Warning: here be spanking.
Coulson is nothing if not a stickler for protocol, and he makes them go through the usual series of debriefing questions. What was their objective? Did they reach their objective? Was their pre-battle plan effective? Clint does his best to contribute his two cents, because everybody is expected to participate, but he knows that everybody is just waiting for the What Went Wrong question. And that kind of makes his throat ache because he can't help thinking that this is the bit where he gets kicked off the team. Nobody wants to work with a lunatic.
He's so deep in his own thoughts that he actually half-misses Coulson asking the question. There's a moment or two of silence, and then Thor is the first to speak up.
"I believe that Hawkeye ran out of arrows." He seems rather pensive. "Is it not so, Clint? I can think of no other reason why you would decide to launch yourself at out enemies. An admirable attempt, nonetheless!"
Banner, strangely old and bent in a ratty sweatshirt and probably half-asleep, gives a guffaw that he quickly turns into a cough.
"Admirable?" Stark glares around the table. "Admirable my ass. The word you're looking for is moronic, Point Break. Dumb. Asinine. But did you run out of arrows, Barton? What the hell happened?"
Clint rubs his wrist absentmindedly. A bruise is forming there, in the shape of four large metal fingers. Stark had only barely managed caught him, and his heart still tries to skip a beat as he remembers the fall.
"Yeah, no." He shrugs. "I still had arrows… I just figured extraction would take too long, and the stairs weren't viable. So I tried to rappel down, but my line collapsed."
"Oh gosh, I wonder why. It couldn't have been because it was attached to a structurally corrupt high-rise, could it?"
"How about we tone down the sarcasm and the insults, Tony," Coulson suggests mildly. "Why were you in such a hurry to get down, Clint?"
Fucking Coulson with his fucking open-ended questions.
"Natasha...was outnumbered on the ground. I didn't have a clear shot."
Understanding dawns on Stark's face, but Natasha gives him an incredulous look.
"Rogers was my backup," she says. "And he was literally right there."
"I was half a block away and fairly outnumbered too," Rogers says. "We did need help at that point, miss Romanov. But Stark had been on his way, and even if he hadn't been there was no call for Barton to put his life in that much danger."
"We put ourselves in danger every day." Maybe Clint snarls it, because Rogers shouldn't sound like he cares and Stark is giving him a look of understanding and they're supposed to fucking realise that he's a liability.
"We put ourselves in necessary danger," Natasha says. "We may be superheroes, but we can't help anybody if we're dead."
Clint can't answer because he's not sure if he agrees with her, and fortunately Coulson makes use of the momentary silence.
"Might we agree that all beings unequipped for flight around this table do not get to jump of buildings without a proper plan and safety mechanisms in place?"
There is general assent, and Coulson gives them a beaming smile.
"Excellent. This debriefing is then mostly over. Clint, stay a minute, will you?"
"Sure thing," Clint says, trying to not let the apprehension show on his face.
He keeps looking at the table as his teammates file out of the room. Only looking up when he feels Natasha looking intently at him. She pulls a face at him behind Coulson's turned back, and he feels his heart growing a little lighter. At least Nat isn't planning to disembowel him after Coulson is finished, which is a relief.
When the door clicks shut after Nat, he hears the lock engaging on the inside with a small beep.
Coulson shifts one hip onto the table, interlocking his fingers comfortably around a raised knee.
It takes Clint a minute to be able to look up at him, but when he does Coulson's eyes are remarkably kind. More kind, probably, than Clint deserved.
"Wanna tell me what you did wrong today?"
Shifting uncomfortably, Clint thought for a minute, trying to organise everything in his mind.
"Well, I didn't listen to you. You told me to stay on the roof and wait for extraction, but I didn't do that." Stay where you are, Hawkeye, Iron Man will pick you up. Do you copy? "And I attempted a descent that I knew wasn't safe." Twisting in the air to bury the arrow in a crack in the concrete above him. It crumbles and he is falling falling falling. "I put my life in danger."
"Why?" Coulson asks, as he always does. "What were you thinking, Clint?"
Its not a rhetorical, angry, WHAT WHERE YOU THINKING?! Coulson genuinely wants to know.
"I'm not sure." Clint falters. "I suppose...I saw Nat in danger, you know? There were five of those big AIM guys cornering her. I had to help her, she's saved my ass so many times. I just...I will always have her back, you know that."
"But you knew you couldn't really help her, kid. You're the best tactical bowman there is, and you knew that shot wouldn't stick even before you took it. Didn't you?"
Clint nods, unwilling to lie to Coulson.
"I understand being willing to die for your partner, I really do. But this is not that. You knew you couldn't get to her, so you decided you'd just die as well?" His gaze grows sharper, uncomfortably discerning on Clint's face. "Your worth is not determined by who you save, Clint. Maybe you owe Nat your life, maybe I owe you mine, maybe we all owe our lives to each other. But we do not owe anybody our deaths."
He can't speak, and Coulson doesn't expect an answer. The older man blows out a breath of air, folding his arms over his chest.
"We've been over this before, Clint."
Clint nods and drops his gaze again as shame floods his stomach. They had been over it before. Many, many times, more than he can probably count. He should be learning something, not making the same fucking mistakes over and over again. Coulson's probably getting tired of his bullshit. It's only a matter of time, really, before the man washes his hands off him. The Avengers seem to be willing to put up with his lunacy a little longer, but once they realise, as Coulson have, that he just never gets better...
"Clint."
Coulson's voice brings him back from the winding depths of his self-deprecation with a firm jerk.
"Sir?"
