In which Clint returns to New York, confides in Peggy and Steve, and meets someone who can help him.
A note about Wanda: I have never read the X-Men comics; my X-Men knowledge comes from an obsession with X-Men: Evolution when I was younger. So my Wanda is kind of a mix between the MCU and the cartoon with some liberties taken (partly because I had an X-Men fanfic which had its own headcanon).
June 2012, Brooklyn
For a while, it looked like the World Security Council was going to be what Natasha called 'complete morons', and try to pin everything on Clint and the other compromised agents.
At some point, footage of the missile being launched and the subsequent drama, including Thor's prediction that the aliens would have kept coming, ended up being aired in the middle of a Council meeting.
Tony Stark himself had not appeared, but his message was heard loud and clear.
Suddenly, the Council were falling over themselves to confirm that the only person responsible for the situation was Loki, and he was being handled by his home realm.
As soon as that was in writing, Natasha and Clint returned to New York in time for Coulson's funeral.
Natasha had somehow packed him a suit without him noticing - or maybe she just had suits for him in all her safe-houses, Clint wasn't sure. They stopped off at another of her safe-houses just outside New York so they could both change.
As it turned out, Natasha was right about no one paying them any attention.
The other funerals had garnered a lot of attention, but this one had somehow remained low-key. Maybe the length of time had diminished the interest, or maybe no one in the media had realised that this was another death attributed to the invasion.
Either way, the event was quiet and understated, just as Phil would have wanted it, and - as promised - Natasha sat beside him, letting him cling to her hand, her head resting on his shoulder.
Fury met them outside afterwards, handing Natasha new orders - vacation time was clearly over.
Once again, Strike Team Delta parted ways, but this time something was different.
Clint did not return to headquarters, but instead met (newly minted) Deputy Director Hill in Central Park near where Thor and Loki had departed from.
Both exchanged condolences, neither mentioned the redness of their eyes, but the discussion was an awkward one.
He stood his ground anyway. He was owed time off, and he doubted anyone wanted to see him back at SHIELD any time soon.
He was going back to Bed-Stuy.
Rodriguez seemed relieved to see him, and Clint had a feeling that Natasha had said something to him last time they were here. Whatever it was, the other man didn't mention it, just handed him a list of various complaints he hadn't had a chance to fix.
Clint read them on his way up the stairs; there was nothing too strenuous, just time-consuming, but it would give him something to do.
Annette on the second floor was having trouble with her hot water - Clint mentally moved that to the top of the list; she had two children in school, and did not need to be dealing with cold showers in the morning.
Mrs Watts on the fifth floor apparently had an oven that was playing up - a vague complaint, but Clint was fairly sure it was less to do with the oven, and more to do with wanting some company.
Adrian and Michael on the floor below his had a dripping tap. It wasn't a big deal, they said, but it was starting to get annoying.
The elevator made a strange creaking sound; he added that to his list as his hearing aids crackled, causing a grimace.
The sub-dermal devices had sounded like a brilliant idea when SHIELD suggested it, but he had definitely been mis-sold.
Maybe he should see if Stark could do something about it.
Mutual world-saving had to mean something, didn't it?
Once again, Lucky greeted him at the door, this time without barking - which made sense when he realised that Kate was fast asleep on the couch.
"Good boy," Clint whispered, scratching his ears. He changed out of his suit and was just about to leave Kate in peace to start on his to-do list, when Lucky gave a little whine, tugging on the leg of his jeans.
"What?" Clint asked.
Lucky tugged again, then ran over to Kate, sitting beside her and looking back at Clint with one large brown eye.
Clint quirked an eyebrow but gamely followed him over to the couch.
Kate's face was stained with tears.
Concern kicked in, and he perched on the edge of the couch, resting a hand on her back. "Katie?"
Her eyes flickered open, landed on his face, and filled with such relief that he braced himself for a fight.
For a second, it looked like she was going to hug him, but then she apparently caught herself, sitting up to hug her knees to her chest instead. "You're home. Are you better?"
