Vicissitude
Epilogue
"So... sounds like you had a chance to kill Loki. Nice and clean, no one to interfere" Natasha said at length.
Clint gave a non-committal grunt.
"Why didn't you?" she asked flatly.
Clint didn't answer her immediately. They'd been sitting together in silence all afternoon; at this point he wasn't any closer to an admission now than when he'd walked away from Loki. He stalled by picking at the knee of his pants.
Eventually, he sighed quietly and answered "Pepper. She would have flipped out if she'd seen that."
"Bullshit" Natasha tossed back.
Clint shook his head. They lapsed into tense silence again. Natasha continued to look at him. Clint could feel her eyes, hard and angry on the side of his head. He didn't care, he was used to this from her now.
"You felt sorry him" she said dismissively.
"No" he said sharply.
Natasha finally shifted, folding her arms, tilting her head, but the hot glare continued.
Clint gathered his thoughts. "He good as wanted me to kill him."
Natasha's eyebrows crept up, and slowly she gave him a nod to continue.
Clint shrugged. "Would have been too easy. What do I gain? Kill someone miserable... someone wishing for death, longing for peace. I haven't had any peace for months... sure as hell not going to give it to him..."
He turned a glaring look onto Natasha. "I didn't wuss out, if that's what you're thinking." he shook his head bitterly. "Ending him is not going to give me back control. I have to... I have to get that back myself."
Natasha's eyes narrowed. She knew that was only part of what had happened, that Clint wasn't giving her the full story of what was going on inside his head. "Interesting..." she muttered, content to wait him out as long as he needed her to. They slipped into silence again.
"Wasn't calling you a wuss" Natasha said quietly.
There was a gentle rapping at the door. Clint sighed and rolled his eyes. "That'll be Cap with my lecture" he muttered. "Come in" he called.
Both Clint and Natasha were surprised to see Frigga, Queen of Asgard in the doorway.
"Wow. I must be in serious crap if Loki sent his Mom to cuff me around the ear" Clint muttered, forgetting himself.
Natasha's brow furrowed and she punched Clint in the arm as she stood, curtsying respectfully. Clint remembered his manners in the face of intergalactic royalty, and swayed to his feet, bowing.
Frigga inclined her head to them. "Ms Romanov, would you excuse us?"
"Of course" Natasha said lightly. As she passed Frigga and exited the room she shot Clint one last angry, worried look- don't say anything stupid!
Clint gesture to the couch, offering Frigga a seat. She sat down elegantly.
"Uh..." Clint said, unused to royal visitors "Can I get you anything? I think I have green tea, maybe some juice?"
"Ale?" Frigga asked casually.
Clint ran a hand through his hair. "Beer? That close enough?"
"That would be lovely."
Clint nodded absently and padded into the kitchen, and returned with two bottles. He handed one to Frigga, and she tapped it to his bottle."Skol" she toasted.
Clint settled on the couch next to her and took a sip.
"Tough day, huh?" he said casually.
"Very. Very... trying" Frigga confirmed. She sipped her beer and looked pleasantly surprised.
"Look... I get why you're here. I don't know what he told you, but I expect I'm in some serious trouble. And no offence or anything, ma'am, but I just don't care."
"It's all right, Agent Barton" Frigga said gently. "I'm not here to reprimand you, or lecture you, or mete out punishment."
"No?" Barton asked. Maybe that little bastard Loki hadn't said anything?
Frigga sighed gently. "No." She studied him, sadness in her eyes. "What must you think of us?"
Clint wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question. "Asgardians?" he hazarded.
Frigga shook her head. "Us... as in, my family."
Clint shrugged. "I don't have a problem with you, or Thor, or Odin. But you've never given me reason to have a problem..."
"Loki, on the other hand has given you very, very good reason to have a problem with him."
"You got that right."
"So why didn't you cut his throat?"
Frigga's bluntness almost started Clint. He looked at her, surprised.
"I see everything, Agent Barton. That is my gift, and my curse"
That sounded like a hell of a thing. Clint's eyebrows started to rise. "If you know everyone's fate, then you must know everyone's path. And the choices they make to get there."
Frigga was thoughtful. "In a way, yes. But I'd still like to hear it from you."
Clint was very still, and he chose he words very carefully. "I looked in his eyes and saw someone who was desperate to change, but didn't have the first damn clue how to. Didn't know how to ask for forgiveness or help" he said haltingly.
He sighed deeply. "That doesn't excuse anything he did... not in the slightest, not ever... but..." he trailed off awkwardly and swallowed hard.
