Rebecca Ferguson: "Teach Me How To Be Loved" & "Freedom" are songs worth a listen after you read-if you're weird like me, and enjoy a little emotional punch in the gut.

Rated T for language

Disclaimer: I still don't own them, but I do have an adorable little lint ball in my pocket that I'm naming Loki and it will be mine, all mine, and no one can stop me! Muwhahahahaha!

Bird On The Wire

By:GalInTheMoon

Natasha walked slowly behind the nurse who was taking her back to Clint's room. Steve had told her to take his visitation time as well. He would see Clint later. She accepted without protest. They had waited over fifteen minutes from the time they had first been told he could be seen before someone came out and got her. The rest of the team would be on their way but would probably not make it before he was in surgery. She would be it, his only visitor before he was back out. The nurse was at least five feet in front of her and stopped at his door. She waited and held it open when Natasha came close. She had already been told what to expect while walking back. The nurse nodded and pulled the door closed as she passed. She stepped through the privacy curtain, her eyes going directly to the bed on her right, and to Clint. The only light on in the room was above him, casting shadows over his face.

She grabbed the only chair in the room and slid it toward the bed. Not that she planned on using it but she wanted it close just in case. She felt beside Clint's legs to make sure nothing was hidden beneath the blanket before sitting beside him. She watched him a moment, taking him in. Less than two days. Had it really only been less than two days since Steve's birthday? She clasped his hand between her own, noting the scrapes and bruises on his knuckles, the tell-tale sign he had gotten some hits in of his own, and watched him. There was no reaction to her presence. She let go long enough to reach into her pocket, take out the arrowhead, and place it in the palm of his hand. She closed his cool fingers around the flint that was hot in comparison.

She looked up at the windows. The curtains were open and she could see another wing of the hospital. It was a kaleidoscope of lives caught in shining rectangles. There was the joy of the maternity ward above them and the quiet of the surgical ward below. Most were still, with one person sleeping or watching television. A single mother sleeping beside her new baby, a man recovering from life-saving surgery making long-term plans for the first time in years. Others were full of motion, of family, and flowers, love, and hope. A joyous welcoming of life that seemed to insult the tears and the first pangs of mourning that were happening in neighboring rooms and floors. She walked over and closed the curtains. Declining her and Clint's place in the spectacle.

He was looking at her when she turned around, his eyes still half closed. He was only partially aware. She could see it in his dilated pupils, his lazy gaze, and flat expression. She took her spot again beside him. The white's of his eyes were blood-shot. The iris of his right marred by a red halo. His hand had tightened over the arrowhead. He watched her a moment before attempting to say anything, "...you okay?" The first part of his question was lost within a crack in his voice. The rest was gravelly and strained.

Natasha wasn't surprised his first thought would be to ask about her. To make sure she was okay. After all, the last time he had seen her she was leaning down on the sidewalk, shot, sheltered beneath Thor. And the man she knew would have put his concern for her before himself any day of the week. "I'm fine. Graze." She kept it simple, short, easy to lip-read. She touched her shoulder. He nodded and licked his lips, glancing down at himself before looking back at her, and closing his eyes. He was back out as quickly and silently as he had woken up.

She looked around the room. It was decorated in shades of white, with a few touches of mint green here and there. A wall of cabinets was across from the bed, and a bathroom was to the left of that. Aside from a small maple nightstand on wheels pushed against the wall with windows, sitting useless, there was little else by way of furnishings. Most of the space was left for machines and equipment, and the potential need for multiple people working around him at once. A plastic bag, no doubt filled with whatever was left of Clint's belongings, sat on the floor beside the nightstand. Something small sitting on the stand caught the limited light and her attention. She gazed at the spot of refracted light, letting her vision fuzz at the edges as moisture stung her eyes. It wasn't time, not yet, no giving in to it yet, she thought as she squeezed her eyes closed a second and pinched the bridge of her nose. She put her head back and stared at the ceiling, before looking at Clint again. If she tried she could almost convince herself he was fine. The time passed too quickly as she sat and silently watched him sleep.

A nurse came in quietly, announcing herself before she pulled back the curtain, "We have to get him ready now, but I'll wait outside and give you a moment."

