Hey guys! Sorry for the long update, but I've been working overtime every other day this week so I haven't had time to write. I'll try to get the next chapter up sooner, but I make no promises. Anyway, on to chapter nine!


Chapter Nine

Natasha's POV

SEVEN WEEKS LATER

I sigh as I sit by the window looking out into the forest that surrounds the compound where I'm currently staying. Ever since our base was moved from Avengers Tower, the new building has taken on many new occupants. Wanda, Sam, Scott, and Clint have been holed up here ever since they were released from the hospital, which wasn't that long ago. I haven't heard from Stark since our argument in the infirmary, not that I'm complaining. Steve tries to drop by every now and then, but he's not the same man he was before the war started. Every time he sees Clint or one of the others, he heads in the opposite direction, a guilty look in his eyes. Lucky for him that doesn't happen very often: Wanda stays holed up in her room refusing to let anyone come near her, Scott is just now able to get up and move around, and Clint disappears for hours or days at a time, leaving no trace of where he went.

Sam and I are the only ones that have gotten back to some semblance of normality, even though he still walks with a slight limp. The others still haven't found a way to cope. Wanda flinches at every loud noise and won't let anyone touch her. She's stopped talking almost completely, the involuntary fear that electricity will course through her again if she does taking hold, and god forbid she's ever asked to use her powers again. Scott spends most of his time taking it easy, his gunshot wound is still healing and it's still painful for him to move around. Every once and awhile you'll catch him on a good day and you can't even tell that he's hurting, other days the pain is so terrible that he can barely move. At least he is trying to move on and get past everything that happened, Clint is a different story.

Ever since Tony helped label him a fugitive he's been extremely distant, I haven't seen him in days. The second Barton was discharged he fled to the air vents, no one will be able to find him unless he wants to be found. After the first two days of his disappearance I thought for sure that he had gone after Stark for what he did and after three days I was seconds away from sounding the alarm when he finally emerged, if only for a few hours. When he did show up, he wasn't the same. He barely spoke, barely ate, hardly even made eye contact with anyone, his usual cocky attitude was gone. That was four days ago. I haven't even caught a glimpse of the archer since then, not to say that I haven't tried. I've scoured the entire base, checked every crack, crevice, air vent, and rafter that I could find and there's still no sign of him.

I'm starting to get really worried, he's never been like this. Sure there were some pretty rough missions that sent him reeling, but it was nothing compared to what's happening now. Clint has completely shut down, and no one can try to help him because they can't find him. Today that's going to change. I just have to figure out where he is, I've looked everywhere: his room, the armory, shooting range, cafeteria, the roof, hell I've even checked the infirmary. As I struggle to come up with a location, an idea hits me. With a grunt I rise from my seat by the window and walk with a purpose towards the one place I haven't looked.

I walk for a few minutes before coming to a grate in the vents and, with the help of years of practice thanks to Clint, I haul myself up into the shaft. Before the compound had been remade into the new Avengers' headquarters, this was one of Fury's favorite secret bases, as well as Barton's. After a particularly stressful mission in Baghdad the two of us were brought here for treatment, Clint had several broken ribs and a punctured left lung while I was nursing a broken arm and dislocated shoulder, and my partner was having a hard time dealing with the casualties from the mission. The worst by far was the death of a nine year old girl after our target had thrown a grenade into a market in an attempt to draw us away, he wasn't successful. Immediately after he was taken down, Barton went back to the market to survey the damage and found the girl.

It was obvious that she wasn't going to make it, her wounds were too severe, so Clint sat down in the middle of the street and held her in his lap. She died in his arms shortly before I arrived. Needless to say he had a difficult time dealing with her death and sought a hiding place at the base to cope, which he found in a compartment between the walls. Fury had originally built it in case the base was invaded as a safe place to lay low, but it suited my partner's needs. It's roughly a 10x12 room only accessible by air vent and there's a small light hanging from the ceiling, barely casting enough light to fill the room.