"We've been over this before, kid. But I've told you before and I'll tell you again. Until you realise that your life is something precious, and that you need to think before you act, I'm willing to keep no going over this with you. How many times we do this is up to you."
Damned fucking allergies. Clint brushes a quick hand over his eyes, and gave Coulson a weary grin.
"I promise I'll try to remember, sir."
"Try to remember what?"
"Not to take stupid-ass risks."
"And what else?"
That one is a bit more difficult, but Clint swallows and looks Coulson in the eye.
"And that my life is worth something."
"Worth a whole damn lot, kid. Go on, say it."
"That my life is worth a whole damn lot."
Coulson grins slightly and stands up.
"Wonderful. Now, let's get this over with, shall we?"
Clint gets to his feet with some trepidation. Coulson is a stickler for protocol, until he isn't. Or maybe this is protocol since Clint has only ever worked with Coulson as a handler. Hill had had a go when he first arrived, but they ended up having to fly Coulson back from Amsterdam after Clint refused to come down from the vents for the 12th day straight. They put him with Sitwell once as well, but that particular experiment didn't even last until their first debriefing.
Coulson nods at the conference table, clearly expecting Clint to know the drill and get on with it. Clint unzips his tight pants, peels them down to his thighs and bends over the table. He grips the far edge and turns his cheek to the cool surface, clenching his teeth.
A warm hand comes to rest on his lower back and then Coulson starts spanking. He moves quickly, covering Clint's backside in meticulous circuits of sharp, burning smacks. Its predictable, the progression of pain across his skin, and Clint can't decide if its good or bad. Good, because you can anticipate what will happen next, but bad because the only thing there is to anticipate really is some more pain.
When his rear is flaming and he's beginning to squirm despite himself, Coulson pauses.
"A quick recap of what you shouldn't have done, Clint?"
Clint groans into his arm.
"I disobeyed an order. I made a reckless decision, and I jumped off a fucking roof."
He yelps at the four scorching swats Coulson lands to his sit spots.
"Language, kid."
"Sorry! Sorry! A roof, just a roof."
"And we don't jump off roofs if we don't have a proper descent in place, do we?"
"No, sir!"
"Very well."
He starts smacking again, and Clint isn't sure if he's really smacking harder or if it just feels worse after the pause. He tries to twist despite himself, but Coulson keeps him in place without any apparent effort and continues spanking.
"I'm sorry!" Clint finally says, desperately. "I'm sorry, sir, I won't do it again!"
"I intend to make sure of that," Coulson says, rather grimly. "You do not ever endanger yourself like that again, understand? You are a valuable member of this team, and it wouldn't be complete without you. Your team cares about you. And I care for you, very much."
He's a fucking SHIELD agent and a grown-ass man, but Coulson's words hit something inside him that loosens the knot in his throat. He can't stop the flood of tears any more than the violent sobs that wrack through his body.
After a while, when he's capable of coherent thought again, he realises that its over. Coulson is sitting quietly on the table next to him, rubbing his back in wide circles. He gives Clint a melancholy smile when he stumbles on to his feet and rights his clothing with clumsy hands. Clint's still a little shaky, both from the spanking and from the realisation of how fucking close he came to it today. He doesn't protest when Coulson gets up and draws him into a tight hug.
The man smells of dry-cleaning and gun-oil and his suit jacket is scratchy on Clint's wet eyelids.
"You alright?"
"I'm sorry."
"You're forgiven, kid. It's over now."
Back at the tower, Clint isn't surprised to find himself kidnapped by Jarvis and deposited on the common floor. Chagrined, because he wants nothing more than a hot shower and a soft bed, but not surprised.
Thor is lying in front of the fire, belly turned towards the heat like a big puppy, dressed in sleep pants and an oversized sweatshirt. It's a pretty fucking big sweatshirt, Clint reckons. Rogers and Banner are also there, playing a game of chess in front of the fire. Rogers is still in his uniform, or maybe its a new one since its cleaner than Clint remembers from a few hours ago, but Banner has also showered and changed and he looks a lot more alert.
Clint drops his dufflebag near the lift and goes towards them, stuffing his hands into his pockets awkwardly. A dark head pops up from the couch as he approached, and Stark gives him a pissy look.
"Well, hello there, the prodigal son has returned."
"Shut up, Stark," Nat crosses from the kitchen, her hair wet around her face. She arches a wordless question at Clint with her left brow, and grows positively smug at the answer he winces back.
Stark flops back on the couch, but he doesn't pick up the tablet next to his head again. Instead, he seems to be studying Clint intently.
"I wanted to apologise," Clint starts.
"That'd be great."
"Tony." Rogers frowns at Stark. "Give him a chance. Go on, Clint."
"I took a completely unacceptable risk, and I apologise for that. It won't happen again. And I owe you a big thank you, Stark. You saved my ass big time."
Stark seems slightly taken aback, but mostly mollified, and he waves a dismissive hand.
"We accept you apology, Clint," Thor says, stretching comfortably. "I still do not quite understand what your intentions were, but I am satisfied if you will at least not do it again. But tell us, has the son of Coul kept you busy all this time? You became rather pale when he asked you to stay behind. Stark wagered that he would make you clean toilets, but my money was on a lecture. Rogers declined to join the betting."
"That's at least something," Clint mumbles. He gives Natasha an uncomfortable look.
She shrugs, completely nonchalant. "We might as well give them a heads up."
"Heads up about what?" Banner asks.
"Coulson spanked him," Natasha says easily. "Its his preferred method of discipline."
"Oh fuck," Tony says.
*pretends not to look at my other unfinished fics*
I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Tremulous xx