My body felt heavy, so I didn't move. My first thought was that John had kidnapped me somehow. I remembered bolting from the restaurant, shoving against people, getting to my car...but not getting in it.
I peered around. Everything was metal and sleek. I couldn't see much except walls and a table with a pitcher and some bandages on it. I pushed up with my elbows but when the room began to sway I eased myself back down with a groan. I shut my eyes, hoping this was some sort of nightmare.
"Aspirin, O'Brien?"
I knew that voice. I opened my eyes and saw Hawkeye rattling a bottle of pills at me. His hair was longer than I remembered, but his eyes were still bright and they smirked as much as his mouth.
"You? Where have you been? My mom thought you might have died." My voice sounded strange, and it felt slower to talk, but it helped if I focused on one spot. Like Clint's nose. It was slightly big, but somehow it suited him.
He blew out a breath between his clenched teeth.
"Still alive, probably to her disappointment."
My mouth twitched. My mother and Clint had few encounters, but Selvig impressed some not so nice feelings about Clint onto her. But just as I began to smile, I realized that Clint was still wearing his black suit, with his special gloves, and I remembered the feeling of an arrow in my neck...
"You drugged me!"
"Drugged is a strong word," Clint shrugged. "Sedated is more appropriate."
"That's drugging, you..." I shifted to better insult him, but thinking suddenly felt like rowing through rapids. "Ugh, my body hurts—"
"You need to answer something for me about Waltham," Clint said, flipping a chair backwards and sitting down. His muscular arms gripped the seat and his face showed no signs of caring about cutting me off.
"Who the hell is Waltham?" I asked, rubbing my head. I pushed myself higher on my pillows so I could face him in a more upright position.
"John. The man you were having lunch with today?"
"John Ward?"
"He goes by Waltham now," Clint said, frowning. "I guess he wanted to erase his past as John Ward."
"Waltham was his mother's maiden name," I said, my brain whirring with curiosity. What did Clint have to do with John? Why was I here? What had John managed to drag me into this time, once again without my knowledge or consent?
"Did he ever hurt you?" Clint asked lowly, leaning forward an inch in his chair. "Put you in any sort of danger?"
"Not physical if that's what you mean."
"Alright. And did he tell you anything of importance today? About his boss Peterson? About what they're doing?"
"Just that they're a defense company," I said, my mind flashing to John's insisting attitude. "He offered me a job doing security with him."
Clint let his chair fall back down to the ground. It squeaked as he rose from it, his mouth set in a firm line.
"Why didn't you say so?"
"I was recovering from your mild sedative. It wasn't the first thing on my mind," I growled, leaning my head back to stare at the ceiling. "And by the way, why did you shoot me with an arrow? Filling in for Cupid today?"
He didn't laugh. I wasn't looking at his face, but I also suspected he hadn't cracked a smile.
"I'll be right back," he said briskly instead, betraying nothing.
"Wait, hold on, you haven't answered—"
But he was already out the door.
I had trouble amusing myself without books or art supplies, and since this space was as bare as a prison cell, my mind had to occupy itself. And since I was concentrating very hard on ignoring memories of John, I turned to my guilty pleasure...
Pop culture.
Newest challenge? Connect Joseph Gordon-Levitt to Elijah Wood.
Ok...he was in 500 Days of Summer with Zooey Deschanel...she was in Elf with Will Ferrel, who was in Step Brothers with Adam Scott...
I heard voices just when I was close to completing my movie chain. They were outside my door, raised, and definitely not happy.
I could relate.
"She's a civilian," said the first voice, "She's not trustworthy."
"Her mother has worked with us for years, I trust her. Taylor's our only chance. Waltham only works with people he knows, we can't get anyone else in there."
"Natasha could get in."
"We can't fake Agent Romanoff's connections on this one, Barton. This is the only way. If it makes you feel better, you can be on the case."
My heatd began to race. My dizziness and the knife now pressing through my skull had kept me from becoming too panicked that I was apparently with S.H.I.E.L.D. but now it was obvious they were talking about me. Me, who spent most days watching Project Runway and feeling sorry for herself...and they wanted to get me "in there"? In where?
The door slid open. The hiss of air wasn't enough time for me to hide my obvious nervous facial expression. I recognized Director Fury from his very brief visits to my mother's lab. Clint stood next to him with a scowl on his face, avoiding my eyes.
"Good to see you're awake, Miss O'Brien."
"Good to see you're pretending you didn't drug me, Director Fury." I swallowed, wanting to cut out the chit-chat. I wanted answers, not pleasantries. "What do you want me to do?"
Fury smiled at my directness. It was something I knew he appreciated.
"I just want to let you know this is your choice," Fury said, standing with his spine straight and staring at me through his good eye. "But you're our only choice. You, and probably you alone, can infiltrate Waltham's company."
