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 Twelve: BatmanOtaku, Viviannafox, Black Betty, Sandy-wmd, HHcountry96, Guest, JRBarton, Aurora Abbot, Reteka Hyuuga, kimbee, JennyBunny65, Queen Apolline, R1dDL3M37h15, ladybug114, awkward hawk, bookworm1517, Melissa, Anna, CyanB, GremlinX, hawkeyeforever, thababes, penguincrazy, Hornswaggler, Maire Caitroina, discordchick, Qweb, VioletBrock, lackam, rose, ch33tahp4w, coastalcajun, isi7140, sv4me, Anon, DBhawkguy30, weemcg33, horselover28, .fire, GreenLoki, tpt player 5701, Eringo94, silvershadowrebel, Shazrolane, JustKissMe, Mirabilem Electo, Waterlilies, Eva7673, xXBrittanyXx, Lollypops101, jaguarspot, truefairytales, Reading4Ever, Tuch, Anon, Sam Mayer, TheNaggingCube, and jensmit75
To R1dDL3M37h15: the chick flick moments and braiding hair was totally inspired by Supernatural and Dean Winchester yet again :)
To CyanB: this is not a story where everyone but Clint gets shot :) Though that's gonna be a in interesting turnabout when it happens, isn't it lol
To Hornswaggler: This is just a snap shot of the timeline. Remember this whole story has only taken place over two or so day so far. That's why there's nothing but mention of Stark
To isi7140: there's no nightmare about Phil dying in THIS story - but I usually start throwing in those types of nightmares in stories that follow the traumatic events :) so it'll come!
To silvershadowrebel and TheNaggingCube: I'm loving Agents of SHIELD so for :) loving all the Coulson as it gives me an even better handle on his personality :)
To JustKissMe: Clint's mission in Thor and Nat's in Iron Man 2 was mentioned in one of the Milestone Series...Year 7 I believe :)
To xXBrittanyXx: this story is about 2 years pre-Avengers :)
Now - it's time for apologies. I know I said this would be out yesterday, and here we are...a day late. Here are my amazing and totally understandable excuses: food poisoning - it really knocked me on my ass and set me way behind schedule :( And when finally got this done yesterday, my awesome beta had a real job to do and that TOTALLY comes first :). But we're here now! And I think you're gonna like this one! :D
And lastly: calling all fan-art people. After seeing Noweia's awesome drawing of "the hug", I had a reader (JRBarton) suggest I call for anybody that has a talent for that type of thing to see if anyone else wanted to draw scenes from my stories. That would literally MAKE MY LIFE. :D Send me a PM or put it in a review if you're interested!
Thank you to Kylen for beta-ing this. And also for her incredible patience :) She is Dan's words in this chapter :)
This story is dedicated to Kylen
On to Chapter Thirteen...
I am prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the ordeal of meeting me is another matter.
Winston Churchill
Clint stood at the foot of Phil's bed, arms crossed defiantly across his chest, and face set in scowl. Natasha had arrived with food over an hour ago – had since run off to retrieve pudding. And eating, apparently, had lit a fire under Phil. Had put some pep in his step. Had added fuel to his –
"Clint – stop scowling. It's not that big of a deal."
Clint scowled a little deeper just because. All he got for his – admittedly childish – petulance was a put-upon sigh and an eye roll from Phil.
"Don't you think they'd want to know? That they deserve to know?"
It was Clint's turn to sigh as he shifted around the bed and eased back down into his chair. The muscles in his back angrily protested being forced to move at all. He was scowling again by the time he settled in the chair and it earned him a hard look from Phil.
"Your face is gonna stick like that."
Clint rolled his eyes – who was being childish now? – and then forced his expression to smooth. He felt Phil's eyes on him for several long, quiet moments and stubbornly kept his gaze fixed on the splint on his finger. When Phil spoke again, his tone was boarding on gentle.
"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?"
Clint sighed but didn't reply. Instead, he just stared out the small window into the open air. Something in his stomach twisted – much as it had ten minutes ago when Phil first pitched his bright idea.
"You need to tell Dan and Todd…tell them everything."
Everything, of course, meaning the truth about all Williams had done – more specifically Uzbekistan. It wasn't something Clint was particularly looking forward to for a few reasons. For one, he was still so goddamned tired and his back hurt and he just wanted to put this entire shit storm behind him. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. He didn't want to have to keep thinking about the Andes and Uzbekistan and Budapest and New York. He just wanted to be done.
And if that weren't enough to set him on edge, both men had an extremely personal tie to Clint's to-death-and-back experience.
Bryan had been there, had been relegated to the proverbial sidelines to keep the hostiles that still wanted to kill them from succeeding. He'd been forced to stand guard while Phil fought to pull Clint back into the world of the living. He'd been unable to help, unable to do anything but watch and pray.
Then there was Wilson, who'd been stuck on the other end of the phone – who hadn't been able to be there. He'd only been able to talk Phil through it, sit back, and hope it was enough. The man had been Clint's primary doctor since the Andes and had seen him through more than one nearly fatal injury. 'Sit back and hope' just wasn't something he was used to having to do.
