A/N 1: Because I had so much fun with Oxycodone Days, I decided to continue it. It isn't essential that you read it first, but some of the characterizations and motifs will make more sense if you do. This story was heavily influenced by the "Hurt Locker," because I really liked Jeremy Renner in it
Into the Fire 2 – Light the Fuse:
Wednesday April 20, 10:38 am
They had arrived and Rogers had stuck to him like glue. He hadn't even seen Hawkeye yet, figuring he was in a perch somewhere but at least he had left a black SHIELD agent on the stage with him that periodically mumbled into his collar. He couldn't hear him though; his earwig was only set to pick up Rogers. Tony didn't recognize the agent but then again, he had his face covered with a black cap and dark sunglasses and was wearing the generic SHIELD style military uniform of cargo pants, black body armor, and a black tactical jacket. The only reason he could tell the guy was SHIELD and not SWAT was the stylized eagle logo on the arm of his jacket.
Tony wasn't sure what had even happened after that. One minute he's delivering a kick ass speech to a crowd that adored him, no one even threw anything at him this time, and the next; Steve is shoving him under the podium; people are screaming; and the non descript SHIELD agent turned out to be Barton, who is nothing but a black blur running past him and shouting orders. It all happened so fast and was over before he could even react. His first thought, once he got his bearings, was Pepper but Steve assured him that he could see her and she was fine. His second thought was that he wasn't setting foot out of his bedroom unless he was wearing his Iron Man suit.
It took all of 10 minutes for Barton to come back, dragging a prisoner with a hastily bandaged wound on his calf. He then piled them into 2 different SHIELD issue sedans, Steve with the prisoner and him and Pepper with Hawkeye, and took off onto the highway. Tony could read nothing on Barton's face, behind his dark glasses and hat. It could be anybody driving the car at this point, for all of the attention his teammate was paying him. He was also slightly embarrassed that a guy that had been living with him off and on for 6 months had been standing 5 feet away from him and he hadn't even recognized him. He wasn't sure if Barton was that good or if he was really that unobservant.
"What the hell happened back there, Barton?" Tony finally asked, tired of waiting for an explanation.
"There were 2 snipers sent to capture you, one of them is with Rogers." He answered, seeming almost bored.
"Where's the other one?" Pepper squeaked.
"On his way to the morgue."
"I see, what makes you think they only wanted to capture me and not kill me?" Tony was asking questions at this point just to fill the void of silence. If it was quiet, he might have to think about how close he came to nearly getting snuffed out. God, he hated snipers.
"They were aiming for your legs, not a kill zone. My guess is they wanted to wound you and snatch you from the ambulance." He noticed Barton kept moving his head, like he was checking the rearview mirror. Tony wasn't sure he wanted to know what he was looking for but hoping it was just that Steve was still following them.
"What makes you think that?"
"Because that's what I would do." He responded calmly before yelling, "GET DOWN!" and the next thing Tony knew, there was glass exploding onto him, loud gun fire and Pepper screaming. "Both of you stay down, until I tell you otherwise," Barton instructed just as they were rammed from behind.
Tony wasn't a praying man, but he sincerely thought about starting now, especially as he saw Barton yank the parking break up so that the car made a dizzying spin, then release it so they were speeding 80 miles an hour down the highway, backwards. Not only was he driving backwards but he was shooting out of the window at something Tony couldn't see. The car rammed them again, this time from the front and Tony wasn't sure if he or Pepper screamed louder.
"Agent Hill, this is Barton, we're meeting some resistance on our way to the airport. I'm going to need immediate evac at the secondary extract point." Hawkeye sounded so calm, the guys was always so fucking calm. It was not normal. If ever there was a time to freak out, now was it.
"Secondary extract is authorized. There is a Quinjet waiting for you at Great Lakes Naval Center." He heard Agent Hill answer through his earwig. Even she sounded more stressed out than Clint.
"Copy that, we're 41 minutes to rendezvous." Barton responded and took his hands off the steering wheel to reload his pistol and started steering with his knees, while they were now going 96 miles an hour, backwards down the highway. It made Tony sad to realize that he was going to die in a spectacular, fiery car crash because Clint fucking Barton apparently had no adrenaline receptors and didn't realize that he should be scared and showing some measure of caution at a time like this. There was the sound of screeching tires and Tony saw an entire car fly past the driver's side window with a flash of a star spangled shield. Barton didn't even flinch. He reached across the center console and took Pepper's hand, as much for his own sanity as hers. "Stay down," Hawkeye cautioned as he chambered a round.