Clint smiled. "Well, I'm not brilliant, but I'm better, yes. Have you really got nothing better to do than sleep on my couch in the middle of the day?"
"I wasn't planning on falling asleep," Kate said. "I just … I was waiting for you to come home."
"You want to tell me what's wrong?" Clint asked. "You look like you've been crying."
"So do you," Kate retorted.
"I was at a funeral this morning," Clint said. "What about you?"
Kate was quiet for a few moments. "Sorry. Good friend?"
"It's complicated," Clint said. "Why have you been crying? Who do I need to beat up for you?"
That got a smile out of her, although he wasn't joking. "I made the mistake of watching the news," she said softly. "You jumped off the building."
Clint had no idea there was footage of that. Come to think of it, he had no idea there was anyone around with a camera. "Who gets caught up in an alien invasion and starts filming it?"
"That's not the point," Kate said, her voice a little shrill. "You jumped off a building."
She was trembling, and Clint rethought his question about whether anyone else had identified him.
Maria would have told him if they had.
"Katie, let me show you something."
Clint's bow and quiver probably technically belonged to SHIELD, but no one else knew how to use it - or could use it - so he wasn't leaving it with them if he wasn't there.
His bow was his baby, although whatever Natasha said, he definitely loved her more.
And Kate, for that matter.
"I wasn't ever going to tell you want I do for a living," Clint said. "I try and keep it away from this place."
Kate sniffled. "I've known for a while. You have too many weapons here; you're in law enforcement. You're away too much, so you're not a cop, so you must be a fed."
Clint felt a jolt of pride. "Excellent deduction, Kate, but I'm not a fed, I'm a spy. I work for SHIELD. Since you already figured out half of it, let me show you how this works." He opened the bottom of the quiver. "Not all arrows I use are regular arrows. All of these arrow heads do different things. This button on my bow lets me switch them out. When I jumped, I had an arrow with a grappling hook ready. It caught the edge of the building and I swung through a window. I've done it before, I knew what I was doing."
"What if you'd missed?" Kate asked.
"I never miss," Clint said.
"But what if you had?"
Clint thought about what Natasha had said, that Kate had called him her dad. She had never said anything of the sort to him, but he could appreciate someone not being ready for certain conversations. "Come here."
Kate slid along the couch so he could hug her.
"I didn't," he said softly. "I didn't miss. I promise I was okay. Also, I never miss."
Kate wasn't really a hugger, but he always got the feeling that it was more to do with the lack of it at home than any dislike of it. When she did hug him, she melted into it.
"Where are Derek and Joanna?"
"Vacation," Kate answered. "I didn't want to go so I stayed."
There had to be some kind of law about leaving your kid alone, but Kate was fifteen, and capable of looking after herself, and Clint didn't blame her for not wanting to go.
"I guess we can't go to the gym," she continued.
Clint grimaced. He loved teaching Kate, which had surprised him; he had only started doing it to humour her, when she saw his bow and begged him to - that, and he found it hard to say no to her - but she was very good, which made a change from the rookies he had tried to teach at SHIELD.
"I'll scope it out," he said eventually. "See how many people are using the range. I don't really want to draw attention to myself."
Or Kate, for that matter, but he wasn't going to say that.
Kate nodded. "I get it."
Clint squeezed her shoulder. "I've taken leave from SHIELD for a while, so I'll be around for a few months at least. Might even be longer. We'll get back there eventually."
Kate's eyes lit up, and he assumed for a moment that it was getting back on the practice range, but then she said, "You're staying?"
Once again, Clint felt the familiar pang of guilt that crept up on him every time he was home. "I don't know how long," he warned. "But yes, at least for a few months."
"Until my birthday?"
Her birthday was September, and he was fairly sure he would still be on leave.
"I promise," Clint said, "I will stay at least until your birthday." He stood up. "I need to go and be a landlord. You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Kate said. "I've just been crashing on your couch; is it okay if …?"
