Much thanks to my beta, VanillaAshes!

For any of you starting school again tomorrow like I am (or have started already or will in the coming weeks), good luck! Hopefully it isn't as stressful as I remember it being ;)

Chapter 21
Operation M.E.S.S.
"The Screeching Halt" Part III

Bobbi's eyes narrowed as Clint parked the van on the street in front of their house. "You okay?" he asked when she didn't immediately open the door. She ignored the question and clenched her teeth, steeling herself for what might lie ahead. Then she gave a short, stiff nod and got out of the car. Clint stood behind her as she unlocked the door, hand casually ghosting over the holster to his handgun. His quiver was still empty of arrows.

She did not call out as she usually did when she came home, walking directly in to see Hunter sitting on the couch. Her eyes fell to the hard drive on the coffee table in front of him, and lying next to it her cell phone. Her gaze flicked to the bandage on his arm, where crimson blood had seeped through the bandage a bit. His eyes were red and raw indicating he had been crying—an action she had only witnessed from him twice before. He looked completely drained, wearing the same attire as he had while was infiltrating the S.H.I.E.L.D. base apart from his top half, where he had shed the body armor to reveal the black T-shirt he wore underneath. His entire outfit was dirty.

Hunter looked up at her, making eye contact without hesitation. "Are you here to take me in?" he asked. His question was clipped and to the point.

Bobbi was ready to respond; she wanted to respond. She had to respond. But it seemed her mouth and body had a different idea, and she just stood there. Silently. Emotionless.

"No, we're not," Clint answered, stepping into room further and picking up the intel. He checked it over for damage and looked at Hunter. "Did you make a copy? Did…?"

"No—I didn't. As soon as I found out Bob was there—" Hunter stopped suddenly, looking down. "No copies, I haven't even contacted my employer. I didn't know it was against S.H.I.E.L.D."

Clint nodded, even though neither of them were looking at him. "I'll keep your name out of it. We have the intel back; I guess that's all that matters."

Hunter nodded his thanks, and Clint glanced at Bobbi, who was still stony-faced and at war with herself. He left with the hard drive.

The sound of the car driving away snapped Bobbi out of her trance. "You…" she started in a hushed voice, but was immediately interrupted by Hunter.

"You could have stopped it, Bob. I practically told you my EXACT location! If you had just checked your phone… Just once. I told you where I was heading four…four hours before I touched down," Hunter informed her, his voice combining a variety of emotions.

"I was a bit busy dealing with the base's impending infiltration," Bobbi told him.

"You could have prevented it!" Hunter exclaimed suddenly. "If you had just checked your stupid phone—you would have seen where I was, you could have called me…you could have worked it out and prevented this! Instead, I find out after I had shot at people and killed that guy that you were there! And not on my side! I shot at you; I could have hurt you. I didn't know it was a S.H.I.E.L.D. base," he finished miserably.

"Four agents are dead," Bobbi informed him, still standing there. "One's in the infirmary with a spine injury—she'll never walk again."

"I know."

"I'm just glad you're not," Bobbi said suddenly, relief breaking ahead off all of her other warring emotions, and she moved forward quickly to hug him.

Hunter let out a breath he had been holding, hugging her back tightly. "I'm sorry— It is my fault that a guy called M. Brennan is dead."

"Mitchell," Bobbi whispered. "His name was Mitchell. And it's not your—you didn't know."

"Doesn't change the fact that his death was my fault. Did he...did he have a family?" Hunter asked, pulling back enough to look into her eyes, the devastation evident on his face.

She avoided his gaze. "No."

Hunter went to laugh, although a sob emerged instead. "You're an awful liar," he responded, burying his head into her hair as the tears flowed down his cheeks and wet her shoulder.

"Only to you," Bobbi replied back softly. Only to Hunter when he was emotional like this. "Do you...do you really want to know?"

