February 2001
Los Angeles, CA
Returning from longer missions always felt a little strange. For the past month Clint had been out on a solo mission, which had taken longer than he'd liked. It was boring when you had to do a job like that on your own. The only contact he'd had was with his handler, Phil. And that just wasn't quite the same. Sure, it was fun to bicker with Phil. He'd become more than a handler over the years. He was Clint's friends. But it wasn't quite the same to bicker at check-in as it was to having someone living, breathing, right beside you, able to help you out, back you up, and snark with you every step of the way.
Maybe he'd just gotten a bit too soft. A bit too used to having either Natasha or Spencer there. He'd yet to have them both there, though with the noise Phil had been making that was likely to change sometime soon. Real soon.
Getting back was one of the weirdest parts. Transitioning from the agent he was out there to being Clint here. It took him a little bit, usually. Coming down to the range usually helped with that. It also gave him a little bit to clear his head before he had to sit down and write the reports that Phil would want.
That was where Clint was at when Natasha hunted him down. It wasn't uncommon for her to come and find him when he got back, even if it was to just come in here and sit while he shot things. However, she didn't usually come stalking towards him, nor did she usually grab hold of his bow and lower it so that he couldn't take his shot. He turned towards her with a low "Hey!" that was almost immediately cut off by her telling him "You need to go talk to Spencer."
Her words alone were enough to make Clint stop. The fact that she used Spencer's name-something she'd only started to use recently, at Spencer's insistence, and only rarely-had him worried. This wasn't a 'you need to talk to Spencer because he pissed me off while you were gone' sort of thing. This was a 'you need to talk to Spencer because something's wrong' sort of thing. What the hell happened while I was gone? "What happened?"
The hardness of his voice didn't bother Natasha at all. She let go of his bow but didn't step away from him like someone else might've. "I don't know. Not exactly." She said.
He narrowed his eyes on her, watching her face carefully. "You've got an idea, though."
"It might just be rumors." She brought her eyes back up to Clint's face and there was the compassion in them that so many thought she didn't possess. Despite their rocky start, Spencer had gotten under her skin. She cared about the kid. "We aren't close enough for Spencer to talk to me about this. But he'll talk to you."
Clint nodded. This really, really didn't sound good. "Okay. I'll just…"
"Now." Natasha interrupted him. "You should go now. I'll clean up behind you."
The worry Clint had been feeling before tripled. Jesus, what the hell had happened? He didn't say another word, just slung his bow over his shoulder and took off from the room. The reports Phil would want could wait. What the hell was wrong with Spencer that Natasha felt she couldn't talk to him about, and was bad enough to need Clint to go now?
Countless different scenarios ran through his head as he hunted for his friend. It only took him a quick run down the hallway to realize that he wasn't going to find him here. Ever since Spencer had moved in he spent very little real time here at the SHIELD base. He kept home, coming in for appointments or at Jason's request, or to deal with a mission. Otherwise he was at their apartment or-and this still amazed Clint, how the hell the kid managed it he had no idea-over at Caltech working on yet another paper for even more education that he didn't actually need.
So, Spencer likely wasn't going to be here. If he was on a mission right now Natasha would've said that. That meant either home or school. Either way, Clint needed to get home. If Spencer was there, he'd corner him and find out what was going on, and if he wasn't, Clint could prepare himself to ambush the kid when he came home.
It took a little bit to get home. Especially since Clint still had his bow on him. People tended to look at you funny if you were dressed in kind of worn and torn jeans, a wrinkly shirt, and were carrying a bow and a couple arrows on you. Not exactly the normal look in society. His black eye probably didn't help matters. Or the way he limped just a bit when he climbed out of the cab he'd splurged on to get here. Just a rolled ankle, no big deal, but it nagged at him a bit as he let himself into the building and made his way up to his apartment.