It was going to hit both of them hard. He knew that because he knew them. He knew – even if he forgot sometimes – that he meant something to them. He knew that this kind of revelation so close on the heels of everything that had happened in the last month – Budapest and then this hell-sent attack on the base – it was going to shake them.
But those weren't the only reasons Clint was digging his heels in and glaring out windows.
He'd told Bryan about Brianna. Well, the man had cornered him when he was at one of his lowest moments and demanded the entire story upon threat of getting 'really pissed off', but he'd told him.
He hadn't told Wilson. And now he'd have to.
He knew the doctor knew what Clint had done before SHIELD. He'd told the doctor himself years ago. But he'd never gone into detail, never told him the stories behind the shadows Clint knew the man saw in his eyes. Wilson definitely didn't know that the whole reason Williams had started all of this was because of something Clint had done.
And Clint didn't want to tell him. He didn't want another person that mattered in his life to learn the truth behind his darkest, dirtiest not-so-secret secret. Because for as much as Wilson knew what Clint had been, actually hearing a name, learning a story…it made it painfully, undeniably real.
And Clint wasn't sure he was ready to find out what that would mean for his friendship with Wilson. Part of him believed, was convinced even, that Wilson wouldn't care. Would do nothing but rant and rave that Clint hadn't deserved any of this.
But an equally persistent and convincing part was absolutely terrified that the man would be disappointed. Would look at Clint and realize it was all his fault – all of this. Natasha nearly dying in Budapest. Phil nearly dying in the attack. All the people that did die in the attack.
Clint wasn't sure if he could take it if that part was the one that had it right.
"Clint?"
He actually flinched in surprise. Was he still that far off his game? Apparently one solid block of sleep didn't make up for what had ultimately amounted to about 72 hours of nothing more than two or three hours of shut eye. Even his damned nightmares had conspired against him – like his subconscious had known he'd need all the rest he could get and just decided it was going to screw him over before the new chapter to this whole mess had started.
"Clint."
Clint opened his eyes – the worry in Phil's tone drawing his attention – and saw his own fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't remember raising his hand to his face, but it probably had something to do with the headache he felt pulsing behind his eyes now. He also didn't remember closing his eyes and couldn't think of a reason why he would have.
"Jesus, look at me, Clint."
Clint turned and the room spun. His hand caught the back of Natasha's abandon chair – situated on the opposite side of Phil's bed from the one Clint usually occupied – and it gave him the balance he needed until the world righted itself.
"Hey!"
He heard fingers snap together. As soon as his eyes hit Phil's, the man spoke again.
"Put your ass in that chair and put your head down, now."
"I'm fi-"
"That wasn't phrased as a suggestion, Clint." Clint grimaced at the mixture of Phil's 'hard ass' tone and his 'worried shit-less' tone. NOT good. "You've got until the next breath to do it or I'm calling a nurse."
That tone – it was all hard-ass. Clint rounded Natasha's chair and sat. He braced his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.
"You gonna work on getting your breathing under control anytime soon?"
Clint opened his mouth to snap something back – the sarcasm and barely-hidden anger in Phil's tone grinding on his nerves – but he closed it just as quickly when he realized what the man had just said.
His breathing? What the h…
Oh.
His breaths were coming in too-short, too-deep gasps and there were tiny little gray spots encroaching on his vision. When had that started? He wasn't exactly sure. Immediately, he manually slowed his next breath – forced it to come in slow and long. He blew it out just as slowly and then forced his body to do it again and again.
He heard Phil blow out a deep breath of his own and when he spoke again, his tone had softened.
"Better?"
Clint nodded into his hands and then sat back in the chair.
"I don't even…" he swallowed scrubbing his hands down his face and then letting them drop bonelessly onto his thighs. "What happened?"
Phil eyed him for a moment before slowly relaxing against his pillows again.
"You walked to the window, didn't move for a few seconds, and then started hyperventilating. It was like a panic attack."
Clint frowned. He wasn't prone to panic, much less panic attacks. Jesus, he was farther off his game than he thought if just thinking about all this shit had set him off.
"You've been through a lot."
And apparently Phil's tendency to read his thoughts was still as true as ever. Clint sighed and rubbed his hand back and forth through his hair, a pointless, fidgety gesture. The gesture drew a furrow into Phil's brow and Clint knew it was because he wasn't any more prone to pointless, fidgety gestures than he was panic.
"Whatever worst case scenario you're imagining right now, it's not going to be that bad."
Imagining worst case scenarios when it came to emotional crap – that was something he was prone to. And Phil knew it too, which was why the man's gaze was softening by the second.
"I just…" Clint blew out a breath and met Phil's eyes. "What if -"
The door swung open and Natasha strode in, tossing a plastic cup of pudding ahead of her. Clint didn't move anything but his hand and caught it before it hit his face. Her eyes narrowed at him for a moment as she set a second pudding cup down on Phil's bed table. Concern creased her brow and rose in her eyes and Clint suddenly wondered how much of what he was thinking was showing at the moment.
"You okay?"
Clint schooled his expression, but didn't have a chance to reply – probably a good thing because 'I'm fine' tended to garner a violent reaction from her these days – before the door swung open again.
"Since when do we have pow-wows in the infirmary?" Todd Bryan ambled through the door.
