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 Ten: BatmanOtaku, patty cake rocks, JRBarton, JennyBunny65, Anon, Reteka Hyuuga, CyanB, Waterlilies, kimbee, Reading4Ever, bookworm1517, Sam Mayer, Kiiimberly, Eringo94, GreenLoki, Saffygirl, Kylen, Qweb, VioletBrock, LEMarauder, hawkeyeforever, tpt player 5701, Mirabilem Electo, weemcg33, penguincrazy, Viviannafox, Sandy-wmd, GremlinX, ladybug114, horselover28, coastalcajun, YukinaKid, truefairytales, Aurora Abbot, isi7140, Melissa, R1dDL3M37h15, Sara, DBhawkguy30, discordchick, Brandi Golightly, .fire, thababes, Shazrolane, awkward hawk, silvershadowrebel, Jewls58, jaguarspot, jojof, Lollypops101, Kalo Suva,
To Sara: Oh I've definitely got plans to have the Red Room give Nat some trouble :)
I'm so glad you all loved that hug so much :) As Shazrolane pointed out in her review - for Clint, who has an aversion to physical contact and is reserved in it even with Natasha (unless they're alone *wink wink*), a hug like that...instigating it himself...that was HUGE. It was meant to show how hard this has been for him, how emotionally draining...and also how things have been put into a sharp new perspective for him :) Glad you all loved that moment as much as I did
Also - you guys can feel free to guess away at what story will be next lol...but I'm not telling till the end of this story :D And believe me...I think you'll be surprised (and hopefully pleased) by the direction I'm headed...because the next several stories will be written in chronological order for a very specific reason :)
Thank you to Kylen for her beta-powers. Dan is, as usual, her baby in this :)
This story is dedicated to Kylen
On to Chapter Eleven...
The path I walk lights up in flames.
R. Karim
Todd peeked through the window to Phil's room, catching Dan's eye and motioning him out into the hallway. The doctor spared a glance at Phil – who didn't even stir – and then quietly slipped out of the room.
"There a reason you're playing sentry?"
Dan shrugged.
"Barton's back – kid wouldn't stand down unless he knew somebody was with Phil."
Todd nodded – that sounded like their favorite pain in the ass.
"He in one piece?"
He hadn't had a chance to see either of the freshly-returned assassins yet, but he'd made his way to Phil's room as soon as he'd had a spare minute. He was surprised that Barton wasn't within spitting distance from his downed handler. That could only mean he'd gotten himself hurt somehow.
"Peter Pan'd his way through a skylight and sprained his back. Has more cuts on him than a freshly-mowed yard from all the glass, and managed to break a finger somehow. I also found a deep crease on his ribs with a few busted stitches on it. No idea where that came from…" Dan trailed off with a sigh.
Todd sighed in return and rubbed at the back of his neck. As injuries went where Barton was concerned, those were all fairly tame. And it didn't explain why he wasn't keeping sentry himself.
"Where is he?"
Dan blew out a breath, the lines of his face softening in sympathy.
"Back spasms literally took him to the ground and the kid's run himself into a deeper exhaustion than I've ever seen. I forced him to get some sleep up in recovery. Romanoff is with him."
Todd nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a nurse jogging suddenly around the corner. Todd arched an eyebrow curiously as Dan stiffened beside him.
"Hill came and woke them up."
Dan took a sharp step forward. Todd frowned – hoping to hell that the 'them' wasn't who he thought it was.
"You said what?"
The nurse blew out a breath – looking every bit as annoyed as Dan suddenly appeared.
Oh, it was definitely the 'them' he thought it was. Barton and Romanoff couldn't catch a damn break.
"Agent Hill came and woke them up. I tried to stop her but…" She shrugged helplessly.
"What the hell for?" Dan grabbed the nurse and angled for the door. "Never mind, let's go stop them."
Before Todd had a chance to follow, she pulled her arm out of his grip and scowled.
"It's too late. She said the Council had called for a de-brief." She sighed deeply. "By now, they're already there."
Todd reached to rub his eyes wearily even as Dan dropped his face into his hand.
