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. I do not claim any of the directly quoted lines from "The Avengers" as my own, they belong to Marvel and the writers. The cover art came from a google search with the original source being pinterest where it was credited to Anthony Genuardi.
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"
Thank you to all who reviewed! I'm still travelling cross country and its all I can do to get updates posted from my phone. I appreciate every one of you and will reply to questions in Thursday's update!
Shout out to those that have guessed the song inspiration for the chapter titles:
You can guess the song up until I tell you what it is in the final chapter!
A million thanks to my betas Kylen and JRBarton for everything they do for me :)
Onward!
Last time in The Untold Stories:
Looked like the other shoe had dropped. Time to choose, fight or flight.
He met his gaze in the mirror and lifted his chin, steeling himself.
Who was he kidding, flight had never been an option. He would always fight. He'd fight until he had no fight left.
He reached for the bathroom door and stepped out.
"I can."
Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.
Sun Tzu
April 13, 2012
10:20 a.m.
SHIELD hangar deck
Clint settled into the pilot's chair of the quinjet. It felt foreign for a moment, like he didn't quite belong there anymore. He shook off the feeling and reached for the headset hooked on the flight controls.
Getting released from max-sec actually hadn't been that hard when Captain America himself was the one springing you. Clint was still a little stunned by that little development. Sure, he'd known Steve Rogers was alive and thawed, but he'd been sent to New Mexico pretty much as soon as the tesseract project started and hadn't met the man in person. He couldn't help but be a little star-struck at first.
Phil was probably shitting excited little kittens.
He started the pre-flight procedure, already knowing they'd be skipping the usual 'cleared for departure' bit. Stealing a jet…that one was new. Or at least it would have been a day ago...
"Everybody gear up and get that jet through the pre-flight prep."
His team headed immediately towards the back door that would take them to the gear and then through to the one-jet hangar.
"Wait." He stopped them with a sharp command. He looked at the SHIELD agent assigned to this weapons depot, eyeing his hand – specifically his thumb.
"You're gonna need this."
"Did you know that guy?" Roger's voice startled him out of the memory, making his hand slip off the control's he'd been adjusting. He felt Natasha's gaze land heavily on him from her place in the co-pilot's chair. Rogers was settled between their two chairs, a hand braced on the back of each. "He was glaring at you pretty hard."
Rogers was referring to the pilot the good Captain had "Son, just don't"-ed less than 60 seconds ago. Clint shifted a look at Natasha and flipped the switch to bring the jet to life. When Clint remained silent, Natasha answered for him.
"Clint broke his wrist once…and part of his hand."
He felt Roger's gaze land on him, he could practically feel the vague sense of judgement boring into him. He could almost hear the Captain wondering if Clint made a habit of lashing out against his own people.
"He had it coming," Natasha added firmly, her sharp green gaze pinned suddenly on Rogers, daring him to question Clint's loyalty, even silently.
To be fair, the pilot – Jed Wyle – was an ass and he had pulled Clint's headphones out during a petty argument about who had the right to do a pre-flight check of a jet and who didn't. Did that warrant the breaking of bones? Maybe not. But Jed Wyle had never given him shit again, at least not to his face, and neither had any other pilot.
Rogers nodded curtly and looked ahead through the windshield.
"Let's go."
Clint checked to make sure the way was clear then he engaged the thrusters, lifting the jet off the tarmac. A nudge of the twin levers he held in his hands and they were rocketing forward, away from the carrier.
No sooner had they hit open air than they heard a call come over the comms.
"We've got unauthorized departure from Bay Six!"
Clint growled low in his throat. Jed Wyle – the little bastard.
"It's only a matter of time before the Council gets wind," Clint said as he glanced at Natasha, who was studying their GPS with undue intensity.
"Communications are down." Her reply was swift and confident, even if the nervous glance she shot him belied the claim.
"Won't be for long," he replied lowly.
"The Council? As in SHIELD's governing body? Why would it matter if they get wind of what's happening? Wouldn't they want us to do what we can to stop Loki?" Rogers asked with honest and sincere confusion.
Clint tossed the Captain a 'you kidding me?' glance over his shoulder.
"Have you met the Council?" he asked with an edge of sarcasm.
Rogers frowned.
"Well, no…"
"A group of asshats, every damn one of them," Clint informed him bluntly as he returned his attention to piloting.
"There's bad blood between them and Clint, always has been," Natasha added quietly.
"Why?" Rogers' vaguely suspicious gaze was settled on him again. He really wasn't making the best first impression on Phil's childhood idol.
"Must be my charming disposition." Clint smirked sarcastically.
Rogers studied him a moment longer before mercifully letting it go. Clint didn't feel up to explaining that bad blood anyway. And even if he did, there wasn't time what with the dark nature of his previous profession, the direct fall out that had brought down on SHIELD in the form of a vengeful Matthew Williams, and his decision to directly defy a kill order on the deadliest assassin in the world.
Their journey remained unobstructed for exactly 45 more seconds. Then two jets suddenly rocketed ahead of them, banked sharply and headed back for them.
"Clint…" Natasha warned lowly.
"I see them…shit." Clint pulled back on the controls, bringing the jet to a stand-still hover. The two opposing jets did the same. For a long moment everybody just stared at each other.
A light on the console suddenly lit up bright red.
"Communication coming through," Natasha announced to no one in particular.
Clint hesitated. Sparring with the Council was not on his list of things to do in the near future. He was still feeling too raw, too exposed, too close to some invisible edge. One wrong move and he'd be free-falling.
Clint was shocked when it was Rogers that spoke first, his voice firm and strong.
"Put them through."
Natasha shot a nervous look at Clint, which he returned with twitch of his eyebrow. It wasn't his call. He just hoped Rogers didn't expect him to do any of the talking.
She keyed the speaker on the console, letting the call come through.
"This is Agent Romanoff."
"You are to stand down. Return that jet to the Helicarrier and surrender Agent Barton back into custody."
Before Clint could muster a proper response – though he was too exhausted and wrung out to come up with anything more creative than some version of 'Fuck you.' – Rogers spoke up.
"I'm sorry, sir, but that's not going to happen."
There was a moment of hesitation on the line then whatever Council member they were dealing with came back.
"Captain Rogers, Agent Barton is to be remanded into custody until his involvement in recent treasonous activity can be investigated."
Rogers didn't look at Clint as he replied, but the solidarity in his voice was unexpected.
