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"
Shout out to viressiel for naming the song the chapter titles are from! :D
Thanks to all who reviewed Chapter 10: Kylen, Jewls58, R1DdL3M37h15, Sandy-wmd, Lollypops101, TheNightFury, Aurora Abbot, Coryn, Rose, GremlinX, isis7140, truefairytales, bookworm1517, Melissa, Qweb, Kiiimberly, ladybug114, faithfreedom, Viviannafox, CyanB, koolgirl1120, beverlie4055, Kirstiej104, Eringo94, Ms. Hawkeye, JRBarton, tpt player 5701, weemcg33, AustralianRanger012, Shannon K, jaguarspot, Soul Bucket, Reteka Hyuuga, penguincrazy, Rangersan, WitBeyondMeasure23, Lil'Fuj13, awkard hawk, TheWalkinMouth, coastalcajun, silvershadowrebel, GreenLoki, Batghost, RAGAnne, TrooperCam, Amy, thababes, LovelyMysteryFan, Eva7673, jensmit75
To isi7140: I picture Todd Bryan as Shemar Moore from Criminal Minds :)
To TheNightFury: I thought the use of the Pinocchio song was downright haunting. I loved it and thought it added to overall impact of the trailer. And the hammer scene...lol...amazing
To Aurora Abbot: yep! That's his name! :D
To Coryn: I loved that scene! I thought it was amazing! I can't wait to see it for real!
To bookworm1517: I DO know what story i'm writing next and so do my betas...but I'm not telling you guys till the end of the next chapter! lol
To ladybug114: any correlation there was unintentional lol...but I wish it HAD been on purpose
To Kirstiej104: I hadn't heard about the whole farm-boy thing lol but it sounds...intriguing...I also really like Bobbi in AOS!
To Eringo94: I'm choosing to see the Natasha and Hulk scene as more her being able to get through to the Hulk, not so much her and Bruce being a 'thing'...but that could just be denial lol
To AustralianRanger012: let me put it this way...Phil's fate is not sealed at this point, but I'm not revealing what that means :)
To Soul Bucket: yep! It's the same Moreau! Which is gonna be FUN!
To Lil'Fuj13: it IS one of those three names :D
To awkard hawk: sassy Clint is a dream come true...it's how Hawkeye is SUPPOSED TO BE...Renner just got cheated in the first movie
Special thanks to Kylen and JRBarton for their amazing and awesome beta abilities! Dan's voice, as per usual, is from Kylen'smouth :D
Time to dive in! Enjoy Chapter 11!
The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places.
Ernest Hemingway
Phil sighed, pulled off his headset and powered down the jet.
They were home, finally, after ten long hours. Phil could readily admit he was exhausted. He hadn't slept, and he should have – should have at least tried. But he hadn't. Watching over Clint, making sure he was all right, and waking him for concussion checks every couple of hours had seemed more important.
But something about being back in New York, safely landed on base, seemed to lift some sort of weight from his shoulders. He wearily pushed up from the pilot's chair and made his way to Clint's side, ready to wake him one more time.
He was saved the trouble though, because Clint was already awake. When Phil thought about it, he'd probably woken on his own when the jet touched down. He hadn't made any attempt to rise yet, and that had Phil mentally counting back to when he'd last given him morphine.
Too long ago.
Phil held out a hand.
"Infirmary's got a bed with your name on it. All you gotta do is make it to the wheelchair I'm sure Dan has waiting right outside."
Clint scowled and wrapped his left hand around the one Phil had offered.
"I don't need a damn wheelchair."
The firm insistence – made a little harder to understand because Clint's voice just kept getting worse – didn't hold a lot of weight when Phil had to do most of the work to pull Clint up to his feet and then had to hold him steady while he got his bearings. But Phil wouldn't step into that power play until the wheelchair was close enough to force him into.
"Ready?" Phil asked as he moved to the control that would lower the ramp.
Clint nodded and Phil hit the control. Once the ramp started to lower, Phil looked back to Clint. He watched the archer take one stiff, painful-looking step forward and immediately tense, the corners of his eyes and mouth tightening in pain.
Phil took a step towards him, but Clint waved him off immediately.
"Phil, just…don't." Clint ground out a frustrated, short groan. "I'm fine."
"Bullshit." Phil stepped closer, catching sight of Dan waiting in the hangar with a wheelchair. "You've got nothing to prove to anybody here, Clint. Nobody is going to notice or care if you walk to the infirmary or get wheeled."
He reached for Clint's arm to steady him as they started down the ramp, but the teen roughly pushed his hand away.
"Just back off, okay? I can walk." Clint growled.
"Barton, you barely look like you can stand, much less walk." Dan chimed in as they finally made it down the ramp.
"No one asked you," Clint snapped as he moved past Dan and the wheelchair. He made surprisingly fast – if stiff and painful to look at – progress across the hangar, leaving Phil standing with Dan.
"You collapse between here and there and I'm leaving your ass in the middle of the hallway, Barton." Dan threatened.
"Just let him go, Dan." Phil sighed. "He's going to the infirmary without argument, let's just count that as a win." Though at the moment it felt like the only win they had at the moment – other than Clint being alive.
Dan muttered something under his breath and started pushing the wheelchair in the direction Clint had gone.
"What was that?" Phil called after him as he signed the jet back over to the hangar chief.
"You people and your 'counting things as a win.'" Dan repeated loudly and clearly over his shoulder in a tone both totally unapologetic and dripping with sarcasm. "It's just an excuse you all use when things are screwed to hell."
Phil didn't really have grounds to disagree with that assessment, so he just kept his mouth shut and followed after Dan. Given Clint's current mood, a buffer was going to be a necessity. He just hoped they didn't arrive at the infirmary to already find bloodshed.
However, much to Phil's surprise, when he and Dan caught up to Clint in the infirmary, he was not only allowing a nurse to take his vitals, but he was sitting quietly on a bed without offering a bit of protest.