"Be a spy?"
My mind flashed to laser beams and black suits. I wasn't a bad liar, but to completely pretend to change my outlook was another thing. I tried to catch Clint's eye, to see what he was thinking, but he trained his blank look on the wall behind me.
"Be an informant," Fury said, crossing his arms. "Take Waltham up on his offer. Find out what you can, and relay it back to us."
"What do you know that I don't?" I asked, my voice suddenly sounding very small. The last I knew, John was just taking bribes. If S.H.I.E.L.D. was on to him, he must be on to bigger and much worse things...
"Only bits and pieces," he admitted. "Peterson's been mixed up with bad people in the past. But with Waltham's contacts...we've heard rumors of him selling weapons to other countries. Maximizing on the fear after the Loki incident. Trying to creature more soldiers like Captain America. Failing. Trying to use mutants with hazardous traits and use them without care for their well-being."
I let my thoughts take over as my tongue took a break. Could John really be involved with this? The John who watched Jeopardy with me every Monday and Wednesday night? The John who always left me the crossword puzzle, and couldn't drink coffee without at least six sugars?
Fury beckoned an agent forward that I hadn't seen standing in the doorway. He had a tablet in his hands and after pressing the screen, faced it toward me.
There was a little girl on the screen, her eyes big and brown and her hair too curly to fit in the frame. Fury flicked his finger. I squeezed my eyes shut, but I could still see her body, covered in bruises and her eyes flung open like she was watching someone above her. When I opened them again, there were wires on screen. The photo was blurry, but I could see the outlines of what I guessed was an explosive. He flicked it again to a page of formulas, none of which I could understand.
"This is the only evidence we could procure. There are too many puzzle pieces and not enough of them fit together."
This was real life again. I hadn't faced it in a while. In a way, it felt good to be needed. In another way, I couldn't move or I would shake so hard they would see.
Could I pretend with John? Would he see right through it?
"He's suspicious. All the time," I almost whispered. "He'll notice if I take secretive phone calls."
"We'll set you up in an apartment complex. We'll have you protected."
I nodded briefly.
"Is that a yes?"
Was it? If I said no, would more little girls suffer? Would bombs go off? Would weapons fall into hands of those who didn't know how to use them? Everything I knew about criminals and security ultimately came back to one thing, which was protecting the world and doing the right thing.
"Yes," I said, trying to infuse my voice with the bravery by body didn't feel.
Fury nodded once, curtly, and then smiled.
"Thank you, Miss O'Brien. Not all of those who need to can rise to the occasion, but I know you will."
He turned on his heel and left the room.
I turned my attention to Clint, the silent statue in the room.
"I know what it's like to have someone...control you," he said, "If you don't want to do this, you don't have to."
My mind flashed to Loki. I'd only seen pictures on the news, but my mother still had nightmares about him. And he'd been in Selvig's head...and Clint's. I shuddered for him.
"This isn't the same."
"I'm just making sure this is free will," Clint said, frowning as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Fury wants you to do this, so he might have painted a rosier picture than it will actually be."
"Are you feeling guilty because you were forced to do things?"
"You don't know anything about it," Clint snapped, his eyes flashing.
"I'm not trying to," I defended, raising my hands. Clint's eyes turned away, and his lids made them seem less threatening as he looked at the floor. I softened as I remembered his sharpness was from guilt.
"Cracking heads of people that deserve it makes me clear mine a little more," he affirmed. "I just want to make sure you know it will be dangerous."
"Are you afraid because I'm not trustworthy?" I asked, locking eyes with him. His earlier words pierced my skin more than I wanted them to.
"Of course you heard me," he grumbled. "That's...not what I meant." He ran a hand through his hair. His black gloves made it stick up as he turned to face the door. "I just meant you're not a trained fighter. And we don't have time to do much with you."
"Why do you do this job?" I asked.
"Because I'm good at it," he said with a smirk. "And I'm too old to be in the circus."
I rolled my eyes.
"I did my job because it was important, and it helped people." I thought back to the days where I would spend hours planning and forget to have lunch. "I haven't felt important in a long time."
Clint didn't say anything. As I leaned back on my pillows, I actually began to think that this was the longest conversation we'd ever had...
"I'm sorry I called you untrustworthy," Clint finally said, his voice low.
"I'm sorry I called you an ass."
"You didn't," he said, his mouth twitching upward.
"Oh trust me, I did."
This time, he laughed, a short burst from the chest that made me smile instantly.
"That's no way to treat your new neighbor, Rapunzel."
Sorry this one was sort and uneventful, but I needed to get it all established. It picks up soon! Thank you for your all support, keep it up so my self-esteem stays elevated. Please and thank you kindly. ;)