"Shouldn't you be watching the road!" Tony shouted as Barton fired. Then Hawkeye was again yanking on the parking break, only this time drifting them sideways as a hummer, with a clearly dead driver, careened past them into the guardrail. With another jerking turn, he had them back straight and facing forward, weaving in and out of the now northbound traffic on Highway 94.
"Cap, you ok back there?" Clint called into his radio, finally dropping their speed below 80 and motioning that Tony and Pepper could get off the floor boards.
"Yes, we're fine how about you guys?" He heard Steve respond, sounding relieved.
"We're good. I don't think I'll get the security deposit back on the car, though," he joked and Tony felt like punching him.
Less than 2 hours later, they were in the Quinject with the prisoner bound and ready for transport. Tony thought it might have been a bit of overkill that Barton had shackled him to the seat, by his feet, triple zip tied his wrists and forearms to the armrests, duct taped his thumbs to his palms, the rest of his fingers into a fist, put a black bag over his head, noise canceling headphones, winter green under his nose, taped his eyes shut, put on a secondary blind fold, sedated him with 20 ml of Halcyon, and finally made sure all the windows in the cabin were closed so no natural light got in. He almost mentioned something but then remembered the story Barton had told them about being captured and bound yet still being able to let Coulson know his location. He supposed the caution made sense but then again, how many people were as good as Hawkeye.
He was going to ask, but as soon as they were in the air, Barton turned to Steve and asked to him to keep an eye on the prisoner. After Rogers agreed, Clint slouched down, propped his feet up, pulled his hat down over his eyes and promptly dozed off.
After they landed, Romanov whisked the prisoner away, probably never to be seen or heard from again and Tony decided that now was a good time for a cocktail and a nap. He didn't wake up again until Fury showed up to try and convince Romanov and Barton to go undercover. After which there was a few hours of stress until they agreed. He wasn't sure why they had been so reticent but then again, he didn't know why they did half the things they did.
Thursday April 21, 6:07 am
Steve entered the gym to find it already occupied by Agent Barton. It wasn't at all odd to see his fellow Avenger up this early and working out. In fact, they frequently ran together or Steve watched him and his partner spar. What was odd was that the sniper was working over one of the dummies with a wooden knife. The other man looked tired and Steve figured he probably hadn't slept well, if at all. Nearly all of the Avengers, himself included seemed to have some level of sleep issues. They were all different, Tony for example went for weeks and seemed to never sit still but then alternately would go weeks and seem to mope around and do nothing but sleep. Natasha suffered from nightmares that had her up and pacing if Barton wasn't around. Hawkeye on the other hand seemed to be more like Steve himself and have problems falling asleep but could stay asleep once he did. Of course it seemed with the sniper that when he did sleep it was because he was so exhausted or so heavily medicated that it took an act of Congress to wake him.
"Good morning Agent Barton," Steve greeted, as Clint brutally sank his knife into the side of the gel dummies throat and yanked it back out through the front. It would have severed both arteries and the windpipe in a real person. There would be no getting back up from that. At first, Steve had assumed that Clint must not have been very good at hand to hand, as he always opted to fight from a distance when possible. He then actually saw him in action and realized that he was almost as good as Natasha and may actually be better than himself. The big difference being, that while Steve was stronger and faster, Clint was more schooled and vicious. Cap fought to stop men and only killed when there was no other choice where the two SHIELD agents only allowed people to live if there was no other choice.
"Morning, Rogers," he responded, and switched the knife to his other hand.
"The scuttlebutt is that you and Romanov agreed to take the mission," he started as he wrapped his hands to start working over the heavy bag. Talking to Barton was sometimes fun and sometimes like getting a root canal. Steve was from a time when men were much less likely to talk about thoughts and feeling and even he found Hawkeye to be a bit of a cold fish sometimes. The man could take uncommunicative to an art form.
"Yup," he made a lightening quick upward stab between the fifth and sixth ribs. The jab would have gone through the lung and punctured the heart, a nearly instant kill.
"You want to spar?" Steve tried, he wanted to understand his team and of them all, he felt like he could relate to Barton the most but at the same time knew him the least. They tended to fall into an easy rhythm of CO and soldier that he didn't have with any of the other's on the team. Working with Clint was like working with one of the Howling Commandos, there was no questioning, just doing your job and doing it better than anyone. Though yesterday, Barton had proved he was more than capable of taking charge.
