7. And I Am the arrow,
Spoilers: There is an incident in "Real Women Wear Dresses," that involves Gen. Ross and technology that can control the victim's neuromuscular responses without their consent. Ross uses this technology to basically turn the Hulk into a giant green rage puppet and sets him on Pepper, Natasha Betty and Clint. (Darcy it there too) As Hulk is about to pummel Betty he roars at Clint to shoot him. There is also a reference to "If the Night Runs Over" where alcohol and depression do not mix well and Clint does actually swan off the top of Stark Tower. The Hulk catches him.
Clint drew the bow back, anchoring his fingers to the corner of his mouth before he released, letting the arrow fly. It sailed through the air, jabbing between the eyes of the holo projection of Loki that hovered in front of the window and then harmlessly bouncing off the glass.
"And I learned how to get a long!" Clint sang, rather badly and slightly off key. "And now you're back, from outer-space." He nocked another arrow, loosing it at another holo-image behind him, wobbling slightly on his perch on the back of the sofa but still managing a perfect shot.
"I just walked in to find you here with that sassy look upon your face," Clint continued to sing, firing off at the video projections of Loki in rapid succession, his feet moving on the back of the couch like a gymnast on a balance beam. "I should have changed that stupid lock I should have shot you in the knee if I thought for just one second you'd be back to bother me!"
"What in the name of hell is this?" Clint froze, lowering his bow slowly and carefully turning so that he kept his balance. Bruce Banner was looking up at him from the general vicinity of the bar, a cup of tea clutched in one hand and his StarkPad in the other.
"Hey Doc," Clint said cautiously. He rocked on his heels subconsciously, catching himself at the last moment before he could tumble off.
"Clint, what are you doing?" Bruce asked, his voice remarkably calm and even.
"I'm," Clint hesitated, glancing around at the seven separate video feeds of Loki. "… research."
"Did you make a bow and arrows out of a box of number 2 pencils and a curtain rod?" Bruce demanded, his brow furrowing.
"It's one of those pull rods for the blinds, Clint corrected. "And we don't need it because JARVIS will close the blinds and he gets mad if you fuss with them anyway." Bruce stared back at him in silence.
"And I made the fletching out of coffee filters," he added, though why, he wasn't completely certain. Bruce drew in a shaky breath.
"Tell me you are not up here drinking alone," Bruce insisted.
"No! No, no, no!" Clint leapt off the back of the sofa, approaching the other man with his hands held out in a placating gesture.
"Because the last time you drank alone," Bruce interrupted.
"Bruce I haven't had a drop, I swear," Clint insisted. "Ask JARVIS, my blood alcohol level is point-zero-nothing." Bruce looked visibly upset and Clint cringed guiltily.
"You're in the living room by yourself at 5:30 in the morning," Bruce pointed out. "standing on the furniture, shooting at bad guys from team highlight reels with office supplies." Clint glanced down at the evidence in his hands before tucking them under his arms, half concealing his makeshift toys.
"I do stupider, more dangerous stuff than this completely sober," Clint declared. He paused a moment. "That sounded so much better before I said it."
"You are drunk, aren't you?"
"I am not drunk!" Clint insisted. "JARVIS, tell him!"
"Agent Barton has consumed no alcohol since the beer he had with dinner at 7 p.m. last night," JARVIS admitted.
"Thank you," Clint growled in frustration at the ceiling. He glanced back at Bruce, his expression crumpling into one of concern.
"Bruce, come on, I gave you my word that what happened on the roof would never happen again," Clint said, giving Bruce's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You and the whole team. I screwed up. I would not do that to you again, you know that, right?"
"Then do you want to explain to me why JARVIS would tell me that you needed someone to check on you?" Bruce asked with a frown.
"Traitor," Clint snapped at the ceiling, retreating half way across the room, rubbing his face in exhaustion.
"Sir, you have slept only four hours in the last seventy-two," JARVIS stated. "And you have refused to attempt to sleep. As I cannot force you to rest, I employed the only method at my disposal."
"I'm a big boy, Jay!" Clint protested, flopping down on the sofa with a huff. "Why would you wake up Bruce?"
