A/N: It's silly how long this chapter took to gain proper shape. (giggles) BUT, here I am! And just in time because soon I'll be traveling for a bit.
MY GOSH… THANK YOU, for all your AMAZING reviews, love and support! This is officially the longest running creation I've ever introduced to the world. It means the WORLD to me that you're taking this journey with me! AND, it warms my heart that Clint has so many people who love him. (BEAMS)
Awkay, because the cliffie I left you on was horrid… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.
SMALL BITS OF TONYXPEPER AND CLINTXLAURA.
MINI-HAWKS AND VISION CAN BE SPOTTED BRIEFLY.
Hawkeye, part 2 of 2 (FEAT Wanda)
/ The combination of raging fever, injuries and blood loss did curious things to Clint. When he was snatched out of his cell for the first time in… he didn't even know how long he felt no fear although he knew what was happening. He tried to fight. They beat him to a point where he couldn't do so anymore. After several blows to the head what happened was blurry, as though he'd been watching some sort of a movie.
They tightened the cuffs around his wrists until metal dug into skin, making it bleed. Then he was dragged into a tiny, circle shaped room that blinded him with its bright lights after days upon days in a dark. He blinked furiously and squinted, too stubborn to admit to himself that he didn't want to see. Clint couldn't understand the language they barked at each other before he was forced on his knees. He didn't need to understand. The long, sharp blade their leader held spoke quite loudly enough.
Clint took it all in with dazed detachment. He didn't want to die, of course he didn't, but at least now it would be over. The calm lasted until he saw a video camera on a stand and a blinking red light.
Dying like this was one thing – having to it happen with others having to see it…
"Your… friends are watching", the leader confirmed his dark assumptions, in an entirely too familiar broken English. "We demanded them to give our brothers and sisters back. They refused. It's only fair that as a response we take away their brother." The man began to approach him. "Do you have anything you'd wish to say to them, as your final words?"
Clint swallowed thickly, his eyes on the camera. He wasn't afraid but he was a grown man and able to admit to himself just how much the whole situation sucked. His eyes stung and blurred but he barely noticed. "I, ah… I'm sorry, that I messed up. Because… This one's on me, not you guys, got it? It's okay." Of course it wasn't okay, but would be, eventually, for them.
Clint knew that they were coming because his captors hadn't realized that there was a tracking chip, right under the skin of his left arm. The team had to think of a proper plan first but the archer knew, with every fiber of his being, that they'd come for him. Too bad it was too late.
Clint took a deep breath. If these were his final inhales he'd be damned if he didn't savor them. "It's okay", he repeated. As much to himself as to the friends witnessing the video feed. "So stop watching now. Don't…"
"Enough!" the leader decided at that, his tone far sharper than before. The Hawk barely had the time to see the black fabric before it was pulled over his head. "You had your final words, as I promised. And now it ends."
Clint's heart was hammering furiously as he felt the air twirl nearby his neck, warning of the blade approaching. Then cold, unforgiving and unyielding metal was placed against his skin. The beat of his heart nearly deafened him while the sharp edge dug hungrily through skin, drawing blood. /
As a team-leader Steve felt that the outcome of each mission was on his shoulders. Especially when things headed south. Whenever that happened he asked himself numerous questions, tortured himself with what could've been done differently and 'what ifs'. Even when the answer was clearly 'nothing'. It wasn't sane or healthy but he couldn't help himself.
During the time he spent sitting in the hospital room, listening to the bleeps of a heart monitor, Steve had far too much time to ask himself entirely too many questions.
He knew, on a level of reason, that it would've been stupid and senseless to barge in to save Clint without a proper plan – that it would've risked the lives of the archer and the rest of them. They needed to know what they were doing and they only had one shot at getting it right. But knowing all that did little good with the memories tormenting him.
He was the first one to enter the room. Just seconds too late. Just in time to see the cut forming across Clint's throat. And despite everything he'd seen at war and after ice that was one of the most horrific things he'd ever had to watch.
