A/N: 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris.

Thanks,

~Sandy

Avengers

From Time to Time

Chapter 1

Naomi and Clint watched each other across the room, and though she'd been prepared for it, seeing him again still rattled her. From the unreadable expression that settled over his features, she'd done the same to him. It had to be worse for him though, because she had advance warning and he hadn't.

Projecting an impression of calm, she took another step forward, hands laced together in front of her. At her movement, Clint's left hand twitched as if he wanted to reach for a weapon. While she wondered if he still carried guns and knives on him at all time, she wasn't been worried that he'd accidentally attack her. In the time they'd been together, not once had he ever done so. And though twelve years had passed, the invasion had happened, and God knows what else, she knew he would never hurt her. At least not physically.

The emotional pain that she'd suffered still hit her without warning, like when the song Amazed came on the radio, when her mother made lasagna, or when she had to go into the room they'd shared that incredible Thanksgiving. It hadn't been as bad this last visit, but she'd been with Troy at the time. The way that relationship had ended bothered her as well.

"You look well."

Naomi knew he meant it as a compliment, but it had come out sounding like he was saying she had good table manners. "You don't."

"Yeah, well having your mind taken over by a megalomaniac does that to a guy."

"I read your file. I'm sorry you had to experience that."

Moving over to sit on the side of the bed, Clint snorted. "Me too. How long have you…"

When he sat, she took the chair, crossing her legs and clasping her hands around the top knee. "Just a few weeks. I was recruited by Agent Hill and Dr. McNeil."

His hands gripped the edge of the mattress and he force himself to relax. "Do they know you're Fury's daughter?"

Now that stunned her because, until a few months ago, she hadn't even known. "I imagine they do, but the question is how do you know?"

~~O~~

There came another knock on the door before Clint could answer Naomi's question. Without waiting to be invited, the door opened and Stark came in. "You know, these doors are soundproof. I couldn't hear a thing. Glad I brought this." He held up a small device the size of a quarter.

To Naomi, and with more than a little annoyance, Clint asked, "Who else did you bring?"

Again Stark answered. "Just me, Legolas. Not like she had a choice though." His eyes looked Clint over then he went and peeked out the window. "You don't look any crazier than before. Why're you here?"

"Passed out." He slanted his eyes at Naomi then remembered that she now knew everything there was to know about him and his work with SHIELD, though he still wasn't ready to talk about it.

"They don't generally give you an all-expense paid trip to Fantasy Island because you fainted."

With a huff of frustration, Clint asked, "Can we do this somewhere else?"

"Doc?"

Naomi got to her feet, extinguishing a brief flash of annoyance of her own that Stark would dismiss her, covering it with a smile. "Of course, Mr. Stark."

She left the room, showing great restraint, Clint thought, by not slamming the door. Stark faced Clint again wearing the smirk that made the archer want to shove an arrow through his throat. Gathering up his clothes, he headed for the bathroom to change again, turning at the door. "What?"

"So that's the woman who's had you tied up in knots all these years." Clint opened his mouth to deny it, but Stark wasn't done. "Don't bother denying it, Legolas." Prefacing it with a growl, Clint called Stark a name in Russian. Stark surprised him by laughing. "I don't know what that means, but it sounds very impressive. Get changed. I'd like to get back to New York before Pepper realizes she can run the company without me."

Still reeling from seeing Naomi again, Clint closed the bathroom door, changed into his clothes and by the time he'd come out again, she was back with his discharge papers. "Where'd you park?"

"Helipad on the roof."

Feeling he was being watched, Clint looked to his left where Naomi was walking beside him, her eyes making a visual assessment. "I'm okay to fly, doc."

He didn't know what had made him use the same nickname he gave all the doctors on board the ship, but she didn't like it. If she was going to be his psychologist, he had to put some distance between them in order to differentiate her previous role as the woman he'd loved and lost and the one who would be helping him through this mental rough patch. And that's how he thought of it because if this were anything more, if he were to be like this for the rest of his life…he didn't complete that thought.

He also knew that they would have to talk about why he'd left. She would know most of it from his file, but they were just words on paper. Something along the lines of "Patient continues to display retrograde amnesia for the events prior to and including those that occurred while he had been a prisoner." It was a familiar turn of phrase he'd seen in his file over the years. Not that the doctors had let him read it, but his computer skills weren't exactly shabby and he found breaking each new layer of encryption challenging.

Naomi would insist on going over it on a personal level. If Stark hadn't been here, she might've brought it up on the way back to the ship. Or not. Being here, together, was so unexpected that it could take weeks-or months-to get used to it, to become comfortable enough with each other that they could talk without the past biting them in the a**. Okay, so that would probably always be a problem.

