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 Eleven: BatmanOtaku, kimbee, Silfrvarg, Saffygirl, cwisten, Viviannafox, VioletBrock, thababes, bookworm1517, Melissa, tpt player 5701, Shannon K, shanynde, weemcg33, CyanB, Guest, Sam Mayer, Eringo94, DBhawkguy30, coastalcajun, Qweb, R1dDL3M37h15, awkward hawk, Kylen, Reteka Hyuuga, discordchick, Sanyd-wmd, hawkeyeforever, JennyBunny65, jaguarspot, isi7140, Lollypops101, Aurora Abbot, JRBarton, ch33tahp4w, Allure Storm, lackam, rose, GremlinX, Dsgdiva, TP, Brandi Golightly, penguincrazy, horselover28, Eva7673, YukinaKid, MoiraHawk, Waterlillies, silvershadowrebel, TheWalkinMouth, Shazrolane, GreenLoki, m klindt, Sara, Mirabilem Electo, AlwaysABrandNewDay, HHcountry96, Anon, Tsukinoko1, Emiliana Keladry, TARDIS-Blue, Nille, RennerBartonFangirl, sv4me, and Kiiimberly
Now, I know some of you made comments and asked questions, and usually I would answer them, but I had a bout of food poisoning last night and spent a little too much time talking to Ralph on the big white phone if you know what I mean...I slept terribly and am fairly exhausted right now, so my apologies, but this is the best I can do for now. If you have questions/comments you want me to respond to, feel free to leave them in a review again :)
To everyone: Noweia has done an AWESOME fan-art drawing of 'the hug' from two chapters back. If you go to this website, you'll see it and be as amazed as I was :D deviant art art/Some-Nights-404733951 and add a.c o m after the first art with no space and another / before the second art ;) Never realized how hard it was to post a link on this site...they're nazi's about it!
Thank you to Kylen for her beta-ness. Dan's words are from her mouth :D
This story is dedicated to Kylen
On to Chapter Twelve...
Everything Dies. That is the law of life-the bitter unchangeable law.
David Clement-Davies
Phil returned to consciousness slowly, easing his way out of the shroud of sleep and blinking lazily at the ceiling for a moment. He knew without looking that the presence he felt in the room with him wasn't Clint and he hoped that meant the kid had gotten himself looked after.
He rolled his head on his pillow, grinning slightly at the sight that met him.
Dan was slouched in the chair next to the bed – feet propped against the mattress, arms crossed, and chin resting on his chest.
And he was snoring.
Grimacing, Phil reached for his cup of ice chips and dug his fingers into it, retrieving one of the last little pieces amongst the cool water. He set the cup aside and looked back at Dan.
Still asleep. And still snoring.
Phil smirked and tossed the small piece of ice at his friend.
He wasn't Clint, but his aim was nothing to sneeze at. The ice piece hit Dan on the crown of his head, bouncing off to land on his lap.
It was enough.
The doctor flinched, nearly tipped the chair backwards, and snapped his head up in surprise. Then he blinked owlishly at Phil for a long moment.
"What the hell – are you five? Try using your words next time."
Phil smiled tiredly and waved his hand apologetically.
"Sorry – you made an easy target."
"Okay, Barton." Dan scolded with an eye roll. The comment brought Clint back to the forefront of Phil's mind.
"Speaking of Clint – how'd you manage to drag him away?"
Dan sighed, rubbing his fingers over his eyes tiredly. The action made Phil regret waking him. The man looked almost as exhausted as Clint had.
"Drag is a good word, actually." Dan glanced down at his watch and sighed loudly. "Kid sprained his lower back falling through a skylight and it finally locked up on him about four hours ago."
"A skylight?" Phil stiffened, worry spiking through him as his mind drew up memories of the stiff set to Clint's shoulders, the ramrod straight way he was sitting. The grimace that stole across his expression wasn't just about his own pain – his own emotions flooding his muscles with adrenaline.
Dan must have seen the pain. He reached out with one hand to keep him from moving, and then tapped a button on his IV pole with his other. Almost immediately, Phil felt welcome relief spread through his body.
"Yeah, a skylight. I sent him and Romanoff to get some rest, but the fucking council decided they needed to do their fucking debrief at about the same fucking time." Dan's face twisted with frustration, and Phil couldn't help the slight twitch of his lips at the thickly lain sarcasm. "I'm a doctor. I'm supposed to have some authority over upper-echelon assholes fucking around with my patients. But no." Dan kicked at the floor in frustration. "Todd just ducked in about 30 minutes ago and told me they were both out for the count again, so small blessings." Dan held up a hand. "And before you ask, no, I have no idea how it went."
"Any idea when Clint'll surface again?"
If he hadn't been sedated, then he could wake at any time. He tended to operate on a timetable all his own. That talent could be both a blessing and a curse, depending on the circumstances.
Dan sighed.
"He's not sedated, but he is loaded with some drugs for his back, so…" Dan chuckled. "Hopefully he won't so much as twitch until he's had a solid eight hours."
Phil nodded, feeling an odd mixture of agreement and frustration. He wanted to talk to Clint – to assess and repair whatever damage the Council had done this time around. But he also knew that sleep was probably the most important – and healthy – thing Clint could be doing at the moment.
"But he's good, other than the sprain and the exhaustion?"
Because if he knew anything about Clint, it was that injuries tended not to be as simple as they seemed.
Dan raised an eyebrow – which didn't exactly put his mind at ease.
"Good? What's good right now?" Dan slumped back in the chair, yawning. "Yeah, he's good. Well, as good as he can get right now, anyhow."
