Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"
Thanks to those who reviewed Chapter Four: JRBarton, Viviannafox, Sandy-wmd, tpt player 5701, phoenixqueen, Batghost, BatmanOtaku, VioletBrock, shanynde, CyanB, Maire Caitroina, kimbee, ladybug114, thababes, awkward hawk, Kylen, discordchick, sv4me, horselover28, R1dDL3M37h15, Guest, penguincrazy, DBhawkguy30, bookworm1517, Noweia, Kait-WIN3, Anon, Reteka Hyuuga, weemcg33, Melissa, Butterflie08, Eringo94, JennyBunny65, The Musings of a Muse, Lollypops101, GremlinX, rose, ch33tahp4w, Aurora Abbot, patty cake rocks, TheNaggingCube, jaguarspot, Brandi Golightly, Guest, jojof, lunarweather, Squirrel the Man, silvershadowrebel, Shazrolane, Silfvarg, Sara, coastalcajun, DanicaRem, crazykids121, RhiannonWhite18, chibi-ringo, YukinaKid, Mirabilem Electo, scottie12524, and Guest
To horselover28 and guest: YES - that was TOTALLY a Dean Winchester quote - on of my favorites from him in Supernatural cuz its just so...DEAN :D So yes, I borrowed it for Clint because it fit him too and I couldn't resist the shout-out to one of my favorite shows - Supernatural.
To Anon: I'm totally looking forward to watching Agents of SHIELD tonight :) but I am NOT going to give away Phil's ultimate fate in my universe at this time :) sorry!
Shout out to those who got the song this time around: bookworm1517, Noweia, The Musings of a Muse, and DanicaRem
Sorry Shazrolane, that's not the song :) keep guessing! Anyone that wants to guess the song, just leave your guess in your review :)
Thank you to Kylen for being my friend, my fellow author, and my beta :)
She is Dan's voice in ALL of this chapter and her friend Nonyvole collaborated with her on the medical stuff. She's also the one that placed the bullet wounds on Phil. :)
And finally, can I just say, I found this fact quite amusing. When I shoot Clint or harm him in some way, readers are all "Poor Clint!"...now I shoot PHIL...and readers are STILL all "Poor Clint!" lol :) I guess Clint IS what this universe is all about though, so that's fine with me...just thought it funny :)
This story is dedicated to Kylen
On to Chapter Five...
I think to have the skill set and the ability to physically help others in matters of life and death must be incredibly empowering.
Karlie Kloss
Natasha slammed her foot against the brakes of the jeep they'd commandeered from the motor pool. The vehicle slid forward as the tires struggled to find traction on the loose leaves of the forest floor. In the end, they ended up cockeyed on the road, but it didn't matter. The old dirt road was littered with similarly parked cars.
Natasha glared through the windshield for a moment and then flicked her eyes up to the rearview mirror. Clint was sitting with his back against the door, Phil pulled up against his chest. She forced herself to swallow past the lump in her throat as she watched Clint quietly talk to Phil, begging him to hold on.
She closed her eyes and blew out a breath. Then she turned in her seat.
"End of the line – we have to walk from here."
Clint was in motion immediately, reaching behind his back to open the door. He backed out of the jeep and for a moment just left Phil to rest on the seat. Natasha climbed out of the driver's seat and circled the vehicle to stand with him.
"Jesus Christ…" Clint breathed as they took in the chaos ahead of them.
They could see in the distance the clearing that was the actual rendezvous point. A jet was rising from it even now. But the distance between their jeep and the clearing was littered with bodies and survivors alike. People were helping other people along, some were carrying others, and a few were struggling along on their own.
"Let's go."
Natasha nudged Clint, though she kept her eyes on everyone around them – looking for anybody that would pose a threat. Clint leaned back into the car and pulled Phil out by the shoulders. A few moments later he had him in a fireman's carry once again.
"Ready?" She shifted her grip on her gun.
Clint nodded.
She led the way, keeping her pace quick and steady. Though she could hear his harsh breathing, Clint never lost a step behind her, not even with the heavy load he carried. They made it about three quarters of the way to the RV before they were forced to slow down.
Medical staff were running around, stopping people and checking the wounded. One of them headed for them and Natasha helped Clint ease Phil to the ground. The nurse leaned over the fallen agent and checked the wounds. Then she pressed her fingers to his neck and waited a few seconds.
"I'm sorry."
Without another word she used a marker to draw a large black X on Phil's forehead.
