A/N: 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris.
Thanks,
~Sandy
Avengers
From Time to Time
Chapter 9
Once he'd gotten over the shock, Clint grinned at Alston. "If anyone had told me you'd become a cop, I'd've laughed in their face."
"Yeah. I can hardly believe it myself sometimes. Back at NY Central, football was the only road out I saw for myself. But this, being a part of something greater than my narrow little view of the world, that was the missing piece."
"I'm glad it worked out for you." Clint fingered the sore spot on his cheek. The woman who'd hit him had been wearing a ring that left a scrape. She also had a decent right hook. He'd have a bruise come morning. "What office you working out of?"
"D.C. You?"
Clint turned toward the window with a shrug. "SHIELD has a mobile office, docked at Quantico."
"How long you been with SHIELD?"
"Since before we met. I was recruited and trained by a guy name Phil Coulson."
That set Alston back a bit. "Your cousin? Ah, he was your handler. You know, back in college, I knew there was something not quite kosher about you. At the time, I thought it was just that you were older than the rest of the students. But that wasn't it." Alston craned his neck to watch several state police vehicles cruise away from the bar at a more respectable speed. "I graduated with a bachelor's in criminal justice, became a beat cop then joined the FBI. Been with 'em ever since. Got married a few years ago."
"Really?"
The FBI agent laughed. "Got a couple of kids, too. Don't have photos with me of course. You should come for a visit."
"Looking forward to it." Now that Alston had shared, he obviously expected Clint to do the same, and if he didn't, the other man would probably ask. "No."
"No, what?"
Twisting around to look at Alston caused the seatbelt to pull against Clint's sore shoulder. "No. I'm not married, engaged, living with or seeing anyone, and no kids."
"I thought you and what's her name would've gotten married." Snapping his fingers, Alston looked to Clint for help with recall.
"Naomi."
He must've seen something in Clint's expression that told him what he wanted to know. "Yeah. How long you here for?"
"Leaving tomorrow night."
"Monday or Tuesday for me. Meet the locals, get them to trust me. I'll be in and out of town for the next couple of months so they get used to seeing me around. See if I can get info on the compound without rousing suspicion. We lost some of our best agents by putting a man inside, so we're taking this op slow." Clint debated with himself if he could tell Alston about his own experience and decided against it. Turned out not to be necessary. "I heard about a guy who made it out alive, but just barely. After that, nothing. Wonder whatever happened to him."
Clint had hoped not to have to talk about that abortive first incursion, but he found himself talking about it anyway. To appease Alston curiosity, if nothing else. "He recovered from his ordeal and is still with the department. Some memory loss, but doing okay." A small amount of light reached the dark corner where they'd parked, but it was enough for Clint to see when Alston worked it out.
The agent pointed a finger at him almost accusingly. "That was you?! And obviously why you left so abruptly. Man! If you had any idea how many off-duty man hours I spent trying to track you down, and now I find out you're an old college pal."
Now Clint chuckled. "We weren't exactly friends."
Alston rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, well that was my fault. I know it's a little late, but I really am sorry for all the stupid things I did back then."
"No big deal. The director wants to take it slow this time. When I got caught nosing around last time, I had to come up with a cover that didn't hold up to close scrutiny. It was my own fault. I underestimated the level of distrust and suspicion within the organization."
"How'd they make you as an agent?"
Again Clint shifted in his seat, hanging his left arm over the back of the seat. "Don't know."
"You don't know?"
"The memory loss covers the time I was their guest as well as some events leading up to it. I remember being on the mission, but not that I volunteered. I remember the night before I left, driving to the airstrip and getting on the plane, but not the landing, traveling to the compound or where it was located."
Starting the truck, Alston pulled out into the street, turning in the direction of the hotel. "And by guest you mean prisoner."
"I'd been gone for just over a month when I was found in a hospital in Santa Fe and brought back to the helicarrier. They had no idea how I got to New Mexico because the compound had been somewhere in Georgia. I was in a coma for two weeks. The docs said that some of the injuries were sustained when I fell or was pushed out of a helicopter. I spent months in physical therapy."
"Sorry to hear that. You staying at the Independence?"
Clint nodded. "You?"
"Yeah. Must be the only place in town. Could be worse, though I do miss room service."
Now that he'd been talking about his past experience with the Consortium, Clint was getting a headache again. The ones he got from trying to remember were different from any other because these started over his left eye, making him wonder if most of the brain damage he'd sustained had been to that area. Pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead, he took deep breaths hoping to relieve the pain and dizziness without having to take medication. The only thing that helped was the Ambien because it knocked him out, but he couldn't chance being anything less than one hundred percent. If he were off his game, he could get himself, and Alston, killed. "It's best if we aren't seen together, especially after that brawl, so let me out here and I'll walk the rest of the way."
