Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"
You reviewers really make my day, you really do! So special shout-out to all of you who dropped a line: CourtGranger, speedreader1999, Reading4Ever, Shanynde, Saffygirl, gryffindorgal87, GremlinX, Viviannafox, kimbee, lunarweather, Kylen, bookworm1517, CyanB, hawkeye-mockingwidow, Furionknight, tpt player 5701, YukinaKid, EeyaEeya, JRBarton, fanficchica123, CatThatRoared, jaguarspot, I Know Love Hurts 2010, books101, Kreeotha, penguincrazy, discordchick, MoiraHawk, authorunable, Reteka Hyuuga, Lollypops101, Rose, weemcg33, sweetstrawberrysmiles, ArabianForest, ConnorVolturi, Guest, Shandy777, VBreadergirl123, Hawaiichick, clovely-littleme, GenderBentHawkeye, Jena, TheNaggingCube, Shazrolane, xx-Forever Yours-xx, hbbuckeye, horselover28, KuroKuchou, VoldieBeth, coastalcajun, Dsgdiva, Mirabilem Electo, Sara, DBSKPirateKing, Hawksicle, the guttersnipe, and Harukasteacup
To authorunable: I'm really not sure how all of that works. I don't know why ffic would delete an idea suggestion like that. Sorry I can't be more help
To clovely-littlme: I can't reveal my next story until the end of this one :) that's just the way I roll. There'll be a summary of it at the end of the last chapter :D
As usual - thanks to Kylen my awesome beta. You cannot even image how amazing she is!
And here comes Chapter 10
As soon as sacrifice becomes a duty and necessity to mankind. I see no limit to the horizon which opens before him.
Ernest Renan
Part of Natasha wished the walls were soundproof, because the constant low murmur of conversation – which, of course, she could only hear the tone of – was driving her crazy. She hated not understanding what anyone in the cell next to her was saying, especially when those murmured tones had risen to muffled shouts several times. The only time she'd gotten a clear read on what was being said was when the hulking dark-skinned man that had put her in this cell had delivered something to Barton's cell. With the door open for the exchange, she'd actually been able to hear the short conversation.
The guard was delivering blood and antibiotics. Which meant the other man she'd seen go to Barton's cell with Agent Coulson had to be a doctor. Beyond that, she knew nothing more than that nobody seemed to be particularly pleased with Barton at the moment.
It was annoyingly infuriating – mostly because she shouldn't care what was going on next door. But for some reason, she'd been unreasonably curious about Barton ever since she'd given him a concussion in that alley. That unreasonable curiosity had her unduly frustrated that she couldn't hear what was going on.
On the other hand, if the walls were soundproof, she'd be trapped in absolute silence. She thought that might have been worse.
She arched an intrigued eyebrow when she saw several armed men march past her door towards Barton's.
She'd gotten the impression, when he'd been so surprised by being labeled a 'hostile force,' that Barton wasn't used to this type of treatment, wasn't used to being considered a threat amongst his own. It was a feeling she was extensively familiar with.
At least they'd granted him medical treatment. It was more than the Program would have done for her. She did feel a little bad about shooting him – now that it had become apparent that he was on the level about helping her – but it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
And she could have killed him. He'd given her all the opening she'd needed – she counted it to her credit that she hadn't. Some instinct – when she'd pulled the trigger – had her sending the bullet at his side instead of his heart.
She'd needed some control back – that had been part of it – and giving Barton a similar handicap to the one she was dealing with considering her broken ribs had seemed a good way to do that.
But it was more than that. It was like part of her had known he was there to help her before she'd ever truly realized it – or admitted it.
And maybe a tiny part of her was just a little curious – curious and a little fascinated by this blonde-haired, blue-gray eyed archer who should have killed her … and hadn't.
She was pulled from her reflection when she suddenly heard conversation – clear enough that if she focused she could make out the words. Somehow she'd missed Barton's door unlocking and opening. She found herself leaning forward, straining to get some handle on what was going on – what was happening to the man that had saved her life.
"We have orders to escort the prisoner to the Council Chambers forthwith."
Her eyebrow arched of its own accord – she didn't know what the "council chambers" were or what "council" they housed – but it sounded unreasonably foreboding.
"Only four of you? I'm a little insulted."
That was definitely Barton. Even after such a short time, she'd grown familiar with the low, intense tone he spoke in – and the sarcastic humor. There was silence for a few moments and then Barton was speaking again.
"Fine. Let's go. Wouldn't want to keep the Council waiting."
The way he spat the title told her that her instinct about this "council" was spot on. They were most definitely not good news.
"Clint, you aren't supposed to just pull those out."
"I can't exactly take them with me. I clipped them off first, Phil – jeeze."
