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
A/N 2: Ok, so I took forever and still can't get the last scene of the story right but decided to post the first half of the last chapter. Enjoy
Into the Fire 7: – The Ashes Settle Part 1:
Monday August 14th 2:35 pm, Helicarrier
"Wow, Barton, you really got yourself banged up didn't you?" Clint knew that voice, that voice he had heard so many times in his ear for all the years he had worked at SHIELD. He didn't want to open his eyes because he must be dreaming, Squawks was dead. "How long are you planning to play possum? Romanov isn't going to play nice with you forever. I give her another 3 seconds before she resorts to squeezing your nose shut and won't that hurt like a son of bitch?"
He opened his eyes and stared at Tasha. She was on her knees beside the couch he was sleeping on. He looked behind her and swore he saw Coulson standing there, the right side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk and his eyes shining with mirth. "You're dead," he mumbled and it made his whole fucking face hurt.
"I'm not dead, Clint, I'm right here," Natasha whispered to him and he closed his eyes. He wanted to go back to sleep.
"I'm not dead either, or maybe I am. Or perhaps I'm just a psychological defense mechanism gone horribly wrong from massive Halcion consumption. It wouldn't be the first time that shit has made you hallucinate. Remember when we came back from the Ivory Coast and you took some then freaked out on the plane? I had to tie you down and you kept getting out of every fucking knot I tied," he smiled full on, crinkling the skin at the sides of his eyes.
"That was from meningitis. I had a 105 degree fever and thought there were giant cockroaches that looked like marshmallows eating out my insides," he mumbled.
"Was that before or after your insides ended up all over my tie and lap?" Squawks joked with him. He didn't quite clearly remember it but apparently he had tossed his cookies all over his handler, repeatedly.
"Who the hell is he talking to?" he heard Stark ask. Oh yeah, that's right Squawks was dead not waiting on the tarmac for him.
"Don't worry about it," Nat answered for him. "I gave him Halcion so he would sleep. Sometimes it makes him see things that aren't there." He stood up and staggered after her and nearly busted his ass, if Steve hadn't caught him on the way down the stairs. "And makes him slightly uncoordinated."
"What do you want to bet that there is a 50/50 shot you die on the table from a drug overdose because your partner gave you almost double the dose she should have?" Coulson asked him as he walked beside them towards the infirmary.
"I don't want to bet against you, you always win," he couldn't stop himself from saying. It was true, Phil won nearly ever bet they had ever made that was based on chance. Now when it came to bets on skill, Clint could pwn him but luck was always on Coulson's side until Loki.
"Yeah you're right, and dying that way would be too easy, wouldn't it? I mean you deserve something worse than that, like having your insides eaten out by giant cockroaches that look like marshmallows," his old handler made wiggly fingers at him. "How exactly do cockroaches look like marshmallows or vice a versa? I mean they really look nothing alike unless they are Peep cockroaches. Oh well, once they are done patching you up, let's go watch a Biggest Loser marathon. Nothing cheers you up watching fat people caper," Phil used to always say shit like that to him, when he was wounded, offer him stupid things to do so they could hang out and Squawks could keep an eye on him. He missed it so fucking much it wasn't even funny.
"That's you," he could tell he was slurring but was helpless to stop himself. "You are the one that likes reality TV. I like cartoons." Phil just winked and walked beside him as he made his way into medical. It was beyond comforting to think his handler was beside him, like having your mother hold your hand at the dentist, your favorite dog at the end of your bed to keep away nightmares, or the weight of your favorite firearm during a fight. It felt safe and fuck he needed that. Even though he had risked his life on Coulson's say so, he had never felt out of control or left adrift. He had never felt like a pawn, being moved around to win a game. Now with Hill has his handler, half the time he felt like he was in freefall with no parachute.
The rest of the Avengers followed, he thought, but it was hard to tell with his eyes mostly swelled shut. He leaned against a wall to keep himself upright and let his eyes drift shut. When he opened them again, Coulson was still there. "Why are you still here?" he asked, without even meaning to. Fuck he hated being drugged.
"I don't know, you tell me," he cracked open a peanut shell and ate the peanut. Squawks had always loved peanuts. His command centers would always have cups filled with peanut shells after missions. The smell always reminded Clint of the circus.
He thought about it for a while but couldn't come up with an answer. "I don't know either, at least you aren't Loki."
"Why would you think I would be Loki?" Phil asked him, then pulled a chair over to him and kicked back pretending to write on a pad and doing his Sigmund Freud impersonation. "Have you been hallucinating about Loki lately, has this little incident brought up your guilt feelings over sending me for a dirt nap?" He tapped his pen against his lip. Where the fuck had he gotten a pen from?