Clint rolled his eyes and shifted in his chair, tracking Natasha's progress as she rounded the foot of the bed. She was still eyeing him in concern, and continued to do so even as she sat on the bed next to Phil's leg – noticeably careful not to jar the bed, Phil's injured leg, or the pillow it was resting on.
"What, no wise-cracks about using the term 'pow-wow?' I practically teed that one up for you, kid."
Clint tossed him a mild glare, but again didn't get a chance to reply before the door opened for a third time.
"Someone gonna give me a clue as to what the hell is going on?" Dan Wilson raised an eyebrow at Clint, noticeably eyed him up and down, and then shook his head. "And no offense, Barton, but you look like shit."
Clint eyed the door, half expecting someone else to barge in the moment he geared up for a response.
"What, no witty comeback?"
Clint turned his gaze back to Wilson.
"Well, Wilson, normally I'd rattle off something about a pot and a kettle or snappily direct you to look in a mirror, but seeing as you always look like shit, I figured why point out the obvious." He shifted his eyes to Bryan. "And nobody outside of third graders in Indian Guides uses the term 'pow-wow' so that answers my lingering question about your mental and emotional age."
Wilson rolled his eyes, but Bryan smirked and was the first to reply.
"Looks like you're feeling better."
More like Clint knew how to keep up appearances – was an expert at it.
Bryan leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. Wilson dropped down into Clint's vacant chair with a sigh. The doctor still looked closer to tired than not, but if appearances were anything to go by, he'd gotten a some rest over the past fourteen hours or so since Clint had seen him last.
"You finally get some rest, Dan?" And it was just like Phil to ask about someone else when he was the one in the hospital bed.
Dan nodded.
"Rachel came and threatened me until I made myself scarce for a while. With all the extra staff from the other bases, we're busting at the seams right now. Besides…" Dan chuckled slightly, and looked down at the floor, "Rachel also told me to get out before they pushed me out. So…"
Knowing Braxton, Clint was pretty sure it was probably in Wilson's immanent best interest to do what she wanted anyway – extra staff aside.
"I was able to grab about nine hours before the intercom in my temporary quarters started buzzing." Wilson shot a side-long look at Natasha.
Clint arched an eyebrow at her and she arched her own right back in challenge. So that was why she cut out to go get pudding practically the second Clint had come back from a bathroom break. Clint's next scolding look went to Phil, who shrugged, looking about as unapologetic as Tasha had.
Apparently he'd never really had much say in whether or not this conversation happened. Phil 'suggesting' it had just been for show.
"So?" Wilson prodded.
Clint shifted his eyes to Phil's – looking for reassurance? A way out? He wasn't certain. His handler nodded very slightly and Clint drew in a fortifying breath. He shifted his chair forward and leaned to rest his forearms on Phil's bed, clasping his hands together as best he could with a splinted finger.
If that put him within easy reaching distance of Phil's historically reassuring hand…that was neither here nor there.
He looked first to Bryan, then to Wilson and that's where his gaze stayed as he began.
"You know about Williams – the council member that paid the mercenaries to attack SHIELD."
It wasn't a question and he knew neither would take it as such, so he didn't wait for a response before continuing.
"You also know about Budapest and I'm guessing you've connected," his eyes shifted to Bryan, "or have been told, that he was behind that too."
Bryan's chin dipped and his eyes took on a knowing and encouraging gleam – like he knew where Clint was going with this. But seeing that gleam and knowing that Bryan didn't know everything like he thought he did – that there were a few new details he was about to learn – it just made this harder.
So he looked back at Wilson, whose gaze was cautious as he slowly crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Clint to go on.
"But you don't know about the two other attempts he made." Clint swallowed thickly and looked again to Phil, begging one last time not to make him do this. But Phil's gaze was firm and he nodded once again. So Clint drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly as he blew it out. "And you don't know why he targeted me in the first place."
He opened his eyes and looked straight at Wilson – the only one in the room that didn't actually know that part of the story.
"There were other attempts?" Bryan's voice was pitched low and dangerous – a firm reminder that he had once been a field agent before he was a trainer. Clint met his eyes and nodded once.
"The son of a bitch had a reason why?"
Clint's eyes flew to Wilson's and for a moment he was absolutely certain he couldn't do this – couldn't tell Wilson the truth. The doctor's tone was just flat. There wasn't any anger there or accusation. Just…shock.
But it was enough that Clint nearly backed out.
Then a hand wrapped around his forearm.
He looked again to Phil and the grip on his forearm tightened – a damn reassuring hand and damn reassuring eyes. A boot nudged suddenly against his leg and his eyes shifted to Natasha. There was reassurance in her gaze too but there was also understanding.
She knew – better than even Phil ever would – what telling this story meant. She gave him a nod so slight, he was sure he was the only one who saw it. But it gave him the strength to look back at his two friends.
"There were two other attempts. The first was the Orion mission in the Andes."
Bryan straightened abruptly from the wall – the movement so sudden that Clint was momentarily struck silent.
Todd couldn't believe it. He'd known there was something wrong about the Andes. He'd ranted and raved to Fury behind closed several times in the weeks of preparation leading up to Barton's departure for that mission.
