it at the large blank television screen on the wall. It soon proved to be more than a laser and television, of course. While Tony manipulated the screen to show several feeds of data and information, he summed up what he knew so far.
"Honestly, all we have are flares of all kinds of energy signatures, unheard of here on Earth, but similar to the ones we get when Thor starts messing around with his thunder and Godly glory. So we know it's probably powerful, whatever it is. And we know it's becoming stronger. Within the past 48 hours, the flares started popping up around India, random and only for short periods of time."
Tony pulled up a map, with pinpricks of red light appearing and fading in India. Bruce stood, and moved closer to the screen to better see the strings of scientific terms and data streaming across the bottom.
"Then, they started appearing in more concentrated quantities, and lasting longer, moving East." The map reflected Tony's words, and larger red streaks formed, reaching towards Bangladesh. "That was at the 24 hour mark. Now, 47 and a half hours after the flares first appeared, we have hot flashes sparking up smack dab in the middle of Bangladesh."
The map now had a glowing red spot in Bangladesh, with small streaks occasionally showing up in India and Nepal.
Now Natasha spoke. She had moved from standing behind Clint, to the other side of the room. "What about Europe's officials. Why is this our jurisdiction?"
Tony shrugged. "Fury called dibs."
Pepper pursed her lips, and corrected him. "Director Fury and his squadron have the most experience in these conflicts. Thor and his brother, cordial relations with Asgard, et cetera."
Clint set the empty glass on the bar. "So when do we leave?"
When they arrive in Bangladesh, it is dark, and the wind tears at their hair and clothing as they exit the helicopter. They are greeted by several important looking officials, but they don't say much. The tallest of the man nods to Tony, or, now that he is suited up, Iron Man, and hands him a thin folder. Bruce exchanges a few words with one of the other officials, and turns to the Avengers.
He has to shout above the combined wind from the helicopter and natural forces to be heard as he takes the folder from Tony's metal hand. "The address is here, along with the most recent information on the flares. They're sending cars for us."
He turns back towards the men in suits, and says more words in Bangla, and then the men turn back towards their cars, and drive away.
"Is that it, we get a piece of paper and they leave?" Steve shouted, watching the black car get smaller in the distance.
Bruce nodded. "They don't want to be too involved."
Clint sees the two cars approaching before the others. After ten minutes of standing in the dark, freezing wind, he was relieved to see them. Natasha had subtly made her way to his side, and pointedly asked him, "What the hell is wrong with you?" Clint hadn't been able to answer that, nor could he ignore the hurt look that crossed her face, before it became a closed off expressionless wall again, as he turned his back on her. For the second time. Finally Tony noticed the cars, and alerted the rest of the group. They were quiet when the cars slowed to a halt in front of them. Again, Bruce spoke for the group, and soon they were seated in the backs of the cars, and speeding towards God knows what.
In one car, Bruce and Tony puzzled over the energy signatures and power surges. Steve sat across from them, his face a little slack as he tried to process the words both scientists were using. The road was rough, and every bump and pothole caused Steve to be jarred in his seat, and his shield to clang against the metal flooring. The cars were more like rough transport for convicts, than travel mechanisms. In the other, Natasha and Clint were seated across from each other, the air between them stale and tense. Natasha crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned back, her eyes steady on Clint's face. Clint was determinedly ignoring her, instead silently arranging his sheath of arrows on his bag, so the duffel bag could be abandoned. Unfortunately, that only took about seven minutes, and only because he prolonged it.
Then, Natasha spoke. "Clint."
"Clint, don't you dare ignore me. Not me." his eyes flashed to hers for a moment, before dropping to stare steadfast at his shoes. His entire body was tense, and unmoving. Clint had leaned forward, his arms crossed and resting on his knees, his head hanging down. Natasha's eyebrows drew together, and she frowned.
Clint is the only person Natasha is close to. No, they didn't have the sitcom relationship of best friends. She didn't call him for advice, or buy him birthday gifts. In fact, she didn't even know his birthday. Clint never asked her what she thought of a recent magazine cover, never admonished her for going out in the rain without a coat. Natasha could never imagine going to Clint's apartment, or him coming to hers, just to see each other. No, they weren't like that. But a year ago, on a cold subway ride back to their safe house after a particularly violent escapade, it was Clint who pulled her into his arms, wrapping his coat around her wet body and sharing his warmth with her. It was Clint who put her broken fingers back into place, splinted them with a strip of fabric he tore from his own clothes and wood from a pile of debris. When Clint found her screaming, begging to be killed in that small, dark room in Budapest, it was he who got the drugs out of her system, Clint who tied her hands and limbs so she could do no more damage to herself. If someone asked Natasha who her closest friend was, she would not answer with Clint Barton. But no one has ever been able to keep her in this much debt; never had she owed her life, several times over, to anyone. Clint Barton is the exception. He always is. Always has been.
So when she sees him, she sees straight through him. False smiles mean nothing to her, she has been lying since she could speak, and his lies don't fool her like they did the others. Something was wrong with him, very wrong. Over the past few months, he had become closed off. He didn't laugh like he used to. When he spoke to her, his words were wrong, the wrong tone, inflections, wrong everything. The way he ignored her now, flinched when she tried to touch his shoulder, it was wrong. If Natasha didn't know, she would think he was under Loki's spell again; he was almost a completely different person and it scared her. It utterly terrified her, to see the man who had always been strong beside her in battle, ever ready for anything that could come at him, reduced to this silent shell of a man.