Clint wasn't too surprised to find the place empty. No Spencer in sight. He could tell that even before he looked. Not just because of his own training, but because he swore that Spencer just… he exuded this weird sort of energy when he was home. Nowhere else. The kid kept himself locked up tight out there. But here, where he apparently felt safe-and that made Clint feel damn good, shut up, he didn't care what anyone else thought of that-he let down his guard a bit. Maybe it had something to do with his head powers. Who knew? Clint just knew that he could usually feel it in his bones when Spencer was home. Sometimes he could even tell what the kid was feeling before he got to him. Temper made that energy tight and crackly against Clint's skin. Fear, like after nightmares, made the air sort of thick and sometimes it tried to steal his breath away, or if it shifted more towards panic it could make him feel like all the hairs on his body were standing up. Happy and relaxed, his personal favorite, just made everything feel… good. Relaxed and good. It was easier to smile then, easier to laugh. Everything was just easy.
Right now the apartment felt empty and a bit cold. Clint dropped his stuff in on his bed and then moved carefully through the apartment. There was no sign of Spencer out in the main area. But, down the hallway Spencer's door was open the slightest bit. He did that sometimes when he went in there. When he left, the door was always firmly shut.
Clint took a deep breath and rapped his knuckles against the door. After a short pause, he called out "Spencer?" Then, taking a risk, he pushed at the door a bit and poked his head in. No one. He wasn't in here.
However, his window was open.
Well, hell. Maybe this was worse than he thought. Shit.
The roof was one of both Clint and Spencer's favorite places to go. For Clint, he liked the high up space as well as the little nook he'd found up there, a spot where he could be out in the open and yet hidden by a small wall and a bit of an overhang. The sniper in him enjoyed the hell out of the perch. For Spencer, there was the perfect little alcove that he could go and tuck himself down inside of, satisfying his need to be in a small space when he was scared.
For a moment Clint just stood there and stared at the window. He really wasn't the guy for this. Talking about things, about feelings, he was more likely to put his foot in his mouth than help. He always ended up awkward, weird, and not quite sure of what he was doing. What on earth did he know about feelings? Except maybe how to hide them. Life had taught him that. His dad, foster homes, even the circus, they'd all taught him that. It was why he was so damn good now at hiding it all under bad humor and grins. People were less likely to suspect anything was wrong if you were cracking jokes and laughing at them. Just like they were less likely to suspect anything about you if you let them think you were a lot less smart than you actually were.
Seriously, anyone else in the world would be better at this right now than Clint. If he went up there he was probably going to say something stupid and upset Spencer even worse.
Spencer had never seemed to mind before, though. He didn't seem to mind if Clint cracked jokes or made a stupid remark. It never offended him too much or chased him away. And really, who else was Clint going to trust to go up there and help him out? He knew Spencer wouldn't trust anyone else for it. Not up there. Not in one of their safe places. Besides, Clint might not understand a whole lot about family, but he knew how it shouldn't work, and bailing on someone you cared about fit in that category.
This was Spencer. The kid he'd pretty much adopted from the instant the little shit had tried to use empathy to seduce him. Even if Clint hadn't realized it, he'd taken the kid in right then and there. They were just as much family now as any blood relatives. More so, even. What had blood ever done for him?
Clint pushed down his reservations and silently made his way across the room and out Spencer's window.
He wasn't surprised to feel the change in the air as he got up towards the roof. It was heavy, kind of cold and weighted in a way that Clint associated with feeling his lowest. He'd had this feeling before, only on the inside too, and feeling it get stronger in the air as he went up towards the roof made his worry grow. Dammit, something really was wrong. Seriously wrong.
That became even more apparent when he reached the roof and found that Spencer wasn't in his usual hiding spot. He wasn't even hiding at all. Instead, he was sitting on the roof of the maintenance shed that sat up here, knees up to his chest and eyes staring blankly in front of him.
One look at him had Clint's worry growing even more. There were a lot of tells that showed just how off Spencer was. How he had his body curled in tight, like he was trying to make himself small and safe in a way Clint recognized and hated to see in him. How he didn't turn to look at Clint or even greet him, despite the fact that he almost always bombarded Clint the instant he was home just so he could make sure he was okay.
Even the clothes he was wearing showed how off he was. The shirt Spencer was wearing, that was one of his Erinyes shirts. Clint didn't really care what clothes Spencer wore, or whether he was male or female when he wore them. He was still Spencer under it all. But… he'd picked up enough from Spencer in the time they'd known one another to know that the Facility had really screwed up the kid's head when it came to his own body. Male clothes, male pronouns, male anything, those were for Spencer. Female things, female pronouns, those were for Erinyes. Mixing it up wasn't allowed. "You can't get mixed up on a mission." Spencer had said one night. "You can't grab the wrong clothes and not expect to create a stir. I did that once, pulled on a skirt because I felt feminine, even though I was in a male body. They… didn't react well."
