An elbow met with his nose and he stifled a grunt of pain, rolling out of the way as a fist nearly connected with his chest. A foot kicked out and he grabbed it, twisting and sending the attacker into a roll. Clint took advantage of the situation as best he could, using his momentum to land on top of them, his fist missing vital organs my mere fractions. Air wooshed out of his lungs at a sharp jab to his ribs and he tumbled away, spinning on his hip, using the weight of his legs to sweep the feet of his attacker.
Natasha hit the ground with a crack, letting out a string of curses he barely understood.
"That is not going to work in the field, you idiot," she snapped, punching him in the shoulder with minimal force. "the bad guys don't have a team of semi sentient robots to polish their floors like Stark does!"
"I'm taking an advantage when I can get it," Clint shook his head, laying on the gym floor panting. Natasha glared down at him but there was amusement in her eyes.
"It wasn't a bad move," she admitted finally. "Realistically I think we need to take this to some place a little less clean and tidy, you need to adapt your technique for real life application."
"Great, take away my advantage so I have no hope of beating you," Clint snapped. He winced at his own tone but Natasha seemed not to notice.
"You didn't have any hope of beating me when we were on equal footing, Barton," she leveled at him seriously, sitting up and stretching her legs out in front of her elegantly. Clint glared at her. "You should be able to hold your own against most of the grunts we take on though."
"Thanks," he grumbled, staring at the ceiling.
"Do you want me to get your chair?" She offered.
"No," he snapped. "I can do it." He rolled up, dragging himself to the edge of the gym floor and grasping the handles, pulling himself up.
"You know, it's not that I think you can't," Natasha scowled at him, climbing to her feet and stretching. Clint looked away, the adrenaline leeching off of him.
"Yeah, I know," he admitted, grabbing a water bottle. He tossed one to Natasha but didn't meet her eye. There was a long pause, the silence verging on uncomfortable.
"I'm worried about you, Clint." She said finally. Barton let out a curse, chucking the water bottle violently at the trash can in the corner before making to move away but Natasha followed. "You can't keep your temper in check, you don't eat, you don't sleep, you've started avoiding the rest of the team."
"I don't avoid anyone!" Clint snapped.
"You haven't talked to anyone but me in over a week," Natasha countered, her own expression growing frustrated. "You threw Thor out of the gym. Thor. The only person in New York whose asshole quotient is lower than Captain America's and you chucked him out of your workout because he was an 'insufferable pain in the ass'!"
"I never said that!" Clint rounded on her angrily.
"JARVIS could you queue the tape, please?" Natasha prompted, looking at the ceiling.
"Awww, fu... JARVIS piss off!" Clint snarled.
"Shall I archive this conversation as well, Ms. Romanov?" JARVIS' voice asked placidly.
"Please," Natasha answered cooly. Clint let lose a string of profanity that covered just about every language he'd ever been conversational in.
"Clint, you have a right to be angry," her tone turned pleading. "I'd think there was something wrong with you if you weren't. But you're taking it out on yourself and everyone around you."
"So is it that you can't take it," Clint snapped viciously. "Or because you think I can't?"
"Clint."
"Because I'm just so delicate like that," he added, draping his hand over his forehead like a shrinking violet as he glared at her.
"Stop being a bastard before I have to kick your ass!" She growled warningly. Clint blinked at her a moment in stunned silence and she leaned in closer, grasping the arms of his chair to block his retreat. "And don't think for a moment I won't do it. There isn't even the slightest part of me that feels sorry for you." He stared back at her mutely. Pity wasn't an emotion Natasha had a lot of experience with. He wasn't entirely sure she'd ever felt it at all. Even before his accident he'd been the bottom man in hand to hand on this team, well except for Banner when he wasn't Hulked out, or Tony without his suit. Natasha was the one person out of all the others who would have no problem illustrating that to him.
"I'm sorry," he muttered grudgingly.
"I don't want your apology," she declared seriously, her lips mere inches from his own. "I want you to deal with your problem." She spun on her heel, striding effortlessly toward the door. Clint watched her go, unease settling in his chest.
For the next few days he did avoid everyone. He was bad company, he knew it, so he turned up late to meals and went to the gym when he knew it was most likely to be empty and expended the rest of his time sequestered in his room or the archery range. It was a space that was only ever used by himself and Thor and he knew his words had probably stung the Asgardian enough to make him hesitant to intrude.