"Nice to know the situation's normal, all fucked up around here." The nurse's eyes went wide in shock at the harsh complaint. "Oh, don't tell me I've offended your virgin ears. Please, tell me Barton at least left the IV in?"
Even Todd understood the look she gave him in response. It plainly asked "what the hell do you think" without having to utter a word.
Dan threw up his hands – tension tightening through his shoulders.
"Of course not." He turned around and stared at the wall opposite Phil's door for a long moment – then, without warning, started pounding on it with his palm.
Todd reacted immediately, latching onto Dan's bicep and pulling him bodily away from the wall.
"Damn it, Dan. You're in the fucking infirmary. Pull your shit together. Fury's there to back him up and so is Romanoff."
Dan reared his other arm back, intending to swing with his left hand.
"You don't think I know that? Dammitall! I have had enough of people being fucked with around here!"
Todd unsuccessfully attempted to stamp down his own frustration.
"Dan, the kid just executed a kill order on a Council member. Did you really think they'd do anything but demand a de-brief as soon as he got back?"
"No!" Dan stood nose-to-nose with him for a long moment, appearing as willing to back down as Todd was. "But DAMMITALL, this is just…" he stopped, looked at Todd, sputtered out a few disjointed syllables, and then just turned to the wall to lean heavily against it. "Fuck it all. They're getting an exhausted, drugged, and pissed off Barton. I hope he tells them to go fuck themselves."
Todd sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly.
"Go back to Phil. I'll scoop him and Romanoff up as soon as they're released and make sure they get back to where they belong."
Dan sighed, scrubbing a hand wearily over his face.
"Thanks…it's just…" he sighed and shook his head. "Is it too much to ask that people stop screwing around with my patients?"
Todd reached and gripped his shoulder in a show of solidarity.
"I'll make sure he gets back to bed unscathed. You should look into getting some ice on that hand you just slammed into that metal wall."
Todd really tried for humor in his expression, but he was just too damn tired to really pull it off.
Dan sighed again and rested his head back against the wall.
"You didn't see him, Todd. The look on his face…that damned kid needs a break." He pulled his head forward and met Todd's eyes. "Like, sedated for a goddamned week kind of break."
Todd blew out a long breath and released his grip on Dan's shoulder.
"People like Barton don't get breaks…they just learn to keep rolling with the punches." God, if anyone had learned the hard way how to do that, it was Barton. He gave Dan one last nudge before turning away. "Look after that hand."
A glance over his shoulder as he rounded the corner showed Dan wearily pushing off the wall, sending the nurse away with a few words and slowly making his way back to Phil's room.
Fury looked to the door when he heard the automatic lock shift. A moment later it slid open and Barton stepped into the room, Romanoff barely a breath behind him. For a moment, all Fury could force himself to process was that Barton looked like shit.
Worse than shit.
Exhaustion just didn't seem extreme enough to cover it. And whatever it was – it was written all over Barton's posture and expression. His jaw was tense like the very act of standing and walking was causing an undue amount of pain. He was covered in cuts, bruises, and scrapes. His eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot and his shoulders stiff with unnatural tension.
What had Bryan said? "Not up to keeping his game face on." Even that seemed to be an understatement. He couldn't remember ever seeing Barton not up to keeping at least some version of a game face on. When his strength failed him, he called upon his ingrained, sarcastic, and stubborn nature and slapped on a cocky smirk. That cocky little smirk was more at home on Barton's face than any other expression, and the absence of it now cut Fury deeper than he was prepared to handle.
"You holding up, Barton?" It was out of his mouth before he could reign it back in and he just knew a comment about his 'cuddly' nature was headed his way.
But all Barton did was wearily raise his gaze and sigh.
That just made it worse.
Fury ruthlessly stamped down the concern that tried to blossom in his chest. He didn't have time to coddle Barton, the Council would be online in less than two minutes and Barton needed to be Barton before that happened. If he wasn't, they'd rip him apart.
"I stalled them for as long as I could, but given the situation, the Council is eager to put this situation to rest." He raised his chin a little and stared hard at the archer. "Pull your shit together, kid. They won't care how long your day has been and neither do I. You are an operative of SHIELD and you will present yourself with the professionalism that position dictates, understood?"
