Everything felt soft and warm and safe. Clint forced his finger to move, to test the limits and reality of what he was experiencing; what he got was a small almost unnoticeable twitch. He felt limp and weighted, like stepping out of the pool after swimming for an hour. His tongue ran over his scratchy mouth and cracked lips in preparation of speech, to ask some important question that required too much energy to conjure at the moment. He was about to let himself float away into the easy and comforting darkness, when a pressure on his hand changed. "Tasha?"
His voice was rough even to his own ears and as he struggled to open his eyelids which felt heavy and uncooperative. The light was blinding, fuzzing everything out in a white haze that slowly began to give way to blob like shapes and skewed colors. It wasn't a red head perched near the foot of his hospital bed, but a welcome sight all the same. "You got ugly Natasha."
Stark yanked his hand back into his lap. "Yeah, well you weren't winning any beauty pageants before the bomb blew you all to hell," he countered with an exaggerated grumble.
The last of warm haze dissolved immediately as Clint's heart started to pound in his chest. His hands, though horrifically uncoordinated shot to his chest and face, feeling for any evidence of the damage Stark had spoken of. People didn't get up close and personal with explosives and walk away looking the same way they did before.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Tony, raising his voice to grab the archer's attention. He grabbed Barton's fumbling hands and pushed them back down against the mattress to keep the struggling man from pulling out something important. "You're fine. Not that kind of bomb, sorta."
Confusion painted both their faces. Tony tried to ignore the sinking feeling deep in his gut. The medical team had provided a helpful list of depression, a list of possible ailments and medical conditions for the team to dwell over as they waited for Clint to wake up. Preliminary tests had confirmed that the archer would live, though even without the medical degree, Tony surmised that based on the rise and fall of the formerly dead man's chest and said man's tenacity for defying the odds.
It had been touch and go in the minutes after the orb performed its task. The medical team had had a hard time resuscitating the archer and keeping him alive, but eventually they got a steady heart beat that didn't faulter. The team had crammed themselves into the recovery room, letting the room fill with nothing, but the hiss of the ventilator and cautious hope for seven days.
The list of potential disabilities that could arise from being dead for weeks was the troubling part. There had been no guarantee that Clint would even wake up, let alone what condition he'd be in when he did. In true Barton fashion, he had approached something resembling consciousness eight days after Tony brought him back, but not to a level anyone could test to see if Clint was still in one piece. This was the first actual interaction and Stark wasn't sure he could bear it if the archer wasn't completely whole. "What do you remember Barton?"
Clint took a deep cleansing breath and tried to focus on the last clear thought he could grab onto. It was like looking at pieces of a broken mirror, there were feelings and fragments of moments that were crystal clear but the edges and context around them was distorted and fragmented. Most of it didn't make sense but it felt right. "There was a bomb," started Barton, his words still slurring and breaking. "And none of you could hear me… or see me. Was I dead?"
Tony tilted his head from side to side. "Technically, but don't worry I fixed it."
"Oh. Okay." The archer couldn't fight his yawn any longer as his eyes started to drift closed.
"Why don't you get some sleep and I'll go tell the docs you're not a vegetable and they can run their pointless tests just to make sure everything's copacetic." Stark crammed the felt pen he'd been holding into his pocket before abandoning the chair that had been his home for the last few days. He just got to his feet when Clint's eyes snapped back open.
"What were you doing earlier? Were you holding my hand before?" he asked, voice heavy with the pull of sleep.
Tony gave a dismissive shake of his head. "What? No, nothing and absolutely not!"
"Huh." Clint managed to get his head to life off the pillow a tiny fraction to give him a better view of his hand. Squinting, he tried to see past all the tubes and tape attached to the back of his hand. Slowly the blue blob began to take on recognizable shapes. "Doesn't look like nothing."
Stark reached over and patted the archer's foot. "Don't worry about it."
Clint managed a small quirk of his lip at the Stark Industries logo printed on his hand. As his head flopped back against the pillow he added, "That better not be permanent."