Hawkeye gave him an odd look before resheathing his practice knife and leading Steve over to the sparring mats.
"Don't worry, I'll go easy on you," Steve smiled at him, misreading the odd expression for fear.
Clint cocked his head and smiled back, "OK, I'll go easy on you too." Steve laughed and they started sparring. He shouldn't have laughed. Yes, he was faster and stronger than Barton, but that guy could bend and flip like a spring. He had only seen him fight anyone other than Natasha once and didn't know his fighting style very well. It turned out, he was hopelessly outclassed when it came to technique.
After the 3rd time in a row Clint had managed to get him into a grappling hold, this one he had never even seen before. Clint had him with his head pressed into the mat, while he bent Steve's arm behind him and partially sat on him, using his leg and hand to bend the Captain's shoulder into a most uncomfortable angle. Steve tapped the mat twice indicating he gave up and Barton released him. He sat up on his knees as Clint crouched off to the side watching him, "guess I shouldn't hold back anymore," he laughed and rubbed his shoulder.
"Guess I won't either," the Hawk smiled back at him and Rogers figured that if he were a normal person, it would be pretty scary.
They spent the next hour or so beating the crap out of each other. Rogers was impressed at the guy's ability to hold his own against him but at the same time it showed him that he really needed to brush up on the more modern fighting styles. They were both drenched in sweat and panting; Barton more tired but Rogers more bruised, when Steve's growling stomach called a halt to their bout. He had learned a lot about Clint's fighting style though, he wasn't nearly as flashy as Natasha and seemed to have two modes. He either tried to evade his opponent, which was usually comprised of blocks and fast foot work. Or, he tried to kill on the first shot, making sure he didn't have to worry about escaping them a second time. What he hadn't figured out, was why Barton and Romanov were so reluctant to help Tony.
"I guess it's time for breakfast?" he smiled and blushed as his stomach gave another loud growl.
Hawkeye pulled up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face and looked at the clock. "Why don't we hit the showers and I'll make us something to eat," he offered and Steve realized a mealtime setting might be more conducive to chatting than time spent trying to beat the other one into submission.
"Sounds great. I can help. I finally learned how to use Tony's toaster." They walked out together, and he was secretly glad they wouldn't be sharing a shower. He still didn't know how he felt about living with a gay guy.
"Duly noted but I think I can handle it, sir" he called as he headed into the West stairwell and Steve hit the Eastern one.
After a quick shower and change of clothes, Steve entered the kitchen to find Barton frying bacon and whipping eggs and milk into a fluffy mixture. He was once again dressed his is SHIELD issue military uniform of head to toe mortician black. It was odd to see someone carrying a gun yet domestically puttering around the kitchen making scrambled eggs, especially a man. He noticed there was already toast and condiments on the table along with orange juice so he sank down and grabbed a slice. He smiled that there was also milk out as him and Barton were the only ones that regularly drank milk straight. As odd as it was, he was so happy Clint started to cook for all of them rather than just himself and Natasha. There was nothing like a home cooked breakfast to start the day and the unspoken message that Barton was starting to actually tolerate them off the battle field.
Barton finished making the eggs and served them, finally sinking down to the table himself after setting aside a plate for Natasha when she got out of the shower. Apparently she didn't live by the Army standard that showers should be less than 10 minutes. They ate in silence for a minute before Steve tried to broach the subject of the mission again.
"This is good, thanks for cooking. I was never much good at it before and now I don't even know what half the things in this kitchen do."
"It's no trouble. When Tasha and I are here, is the only time I get to cook. I actually find it sort of relaxing," Barton admitted as he put ketchup on his eggs. Steve followed suit because that was how he liked them too. Banner liked to put some weird red stuff with tomatoes, peppers, and onions on it that he thought was gross.
"Oh, I guess guys like you enjoy cooking, huh?" Steve tried.
Clint smiled at him again, a definite twinkle in his eyes and Rogers really hoped that he wasn't going to hit on him. "Does it really bother you that much, the thought that I'm gay?" he asked.
"Well, no, not exactly, I just have never really known anyone," he stuttered through an explanation, knowing that he was blushing.
"Relax, Rogers, I'm not actually gay. I just said that to shut Stark up," he grinned at the older man. Steve couldn't tell what he was supposed to get from that grin. He had never really dealt with spooks before and it made Barton and Romanov confusing. Everything about them could be so calculated and they both seemed to switch from one person to another at the drop of a hat. He liked to think he got along well with the real Clint, who was kind of quiet but also kind of funny when he got to know you but then again, he wasn't sure which was the real Clint.