"Stay out of my head, Squawks," he grumbled, realizing how ridiculous a statement it was considering that Coulson was all in his head. Squawks had always been in his head, ever since the first time he had looked at him and told him it would be ok. But in Clint's defense, Phil did have a masters in clinical psychology and was even better at manipulating people than Natasha.
"Why do think that I am just a hallucination, by the way?" Phil asked him, as he settled on the floor beside him. Clint was pretty sure the doctor or maybe Tasha told him he was supposed to stay on his feet and now he was sitting down on the floor and didn't really remember getting that way. 'How do you know I'm not a ghost? I mean if demi gods that can cast spells and throw lightening around exist, why can't ghosts? I know you believe in them, ever since you were a little boy and had a run in with that weird Winchester kid and his scary father at that orphanage. What was his name again?"
"Dean, I don't know that dad's name," he answered for some reason, " and if you were a ghost, why would you come see me?" He countered and leaned his head over. He could swear he felt Squawks's shoulder under him. He missed Phil so much sometimes it was almost physically painful. Squawks would understand how he felt right now and not look down his nose at him, not like Rhodes and Stark and Rogers, he mentally sighed. Nor would he assume that Clint was being weak or inappropriately attached to a co worker, like Natasha and Hill might. They didn't understand the bonds of brotherhood forged in combat.
"Who the hell else would I haunt? I didn't have a wife or a significant other like you," he teased.
"I'm not married," Clint corrected the old joke between them. Squawks always said he was Natasha's wife.
"Semantics. I also have no kids and I wouldn't want to torture my family by showing up there. Short of eaves dropping in Fury's office, which only you happen to find enjoyable, where else am I going to go? So maybe I came by to visit my little brother," Clint thought about that for a bit, trying to poke holes in the theory but frankly he was too damn drugged up to come up with a coherent response and he was pretty sure he was drooling. "But more importantly, how do you know I'm not actually alive and here?" That perked him up a bit. "Come on, all the times you have been hurt, have I ever not shown up, have I ever not been there when you needed me and don't you dare say Loki because I pushed Fury to assemble the fucking Avengers to help find you. Maybe I just badgered Fury so much that he finally let me out of hiding to check on you." Christ he wished that was true.
"That's not true," he mumbled.
"Why can't it be true?"
"I saw your body. I checked your left hand and you had the scar you got in Egypt going through that window," he explained. He had hoped when he heard about Squawks that it was a joke or that they were wrong but the scar was the same. His best friend was dead. "It matched mine exactly," he looked down at his hands and wondered why his right one was covered. His scar matched Phil's because he had jumped out of the window after his unconscious handler and caught him by his hand that happened to have a giant piece of glass sticking out of it. He had had to pull the glass out to let go. After which they both had to go through multiple HIV and Hepatitis test and both had nearly identical but perpendicular scars on their hands.
"And you can't fake a scar? You honestly trust Hill and Fury to tell you the truth? You think for one second that they wouldn't hide me to manipulate Stark and Rogers not caring what it might do to you and Natasha? Of course he would, they don't care about you as anything other than an asset? Come on, they sent you to kill Gator. Fury and Hill knew he was there and knew he was a suspect but they didn't pull you. They didn't even give you the common courtesy of capturing him and having someone else do it. They made you slaughter your friend," Coulson explained, "just like Loki did."
"I know they would but you wouldn't," he mumbled. Coulson never would have made him kill Gator. He would have insisted on going with them and sent Clint off somewhere and quietly shot Singer in the back of the head, no fuss, no muss. Gator never would have even seen him coming. "You wouldn't lie to me, Squawks," he knew he was right even as he hated that he was. He would give anything for Phil to still be alive. He would take his place and lie down in that coffin himself to have Coulson back because Phil could do so much good and all Clint could do was kill. "You wouldn't have let them hurt your family or me and Tasha like that. You got me out of that hell, you wouldn't let them throw me back in. You wouldn't have let them send me, not for this job" he closed his eyes and wanted to cry.
"Then I am all in your head, which brings us back to the question, why am I here?" Clint opened his eyes and saw Phil's guts hanging out and his throat slit from ear to ear. He immediately snapped his eyes shut again.
"I don't know," he almost whimpered and realized he was on a gurney and didn't remember moving onto it.
"You must know, you brought me here," Phil stood behind the masked doctors and nurses, bouncing a ball off the wall. The medical staff was stabbing him with needles and shining lights in his eyes making him want to sneeze.
"I don't know," he whispered as they put the mask over his face.
"Oh you are no fun. I was hoping to find out if you brought me here as a coping mechanism because you associate me with safety and acceptance or if I was a tool for self flagellation because I'm another person you professed friendship to then killed," he turned around and smiled. There was blood on his teeth.