"I don't see any traitors here, sir. Now if you'll excuse us, we've got a world that needs saving."
"Captain Rogers, if you don't return Agent Barton to SHIELD custody, we'll have no choice but to take him by force."
All three of their gazes settled on the two jets blocking their way.
Rogers motioned for Natasha to mute their end of the call.
"Can you out maneuver them?" he asked seriously, intense blue eyes boring into Clint's.
Clint nodded sharply.
"Without a doubt, but they're carrying SHIELD munitions, they unload a targeting missile and we're screwed."
Rogers drew in a sharp breath and let it out just as harshly.
Natasha suddenly spoke up, one hand on her headset.
"Another communication coming through."
Rogers nodded at her.
"Put it through too."
She did as he asked and they all exchanged a look when Fury's voice filled the jet.
"Don't you three have a narcissistic god that needs dealing with?"
Before any of them could respond, the Council member, still on the line, replied.
"Director Fury, Agent Barton should never have been released from custody."
"I've been told he's recovered from his forced captivity and is fit for battle. He's got a job to do, I'm inclined to let him do it," Fury shot back.
"The Council will see him returned to custody, by force if necessary. Until a thorough investigation into his actions can-"
"What are you gonna do?" Fury challenged, "Shoot down the jet? In case it escaped your attention, Captain America is on board. You wanna kill the face of patriotism? Be my goddamned guest."
The silence that followed had the jet's three occupants exchanging another glance. Clint flexed his hands on the controls, waiting.
"That's what I thought. Barton, get your ass moving. It's already started."
Fury's end of the communication went dead and with it, the Council member's. Either Fury terminated the call himself or the Council member decided to admit defeat. Either way, seconds later the two jets opposing them banked away, leaving his path clear.
Rogers' hand landed on his shoulder.
"Let's go."
Clint looked at the hand, then up at the owner, and resisted the urge to shake it off. Rogers seemed to sense his unease because he withdrew the touch.
Clint turned back to the windshield and eased the controls forward.
Even with the jet's inherent speed, getting to the city took a few minutes. Clint pushed the jet to its limits, but even so, only found so much distraction in piloting. Hell, he'd been flying these things for so many years he could practically do it without conscious thought.
Lack of distraction, and the silence of the jet, led to thinking…too much thinking.
He'd lied to her – to Natasha. Lied right to her face.
He'd said he didn't remember anything.
But he remembered everything.
Maybe if she hadn't been so distracted by worry, she'd have realized he'd contradicted himself a dozen times already. She'd realize that he remembered every pain-filled, agonizing detail of the past two and half days. He remembered Loki breaking down the walls of his mind and leaving destruction in his wake. He remembered Loki dragging him through the worst moments of his life, digging, searching for Clint's greatest and worst fears.
And he'd found them.
He even remembered his brief bout of freedom.
He still didn't know how he did it, what in his mind had been strong enough to retain a foothold amidst Loki's hostile takeover. But the freedom had been short-lived and the return to captivity had been far worse than his initial capture.
He remembered unfiltered pain as Loki's spear brought him ruthlessly back under the god's control. Loki hadn't bothered with finesse or care that second time, he'd just taken control back with brute, violent force.
He remembered giving Loki his plan and then spilling every secret he knew about SHIELD and about the Avengers…and about Natasha.
His hands tightened on the controls.
Loki had read what Clint felt for her through whatever bond the spear created between their minds. He'd taken that information and twisted it into something dark and violent. He'd planted a vicious, cruel desire in Clint's mind, a plan that – thank whatever God was out there – had never come to fruition.
But it had been close, so damn close…he'd almost…
A hand wrapped suddenly around his wrist, shocking him back to the present.
"Clint."
Natasha.
Her voice was firm, but worried, making him wonder if it wasn't the first time she'd said his name.
He swallowed thickly, looking down at his hands – bloodless around the controls – and at her hand on his wrist, warm and solid…real.
"I'm fine," he lied.
"Clint…" she was a breath away from calling him on it. Her hand tightened on his wrist. Rogers' gaze was heavy on his profile, but Clint couldn't bring himself to return it.
He was saved by the shocking site of downtown Manhattan, overrun with bodies swarming around like flies. Amidst them, they could see a hot-rod red figure, blasting blue energy left and right.
"There," Rogers pointed to Stark.
Clint nodded, already maneuvering the jet quickly to Stark's location.
Natasha, now that they were in range, keyed her communicator.
"JARVIS, you there?"
The disembodied British voice of Stark's AI replied immediately.
"I'm here, Agent Romanoff."
"Connect me to Stark."
"Right away."
Natasha waited a beat then called out to the billionaire.
"Stark, we're on your three, headed northeast."
Stark's reply was immediate and carried absolutely no indication of the weight of the situation. Clint could almost admire the man's ability to remain cool under pressure.
"What, did you stop for drive thru?" The three of them exchanged a glance, hoping their delay hadn't cost them. "Swing up Park, I'm gonna lay 'em out for you."
Natasha looked at Clint, asking with a glance if he was ready.
He met her gaze and forced himself to smirk.
"Let's go kill some bad guys."
The first glimpse Clint got of Loki was from the jet. He was just there, fighting with Thor on the balcony of Stark Tower. He felt hate rise in him so swiftly that for a moment it was all he could think about. But the wave crested and he was able to claw back his focus.
"Nat," he called without looking away from the brawling brothers.
Her voice was calm and confident when she replied.
"I see him," she assured even as she shifted the gun controls she'd been manning.
Clint banked the jet to give her an open line of fire, but it was too late, Loki had seen them. Even as Natasha's gunfire peppered the floor around him, Loki fired off a blast of energy from the spear.
Clint tried to turn them and dodge it, but there just wasn't enough time. The left engine went up in flames and alarms started blaring around him.
"Shit," he muttered, tightening his hands around the controls as they threatened to lurch out of his grip. These damn things had two engines for a reason – balance. With only one, the jet wanted to pull to the left, propelled that way by the engine on the right.
He tuned out Natasha as she braced herself in the co-pilot seat. He tuned out the Captain as he reached to find something to hold on to. He even tuned out the battle raging around them.
The only thing left was him and the jet.
He strained against the controls, feeling his already abused muscles burn under the stress of keeping the jet from careening into a spin. If he had a clear place to land, he could just flip off the second engine and try to glide down. But there were civilians everywhere. He had to get clear and find a place to put down.
That meant leaving the engine on so he had the thrust to keep them moving, but it also meant every inch was a battle between him and the jet.
