Clint sighed and rolled his shoulder as he opened the door to the roof. An ice chest filled with beer was gripped in one hand and a blanket was tucked under his arm, the one he hadn't landed on falling off a building. Thankfully, it hadn't been high enough to break his arm.
He'd gotten a call at nearly 4 am informing him the Avengers were being deployed to deal with some two-bit villain who'd managed to build a giant robot which was destroying Miami. What no one had mentioned was that there was more than one robot. A fact that was apparently missed in the initial assessment. So they'd spent most of the day fighting giant robots, then in debrief. Now, Clint just wanted to curl up on the roof with beer and an ice pack.
Letting the door shut behind him, Clint started towards the corner of the roof that he'd claimed as his own only to stop dead at the sight in front of him. Darcy was lying in a pile of blankets in his normal spot. There was an old radio next to her broadcasting what sounded like a World-War two era broadcast. The blanket was covered in little Captain America shields and Darcy was curled up in an old S.H.I.E.L.D sweatshirt and sweatpants bearing the same logo.
"How was the mission?"
Darcy's words startled him back to reality. She was still laying on the blanket looking away from him, but somehow she'd known he was there. Just like Coulson had been able to. Creepy.
Moving to the edge of the roof beside where Darcy lay sprawled out, Clint set the ice chest filled with beer beside her. "It was fine. Why are you on the roof?"
"Flashbacks," replied Darcy. "I have them on occasion. Isolation and fresh air are the best cures. Hence, the roof. Plus, no one looks for me up here. They consider it your spot."
Now that he was next to her, Clint could hear the radio was replaying the old Captain America war stories which were used as propaganda. Seemed like a strange choice for easy listening, especially when flashbacks most likely due to violence were the reason she was hiding. "War stories aren't exactly easy listening."
Shrugging, she paused the tape she was listening to and finally looked up at him. "Phil used to put them on when I had a bad day. It helped me focus, put everything into perspective." Sitting all the way up, she pats a spot next to her on the blanket. "I really hope there's beer in that ice chest."
Flipping up the lid, he tosses her one of the beers and pops his own open. "Wanna talk about it?"
"No," stated Darcy. "Nothing to talk about." Sipping her beer, she sets the bottle aside as Clint drops next to her on the blanket. "How are you doing?"
"Fine," replied Clint, sipping his beer to cover a slight wince. "Everything's fine."
"Liar." Her single word statement makes him visibly flinch. The look in her eyes conveys the same disbelief. "What happened."
Sighing, Clint flops backwards on the blanket so he can stare up at the stars. It's a weaker position than he'd normally ever put himself in, but he's starting to feel safer being around Darcy. She won't judge you, Clint. She's said as much. Just tell her what happened. Maybe she'll know what to do. It was strange to think that someone else might be able to help him with his problems; even 'Tasha couldn't do that. Then again, his partner had her own problems.
For several minutes they sat in silence as he tried to corral his thoughts into a cohesive line he could verbally express. It wasn't easy. "I froze today, on a shot." That was the hardest part to get out. He prided himself on his quick reflexes and unflinching accuracy. But today, he'd flinched. Not long enough for anyone to notice, not long enough for anyone to question if he should be in the field or not, but long enough for him to notice.
Darcy nodded slowly, sipping at her beer. "Why'd you freeze?" Her voice was so calm, so casual, they could have been talking about the weather.
It made everything just come tumbling out. "There was an agent on the ground, near where I was taking the shot. I scanned the area, looking for my target and when I passed over him it just...hit me. The memory. Germany. The art museum. Security guards in my cross-hairs. Then that eye... and I thought: 'If I let it go now, he'd be dead'. I caught myself calculating the distance, the amount of force, saw what would have happened, all of it went through my head before I could spin away. Before I could move my cross-hairs away. And I just, I was there all over again."
The brush of fingertips over the back of Clint's hand surprised him. Dropping his eyes to the blanket, he realized Darcy's fingers were resting over his own. It wasn't much contact, but he suspected it was a sacrifice to do even that. Turning his hand over, he tried to lightly squeeze her fingers in response. She ended up shifting her hand so their fingers intertwined.
"It'll happen," she admitted. "The flashbacks, the feeling that you're back in that same situation all over again." Rising her eyes to meet his, she firmly held his gaze. Her blue orbs showed nothing but understanding. A reflection of his own pain in her eyes. "The best way to deal with it is expect it to happen. If you know it can happen, even just a chance of it, you'll be watching for it. So when you do flash back, it won't blind-side you like that again." Sighing, she shifted to completely face him. "Did you want to shoot him, Clint?"
He didn't even pause before answering. "No."
"Did you get the urge to shoot him?" continued Darcy gently.
Again, no hesitation. "No."
Smiling softly at him, she ran her thumb over the back of his hand. "Then you're fine. The flashbacks will be triggered by similar situations or minor stimuli you might not even realize are connected. Sometimes it's a word or phrase, sometimes it'll be a shadow across your vision. Then, there will days like today, when you're in the same position you were in back then and your mind draws a parallel." Her fingers squeezed his softly. "It'll keep happening for a long time, possibly for the rest of your life, but it gets easier. The more time that passes, the fewer flashbacks you'll have."