Alston glanced over at him with concern. "You sure? 'Cause you don't look so good."
"I'm fine. It's just…whenever I try to remember that time, I get headaches." As bad as his head hurt, he flashed a smile at Alston as the truck came to a stop. Opening the door, Clint tried to assure Alston that he would be okay. "I'll take something when I get to my room."
"Okay. See ya."
Clint slammed the door and the truck pulled away as he jogged to the opposite side of the street. Instead of heading immediately for the hotel, he leaned one hand on the side of the building and rubbed the back of his neck, the pain so bad he wasn't certain how he would get through this op without having a stroke.
When the pain eased enough that the dizziness let up, Clint continued on to the hotel, avoiding the elevator and taking the stairs to the third floor. He pulled off his jacket with a groan, tossing it on the dresser on his way into the bathroom. Stripping out of his clothes, he turned on the shower and stepped under the water letting it hit him on the back of the neck and his upper back. Leaning on the wall of the tiny enclosure, he groaned as bits and pieces of memories flashed through his mind. No, not flashes. Bright lights being shone in his eyes so that the people around him stayed in shadow. Shapes that moved, merging and separating.
And voices. Male. Female. Another male. The names Tiny and George blinked above two of the silhouettes, though the third stayed anonymous. Something about that third voice was almost but not quite familiar, as if he were hearing it through the walls.
More images came rushing toward him faster and faster until they were a blur. Colored streaks that moved past him as if he were quickly approaching the speed of light until one lone face came flying toward him. He thought it was going to stop, to let him see who it was, but it kept going passing through him as if he didn't exist making him feel cold inside.
A blast of cold water brought Clint out of his vision, trance, hallucination, whatever. He shut off the stream, grabbing the small hand towel and pressing it to his face then pushing it over his head and through his hair. The bigger, not by much, towel he wrapped around his waist as he stepped out onto the bath mat. Clint used another small towel to vigorously dry his hair noting that his headache was gone, though a small amount of the dizziness still remained. And as much as he wanted to just fall into a dreamless sleep tonight, he knew he couldn't take the Ambien again ever. Naomi had been right to call him on his use of the sleep aid. Though he wasn't addicted by any means, he had to deal with his issues without the use of drugs, so going forward, he'd only take Tylenol or ibuprofen for pain and nothing else unless prescribed by a doctor.
Isolda wouldn't miss the little bit of business he occasionally pushed in her direction as a part of his cover, but he had to make a clean break from any temptation.
Pulling on pajamas, he dropped to the floor and did a quick fifty pushups. Enough to tire him a little but not enough to get him all sweaty. The physical activity helped dispel the last of the strange images that had come to him in the shower and he actually felt like he'd sleep without having another nightmare. At least he hoped so because he didn't want to end up in this small town's version of a psych ward.
Clint's head hit the pillow and he lay on his back staring at the ceiling. His room faced the street and every now and then he would hear a car or truck drive past and found himself listening for the city noises or the thrum of the helicarrier's engines.
Not able to go to sleep, he thought he'd try something that had worked for him before. He reached back and pulled out a memory, a good one, and watched it unfold as if he were at a movie. And by the time he finished, he was sound asleep.
~~O~~
It was late Sunday afternoon when Hill came into Naomi's office. The agent had asked for an a few minutes of her time, and because she wasn't due for her annual evaluation, Naomi assumed she had an issue to discuss that wouldn't take long. And she did. Just not the one that Naomi thought it would be.
The senior agent had insisted that they move to the sitting area making it seem like they were just two friends having a chat. But now all Naomi could do was stare at Hill with her mouth open. "Say that again, please, Maria. I want to make sure I heard you correctly." While she waited for a response, Naomi took a sip of the tea she'd served.
"Dr. McNeil has assigned Dr. Hoffman to take over as Agent Barton's therapist beginning immediately." To soften the blow, Hill had come in her off-duty wear of khakis and a T-shirt.
"This was at Agent Barton's request."
Hill nodded and sipped her tea. "He made the request directly to Director Fury, and the director asked me to take care of it." Setting the cup aside, Hill crossed her knees and leaned forward. The two women had begun a tentative friendship since Naomi had come aboard, but it was still new enough that they hadn't found their footing just yet. "Agent Barton has a habit of just barreling over any obstacles that he can't find a way around. But don't take it personally. He does it to everyone sooner or later."
