Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except for Cole Williams. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
Author's Note: This is my first story to post on this site and my husband had to talk me into it. That being said, while I embrace constructive criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"
This is another slower chapter because lets face it...Natasha got shot and Clint got thrown off a roof after getting shot multiple times in his kevlar vest...so our super assassins need to recover a little before we can reasonably expect them (namely Clint) to fight again. Clint is a little pissy at the beginning of this chapter, but stick with him :) All you Clint/Steve friendship lovers will like this chapter lol
Enjoy!
Last Time:
Steve appeared next to him and suddenly Clint's world tilted. Bits of Steve's words filtered into his brain.
"…away, Barton…He's gone."
Then the gray that had been encroaching on Clint's vision turned black and he welcomed the darkness.
"Heroes are ordinary people who make themselves extraordinary." Gerard Way
Clint woke suddenly. One second Steve was staring at his teammate's lax face and the next the blue grey eyes were boring into him.
"Barton." Steve smiled in relief.
Clint blinked, trying to process where he was. It looked like the infirmary at Tony's tower.
"'Tasha?" He breathed, his eyes growing in intensity.
"She's fine." Steve assured. "Tony got her help in plenty of time. She's right here."
Steve motioned at a bed a few feet away from him. Clint breathed a sigh of relief.
"How long?" He demanded, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Pain flared in his chest, causing him to collapse back against his pillows with a gasp.
"Barton?" Steve's voice was worried.
"How long, Rogers?" Clint demanded, pressing his hand into his ribs and trying to breathe through the pain.
"You've been out for about 18 hours." Steve revealed.
"Shit." Clint ground out. "Williams?" His voice hardened.
"He got away." The Captain admitted.
"Dammit!" Clint burst out suddenly, slamming his fist angrily into the heart monitor next to his bed.
"Watch it, that's expensive equipment." Tony greeted as he strode into the room. "Look at you back in the realm of the conscious."
Clint groaned, pushing himself up again, more slowly. He pulled his IV out and swung his legs over the bed.
"I don't think…" Tony started. "Oh hell, like you'll listen anyway."
"Barton..." Steve tried to reason. Clint pressed his hand against his black and purple chest, breathing deeply through the pain. He was grateful for the blue scrub pants he was wearing as he pushed the thin sheet away.
"Stubborn, isn't he." Tony mused.
"Barton you have a serious concussion and five broken ribs!" Steve informed as he contemplated forcing the man back into bed. "Not to mention the muscles you pulled in your shoulder when you fell off the roof." He reminded.
"You fell?" Tony was surprised; he'd seen the man balance on a one inch bar for hours without even having to shift his weight.
"I was pushed!" Clint snapped, defending his abilities. He stared at Natasha's lax face. "Get out." Clint growled, glaring at Steve.
"Barton…" The super soldier started, unsure why he was being regarded in such a way.
"You should have gone after him." Clint accused darkly. "I can take care of myself, I always have."
Steve's blue eyes took on a mixture of hurt and apology as he nodded and left the room, unwilling to agitate the injured man further.
"He hasn't left your side you know…he was blaming himself for not getting there in time." Tony supplied helpfully. Clint ignored him, and, with one arm wrapped around his ribs, he slid off the bed. The injured archer shuffled over to Natasha's bed and sank down into a chair next to her.
"Thanks for helping her." Clint murmured, his eyes glued to the heart monitor next to her head. He was surprised his early bout of temper hadn't roused her. She must be medicated.
"Yeah well…" Tony shifted uncomfortably. The archer was looking at the sleeping assassin like he looked at Pepper. He hadn't realized.
"She's okay?" There was an unfamiliar note of vulnerability in the man's voice and it itself was surprising. Tony just blinked for a second.
"Yeah, she'll be fine. Lost some blood, but they gave her new stuff." Tony assured, then he paused. "Stars and Stripes was just doing what he always does…put the team first…he didn't mean to let you down…can you honestly say you could have held on? Or pulled yourself up?" He challenged.
Clint looked down. His fingers had been losing feeling when Steve had pulled the window open. He had been mentally locking his fingers into place, knowing he'd have to figure something out quick or he'd be mush on the concrete. He'd been zeroed in on Williams though, with the same focus he would get when SHIELD sent him out on hits. Nothing else had mattered.
"Would you have taken the chance if it had been one of us on that ledge?" Tony asked.
Clint swallowed. He looked at Natasha. He would have taken that bullet for her in a heartbeat, without a thought. He knew without thinking on it too long, that he would have done the same for any of them. It was how he was wired. The ledge was just a different type of bullet. He sighed. Looks like he owed their good Captain an apology.
"That's what I thought." Tony nodded. He turned only to turn back a moment later. "You should go back to bed, you look even worse than usual, which I know is a hard feat to accomplish."