"You're always welcome, Kate," Clint said immediately. "If you want, we can even pull the couch out so you can have a proper bed."
Kate grinned. "Ooh, fancy."
Clint ruffled her hair with a chuckle, grabbed his tool-kit out from under the sink, and headed out.
The hot water took longer than he thought it would, and he spent most of his time bent up under a cabinet, which did not do his back any good; the cuts and scrapes from the glass had healed, but everything still ached from landing on the quiver.
Maybe he could get Stark to look at that as well.
Thankfully, the dripping tap turned out to be an easy fix, so he didn't need to spend too much time in another cabinet.
Mrs Watts' oven, as expected, was working absolutely fine, but he sat and had a cup of coffee with her, and let her fuss over him like a grandmother, because her grandchildren were all overseas and she never saw them enough.
She, of course, had no idea about his involvement in the invasion - in any sense of the word - so much of her conversation was dominated by the events in Manhattan, while he faked a smile.
If Nat was there, she would probably be able to tell exactly which cover identity he was reaching for to maintain his composure, but he didn't care.
The whole thing had clearly terrified the elderly woman (and who could blame her) - if pretending he was undercover gave him the strength he needed to comfort her without having a breakdown, then he was going to do it.
By the time he left, it was starting to get dark.
Kate wasn't there when he got back, which he had kind of expected. She had asked if she could stay, and he had said that she could, but it wasn't uncommon for her to second-guess that kind of thing.
He blamed her parents' complete apathy towards her.
Sometimes he considered telling her exactly how he felt, but then he second-guessed himself as well. She may have called him her dad (to Natasha at least) but she wasn't used to someone caring, and she was just as likely to run away as she was to be happy.
Clint collapsed onto the couch, and Lucky whined, coming to rest his head on his lap. "Did Katie go home, buddy?"
He had a piece of paper tucked into his collar, and Clint tugged it free, opening it to find Kate's immaculate handwriting.
I have been fed; don't listen to me.
Clint snorted, scratching the dog's ears. "She's ahead of you." He heaved a sigh. "Good thing, really. Not sure I have the energy to feed myself, let alone you."
Natasha had looked to him before accepting her next mission, silently asking him if he needed her. He had waved her off, kissed her goodbye, and told himself that he was a grown man who didn't need his girlfriend (or whatever they were calling themselves) to babysit him.
As night approached, he was regretting that decision.
Every time he blinked, he saw blue, heard that awful, hypnotic voice.
Even without being asleep, he saw himself losing control of his body, arming himself, and walking next door.
The locked door wouldn't stop him.
If Kate had even bothered locking the door - she trusted him after all.
If the idea of killing Natasha terrified him, the thought that he could hurt Kate made him feel physically sick.
She didn't have Natasha's training; she wouldn't stand a chance.
He jolted to his feet, startling Lucky.
He couldn't stay here.
On the outskirts of Brooklyn, Peggy and Steve had fallen into a comfortable routine together.
During the day, she would go into work and he would alternate between helping with repairs and working his way through the books Pepper had so carefully compiled.
In the evening, they would cook dinner together and he would pick her brain about something he had read.
Sometimes those discussions ended with both of them crying; not because they had argued but because the subject matter was so depressing.
Thankfully, this evening's subject was an upbeat one, even after the day they had had, starting with the hardest funeral of all (for Peggy) and ending with Steve helping to find two bodies in one of the collapsed buildings that everyone thought had been searched.
Then again, maybe that was why the subject was upbeat.
"So Disney's Folly wasn't such a folly after all, was it?" Steve asked.
Peggy chuckled. "No. The whole company just kept proving people wrong. They said the war would end them, and it didn't. They said his death would end them, and it didn't. The opening of Disneyland was an absolute disaster, and they still avoided everything falling apart."
"So which movie should I start with?" Steve asked.
Peggy thought about that for a second. "Well … I feel like if we're going to do that, we should just start back at the beginning, and work through them in order."
Steve didn't answer for a moment, and she was just about to ask him for a plate, when she realised he was listening intently.