"Hey, at least it's not on your ass," retorted Tony but Clint was already out like a light. It didn't matter though, everything was right with the world. Barton was awake, talking and moving, even if the medical staff did their tests and found some kind of brain damage, the archer they knew and loved was still there. If Clint didn't really remember his out of body experience that was bonus points for him; the rest of the team still had to come to terms with everything but knowing the archer might be spared those memories was icing. He could finally give the rest of the team some good news.
Natasha let the shadows envelop her, standing far enough back from the observation window to not be seen by the occupants but close enough that she could take in every detail going on. Every blip of Clint's heart monitor, every rise and fall of his chest, she painstakingly chiselled to her memory. For someone who was such a big part of her life, it was amazing how the most intimate details, every line on his face, the way the light brought out the colors in his eyes, had lost their clarity in her memory. This time she was going to make sure they were every square inch of him, every laugh and facial tick were stored in high definition, never to fade.
"It generally works better if you go in," said Coulson, moving to stand beside her. Romanoff didn't answer, didn't twitch. "He's been awake for five days. The rest of the team have all been in to see him."
"I know." It was cold and professional, the kind of distance she put between herself and a mark to keep from feeling anything. "Stark's been camped out there the whole time."
"You could pull up another chair. I'm sure Stark wouldn't have minded the company. You hung out in the lab the entire time he was working on this."
"He needed it more." Stark had been a hurricane of despair while she had been a contained flame of despair. It was hard to miss how the inventor felt, how much he needed absolution for a crime that hadn't been his in the first place. The victory won to save Barton had been Tony's and after all he had suffered, it seemed unfair to take away the reward before he pulled himself back together.
"And what do you need?"
"I don't… I." The words were hard to form. They'd had so many close calls over the years but it had never felt like the end, there had always been some small shred of faith that they would get through it. This time she had lost him and it nearly destroyed her. Some of her earliest memories were being trained to be a solitary hunter, killing without thought or feeling; her heart encased in ice where no one would touch it, but somehow he had. Her needs had always been secondary to the mission; it was the only way to survive. Now here was Coulson, with his kind eyes and reluctant smile insisting that the only way to survive was to carve out something for herself. "I just need him to be alright."
Never one for people invading her personal space, close contact was a weapon used on missions rather than of personal comfort, Coulson stayed at her side offering moral support through his presence. "The doctors have given him a positive prognosis. He's a little fuzzy on his out of body experiences, but otherwise unscathed."
"We got lucky. I really thought we lost him this time Coulson. Clint was gone and everything else just didn't seem important anymore. I don't know if I can go through that again. How many more times are we going to cheat death?"
"Do you really want to wait to find out or use whatever time you have left to be a little happy. You are allowed to be happy Romanoff. He's allowed to be happy."
"Perhaps." It was probably a bad idea. History was filled with the tragic tales of those that thought they could have it all. But waiting might be there, her weakness. Giving in to the one thing they wanted might actually make her stronger. There had to be something to it, something dangerous if the Red Room warned against it. She left Coulson's side without a word, slinking into Clint's room with her usual stealth.
Barton took one last drag off his straw before returning the glass to the bedside table. His hand shook slightly through the medial task and he quickly dropped to it to his side. "Hey," he croaked, sounding like he had been through a couple of rounds. His color hadn't quite returned and the abandoned medical equipment still stationed around the bed did nothing to suggest that he wasn't doing poorly.
He slid his legs to the side of the bed, giving her room to sit, but she opted for the chair Tony had been calling home for the last week. "How are you doing?"
Clint tilted his head to the side. "Fuzzy, little sore, mostly tired, itching to get out of here though. Any chance of that happening soon?"
"Stark's keeping the SHIELD research teams at bay so it's his medical team calling the shots. I'm sure he's tired of sleeping in this plastic chair so I think they'll give you the all clear as soon as possible."
"And what about you? Are you tired of standing in the hallway yet?"
Natasha went stiff. It was an honest question and she shouldn't have put it past Clint to miss a detail like that. "I didn't want to intrude."
"Since when do you intrude?"