He glanced towards Clint, half subconsciously assuring himself that his friend was still there. After the time elapsed the bruises were fast on their way to healing, which made the archer look a little more like himself. The illusion of normalcy was, however, quickly destroyed by the breathing tube, hospital equipment and the Hawk's unnatural stillness. The lack of mobility was almost worse than the white bandage still covering the man's neck.
The primary prognosis was a grim one. The massive infection, trauma and especially the horrific final wound… They said that it was unlikely Clint would make it through the couple of days which followed. When the archer kept struggling on hope began to rise, even if the man had to be kept knocked out by drugs to give him the chance to recover. Then they began to lower the dosage of medication to give Clint the chance to try and wake up. At first they were cautiously optimistic despite the lack of reaction. But as days continued to drag on the medical professionals were forced to tell them that the more time passed, the less likely it was that the archer would wake up as the same man they knew. The doctors weren't happy with Clint's breathing, which wasn't helped by the still lingering infection. They also said something about brain activity but at that point Steve couldn't bring himself to listen or comprehend.
Too much stress. Too many scares and close calls. Today's call from the hospital, announcing that Clint's heartbeat was faltering and they should hurry, was the worst.
But once again Clint's stubbornness was underestimated. Ten solid hours after the call the archer was still alive. No better but also no worse than before. The heartbeat the machinery reported dutifully was frail and kept stumbling on occasion but it was there. So was Hawkeye.
Steve stared at his friend, his own heart hammering desperately as though to compensate the frailty of the other's. His shoulders sagged from immeasurable guilt and his eyes stung but no tears rolled. He felt too hollow to cry. Instead he swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, a million things wanting to burst out. In the end he only had breath for one. "Don't." It was a plea, no matter how much he meant for it to be an order. The Captain swallowed, finding his throat painfully dry. "Please, don't." Not now, not like this.
Clint's heart monitor bleeped sharply, announcing that as far as the Hawkeye was concerned the battle wasn't over yet.
/ Clint felt like he was choking. A steady stream of warm, sticky substance was running down his neck and he wanted desperately to use his hands to stop it. To fight for his life. But he was cuffed very firmly and no matter how hard he struggled he couldn't get his hands free. All too soon he was in no condition to fight, anyway.
A chaos erupted in the room but he heard none of it. He blinked sluggishly, still kept in the dark by the fabric. And eventually he slumped to the floor, absolutely everything flickering and fading away quickly.
He was dying but at least he was too out of it to be scared.
Just as he was about to drift away entirely someone yanked off the fabric, exposing his eyes to light they weren't ready to face. He tried to groan but all that came out was a sickening, wet gurgle. Everything spun and swayed, almost completely out of focus.
A hard, unsteady hand slammed the hateful piece of fabric against his neck and held it there so fiercely that it made breathing even more of a challenge. Desperate to keep him alive. Curious even in his final moments, Clint allowed his barely seeing gaze to linger. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming or hallucinating as he found Tony.
The Iron Man's face was revealed from the suit, exposing the sheer terror in the man's eyes. "… right, Feathers. Stay with me, got it? Look at me and stay with me, so I can yell at you later."
Tony kept rambling on, despair and fear driving him forward with a nearly manic force. Clint wanted to calm down his friend, to tell him that it'd be okay. But his body was in no condition for such a feat.
The last thing he saw before the dark claimed him yet again was the constantly growing fear and despair in Tony's eyes as the billionaire kept calling out to him. /
Tony was no medical man but he knew, roughly, how much blood there was in a human being. The information of how much blood could be lost without it being fatal was also buried somewhere in his mind, just out of his reach. Maybe it was for the best. The temptation to result to old, bad habits was already too strong and he struggled to breathe properly whenever Clint's heart monitor reported a stutter.
Tony didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, reading out loud entertainment news in a nearly desperate attempt to keep his mind occupied and to maybe irritate Clint into waking up. But even he had his limits. Upon facing a yet another clip about the Kardashians he finally admitted defeat and put away the phone with a groan. He even made the mistake of closing his eyes, far too many days of barely any sleep crashing down on him.