"Thank you." Natasha said, turning back around and standing, as the other woman left the room. She took his hand and leaned down, kissing him softly on the forehead. The arrowhead had fallen from his hand and onto the bed. She put it in her pocket as she placed his palm on her sternum, his fingers falling into the crescent hollow at the base of her neck, "I'll keep it safe." She knew he wouldn't understand what she had said, that he was possibly too far away to feel her. But if he was even slightly aware he would know she was talking to him, that she was there still. He would recognize the intimate exchange they had shared before. It was a way she had grounded him when he was still adjusting to his hearing loss. How she had brought him back to her, made him focus, be in the moment when he drifted off, swept away by his thoughts and fears. He would watch her lips, feel her voice through his fingers, breath and collect himself. It had given him a place to rally, a point of focus. It had pulled him back from the brink, maybe it could again. She squeezed his hand gently, kissing his fingertips, as his hand tightened around her own. She looked up, hopeful, but his eyes were still closed.

The nurse returned with the surgical techs, and Natasha let go. Gently laying his hand over his chest, rubbing it as she pulled away. Leaving before they had asked. She didn't steal a glance back, she didn't want or need to see. He would be alright. Barney had been right about one thing. Clint could take whatever the world dished out. He could take it and she would be there in the down time, in the moments in between when he needed cover, when he needed a break. She would remain.

When she came out into the waiting area Steve was standing, stretching. The others had yet to show up and Barney hadn't returned. Rogers saw her and took a deep breath, his hands went into his pockets, as he watched her approach, "How is he?"

"He's still out of it." She sat down and rubbed her neck, Steve sitting beside her. "The guys are waiting until he's out. They said to keep in touch, asked if we needed a break. I said no, but if you need to go..."

"I'm staying." She rested her head on the chair, "Let's get some coffee."

"It's almost midnight." he glanced at his watch.

"You planning on taking a nap Rogers?" Natasha stood, "Let's walk. I'm sure there's a machine somewhere on this floor."

The rest of the night passed with him in and out of surgery. Barney drifted back to them, but kept to himself, having come to some decision while away. He gave the distinct feeling he was already gone.

Thor arrived after a while. He was tired of waiting at the tower while Stark and Banner worked down in the lab. He would never get used to hospitals or human fragility for that matter. On Asgard there was no need for places such as this. In fact they needed little more than a single healer. A healer who was woefully unoccupied. But he wasn't going to risk looking the fool by admitting how foreign it all was to him, he felt like he had done that more than enough already. So, he finally sat down and waited. He would follow their lead. A stranger in a strange land, as was becoming the usual. He watched Barney who was busying himself folding a piece of paper. Feeling his gaze, Barney looked up, "So what's your story big guy? You get bit by an experimental gorilla or somethin'?" He called across the gap between them.

Thor's eyes narrowed and he straightened slightly, "I am a son of Allfather and a protector of the realm."

Barney smirked and went back to his folding, "That all?"

"I am also honored to be counted amongst your brother's friends."

Barney looked up at him, "Yeah, I noticed." He kept his eyes on Thor. Ignoring Natasha who sat close to him and was paying attention to the conversation. Watching Barney in the exchange.

"I have sworn to guard him with my life against any threat." By now he had heard the stories. He knew the things Barney had done. If he hadn't trusted him by first impression alone, he definetly didn't now. He wanted him to know, without doubt, what stood between him and ever harming Clint again. He had little to prove. Barney had seen it clearly enough the moment they first met.

"How's that workin' out for ya?" He motioned at their surroundings, pointing out the obvious failure in Thor's guardianship.

Thor leaned forward lost in his guilt a moment before he went on. He disliked many things about the man in front of him, but being his father's son, in the position he held, he had learned to endure the company of many a being he despised. If there was any place where they could meet, any common ground between the two, it was their complicated sibling relationships, "I also have a younger brother."

"Lucky you."

"He has caused much suffering." He couldn't admit that part of that was to Clint himself.

"You don't say." Barney couldn't care less.

"I do. I have been tempted to forsake him, to leave him to his misguided ways, and his fate. But I find I cannot."

"You tryin' to make a point chief?" He went back to his paper.

"No. I am..."

Barney stood without saying a word and walked farther away, cutting off any further communication.

"Nice try." Natasha patted his leg. "Since when have you been sworn to protect Clint?"

"Since Loki...It was a private vow."

She nodded and looked down, "I'm sure he would appreciate it."

A surgeon came out a little while later to let them know the surgery had gone well. Clint was in post-op, but as long as everything went as expected he would be back to his room within the hour. Steve called Tony and Banner once again to update them and once again they chose to remain at the tower working on his hearing aids. It was understandable. They could do so much more focusing on repairing the damaged devices than they could ever do waiting at the hospital.