If it didn't strike fresh worry deep into his soul, Phil would have been pleased with the progress. Clint cooperating with medical professionals in any capacity was usually cause for celebration, but this was different. It was like he wasn't even in the room with them. He was checked out, his gaze completely distant.
For all intents and purposes, he didn't appear at all engaged in what was going on around him. Considering the concussion concerns, it was enough to send alarm bells off in Phil's head.
"Barton?" Dan had apparently picked up on the out of character detachment as well.
But instead of staying unfocused and detached, Clint's gaze drifted to Dan's and then to Phil's immediately and unerringly as if to prove to both of them at the same time that he wasn't in immediate and urgent need of a CT scan.
He didn't hold the eye contact for long, though, before he was letting his gaze drop away again, fixed on some point on the floor. So it wasn't the concussion then, at least not in whole. Clint just…didn't seem to care. And considering his own medical treatment tended to be something he intensely cared about – usually very loudly – the lack of interest and engagement was unnerving. It had Phil wishing for the usual combative behavior they'd all become accustomed to.
Phil took a step forward, intent on doing or saying something, but Dan caught his arm and spoke.
"Phil, why don't you go grab a shower and get some shut eye in my office. I think Steph and I can handle this."
Phil snapped his gaze over to Dan in disbelief. He couldn't remember a time when Clint had been treated in the infirmary without Phil within eye shot at least. He was sure the mere suggestion of him leaving would snap Clint out of…whatever this was.
But when Phil looked to Clint for a reaction, there wasn't one. There wasn't even an acknowledgement of what Dan had suggested.
More worry grew in Phil's gut.
"Look, Phil," Dan pitched his voice low and spoke under his breath. "He's not fighting us right now. You said it yourself, that's a win. You'll be in a better position to fix whatever the hell is wrong if you're on the right side of a few hours of sleep. I can handle this."
Phil opened his mouth to protest, but closed it just as quickly.
"I'll get you if something changes," Dan promised seriously.
Phil looked at Clint once again, but Clint didn't look at him. It was a radical change from a few months ago when Dan and his staff couldn't make a move without Phil giving it the go-ahead nod. It was too radical and did nothing but put Phil even more ill at ease with the situation.
But it was hard to argue with Dan when Clint didn't appear to care one way or another if he was there. It was even harder to argue when Phil knew he needed to get some rest. Maybe grabbing some shut-eye would give him a new perspective, and maybe some insight on how to go about rebuilding Clint's shattered psyche.
Because if he was honest, he had no idea what to do – how to fix this. He wasn't sure if he even could – or at this point, if Clint would even let him try.
"Fine." He backed up a step and gave Dan a nod. He looked at Clint one more time and debated on whether he should say anything before he left. In this state, Clint might not care whether he said anything or not.
But that didn't mean that he didn't still need to hear it, or that Phil didn't still need to say it.
"I won't be far. If you need anything just…" Phil blew out a breath, fighting down a wave of disappointment when he didn't even get a glance. "I won't be far." He repeated quietly before turning and walking away. And no matter how much he tried to convince himself it was the right move for now, walking away from Clint would never feel anything but wrong.
Dan watched Phil head towards the infirmary locker room and sighed. That was one problem down – Phil's exhaustion had been painfully obvious.
Now to deal with his other big problem. He turned to face Barton in time to see him staring intently at Phil's retreating back.
Not so disinterested then. No real surprise there. But if Barton wasn't going to make an issue over it, neither would Dan.
"What are we looking at, Steph?"
The nurse handed over the chart she'd been quietly making notes on. Dan looked it over quickly and then stepped closer to Barton.
"Steph, why don't you go prep x-ray and CT for me? I'll bring Barton down myself in a few."
She nodded and moved quickly out of the room.
Dan eyed up Clint for a long, long moment, then looked at the clipboard. Nothing was completely out of whack, but Dan had no doubt there would be a lot of pieces to put back together.
At least he only had the physical ones, he thought ruefully. Dan didn't envy Phil at the moment. Whatever – or whoever – had gotten into Barton's head was wreaking havoc.
Dan looked up from the clipboard to find Barton still quiet and cooperative.
He couldn't deal with that from Barton. It just didn't spin with the universe as Dan knew it. So, he leaned up against the wall and crossed his arms against the chart.
"Mind telling me what's going through your head right now, Barton?"
Barton showed no reaction but a slow blink. He kept his gaze pinned on some spot low on the wall and didn't reply.
So that was a 'no', then.
Dan sighed.
"Okay, can you at least cooperate long enough to run through a concussion check with me?"
Barton's gaze shifted up to meet his and then back to the same spot on the wall.
Dan supposed that meant 'yes,' but the lack of verbal responses was starting to wind him up. He hissed a breath through his teeth, and decided to poke the tiger with a stick.
"Dammitall, Barton, I need you to talk to me, or I'm going to start assuming you're catatonic on top of a concussion and I'm getting psych in here. I really, really don't want to do that, so you think you could play ball with me and maybe say a few words?"
He expected defiance, maybe some of the usual fire that tended to light up Barton's gaze when he was in the infirmary. Instead, he got another slow blink and Barton's eye rose to meet his once again.
"Fine."
Dan inwardly sighed with relief. Responsiveness at least – or rather, Barton's definition of the word.
"Do you know what the date is?"
A muscle in Barton's jaw twitched.
"No."
Dan blinked. Well, scratch one question anyhow.
"Okay, how about your full name – and while you're at it, give me your handler's full name, too."
"Clint Barton. Phil Coulson."
Dan gritted his teeth and fought the urge to ask Barton for middle names.
"Fine. Where are you right now?"
"The infirmary on the New York SHIELD base."
Dan nodded.
"What to tell me the trouble with the date, then?"
The muscle in Barton's jaw twitched again.
"Over two weeks of deep cover and a hell of a lot of lost time over the past two days…lost track."