Phil supposed that would have to be enough until he could see Clint again for himself.
Dan's gaze shifted to scan the various monitors surrounding Phil's bed.
"How about you?"
"You tell me, you're the doctor." All Phil knew was that he didn't hurt – and that was about all he had the capacity to judge at the moment.
Dan sighed, looking suddenly like the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.
"You shouldn't be here, Phil."
Phil resisted the urge to arch an eyebrow – unwilling to test fate by pulling at the wound on his head again.
"That's what I'm gathering by the ICU treatment." He tilted his head slightly. "Guess I'm the one that gave the scare this time."
About time someone other than Clint did that. Phil would take this turnaround – a welcome change from Clint being here in his place – any time.
Dan nodded wryly.
"You could say that."
Then he sighed.
"You have a bullet hole in your leg, a bullet hole in your chest, and one hell of a nice crease in your head." Dan looked up at the ceiling, as if seeing guidance from above. "And if you haven't looked in a mirror, the remnants of a big black 'X' on your forehead."
Phil blinked and frowned, resisting the urge to reach up and touch his forehead.
"What the hell? You let someone come after me with a marker while I was out?"
But that didn't seem right. Something wasn't clicking together in his head. Phil knew he was missing something.
"No, we got a grenade in the infirmary and had to improvise on triage protocol."
Dan and blunt were practically synonymous sometimes. Phil closed his eyes, trying to wrap his mind around what the doctor was trying to tell him. Then it suddenly clicked and a sickening feeling settled in his stomach.
He knew triage protocols, had been trained in them himself. That X…
"Jesus…" He shakily raised a hand to rub over his face and forced his eyes open.
Dan swallowed as if physically pained by what he said next.
"One of my nurses triaged you off, Phil. And Barton wouldn't take no for an answer."
Phil blew out a sharp breath, hit with a sudden visual of Clint supporting his bleeding, broken body. Suddenly this turnabout wasn't as welcome as it had been moments ago. That feeling of carrying someone's life in your hands – someone who meant something to you – it was a feeling he'd never wish on anyone, least of all Clint, who carried so much already.
"Jesus." He repeated quietly, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to go find his agent and make sure he was okay. At the same time, he knew there was no way he could be – no more than he had been okay after nearly losing Clint in Croatia. In fact, looking at the evidence now, it was obvious that he wasn't. The tone of his voice on that phone call. The hug. Clint was most assuredly not okay – Coulson had just been too far off his own game to put the pieces together until now.
"Hey, look at me."
Phil shifted his gaze to Dan's immediately, ashamed that he'd tuned the doctor out mid-conversation.
"He's coping for now. Seeing you alive helped. So will getting some rest." Dan's voice dropped, growing rough with emotion. "But Phil…I know the nurse who made that call. It wasn't … dammit, she wasn't wrong."
Phil clenched his jaw and had to look away. All evidence had told him once that Clint was dead and he'd made the mistake of believing it. Because of that lack of faith, Clint had been forced to save himself. If the archer had been any less than who he was – a stubborn-assed fighter who didn't know how to quit – he'd never have made it out of Cairo alive.
Phil frowned – taking in the tense set of Dan's shoulders, the worry lingering in his gaze.
"But Clint didn't take no for an answer." He tended not to when he had his mind set on something. And knowing Clint, he'd probably pissed off a lot of people in the process. But since his archer wasn't currently in any serious trouble that Phil knew of, he would've had to have help. "You backed him up, didn't you?"
Dan Wilson didn't often glare, but when he did, his eyes got steely cold with anger.
"You know damn well I did. So did Todd. And I'd do it again without any damned hesitation."
"Dan, there are triage protocols for a reason…" Phil stopped himself suddenly. He thought of Clint – his Clint suddenly being faced with the real possibility of watching Phil die. Phil had been in that position too many times not to know how it felt. He wouldn't have taken no for an answer if it had been him. And he'd hope – no, he'd expect – Dan to back him up too. To do whatever it took to keep Clint alive.
He raised his eyes back to Dan.
"Thank you." For protecting Clint from that loss. For saving Phil's life.
Dan quirked a half smile.
"You're welcome." Then the doctor sighed and rubbed a tired hand over his eyes. "But you're right. Those protocols exist for a reason, Phil, and I broke 'em."
Phil frowned.
"And in front of a hell of a lot of people too." Dan added with a humorless quirk in his lips.
Phil knew what that meant. It meant too many people had seen whatever had happened happen. It meant someone was going to have to answer for it.
"Has Fury addressed it yet?" Though Phil doubted he had – not with the chaos that still surrounded the situation. Dan confirmed his instinct a moment later by shaking his head.
"Hasn't had the time. The rumor mill is in full swing though, so I'll bet my job that conversation is coming. He doesn't have a choice. We left the people in that LZ primed for a riot and from what I hear, if not for some of Todd's guys, it would have become one."
Phil shook his head and studied the IV port in the back of his hand – a welcome distraction.
"Somebody's gonna take a hit on this." He knew Fury too well to expect anything different. "Could even be you." God, it could be Clint.
Dan's face grew grim, but also resolved. But behind that Phil could see carefully concealed worry.
"It should be me – and me alone. I was the medical authority on the scene and I made the call."
Phil frowned again.
"Clint won't see it that way. You know he won't. If you hadn't helped him, he would have just found another way."
Because 'medical authority on the scene' or not, they both knew Clint had no problem telling authority to shove it. There was no doubt in Phil's mind that Clint had started this – had put people like Dan and Todd in a position to either help him, or be forced to try and stop him.