"I think someone's upstairs," he murmured, before she could ask.
Peggy tilted her head, listening to the soft noises coming from the floor above … No, the attic. She smiled. "Don't worry about it." She pulled a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer and added some to the pan to bulk it out a bit. "Set another place please."
Steve did as he was told, looking vaguely puzzled, but his expression soon cleared when Clint appeared in the kitchen doorway.
"One day, you'll use the front door," Peggy said by way of greeting, wiping her hands.
"Sorry," Clint murmured, kissing her cheek. "Force of habit. I've also realised I might be interrupting something."
"Of course not," Steve said, stepping forward to shake his hand. "It'll save Peggy from going hunting for you tomorrow."
Clint cracked a smile. "You worried about me?"
"Maria came back from lunch looking like she'd swallowed a lemon," Peggy said, bringing dinner to the table. "What did you tell her?"
Clint took a deep breath. "I've taken psych leave."
Peggy faltered. "Well … I can't say I disagree with you."
Clint raised an eyebrow, watching her serve up three portions of exactly the same size. "You know I don't have an enhanced metabolism, right?"
Peggy gave him a stern look. "Have you eaten today?"
"Well, no, but …"
She put another spoonful on his plate.
Steve chuckled. "Were you hiding this maternal instinct back in the war?"
Peggy laughed as well. "I mean, yes, I had to - you either wanted a career or you wanted a family; you couldn't do both back then. But also … I think the serum kind of … enhanced it."
"I'm not complaining," Clint said. "I never had a proper mom."
Peggy kissed his forehead and took her seat. "So how long are you on leave for?"
"I don't know," Clint admitted. "I'm not … I'm not sure I can go back. I'm not sure I trust my judgement anymore."
"That wasn't you," Peggy said gently.
"I know that," Clint said. "It's not … I'm afraid he's still in there. And now Nat's on an op, and she can't stop me."
"Is that why you're here?" Peggy asked.
Clint shrugged. "Partly. My tenants don't need to deal with that."
"Tenants?" Steve asked.
"I own a building in Bed-Stuy," Clint explained. "I used to just rent an apartment, but the old landlord was an asshole, and got arrested for mob connections. That wasn't why he was an asshole," he added. "That was a separate offence, but you can't get arrested for that."
Steve snorted. "So you bought the building?"
"I wasn't going to," Clint said, "but the new owners were gonna just level it for offices. I would've been fine, but a lot of the tenants would have been screwed. Some of them were close to being priced out by the asshole landlord anyway before." He scowled. "He was doing that on purpose."
"Rent does rise, honey," Peggy said.
"Mine didn't," Clint said flatly. "Mine has stayed exactly the same since I moved in. From what I can tell, there were three other tenants in that position. The others had the rent steadily rising. Each and every one of them was either a single mother or not white. I'm not saying that was the reason, but it was a hell of a coincidence if not."
"That's still happening?" Steve asked.
Peggy sighed. "Legally, no. Thing is the people who tend to be affected are also less likely to have the financial means to challenge it in court."
"Anyway," Clint continued, "Nat and I pooled our resources, and bought it cash in hand."
"No paper trail," Peggy said for Steve's benefit.
Clint nodded. "Exactly. I keep SHIELD away from them, and I keep them away from SHIELD."
"Is there anyone there who knows?" Steve asked.
"Sure," Clint said. "Her name's Kate, she's fifteen, and I'm not dragging her into this more than I already have."
Peggy raised an eyebrow. "Why does she know?"
"Because she made assumptions, confronted Nat, and apparently 'threw' the world's greatest spy," Clint said. "No offence. She knows more than I'm comfortable with." He caught Steve's eye across the table. "She's my neighbours' daughter. I teach her archery, and she looks after my dog and hangs out at my place when her parents are unbearable."
Having heard Clint speak as fondly of Kate as he did, Peggy considered that a bit of an understatement, but decided she wasn't going to deal with that at the moment, returning to his earlier concern. "You think he's still in your head?"