He grit his teeth against the various pains making themselves known in his already beat-to-hell body and maneuvered them around the buildings.
"There," Natasha snapped, pointing at an open space ahead of them.
He'd already seen it. He straightened them out as best he could and let go of the controls with his right hand. His left arm immediately took on the full strain of keeping the jet level as he reached for the engine controls. He held his finger on the switch that would shut down the second engine even as they descended.
If he cut it off too early, they'd drop too far, too fast. If he shut it off too late, they'd skip along the pavement and slam into the building ahead of them.
He had to time it perfectly.
No goddamned pressure.
He waited until they were 30 feet above ground and he cut the engine. They dropped, but their momentum continued to carry them forward. They hit the pavement hard, gouging into it hard enough to bubble up the road around them. Then, just as hoped, the jet came to a stop just shy of busting into the building's lobby.
He stripped off the headset and freed himself from the harness, following Natasha out of the cockpit. Rogers had hit the control to lower the ramp and the three of them jogged out together.
"We've got to get back up there," Rogers announced as they angled back towards Stark Tower.
But they all three stuttered to a stop at a loud, ominous groan emanating from somewhere above them.
Clint drew an arrow instinctively, crouching defensively as he looked for the source. He couldn't help but let his jaw go slack and the bowstring loosen when he saw it.
What the…
He watched with wide eyes as a giant, armored, flying, snake-like thing came soaring out of the portal. He'd seen a lot of stuff in his short life, a lot of nasty stuff that most people should never have to see. But this, this took the goddamned cake.
He could only stare as the thing – he mentally dubbed it The Shredder in honor of his childhood Ninja Turtles obsession – swam through the sky towards them. As it moved, aliens seemed to explode from the sides like popcorn, flying out to cling onto buildings.
"Stark," Rogers stated, voice heavy with shock, "you seeing this?"
Clint heard Stark reply over the comms almost immediately.
"Seeing…still working on believing." A beat later he completely changed the subject, "Where's Banner? Has he shown up yet?"
Banner? Clint wondered in confusion, realizing now he hadn't heard anything about the scientist since he woke up.
Rogers echoed his confusion.
"Banner?"
"Just keep me posted," Stark replied before going silent on them.
Clint looked around, seeing more and more of the aliens – now mentally named The Foot Clan – surrounding them. He nudged Natasha and together they moved to hunker behind a taxi. From that cover, he surveyed the area. There were civilians everywhere, running around like a posse of feral cats, but for the most part they were at least seeking shelter.
His eyes found a bus a little ways down the road. He could see from where he was that there were people trapped on it even as some Foot Clan members harassed them.
He looked over when Rogers suddenly jogged up and crouched down with them.
"We've got civilians trapped in…" he trailed off when a flying jet ski type thing suddenly zoomed over them. Clint's eyes caught a flash of green and gold and even as the jet ski moved past them, he zeroed in on him. "Loki." Even he could hear the acidic loathing in his tone.
The three of them watched the god lay waste to cars and people left and right as he moved away from them.
Rogers sat back, looking frustrated.
"They're fish in a barrel down there."
He was right, but right now, they were surrounded. They needed to keep the Foot Clan focused on them and not the civilians. He shifted to another cab, hunkering behind it and eyeing the aliens around them. He shot a glance at Nat and nodded slightly.
She looked to Rogers.
"We got this. It's good," she gave him a nod. "Go."
Rogers looked hesitant, his gaze shifting to Clint.
"You think you can hold them off?"
"Captain," Clint pressed the control on his bow and loaded an arrow head, "it would be my genuine pleasure." Then he drew the arrow and stood even as he nocked it. He found a target and let it fly. He didn't wait to see it land. He knew he wouldn't miss. He did hear the satisfying sound of the arrow head unleashing its own attack even as he ducked back down.
When he looked back at Rogers and Nat, the Captain was gone, jumping from the bridge onto a bus.
Clint shifted back to Natasha.
"We gotta get those people off the bus."
She nodded curtly.
"Go. I'll cover you."
They moved as one, her rising to fire her guns and him sprinting towards the bus. He felt her moving with him, covering his back and then she took relative cover behind a car while he started unloading the trapped civilians. He spared a glance back at her as he put a young boy on the ground and saw the Foot Clan growing steadily closer. She'd be overwhelmed before long.
"Hold on," he instructed the people on the bus and jogged to the back door. He jammed his fingers into the narrow space between the two panels and pulled. At first it didn't budge, but then, under the force of his unrelenting strength, they started to part. Once the process started, it got easier and a moment later the doors were standing open.
He jogged back to Natasha even as the bus emptied and the people fled to safety. He drew an arrow as he came to stand with her and let it fly.
"This is like Budapest all over again," she commented idly.
If Clint could have spared the time to give her an incredulous look, he would have. He didn't remember much about Budapest, but he was fairly certain there hadn't been any aliens. He guessed maybe she was talking about her standoff in the prison with a building full of corrupt cops. He didn't remember that for himself either.
Either way, he didn't quite get the comparison.
"You and I remember Budapest very differently," he replied even as he caught sight of one of the jet skis flying over them. He shifted his aim up and fired at the driver, not waiting to watch it careen to the ground and explode.
"They're gonna overrun us," Natasha stated calmly as one of her guns clicked empty.
"Yeah," he agreed as he stabbed an arrow into the face of one of the aliens climbing over the car they were shielded behind and then shot that same arrow at one a few feet behind it. "Stay close."
She didn't bother replying, but he knew she would. She'd stay close if for no other reason than to watch his back. The same reason he wouldn't be letting too many of these things get between them either. He had to be ready to watch hers.
In no time at all, they were surrounded, forced to battle hand to hand.
He swept his bow low, taking out the nearest alien's feet and then drew an arrow, spun it in his hand and slammed it down into the thing's throat. He ripped the arrow free and took off towards another one that was heading towards where Natasha was already grappling with one of her own.
He took that one out and turned only to get a chest full of alien as it tackled him to the ground like he was a quarterback getting sacked. The air rushed out of his lungs, but he lashed out anyway, kicking it back far enough for him to snag an arrow from a body next to him. He drove it into the thing's chest and pushed up from the ground.
He caught a glimpse of Natasha battling with a staff-like thing, one of the alien weapons. She was very effectively using it against them. Satisfied she was safe for now, he looked for his next target. An alien dove at him from the top of a car and he shifted, sliding one of his knives free of the sheath on his back and sweeping out with it. The blade caught the alien across the throat and even as it fell, Clint re-sheathed the knife safely at his back.
