Chapter 4- No One's Here To Sleep

"Clint? Are you awake?"

Clint gritted his teeth and he suddenly wanted the ground to swallow him up.

"Yeah."

"How long have you been awake, exactly?"

Clint knew it.

Steve was uncomfortable with having Clint lying on him but didn't want to wake him out of pity, or fear that he would retaliate after being woken from a broken, restless slumber.

"Not too long. A few minutes at most." Clint rose up from his comfortable position on Steve's lap, rubbing his eyes vehemently. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you. Your legs must be dead."

Steve shook his head. "No, I didn't mind. Honestly."

He's lying, the Loki voice uttered in his mind.

"It won't happen again. Next time, I'll just head to bed, I promise. That can't have been comfortable. That's why I have a bed, right?"

"Clint, I—."

"I'll see you later, Steve," Clint muttered, brushing past the other man on his way to the elevator.

"Are you okay, Agent Barton?" Jarvis asked kindly as he waited for the elevator. Well, as kindly as an AI could be in his monotonous voice.

"Yeah," Clint replied in his hoarse voice, "I'm fine, Jarvis. Thanks for asking."

You're not fine, the voice crept up again. Clint couldn't help but listen to it. Look at you, you're a MESS. You can barely put a sentence together without wanting to fall apart. And I don't even blame you. Who would even want to listen to your pathetic life stories? I know I was bored listening to you recounting intel about your teammates. Get a grip of your sorry self, Barton.

Clint slipped inside the elevator. Just as the doors were closing, he saw Steve running towards him.

"Clint, wait!"

But it was useless. The doors were closing and Clint was trapped with just the cynical voice of Loki to keep him company. He was going up seventeen floors and, even with the speed of the Stark elevators, he was going to be alone for a considerable amount of time. Jarvis could not control or have access to the elevator as it moved, though he could while it was stationary.

You're alone, Barton. With just me for company. How does that make you feel, huh?

"Not now," Clint hissed, eyes aching from keeping himself from crying. "I'm tired."

Now you're speaking back to me? This is new. I have to say, I don't enjoy the backtalk.

"Then stop initiating conversation, then!" Clint roared as the elevator doors pinged open.

"Floor Seventeen for you, Agent Barton," Jarvis announced pleasantly.

"Thanks, J," Clint muttered, padding across the carpeted floor to his room. He was looking forward to just spreading out on his bed and cuddling up into his pillows, letting sleep claim him in what he prayed with a dreamless, peaceful rest.

Sadly, it was not to be.

The first obstruction was the bulky figure that already claimed space on his bed.

"Steve?"

Steve turned around, looking at Clint with frustrated, desperate eyes. "I took the stairs," Steve explained, answering Clint's unasked question.

"What are you doing up here?"

Steve looked as though Clint had asked the stupidest question in the entire world. "I came to check on you, of course."

Clint sighed. Of course Steve came to see if he was okay. Steve was that guy.

And you've gone and fucked it up, as usual. Good job, Agent.

And it was only a matter of time before Clint Barton snapped.

"I don't need you constantly checking up on me, Steve. I'm a big boy, I can handle myself just fine thank you!"

If Steve was taken aback by Clint's words or tone, he didn't show it.

"And while we're on the subject, you could have just woke me up if you were uncomfortable! You didn't have to leave me there while you clearly wanted space."

Steve frowned. "Clint, what are you really mad about?"

Yes, Agent Barton, what ARE you really mad about? Because you're doing a god damn awful job at explaining yourself. You're not even making any sense.

Clint gritted his teeth. "I'm mad because you don't seem to understand anything about me, but you pretend like you've got this superior read on me that nobody else has!"

"I thought we understood each other."

"Well, clearly you were misinformed about that, weren't you? You know, Steve, if all you wanted was somebody to fix, how about you start by taking a long hard look at your own situation, because that's a lot more fucked up than whatever shit I have going on."

"Clint, do you want me to give you some space and come back in a little while? It'll give you a chance to calm down and think about what it is you actually want to say to me."

"I know what I want to say, but you're not listening to it! Because you've got me all worked out, right, so what I say doesn't even compute with you, right?" Clint was seething and he wasn't even sure why. It was probably Loki's doing.

You're fucking this one up all by yourself, Barton. Don't put this on me.

"Wrong. Okay, I'm going to go and give you some space. I'll come back later, though, once you've had some time to yourself."

"What?"

Steve paused. "I don't understand your confusion."

"You said you were going to come back later."

"Yes. And?"

Clint threw his hands up, completely exasperated.

And here we go.

"Well, why would you do that?"

Steve's mouth opened slightly as the realisation hit. Clint was trying to push him away. For whatever reason, he was trying. And it wasn't going to work. Steve needed Clint just as much as he thought Clint needed him. "Because I care about you, Clint. Because I want you to be happy. So I'll come back to see how you're doing. You're not going to get rid of me that easily."

Clint hated the satisfied smirk that settled on Steve's face. "What I didn't want you to come back?"

That stung more than Steve expected it to. "I'd still do it, anyway. I'll keep coming back until I know that you're alright. That's what friends do, Clint."

"People aren't supposed to be like this."

"Like what?"

"Patient. Understanding. People are supposed to realise when they're not wanted and leave it at that! Stop bugging me, trying to think that you understand every little thing about me when you definitely don't! Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a therapy session and I'm already late."

Clint was in a foul mood by the time he sat in front of Emily, his jaw trembling and his leg shaking uncontrollably.

She noticed it immediately. "Clint, is there something in particular you would like to share today?"

And the dam was broken.

"People just think that they can catch onto one specific thing and then know you forever. Know everything about you including all of your nuances and don't allow room for change. And not to mention people sticking around when you make it extremely clear that they are not welcome in your life! Because nice people don't exist, Emily, they just don't. I've been on this planet long enough to know that people don't just do things from the kindness of their hearts. There's an agenda involved, always.