Natasha tilted her head curiously. The way the two were talking to each other – it was different from what she'd observed so far between agent and handler. On the phone Barton had been agitated and clipped in his side of the conversation. Then at the airstrip, things had been almost unbearably tense – and it hadn't improved for the 12 hours of flight time that had followed. There'd been a hint of something more familiar between them – when they'd landed and been promptly taken into custody – but it had been buried under the weight of the situation.
Now she heard it loud and clear. These two men weren't just handler and agent. They were something deeper – friends, maybe. But that didn't seem right either. Something in their tones was too familiar – even for friends. It was how she'd heard families talk to each other.
She was given no more time to contemplate before Barton was being frog marched past her door. Part of her wanted to move to the window – to track him all the way down the hall. But she resisted the urge. She shouldn't care what happened to him. She shouldn't.
But for some reason, she did.
Because he was being treated like an enemy amongst his own people now – treated like a threat – all because of what he'd done for her. And if what she heard in Barton and Agent Coulson's tones was real – if they were like family to each other – Barton had risked losing much more than his job when he decided to let her live. When he'd looked at her and decided she was worth fighting for.
If they both came out on top of this, she wasn't sure that was a debt she'd ever be able to repay.
The walk to the Council Chambers should have annoyed Clint – should have humiliated him. He was paraded – in handcuffs – through the heart of the SHIELD base. He was openly gawked at by all the staff on duty, and there was a crowd of off-duty staff hanging out near the hallways that led to the residence halls.
But it didn't bother him.
He had been an outsider to these people since the day he arrived at SHIELD. He couldn't give two shits what any of them thought about him.
What did bother him was Wilson and Bryan waiting outside the Council Chambers, seemingly for him to arrive. Wilson he'd already seen, but sitting in a cell was a little different than being escorted by heavily armed guard in handcuffs. And Bryan – he just looked so damn confused.
Clint knew these men well – respected them. It was humiliating to have them see him like this. It was hard to force himself to meet their eyes when his little convoy rolled to a stop, but he did it anyway.
Wilson was eyeing him critically, no doubt internally ranting about the absence of the two lines he'd put in less than fifteen minutes ago that were now taped uselessly to the wall in Clint's cell.
Bryan looked like he was trying not to let his disappointment show, but was failing miserably. But the real kicker there was that Bryan looked away first – like he couldn't stand the sight of him.
Clint put his eyes on the floor.
He'd done the right thing. He'd even convinced Phil to back him up. It shouldn't matter what anyone else thought. He hadn't thought it would – until he was slapped in the face with it.
He didn't even want to think about what Fury was going to say.
"Fury's waiting inside." It was Wilson that volunteered the information. "And he said he wants you to come in alone."
"What?" Phil practically snarled.
Wilson's hands went up in a show of defense.
"Don't kill the messenger. I'm just following orders."
The way Wilson's eyes cut to Clint after he said that stung.
"It'll be fine, Phil." Clint didn't look at anyone – chose instead to focus on the door separating him from Fury. "I can handle it."
The beat of uncomfortable silence that followed told him that no one really believed that at the moment.
"Can I at least lose the cuffs?"
Marcus just stared at him.
"Seriously? I think Fury could handle me if I go postal."
Marcus continued to stare.
Clint rolled his eyes.
"Then you're gonna have to open the door. I may be flexible but even I have my limits."
Phil was the one that stepped forward, guiding Clint by the bicep to the door.
"Remember everything you just told me?" Phil asked as he pressed his hand against the palm reader on the wall. Clint didn't feel like that really needed a response. "Don't forget how much you believe it."
Then the door was open and Clint stepping inside.
The screens were dark and the room was empty of everyone except for Fury and one tech guy who was hidden behind a consol. Clint walked straight for the director, coming to a stop only when they were toe-to-toe.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other.
Fury had been mad at him before – infuriated, even – but the level of rage boiling behind his boss's eyes right now was something Clint had never seen. Part of him started to wonder if Fury was as ready to fire him as the Council undoubtedly was.
"When we're done here, you and I are going to have a conversation."
Clint was looking forward to that less than he was looking forward to talking to the Council. He hated the Council – didn't have a problem pissing them off and didn't give a flying fuck what they thought of him. But Fury was another matter. While he took personal pleasure in pushing the director's buttons – took it as a personal mission to cause the man aggravation on a semi-regular basis – he didn't dislike Fury. And more than that, he respected him fiercely.
He was not looking forward to seeing exactly how far he'd fallen in the man's regard.
Fury didn't wait for him to reply. He turned instead to the tech and nodded.
Immediately, the screens flickered to life and one by one faces started to appear.
"You're dismissed." Fury didn't look at the tech, but the man seemed to know he was the one being asked to leave. He scurried out quickly just as the final screen came to life.