Gunfire erupted around him and he ran, sliding like a baseball player heading for home. Then he found his feet and turned, firing off an arrow at the alien that had been doing the shooting.
Still more of them came, pouring over the cars and dropping from the buildings like roaches.
He and Nat kept fighting. When he had to, he used one of his knives, trying to spare his arrows, but always slid it back to the safety of its sheath so he didn't lose either of them. Beyond their sentimental value to him, he had a feeling he'd need them before this was all over.
Finally, out of nowhere, Rogers returned. With his help they took down a few more. Then lightning was erupting around the nearest group and they all dropped. A second later Thor landed hard next to a cab, looking winded.
All was quiet around them and Clint used the respite to scavenge for arrows. He sensed Nat following, hovering a few feet away as he moved, eyes on the area around him just in case. He vaguely listened to Thor and Rogers discussing the situation. He tuned in a little closer when Stark's voice rang over the comms.
"Thor's right. You gotta deal with these guys."
Natasha looked to Rogers for direction.
"How do we do this?" she asked.
Rogers reply was immediate.
"As a team."
It was cliché, painfully so, but he wasn't wrong. Clint snatched an arrow from a body and started inspecting the head to make sure it was still usable.
"I have unfinished business with Loki," Thor stated firmly, a note of anger and betrayal in his voice that Clint recognized all too well. But Thor wasn't the only one with an axe to grind.
"Yeah," he shot back, "get in line."
Last Clint had checked, he'd been the one the son of a bitch had turned into a goddamned puppet.
"Save it," Rogers scolded sharply. "Loki's gonna keep this fight focused on us and that's what we need," he explained as he approached Clint. "Without him these things could run wild."
Again, Rogers wasn't wrong. No matter how much Clint was itching for revenge, now wasn't the time. There were civilians to protect, a lot of them.
"We got Stark up top." Rogers pointed upward. "He's gonna need us to…" he trailed off as the sound of a motorcycle stole all of their attention.
Clint arched an eyebrow. He'd never officially met Bruce Banner, but he had read his file after the Hulk first emerged. And he'd been tasked with watching his back and clearing away some overly interested parties not all that long ago. So knowing what he knew about the man's greener half, Clint wasn't sure if his arrival was a good thing or bad.
All of them moved together to meet him.
"So…this all seems horrible."
Clint almost laughed. The dry sarcasm in the doctor's tone was a nice reprieve from the dire situation. He glanced curiously at Nat when she was the one who replied.
"I've seen worse."
Clint frowned. He didn't know what the hell that meant, but judging by the contrite look Banner was now sporting, it had something to do with him.
"Sorry," the doctor apologized sincerely.
"No," Natasha smirked a little, "we could use a little worse."
Clint's brow furrowed.
"Banner, he probably won't even come into contact with you. He's a science guy. He'll be more interested in that…So you use it to fuck him up and turn the Hulk loose."
His gut tightened at the memory. She must have gotten caught up in the Hulk's rampage. He found himself scanning her for injuries he hadn't noticed before even as Rogers let Stark know about their new arrival.
He couldn't see anything imminently wrong with her. She seemed steady.
Sensing his gaze, she looked at him, eyebrow cocked in question. He shook his head slightly and looked to where Stark came flying around a building. Natasha followed his gaze and her eyebrows rose as the "Shredder"came into view.
"I-I don't see how that's a party," she deadpanned, referencing the comment Clint had only vaguely heard Stark make just moments ago. Humor in crappy situations was usually his gig, but he didn't mind so much passing the buck today. His usual snarky wit seemed to have abandoned him right around the time Loki showed up.
Banner was the only one that moved at first, turning and heading straight for the Shredder, but Rogers followed him almost immediately. Clint stayed put, no way even his most destructive arrow could even make a dent in that thing.
"Doctor Banner," Rogers's voice got Banner to pause and look back, "now might be a really good time for you to get angry."
"That's my secret, Captain," Banner replied with a smirk. "I'm always angry."
Then Clint could only stare as Banner shifted into the Hulk right there before their eyes. He didn't have time to even begin to analyze what that kind of control meant before Banner was just straight up punching the Shredder in the face.
Clint shifted in place as the creature buckled and started to flip over itself.
He barely heard Stark say something over the comms as they all scattered, searching for cover. He started to look for Nat, but then saw Rogers grabbing her, pulling them both behind his shield. She was sure as hell safer than he was at the moment, so he rushed to the nearest car, hunkering next to it just as the explosion from Stark's final attack on the Shredder pelted them all with flames and chunks of alien flesh and metal.
In the next moment, it felt like every goddamned member of the Foot Clan started shrieking at them in anger. Clint rose with others, circling the proverbial wagons and covering each other's backs. As the aliens continued to shriek like goddamned banshees, Clint started to wonder if the Shredder had been a beloved class pet or something.
"Guys…" Natasha's call had him looking back at her, then up to where she was staring.
You've got to be kidding me…two more of the snake things were making their way through the portal. Because they couldn't just have one victory.
Clint could only stare with wide eyes, not even finding the will to name them this time.
"Call it, Captain," Stark offered, bringing Clint out of his stupor.
Rogers immediately stepped up to the plate and started issuing orders.
"All right, listen up. Until we can close that portal our priority is containment. Barton," Clint gave the Captain his full attention, "I want you on that roof, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays." Rogers was already moving on to Stark even as Clint nodded.
Rogers was putting Clint right in his element. High in the sky, seeing the big picture, and playing sniper. Maybe there was something to this whole "team" thing. He looked to Stark when Rogers finished his marching orders.
"You wanna give me a lift?" he asked. Hitching a ride sure as hell beat having to hoof it up that many flights of stairs. To his relief, Stark nodded immediately.
"Right. Better clench up, Legolas."
Clint wasn't sure if he was more annoyed by Stark's words or geekily pleased to be compared to the archer from one of his favorite book series. He didn't get a chance to decide before Stark was taking a fistful of his uniform and they were blasting off into the sky.
Clint's stomach was somewhere in his knees and just as his body caught up to the sudden ascent, Stark was slowing, depositing him on his new perch and taking off with a jaunty wave. Clint had to take a moment to swallow to make sure the power bar Nat had forced him to consume stayed were it belonged and then he readied himself.