It was harsh and unfair – but Fury wasn't always allowed to care. And this was one of those times when he couldn't let himself care, couldn't give Barton the inch the kid seemed to desperately need. Because the Council would sooner take an inch than give it and the best way to prepare Barton for that was to take even the option of that inch out of the equation.
His sharp, unyielding tone had the affect he wanted.
Barton's back stiffened, drawing a grimace onto his expression for a moment so brief Fury was sure he imagined it. He was struck with the sudden realization that Barton was injured in a more serious way than those visible superficial wounds dictated. He was injured and exhausted and Fury was making him face the Council – something that always turned into a battle for the kid even on his best day.
But if Barton was anything, he was stubborn. And he was strong as steel.
So it was no surprise that before his eyes, every brick of the kid's defenses were dragged into place. His expression expertly smoothed and then hardened.
If Fury didn't know better – if he couldn't still see the evidence of exhaustion that Barton couldn't hide – he wouldn't even suspect anything was wrong. Wouldn't suspect that Phil had nearly died. That Barton had fought to defend the New York base for hours. That he'd flown across the country, then to God knew where to "right an old wrong", then back without so much as a chance to breath.
Next to him, Romanoff leveled a dark glare in Fury's direction.
Yeah, Fury didn't like himself much right now either.
All he could do was toss her a veiled look of apology before the screens on the wall started flickering to life.
Barton turned without so much as a glance in Fury's direction and squared his shoulders at the screens. Romanoff stepped to stand at his shoulder – a show of solidarity if he'd ever seen one.
Fury took the moment, while both their backs were turned and the Council was still coming online, to lower his head and blow out a calming breath. Barton was a pain the ass, but he was Fury's pain in the ass. And for some reason he couldn't fathom, he wanted to protect the kid – and he couldn't.
Not from this at least.
He stepped up to Barton's other shoulder as the new 'leader' of the Council spoke.
"Agent Barton, we are here to de-brief you on the kill order you executed on Councilman Matthew Williams."
Barton blinked calmly, hands folded lazily behind his back, appearing for all watching like he was unaffected and unconcerned. Like he hadn't nearly lost his mentor. Like this hadn't been all about him. Like he didn't give a flying fuck what any of them said or did.
He looked like Barton.
It was what Fury had wanted – so he wasn't sure why it felt so wrong, looked so out of place.
"So…de-brief me."
Fittingly disrespectful – typical Barton.
"Lay out the situation leading up to the execution of the order."
For a moment so brief Fury was sure no one but he and Romanoff actually noticed, Barton was laid bare. The weight of the all the lost lives settled visibly on his shoulders and his eyes were suddenly haunted with memories. But then, with a blink, it was gone, covered again by the strong, stoic, thinly veiled sarcasm that was Clint Barton.
"After the attack, we knew we had to move on Williams' location before he could go to ground." Barton's eyebrow cocked sarcastically, "Just as a precaution, of course." Fury had always admired dry sarcasm, and Barton could deliver it with the best of them. "Agent Romanoff and I –"
"You misunderstand, Agent Barton."
Barton blinked slowly, the only indication that the interruption had annoyed him. And he waited – waited right along with Fury and Romanoff for the man to clarify.
"I want you to go back to the beginning – to the contract you took on Brianna Williams."
Every muscle in the archer's body seemed to tense, and his hands fisted together where they were hidden behind his back. Fury allowed himself a small, imperceptible sigh.
Oh hell.
Natasha's eyes snapped over to Clint's profile as soon as Brianna's name left the Council member's lips. Anyone else would miss it, but she could see the subtle tick in the muscle of Clint's jaw. She could see the sudden darkness in his eyes before he hid it away.
She barely resisted the urge to ask why the hell they had to drag out that skeleton. She knew why. It all came back to that moment - when Clint completed that contract and killed Brianna Williams.
But that wasn't really where it all started. She knew now that it all started with Williams. Williams, who was working with Maskov and God knew who else. Williams, who had pissed Maskov off enough to make the man pay out on a contract to kill Brianna.
In the end, it all came back to Williams – not to Clint.