Clint huffed a laugh as Tony left the room. He felt about that bad. But he had something to do first. He painfully pushed himself from the chair and tenderly brushed Natasha's fiery hair off her forehead.
"I'll be back." He whispered before heading for the door.
He found Steve on the roof, staring out of the city.
"You're standing in my spot." Clint's voice came out a little more strained than he wanted, but the trek up to the roof had been more taxing than he expected.
Steve's head swiveled comically, his blue eyes wide. His jaw was a hanging open a little as Clint came to stand next to him. The injured archer had struggled, quiet painfully, into a hooded sweatshirt. He still looked terrible, pale, bruised and stiff, but Steve was glad he couldn't see the black and purple bruises on his chest.
"So I may not have said it before…but, uh, thanks…for pulling me up."
Steve glanced at Clint out of the corner of his eye at the mumbled thanks.
The archer had his hands shoved in the pocket of the hoodie; his blue grey eyes scanned the skyline restlessly, always on guard, always looking for threats. Steve didn't want to know what it was like to live with that kind of paranoia.
"I'm sorry I let you down and let Williams get away."
Clint sighed deeply, wincing when his ribs twinged painfully.
"Don't apologize." He nearly groaned out. "It makes it worse."
"I don't understand." Steve admitted.
"I was wrong to get angry at you…what you did…the choice you had to make…" Clint shook his head, frustrated. He wasn't good with talking about things, any things. "As much as it pisses me off, I would have made the same call." Clint admitted with a frustrated sigh. He pulled his left hand out of his hoodie and rubbed it down his face, mindful of the colorful bruises Cole's fist had left. "I'm an assassin, Rogers, as such I have this way of getting very very focused…when Natasha went down, I zeroed in and nothing else mattered." He explained as best he could.
"You love her, don't you?" Steve guessed quietly. He was surprised when Clint huffed a laugh, looking up to the stars.
"Cap, love is for children…" He told him, he glanced at him briefly before looking back to the city, "The thing between me and Tasha is so much more than some romantic notion."
"I don't understand." Steve admitted. He'd never been good with anything to do with women.
"I don't know how to explain it, Cap." Clint shrugged. "It just is…she will always come first for me, always."
"That must be an amazing thing to have in your life."
"Sometimes…" Clint smiled slightly, "Sometimes it almost gets us killed."
"Like with Williams?"
"Like with Williams." Clint nodded. He sighed suddenly. "Anyway, I'm sorry for being an ass."
"Don't worry about it." Steve forgave easily.
"You're alright, Cap." Clint clapped him on the shoulder and turned to leave. Steve watched him go. That was the first time Clint had ever initiated a conversation with any of them. And beyond that, Clint had granted him an insight into his psyche, as penance for his attitude perhaps. Steve realized bemusedly, the kid was terrifying, dark, and broody, but he was also man enough to admit when he'd been wrong, was so dedicated to Natasha it wasn't even funny, and was made of steel inside. Because only a man made of steel could endure what Clint's file suggested he had, and still stand there, his shoulders straight and his head high, ready to keep fighting the good fight.
What was sad, is that he didn't think Clint realized that.
When Natasha woke again, there was a heavy weight on her arm. The pain in her shoulder was muted by painkillers, a feeling she hated. Her eyelids felt heavy as she forced them open. The first things she saw was short, messy brownish blonde hair resting on her arm. Clint. He was okay. When she'd been awake last, he'd still been unconscious. She carefully pulled her hand out from under his head, resting it on his hair instead. He must be medicated as well, because usually the slightest touch woke him.
"Клинт." She called softly, unconsciously speaking his name in Russian, tracing her fingers through his hair.
He stirred instantly, his head rising and his blue grey eyes turning to seek her out.
"Наташа." He breathed her name in the same language, relief evident in every part of his expression.
"Именно плечо раны... Вы посмотрите, как я был на пороге смерти." She teased, concern niggling at her when he winced in pain just from sitting up straight. It was just a shoulder wound…you look like I was at death's door.
"Это было давно пару дней ... это просто приятно слышать ваш голос. (It's been a long couple days…it's just good to hear your voice)." He admitted quietly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.
"Looks like you should be in your own bed, resting." Natasha scolded switching back to English and easing herself into a sitting position.
"This is the only way I can keep them from sticking another IV in me…I'm still trying to get the last round of drugs out of my system." He complained good naturedly.
"I know the feeling." Natasha smirked, already pulling the IV out of her hand.
"Wanna blow this joint? I know a place with a much more comfortable bed, a lot less white, and no IVs to be seen." Clint pushed himself out of his chair and held a hand out to her.
