5. a glitter of seas.
"That is a terrible shot," Clint stated, watching the tv as Maria Hill dove down the corridor. Bullets ricocheted off of walls and an instant later the utility vehicle carrying Loki sped up the garage ramp.
"It is difficult to believe anyone employed as a weapons specialist could have such abysmal aim," JARVIS agreed. Clint rolled his eyes, rubbing his forehead.
"How many angles are there of this?" He asked with a sigh. Instantly six more screens activated, hovering around the main TV, each playing the same timestamp of the Project Pegasus facility on a loop.
"Might I inquire as to what you hope to accomplish, sir?" JARVIS asked hesitantly. Clint looked down at the playing card in his hand, the Jack of Hearts, before flicking it into the champaign bucket on the floor by the bar. The card skittered around the lip before fluttered to land on the others already lining the bottom.
"No idea Jay," Clint admitted, flicking the next card after it.
"You have reviewed nearly all the footage related to the incident with the tesseract," JARVIS stated practically. "I'm forced to conclude that you are looking for something." Clint tossed another card into the champaign bucket without looking.
"Someone told me once that I was fighting," Clint admitted finally. "That I was trying to break free. I guess I'm looking for proof."
"Would you find that comforting, sir?" JARVIS asked.
"I'm not sure," Clint admitted, spinning the last card toward the tv screen to peg Loki between the eyes. He sighed, slumping back on the couch.
"You remember when Ross broke into the tower and took control of Bruce?" Clint continued.
"I do not believe such an experience anyone would soon forget," JARVIS pointed out.
"Fair enough," Clint conceded. "Hulk… Bruce asked me to kill him so that he couldn't hurt Betty."
"Mr Stark has tried several times to convince Dr. Banner to view the recording of the incident." JARVIS stated. "He has, as yet, been unsuccessful." Clint shook his head, he'd really started to resent irony.
"Jay do you have enough data to reconstruct the possible shots?" Clint asked finally.
"I believe so, sir, one moment." Clint pushed off the sofa crossing the room to gather the cards from the champaign bucket. He let out a hiss as the edge of one of the cards caught his finger, leaving a paper cut.
He stuck his finger in his mouth, staring at the drop of blood spattered along the edge of the card, standing out in stark contrast against the black ink.
Tony had bought Phil a brand new set of Captain America trading cards. Bought wasn't necessarily the right term. He'd gifted Howard Stark's original set, mint and with their original wrappers in a glass case. Phil had been too stunned to speak when he had found them on his desk in Avengers tower.
The day Phil had officially come back from the dead.
"Phil!" Pepper, usually so calm and controlled, half ran across the rec room, flinging her arms around Phil's neck as she choked back tears. "Oh my god, I could kill Nick!"
"It's good to see you too, Pepper," Phil replied, rubbing circles on her back with one hand, the other clutching a pearl handled cane. A soft, slightly embarrassed smile curled his lips as she released him, leaning into Tony's side as Natasha moved forward.
"Tasha," Phil greeted her. She gave a huff of exasperation, kissing him on both cheeks before pinning him with a frown.
"Don't you ever do that again," she commanded, the faintest hint of anger in her tone. Phil nodded in resignation.
"You look terrible," Stark observed.
"Tony!" Pepper protested, elbowing him but the billionaire seemed unperturbed. He released her to wrap a hesitant arm around Phil in a half hug, looking far more emotional than Clint was used to seeing him.
"It's good to have you back," Tony admitted gruffly.
"Try not to go AWOL this time," Phil answered as Tony stepped away, slipping an arm around Pepper.
"No promises," Tony shook his head. Phil's gaze fell on Clint and the archer looked down at his feet, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"Welcome back, sir," Clint offered.
"Thanks," Phil's voice seemed thready and Clint waited another moment until Phil was distracted by Steve's welcoming handshake before slipping out of the room. There was a tightness in his chest as he crept silently down the hall, the sounds of laughter chasing after him.