But she couldn't say that, couldn't defend him. Because a little over twelve hours ago Clint had killed Gerard Maskov and she knew without thinking about it too much that telling that to the Council would only cause more trouble.
They'd have to tell Fury the truth, she knew that. If only to let the Director look a little deeper into Williams and make sure Maskov was the only dirty dealing in the dead man's past. Fury could do with the information whatever he wanted after that.
Of course all any of that meant right now as that she had to stand there silently and leave Clint to defend himself. Something that he wasn't historically very good at unless it involved physical combat.
She watched Clint blow out a slow breath and square his shoulders.
"It was February of 2003. I got word of a contract in Paris. I was in Marseilles at the time, so I made some calls and took the job."
Natasha was sure no one else heard it, but there was something in Clint's voice. Something dark but at the same time painfully detached. It wasn't the sort of tone she'd ever heard from him before and something about it terrified her.
It wasn't until he continued that she realized what that tone was.
"Maskov didn't tell me who she was and I didn't ask."
She was hearing a seventeen-year-old Hawkeye talk about his job. That darkness – that was what he was back them. That detachment – that was how he survived it.
The lead council member scoffed.
"Are you suggesting that had you known, it would have changed anything?"
Clint tilted his head slightly, a dark – and in no way humorous – smirk quirked his lips.
"No." The darkness faded suddenly and in its place Natasha could plainly see the exhaustion. It was bone deep and there for everyone watching to see. "But you knew who I was – what I was – when you hired me."
The challenge was clear in his tone. Natasha inwardly mimicked the tone with a challenge of her own. They wanted to act like what Clint was when Phil brought him in was some dirty little secret? They had not only known – they had been thrilled.
They had finally had someone to do their dirty work.
She was pleased that Clint at least still had enough fight in him to call bullshit on that. But he wasn't doing it just to challenge them. He let every bit of his weariness – built up over too many sleepless hours and too many fights, both physical and emotional – show in his tone.
She watched no less than two of the Council members visibly soften.
He was manipulating them – those of them that had even an ounce understanding in them.
She couldn't believe it, but on the same hand…she shouldn't have been surprised. Clint wasn't labeled a covert operative for nothing – he could lie and manipulate with the best of them. He'd sensed that fledgling sympathy and decided to exploit it.
That shouldn't make him even more attractive to her…but it did.
"Williams put the pieces together and has been angling for revenge since the day Phil brought me in."
The entire Council was quiet for a long moment and then a different Council member – an older balding man – spoke up.
"Agent Barton…" Natasha couldn't believe it – the man actually sounded sympathetic. "Would you please tell us the extent of Matthew Williams' attempts at revenge?"
Natasha watched Clint's jaw tick again – the only visible tell that any of this conversation bothered him. When he spoke it was in the same cool, unaffected tone he usually spoke in – but it was laced with a level of exhaustion he wasn't even trying to hide anymore.
"It was all in the recording."
Natasha was shocked to see even more sympathy rose in the eyes of the man who had asked the question. She was struck with a sense of slight awe. Clint was really holding nothing back here. He must know that this situation could turn on him in a moment – and was willing to even show a form a weakness, however slight it may be, to gain some support.
"I know, Agent Barton, perhaps we can just ask for clarification and confirmation?"
Clint's expression turned incredibly weary and he silently arched an eyebrow to indicate the man should go ahead and ask.
"The Orion mission."
Natasha's mind immediately drew upon everything she knew of that mission, which wasn't much. Clint had only been with SHIELD six months at the time, had only been eighteen years old. He'd nearly died and would have if not for Phil. It had been way before her time here and Clint didn't talk about it much but to say that it was where he'd developed his aversion for molar implants.
After Budapest, it was an opinion she shared whole heartedly.
She saw annoyance pass through Clint's eyes, even if his expression remained neutral.
"You all agreed to put me on that mission after nothing but a word from him. You did that knowing I was only six months into training and that I was more likely to get tortured and killed than to complete it. That one isn't just on him, it's on all of you."
Natasha caught Fury's movement, even as slight as it was, out of the corner of her eye. He shifted slightly to his left, hiding his left arm behind Clint's body and giving him an opening to reach and lightly touch the archer's forearm without being seen.