Immediately the sight of Clint dying with that chilling, hazy look in his eyes assaulted Tony.
He opened his eyes again as fast as he could, looked at his friend and stared at the man's chest, focusing on the fact that it was still rising and falling. Nothing less would've been enough to help calm him after everything they'd been forced to watch… After all the blood…
Tony snapped back to the present at a horrific, wheezing sound. It took ridiculously long before he realized that it came from him. With startle he also discovered that he was no longer the room's only visitor. A young nurse with long, blonde hair and brown eyes was looking at him with clearly visible worry. Somehow she knew that touching him would've only made things worse. Instead she called out to him, trying to get his attention. "Mr. Stark? Tony? I need you to take deep, calm breaths." Pleased to see that he was finally fully back with her she nodded encouragingly. "Good, that's much better. Do you want to tell me what just happened?"
Tony shook his head firmly. No, he absolutely didn't want to talk about what happened. He almost lost one of his best friends – still might. He panicked. He wasn't interested in sharing any of it with a stranger, especially when he didn't quite trust himself to be able to handle it without losing control again. So he shook his head firmly and focused on Clint instead. "How's he doing?" he managed.
The nurse hesitated for a while before answering. "I don't want to cause any false hopes or make promises. But… Right now his vitals are more stable than they've been even once since he was admitted." She shrugged. "We'll see. But for now, let's just take one step at a time."
Tony nodded sullenly. It wasn't exactly the answer he wanted to – perhaps even needed to – hear. But it was obviously the best he'd get so he'd have to make do.
One step at a time.
He was deep in thought until the nurse cleared her throat. "Sorry, but… I'm going to treat his wounds and give him a wash. That… may not be very comfortable for you to watch."
If he was anyone else but Tony Stark, he would've imagined that he blushed. "Say no more." He gave Clint's shoulder a squeeze he hoped to be comforting rather than painfully awkward. "See you soon." He gave himself the permission to pretend that he didn't hear how his voice broke.
After leaning against the wall and fighting to breathe properly for five solid minutes Tony decided that he had to step outside for a bit, for the sake of whatever little sanity he had left. On his way there he took his phone to an unsteady hand and dialed numbers after some uncharacteristic hesitation. He cleared his throat just a blink before the one he called picked up. "So, ah…" He licked his lips, succumbing to a nervous tick from childhood. "I get that things have been a bit… well, off recently. But…" He took a deep breath, only then realizing how badly his eyes stung. "Clint… He's been… And I…" He trailed off, realizing that he wasn't making any sense. He wiped his cheeks, only a little surprised to find hints of moisture. He opened his mouth twice. Thankfully he didn't have to finish.
"I know." He was surprised when Pepper's voice came from behind him, rather than from the other end of the call. "I wasn't exactly happy that Nat was the one who called me and told about all this. But I'm glad I came."
Tony turned around slowly. He blinked thrice before he actually believed that Pepper was standing there. "What about Tokyo?" Sadly, he could've started out much worse.
Pepper seemed to understand. There was genuine sympathy in her eyes as she put away her phone. "Screw Tokyo."
Under different circumstances Tony might've made a joke out of her talking like that. As it was all he could focus on was her arms suddenly wrapped around him. There, with just the two of them, he allowed himself to be held and to crack, just a little bit.
An hour later Pepper held one of his hands while the other emptied the flask of sickeningly strong alcohol he'd been carrying around to a toilet.
/ Clint wasn't sure if he expected to wake up again. He wasn't entirely sure what jostled him back to awareness. But it hurt. Quite soon he became aware of the fact that he had hard time breathing because someone was strangling him.
He'd just been tortured for who knows how long. He was beaten and injured. But he was also a fighter, and whoever it was attacking him was about to discover as much.
Clint trashed, with all he had, trying to wiggle away from the unwanted touch even though his attempts only brought further discomfort. Giving up wasn't an option. The fight wasn't over yet.