"Sounds good to be, Barton…lead the way." She smiled warmly, allowing him to help her out of bed. Together they made their way to the elevator, and to Natasha's room, out of the view of their watchful teammates. Most of their lives they'd recovered from injury in private, and over their years of partnership they'd grown accustomed to licking their wounds in each other's company when the opportunity presented itself. Since they both tended to underrate their injuries, it was better to have someone else around anyways.
Steve watched them go from the hallway, a small smile on his lips. He should probably stop them, put them both back in the infirmary beds and shove the IV in their arms himself. But he didn't. Something told him both would recover better if left in peace. So instead he let them go. He physically stopped Tony on many occasions from harassing them, and insisted to Bruce that if they needed medical help they would surely seek it out. Though he wasn't exactly sure that was the truth. And Steve, he just watched, shamelessly using Jarvis to spy, and waited. Occasionally he would find them on the roof, for Clint's benefit he was sure, whispering quietly to each other in a language Steve didn't understand but that Jarvis informed him was Russian.
Two weeks passed like that with no word from Cole Williams and only a few skirmishes with local thugs that Tony and Steve handled themselves. Then something happened that shocked them all. Thor returned. He had surprised them all by landing on the roof during a thunderstorm and waltzing into Stark towers like he hadn't been gone.
"Greetings, my earth dwelling friends!" The Asgardian god's booming voice echoed through the lab where Steve was pretending to listen to Bruce and Tony's conversation on a special material they were creating to build Clint an unbreakable bow. An idea Steve thought truly touching if they could ever agree on anything about it.
Steve turned abruptly, his blue eyes widening at the sight of the large hammer wielding warrior.
"Thor!" He greeted with a smile, accepting the bone crushing hug and grateful his bones wouldn't in fact break easily.
"America's Captain, Steve Rogers! It does my heart well to see you once again!" Thor smiled widely. "Man of Iron! How do you fare?" Thor looked to Tony, who had automatically put a table between them to avoid the same hug Steve had allowed.
"Been good…feeling good…why are you here?" Tony asked abruptly, "and how?"
"My father Odin was able to allow me transport to your realm with the use of the tesseract…I need only to call to him when I am ready to return." Thor explained turning his attention to Bruce.
"Bruce Banner! I trust you are as well in good health!"
"Yeah…pretty good." Bruce nodded slowly.
"So now that we've established the how, let's address the why?" Tony interjected again.
"Where is the man with the eye of the hawk? And the Widow in Black?"
"Clint and Natasha got injured a couple weeks back and are still recovering." Steve explained.
"My Gatekeeper told me of your plight and hence my quest to join you here. I will aid our friend the Hawk in this fight in any way I can." Thor explained.
"It's not so much a fight as a personal vendetta between this crazy ex-military sniper and our resident Big Bird." Tony replied easily. "And Legolas doesn't want our help."
Thor looked crestfallen so Steve quickly spoke up.
"But we'll be there to give it anyway; if he needs it..."
Thor brightened at that.
"This thing with Williams is personal, though...in the end I think it will need to be Clint that ends it, not any of us." Steve added firmly. "When the time comes we can't interfere, understand?" He directed, meeting each of their eyes. They all nodded somewhat reluctantly.
All their attention was diverted when Jarvis announced Clint and Natasha were headed to the lab.
"Now Thor, Natasha was shot and Clint has five broken ribs so better not to try and hug them, or pat their shoulder, or…you know it's just better not to touch them." Bruce advised quickly as the two assassins came into view.
"We heard a loud booming voice and knew there could be only one cause." Natasha shot Thor a small smile. "Figured it was about time we joined the party." Clint stepped up to her side, looking more rested than he had in months.
"I wondered what all the thunder was about…what's up Shakespeare." He greeted the Asgardian with something resembling actual warmth.
Steve looked around at his team, whole once again, and smiled. As far as he was concerned, Cole Williams didn't stand a chance in hell.
Thor inched closer to the edge of the roof, eyeing the archer's position warily. Natasha eyed him suspiciously, and he struggled to communicate his intentions without speaking. After a moment she nodded, whispered something to Clint in a language that was foreign to him. After the Hawk nodded, Natasha stood and strode to the door.
"What's up Big Guy?" Clint motioned him to join him on the ledge.
"Would you mind if we continued this conversation on a perch of a less precarious nature?" Thor questioned, eyeing the ledge nervously. Clint shrugged and swung his legs back around so they weren't dangling in open air anymore, he pushed to his feet and stood to face the Asgardian god.
"Better?"
"Much." Thor acknowledged, stepping to stand next to him. Together they looked over the city.
"Why'd you come back?" Clint asked suddenly, "Not that we aren't glad to see you...but the timing is interesting." Clint cocked his eyebrow suspiciously.
"The Gatekeeper of my realm told me of this Cole Williams who threatens you." Thor explained. "I have come to help in any way I can."