The touch sent a visible jolt through Clint like he'd been shocked by a current.
She watched Clint snap his mouth closed, realizing – as Fury likely intended – that throwing stones at the Council right now wouldn't do him any favors.
While Clint took a moment to mentally reign himself in, Natasha went back to watching the Council members. The sympathetic one – he had a very slight measure of guilt in his eyes right now. Another, a woman, seemed at least to carry some level of understanding and remorse. The other two – which included the man who seemed to have been appointed leader for now – still looked hard and unyielding.
It was the leader that spoke next.
"The Council reserves the right to assign missions as we see fit. Williams' influence held no bearing on that decision."
Natasha felt her eyebrows rise in disbelief, but it was Fury that replied.
"No need for you to get so defensive," Fury's eyebrow rose in slight challenge, "unless you feel your actions need a defense."
Natasha smirked. Fury definitely had a way with words. The Council member either had to back off that point or admit that he had done something wrong all those years ago when he'd voted to assign Clint that mission.
The sympathetic councilman spoke again.
"We are here to gather facts, nothing more. Agent Barton, if we may move on?"
Clint's expression morphed to clearly invite the man to continue.
"The next mission that Williams claimed involvement in was Uzbekistan, correct?"
Clint nodded once.
Natasha barely resisted the urge to shift her weight and lower her eyes.
Uzbekistan.
Clint had been sent there because of her – because he'd risked everything for her. He'd been tortured, cruelly and viciously. He'd died only to be pulled back from the ledge by Phil. She'd barely known him then. She hadn't known the truth of his past, hadn't realized he harbored the same darkness she did.
But she'd known – more than she'd known anything at the time – that he hadn't deserved what happened to him there.
She'd blamed herself for so long. She'd believed that it was her fault he'd ended up there, hurt and alone. But now she knew the truth. In the end, she'd had nearly nothing to do with it. Williams had found out where Clint was, had known he was alone, and he'd taken the opportunity to try once more to exact his revenge.
"He contracted a mercenary group to take you captive?"
Clint nodded again.
"During your captivity you sustained injuries, correct?"
Now Clint's eyebrow arched.
"If you wanna call my heart stopping 'sustaining injuries'…sure."
At least he still had it in him to be sarcastic. That was her hawk. She was convinced that even dying, the last thing to go would be his penchant for sarcasm.
The councilman nodded and looked down at something on his desk.
"Then we come to Budapest."
Clint's gaze cut over his shoulder very briefly to look at her. Budapest was still fresh in both of their minds. She was sure the lingering effects of the poison he was dosed with were playing a part in his level of exhaustion now.
Fury stepped up so he was standing a step ahead of Clint now.
"I believe I've given you all the information that there is to know on that situation. Agent Barton doesn't have anything else to add concerning it."
If the way his eyebrows rose in slight surprise was anything to go by, Clint was just as shocked as she was when all the Council members nodded in agreeable – albeit somewhat grudging – understanding.
"On that same note, I do not believe any further clarification surrounding the attack on the New York base is necessary either."
Fury's tone implied that he expected no contradiction, and that any that came would not be received well.
The sympathetic councilman nodded and spoke before anyone else could.
"Then let us move on to the kill order itself. Agent Barton, please explain how you and Agent Romanoff came to obtain custody of Mathew Williams."
And Clint did. He mechanically delivered the report like it was any other report and rehashed every detail of their entry and capture of Williams. He answered the seemingly never-ending questions volleyed at him from the Council without complaint, and Natasha listened closely, knowing she'd be asked to add her own account of events when he was done.
She wasn't surprised when Clint was a bit…liberal…with some of the details. For instance, he reported to have 'disarmed' Williams after going through the skylight but left out the part about nearly shooting him. He also skipped the nearly strangling him part of the interrogation and left out the miscommunication about Phil's survival all together.
She noted each change carefully, so that if asked, she could effectively corroborate each point.
"Then the call came in from Fury and I executed him with three shots – two to the heart, one to the head."
All the Council members were rapidly taking down notes, one of them nodding along as he wrote.
"Agent Romanoff, anything to add?"
Natasha cleared her throat and replied.