Spencer was getting a bit better about it. The SHIELD therapist he saw apparently helped. But Clint knew that, more often than not, Spencer seemed to feel like he was two people in one body. Him and her. Spencer had once tried to describe it to Clint as "We're the same, but we're not. I mean, I'm her, and she's me, but we're different enough that...I don't know. When I'm like this, I feel like a him. When I'm her, I feel like a her. And maybe my therapist is right, maybe that's because that's how the Facility trained me to be. But it's how I feel."
To Clint, it just meant he continued on doing what he was doing, talking to Spencer the way he did. It also meant that when he looked out and saw Spencer in one of the shirts that Erinyes usually wore, he knew that Spencer had been stressed enough to shift from Erinyes to Spencer once he got here and not even bother to change clothes. That meant a few different things. One, it was pretty bad, whatever was going on. Enough that Spencer was really upset. And two, it also meant that whatever had happened, it had happened while Spencer was female.
There were times that coming up to Spencer with a joke to break the ice was a good way to go. Even though one sat on the tip of Clint's tongue, he held it back now. This wasn't one of those times. Instead, he walked up and simply sat down, about a foot away. Close without being too close. Then he sat there, silent.
Sometimes silence was what Spencer needed. A physical presence without the demands of conversation. Sometimes he just needed someone who was patient enough to give him a chance to find the words he needed. For a genius, he had a hard time putting into words things that concerned him.
The fact that no one had probably ever let him before just made Clint want to go out and hit something. A lot.
It only took about ten minutes of watching the city before Spencer finally spoke to him. "I'm assuming Natasha talked to you."
"A bit." Clint said easily. He was leaning back on his hands, allowing him to better watch the side of Spencer's face, trying to read him without being too obvious. "No details. Just said something was up."
"Mm."
Spencer went quiet again after that and Clint settled in once more to wait. It didn't take as long this time. Five minutes, maybe. His voice was just a bit hesitant as he asked "Can I… can I ask you some things?"
"You can always ask me things." Clint said, curious about why he was asking that. Spencer hadn't ever really been that shy about asking him things. Even if the subject was something uncomfortable.
Spencer bit his lip and looked down at the city below them. Tension was almost radiating off of him. "How did you…" he paused, huffing out a breath. Then he seemed to gather up enough courage to blurt out "How did you know you liked someone?"
The words came out in a jumble that took Clint a second to decipher. When he did, he looked at the side of Spencer's head with surprise. Oh hell. This was simultaneously better and worse than any of the things he'd been thinking. Of all conversations to have, this was not one he'd ever wanted to. The best part about adopting an older kid into the family was supposed to be that you got to skip out on all this. But… he should've known better. Where would Spencer have learned about it? Clint blew out a breath and turned until he was looking out at the city as well. "Ah, well, um. I don't… I don't know. Why? What brought this on?" Not that it was hard to figure out the answer to that. Mostly, Clint was stalling, trying to figure out how the hell to have this conversation.
Spencer hunched down a little. "Never mind. It's not… It's not a big deal. Don't worry about it."
Well that was the opposite of what Clint had wanted to have happen. "Hey, no." Clint reached out and nudged Spencer's arm, choosing to ignore the little flinch just like he usually did. "I'm not brushing you off, Spencer. I was just, surprised. That's all. This wasn't exactly the conversation I was expecting to have."
"I didn't know who else to ask." Spencer said softly. He bit the inside of his lip and tucked his chin down towards his chest. "I'm not that comfortable with other people, and you're the only person I know who's been..." Spencer cut himself off, and Clint caught a glimpse of wide eyes before he was flinching away.
There were very few ways that that sentence could end that would make sense with their current conversation. A sick feeling built in Clint's stomach as he thought about what word Spencer might've been about to say next. "Who's been what, Spencer?" There was something flat in Clint's tone, something hard. Let him be wrong. Please, let him be wrong. Because if he wasn't, it meant a very important secret wasn't actually a secret at all.
