Avengers
Time after Time
Chapter 1
New York City
Stark Tower
Post-Loki
The sun shone brightly, reflecting off the windows of the buildings surrounding Stark Tower. Most of the damage incurred during the battle with Loki's army had been repaired. Naturally, Stark had made the living quarters a priority so that now Clint and the other members of the Avengers lived in luxurious comfort. Stark's AI, JARVIS, was at their beck and call day and night. Anything they wanted or needed was theirs for the asking.
Clint preferred to do for himself, though he had to admit that it was nice not to have to worry about all the little things that came with being an adult living in the big city. Clint had been on his own since he'd left the Coney Island Circus at the age of eighteen. His day to day life after that had been a struggle just to stay alive until a not-so-chance meeting in the town of Cedar Hill just outside of Dallas, Texas. That's when it had all changed, and for the better. Though sometimes he wasn't sure about that last part, especially after recent events.
Phil Coulson had taken him before SHIELD director Nick Fury. Clint had stood there in the middle of Fury's office, eyes straight ahead as the man had walked around him, assessing, evaluating, appraising. Fury stopped in front of him, his one eye boring into Clint's mind and soul, before turning his back and going to one of computer consoles stationed around the vast room.
The archer let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when Fury said, "Take him." He waited until Clint had left the room to speak to Coulson again. "See to it he's trained and educated."
"Yes, sir."
He'd spent more than a year going through the most rigorous training he'd ever imagined. Hand-to-hand, weapons, stealth, infiltration, espionage, computers, intelligence, counterintelligence, flying, languages. They'd taught him to blend in, to become one with his environment, to appear as if he belonged.
After that, Coulson had enrolled him in college. Clint had argued against it, but Coulson had been adamant.
Sitting on one of the plush sofas in the common area, Clint tried to keep his mind on the book he was reading, but thoughts of Coulson, of losing his best friend kept him from doing so. He went to the bar, took a beer from the cooler, twisted off the top and drank deeply. Though tempted to keep drinking until the all the horrible memories of his time as Loki's slave stopped, he didn't and wouldn't. He'd seen up close and personal how alcohol could make matters worse rather than better. There were other routes he could take, but he'd never had even the smallest desire to experiment with illegal mind-altering substances. He didn't even like taking over the counter pain meds, though sometimes it was necessary.
That naturally reminded him of the fact that he'd so easily succumbed to Loki's assault. The SHIELD doctors, his friends, everyone who had been affected by Loki and his army had tried to convince him that there was nothing that he could've done to stop the demi-god from taking over his mind, unmaking the man that he'd been and replacing him with one who would do Loki's every bidding without question, concern for his own safety or remorse. He'd killed his fellow agents, and that fact was what kept him awake at night months after it happened.
As it was, once he'd returned to himself, it had taken nearly everything they had to finally defeat Loki. Even while fighting the other realm army, he kept seeing Loki touching his chest with the scepter, felt the burning inside his head as he was unmade again and again, like a recording set to repeat the same scene over and over.
"You keep making that face and it'll get stuck that way."
His thoughts jerked back to the present to see Pepper Potts dressed as always in an elegant yet professional manner. Today it was a black dress with white around the collar, white button and her hair drawn back into a ponytail. She grinned at him when he responded, "It already has. How are you, Ms. Potts?"
"Pepper, please, Agent Barton. And I'm doing quite well, thank you."
"Clint." She nodded and he would've said more, but they were joined by Stark.
"Not tryin' to steal my girl, are you, Barton?" Stark gave Pepper a quick kiss.
One side of Clint's mouth lifted in a half-smile as he left them alone. He stepped out onto the patio breathing in the warm air of New York approaching summer. Glancing over his shoulder, Clint saw the couple talking quietly. They kissed again and Pepper walked down the hall out of sight. Moments later, Stark came to stand at his side, beer in hand. He had sensed Clint watching him and gave him a rueful grin. "What's the matter, Legolas? Never been in love before?"
Before he knew it, Clint had traveled into the past, only this time he went much farther than the months since their defeat of Loki.
Twelve Years Ago
New York City
Central University
It was a pleasant fall day in New York City. The breeze rustled the few leaves still on the trees and fluttered the loose ones along the grass and sidewalks. Clint hitched the plain black backpack higher on his shoulder and walked confidently into the rotunda of NY Central University. Students, professors and staff walked here and there while others sat alone or in groups.
While it hadn't been his idea to enroll, he found himself looking forward to this new experience with more than a little anticipation. Most of his education, if it could be called that, had come from the orphanage, the circus or the streets. Scars on his body tracked the harder lessons learned. Most would fade with time. The emotional scars would take much longer to heal, if ever.
Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he opened the campus map he'd been given, located the building he wanted then looked around. From this vantage point, he couldn't see the names of the buildings. And the directions he'd written down didn't help either. He saw things better from a distance. If he could find a high perch, this would be a cinch.