And how had Dan put it once? Clint was about as stoppable as freight train. And the kid knew it.
But he was also man enough to face the consequences of his actions. He always had been.
"He won't let you take the fall for this."
"I know that." Dan admitted with a sigh. "Which is why I'm going to Fury as soon as he's done mopping up this mess, so we can hammer all this out." He pointed a firm finger at Phil's chest. "And you are not telling Barton about that, either."
Phil quirked his lips doubtfully and furrowed his brow. Clint would be pissed when he found out Dan had gone to Fury without telling him.
"If you argue with me, I'll sedate your ass until it's done. God knows I've got reason enough right now."
Phil glared hard at him, feeling at a crossroads. His first instinct was always to protect Clint, to shield him the best he could from anything he could. But he'd never had to protect Clint at the cost of a friend before. Though, Dan wasn't really giving any of them a choice. He was protecting Clint too – in his own way. And he was taking responsibility for his decisions, just like Clint would if given the option.
Dan just intended to see that Clint didn't get that option.
"If you take a hit for this, he'll just go to Fury anyway."
"If it comes to that, then we'll just have to figure out a way to stop him."
Phil huffed a slight laugh. He wished the doctor luck with that. With a sigh, he met his friend's eyes.
"Thank you, Dan – for backing him up." And for being willing to take the heat that choice would bring.
"What was I gonna do?" Dan's lips quirked sadly. "Tell him no? Tell him he had to watch you die in the dirt? I wasn't going to do that – not to him." Dan's expression tightened, his eyes glazing for a brief moment as he seemed to get lost in some memory. He shook himself and focused back on Phil, "Maybe if he hadn't been…if it had just been you…" he shook his head. "I saw you, and I saw a chance. And there was no way I could tell him no."
Phil dipped his chin. He knew what Dan was trying to say. If Clint hadn't been there, hadn't been the one looking Dan in the face begging for help, then maybe they wouldn't be having this discussion. Dan would have had a chance to do what he was supposed to – be objective. Make the hard choice. Phil would have done the same in his position.
No. That wasn't fair. Clint was the exception to his objectivity, always had been. And apparently Clint was an exception to Dan too.
"Besides, that kid would have gone through me and anyone else between you and help. The way I see it, I kept a few more names of the injured list – and given the beat down he delivered when some guys tried to pull him back from you once we got here, maybe even kept some bodies out of the morgue."
Phil filed that little piece of information away for later and inclined his head in agreement. He knew what he was capable of when Clint's life was in danger, the lengths he was willing to go to. He didn't want to think about what Clint – one of the most highly-trained killers in the world – would do if he felt backed into a corner like that. He was glad Dan and Todd had kept that scenario from playing out.
"Thank you." He found himself saying it again, but for an entirely different reason now.
Dan made an odd face, like he wasn't quite sure why he was getting thanked again, but then he offered a weak smile.
"Thank me after you're done with rehab. By that point, you might wish they'd let you die." The humor was forced and weak. Phil could see a lingering grimness hidden behind the tight smile.
"You're a good friend, Dan." One of the best as far as Phil was concerned.
Dan sighed, long and weary.
"That's the side of my brain that kicked in, Phil. Not a doctor running triage. What the hell does that say?"
That things were probably about to change. If Phil could see that Dan had been more friend than doctor when it was down to the wire – if Dan saw it – then Fury sure as hell did too.
"It says," Phil gave him a sad smile, "that you're a good friend."
Phil knew for a fact that sometimes that mattered more than anything else – but sometimes, it also came with consequences.
Dan nodded, swallowing thickly and staring off to his right for a moment.
"Phil…I don't regret it." His eyes shifted back to Phil's. "I never will."
Phil wasn't quite sure what to say to that and a moment later Dan let him off the hook with a weary grin.
"Hell, maybe Fury'll be so happy you're alive and Williams is dead that he'll decide it's all no big deal."
Phil smiled slightly in return, but his heart wasn't in it. There was no way Fury was going to brush this under the rug.
Dan's smile faded and he sighed.
"Can we at least pretend to be optimistic?"
Phil quirked his lips, suddenly remembering something Clint had said to him many times.
"I can do optimism. I've been told I have an annoying habit of it."
Phil woke vaguely when Todd replaced Dan at his bedside, but did nothing more than acknowledge the man before drifting back to sleep. He woke once again when a nurse changed something in his IV and saw Todd sleeping soundly in the chair next to the bed. The next time he woke, Todd was gone.
But in his place was a sight that warmed Phil right to his soul.
Clint.
The archer was slumped forward out of the chair, his head pillowed on his arms where they rested on the edge of Phil's bed. He'd pulled the chair close to the bed, keeping his back from having to stretch too far. His face was turned away, so all Phil could see was his hair – which looked freshly washed. His bloody black t-shirt had been replaced by a white one and Phil could see the edge of blue scrub pants peeking out from under the shirt's hem.
The cuts and scrapes on his arms had obviously been treated – a few of them apparently having merited actual stitches and bandaging. His back looked loose in a way that was almost foreign. Tension seemed to be something Clint just lived with – to see that gone, could only mean painkillers, maybe muscle relaxants. With a sprained back, that would make sense. Dan had said he'd drugged him.
Phil shifted slightly, debating on whether or not to wake him. A glance at the clock on the wall told him it had been well over ten hours since Dan had told him Clint was finally getting some much-needed – and much-deserved – rest. That hopefully meant Clint had only been awake long enough to come relieve Todd and go right back to sleep.
Though it did beckon the question about where Natasha was.
