PART 1 – The Beginning of the Avengers

AFTER

Chapter Eight – Hospital Beds Are Never As Comfy As They Should Be

"Seriously," Skye grumbled for approximately the hundredth time, "you'd think with all the funds you agenty types spend on your gadgets and secret hideouts, you could afford comfortable beds for the mortally wounded."

Ward didn't flinch at her words, but the faint tightening of the muscles in his jaw was enough to tell Skye that perhaps it was still too soon to be joking about how close she'd come to being one of the many agents who'd died that day.

"I don't think the 'mortally wounded' are usually all that concerned with the state of their mattress. I've certainly never heard them complain about it so much." He dropped his voice on the last sentence, but not nearly enough to keep her from hearing. Skye's expressive face twisted in a half-hearted scowl, which only served to light a spark of smugness in his gaze. Then she sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I know, I know. I'm being a brat. I need to 'man up'. Which is a terrible saying, by the way. It should probably be, 'I need to May up', but that just sounds weird and if somebody didn't know who I was talking about-"

"What kind of drugs are they giving you?"

"…Right. It's just- The drugs are great and all, but I still ache and I hate being stuck here and I really just want to go back to our plane." Her voice had slipped into an almost childish whine, but Skye thought she could be excused. She had just been shot, after all. Thank God for the Hulk. She'd found out later that Banner's sudden mood swing had been what saved her; the Hulk's temper tantrum had rocked the unstable helicarrier at the crucial moment. The arrow had nicked a lung, which had been all kinds of not-fun, but at least it had missed her heart. Brainwashed-Hawkeye had apparently decided it wasn't worth the time to finish her off. And, hey, at least something good had come of it; she had gotten out of clean up duty. New York looked like a heck of a mess on the news. Every once in a while she'd hear a complaint from agents walking past her room about moving all those alien bodies. Skye shuddered. No thanks.

That wasn't the only thing she'd heard them complain about either. Most of the team was busy- though they had visited- they wouldn't let her have her laptop and access to the wifi on base, and Ward wasn't terribly chatty, so Skye had little to do between disconcerting bouts of exhausted unconsciousness except listen to the gossip from the hallway. There wasn't much of it, but there were a surprising number of agents who apparently didn't feel the need to censor their displeasure with the fact that Hawkeye had been allowed back into the fold without repercussions.

Skye had to wonder whether Hawkeye's presence on the base had anything to do with why Ward wasn't busy helping with the cleanup with the rest of the team. He'd sidestepped the question every time she tried to ask.

Movement in the hall drew her gaze without thought; surprise jerked her upright, which wasn't the smartest idea. Skye hissed and pressed a hand against the wound she'd jarred, but she didn't relax enough to settle back onto her pillows. She only had a second or two to register that the one of the pair walking past was the very agent she'd been thinking about. Fear flared first- a violent rush accompanying the memory of too blue eyes and an arrow flying towards her- but Skye's need to face things, to understand was stronger. And it wasn't like she was alone; her S.O. was right there with her.

She called out before her nerves- or reason- could get the better of her.

"Hey Barton. Barton!" He kept walking- either not hearing or choosing to ignore her, his red-haired partner gliding calm and impassable at his side. Skye felt a twinge of frustration and more than a little relief. Then the silhouettes of the pair paused at the far edge of the curtained windows that took up half the wall that separated her room from the hallway, and she found herself holding her breath. There was a moment when everyone was still, trapped in the silent tension, then the pair of assassins turned around and walked back to her door.

A shiver crept across Skye's skin, but familiar determination straightened her spine and lifted her chin, and when Agent Clint Barton stepped into the doorway she didn't hesitate to meet his gaze.

Hawkeye would have been fairly intimidating no matter how they'd met. The hard lines of his expression and his guarded gaze told of how dangerous he was just as loudly as his broad shoulders, well-muscled arms or the quiver on his back. It was just as well that Skye had never been one to be easily intimidated, even before she'd worked with agents like Ward and May and met the Avengers. And there was something about the tension in his shoulders and the faint reluctance in his movements that spoke of hesitation, wariness- of her? In any case, it made her braver- if, unfortunately, not exactly more articulate.

"Uh…" Why didn't I have something planned for this? A speak or- just- words- I have no idea what to say! Maybe should have figured that out before I called him back, huh? Skye's brain panicked and she shot a glance at Ward, looking for help. He wasn't looking at her though. Ward had locked a cool, warning gaze on Natasha Romanoff, who matched his stare with a similar expression, both of them sizing each other up. Both playing guard-dog? The mental image made Skye's lips twitch in amusement, and she was a touch calmer when she looked back at Hawkeye. She still didn't know what to say.

"Hi. Sorry, I just wanted- I'm just-" She'd needed to see him for herself, needed to know that he wasn't really the same man who'd tried to kill her, and now that she'd seen, Skye really just wanted to find a way to let him know she didn't hold him responsible. Skye's grimace shifted into a crooked, self-deprecating little smile. "I guess I just wanted to say welcome back. And I'm… glad you're not brainwashed anymore and everything."

Barton had gone very, very still about halfway through her rambling explanation. The only reason she knew she'd affected him was because his expression had gone so immaculately blank. He wouldn't be working so hard to hide everything if he wasn't feeling anything. Or something. It made sense if she didn't think about it too hard.

For a moment she thought she'd made a mistake touching on such a sore subject, but as she opened her mouth to apologize, his gaze turned searching and he took a step forward- slowly, like he was wary of frightening her. It was pretty near impossible to confuse him with the emotionless archer who'd attacked her.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd be glad to have me back on base," Hawkeye stated bluntly. That was fine; Skye could do blunt.

"Why, because half the agents on base can't seem to get their brains around the fact that someone voodooed you?" His eyebrows went up, surprised by her frankness or her tone, but there was no denial. Skye huffed and rolled her eyes, flopping back against her pillows. "Please. I'm not even officially an agent yet, and I can tell that you're not the same guy you were on the helicarrier. It'd be ridiculous to hold a grudge against you; you didn't do anything. Except take on the Chitauri afterwards."

Her passion got away from her, overflowing from her voice like it often did. Her words might not have been eloquent, but they were effective. They were all watching her by then. Ward looked vaguely amused at her pique; she couldn't read the Black Widow's expression, though it wasn't as hard as earlier. And Barton… He'd crept a few steps closer during her mini-rant and was watching her with such concentration that she would have been nervous if she wasn't still irritated by the apparent stupidity of gossipy agents in the hallways.

"I was really that different?" Barton's quiet, steady tone that did nothing to diminish the weight of the question.

"You were- you were- blank." Skye waved a hand vaguely. "Not- agent-mask blank, not like you were hiding something or being professional, you were just… blank. You were focused and efficient but not- not driven. It wasn't like there was emotion, or duty even, pushing you forward, you were just-" She shrugged, helpless to explain any better. "I don't know- you were just moving." A lifeless puppet. She kept that thought to herself. "You aren't anything like that now. There are little tells that people are thinking even when you can't tell what they're thinking. There's a shift in tension, or a twitch of a finger, or a pause in a movement. Hesitation or adjustment. There wasn't any of that on the helicarrier. That and, you know, your eyes aren't glowing anymore," she added with a smirk.

A quiet huff of a laugh broke the last of the tension in Hawkeye's frame. "There is that."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's not terribly original- I know versions of this sort of scene have been written before and I've enjoyed reading all I could find- but somehow I still find writing this extremely satisfying. Despite the fact that there's quite a lot of rambling. I like the idea of Hawkeye getting absolution of sorts from someone he actually succeeded in hurting, someone who wasn't really a friend beforehand or a superhero.