Clint swallowed, squared his shoulders, and faced the screens.
"Agent Barton."
The man looked unreasonably pleased about the whole situation. The quasi-leader of the Council was one of Clint's least favorite people in the world and he wanted nothing more than to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off the man's face.
"You've been charged dereliction of duty. If we were an official branch of the military then –"
"But we're not, are we – an official branch of the military."
The room went absolutely silent at his interruption. Clint wasn't sure why, but just that opening statement had him fuming. These people didn't have the first clue about what it meant to sweat and bleed for something other than their own selfish purposes, and they wanted to judge him for making a snap decision in an intense, in-the-field moment – a situation they only knew about from a file.
Phil was right. He needed to step up and finish what he'd started.
"So let's stop pretending you have any idea what 'duty' really is and get to the point."
Even Fury was staring at him, expression unreadable.
"Fine. Do you care to explain to the Council why you refused a direct kill order?"
"I made a call in the field." Clint arched an eyebrow. "It's not the first time."
"You didn't have the authority to make that call."
"That's bullshit." The room fell to shocked silence again even as Clint forged on. "I'm the one pulling the trigger. When I'm in the field, it is my call."
"We're the ones that pull the trigger, Agent Barton. We're the ones that aim the goddamned gun. You're just the bullet. Your job is to hit what we aim you at."
Something in Clint snapped. He wasn't just a bullet in a gun – not anymore. He was a goddamned human being with every right to make his own decisions, especially when it came to taking someone's life.
"My job is to act in the best interest of SHIELD and all the countries it protects." He set his tone on a razor's edge and felt Fury's eyes settle on him again. "I did my job – did you?"
The silence that followed was so charged that Clint was sure every person tuned in could feel it.
"I don't know what the hell you think you're implying…"
Clint would gladly clear that up. He was on a roll now, no use tapping the brakes.
"The Council didn't consider bringing her in as an asset before issuing the kill order. Why?"
"The decision of the Council are not yours to question."
"But they are mine." Fury's tone was hard enough to cut stone. "Romanoff has a skill set unparalleled by anyone in our organization, even Agent Barton. An attempt to bring her in as an asset should have been our first move. Instead, you issued the kill order. Why?"
"Natasha Romanoff is a violent and dangerous murderer –"
"And what are we?" Fury scoffed. "Altar boys? We're all violent and dangerous. The only difference between us and Romanoff is point of view."
Clint couldn't help but mentally cheer Fury on.
"Director Fury, we are not here to discuss the methods of the Council. We're here to decide Agent Barton's fate."
"Yeah – about that." Fury shifted so he was a step in front of Clint. "Agent Barton is under my command. And correct me if I'm wrong," the level of condescension that bled into Fury's tone had Clint resisting the urge to smirk, "but it is beyond the Council's authority to assign disciplinary action to an individual agent."
The man on the screen practically had smoke coming out of his ears.
"Unless that disciplinary action involves him being terminated from SHIELD – and that which would subsequently follow."
They were talking about putting him on the priority threat list – deporting him. Clint watched Fury straighten – squaring his shoulders. Instinctively, Clint did the same.
"Which it won't."
Holy shit. Fury was protecting him. Clint couldn't help but stare at the director's back in shock.
"Excuse me? What authority…"
"The last time I checked, I was the director of this whole goddamned organization. And I will not lose my best agent because the Council had its head so far up its ass that my agent had to do its job and his."
"Director Fury, the Council has every right to terminate an agent on the basis of dereliction of duty."
"Which this isn't. As far as I can see it, Agent Barton saw an opportunity – an opportunity the Council should have seen. And he seized it. He did exactly what he was trained to do."
"Director…"
"Thank you for your time, but I think the situation has been resolved."
"There's still the matter of Agent Barto…"
"Any matter concerning Agent Barton is no longer the concern of the Council. He'll be dealt with as I see fit."
Fury turned, stepped to the console and pressed a button. The screens went abruptly black.
Clint just stared open mouthed at where the faces had been just a moment ago. Fury was already moving to the door. He yanked it open and strode out.
"Escort Agent Barton back to his cell. I'll call for him when I've decided what to do with him."
As the four guards moved into the room to do as instructed – Clint could only follow in stunned shock. Phil was hovering just outside the door – his eyes worried. His gaze asked without words if everything was okay.
Clint could only nod.
"I'll meet you in your cell in a few minutes."
He nodded dumbly again and watched Phil take off in pursuit of the black trench coat disappearing around the corner.
What the hell had just happened?
Phil rounded the corner and pulled to a stop. Fury was standing with his hands braced against the railing that ran along the open hallway in front of his office. He was looking over the heart of the SHIELD command center with his face set in a deep scowl.
