It's Not A Lie
Hunter barges into the washroom, shoulder first, and the sight of him all beaten and bruised is enough to scare the other men out in seconds. He makes sure every last person is gone, before locking the door and stumbling over to the sink, leaning his weight on shaky arms.
For a long moment, he doesn't do anything, just stares into the bottom of the porcelain, white stained with dirt and grime accumulated over years. A trembling hand reaches to turn on the tap, and the basin soon fills with water, the tap gushing faster than the clogged pipes can drain. A drop of blood splats onto the swirling surface, turning the clear water pink momentarily.
And then it's gone.
Gone, like the life he'd just snuffed out.
He wasn't the first person he'd killed, no, not by a long shot. But this was different. In the past, he'd taken out people who were threats. People, bad people, who were trying to kill him, or his friends, or other innocents. He had been doing his duty.
But this?
The man was a psychopath who murdered people and enjoyed it. That constituted a threat, according to May, and he agreed. Thing was, he wasn't being a threat to someone's life right at that moment; Hunter hadn't needed to kill him. The fact that this was accidental doesn't make a difference. No one had ordered him to hunt down Ward. Nobody had told him to get in with Hydra. Not this way. In fact, May had explicitly disapproved of his methods.
But he had gone ahead anyway. This was on him. This death, his death, was on him.
Killing someone whose name you knew, whose beer you'd guzzled, and whose car you'd slept in, was a lot different from killing someone you only recognised from a file. Killing someone whom you'd once trusted to have your back, even if cautiously, was not quite the same as shooting someone you knew from the get-go was the enemy. Even if he was a crazy SOB.
Hunter splashes water onto his face, open wounds and cuts on his knuckles and face stinging upon contact. Pain was good- he deserved pain. He deserved something, at least, for what he had done. He turns the water up full blast and forces the cuts directly under it, relishing the burn and sting.
May hadn't said much, beyond saying he shouldn't blame himself. She hadn't needed to. What could she possibly say? That it wasn't his fault? That this was necessary? Both lies. And honestly, that look in her eyes when they'd both realised that he'd killed a former associate was more than he cares to know about her opinion on the matter: up until that point, even he hadn't known how far he would go for vengeance against Ward.
It was funny how you could cross some lines without realising and look back only to find you're in deeper than you'd thought.
There was no going back, now.
He finally musters the courage to look in the mirror, and for a split second, he thinks he sees the dead man standing behind him, lips formed in a silent why, and his knees almost give out. Hunter forces his eyes back on his own reflection. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows on his face, making him appear more haggard and beaten up than he feels he is. Eyes that are bruised nearly shut, a rapidly swelling cheek pulling at a split lip, and he thinks his jaw might be fractured- but he's alive, which is more than he can say for-
"Hunter."
May's muffled voice sounds through the door, but there is no urgency in her voice, only concern. No imminent threat, then. His eyes squeeze shut, hands clenching either side of the sink, and he ignores her. Mercifully, she leaves him alone- he doesn't need pity. He doesn't deserve pity. He deserves… He doesn't know what he deserves.
Something buzzes against his side. He ignores it at first, thinking it was May again, but she wouldn't knock on the door and call him- it wasn't her style. He pulls out the burner from his pocket, an unfamiliar number blinking insistently on the screen. He hadn't saved any numbers on it, of course, but instinctively, he knows it's Bobbi.
He swallows and looks down, phone clutched in one hand as his shoulders shake violently for a moment. If he doesn't pick up, she'll know something is wrong, and come looking for him, come looking for Ward- He wonders briefly what she would think of him if she'd known that he'd killed someone he considered almost a friend, just to get in with Hydra, before he takes a shuddering breath and answers.
"Bobbi?"
"Hunter."
She doesn't ask how he knows it's her; it's the same way she just knows it's him when he calls. She sounds tired, frustrated, bored.
He would do a lot- anything, it turns out- to keep her that way. Bored- but safe, and alive.
"What's up?" he asks cheerily, throat working to keep the tremor out of his voice. He wonders if May had called her and told her.