His eyes burned from feelings and memories, and he rubbed his face, stalling. "I've had times when I knew how that felt. When I was the reject, when I was in danger, when I did things I should not have done.
"I know how it feels to have no friends and no pride and nothing to live for." Clint looked determinedly at the floor. "I couldn't... I just couldn't. Yeah, he made his choices, and he walked that path. Didn't matter anymore. The person I hate the most is myself. The choices I've made... the path I'm walking even now."
Frigga sighed gently, and reached out, taking Clint's hand in her own. Clint looked surprised at the tender gesture. She knew how much that confession had cost him.
She also knew that like most men who were expected to be unfailingly strong, he'd probably die of pride before he confessed it to anyone he was close to.
"So what do we do?" Frigga asked gently. "How do we heal you?"
"My shrink –psychiatrist – has all these mantras he tells me to repeat when I feel stressed, all these clichés; live and let live, forgive and forget. That kind of crap..."
Frigga looked appalled. "No wonder you aren't healing" she muttered. "What use is banality?"
"No use at all... because, I can't. I can't do any of those things. I can't forgive Loki, I can't forget what he put me through."
Frigga looked Clint in the eyes. "You have to forgive yourself" she said firmly.
Clint's jaw tensed, a bubble of rage rising in him. "I know!" he said hotly. "How many times do you think I've heard that? From my doctor, from my team-mates, from Natasha? I know I have to forgive myself, but how? How do I do that? People keep telling me it's not my fault. It's not your fault, Clint, Loki put you under a spell, used creepy magic mojo to mind-control you- you couldn't help it! Poor You!
"You know what? Maybe I couldn't help it, no...but-" he broke off, raw and desperate. "I was too good at it, wasn't I? I was the perfect minion." he blurted angrily. "Loki pointed me in a direction and I killed on command. Took down anyone in his way. He used me as a weapon, like that's all I'm good for."
Clint's shoulder's heaved with emotion. "And that is all I'm good for! Because when I wasn't killing for him, what do I do for a living? I kill for SHEILD. They point me in a direction and tell me when. Pull a string. Squeeze a trigger, like I'm a machine. Is that all I'm good for in my life? Honestly? I can't forgive myself and I can't stop hating myself is because I made it so damned easy for him."
Clint broke off, breath ragged. "I'm sorry" he quickly apologised. He jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the tears of pain and fear. "I shouldn't have ranted at you like-"
Frigga leaned forward and gathered him into her arms and held him. Clint was so numb that he forgot to be shocked by her suddenly closeness. He let her draw him into her embrace, and she held him. Unshed tears prickled in his eyes.
It was so long since he'd been held like this- in a maternal way. He couldn't even remember it. It felt weird, and beautiful, and he didn't feel entirely stupid at the tears of rage and frustration that suddenly seemed to come easily.
She held him wordlessly, and he wept silently for a long time. She cradled him just as carefully as if he were one of her own sons. He needed it so much. Part of him desperately hoping that no-one would walk in on this unfortunate scene, most him him not caring if anyone did.
Silent tears fell from Frigga's eyes as she gently rubbed Clint's back, letting him cry out some of his pain. Slowly, his breathing evened out, and his shoulders stilled. He sat up slightly, still is Frigga's maternal embrace. It was another few minutes before he was ready to speak again.
"In my job, the first thing they teach you is how to compartmentalise. We see so much... we do so many questionable things, it's the only way we can deal with it... break it into little pieces, and store it in different boxes in our mind. Deal with each little piece, one at a time... come to terms with what you've seen, what you've done, bit by bit."
"You can only that so much, and for so long" Frigga pointed out gently.
Clint snorted an almost-laugh. "Tell me about it. "I've got... so much clutter rattling around in here, and here" he pointed to his head and heart in turn.
"Then it's time to cleanse" Frigga suggested. "Purge that clutter from your soul. Let it go, and give yourself the gift of peace."
"How?" Clint demanded, wounded, incredulous.
"You have to forgive yourself, Clint." She shook her head thoughtfully. "If you hated being the weapon, stop being the weapon."
"It's not that easy."
"Yes. It is" Frigga said flatly. "You hated the way Loki controlled you, didn't you?"
Clint nodded "Of course I did."
"You are in control now. You. No-one else."
Clint sat up, and dashed away the remaining tears on his face.
"You can be so much more. Your job for SHEILD... you do good works? You help people, in your own way?"
"According to our government we do. Other nations and political affiliations might disagree."
"Then find another way to do good. Find other ways to help. Give of yourself, and help people and do good, kind things until that feeling of being controlled is gone. Until you can see yourself as something other than a bow string drawn taut."