"After Agent Barton went through the skylight, I met the remaining hired security on the rooftop and engaged in close combat with them. After eliminating the final hostile, I jumped down through the broken skylight in time to see Agent Barton disarm Williams. After that, it happened as Agent Barton reported."
They all nodded nearly in synchronization. Natasha should have been done, could have ended her part in the de-brief there. But her mouth moved before she could stop it.
"Williams wanted to die. He baited him – tried several times to force Agent Barton's hand and get him to kill him before the order." She glanced at Clint's profile, pride rising in her. "Agent Barton didn't give him that satisfaction."
Whether or not that was a near thing didn't really matter. In the end, Clint hadn't let him win. He'd kept his cool as best he could and when he hadn't…when he hadn't, Natasha was there to help him get it back. That was her job – why she was there.
They were partners – in every way, in everything, forever.
Fury allowed himself a small smirk of pride. Barton had acted with remarkable restraint and he had no doubt that it had been a fierce battle to retain that control. But the kid had done it – he'd waited. How close he'd gotten to not waiting – that didn't matter.
"Williams knew that if Barton killed him without a kill order, he'd be marked and a kill order would be issued on him. His endgame has always been to see Agent Barton dead and Agent Romanoff's assessment shows that he was willing to do whatever it took to achieve that endgame – even if it meant dying himself."
The man appointed current leader sat forward, his gaze hard and fixed on Barton. Fury fought the sudden urge to step between them – to shield Barton from that gaze.
"But you cannot deny, Agent Barton, that you set these events in motion. By killing councilman Williams' daughter, you caused all of this."
Oh hell no. No way was he going to let them turn this shit storm around on Barton – not right now. Screw not shielding him – Fury would become a god damned blast wall if he had to.
"Don't answer that."
Fury stepped forward and to his left, putting his back to Barton – who was suddenly looking several shades too pale.
"You have your account of the hit, Council members. At this juncture, that is all I have time to allow. In case it has escaped your attention, my base is in shambles and my personnel displaced. You decided, by issuing that order, where the blame belonged and it is not with Agent Barton."
The leader opened his mouth to protest, but Fury cut him off.
"I'll be in touch."
Then he reached to terminate the communication.
Then he just stood there and blew out a long breath, glancing at his watch.
Just under two hours. Damn.
He looked back to Barton and Romanoff. The red-haired assassin had her hand on Barton's forearm and was speaking to him in a tone low enough that Fury couldn't hear. Impressive considering he was only a few feet away.
Barton, for his part, had his head downturned and the muscle in the side of his jaw was working overtime.
"Romanoff, give us a minute."
The assassin fixed him with such a heated, scathing look that, for a moment, Fury was sure she'd lash out at him. But just as quickly as the fire had risen, she covered it, eyes going back to Barton.
"I'll be right outside."
Barton nodded slightly and Fury watched his eyes track her progress to the door.
For a moment they stood in absolute silence, broken only by the sounds of their breathing.
"This isn't on you, Barton."
Barton rolled his eyes, but the gesture lacked the usual level of sarcasm it tended to entail. In fact the gesture almost looked habitual – like he knew it'd be expected and that was the only reason for doing it.
"Oh, no?"
Fury scowled and stepped towards the archer, putting them toe-to-toe and forcing Barton to tilt his head back to meet his eyes.
"No."
He put every ounce of authority he had into that one word. He needed Barton to hear him – to believe him.
The critically dubious, eyebrow arched expression that stole over Barton's face was so Barton – that Fury was actually relieved to see it.
"The Council seems to disagree."
"Fuck the Council."
Both Barton's eyebrows hit his hairline in surprise.
"What do you believe, Barton?"
Barton's stormy, blue-gray gaze met his one dark eye. He watched Barton really consider that question and decide how to respond.
"I believe…" he sighed wearily, "that Brianna Williams deserved justice."
Fury wasn't quite expecting that. It wasn't a straight forward acknowledgement of Barton's guilt or innocence in the matter – it was a deflection. Maybe he should have expected it. It was Barton after all.
"And did you give her that?"
For the first time in his life, Fury saw real, honest, raw vulnerability in Barton's eyes.
"In the only way I knew how – the only way I could."