"No, not really—it just makes it harder," Hunter admitted with a slight shake of his head. That was one difference between them: Bobbi always wanted all of the information, and then she could deal with what she'd done head on. "I always pray for the families regardless of the knowledge I have of them—I'll send an extra one when I light the candle for him."

"I didn't know you prayed."

"The first—first person I killed was a Christian. I guess it's been a habit since then. I want to respect them and you never know if they were religious or not."

"You're a good man, Lance," Bobbi promised him. "Are you going to the church soon?"

"Yes, I always try to go within twenty-four hours of…" Hunter drifted off, his voice more controlled than it had been, but still not completely calm.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Bobbi asked softly. When he didn't answer right away, she added, "You don't have to say yes. I know this is a really personal ritual for you. But if you wanted…"

"I'm usually the one who talks too much," Hunter pointed out as he looked up at her and took her hand, interlacing their fingers. "I would love for you to come." He gave her a small, grateful smile.

"Good," Bobbi said. "Besides, you're much too emotional to drive right now anyway," she added lightly.

"I love you," Hunter told her, his voice laced with feeling.

"I love you too."

"You didn't get hurt—right?" Hunter suddenly asked, pulling back and looking over her intensely.

"No injuries," Bobbi promised before giving him a small, teasing smile. "You're not that good of a shot."

Hunter laughed slightly, shaking his head. "First time I'm glad about being bad at something. Although, you didn't hit me either—makes your shooting just as bad as mine."

"Clint claims I'm out of practice with a gun," Bobbi told him. "I keep denying it. Maybe I should tell him he's right."

"Oh no. His ego is big enough as it is. We'll build a shooting room in the basement or something. Then you can throw it in his face how amazing you are after a bit of clandestine practice," Hunter replied, sounding a bit more like himself.

She smiled. "We have a crawlspace, not a basement," she reminded him. "And we probably don't want to know what might be living down there, even if we do want to practice shooting on our hands and knees."

Hunter nodded in agreement. "You're right, you're right." He looked down for a moment before holding his hands out to her. "Come to church with me."

Bobbi walked tiredly into the house, making a beeline for the kitchen. "Lance, you home?" she called. She had only been gone for just over four days, but in that time she only had about negative five hours of sleep and barely a chance to eat properly. There was no reply.

Presuming he was out because it was the middle of the day, she opened the fridge and immediately groaned. Nearly empty. Hunter had promised to do some shopping before she left. She looked around for something she could eat, she didn't even care what, even checking in the freezer to find only a quarter-full bag tater tots. Reluctantly she pulled the bag out, emptying the contents onto a tray and tossing it into the oven before setting the timer. She decided that she had enough time to shower and get all of the grime and dirt of her. As she walked into their bedroom, her eyes narrowed at the sight of Hunter sleeping on the bed, several days worth of clothing strewn around the room carelessly. "Lance… Hunter… HUNTER!" she called, getting more annoyed with every step she took approaching him.

"No need to shout, I'm up… You're back!" Hunter exclaimed, rocketing into full consciousness.

"Why didn't you go shopping?" Bobbi questioned him immediately.

"Shopping? Oh, food. I was just about to go," Hunter said as he jumped up, squinting to look at her.

"Are you hungover?" Bobbi asked, surveying the room again with distinct disapproval.

"Just had a few beers with some mates last night; I'll go grab some food," Hunter said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"You are not getting away with this that easily," Bobbi warned him as made a beeline for the door.

Hunter stopped rushing and looked at her. "Worth a try. At least I didn't break anything this time…" he said with a laugh, before suddenly stopping. "I'm just glad you're tired."

"I won't be tired for long," Bobbi warned.

"What was I supposed to buy again?"

"I have to tell you?" Bobbi exclaimed, her jaw almost dropping at his question, "Do you ever listen to me?"

Hunter's eyes widen. "Damn it, I'll be back. I'll buy you flowers too."

"I don't—" She sighed as she heard him hurry out the door wearing the same clothes as yesterday before grabbing an outfit and jumping in the shower.