By the time someone came out to let them know they could see him, one at a time for only a few minutes, Barney had let it be known he would go first. He was ready to say goodbye. They had conceded, there was no denying him that. He was anxious on the walk back, but by the time he made it to the dim room that was turning shades of pink and salmon in the light of dawn, he had collected himself. He pushed through the door without hesitation. It was time to get this over with. He would bare his soul even if it rubbed him raw and then he would move on. He would get back to his life and leave Clint to his own if that's what he wanted. All his plans, all his determination crumbled a little when he saw Clint. He had never actually been around to see him in a hospital, to see him not fighting, but recovering...at least not as an adult. Not since they had grown so far apart. A gown had been draped over him, concealing his chest, and the measures that had been taken to save his life. His left arm was in one of the gown's sleeves resting across his stomach, while his right was raised up and away from his body. The majority of the gown was spread open over the blanket serving little purpose beyond his privacy during visits. His face was turned away from the door, he was watching the sunrise though Barney didn't realize it. He assumed he was still asleep, and he was partially right, he was still far from wide awake. When he walked up to the bed Clint turned, having caught his reflection in the window.

"Hey." He said as he looked his younger brother over. Clint watched his eyes scanning every inch of him. If he believed there was any care or concern in the look he would have accepted it. As it was he just wanted him to suck up his curiosity and look somewhere else already. Barney noticed him watching unhappily, "Cross is one crazy fuck." He said to break the awkward moment, but it did little.

Clint licked his lips, "Not a big fan of yours either."

"Yeah, apparently." He grinned at first, just reacting, but it faded as soon as the thought fully sunk in, "You look like shit."

"Speak for yourself." His voice sounded as battered and bruised as the rest of him, "You look tired Barney."

"Stop or it's gonna go to my head." He looked Clint over again, "I'm sorry Francis, about all this."

Clint didn't respond at first. He was searching for sincerity and was surprised to find it, "That's a first."

"What?" Barney frowned.

"I believe you."

"Pish," Barney smiled, "you couldn't not believe me."

He could run out of breath listing off how many ways that statement was wrong, but he was tired and it was no time to dig up old bones. "Glad you're here, and this..." He looked down at himself, his eyes stopping at his arm, "This isn't your fault." He had played as much a part of what lead them to this as Barney, at least in his own mind. He had chosen the path that lead to S.H.I.E.L.D., the path that lead to the Avengers, and the path that had taken him from his blessed shadows and hidden places. They were all choices that would put him in the path of someone out for revenge eventually, Barney or not. It was simple, obvious, there was no blame or self-pity in the thought. It was what it was. He could feel his eyes growing heavy. He was still so damn tired. Barney shook his shoulder, bringing his eyes back to him, "Hey, hey stick around. We need to talk before I go."

He hadn't caught every word, his head was turned when Barney started talking, but he caught the 'go'. "Now?" He asked.

"Yeah if you can stay awake long enough." He slapped Clint's chest thoughtlessly, "I got this deal going down in Caracas. It could be the big one Fra...Clint." He corrected himself, "I could get a quiet little place by the beach man. Put this shit life behind me for good."

"Caracas." Keeping his eyes open was like trying to lift an elephant with your eyelashes. He was catching less and less of what Barney was saying.

"Yeah, and I, uh, I..." He paused. Clint was drifting. He wasn't going to get to say everything he wanted if he didn't get to it, "I'm gonna have to go. I just wanted to, you know, see you before I left, say goodbye. Tell you I'm sorry for everything." He swiped his hair back. "And I, uh, I needed to say some things."

Clint was passing out and had only read the 'have to go' and 'okay' of what he said. Assuming Barney was asking for some kind of permission to leave, "Itsokay, Go..." His words drifted away, he couldn't fight sleep off any longer.