For a moment, he did nothing but look. He swept his gaze over the entire scene, taking everything in. He tracked the team, noted their positions best he could – it was easier with Nat and Rogers, since they seemed to be staying put – and took a beat to study the enemy.
A beat was all he got. Having spotted him, several of the aliens were headed his way. He supposed he made a good target. He was alone and he didn't look nearly as imposing as the other three solo team members. The Hulk was smashing his way through buildings at the moment. Then there was Thor, who was calling down lightning. And Stark was flying around with a suit of armor and energy blasters.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, reaching for an arrow. "An army of aliens with big guns and sticks that shoot death rays, who happen to have flying jet skis. Should be fun…"
He found a target, and he fired.
In the end, it was kind of like target practice. Extreme, high intensity, target practice with multiple moving targets that shot back and a team full of friendlies he had to keep an eye on.
Speaking of…
"Stark, you got a lot of strays sniffing your tail."
"Just trying to keep them off the streets," Stark replied, sounding slightly distracted.
Clint kept firing even as he offered the only advice he had for the moment. Stark couldn't just lead them on a wild chase through the city all day.
"Well, they can't bank worth a damn." He caught a reflection of one of the jet skis in the window of the building opposite him. While still tracking Stark with his eyes, he nocked an arrow and aimed for where the jet ski should be now. He fired. "Find a tight corner," he suggested even as he saw the reflection of the jet ski he'd been aiming for fall from the sky.
"I will roger that," Stark accepted easily.
Clint left Stark to it and kept taking out what targets he could. He tried to stick to taking down the jet skis. He didn't have unlimited arrows and shooting one alien at a time would be a lot like throwing one drop of water at a time on a fire when you only had one cup of water. He had to take them out in bigger numbers.
He tracked one, lined up the shot and looked for another even as he fired. There was no time to make sure he hit his mark every time. He had to trust his instincts.
He caught a glimpse of Stark tightly banking around a corner, sending a group of pursuers crashing into a building. He smirked.
"Nice call," Stark offered and cleared his throat. "What else you got?"
Clint glanced around, as he released another arrow. Hulk was out of sight at the moment. Nat and Steve had each other's backs. He found Thor next, fighting alone.
"Well, Thor's taking on a squadron down on 6th."
"And he didn't invite me?" Stark's tone was laced with dry humor and Clint found himself grinning.
A moment later a ball of green came busting out of a building a few streets down, leaping onto one of the new snakes. A moment later the thing was on the ground.
Having a Hulk was turning out to be handy as hell.
A sudden shriek had Clint stepping back even as one of the aliens leapt up onto his ledge. He swept out with his bow, knocking it back. He ducked under its counter attack with its own staff, and pulled his knife. He struck out, neatly splitting open its neck and then shoved it back off the building.
As he watched it fall, he saw another climbing up below him. He sheathed his knife and pulled an arrow, aiming straight down at the damn thing's face. By the time he took it out it was only a couple of feet away. A sizzle in the air had him ducking just in time to avoid getting nailed with a shot of blue energy. He tracked the shooter, saw him riding a jet ski. So he sighted the driver even as they drew farther away. He fired, again, not waiting to see his arrow hit. He knew it would.
He had bigger problems. The increasing number of these bastards swarming his rooftop for instance.
He took down three more of them in close combat before he had a chance to breathe and assess the team. He checked for Nat first, but she was gone. Who the hell knew where. She could take care of herself though and if she needed him, she'd let him know.
Rogers was still fighting on his own and every now and then he got a glimpse of Stark.
Thor and Hulk were MIA, but judging by the new hole he could see in Grand Central, they might have had something to do with that.
Movement a few blocks away caught his eye. A bank, civilians inside…looked like some Foot Clan members holding them hostage. If nobody handled that soon, they'd have a group of dead civilians.
"Captain, the bank on 42nd past Madison. They cornered a lot of civilians in there."
"I'm on it."
Clint didn't bother watching the show. He had another alien to deal with. He stepped back as it swiped at his foot before it even cleared the ledge. It sprung up, leaping at him and he just turned and stepped aside, watching it fly by. At least they weren't that smart, more animalistic than anything. It turned back at him with a growl and Clint met it with a swift arrow to the face.
He was leaning to retrieve the arrow when he heard her.
"Hawkeye!"
Natasha.
He straightened, arrow forgotten, and looked for her. There. What the…how did she…when did she get on one of the jet skis?
"Nat…what are you doing?"
"Uh…" she hedged. "Little help?"
He saw him then. Pursuing her doggedly. Loki. He shifted the arrow heads and drew an arrow. With a slow breath he nocked it and pulled the string to his cheek.
"I got him," he assured her with a slight smirk. Then he let the smirk drop away, focusing everything he had on this one shot. It wouldn't matter if it hit him, but it had to get to him.
He fired.
This one, he watched. He couldn't help it. He watched it right into Loki's hand as the god easily caught it. He felt himself smirk again when it exploded a moment later, throwing Loki into Stark Tower.
He sought out Natasha next, watching her flip athletically to the tower roof. Good.
As he turned away, forced to deal with another alien cresting the ledge of his rooftop, he thought he caught sight of Hulk jumping into Stark Tower after Loki.
Clint kicked the newest alien in the face, knocking it back and pulled an arrow, stabbing the next one in the eye before shooting the same arrow at one a foot below it. He spun, slamming his bow into another's chest, sending it falling. He pulled an arrow and shot another. He distantly heard another one of the snake things die loudly, but couldn't spare the time to see who had managed to take it down.
He stumbled back when an alien leapt up onto the ledge in front of him. It snatched at his bow and Clint struck out with a left cross, catching it hard in the jaw and sending it stumbling back into open air.
The back of his neck tingled and he spun, drawing an arrow and firing on nothing but instinct. An alien no less than three feet away dropped. Another was already climbing up next to him. He reached back for an arrow, but met nothing but empty air.
Shit. He was usually pretty good about counting arrows, but he'd used and reused so many that he'd lost track long ago.
He struck out with his bow, then slammed his boot into its chest and sending it flipping back over the ledge.
Every instinct he had suddenly flared in warning and he turned, looking for the source. What looked like a goddamned fleet of the jet skis was headed right for him. Acting purely on instinct now, he looked around. Saw an arrow sticking out of one of the dead aliens on the roof and snatched it. He slid it into his quiver and hit the controls on his bow.
The SHIELD techs had been working out some kinks with his grappling arrowhead. He sure as hell hoped they'd ironed out the bugs because a repeat of what happened last time would end with him a pancake on the concrete.