"Like what? Become a vigilante?" Clint asked numbly.
"No. No... it's time to put down your weapons. Pick up tools to help."
"So... Habitat For Humanity?" Clint said suddenly. Frigga looked questioningly at him.
"It's a charity, they go around building houses for people, the poor and disadvantaged"
"Yes, why not something like that."
"I don't know, sounds like a job for Thor" Clint casually joked. Frigga looked at him askance.
"Because he has the hammer, good for building... never mind" Clint trailed off. He thought about what Frigga had said. "So this is how I cut the strings? Stop being everybody's puppet? Go lose myself in doing good. Actual, hands-on good."
"It's worked for many others before you."
"Yeah, I suppose it has. I was thinking of taking proper time off. Get Nat to come on a vacation with me..."
"This is something you need to do for yourself, and alone" Frigga said gently.
"I don't know if being alone is such a good idea for me at the moment."
"You won't be alone. Everywhere you go there will be new people to meet. Other people trying to lose themselves. Other people trying to find themselves. You will make friends, you will make enemies. People will look up to you-"
"Or down on me-"
"Only if you let them" Frigga said firmly.
"And what if it doesn't work? What if I go build schools, and dig wells and teach kids to read and write... and it still all amounts to nothing?"
"How would helping people ever amount to nothing? You may start out selfishly, looking for your own forgiveness, but in time that will give way, and you will infuse people's lives with goodness in ways that are immeasurable."
Clint considered her words for a moment.
"Do you really think so?" he murmured.
Frigga nodded gently.
"How long is it going to take? How long until I can look at myself again in the mirror. 'Til I can sleep through the night without the bad dreams."
"It will take as long as it takes" Frigga assured him.
"Ballpark?"
Frigga smirked to herself. "When you hear the call of the Mockingbird, you will know it is almost time to come home. And you will be a better man by then."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Clint muttered, and Frigga shrugged casually. "That is something else you will have to puzzle out yourself."
Clint licked his lips and asked hesitantly "Will I stop hating myself?"
"When you remember how to care for others; when you can show them kindness and see gratitude in return, you will remember how to be kind to yourself."
"Will I stop hating Loki?"
Frigga hesitated. "You will never fully forgive him. And he will never fully forgive himself, either. There I things I cannot see clearly, but I hope that both of you can turn your hate into something better"
There was such sadness in her expression, that Clint felt a deep twinge of shame.
"I've been so caught up in the crap Loki did to me... I don't think I've ever stopped and thought about what it must be like for you..."
She smiled wistfully. "One can be a goddess, be essentially immortal, have the gift of foresight... and still never see some things coming. I have made mistakes, and now I try to make amends" she told him sadly.
Clint reached out and took Frigga's hands in his. "Thank you" he said simply. He thought for a moment and shook his head. "I don't really know what else to say."
Frigga reached forward and drew him into a hug.
"There is nothing else that needs to be said."
… … … …
Clint took off that same night, telling no-one but Natasha. He had no plans, no itinerary; just his passport, a backpack of essentials and some cash. Natasha was silent as she drove him to the airport, his plan was to buy a ticket on the next flight out of New York to anywhere, and go from there.
Natasha seemed to be suffering from an amused kind of indifference, but Clint knew she was fuming inside. He had declined to tell her what he'd discussed with Frigga. She hated being out of his loop. She also hated the idea that he was going off the grid, even though she knew he could easily look after himself.
He'd extracted a promise from her that she wouldn't use SHEILD resources to track him; she'd made him promise to email if he got into any kind of trouble that could be solved by her particular skill-set.
She pulled up to the departures kerb.
"All right, get out, loser" she said.
"Nat" Clint said gently.
"Go. It's fine. Have your adventure. Go bang a few middle class co-eds on their volunteer tourism stint."
"I gotta do this" Clint reasoned.
"I know" Nat said petulantly. She folded her arms.
"I promise I won't go Zorbing without you. I'm probably not going to even end up in the Antipodes" Clint reasoned, trying for a smile.
"Months" Natasha said simply.
"Months?" Clint questioned.
"Months... months and months I've been trying to get you to do something. To open up, to get off your ass and stop wallowing. You don't listen to me. Frigga turns up, and all of a sudden it's like she's Dr Phil. Now you're doing something. Don't listen to your best friend."
Clint was thoughtful. "I don't know how to explain it, Nat. It's like, today, everything galvanised. It's not that I haven't wanted to listen to you, it's more like... I couldn't. But then Frigga sits me down and talks to me, and she saw right into the heart of things... and that's because she's coping with such heartbreak, such loss herself. She moved me. She made me see that I can move on."
