Disclaimer: I do not own "The Avengers" or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie or tv show in the works.
Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"
So after the "She Made A Different Call" AU oneshot got such a positive reception, I decided to do a part 2. This part is about Phil and Clint and shows that they were always meant to find each other, just like Clint and Nat were.
This is unbeta'd and off the cuff so all mistakes are my own and you have my apologies :) Enjoy.
AU Scenario: Agent Romanoff was sent to kill Hawkeye, she made a different call.
Phil stood, arms crossed, outside the detention cell that was currently housing their newest…recruit? He supposed that was the correct term. Barton wasn't exactly a prisoner, despite his current location in a cell. It was a precaution, just until Barton was vetted and approved for training.
At the moment, the assassin was being treated for a fairly serious infection by Dr. Dan Wilson, one of the few doctors Phil knew could handle a guy like Barton without getting intimidated. Romanoff was in the cell with them, sitting casually on the cot next to Barton's feet. Dan was keeping the tension in the room from getting too thick by continuously scolding the young man before him for not getting proper medical treatment after getting stabbed.
When he was done doing what he could, Dan stood and left the cell. He gave Phil a long look and then sighed.
"He's an idiot, treating a stab wound with antiseptic and what essentially amounts to a Band-Aid." Dan rolled his eyes and then went on, "He did at least attempt to stitch himself up," the doctor admitted, "but from what I could tell he'd ripped those at least two or three times already. He's dehydrated, exhausted, and burning with fever, but he'll survive."
"Thanks, Dan," Phil gave his friend a grateful smile.
"Yeah, well, I already told him, but I'll tell you, those stitches are the final ones. He blows those and I'm letting him bleed to death, got it?"
Phil nodded solemnly. It was a Dan-speak warning to keep the kid in a bed and not immediately throw him into sparring or obstacle courses.
"I'll hold off Todd's evaluation for a few days," Phil promised.
Dan tossed one more look back into the cell and then shook his head, muttered something about 'idiots thinking they're doctors' and then strode away.
Phil looked back into the cell as well. He curiously watched Natasha say something to Barton, pitching her voice too low for Phil to hear. Then she stood, heading out of the cell.
She nodded to the guard to close the door.
"He's going to get some rest. I'm pretty sure Dan slipped him a sedative because he was fading pretty quick," she told him even as she crossed her arms and looked back into the cell through the window on the door.
"So," Phil said casually, "tell me."
Natasha hesitated, rubbing a finger at a spot over her eyebrow and then crossing her arms again.
"He's not what I expected," she admitted. "He's hard, he's fierce, he's dangerous but…" she shook her head slowly.
"But what?" Phil prodded.
"He's broken, Phil," she stated. "And not like I was broken. With me, it was mental. It was about control, about taking control of my life and my choices. With him…"
"It's deeper," Phil realized.
She nodded.
"I had him, a knife at his throat and he just…gave up. He stopped fighting and told me to just do it. To end it."
Phil frowned, watching what he could see of Barton's face through the window. The archer's eyes were still open, but only barely. He was fighting the sedation.
"Do you think he's suicidal?" he asked seriously. The last thing they needed running around base was a dangerous man looking to die.
But Natasha shook her head.
"I don't think so. He fought me. Up until that moment, he fought to survive. He wasn't trying to die, Phil. But he wasn't afraid of it. He accepted it. I think…" she hesitated now and Phil tore his eyes away from Barton's face to look at her.
"What?" he asked.
"I think he thinks that he deserved it."
"To die?"
She nodded.
Phil looked back at Barton now. That was interesting. Romanoff's analysis suggested deep guilt. It suggested that maybe Barton wasn't the sociopath they'd assumed him to be.
He needed to know more. He needed to talk to the man himself. But Barton's eyes were closed now, features relaxed in sleep.
"Do you think we can do it?" Natasha asked, drawing Phil's attention back once more.
"Do what?"
"Help him?"
Phil glanced at her, surprised by the blunt question.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I guess that's going to depend on whether or not he wants to be helped."