"I don't think he is," Clint said. "I have no logical reason to think that. I'm scared that he is."
"What about Logan?" Steve asked. "Does he know anyone who could help?"
Peggy thought for a second. "Maybe. An old friend of ours works at a school upstate," she added to Clint. "It's for kids born with special abilities."
"You mean mutants," Clint said.
"Exactly," Peggy said. "There might be someone there who can tell you if he's still there."
Clint pulled a face. "I've met a few telepaths. Not sure I'm comfortable with someone else going into my head."
"That might be the only option," Peggy said gently.
Clint sighed. "I guess. Alright, let's find out."
Clint still didn't sleep that night.
The promise of an end to the nightmare certainly helped, but until someone could tell him for certain that Loki was out of his head and couldn't take over again, he wasn't taking any chances.
So instead he sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee.
Maybe two.
Okay, maybe he just constantly refilled the pot.
At around two am (and his seventh mug), there were footsteps on the stairs, and Steve joined him.
Wordlessly, Clint poured another cup of coffee and pushed it towards him.
Steve thanked him quietly, and for a while, the two men sat in silence.
Steve wasn't drinking the coffee, he noticed, but hugging it close, as though the warmth could seep through in to his body.
"Couldn't sleep?" Steve asked after a while.
"Didn't try," Clint admitted. "You?"
"Nightmares," Steve said. "I know Peggy said to wake her but …"
"Sometimes you feel guilty," Clint finished. "I get it. Cold?"
Steve chuckled weakly. "I know it doesn't make sense. It's warm in here. She makes sure of that."
"Sometimes memory is stronger than reality," Clint said. "I got put in a nest above a pig farm once. I assume I pissed someone off in logistics. I tell ya, I could smell pig excrement for days afterwards. I thought it was me, except Nat swore she couldn't smell anything." He paused. "Then again, she might have been screwing with me."
Steve laughed again, sounding a little more present, which Clint counted as a win. "So how come you're not sleeping?"
"If he comes back, I'd rather have a head start to warn someone," Clint said. "Can't do that if I'm asleep. Nat's been keeping watch for me while I sleep, just in case, but she's not here."
"You know if something did happen, we'd stop you," Steve said.
Clint laughed darkly. "I'm a sniper, Captain. What makes you think you'd wake up in time?"
Steve considered this for a moment. "Fair point."
Clint sighed, taking another gulp of coffee. "Out of interest, were you really not surprised to see me earlier, or are you just a good actor?"
Steve shrugged. "Figured you'd be here sooner or later. You went through hell, went to a funeral this morning, and she's your mom. Where else would you be?"
He was so matter-of-fact that it took Clint a moment for the words to register.
"You know she's not actually my mom."
Steve raised an eyebrow. "That's not what she says." He grinned at Clint's expression. "The morning we left for the helicarrier, I asked her about the compromised agents. When we got to you, she started to cry and told me you were her son."
Her son.
Not 'like a son'.
Her son.
"We're not biologically related," Clint said.
"Neither were me and Bucky," Steve said softly. "But we knew, pretty much as soon as we met, that we were brothers. Blood only matters as much as you let it."
"I guess," Clint said softly, thinking about Kate. "My biological mother never cared. If she did, she never showed it, or bothered trying to protect us. Peggy became a handler purely because C-Coulson was in medical for my first op and she didn't trust anyone else to look after me."
"Did she?" Steve asked, graciously ignoring the way he had faltered over Phil's name.
Clint nodded. "First kill - I cried like a baby."
"We've all been there,' Steve said.
"If you say so," Clint said, draining his mug. He yawned widely. "You'd think I wouldn't be tired, given that's my seven cup." A thought struck him and he got up to take a second look at the coffee packet. "Aw, coffee, no."
"What?" Steve asked.
"She saw this coming," Clint grumbled. "Switched the coffee to decaf."
"Decaf?" Steve repeated.
"Decaffeinated," Clint said. He yawned again. "She's a pain in my ass, I swear."