"What?" Clint nearly snarled, his own fingers going to Phil's pulse point. A moment later fire lit his eyes. "He's not dead."
The nurse moved away without responding.
"Hey!"
"Clint." Natasha put a hand on his arm to keep him from rising. He sank back down, his eyes going down to rest on Phil. Abruptly, he covered his face with his hands, staying that way for a long moment. And then he scrubbed them up into his hair. He glanced around, taking in the other wounded and finally seemed to come to a decision.
He pulled Phil up and over his shoulders for a third time and stood.
"What are you doing?"
His face was set in stone as he started forward.
"Skipping the line."
Clint shoved by a man that was holding his bullet-ridden arm to his chest and shifted his grip on Phil. This wasn't over – he wasn't just going to give up. No matter what the damn nurse marked Phil with.
His back ached from carrying too much weight for too long, his legs were starting to shake with fatigue. But he didn't stop, stepped over a groaning man that had the same black X marked on his forehead as Phil.
"Hey! Where are you going?"
Clint ignored the call and started shouldering his way through the throng of people circled around the landing zone. A hand suddenly latched onto his bicep, pulling him around. Before Clint could even react, Natasha was there, grabbing the man's hand and forcefully detaching it from Clint. Half a breath later, the man was on his back, groaning.
Clint was already moving again. He broke through the front of the crowd, scanning faces – looking for one, the only one he knew could or would help.
"HEY!"
An agent in a TAC vest moved towards him, but Clint ignored him, leaving him to Natasha. Instead, he moved closer to the line of jets in the clearing. He had to be here – somewhere. Clint passed the first jet, panic starting to rise in his chest.
Then he saw him, helping settle someone into a seat on one of the jets.
"Wilson!" Clint threw everything into his tone - all the panic, all the fear, all his own pain and exhaustion. He needed Wilson to hear that tone and just know that everything hinged on how the next few minutes played out.
He saw the moment Wilson heard the call – practically watched the tone sink in. And then the doctor was turning, practically leaping down the jet ramp and to Clint's side.
"What happened?"
Wilson helped him ease Phil off his shoulders and onto the ground. Clint sank to his knees next to his handler and hovered as the doctor felt for a pulse.
"Three hits – leg, chest, and…" Clint swallowed as he watched Wilson lean down and put his cheek next to Phil's nose and mouth, "and head."
Wilson paused, eyes settling on the black X on Phil's forehead. His eyes flicked up to meet Clint's and then shifted back down to Phil. He peeled up the makeshift bandage on Phil's head, grimacing at what he saw.
"Jenna! I need you!" Wilson didn't look up as he called, but moments later a red-headed woman was kneeling next to them. "Clear a place on the jet. He's coming with us."
Jenna looked at Wilson, then down at Phil, eyes moving unerringly to the mark on his forehead. Her gaze shifted nervously to Clint and then back to Wilson.
"But…"
Clint stiffened. But the fuck what?
Wilson's eyes shifted to him quickly.
"Barton, keep pressure on that chest wound." When Clint didn't immediately comply, Wilson's tone hardened. "Barton!"
Clint reached forward mechanically to put pressure on top of the fabric bandage. In the back of his mind he heard Natasha keeping people back – protecting his six and making sure he had the space he needed to get this done. He looked up when Wilson hissed something lowly at the nurse.
"Don't lecture me on triage protocol. I wrote the damn manual."
"There are people that need help, Doctor. People you can help."
"He's not dead." Clint snarled out, pitching his voice low and dangerous. He knew that tone struck fear into most – Wilson was one of the exceptions. It had his desired effect. The nurse shrunk back, her eyes going wide.
Clint shifted his eyes to Wilson.
"He's not dead." His tone had lost its fire. He was pleading now – begging Wilson not to give up.
He needed Wilson not to give up.
The doctor stared at him for a long moment and then nodded once.
"Follow me."
Clint pulled Phil up and prepared to shift him onto his shoulders once again.
"You can't do this!" Jenna scolded in alarm.
"What's going on?" A young agent Clint didn't recognize came towards them from one of the jets. And while Clint didn't recognize the man, he sure as hell recognized the SHIELD issued semi-auto he was carrying.
Wilson hesitated only briefly before standing and turning to face the agent.
"We're moving this man onto the next jet out. I'd appreciate it if you helped me clear a path."
The agent's eyes shifted from Wilson to Phil – hovering on that damn mark – then back to Wilson.
"Nobody with an X gets on a jet." As if to push that point home harder, he tightened his grip on the gun. Clint carefully lowered Phil back to the ground, feeling Natasha come up behind him.