Inside the quinjet, Clint took a seat in the rear cabin, his hands itching to get at the controls, play cards, anything to keep himself busy during the flight so he didn't have to deal with the uncomfortable silence. Going to the workstation to the right of the cockpit, he signed in relieved that his user ID and passwords hadn't been revoked.

The co-pilot spoke over his shoulder. "We stopped at the hotel, settled your account and picked up your stuff, Agent Barton, including the weapons you'd locked in the wall safe." He held out the Glock, but the archer didn't take it.

"Thanks, Davis." Clint glanced at Naomi, but she was reading from a tablet. Probably my file. "You hold onto that."

Behind his faceplate, Davis seemed uncertain, but didn't question the order. "Yes, sir. ETA ninety minutes. She's docked at Quantico."

"Drop me off at Stark Tower, Davis."

"Yes, Mr. Stark."

Trying and failing to ignore Stark, Clint dropped his hands to the edge of the workstation. "Why didn't you take the suit?"

Shrugging, Stark used one hand to scratch his head. "It's at the cleaners." He came to stand behind Clint, hands in his pockets. "So, what's the plan, Legolas? Drugs? Hypnosis? Shock therapy?"

Naomi surprised both men by speaking. "No to all three. Agent Barton doesn't take drugs, he can't be hypnotized by conventional means and ECT is a barbaric form of treatment for mental disorders that should be outlawed."

"Sounds like you know Hawkeye better than any of us."

She glanced up then back to the file. "You could say that."

Clint started to shoot her a glare, but didn't dare or he might not be able to stop looking at her. Instead, he called up a game on the monitor. "How about a few rounds of Angry Birds, Stark?"

"How about the two of you tell me why you won't even look at each other?"

"Don't want to talk about it!"

Clint and Naomi said it at the same time in the same annoyed tone making Stark laugh. "It's amazing how you can both throw your voices like that. Do it again."

The pilot interrupted to say they'd reached Stark Tower and Clint held in a sigh of relief that the billionaire would be out of his hair soon. "Could you send someone to pick up my truck at the hotel, Stark?"

"Already done, Legolas." Stark nodded to Naomi before trotting onto the ramp that led into the highest floor of the tower. Within seconds they were in the air again.

Clint's reprieve was brief because now he and Naomi had no buffer between them. He had things he wanted to say to her. At the same time he didn't, so he kept quiet and so did she. When the quinjet landed on the helicarrier, he gathered his belongings and followed Naomi down the ramp then inside. At a junction, he turned right to go to crew quarters, stopping when she called out to him.

"Agent Barton?" Turnabout was fair play so he didn't say anything. Just turned and finally looked at her. "Your first appointment is tomorrow at 1100 hours. Do not be late."

And with that, she slapped the door panel and entered her office without a backward glance.

As he headed for his quarters he started remembering the ER. He'd fallen asleep and dreamed of Loki. Or was he still dreaming? The Asgardian had looked into the deepest, darkest recesses of Clint's mind and had used those memories to torture him each time he'd gotten close to breaking his hold. He'd used the memories of Naomi, letting him think that their lives had been different only to take that away by making him believe that Naomi had died by his hand during the invasion. And it hadn't stopped there. All of Clint's fears were acted out down to the last detail. Repeatedly. Then when he woke up screaming, Loki would do it again and again until Clint agreed to do his bidding or continue to suffer.

Clint slapped his hand over the door control and stalked into his room tossing his duffle bag in the chair and setting his bow case beside the desk. He knew he wasn't dreaming because seeing Naomi had hurt worse than anything Loki had done to him.

~~O~~

When the door had closed behind her, Naomi leaned against it sliding down to sit on the floor with her knees up and her arms wrapped around them. It was instinctive, reflexive. A way to protect herself. As a psychologist, she knew it, but that didn't mean she could stop it. Not immediately. Seeing Clint again had not been nearly as easy as she thought it would be, even with preparation.

Though she knew they'd both changed in the intervening years, she hadn't been prepared for the lines of fatigue or the brief moment of coldness in his eyes when he first saw her, quickly replaced by that unreadable mask. Very little of the warmth he'd shown her had remained. It could've been his disdain for her profession and probably was. Or it could've been a side effect of whatever had caused him to end up in the psych ward in Canada. She wouldn't know until she could get him to talk and to go by past experience, that wouldn't be easy. Maybe harder now.