Dan raised an eyebrow.
"And you're admitting to that?"
"Would you rather I denied it?" Barton's tone lacked the usual sarcasm such words would usually carry. Instead he just sounded…tired.
"No, not really. Just wondering where the new cooperative Barton's come from and whether I get to keep him for any period of time." Dan frowned, then sighed. "Look, kid ... physically, I mean, you're beat to hell, but there's nothing here I can't deal with. What I don't understand ... I mean ... this isn't you, and I'd like to know why."
Barton just stared at him with a stony expression.
Dan rolled his eyes.
"You know what, like it or not, Barton, people around here care about you. I just want to understand what's going on. So I can limp you along until Phil manages some sleep and can deal with whatever's rattling around inside your head."
Barton's eyes narrowed and something in them darkened.
"Look, you wanna patch me up? Fine. But that's the only reason I'm here. I don't need or want any hand-holding, kumbaya shit from you."
Dan wanted to scream. Really, he did. Trying to get through Barton's head some days was like Russian roulette. Inevitably, it would blow up in your face - and it just had.
He tried to maneuver out of it, holding up his hands in self-defense.
"I've got a shitty singing voice, kid. Haven't you heard?" Dan snorted softly, trying to show a little good humor. "Just trying to figure out how much of your current attitude is the concussion, and how much might be something more."
"CT scan's probably not for nothing, if that helps." Barton replied. Dan realized he'd hit the proverbial wall.
"In other words, shut up and leave you the fuck alone? Patch up the holes and let you brood?"
"And they say you're not perceptive."
Dan made a face.
"Nice, Barton. Fine. Get your ass in that wheelchair and I'll take you down to x-ray. Be forewarned: this isn't simple this time. Your arm's going to need a cast, the broken collarbone needs to be immobilized - and ..." Dan sighed. "You need rabies shots."
Barton scowled.
"It was a guard dog."
Dan scowled back.
"Can you show me a license, right now, that guarantees that damned dog had its shots?"
Barton's scowl just deepened and he didn't reply.
Dan tried looking him in the eye.
"C'mon, kid. Rabies is a pretty damned horrible death. Let me at least spare you that."
"Fine."
And with that Barton levered himself off the bed and into the wheelchair with nothing more than a grimace.
Dan watched him, knowing there was more to Barton's pain. But – as he tended to be with Barton – he was stuck between the wall and the kid's attitude.
"Fine." He got behind the chair and pushed. Nothing was ever easy with Barton.
Nothing.
Dan watched as Clint settled back into the bed. True to the universe known as Barton, he'd been mostly silent, borderline unresponsive and entirely too cooperative as Dan had set his arm, slung the broken collarbone and put in more stitches than he'd wanted to count.
"Well, that takes care of most of the treatable stuff. Now, let me go find you a painkiller and you can get some sleep."
Barton's left hand shot out with impressive speed and latched onto Dan's wrist to keep him from moving away.
"No pain meds." He said it in a tone of steely resolve that left no room for debate, but Dan had sensed that was coming and fired right back.
"Don't even think about starting that shit with me today, Barton. You aren't going to be doing yourself any favors by refusing them. Your body needs a chance to heal."
Barton's expression was unmoved.
"I don't nee–"
"Oh, bullshit." Somewhere in the back of his head, Dan realized he wasn't helping the situation, but after the last 48 hours, something needed to give.
He needed Barton to not be hurting.
"Listen to me, Barton." Dan got close, and let every bit of the emotions he'd been shoving down surface. "I may not be Phil, but I'm not a fucking idiot. You don't carry injuries like yours without paying a price. You're dealing with some serious shit, fine. You don't want to talk to me, fine. But I'm not going to let you use pain as a coping mechanism. So for my sake – and for Phil's – take the damn meds because he'd kick my ass if I left you here hurting."
Barton held his gaze unflinchingly and gave nothing away with his expression.
"It's not about coping. I've turned down pain meds before. Phil knows that and so do you."
Dan just gaped at Barton for a moment. Yeah, Barton could work through pain unlike most people he knew – and he did tend to turn down pain meds when given the option. But there was clearly something else going on. Forcing the pain medications on Barton was something he could technically do, but it would wreck the trust he had just been starting to establish with the archer before this mission. He didn't want to start from scratch again.
Abruptly, Dan turned and moved toward the door. Time to play his trump card – there was one thing that Barton seemed to want to avoid right now even more than meds.
"Fine. I'm getting Phil. Maybe he can talk some sense into you."
He made it all the way there, even got his hand on the door handle before Barton spoke.
"Fine."
Dan paused, but didn't turn and waited for Barton to continue.
"I'll take the damn meds."
Dan couldn't help it. His shoulders slumped with relief. He took a second to compose himself before he turned around, though.
"The morphine I had Phil give you work well enough, or do you want something stronger?"
Barton's gaze was fixed on some spot on the ceiling and stayed there even as he responded.
"Morphine's fine."
This time, Dan didn't even hesitate.
"Dammitall, Barton, I mean it. You need sleep. Is the morphine going to cut it or not?"
Barton looked at him now, eyebrow arched defiantly.
"Morphine's fine." He stated again, this time more firmly.
Dan didn't like the look on Baton's face, and he definitely figured the kid was lying. But he didn't want to screw around with this.
"Fine. I'll grab an anti-inflammatory while I'm at it, and no, you can't say no."
Barton's gaze shifted back to the ceiling without responding.
Dan sighed and went out the door without stopping this time. Damned kid was going to give him a migraine.
He nearly ran headlong into Todd Bryan, who was reaching for the door just as Dan pushed through it. Dan figured it took all of Todd's natural reflexes and speed to avoid dumping the tray of food he had balanced in his hands all over both of them.
Dan eyed the food on the tray.
"Wrong color Gatorade, for one. He prefers the blue. Was the cafeteria out?