The movement drew the agent's attention and the gun was suddenly brought up and aimed in his direction. Clint slowly rose from his crouch, keeping his knees bent and his stance ready. His eyes tracked the approach of a second armed agent.
"Jenner, I'm the goddamned director of the infirmary. If I say the man is getting on a jet, he is."
Wilson took a step forward.
Both agents chambered a round in their guns. Wilson froze. Clint shifted a step to his left, to where he had a clear angle on the two men without having to go over Phil. The guns shifted their aim back to him.
"Don't move."
Clint shifted another step.
"Listen, kid," he had to be a recruit, no established agent would point a gun at him, "I'm putting him on that jet and believe me when I tell you that this is a battle you don't want to fight."
Wilson shifted, raising his hands placatingly. Whether he recognized the rising tension between Clint and the agents or realized they were wasting precious time, he took a step towards the agents.
"Jenner, you and your friend need to stand down, right the fuck now."
Neither of their guns wavered. Clint shifted another step around Phil, Natasha moving with him, ready to back him up.
"Goddamnitall, I need to treat this man or it won't matter anymore one way or another!" Wilson's voice rose and he held a hand up towards Clint, silently asking him not to escalate the situation.
Clint just kept his glare on the recruits with the guns. Wilson could be damn sure Clint would escalate the situation if those to asshats didn't step aside.
Wilson seemed to recognize Clint's stance because his eyes widened and he turned back to Jenner, his tone demanding obedience.
"Jenner, let them on the damn jet."
Jenner shifted and never broke his eye contact with Clint.
"All due respect, sir, but we don't' take orders from you."
Clint took a step towards them and Jenner fired at the dirt in front of his feet. Clint's glare turned to ice and next to him Natasha drew her weapon. A few startled shouts erupted from the growing hoard of onlookers before they fell into an enraptured hush.
A tall figure suddenly pushed his way through the crowd.
"No," Todd Bryan was ready to start kicking ass and taking names, "you take your orders from me." They were in the middle of a god damned attack and the people were turning on each other.
Both recruits swallowed thickly and Todd looked around at the scene – which was more like a standoff. His eyes shifted down to Phil and then widened. What the hell?
He resisted the urge to go and feel for a pulse and felt the blood drain from his face.
Phil.
Jesus…Barton was probably on the verge of a breakdown.
Todd snapped his gaze up to the archer, who looked as coiled and ready to strike as a pissed off cobra. He needed to shut down this conflict now – before bodies started dropping.
"Stand down."
"But sir!"
"I gave you an order, recruit!"
Jenner jutted his chin out.
"He has an X. Nobody with an X gets on a jet – that's the rule. If we're gonna start breaking that then how about we take my buddy Alex over there too."
Jenner motioned at a body propped against a tree.
"We can't do that." Wilson interjected quietly.
Dan was right – they couldn't open that floodgate. Todd really tried not to think about the fact that they were ignoring that particular point for Phil.
"If my buddy can't go – your buddy can't go."
Todd saw Barton shift out of the corner of her eye. Saw the focus in his eyes narrow. A step behind him, Romanoff was similarly preparing herself. Todd stepped forward, putting his hand up placatingly to the archer, asking with his eyes for Barton to calm down.
"Jenner and Brennen – you need to stand down. Do you even realize who you're pointing guns at?"
Both recruits frowned in confusion and Todd blew out a breath, keeping one eye on Barton to make sure he stayed put.
"You're aiming at Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff – this is fucking Hawkeye and the Black Widow. You might want to rethink your stance, boys."
Both recruits paled.
"Now, Barton's going to get on that jet with his friend. And trust me when I tell you, you do not want to be the one that tried to stop him. He will go right through you if he has to, kid."
And Todd knew Barton would. He didn't even have to look at him to know no one was stopping him from getting Phil to help.
Jenner swallowed and finally lowered the gun. Todd blew out a tension filled breath and turned back to Barton, who was already kneeling next to Phil, pulling him up and onto his shoulders. With Romanoff at his side, Barton headed for the ramp.
Todd started to follow, but the crowd moved with him.
"Why does he get to go?!"
"He had an X! My brother has an X!"
"If one X goes, all Xs should go!"
"It's not fair!"
Todd turned and looked over the crowd as the voices started to rise in anger. Dan appeared at his shoulder. The both watched the crowd start to press forward.
"This is bad."
Todd nodded and pulled his side arm.