"And when people turn their attention to someone with a lot of current problems, there's definitely a clear agenda. They want to assuage their own personal guilt or whatever by taking them on as some sort of charity case and it sucks. Sure, it seems like a nice thing that they're doing on the surface, but once you really get into the nitty gritty details, you can see right through the shallow veneer that they've created so that their attempt to coddle you has been disguised by a failed effort at showing you that they care."

Clint was out of breath by the time he stopped speaking and he stared at Emily with wide eyes.

"Whoa, where did that come from?"

Emily smiled. "This is what I've been trying to get you to do for some time now, Clint. You've finally opened up, even if it was inadvertent. Now that you're getting to the heart of one problem, it'll be easier for you to access the rest. This is a great step, Clint. Now, do you want to elaborate about your earlier points?"

Yes, please do elaborate Agent Barton. I'm sure Emily would love to hear about your adolescent issues of boy-meets-boy. Definitely the kind of thing dear old Fury is hiring her to listen to.

"Uh...not really."

Emily looked extremely disappointed. "Clint," she warned, "you're going backwards. I was very impressed with how you put your feelings into words, but that's just the very first step towards your recovery. You do want to recover, don't you?"

Clint clenched his fists. "Of course I do. What kind of person wouldn't want to recover from this?"

Emily folded her arms. "I'm just saying, Clint, you seem to be hindering your own progress."

Clint sighed angrily. "Why does everybody always insist that I talk about how I feel? Why can't I just be?"

"A lot of the benefits of your therapy will come from talking about how you feel, Clint. You know this. I sense that you're not in the mood to talk, so we can continue from where we left off next week instead? It'll give you time to really ponder what you want to get out of this, so you can reap the benefits with a clear mind and some perspective."

Clint rather felt like he was being scolded for dropping glue on the carpet in first grade or something. "Uh...okay. Yeah, I'll just come back next week."

Emily nodded curtly. "Alright. Oh Clint, if you see Steve, please let him know that he can take the second half of your session if he wants to. Have a lovely week, Clint."

"You too, Emily," he mumbled.

To absolutely nobody's surprise, Clint found Steve waiting for him outside the room.

Throwing his hands up, Clint scoffed. "Brilliant. Just brilliant. You checking up on me after therapy is exactly what I needed right now. When will you just get the hint?"

Steve shifted awkwardly. "Uh, Clint…"

"What, Steve? What are you possibly going to say now?"

"I'm waiting for Emily."

Clint felt like the stupidest person on the planet. He longed for the ground to swallow him up or whatever dumb cliche he read in young adult novels back in the day. "Oh. I'm done early so she said you can go right in now."

"Thanks. I'll...see you around, I guess."

Clint just nodded and scuttled away, like he regularly did in awkward situations, just removed himself like he had somewhere better to be.

Of course, that somewhere better was now just anywhere that Steve Rogers was not.

As usual, Clint found himself at his archery range, not alone once again.

Natasha crawled out of the shadows, her head tilted. "Are you okay, Clint?"

Clint swallowed the acerbic reply that threatened to rip from his throat and he smiled falsely. "Yeah, what makes you ask that?"

Natasha shrugged. "No reason. Just that your knuckles are turning white from clenching your bow too hard. Clint, you don't have to pretend around me, you know that. There's no bullshit between us, ever. And no judging either. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Clint started to tell the story from the very beginning. When he got to the day's events, he sighed.

"And then I realised how uncomfortable he must've been, me draping myself all over him without even asking him if it was okay. God, Nat, I've never felt so embarrassed in all my life! Then I actually shouted at him. Like actually shouted. He doesn't deserve that, he doesn't deserve me freaking out on him every two minutes because I'm a mess. I can't even make it through a goddamn therapy session without wanting to bail.

"That's what I do, isn't it? When things get hard, I bail. When I realise that I may actually be falling for someone, I bail! And now there's no way back from this, because no matter how sweet and understanding and patient Steve might be, he's not going to want to wait until I'm no longer broken to be around him. Nobody has that kind of time!"

Natasha stood still, patiently taking in Clint's rant. "Clint, you do realise what's happening here, don't you?"

"Obviously I don't and I'm guessing you're about to point out how stupid I've been." Clint resigned himself to this after his third rant of the day.

She chuckled. "Steve likes you, dummy. I mean, likes you just as much as you like him. He's not going to run out on you, because he knows how it feels to not feel worth it. Remember all of the stories about Steve in the forties, always having to watch Bucky Barnes date the girls when he wanted them too. But none of them would stick around for him.

"And it's not like Steve isn't dealing with things, too. He's being patient because he knows it's going to take time for either of you to be ready for anything. And that's assuming he knows you like him. Look Clint, Steve being kind and understanding isn't a bad thing and I know that you know this. You're running so you don't get hurt and God knows you have a good reason to given everything you've been through."

Clint shrugged wordlessly.

"But Steve is different. Steve isn't going to hurt you, I can see it in his eyes. He only wants the absolute best for you. Sweetie, I think you need to talk to Steve again. And stop making assumptions that he's uncomfortable around you."

Clint nodded, hearing every word Natasha spoke and processing it accordingly. "Thank you, Nat. You somehow always know what to say."

"It's a gift," she replied simply and roped him into a tight hug. It turned out that that was exactly what Clint needed. He had to talk to Steve and explain everything and hope that the man would stick around for him.

Sure, it was going to take time, but Steve understood that.

But you've been awful to him. There's only so much one man can take before he gives up and goes home, right?

For once, and what Clint prayed would not be the last time, he ignored the Loki voice in his head. Firing an arrow expertly, he smiled to himself.

Things were going to get better.