He ran for the edge of the roof.
This was a bad idea.
He jumped, twisting even as he drew the arrow and nocked it. He fired as the rooftop exploded around him. He wasn't 100 percent certain the grappling hook had adhered to anything until he came to a sudden, jarring stop. He was gripping his bow, literally for dear life, and could only brace himself as his momentum sent him careening towards a large glass window.
This was gonna hurt.
He hit feet first, praying that his boots would break the glass and he wouldn't end up dangling in midair – or worse, that the impact would make him lose his grip. His boots broke it all right. He felt something in his left ankle torque painfully, but the glass gave way. He pressed the release on his bow, disengaging from the wire and letting his momentum carry him farther into the building.
He hit the floor hard, head slamming into the ground and body rolling through shards of broken glass. He came to a jarring halt on his back with his quiver digging into his spine.
"Ow…"
He tried to move, but for a breath he just couldn't.
He hated goddamned windows. He didn't know what Natasha found so appealing about them. He groaned and forced himself to roll off his back, to release the pressure his quiver was putting on all the bruises he already had.
He pushed up to his hands and knees, then forced one foot under him, then the other. His left ankle almost gave out, but he willed it to hold firm. He had to get back out there. He couldn't just sit in here and lick his wounds while the world was ending.
He brushed his hand over his bare arms, feeling glass cut his skin as he swept it away. He felt at least a couple shards up under the back of his uniform, but when he reached for them he only ended up digging them deeper. He'd have to leave them for now.
It was then that he realized none of the teams' voices were chattering in his ear. He raised his hand, feeling for his comm. It was gone.
"Perfect."
He headed for the stairwell, hoping like hell nobody needed him between now and the 42 flights he had to get down. When he burst out into the 42nd floor landing he paused. Usually he had a carabiner on his belt for just this kind of situation and a rope in his cargo pocket. But usually he wasn't wearing this super hero getup Phil had designed for him.
He'd have to monkey it.
He climbed over the railing and took a breath. Then he dropped. He caught another railing 2 stories down, took another breath and dropped again.
By the time he got to the bottom, his arms were burning from the strain of catching his entire body weight over and over and his left knee was throbbing from slamming into the metal railing about halfway down.
But he was on the ground floor, and he was in one piece, so he'd take it.
He burst out the exit door to a swarm of aliens waiting for him. He stowed his bow at his back and drew both his knives, knowing every hit he landed needed to be deadly. Then he shifted his stance and waited.
When they converged, he was ready.
He fought like a wild cat, each strike of his blades tearing through alien flesh. They dropped around him almost as fast as they could attack. He braced his foot on a pile of them and jumped, clearing the head of one and slamming both his knives into another's throat. He ripped the blades free and kicked out, knocking another one back. He ducked a swing from a staff and narrowly dodged a blast from a gun that ended up taking out two of the other aliens instead. He was forced to dive and roll over his shoulder to avoid another blast, but as he came to his feet he sliced out at the ankles of two aliens on either side of him. They both fell and he buried the knives to the hilt in their faces before pulling the blades free once again.
He scaled another like a monkey, sitting on its shoulders long enough to slit its throat and then pushing off as it fell to leap at another one.
A staff caught him in the ankle, a glancing blow, but it was his left and the injured joint collapsed beneath him. He fell to one knee, and had to tuck down and roll to avoid a blast from a gun. He came up to his feet unsteadily and assessed his situation.
He was surrounded. They'd closed ranks on him.
He was exhausted. He'd been injured coming into this. But if they took him down, he sure as hell was taking as many of them down with him as he could.
The nearest one raised his weapon, and the rest took the cue. He prepared himself to attack.
Then, with no warning…they just dropped.
He looked around, watching in confusion as the rest of the aliens on the street dropped too, like they'd been unplugged from a power source.
He turned, looking to the portal. No more aliens were coming through.
He dropped his gaze, following the portal funnel, but it disappeared behind another building. He'd been able to see Stark Tower easily enough from the roof, but at street level, he was blocks away with nothing but skyscrapers between him and it.
Instinct had him moving, first at a jog, then a run, soon he was sprinting. He scavenged arrows as he came across them, not even bothering to see if they were flight worthy before stowing them in his quiver.
Never before had he wished for a comm so damn much. He'd even take a damn molar implant to just know what was going on. Something was happening, something big. Natasha had been on the roof of Stark Tower last he'd seen her. Chances were she was in the middle of it.
He doubted Loki had instigated the fall of his own army, but he didn't think the god would be thrilled about this development. Loki could be moving on her. If he still had the staff, she'd be vulnerable. He had to get to her.
He put every parkour skill he had to use as he moved through the streets. He vaulted over alien bodies in the streets. He slid across abandoned cars and climbed and jumped over wreckage. The pain in his left leg was ignored, pushed aside to be dealt with later.
He had to get to her.
Abruptly the energy in the air shifted and he stumbled to a stop, reaching for one of his knives and readying himself to fight again if the aliens suddenly resurrected.
But the streets stayed still. He looked up then, to the portal.
It was shrinking.
They'd found a way to close it. Thank God.
Then, at the last second a hot-rod red figure fell through, careening towards the ground.
"Holy shit…" he muttered under his breath.
Stark had been out there, wherever there was. Why the hell had Stark gone…
It hit him then. He'd been working for SHIELD for almost nine years. He knew how it operated. More specifically, he knew how the fucking Council operated. In all their infinite wisdom, they'd probably decided to contain the situation in their own way, collateral damage be damned.
Stark had probably saved all their lives.
And now he was apparently going to fall to his death because he most definitely was not slowing down.
Clint lost sight of him behind a building and another wave of urgency swept through him, pushing him to move. So again, he started running. He couldn't help Stark. He hoped to hell the man survived, but Clint, in all honesty, couldn't focus on anything other than Natasha.
He had to get to her. He had to see her with his own eyes. Every sprinted step drew him closer to where he thought she was. But every step built up the fear that he was already too late. That Loki had gotten to her first.
He pushed himself harder, made himself run faster. He wasn't doing his body any favors, he knew that. His injured joints would make him pay for the frantic pace later. But he couldn't slow, he could only go faster.
Various other aches and pains were making themselves known too, which just made every step more painful than the last.
Like the glass. Goddamned tiny shards of hell. He could feel a few pieces still embedded in his arms – his cursory sweep with his hand only yielding limited results – and the few that had managed to trap themselves under his uniform, those were now burrowing deeper every time he moved.
