Chapter 4
Clint bolted for the bathroom the moment Loki fell asleep. Steve grimaced, knowing all too well the man's most likely reason. He reached out and grabbed Natasha's upper arm, knowing that he would be paying for preventing her from helping Clint later. "I've got this. Stark, I need a bottle of strong smelling cologne or perfume."
Pepper grabbed her purse, and pulled out a bottle of perfume. "Captain, here!" she said, as she tossed it his way. She shrugged when Tony looked at her, offended. "It is strong. That's why I only use a little bit at a time."
"Thank you, Miss Potts," Steve said, catching the bottle. Then he turned back to Natasha. "Help Thor with Loki. I doubt that he's going to be sleeping for very long, and with any luck, you know how to make that noise Clint made to keep him calm." That was what Steve said, but he made sure that she saw him glance at Fury. There was no way that the man just came over to get their report on Loki, not when he was dragging a SHIELD doctor around behind him. Natasha didn't like it, but she gave him a slight nod, acknowledging the unspoken order.
Steve found Clint exactly where he expected to, heaving his guts into the toilet. He opened the bottle, and in a single move, grabbed Clint gently around the ribs, picked him up and shoved the open bottle in Clint's face just as Clint was beginning to take a deep breath. While Clint was breathing in the perfume, Steve turned them both away from the toilet, and brought them over to the sink. It didn't take Clint long to be able to look at Steve in the mirror, the psychological reaction halted.
"A couple of months ago, well for me anyway," Steve began quietly. "I helped to liberate a Nazi death camp. I know what that smell does to a man. I know I can't forget it. I imagine it must have been much worse for you."
"I can't remember the pain very well, thank god, but every time I go on a mission and someone burns a dead body, I spend weeks afterwards fighting off the memory of the wreck. Every time I close my eyes, I'll see my dad burning, see us burning, and that'll trigger the memory of the smell," Clint sighed. "I was eight when it happened. One minute, we're driving along, and Mom is helping us play a prank on Dad, and the next, the car is wrapped around a tree. Dad was driving. I don't know what killed him; broken neck, impaled on something, I just…. I don't know. I know he was dead because the car was burning and, and so was he. He didn't make a sound, or move, so he had to have been dead by then." Clint took another deep breath straight from the perfume bottle.
"Loki never asked me anything that didn't pertain to the mission. He asked me about SHIELD, about the Avengers Initiative, what I needed to make something happen. He didn't ask me about my first name. He didn't bother learning anything about me personally. I was just a part of what he needed to do. It was like I was a pet. You don't ask a dog his opinion on things, or about his family. He doesn't know that I was the same Clint that was in that car that day. He probably thinks I'm dead. He doesn't know that I saw everything."
"Or that you're alive to talk about it," Steve said. He let go of Clint, now that the other man was standing on his own, and turned so that he was leaning against the counter.
"Yeah, and if I talk, what I saw is going to kick over an anthill where Asgard is concerned. Can you make a sketch from a verbal description?" Clint asked. He handed the perfume bottle back to Steve.
"Yes, and I can make it recognizable too," Steve joked. He put the cap back on the bottle. "I've got a sketch book and pencils in my bag. Do you want me to get them?"
Clint nodded. "And don't talk to anyone out there about this. It's important that no one can say your sketch was influenced by anyone."
"An anthill, huh?" Steve said. Clint nodded. "Then we'd better get started. I'll be back in a minute."
In the main room Steve noticed that everyone was crowded around Fury and that there was some heavy arguing going on. Normally he'd go over and try to sort things out. As it was, he was thankful that he was able to get to his art supplies and back to the bathroom without being interrupted.
Back in the bathroom he found Clint brushing his teeth. Clint had cleaned up what little mess there was, and now finished this last bit as Steve set up to create the sketch. Clint sat down on the toilet and leaned his arms on his knees. When Steve signaled that he was ready, Clint began to talk. "I'm looking out the window, backseat passenger side, and there's an oak tree about twenty feet away. There's a man there, and he's holding my mom. He's a full head taller than she is. He has white hair, free flowing, down to his shoulders. It's slightly curly, more waves than curls, like Thor's. He has a beard; white, short, about two finger lengths long with a moustache. He looks really stern, brow furrowed, like he's really pissed off that he has to be there. His right eye is missing, covered with a metal patch."
Steve looked up, startled, and Clint nodded. "Yeah, I made the connection. It wasn't everyone laughing that triggered Loki's flashback. It was my laugh and Fury coming into the room. Like I said, this is an anthill, but if I'm getting my mom back, I'm not going to make her…. I mean, him, kick it over if he doesn't want to. It's just that I need to find out why he tried to kill me and Barney, and what really happened to the rest of Loki's kids, because there is no way in hell that he started out by trying to kill us. The stories that are written down in Norse mythology are pretty sickening when you think about them happening to real people, even if they are supposed to be monsters."
"We're talking about your possible siblings. It's natural to be concerned, especially because of those stories on top of what happened to you. If it was me, I'd be demanding Thor tell me everything, right now, and to hell with the consequences," Steve said. He held the sketch up. He also ignored the double take Clint gave him. He was a soldier from Brooklyn; of course he knew how to cuss. He just didn't do it in front of a dame because he just knew his dead mother would rise from her grave and tan his hide if he did.