Phil took a breath and moved to stand next to him. For a moment they just looked out over the hum of activity below them. Abruptly all conversations stopped and all eyes turned to watch Clint be escorted through the command center.
"The Council isn't coming after him, Phil."
Phil released a relieved breath.
"Thank you."
Fury turned to give him a dry look with his one good eye.
"I didn't do it for you – and I didn't do it for Barton. I did it because he's a goddamned fine operative and we've invested too damn much to feed him to the wolves over one mistake."
"Mistake." Phil didn't know why that word suddenly didn't seem right – didn't fit what had happened. Fury turned fully, facing Phil and crossing his arms over his chest.
"That is what this cluster-fuck of a situation is – Barton's mistake that we are now tasked with cleaning up."
"But Romanoff would make a good asset – you can't deny that."
"Sure – if she can be trained. If this isn't just a trick to infiltrate our organization. If she's not preparing to go on a killing spree from the holding cells out – which we both know she's more than capable of."
Phil rubbed a hand across his face.
"Clint is smarter than that."
"Yeah, I thought so, too."
Phil couldn't let that slight stand.
"He's too sharp to get manipulated like that. You know that just as well as I do."
Fury sighed and made a wry face.
"He always has been too perceptive for his own good."
Phil couldn't help but let his lips quirk in agreement.
For a moment they were both silent. When Fury continued his tone was harder.
"Barton has always pushed the envelope, Phil. He's always stuck his toes across the line just for shits and giggles. But this time he went too far – and the only reason I'm not letting the Council kick him to the curb is that it would be a damn fine waste of talent."
"Understood."
"But make no mistake – he will answer to me for this little incident. And while my shit list may be long, Barton has clawed his way right to the top. I want him in my office in ten minutes."
Phil nodded. He didn't really expect any different. Better for Clint to answer to Fury – a man who actually cared one way or another about him – than to the Council. But he needed Fury to understand – at least a little – about why Clint had made this choice.
Fury had just turned away when Phil's called him back.
"Sir."
Fury turned, arching an eyebrow expectantly.
"I know he didn't do this right. I know he deserves whatever you've decided he has coming."
"But?" Fury sighed.
"But Clint doesn't do anything without a reason. We know that better than anyone."
Fury rolled his eye. Phil knew they'd both had to deal with Clint's odd moral demands a time or two.
"We gave him a hell of enough reasons to kill her, Phil."
Phil nodded.
"And whatever reasons he had for saying no had to have outweighed what we know about the situation, sir. He wouldn't have done this – risked everything – if he didn't know it was the right call."
Fury nodded slowly – contemplatively.
"And what about you, Phil? Do you think it was the right call?"
Did he? He wasn't sure yet. Would he back Clint anyway? Definitely. Clint deserved at least that much from him.
"I think that we won't really know the answer to that until she goes into training."
Fury inclined his head.
"I just want you to remember, when you talk to him, that he had his reasons – whether we understand and agree with them or not."
"I get that, Phil. But I can't have my operatives just saying 'no' whenever the mood strikes them in the field. I can't let him get away with it just because it's Barton."
"I know. And I know that doesn't excuse the way he went about it – believe me."
"Then you also know I can't just give him a slap on the wrist. He's looking at real disciplinary action."
Phil nodded.
"He's looking at shit assignments for the foreseeable future, restricted clearance – he's gonna earn his way back into my good graces."
Phil's lips quirked.
"Good graces? Clint?"
Fury smirked.
"I guess that is aiming a little high." The smirk fell away. "I want him in my office in ten – and then I want him off my base. I don't care where you send him. Just get him out of here until this blows over and I feel less like killing him myself."
Phil nodded. He could relate to that level of frustration. He still felt his blood boil when he thought of how Clint had chosen to go about this. There had been a better way – there had to have been a better way.
"I can put him on the Uzbekistan assignment – it's a Level 1 and it's about time it came through the rotation."
Fury nodded.
"Dan might not let him go." Phil felt he had to at least bring that to Fury's attention.
Fury's eyebrow quirked.
"I'll handle Wilson. Get the assignment details and have Barton sent up."
Phil nodded and Fury turned away.
They'd come out on top of this – somehow. Clint was safe. Romanoff was…here. And all that was left was starting to rebuild the trust Clint had destroyed. And if Level 1 assignments were the way to do that, then that's what Clint would do.
Clint stared at Fury's door and waited. He'd already knocked. The Director was sweating him out now – testing his patience.
But Fury and Clint had both learned long ago – that patience was something Clint came by easily. And he would find a way to pass the time if given the means.
Two years and 4 months ago…
Clint chewed the inside of his lip as he waited. He rocked back on his heels, rolled his eyes up and around, before finally blowing out a breath. The abrupt sound of laughter had him turning and looking over the railing down at the command center.