"Not sure there's anything you can do, Big Guy." Cling sighed, "Williams is doing this because of me...I need to be the one to finish him."
"As you know, my friend, I am well versed in the arts of war." Thor started, he deep voice rumbling.
"I gathered." Clint agreed, eyeing the cape and armor with an arched eyebrow. Thor went on, unaware of the scrutiny.
"In all my years of battle, I have learned many things...but there has been one lesson that I learned quite well...and not without difficulty."
Clint cursed his curiosity, it always got the better of him.
"What lesson is that?" He asked after a moment.
"That if one man chooses to face an enemy and leaves his army behind, he is considered brave, but foolish...however, if the same man faces that enemy with his army marching behind him, he is considered not only brave, but wise as well. For only a foolish man in search of glory would face an enemy alone, when he has his trusted men waiting to join him."
"You think I want glory?" Clint scoffed.
"No, my friend...I believe you fear for your army's safety and so you seek to face this enemy alone...but you are not alone, my friend. And your army is not afraid."
"Yeah, I know." Clint sighed. "But this is personal, Thor...I have to face him, once and for all."
"I am no stranger to the nature of personal battles...as you remember Loki was by brother and he attacked this realm because I loved it."
"And in the end, you got to deal with him, your way..."
"Yes, indeed that is true." Thor sighed. "I will not interfere, Clint Barton, but neither will I allow your life to be needlessly taken...will this suffice?"
"Do I have a choice?" Clint smirked, unwilling to admit he was warmed by Thor's loyalty.
"No." Thor smiled widely and turned to go, only to pause. "I love my brother, Clint Barton...and I always will...but what he did to you...that is a deed that can never be forgiven. I am truly sorry for what my kind has brought upon you." He apologized quietly.
"I don't blame you, Thor, or your kind...I only blame Loki."
"Only?" Thor asked doubtfully, his bright blue eyes all too knowing. Clint swallowed.
"I'm getting there."
Thor tilted his head in assent.
"You're heart holds a strength you do not even realize, my friend...if there were more warriors with your noble nature, this realm would not be cloaked in such darkness." Thor praised, squeezing Clint's shoulder with surprising gentleness before leaving him alone. They all underestimated Thor, Clint realized. The big man saw more than any of them realized.
"We figured since you broke your original…and the backup…that you needed a worthy replacement." Tony shrugged, "This one should be able to survive even your rather peculiar method of looking after things."
Clint gave him sideways look for the comment, watching his new bow unfold from its compacted position.
"Sixteen stories broke the first one, and bullet broke the second one…not my fault."
"Tomato, potato…" Tony misquoted, waving his hand dismissively. "This one should be able to hold up…give it a try."
Clint rolled his eyes, pulling the bow into position and testing the string. His still healing ribs ached as he pulled the string back to his cheek.
"It works better with an arrow." Tony interjected helpfully.
"Stark…shut up." Clint growled, easing the string back to its natural position. He pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back and notched it, pulling the string back slowly, learning the feeling of the bow flexing in his hand. The look was nearly identical to his original bow. It was crafted to be collapsible, easier to transport. Unfolded, it had a hint of the elegant traditional look of a long bow. But even as he pulled back, he could feel more power in this one than in its predecessors. It would shoot farther and harder than his old model. The material this one was made of seemed different too. It was light but sturdy; it felt good in his hand, like the grip was molded to fit him perfectly. Stark had done well. He hadn't been the leading weapons manufacturer for nothing.
Tony watched the younger man stand like a statue, the bow string pulled back, but not yet released. He looked like a modern day Robin Hood. Then quite suddenly the arrow was loosed. Before it had even gotten half the distance to the target, Clint had another notched and following it. He kept firing with the same nearly supernatural speed until his quiver was empty. Only then did he lower the bow and toss Tony a smile.
"String tension is a little off…but I can fix that." He smirked and walked out of the room, his new bow tucked under his arm.
"That string tension was perfect." Tony muttered to himself, leaning to see the target. He laughed. "You're welcome." He stated to no one, heading out the same way Clint had. He left behind a target full of arrows perfectly spelling out three simple letters.
THX
End of Chapter 7
There won't be much Clint and Tony bonding in this story, I'm saving that for my next story. That being said, that's about the extent of the Clint and Tony friendship stuff in this story. Don't hate me.
This chapter didn't really sit well with me, but I couldn't figure out what I didn't like about it. I hope it was all in my head and none of the readers were disappointed.
Please review :)
Here's Your Preview:
His cell phone ringing broke the silence of the night so sharply; Clint thought it was sure to wake the whole tower. He arched his eyebrow at the blocked number, and slid his thumb across the touch screen to answer.
"Barton." He greeted.
"Hello, Clint."
"Williams."