Chapter 10.
Jemma and Darcy scraped Fitz off the floor, patting his cheeks to bring him round. May came down the ladder and gave them all one of her patented you-are-all-idiots stares.
"Uh, Darce?" Jane Foster said suddenly. She had carried on taking apart the machine and Clint lifted it carefully into another packing case for transport. "You m-might want to take a l-look at this." She seemed to be trying to suppress hysterical laughter.
Lying in a pile of dust bunnies and greasy, discarded nuts and bolts was an iPod Touch. Looked like 2010 model, Jemma estimated.
"Oh. My. God," Clint proclaimed. "Darcy Lewis. You owe Phil Coulson one hell of an apology."
A few hours later, they were all in Puente Antiguo's only bar sharing platters of nachos and drinking mojitos. And Clint was deliberately and obviously flirting with Jemma. He'd asked Skye to swap seats with him, saying loudly it was because he wanted to sit next to her. He'd toasted her and called her 'the prettiest girl in this bar' which, considering present company, was quite a compliment. Darcy and Skye were whispering and snickering together, and Jemma just knew they were talking about her.
Fitz hadn't quite got over his combined hero-worship of Jane Foster – who really was quite astoundingly beautiful in the flesh, Jemma could quite see how she'd caught Thor's eye – and stunned awe that the Lady Sif had not only remembered him but mentioned him to Jane! Too spooked to talk to Jane, he was just sitting silently staring at her. May and Jane sat opposite him, deep in conversation, and Skye and Darcy shared a booth with Clint and Jemma.
"A top up?" Clint held the pitcher towards Jemma's glass. His hard thigh was pressed against the length of hers, his left arm slung casually along the back of the booth lightly touching her shoulder occasionally.
"I've probably had enough," she said a little regretfully.
"Enough for what?" Clint grinned at her, and she couldn't help but blush. He was making no effort to keep his voice down or disguise his interest in her. Deliberately he picked up a lock of her hair – she'd left it down this evening, since they were going out – and rubbed it lightly between fingers and thumb.
"You have gorgeous hair, Jemma."
"It's mousy brown and straight as a stick," Jemma shook her head at him.
"And softer than silk." The backs of his fingers brushed oh-so-casually against her throat as he let her hair go, and Jemma completely failed to suppress a shiver of desire. "Like your skin." His voice dropped to an intimate, throaty rumble.
"Lucky, lucky bitch," Darcy sighed, quite loud enough for Jemma to hear. Skye broke up laughing. Jemma shot her a death glare. May peered across at them from the opposite booth, took in Jemma's red face and the way Clint was sitting close to her, deliberately crowding her against the wall.
May seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then she called; "You all right, Jemma? You look a bit flushed."
"I'm fine!" she called back brightly. Too chirpy, she thought, but she'd be damned if she was going to beg May to rescue her. It wasn't actually possible to die from embarrassment anyway. Only to want to.
"You do look flushed. It's too warm in here," Clint said in faux-solicitous tones. "I'll take her outside for a bit, get some fresh air," he said cheerfully to May. And he took Jemma's hand, tugging her out of the booth and onto her feet.
Darcy and Skye collapsed in fresh gales of laughter. Fitz actually seemed to realise what was going on, and was obviously a bit torn between looking jealously at Clint and hero-worshipping him still.
"Do you want me to come with you, Jemma?" he asked.
"You haven't finished your drink, Fitz," she pointed out. "It's fine. I'm tired anyway, and Agent Barton can walk me back to the Bus." She shot a glare over her shoulder to where Skye was actually crying with laughter.
"Good night then," May said coolly.
Jane Foster looked intrigued, glancing from Clint to Jemma and back again, smirking slightly. "Mm. Sleep well, Clint," Jane said, raising an eyebrow.
"I intend to," he replied, grinning. He liked Jane. And she was very good for Thor.
"I'm sure you will." Jane laughed when he winked at her.
"Oh, God, could you have made it any more obvious that you wanted to get me alone?" Jemma groaned as they emerged into the night. It was cold out now, and she shivered as goose-bumps sprang up on her skin.
"I could, if you wanted me to," Clint grinned down at her, saw her shivering, and immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Come on. Let's get you inside. You're cold."