Monday August 14th 7:03 pm, Helicarrier
Consciousness was slow to return and Clint had no desire to rush it. He could tell without even opening his eyes that he was in a private recovery room in the Helicarrier's medical section. They always gave the field agents private rooms. It was just safer that way. He had woken up here enough times to recognize it by the feel of the linens alone, even without registering the pulse ox monitor on his finger. For the briefest of moments he thought he felt Squawks's feet propped up on the end of his bed. He could just imagine if he opened his eyes, he would see his former handler stretched out in a chair beside him, tie loosened, shiny black shoes resting by the foot board, and his chair positioned between the bed and door so he could protect his downed solider. That was what he always found, when he woke up but he wouldn't this time. It made him want to go back to sleep and never wake up.
He tried, he really did, but his mouth was cottony dry, his brains felt scrambled, and his head was spinning making him nauseous. Fuck he hated pain killer and going under anesthetic. He always puked when he woke up. Shit, he was drooling again. He finally cracked his eyes opened to see how far away the pale, pasticky smelling basin was and whether he should try to grab it with his bandaged hand or the one with his finger clip and the IV. His eyes finally focused on his partner, who was curled up in the chair beside him, doodling something on a digital tablet. She was wearing jeans, flats, and his tactical jacket. Why did she always take his jacket? She had on no makeup and her hair was damp, with just the ends starting to curl. Goddamn, she was beautiful like this.
She looked at him, knowing that he was watching her, and smiled. She looked a bit tired but not too bad. She must have taken a nap while he was out. He wondered how long he had been out. She leaned forward and touched his bicep, "you want water or a bucket?" She knew him too damn well sometimes.
"Bucket," he whispered and promptly threw up, when she handed it to him. It didn't take long, he had almost nothing in his stomach. All the while, Tasha sat watching him with a critical eye. She took the basin and handed him some water when he was done and he sank down and bent his knees, examining his bandaged hands. It was braced, not casted and there were drains sticking out of it, gross. She came back as he was looking at it. "How bad is it?"
"You broke 3 knuckles and two larger bones, complete with a compound fracture of your 4th metacarpal bone. The docs pinned them back together and said it should take about 6 weeks before you can shoot or use your bow. Oh and your nose is broken," she folded herself back onto her chair, one foot tucked under her and the other leg pulled up to her chest.
"Ah," he put his hand down and closed his eyes. His stomach was churning from 3 sips of water. He was not going to puke again, he was not going to puke again, he was not going to puke again!
"Are you alright?" she asked, with an annoyingly knowing look on her face.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he ground out and swallowed some more water.
"You sure?" she smirked at him.
"I'm sure," he was not going to puke again, he was not going to puke again, he was not going to puke again!
"They told me to try and get you to eat something once you woke up. I brought you this," she opened up a SHIELD issued glucose and electrolyte replacement gel, green flavored. On the best of days, he gagged when he smelled those things and now was not the best of days.
"I hate you," he groaned and gagged into the basin she handed him.
"I know," she patted his back and sucked down the horrid, greenish yellow gel. He had no idea how she could stand them. He would rather drink elephant semen then those things. He retched again and decided not to think about vomit inducing green sludge or Pachyderm ejaculates.
When he was done he felt mostly better but very cranky. "So when does Fury expect me to report to him?"
"I suspect he'll be willing to wait until you aren't impersonating a camel trying to regurgitate his stomach," she joked with him and held up the tablet she had been reading to show him a badly drawn picture of a flower. He couldn't help his lips from turning up. Ever since the first time she had gotten hurt working for SHIELD, they always gave each other pictures of flowers because there was no florist on the helicarrier. She was usually a much better artist though. This one had clearly been drawn in one of those aps where you used your finger to draw.
"When can I get out of here?"
"Docs said you could leave as soon as you could get up and walk out but you have to come back 3 times a day to get the bandages changed and the drains removed tomorrow," she explained as she handed him some clothes. They were sweat so they shouldn't be too hard to put on one handed. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed and the room went into a tailspin causing him to start repeating, he was not going to puke again, he was not going to puke again, he was not going to puke again! "You know, you could just stay here and relax a while longer. It isn't like your bunk is that much more comfortable than this one," she suggested from in front of him.
"No, I want to go back to my room so I can puke in my own toilet," he joked as he felt her remove his IV for him. He was glad because it was in his left arm and his right hand was useless.
"Cry baby," she teased him as she helped him pull a hoody over his bandaged hand. He was so thankful she opted for one with a zipper rather than a pull over. His nose hurt like a son of a bitch and he didn't want anything to touch it.
"Am not," he teased right back, finally feeling steady enough to open his eyes and not start dry heaving.
"Are too, you were talking to Phil while you were out of it. Your version of wanting your mommy, I guess. It was sort of cute."