She always thought it was cute when he frowned in confusion, but being on the receiving end of it made her stomach drop. "I thought after what happened, you might need your space." It was mostly a lie and one she knew she didn't sell very convincingly. "What exactly do you remember Clint?"
Barton closed his eyes. "It's like random stills from a movie. A brief snapshot that without context means nothing and then there are moments of strong feelings, but no picture to go with it."
"We gave up on you," she confessed. "You were dead and we just carried on, went through the motions…"
Clint reached out and grabbed her hand, holding it tight, firmly between his own. "I remember you. I'll always remember you and you didn't give up."
"I can't lose you Clint," she sobbed, nestling her head on his shoulder and curling up beside him on the bed. She had never held on so tight to something or someone in her life but he never said a word.
Three Weeks Later
The clank of weights connecting as Clint steadfastly continued his work out on the machine filled the SHIELD gym. His arms burned, but it felt good to get out and actually do something that wasn't regulated to "your ass stays on the couch or in your room" as mandated by Tony and his high priced and highly decorated medical professionals. He knew he was reaching the reasonable time to quit mark, but who knew when he'd be able to come back.
The door cracked open and Coulson stuck his head in. Clint rolled his eyes, but that didn't stop the agent to come all the way in.
"I knew Stark was going to send a bloodhound after me, just figured it be Cap though; guy loves to give lectures."
Phil laughed; there were worse people to get lectures from, many of whom were in the building. "Front desk told me you've been here for almost two hours. Overdoing it a little aren't we?" he asked, sitting down on the bench beside the archer and letting his hands rest on the weights sitting there. It would probably come across as a more friendly chat if he picked the weights up but he wasn't willing to engage in a work out in his suit, no matter how much it would add to the mystic that was his reputation.
Clint finally stopped, wiping the sweat off his face with the towel he had resting over his shoulders. "Have to get ready for qualification. Can't pull any SHIELD missions if I can't be certified as fit."
"There's no time limit, you don't have to push yourself and you certainly don't have to drag yourself to headquarters to do it either." Phil understood all too well the need to get back out there, to be useful once again. He was torn between encouraging his friend, glad to see him getting back to his old self and wanting to drag him home and tell him to take it easy, they'd almost lost him.
"I'd love to hit Stark's gym or the range but some billionaire, genius, control freak has refused to give me access until he decides I'm fit for duty. And since the doctor's are on his payroll, he gets to control their official medical report too, so no Avengers missions to get ready for." He was torn between being bitter at being sidelined and enjoying the concern.
"You could always hack the lock."
"Yeah but it's the least I can do since he brought me back from the dead and what not. And JARVIS kinda takes offence when you hack his systems. Plus getting out of the tower reduces the odds of me strangling Stark in his sleep next time be baby proofs my place."
"Baby proofs?" asked Coulson, not entirely sure he wanted elaboration.
"Oh yeah," continued Clint, looking a little put out, "the little things for the electrical sockets and everything. We're not even going to talk about Cap or Thor!"
"They're concerned."
"I know. Don't get me wrong, it's sweet on some weird level, but it's going to get someone killed and I'm not talking ironic frustration 'oh you guys' kinda killed either. There has to be a certain level of every man for themselves out there and right now we don't have it. Hell, they're probably thinking of new ways to wrap me in bubble wrap while they're out on a call and I'm back at the Tower under lock and key."
The electronic sound of Iron Man began to radiate from Barton's workout bag. "I'll give you a guess who that is." Begrudgingly, he got up to rifle through his bag to find the offending phone. Tapping answer, the screen burst to life. "Yes mother?"
"This doesn't look like 'I'm going to go to my room and take a nap' or did your brain get scrambled that we have to re-teach you the English language?" demanded Stark.
"I sleepwalk," replied Clint. "Don't worry, you're babysitter showed up and I'm sure he'll give me a ride home." Clint turned the phone around so Tony could see Phil sitting there.
"Agent! Make sure you put him in his car seat and have him home ASAP. Seriously, five point harn…"
Clint mashed his thumb down on the end call button before Tony could finish. "Seriously, I could establish a case for an insanity plea right? There's no court in the world that would convict me for taking Stark out."