The young man may have been a prodigy in everything covert and deadly, but he'd been nothing but a kid, a rookie. Handing him a mission that dangerous – one that had already killed an entire team – it had felt wrong on so many levels.
But the Council had assigned it themselves and what the hell could Todd have said to that? Not that he hadn't said plenty to Fury, but in the end it hadn't mattered. The youngest agent in the history of SHIELD had eventually left to handle – and eventually accomplish through great harm to himself – one of the most dangerous missions on file at the time.
"He was behind the fucking Andes?" Todd didn't really need him to say it again. He just…he just couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe the Council had gone that far – or rather, had let Williams go that far.
"Williams lit a match, then fanned the flame until they agreed. Actually played up my talents," Barton made a sour face, "ironically enough."
"Kid, you nearly died."
Barton's expression darkened and with it so did his tone.
"I remember."
Todd closed his eyes and drew in a calming breath. Of course the archer remembered. He had been the one to nearly die after all. But goddamnit. The fucking Andes.
"If that one pisses you off, this one'll probably send you nuclear."
Todd snapped his eyes open – and met Barton's gaze.
He knew what the kid was going to say before he ever said the word.
"Uzbekistan."
From his chair, Dan sucked in a sharp breath, hands tightening into fists where they rested on his thighs.
Todd, for his part, suddenly found his knees unwilling to offer him full support and had to reach for the wall to stay upright. For as much as he'd known what Barton was going to say a moment before he said it, he still wasn't ready to hear it confirmed.
Uzbekistan.
He had his own set of haunting nightmares about that day – probably nowhere near the caliber of Barton or Phil's, but nightmares all the same. He'd been there. He'd been right there and he'd had to stand at the goddamned door like a guard dog.
He had just as much first-aid training as Phil – hell, maybe even more with all the classes he'd taught on the subject. He could have helped – could have done something. But in the end all he'd been able to do was cover the hallway and hope and pray that Barton still had enough fight left in him to kick death in the teeth one more time.
It had been some of the longest and worst minutes of his life – second only to the moment he found out his father and sister had been killed in a drive-by shooting.
He'd lost agents over the years – seen men and women he'd trained leave and never come back. But no one – never once in his tenure at SHIELD – no one had ever gotten to him like Barton. Maybe it was because the archer was so goddamned young. Maybe it was because the kid had a hidden sense of humor that turned up when everybody least expected it. Or because he could outshoot anyone and everyone on his base – or any base. Or because he could put men twice his size on the mat without breaking a sweat. Or because he could run faster and do parkour faster than anyone Todd had ever seen.
Or maybe it was because for as young as Barton had been, he hadn't really been young at all. Maybe it was because he could tell just by looking at him that the kid had seen too much, been through too much in his short life. Maybe it was because in the middle of the night, while Todd was doing paperwork in his office, one young man was habitually running around the training gym like a jackrabbit on crack, running away from demons that he didn't want to talk about.
And Todd had just known that this kid was different – he'd needed people in his life no matter how much he steadfastly tried to push them away. Todd had decided long ago to be one of those people, whether Barton knew it or not.
So when the archer had been laying dead on that concrete and he hadn't been able to help, it was like losing part of his family all over again.
Williams had done that. Williams had paid to have him tortured and literally killed for what? Revenge? Revenge for a daughter Barton had killed as a contract assassin when it couldn't have been farther from personal. That sounded more like insanity than revenge and it sounded more like trying to find someone to blame than justice.
Todd jumped slightly when Dan stood abruptly from his chair and paced to the wall. He stayed facing it for a moment before visibly fortifying himself and turning back.
"You said there was a why?"
Dan's tone was hard, but Todd could hear an undercurrent of emotion – barely restrained and violent emotion. Todd could relate. He was feeling something pretty similar.
Barton, though, for all his usual perceptiveness, was apparently still too far off his game to hear what Todd had and looked suddenly like a deer caught in the headlights. Todd saw the muscles in Phil's hand contract where it was wrapped around Barton's arm and the gesture seemed to spur the kid to reply.
"I…" Barton swallowed thickly and kept his gaze locked on Dan's. "When I…" Barton closed his eyes and shook his head, blowing out a sharp breath. Then opened his eyes again and fixed them on Dan once more, speaking in a forced, but level, tone. "In 2003, I took a contract in Paris." Shame grew his eyes, followed quickly by something that looked like apprehension. "All I was given was a name, a picture, and a location. I didn't ask who she was and they didn't tell me. I never asked." Barton's gaze shifted to Phil suddenly, growing distant with some memory. "I never wanted to know."
Barton visibly shook himself out whatever memory he'd lost himself in and his eyes met Dan's again. The doctor's breathing had started to increase in pace, Todd could hear it because he was only standing a few feet away. His arms were crossed over his chest and there was nothing casual about the way he was standing. He'd started to figure out where this was going, Todd could tell.
"Her name was Brianna."
Saying the name seemed to break something in Barton's usual steel strong defenses because for a brief moment everything from his eyes to his expression shattered. Even his tone was shaken as he went on.
"She was his daughter."
And then just as quickly those defenses were forced back into place. Barton had to drop his gaze and lower his head for a moment to accomplish it, but it only took seconds and he was back to being unbreakable Barton.