It wasn't that he was afraid of Natasha. Well, he was, that was just good sense. If you knew Natasha and weren't afraid of her, you were probably irretrievably stupid. It just wasn't the reason. He was more afraid of himself. If he was going to lash out irrationally he'd prefer to be the only available target. The worst he could do to himself was inflict pain. He could deal with pain. He wasn't sure guilt was a challenge he'd be up to equally. He couldn't get a handle on his bitterness or anger, so the only thing left was to hide out and hope it would eventually blow over. He knew it was a stupid solution that probably wouldn't work, but he couldn't think of anything else.
That's why when he turned up more than half an hour late for dinner on Thursday night to find the rest of the team only starting to dig into the Chinese takeout, he couldn't quash the immediate surge of irritation.
"Grab a plate, Legolas," Tony's voice was light, if not exactly cheerful as he turned over a paper plate and frisbee tossed it into Clint's chest.
"JARVIS, can you make a note of this place?" Bruce asked from his spot folded up in one of the chairs like a buddha. "The egg rolls are phenomenal."
"Really?" Steve asked, a tinge of excitement in his tone as he made a grab for one.
"I was in a little village in Canton once that had the best egg rolls I've ever had in my life," Bruce stated. "These are almost that good."
"I've never been to China," Steve offered. "Is it nice?"
"You're not missing anything," Natasha answered, scooping up noodles with her chopsticks.
"The people are nice," Phil observed. Bruce nodded in agreement. Clint tried to block out the exchange, biting his tongue. His opinion of China was pretty much ruined by Shenzhen and he had the feeling no one wanted to hear it.
"Is Lady Pepper not joining us?" Thor asked with a concerned frown.
"She had to head out to DC," Tony said with a shrug, smirking. "Man, you have to stop calling her that, you're setting the bar at an unhealthy level the rest of us can't compete with." His eyes twinkled and Natasha let out a snort of amusement.
"I don't get it," Steve admitted.
"Of course you don't, Capcicle," Tony teased, lightly flicking his ear as he passed where Steve had perched on the arm of the sofa. "You're almost as bad as he is."
"You guys want to watch a movie tonight?" Bruce suggested.
"I don't have any plans," Natasha answered as Phil nodded eagerly around a mouth full of chicken.
"You're not picking," Tony insisted, jabbing a chopstick in Phil's direction. Steve let out a groan of assent, wincing. "I've seen enough of those stupid Captain America movies to last a life time. No offense." He turned to Steve with a half apologetic look.
"None taken!" Steve answered readily.
"It's hard, isn't it?" Bruce questioned candidly. "Looking at it and knowing that's never going to be you again." Clint stiffened, gritting his teeth from his spot in the corner, as removed from the others as he could get without being completely obvious. Steve stared back at the doctor with an unsettled expression as if he'd been caught off guard.
"Yeah, of course it is," he admitted finally, a light shrug moving his shoulders. "It's better if I don't dwell on it. But it's not like you don't know that."
"Different situation," Bruce insisted, a smile curling his lips. "I can deal with my issues by crawling in my bullet proof lab." He gave Tony a little salute of respect that Iron Man returned with his usual dramatic flair. Clint closed his eyes, his fingers curling into his palms until his nails threatened to break the skin.
"Barton, you up for movie night?" Phil asked genially.
"I didn't sleep very well last night," Clint answered. "I'm going to turn in early." He could feel Natasha's eyes on him, naturally she'd seen though the lie, well, half lie. He hadn't slept, that much was true. He just didn't have any plans to turn in.
"We'll let you pick," Steve offered coaxingly, a warm, friendly smile on his face.
That did it.
"Shut the hell up, Rogers," Clint snapped before he could stop himself. The room fell deathly silent and Steve stared back at him owlishly. And in that moment he hated Captain America.
"You can just cut the 'team building' crap, Cap," Clint shot out, his temper rising. He rolled across the room until he was nearly nose to nose with Steve. "I'm not stupid, I know what this is and I don't need it. I don't need your pity or your warm fuzzy acceptance or your self righteous nobility and I sure has hell don't need you! I was fine on my own while you were busy being an ice cube and I'm fine now! I don't need movie night and Chinese takeout. I need my damn job back so until you're ready to give it to me you can just fuck off!"