The car went over a particularly large pothole, and Clint's head snapped up, their eyes meeting again. Her hand was still on his rigid shoulder, and Natasha moved it to his chin, forcing him to keep his head up, to look at her. His jaw clenched, she could feel it happen beneath her fingers, and she put her other hand to his face, cupping his cheek. With both hands on either side of his face, Natasha firmly held his gaze, and said quietly.
"Let me help."
His eyes traveled from hers, to her speaking mouth, back to her eyes. He seemed almost sorry when he spoke.
"You can't."
The car lurched to a stop, and Clint straightened, pulling away from her hands. She felt the roughness of stubble as he did so, and let her hands drop to her lap. The driver exited the car, and moved around back to open the door. By the time they were out of the car and both cars were on their way back to wherever they came from, Natasha was over to the others, speaking to Bruce, and Clint was standing alone, staring up at the large, metal power plant they seemed to be at. Tony passed around a small earpiece and microphone, tossing Clint his.
"Okay, set these all to the third frequency, that's conference. Anything you say, however quietly, will be heard by the rest of us, so if you see anything, need help and find yourself without the comfort of my beautiful suit by your side, just call."
Tony moved towards Steve to adjust the frequency for him, and Bruce took over.
"Apparently, this was a water treatment plant before the energy started flaring. This, and the nearby towns have been evacuated, in case things go south. It has many floors and rooms, so try not to get lost. Tony and I have come to the conclusion that we should go in, see what we can, and then regroup a mile north of here to discuss."
Everyone nodded, and Clint found himself staring at Natasha's stony face. His shoulders relaxed. She was all business now, no time to speak with him, try to find out what it was he wasn't telling her. He felt the slightest bit better. Maybe a job was what he needed, something to focus on. He rolled his shoulders, letting the tension ebb away a little, as he prepared to go in the plant.
"I'll take top floors." he said, and with that, the Avengers were ready. One quick glance at each other, and then they were all focused, moving inside. It was recon, so they split up, Clint climbing ladders and stairways, silently making his way to the top. Bruce went to the lower levels, counting his heartbeats. Natasha, Steve, and Tony went together, farther in towards the center of the plant before branching off, Tony exploring the central controls and power supplies, Steve heading left down halls, and Natasha was left to the vats of treated and untreated water in the western wing of the plant. It was mostly quiet, the only noises in their ears were the occasional "ooph," of someone trying to budge a heavy door, and Tony's cries of disgust at the lack of technological advances in the control rooms. For twenty minutes, they searched, and found nothing.
"Okay, meet up. One mile north, remember." came Tony's voice in everyone's earpieces. He started to say more, but his voice quickly dissolved into static.
"Tony? Hey, I can't hear you anymore." Steve.
"There's a lot of heavy metal here, it could be blocking the signal. Just go, he's probably fine." Bruce.
Natasha took one last look around the darkened room, and turned back towards the door. She made her way through hallways, and was nearly halfway way to the center when suddenly Tony's voice hissing back through.
"- know what exactly, but Jesus Christ it's - FUCK-"
Natasha broke into a run, trying to get to the central controls to see what Tony was up against. Steve's confused and concerned voice could be heard in between hissing bouts of static, less and less clear the closer Natasha got to where she last saw Tony.
"- bomb I think we need to le-" Static in her ear, crunching metal sounds echoing in the hallway. " - out get out now can you hear me it's fu-" Natasha heard Tony's suit before she saw him, she turned a corner and saw Tony, his metal covered arms deep in some kind of gel that seemed to be sentient and fighting back. He looked like he was trying to reach a dark square inside the gel, but tendrils of sparking blue gel were wrapping themselves around his suit. Natasha pulled her gun from her belt and fired two rounds into the middle of the blue thing, causing it to recoil and allowing Tony to break free. His suit powered up, and the noise his jets made was deafening in the tiny room and he sped toward Natasha, grabbing her around the waist and dragging her down the hallway away from the room. Something blue was beginning to curl around the corner, and Natasha shouted, "What is that?" at Tony. He dropped to the ground, pushing her sideways and sending a pulse of energy from his hand towards the thing. Again, it drew back from the blast and slunk back into the room. Suddenly, their ears were assaulted with the combined shouts of panic and questions from the others and hissing static.
"SHUT UP!" Tony roared, sending another burst of the blue energy to the end of the hall.
"Get out if you haven't already, some kind of bomb, and alien freaking octopus, is attacking me right now so I'd appreciate some radio silence!"
Tony grabbed Natasha's arm, turning her with him, and shoved her forward. They both started running again, trying to make it outside the power plant, before whatever that was attacked them again. They had just made it to a stairway, Tony already at the top, when the sound and shock wave of an explosion knocked him forward, sending him skidding farther away from Natasha as she was lifted into the air and slammed into the stairs by the wave. Rubble collapsed around her, and excruciating pain attacked her left leg, she tried to stand, but she couldn't see, everything around her was a hot iron and stone mess. Twisted lumps of metal and rock pelted her as another explosion rocked the power plant, the earpiece shrieking uselessly in her deaf ears. Her leg is now deadened, and the lack of feeling frightens her more than the pain that was there seconds ago, she hears nothing, just feels a dull pounding in her head, and her eyes refuse to focus. The deadened feeling travels up to her hips, down the other leg, and she drunkenly thinks, I've broken my spine. Then the feeling engulfs her chest and head and everything is black.
A/N: Thanks for waiting so long Meggie, I finally finished chapter one! Please tell me how you guys like this, it's the first Avengers fic I've written.