Her expression carefully neutral, the psychologist asked, "Did he say why?"
Now Hill smiled shrewdly. "Do you really not know?"
"Pardon?"
With an impish grin, Hill picked up her cup and took another sip of tea before responding. "That man is crazy about you. Stop pretending you don't feel the same way. Everyone on the ship knows. There's even a pool going as to when you finally…"
"Maria!" At this moment, Hill reminded Naomi how much she missed Serene and her family, and made a mental note to give her best friend a call before the end of the day. "You started it, didn't you?"
The dark-haired woman grinned over her cup as the wisps of steam drifted past her dark eyes. "It's a hobby. So any inside info you can give me?"
"Yes. Clint and I don't have that relationship anymore. We…"
Hill grinned in triumph. "So I was right! You were an item at one time. Kripke will flip! Looks like I'm the winner in that pool."
"Um…" Naomi was at a loss for words at the revelation that the crew had been betting on when she and Clint would give into their desires. But that wasn't what had made her angry. It was the fact that Clint had gone over her head when she'd specifically told him not to. "Okay. But you might want to give the crew back their money for that other thing, because it's not going to happen any time soon." Especially not after this stunt. She could tell Hill heard the anger behind the words though she'd tried to keep them light.
"I'll keep it going just the same." A beep from her computer alerted Naomi to an email. "Excuse me." She went to her desk and found an email from Clint. In it he said that he would be returning to Quantico the next evening and wanted to have dinner. A sigh escaped before she could stop it and Hill was right there. "Something wrong?"
"No. It's just that Clint-Agent Barton wants to have dinner when he returns. I'm just not sure…"
"What are you doing right now?"
The question came so fast on the heels of her news that at first Naomi didn't realize that Hill had changed the subject. "Reports, case notes, working on an article on PTSD, another on how the agents cope with stress…"
"It can wait. We're having a girl's day out. Manicures, pedicures, lunch, shopping. I'll change and be right back." At the door, she turned. "If anyone asks, we're going to a monster truck rally or a mixed martial arts tournament. And if you tell Barton about this, you will die."
"Okay." And with that, Hill was gone.
A few minutes ago, Naomi was angry, but that gave way to frustration and intense annoyance due to the blatant circumvention of her authority by Clint, Hill and her father. She knew Clint wanted another therapist and he deliberately went against her wishes to make his request. But the truth was Clint didn't need her permission. All he needed was the desire to do so. And he obviously did or he wouldn't have gone over her head.
Now that her anger was mostly gone, and to be fair, unwarranted, Naomi wanted to talk to Clint, to give him the pendant and other personal items she'd kept all these years. She also knew he would ask why she'd kept them. And the answer was simple. They were important to him which made them important to her.
If this dinner with Clint was a date, shouldn't he have made the request in person? However, if this was just a friendly dinner, email was fine. She sent a response that was agreeable without being overly eager. He answered that he would be back on the ship in the next hour or so.
The anticipation made her breathless though she wasn't sure why. What were Clint's expectations regarding their relationship? What were hers? Or was she overthinking? They'd fallen so quickly the first time, maybe they should just enjoy being friends for a while.
Naomi was allowed to wallow for very long because Hill returned and the two of them took one of the military Hummers from the motor pool. Within minutes, they were sipping a very cheeky bottle of wine at a spa in town, and though nothing of note happened, Naomi couldn't help remembering when she'd been kidnapped by Gary Decker.
They were in adjoining mud baths when Naomi made a decision. "Maria, I have a favor to ask."
"Shoot."
"My workouts tend to be pretty boring. Running, dancing, things like that."
Hill smiled and it could be heard in her voice. "And you'd like to try something different. What did you have in mind?"
"Martial arts. Sparring. Something along those lines. I've taken some self-defense, but that was a while ago. I need more than what I have."
Setting her glass of wine aside, Hill closed her eyes. "0800 in the gym."
"I'll be there." With a sigh, Naomi closed her eyes again and finally began to relax as the mixed thoughts of Clint faded from her mind.
~~O~~
This little trip to Satisfaction was Alston's third in as many months. It had been decided that this time the op would go slow and he would ease his way into being trusted by the locals. Without giving anything away, he indicated that he was dissatisfied with his marriage and was thinking of moving to town if there were jobs available. To that end, he put a few feelers out to test the waters, maybe get the Consortium to make a job offer rather than seek them out. His plans were to turn them down a few times before agreeing.