In the end, he still hadn't come to a decision one way or the other one waking him when the archer made the choice for him.
One breath he was sleeping almost peacefully, the next his was flinching awake so violently, he nearly toppled Phil's IV stand with a flailing hand.
"Whoa, whoa…" Phil tried to push himself up and failed, gasping in pain. He pushed it aside and reached for the bed controls – eyes pinned to Clint as he half stood out of his chair and tried to back away from whatever he was seeing. "Clint!" he snapped the name out sharply – drawing the archer's attention.
Clint's arms windmilled out, trying to catch his balance, but then his legs backed into the chair and he sat – more fell – into it…hard.
Clint sat frozen for a moment – eyes wide and breathing harsh. Then he blew out a breath, eyes sliding to Phil's.
"I really need to stop waking up like that."
Phil wasn't sure what that meant, but he put aside to ask about later. He watched Clint carefully shift in the chair. Whatever reprieve he'd had in the muscles of his back seemed to have come to an end, his movements painfully stiff.
"You all right?" Phil asked, relaxing back in his pillows. He kept his worried gaze on his protégé, watching Clint's left hand drift to press against the small of his back.
Clint barked out a laugh that lacked any real humor and reached to rub his eyes with his right hand, splinted finger seemingly ignored. He still looked painfully exhausted, but his skin held more color than it had last time Phil had seen him and some of the redness had faded from in and around his eyes.
"Ask a simpler question."
Phil could do that – for now.
"Where's Natasha?"
Clint glanced over his shoulder as if he expected her to appear at any moment.
"Hill finally found us a place to call temporary quarters – Tasha's getting cleaned up. She said she'd go scare up some food after that."
Phil nodded and arched a challenging eyebrow when Clint gave him a long appraising look. His eyes drifted from Phil's head, to his chest, to his thigh then back to his face. Something darkened his gaze for a moment before he blinked it away and sighed.
"How're you feeling?"
"I'm okay." It wasn't a lie. Whatever painkiller they had him on was doing its job and he was on the road to recovery.
Clint looked skeptical for a moment, but didn't challenge the claim.
"And you?" Phil asked again. "Dan mentioned a skylight?"
Clint scowled a little and shifted in the chair.
"I got pushed…well, thrown."
Phil blinked patiently.
"Through a skylight." He kept his tone purposefully deadpan – hoping to keep the situation as light as he could for as long as he could.
The archer actually looked mildly embarrassed.
"The guy had fifty pounds on me – at least…" A slight defensiveness sprouted in his eyes. "I pulled him down with me."
Because that made it all better.
"You hurt your back?" Phil prodded, hoping Clint wouldn't make this the battle he usually did.
Maybe he sensed Phil's weariness and worry – or maybe he was just still too tired to put up a fight, but Clint sighed and replied almost immediately.
"Sprained it pretty bad, if Wilson is to be taken seriously."
Phil shifted his gaze pointedly to take in Clint's other injuries.
"Glass." Clint explained simply. "Apparently he had to dig some out of my back too, but I was so drugged up by that point I don't really remember it."
That was probably for the best – that kid needed more memories of pain like he needed a hole in the head.
"And the finger?"
Clint held up his right hand, glaring at his splinted finger with minor annoyance.
"That one can be blamed on Williams."
"He broke your finger?"
"His rib did."
Oh.
"I broke it first, though, so I guess it was only fair."
That explained the bruises on the rest of the knuckles and the mild abrasions Phil could see on the knuckles of his left hand. Williams had apparently been given some of Clint's version of 'old fashioned hospitality'. It was about time Clint was the one giving that instead of receiving it.
Though that meant Clint had – at some point – let Williams bait him into losing control.
"What did he say to you?"
Clint's expression went so carefully blank that Phil knew this conversation was suddenly essential. Clint didn't do blank – not with him – hadn't for years now. He did anger, he did self-loathing, he did hurt and fear…but not blank. He didn't lock Phil out.
Not unless whatever he was feeling had him so twisted up that he wasn't even ready to face it himself yet.
"He said a lot of things." The tone of his voice was haunting and it had Phil forcing down the urge to go kick Williams' dead body. "But that's not why I beat the shit out of him."
They'd circle back to whatever Williams had said to him eventually – when Clint was ready to talk about it. Until then, Phil wasn't left with much of a choice but to follow the path Clint set.
"Then why did you?"
Clint shifted his jaw and chewed the inside of his lip briefly and then his eyes cut away, hiding whatever was in them.
"Did you know the Council didn't even let me sleep an hour before they called for a de-brief about Williams?"
Phil sighed. He supposed it wouldn't be a conversation with Clint if there weren't a certain amount of diversionary techniques and non-sequitur subject changes.
"And how did that go?" They'd have to talk about it sooner or later, might as well do it now.
"It was the same barrel of laughs it always is." And there was the typical smirk of sarcasm Clint usually wore when the Council was the subject of conversation.
"What'd they say?"
"Not much actually – mostly asked an assload of questions they already knew the answers to." Clint threw up his hands in mocking air quotes. "'For 'clarification and confirmation,' or some shit like that."
Phil was a little confused about what they'd need clarification and confirmation about. He should think if they'd had enough evidence to merit issuing a kill order, then there was really nothing left to be said.
"What did they want to clarify and confirm?"
Clint shot him a hesitant look and waited a long beat before answering.
"Williams' other attempts to send me to hell ahead of schedule."
Phil froze. Other attempts? As far as he knew, there was only one other attempt – Budapest. He searched Clint's gaze intensely, but the archer was giving nothing away. He was going to make Phil drag it out of him – what else was new?