Fury saw, then, the weight Barton carried for his past sins. He saw it settled heavily on the archer's broad shoulders. And he suddenly understood – with more clarity than he ever had – why Phil had fought so hard for this kid.
How could you look at someone who carried so much regret and not want to guide them on the path to absolution? Barton punished himself for his past sins more than anyone else ever could.
But there would always be men like Williams in the world – men who were determined to make him pay for what he'd done. And it was men like that – men like Williams and the Council – who would never let Barton forget who he'd been and who would never care who he was now.
But Fury knew who Barton had been – and knew even better who he was now. And it was that knowledge that had him lowering his voice and speaking to Barton with more sincerity than he ever had.
"Williams wasn't wrong to want justice for his daughter." He could tell by Barton's expression that he didn't disagree. "But there are a dozen other ways he could have gotten that without pulling innocent people into the line of fire. Hell, he could have brought it to the Council and had you convicted without much trouble."
Barton's eyebrow twitched like he hadn't even thought of that. Hadn't realized there had been a legitimate way that Williams could have gotten his justice. Something about that knowledge seemed to ease the weight Barton carried and some of the shadows faded from his eyes.
Good. Fury had about filled his quota of warm fuzzies for the year and it was time to reestablish their status quo.
"You're dismissed, Agent Barton."
That had about the amount of firm authority Barton would expect. He saw the archer's lips twitch, like he was somehow comforted by the familiarity of Fury's hard tone. He dipped his head once and turned, heading for the door.
Fury almost let it be done – let Barton walk out the door without another word. But hell…the kid looked about ready to drop and Fury knew he'd been through the ringer in the past day and a half.
"I don't want to see you anywhere near command for at least forty eight hours, understood?"
Barton paused at the door, clearly surprised by the directive. Then those blue-gray eyes were peeking over his shoulder with a distinctive light of humor.
"You fluffy teddy bear, you."
Then Barton slid out the door without giving him a chance to mount a defense.
Clint was vaguely surprised to see Bryan standing with Natasha just outside the door. Natasha moved to his side immediately, her own tired eyes looking over him worriedly. Bryan looked equally concerned from his place leaning against the wall.
"Kid, you look beat."
Clint blinked at him. He really wished he had the energy to snap out some fittingly sarcastic response, but right now all his mind could come up with was something about 'captain obvious' – which just wasn't up to his usual standards.
God, he just wanted to sleep – for as many hours as his body would allow.
He knew if he didn't say something though, that worry in Bryan and Natasha's gaze would only heighten. And he was so damn tired of people looking at him like he was about to fall apart, or collapse, or just shut down and start muttering "does not compute."
Whether or not he was a breath away from just collapsing and shutting down was just…so not the point.
So he opened his mouth, still wracking his brain to figure what he could say to get them both to relax. But he never got a word out.
Because his body chose that moment to realize that not only had his initial dose of painkillers and muscle relaxants worn off as he was being marched by Hill from his bed in the recovery ward – after only a meager forty five minutes of sleep – to the Council chambers, but he'd been standing ramrod straight for the past two hours because the Council just couldn't wait.
It wasn't as bad as it had been the first time. For starters – other than needing to steady himself with a hand on Natasha's arm, he genuinely felt like he could keep his feet under him. But the muscles of his lower back were twisting and pulling again, painfully reminding him that he needed to just stop.
"Clint?" And now he'd done the exact opposite of what he'd wanted – Natasha was even more worried.
"'M fine…" But he felt his hand tighten around her arm as he rode out a spasm of pain – and he knew she felt it too. Bryan suddenly appeared at his other side, eyes wide and worried.
"Your back?" Natasha questioned lowly, her mouth close to his ear, to keep anyone from eavesdropping.
Clint couldn't find his voice to reply, so he just jerked his head in a slight nod.
Natasha slid closer, deftly pulling his hand off her arm and allowing it to wrap around her own hand instead. Then she braced her free hand against the small of his back.
"Breathe through it. Can you make it to a bed?"
He nodded again because he sure as hell wasn't leaving the bridge by anything other than his own power. He was already showing prying eyes more than he wanted to.