He knew, even as he watched Spencer draw in, even as he saw him brace himself for whatever punishment he was sure was coming, Clint knew how Spencer was going to finish that sentence. "Who's been married." Spencer whispered.
Hearing it said out loud was like a slap to the face. His eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open just a little. No one except Fury knew about that. Not even Phil knew about that! "How'd you find that out?" Clint demanded, fear and fury making his voice as sharp as a whip. He had to know how this secret got out. Was she in danger?
That tone was the entirely wrong one to take. Spencer almost instantly started scrambling back from him, scooting across the roof, even as apologies started to fall from his lips. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to! I swear, Clint, I didn't!"
There was such panic in his tone and in his body, it pushed away Clint's own anger and fear and had him moving quickly. If Spencer kept scrambling like that he was going to end up going right over the edge of the roof. "Woah, woah!" Clint caught hold of Spencer's arm, a little sick at how Spencer flinched but didn't pull away, how he seemed to brace himself for a blow like he was sure one was coming and yet he wasn't going to try and break away even though they both knew he could. Because of that, Clint gentled his tone and his touch. He didn't let go but he was careful as he pulled Spencer back over towards him. "Calm down, Spencer. It's all right. It's okay."
"I didn't mean to find out." Spencer hurried to tell him. He was tense as he sat where Clint had pulled him to. Every part of him screamed how ready he was to run. But he looked up as he spoke, and Clint's heart ached at the wide-eyed fear that was there. Usually Spencer kept his emotions locked away behind a mask, one that he only occasionally let Clint see behind. That mask seemed fractured at the moment, barely even there. "I try really hard not to listen to people, you know I do. But sometimes I pick up on things even if I don't want to. You… you think about her sometimes when we're together. I just… it's why I taught you how to make stronger shields. But I swear, I wasn't trying to listen in!"
The fear that Clint felt at the idea of someone knowing about his wife-a secret Fury had helped him cover up so that Laura could be safe-couldn't hold up in the face of Spencer's absolute terror at having been found out knowing something he shouldn't. It made him wonder how much Spencer heard from people's heads that he had to pretend he didn't know. How exhausting must that be?
"I'm not mad, Spencer." He shifted his hold on Spencer's arm and let his hand drift up, clasping over the back of the kid's neck. There, he gave a small shake, smiling at him. Now that he knew it wasn't that his secret was free, it was just Spencer that knew, he felt like he could breathe a little easier. It gentled his voice when he spoke again. "I'm not. Laura knows you're important to me. That you're family. She and I already talked about potentially letting you know at some point, once she's back in the country. I guess we don't have to worry about making that decision now." Laura worked as a doctor with a charity group that traveled the globe, helping out those who either didn't have money or access for proper medical care. It was part of how they'd met. Both of them on jobs, him injured-she joked around it was almost like a movie, complete with a secret spy and everything.
Spencer licked his lips and snuck a quick glance up at Clint's face. Most likely he was reading the emotions in the air, too, or however it was he did that. Clint made sure he kept himself calm in the hopes that Spencer would pick up on it. After a second, the kid nodded. "I won't tell anyone. I get why you keep it secret. I really am sorry for hearing it, Clint."
"I know." He did, too. He knew Spencer wasn't the type to snoop. Even if he hadn't, the kid's terror just seconds ago would've made that clear. Clint smiled and gave Spencer's neck another squeeze. Then he slipped his arm around his shoulders and pulled until Spencer was tucked against his side. "Now, what has you asking about all this? You trying to tell me you found someone you think you like?"
He felt Spencer sigh and sink down into his embrace a little bit. "No." A brief pause, and then "Maybe. I don't know. I don't think so."
"Well that was clear."
That earned him a low huff that was almost a laugh. "Shut up. I don't understand this, that's the whole point of coming to ask you. I don't understand this whole 'dating' thing. It doesn't make sense to me. Why would anyone agree to go out with a stranger? What's the point?"
Oh, boy. Yeah. This was going to be one fun conversation. Clint tried not to sigh. "To find out if you like them, I guess. Sometimes you're not quite sure until you get the chance to go out and get to know a person."