She nodded, eyes still on the window and the man that lay beyond it.
"Natasha, you're fixating."
She sighed and didn't even try to deny it.
"I know."
"Why?"
It wasn't like her to get invested like this, to take a personal interest.
"Because there was something there, Phil. Something worth saving in him, I saw it. And if we don't do something, whatever light he has left is gonna burn out."
"But why are you fixating, Natasha?"
"Because I get it, Phil. I get him and I can't just walk away."
Phil nodded.
"Okay," he agreed. "So we'll do what we can. But for now, he's sleeping. And you should be to."
She reluctantly nodded and together they headed away from the cell.
But once he'd seen Natasha towards the residence hall, Phil found himself inexplicably drawn back to the detention area. Once there, he found himself standing outside the door to Barton's cell, watching the young man through the window.
Something, some churning in his gut, had him motioning the guard to let him in.
"Sir, are you…"
"Just open the door," Phil ordered.
The guard immediately obeyed, responding to the authority in Phil's tone.
So then Phil found himself closed in the cell with the unconscious assassin with no idea why he was there.
He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, and settled his gaze on Barton's face.
He was young, younger than Phil had expected. He looked to be around Natasha's age, early twenties at the most. And in sleep, he seemed almost…innocent.
But he knew for a fact that innocent was not a term that could be applied to the young man before him.
No, Clint Barton was most definitely not –
Phil frowned when Barton's head twitch. He slowly uncrossed his arms and straightened away from the wall when Barton shifted again and mumbled something indecipherable under his breath.
Phil found himself stepping forward.
Then Barton bodily flinched and Phil was suddenly several steps closer.
More muttered words and Phil found himself reaching out a hand. His touch to Barton's shoulder was light, but he might as well have slapped him for the dramatic reaction he got.
Barton was up like a shot, crab crawling back on the cot until his back slammed against the cell wall.
"Whoa, whoa, easy!" Phil put both his hands up in a non-threating gesture.
In the next several seconds, he came to many conclusions.
There was a wild look in Barton's eyes, suggesting he was caught between awake and asleep. The sedative was probably muddling things even more. But what Phil saw the most clearly, what hit him the hardest as Barton stared at him uncomprehending, a shaking hand raised defensively…was the fear.
Barton, in that moment, was afraid.
"You're okay," Phil found himself stating calmly, voice pitched low. "You're safe here, Barton."
The archer blinked at him, fighting off the sedation and clawing his way towards reality.
"W-where…"
"You're at a SHIELD compound in New York," Phil told him carefully. "Natasha Romanoff brought you in."
Barton blinked again, a hand rubbing at his eyes. He was still crammed into a ball in the corner of the cot, back pressed against the wall. But the shaking had stopped and when he looked at Phil again, the cobwebs had cleared.
"You're Coulson," Barton stated.
Phil nodded.
"I'm Agent Romanoff's handler and I'll be evaluating you going forward."
Barton unfolded himself a little from the defensive ball he was in. His knees dropped down from where they were huddled against his chest until he was sitting cross legged instead. He stared at Phil across the short space between them, walls building in his gaze before Phil's eyes.
He blinked heavily and seemed to momentarily waver, reminding Phil that he was still fighting the effects of sedation.
"You can go back to sleep, Barton. I'll leave you alone." Phil motioned towards the door, but didn't move yet. Something in his gut churned again, urging him to stay.
Barton didn't reply, but he also didn't move, didn't lay back down. It wasn't an invitation to stay or a request for him to leave. So Phil just stayed where he was, uncertain.
"She was supposed to kill you, you know," Phil found himself saying.
Barton's response was silence.
"She went out on a limb to bring you in."
Still, nothing.
"Everybody is watching, waiting for you to prove her wrong. Waiting to see you fail."
Barton remained stoic, expression as blank as a sheet of steel.
"So what are you going to do?"
Barton just sat there, gaze fixed unflinchingly on Phil's.