"A huge class of recruits just came in and cleaned out the supply. They only had red and orange left." Todd replied distractedly as he shifted to try and see over or around Dan into the room.
Dan caught on almost immediately, and stood up a little taller to block the view of the room.
Todd's gaze focused on him and irritation rose in his eyes.
"Dan, what the hell?"
Dan snorted softly.
"As if I couldn't figure out just what the hell you came up here for. Be my guest, but watch out for the attitude. It's in full force today."
The irritation faded just as quickly as it had risen and Todd smirked.
"Wouldn't be Barton if there wasn't attitude involved."
Todd moved to step around Dan, but Dan grabbed his arm and shook his head.
"I'm serious, Todd. This isn't normal Barton. It's like he wants the whole world to just go away. I'd go get Phil, but he's had about as little sleep as Barton, and I finally managed to get him on the couch in my office."
Todd's gaze grew serious and he nodded.
Dan couldn't keep the look of frustration off his face.
"Maybe you can snap him out of his funk. But I doubt it."
Todd sighed as if doubted it too.
Dan gestured down the hall.
"I'll be back in a few with his pain meds."
Todd nodded again and quietly made his way into Barton's room. Dan sighed, silently wished him luck, and headed away from the room.
Barton didn't even glance his way as Todd stepped into the room. He kept his gaze, instead, fixed on some spot on the ceiling.
Todd braced himself and forced some enthusiasm into his voice.
"Look who's back from the dead."
He moved closer and slid the tray onto the bedside table.
"Was never dead." Barton muttered as he gave the food a disinterested glance.
"Maybe not in the most literal sense of the word, no. But that doesn't make your survival any less of a relief to those of us who believed it to be true."
Todd leaned his hip against the foot the bed and looked Barton over.
"Damn, kid, you look like shit. Definitely used up one of your nine lives this time."
Barton's eyebrow arched impatiently.
Todd wasn't unfamiliar with Barton's lack of verbal communication, so he let the sharp expression go without comment.
"Anyway, just wanted to check in, making sure the rumors were true."
Barton's expression morphed sarcastically as if to ask 'are you satisfied?'
"You know what, Johnny Rain Cloud, some of us didn't know that your whole 'playing dead' thing was a load of shit. So forgive me for actually giving a fucking damn."
Barton's gaze darkened and he shifted it back to the ceiling, dismissing Todd with all the subtly of a sign that read 'get the fuck out.' Todd almost snapped and let the kid have it right then and there. But then something caught his eye.
It was so faint he almost didn't see it, but it was there.
A tremor.
It was making Barton's left hand – which was relaxed on the blanket next to his thigh – shake.
He'd seen that kind of reaction before, in agents that had been through hell and hadn't quite made it back yet – not in their own head at least.
What the hell had happened?
"Jesus, Barton…" before he had a chance to say anything else, to tell the kid he hadn't known…hadn't realized how bad it had been, the door opened and Dan marched back in.
"Sleep time." He didn't give Barton a chance to object before smoothly injecting something into his IV port.
Todd swallowed and gave the archer one last long look, but Barton's gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling.
"For what it's worth, Barton…it's damn good to see you in one piece." There was no noticeable reaction to his words, but he hadn't been expecting one. "Heal up, kid."
With that, Todd followed Dan out of the room, leaving Barton exactly how he seemed to want to be at the moment…alone.
Dan headed back down the hallway towards Barton's room. He really hoped that in the time since they'd left him, the kid was finally sleeping. He leaned silently through the open doorway and looked him over.
Barton's breathing was even, his head tilted slightly away from the door. He was asleep, finally.
The untouched food still sitting on the bedside table was cause for concern, but it was something that could be dealt with later. For now, sleep was the best thing for him.
As it also was for Phil. He really hoped his friend had made good use of his time in Dan's office. With that thought in mind, he headed across the hall to check on him.
Dan opened his door quietly, hoping not to disturb Phil. But it was for nothing, because almost immediately the agent flinched and looked to the door. Seeing Dan, he pushed himself up to sitting.
"Is Clint –"
Dan rolled his eyes and cut him off.
"Oh, for God's sake, settle down. He's asleep. I can see him from RIGHT HERE." Dan snorted. "Do I need to get you a sedative next? Because if you were awake that quick, you definitely weren't sleeping."
A flash of defiance lit Phil's expression.
"I was sleeping." He defended. "Just not..." he cleared his throat and shifted his gaze away, "deeply."
"Yeah, and Barton didn't need his pain medication, either." Dan looked seriously at Phil for a long moment, noting the circles under his eyes and the exhaustion on his face. "Seriously, Phil, do I need get you a sedative?"
The defiance fled and Phil sagged back against the couch cushions with a sigh.
"No, I can sleep...I guess I just needed to hear from someone else that he's gonna be okay first."
"I'm not sure I'd go that far, but he's stitched up, asleep and not dying." Dan came the rest of the way into the room, and shot a look at Phil. "So, I'll 'take that as a win.'"
He then sunk into one his office chair and leaned back, heaving out a sigh.
"What the hell happened out there, Phil? He had bruises on top of bruises, fucking electrical burns, a broken collar bone that had been that way for way too long – oh, and his feet looked like he'd walked across glass. And don't even get me started on his state of mind…his head was anywhere but here, and trust me, it wasn't just the concussion – which, by the way, is pretty damned bad. Made me a little surprised he's as coherent as he is."
Phil scrubbed a hand over his eyes and blew out a breath.
"It's definitely not just the concussion." Phil agreed, but he didn't expound further, just turned his gaze onto the closed office door, but not seeming to really focus on it.
Dan sighed. First Barton, now Phil. The attitude was catching.
"I've got that single malt in the desk if it'll loosen your tongue."
That drew Phil's gaze away from the door and over to Dan.