A group of recruits were being led through on a tour of some sort. He remembered getting a similar tour when he was recruited. A sudden smirk lit his face and he reached into his back pocket. Phil had been forcing him to take notes during their tactical training session this morning.
Clint had spent the time drawing elaborate stick figures battling out scenes from The Lord of the Rings.
In moments, he could have a handful of tiny paper balls to use as ammunition. He was too exposed on Fury's railed hallway so he scanned the immediate area for a better vantage point. His eyes settled on the interconnecting catwalks and his lips curved into a grin.
If Fury wanted to make him wait, Clint would make good use of the time.
Getting onto the rarely-used catwalks without being spotted was laughably easy. Getting a clean line of fire at the group of recruits was even easier. To make things even better, a wave of inspired genius had struck him as he had made the stealthy trek up to his perch.
Inspired by nothing more than an abandoned fast-food soda cup. Or at least Clint assumed it was abandoned – nobody had been drinking out of it when he stole the straw.
He tore off a bit of paper and crumpled it into a tiny ball and then popped it in his mouth. He brought the straw to his lips and aimed carefully.
The first spitball hit a recruit right on one of the lenses of his glasses.
After that, Clint fell into rapid fire mode.
The first hail of paper ammunition drew confused shouts of surprise. The second wave had people raising clip boards over their heads and ducking under desks. The third had recruits scattering away from their training officer like scared cats.
By the time he ran out of paper, people were shouting below him, and Clint was sprawled on his back on the catwalk laughing hysterically. He wanted so badly to shout that it was only paper. But he didn't think he had the breath.
"What the hell is going on here?"
Clint leaned over the edge of the catwalk and saw Fury looking over his railing. He watched the director process the scene below him and then look unerringly up at the catwalks.
"BARTON!"
Clint couldn't help it – he rolled back onto his back and started laughing again. He'd bet all the money in his offshore bank account that Fury wouldn't ever make him wait again.
Present
Clint blinked when the sharp call to 'enter' finally came. He reached for the door handle – finally and mercifully freed of the handcuffs and his armed escort. Phil had arrived in the holding area not long after Clint had been returned to it. He'd had Clint freed in less than two minutes with fast talking and a threat to call Fury.
Clint had then been promptly ordered to Fury's office – where he'd proceeded to stand and wait for nearly ten minutes. It was a test – he was sure – to see if he would dare step out of line while already in such deep shit.
He hadn't.
Fury was standing with his hands linked behind his back – looking out of his large window when Clint came in. Clint came to the center of the room and waited, hands folded behind him and legs spread slightly – the closest to parade rest he got these days.
Most days, Clint took pleasure in riling Fury up. But most days, the director hadn't just pulled his ass out of the fire. Most days, Clint hadn't just done something that equivocated to telling SHIELD to 'go fuck itself'.
Today wasn't most days – and Clint didn't dare push the director an inch farther than he already had.
So he waited and soon enough Fury was ready to start talking. He didn't turn away from the window – didn't acknowledge Clint with anything more than his words.
"I wonder if you remember," Fury shifted his head to look up at the sky outside and sighed, "the day we met."
Clint wasn't prepared for a trip down memory lane. For a moment he stood stock still – just staring at the director's back – wondering if he was actually supposed to respond.
"I knew from day damn one that you were gonna be trouble."
Clint couldn't help the wry quirk that twitched his eyebrow. Trouble had followed him for as long as he could remember. It was no surprise that people around him had perceived that.
"But then Phil got a hold of you, and I thought just maybe…" Fury sighed in what Clint considered a very melodramatic manner, "we'd make a SHIELD agent out of you anyway."
Clint stiffened. He was a SHIELD agent – the best one this damn organization had ever seen. To have Fury even imply differently burned hot. His mouth was moving before he could stop it.
"I'm no less a SHIELD agent than you, or Phil, or anybody else in this organization. Because I can damn well guarantee nobody out there," he gestured at Fury's office door, "has given half of what I have to this place."
Fury turned then and pinned Clint with a glare so heated that his back stiffened automatically. He wouldn't back down – not even to Fury – he never had.
"Being a SHIELD agent is about more than just giving your blood to the cause. It's about being part of something – about understanding that you're part of a bigger picture. Do you think what you do is more important than the techs that design and build all that fancy equipment you use, just because you shed a little blood?" Fury didn't give him a chance to respond to that hit at his ego before going on. "The decisions you make don't just affect you. They have the potential to send shockwaves through the entire organization. You may be a solo operative, but this is not a solo operation."
"And what the hell do you do? Every time you tell the Council to shove it up their asses? How is that any different?"
"Because I'm the goddamned director. And I get my ass reamed for it every time – but lucky for me, they need unanimous vote to kick me to the curb. It's not so with you, Barton."