"What are you talking about? What other attempts?"
Clint looked down at his hands and chewed the inside of his lip for a moment. Finally he sighed and raised his eyes to Phil's again.
"The Andes for starters – he admitted to pushing for me to get that assignment because he hoped I'd end up just as dead as the first team they'd sent."
Phil felt suddenly light headed. The Andes signified one of his worst nightmares. Clint had been so sick with fever, so close to fading away…it still haunted Phil to this day. He'd known something had to have been off for them to give an assignment like the Orion mission to a rookie. But he'd never have thought the Council would act in anyway but a professional one. He'd never dreamed a man in a position like Williams' would let himself get dragged down by revenge.
Clint didn't give him more than a few moments to process the new information before he continued.
"Then, of course, there was Uzbekistan."
And the hits just kept coming.
Clint's tone appeared casual on the surface, but there was an undercurrent of emotion that Phil couldn't miss and that Clint couldn't hide.
Uzbekistan.
It still followed both of them – even after nearly four years. It still haunted both of their dreams.
"What did he…how did…" Phil shook his head and reached to pinch the bridge of his nose. He couldn't remember a time he'd been so knocked off kilter that he couldn't even form a coherent sentence. Luckily, Clint could practically read his mind most days, and he answered the question Phil was trying to ask.
"That merc team – Williams put them there."
Phil felt his hands fist in his sheets. Clint had been brutally tortured on that mission. The physical damage done was second only to what had happened in Cairo – but Clint's heart hadn't stopped in Cairo. And that one fact was what put Uzbekistan in the lead for 'worst day of Phil's life.'
"Said he wanted me to suffer."
It explained everything. It explained the pointless torture. It explained the mystery mercenary team. It explained how they knew not to take the chance of giving any opening for Clint to escape. It explained a simple, scripted 'watch and report' assignment turning into a completely derailed disaster.
God…what if Williams hadn't wanted Clint to suffer? What if just killing him had been enough? They'd come closer to that than they ever realized and that realization was terrifying.
Clint survived – was ultimately spared – because of Williams' hate. Because that hate ran so deep.
"Guess I got lucky that he hated me so much."
Phil shook his head again – shaking off the disconcertion of Clint echoing his thoughts. He finally forced himself to speak – couldn't take anymore of the strange mixtures of emotion in Clint's voice. He was trying to play it off – make out like it wasn't all that big a deal for him. But it was – Phil could hear that in his voice even if no one else in the world could.
"Jesus, Clint…if I'd have known…"
He'd have hunted Williams down. He'd have killed the son of a bitch before the situation ever got to where it was now. To hell with kill orders and protocols – if he'd have known Williams was behind the Andes…behind Uzbekistan…
Clint's lips quirked into a small, warm – if not slightly shadowed – smile. And Phil knew the archer was reading his mind again.
"I know, Phil."
Phil shook his head. It wasn't enough – not this late in the game. Not when it had been seven years and had come to four failed attempts to kill someone that was his to protect. It wasn't enough to make late promises of protection…not when he'd already failed so badly.
He could see reassurances and absolutions building in Clint's eyes. Clint never could let him get away with blaming himself for something. In his world, Clint was the only one not worthy of absolution.
Phil had to change the subject. Couldn't bear to hear Clint tell him it was okay – that it wasn't his fault. He was supposed to protect him. He'd failed. He didn't deserve or want absolution from that.
"Is that why you broke your finger with his rib? Because he admitted to all of that?"
He doubted it was. Clint had probably taken that revelation with nothing but a shamed gaze. He never had been one to mount his own defense – was more prone to accept blame without argument. But it was the best segue Phil could come up with for the moment.
Clint's eyes landed on his with a sudden intensity Phil wasn't expecting.
"No."
Phil frowned. Jesus, it was like pulling water from a stone.
"Then why…"
Clint cut him off – answering the question before Phil could fully get it out. And that answer…it shook Phil to his core.
"I thought you were dead."
Phil felt the air leave his lungs in a painful rush. He hadn't died – not even in surgery, not that he knew of. How…why had Clint ever been under the impression that he had? He knew what that felt like – had felt it years ago in Cairo. That certainty that Clint was gone – was dead…it had nearly ripped him apart.
They had years more history between them now and Clint had thought…
"Jesus, Clint."
The archer's brow furrowed and he looked away.
"I saw black…would have beat him to death with my bare hands right then and never would have regretted it."
"But you didn't." Phil knew that. Fury had told him Clint had executed Williams on orders from the Council – hadn't beaten him to death in a blind rage.
"No." Clint agreed, looking again at his splinted finger and bruised knuckles.
"Why?"
"Well, you weren't dead." Clint arched an eyebrow at him – as if that should have been the obvious answer.
"And you figured that out in the heat of the moment?" Phil let all his incredulous doubt seep into his tone. There was no way it had played out like that – not if Clint was seeing 'black' as he claimed.
"No." Clint agreed again, this time a small smirk quirking his lips. "I saw red."
Phil blinked – wondering suddenly if his brain was more scrambled than he thought. Clint seemed to read his confusion and his smirk grew into a slight smile.
"Natasha." There was a little guilt in Clint's smile now – like he'd been messing with Phil on purpose, talking in riddles just to see Phil's head spin.
That was the pain in the ass he knew and loved. But he also knew it was a cover – a defense mechanism.
"You okay?" Because he hadn't been, when he'd thought Clint was dead – not even when it had been proven that he wasn't.