"Fuck you," he snapped half heartedly and she stuck her tongue out at him. This banter was so normal for them it made him feel better than almost anything. She held her hand out to him once he was dressed. He had two immediate thoughts once he was upright. First was how glad he was to be leaving medical the other was how very much he wanted to throw up again. He was not going to puke again, he was not going to puke again, he was not going to puke again!
They shuffled back to his room and he kicked off his shoes and collapsed in bed. Luckily once lying down he didn't feel like retching anymore but his hand and face were aching. Tasha sank down beside him, proffering a pre-opened Sprite and a tube of saltines. "White trash penicillin," she smiled at him and he tried to smile back but instead put them on the night stand. He wasn't ready for food yet. She took his good hand and slid down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. He tipped his head over so he could rub his cheek against her hair and ran his thumb over her knuckles. It was the only thing he could do that didn't hurt. She sighed, "Fury wants me back in New York tomorrow. Something about not wanting to give the Avengers time to stew."
"Oh," he didn't know what to say. She had to do what Fury asked but he really wanted her to stay with him at least for a little while. For once in his life, he didn't want to be alone.
"He wanted me to leave with them earlier today but I wouldn't until you woke up," she tilted her face up and kissed his jaw. "I had to make sure you were alright and I didn't trust Hill to do it." The fluttery feeling in his stomach was most certainly nausea and not some emotion that didn't exist for assassins like them. "He said I could spend the night and head out tomorrow morning," she sat up and pulled her shirt off, stripping down to a tank top and her underwear.
"I wish I was up to giving you a better night," he joked, ridiculously glad she was going to stay with him. He didn't know why he was being so clingy but he just wanted someone he could hide his face against and not deal with the world. He didn't need forever, just a few hours, just long enough to get his head on straight again. Squawks used to let him do it all the time, though not literally like he probably would with Tasha. Ok, maybe he had done it once but in his defense he had had meningitis and even the slightest bit of light felt like a laser frying his brain and maybe he had hidden his face against Squawks's leg. But generally, Coulson used to drag him back to his quarters and Clint would sit on his couch; because he had enough space for a bedroom, a bathroom, and a sitting area; and keep him distracted and safe away from everyone until he could work through whatever shit the mission had thrown at him. It hadn't mattered if it was because he was sick, hurt, or had nearly gotten gang raped because Fury wouldn't let him blow his cover. Phil's couch had been like a little island where reality didn't exist.
"You can pay me back with interest when you're feeling better," she pulled the covers over both of them. "But right now we both need to get some sleep that isn't drug induced." She wrapped her arms around him and he knew she was trying to get him to relax and he would have kissed her for it, if moving his face wasn't one of the last things he wanted to do.
He settled for whispering in Russian, "thanks Natashen'ka, I don't know what I would do without you."
Tuesday August 15th 4:22 pm – Stark Tower New York City, USA
Natasha threw her bags down on the floor just inside of the bedroom and flopped herself onto the bed. Tony or actually she suspected Pepper, had designed her rooms to be elegant, opulent, and utterly luxurious. She tended to never go in there and always stayed in Clint's dim, grey room. Hawkeye's room was an oddity in the tower in that its owner couldn't care less about it. Clint had given Tony carte blanch to do whatever he wanted for his room and Stark and Pepper had started out with an ultra modern 50s inspired design, which Clint had seemed ambivalent about. Tony had read his lack of enthusiasm as dislike and went back to the drawing board and tried a soft, warm Moroccan feel with thick Persian rugs and deep reds and golds. Natasha had shot that one down before they even showed it Clint. Even though Barton had spent his entire adult life in the military and seemed to have no design taste when it came to interior decorating, she suspected he wouldn't want to be reminded of the Middle East. Finally Pepper had asked for her advice.
She had been stumped at first. In all the years she had known him she didn't remember him ever saying he liked one style over another. She knew he was mostly color blind so he didn't have a favorite color and that he had never lived in his own space before so had no preference on thickness of beds or pillows. It had been a challenge to say the least and after two days of heavy thought on the matter, she gave up and told them to paint everything grey because that was how it was going to look to him anyway, buy grey linens, grey tiles in the bathroom, and grey flooring. Why waste time on it if he wasn't going to care one way or another. The one thing she had been adamant about, regardless of how much Pepper and the designers complained, was that the lighting be very dim. She knew Clint and she knew he preferred dark and quiet, like the crazy hermit he would be if not for SHIELD. She sometimes suspected that if it weren't for his job, he would live in a cave on top of a mountain and never talk to another living soul.