"Then why'd you stop them?"
"Because despite what current evidence suggests, you are a valuable asset to this organization. Even if you don't use your brain half as much as you should."
Clint glared in response to that jab. Fury seemed to read the anger easily and actually smirked.
"Should I present the evidence? Screwing up your last training assignment because some eggheads got under your skin."
How the hell did he know about that? Clint scowled.
"The whole firing range thing."
"Johnson had it coming." And it really hadn't been that bad. So what if he'd made a grown man wet his pants.
Fury was unfazed by his defense.
"Getting your ass captured in the Andes to expedite your mission."
In his defense – he had been shot. Maybe he could have made it to Phil. Maybe not. But they got the bad guys, so he marked it as a win.
"The time you pissed off security just because."
Clint smirked slightly – that had been a fun day. The entire base had gone into lockdown because he'd had security convinced there was an intruder. To make it even more epic, Clint had convinced someone in security tech to show him how to reprogram all the door locks. So when the lockdown was lifted, it really wasn't. Was it Clint's fault that no one thought to enter a straight string of zeros? He didn't think so. In the end – being the only one moving freely around base had been a bit of a neon sign saying 'I did it!'
"Do I even need to mention all the times you've been gone AWOL from the infirmary?"
Clint grimaced. Fury had him there. But the infirmary smelled too clean, and everything was so very white. And every time he was there, it was because he was hurt. He couldn't be blamed for wanting to skip out early.
"Then there was Cairo."
Clint met Fury's eyes abruptly. That was low. That mission had taken more than its fair share of a toll on Phil and Clint.
"That wasn't my fault." He couldn't help but put out the defense.
"Maybe not." Fury allowed. "But Croatia? Deciding to put yourself in front of a bullet – that most certainly was your fault."
Clint glared darkly.
"If I hadn't done that, Phil would be dead." And he would do it again – every time. "You know I didn't have a choice."
"I'm not saying it wasn't the right call. I'm saying that sometimes there's more than one right call. There's always another way, Barton. Maybe you didn't have time to look for one in Croatia, but you sure as hell didn't even bother to look for one here."
Clint shook his head. He was tired of trying to explain himself.
"What was I supposed to do?" he asked quietly.
"I don't know," Fury deadpanned, "kill her?"
Clint clenched his jaw and looked away. He heard Fury sigh.
"And if that wasn't an option, you look for a viable alternative. You don't go so far off script that you write yourself out of the play."
Clint continued to stare down and to his right.
"You could have come to me. Hell, you could have come to Phil."
"Would you have listened?" Clint shot back suddenly, raising his eyes again. "Or would you have just told me to do my job?"
"I don't know, kid." Fury admitted. "But you didn't give me a chance to do either – and that's on you."
Clint had no defense for that.
"You made a choice. And you had to know if you flirted with the line as much as you do, one day you'd go too far. Today you went too far."
Clint wasn't going to apologize. Not when he'd make the same choice again. He'd answer for what he'd done – he'd been prepared for it from the moment he'd realized he couldn't kill her.
"You disobeyed direct orders. You went off grid, aided and abetted a Priority Level Threat. You manipulated SHIELD leadership to bring that threat into our midst. By all rights, you should be kicked so hard to the curb that you'd feel the boot in your ass for years to come. Instead, I'm keeping you around. But boy, you cannot get any higher on my shit list than you are right now and you had better start earning your way off of it the moment you walk out of this office."
Clint nodded once.
"What was that?"
"Yes," Clint paused very briefly – just long enough to make Fury's eyes narrow, "sir."
Fury's lips twitched in what might have been amusement.
"Dismissed."
Clint nodded and turned to leave. He was at the door when Fury left him with one final word.
"Barton … if this goes south – it's on you."
Clint nodded again. He'd accepted as much from the moment he made the choice to let Natasha Romanoff live.
"You're kidding, right?"
Dan Wilson pinned his doubtful glare first on Phil – and then on Barton.
"He hasn't even really had treatment and you want me to clear him for duty?"
"Fury's orders."
"I don't care if it's the goddamned president's orders! I'm not putting him in the field injured, no matter how many people he's pissed off!"
"The Uzbekistan assignment is two weeks of strictly watch and report."
"Of a HYDRA compound." Clint put in without looking at them from where he was wandering Dan's office, touching various things Dan really wished he wouldn't.
"The compound is abandoned and has been for years," Phil pointed out sharply, without turning his attention away from Dan. "The most physical activity he'll have is walking the area." Phil spouted off the mission details quickly and efficiently. Dan was certain the man already had the file memorized.
Dan glanced at Barton. The kid was playing with the plastic skeleton Dan had in the corner of his office, making the hand give a rude gesture. He rolled his eyes. Barton may be a finely-tuned killer, but he was such a child sometimes.