"I was down in the lab taking readings on an experiment," Bruce corrected, circling the sofa to sink down into the soft leather beside Clint. He hesitated a moment, his eyes flitting over the loops of video hovering in the air around them. "What's going on?"
"Insomnia," Clint stated, tossing his makeshift bow and quiver onto the coffee table.
"Bad?"
"Yup," Clint popped the 'P' at the end, his brow knitting.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Bruce suggested.
"Hell, no," Clint answered, folding his arms over his chest. Bruce shrugged
"You want to tell me why the god of mischief is flying around me?" he suggested.
"I couldn't sleep," Clint stated in exasperation. "I was trying to make myself tired."
"Clint this is not relaxing," Bruce pointed out. Clint pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Bruce shifted on the sofa, his eyes squinting as he gave the archer an appraising look.
"Your eyes are bloodshot," Bruce observed. "Your hands are shaking."
"I can shoot with my hands shaking," Clint snapped defensively.
"You can shoot with severe blood loss and blurred vision," Bruce replied. "That's not the point. You're showing clear signs of fatigue and your judgement might be just a bit impaired."
"Ya think?"
"You want to try again?" Bruce suggested.
"I have nightmares," Clint grumbled defensively. "we all have nightmares, okay?"
"And yours are bad enough to keep you from sleeping?" Bruce prodded.
"Not all the time," Clint answered gruffly. "They just crop up for a few days every couple of months. I run myself till I can't stay awake any more and then that's it for a while."
"How long has it been this time?" Bruce asked shrewdly.
"I'm at the tail end of it," Clint declared.
"Clint, when was the last time you got a full nights sleep?" Bruce demanded.
"It's not that…"
"How long?" Bruce repeated with a frown.
"It was the night before I left to pull Nat out of Prague, okay?" Clint admitted.
"JARVIS, wasn't that over a week ago?" Bruce asked.
"Twelve days, doctor," JARVIS answered. Bruce shot Clint an irritated look.
"Okay, okay," Clint groaned, running his fingers though his hair. "I know this is not healthy, I know that if we're called out right now I am not fit. I understand this, I am not doing this on purpose." Bruce opened his mouth and Clint turned on him with a scowl.
"I am not taking drugs," he added firmly. "They only make it worse."
"This is making it worse," Bruce waved his hands at the video feed. "This is what you've been doing all night, isn't it?"
"This is not making it worse," Clint snapped, redirecting. "This is just how I deal with it." Bruce drew in a deep breath, glancing at one of the video feeds as he decided to let the second accusation go.
"Clint, I think you need to try to explain what's going on here," he said instead.
"You're not that kind of doctor," Clint reminded tiredly, heaving out a sigh as he slumped deeper into the sofa.
"No," Bruce agreed. "And I'm terrible at it. But we did lie to Fury and tell him I was your therapist."
"I'm pretty sure he didn't believe it," Clint replied.
"This does not look healthy," Bruce stated. Clint didn't answer. They sat in silence a long moment, neither moving. Finally Bruce let his head fall back on the couch, rubbing his eyes.
"JARVIS, kill the video feeds, please,"
"Do not kill the feeds!" Clint protested. He swore under his breath, vaulting to his feet as the holovids flickered out of existence.
"Clint, where are you going?" Bruce asked in exasperation.
"To my room, mom," he snapped. "I have my own TV, remember?" Bruce clambered off the sofa, hurrying to cut off his retreat.
"Look, you're tired and frustrated," Bruce offered placatingly, "I understand."
"You don't understand half of what you think you do," Clint countered with a frown.
"I do understand," Bruce insisted. "I've had nightmares so bad I wake up in mid-transformation. That's why there's no one else on my floor. When I was out there in the real world I was terrified to sleep sometimes. I know what it's like."
"You don't know!" Clint shouted. He took a step back, blinking in surprise at himself as if he couldn't believe his own outburst. Bruce looked equally taken aback, his expression stunned. Clint looked down at his hands to find them shaking and he quickly folded his arms over his chest.