"Barton!" Phil snapped but Steve held up his hand, his eyes locked on Hawkeye. He didn't look the least bit wounded by the outburst and if that didn't piss Clint off even more.
"Clint, it's not about that," Steve insisted gently. "this isn't charity, it's being worried about a friend. Believe me, I've seen both and this isn't about that. I understand..."
"You don't understand shit!" Clint snarled.
"Clint."
Sparks went off behind his eyes at the kind, gentle tone of voice and he snapped.
Clint launched himself from the chair like he'd practiced a thousand times, his fingers fisting in Steve's shirt as he used his momentum to topple them both over the side of the sofa and onto the floor. Steve hit the floor with a grunt and Clint drew his fist back, punching for all he was worth.
"You're a condescending bastard!" Clint shouted at him, raining blows on Captain America's face. "You can shove your sympathy up your ass!" He'd expected some sort of defense by now but Steve lay motionless on the floor, pinned down by nothing more than Clint's body weight.
"I can do this all day," Steve stated simply, licking the blood from the corner of his mouth.
"You're a damn coward too if you won't fight me." Clint bellowed, punching him again. "are you that afraid of being the man who beat up a cripple?" He felt a surge of triumph, he could tell from the look in Steve's eyes, that one stung.
The fist connected with his head so hard his ears rang and he tumbled off Steve's chest, rolling across the floor from the impact like a rag doll. Before he could even draw in a breath, a weight settled on his abdomen and a pair of knees dug into his forearms.
"He won't fight you, you moron, because he wouldn't fight any of us," Natasha growled down into his face as she straddled him, pinning him to the floor. Her fingers fisted in his hair, pulling sharply and he bit back a yelp. It was as if the pain were grounding him and he stared up at her. "He wouldn't raise a hand against his team, not unless he had no other choice. And that includes you, you ungrateful little shit. Thankfully I don't have anything like his moral compunctions, you do anything like that again and I'll make sure you eat through a straw. Is that in any way unclear to you?" Clint's breath was coming in small gasps as he nodded. Natasha released his hair, dropping his head against the rug with a thunk, and slipping to her feet.
"Get off the floor, you big baby," she ground out angrily tossing back her hair as she glared down at him. Clint pushed himself up on his arms as she turned, her hips swaying as she sauntered out the door. Phil followed after her, cringing slightly. Clint glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Bruce gently push past Thor who had been shielding him from the fight. The doctor crept across the room on hesitant feet, kneeling beside Steve who was sitting with his legs folded and looking winded.
"Let me take a look at that," Bruce offered.
"It's ok," Steve shook his head, wiping his split lip on his arm. "I've had worse." It wasn't lost on Clint that Rogers' eyes looked misty.
"Let Bruce clean you up," Tony insisted, his hand settling lightly on Cap's shoulder. Steve hesitated a moment before nodding and Thor stepped to his side, hauling him to his feet as Bruce steered him out of the rec room. Tony took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before shaking his head. Without a word he grasped hold of the wheelchair, rolling it to Clint's side and locking the wheels before turning and walking away, his steps retreating down the hall. Clint drew in several shaking breaths, staring at his unresponsive legs. Minutes ticked by as he struggled to hold in his emotions.
"Agent Barton, shall I call Doctor Banner or Thor to assist you?" JARVIS' voice seemed to eco in the now vacant room. Clint's breath hitched. Leave it to the AI to ascertain which of his team members were likely least pissed off at him at the moment.
"It's ok, JARVIS, I'm just catching my breath," he answered in a small voice. He could still feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest and his eyes had begun to water.
"JARVIS, What's Cap's condition?" he asked, stifling a sniffle.
"He has a developing hematoma over his left eye," JARVIS answered, his tone clinical. "minor lacerations, a slight dislocation of the temporomandibular joint, and a mild nasal fracture. Considering his exemplary healing ability he should make a full recovery in less than two days."
"Thanks, JARVIS," he murmured, choking back a sob.
"Do you require any other assistance, Agent Barton?" The AI's tone was worried. There was the straw that broke the camel's back.
"No," he shook his head as a single tear trickled down his cheek, his voice thin. "but thanks for asking."