So while there were lights, you had to specifically ask Jarvis to turn on anything brighter than 40 watts. It had taken her a while to get used to his twilight world but now she found it rather soothing. She strolled into the bathroom and admired her one concession to luxury. She had had them give him a bathtub, which he never used. He didn't soak in baths unless she was with him and if she was with him, they went into the giant tub in her room with the jets. But she had asked that they give him a huge shower with multiple heads and jets, steam, and a bench to make fucking in the shower more comfortable. Or at least more comfortable than Clint's tiny shower back on the helicarrier. Too many years of being forced to hide their relationship made the shower the obvious place for sex. Now she tended to get horny whenever she set foot in one. Operant conditioning at its finest.
She smiled as she turned on the water and shucked out of her clothes but once she stepped under the warm spray, she sighed. She didn't really want to deal with the other Avengers and she had most certainly not wanted to leave Clint alone. He had been awake and walked her out to the plane and waved at her as he flew away but she could tell he didn't want her to go any more than she had. It hadn't helped they had not had a real conversation since those kids had died. They had been too busy with the mission then he was a wreck on the plane. After they landed he was completely out of it and she did not appreciate the dressing down she had gotten from the doctors about giving him sleeping pills when wounded and before surgery. Then after surgery he had been too nauseas for a heart to heart but then again he always was after surgery. One of these days you think the docs would find a way to do something about it. The most coherent talk she had had with him at been at 2am, when she had to help him open his crackers because he was hungry.
She tipped her head back under the spray and reached for her favorite shampoo, glad to have her sulfate free products back. Her, not quite completely natural, red hair was fading from the harsh products the Army carried. Though glad to be back in the lap of luxury at Stark Tower she was not glad at the prospect of facing the Avengers. Thor was off visiting Jane so at least she didn't have to deal with him and Morse had the decency to scurry back to her slut hole when Natasha showed up. God she hated that woman. Just thinking about Mockingbird made her want to put her fist through someone's torso.
But thinking about that bleached, blonde (she did not believe Clint for one minute that she was a natural blonde at least not that light) tramp was better than thinking about the way Steve avoided eye contact with her through the entire flight or the way Rhodes had fumed at the deception. Worst of all, the way Tony glared with undisguised anger at the way they had finished everyone off. She could understand their issues. Steve was disappointed in them. He didn't understand their methods and didn't understand lives. She took Clint's orders to show him in hopes he would realize that Hawkeye hadn't had a choice in the matter. Rhodes was just annoyed because he felt out of control. Well welcome to working with SHIELD. He was either going to have to learn to deal with lies and deceptions or get the hell out of Dodge. But Tony, Tony was the wild card. She wasn't sure if he was mad at them for lying like Rhodes, for killing like Steve, or for something else. In fact she wasn't even sure it was them and not himself he was mad at.
She dried her self off and combed her hair, slipping into a pair of yoga pants and one of Clint's Henley's. It was freshly laundered so it didn't smell like him. He never could understand why she sometimes pulled his clothes out of the hamper and wore them after him but then again he was a guy. She still remembered her utter embarrassment the first time Tony had caught her doing it and Tony's horror when Pepper shut him up by admitting she did it too. But it was soft and comfy and reminded her of her partner so it would have to do.
She put a few things away then stood at a loss as to what to do, a very uncommon state for her, when there was a knock at the door. She thought about ignoring it, begging off with being too tired for visitors but Black Widow did not back down from a challenge and if any of these so called super heroes wanted to challenge her she would knock them on their asses. She was spoiling for a fight, when she yanked the door open and came face to face with Bruce, the one Avenger she did not want to pick a fight with. He stood smiling at her and balancing 2 bowls of ice cream and she couldn't help smiling back at him. He was the only one here other than Pepper that shared her sweet tooth.
"Can I come in?" he asked and she waved him into the sitting room. Clint's rooms were the smallest but were the highest up. The only floor above him was for machinery and solar panels. He put the bowls down and looked at her, "am I allowed a hug?" she smiled and grabbed him in a big bear hug that he gently returned. Once they were settled with cookies and cream ice cream on Barton's completely no nonsense (she knew he would have used throw pillows for target practice), low, grey couches; Bruce asked her, "so are you alright? I heard Agent Barton was hurt but no one could tell me anything else."
"I'm fine, not a hair out of place. The worst that I went through was UV damage from the sun," she smiled at him relaxing slightly.
"What about Hawkeye, the way Steve described it he seemed like he got hurt pretty bad and he was acting erratic so I was worried he might have had a head injury," that actually made her giggle.
"He has a broken nose and a few broken bones in his hand. It will be a good lesson for him not to punch metal things," she joked. "And he didn't have a head wound. I made him take sleeping pills on the flight back to the helicarrier and he was still REALLY out of it when we landed. He kept talking to an imaginary Phil Coulson and fell asleep on Steve's shoulder. So I would definitely say he was acting erratic but it wasn't dangerous to anything but his pride," they both had a chuckle
"Steve and Tony have both filled me on what happened over there," he looked away. "It sounded horrible. I just can't believe Hawkeye would do those things?" She immediately got angry, figuring that he was going to judge her partner like the rest of them. She took a breath to kick him out of their room, when he continued, "I mean that poor guy. It must be tearing him apart that he had to kill so many people."