He was smart enough to ask for help when he needed it and knew she would have to be the one to do it. For that to happen, they would need to come to some sort of truce. After reading his file, she now knew that he'd had a very good reason for not coming back. But what she couldn't forgive was that he'd stayed away and never tried to find her, to explain. She would've understood about the torture and the amnesia, but when he remembered he'd still stayed away. And she had to know why.

Recognizing that she wouldn't get those answers tonight, Naomi got to her feet, walked to her desk beaming the info from her tablet to the networked computer. Opening the file, she reread everything about this latest incident Clint had been involved in.

~~O~~

Getting to his appointment with Naomi wasn't Clint's problem. No, the problem had been lying in bed all night afraid to go to sleep even with the Ambien. It would help, but he hadn't wanted to bother the doctor to get a pill because it would've been like admitting that he wasn't able to handle a few bad dreams. But he did have to admit that the episode in the ER had disturbed him. And now he had to spend an hour several times a week talking to his ex-girlfriend about the things that terrified him.

They'd only been together for just over three months, but she knew him better than anyone, even Natasha, so she'd already know how this was going to go. It was hard to talk to a stranger about his issues, but he'd tried and succeeded for the most part. At least he thought he was making progress until Erickson left.

Resigning himself to trying to work this out, Clint changed into his workout clothes and headed for the deck to go for a run. He ran the length of the ship and back, and somewhere around the middle of mile two, he was passing the conning tower when Naomi came out onto the deck. She too was dressed for running. Without meaning to, he slowed down to watch her stretch, once again admiring the grace with which she moved. When he realized what he was doing, he ducked his head and sped up again.

Clint finished his run, returning to his quarters to shower and change. Sitting on the side of the bed, he rubbed the back of his head trying to decide if he wanted to eat before his appointment or wait until after. He turned his left wrist over and saw that he only had a few minutes to get to there.

A short time later, he was standing in front of Naomi's office. At exactly 1100, he announced his presence. The door opened immediately and he was once again greeted with the smell of cherries. Naomi was sitting at her desk typing at the computer, a pen clenched in her teeth and ignoring the fact that he was standing just inside the now closed door. He thought about the times he'd seen her doing it all those years ago and wondered why she bothered with a pen at all. The ship was ninety-eight percent paperless. Then he remembered her fondness for writing everything down before entering it into the computer. "Have a seat. I'll be right with you."

Swinging his arms, he hit one fist into the palm of the other hand and snapped his fingers as he walked over to look out the window, and kept doing it. He turned when she cleared her throat.

"Please stop that."

"Sorry." Being in her presence made him restless. At times like this, he would run or go to the range and shoot something, sometimes crawl through the air ducts or sit on the conning tower. To calm himself now, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, but it didn't help because the cherry scent of Naomi's shampoo messed with his head. Opening his eyes, he saw her reflection in the window. She was still at her desk watching him with a thoughtful expression. But when she realized he'd seen her, she got up and came to his side.

"Let's get started."

"The sooner the better." Following her to the sitting area, he took the same seat he'd used when Erickson had been the shrink. "We trashed New York during the invasion and I'd like to get back to my work detail."

She hadn't changed much aside from her hair and the slight gleam of wariness in her eyes. If he'd put that there, he was very sorry. "It'll take a couple of sessions until I can determine if you're ready, so let's just take it one day at a time."

"We're having a session every day?"

"Start with three days a week with an eval every ten days or so and go from there."

Not wanting to let on that he was annoyed, he rested his right ankle on his left knee in his casual pose. "Okay. What's first on the agenda?"

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but we need to clear the air."

"Was hoping we could put it off for a while."

Shifting in her seat, she set the pad and pen on the table. "We have to or this won't work." Uncrossing her knees, she tucked her feet under the chair.

"Ladies first."

"Three days."

Whatever Clint expected Naomi to say, that wasn't it. "Pardon?"

"You were only supposed to be gone three days, Clint. That was more than a decade ago."

He tried to maintain eye contact, but felt himself looking away. "Didn't have a choice."

"We all have choices and you chose to stay away."

"What do you want me to say?"

Her eyes darkened in anger. "Something. Anything. But if it's not going to be the truth, don't bother."

~~O~~

"Why would I lie?"

"You lied more than a few times while we were together. Why does any man lie? So they can avoid facing the truth or to get out of a jam." Naomi got to her feet because she had to move or she'd scream. She walked around and stood behind her chair digging her fingers into the headrest. He too got to his feet, looking as if he wanted to run away, but knowing that she was only projecting her own feelings.

"That's not what happened." Going to the window again, he seemed to find comfort watching the water. "I didn't come back because I couldn't. A simple recon mission turned into an infiltration. From what I was told, I was made as an agent about ten days in."

"Tell me."