Barney watched his eyes close. He had to try to say his peace even if he was slipping away. It was a near desperate need. He sat in the chair next to the bed and leaned forward, unaware that Clint couldn't hear him. "Clint, listen. I know I've been a fuck-up of a brother. I know I've...I've let you down too many times. I became the asshole you always told me I was becoming." He grinned a little at the memory of a fourteen year old Clint fuming at him, but it faded as quickly as it appeared, "I never wanted to be that guy, you know. I never wanted to hurt you. You gotta believe me and remember the brother I was. Don't forget who I was. I watched over you. I kept us safe, right. There was a time you looked up to me." He searched Clint's still face before he dropped his head, "I know I failed but I tried Frannie, I tried. I'm sorry I stopped. I'm sorry I gave up. It was just so fucking hard and you didn't need me anymore. You were doin' so good. You were rising up, man, and I, I just stopped to catch my breath and it all went to hell. I'm sorry Fran..." He stopped himself from finishing the name as his thoughts veered for a moment. Their dad had hated his father, but had chosen to pass his name on all the same. He never let Clint, or Barney for that matter, forget he was named after a mean old s.o.b. that would have rather shoved his hat in manure than show his kids an ounce of love or mercy. Why the hell the old man would saddle that shit legacy on his kid was beyond either one of them. He might as well have carved a target on Clint at birth.

He looked away a moment, his jaw clinching, as he came back to the moment and chewed on his next words, "I'm sorry for all of it, but don't forget the good. I need you to remember the good cause I'm not coming back. I know you need me to stay away...you do, I know you do..." He stopped as he was hit with self-realization, he was begging to stay, it slammed shut a mental door. "Anyway. I'm sorry, for whatever it's worth." He waited for some reaction, but Clint didn't move, he was out. He grabbed the bed-rail and leaned farther forward, "Yeah, yeah of course. Barney you dumb fuck." He dropped his head. "Ah, son of a bitch." What was he thinking going there. Clint was out. There was no reaching him and he wouldn't have wanted to hear that bullshit anyway. Of course he had missed his chance, of course, he had missed it lifetimes ago. He stood up, "Bye Frannie." he said reverting back to the name Clint hated but rolled off his tongue so much easier, and walked out of the room, out of the hospital, and out of Clint's life.

By eight in the morning flowers were coming in, some with letters from well-wishers. People were rallying behind "their" Hawkeye and it shocked no one more than Clint. In the days that followed he would get letters from entire elementary classrooms, notes from public figures, and cards from individuals and more flowers than his room could hold. He appreciated the sentiment but it made him uncomfortable. It was just a little jarring after he had been through the wringer of public opinion and found lacking, to then be raised up with adoration once he was laid low before them. But he could see the sincerity where it was and he was humbled. To think that so many cared and just because he was doing what life had lead him to. He was no hero, he was no champion, though they seemed to think so. No one would convince him otherwise. He had seen too much of himself.

He spent the next three weeks in the hospital. The team came by in groups and alone now and then. Tony gave him a hard time about the ridiculous influx of letters and flowers jamming up his tower. Banner kept him updated on how his aids were coming along. They were getting close, and Tony had been right, Stark Industries had played a major part in the originals. All the information they needed to rebuild them to specs Pepper had found tucked away. Banner let it slip that Pepper was beaming when she gave them the good news. Clint knew the look, she had stopped by now and then, filling the room with her smile every time she made him have one of his own. He could see why Tony had fallen head over heels for her.

Thor came by often and Clint grilled him about Asgard. He was going to see it one of these days, come hell or high water. He wasn't sure what his fascination with the place was, but he couldn't deny it. Maybe it was the Valkyrie, or the whole a mythological realm is real shit. As for Steve, he seemed content to let Clint lead the conversation or the silence when he came by. They had watched a few baseball games together without any true conversation taking place or ever seeming to cheer for the same team. Somewhere along the way they forged a stronger friendship molded by a steady stream of silence, baseball, and sporadic motorcycle ravings. Natasha remained a constant, reassuring presence by his side. Often staying through the day and night, sleeping in bed with him once enough of the I.V.'s and monitors had been removed. Pushing him to stay patient and do what he had to do to recover. When he had asked, she recounted the events that had lead up to them being in the street at just the right time. She was honest in the telling, and admitted Barney wasn't there willingly and had made a run for it. He didn't ask anything else about his brother. There was nothing left to ask and nothing else to say. It left him feeling little more than indifference.

It had been a long number of weeks but when the day came for him to be released he was more than ready. It was just he and Natasha collecting his things, impatiently listening through discharge, home-care orders, and signing paper-work until at last he was free to gather his things and go.

"What are you going to do with all of these?" She asked referring to all the flowers as she re-filled an overnight bag she had brought in weeks ago. Half the bag was already filled with cards and letters.

He looked around the room at them, before his eyes came back to her, "They're going to pediatrics. There's a lot of kids with empty rooms up there." He knew because he had seen them first-hand. It turned out the kids really enjoyed getting a visit from Hawkeye, and he really enjoyed visiting the kids. He had even managed to drag Natasha along once, but only once. It had become his Friday night routine once he was able to move around free of all but a couple I.V.'s.