That was when Dan finally reacted, a look of disbelief knotting his features.
"Are you fucking kidding me? You killed his daughter?"
The question, and the hard, uncompromising tone it was spoken in, hit Barton like a visible blow. And then it was like the lights went out. Barton shut down right before their eyes and he wasn't just guarded anymore, he was Fort Knox. Todd hadn't seen that look since those first days of training almost seven years ago.
He saw Phil's hand go almost white around the kid's forearm and Romanoff actually made a snarling type sound as she glared at Dan. Todd he pushed himself away from the wall and stepped forward in case anybody tried anything less than friendly.
"Dan." Phil's tone was harder than stone, the proverbial mama-bear – or papa-bear in this case – rising in defense of her cub.
"What?" Dan snapped, this time the emotion in his tone was plain for everyone to hear. It made Todd's own hackles lower. Dan wasn't blaming Barton – of course he wasn't. It was fucking Dan Wilson. He was just as shocked and overwhelmed as Todd had been when Barton first told him.
The difference was that Dan wasn't a field agent, wasn't used to talk of murder and missions. He cleaned up the messes made by those missions and very rarely found out the details surrounding them.
He was in shock and thinking back that had been plain in the tone he'd spoken in. Dan Wilson's tone could get angry, it could get mocking, sarcastic, amused, and even gentle. But just plain hard? Flat with lack of emotion – that just wasn't normal.
But Barton's perceptiveness being what it was at the moment, he'd missed that little fact completely. And Phil – being the overprotective softie he was when it came to Barton – was immediately going on the defensive. And Romanoff was following suit with her typical amount of fire.
That left Todd to play peace keeper. What else was new?
"Whatever he did, Barton didn't deserve any of this." He made sure to keep his tone level and firm, but not harsh. He needed Dan to snap out of whatever overwhelmed shock he was in and he needed the lights to come back on in Barton's eyes.
Dan flinched like Todd had slapped him and blinked several times, eyes coming to rest on the currently stone-faced, nobody-home-to-answer-the-door Barton. And it was like somebody pulled a plug in the doctor. His entire posture sagged as he realized what he'd said and how it had been interpreted.
As accusation. As justification for what Williams had done.
"Shit, kid…" Dan took a halting step forward. "I didn't…" He raised his hands and dropped them back to his side in a helpless gesture when Barton's gaze stayed firmly on the edge of Phil's blanket. Then Dan drew in a deep breath, marched right around the bed – even braved passing within reaching distance of Romanoff – to crouch next to Barton.
The archer remained stiff as stone even as the doctor put a hand on his shoulder.
"I don't care what was done then. I care who you are, now. Who you've become." Dan's voice tightened with emotion he wasn't even trying to hide anymore. "You didn't … you didn't deserve any of this."
Something flickered in Barton's expression and his eyes shifted to meet Dan's for barely a moment before they dropped down to study his hands. The kid nodded slightly though, so Todd knew Dan had been heard.
Dan stood then and without another word, or a glance at anyone, walked out of the room.
Todd watched the muscles of his friend's back coil and hitch as he all but fled and then he looked back to the trio at the bed.
"You got him?" Todd nodded at Barton.
The scathing looks he got from both Phil and Romanoff made him regret asking. So he just put a hand up in defense and followed after Dan.
Dan staggered out of the room, only to have to stop and brace his hand on the wall almost immediately.
Good God.
All of that…everything Barton had just…Jesus…
A hand suddenly latched onto his elbow and pulled him away from the wall, down the hall and away from Phil's room – away from Barton and everything he'd just been told.
Dan staggered, trying to keep his feet as he vaguely realized it was Todd urging him along. He couldn't bring himself to resist, could barely keep his feet moving at the right pace. All he could think about was Barton.
Barton on the floor of a jet in Budapest.
He closed his eyes against the sudden image, against the sudden remembered sounds. The EKG flatlining, Phil's frantic whispers to a kid that couldn't hear him.
Dan shook his head against the memories. Forced them out of his mind.
But on their heels came others.
Phil's phone call from Uzbekistan.
"He's not breathing…and he doesn't have a pulse."
God.
Dan's stomach seized suddenly and he staggered to a stop. Barton was alive. Had told him the truth behind that terrible day himself. Had sat there and put himself through the memories all over again so that the people who cared about him – who had protected him – would know what they'd saved him from.
And what had Dan done? Shot his mouth off without thinking and hit the kid where it would hurt without even realizing it.
Fuck. Barton's face – the look on his face when Dan had broken from his stupor and realized what he'd said. His stomach twisted again and he groaned, reaching for the wall.
"Goddammit."
Todd's low, soothing voice spoke from his side.
"Keep it together man, we're almost there."
And then they were moving again. Without the warning to his feet, Dan nearly toppled, but the firm hand on his arm kept him upright. He wanted to ask where 'there' was, but realized he didn't actually care as long as it was away.
Again his stomach lurched and he twisted his arm in Todd's grip, finding purchase on the man's sleeve as he pulled up and – fighting for some level, any level, of control – spoke.
"Find a place." He knew the command came out harsh, but he hoped it just added to the urgency of the moment. "Now."
