Chapter 1- Awake

Clint sat in the comfortable chair, though he had never felt so uneasy in his life. Going into battle was one thing, but sitting here and talking about his feelings was a completely different experience, one that Clint never wanted to repeat. He hated opening up. He hated being anything less than stoic. He'd never really found someone with whom talking was simple. Everything was always so complicated, his emotions, his reactions. Stark had made him a device more mechanically stable than a hearing aid to help with his deafness and Clint found that it worked more than well enough for his liking. Sometimes it was faulty, as with all technology, but it worked well for the most part. He thought that when he started to grow closer to Natasha, that they would be able to talk freely, but Natasha was another person in his life who preferred things to be internal. She didn't like speaking about herself, something that endeared her to Clint and distanced her.

There were some days in Clint's life where he longed to be able to open himself up, to let his emotions pour out of him like waterfalls. There were also some days, and these were more frequent in number, that Clint was glad he was shut off emotionally. Emotion could be used against you. As an assassin, that wasn't helpful to anyone. As an Avenger, well that was even less so.

"Agent Barton?" A stern voice snapped Clint out of his own head.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," the woman said, kinder this time, "I would just rather you vocalise what's going on internally. That's the point of these sessions. Director Fury just wants to monitor the extent of Loki's mind compulsion."

Clint nodded, because that was fair. Sometimes, Clint would feel an ache in the back of his mind and Loki's sharp, maniacal laugh would erupt and fill his mind. "I can feel where the compulsion used to be, if that makes any sense. I don't feel bound anymore, though."

The therapist, Clint couldn't remember her name, nodded and scrawled something on her papers. "I know this is probably an irritating question for you, but how does it make you feel?"

Clint laughed darkly. "What? The fact that an egomaniacal alien possessed my mind and made me attack my own team? How do you think that makes me feel?"

"I asked you, Agent Barton." she replied.

"Aren't you supposed to be the one who's a master of psychoanalysis? Shouldn't you be able to tell these things just from speaking with me?" Clint felt the hot rage build up around him like a wall, closing in all around him. His breathing became shallower and he glowered at the woman in front of him. "You know what, fuck this."

He hated thinking about what Loki had done, let alone talking about it. Loki had made him betray his team, the people he was loyal to. He had tried to kill Natasha and her skill alone kept him from doing so. He still felt more than responsible for the death of Phil Coulson, even though Natasha said it was probably just survivor's guilt. Casualties of war often included some element of the concept.

Clint got up swiftly, letting the door fly shut behind him, leaving the therapist's words to become lost.

He thought that he'd be alone outside the office, but it turned out that solitude never happened when one desired it. There, on one of the waiting couches sat the pinnacle of patriotism himself, Steve Rogers.

Clint took a moment to wonder what the Captain was doing outside a shrink's office, but then realised that he knew next to nothing about the man, aside from his fighting style. Clint figured that it could use work and would inform the Captain whenever they were doing strategy sessions.

"Tough time?" Steve asked, his voice clipped.

Clint shrugged. "What's it to you?"

Steve shrugged, holding his hands up. "Didn't mean anything by it, Barton. I just know that dealing with therapy isn't always as straightforward as people think. Not everyone adjusts to having a stranger accessing their deepest thoughts and fears."

Clint folded his arms neutrally, gesturing for Cap to continue as he sank into the opposite chair.

"Well, Fury's mandated some time for me to adjust after coming out of the ice. Everything's still very much jumbled in my head and I don't really know how to untangle it. I just think that sometimes psychology is very convoluted and needs a wider scope sometimes."

Clint knew what he meant. The woman he had seen always attacked his problems from the same angle, never really branching out to look for other causes or other solutions. One was enough, apparently. He didn't think that she was too good at her job but, given the amount that either Fury or Stark were paying her to live in Stark Tower with them, there must have been something that both Clint and Steve were missing.