"I won't say no to a drink. As for what happened to cause those injuries, you know about as much as I do at this point. The explosion, followed by over half a day of being held captive. Who the hell knows what he went through? The state of mind, on the other hand, that has more to do with something that can't be as easily fixed."
Dan opened the drawer, and started digging under a pile of papers. When he found the bottle, he pulled it out - and then swore.
"Goddamitall. I'm going to have to find a new hiding place." He shook his head and wondered who'd stole a shot or three, then reached into the drawer again and pulled out a plastic cup.
He poured a generous amount in Phil's cup, and then handed it over.
"Spill. And I don't mean the drink."
Phil took a long haul from the cup and let his head drop back against the cushions, remaining silent for a long moment before speaking.
"We lost an asset in the field. Clint is taking it personally."
Dan frowned.
"One of ours? I didn't hear anything about that."
Phil slowly shook his head.
"Not one of ours...not technically."
Dan glowered.
"Make sense, Phil. Now."
"I wish I could." Phil sighed and tipped some more of the drink into his mouth. "But I didn't even know about this 'asset' until I was trying to rescue him." Phil shook his head as if he still couldn't quite figure something out.
"Wait a minute, you've lost me. All I know is that Barton was deep undercover someplace, and that cover got blown enough for someone to try to kill him. Asset? What asset?"
Phil pulled his head forward off the cushion and rubbed his face again.
"You aren't cleared for details beyond the scope of his treatment, but considering I'm a little light on the details myself, I can tell you this...while undercover Clint cultivated this asset. As Clint tells it, this guy is the only reason he was able to escape."
Dan leaned back in his chair.
"Aw, FUCK. And he died?" A horrible thought struck him. "While getting Barton out?"
Phil nodded.
"Something like that."
"Well, that certainly explains the shitty attitude. I won't push for details, but would this explain why Barton refused pain medication when even he would usually take them at this point? He's trying to punish himself?"
"Like I said, he's taking it personally and Clint's never been good at letting himself off the hook." Phil drained the rest of his drink and held the cup back out to Dan, silently asking for a refill.
Dan looked at the cup, looked at the bottle, then sighed and poured another shot for Phil.
"There, and the state you're in, that should knock you on your ass."
Dan put the cap back on the bottle, and then dropped it back in the drawer. After a moment, he pulled out his keychain and threw the lock on it as well.
"Did you get him to take the pain meds?" Phil asked as he sipped the drink.
Dan sighed.
"It was a fucking battle, and I had to hit below the belt to win it, but yeah, he took them."
Phil arched a curious eyebrow.
"Below the belt?"
"Told him I'd come and get you to talk some sense into him. He was telling me he 'didn't need it.'" Dan air quoted the last three words, and then sighed. "I figured with the way he was acting earlier, he might not want to see you more. Any idea what that's about?"
Phil shook his head. "He's hiding something from me." He sighed. "I've never seen him like this...and believe me, I've seen him pretty bad. There's something he doesn't want me to know."
Dan nodded.
"Well," Dan paused, then gestured at the glass. "Drink that, and I'll pay you a compliment."
Phil twitched an eyebrow as if to say 'what the hell' and downed the entire contents of the glass.
"Good. Now, listen to me." Dan leaned back, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but Barton used to not tell you a lot of shit back in the beginning. You were in here complaining about his stubborn ass on more than one occasion. But no matter how frustrated you got, you never gave up on him…and you know what happened?"
Phil didn't answer, just waited instead.
"He started to trust you and then everything changed." Dan pointed a finger at Phil. "This may be the worst you've seen him, and yeah, he is in pretty damned bad shape, but that trust is still there. And if anyone is going to get him worked back around to the right side of this, it'll be you. You think anybody else here can say that?"
Phil sighed, glancing back at the door again, as if he could see Clint if he looked hard enough.
"I'm not even sure where to start. Talking to him now is like being back at square one...hell, BEFORE square one." Phil looked back at Dan. "You didn't know him in the beginning, Dan, the very beginning. It was like running uphill, and ninety percent of the time the kid was ready to walk away and never look back. And this," Phil pointed at the door, "this is worse than that was."
Dan thought about it for a moment, weighing his words carefully.
"It may be worse, but there's one thing that's changed."
Phil raised an eyebrow curiously and waited.
"He's not going to walk out the door. Not on you. He proved that by coming back here at all."
The words, and their implication, brought visible emotion into Phil's expression before he looked away and took a breath to collect himself.
"You never gave up on him in the beginning, don't give up on him now. Something tells me he needs you more now than he ever has."
Phil looked back at him, a bit of fire in his gaze again.
"I'd never give up on him. But I can't do this without him. He has to be willing to fight for himself...and right now, it's like he's got no fight left."
"Think about what you just said and who you said it about." Dan stated firmly. "What did you always tell me about him when you first brought him in? When you were frustrated beyond belief because you couldn't get through to him? What did you tell me?"
Phil drew back slightly and his expression grew thoughtful.
"That he was a survivor." He stated quietly, thoughtfully. Then his gaze refocused and new resolve started building. "He was stubborn and didn't know how to quit, even when he should."
Dan nodded.
"You would tell me that that kid is a fighter, deep in his bones – that he didn't know how to do anything else even when it wasn't in his best interest. You think that's changed?"
Phil's gaze started gaining some more fire, and fresh determination.
Dan nodded again.
"Exactly. It hasn't. That fight's still there, Phil. You just have to remind him."
Phil nodded, gaze growing reflective as he no doubt tried to come up with some sort of plan. Dan watched him sit on the couch and make no move to lay back down as he'd promised before this conversation started.
"Uh, Phil?"
He started and glanced Dan's way expectantly.
"You can't do anything right now. He's asleep, and you should be too."
Phil sighed.
"Right."
"And in a minute, that scotch is gonna kick in. So why don't you stretch out and give yourself a break?"
After brief hesitation, Phil nodded.
"Just wake me up when he wakes up."
Dan nodded, and kicked his feet back up on his desk.