"Oh," he would never admit how relieved he was to hear that. "Why would you say it then? Can't you make Tony be quiet another way?"
"I could try breaking his jaw," he tossed out as a possibility, "but he could still talk then, he'd just be harder to understand," he joked then continued. "Actually I was tired of Stark poking around in things that are only between me and Tasha. The nature of our relationship or lack thereof, is none of his or anyone else's business."
"I understand," Steve consoled, never once showing that he was just as curious as everyone else. Natasha reminded him of a much more extreme version of Peggy and he wouldn't mind asking her on a date, if she were single.
"Yeah, it would have worked for awhile too, if Nat hadn't opened her big, stupid mouth and told him the truth."
"The truth?" he asked, noticing that Clint seemed to like his eggs just as salty as he himself did. "Are you guys really sweethearts?"
Clint chuckled and reached for his milk, "I don't think 'sweethearts' is the right term for it but yes we do have sex with each other." His answer was calm and flat. No boasting, no bragging, just unruffled relaying of the facts. Ok, maybe he wouldn't have fit in that well with the other Commandos. All of them would have shouted at the top of their lungs if they even made it to first base with a dame as pretty as Natasha.
"I see, are you two engaged?"
"No, why would we be?" Clint looked confused.
"If you two love each other enough to, have sex," he whispered the sex part, still not comfortable with talking about it out loud the way everyone now a day's does, "then shouldn't you get married?"
Barton rose and began to fill two plates with breakfast foods and prepare some snooty gourmet coffee Tony loved before he finally answered, "what the hell does love have to do with anything?" His voice was as devoid of emotion as Jarvis.
"Hawkeye, why were you and Natasha so against taking this mission? Do you think it is going to be that dangerous, should we all go?"
Clint turned his back to him and busied himself with cutting fruit into star shapes with steady hands. "No, it's not that. It's just, I'm not keen on going back to the Middle East or going undercover in the Army. I don't like lying to other soldiers," he answered, voice sounding controlled.
"Why don't you want to go back?" Steve wondered if it was something specific or if Clint just didn't like combat. The latter seemed unlikely given how well he fought alongside Romanov and the other Avengers.
"It's tough to explain. I spend 3 years there fighting Taliban, al-Qaeda, Hezbollah, and anyone else I was ordered to. It wasn't a high point of my life."
"I understand how tough it can be, believe me," Steve started.
"With all due respect, sir, I don't think you do. You were in active combat for what 6 months and you only fought Commando missions not all out war. Plus you had a clear cut enemy, they wore uniforms and declared themselves. Iraq and Afghanistan weren't like that. You were seen as liberators, we were seen as conquerors. People walked up to you smiling, while they hid a bomb in your transport. They didn't wear uniforms and you couldn't tell friend from foe. You had no choice but to deal with the fact that you were going to end up killing innocent people," he answered, still no inflection, no affect, no emotion. "I didn't really like the person I was, when I did that," he finished, then added, "I need to go wake up Stark, I'll see you later," he walked out with a full tray of food and coffee. Yeah he was the most comfortable around Barton but maybe for the wrong reasons. Clint was quiet, reserved, and military, just like him, therefore Clint never challenged him to break out of his own mindset the way Tony did. In a sense, Barton was his security blanket.
Thursday April 21, 8:30 am
Tony woke to the feel of the bed moving and the sweet smell of gourmet coffee and a salty breakfast. Depending on how much he had to drink the night before, that was either heaven or vomit inducing. Lucky today it was ambrosia. He unfortunately opened his eyes to see a damp headed Clint Barton in head to toe black, staring at him and hold a tray of delectable looking treats. The agent smiled at him, an altogether unkind and disturbing look for so early in the day. It was similar to the look the assassin gave before he stuck an arrow through someone's eye socket.
"Good morning, Stark. I thought you might be hungry," he then turned to Pepper who was staring owlishly at him as well. "Here, dig in," he handed her a plate and a cup of coffee.
"Thank you, Agent Barton," she tugged on her nightie to straighten it and accepted the platter of eggs, bacon, fruit, and toast. She had learned not to call him 'Clint.' Natasha did not allow other women to be that familiar with him. Tony often wondered how good she must be in the sack for Barton to still be so pussy whipped even with her insane jealousy. Either that or she knew where he hid a body. Regardless that wasn't important right now.
