Chapter title: A Super Soldier (Living Legend Who Kinda Lives Up to the Legend)
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of anything or anyone you might recognize. Everything goes to Kevin Feige, the MCU, Marvel or whatever else.
Where the Shadows Ends - BANNERS
Avengers Tower, New York – 5 months post the Battle of New York
Steve had the towel slung over his shoulder and his water bottle in his hand as he arrived at the training floor.
It was barely early morning yet, New York still shrouded in black of restless night. Images of old war and everything he had lost still lingered in Steve's thoughts and the soft bed only felt choking and clingy as he sunk in between the luxurious material. The loud commotion of an insomniac city, with its constant blaring sirens and gleaming electronic lights, outside his window seemed unrelenting and persistent. It made it impossible to go back to sleep, even if his rattled mind could relax enough to try.
A good workout always proved to be a good distraction. He waltzed through the open doors and immediately halted in his tracks, surprised to find he wasn't the only one up at this hour. Barton was already inside.
The archer was fully engrossed on the monkey bars training rack, which had multiple lengths and levels of bars that crisscrossed and intersected. Barton swung from bar to bar, flipping up and spinning with sure grips and fluent movements that practically belonged in a circus. He got to the highest bar, where he used the gained momentum to propel himself into the air. He let go of the bar, somersaulted a single time before landing heavily back onto solid ground, his bare feet thumping into the thin mattress.
Steve took the opportunity to knock on the doorframe before fully entering the gym. Clint turned around at the sound. There was not a hint of startled surprise on his sweaty face at Steve's sudden entrance.
"Hope I'm not interrupting?" Steve tentatively asked, to break the awkward silence.
"Come on in."
Steve gladly accepted the informal invitation and waltzed over to the monkey bars, where Clint was wiping his face with a towel.
"Those were some hefty maneuvers," he commented, unsure of what else to say.
"Well, that was about the extent of it," Clint said as he determinedly fiddled with the lid of his own bottled water. "Used to be more agile in my younger days."
"Must have been quite the spectacle."
"Not much. Can't sleep?"
Steve caught onto the obvious attempt at the change of subject but ran with it nonetheless. "New York at night is … different from what I'm used to. Still adjusting to it. You?"
"Not tired." The dark circles under his eyes stated otherwise but Steve didn't feel inclined to call him out on that. "You haven't found your own place yet?"
"Brooklyn is a whole 'nother neighborhood than back in my day. Prices-wise," Steve relented. He had hoped to just go back to his old, childhood-home, however unrealistic that wish had been. It would have been nice with just one thing that remained unchanged in his new, futuristic life.
Clint huffed out a small laugh in agreement. He took a swig of water from his bottle. As he screwed the lid back on, he nodded towards the boxing ring off in one corner. "Wanna go a few rounds?"
Steve cocked his head at the request. Barton willingly suggesting an activity that involved someone else was something new. At least, for Steve. But sparring with an enhanced super soldier seemed like a bad decision.
"You sure?" he asked.
"If you manage to land a punch, just hold back on the serum."
"If?" Steve raised an eyebrow.
"If," Clint confirmed with a sudden, challenging twinkle in his eyes.
Steve wasn't sure where it came from but he wouldn't be the one to push the improvement away. Besides, he wasn't one to shy away from an honest challenge.
"Lead the way."
A few minutes later, the two of them stood facing each other in the boxing ring, both their knuckles bound with tape and Barton's hands further protected by a pair of fingerless boxing gloves. Steve eyed the smaller man before him, observing his stance and movements as Barton did the same to him. Quiet stretched between them as they circled each other, daring the other to move. Steve took the first step and Barton easily followed.
They sparred for quite some time.
Steve held back on the force behind his punches and kicks but found he had to utilize every bit of his dexterity and flexibility to outmaneuver his surprisingly lithe opponent. He landed a couple of hits but Barton was quick to return the favor. He didn't know why he had underestimated the archer's hand-to-hand skills. Though nowhere near his remarkable marksmanship, Barton still managed to remain a constant threat and a good sparring partner, able to keep up with Steve's stamina and speed. At least when Steve toned it down a bit.
They eventually called it quits and headed for the bench with their gear. Steve considered Barton silently, as he was unwrapping his hands. Something had certainly shifted these past months compared to when he had first arrived at the Tower with a bag in his hands and a los, uncomfortable expression. He sought out company more and didn't slink away when others approached his personal space or joined him in the room. This little sparring session was a testament to that. But something still tore at him. Something still lingered somewhere inside of him and it was holding him back.
But Steve wasn't about to ignore the momentum he had gained tonight. He wanted to help, in every way he could. It fueled his boldness to finally speak up.
"I've been there, you know."
Barton froze in unwrapping the tape from his knuckles. He looked up at Steve questioningly, apprehension clear in his gaze.
"Losing someone, I mean," Steve clarified. "First, I lost my best friend. Then everyone else. I know it's not the same, but I just wanted you to know that I know. I know how difficult it is, having everything change like that."
"This supposed to be your pep talk?"
"No," Steve quickly defended. He shrugged sheepishly, with an awkward smile. "Maybe. Look, I'm just saying… I've been there. Guilt and grief usually cloud your thoughts until it's all you can think about."
He took a deep breath, and a chance. "He seemed a good man."
He didn't specify who he meant and looking at Barton's expression, he didn't need to either. Barton returned his attention to unspooling the remaining tape from his hands.
"He could probably tell you everything about your own life – you were his idol," he said and sat down on the bench, the rolled-up ball of used, sweaty tape dumped beside him.
"Romanoff told me. I wish I could have lived up to his expectations."
"You didn't fail him, Cap."
"Neither did you."
Steve swallowed and felt his heart twinge when Barton blanched at the statement. He sat down beside the silent archer.
"When Bucky died, I blamed myself. I could've, and should've, protected him. But P-," Steve interrupted himself before he could utter Peggy's name. Barton at least had the decency not to acknowledge it. "Someone reminded me that I had to respect his choice to fight. In the end, he chose to come with me. And then it was out of my hands. Respect Phil Coulson's decision to stand up for what was right. Respect that choice of everyone who got hurt for having the bravery to fight for what's right. No matter the cost."
"That's one hell of a speech. But it's not as easy as that, though, is it?" Barton quietly stated.
Steve huffed humorlessly. "No, it is not. Why do you think I chose serving in SHIELD?"
"You know, Triskelion's located in DC," Barton said, his voice changing from somber to his standard neutral tone. "Chances are Fury'll want you there most of the time anyway. Might have better luck finding a place there than in Brooklyn. If you don't wanna have to deal with Stark all the time."
"Really? DC's cheaper than New York?"
"I know a guy that can hook you up with a decent place at a fair price. A lot of SHIELD personnel rents off of him."
Steve felt strangely heart-warmed by the offer. "That'd be great. Thanks, Barton."
Barton was silent for a beat, as if in deep contemplation. Then,
"Call me Clint."
TBC