"Which hopefully won't be for a good long while. Because, my friend, you look like shit."
Phil huffed a sarcastic chuckle and stretched out on the couch, draping an arm over his eyes with a sigh.
After he was sure Phil would stay settled, Dan leaned back and relaxed. Everyone was in the right place at the moment. It would do.
Clint slid around the corner, eyes scanning the dark corridor ahead of him. Slowly, keeping his steps silent, he moved down the hallway, gripping the hilt of his knife – Boomer's knife – tightly in his hand.
Boomer was here – somewhere.
He had to be.
Clint just had to find him. He had to find him before it was too late.
Voices echoed around him, causing him to stop cold and look behind him.
But there was no one there. He swung back around, searching the darkness around him, but he couldn't see anyone. The voices got louder, clearer.
He knew those voices.
Ruiz and Cohen.
But there was another voice – it was weaker, quieter.
Boomer.
The realization spurred him to move. He started down the hall again, but no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find a door. The voices were there though, getting louder.
He was close. He had to be close.
He had to find him. He had to find Boomer before it was too late.
He felt along the black walls, searching for a break, for something that would indicate the door that would be hiding Boomer behind it.
Where was it? He had to find it.
He was so focused on his task, so determined not to fail, that he didn't hear someone coming up behind him. He sensed the other presence just before a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.
He spun, coming face to face with Cohen.
"Agent Barton."
Clint tried to back away, but hit the wall.
"Agent Barton."
Light swirled around him and Clint slammed his eyes closed.
Cohen moved at him, hand landing on his shoulder again.
Clint's eyes snapped open at the sudden pressure on his shoulder and his hand shifted instinctively, sliding under the blankets and finding the hilt of the knife he had hidden under his thigh.
He tore his focus away from the blinding light around him to the presence looming over him.
Cohen.
Clint's body reacted immediately, years' worth of instincts leading his actions. He swung out with the knife, causing Cohen to stumble back with a startled shout. Then he used his elbow to push himself up, huffing irritably at the uselessness of his broken collarbone. He stumbled to his feet, brushing off whatever was stinging his arm and clawing at whatever was holding his right arm hostage until he was free of it.
Then he turned his attention back to Cohen, stalking forward and backing him up against the door.
"Where is he?" Clint demanded, brandishing the knife threateningly and reaching with his newly freed right hand to catch the man around the throat.
Cohen shook his head and didn't answer.
"Where's Boomer?!" Clint growled, stepping forward and pressing the knife blade lightly against his throat.
Cohen's eyes went wide and out of nowhere he screamed.
"Help me! Somebody help me!"
"Shut up!" Clint snapped, using the hand he had around Cohen's throat to pull him away from the door. He backed up even as he forced Cohen to turn, pulling the man's back against his chest and sliding the knife in under his chin again.
"Please." Cohen begged quietly and Clint tightened the hand he had around his throat.
"I told you to shut up!" Clint hissed. "How many men do you have out there? Huh? How many?"
Cohen just stuttered over syllables and didn't answer.
"Where's Boomer?" Clint demanded.
Cohen shook his head just as the door burst open and two men stepped through it.
"Let her go, Barton."
Clint frowned and backed up further, pulling Cohen with him.
"Stay back or I'll kill him."
"Barton…"
"Back up!" Clint snapped.
A third man stepped into the room, immediately backed out, shouted something Clint didn't catch, and then he was back in the room again. He stepped forward, ahead of the other two, a hand outstretched with a gun pointed in Clint's direction.
"Barton, calm down."
Clint glared at the new man over Cohen's shoulder.
"Where's Boomer?"
"He's not here, Clint." A fourth man came into the room, approaching slowly.
Ruiz.
"Stay back." Clint snarled. "You're next on my list."
Ruiz held up both his hands, proudly showcasing the taser in one of them.
"Where are you, Clint?"
Clint frowned. That was an ass-backwards question for a situation like this.
"Clint, I need you to focus. Tell me where you are. Describe it."
"You know where we are, it's your goddamned compound." Clint argued. "Stop moving."
Ruiz stopped his slow, subtle approach immediately.
"Clint, are you in the Ares compound?"
Clint frowned again. What was with the stupid questions?
"Where's Boomer, Ruiz?" Clint tried to bring the proper focus back to the conversation. "I know he's here."
"Clint, focus…I'm not Ruiz. You're not in Cairo anymore."
The entire room blurred and refocused just as quickly, but the scene was different. The walls were white, not black. It wasn't Ruiz's men in the room and it wasn't Ruiz. There were no guns, no tasers. Most startling, it wasn't Cohen he had trapped.
Just as abruptly, the scene shifted back.
What the hell…
Clint frowned, instinctively tightening his hold on Cohen's neck.
Something wasn't right…maybe they'd drugged him.
"Where's Boomer?" He asked again, forcing his tone to be firm.
"I'm not Ruiz, Clint. Think, focus…Ruiz didn't know your name, nobody in Ares did."
Clint felt his breathing start to speed up. He was Hawkeye, just Hawkeye, to Ruiz. He wasn't Clint. Only one person called him Clint.
Something wasn't right.
Phil kept his hands spread non-threateningly in front of him, watching as the confusion grew in Clint's eyes.
"You know that something is off, I can see it in your eyes. Trust that instinct, Clint."
The hand Clint had wrapped around the nurse's throat loosened fractionally and she reacted, throwing an elbow back into Clint's ribs and stomping hard on his foot. Clint flinched, backing away from the assault instinctively.
The combination of him backing up and the nurse trying to break free was a bad one and the knife jerked up, slicing sharply across the bottom of her jaw bone. She shrieked in pain and Clint tensed. But something about her scream must have broken through whatever delusion he was trapped in because he let her pull away without protest.
"Come to me, Steph." Dan ordered sharply, beckoning the nurse closer.