Todd nodded sharply and practically yanked him across the hallway and through the next door they came to. The room was – thankfully – empty. Well, it was empty save for shelves full of bandages and various medical supplies.
Dan put his hands on a shelf at eye level and grabbed on hard. He tried to force his emotions back under control, tried to reach for and attain a level of calm. But even as he closed his eyes, faces, names, images from the last 48 hours started assaulting him.
Jamie and her wondering if she'd ever get to practice pediatric nursing with SHIELD.
Martin, laughing at the idea, rolling his eyes – and then offering to practice with her and maybe provide the first child.
Marianna, who'd been at his side as a surgical nurse since he'd been assigned to the New York base – half her face blown off by the grenade.
Sarah, who they'd gotten back to the Helicarrier, only to have a bullet shift in surgery and shred what was left of her brachial artery and leave it to bleed out.
Dan's hands tightened on the shelf.
He couldn't save her. But he'd saved Phil. He'd saved Barton in Budapest, had a hand in saving him in Uzbekistan. He'd saved Romanoff when a bullet and a knife wound had tried to kill her with infection. He'd saved them – the three people that weren't supposed to survive this at all.
With a surge of rage, Dan let go of the metal shelf, made a fist – and started punching the wall.
A hand latched onto his wrist before he could land more than his second hit, and he was pulled bodily away from his impromptu punching bag. He was left to stand in the center of the small room – out of swinging distance of anything solid. Anything except for Todd himself.
"Dan, come on just…" but Todd trailed off, hand falling away from his wrist. "Beating up on the wall and your hand's not gonna change anything."
Dan heaved a rough breath, gaping at the trainer.
"All this…" he drew in a shaky breath, "all this shit that's happened." Dan half turned, making a fist again and then letting it loosen. "Everything Barton's been through…the Andes, Budapest, fucking Uzbekistan and now this." He gestured at the door, at where Phil lay beyond it. "All because of a contract he took when he was…when he didn't even…" Rage bubbled in him again. "I've never seen regret like what he carries and Williams just…he still…"
Dan lost his grip on words, his ability to try and explain.
Barton had killed Williams' daughter.
He'd been a contract killer and he'd done what contract killers do. He'd done it just to survive and it ate at Barton every damned day. It chewed at what was left of his soul and had settled like a permanent weight on his shoulders. And now to find out someone – Williams – had tried to make him pay for what the kid already tortured himself for every damned day.
It was too much.
The fight left him abruptly and he sank down to the floor, hitting his knees on the metal with a thud. A keening note escaped his throat as he shifted to the side and landed hard on his butt. Drawing his knees up, he buried his head in his hands.
And he just cried.
He cried for everybody that had died two days ago. He cried for everybody that had lost someone or that had been hurt.
And he cried for Barton. Their Barton – his, Todd's and Phil's. He was theirs and Williams had hurt him. Had hurt him in so many ways and too many times. They thought they'd been protecting him when the whole time they'd been failing.
A warm hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing slightly and then just remaining.
Todd was there, showing solidarity and offering whatever comfort he could. The man was in the same boat as he was, cared about Barton just as much. Dan wished he had the control, the hard edge, that Todd had – that Barton was famous for. But he just didn't – didn't have it in him to keep his emotions under wraps. Not right now – not after so much had happened.
He wasn't a fucking field agent. He was a doctor. He wasn't supposed to have to deal with this shit. But here he was – being forced to deal. Because he happened to care a hell of a lot about a certain field agent that had a tendency to attract some pretty awful shit.
Finally, after a few minutes, the tears tapered off. Finally letting himself break down was one thing, but Dan could feel the overwhelming emotions start to ease up a little bit. But in their absence, anger started to rise.
Anger at Williams and the revenge he'd aimed so fiercely at the wrong person. He could guess now what Barton's 'unfinished business' had been. He must have had a lead on whoever had sent him after Brianna Williams in the first place. And if he knew Barton, that man was no longer a threat to anyone.
Anger at the Council for not bothering to see Barton as anything more than an assassin. For not seeing past Williams' reasoning about him and ultimately putting the young man at risk over and over.
And anger at himself for opening his goddamned mouth to Barton and probably making the whole situation shittier for the kid than it already was. Because if there was one thing he knew about the archer, it was that he tended to take things – especially words spoken by people he cared about – to heart.
Dan blew out a long breath and looked at Todd, somehow managing to grin – though whether it looked more like a grimace, he wasn't sure.
"How're you coping?"
Because just because the man didn't outwardly show his emotions, didn't mean he didn't have them.
Todd's eyebrow crept up incredulously – like that was a funny question coming from Dan. At the moment that may be so, but Dan stood by it. Finally Todd's lips twitched into a weary form of his usual smirk.
"Been better," he sighed, "but been worse though too…especially when it comes to that kid. All in all, this day might actually be one of the better ones where he's concerned."
Dan snorted. Bryan wasn't wrong. Any day where Barton was still in one piece could be qualified as a better day. But putting it in that context…
Dan shook his head.
"You realize how sick that is? If we consider this a 'better day'?"
Todd let loose a weary chuckle and sank down to sit against the wall.