Clint looked at Natasha, and the expression in his eyes made her want to apologise for being such a brat to him.
"I was too close for comfort, I guess" Natasha reasoned.
Clint reached over and hugged her, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Never."
"Send me a postcard, jerkface" Nat said, keeping her voice even. She knew he was finally on the right path, but she was nowhere near done worrying about him.
… …. … …. …
Clint wandered. He crossed states, and then countries, and then continents. Eventually he crossed an ocean, and ended up truly in the middle of nowhere. He worked and helped where he could. Sleeping in barns, or tents, or under the stars. Digging wells, and building walls. Hammering nails into roofs of new school and medical clinics.
His skin burned at first under the harsh, unrelenting sun, and he supposed he should worry about that; but eventually he peeled and tanned. His hair bleached out even blonder, his frame becoming leaner and more muscled with every passing week.
He hadn't seen himself in a mirror in a while, and began to wonder if he'd even recognise himself. He hoped not
He was careful with his health, but still did not manage to avoid a few minor gastric upsets. His good physical condition saw him through the illnesses, and the time spent recovering in health clinics became a strange period of bonding with fellow volunteers.
He met Australians, who all tried unsuccessfully to explain to him the rules of a sport called cricket; Canadians who missed the sight of mountains and tree and elegant cities; Brits who turned lobster-red within fifteen minutes in the sun, and stayed that way for months and liked it; Danes who were all much stronger than they looked and never seemed to break a sweat even on the hottest days.
The Americans he avoided, simply because he didn't want to talk about where he was from, or what he did when he wasn't assembling desks for schools in the middle of nowhere. He didn't need anyone to remind him that Iowa was the Hawkeye State, or the New York was the most resilient modern city in the world.
He didn't stop being himself, he just got good at not having to pretend to be something else. He started to sleep more soundly. His internal monologue became less hateful, less doubting. He stopped second-guessing himself all the time.
And for months and month he didn't lay his hands on a weapon of any kind. He became the guy who broke up the fight, not the guy who sat back and watched, ready for the real trouble to start.
He did, however, start to wonder if he was losing the edge on some of his physical skills when he mis-stepped off a ladder and shinned himself. The metal of the ladder was old and rough, and the gash bled freely.
Clint swore quietly and examine the wound. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches, but he knew it needed proper cleaning or else he might end up with an infection. He had a good first aid kit, but it was with his gear in a hut at the other side of the village, a good ten minute limp. The clinic was closer, so he headed there.
As he entered the pre-fabricated building, he could hear a man wailing and complaining loudly. He didn't understand what was being said, but the tone of the man's voice made it obvious that he was deeply unhappy about something.
Clint stopped in the little office at the front of the building, looking to ask someone if he could clean himself up, but the place was unattended. He heard a female voice from the clinic, reassuring the wailing man.
"Hey! Hello?" the female voice called.
Clint paused.
"Um, is someone out there? Hello?"
Clint shrugged, figuring she meant him. He walked through the office to the clinic and peeked in.
"Oh, good" the woman said. "I need some help, here."
Clint entered the clinic. The woman was thirty-ish, blonde hair bound back into a ponytail. She wore a faded blue polo shirt and khakis. She was standing over a young, dark-skinned man who was prone on a stretcher, protectively clutching his left thigh.
"Oh. Ouch" Clint muttered, looking down at the man's misshapen knee. "Dislocated?"
"Yep" the blonde woman said. "And I need to reset it before he ends up with tissue damage, but he won't hold still, and everyone is off... praying or eating lunch, or something."
"Okay. What can I do?" Clint asked.
"Can you brace him across his upper body while I set the joint?"
"Sure" Clint said. He tried to give the young man a reassuring smile as he leaned in. The young man just eyed him suspiciously.
"Thanks. I was worried he might slug me."
"But you don't mind if he slugs me?" Clint accused.
She looked thoughtful "Does that make me a bad person?" she asked casually.
Clint laughed lightly.
"If were we State-side, I could at least give him some painkillers, take the edge off, but of course here, all that stuff gets confiscated by 'customs' at the border" she muttered.
"Clearly you aren't bribing the right people" Clint said wryly.
"Bribing. Ha! Yeah" she agreed. She leaned in and gripped the man's lower leg. "Okay, on three?" she reassured him. She nodded to Clint, who braced the man against the bed.
"One... two-" she pushed down hard on the man's leg, and his knee joint made a popping sound as the kneecap slide home. The man gave a startled cry and promptly fainted.
"Oh well. Didn't need anaesthetic in the end" she said.