"Get on the damn jet and close the ramp."
He fired twice into the air. Several shouts of surprise rose from the suddenly frozen crowd.
"Back the fuck up!"
Todd swallowed and backed slowly up the ramp. He closed his eyes against the shouts of rage that rose as the ramp rose, locking the crowd out, and hoped to God that he hadn't just helped incite a riot.
Dan pushed the situation they'd just left behind out of his mind and unceremoniously started pushing people out of the way.
"Clear a space!" He caught Jenna's arm. "Grab two liters of Ringers and start me a pair of IVs, run them both wide open – then grab me some pressure bandages, whatever we've got left."
The redheaded nurse shook her head.
"All we've got left is saline, and –"
Dan waved his hand to stop her.
"Then grab that and get it started. That bullet in the leg didn't hit the femoral artery. If it had, he'd already be dead, but it did hit something major. We need to get fluids into his system."
Jenna nodded and started pushing her way through the crowded jet towards the supplies. Dan turned to Barton, who was still standing with Phil draped across his shoulders. For a moment Dan could only stare at them.
What the hell had he just done? Left countless others behind for a man that looked dead already?
Barton shifted, not quite wavering, but not as steady as he had been. It was enough to snap Dan's mind back into action.
"Put him down there. One of you two find an oxygen tank and a non-rebreather mask and get it on him."
Natasha touched Clint's arm and moved away to find the oxygen even as Barton slowly knelt down, easing Phil to the floor with almost exaggerated care. Dan knelt down on the other side of Phil.
"How long has that tourniquet been on?"
Barton swallowed.
"Maybe 10 to 15 minutes." Dan couldn't remember ever hearing Barton's voice sound that shaken. But Dan didn't have time to worry about Barton right now.
"Ok, then we can leave it on until we get to the Helicarrier. I don't want to take any chances with that unless I have to." He looked up when Jenna settled next to him with the fluids. A moment later Romanoff was kneeling next to Barton, a small tank of oxygen in one hand and a mask in the other.
"Jenna, both anticubes, you know the drill. Romanoff, take each bag as she starts them. Barton, keep the pressure on that chest wound." Dan rattled of the commands quickly and efficiently. "Jenna, as soon as you're done starting those IVs, I need a set of vitals."
Once satisfied that he was being obeyed, Dan started running his hands carefully over Phil's body, making sure there weren't any more wounds or injuries that had been missed.
"Jesus," he breathed with a sigh. "He get sprayed by a machine gun?"
When it became apparent that Barton wasn't going to say anything, Romanoff spoke up quietly, her eyes on her partner's down turned face.
"We got caught off guard."
Dan barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Yeah," he nearly drawled, "I figured that. Where the hell were your vests?"
He continued his assessment of Phil, talking really only to keep himself focused – to keep from thinking too much about who he was working on. He glanced at Jenna as she finished one IV, handed the bag off to Romanoff, and then shifted around to Phil's other side.
Barton's head snapped up.
"Who the hell cares about the vests? Fucking Kevlar wouldn't have stopped a round to his leg and head."
Dan's own head snapped up – that kind of tone was like a shrieking alarm when it came to Barton. He took a good look at the archer, whose gaze was all but shooting fire.
"Take a breath and calm down, Barton. It was a question."
Barton dropped his head down again – shaking it slightly and breathing raggedly.
Dan paused for a moment and shot a glance at Romanoff. Her gaze confirmed what Dan was thinking. Barton was a breath away from losing it – Dan had nearly set him off himself without realizing it.
"Barton, look at me."
For a long moment Barton didn't look up – just kept his eyes on Phil's chest and tried to calm his breathing. Finally, he seemed to pull it together and raised his eyes to Dan's.
Dan had to force himself to ignore the emotion swirling through the familiar blue-gray gaze. He couldn't afford to notice it right now – not yet. But he could at least pull Barton back from the edge.
"He's still here. He's still breathing. We can work with that."
He waited while Barton searched his gaze – and then the archer nodded slightly, dropping his gaze once more. Blowing out a breath, Dan grabbed a pressure bandage and started laying it out on the chest wound. The tension filled silence that settled around them was broken only by soft crying from someone back further in the jet.
When the pilot's voice cracked through the silence, nearly everyone in the jet flinched.
"We'll be touching down in 5 minutes – prepare for landing."
Dan could practically feel the relief sweep through the jet.
Jenna – having already finished the second IV and handed the bag off to Romanoff – sat back from where she'd been pulling vitals.