"Hell, I don't call him my pain in the ass for nothing." Then he sighed and sobered. "But he's alive and even relatively unscathed for once. This one cut it close in a lot of ways, but he's gonna be all right. He's got Phil and Romanoff." His lips quirked into a warm smile. "He's got us."
"Damn straight." Dan agreed immediately. That was one thing Barton wouldn't ever have to doubt. He took a hand across his face, drawing in a shaky breath and wiping away the last of the tears.
"You okay?" Todd's voice was quiet and calm.
Dan sighed.
"Honestly? Hell if I know. Gonna be a while before everything shakes out. Until it does…who knows?"
Todd nodded in understanding and glanced at the door.
"You want some time?"
Time alone to start thinking about all the terrible shit of the world again? No, thank you.
Dan shook his head.
"What I want," he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, grabbing a shelf as he came up, "is a fucking drink. Wanna join me?"
Todd's expression morphed into one of blissful relief and he climbed wearily to his feet.
"Hell fucking yes. Lead the way."
Dan nodded, moving towards the door, only to stop and sigh.
"Well, shit."
Todd groaned behind him.
"Now what?"
Dan turned to face him.
"We're on the helicarrier."
Todd blinked, realization dawning in his eyes.
"Well shit."
Dan nodded.
"And the Abelour is in my desk drawer in New York." He blinked. "Was in my desk drawer. If those bastards destroyed that bottle…"
Todd's hand landed heavily on his shoulder.
"I saw your office wall, Dan." He shook his head. "I wouldn't get my hopes up."
Dan let himself feel the weight of this new sorrow for a moment before a thought struck him. He straightened and grinned.
"I have an idea."
Todd stared wearily at him.
"I've had just about enough suspense the last few days to last my lifetime, so just tell me."
"I know the infirmary head. Let's go see what he keeps in his office."
Todd pulled the door open with a grin and dramatically waved Dan ahead of him.
"I'll say it again…lead the way."
They headed out into the hallway together, but didn't get more than twenty feet before a familiar voice calling Dan's name pulled them to a stop.
They turned to watch Agent Maria Hill briskly approach them.
"Doctor Wilson…" her gaze cut sharply over to Todd, who sighed dramatically and moved farther down the hall and out of ear shot. Hill's gaze returned to Dan. "Director Fury sent me to tell you he has time now for that meeting you requested."
Dan shot a look at Todd, making sure the man hadn't overheard. He was scowling down at something on his phone and paying them no mind. He returned his gaze to Hill and sighed.
"You're kidding me right? We're just about to go raid someone's secret liquor stash and Fury has time now?"
In hindsight – as Hill's eyebrow arched – telling Fury's second in command that he was planning to go drink probably wasn't the best idea.
"I'd be happy to tell Fury that the liquor comes first, if you prefer."
Dan sighed and rolled his eyes then he rubbed his hand tiredly over his face.
"Todd…" he raised his voice so the man heard him. Immediately, the trainer's gaze raised to his. After a contemplative moment, Bryan held up a hand and sighed.
"Don't tell me…rain check."
Dan nodded, hand still partially covering his face.
"Rain check." He confirmed and then turned his glowering gaze onto Hill. "You're gonna have to show me where the hell we're going. I've seen all of about one section of this flying crate, and I'm sure you can guess which part."
She nodded sharply and headed back the way she'd come from, leaving Dan to follow or be left behind.
He rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath.
"Someone's in a mood." He turned to face Todd, who was watching him curiously now. "Go back and check on Barton, will you?"
Make sure he stayed put more like it – but no reason Todd needed to know that ulterior motive.
"This won't take long. Tell him – and tell Phil – that if any one breaks anything, there'll be hell to pay."
Todd nodded with a slight chuckle – no stranger himself to Barton's antics. He headed back towards Phil's room only to pause and look back at Dan with a curious grin.
"Where are you going anyway?"
Dan forced a grin onto his face and set off in the direction Hill had gone – hoping that by mostly hiding his expression and talking over his shoulder, he'd be able to sell his lie convincingly.
"Gotta sort something out quick. I'll be back."
A half truth – easier to pull off.
Todd nodded slowly, looking vaguely wary, but didn't try to stop him.
"See you in a few then."
Dan nodded and tossed a wave over his shoulder, quickening his pace after Hill.
Dan chewed his lower lip and raised his hand to knock on the blacked-out glass door.
Hill had led him to the bridge and then pointed at the door as she was called away to one of the consoles. That left Dan to approach the door on his own, knowing full well that this conversation would likely change everything.
But he had to do it – and it had to be now. Because for the moment, Barton was busy worrying over Phil, and wasn't in a position to interfere. And Barton would most decidedly interfere if he knew – which is why Dan had gone to great lengths to make sure he didn't.
Dan was ready to do this – to take responsibility for his actions and accept whatever consequences that brought. And if he happened to have maneuvered it so that he beat both Barton and Todd to that punch, then he just owed that to his own genius.
Or to his ability to lie at least somewhat convincingly when it really mattered.
A voice bidding him to 'enter' drew his attention abruptly back to the door in front of him.
He blinked and reached to push his way inside. He found Fury leaning over a tablet on his desk, intensely focused on reading something on its screen. He didn't lift his gaze from the tablet, and didn't acknowledge Dan with anything more than a wave of the hand.
