Whumptober Day 30

Digging Your Grave

Prompts: battlefield/left for dead/ghosts)

This is another short one, which went totally off the rails of what I'd been planning. On the plus side, I wrote it in about fifteen minutes. I hope you enjoy it! I'm getting used to this - chapters not turning out the way I'd imagined.

Clint hated this date. He thought it would get easier each year, but it didn't. The only way he could make it through was in the bathroom, sitting in front of the vanity mirror. He'd met Mikayla Fitzgerald on the day of the Battle of New York. Clint had tried his best to forget the other events of that day, but occasions like this did not help. Why he thought his presence was required at a memorial to the battle was beyond him. He thought back to that day.

Thor's ass of a brother had hijacked his mind, and Clint's body was left to do Loki's bidding. Clint could still picture his motions as if the incident had happened the day before. As he pictured them, his mind drifted to some of the people who died at his hands that day. Agent Darla Borden, an agent he'd trained, who'd only been married a couple of months at the time of the attack. Senior Agent Paul Roberts, an agent he'd considered a friend. The two of them had gone out drinking the week before, celebrating Paul's promotion to a level seven agent. He'd found out the day before the attack he was going to get his own team. Communications Specialist Felicia Lewis, who'd always been so helpful to him during missions, never questioning when he'd make crazy requests. Technical Support Officer Daniel Reyes, who'd just graduated a month earlier and had been assigned to the helicarrier a few days before the battle.

Clint, of course, would never be able to forget Phil Coulson, his mentor and one of the best friends a guy could ever hope to have. Phil, who'd recruited him to SHIELD, who'd stood up to the higher-ups on his behalf, never giving up on him, always having faith in his decision making. How could he forget him? Clint saw him reflected in his niece, Mikayla, who was everything good and pure in the world, who was such a contradiction to his rough and tumbled nature. Whereas he was fiery, she was calm and stable. Suppose she walked out of the bathroom and saw him now. In that case, she'd probably slap him upside the head, reminding him to stop dwelling on the ghosts and stop treating his mind like a battlefield, going over everything that had happened that day, primarily the actions he had no control over. No one else held him responsible, least of all her.

Clint let his mind linger on the fight with his best friend, Natasha. He can't imagine how it would've felt had he been successful in killing her that day. Clint probably would've told anyone who'd listen to leave him for dead and toss his body from the helicarrier. Clint knew he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he'd killed Nat after making the opposite choice all those years ago. He knew Natasha forgave him, but he didn't think he'd ever forgiven himself.

"Clint?" He turned toward the voice and smiled. Mikayla came out of the bathroom wearing a dark purple strapless gown with a pattern of white flowers traveling across the material. Mikayla marched up to him, reaching up and straightening his bow tie. "Not your fault, Clinton Hawkeye Barton," Mikayla whispered in his ear. "If he were here, he'd tell you the same thing."

Clint grabbed her hands, bringing them up to his mouth and lightly kissing them. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You know that, right?"

Mikayla put a hand on the nape of his neck, lightly scratching him with her nails. "Ditto. Now, come on. Darcy's watching the kids, so we don't have a curfew, Mr. Barton."

Clint wrapped his arms around Mikayla's waist. "Hmm, guess we'll need to take advantage of that, Mrs. Barton." The couple kissed and, once they broke apart, Clint thought that, just maybe, the ghosts retreated a little further into the background.