"Pulse is 45 and thready, blood pressure is 70 palp. You want me to get a pulse ox?"
Dan shook his head.
"Don't bother. We're already doing everything we can, and we'll be on the ground in a few minutes." He sighed and grumbled to himself, "Besides, not sure how much more bad news I can take." He hoped no one heard the note of desperation that had slid past his defenses and into his tone.
A few excruciating minutes, later Dan felt the jet touch down. A breath later, the ramp was lowering. To Dan's relief, the Helicarrier infirmary staff – and whatever base infirmary staff had already arrived – was waiting on the tarmac.
"Get him to one of those stretchers." Dan watched Todd move to help Barton. They each slid an arm under Phil's shoulders and under a knee. They lifted together and moved. Jenna took the IV bags from Romanoff and followed.
Dan blew out a deep breath and started down the ramp – only to draw up short when a hand caught his arm. He turned, surprised to see Romanoff looking at him seriously.
"Thank you."
Dan watched her eyes slid over to where Barton was easing Phil down onto a stretcher – her eyes stayed there for a long moment before shifting back to Dan.
"For not giving up."
Whether she was talking about giving up on Phil or on Barton wasn't clear. Dan sighed, looking to Barton himself. The kid had a white-knuckled grip on the bars the nurses had raised on either side of Phil's stretcher and was watching their every move with deadly intensity.
Dan turned back to Romanoff, pitching his voice low so none of the people filing off the jet around them would overhear.
"Thank me in 12 hours if he's still alive and we know whether or not it did any damned good."
Then he left her standing on the ramp and jogged to Phil's side.
Clint kept pace next to the stretcher as they rushed through the halls of the carrier to the infirmary. Dan was shouting out instructions to the staff but Clint wasn't listening – couldn't bring his focus away from one thing.
The rise and fall of Phil's chest.
As long as his chest was rising and falling, he was alive.
Nothing else around him mattered except that – Phil was alive. And he had damn well better stay that way. Clint couldn't even think about the possibility of anything else.
Almost abruptly – or maybe it just seemed abrupt because he had lost track of his surroundings – they pushed through two swinging doors.
"He can't come back here."
The practically shouted statement took several beats to sink into Clint's laser focused consciousness. And before he had a chance to fully process what those words meant or who they were talking about, hands had locked onto him, pulling him back – pulling him away from Phil.
LIKE HELL.
Unexpected hands grabbing him had never meant anything good – never once in his entire life. And when those hands pulled him away from the one place he had to be right now, he reacted instinctively.
He'd snapped his elbow back, hearing a crack as it impacted a nose. More hands latched onto him – three sets. Three men.
He slammed his open palm into a sternum, pushing one man back. Then he snapped his left leg out in a side kick, his boot slamming into a thigh. As that man fell, Clint fisted his now free left hand and swung it in a vicious back hand, sending the man twisting to the floor unconscious.
He distantly heard a familiar yell for somebody to 'stand the fuck down'.
He turned to the third man, who had a firm grip on his right arm. Clint pulled his left leg nearly straight up, hooking it his ankle on the man's shoulder. Then he pushed off with his right foot, twisting in the air and bringing his right leg up, wrapping it around the other side of the man's neck. For a breath Clint was upside down, all but hanging by his legs from the man's neck. Then he torqued his body, jerking the man down ass over head.
Clint landed hard on his back, but rolled up instantly, meeting the first man – now recovered from his nearly-cracked sternum – with a low left uppercut right into his groin. As the man doubled, Clint rose, driving his knee into the man's face.
Even as the man crumpled bonelessly to the ground, Clint felt a new presence behind him.
"Barton!"
Before that same familiar voice had a chance to register, another hand landed on his shoulder. Clint reached across his body, latched onto the hand and twisted as he turned. He brought the new attacker's hand up and behind his back, slammed the man face first into the wall, and held him there.
"Barton, Jesus!" The assailant wheezed out before holding up his free hand, palm out. "Stand down – stay the fuck back."
Out of the corner of his eye, Clint saw two men freeze and then back up.
"Barton – look at me. It's me – Wilson."
Clint blinked, and the world suddenly focused – the defensive adrenaline rush faded.
Wilson?
Clint relaxed the pressure he was putting on the doctor's arm. Before he had a chance to even breath, Wilson moved, turning on his heel, catching his palm against Clint's collar bone and bringing him around hard into the wall – pinning him there with his forearm.
Clint's eyes fell on Phil, laying on the stretcher just a few feet away. He couldn't pull his eyes away.