"Clint!" He knew that voice. Didn't he? "Clint, stop! You'll hurt yourself. Stop!" That order was pure Black Widow. While a lot of people would've shivered it offered him comfort.
Clint tried to talk but found out quickly that it just wasn't happening. Panic threatened to grab a hold of him until he anchored himself on the feel of Natasha's touch. This was safe. He was injured but he was safe.
He was safe.
Lulled by a sense of security he didn't know to be false Clint slipped away once more. Oblivious to his friend's desperate attempts to keep him alive. Unaware of his blood on her hands. /
Natasha couldn't remember the previous time she would've felt as tired as she did on that seemingly endless night. She wanted to sleep – knowing that the staff or the machinery would wake her up if something happened to Clint – but she was too anxious and tense to even close her eyes. It infuriated her.
Ridiculous, all of it.
The machinery emitted a suspicious sound and she was alerted instantly, her eyes scanning through the monitors. Clint's pulse was picking up. Was that a good sign? It was getting hard to believe in the positive after everything that'd happened recently.
Natasha gritted her teeth. Her eyes narrowed. "You've given us too many scares lately. It has to stop, do you understand? I…" She cleared her throat, her infuriatingly stinging eyes narrowing even further. A single drop of moisture spilled through. "I'm not giving Laura a single more of those phone calls. I'm not letting you make her fear that she's lost you again."
Something was clearly happening. And whatever it was, it escalated at the mention of Laura's name. Clint's pulse kept speeding up. His blood pressure joined in soon enough.
Natasha's expression remained admirably even despite the fact that her heart was racing. This was her best friend. This was someone to whom she owed so very much… "Clint?"
Natasha really, honestly didn't know what to do. And she hated it because if there was anything she'd learned in her life it was that when you didn't know what to do you were dead. Or worse – you became nothing, or a hindrance.
In the end Natasha didn't have to actually choose what to do. Because just then a nurse entered the room. As soon as the younger woman had taken a look at the monitors there was a thunderstorm of activity. Medical professionals were bursting into the room, shouting out words that she couldn't understand. And then Natasha was ushered out, gently yet firmly.
Natasha stood there, all alone in the middle of a by then practically deserted hallway. A middle aged nurse passed by and gave her a pitying look. She didn't even notice.
She felt as lost as the little girl who stood in the Red Room for the first time, her heart hammering as a future of painful uncertainty spread before her.
This time, however, there was one stark difference. She wasn't alone. "Nat?" Steve and Tony were walking towards her, both carrying takeaway coffee. Which one spoke? Both appeared tense and alarmed. "What's going on?"
Natasha shook her head. In a perfect control over herself, as always. "His vitals were getting out of control." She glanced towards the room's door, frustration traveling through her veins like fire. "They're in there now, examining him."
Tony nodded slowly. Obviously processing. "Is he… waking up?"
Natasha shrugged. Not uttering even a sound. It took her all not to snap something she might've regretted later. She officially dealt horribly with the 'I don't know'.
Thankfully Tony's mind was moving at a breathtaking speed, as it usually did. All of a sudden he was fiddling with his phone. "I'll send Wanda a message. She may not be ready to enter a hospital yet but… She'd want to know, right?" He was typing the entire time, pacing around the narrow space like a caged tiger.
Natasha sat down because really… What else was there to do but sit and wait? She hated it, from the bottom of her heart, because she was used to being one of the people who did things.
She spotted movement just a second before someone sat beside her and stiffened before recognizing Steve. Neither offered the other a word. He just sat there, close enough for her to feel him. The close proximity should've bothered her. It didn't.
The two of them sat and waited while Tony paced and waited, until the room's door finally opened and a doctor emerged.
/ Clint woke up a one more time. He no longer felt like he'd been choking but breathing still wasn't easy. Everything felt off and he wasn't entirely sure if anything was even real.
The familiar humming of the Quinjet surrounded him, cocooned him like a blanket. It was still cold and he was trembling. But the pain… Something had happened to it. He never got the chance to try and process what that 'something' may be.