She obeyed immediately, keeping one hand pressed against the bleeding cut on her jaw. Dan caught her and handed her off to one of the other nurses, a tall, thin man.
"Matt, get her out of here and into a treatment room. Then call Dr. Thomas and get him to come in early."
Satisfied that the nurse, Steph, was taken care of, Phil returned his complete focus to Clint, who was alternating between watching them all like a predator about to strike and looking horribly, painfully confused.
He was coming back, Phil just needed to guide him.
"Hey, Clint, stay focused on me." Phil shifted a step closer, making sure to keep an eye on the knife Clint still had poised defensively in front of him. Clint's eyes twitched over to focus on his approach and the knife shifted to guard the space between them.
Dan said something in low tones to another staff member, who turned and went down the hall quietly.
Phil moved another step closer, shifting his eyes off the knife to focus solely on Clint's clouded gaze.
"You know me." Phil insisted carefully, but firmly. "You know where you are. Just breathe, focus and you'll remember. I'm not Ruiz and you're not in Cairo." He assured again.
Clint matched his advance with a step backwards, which brought him to the corner of the room. That realization seemed to startle him and caused his grip on the knife hilt to turn white. Phil held up his hands a little higher.
"Hey, hey…breathe." He ordered. "Focus, Clint. Who am I?" he drifted closer.
The confusion clouded with pain in Clint's eyes was hard to see. The kid was honestly lost right now. Even so, the wheels were turning. He was trying to figure it out. He stared hard at Phil for several long moments, breathing heavily and keeping the knife between them.
"Who am I?" Phil asked again, hoping that if he got Clint to think about that hard enough, he would put the pieces back together. He nearly sighed in relief when the knife dropped a little and some of the defensiveness faded from Clint's posture.
"Phil..." he sounded so confused, like he didn't know why or how Phil was there. He blinked and shook his head as if to clear it, only to wince and bring his free hand – still holding the knife – up to his temple.
"That's right." Phil agreed. "Now where are you?" He had to keep him thinking, keep those wheels turning.
Clint's eyes scanned the room quickly, settling for a moment on Dan before moving on. Finally, he focused back on Phil and some of the cobwebs cleared.
"The infirmary." Clint looked down at the knife in his hand and frowned in confusion.
"Good." Phil kept moving closer, almost close enough to get a hand on the knife if he needed to. "You're safe here – with me – you know that. You don't need the knife, right?"
Clint shook his head slightly and held it out slightly as if offering it to Phil. Then, almost abruptly, he blinked heavily and wavered, swaying dangerously.
He was going down.
Phil knew he had to move quickly before that knife ended up stabbing Clint or himself. He grabbed it with one hand just as Clint's legs started to give way. He made sure the knife was nowhere it could accidentally stab anyone and tried to get his other hand on the bicep of Clint's free arm to keep him from hitting the floor too hard.
"Dan." Phil held the knife out for the doctor to take even as he shifted, pulling Clint towards him with his other hand. He ended up on the floor with Clint collapsed against his chest.
Dan took the knife, and slid it quietly across the floor, out of everyone's reach.
"Barton, you still with us?" the doctor asked carefully as he slowly moved closer.
Clint, forehead now pressed against Phil's shoulder, just groaned lowly.
"He's still awake." Phil offered as he bodily maneuvered Clint so it would be easier to support his weight. At least he had been awake when he was going down. The way he'd blindly reached out for Phil as he collapsed told him as much.
"Probably what's left of the adrenaline." Dan moved carefully forward, talking as he went. "Hey, just need to check a few things out, Barton. Your vitals, that sort of thing."
Phil had to hand it to Dan, he'd definitely learned a lot about how to handle Clint. Approach slowly, tell him what you're doing…all necessary, especially when he was injured. He wished this was the time to tell Dan as much, but it wasn't. So he settled for sending him a grateful look.
When Clint didn't respond right away to Dan's words, Phil shifted so he could get a glimpse of his face. Whatever adrenaline had been left had apparently run its course. Clint's eyes were closed and his expression lax.
"He's out."
As much of a relief as that was, unconscious was never a state he liked seeing Clint in.
Dan nodded.
"Good. Phil, I need you to leave him to me. There's a protocol we've got to follow here." Dan's voice was gentle, but firm. "I need to re-run the tests we did earlier, and find out if there's any physical going on. I also need to get psych involved."
Phil's grip tightened around Clint and he frowned.
"I'm not leaving." He'd already made that mistake once. Maybe if he'd been in here when Clint woke up this whole thing could have been avoided. He wasn't leaving him again.
"I'm not asking you to leave. In fact, I need you here." Dan kept his voice pitched low, almost soothing. "I just need you to go to the door. I've got a nurse coming back with a stretcher, some meds and ..." Dan paused, then plowed forward. "Restraints."
Phil balked at the mention of restraints.
"Him waking up in restraints won't do anything but make it worse."
Dan sighed.
"I know, but unless you can suggest another way to keep him from going on the offensive like that again, I'm stuck." Dan took a deep breath. "He won't have a knife again, but I've seen everything from plastic used as a shiv to IV tubing used as a garrote."
Phil blew out a frustrated breath. Dan was right. Clint didn't need a weapon to be deadly, but there were too many things any resourceful agent could use in the room – and Clint was more resourceful than most.
"Fine, but only temporarily."
They both looked to the door when a nurse pushed through the small crowd of gathered infirmary staff.
"Dr. Wilson, I've got the stretcher."
"You got the medication I asked for?"
She nodded and pulled a few syringes out of her pocket, holding them out to him.
"Which one's the Haldol?"
She picked a specific syringe out and held it out.
"No, keep that one for now." Dan looked at Phil. "It's a psychiatric medication, used to bring people back to reality. I'm not going to use it unless we have to. I am going to give him a sedative, though. His best interests – and ours."
"With a concussion?" Phil eyed the syringes worriedly. "You sure?" He'd always been told sedation with a concussion was risky – and he didn't like the idea of taking risks with Clint right now.
