AN: I just fixed the barriers. i keep forgetting they don't transfer from word to ff.
Clint didn't see Dr. Bamer for the rest of her week off. 'It's a little unfair', he caught himself thinking, 'she got a week, and the Sunday after. That's eight days I didn't get to see her, not one week!' He revealed these thoughts to no one, but couldn't help but be a bit excited come Monday morning. Maybe his entire trio of doctors would finally be present for today's check-up and rehab!
Dr. Bamer was the first to show up. She was early, her hair was in a bun, and she looked much better rested than any previous time he'd seen her. He unconsciously sat up straighter when she walked into the room, and she shuffle of his clothes notified her of his presence. She started. Why was it she never seemed to enter any area fully paying attention to her surroundings? She was enveloped in her pillows a week (eight days!) ago, and fully engrossed in his chart today.
"You really should pay better attention to what's going on around you Dr. Bamer. This is two times I've snuck up on you already." He pointed to his bandaged head. "I'm brain damaged too, remember?" he added, smirking a little.
Colleen laughed, and extended her hand for a firm handshake. "Nice to see you again, Agent Barton. Sorry, I was just catching up on your charts. I took a week's" (eight days!) "leave to settle some personal affairs," she lied smoothly.
Clint opened his mouth to respond, when Dr. Mattock and Blanc entered the room, ending their conversation. "Alright, let's begin with the usual check-up before we start rehab today, shall we?"
Clint didn't get another moment alone with Dr. Bamer for another month and a half.
A routine developed over the next six weeks. At 9am sharp, Colleen (usually with her nose stuck inside a folder) and one of the other doctors would come in and give him a check-up, making little marks in their notes and ticking off boxes on their clipboards. Colleen never arrived early, save for her first day back after the Natasha debacle, and she was never alone. Dr. Mattock and Dr. Blanc seemed to have taken it upon themselves to protect their protégé, always keeping an eye on her when she was with Clint. The three of them ate lunch together around noon. They then walked together to grab a drink before they went to their respective apartments at the end of day, usually around 5pm. He got a break from rehab on weekends, but the three doctors were always in the research facilities, running experiments on the brain matter they cut out of his head. Anyways, Fury had him analyzing terrorist movements on the weekends (with a babysitter checking his work, of course, to make sure he didn't fuck up and send agents to Anguilla instead of Angola, or vice versa) to "keep his brain from turning to mush".
It was driving Clint crazy (not the missing parts of his brain; he actually felt fine about that; better every day!). He went up to the roof at night when he couldn't sleep, or when he woke early, in the hopes of catching her alone again, maybe trying to ease some of the tension between them. Help her feel more relaxed working with SHIELD. Even apologize, as he stupidly forgot to do the two times they'd been alone. He thought about following her until she was alone, and trying to catch her off guard. But that probably wouldn't go over well with her. She was paranoid and suspicious enough without him stalking her.
And then, his six weeks of rehab were over, and he was deemed fit to return to work, with check-ups once a week for the next eight months. His doctors had thoughtfully brought in a small, homemade cake ("I made it in my easy-bake oven. Pretty much the only thing I know how to cook with," Colleen said) to celebrate his recovery from "alien possession" as they called it. Each shook his hand in congratulations. Over the weeks, the doctors had gotten much more relaxed with him, though not to the point they were at before his surgeries. It was understandable, after what happened. They were polite enough to Natasha when she picked him up after each rehab session, respectful to Fury when he checked in, and slightly amused with Tony; the only person they seemed to really warm up to Steve Rogers. 'Well, kudos to him.' Stupid Captain America…
Perhaps the most interesting piece of information he received that night was when Steve (the only Avenger currently around—Tony was at his Brazilian Stark Tech manufacturing plant, Bruce was back in India, and Natasha was on a mission) stopped by his apartment with a six pack of beer (Budweiser—an American brand, of course) and his sketchbook. He'd thoughtfully begun illustrating (from memory, of course) scenes from many of the missions Clint had missed out on. There were drawings of masked bad guys, handguns, Ironman, and even and entire fight scene that was complete with 'POW's and 'WHAM's.
Other drawings were of everyday life. The New York skyline. A hot dog vendor. The hallway of apartments he lived in, on the other side of the tower from Clint's apartment, drawn so neatly and detailed that Clint could see the sheen of the metal doorknobs and nametags, and even make out a tiny, cursive etching of "Colleen Bamer" on the door across from Steve's…
This was his golden ticket! This wasn't weird, or creepy. He could just happen to be leaving Steve's apartment and he could happen to run into her. 'Oh, hey! Fancy seeing you here!'
Clint snorted. Fancy seeing you here? What was he, a forty year old, British housewife? Who said 'fancy'? Of course, he could always meet up with her the way he normally met up with people who didn't want him to find them: hide in the airduct leading to her apartment, with a bow and arrow, wait for her to get home, and shoot her through the neck. Yeah, that'd go over really well.
Sighing, Clint ran his hand through his short hair, absently thanking god that he was no longer bald. The look really didn't suit him—his head was lumpy.
Instead of all the stealth, Clint settled for the most heartfelt, direct way he could think up to meet her. With a slight buzz from the beers he and Steve shared, he went to the closest grocery store and bought the necessary tools for Mission: Catch Bamer Alone. No, wait, that sounded way too creepy. It was about as menacing as Mission: Murder Bamer. He couldn't imagine what anyone would say if they ever saw it written down and out of context. Alright, regroup. Mission: Meet Pretty Doctor Who Helped Save My Life. A little wordy…let's abbreviate it. Mission: MePreDoWhoHeSMyL.