"Don't you feel it?" she'd pulled on a jumper to go out, but he was still wearing only a sleeveless tee and his cargo pants.
"Not really." He obviously had one of the Bus remotes in his pocket, as the ramp lowered slowly when they walked up to it. "Part of Advanced Specialist training. You want to get past Level Five, you need to pass some pretty terrible tests under extreme environmental conditions."
She knew well enough that he wouldn't say any more than that, so as they went up the stairs, the ramp closing behind them, she asked something else that she was curious about. "How long have you known Agent May?"
"A long time." His mouth quirked when she narrowed her eyes at him. "We were at the Academy together."
"Seriously?" Jemma gaped. "How come? Your file says you're forty-three – I didn't think May was that old!"
He laughed a little bitterly. "She isn't. Oh God, I forgot about that. Yeah, my file's a massive fake, sweetheart."
"Of course," she murmured, the light dawning as he guided her to a seat in the lounge. "Agent Romanoff wouldn't have put your real S.H.I.E.L.D. file out there, would she?"
"She did, actually."
"What?" That didn't compute. "I – don't understand."
"My S.H.I.E.L.D. file was always a fake. Coulson and Fury faked my original entry records. Let's see – it said I entered the Academy aged twenty-six after seven years with the Army, one tour as a Ranger?"
"Something like that," Jemma frowned, trying to remember.
"Yeah, well, they had to explain how I got to be such a lethal sniper somehow, I suppose. Want the real story?"
"Hell yes!" She stared up at him with bright, eager eyes. He sat down beside her, lounging comfortably, slipping his arm around her waist.
"I was only eighteen when I joined S.H.I.E.L.D., Jemma."
"But where did you get to be such a good sniper, then?" Jemma asked, bemused. "And the archery – in your file it said you were a Junior Olympian…"
"I know, but they couldn't retrospectively give me any medals." He pouted slightly. "As if I'd have lost!"
"You're really not making any sense." Everything Jemma thought she knew about Clint Barton couldn't be wrong. Could it?
"I learned to shoot a bow in the circus."
"The – circus?"
"Oddly enough, the circus teaches you many of the same skills as the Army Rangers. Survival being the primary one. Physical strength, agility, teamwork." For a long moment he was silent, his blue-green eyes far away. "I was orphaned aged six. My brother Barney – he was nine – and I ended up in an orphanage. We refused to be separated and no foster family wanted the pair of us because we were right little shits. The orphanage was hell so when the circus came through town, we ran away and joined. Did odd jobs in return for table scraps and a place to sleep – in with the horses."
Jemma's mouth was open with horrified shock. Clint's slight smile twisted into something that just looked tired. "One of the main acts was an archer. Trickshot. He wanted an apprentice. Picked me because I was quick with my hands and had a good eye. By the time I was eleven, I was The Amazing Hawkeye, the boy archer who never missed. Cutting a really long story short, my brother and Trickshot were dirty. Stealing from Carson, the owner. I caught them and they tried to kill me."
"Wait – your brother tried to kill you?" Jesus, and she'd thought Ward's betrayal was bad!
His eyes never left hers. "I've spent my whole life being betrayed, Jemma. My father. My brother, my first mentor. Long before S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA. I was seriously injured: the circus bosses abandoned me in hospital and when I got out, I was all alone with nothing but my wits to survive on. By the time I was fourteen I was a killer for hire, and I believed the whole human race was rotten through, because there wasn't a single person in the world who had ever actually given a shit about me. I didn't care who I killed. But an assassin with a bow and arrows is too easy to identify; trackable by his kills. I'd learned knives, too. Swords. I fell in with a crew who knew guns and taught me those."
"What – what happened?" Jemma whispered, in complete shock. "How did you change sides?"
"Coulson," Clint said simply. "Phil Coulson happened. What, did you really think Skye was the first one he recruited to the side of the angels? He saw something in me worth saving and he did. Even after I stabbed him."
"Say again?"
"Another long story – one I can't share, I'm afraid." Clint pulled her closer in to his side. "But at the end of the day, he and Fury faked my record and put me into Operations. Made me a Specialist. Made me into their killer."
I messed a little bit with Clint's story here. If his real file had hit the Net Jemma would already know everything important about him and I wanted that not to be the case. This is what happens when plot sneaks up on me…
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