Walk between Physics and Liberal Arts, cross the rotunda, turn right at the sign 'In memory of Dr. Marjorie Pelham, PhD' and it's on the left.
He had walked all over the one and a half acres of grass, trees, flowers and concrete, but hadn't found the sign or the building. He'd just located a building that would serve his purpose when a voice spoke to him.
"You look lost. Can I help?"
Clint's reflexes kicked in and he spun around ready to chuck the backpack at his attacker to defend himself, but standing in front of him was a very attractive African-American woman with laughing brown eyes. She was slim, shorter than him by a couple of inches, dressed in blue jeans, a chocolate brown cowl necked sweater with fall leaves dancing across the front, a light jacket and a red and gray backpack. Shifting her weight brought his eyes down to where her feet had been shoved into dark brown suede boots with lambskin peeking out the top and ties with puffy balls on the ends. Suddenly realizing that she was waiting for an answer, he cleared his throat. "Yeah. Looking for the English building."
She laughed. "American Lit?"
"Yeah."
"Come with me." She started walking and he fell in beside her. "You'll find your way around eventually."
"I usually have a good sense of direction." She laughed again and he found himself wanting to keep talking to her just to hear that sound again.
"Which won't help you on any university campus in the continental United States because they do not conform to logic." She came to a stop. "Here we are. When's your next class?"
Clint shrugged. "Not until after lunch."
"Great. You'll find the food court by coming out the front door, turn right and follow the smell of grease and carbs. See ya around." Taking a step back, she turned and strode purposefully away, hands in her pockets.
When she cast a glance over her shoulder, he realized he'd been standing and staring at her, forcing the other students to step into the grass to go around. Someone bumped into him and he pulled his gaze from the girl's swaying backside. Smiling for the first time since he couldn't remember when, he entered the building, located the room and found a seat in the back away from the windows. There was a second door. A twist of the knob told him was locked, though a well-placed kick would easily splinter the wood and allow him to get away. He didn't think anyone would come after him here, but experience had taught him that constant vigilance was the only way to go.
After his parents had died, he and his brother had been placed in a foster home. He'd been told that it was difficult to find a home to take siblings so he'd counted himself lucky that he and Barney were placed together. That is until the father had started using the two of them for a punching bag. They'd been there for less than a week the first time it happened. Barney had come to his defense and had received a beating for his efforts.
At the end of two weeks, the brothers had run away only to be picked up by the police and split up. But they didn't like being separated so they ran away again. And again and again until their caseworker's supervisor made the decision to send them to one of the few orphanages left in Iowa run by Dr. Jamison Childress. The children in the orphanage weren't physically or emotionally abused, but they weren't treated like "family" either.
No, they were treated as if they were an experiment the staff was conducting to see how little affection a child could have and still grow up "normal." Their caretakers were strict, yet fair when infractions were committed, though they seldom gave praise or punishment. And Child Protective Services, already overworked, hadn't the time or resources to make more than two or three visits a year
After six years, the brothers ran away and joined Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders. There, Clint was trained as a marksman with a bow and arrow as well as a variety of swords and knives. He also trained as a part of the high wire act and even filled is as a clown now and then, though he didn't care for that as much as the trapeze. Above all else, he preferred a bow and a quiver of arrows.
"Good morning. My name is Nancy Crosse. Welcome to American Literature. We'll be focusing on authors from the last twenty to thirty years in the first few weeks of class." The woman standing in front of the blackboard was on the plump side, fortyish with glasses and short brown hair. Her voice was smooth as satin and cultured with a telltale New York accent. "We'll start by introducing ourselves. Name, home town, area of study and anything else you'd like to share."
Slouching down in his seat, his jacket bunched up around his ears, Clint did his best to go unnoticed, and it worked for a while. He was about to pat himself on the back for a job well done, when a hand slammed on the desk in front of him.
"Dude, she's talking to you."
Straightening in his seat, Clint now saw that he was being watched by the entire class. The twenty pairs of eyes on him made him edgy. He used one of the techniques for calming his mind taught to him by the Swordsman during his training. "Ma'am?"
"Care to share with the class?"
Resting his left ankle on his right knee, Clint crossed his arms. "I'm good."
"Your classmates and I would like to be able to call you by name. It's so much more personal than calling you 'that guy in the bomber jacket.' Don't you agree?"
Her tone didn't leave any room for argument. She already had his information. Standing, he hesitated a moment before giving the alias he'd enrolled under. He'd wanted to take a name that had special meaning for him, but everyone that had meant anything to him was either dead or he didn't want to be reminded of them. All but one person. The man whose idea it had been for him to be here. The man who had taken him off the streets where he'd been living hand to mouth for over a year. The man who saw something in Clint he hadn't known was there. The man who had provided all of the unimpeachable documentation he would need to prove his false identity and background. "Clint. Clint Coulson."
TBC