His hand landed on the elevator call button and he shifted nervously, anxiety welling in the pit of his stomach. He had to get out of here, out of the tower, maybe, away from the happy reunion going on at the opposite end of the hall.
"You look good, Barton."
Clint's eyes slipped closed and he could feel his face fall at the sound of Coulson's voice. The man was a damn ninja, how in the hell could he sneak up on a person with a cane? Clint stared at the still lit elevator call button and gritted his teeth. He'd never known the private elevator to take this long. He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide their trembling.
"You don't look too bad yourself sir," He turned, trying to make his voice sound light as he watched his toe scuff at the hardwood.
"I'm," Phil swallowed, acting uneasy. "I'm a little surprised you took Stark up on his offer." Clint's eyes darted up quickly, catching Phil's tense expression before sliding away again.
"It's good," Coulson added quickly. "Tasha says the place is nice. Of course it's Stark, it would be. It's… good you're getting to know the team."
"More distance here," Clint shrugged, still not looking up. "Everything was too… close on base." An uncomfortable silence settled over them and Clint could feel his pulse climb as his ears began to softly ring.
"Is this going to be a problem, agent?" Phil asked, his voice warbling faintly.
"No, sir," Clint declared as firmly as he could muster. He'd known Coulson for the better part of a decade, enough to know that this, the Avengers, was his dream job. It was Clint's too and the thought of losing it made him physically ill. If it came down to a choice of who would stay and who would go Clint knew Fury wouldn't back the half crazy marksman over the best field agent in SHIELD history. What's more, Clint wouldn't want him to.
"Because if there's a problem," Phil offered hesitantly.
"No sir," Clint repeated and he thought he heard Phil's breath hitch.
"Because if there's a problem," Phil began again. "The top priority is for the Initiative to function at peak efficiency. If there's someone you'd be more comfortable working with I'll gladly process the request for a new handler for the team."
"The team asked for you, sir," Clint declared. Of course Phil would do the noble, unselfish thing, he always did. Clint winced. He couldn't imagine the rest of the Avengers taking it well if word got out that their handler had quit because of Hawkeye.
His throat felt as if it were closing up and subconsciously his hand reached back to press the call button again. He needed to get clear, to get out of this, to escape the oppressive feeling settling over him like a wet blanket, stealing his breath.
Neither of them spoke and the elevator didn't come.
"I know you can't forgive me," Phil spoke finally, his voice tight. "I understand. I'm not asking for that."
"What?" Clint started, his head jerking up and then, just as quickly, he glanced away, the buzzing in his ears making it hard to think.
"I gave you my word," Phil closed his eyes only a moment before shifting to meet Clint's gaze. The archer looked away instantly, his brow knitting as he stared at his toes. "I swore to you I'd always have your back, that you'd never be left behind, that it didn't matter if I had to steal the Helicarrier, I would get you out. And I didn't. I know I can't make up for that. The only thing I can give you is my apology, you deserve that much at least."
"You were overseeing an evacuation," Clint stated, shaking his head.
"That's not an excuse," Phil insisted.
"That wasn't," Clint drew in an unsteady breath. "I was where Fury ordered me to be, it wasn't on you."
"Then why won't you look at me?" Phil asked softly. "All the years we've known each other you've never… No matter what there's been between us you looked me in the eye and… You have every right to blame me."
"I don't," Clint shook his head, his fingers curling in frustration. "Why would you even think that?"
"Then look at me," and there was pleading in Phil's voice. Clint squinted his eyes shut against the burn.
"You died," Clint's voice was hoarse. "And I'm the one who let in the bastard who killed you."
"Clint."
"I opened the door for him and he marched in and stabbed you through the heart," Clint spat out. "and the only thing… The only thing that made it all bearable was knowing I'd never have to look you in the eye… never have to." His breath hitched and to his utter shock Phil's hand was on his arm.