"Follow me." Todd nudged his arm and started away from the Council chambers.
It took Clint a second, but he mentally overpowered the pain and exhaustion. He released his grip on Natasha's hand and started after Bryan, straining to make every step appear smooth instead of forced. Natasha hovered at his side, ready to jump in if he needed it, but not forcing him to accept help he hadn't asked for.
By the time they made it back to the infirmary, every step sent spikes of fiery pain through his back, every breath made the muscles pull sharply. He and Natasha followed Bryan past the intake desk in the recovery ward and back toward the two beds they'd occupied before Hill came and snatched them away.
"Get Dan Wilson on the phone for me," Bryan called back to the nurse over his shoulder, but Clint didn't look back to see if he was being obeyed.
No sooner had Bryan snapped the privacy curtain around to hide them, than Natasha's hands were on him. One supported his back and the other latched onto his arm, guiding him to the nearest bed.
Clint couldn't hold back the groan that forced its way free as he mostly collapsed onto the thin mattress. Natasha helped him roll onto his back and for a moment, he just laid there, one knee bent towards the ceiling and the other laying flat.
God, he hurt.
Natasha's hand settled on his chest, a soothing, comforting weight, and he dropped one of his own hands down to rest on top of hers. Her other hand started combing through his hair and he let his eyes drift closed.
He didn't even bother to open them when he heard the nurse peek in and hand Bryan what he could only assume was a phone.
"Dan." Bryan went quite for a moment. "Yeah, he's horizontal again, but his back is acting up." Bryan was silent for a few seconds then he grunted something and something hard and plastic was suddenly getting pressed into Clint's free hand.
He automatically opened his eyes, looking at the cordless phone for a moment before raising it to his head.
"Wilson?"
"You need me to come back?"
Clint shook his head immediately before he remembered that Wilson couldn't see him.
"Nah…stay with Phil."
"Fine - do you need a sedative?"
It was an honest question and the tone indicated an honest answer was expected.
"Sleepin' isn' gonna be an issue…trus' me."
Was he slurring? Hell, he was practically halfway to sleep right now with the soothing rhythm of Tasha's fingers carding through his hair. Yeah – sedative definitely wasn't necessary.
"What about the pain?"
"I jus' need'a sleep."
"How about some more painkillers and muscle relaxants to help that along then."
"Don' need 'em…"
"Barton, you'll sleep a hell of a lot better if your body's not having to put up a fight. So just take the damn drugs and shut up about it."
Clint mumbled something he intended to indicate further resistance. He hated drugs, would fight tooth and nail to avoid them if he could.
"I'm gonna take that as a 'yes, of course, whatever you say, Wilson. Thank you so much for your kind concern.' Give the phone back to Todd."
Clint shifted the phone slightly away from his head and a moment later it was pulled from his grip. He lost a little time because the next thing he knew, Natasha was gently shaking him and quietly warning him that a he was about to get an IV put in.
The last thing he was aware of was Bryan's low strong voice.
"You too, Romanoff. That bed right there has your name on it. If he was coherent enough to see that you were still vertical, he'd glare you right into that bad…yes, thank you. Sleep tight, kiddos."
Then the curtain shifted and Clint was done.
End of Chapter 11
Clint is gonna take a much needed siesta :)
Now...brace yourselves, I have troubling news...due to the fact that I've decided to add a chapter's worth of story material and my amazing beta and I have to contend with real life...the next chapter will not be ready to go up until Thursday morning :O I know! It'll be okay! Just BREATHE! Now...if by some chance we get an opportunity to get it finished and beta'd before then I will most assuredly post it sooner...THIS is why I finish stories before I post them, so that you lovely people don't have to wait for chapters...however, I believe the additions are going to be well received and appreciated so...please don't throw any flaming torches at me
Now...if you still have an ounce of affection for me, you can let me know that by leaving a review...otherwise...I may just go...*sniff*...cry in a corner and start believing you all hate me...*sniff sniff*
And on to your preview! :D
"Make up your mind, Clint! Do you believe in redemption or not? Because if you don't, then what the hell is the point?"
Fire lit Clint's eyes.
"I believe in redemption."
"Just not for yourself?" Phil challenged harshly.