"Your idea?" she asked but she knew it was. He didn't see the point in answering. She already knew and so he moved on. He was collecting his things from around the room, his arm in a sling and strapped to the brace around his chest, when he found the plastic bag with his belongings from that first night. It had been tucked inside one of the wall cabinets. He glanced inside, something catching his attention as he put the bag on the bed, and pulled out a small dark blue ribbon with red at the edges. A medal was dangling form the end. He straightened, "How did, who, how did this get here?" He fumbled over his words, his mind reeling.

Natasha glanced over, "I don't know." She moved closer, "What is it?"

He closed it in his palm, "A Distinguished Service Cross."

"Yours?" She looked at the item in his hand. If it was his, it was the first she was hearing of it.

"No." He looked at it before looking back up at her, "Phil's."

She wanted to throw doubt at him, but she remembered what Barney had said about the suit. "Phil Coulson?"

His mind raced in hundreds of directions. Had Cross had it somehow? Was it another part of his game? Had he left it on him and he hadn't realized it? It wasn't possible that Phil had dropped it off himself, that he was alive. Was it? He sat down.

She sat on her heels in front of him, looking up so he could see her face clearly, "Clint, Barney said a guy in a suit picked him up, flew him over." She left out the he had been forced part intentionally. There was no need for more salt on that particular wound, "He saw him again here in the hospital. It sounded like Coulson but I didn't want to say anything. Not without knowing..." She paused, "Are you sure this belongs to Phil?"

He opened his hand and looked down at the service medal. If it were Phil's it would have a gash out of the back of the metal. A gash made in a long-story he had made sure to never get around to telling Clint. Slowly he turned it over, holding his breath. It was there, plain as day, an egg shaped notch right in the middle. "Son of a bitch." He showed her the mark, "It's his."

She had had more time to consider the possibility, more time to adjust to the thought, but she still seemed more uncertain than Clint. She had seen the damage done to Coulson. It hadn't been a staged death, but Clint hadn't seen him. He had room for uncertainty, and it wasn't unheard of for agents to have to go into deep cover, to have to play dead. Hope would come to him a little more easily. He put it in his pocket alongside the flint arrowhead he had found so long ago. He was just happy to believe there was a chance Phil was out there, still fighting the good fight. If there was anyone in S.H.I.E.L.D. beyond Natasha he would always have faith in, it was Phil Coulson. If he was still out there, maybe there was a chance for all the rest thought lost.

He stood, taking what little he wanted from the plastic bag, and threw the rest in the garbage. "You ready?"

She stood, "Beyond ready."

Throwing the overnight bag over her shoulder, she put one of the flowers behind her ear, and stuck one in his brace. She laid her hand on his chest and he covered it with his own. She looked up and soaked in the shimmer of hope she saw within his eyes. Cross had underestimated just how impossible it was to knock him down. He would always pick himself up, dust himself off, and move on. The only thing in question would be if those who tried him would or not. "Let's go Barton." She finally said. Clint took a deep breath, "Let's go." For the first time in longer than he could remember his name was just a name, it didn't ring with an accusation, or a curse.

The End

Bird On The Wire

By: Leonard Cohen

Like a bird on the wire,

Like a drunk in a midnight choir

I have tried in my way to be free.

Like a worm on a hook,

Like a knight from some old fashioned book.

I have saved all of my ribbons for thee,

If I, have been unkind,

I hope that you can just let it go by.

If I, If I have been untrue

I hope you know it was never to you

Like a baby, stillborn,

Like a beast with his horn

I have torn everyone who reached out for me.

But I swear by this song

And by all that I have done wrong

I will make it all up to thee.

I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch

he said to me "You must not ask for so much"

And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door,

She cried to me, "Hey why not ask for more?"

Oh like a bird on the wire,

Like a drunk in a midnight choir

I have tried in my way to be free.

A/N: Niom Lamboise asked in her review if there would be a sequel to this. One where we see Barney, Phil, and Clint reunited. I am planning a story that follows up on the package Crossfire sent to Cararcas for Barney (it was briefly mentioned in chapter 5 and easily missed). What he sent Barney will be one more way for him to get revenge and manipulate events. It will force the brothers together again for better or worse. I would love to bring Phil into things but I don't know if it would be possible at this point. I'm still in the planning stage of this one and intend on having it completely written and edited before posting...so it could be a while. Thanks for asking Niom!