"But why? Why would you want to except as an attempt to feel normal in a world where no one is normal?" Spencer's voice was bitter there, aching with something that made Clint hold on just a little tighter. It didn't get any better, either. "I don't get it. My therapist said I should start to try more normal activities, so when someone asked me out I agreed to it. That's normal, right? Only, it wasn't. It was weird and awkward and now, now it's stupidly messed up. I didn't do anything wrong, yet I'm being treated like I did." He sat up and pulled out from under Clint's arm, turning towards him with accusing eyes, glaring up at him like he should understand, like this should all make sense, while Clint was still floundering at the idea of Spencer dating. "I did everything people are supposed to do in a relationship. I looked it up, I talked with my therapist, I did my best. So why didn't it work?"
Okay, seriously, how the hell had so much happened in just a month? That's all he'd been gone for! A month! How the hell had he missed so much? He'd missed Spencer apparently dating-and dating long enough for things to have been tried, failed, and now ended, if he was reading this right. Son of a bitch.
"Sometimes… sometimes that's what happens." Clint pushed aside his reservations at Spencer dating anyone, ever, and tried to figure out what kind of advice to give. What would Phil say here? Or Laura? Or, hell, anyone other than him? "You can't make yourself love someone, Spencer. Dating is how you find out not just who you do want, but who you don't want. It's not going to go right every time."
Spencer glared a little more at him and then drew back in on himself. Knees to his chest, he folded his arms on them and then dropped his chin down to rest on his arms. He stared out in front of him long enough that Clint thought maybe they were done talking about this. Of course they weren't though. Spencer spoke again after a few long minutes. His voice was soft, making his words hard to hear. "He said it was my fault."
"Aw, Spencer." Clint wanted to reach out again. He wanted to pull Spencer close once more and tell him that it wasn't his fault, that whoever this asshole was, they were just that-an asshole.
He didn't get the chance. Spencer tightened his hold on himself and pulled inwards in a way that made it clear he didn't want to be touched. "We'd only gone on a couple of dates. But he said… we were arguing about sex, and I just...I don't understand. How can you say someone enjoys it too much?"
Every single part of Clint stalled at those words. It took him a second for his brain to kick start again. Okay-that was…that was way more than Clint had ever wanted to know about Spencer. He had no need to think about him having sex at all, let alone how much he enjoyed it. The mental images made him cringe. He pushed on, though. "I don't know, Spencer."
The kid huffed a little. "It's stupid. I didn't even…" He cut himself off, mouth snapping shut hard enough to click his teeth together.
It was too late, though. He'd already said enough that Clint went perfectly still beside him. The implication of his words was easy to pick out. If he was right...
Asking Spencer questions was always hit or miss. Some things he would refuse to answer, some he could make you think he answered you while giving you nothing at all, and other things he was so startlingly frank about. Unfortunately for Clint, sex happened to be one of those things. He sort of preferred to labor under the delusion that Spencer didn't have sex and probably never would. It made him happier. It made the world happier, too, because if he really thought about someone putting their hands on Spencer he might have to actually kill them, and if he did that he might finally break down and go out and kill all the bastards in the past that had done it. Then again, that would probably be better for the world.
But this time, as much as Clint may want to avoid thinking about it, he couldn't. He had to ask. He needed to know the answer.
"Spencer." With great effort he managed to control his voice. Don't make him think you're angry at him. Keep it calm. Maybe you're wrong. "Are you telling me someone…?"
He didn't have to finish the question. Didn't even really get the chance. Spencer was shaking his head the minute the first word passed his lips. "No." He cut in. "No, he didn't."
Still, he wasn't looking at Clint, and that didn't help the sick feeling any. "Did he pressure you?" Clint asked instead. "Make you feel like you had to? Because that's just as bad."
"He didn't." Spencer huffed out a soft breath and his eyes darted towards Clint, looking over his face. The older man sat there and let him. He knew well enough that Spencer sometimes needed to check things over and think about what he saw. For an empath, emotions weren't always easy for him to understand. After a second, Spencer let out another quiet little huff, and Clint recognized the signs enough to brace for whatever was to come. He should've remembered that that never worked. "He didn't force me or use any sort of coercion. I slept with him willingly. Why wouldn't I? It's what normal people do in relationships. Sex in exchange for companionship. It wasn't like it was difficult. Sex is never difficult. Besides, I could always ride on his emotions. That makes things infinitely easier. But it also makes it all the more confusing. I was feeling what he was feeling, so how can he say I liked it too much?"