...

She was just about to use that.

Bobbi checked her phone as she packed her duffel bag, ready to head home. She rolled her eyes slightly at Hunter's text and replied with a firm, Yes, I am coming home tonight. He acted like a child sometimes. She slung the bag over her shoulder and closed her locker, heading out into the main hallway that would eventually lead to the parking garage. Just as she was rounding the corner, Maria Hill stepped out of Agent Oliver's office, staring down at a packet of files so intently that Bobbi almost ran into her. "Hey, Maria!" Bobbi said.

Her friend looked up with an equal amount of surprise. "Bobbi! It's good to see you."

"How've you been?" she asked. "Did your Deputy Director duties drag you all the way out here?"

"Unfortunately," Hill gave her a wry smile.

"Sorry, I'm interrupting you," Bobbi said, recognizing the signs that someone had something more important to be doing than talking. "We should catch up some other time before you head back to D.C."

"Actually, are you heading off on a mission right now?" Hill asked, worry creasing her brow. She sighed in relief when Bobbi shook her head. "Great, I need your help. One of our agents needs an emergency extraction, but all of the agents specializing in these situations are out right now. She's been compromised for over—" the Deputy Director checked her watch. "—two hours."

Bobbi opened her mouth in attempt to decline. "Actually, Maria—"

"There's a co-pilot for the jet already, name's Grant Ward, but he's only just graduated. If there was anybody else, Bobbi—it should only take an hour or so."

Bobbi sighed inwardly, unable to say no. "Fine, where do you want me?"

Three hours later, she finally walked into her house. "Lance?" she called guiltily. In her rush to extract the individual as quickly as possible, she thought she would be able to get home quickly and it wouldn't have been worth notifying him. However, the agent really made a mess of things and it took a lot longer than anybody expected. "Lance, are you here?"

Bobbi made her way into the kitchen, seeing that Hunter had nearly successfully heated up one of her homemade frozen lasagnas, only burning the edges. By the tomato sauce-smeared plate left on the table, she also knew he had eaten without her. Scanning the house to find it empty, she knew where he would have gone: the bar. Now she had two choices, wait for him to come home or go to the bar and collect him.

Since this fiasco really was her fault in the first place—or Maria's, or that agent's—and not his, she decided to go get him, apology and all. She knew he hated it when she didn't come home, and she knew he hated it because he worried—but she also knew she couldn't just leave a compromised agent out there to fend for herself.

She got back into her car after downing a few mouthfuls of lasagna—the pan was slightly warm while it was still stone cold in the middle, did Hunter realize that?—and headed for his favorite place to have a few drinks. She idly wondered if he went alone or found one of his buddies to go with him, and then started wondering where exactly he found all these "mates" to begin with. Some of them were old contacts from the SAS, she knew, but it seemed every time he went to the bar he had someone new with him. Could there really be that many Special Air Service members or ex-members running around southern California?

Bobbi parked and turned the car off, pocketing her keys before heading for the bar's entrance. A myriad of possible excuses and apologies she could make ran through her head: Maria was there and I got caught up talking to her, there was an urgent mission to save the life of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, the base had an emergency lockdown drill that I didn't quite manage to miss, or perhaps the tried-and-true I'm really sorry would be the best opt—

There was a crash inside the pub. "Is that all you got, you old plonker?" Hunter's voice traveled outside right before he went crashing out of the door onto the path at Bobbi's feet. He groaned. "I'll give you that one," he muttered to himself as he rubbed his wrist and looked up. Hunter gazed at her curiously while Bobbi just stood there, too shocked to say anything. "Okay, am I seeing things?" He felt the back of his head, checking for blood where he might've hit the concrete.

She found her voice. "What the hell are you doing, Hunter?"

"Ah, so you're not a hallucination," he decided, pushing himself to his feet. "Good. I mean…" He trailed off as he met her furious gaze. "...maybe not."

"Hunter?" she demanded again. There were some jeers from inside the bar, but she ignored them.