"Nothing, just…" She sighs in frustration, and he hears the sound of something hitting rubber. Punching bag, he thinks, almost smiling, flashing back to a long time ago when he'd found a crinkled picture of himself stuck to the bag.
"I'm sick of being cooped up here. What's up with you, what's happening your end?"
He swallows his sigh of relief- May hadn't told her..
"Nothing," he feigns annoyance. "Got on that train I told you about, but it's only gotten me halfway- think I'll have to buy another ticket to reach my destination."
It's not technically a lie- he just wasn't telling her what had happened on this journey to the 'halfway'. His knees can't hold him any longer, and he slides down against the wall, resting his forehead against grimy jeans. Everything hurts, and it feels good, this punishment, but he also wishes he was there with her and they could pretend this was all over.
"This bloke is more trouble than I'd realised," he continues, complaining about Ward. "I'm all tuckered out. When I'm back, I'm gonna need a good lovin'." He pauses for effect, and the thought of her rolling her eyes makes the darkness lift just a little. "Y'think Mack will go for a cuddle?"
She mutters something about him being an ass, and the annoyed affection and familiarity make his heart clench. A little more information on what's happening at the base, nothing that could be tied to its location or reveal any classified intel, before she sighs.
"I wish I was there with you."
She says this every time she calls, and every time, he says a silent prayer in thanks that she isn't.
"I know love. But you've got to get better first, 'hab your knee all good and proper before you come out here, and make me look bad again."
"I can make you look bad right now Hunter, don't need my knee to use my batons."
The bitterness is evident through her lighthearted tone; he knows she hasn't trained with them since Ward, and the burning desire for revenge wells up in him again. Before he can say something to comfort her, she cuts in, perhaps knowing what he was going to say and not wanting to hear it.
"Listen, I have to go- I'm going to check on Simmons. Keep me updated, alright?"
"On how May's glares have upped a notch? Sure thing love."
"You know what I mean Hunter." She hesitates, and her voice softens. "Don't die out there."
If She Knows It's A Lie
She used to only get winded after ten miles at twice this pace, and now she can't even manage five before her knee and lungs start to protest. Bobbi hits the stop button and the machine slows; chest heaving, she nearly stumbles at the sudden change of pace, and resists the urge to curse and swear and punch a hole in this machine too.
The last thing she needs is for her hands to get injured, or worse- for Coulson to think she isn't mentally and emotionally fit for duty.
Not that he deems her fit for anything other than lab assistant now; and if Fitz's frustrated huffs are anything to go by, she isn't doing much of a job at that either, two PhDs notwithstanding. She doesn't blame him, not really; he misses his partner.
The barely-five-mile run doesn't do much to alleviate the unease squirming in her gut like a snake waiting to strike. If anything, the moment she stops, it rears its head again.
Something's wrong, something to do with Hunter- she knows it. She's felt this uneasiness and anxiety before, several times actually, and each time her gut had been right. First time round, she had stumbled onto Hunter in an alley after searching for him all night, knocked out in a vicious bar brawl. He'd broken a wrist. Second time, he'd been knifed- she still doesn't know the specifics of that, he'd refused to say. There had been a couple more times in between, while they'd been married, but the last time she'd felt this squirming in her stomach, he'd been in a car crash- the crash which had killed her best friend.
So far, her gut has never steered her wrong where Hunter's concerned, and it's taking every ounce of her self-control not to barge into Coulson's office to somehow determine Hunter's location and rush down to him. He's alive and alright, at least as of the previous night, and she believes him- unless she's failing at her ability to detect lies too, like she's been failing at every other aspect so far. A voice in her head chides her self-reproach, you're being too hard on yourself, unrealistically so, and she tries to cling to that the best she can, pushing away her doubt and frustration.
No, Hunter wouldn't lie to her. Not anymore. Not after what they'd been through- he wouldn't throw them right back into that cycle of lies and mistrust.