She immediately calmed down. "He'll be alright," she answered, not sure how much Clint would want Bruce to know.
"But how can he be, I mean really be, after something like that? Please tell me he is going to talk to someone about it," he asked.
"He'll have mandatory psych evals starting today or tomorrow, depending on what the docs say," she shrugged.
"Mandatory psych evals don't sound like the type of place Clint Barton would willingly talk about how he is handling this," he smiled. He was right about that.
"No he won't but he'll be fine."
Bruce, chewed on his lip then offered, "I have a friend, Dr Samson, he's a psychiatrist and he's helped me out a lot. Agent Barton could talk to him, away from SHIELD."
"I'll let him know, but it isn't like this is his first trip to hell and back. He just needs some rest and he'll be good in no time," she defended, feeling the familiar twist of jealousy in her gut.
"If you say so," he ate a spoonful of ice cream then continued, "I just can't imagine how you deal with something like killing children or your friend."
"He'll deal with it because he doesn't have a choice in the matter. Either he gets over it or he swallows a bullet, either way it's done," she explained rather coolly. She knew Bruce just wouldn't understand any more than Tony or Steve had. This whole thing had sucked and had been preventable but it wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened and Clint was a professional. He just needed some time and some space and he would get his equilibrium back.
"If that's the case then what's bothering you?" he had finished his ice cream and set the bowl aside. His eyes were warm and such a pretty shade of brown. Tasha actually preferred brown eyes generally, they always seemed friendlier than icy blue.
She sighed and played with the remainder of her ice cream, weighing what to say next. Bruce was her default confidant if Clint wasn't around. It actually sort of made her laugh that the one and only time in her relationship with Barton that he had ever gotten jealous had been when he had seen her laughing with Steve. He hadn't said anything about it, just stewed on it for a while then decided that it bothered him too much so he avoided both of them for 2 weeks. She only eventually found out what the problem was because they had gotten into a knock down drag out fight over her trying to get him to talk, that had resulted in her having 3 broken fingers and a sprained wrist and he had a black eye and some very sore privates. Anyway, she had explained to him that she wasn't attracted to Steve at all and hadn't even considered him as anything more than a squad leader and didn't plan to. She had never bothered to tell Clint that if she was in danger of falling for anyone, it would be Bruce because he was just so comforting. Not that she would ever think of straying from Clint for Banner. Looks were sexy, brains were sexier, but being able and willing to crush a man's windpipe your bare hands was drop dead sexy.
"I'm actually more worried about how Rogers and Stark are handling it," she finally admitted as she pulled her knees up to her chest, dessert forgotten. "It's taken so long for Clint to warm up to you guys and the way they looked at us afterwards," she trailed off. "Clint won't say anything, he'll follow orders if Fury orders him to serve here and he'll stay if he thinks it makes me happy. But I know it's going to hurt him that your opinion of him has sunk so low, especially Steve."
"Maybe because I wasn't there, and just heard second hand what happened, my opinion of him hasn't changed. I still suspect that he is a quiet, slightly strange guy that is like a walking trope for the creepy sniper," she smiled at that because he totally was. "I think that he is probably one snide comment from Tony away from going completely postal on everyone at any given time and that he's a really good person to talk to because he never disagrees with you because he usually won't open his mouth," he smiled and she returned it. If only Bruce knew how many times he had been in Hawkeye's presence and never noticed. Stark was her asset, Rogers was Coulson's, and Banner was Clint's. She hadn't been lying when she said SHIELD had kept people off his trail for him, usually with an arrow in the neck or a high caliber, ceramic rifle round to the head, and occasionally a garrote around the throat.
"I know he hasn't changed but rather their view on him has changed. I won't lie, it was a dirty mission and Hill never should have sent him knowing his unit was there. Coulson never would have done that to him," she had to purposely relax her fist. Fury had been smarter than he looked by keeping the two women separated after the mission because she had right hook that was anxious to meet Hill's jaw. "And he did have to kill civilians to cover his tracks, which is never pretty. He also had to trick one of his oldest friends into walking into a death trap because he was ordered to leave no witness and no evidence of the operation. Shit like that was why we didn't want this mission in the first place and why we keep you guys so far away from our normal work at SHIELD.
"I'm not a fool, I know what you guys think of us. I'm a heartless psycho and he's a brainless and possibly soulless sniper but," she wasn't sure why it bothered her so much that the others thought of them that way. It never bothered her before but on the plane was the first time she had seen distrust in Steve's eyes and it was like a harpoon to the chest. "But we haven't changed, we just finally let you see who we really are." Bruce gave her a sympathetic smile.