Because all of a sudden a much too familiar, masked figure loomed above him. Holding a knife that was stained by fresh blood. Clint was almost certain that his heart stopped for a couple of seconds and his lips opened until the arrival – the leader who quite nearly slit his throat – brought a finger to his lips. "Not… a… sound", the man hissed, and nodded to the right. "Or the others end up like her."
Clint's heart thudded painfully. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his gaze. A tiny, pathetic whimper broke out of him and his eyes blurred from unshed tears.
Wanda lay on the floor next to him, eyes open but unseeing. Dead. Along with the hellish surge of agony the discovery brought he was tormented by a thunderstorm of flashbacks from Pietro's death.
Another failure – another Maximoff twin he hadn't been able to protect.
He struggled to move. To help her, even when he knew that it was too late. She was gone. Killed while he slept right beside her.
It took some time before he realized where the strange, keening sounds came from. They bubbled out through his lips, making his throat feel like it'd been set on fire. They were barely audible but still nearly managed to drown the other sound.
"Clint!" It was horribly cruel, to hear Wanda's voice while she lay right in front of him, obviously dead. "Clint, it's only a dream! It's just a dream. Come back to me."
Eager to leave the horror image behind Clint blinked his eyes open. Which was a bizarre experience, considering that he already imagined that he was awake. His gaze darted around, unfocused, until the dark shadow looming above him cleared enough to reveal Wanda's face. Had she been crying? Why? He wanted to ask her if she was alright but couldn't.
A few more keens slipped out as he stared at her, until the sounds first turned to feeble whimpers, then faded away entirely. He didn't realize that he'd been crying until she moved one trembling hand from his temple and gently wiped away the tears. It should've bothered him that she'd so clearly used her powers to wake him up. At the moment all he could concentrate on was that she was alive.
He was already drifting away once more when she grabbed his hand, squeezing so very hard that it hurt. He didn't mind. "It's… It's okay", she whispered, her voice cracking. "It's okay. We're going home, now."
'Home.' It was the first time she said that and meant the States. Clint's eyes fluttered closed while he tightened his fingers around hers the best as he could. Giving a promise of his own. /
Wanda had hated hospitals since she was a little girl. That's why it took far longer than she felt comfortable with before she managed to convince herself into going to see Clint. No matter how much she wanted to see him – and didn't, because the memories were still far too fresh.
Having to watch him get tortured…
Finding him, barely alive…
All the blood…
His nightmare, those awful, barely human sounds it provoked…
Until finally, finally, she concentrated on the memory of the hold he had on her hand. It was weak at best but didn't break even when he lost consciousness. He never let go, not until they made it to the hospital and he was wheeled away to receive the care he desperately needed. And for what felt like ages the memory of that stubborn hold was the only thing keeping her sane.
That, and Vision's company. He was always there for her. Even when she told him – in a far from kind manner – to leave her alone. Especially when she ordered him to leave. Every time she had nightmares he was there to escort her out of them. He was beside her even when she broke down and cried, just once, although her tears clearly made him feel uncomfortable. She felt equally embarrassed. Obviously they both had a few things to learn about being human.
He was also there when she finally made her decision and prepared herself to visit Clint.
"Are you sure that you will be alright?"
Wanda nodded and took a steadying breath while smoothing her shirt. "I know that you'd come with me if I asked you to, and I appreciate it. But… This is something that I need to do alone." She gritted her teeth, feeling ashamed. "I should've done this sooner."
Vision seemed to know exactly what was going through her mind. Who knows how. "He's far better at being human than the two of us. I'm certain that he will understand." Seeing her look he frowned. "What is it?"
Wanda shook her head. And smiled for the first time since the beginning of the horror story. "I'm just… I'm still finding it hard to believe that Tony Stark ended up creating something like you."
Entering the hospital without having a panic attack was a challenge. Facing Clint – with all the hospital equipment and still visible injuries – was something beyond. Wanda sat down slowly, as though fearing that her mere presence might somehow make things worse. Then, almost out of reflex, she took his hand and was surprised to discover that his skin no longer felt feverish. Her hold tightened while a hint of comfort traveled through her.