"I want her to be right about you," Phil stated quietly, not breaking his gaze from Barton's. He knew better than to show that kind of weakness. Barton was a predator; he would look for an angle he could exploit.
For several long, tense moments, they just stared at each other. Then, to Phil surprise, it was Barton who broke the standoff.
"Why?" the archer asked bluntly. "What the hell does it matter to you?"
Phil considered his answer carefully, sensing that this could be a turning point. What he said would determine both their path's going forward.
He almost said something about Natasha, about caring about her future, her career. But…it didn't ring true. Natasha wasn't why he was in here. She wasn't why he'd come back, why he'd felt an odd draw to this cell.
This wasn't about Natasha at all. It was all about Barton and a gut feeling Phil couldn't shake. It was about Natasha's words less than an hour ago.
"He's broken, Phil."
He could see it, that brokenness, expertly hidden just below the surface of Barton's steely gaze.
"I think he thinks that he deserved it."
He held Barton's hard gaze with his own, doing his best to convey his sincerity when he finally responded.
"It matters to me, Barton, because just because you don't think you deserve a second chance…doesn't mean you shouldn't get one." Barton's gaze remained hard and shielded, so Phil just pushed on, "And just because you think you're not worth it, doesn't mean you aren't."
Barton's gaze stayed steady on his, giving nothing away. He was hard, just like Natasha had said. He was made of steel, forged in fire. But Phil forced himself to look past the surface, to whatever it was Barton was trying so hard to hide.
Then he saw it. It was there, in Barton's eyes. It wasn't even hidden, not really. It was there, plain as day if you knew where to look.
Barton really believed it. He believed he wasn't worth it, that he didn't deserve this chance he was being given.
Phil felt something in his chest tighten.
What had happened to this kid?
Phil found himself going on before he even realized he'd decided to speak.
"Just because you think you're beyond saving, Barton, doesn't mean you are."
In the time it took Phil to take a breath, all Barton's shields faltered. And then, for barely a moment, Phil saw him. He saw the real Clint Barton, the one hidden behind the unbreakable shield of glares and scowls. He saw a twenty something year old kid who had been alone for far too long. He saw a kid had been beaten down and broken until he'd been forced to shield himself with armor. He saw a young man that hated himself so much he actually believed he deserved to die.
Then a breath later, the walls were back in place, twice as strong as they had been before. And Clint Barton was once again shielded behind the impenetrable armor of Hawkeye.
"I'm going to fight for you, Barton." Phil stated firmly, a fire igniting in his chest. He would do whatever he had to, for however long he needed to, in order to give this kid a chance. He would fight for him because Phil had a horrible feeling no one else ever had. "But you have to fight too. You promise to fight, and I'll fight with you."
Barton's gaze was steady on his and Phil saw a matching fire ignite in the archer's gaze.
"Will you?" Phil asked seriously. "Will you fight?"
"Why are you doing this?" Barton asked instead of answering. Phil recognized the question for what it was. He was trying to figure out Phil's angle, trying to figure out what Phil wanted from him. He wanted to know if that price was worth the payout.
"Honestly, I don't know, kid," Phil admitted. "All I know is my gut is telling me that you are worth it." Something shifted in Barton's gaze at his words, so Phil pressed on. "And the only thing I'm ever going to ask of you is this: do your best. Do your best to do your best, every second of every day, starting right now. You do that, and I promise you, I will never give up on you."
Barton stared at him, a tragic mixture of absolute disbelief, world-weary wariness, and faint hope swirling in his eyes. It wasn't right, Barton was too young to be that jaded. Natasha was right, there was something here. There was something in this kid that needed to be saved before it was too late.
"What do you say? You up for a fight, kid?"
Barton blew out a slow breath, gaze heavy on Phil's. Then he slowly nodded.
And somehow, without saying a word, Barton was able to speak with nothing but his eyes. And Phil heard him as clearly as if he'd shouted.
I'll fight until I've got no fight left.
Well? Did that live up to expectations for Phil and Clint's meeting in this alternate timeline?