Clint shook his head and focused on the sketch. "There's no strap on the eyepatch, and his beard is fuller," he said. "I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the 'Loki really does like to have kids as a girl and I'm one of them' thing. I was told for years that my nightmare was something that my mind made up because I was a traumatized kid who watched his parents die horrible deaths in front of him. Now that I know it's a memory, not my imagination, trying to see myself as part of that family is strange, and more than a little creepy. I've got a horse, a wolf, and a giant snake as brothers, and a sister that's supposed to be half dead. You know, this would probably be a lot easier if I'd had even the slightest clue that I wasn't normal."
As Steve adjusted the sketch, he asked, "What, like being able to see better the further you are from something? The fact that you never miss your shot, even when you're not looking? Or maybe you'd rather be tall and blue?"
Clint scowled at Steve. "You know, Coulson never mentioned that you could be earnestly sarcastic. He really let me down on that one." Steve just gave him the same big eyed look that had gotten him out of trouble more than once with the nuns who ran his school. Clint snorted. "Ok, so obviously I should have bought a clue without being a blue version of the Hulk. SHIT!" Clint began to slap at his pockets. "Phone, phone, where's my AHA!" he said, and pulled a cell phone out of his thigh pocket.
Steve shook his head and continued to work on the sketch. One thing about waking up in the future was comforting, no matter how technology or fashions or how women were expected to behave changed, deep down, people never really did. He'd seen Bucky do the exact same thing time and time again, albeit when looking for a quarter rather than a phone.
"Yes, FBI Phoenix field office? Please put me through to the VCMO office?" Clint asked, after dialing a number. "Yeah, put Trickshot on would you? Tell him it's Hawkeye."
Faintly, Steve could hear a young voice tell Clint that 'this is the FBI and prank calls are not tolerated.' As Steve knew perfectly well that Clint's codename was Hawkeye, he didn't think that would go over very well.
"Listen, dumbshit, put this call on speaker or so help me, you'll be riding a desk and commuting with polar bears by the end of the day!" Clint snarled.
"Look, I told you, there is no Trickshot here," the voice said, just before the phone was apparently ripped out of his hands.
"You stupid, little, shit! How many times have I told you not to jump without a net or a line set up ahead of time?! And don't you dare say you didn't because it's all over youtube!" yelled an older male voice. "How badly are you injured?"
"I'm fine, Barney," Clint said. "I've got lots of bruises, and a ton of minor cuts. I didn't even need stitches. I don't have any major injuries. I'm on youtube?"
"You, Widow, Iron Man, whoever they stuck in the Captain America uniform, (and you have got to tell me about what the fuck that's about later), the giant green guy and the flying blond. You're everywhere. Splendid job, stealth ninja!" Barney said sarcastically. He was obviously still spitting mad, even after hearing that Clint hadn't been badly injured. Steve simply continued to adjust his sketch according to Clint's pointed directions.
"What was I supposed to do, let the alien space whale guys take over the planet? They were shooting civilians!" Clint said, exasperated. "That's not why I called, anyway."
"We're still going to talk about your stupid stunts later," Barney warned. "What else is going on?"
"I know what's making Mathew sick," Clint said simply.
"What?" Barney asked, shocked.
'Well that got his attention diverted from Clint's stunts,' Steve thought.
"I said, I know what's making Mathew sick. Look, this is something that you're going to have to see to believe, and there's no way you're gonna follow the guy lines to the wire if you don't see this for yourself. Plus there's the fact that I have no clue how much of this is going to be classified and buried. I need you and Miranda to come out to New York and bring Mathew. Put the tickets on the card I gave you and call me when you've got your flight information. I'll have someone meet you at the airport if I can't get there myself. I'm on guard duty at the moment."
"Alright, we'll take some emergency leave and come out as soon as we can," Barney said.
"Oh, and bring your bow. We'll see how much you've gotten rusty since I saw you last," Clint teased.
"Oh please, I may not be shooting at aliens, but it's the only way to keep Mathew entertained and quiet. I'll bet I'm shooting just as often as you are," Barney retorted. "Is it something we can fix?" he asked quietly.
"If I'm right, you're going to have to move, but it'll be easy to make him better," Clint promised.
"I'll call when I've got the tickets," Barney said, and they both hung up.
"Mathew?" Steve asked.
"He's my nephew. He's three years old, and constantly lethargic. He has no energy to do much of anything no matter what we do, and the doctors blow Barney and his wife off because they think that Mathew is a mutant. He's big and blue," Clint said pointedly.
"And Arizona is a desert state," Steve said, connecting the same dots that Clint just had. "If he's more Frost Giant than human physically, he's probably got heat exhaustion."
"Or whatever their version of it is," Clint agreed. "I figure Stark has to have a giant, walk in freezer around here somewhere, probably down in one of the labs."
"We'll be able to get him cooled down quickly in one of those," Steve agreed, pleased that it looked like the child would be able to recover quickly. He turned the sketch around and this time Clint was the one to nod. "Ok, let's see if Loki wants us to kick over that anthill."