Wanda's lips opened several times before any sound came. "You… You never even flinched. When you realized that I was using my powers to pull you out of that nightmare." She stole a quick glance towards his unconscious face before looking away again, focusing on their joined hands. "I don't know what I've done to earn that trust, or if I deserve it. But… Thank you."
She'd been told that Clint had been showing stubborn signs of waking up recently. Still she was startled when all of a sudden his fingers twitched, squeezing hers. His free hand was wrestling with the oxygen mask before he'd succeeded in cracking one of his bleary eyes halfway open. Talking was obviously a painful struggle but he managed to wheeze out, anyway. "… deserve it …"
About half an hour later a nurse peered into the room and recoiled a step with surprise. The first thing her eyes locked on was the young, soundly sleeping woman who'd maneuvered herself into the bed. Usually such wouldn't have been allowed but the visitor looked like she needed the rest. And the bed's official occupant didn't seem to have anything against sharing his limited space.
Clint had been sleeping as well but his eyes fluttered partially open when he became aware of a presence. Instinctively he shifted to shield the woman beside him – what little he could move, anyway – until he realized that there wasn't a threat. He produced a tiny, thin smile, then gestured for her to be quiet before drifting back to sleep.
The nurse didn't bother holding back a smile of her own while she marked down his vitals and left the room, knowing that by some miracle her patient was going to be fine.
Time passed by. And eventually Clint received the permission to go home. He still got exhausted pathetically easily and slept more often than not. The aches were also there and it'd take a lot of physical therapy before he'd be able to shoot arrows like he used to. But he'd be fine, provided that he didn't do anything stupid that'd slow down his recovery. The hospital staff appeared almost as relieved as the archer when the news broke out that he wouldn't need the facility's care anymore.
On the morning of his release from captivity Clint woke up to the sensation of a feather like kiss. He should've been startled but wasn't. He knew those lips as well as his own…
His eyes opened slowly to find Laura's face. He could tell that she'd been under a lot of stress lately – and hated himself for it – but at the moment she was smiling. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty", she whispered, running a tender hand through his tousled hair. "Ready to go home?"
Clint swallowed, still tasting her. Of course he was happy to see her but… Was it safe…? "… shouldn't be here …", he rasped. Even the thought of sending her away hurt physically but her safety had to come first.
Laura shrugged, clearly catching the reason to his hesitation. "As far as people know I'm a nurse who'll be in charge over your homecare." She smirked cheekily. "Stark thought that I had excellent qualifications and called me. What do you say, Mr. Barton? Am I hired?"
Clint's heart fluttered. This time in a good way. Talking long sentences was out of the question for the time being so instead he held up a thumb. The twinkle in his eyes left no questions as to how he felt about her playing a nurse for him.
Laura giggled. As though reading his mind. "Pervert", she accused affectionately before kissing the tip of his nose.
Thaddeus Ross was there, looming like a shadow, when Clint was discharged. He ignored the woman he'd never seen before – most likely some sort of a nurse – immediately. Instead he focused on the Avengers.
Wanda and the mystery woman occupied both sides of Clint, their backs to him. Tony walked ahead, babbling almost constantly with his arms flailing animatedly. Natasha lingered a couple of steps behind. Was she keeping watch or keeping her distance?
He sensed Steve a second before the man stood beside him. The air between them made perfectly clear that his presence wasn't welcomed. "I was under the impression that you received the word that Clint won't be able to deliver a reliable mission report."
"I did." Ross lifted his chin, his predator's gaze still lingering on the team. "I'm merely… observing."
Steve looked at him. "You're looking for a chance to shut us down." It wasn't a question. It seemed that the Captain had learned enough of the 21st century to stop being naïve.
"Yes, I am." What point was there in denying it? He kept watching as the group crammed into a car. "Because when people with the kind of powers and strength you have decide to take the law into their own hands… That's when they change from allies into a dangerous problem."