"What are you doing in my bedroom? And how did you get in here anyway, Jarvis?" he asked. He was never at his best before noon and it was only 8:30.
"You give Jarvis too much credit. It isn't hard to bypass him," Clint scoffed and waved the wonderful cup of coffee at him enough for the steam to tickle his nose only to pull it away as Tony reached for it. The man was such a dick!
"He is the most sophisticated AI on the planet!" Tony defended.
"Must be why people managed to come in and rig a bomb under your lab," he countered and twisted so he was facing Tony.
"I repeat, what are you doing here?" he grumped. The sex must be transcendent for Natasha to put up this assneck on a regular basis. At the moment he honestly couldn't find a single redeeming quality in the turd.
"I need bombs," he handed the plate to Tony but kept the live giving elixir. "I have the spec sheets for all Stark weapons downloaded and read through them last night, but I need real ones to practice on."
"You want me to get you weapons, why?"
"I need to know how to disarm them and how to spot yours that were bought on the black market vs. newly built fakes. To do that, I need actual weapons to study, not just specs," he answered like he was asking to borrow one of Tony's DVDs and not weapons of mass destruction. "Oh and I'll need you to show me how to defuse them," he finished.
"I can't do that," he stuttered. Did this lunatic know what he was asking? Stark weapons were the best of the best. They could kill anything and he just wanted live ones to practice on.
"Pepper, can you find me someone that can?" he turned to Tony's bed mate and he might have been annoyed at her blush if he didn't know that Barton would never dream of cheating on Romanov. Still sort of bugged him, though, Pepper's soft spot for this douche bag.
"Well, I can look up a few weapons' techs and see who would be the best for you to work with," she started, already getting ready to rise.
"No," Tony started, unwilling to involve his girlfriend in the ugly side of his business again. "No, I'll take care of it," he conceded
"Thank you," Barton finally handed over the coffee and it was fucking perfect, hot, a splash of cream and two sugars. It was just the way he liked it and it was a bit unnerving that Clint "dickwad" Barton knew how he liked his coffee. "Please have them sent to the SHIELD base outside of the city. I'll head over there this afternoon," he rose to leave.
"Wait," Tony stopped him, "I'll have them sent here We can work underground. Besides, we'll need Jarvis to help override the computer systems. I'll have them ready next week."
"I need them this afternoon, no later than tomorrow," he countered, crossing his arms and shifting his weight from his left leg to balance on both evenly.
"Are you nuts, you want to learn how to disarm all my weapons starting today, after studying specs for 1 night?" Tony was incredulous. It had taken him 18 years to design them and this dimwit thought he could figure them out in one day.
"I have to be in Syria in 8 days, one of them is going to be spent at Ft. Benning picking out my Staff Sergeant and one will be spent in transit. That leaves me 6 days to learn how to wire and disarm any of the weapons they may have bootlegged like it was second nature. The sooner we can start the better," he looked over Tony's head for a moment then locked eyes with him, "There were two more bombings last night, 280 people were killed or injured," he explained and Stark started to realize just how fucked up this whole mission was going to be.
Tony, Bruce, and Steve were rarely involved in the cloak and dagger stuff Barton and Romanov did for SHIELD. They saw bits and pieces, Natasha trying on dresses for Barton's opinion while he sat propped against her pillows detangling her jewelry (seriously, why can't women understand that if you throw all your necklaces in a bag, they will get knotted up?). There were also the times he had seen one or both of them walking around the tower listening to Rosetta Stone to brush up on another language. Mostly it was them sitting huddled together with her reading bios and him looking at maps and schematics. This level of detail into the non Avenger's job was unsettling.
"OK, let me see what I can do," he finished and looked into his coffee, as Barton left. Pepper put her hand in his hair, stroking it into less bedhead.
"At least they agreed to help you, that makes me feel much better about this whole thing," she tried but he couldn't muster up the same feelings. He was trading his own safety for Barton's, which in theory shouldn't bother him but for some reason did.
"I have a bad feeling about this," he told her and moved his plate. He wasn't hungry anymore.
Sunday April 24, 7:42 pm
Bruce wrapped a paper towel around the grilled cheese sandwich he had prepared and placed it on a plate beside some carrot sticks, potato chips, and 2 chocolate chip cookies. He wasn't entirely sure he had chosen correctly, but he hoped Barton would at least eat the food, if not enjoy it. Natasha, himself, Tony (especially Tony), and even Steve seemed to have well defined tastes when it came to food and drinks. Clint on the other hand seemed to eat anything you gave him with the same level of enjoyment regardless of how cheap or expensive it was. The only thing he had ever definitively commented on were some gel packets SHIELD had given him that he refused to take on a mission and made his handler go exchange for red ones. Something about them tasting like lemonade flavored vomit, which if they did, he didn't blame the man for returning them. As far as everything else went, he seemed pretty easy going.