-o-
She enters the garage feeling a lot more relaxed, a hot post-run shower having washed away most of the unease. She's wondering vaguely if Mack and Daisy have returned when she spots Coulson. He's standing in front of the Quinjet looking over something with Fitz, and men geared up in full tactical suits are carrying machinery up the ramp.
Bobbi's shoulders tense up, the disquiet in her stomach flaring all over again, along with an ominous feeling that feels an awful lot like betrayal. She takes a step forward, and Coulson looks up- he meets her eye for a split second before pursing his lips and turning away abruptly, heading up the ramp without a second word or glance.
Useless. The word comes to mind and plays on loop before she can stop it, and it stings. Is she not worth even back-end support now that she's stuck out of commission? Or does he not trust her to obey orders to the extent that he won't even keep her updated on missions?
She forces her fists to unclench, but the tension bites at her shoulders. She stops Fitz as he walks by her to leave the garage. It takes some measure of effort to keep her tone neutral, but she's not very successful.
"Coulson's leaving with a tac team?"
"Yeah," he mumbles distractedly, "May and Hunter have a lead on Ward, seems like a dodgy situa…" He trails off, realising that- "They didn't tell you?"
She doesn't have to reply for him to know the answer; she wouldn't have asked otherwise.
Anger and betrayal and a pervasive sense of complete inadequacy hit her like a gut punch as the implications of this hit her, and for the briefest moment she can't catch her breath. Coulson had kept this from her. Hunter had lied to her. Useless.
She allows herself to feel the anger first. Anger at Coulson for keeping this from her- the last she'd checked, she was still part of SHIELD, still part of team- one of the best, damn it. Was she that fragile after her ordeal that she had to treated with kid gloves and protected from any and all dangerous information? She deserved to know! Did he, did they, think so poorly of her self-control that they would keep this from her for fear she wouldn't be able to resist going after Ward too? Did all her previous work count for nothing?!
The voice in her head reproaches her again. Your judgment has always been somewhat faulty when it comes to Hunter. Look what happened the last time. Can't blame them for wanting to keep you safe- he might've even told them to keep it from you.
Hunter. There was another can of worms- anger was easier to feel than the betrayal that crept like a slow ache through her veins. She knows it's not just vengeance he wants; he wants to keep her safe. And she appreciates it, relishes the feeling of being loved, and understands his desire to want to protect her. But she wasn't a child, she wasn't fragile. No matter what he and the rest of the team thought, she was the Mockingbird- injury or not.
She pushes away the fear and doubt that has been niggling and eating away at her like a degenerative disease since her rehab had started- the what ifs, the cold detached observations she'd made when she couldn't move as quickly, couldn't move as far, couldn't even crouch all the way down; the signs that pointed to the fact- no, the possibility- that she might never be who she once was again.
Bobbi strides back to her bunk after extracting the coordinates from Fitz, pushing away her guilt at forcing it out of him and throwing last essentials in a bag she'd had packed for weeks. The base had many exits, she'd mapped them all when she was working for Gonzales. They were all well-protected now, of course, but with all the hubbub going on, hopefully it would take a while for someone to realise she was missing and to check the feeds. Though, really, she thinks Coulson already knows what she's up to.
As she revs her bike and speeds off, visor down against the glaring sunlight, she finally lets herself feel the frustration directed toward herself. Anger at her inability to tell when her own ex was lying, something she never had a problem with before. Betrayal by her own body and its failure to recover quickly. And last and best of all, the knowledge that Hunter and Coulson might be right in wanting to keep her out of it- she was too close to see the picture clearly. The perfect cherry on top.
Just. Perfect.
A/n:
Episode tag for 3x03 (It's Not A Lie) and for 3x04 (If She Knows It's A Lie).
Hi! I haven't dropped off the face of the earth- yet. And to those who've asked, yes, I'm definitely still writing huntingbird! Just that I've started working and am mostly planning more chapters of Things You Said (and not actually writing it... *twiddles thumbs*), so... short fics will take a while. Do send in prompts though, I'll do my best to fill them!
In the meantime I hope you enjoy this.