I sigh as crawl along through the shaft, if Clint's taking this as bad as he did Baghdad then I've definitely got my work cut out from me. I'm only ten feet from the grate that will be my access into my friend's hiding spot and I can just barely make out the dim light that's shining from the inside, a clear indication that the room is occupied. Slowly I creep forward and pull the covering off as quiet as I can before I stick my hand through the opening. I carefully edge forward until my face is visible, trying not to startle my partner. Suddenly his voice floats through the air.

"I figured you'd show up here eventually." With that I pull myself the rest of the way through the vent and drop to the ground.

"You didn't exactly leave me any choice." He scoffs, his face turned away from me.

"You always have a choice Nat, you just don't always pick the right one." I sigh at the double meaning behind his sentence and slowly walk towards him.

"I know, I thought Stark had the right idea but I guess it was just another shot in the dark." My friend doesn't answer and I sit down across from him, still unable to see his face. As soon as I do, the stench of alcohol hits me full force and I glance around to see at least a dozen empty beer bottles lying on the ground near my partner.

"I'm sorry Clint." He shifts his position slightly, still avoiding eye contact.

"Everyone is." The total sense of hopelessness in his voice is a stark contrast to his usual upbeat attitude.

"Clint everything that's happened to you...I never would've helped Tony if I knew what he had been planning to do." The man next to me continues to stare in the other direction, almost like he's ignoring me. "Damn it Barton, look at me." At first I think that he's just going to keep staring of into space but, after a few moments, he finally turns to meet my gaze. My shoulders slump at the sight of him. His face looks gaunt and hollow from the continuos days without eating and his normally clean-shaven face is covered in stubble. My partner's eyes have a dead quality to them, every sense of joy and optimism has been sucked out of them, and the circles under them are so dark they look black against his pale skin. I can see the edge of a scar from where Ross burned him peeking out from underneath his baggy shirt, the same shirt that was rather form-fitting before all of this. I shake my head in sorrow.

"Clint, what have you done to yourself?" He shrugs, the half full beer bottle in his hand sloshing around noisily.

"I'm coping." There's obvious sarcasm in his tone as he looks at me through half-lidded eyes. I take in his haggard appearance and frown.

"Clint, you have to stop all of this." I motion around the room. "The drinking, refusing to eat, staying locked up in here for days at a time. You're killing yourself."

"So?" I stare at him for a moment in stunned silence, there's no way I heard that right. After a few seconds I realize that my partner was being serious.

"So?" I spit the single word out, disgusted that he would even utter it. "So?! Do you even hear yourself?"

"Loud and clear." Clint turns away from me. "Why does it matter? I mean, I haven't got that much left to live for anyway. My wife, my kids, they're gone. The most important people in my life will never get to see me again. I won't be there for Nathaniel's third birthday, I won't be there to watch Lila and Cooper grow up, I won't be there for mine and Laura's anniversary, I won't get to be there for my family ever again." I sigh and place my hand on his knee.

"Clint, we'll find a way for you to see them again. I promise." He glance over at me.

"How?" I want to answer him, I wish I had some sort of solution that could ease his pain, but I don't. I don't see a way around this, yet.

"That's what I thought." My partner goes to bring the beer bottle to his lips and I reach out, snatching the offending liquid away from him, his reflexes are dulled by the alcohol so it's much easier than it should've been.

"Stop that." My friend rolls his eyes.

"Why? It's not like you're going to need me sober anytime soon, I can't exactly go anywhere." Now it's my turn to roll my eyes.

"Because eventually this stuff is going to kill you and, despite what you think, I think it would be a good thing if you stayed alive." Clint leans back against the wall and crosses his arms, avoiding eye contact with me. I let out an exasperated sigh and run a hand through my red hair, unsure of what to do next.

We sit in the room in silence for at least ten minutes before, finally, he speaks.

"It helps me forget." He says motioning to the half full bottle in my hand. I glance down and shake my head.

"Some things aren't meant to be forgotten."


Well that's it for chapter nine! I hope you enjoyed it, sorry that it's a little short. Thanks for reading. Reviews are welcome and appreciated.