"No one is entirely good or bad, Natasha, everyone has things about that make them a bad person occasionally. Tony can be annoying and nosey. I can be flighty. Steve can be judgmental and occasionally sanctimonious," he explained.
"And what about me and Clint?" she wasn't sure why she asked, maybe a form a self punishment.
"Well Clint can be a little sinister sometimes. I mean the fact that he has a jar of human teeth he's taken off his kills as trophies borders a bit on serial killerish." He had a point on that one. She always found that habit a bit weird and slightly disturbing. "And you claim not to love him, yet refuse to let anyone else get close to him like an overly controlling lover. You treat him like your husband yet sleep around on him in a rather hurtful manner," he smiled to lessen the blow. She nearly defended herself that she only did that when she was ordered. She hadn't taken a man outside of work to bed, since she met Clint.
"But that doesn't mean that Tony isn't really funny and Steve isn't the most trustworthy person the planet. It also doesn't mean that you aren't a good friend or that Clint isn't a thoughtful guy." She noticed he didn't give himself any good points.
"I know. I'm just pissed off at the way Tony and Steve acted. It wasn't like either of us planned for things to go down this way and we wouldn't have wanted it to be different if we could or keep them out of it if possible but they barged their way in and got a dose of reality." He patted her hand sympathetically. "What has their mood been like, since they got back?" She asked. Pity hour was over, now it was time to plan her attack.
"Well," Bruce started, scratching his head, "Pepper, before she left to go to Malibu, had been a bit hazy. I caught her staring at nothing and on the verge of tears more often than not. I heard her and Tony having a pretty bad argument before she left. I don't think he wanted her to go but I don't think she felt like she could stay. Rhodes has been angry at everything. If you say 'hi' to him, he bites your head off. I believe he's heading back to Washington this afternoon. Steve has spent more time boxing then he has sleeping. He's actually the only one that would really talk to me," he paused, then decided to continue. "He's mad, though. He said Barton was a murder and he didn't want him back on the team. He wanted me and Tony to back him when he went to Fury. I told him I wouldn't make a decision until I heard your side of it," he explained. "Steve also said that he didn't deserve or want the title of Captain anymore, now that he saw how Captains act. Whatever happened there really shook his faith in you guys."
"Yeah, I'm not surprised it did," she sighed, then added at a snap, "but to be fair, you guys not backing us when we said we didn't want to take the mission shook our trust in all of you." Natasha calmed herself then continued, "I knew, we both knew, this mission was shit from the beginning. When I saw where he would be going and what he would be doing, I knew it was a bad idea but you guys just thought about Tony. It was all about protecting Tony and Tony's weapons, regardless of the fact it was going to turn Clint inside out," she fumed. "And now you guys act like we're Satan because it did get just as dirty and ugly as we said it would," she stood and started to pace. Maybe she needed a little more time to vent. "None of you sided with us when we said we didn't want to go, in fact you made us, him especially, feel like he was being selfish because he didn't want to torture himself. And now that it's said and done, you turn your back on us for being forced to cleaning up Stark's mess."
"Natasha," he held his hand out to her, "I'm not turning my back on you. I would never do that, not after the way you guys accepted me," she ignored his hand but sat down, his earnestness finally deflating her anger. "I'm sure if any of us had known how bad this would end up, we would have agreed not to send you and Clint."
"I tried to tell you, I tried," she trailed off. Living with what ifs had never been her style.
Bruce tucked one of us feet under him and turned to face her. He played with his fingers as he talked, a sure sign he was nervous. "You know in a way, you and Clint are far more super heroes than any of us," he looked up for a moment then continued. "I mean, think about it, Thor is a God, Steve is almost indestructible, I am indestructible, and Tony is very well protected in his suit. But you two, we never worry about you two coming home because I've seen you drop the Captain on his butt and seen Barton take me down. I guess it never occurred to any of us that there was something out there that you two couldn't handle, even after you told us. And for that, I am sorry," he finally met her eyes and she finally took his offered hand.
She slowly started to fill Bruce in on all the ugly detailed she had left out before and realized that she still hadn't gotten any info on how Stark was taking it.
Tuesday August 15th 9:35 am, Helicarrier
Clint stood on the tarmac and squinted after Tasha's plane, as it disappear into the cloud cover. They were flying low enough that you could walk around outside without masks but it was damn cold. He turned and walked back into the belly of ship and tried to decide if he wanted to chance the mess hall. Nat had marched him to Medical first thing in the morning to have the drains taken out of his hand, not that he blamed her, having pastel colored fluid leaking out of tubes stuck under your skin was kind of gross. The docs had forced him to take some pain meds, though he only took half of what they gave him. Right now he was almost hungry enough to eat SHIELD issue glucose and electrolyte replacement gel, flavored green, almost. But then again his pain meds were probably going to have him doing the Technicolor yawn in a few hours. He turned left and headed further down towards some chow. Puking was better than dry heaving, anyway.