"Can't you tell? I'm having a lovely meal and evening with my wife," Hunter replied, throwing his arms open. "Wait—she would have to turn up for that to be possible!" he spat, letting his arms drop to his side.

"And so you thought going to a bar and getting into a fight was an appropriate response?"

"I didn't get into a fight," Hunter denied, before walking past her. "At least I can count on the bar being here when I need it."

"Just get in the car," Bobbi told him angrily. "And don't you dare put a finger on the driver's side door!"

Hunter spun around. "Tell me, what was it this time? An agent in danger? You got caught up? Bumped into the big man? Got lost on the way home? Lost your phone? It's always one of them, or did you come up with something more cryptic, like—It was an emergency. You like that one." He turned away from her again in disgust and started to walk off. "I'll walk home."

"It's eight miles in the dark, you will not," Bobbi scoffed. "Don't make me break your arms, Lance—just get in the car."

Hunter hesitated before taking another few steps and stopping again. He turned and faced her. "I walked here—eight miles—in the dark. You weren't there to care then." Having said his piece, he reluctantly headed over to her car and got into the back seat.

Bobbi rolled her eyes at his refusal to sit up front with her but climbed in anyway, flicking on the headlights with annoyance as she started the engine. "Yeah, fine—I'm sorry I didn't come home when I supposed to tonight. Happy?" she growled as they sped off down the road.

Hunter remained silent for a moment. "Oh God! Stop driving like a mad-woman! I'm gonna throw up!" he exclaimed. "And no, I'm not happy!"

"Oh, shut it, Hunter! I'm not even over the speed limit!" Bobbi shouted back, applying a slight pressure to the brake but not so much that it would be noticeable from the back. "You wanted to drive, you should've thought about that before you went boozing!"

"If you didn't want me boozing, you could have at least texted me," Hunter retorted. "It's not that hard to write three words...or hell, one word. Just type 'late' and I would have understood. But no, once again, you just—" He suddenly stopped. "I really am going to throw up," he admitted in a more calm voice.

Bobbi pulled over to the curb, looking at him flatly through the rearview mirror. "Out."

Hunter didn't hesitate to jump out of her car, run to the nearest trash can and puke. He bent down for a moment, before walking back over to the car and sliding in, pulling the door closed and laying down across the seats. He made a lazy attempt to strap the seat belt over himself again. "Fine, I forgive you for not showing up," he granted before closing his eyes.

Bobbi waited a second, deciding that throwing up was enough of a punishment for his actions tonight without her unnecessarily tacking on. "And I forgive you for going to the bar," she sighed, She signaled before pulling away from the curb, continuing their drive home at a more sedate pace.

"Nothing to forgive, it was just a couple of beers," Hunter responded casually as he draped an arm over his eyes to block out the street lights.

Just a couple of beers that had led to him being thrown out the bar doors onto the pavement—yeah, sure, no harm at all in that. She took a deep breath and let it stream out through her nose, not answering. It would only inevitably lead to another argument, and she didn't particularly feel like going five rounds tonight—that either ended with things thrown or with them in bed together, and her idiot husband certainly didn't seem up for the latter.

He was silent as Bobbi parked the car in the garage—oddly, uncharacteristically silent. She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to look back at him. Hunter was passed out in the back seat.

Watching his chest rise and fall, Bobbi considered what to do with him. After a few seconds she smiled to herself and opened her door, stepping out, stretching, and shutting it softly. He didn't stir, and she pressed the button on the keys to lock the car, tossing them up in the air once and catching them handily before turning away and heading into the house. He could always flip the manual unlock on the handle if he needed to get out, but she fancied the idea of him pulling on the handle first and having it do absolutely nothing when he finally woke up scrunched in the back seat of her car in the darkness of the garage.

If there was no harm in a a couple of beers, Bobbi decided, then there was no harm in a little righteous vindictiveness either.

The cracks appear… Thanks for reading!