"It goes against every protocol I wrote on gunshot wounds."
Phil sighed, glanced at Barton, and then focused back on Dan.
"Fury may have saved his ass but he's still pissed. Clint needs to be scarce for a while. And this assignment is as easy as it gets without actually sending him on vacation."
"That's code for the most boring assignment ever." Clint put in from where he was taping gauze in the shape of a bull's-eye onto the skeleton's forehead. Dan frowned – wondering how Clint had gotten his hands on gauze and tape so quickly.
"Nobody asked you." Phil shot over his shoulder.
Dan arched an eyebrow.
"Fury's not the only one still pissed."
Phil clenched his jaw and closed his eyes briefly.
"Either way, I wouldn't have picked Uzbekistan if I didn't think it was safe for him to carry out in his condition. Fury wants him off base. Make it happen."
Dan sighed and eyed Barton skeptically. The kid had more color than he had last time he'd seen him. He didn't seem to be in any great amount of pain.
"Fine – I'll look him over. But if I see anything that makes me pause, I'm not clearing him."
Phil waved his hand and what Dan immediately interpreted as an impatient manor.
"Just make it quick. His jet is scheduled to take off in an hour."
Dan waited until Phil had all but stomped out of the infirmary before turning his attention to Barton. The skeleton now had a full skull cap of gauze. Dan waited, but Barton didn't turn or acknowledge him.
"We gonna do this, or what? Apparently we're on the clock."
"I'm not exactly in a hurry to expedite my exile."
Dan arched an eyebrow. Barton hadn't said it in a self-pitying manner – or even with any particular negative emotion. He'd just kind of said it – like a fact.
"Yeah, well you broke the cardinal rule, kid. You don't shit where you live."
That got his attention. Barton turned, eyebrow arched, and gave Dan a look demanding an explanation.
"You brought the job home, Barton. And you did it in a way that you knew damn well would piss off everyone here."
Barton's eyes fired up and he stepped closer.
"You have no idea what went down, Wilson. And I've had my fill of lectures today."
"Well, you're gonna get one more. You're up a shit creek kid – and not only did you throw the goddamned paddles out, but you busted a hole in the bottom of the boat." Dan sighed. "You need all the allies you can get right now."
"Is that what you are, Wilson? My ally?"
"If you don't know that yet, Barton, then you're a goddamned idiot." Dan shook his head. "I know I came off harsh with that comment at the Council Chambers – but this whole thing," he shrugged helplessly, "saying no to the Council – saying no to Phil – this isn't you."
"It's kind of my thing actually – or haven't you been paying attention?"
"Not like this – not over something so serious they could put you on a threat list." Dan looked away – angry that he'd let some of his worry bleed into his tone. The worry he'd been battling since he'd gotten the call from the hangar deck chief that Barton was being taken into custody. It was too soon on the heels of Croatia – too soon to face the prospect of Barton being put through the ringer again.
And if it was this hard on him, Dan hated to even think about what Phil was going through.
He looked back at Barton as wasn't surprised to see a familiar assessing, contemplative look in the archer's eyes. Barton had picked up on the worry – was analyzing it now. Finally, the kid sighed deeply.
"I had my reasons."
He was so sincere – so genuine – that Dan couldn't help but nod. Maybe it was because he hadn't been directly involved – maybe it was because this supposed betrayal of SHIELD had nothing to do with him and his relationship with Barton – but he was inclined to just put this whole mess behind them.
Barton probably needed that from at least one person in his life.
"And something tells me they were good ones." He granted the kid a small smile. "Look," Dan sighed, "let me check you over. If you want, I can find a reason to keep them from sending you. With a barely-treated gunshot wound, it shouldn't be hard."
For a moment Barton looked stone-cold frozen – like he was shocked anyone was letting this go. It made Dan even more confident in his chosen path.
"What'll it be?"
Barton swallowed and lifted his chin.
"I made my choice. I'm ready for whatever happens because of it."
Dan nodded in response.
"But…" Barton's eyes found his, "thank you."
Dan managed a small smirk.
"You're damned welcome." Then he shook his head. "Besides, I've always loved an underdog."
Clint smirked and moved to sit on the exam table.
"Wilson, when have I ever been the underdog?"
"Fair point. I'd say your odds of coming out on top are pretty good."
"Always are, Wilson – or haven't you been paying attention?"
Dan laughed.
"Have a seat, kid. I found these," he reached behind him and held up an IV bag of blood and another of what Clint knew to be antibiotics, "abandoned in your cell. They do more good inside your body, so they can wait long enough for them to get there."
Phil watched Clint stow his gear carefully behind his seat in the jet, right hand never wavering in its support of his injured side. Phil frowned as worry swelled for the millionth time in the last twenty four hours. He never thought he'd see the day where he knowingly sent Clint into the field injured.