Natasha stepped forward – away from a few unconscious bodies of her own, but Wilson waved her off.
"Barton – look at me."
Clint blinked – tearing his gaze away from Phil and putting it on Wilson's.
"Pull it the fuck together, kid."
Clint frowned. How the hell was he supposed to do that?
Wilson sighed and spoke over his shoulder to the gaping nurses.
"What the hell are you waiting for? Get him back there and get to work!"
Immediately they started wheeling Phil away. Clint bucked against Wilson's restraining hold. He almost got free – then his back was cracking against the wall again.
"Damnitall, Barton! If I'm going to help him, I have to get in there and you need to let me!"
Clint pushed against the restraining arm on his chest again.
"Barton! You can't be back there! You'd be in the way! Do you want that? Do you want to get in the way of me saving his life?"
Clint went still. Of course he didn't. But he couldn't shake the feeling that if he didn't keep Phil in his sights, the man would slip away and Clint would never see him again.
Clint had never felt a fear like that before.
He met Wilson's eyes – unable to keep the walls he usually kept so firmly in place from crumbling. He knew the doctor would read every emotion, every fear, he was feeling right now in his eyes – and Clint couldn't bring himself to try and hide it.
Wilson's gaze softened right along with his voice.
"Let me do my job, Barton."
Clint swallowed thickly and nodded. Wilson nodded back and then released him. Then he was gone – jogging down the hall after Phil.
Clint's legs went weak and he just slid down the wall right there, landing hard on his butt. All he could do was stare after Wilson – at the door he and Phil had disappeared behind.
The only thought he could process was that that – unconscious and bleeding on a stretcher – might have been the last time he ever saw Phil.
Todd offered one of the injured agents a hand up, handing him off to the nurses. He wished he knew what the hell they'd been thinking – putting hands on Clint Barton like that without warning. Anybody that had ever even heard of the man should have known better.
Now there were seven more men on the injured list – four were Barton's handiwork, three Romanoff's. At least the three Romanoff had stopped from joining the battle against Clint were all still mobile.
Clint had put his four down hard. The man who'd started all of it was still unconscious with a broken nose – or face. It was hard to tell through all the blood. The other three, none of them had even stirred yet.
When Todd had come in from squaring away a few of his agents that were on the jet to find a fairly one-sided brawl taking place, he'd just known Barton and Romanoff would be in the middle of it. Sure enough, Todd had waded through the mass of gaping onlookers in time to see Barton ruin the last man's chance at having kids for a while.
Then Dan had waded into the mess. The man was damn lucky Barton hadn't dislocated his shoulder right then and there. Now Dan was gone and Barton was sitting on the floor looking more pathetic than a kicked puppy.
Todd watched Romanoff move to her partner's side, crouching down and saying something Todd couldn't hear. He frowned as he watched her say something else and then reach for Barton's shoulder, shaking it slightly.
Ah shit.
Todd made his way over, crouching on Barton's opposite side.
"He's not responding." Romanoff's tone was worried – but beneath that Todd could hear an echo of her own fear, her own shaken emotions.
Todd took a moment to look Barton over.
The kid's hands were shaking – full-on trembling like he was in the arctic. His eyes were locked on the door Dan and Phil were behind and stone-cold blankness of his expression was anything to go by, the kid was barely holding it together.
"Barton?"
He'd try gentle first. It got him about what he'd expected – a whole lot of nothing. Barton had never been one to respond to gentle from anyone but Phil – and even then only under extreme circumstances. Todd had figured this might qualify.
Time to change tactics.
He reached out and wrapped his hand around Barton's bicep and jerked him roughly to his feet. Once he had Barton upright, he gave him a firm shake. Something in Barton's eyes cleared so Todd spoke while he had his attention.
"You need to pull it together, kid. This isn't over – not by a long shot."
Barton blinked – his gaze focusing on Todd's.
Todd almost took a step back. The amount of pain, the level of fear Barton was carrying right now…it was almost enough to rip Todd's emotions to shreds. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he shifted his hand from Barton's bicep to the back of his neck – squeezing gently.
"I know, kid." I know you're scared. "But Phil has never – never – in all the times you've scared the shit out of us, given up on you. So don't you dare give up on him, got it? Trust him to fight as hard to get back to you as you always have to get back to him."
Because Todd believed with everything he had that if there was one thing Phil Coulson would fight for – it would be for Clint Barton. This kid was Phil's world – whether Barton knew and accepted that or not.