That question brought on another slight furrow in Clint's brow and sent his eyes away from Phil's. It took a moment, but he answered without Phil having to prompt him again. But when he did there was lingering pain and fear in his tone and such painful sincerity that Phil wanted nothing more than to wrap him in a hug.
"I will be…eventually." Then through what seemed to be pure force of will, Clint painted the smirk back on and looked back at him. "So long as you stay not dead."
But Phil wasn't up to dancing around issues for Clint's sake – wasn't up for their slow circling towards the real root of the problems. He didn't know how Clint did it when he was where Phil was now. Injured and flat on his back, Clint always found the strength to put up fronts.
Phil didn't have it in him, didn't have the strength or energy to play any more games.
"And what are you gonna do – if one day I do?"
He might as well have slapped him for the shock and sudden pain on Clint's face.
"Phil…" there was betrayal in his tone – like he couldn't believe Phil was forcing this issue of all the issues they had to work through. The one issue Phil knew would break Clint if given the chance – the only one Clint might let break him…which was why they had to deal with it now, before that could happen.
"You gonna let yourself see 'black'? You gonna become what you used to be?" he knew his tone was harsh – maybe even a little accusing. But he knew – and he knew Clint knew – that if he had killed Williams in that black rage, he wouldn't have regretted it. He would have kept himself in that darkness so that he wouldn't have to regret it.
And that was terrifying. It was too close to the nearly soulless contract assassin Phil had fought so hard to save.
"Phil, I wouldn't have…" Clint stopped his defense, maybe realized it wasn't true.
"Wouldn't have what? Killed him? You just told me you would have, that you wouldn't have regretted it. You think just because I lived, it erases all of that?"
Shame rose in the archer's eyes, but Phil forced himself to go on.
"You think that it would have made you better than him? It would have made you the same."
He watched that hit hard – watched pain filter through Clint's expression before it hardened.
"I'm not the same as Williams." He spat the name like it was poison on his tongue.
"No, you're not." Phil leaned his head to keep Clint's gaze when he tried to look away. "But revenge is revenge no matter who's wearing it. If you'd murdered him in my name – like he murdered people in his daughter's – it would have made you no better than he was."
"But I didn't." Clint shot back sharply. "I know the difference between revenge and justice, hell, I taught Williams the lesson myself. I didn't kill him because of you."
"No, you didn't…but we both know that's only because I survived."
Clint looked away, breathing like he'd run back to back marathons, and he didn't deny it.
Phil was hitting hard, he knew he was. But he had to get through. But now it was time to temper those hard hits with a gentler tone. So he grimaced and reached forward, wrapping his hand around Clint's forearm where it rested on the bed.
"You can't let yourself go down that road, Clint. No matter what happens. You have to promise me that you'll never go down that road – that you'll never lose yourself in that darkness again. That you'll always keep moving forward, even if I'm not there."
Clint pulled his arm out of Phil's grip and stood, backing away from him. He seemed to realize that this wasn't just about avenging Phil's death anymore. Phil was pushing farther, was asking even more.
Now it was about going on without him.
Clint kept backing away until he was just a few paces from the wall.
"How can you ask me to promise that? Could you? Could you promise me the same thing?"
Phil knew he couldn't. He liked to think that if it came to that he would try to go on – try to at least keep living. But Clint was his entire world. Going on without him just wasn't something Phil was sure he'd know how to do. And maybe Clint wouldn't either...but Phil had to believe he'd figure it out. Because Phil wasn't Clint's entire world – not anymore. He had Natasha now. He had a purpose he didn't even know about yet. A life as a hero – as an Avenger.
And when that purpose was realized, Clint would be able to go on without him. He'd have to.
The archer must have read his answer in his silence because he looked suddenly mutinous.
"Then how can you ask me to? What would I be here, without you?"
The answer to that was easy.
"A hero."
"What?" Clint looked so confused and so frustrated as he shook his head like Phil had lost his mind.
"It's what you've always been – from the moment you walked to me across that tarmac in Germany. You're a hero – who puts the lives of others above his own life – above his own soul. You do the work that no one else can stomach and you pay a price."
He paid with a piece of his soul – every time he pulled a trigger or loosed an arrow. He paid with the pieces of his soul he'd lost while he'd unknowingly trained for a year as a contract killer – trained to one day become SHIELD's top covert assassin.
"You're not the villain of your story, Clint – and the time is going to come when you'll finally see that, when it'll be made clear."
The day the finally activated the Avengers Initiative – the day the read in the first name on that list.
"What are you talking about?" Clint looked confused and tired all at once. Because he didn't know yet – didn't know what his ultimate purpose was. He didn't know the Avengers Initiative existed – didn't know his name had been the only one on the list for a long time. Natasha's name was on it now too. They were looking into adding another – Tony Stark .
But that wasn't a conversation to have now – not when they were still so far from that Initiative going active.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is you realizing that you can go on without me – but you have to want to."
"And what if I don't want to?" It was said in a low tone – a dangerous tone – a tone that meant Phil had to be very careful how he answered.
"You have to. Because I'm not the only one in your life anymore. Maybe you're okay with giving up your soul – with walking back into that darkness with open arms, with making it so you don't have to feel anymore. But would you do that to her?"
Clint's jaw clenched and his eyes were suddenly deeply pained.
"She'd follow you, Clint – wherever you went. You know that." He watched Clint's breaths leave him in harsh pants as he turned away, trying to shut Phil's words out. "Would you ask her to give up her soul, just because you don't want yours?"
He knew what the answer would be. Clint had once risked everything for the sake of Natasha's soul. Her shot at redemption meant more to him than his own. He would never ask her to go back into a world of darkness, not even to ease his own pain.