"You beast!" Clint said, trying hard to not grin. 'You said 'on three' and then you went early!"
"Yeah. Didn't want either of you tensing up" she said casually. She busied herself splinting the man's leg and bandaging it. "I hope you don't get squeamish, by the way" she said.
"Bit late for you to ask now, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess, but I was actually referring to your leg. I hope you don't faint at the sight of blood, because you'll leaving quite a trail of it on my nice new clinic floor. And I think one unconscious man is quite enough for one day."
"Oh, yeah, that" Clint said casually, looking down at his bloodied leg. "I was hoping for a Band-Aid"
The woman snorted a laugh. "Yep. Band-Aid'll fix it real good. Sit down. Stop bleeding." she ordered.
Clint shrugged and sat on an empty stretcher. The doctor turned away and gathered supplies from a locked cupboard at the end of the room. Clint studied her.
"What does Mockingbird 99 mean?" he asked.
"Oh" she said. She walked back to him, and began to set up a dressing kit on the table. "This is my gymnastic team's jersey. From high school. Pretty lame, huh?"
"What kind of gymnastics?"
"All kinds. But this team was rhythm gymnastics. We won State, so the coach got us all jerseys. I keep wearing it years later like a dork because it reminds me of home" she shrugged self-consciously.
Clint smiled at her. "And... Mockingbird?"
She smiled. "We used to get teased by the other kids at school- they said our routines made us look like stupid little birds hopping around, and called us bird-brains... So as a kind of screw you to them, we went with it, gave each other birdy nicknames. I got Mockingbird, mostly because I loved the book "To Kill a Mockingbird."
"Mockingbird..." Clint muttered. The word nudged something in his memory, but he couldn't quite recall why. "And what's your real name?" he asked with a smile.
"Barbara Morse" she said, she paused to shake his hand, remembered she was gloved, and smiled apologetically.
"Barbara" Clint repeated quietly.
"If you call me Doctor Barbie, I will amputate you leg. At the neck" she warned suddenly.
Clint laughed openly. "I wouldn't dare. I've seen you make grown men lapse into unconsciousness!"
"That's right, and don't forget it" Barbara muttered, swabbing the wound on Clint's leg.
"So, what do the call you?" She asked as she worked.
"Clint"
"Just Clint?"
"At the moment... yeah" Clint said.
Barbara considered that, and nodded slowly. "So, you're one of those, too, huh?" she said quietly.
Clint cocked his head to the side, curious.
"There are three kinds of people who end up in a place like this: Missionaries, who are compelled by faith to help; Middle Class, First-World people, who are compelled by guilt to help... and people who need to spend time in the real world to either forget- or remember- who they are."
She looked penetratingly at Clint. "Now, no offence, but you don't look like a Missionary, and you're not apologetic enough to be a volunteer tourist." She shrugged casually. "My guess is that you're walking away from something..."
Clint smiled enigmatically and said nothing. Ordinarily, someone getting a read on him like that would turn him suspicious, make him back right off.
Years of guarding his thoughts and feelings made it impossible to ever relax around a friend, let alone a total stranger.
But he liked this woman. She was forthright and smart and had an off-beat kind of humour to her. And she was easy on the eye, which was nice. He considered Barbara. "So, which one are you?" he asked.
It was her turn to look mysterious. Silently, she stripped off the surgical gloves and bundled the used dressing kit into the medical waste bin. She tapped his knee. "You're good to go" she said simply.
"Thanks, Doctor Mockingbird" Clint said, hopping down.
She smirked. "Anytime, Just Clint."
FIN
… … … … ..
Author's notes: Hey, thank you for your patience. I've had a few things going on that have made it hard to string a decent idea together, let alone a sentence I felt anyone would want to read... but I'm feeling better about things now, which has given me the patience I've needed to finally get this done. This didn't really turn out how I wanted, but I'm still quite pleased, I felt like characters expressed what they needed to. I hope no-one is too disappointed- I could have held it over and tortured it a bit more, but that wouldn't have helped.
So, this really is the end of Vicissitude. I thought it was done last chapter, but Clint's finale didn't belong in "Notes from a Royal Screw-up", so it came to live here. What happens next? I'm going to let you decide. I took a lot of liberties with Barbara "Mockingbird" Morse, in comic-canon she's Clint main ladylove, but the back-story here is all of my doing. I thought it would be sweet to drop her in here at the end, for Clint... Sorry if that ruffles any feathers... heh!
Thanks always for your support and kind words, I really appreciate it.
And please stay tuned for one more chapter of "Notes From a Royal Screw-up".