But Dan had cleared him.
And Uzbekistan posed less than zero threat. Nothing but surveillance – endless hours of surveillance with no real purpose – that was sure to drive Clint crazy with boredom.
But still something in Phil rejected this whole assignment.
But he knew that had to do with more than just sending Clint away. This whole situation had spun so far out of control – and Phil was scrambling to control the fallout.
Sending Clint away while things died down seemed like the best option, so he'd agreed as soon as Fury suggested it. But now Phil wasn't so sure. He was sending Clint away while things were still so screwed up between them. He couldn't quite let go of how Clint had done this – that he'd chosen the path he did. And Clint had dug his heels in so far, Phil didn't have much hope of swaying him from his point of view.
"So…uh, I guess I'll see you in a couple weeks."
Phil shook himself out of his reverie and focused his gaze on Clint who was suddenly standing in front of him. Phil felt a pang when Clint wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Take it easy out there – heal up and just…" Phil sighed and leaned so that he was in Clint's line of vision, forcing their eyes to meet. "Just be careful, okay?"
Clint swallowed and nodded, finally raising his head and eyes to meet Phil's head on.
"I'm sorry."
Phil almost took a step back in shock.
"I'm sorry I that this is how I had to do this, that there wasn't another way."
Phil felt his throat tighten at the sincerity in Clint's eyes. It wasn't an admittance that he was wrong – just an apology that there hadn't been another way. It was something though so Phil nodded in acceptance.
Clint nodded once and turned away, only to turn back almost immediately.
"Are we okay, Phil?"
Phil hesitated and that was all it took for Clint to deduce his own answer. Phil watched it hit hard – watched Clint's eyes display the pain of that hit – and didn't say anything to fix it. Because he and Clint weren't okay.
But they were on their way back to it.
Clint didn't give him a chance to say that before he turned away and started up the ramp.
"We'll get there, Clint." Phil felt a shot of guilt when Clint only threw a nod over his shoulder – wouldn't face him again. And suddenly Phil felt like he should be apologizing because he hadn't meant to hurt Clint – to have their parting moment be that harsh.
"Clint…"
He wanted to soften the blow – tell Clint that while they weren't okay, Phil was ready and willing to do whatever it took to get back to that. But Clint just kept walking up the ramp and didn't look back.
He almost started up the ramp, but it started closing. Phil sighed and stepped back out of the way. The last he saw of his agent, Clint was pushing his earbuds into place and leaning his head back against the headrest. Clint's eyes were closed – and already, Phil was longing to know what was going through his agent's head.
Maybe they needed some time apart, to sort through this mess and figure out how to move forward. They'd work it out when Clint got back – once and for all.
He stayed until the jet was out of sight and was hit with such a sense of loss that he had the urge to hit something. Or at least channel the war of emotions he was feeling into something concrete – maybe even something productive.
Struck with an idea, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the hangar, angling towards holding. Natasha Romanoff was the reason all of this had happened – the person that had inspired Clint to anarchy.
It was time to have a conversation.
He waited impatiently as Marcus cleared him through security and moved to her cell door. When it buzzed he didn't hesitate – he just pushed his way in. She was sitting on her cot, but stood as soon as he entered, eyes flashing defensively.
Phil gave her a dry look and closed the door.
"Have a seat." He pointed at her cot.
Defiance stole across her expression and Phil hardened his tone.
"Sit."
Her jaw clenched and she slowly sat and for a moment Phil was painfully reminded of Clint every time he did something he just because he was told but didn't want to admit that was why he did it.
Phil pinned her with an assessing glare, and tried with everything he had to see what Clint had – to see a reason for all of this.
All he saw was fire. This woman – girl, really – had fire in her. And he was worried that fire was going to do what fire did best – burn.
"You're here because my agent decided to throw away the rule book. He decided to risk everything for you." Phil fought to remain calm. "You, above all people, should know what that involves – and the consequences."
He saw a flash of something in her eyes, but couldn't identify it before it was gone.
"Clint thought you were worth it. So let's talk about how you're gonna prove that to the rest of us."
End of Chapter 10
I wonder if Uzbekistan is ringing any bells with anyone? :) We're gonna be focused on Clint for a bit, but Nat gets her own chapter later so if you've been wanting more of her, it's coming.
Reviews make me happy! So VERY happy!...and you wouldn't like me when i'm angry... XD
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"I thought this was only for emergencies."
He expected a quick comeback. Because undoubtedly Clint had gained confidence after their conversation and was now bending the rules – a favorite past time of his.
"We're gonna have to get to being good a lot faster than you'd planned, Phil."
Phil could tell by the tone of his voice that something had gone very wrong.
"What happened?"