"Must be indescribable," Clint muttered, "waking up seven decades after you thought you died." A smile swept across his face. "I was there, you know, at Times Square when you…woke up."

Steve frowned, new information coming to light. "You were?"

"Sure," Clint said easily, "perched on top of one of the lower buildings with a tranquiliser in my quiver, ready to take you down if you got aggressive with the locals. Fury's orders. I said to him that the day Captain America becomes mindlessly aggressive in the heart of America itself is the day that Widow loses a fight."

Steve laughed a little at this, but it was half-hearted, like he was laughing in order to hold something back from Clint. Even though Clint spent most of his time watching people, he couldn't figure this one out.

"I say something wrong, Cap?"

"No," Steve waved his hand lazily, "just don't like thinking about the day I woke up. That whole charade with the baseball game, making me think I was back in my time. I figured it out instantly. As soon as I realised that Peggy wasn't at my bedside, I knew. The baseball game confirmed it, because I was there, you know?"

Clint nodded. "Hill was furious about that slip up. Never seen her so fired up about something, except for maybe…Loki."

Steve winced, knowing that Loki was a sore spot for Clint. Clint shook his head to clear the laugh from his mind. The same laugh, a three-tone guffaw that sent a jagged pain through his body. "You don't have to talk about him," Steve suggested kindly.

"I gotta at some point, Cap. Shrink says I can't spend my life hiding away from my pain."

Steve snorted. "Yeah? Well, fuck what she says."

Clint mock gasped. "Did the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan just say fuck?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Eat shit, Barton."

Clint chuckled lightly, glad for the levity. Then he realised something that the therapist had actually called him out on correctly in an earlier session...

"You don't allow people to address you by your forename, do you, Agent Barton?"

Clint shrugged. "I'm an agent, we use surnames or sometimes codenames."

"What about with your friends?"

Clint paused and knew that his silence tipped her off towards the real truth. He didn't have any friends outside of work.

"Ah, I see. Well, that's all for today…Agent Barton. I'll see you next week."

Clint had gotten out of his seat so quickly that day.

"Call me Clint? I feel like fighting side by side against an alien invasion means that first names are probably more appropriate."

"I didn't think you wanted people to call you Clint," Steve remarked coolly.

Clint sighed. "After Lo—the compulsion…it's one of the only things I have that isn't tainted, you know? I can hear him saying "Agent Barton" in my head and I don't want that."

"That's smart. Since we're on first names terms and all, how about you stop this Cap nonsense and call me 'Steve'?"

"Can do, Cap," Clint replied. "Fuck. I mean, can do Steve."

Steve smirked. "It's going to take some time, I see. Uh, I'd probably better get this over with."

Clint nodded understandingly and smiled as he stood. "Yeah, sure. Hope it goes okay for you. Steve."

"Thanks, Clint."

Clint left the space as Cap—Steve (god damn it) entered the therapist's office and settled down for his hour of psychological fun and games. Clint ignored the low buzz of people as he slipped into the elevator, sending it to Floor 12, Clint's personal floor. The doors opened slowly as Jarvis welcomed him onto the floor.

Clint shook his head at the advancement of the A.I, even though there wasn't a lot that Tony Stark couldn't configure. Clint padded past his bedroom and headed straight for the enhanced archery range that Tony had provided for him as a method of stress relief. In his words, "masturbation and sparring with Widow only do so much, Barton".

As Clint picked up an arrow and positioned it accordingly, Jarvis' voice stopped him from firing.

"Apologies, Mr. Barton, but the elevator has received a request to be taken to your floor."

"Who is it?"

Jarvis hummed. "Miss Romanoff has asked or, ah, demanded rather, to see you. It doesn't look like she'll be backing down anytime soon."

Clint chuckled because even A.I technology was intimidated by Natasha. "Send her up, Jarvis. And thank you."

"No problem, Mr. Barton. Have a nice day."