Dan seemingly couldn't help the eye roll.
"Yes, I'm sure. We're going right down to CT to do another scan, and we're going to be monitoring him anyhow."
Phil nodded – knowing he had to trust Dan's decisions in this situation – and didn't object again as Dan knelt down next to them.
Dan tapped the syringe lightly, then quickly injected the medication.
"All right, stretcher first, then we're going to reattach the IVs and get everything else back in order, folks." Dan looked at Phil. "Stick close, but try to stay out of the way. Ask questions, otherwise we probably won't explain everything." He then turned back to the nurse. "Serene, go call psych, tell them we need someone for a critical stress debrief." He turned back to Phil. "Anyone you or Barton prefer?"
The thought of calling in psych made the situation seem even more real. Clint had been completely out of touch, broken from reality. He'd found his way back, but it was still a terrifying realization.
"Phil." Dan prodded.
"Uh...Bridgett Taylor, she usually handles his post-mission consults so he knows her."
"Serene, go tell Dr. Taylor I need her to call me. I'll explain the situation to her as soon as we get Barton sorted out."
Serene nodded and hurried out of the room.
Phil looked up as the stretcher suddenly wheeled up next to them. Without being told, he hooked an arm under Clint's legs. He made sure his other was secure around his back, and then stood, lifting Clint with him. Phil carefully laid him out on the stretcher and after a moment of hesitation forced himself to back away.
He had to trust Dan right now. If this was something physical, he couldn't fix it. Dan could.
He forced himself to take another step back.
He felt Dan's gaze on him for a long moment before the doctor spoke.
"You okay?"
Phil nodded jerkily. He wasn't the one unconscious on the stretcher with a pulled out IV and too many broken bones.
"The hits just keep coming, you know?"
Dan's gaze stayed on him, then he took Phil's arm and pulled him to a chair.
"Sit down."
Phil sat without protest, but then pushed Dan's hands away.
"I'll be fine. Just take care of him."
Dan shook his head.
"Jamie, get that IV restarted and those restraints on. Keep them as loose as you can." Dan then looked back at Phil. "He is being taken care of. Look at me."
It took a moment, but Phil forced himself to pull his eyes away from Clint and focus on Dan instead.
"I should've seen this coming, Phil. I've seen enough of this shit – and lived through enough myself. I'm sorry I didn't check for weapons."
Phil shook his head. This wasn't Dan's fault. None of them had seen this coming and somebody should have. Clint was always so strong, always seemed to bounce back. They'd all taken that for granted and it bit them in the ass.
"I've seen my share too, Dan. And I know him a hell of a lot better than you do. If anybody should have seen this coming, it should have been me." Phil shook his head again, this time in self-recrimination. "He's never even tried to get a weapon in here. I didn't think to look for it either."
Dan nodded.
"I'll add it to my list of all things Barton to keep an eye out for, then. It's three pages and running."
Phil forced a weak smirk.
"Only three pages?"
Dan didn't even blink.
"Single-spaced, small type."
Phil's smirk grew into a slight smile and he blew out a breath, rubbing his hand across his eyes.
"Now what?"
"Now we find out what caused this. I've got a few suspicions, but I want to rule out a brain bleed or anything else new with the CT." Dan nodded toward Jamie. "We run a new set of everything, and get him on monitors so we don't miss anything that might come up physically. Wake him up in two hours for a concussion check." He looked back at Phil. "I think you'll be doing that."
Phil nodded – that was probably the safest option – then he sat up a little straighter as he remembered something.
"He felt hot, when I caught him, he was hot."
Dan nodded, but put a hand back to Phil's chest.
"We're going to check everything. Like I said. Phil, this kind of reaction isn't unheard of. You know that."
Phil nodded again and sagged back in the chair.
"Yeah...yeah, I know."
Dan nodded.
"Take a deep breath, then. Barton's not the first to go through this, and he won't be the last. Besides, when's the last time the kid ever did anything the easy way?"
Phil huffed a slight laugh. 'Easy' was practically a four-letter word to Clint – at least it always seemed that way.
"OK. Let's go then. We'll work it out, Phil. It'll just take a little longer than normal."
Phil nodded and stood, following behind as Dan and the nurse pushed the stretcher towards the door. He blew out a deep breath and glanced back at the room one last time – at the IV needle hanging loosely from the tubing, the tangled pile of blankets on the floor, and the abandoned brace that had been holding Clint's broken left collarbone immobile.
This mission just kept heaping chaos on top of chaos.
Phil just hoped they were finally at the end of the whirlwind and could start rebuilding.
With a sigh, he turned away from the room and followed after Clint.
End of Chapter 11
Yikes! That was tense! Clint on his own is dangerous enough, but throw in a Clint that feels threatened and backed into a corner and you've got some serious problems.
I'm going on a long weekend vaca with my husband and son to Boston this afternoon. (Taking advantage of this move to New York :D) I WILL post the final chapter tomorrow but just bear with me if it comes a little later than usual (though my hope is to get it up EARLIER than usual lol) You WILL get it, promise.
Phil's got some major putting back together to do with Clint - the poor kid is pretty shaken up by this mission. What were you guys' thoughts on that hallucination scene? Tense right? That nurse got lucky in my opinion. :)
Reviews are to me like a finely crafted weapon is to Natasha.
Until tomorrow...
"And this guy Boomer?"
Phil shook his head sadly.
"Collateral damage."
"Comes with the job," Nick reminded.
Phil jerked his head towards the window – and Barton behind it.
"Tell that to the kid who's already so damn convinced he's got too much blood on his hands."
Fury sighed and glanced at Barton briefly before looking back at Phil – meeting his eyes squarely.
"Phil, we all have blood on our hands. It's something guys like us learn to live with, you know that as well as I do. My question to you now is this…can he learn to live with it?"