"He won't let you down, okay?"
Barton swallowed thickly and gave him a shaky nod. Todd nodded back and looked to Romanoff. The poor girl looked lost – he could see how much she wanted to help Barton – but she had no idea how. It was hurting her to see Barton like this almost as much as she had to be hurting over Phil.
Barton wasn't the only one Phil meant something to.
Todd met her eyes.
"Why don't you get him out of here?" He looked Clint up and down – took in the blood-soaked clothes, the morbid smears on his face and in his hair. The fact that his hands were literally red. "Get him and yourself cleaned up. I'll find you if anything changes."
She nodded silently and took Clint's hand in hers, leading the suddenly scarily compliant archer away. Todd waited until they were out of sight before turning to lean against the wall – his own knees feeling weak.
He blew out a shuddering breath and looked around – took in all the injured waiting to be treated, the frenzied staff running around with blood smears on their clothes and exhaustion in their eyes.
What the hell happened? They were SHIELD. They were supposed to fight battles around the world, not where they lived – but this one – this battle was fought at their goddamned home and no one had escaped unscathed.
Todd shook his head in morbid shock.
How the hell had this happened?
Clint stood with his right hand braced against the back wall of the shower, leaning forward slightly with his head bent forward and letting the cool spray beat down on the back of his neck.
He blinked slowly, watching the water swirl into the drain of the shower - only it wasn't just water.
It was blood.
Phil's blood.
It had stained the tile floor pink and slid in dark swirls slowly down the drain. Clint couldn't tear his eyes away – couldn't force himself to bring his focus away from the morbidly mesmerizing sight. He absently wondered where it was all coming from – how he still hadn't managed to wash it all away.
"Clint?"
He flinched, the rest of the world shifting back into focus.
"I found you clothes." Natasha went on – rustling with something on the other side of the curtain Clint was currently behind. "It's SHIELD-issued combat fatigues straight from the supply room, but at least nobody's worn them before, right?"
Clint blew out a low breath and straightened, shifting off the handle that controlled the water. He reached for the curtain, pushing it aside and reaching to the towel rack. Almost mechanically, he pulled a towel free and started to dry himself off.
"Jesus, Clint!"
Natasha finished belting her new black and gray fatigue pants and moved to his side even as he wrapped his towel around his waist.
"Why didn't you say something?"
Huh?
Clint lowered his eyes to where Natasha's warm hands were suddenly touching his ribs – framing a startlingly deep crease from what had to have been a bullet.
Huh.
"Did you not feel this?"
Clint could only shake his head. Even now, looking right at it, all he felt was numb.
Well son of a bitch.
He grimaced slightly, glaring at the small, but deep gouge the mystery bullet had taken out of his side.
Her hands suddenly shifted, touching his arms and then neck.
"You're freezing – ever heard of hot water?"
Clint frowned in confusion. He did feel a little cold now that she mentioned it. She reached for another towel and threw it around his shoulders. Then Natasha sighed, pulling him by the elbow over to the long, multi-sink counter. He didn't notice the pile of neatly-folded clothes until Natasha was pulling a pair of boxers off the top of the pile and shoving them at his chest.
"Put those on."
Clint didn't even feel like coming up with a totally inappropriate innuendo. God, it had been a shitty day. He slid the boxers over his hips and tossed his towel aside.
"On the counter, let me get a look at that."
She urged him with a light push towards the counter and he slid onto it, sitting with his hands braced on either side of him, gripping the edge. She leaned over and inspected the wound with her eyes, prodding the edge gently with her fingers.
Clint watched her with vague interest for a moment before he looked away – fixing his gaze on the door.
"God, Clint…nice rib you've got there." She raised her gaze to look at him. "Only you could take a crease deep enough to see bone and not notice."
Clint wasn't really listening anymore. Phil was somewhere on the other side of that door – fighting for his life. Clint wasn't about to sweat a simple crease – not when his best friend was down, might not be getting back up.
Not when so many others were down for good.
Natasha sighed when Clint didn't respond – didn't even seem to be paying attention. She stared at him for a long moment – watching him stare at some spot on the door, but not really see it.
"You need stitches." She announced – hoping to get at least a token refusal to seek real medical help. He just kept staring off into space – a slow furrow forming in his brow. She shook her head, at a loss. She'd never seen him like this – didn't know what she was supposed to say or do.
So she'd do the only thing she could right now. Treat him.