Clint set his bow down on the counter as he waited for the imminent arrival of his best friend. He already knew what she was going to say when she appeared and he didn't know if he wanted to hear it at this very moment in time.

"Blowing off some steam?" Natasha's husky voice approached him before he even saw her.

Clint turned to greet her. "Yeah, and I already know what you're going to say or, rather, ask."

Natasha shrugged. "Can't blame a girl for trying. How was your session?"

"Not bad. Pissed me off towards the end, though. The usual."

Natasha put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, you know that what happened in New York or before it wasn't your fault."

"I know, Nat. I just still feel guilty. He took control of my mind so easily. If it wasn't for you, I would've been fighting against you guys in New York."

"But you weren't. Focus on the fact that we won. It's over. Next time someone tries to take control of your mind, you'll be prepared. Fight harder, Clint. Don't let it happen again, take control of yourself so other people can't."

"You're right, as always. Thanks, Nat."

She chuckled. "It's what I do. Anyway, I hear that Brock Rumlow is newly single."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Not this again. Rumlow's an ass."

"Ooh, you're right. I know Grant Ward's looking for a guy."

Clint frowned. "Not my type."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "How is he not your type?"

"I don't know. He's too serious all the time, makes laughing a rarity."

"Ugh, don't want that," Natasha agreed. "Well, I'll keep looking."

At this point, Clint wanted to yell at her for consistently looking to match him up when he didn't want to be matched up. But he wasn't going to yell, what would that achieve? Nothing. So he turned to her and inhaled deeply. "Nat, I appreciate what you're doing, but I'm okay on my own. Really, I am. With everything going on in my head, I have more than enough to deal with without boy trouble going on too."

Natasha shrugged. "I didn't think about it like that, Clint, I'm sorry."

Clint shook his head. "Nah, it's okay. I just wanted to get my mind sorted out. Tell you what, once this mess with my head is over, you can go crazy and find me all kinds of dates."

A smile appeared on Natasha's face, the kind she could only get from being told she was allowed to meddle in something. There weren't a lot of things she loved more than matchmaking, even though she was currently horrible at it. Clint made a face at the thought of dating Brock Rumlow, because that was nasty. Brock was a pure asshole and everybody knew it. Aesthetically, he wasn't horrible to look at, but there had to be more to it. He would admit to himself that he made excuses when the subject of Grant Ward came up, because he actually had no idea how much the man smiled. He just wanted to hedge his way out of a date. Natasha probably knew as much.

"I'll leave you to your training," Natasha murmured as she swept out of the room, probably going back to tease Jarvis some more.

Clint sighed as he rubbed a hand through his hair and loaded his bow, squeezing one eye closed and taking a deep breath in to steady his hands. Letting the arrow fly towards the first target, Clint smiled automatically as the head pierced the centre of the target. As he loaded another arrow, he realised that the centre was too easy a target to aim for. Remembering something that Stark—Tony mentioned to him upon his arrival, he coughed.

"Jarvis, pick a random spot on the second target for me," he instructed and he heard the A.I whizzing to life.

"Certainly, Agent Barton," Jarvis replied and suddenly a bright laser burned into a spot on the second target, a few centimetres left of the bullseye and a little higher.

"Thanks," Clint said before readying his bow once more. Altering his stance slightly to facilitate the more difficult target, Clint focused before releasing the arrow. As usual, it hit the target dead on. He was an Avenger now, there was no room at all for missed shots.

"Nice shooting, Agent Barton," Jarvis commented from his natural position all around Clint.

"Thanks Jarvis," he hollered back before moving onto the third target, a moving target. He specialised in hitting moving targets. Clint scoffed at the fact that Tony had barely implemented a challenge for him.

The fourth target provided a burst of smoke made to distract the archer, impairing his vision slightly. Shaking his head, Clint fired through the smoke and hit exactly where he needed to be. Damn, he was good.

Clint would later reflect on this and wish that he was as good as other things as he was at archery.