"You don't know," He repeated more softly. "You can't because even if you can't remember, you're still you. When it happens to you, you're still in there trying to do the right thing. And maybe you get confused sometimes but you're still trying."
"Clint," Bruce's expression collapsed into a pained look.
"I look at these videos," Clint admitted, his voice trembling. "over and over again trying to find some sign of myself in there, something to say that's me trying to fight him, trying to stop him. And I can't see it! It doesn't matter how much I look, all I see is me letting him take over."
"Some things you can't control," Bruce insisted gently. "You think I don't know about that?"
"Actually that's exactly what I think," Clint choked out. "Because I've seen. It wasn't Thor or Iron Man that caught me when I jumped off the roof, it was you."
"The other guy," Bruce began.
"No, it was you," Clint insisted vehemently. "You caught me, you protected my head when we hit the wall. You took the brunt of the impact so I wouldn't get hurt. You were about to chew me out for bing an ass when I blacked out. I know what your lecture face looks like!"
"Clint, you were really drunk that night," Bruce reminded gently.
"Do not play that card with me," Clint protested, his expression turning angry. "Because I go out into the field with you. Do you know who sticks on you like glue most of the time? It's not Cap or Tony trying to make sure you don't destroy anything, it's Nat. Do you know why? Because she feels safe with you. Because she's never fought in combat before the Avengers and even though she wouldn't admit it, she's scared because it's not her training. So she sticks to you because she knows you'll have her back." Bruce rubbed his eyes with an ill expression.
"The one time," Clint continued, his anger building. "The one time you couldn't control it, when Ross and Sterns had you, you asked me to shoot you rather than risk hurting someone. You begged me."
"Sometimes we see what we want," Bruce began hesitantly but Clint cut him off.
"I was there," He insisted. "And you don't remember. Because you never remember. And you haven't watched the tapes, because you don't. Because you don't want to see what I have to see when I watch mine!" His hand waved at the TV, still playing on a muted loop, his own blue tinged eyes staring back at them.
"That is a mindless monster," Clint said softly. "And it's me. My face, my hands. And you don't know what that's like because you have never been that! You want to know what this is? What I dream about? I dream about being that. And I sit up all night looking for some proof that I'm still in there so I can sleep, so I can close my eyes and know I won't wake up and be that again. There are hours of you trying to do what's right. I want ten seconds." The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once and he slumped down on the arm of the sofa with a wince. He wrapped his arms around himself, breathing heavily in the cold silence that filled the room.
"You're right," Bruce said finally.
"What?" Clint asked in confusion.
"I don't remember what happens when," Bruce shrugged. "I don't remember and I don't watch the tapes because I don't want to see what I've done. I'm afraid." Clint stared back at him in surprise as Bruce closed the distance between them, to gently grip Clint's shoulder.
"I guess that makes you a braver man than me," Bruce added. Clint's face flushed ever so slightly. "What you have to understand, Clint, is that it's possible to fight as hard as you can, as hard as anyone could, and still not be able to see it. Sometimes the biggest battles and the greatest victories go completely unwitnessed." Clint looked up at him with a spent, exhausted expression and Bruce gave his arm a squeeze.
"Come on, lie down," Bruce ordered, tugging him coaxingly to his feet and steering him around the couch. "Jarvis, turn off the TV, lights to ten percent."
"Bruce, I'm sorry," Clint mumbled finally.
"Go to sleep, Barton," Bruce insisted, forcing him to stretch out on the sofa and tucking one of the throw pillows under his head.
"I can't," Clint replied miserably. "I can't deal with that dream right now."
"I'm going to stay with you and if you start to have a nightmare I'll wake you up," Bruce promised. "JARVIS, monitor him, alert me if his resting heart rate increases by more than ten percent."
"Yes Doctor," the AI answered as the lights lowered.
"Just relax," Bruce said softly, settling into the corner of the long sofa nearest to Clint's head, his fingers raking through the tangle of the archer's hair.
"You're not a monster," Clint murmured, his body going lax as sleep claimed him. Bruce gave him a soft smile, retrieving his tablet from the coffee table and settling back in the corner of the sofa.
"Neither are you," he whispered.