"Too bad that the… 'dangerous problem' happens to be my family." Steve's eyes weren't threatening but message was clear all the same. "We're not the bad guys. We're not seeking for battle and destruction. We're just trying to help."
Ross sighed. He was really, genuinely getting tired of all this. "Too bad the world around you is too fragile for your kind of 'help'." He gave the Captain a sharp look. "You may have been a celebrated national hero, once upon a time. But you're not untouchable or above the law. One day the Avengers will end up creating such collateral damage that you won't be able to shrug off. And when that day comes I'll be there to seal the fate of your so called team. Until then I'll keep watch, and wait." His eyes locked on Clint, who was still obviously in the middle of his recovery. "You claim that they're your family. Be sure that these games don't get one of them killed eventually. With the… alterations you've been through, it must be easy to forget how breakable humans actually are."
"I don't forget. For even a second." Stony sincerity was loud and clear in Steve's eyes. Obviously this was a sore spot. "That's why I protect my own. No matter what. Now, if that was all…" Without really waiting for the answer the Captain began to walk away.
Ross watched him go. And his eyes narrowed even further. Who would've thought that out of all the members of that ridiculous team Captain America would become the biggest thorn in his side…
Some more time passed until it was a rainy afternoon at the Barton Farm. Cooper was still at school and Lila was close to dozing off while drawing until she heard commotion. Soon after familiar voices began to drift to her ears and her eyes shone while she sped into motion. Barely daring to hope after so long…
As soon as she made it downstairs she found Natasha helping her dad into the house. He was pale and clearly sore. But he was there, finally not just a voice on the phone. And that was all the encouragement she needed before rushing forward.
"Lila, carefully sweetie, remember that daddy's not well yet!"
Her dad emitted a small 'oof' and shuddered when she catapulted herself to his arms and held on tight. She didn't notice. Weeks upon weeks of longing and worrying crashed down to the gesture. "You came back", she whispered, and repeated it who knows how many times. Eyes closed, taking in her dad's warmth and inhaling his familiar scent. "You came back."
Small mercies, that she didn't realize he was crying too. "Yeah, sweetie. I'm home."
Time passed by again. A significant amount of it. A gentle summer wind was blowing as Tony made his way to the Barton Farm. Instead of knocking he headed towards the sounds of thuds. The sight he encountered wasn't surprising but warmed his heart all the same.
Clint was target practicing. A very familiar look of steel hard concentration could be seen in the archer's eyes while he focused and aimed. Then, in a fluid motion, released the arrow. It whistled through the air nearly soundlessly and slammed at the target board, splitting another arrow in half while forcing its way to the bullseye.
"Showoff", Tony accused with amusement, his tone revealing that he was genuinely impressed.
If Clint was surprised – which he doubted the archer was – the man didn't let it show. The bow was lowered with practiced ease. No tremor. No sign of a struggle, physical or emotional. Obviously the physical therapy had worked its magic. "Are you sure that it's a good idea to tease an armed assassin?"
"Pepper would probably hang you from your privates if you shot me with an arrow again."
Clint rolled his eyes. "Just once… Just once, to save your sorry ass… And you never let me hear the end of it."
"Well my 'sorry ass' will never be the same again", Tony pouted half-heartedly. This was good. The fact that Clint was finally able to joke about that event was good. He didn't feel like reminding or remembering that as soon as he'd been hit by an arrow the guy who'd meant to shoot him to the head aimed for Clint instead and fired.
Clint pursed his lips, clearly catching something. "So… Are you and Pepper…?"
Tony shrugged. "We'll see. Right now it's… one step at a time, I guess." He then shook his head, realizing that he was getting sidetracked. "But I didn't come here to update you on my relationship status."
Clint's eyebrow rose. "Anthony Stark, are you checking up on me?" The Hawk sounded touched.
"Well you almost checked out on us. So sue me." Another Stark-pout made itself known. "Would've spared me from having to drag myself all the way here if you bothered to stop by on occasion, Legolas."