He ducked in and grabbed a bowl of oat meal and a banana. Not his preferred breakfast but his face hurt like a mother fucker and he was not enthused about the prospect of chewing. Besides he hadn't really eaten more than a few crackers since before they left for the assault and he should probably have something bland. He forced himself to eat at a reasonable pace rather than shoveling it down like he hadn't eaten in 38 hours.
He was contemplating how best to get his banana open with only one hand, when Fury and Hill slipped into the seats across from him, sipping coffee and staring at him. He ignored them both and concentrated on the fruit. Maybe if he held it in the crook of his arm he could get it opened, if not maybe his teeth. Fury sighed, set his mug down, and reached across the table and took his banana, peeling it with ease.
"I was getting embarrassed watching you try and figure out how to open it," Fury explained. "And I damn well know you would have resorted to C-4 before you asked for help."
"Thank you, sir" he mumbled and started eating. They started a staring match that he damn well knew he would win. One of his few positive claims to fame at SHEILD was that he could make Fury crack. It actually wasn't that hard, just stare at him and don't say anything for awhile and Fury spilled first. Most people got too bored but then again Clint had raised patience to an art form. Hill he pretended wasn't there. Right now she was not top on his list of people he wanted to deal with. She had sent him into an emotional meat grinder and had no remorse about it. He didn't know whether he should hate her or be impressed.
"I wanted to personally check on you, after the mission. I know it was long and hard, Barton," he sighed and dropped his eyes. Hill fidgeted uncomfortably. Ok maybe she hadn't known how bad it would be or did feel guilty. Frankly he didn't bother trying to guess, he couldn't stand the woman. They hadn't gotten along very well since she referred to him as, "a police dog with thumbs" and he spent the next 4 months answering her by barking.
"I'm alright, sir," he automatically answered not entirely sure if he was alright or not. He was still in that blissfully numb stage of denial that anything had actually happened. He didn't kill six kids or his first partner that was all a bad dream.
"Medical said you won't be cleared for duty for at least 6 weeks, maybe longer depending on how your hand heals. Until then you are off duty," Fury continued. Well duh how much use was a sniper with his eyes half swollen shut and no hand to pull the trigger? "While off duty, you have mandatory psyche evals for every day for a week and weekly for the next 2 months." Ah fuck, he hated dealing with the psyche team. He kept his mouth shut though, Fury seemed to expect him to say something. "You can go back to Stark Tower, whenever you would like."
"I would rather stay on base, sir. I don't think I'm Stark or Roger's favorite person right now," he answered truthfully.
"I suspect you might be right," he sipped his coffee and watched Clint for any reaction. Barton gave him nothing, not because he was intentionally being annoying, at least not this time, but because he didn't know how he felt about it or even if he felt anything about it.
Fury rose to leave, Hill joining him, when Clint finally cracked, "where's Gator, sir?" he wanted to say goodbye to his friend now that he wasn't a Target anymore. Or maybe he wanted to punish himself, or maybe he needed closure, or maybe he needed to talk to his imaginary Squawks to help him figure out why.
"His body was sent back to Ft. Bragg for processing," Fury looked away.
Without thinking he asked, "I would like permission to go to Bragg and escort his body home, sir."
"Of course not," Hill, his technical commanding officer, answered immediately but he kept his eyes on Fury.
"Is this a guilt thing, Agent Barton?" Fury seemed to stress the 'Agent,' reminding him that he currently was on loan to SHIELD and did not belong to JSOC.
"No, sir," he caught Fury's gaze again. "It's a respect thing. He was a unit brother and I've known his wife and kid for years. Someone they know and trust should tell them before a nameless Chaplin shows up." He really wasn't sure why he was going to put himself through this. Telling Squawks's family he was dead had nearly dissolved him into a puddle of insanity. Telling Lisa and Evie that Gator was gone and oh, by the way, I slit his throat so deep you can't have an open casket and ah you'll get a stipend but no flag, no burial in Arlington, and no support because the Army will disavow his existence. He had always thought it was very selfish to have a family and do the work that they did.
Fury looked like he would say no, just as Hill had, but the Director had served and understood the bonds of brotherhood in a way she couldn't. "Ok, I'll give you one day but we'll be gone by then so you'll have to stay at the SHEILD base in New York."
"Thank you, sir," he rose as well to go get his Class As and jump boots ready. He wouldn't wear his SHIELD uniform this time. Gator had been his spotter, when he was pure army, and he would say good bye to him the same way.
TBC