Holy shit. Clint really thought for a moment he might throw up right then and there. Exchange. Sex in exchange for companionship. "Jesus." He lifted a hand, swiping it over his mouth as he tried to battle back the nausea. "Oh man, Spencer, no. No. That's not how it works."
Spencer turned towards him and his face showed his confusion. "What do you mean?"
Words failed Clint for a moment in the face of such open and honest confusion. Spencer actually didn't understand what he was talking about. He really didn't see anything wrong with this. And that… that was so beyond messed up. Clint was the absolute last person that should be out here explaining this to him. He didn't even like admitting that Spencer had sex! How was he supposed to talk him through something like this? Only, it was obvious no one else was. Not even the therapist who was paid to take care of these things. That was something that Clint was damn well going to bring up with Phil later. Phil would make sure things were taken care of.
It took him a few tries before he could find any sort of words. Whatever he said had to be done delicately. Something that really wasn't his area of expertise. "Spencer… sex, it… it shouldn't be like that." Oh real smooth there, Barton. Real smooth. He blew out a breath and tried again. "It's supposed to be something that both people want, not something they feel like they have to do just to get something else."
"I don't understand." Spencer said the words softly. There was a hint of frustration there; he hated not knowing things.
The fact that he knew he really didn't understand made Clint feel worse. "You do realize I'm like, the single worst person you could talk to about this? I give horrible advice. Everyone says so. Phil would laugh himself sick at the idea that I'm sitting here trying to give anyone advice, let alone relationship advice."
A little line of tension appeared in Spencer's shoulders. It wasn't much, really, but for someone who could control their reactions to things so perfectly it actually said a whole lot. "So don't. No one's asking you to."
Clint's groan echoed around them. "Shit. All right, listen up. I'm going to say something and then we're not going to talk about this again tonight. You're going to buy me pizza and I'm going to pretend I don't see you drinking my beer and we'll pretend we never had this talk. Ever." With that warning, he looked straight ahead, trying not to think about who exactly he was saying this to. "Sex isn't supposed to be a trading tool or a punishment or anything like that. It's supposed to be something that two people do because they think the other person's hot. Even if you love someone, it doesn't mean you have to sleep with them. You don't have to sleep with anyone you don't want to. It's your body, Spencer. You get to choose who touches it. Not because you can feel they're attracted to you, or because you want to keep them around, or because you think it's how things are 'supposed to be', or whatever other shit those bastards shoveled in your head."
Spencer tilted his head up and gave Clint a sideways look that showed just how ridiculous he found that. They both knew how often he'd used sex on the job-his old job, at least. But Spencer didn't call him on it. Instead, he seemed to be internalizing it, running through one of those quiet moments where Clint was sure the kid's lightning fast brain was processing everything in a way that would hopefully make it make sense to him. Hopefully. Because Clint really didn't want to keep talking about this.
After a long pause, Spencer looked back out ahead of him, still silent. A second later his head came to rest on Clint's shoulder.
When he opened his mouth, Clint tensed, sure he was going to have more questions the archer wasn't sure how to answer. Instead, what Spencer said was, "I want pineapple on my pizza."
The tension drained out of Clint's body in one breath. A smile lit his face and he huffed out a laugh. This was so much more familiar and it was easy to fall back on their familiar teasing. "God, you're disgusting. How many times do I have to tell you pineapple doesn't go on pizza?"
"It's delicious. And if I'm paying for it, I want pineapples."
As Clint started to lecture him about how disgusting pineapple was on pizza, as well as the appropriate pizza toppings, he felt some of the tension start to drain away from the both of them. This was exactly what they needed after that conversation. Tonight, he'd get Spencer up and take him back inside, order them up some pizza, maybe get a bit drunk-could Spencer get drunk? He'd never seen it, no matter how many beers the kid had-and make sure he was really okay.
Tomorrow—tomorrow he was going to put to use his rather awesome skills and find out who exactly around here thought it was okay to mess with Spencer. The kid might be the badass assassin, but no one—no one—got to mess with Clint's kid. He'd make sure of that.