"Well, she didn't know why you weren't sleeping," Steve said fairly. "Probably just knew that you weren't. Although decaffeinated coffee? That's another thing to catch up on."
"Think decaf existed back then," Clint said. "Probably wasn't as widespread though. Also, it's not just you. The serious technology changes only happened in the last twenty or so years. So within my lifetime. There's stuff that exists now that was in TV shows when I was a kid, and you'd watch it, and think that maybe that stuff would exist in a couple hundred years. And here we are." He paused. "Well, I didn't watch it. Weren't allowed TV when I was a kid, and then I was with the circus, and we didn't have a TV." He yawned a third time. "She shouldn't be allowed to drug me. That's not fair."
"I mean, technically she just stopped you from drugging yourself," Steve said.
"Point," Clint muttered.
"What if you crash on the couch and I keep the watch?" Steve asked.
Clint hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"I won't get back to sleep tonight," Steve said. "No point in her being mad at both of us tomorrow."
Clint chuckled. "Fair. Thanks." He just about stumbled into the living room and collapsed on the couch.
He was sure that Peggy's decaf coffee had something mixed into it - camomile or lavender or something that acted as some kind of sleeping aid - because simply denying himself caffeine should not make him that tired.
Then again, he hadn't slept since he and Natasha left Florida the day before, so maybe that made sense. He had stayed awake for longer, but that was with coffee, not without.
As soon as his head hit the couch cushion, he was almost asleep. A few moments later, a blanket settled over him, and he stirred slightly.
"Sleep," Steve said softly. "I've got the watch."
June 2012, upstate New York
Two days later, Peggy pulled up to the front door of the Xavier Institute with Steve and Clint in tow.
Logan was waiting for them, and she stepped out of the car with a smile. "Hi Logan."
"Took you long enough," Logan said gruffly. He gave Steve a salute and shook his hand. "Good to see you again, Cap."
"And you," Steve said. "Although things seem to have gotten weirder."
Logan chuckled. "Well, aliens is a new one on me. Thanks for not drawing attention to us," he added to Peggy.
Peggy nodded. "Of course. Thank you for your assistance with the evacuations."
"Any time," Logan said. "Hear you need a telepath as well."
"Something like that," Peggy said, slipping an arm through Clint's. "I don't know if you want to give Steve the tour, and point Agent Barton and I in the right direction?"
"Sure thing," Logan said, giving Clint a nod. "I know you told Charles the background; he's suggested talking to Wanda. She's in the library, so up the stairs on the right."
Peggy nodded. "Thanks."
"Thank you," Clint echoed quietly.
Peggy had seen the library last time she had been here - she and Professor Xavier had discussed at length the importance of reading for pleasure in children's development - so she knew the way.
The students along the way barely glanced at them as they passed, and when they arrived the door was closed with a 'private meeting' sign up.
Peggy tapped on the door, and it opened with a swirl of red smoke which curled around them momentarily before returning to a woman standing near a cosy seating area.
She looked to be about ten years younger than Clint, with long dark hair and dark eyes. Her long red skirt swung around her ankles as she moved and, when she spoke, there was a hint of an accent in her voice - Peggy couldn't quite place it, but she thought it might be Eastern European in origin.
"Agent Carter, Agent Barton, lovely to meet you."
Peggy shook her hand. "Thank you so much for your time, Miss …?"
"Maximoff," she said, "but please call me Wanda."
Clint shook her hand as well. "Do you know what happened?"
"I do not," she said. "The Professor told me he felt I would be best placed to speak to you, but I'd rather hear it from you, if that's alright."
"Clint, would you like me to stay?" Peggy asked.
Clint hesitated. "I mean … I don't need you right next to me."
"Then if it's okay, I'll grab a book and be over here," Peggy said, gesturing to some armchairs on the other side of the room.
Wanda smiled. "That's fine, Agent Carter." She took a seat on the couch beside her. "How can I help, Agent Barton?"
"Clint," he said, sitting down next to her. "It's kind of … complicated."