"So what am I supposed to do?" Clint still didn't face him – maybe couldn't.
"You're supposed to know that I will always do everything in my power to stay with you – to keep fighting by your side. And that if the day ever comes that I'm not… I need to know that you'll keep fighting for both of us."
"Keep fighting…" Clint spoke over his shoulder, still didn't turn, "without you."
He said it like the idea was insane – was impossible. It both warmed Phil and broke his heart.
"I'm not saying it'll happen. I hope to God I grow into an old man and get to watch you do the same…but you know better than anyone that we don't live in a world of hopes and dreams. I know it's not fair – that I shouldn't ask you to promise me something I can't even promise you in return – but I need you to."
"Why?" Clint turned then – and Phil almost wished he hadn't.
There were tears in Clint's eyes – tears Phil had caused and that he knew would never fall. There was pain and fear in every part of Clint's expression and his eyes were begging, begging Phil not to make him do this.
Because Clint kept his word. He didn't make promises he couldn't keep. Trust was too important to him. He didn't give it out blindly and he took the measure of it people put in him very seriously.
"Because I need to know that you'll be okay!" Phil felt his voice start to rise, but didn't take the time to check it or to keep the emotion out of it. "I need to know that you won't give up on everything you've built here – everything I've helped you build! I need that, Clint."
Clint backed away from him again until his shoulders hit the wall – then he dropped his head back until it thudded against the metal and closed his eyes.
Phil waited.
This wasn't some small promise he was asking for – this was huge. It was the biggest thing he'd ever asked of Clint. It was selfish and it wasn't fair. But he was counting on one little fact – the fact that Clint would do, and had done – anything for him. He never thought he'd see the day he abused that devotion like he was doing now.
Finally, the archer rolled his head on the metal wall and then dropped his chin down to his chest.
"Okay."
It was quiet and full of defeat, but it was what Phil wanted to hear. That didn't make him feel any better about it. If anything, the tone made him feel worse.
Clint kept his head down, didn't raise his gaze.
"I won't go backwards. I won't take Natasha backwards with me." He swallowed thickly and finally looked up, defeat and pain were heavy in his gaze – so heavy that Phil had to fight not to look away. "I'll keep fighting."
Phil wished this victory felt more like one, but it didn't. It felt dirty and cruel.
"But you have to promise me something."
Phil shook his head.
"Clint, I can't promise the same th-"
Clint cut his hand through the air and stalked a step closer.
"No – that's not what I want."
Phil frowned warily.
"Then what?"
"I want you to promise that you'll do whatever it takes to keep me from having to keep that promise."
Phil held Clint's gaze.
"I promise that I'll always do whatever is in my power to be here for you, Clint."
Clint shook his head.
"That's not what I asked."
Phil stared at him seriously.
"I know."
Clint shook his head and looked away. Phil sighed and tried to explain.
"You want me to promise not to put myself in danger – not to run towards the same fights you run towards. I can't do that – not and still be the man you know."
Clint clenched his jaw and closed his eyes tightly. After several long, tensely silent moments he blew out a breath and faced Phil again – resolve now hardening in his eyes.
"Then I guess I'll just have to keep your ass alive myself."
It was a weighted promise – one that immediately made Phil fear he'd have another Croatia situation on his hands one day. But he had to give the kid something.
So Phil forced a quirk into his lips.
"You assigning yourself bodyguard detail? You hate bodyguard detail. You said it was boring."
Clint's expression turned deadpan and it made Phil smile – for real this time.
"I'll learn to love it." And damn if his tone didn't perfectly match that deadpan expression. Then Clint's expression softened and he smirked slightly. "Besides…I said that before Moreau…and we both know how boring that one turned out."
Phil smiled wider and watched Clint sink wearily back into his chair. Phil almost gave him a moment to rest, but knew better than to retreat when he'd already gained ground. And if anything ever deserved a battlefield analogy, it was dealing with Clint's emotions.
So next on the docket…
"So…" Phil waited until Clint looked at him, "what were you dreaming about?"
Clint blinked in vague confusion.
"Huh?"
"You woke up flailing."
Because, really, that was evidence enough and they both knew it.
Clint scowled and scratched at the edge of a bandage on his arm.
"Team Williams was tag-teaming it."
Phil nodded slowly – waiting for more.
Nothing else came. Instead, Clint's expression grew terrifyingly intense and darkly introspective.
"Clint…" He barely got the prodding, cajoling word out before Clint was interrupting him.
"I made it right."
Phil wasn't sure who he was trying to convince – because by his tone, Clint wasn't all that certain of that point.
"You went after Maskov." It wasn't a question. Phil had known the moment Dan had said Clint was 'taking care of unfinished business' that his archer was on his way to Athens.
"I made it right."
"But it's not enough, is it?"
Clint's lips curled into a sad ghost of his usual smirk and Phil returned it in kind.
"It never will be."
It wasn't the first time they'd had a conversation like this. Their first had been years ago – in the range and it had ended with Phil taking away Clint's bow like he was eight years old instead of eighteen. And Clint still judged himself with that same harsh ruthlessness, even after everything he'd done to try and make up for his teenage mistakes. It had cut Phil to his core from day damn one to realize that…and it still cut deep now.
"You need to let it go, Clint. You need to let Brianna go."
Clint blinked, shocked but the blunt statement.
"I can't."
"Try harder."
Clint shook his head angrily.
"Maybe I don't want to let her go."
"Why?" Phil nearly growled. "You've done everything you can to make it right – you said so yourself."