She reached around him for the first-aid kit she'd brought back on her quest for clean, blood-free clothing. Even before she'd known about his wound, they had other, more minor, injuries that needed to be looked after.
She moved to one of the sinks and washed her hands thoroughly. Then she went to the towel rack, reached to the top, and pulled down a washcloth. A few moments later she had it wet and soapy. When she stood in front of him again, ready to start cleaning the wound, she hesitated.
Clint hadn't moved – hadn't even shifted his gaze. Maybe the pain would bring him around.
She brought the rag to the wound and started cleaning it.
A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he showed no other reaction. Natasha clenched her jaw and kept cleaning. Once she was satisfied, she tossed the rag in the trash and pulled a suture kit from the first aid supplies.
She thought for sure the first stitch would get some sort of reaction. Instead, he just kept his almost-vacant gaze on the door. He was starting to scare her. Clint being quiet wasn't abnormal – but this kind of quiet, this was bad. It's like he wasn't even in the room with her.
"Clint, I think –"
He spoke suddenly, interrupting her as if she hadn't even been talking. She couldn't bring herself to care because he hadn't said anything since he'd answered Wilson's question about the vests on the jet.
"It's not a coincidence."
Her eyebrows rose in surprise and she briefly raised her gaze from her suture job to look at him. He was still staring at the door – but there was at least something of life in his eyes.
"What's not a coincidence?"
Clint finally seemed to snap out of whatever daze he'd been in. He turned his head and met her eyes.
"This – the attack. It's not a coincidence."
Natasha held his gaze for a moment before looking back at her stitches and continuing to sew his side together.
"What do you mean?"
"Williams."
Her hands froze mid stitch. She slowly brought her eyes up to his. He was deadly serious – had drawn some sort of connection in his mind. And when Clint's mind drew a connection, it was usually there. He had a unique way of seeing the big picture that most others couldn't.
"You think he's behind this." She wasn't asking – his expression made it obvious enough.
"Think about it." He suddenly had more animation than he had since before Phil had gone down. "They had to have had a gate code to even get on the property. Either that or someone let them in. And this happens right when we're closing in on Williams? When Phil's been asking questions and we've nailed down the guy that put a hit on the bastard's daughter? Williams figured out we were closing in and decided to cut his losses."
"By attacking SHIELD – the very entity he works for?"
Natasha wasn't sure she bought that – it was such a huge escalation. And for Williams to have declared war on SHIELD…she wasn't sure she could make that leap. Clint pulled her hands away from the half completed stitches, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"I killed the man's daughter – his only child – and I've looked the bastard in the face for the last seven years and gotten away with it. He's tried to kill me several times and he's tried to kill you – but so far, all he's done is fail. He wants me to burn and this," he motioned vaguely around, "is him deciding to just burn the house down around me."
Natasha stared at him, hearing the dark passion in his tone. God, what if he was right? He must have mistook her silence for disbelief because he shrugged helplessly.
"Tell me something else makes sense." He was practically begging her.
But she couldn't think of anything else – of anyone else that would be driven enough to launch an attack on SHIELD.
"Tell me anything else makes sense." There was sudden pain in his voice – unimaginable pain that nearly had her reaching out to him. "Because if I'm right – if this was Williams – then all of this," his expression filled with anger, anger that wasn't directed anywhere but at himself, "is because of me."
She heard what he hadn't said. That Phil might be dying because of him.
No.
She shook her head sharply.
"No." She insisted fiercely. "This is on Williams. And you are going to direct that anger where it belongs, understood?"
He stared at her and she stared right back, her own expression unyielding and full of fire. Clint would not carry this on his shoulders. She wouldn't let him.
"If this was him, he chose this. He chose this path, not you. He chose to make this so much bigger than just you. He made this about all of us. And the son of a bitch is going to learn very soon that he should have just killed you."
Clint's eyebrow rose in surprise.
"Because now, you're going to kill him."
And just like that – there was fire in his eyes again.
End of Chapter Five
Whew...Williams is in TROUBLE. Nat was right. He should have made sure Clint was dead, cuz now...
Kylen deserves credit for the idea to have a triage situation where Phil ended up getting triaged off and Dan ultimately ignoring triage protocol in some way. She gave me those ideas and I filled in the spaces around them and wrote them in cuz they were wicked good ideas :)
Reviews are like chocolate to me - always necessary and always awesome :D
Here's your preview!
"You find him, Barton. Take him into custody and then you will wait for my orders, understood?"
Clint met the Director's gaze darkly.
"You send me after him – and I'm bringing back a body."