Coulson shrugged. "Probably not, but in the interest of world safety..."
"Come on, better go before he comes down here. Cause he will, then Fury'll get pissed off and I'll never get recertified." Barton grabbed his bag and headed for the locker room to get changed.
One Month Later
Natasha hefted her go bag higher on her shoulder. The tower was quiet like the world had been for the last few weeks and with no signs of anything pressing for the Avengers on the horizon, it was time to get back to what she did best. The living room was relatively calm, Banner in his chair reading, Clint pretending to be a sleep on the couch and Thor perched on the edge of his seat intently watching TV. Stark had introduced him to some kind of Springer-esk trash show which Thor found entirely entertaining, especially when the fights started. She thought about introducing him to wrestling, but the furniture wouldn't survive his excitement.
"You off?" asked Barton without opening his eyes.
"Just have to grab Rogers."
"Where you going?"
"DC."
Clint cracked an eye open. "Guys could you give us a moment?"
A wicked smile played across Thor's face. "Come Banner, let us engage in another round of chess."
Bruce looked at Natasha, then Clint before sighing and put his book down. "You know I'm not going to lose it over a chess game right? Cause that was your plan? Irritate me to the point where I break and you get to play with your green friend, right?"
Thor feigned hurt. "I have no idea what you are speaking of. I truly believe I have mastered the pattern of the little horse." He clapped a large hand around the Doctor's shoulder as they headed out of the room.
"Don't worry, I had Fury make it seem like it was Steve's idea to pull the mission. Stark and Bruce are buried in the middle of some project to maintain peace and Thor has plans to go home. That should keep them from going to critical alert with pestering you. No security detail in place to watch you."
Barton rolled into a sitting position. "That's not going to matter. Got cleared by SHIELD, Fury has me rolling out in a couple of days."
Natasha bit the inside of her lip. She wasn't sure how she felt about Clint getting his clearance to go back out in the field. A bird needed the sky, a spy a mission. She more than anyone knew how capable he was, hell he'd gotten one up on her before, but it was still the first time he was going out since… First mission back and she wasn't going to be the one to have his back.
"Don't worry so much." He grabbed her hand and pulled her close. "I have something for you."
Gently he placed a flat, red box in her hand. He motioned for her to open it, her breath catching in her throat.
"It's beautiful." Her hand ghosted over the box.
"It was my mother's," he said, pulling out the necklace and draping it around her neck. She pulled her hair up to let him fit the clasp together. "Well the silver was hers. It was the one thing of hers I kept. She used to hide it in a hole in the wall behind one of the baseboards so my father wouldn't pawn it. This gaudy hunky, silver bracelet and I managed to keep it hidden all through foster care and the circus. Anyways, I melted it down and made this."
She couldn't pull her hand away from the necklace, a simple chain with a small but beautiful arrow in the center, made from one of the most important things in his life. "I don't know what to say."
"I figure it beats my blue shirt, which I want back by the way."
She leaned in for a kiss. Patting her duffle, the weight of the shirt a secure feeling, she broke away. "I'll see you when we get back," she promised.
"That's a no, I can't get my shirt back?"
Natasha just waved and pressed the button for the elevator. Things weren't back to normal but they might be on their way to being better than normal.
The End
Thank you to everyone who read this story.
Thank to all the reviewers for all your interest.
Another Super BIG thanks to Midnightmoonwarrior for the amazing beta job, this one was a long one.
This brings us up to the events of Cap 2. Having seen Avengers 2 the next story only needs a few name changes and the one after that a little tweaking and the twist from the movie won't derail the direction of this universe too much.
A Foregone Conclusion: Follows Uneasy Lies the Head that Wears the Crown. The Black Widow has gotten the attention of SHIELD and Coulson has been tasked with remedying that situation. In the midst of Barton's training his mission might prove to be the one that tears their partnership apart.
A little Bird Told Me: Follows No Rest for the Wicked, takes place during the events of Captain America 2. As SHIELD crumbled around him, Barton is left with nowhere to turn and no one to trust as the organization he dedicated his life to proves to be full of snakes.