Clint huffed. 'You know what, I'll work on the mission name later…'
Thirty minutes later, Clint knocked on Colleen's door, and stepped back, making sure she could see his face through the peephole. He heard her footsteps at the door, and watched her feet block the light coming from under the door. His blood pounded in his ears, and he was quite certain his hands were damp and clammy. This was ridiculous! He could take out a dozen 'bad guys' from hundreds of meters away with deadly accuracy and barely break a sweat. How could he get nervous just trying to really, truly thank someone for saving his life (and maybe see if her apartment smelled like the perfume she wore to work—stop! Creepy!)?
She still hadn't opened the door. Why hadn't she opened the door yet? She'd been standing there for at least thirty seconds, maybe a minute now. Oh god, did she not want to see him? Should he leave? It was the short hair and the lumpy head, wasn't it!?
Tony roared with laughter as Natasha smirked, and an amused-but-pretending-not-to-be Steve tried not to laugh. They were watching the security footage (live, of course) in Tony's private movie theatre on the 91st floor. This was, much, much, better than the rom-com they were about to watch when Steve (god bless him) mentioned Clint had asked him where he could purchase something called "Easy Bake cake mix". Tony immediately had Jarvis upload the security footage for Steve's hallway, and sure enough, five minutes later, Clint waltzed into the frame.
"He looks like he's about to ask a girl out to prom!" Tony cackled, throwing popcorn at the screen. "And I've never seen him so sweaty before."
The door opened and Colleen poked her (oh so lovely) copper haired head into the hallway. "Agent Barton. I didn't get a page from the medical ward, is something wrong?" 'And why are you so sweaty?'
Clint swallowed nervously, 'Budweiser beer. Lend me your strength.'
"Please, call me Clint."
Clint took a deep breath and held out a bottle of champagne and cake mix. Inwardly, he sighed as he saw the lense of a tiny camera poke itself forward, probably magnifying his incredibly sweaty face for whoever was watching this right now. Probably Tony. He'd kill Tony.
"A celebration isn't a celebration without a little champagne. And you obviously couldn't drink on the job today, so I just thought…"
His words came out in a rush, fading away at the end as he lost steam.
Colleen gently took the bottle from his hands, reading the label. She nearly snorted. The label read 'Stark Champagne'. She vaguely recalled hearing that Tony Stark had bought a vineyard in France a while back, just because having a fizzy drink named after him was on his bucket list.
Clint seemed to have read her mind, because he chuckled embarrassingly, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah, I know. It's pretty ridiculous he has his own Champagne, isn't it? Sometimes I wonder what exactly it is he's compensating for."
Steve's eyes widened at the implications, and he couldn't resist the urge to look at Tony's lap. Tony quickly responded (once he closed his mouth and the shock had passed) and slapped Steve upside the head.
"I am not compensating for anything."
Natasha smirked. "Oh, and Stark Tower is a hundred stories tall…why?"
Tony replied, unfazed. "Because the prototype arc-reactor couldn't run something bigger."
Steve frowned.
"Wait. I thought the joke was that the Tower was inversely proportional to your—"
"I know, I know." Tony cut him off, huffing in frustration. "I messed the joke up. Damnit…"
Colleen laughed, nodding her head in assent. "Yeah, who knows what he's hiding down there? Could be…nothing."
Clint grinned, glad that Tony's junk could break the ice like this. Not literally break ice, just…nevermind.
"I also brought you some more cake mix. I didn't want you to run out. And, um, a jar of nutella? For frosting?" He lifted his arm, a grocery bag dangling from his wrist with a heavy jar resting at the bottm.
"Oh, thanks. That's so thoughtful of you," Colleen replied, uncertain of his intentions. She took the box of cake mix and the bag with the nutella in it.
Clint waited a beat too long to speak, and Colleen began closing the door, murmuring 'good night'. Without thinking, he lunged forward and stuck his foot in the door, keeping it from closing, while shouting "WAIT!"
That was way too loud and way too in-her-face.
"Wait, look. I just wanted to say 'thank you' and you really didn't have to make a cake for me, or anything, so will you please let me do something nice for you, and just…get to know you?" She didn't answer. "I know you haven't really felt very comfortable or at home here after everything that happened with Tasha and everything—"
Two voices simultaneously shouted, "JARVIS! Start the movie!"
Even Ironman and Captain America had a sense of self-preservation when it came to the Black Widow.
The security tapes cut off, and the intro credits to 'When Harry Met Sally' began to play.
"—I just…I just want to do something nice for you."
Damnit, when was the last time he rambled? Ages ago, when he was trying to talk to a girl at the carnival, while working at the ring toss stand.
Clint gave the most reassuring smile he could muster. "C'mon, doc."
Colleen hesitantly opened the door a little wider. "You sure your girlfriend won't mind?"
Clint laughed, relieved that this seemed to be her main reason for keeping him in the hallway. "What, Tasha? No, she's not my girlfriend." He was about to say she was like family to him, but checked himself. Even if he was more of a behind-the-scenes kind of spy (little direct contact with the enemy, mostly killing and watching from afar), he knew better than to go around shouting about his personal relationships. People who knew how close he was with Natasha, knew it because they were around him enough to see it. They were the only ones he trusted with the information.
Colleen nodded, absently pushing her bangs out of her face. "Um, yeah. Come on in. We can pop the champagne in the kitchen, I think there are some glasses around here somewhere…"
Clint mentally high fived himself, and strode confidently into the apartment. 'Well done, Clint. Well done.'
AN: sorry it took so long for the story to pick up. I didn't realize until I re-read the entire thing recently.