"Take a seat."
Dan dropped into the chair opposite Fury's desk, back ram rod straight with defiance. He may be preparing to take a hit here, but he wouldn't apologize for what he'd done, and wouldn't regret it either.
"Director." He winced a little to himself at the sharpness in his tone.
That wouldn't go over well.
Fury stared down at the tablet for a moment longer.
"You'd better get that attitude out of your posture, Doctor," he lifted his head then, slowly, and with a blank expression, "or this conversation is already over."
Dan forced his spine to relax.
"I'm not on a witch hunt, Wilson. If you're here to defend Barton, there's no nee-"
Dan cut his hand through the air to stop him. Fury's eyebrow arched and he waved a hand sarcastically – signaling Dan to speak.
"I'm not here to defend Barton…I'm here to tell you there doesn't need to be a witch hunt at all…not when someone is willing to confess."
Fury sat back in his chair and regarded him seriously.
"Maybe that person should think long and hard about this. Should realize that there's more to the situation than what he did and maybe decide that falling on a sword isn't the best option."
Dan sighed. So Fury knew the whole story – of course he did. The rumor mill had been going non-stop since this whole mess started.
"What do you want to hear?" He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You know as well as I do that I wrote the triage protocol that got ignored. Hell, I even hand-picked the nurses that were running it. I'm the one that needs to answer for what happened. It was my call."
Fury blinked his one eye with more sarcastic doubt than Dan had ever seen from anyone but Barton.
"And there were no extenuating circumstances? Nothing – and no one – that forced your hand?"
He was giving him a chance to finger Barton for this – but that wasn't happening.
He looked Fury straight in the eye, no wavering, no backing down.
"Barton was getting Phil on that jet, Director. I kept a few more names off the casualty list and I'd do it again."
Fury sighed.
"I could take that as an admission to Barton's part in this if I wanted to."
Dan allowed himself a smug smirk.
"But you won't. Because you don't want him burned for this any more than I do."
Fury rolled his eye and looked down but didn't contradict him. Then he tilted his head slightly and raised his gaze – a suddenly knowing glint in his eye.
"He doesn't know you're here – does he?" Then Fury sat forward, answering the question himself before Dan had a chance. "Of course he doesn't. Barton's never been afraid of taking his own hits. He'd never have let you come here…" Fury eyed him heavily. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
This time Dan did roll his eyes.
"Director, if I didn't want to do this, I wouldn't be here. You know damned well what Phil means to that kid. There was absolutely no stopping him – and maybe no one should have tried."
Fury titled his head and his expression suddenly screamed 'don't I know it.'
"Barton can't lose Phil. Not then and not now." Dan took a breath. "I did what I did and I did it knowingly. That's all there is to it. But it was the right thing." He gave Fury a hard look. "I won't apologize for it so if you're going to punish me, so be it."
Fury sighed and nodded.
"For what it's worth – you're a good man, Wilson. And maybe what you did – what you allowed – was the right call, but I can't explain that to people who had friends left behind. Someone has to answer for what happened."
Dan nodded. That's why he was here.
"And that responsibility falls on my shoulders." He heaved a sigh and went on, "I won't sit here and tell you I would've done anything differently, sir. By getting Phil back here – and saving his life, no less – we kept Barton in the game. Tell me he could have done what he needed to do – gone after Williams – if Phil had died out there?"
Fury's expression darkened at the mention of the treacherous council member. Or maybe it was at how close they'd come to losing Barton and Romanoff because of this disaster.
"Oh he'd have killed Williams – that's for damned sure. Probably with Romanoff's help." The Director sighed as if he were suddenly exhausted. "And it would have been without orders and they'd have both disappeared as soon as the body fell. There'd be a kill order on them and I'd be down my three best agents." He gestured almost helplessly at the closed office door. "Instead – they're all here – alive." Fury shook his head in frustration. "And I have to punish someone for that. Because unfortunately, the outcome doesn't justify the means and as I've told Barton on more than one occasion…sometimes there's more than one right call."
Dan nodded.
"Or maybe sometimes the right call is the wrong call, too." He raised his eyes to look at Fury. He shrugged one shoulder. "Director, I can make this easy on you, if you'd like."
Fury shook his head sharply.
"Nothing about this is easy, Wilson."
Dan stared at him for a long moment, not blinking.
"Easier, then. You do what you've got to, I've made my peace."
Fury nodded slowly.
"Before you go making peace with anything…we've got a few options to consider and I expect you to consider all of them before deciding what you're going to do here."
Dan nodded.
"Understood, sir."
Fury sat forward.
"Okay then."
End of Chapter 13
A lot of Dan in this chapter - and with a purpose too :) I'm sure most of you have put together what's coming now and it'll all play out tomorrow :)
You know how I feel about reviews - we're old friend...friends like Natasha and guns, like Clint and his bow...life without them just isn't quite complete!
And your final preview!
"What did you do?"
"Clint…" Phil tried to intercede, but Dan waved him off.
"I did what I had to do, Barton. It was my responsibility."
"No – it was mine." Barton growled as he rounded the foot of the bed. "What did Fury do? What did he take from you?"