"You should know this. Coulson said he talked to you."

She nodded, holding up one finger and keeping her anger in check with difficulty. "He did. Once. And all he said was you'd be gone a few more days. I never heard from him or anyone else ever again."

~~O~~

"Your father…" Coulson had told Clint that Fury had taken on the responsibility of contacting Naomi regarding his condition. Something the Director obviously hadn't done. She already had animosity for her father. How could he add to it?

"My father what…?"

"Nothing." He turned from the window, leaning his hips on the ledge and lifting his shirt to show faded scars. "I was beaten and tortured off and on for almost a month then left for dead. Spent the next couple of weeks in a coma."

"Yes, I know, but what your file wouldn't say was why you didn't contact me when you woke up." It wasn't rational to expect that he would be able to give her everything she wanted, but she had to try.

"Couldn't."

~~O~~

Naomi's feet moved of their own accord, coming to a stop just outside his comfort zone. "Couldn't, wouldn't or didn't want to? Clint, you aren't telling me everything and I need to know!" Her voice rose at the end and she took a breath to calm down.

"Is that your professional opinion, doctor?"

"Oh, no. Do not play games with me, Clint Coul-Barton." His posture would've appeared relaxed to the general public, but the muscles of his shoulders were so tense she doubted she would be able to get a grip. Clint pulled his hands from his pockets and pushed off the ledge which brought him close enough for her to see that his eyes had changed color. She wondered if he knew they telegraphed his emotions to the world.

"You read my file, and yet you're asking questions you already know the answers to. But I'll play your little games, if it'll make you happy. The truth is I couldn't. As in I was unable to."

"Why? Was your dialing finger broken?"

"I had amnesia and didn't even remember your name. Hell, I barely remembered my name." He turned away again, one hand rubbing the back of his head. "I spent six months relearning how to do almost everything. I couldn't even do the simplest things for myself. Then when I went to your apartment, you'd moved on. Not that I blame you. It was a long time before I came back physically. How could I have expected you to put your life on hold to take care of me?"

"That's exactly what you should've expected because I loved you, Clint! And you loved me! Or was that a lie too, like your name?" There was something he wasn't telling her, but trying to pry it out of him wouldn't work if he didn't want to tell her. All she knew was it had something to do with her father. "Let's just leave that alone for now."

She wanted to laugh when he muttered an oath under his breath, but she didn't. She was furious and wanted to stay that way for when she confronted her father. "Wait. Earlier you said, 'from what I was told.' What did you mean?"

"Don't remember any of it."

"Nothing?"

Shaking his head, he sat heavily on the end of the sofa. "No. Some of the events leading up to it are gone too." Elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them, he smiled sadly. "Like I told Gina…"

"What?!"

~~O~~

Clint's stomach dropped. He seldom spoke without thinking, but that's what Naomi did to him. Gina obviously hadn't told her daughter about the op she'd helped him and Natasha with, and now he would have to bear the brunt of her anger. Coulson had been right. Naomi was her father's daughter though her temper was somewhat mitigated by her mother's influence.

"You told my mother, but couldn't be bothered with telling me? What the hell were you thinking? Or weren't you thinking?"

They were both on their feet now standing toe to toe. "Does it matter? It's over and done with, and I am not going to discuss it with you."

"Fine!"

"Great!"

Afraid that he'd say something else he'd regret, Clint headed for the door, stopping when she grabbed his arm. "I'm not done talking to you!"

"Well, I am done! Maybe you should get McNeil or Hoffman to take over because it's apparent we both have issues making this…" he gestured between them, "…a conflict of interest."

"The only issue I need to resolve right this moment is how you knew Nicholas Fury was my father? I didn't even know until a short time ago."

The rage that had burst out of him dimmed. He hung his head for a moment before turning to face her again. "You're not going to like the answer."

"Never stopped you before." Crossing her arms, Naomi refused to back down. "Tell me anyway."

"He sort of told me."

"Sort of? What kind of answer is that?"

She was so close Clint could feel the heat from her body across the small gulf reminding him of things better forgotten. And as he'd done when she was being stalked, he wanted to take her in his arms and make all the bad memories go away for both of them, but he didn't. Couldn't. Because, if he did, and they were somehow able to settle everything that had happened in the last twelve years, they could be compromising their positions with SHIELD. While there were no specific regulations against agents and staff being involved in a romantic relationship, the fact that she was treating him precluded them from doing so. "The only one I can give you."

"Oh, no! You are not getting out of this, Clint. When?"

Again, he hesitated, but the look on her face told him she wouldn't let it go. "The day you were kidnapped by Decker."

TBC