He hated goddamned windows.
But he didn't stop.
Finally, he rounded a building and saw the base of Stark Tower. Natasha was emerging even as he approached. There was blood on her face and she looked worn and exhausted, but still she carried herself with a strong and proud set to her shoulders.
The relief that swept through him almost took him to his knees. She was okay. She was mobile. It was all he could hope for on a day like today.
Then he saw it, held loosely in her hand. The sight of the damn scepter had him freezing almost mid-step.
He could almost feel the ice spreading through him, could almost hear the haunting whisper of Loki's voice in his mind.
Natasha caught sight of him and headed his way, only to pause when she realized he wasn't moving towards her. Her brow furrowed and her eyes shifted from him to the spear. Understanding came quickly and she continued forward, her steps slow and cautious.
"Clint…"
She stopped right in front of him, the spear held in her right hand.
"It's just a weapon, like any other weapon. You've been shot a million times and you've never flinched away from a gun. This is no different."
A gun had never been used to take over his mind and force him to destroy everything that was important in his life. But the spear also hadn't burrowed a hole through his body on multiple occasions.
Clint tilted his head a little. She had a point, he supposed.
He forced himself to look at the spear and then forced himself to see it as just that – a weapon. He and weapons? They were old buddies. Not that he'd ever be able to bring himself to wield the spear…or even touch it. But at least he wasn't a quivering pile on the ground at the sight of it…so…he'd count it as a win.
He looked back at Natasha and nodded. Relief settled in her features and her lips quirked in a warm grin. He found his own lips quirking in response.
Then, without giving himself time to think about it, without giving his mind time to recall violent images filled with blood, he reached out. He caught one of her shoulders and pulled her to him, wrapping her in as tight a hug as he could manage.
The images came, just as vile and sickening as they had been since the moment Loki planted them in his mind. But he ignored them. It was worth the rolling in his stomach to feel her body against his. To know, without a doubt, that she was solid and real. She was okay.
He felt her free arm wrap up around his back as she clung to him just as fiercely.
"This was one for the record books, huh?" she spoke into his chest, where she'd tucked her head under his chin. Clint knew what she was doing, she was trying to lighten the moment. She was trying to do what he had always done when things got too intense, when the hits had landed too hard.
But all her words did was make his gut clench as the memory of the last several days washed over him.
"Yeah," he managed. "Something like that."
She must have heard something in his voice, because she pulled back, eyes dark with concern as she tilted her head to look up at him.
But before she could question him, Rogers, Thor, Stark, and Hulk came around a building, heading for entrance to the tower. Clint took the reprieve for what it was and nudged her back the way she'd come. After a moment of hesitation, she allowed it.
Together they met up with the rest of the team at the lobby door.
"You both okay?" Rogers asked in concern, even though he, himself, looked more than a little worse for wear.
Natasha glanced at Clint, deduced fairly quickly that he wasn't going to reply for himself, and then answered for both of them.
"We're good."
Rogers nodded, but his gaze lingered on Clint longer than the archer was comfortable with. He knew he probably looked as bad as he felt, but he'd be damned if he came this far and showed any weakness now. Not when the finish line was practically within his grasp. Rogers' perceptive eyes seemed to come to some conclusion that Clint was at least not in danger of immediate collapse, and finally cut away to focus on Stark.
"And you? Still okay?"
"Still alive," Stark replied with a weary sigh. "That's about all I'm qualified to assess at the moment."
"I'll take it." Rogers looked to Thor and Hulk next. "Why don't you meet us up there, big guy."
Hulk grunted and started climbing up the face of the building.
Steve nodded, giving them all meaningful look.
"Let's finish this."
Clint could only assume he meant Loki. The god was the only loose end left in this nightmare.
They trudged into the building together.
Stark led them all to a wall of elevators and pressed the 'up' arrow. One of the doors opened immediately and they piled in.
The ride up was awkward and cramped – Stark's armor coupled with Thor and Rogers' bulky builds took up most of the space – but Clint had claimed the back corner upon entry and the only one he actually had to come into contact with was Natasha. On a good day, that would have been cause to see just how much trouble he could get into with his hands before somebody noticed or Natasha swatted him away.
But today – hell, the last two and half days – weren't even on the scale of good vs. bad. They'd gone so utterly south that they were in their own personal ring of hell.
He closed his eyes briefly, letting everything about her presence wash over him. He tilted his head forward until his forehead was resting against the crown of her head and his face was buried in her hair. Her hand nearest the wall slid back to brush against his, he turned his own hand obligingly, letting her weave her fingers with his.
It should have been a comfort. Not so very long ago, it would have been.
As everything else faded away and the elevator rose, her presence washed over him. The way she smelled, the heat of her body where she was pressed against his chest, the feeling of her hand woven with is – all of it hit him at once.
And suddenly he wasn't in the elevator any more. He was locked in a brutal battle, a knife in his hand and the smell of her blood in the air.
He drew in a sharp breath, eyes snapping open and head lifting. He felt his hand reflexively tighten around hers and then felt her answering squeeze.
Clint looked around sharply, taking in the sight of the shiny metal walls around him and the other bodies occupying the space.
Stark was humming along with the elevator music. Thor was shifting his armor so it settled more comfortably on his chest. Rogers was in the other corner, head tilted back tiredly and eyes closed.
None of them noticed his momentary lapse, none of them even glanced his way.
But Natasha had noticed. Her fingers laced with his kept up a constant pressure, assuring him without words that she was there. That she was real.
Phil had always mused that he thought Clint was a tactile creature, yearning for physical touch more than he'd ever admit, maybe more than he even realized. Clint had never been more certain that his handler had nailed that particular personality trait than he was in this moment.
Just her hand in his was enough to ground him. The feel of her back pressing against his chest, banished the dark thoughts. The heat of her body swept away the memory of being so goddamned cold.
He was so damn lucky that she had laid a claim on him – that he was hers. Lucky that when he needed her most, she was always there.
Not for the first time since Vietnam, he wondered what the hell he'd done without her.
She tugged on his hand, silently urging him to relax again, to use these quiet moments to breath, not dwell.
It was surprisingly easy to drop his head again, pressing his forehead into the back of her head.
Then he breathed.
He felt her body shift against his as she stepped slightly back, pressing her back more solidly into his chest.
He kept breathing.
When the violent bloody flashes danced across his mind again, he tightened his hand on hers. In response, she tightened her own right back.