On his way out of town, he made his scheduled check-in. "Hi honey…yea, on my way now…your sister is expecting me in about two hours…of course…I was just calling to tell you that I ran into your cousin, Dewey Gaynor…Here in Satisfaction…yeah, that was weird, small town like this…I'll see you soon…love you and the kids."
His check-in done, Alston thought about what Barton had told him. That he was the only agent to survive an encounter with the Consortium. The physical and emotional trauma must've been excruciating. Not to mention the rehabilitation. From what Clint hadn't said, Naomi hadn't been with him through that process and he wondered why. Why would she walk away from a man she obviously cared about just when he needed her the most? From the few times they'd actually spoken and the way she looked at Clint, he could tell that she loved him. And that was the most puzzling thing of all, right up there with what he was doing on this op now. Unless SHIELD knew something the FBI didn't, such as the members who'd been there twelve years ago had been replaced. But Alston couldn't ask that question until he was far enough away from Satisfaction that he could report in.
It was dark on this long stretch of highway that wound its way through the mountains, but he didn't think much about it until another driver got too close.
"Hey, back off, jerk!"
The other driver was either in a really big hurry or… Alston wasn't allowed to complete that thought because the other vehicle rammed the back of his truck.
"What the hell!"
It rammed him again then a third time almost causing him to lose control. While they backed off to make another run, he dug out his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. However, the next ram knocked it from his hand. It fell onto the floorboard of the passenger side where he couldn't reach it. Now all he could do was concentrate on keeping his own vehicle on the road until he could get away.
At the turnaround, he made a sharp left turn and barrelled back toward town with the other vehicle, a truck with a winch on the front but couldn't catch the make and model. The hemi engine roared as he took another run at him. He saw it coming so he made another sharp turn hoping it would miss. The other truck hit a glancing blow on the back driver's side tailgate spinning him around. He went down a hillside, crashing through underbrush and over logs until he landed in a small stream.
Pulling down one of the shotguns mounted in the back window, Alston loaded it, shoved additional rounds into his pockets and waited. When the other truck came to a stop and he heard footsteps crunch on the gravel along the steam, he kicked the door open and made a diving leap, coming up on one knee with the shotgun already blasting away.
He took out the passenger side mirror and cracked the safety glass of the windshield. Seeing no further movement, he got to his feet aiming his weapon into the darkness with his hearing stretched to its limits. The trouble was sounds could be distorted when out in the open.
Alston heard the pffft of an air-powered weapon a millisecond before he felt the sting of a tranquillizer dart in the side of his neck. He reached up to pull it out, but his consciousness switched off and he fell to the ground narrowly missing hitting his head on a rock.
When they were certain their quarry was unable to offer any further resistance, two men came to stand over him, unpleasant grins on their faces.
~~O~~
After activating the chime at Naomi's office door, Clint waited to be admitted. He'd sent an email asking for an appointment, their last one before Hoffman took over, and she'd responded that she was free immediately. The door opened and he stepped inside, going to the sitting area without hesitation to wait for her to join him.
"You went over my head to change therapists, Clint. Why are you here now?"
He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "One last hurrah?"
"It's not necessary, but if you insist." She picked up her pen and pad, the annoyed expression not going completely away. "How did your mission go?"
Behind the casually asked question, Clint heard the distress Naomi must've felt. This was the exact same mission he'd gone on just before his life-and hers-had gone to hell. Everything he'd done since then had only been getting by, marking time until they could find each other again. And now that they had, he didn't want to mess it up. He wanted to take things slow. Let them really know each other before taking that next step. But could he keep it up? Keep things casual? He wasn't sure, but he was determined to try.
"About how I expected." Naomi didn't have to know right this minute he'd run into Alston, that the prick from college was now an undercover FBI agent and that they'd both been on the same mission at the same time. He made a mental note to tell her later. "It was just a recon. Gathering intel."
"But that sort of operation, by its very nature, requires you to be up close and personal with others."
He shrugged, wondering what she was getting at. "Yeah. So?"
Her pen scratched on the page as she scribbled a few notes. "You once said that you see better from a distance. What does that mean?"
"Tactical. From above, I can see all the players at once. Who's talking to whom, their body language, if they're doing something or are in a place they shouldn't be. At ground level, you can't see it, and you might miss something vital." Clint thought about Cap's order during the invasion. Barton, I want you on that roof, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays. They didn't call him Hawkeye for nothing. Clint took Naomi's hand. "Come with me."
She tried to get away, but he held on. "Oh, no! The last time you said that Tony locked us in a room together."
He grinned. "This'll be different. Promise."
TBC
