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Clint sat alone at the SHIELD cafeteria. He had avoided sitting with anybody for the past two weeks, and now everyone had mostly learned to respect his space. The classes with Coulson were going well. He was actually paying attention and chemistry was coming easily to him. Coulson had even begun to practice reading and writing with him in English.
He still felt quite unsure, however. Why? Why was Coulson trying so desperately to help him? In his experience, it was not common for people to simply be good hearted, there was always an ulterior motive, he just had to figure out Coulson's.
His thoughts were interrupted by a plate that was plopped in front of his. He leveled his companion with a glare, that usually works... Michael. He was one of the strike team agents that had just come back from a mission. He had arrived yesterday, so he did not yet know Clint enough to stay out of his way.
"Stop staring at me Robin Hood"
"What do you want?"
"You should get another table. There are plenty empty, and this one is taken." He tried the glare again. He really was not one for company.
His companion just laughed.
"You want me to move Robin Hood? Make me."
He really did not know Clint's reputation.
So Clint did as he was told.
He was not an expert at hand-to-hand, better suited for the bow and arrow. But he could definitely hold his own, and he was a lot stronger than Michaels.
Clint landed a punch on his adversary's jaw, and Michaels reciprocated by aiming at his throat. Clint easily blocked the punch and pushed Michaels back.
At that point, they had gathered an audience around them and Michaels closed the distance between them in order to whisper something in Clint's ear.
Due to the distraction, Michaels managed to hit Clint right under the eye, but Clint thrust his foot unto the strike agent's rib cage, making it crack painfully. The opponent then caught Clint's foot in his hands, and Clint used that as a momentum to pull him down and hit him on the jaw again.
The fight continued for only a few more seconds, as one of the strike trainers showed up, and called for them to be broken up at once. They were both then sent down to the infirmary.
...
"Well, you got a pretty bad punch under the eye, but nothing serious... yes.. you- you should be alright" mumbled Dr. Nieva and Clint made as if to stand up and leave.
"You really should stop visiting me so often though." A slight smirk adorned the doctor's mouth, Clint noticed, and he was also, though slowly, becoming less guarded towards his new patient.
Clint was quite close to grant the man a half smile. The doctor was nice, if nothing else, and, he too, had contributed to saving his life. What stopped him from the act of kindness, was the memory of what Michaels whispered to him during the fight
You are only a murderer Hawkeye, and SHIELD will sooner or later know that.
The words painfully twisted in his gut, making him realize a couple of things. One: Michaels was right. SHIELD would abandon him sooner or later, and Two: At some point in this two weeks, that had begun to matter.
Clint was, slowly but surely, finding comfort in SHIELD. He was learning what he had not in school. He was surrounded by people who were willing to do good, and he had found within himself, his old reluctance to do anything that would cause an innocent harm. Yet, Michaels was still right. He was not like this people. He was a murderer, and it would not be long before they threw him out (and if they didn't- well, if they didn't throw him out, then that only served to prove that they should not be trusted.
Clint excited the infirmary, without giving Dr. Nieva a second glance, and headed towards the conference room, where Coulson must already be waiting for him.
...
"You are late- Barton. What the hell happened to you?"
"What chapter do I open to sir?"
Barton never called him sir. Several of the tutors and other SHIELD agents of higher rank, had insisted on the title, but Coulson did not mind him using his name.
Clint, however, decided that it was time to begin distancing himself... before it was too late.
Coulson noticed the evation of the subject, but, after noticing the tension on Clint's shoulders, decided to follow along.
"Chapter 26"
The class followed on as usual. Coulson explained several aspects of chemistry, and then moved on to help Clint with his reading. The kid was a natural. He usually picked up on all of the information at the speed of light, and was even able to write competent reports by now, of the mock missions that Coulson would describe. But, today, there was something wrong. Clint lost focus easily and found himself stumbling over he information provided by his "unofficial handler". He did not want to continue to owe this man. He did not want to continue to depend on him for knowledge; to continue to trust him, and that was interfering with his desire to learn and his concentration.
After noticing that the class was going nowhere, Coulson decided to give his newest protege a break.
"Alright. We can continue tomorrow."
Clint stood up to leave.
"Barton!"
He turned back.
"Everything okay?"
And Clint locked his eyes with his, before nodding his head.