And he breathed those memories away.
Then, for the last few moments of the elevator ride, the darkness finally receded.
Then the only thing left was Natasha.
All Clint was aware of for those blessed silent seconds was her.
The smell of gunpowder and sweat was stronger than it usually was, almost overpowering the vanilla of whatever shampoo she used. The combination was so familiar it was practically tangible. She was real and solid.
The elevator glided to a stop but she didn't move. She wouldn't withdraw the touch until he did. It was an unspoken understanding between them. When physical comfort was needed, it was offered without reservation, silently and without fanfare. And it was never withdrawn, not until it was actively rejected.
The doors were open now, Stark and Thor already shuffling out into the large, grand elevator landing area.
So Clint drew on every last reserve of strength he had and lifted his head, drawing in a fortifying breath. Natasha shifted in front of him and he loosened his grip on her hand, letting her pull away fully.
She did, but Clint remained where he was, folded into the corner of the elevator.
He hadn't let himself think about it on the elevator ride up – he'd been too distracted with Natasha anyway. But there was no escaping it now.
He had to face Loki.
Loki.
"Show me what you fear!"
"You have shown me your heart, Agent Barton…"
"Now I will show you how I will destroy it!"
"I will break you and leave you shattered on the ground!"
Loki's voice echoed through his head and no matter how he tried…he couldn't make himself move. He stayed perfectly still, hands braced casually on the rail behind him. He was sure he looked as relaxed as could be, but inside he felt like screaming. He felt like running away, driving like hell and never looking back.
Natasha would come with him, he knew, but he couldn't leave Phil.
Phil…where was Phil? He hadn't even tried to contact him. Clint had been certain the man would have at least reached out. His mother-hen tendencies should have demanded he at least hear Clint's voice for himself.
His wonderings about his handler were effectively distracting him from the current situation, but he still hadn't moved.
Stark and Thor were already off the elevator, blinking back at the rest of them in confusion. Natasha had frozen mid step, sensing the change in Clint's emotional state. And Rogers had only pushed himself away from the corner, but was now watching Clint with that assessing gaze again.
"Wanna lead the way, Barton?" the Captain asked calmly.
Clint resisted the sudden urge to laugh hysterically.
Did he want to lead the way? Abso-fuckin-lutely NOT. He never wanted to see the bastard again, much less lead the way to him.
"Maybe you can do the honors of letting him know we mean business."
Clint shifted his gaze to Rogers now. The Captain tilted his chin at Clint's bow.
"Seems an effective tool for the job."
Clint could only stare at him. What Rogers was offering him, it was big. He was giving him a chance to face Loki on his own terms, with his greatest advantage brandished before him like a shield.
Rogers was letting him cut to the front of the line, which when it came to people that hated Loki, was very long.
Natasha's hand brushed lightly against his, drawing his gaze to hers. She dipped her head slightly in encouragement and Clint drew in a breath. He nodded back, tightening his hand on his bow and stepping off the elevator.
Once he was moving, it was easy to keep going. He stalked past Stark and Thor, who fell into step behind him without comment. He spotted Loki stirring at the bottom of a pile of rubble. He drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it without breaking stride. He barely noticed Hulk lumber over to fall in with the team.
He only had eyes for Loki.
The god was crawling his way out of the rubble and Clint moved to meet him, drawing back his bowstring and coming to a stop at the edge of the pile. He sighted Loki's eye and waited.
A moment later the god looked up, going still at the sight greeting him.
For just a moment, so brief Clint wasn't convinced he hadn't just imagined it, their gazes locked and he saw fear. Maybe Loki saw the hatred and anger Clint wasn't trying to hide. Maybe he wasn't so confident in his ability to survive an arrow to the eye.
Maybe he'd realized that when Clint made a promise, he kept it.
"Someday soon…I'll be your greatest fear too."
Their gazes remained locked for only a moment longer. Clint almost fired, almost just said 'to hell with it' and put the arrow in the son of a bitch's eye. But he didn't. Because Loki looking at him and knowing he could – being afraid that he would – was pretty damn satisfying all on its own.
When Loki realized he'd been granted a reprieve, he broke his gaze away, giving Stark a wry look.
"If it's all the same to you, I'll have that drink now."
Clint almost changed his mind about being satisfied with Loki's fear and nearly loosed the arrow right then, just on fucking principle. The son of a bitch had rained down chaos and destruction on innocent people, had stolen Clint's freedom and bent him to his will and wreaked havoc on his mind, and had done it all with a cruel, silky smile. Now he was making light of it, was making a goddamned joke.
He wanted to kill him, almost more than he'd wanted to ever kill anybody. Only one man had ever ranked above Loki in that respect, and Matthew Williams was dead – put down by Clint himself.
A large hand landed with surprising lightness on his right forearm, carefully urging him to lower his bow. He resisted and turned a glare on the perpetrator.
Thor.
The god's gaze was full of more understanding than Clint thought was possible.
"You may stand down, noble archer. He will do no more harm."
Clint hesitated an extra moment and then lowered his bow. Loki was Thor's brother, for better or worse. Clint had a brother once and even after everything Barney had done to him, Clint would never want to see him dead. He couldn't force on Thor what he, himself, wouldn't be able to stomach.
Thor stalked to Loki and hauled him up.
"I shall return him to SHIELD and see him contained."
Then, without giving any of them a chance to argue, Thor frog marched his brother towards the broken windows, twirling his hammer as he prepared to take flight.
Stark turned and yelled after him a moment before he leapt from the window.
"Meet us at shawarma!"
Then Thor was gone and Stark turned back to face the rest of them, clapping his hands together.
"Shall we?"
End of Chapter 10
Wowza that was a long chapter! I bet none of you minded that though. A lot of action! It was fun writing Clint's POV in the battle, especially since we saw very LITTLE of it in the movie so I got to do whatever I wanted! Look at that, though, the battle is over and we are only a little over halfway through the story...you know what that means? Angst and fallout...prepare yourselves.
I ask of you only one thing...well TWO things...one, drop me a line down there in the review box. two, meet me back here tomorrow for the next chapter. Speaking of, here's your preview!
His fingers were curled around the black blanket that served as their bedspread, his knuckles were white. Natasha's hand over his actually looked tan in comparison.
"You keep doing that."
He blinked, for some reason unable to look away from their hands even as he forced his fingers to unclench.
"Doing what?" he asked.
"Zoning out. I called your name twice."