Phil Coulson wasn't a demonstrative man. Clint could recall with clarity every time in the years they'd known each other that Phil had touched him when Clint hadn't been actively dying. One or both of them had been drunk for most of them. He felt a surge of panic as Pill moved closer into his personal space.
In the next moment Phil's hand slipped hesitantly up his shoulder and his arm was tightening around Clint's neck in an awkward hug.
"God, Clint, I'm so sorry," Phil choked against his ear. Clint couldn't stop himself from stiffening in anxiety. He felt dizzy and terrified and relieved all at once, his head swimming as he tried to make sense of the sensation of Phil Coulson actually hugging him.
"None of that was your fault," Phil insisted. "SHIELD let you down and you ended up captured and tortured."
"I'm trained to resist," Clint answered angrily. "Every type of coercion we know, I'm supposed to."
"But this isn't something we know!" Phil's hand tangled in his shirt sleeve as he pulled away, tugging sharply but Clint couldn't make himself look up. Blame shrieked inside his head, anger and self loathing bellowing at him. He should have fought harder, he should have stopped it.
"Eyes on me, Barton,"
Clint's head snapped up on reflex before he could stop himself. Phil stared back at him, worry etched in every line of his face.
"You did the best you could," Phil insisted. "I read the report, Barton and yes, good agents died but according to the surveillance you didn't deliver a single kill shot on the Helicarrier. Now you tell me how the best marksman in the world can miss that many vital organs."
Clint rubbed his forehead, he felt sick and raw, his head aching with vertigo and a hollowed out feeling he couldn't name.
"You should blame me," he insisted.
"I don't," Phil returned instantly.
"You should," Clint shot back angrily.
"Not your call," Phil shook his head, the faintest wisp of a smile on his lips. "Is it agent?"
"No sir," Clint answered, his voice cracking, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.
"I made a call, Clint," Phil admitted. "and I knew it was stupid going in, I knew I was out of my depth. But I couldn't let it go, not after what he'd done, after what he did to you. I should have waited for backup, I should have done a dozen or more things. But he was getting away and I couldn't live with that. It was my choice. And I'd probably do it again. Don't blame yourself." Gray eyes gazed into his own unflinchingly and Clint's brow furrowed in pain as he gave a resigned nod.
"Are we good?" Phil asked. Clint nodded once more and Phil gave his arm a hesitant squeeze.
"Good, show me down to my office," Phil reached past him, jamming the call button. The elevator doors opened almost instantly. "I want to get a look at the consulting contracts before I have Captain Rogers and Doctor Banner sign them."
"It's more of a suite," Clint admitted, glaring nastily up at the ceiling as he boarded the lift. "You're not my favorite any more, JARVIS."
"I'm overwrought by your disappointment in me, Agent Barton," JARVIS answered drolly as Phil stifled a chuckle and the lift began to move.
Phil had never asked about the cards that Fury had ruined, at least Phil had never asked Clint or Natasha. So he probably didn't know that Tony had split up the set, giving one to each of the Avengers after the Battle. Clint kept his in his wallet, he wasn't sure what most of the others had done with theirs but Cap kept his in the inside pouch of his belt. Clint had seen it.
"Sir, based on my calculations there were two kill shots and four incapacitating shots that you failed to take during your altercation with Deputy Director Hill." Jarvis declared, a number of angles and trajectories superimposing over the video feed. Clint frowned, his brow furrowing.
"I don't remember it like that," he admitted, eyeing the calculations. He certainly couldn't fault the math. "Jay is it possible that whatever Loki did to me impaired my ability to calculate shots?"
"I'm afraid we don't have enough information to answer that," JARVIS admitted. "But I must point out that impairing the victim in this case would constitute a defect in the technology."
Clint sat down on the floor in front of the tv, a sad expression on his face as he studied the equations that now littered the screens.
"Is this not what you wanted, sir?" JARVIS asked with a note of disappointment.
"Yeah, it's great Jay," Clint replied, rubbing his eyes. "Just what I asked for."