Clint sighed and sobered, but only slightly. "I know. Sorry about that. I'm just…"
"… still getting to your feet?" Tony suggested almost gently. He shrugged at his friend's surprise. "I get it. It's not like I'd be totally tone-deaf to basic human emotions."
Clint's features softened. "No, you're not." The man stretched. It clearly ached a bit but no longer unbearably. "I am getting better, you know. I almost feel like myself already."
Tony could see that. The haunted expression was gone. "Well, you don't look like death warmed up anymore." Traces of lost weight and exhaustion were still there, though. It'd take a while before the nightmares would ease. The new faded but still visible scars on his forehead and throat were a befitting proof that things would never be exactly the same again. But at least he was definitely in the right place to recover. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can't wait for your return. Rogers is nowhere near as fun to bully as you."
A small but genuine smile was his reward. Clint nodded towards the house. "You hungry? Laura started cooking just before I headed out. And Coop has some sort of a design he's been wanting to show you for ages."
Tony's heart swell a little at that. "Like I'd dare to say 'no' to those two." He glanced towards his friend and frowned at something that might've been a trick of his imagination. "I can practically hear the wheels turning, Robin Hood. Something you wanna share with Dr. Stark?"
Clint looked down for a second, then sighed. "It's stupid, I know, but… Sometimes when I look at my kids… I can't help but think about that little girl." The archer's eyes narrowed. "I wonder what'll happen to her."
Tony wanted to point out that what happened to the girl's mom was none of Clint's fault. But he knew that his words would echo on deaf ears so he shrugged instead. "She'll probably be raised by other relatives. The people around there have big and tight families."
The look on Clint's face darkened just a little bit. "I know. That's what worries me."
Far away the mentioned little girl's eyes were cold as ice and hard from concentration while she focused on a target board. More arrows than she could count were already sticking from it, scattered all around the white and red. To the middle of the board she'd fastened the picture of a hawk she drew on the day of her mom's funeral.
Her eyes narrowed while the bow's string tightened, and then allowed the arrow to fly. She watched, anxiously waiting for the result. Her hand tightened around her weapon to a point where her knuckles turned white. The anticipation ended up to a thud.
A cruel smile which shouldn't have belonged to a child's face appeared when the arrow pierced the hawk's head.
A large hand squeezed her shoulder. An appreciative hum followed. "Excellent work. You're a natural talent."
She shook her head. Appearing too old for her age. "No, uncle. Just motivated."
End of short story
A/N: PHEW! Clint made it. (BEAMS) BUT, it looks like he'll be in a lot of trouble in a few years… (shudders) And who wants applications for the Ross hate-club…? (lifts a hand)
Sooooooo… Any good, at all? Garbage material? PLEASE, do let me know!
WHAT IN THE WORLD COMES NEXT?
Thor gets his turn in the spotlight when he tries to keep a very fragile Hawkeye alive until help gets there.
And Fury, of all people, sees first hand just how accident prone Clint is…
Now what is wrong with Natasha – why is she trying to kill Clint?!
And a car accident in the middle of a mission has results none of the teammembers would've known to expect…
Until the next time, ya all! I REALLY hope that I'll see you there.
Take care – and look after all the Hawkeyes of the world, because we all know that they need some caring!
Guest: I can't even express properly how happy you made me! (HUGS) I REALLY hope that the next one turns out worth the wait.
Colossal thank yous for the review!
Anonymous: LOL! Feel free to call me names all you like. I've deserved it. (chuckles) (then winces) But gosh, poor Clint AND the team! We'll see just what comes out of this mess… I'm thrilled that the chapter captivated you so!
Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.
hatschi: Awww, such kind words! (hugs) I REALLY hope that what's to come won't disappoint, either.
HUGE thank yous for the review!
Nightshade: Quite a cliffie, eh? (smirks sheepishly) I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it, though! I love the relationship between Clint and Wanda, too. Which means that we'll be seeing some more of it… (wiggles eyebrows)
Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.