He grabbed a glass and filled it with ice tea and headed towards the basement. He was a bit worried that Clint hadn't come up since he had gone down there, well before Bruce had even woken up. Natasha had left around noon to go study some additional information about the patterns the bombs were moving. Because she was gone, no one bothered to notice that Barton hadn't come up for lunch or dinner. Bruce might not have even noticed either, if he hadn't wondered out of his lab and realized that there was no covered plate of delicious, home cooked food waiting for him. Instead there was a box of Chinese and a fortune cookie with his name sticky taped to it. He had tracked down Tony; after he had eaten, not eating made The Other Guy cranky; and discovered that their landlord hadn't ordered anything for Hawkeye because, "he couldn't be bothered to show his face so he could make his own damn food." Bruce knew the bluster for what it was, Tony being cranky because Clint hadn't cooked for him.
He headed towards the elevator and ran into Rogers, on his way back to the gym. He realized Steve's insane boxing was a form of meditation for the super soldier, a safe place and a safe form of kinetic contemplation to help him work through his issues. Didn't mean it didn't make him feel like a lazy slug but oh well, he wasn't a fighter, not normally. "Good evening, Steve," he smiled at the taller man. He wasn't one to be jealous of other's looks but he was jealous of Roger's looks.
"Hi Bruce," he waved, and looked at the plate and drink, "didn't like the Chinese?" he joked. He knew that their Captain was having a hard time dealing with Tony's champagne and caviar tastes. It would surprise him in the least if Steve didn't like Chinese fusion.
"I actually thought it was great. This is for Barton, Tony didn't order him anything and Jarvis said he hasn't been up to the kitchen since seven this morning. I thought I would bring him a snack."
"That's considerate. Mind if I join you. I have to admit, I'm a little worried about this mission. Barton and Natasha never seemed nervous or worried about going out but they both seem really unhappy about this one. I keep thinking I should talk to Fury about pulling them."
"I know what you mean," Bruce allowed Steve to precede him into the elevator, "they are both really jumpy about this and it's making me jumpy. Have either of them told you why? It can't all be because Clint will be the one going under cover and Natasha will be the backup."
"I asked Barton about it, but all he said was that he wasn't happy with the idea of going back to the Middle East and that I wouldn't understand this kind of war," Steve answered as the elevator opened and Tony walked in carrying a bottle of cognac and a straw.
"Your thing looks less self destructive, where are we going?" he asked as he entered the elevator.
"Basement to drop off some food for Barton. He hasn't left since this morning," Bruce filled it. "So was that all he said, Steve?"
"Yes, he said a few things about being a conqueror verses a liberator but didn't really say why it bothered him so much. Every time I have tried to ask him about it, he has changed the subject or just plan ignored me," he older man sighed.
"I've tried a few times too, but he avoids the subject like the plague. Natasha was of no help either," Bruce threw in. Once Barton had stonewalled him, he had tried going to Romanov, she had been nicer about it but she basically gave the same answer, 'it's none of his business.'
The elevator opened and they were met with the cool air of the underground room and the soft sounds of a radio playing Billy Idol's "Rock the Cradle" softly in the background. Barton was sitting on a rolly stool hunched over a missile. He completely ignored them until he had apparently finished, then turned off his stop watch, finally looking up at them. He flexed his fingers stared at them. Bruce couldn't miss the still bleeding cuts on his hands or the dark circles under his eyes. He had learned early on, that Barton was a chronic insomniac. As someone who was privy to all their medical histories, he knew Natasha suffered from frequent nightmares, Clint had massive problems falling asleep, and Tony was an undiagnosed or maybe ignored, bi-polar. Barton actually had the easiest problem to treat. A few milligrams of sedative and he was good. It was obvious he hadn't taken any last night or maybe even the night before.
"Can I help you guys?" he asked when no one moved. He suspected that Steve was as stunned as himself to see at least 300 missiles, bomb, and other assorted devices lined up in various stages of completion. Some were untouched and some had been totally dismantled. So this was what Hawkeye had been doing down here all by himself.