"But…"
"No! No 'but'! You burned that ledger a month ago. You put that part of your life behind you!"
"No, you did!"
Phil drew back sharply and Clint all but shot out the chair – angrily pointing a finger at Phil's chest.
"You put it behind you, Phil! And for a half a breath that was enough for me too. But I can't. I can't let go of what I did! I can't just let myself off the hook!"
"Why? You've paid for it – over and over! Why can't you just forgive yourself?"
"Because I don't deserve it!"
Phil stared at him in shock – watching as Clint turned away and worked to get himself back under control. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and carried such defeat and sorrow, that Phil's chest constricted.
"I killed 287 people, Phil. Two hundred and eighty seven – Brianna Williams was just one of those. I will never be able to do enough good to make up for that much evil."
Phil wanted to throttle him.
"You don't forgive yourself, so no one else should either? Is that it? Well, I forgive you. And I'd bet my life that there are more than a few of those 287 that would forgive you too if they knew the man you were now. Maybe even Brianna would forgive you."
He watched Clint shake his head and it just fueled the fire in him.
"You think regret doesn't mean anything? You think that wishing you could take it back doesn't tip the scales? I know if you could you would give your life in a second if it meant you could give life back to even one of those names. You're in such a hurry to condemn your soul, you don't let yourself see what you've become. You are a good man – the best I know."
Clint's shoulders were bunched up in tension and he stayed silent. It felt like talking to a brick wall – a silent, immovable brick wall. Time to change tactics.
"Would you condemn Natasha for the sins of her past?"
It landed like a physical blow. Clint spun on his heel so quickly he had to reach for the back of his chair to keep his body from betraying him and sending him to the floor.
"Don't talk about her like that."
"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.
"She never had a choice! I did!"
"You think she didn't have a choice? There's always a choice!"
And there was – Natasha had chosen survival. That had been her choice. He watched the reality of that truth hit home and Clint sank back into the chair once again.
"You still think she deserves a shot at redemption?"
Clint clenched his jaw tightly.
"Of course I do."
"But you don't?"
He could see the truth of it in Clint's eyes and Clint didn't refute the statement.
"Then maybe you should leave the judgment of your soul to someone less biased than you."
Clint's shoulders slumped and the fight seemed to drain out of him. If Phil could beat that self hatred out of him with unwavering support and loyalty, he would. He would tell Clint everyday that he'd made it right if that's what it took for the archer to believe it.
"If you do everything you can possibly do and you still don't let it be enough…then why even try at all?"
He watched that reality sink home and Clint's expression momentarily shattered and he lowered his eyes.
"I can't let myself forget. I can't forget what I was…it's the only way I can be sure I'm not becoming it again."
Phil felt his throat tighten. He'd always known Clint silently feared that – that he feared regressing to what he once was. Because the job SHIELD asked him to do was terrifyingly similar. But Phil had made a point to show the differences from the beginning. Apparently, that hadn't quite been enough.
"Then don't forget." Phil softened his tone and wished he could reach out and grip Clint's shoulder, squeeze the back of his neck, something, anything to communicate comfort. "Just start to forgive."
For several very long moments, Clint was silent and still. And then he nodded – very slightly – but it was there. Phil felt like leaping for joy.
Instead he just allowed himself a warm smile and raised his left hand.
"C'mere, kid."
Clint raised his eyes slightly, saw the beckoning hand, and moved without further prompting. He folded his leg beneath him on the edge of Phil's bed and let Phil draw him into a hug.
It was almost strange – getting a second hug from Clint in such a short time frame. Physical contact between them was usually limited to shoulder squeezes.
But it had been a hell of a 48 hours.
And Phil needed it – and given his lack of protest, Clint did too.
He carefully squeezed the back of Clint's neck and spoke into his hair.
"You will never have to prove anything to me, okay? You never had to make anything right – you never had to redeem yourself. I have never held who you were against you and I never will. You understand me? Never."
Clint nodded against his shoulder, his breath hitching momentarily in his back, and then Phil let him pull away. Predictably, Clint's head was ducked and he didn't meet his eyes.
"Jesus Phil…don't think you're getting monster chick flick moments like this outta me every time you almost die…geesh, next time you'll be wanting to listen to N'Sync and braid my hair."
And Clint wouldn't be Clint if he didn't regain his equilibrium with sarcastic humor. That was the Clint he knew and loved.
Phil didn't even try to hold back the smile that blossomed on his face.
End of Chapter Twelve
So technically, THIS chapter isn't the new one = the one I had you wait till Thursday for. This story, as I've been adding the necessary little things I wanted to add, has been growing. So...that being said. It is now FOURTEEN chapters...meaning you still have TWO more :D I have every intention of having 14 ready to go tomorrow, but I am traveling back home to TX today, so I'm not QUITE sure what my time availability will look like...at the worst, you'll have to wait till Saturday :( I promise to make sure to add everything I need to add before posting from here on out lol :D
Now...I think the fact that you got a SECOND Phil and Clint hug earns me some goodwill...and maybe some reviews?:D
Your preview is tricky, considering the next chapter isn't completely written yet, but here's a segment of what IS written:
"Kid, I know you're past done wanting to talk about all this. I know asking you to rehash it again is pretty much kicking you while you're down. But Dan and Todd – they've been with you in this since it started almost seven years ago."
"I know that, Phil." Clint pushed himself up from the chair again and paced across to the small window on the other side of the room.
Now Phil's tone was gentle and Clint was still too damn tired to even feel annoyed by that.
"Then what is it?"