"Take your time," she said gently. "We're not on a timer."
In the sunlight streaming through the windows, her dark hair almost glowed red. It reminded him of Nat; that and her calm demeanour was making him feel better about the whole thing.
Not much better, admittedly, but better.
"The … being responsible for the invasion … he had a kind of sceptre, and he …" he faltered. "He got into my head … He made me want to … I helped him. Until my partner smacked me in the head."
Wanda let out a surprised giggle. "Well, that's one way of fixing it."
Clint couldn't help cracking a smile. "Yeah."
She tilted her head, observing him. "And now you're worried he's still there."
"Yeah," Clint said. "But I'm also not thrilled about the idea of letting someone else in my head. No offence."
"None taken," Wanda said easily. "I don't blame you for that in the slightest. Telepathy was the last power that came in for me."
"Is it common to have more than one?" Clint asked curiously.
"It depends," Wanda said. "Most mutants only have one, but the psychic abilities … generally, if you have one, you have another. Not sure why. I'm sure Professor Xavier could provide a more scientific explanation, but I tend to zone out when they start."
Clint returned her smile. "Yeah, me too."
"I started with telekinesis." Wanda waved a hand, and a tea set lifted from a nearby table to come and rest in front of them, gently supported by the same red smoke that had opened the door. "It wasn't exactly a surprise when the telepathy appeared, but I didn't really want it."
Clint opened his mouth to ask, remembered that he wasn't working - and that it was probably a rude question - then closed it again.
"I'm what they call second-generation mutant; my father has powers as well. He has this theory that we are the next step of human evolution, and somehow that makes us superior to the rest of humanity."
This, at least, was comfortable ground.
"You don't think he might have a point?" Clint asked lightly.
Wanda chuckled, pouring them both a cup of tea. Even though the set must have been sitting for some time, it came out piping hot, presumably because she'd been doing something to keep it that way. "On the evolution part, maybe. If you'd ever seen my brother nearly kill himself jumping off a building because he thought his super-speed might let him fly, you'd know that mutation does not make one superior."
Clint chuckled, surprising himself. "Fair enough."
"My father lied to us about our mother," Wanda said. "We thought she was dead, and then I overheard him telling a friend that he'd just left with us. Mutations usually appear around puberty, but stress can bring them out earlier. I was so angry, and my powers were so out of control that he had me locked up in an asylum. Sugar?"
Clint had been in the spy game for over twenty years now, and was well-versed in keeping a straight face, but couldn't help gaping at her. "Sorry - he what?"
"He had me locked up in an asylum," Wanda repeated calmly. "Do you take sugar in your tea?"
"No thank you," Clint said automatically. "What a … Do those kinds of places even exist anymore?"
Wanda shrugged, handing him a cup. "This one did then. I think it's closed now. It was horrific; I spent most days wrapped up a straight-jacket. I channel my power through my hands, as you may have noticed. When I can't move them, I get nervous. The more nervous I get, the more out of control my powers get."
"That's one hell of a vicious circle," Clint murmured.
Wanda gave him a small smile. "Yes. When I got out, I was furious. Actually, I tried to kill him."
"I'm not surprised," Clint said.
"He got a … colleague - I'm not going to call him a friend - to manipulate my memories," Wanda said. "He made me forget about the asylum. Made me think I'd had a wonderfully happy childhood with him instead." She took a sip of her tea. "It's not the same thing that happened to you."
"No," Clint said. "But you know what it's like. That makes me feel better in itself. I mean, it shouldn't. I'm sorry you had to go through that."
"It is what it is," Wanda said. "I'm not telling you all of this for fun."
"No, I didn't think you were," Clint agreed.
"When my telepathy developed, it burned through his work and I had another breakdown," Wanda said. "Thankfully, I had this place by then, and the Professor was able to help me."
"And can you help me?" Clint asked softly.