"I brought you some dinner," Bruce started and walked forward, as Clint tucked a pair of wire cutters into a pocket in on his belt. He then flexed his fingers and reopened a cut on his middle knuckle. "It isn't much, just a grilled cheese sandwich. I wasn't sure what you liked so I thought everyone likes grilled cheese," he babbled.
"Thanks," Barton accepted the plate and set it down and rolled over to another missile that looked just like the one he had finished.
"How many of those do you plan to destroy, even though I told you more than once there was a computer override?" Tony asked, sticking his straw into the top of his bottle of liquor. Bruce suspected his fellow scientist was moving into a low phase, hence the self medicating with alcohol.
"As many as I have time to disarm," he set his stop watch and started in on removing the bolted cover.
"Still doesn't explain why you don't use the computer to deactivate it. That takes about 10 seconds," Tony took one of the potato chips off Barton's plate and Bruce glared at him. Stark moved away from the food. It sort of amused Bruce that of all of the Avengers and other various and sundry folks around Tony, only Pepper, Col. Rhodes, and himself could glare him into submission. He wasn't sure why he could, if it was The Other Guy or their friendship but either way, it was kind of neat.
"Because what I'll run into will be IEDs, improvised explosive devices, not nicely programmed explosive devices. There is no indication that your computer files have been compromised, just the general designs. I can't rely on the idea that I can use a computer to disarm them," he explained. It bothered him how flat and dull Barton sounded. The man's voice generally had fairly flattened affect but this was worse.
"Do you want some help deactivating these?" Steve tried. Banner knew it was really bothering Rogers that his "army buddy" was unhappy. Steve had far and away bonded the most with Barton, primarily because they had so much in common. Of course the differences were just as pronounced. Steve was an open book, while Barton was like trying to read through a brick wall. Rogers was genuinely a nice guy while, Clint's motivations could be murky at best.
"No, no thanks, Cap. I'll do them. I need to practice till it become muscle memory." He didn't look up, just started to pull wires and examine junctions. He suspected that the man might have made a good electrical engineer, even though he knew his degree was in structural engineering. It had actually shocked him at first that the seemingly dim witted sniper had a college education, albeit from mostly on line classes. He had asked him why structural engineering and Barton had answered, 'so I know the most efficient way to blow shit up," and walked off. He hadn't bothered asking again.
"Ok, well try and take some time to eat something ok?" he asked as he turned to leave herding the other two with him. It was clear Barton wanted to be left alone, sadly a state he spent most of his time in, unless Natasha was around.
Back in the elevator Steve seemed upset. "I was hoping to get some time to talk to him before he headed to Fort Benning tomorrow."
"Yeah, well, what's the point?" Tony asked, already slurring but then again he was drinking cognac through a wacky straw.
"He's our teammate and something about this mission is clearly bothering him and Natasha. We should figure out what it is and find a way to help." Rogers insisted.
"If they want our help, they'll ask for it, besides, they aren't the one someone is trying to kill or capture," Tony defended. "I'm the king of this chess game, which makes Barton the queen, which is actually sort of funny," he giggled.
"True, but maybe they don't think they can trust us for help. It doesn't hurt to offer, if only I could figure out why this is bothering both of them."
"Why don't we pull their personal files and have a look to see if anything jumps out?" Tony perked up, always happy to go against SHIELD's computer defenses.
"Why bother, I suspect it's in his psych files," Bruce jumped in, when he saw that Cap was gearing up to go on a super moral rant.
"Fine, I'll start there," Tony stuck his chin out and he could see Steve was fighting the urge to punch him in it. Strangely Tony was the only one that seemed to bring out an offensively violent side of Rogers. But then again, Bruce could see how most people might think about punching him.
"I already have them," Banner called over his shoulder as he exited into his lab, the other two following behind him.
"How?" Steve asked.
"Really," Tony smiled, "let me see, let me see." He flexed his hands in a grabby motion.
"No, but I will tell you what a colleague of mine that happens to be a world renown psychiatrist says," he crossed his arms, waiting to see if Stark would settle for his offer. It worked and the man hooked his foot around a stool and sat down, elbows resting on the table with his cognac and straw between them, inches from his mouth. Steve stood quietly. "His reticence to talk about the mission is typical Avoidance," Bruce explained.
"I know he is avoiding it, but why?" Steve asked, clearly not understanding.