He was trying to read him, Coulson knew. And he let him do it. Maybe that will help the kid gain some trust.
...
Clint walked into his shared room, which was empty for the time being, and sat down on the bed to think. His current circumstances were giving him a headache, and he had no idea how to handle all of it.
When he looked at Coulson he did not see within him any ulterior motives, not even any masked annoyance for his lack of cooperation in today's class. All that he could observe within the man was a genuine desire to help. Could it be possible? Clint fell asleep to this thoughts, and woke up at 3:00 in the morning drenched in cold sweat.
It took him a few seconds to decipher that he was at SHIELD; that he was, in fact, safe. His dreams turned more vivid every time he had them. He could see the arrow as it flew from his vow and dug into the victims skin. He could hear the screams of the little girl as clear as if she were standing next to him.
When he looked around the room, he noticed that his roommates were already present, and he felt the sudden need to escape; the need to be alone, as he was so accustomed to.
Without any further thoughts he ran out of the room and stumbled upon the door to the janitors storage room. Upon opening it, he found the drop-down stairs that led to the roof, and, without a second thought, climbed to his freedom.
The view was magnificent. Such a stark difference from the cold metallic corridors of the SHIELD base. He could see millions upon millions of tiny lights, each representing a home, a family or lone person that lived in New York city. The stars could barely be seen, but to his advanced eyesight they popped out faintly. He breathed in the cold night air, and his lungs filled with an immense illusion of freedom, but an illusion nonetheless. Clint knew he would never be free, not after being who he has been, doing was he has done. If he stayed at SHIELD, then he would forever be bound to them, or at least until they decided they no longer needed them, but if he left, then he would be a slave to the gushing red blood that dripped from his 'ledger'. And, whichever his decision, he would continue to be a prisoner to his past. The past and dreams that would continuously hunt him ( not that he deserved any better.)
He fell asleep again, and some hours later woke up to a more pleasant thought. He dreamt of when he woke up at the SHIELD medical facility (perhaps not completely pleasant). That dream reminded him of the second chance that he had been given and his mind reached a different outlook: if SHIELD truly would help him, then he could become a person of good, if they did not, the he would get nothing besides what he, in his own opinion, had set himself up for.
He arrived at the cafeteria were breakfast was being served, only to find Coulson waiting for him.
"How did you sleep?" The man was absently tapping at his cup. That could only mean one thing: unpleasant news.
Clint only nodded his head in acknowledgement, and Coulson mirrored his action, for unknown reasons. Perhaps a nervous tick? Irrelevant.
"The psychiatrist wants to meet with you today. In order to become an agent of SHIELD you need to pass a psych eval."
Coulson provided the information with a nonchalant tone. If it were not for his physical cues, Clint would have believed that man did not have a care in the world.
He decided to work with his handler for today; to ease the man's mind.
"Okay" said he, in an equally careless tone, and Coulson's brow rose in the slightest before his face settled back to its usual ease.
...
Clint arrived at the psychiatrist's office and was asked to answer some questions about himself, most of which he was not too comfortable with, so he decided to be a little creative with the answers.
"How do you feel about joining SHIELD?"
"It has been my dream since I can remember." Said Clint with a tone of exaggerated nostalgia.
The psychiatrist leveled him with a glare, but Clint could care less. She was nowhere near the least of people that he felt even the most infinitesimal respect or regard for.
Halfway through the eval, however, she seemed to be done with his informalities and sent him to Coulson's office while picking up the phone and, presumably, contacting the man in question.
He was right.
When he entered Coulson's office, his handler's expressive face just screamed one question: why?
Clint had the grace to look slightly bashful, but his expression was quickly replaced by a green. He was in a good mood.
Despite his nightmare last night, and his troubles the day before, his resolution from this morning had eased a lot tension from his shoulders. Also, the psychiatrist's appointment had been fun, if only because he had not exactly followed directions.
"Take a sit" Coulson's voice was gently, and lint obeyed.
"How do you feel about joining SHIELD?"
Clint looked up with a hint of confusion and Coulson just looked frustrated.
"Seriously? Why do I even need to answer that?"
Coulson just looked even more exasperated, if that was possible, and, after taking a breath, he huffed out:
"You know what? No one needs to know." As he began to fill out the papers with fake answers and putting checkmarks in all the necessary slots.
"Congratulations! You passed"
And Clint just grinned.
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