Wanda was quiet for a few moments. "I can see if he's still in your head. At least I can try - he didn't use telepathy, so I might need to look a little deeper than you'd like. If he's there, I can try and get rid of him. If he isn't … Well, you know that knowledge isn't going to make you feel any better, yes?"
"Yeah, I know," Clint said with a sigh. "As long as I know he can't suddenly flip a switch and make me do something, I can deal with it from there. That's at least kind of familiar ground."
Wanda nodded. "Okay. Are you happy for me to take a look then?"
"Happy?" Clint asked. "No. Okay? Yeah, I think so."
She smiled. "Thank you. I might see some things you don't want me to, just to warn you. I can assure you that I take confidentiality exceptionally seriously."
Clint nodded. "Thanks. Just to warn you: my job with SHIELD is target elimination."
Wanda raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid you might need to be a bit more specific."
"I'm an assassin," Clint said bluntly. "You might see some things you don't want to see either."
"Thankfully, one of the perks of telepathy is being excellent at compartmentalising," Wanda said, holding out a hand. "Ready?"
Somewhat hesitantly, Clint placed his hand in hers. "Do I have to close my eyes or something?"
"You don't have to," Wanda said. "I will, because I find it's easier to concentrate, and most people I read do, because they get the giggles, but you don't have to."
Well, if he could, he was going to keep them open.
It was quite fascinating to watch, actually, the way her face smoothed out into a kind of zoned-out serenity.
Clint could understand why some people would prefer to close their eyes. It was rather bizarre, sitting there in silence, holding a young woman's hand while she sat almost frozen in time; he could certainly see where the 'giggles', as she called them, came from.
If he hadn't been so apprehensive, he might have found a laugh or two bubbling up himself.
He had to hand it to her - he had known a telepath or two in his time at the circus (they did an excellent trade as mystics), but he remembered their readings.
They had been heavy handed and obvious - maybe they were trying to be, so people knew they weren't being conned.
Wanda's touch was so light he almost didn't notice it, and he doubted he would have noticed at all, if he didn't know what she was doing.
Natasha's face flashed into his mind more than once - how much of that was her, and how much of it was him, he didn't know.
There was certainly a similarity between Wanda's deft telepathy and Natasha's interrogations.
Her targets tended not to know what she was up to either.
The memory of Loki taking over his mind suddenly flashed to the front of his memory, and he flinched, almost - but not quite - pulling away from her.
Wanda's fingers contracted briefly around his, and a soft pulse of warmth spread through him. A second later, she opened her eyes and let go.
"Sorry about that," she said softly. "I tried not to pull any of the memories to the front, but I needed to look a little closer at that one to understand what he'd done, and the effect it had on your mind."
Clint nodded. "It's fine. Is he gone?"
"Yes," Wanda said immediately.
Clint sagged in place, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, thank God."
"Whatever that stick was," she continued, "it only impacted part of your brain. Now you'll need to excuse me, because I am not a neurologist. I can't explain to you exactly what it did. It made you think you wanted to help him, but it didn't actually make you want to help him, which is why you met the exact specifications of the orders and nothing more."
"So I was fighting it," Clint said, lifting his head.
Wanda gave him a look over her teacup that just bordered on sympathy. "You were. When your partner hit you, it knocked his influence loose. Although I would say that it wasn't that in itself that made him disappear."
Clint frowned. "It wasn't?"
"It knocked it loose," Wanda repeated. "I assume your partner and the redhead I kept seeing are the same person."
Clint nodded. "Yeah. Was that you or me?"
"Oh definitely you," Wanda said with a smile. "Once you saw her, that gave you the push to get rid of him entirely. You must love her very much."
Clint faltered, emotion choking him for a second. "She's the love of my life."
"She loves you too," Wanda said with certainty. "I can't read second-hand, obviously, but the look in her eyes … She loves you."
Clint smiled softly. "I know she does. She doesn't think she's capable of it." He cleared his throat. "So he's gone? Can't come back?"
"He would need to do it again in order to have any further control over you," Wanda said.
Clint nodded. "Well, he's locked up on another planet. Thank you."