"Not avoidance but Avoidance, it's a symptom of PTSD. Don't forget how young Barton was when he was sent into some of the worst fighting over there. Plus he had no support system, no family, no church, no real friends. Not to mention he was the only member of his original squad to make it past six months. Dr. Samson thinks it's a combination of PTDS that has never been properly treated and a good deal of survivor's guilt." Tony nodded in understanding but Steve still looked lost.
"I don't get it. What's PTSD?"
"It's a mental illness, an anxiety disorder," Bruce started but Roger's interrupted him.
"Barton isn't crazy. He isn't a some head case; he's a man." And Bruce understood the disconnect. In Steve's time, veterans with issues like this were seen as crazy or weak, rather than sick. He apparently hadn't caught up on the last 70 years of knowledge, understanding, and acceptance of mental illness.
"He's not crazy, at least not about this, it just means that something so bad happened to him over there that he has problems dealing with it. Think of it like really bad Shell Shock. I'm sure you have noticed the difference since he took the mission. He's drawing away from all of us more, isolating himself. And when he talks about anything that has to do with the mission or why he doesn't want to take it, his voice completely lacks affect at least more so than usual." Bruce explained. "Those are symptoms of PTSD. That drawing away and being so emotionally compartmentalized are coping mechanisms so he can still function even though deep down he's probably scared to death. He really should talk to someone about. His file said he would sometimes talk to Agent Coulson but apparently not the Psyche team." He could see that Steve understood what he was talking about now, no one could miss the way Clint was closing himself off, not after he had finally come out of his shell around them.
"So what do we do to help him, should we tell Fury they can't go?" Captain asked, thinking about the welfare of his men.
"Hell no, then who is going to stop those people from coming after me?" Tony threw in but Steve ignored him.
"I don't know but I do think that we need to be supportive of whatever he and Natasha need when this is over," Banner finished and Steve nodded, leaving to beat up some punching bags. Tony on the other hand had fallen asleep with his head on the table. Doc Samson would have a field day with this team. From schitzy Natasha to bipolar Tony, they were a collection of maladjusted freaks. Some were just better at hiding it than others.
Friday April 29th, 11:09 am
Tony had mixed feelings about going to Iraq with Romanov and Barton. His feelings about letting Pepper come with him were not mixed. At least in this, he had won the fight and she remained in New York. So it was just the Avengers, minus Bruce, who thought it best he stay away from the high stress environment of a warzone, sitting in Tony's private jet. The flight was long and boring. Most of it spend watching Barton school Romanov on how to wear her Lt.'s uniform or how to salute correctly so she could pass for regular army.
What he found the most interesting, other than trying to annoy Steve, was as they were getting ready to land, she became more talkative and he became very quiet. They were also very touchy feely with each other. She rested her head on his shoulder and he held her hand. The final straw was when she reached over and grabbed his face, pulling their foreheads together, with her hand on the back of his neck. She whispered something to him in Russian that Tony didn't catch and he smiled.
They stayed that way, until the plane was done taxiing and at a standstill on the tarmac. He then heard her clearly say, "you take care of yourself, ok Clint," she rubbed her thumb against the hairline on the back of his neck.
"You too, Natashen'ka," he pressed a kiss onto her forehead, his nose buried in her hair. It was the most loving he had ever seen them around each other. It didn't last though. Less than 10 seconds later they were Agent Romanov and Agent Barton and no one would think they even knew each other.
Tony looked over at Barton and Romanov, both in their baggy fatigues. They looked strange on them both. Natasha because he was used to seeing her in skin tight clothes with her hair fluttering around her face. She looked sever and unfriendly with the tight bun and cap. Barton was equally disquieting due to the color of his clothes. Tony was used to seeing the agent in baggy tactical clothing with a bazillion pockets and other assorted things but it was usually black. Seeing him in the tan and brown desert dress was strange. Clint was much more at home than Natasha that was obvious.
They exited onto the tarmac and it felt like opening an oven door. Tony pushed his sunglasses further up his nose and felt his heart rate speed up at the sound of the adhan blaring in the background. He caught the smell of gasoline, gun oil and Baharat. Before he knew what was happening, he was struggling to breath and remember that he was safe. Rogers, Romanov, and Barton were there with him and his suit was in the case in his hand. He wasn't alone, he wasn't a prisoner, he wasn't fighting for his freedom and his life.
He felt someone slap him on the shoulder and looked over to see Barton give him an odd smile. "I know how you feel," he said then slung his duffle over his shoulder, picked up his gun cases, and led Natasha over to a tan Hummer that would take them to their base.
TBC
A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and other alerts. The support has been awesome.