"But they won't go away," stated Clint, sliding his free hand through his hair in frustration. "I- I'm not sure I can work like that."
"You can," assured Darcy firmly. "It's an adjustment, but it'll be alright." Squeezing his fingers a little, she added: "If you're worried, you could tell the others."
"No." He wasn't going there. "The last thing I need is to give them more reason to doubt my ability to handle this."
Dropping her eyes to their hands, she kept her voice soft and even. "No one is doubting your abilities and no one is going to argue your skills. If you want to keep this quiet, you can. It's your choice. But it might be safer for the others to know about the flashbacks. Just saying."
"Did you ever tell anyone about yours?" asked Clint. Above them, more stars were starting to flicker into view.
"One person," admitted Darcy. "Phil home-schooled me for a year before I was enrolled in public school. He did it to keep me in a controlled environment until he knew for sure I'd be alright. But the first year I was in school, one of the other students just moved wrong. I freaked out and ran out of the room. After that, Phil had to explain that I'd been abused to the teacher. She didn't tell anyone else, just made sure I knew she was available to talk if I needed to. I'm still in contact with her."
Clint nodded slowly, refocusing on Darcy. "Did she treat you any differently?"
"Not once," replied Darcy. "She just worked to make sure I felt safe."
They fell silent again, Darcy returning to her beer and Clint just taking solace in the stars above. He never let go of her hand though, and she never removed it. Finally, Darcy switched the Captain America tape back on and lay down beside him. The narrator's voice filled the silence, lulling Clint into a twilight state.
He came back to full awareness when he felt Darcy shift beside him, then roll over against his side. What the hell? Lifting his head, he realized the brunette woman had fallen asleep beside him. and in her sleep, she'd curled against him. Carefully turning onto his side, Clint pulled the blanket over them and rested his arm around Darcy's waist. Closing his eyes, Clint allowed himself to relax and fall asleep again with Darcy tucked against his side.
The sky was still dark when Clint woke hours later, still wrapped comfortably in the Captain America blanket. But the war stories tape had stopped long ago and Darcy was no longer lying next to him. Idly, he wondered how she'd slipped away without his notice.
Sitting up, he stretched out his sore shoulder and scanned the rooftop. No sign of Darcy anywhere. Apparently, she'd slipped away while he was asleep. Shit. I really, really hope I didn't step in it this time. The last thing I want is to upset Darcy. He would be the first person to admit that she helped reassure him that things would be okay. Seeing someone who had been through the same kind of hell he had living a normal life gave him hope he could do the same. Well, as normal of a life as he ever had anyway.
Gathering the blanket and beers (the tape player was gone), Clint headed inside the tower. It wasn't really cold outside, but he didn't really see any reason for continuing to hang out on the rooftop. Besides, he had a hammock in his room that was calling his name. Natasha might tease him all the time for having a 'literal nest' in his room, but it was a comfortable nest. One he really wanted to sleep in. But first, the kitchen to drop off the unopened beers.
It wasn't that he couldn't take the beers back to his room; they were his after all. But as Natasha had pointed out, things that went into his room tended to disappear until they started to rot (she was never letting him live down the month-old tuna sandwich she'd found under his bed once). So, to avoid the teasing, he would be good and clean up his mess.
Checking the clock as he entered the kitchen, he wanted to groan. It was almost 3 am. No wonder he was tired. Alright, put up the beers and get to bed. I'll look for Darcy in the morning; she's probably already gone to bed herself.
Idly, Clint wondered what Darcy's bedroom would look like. She seemed to be a Captain America fan, at least in part, but he somehow doubted her whole room would be wallpapered in posters of the hero. Then again, with a mega-fan like Phil (who Clint knew had owned several pairs of Captain America boxers) for a father, it was possible she had a similar love for the Star-Spangled All-American Hero. The idea left a strange taste in Clint's mouth; one that was notably unpleasant. Okay, that's ridiculous. I am not jealous of Steve just because Darcy might have some kind of fan-crush on the man. She's way too young for me on top of being Phil's daughter. I'm not going there.
He'd just put the last few beers in the fridge when the sound of a quietly shouted 'Yes!' cut through the room. It was a victory shout, no matter how quietly it was made. What the...?
Glancing towards the living room, he could just make out the glow of the TV around the edges of the doorway. It was the only light flickering in the otherwise dark room. Huh, that's weird. No one's ever up this late. Well, except me, Darcy, and occasionally Natasha. And Tony if Pepper isn't around, but then he's in the workshop and not the living room. Jane's up sometimes, but again, she'd be in her lab and not the living room. Especially not at 3 am.
Wrapping the blanket he was still carrying around his shoulders (he'd return it to Darcy tomorrow because sneaking into her bedroom to drop it off was too creepy even for him), Clint crept to the arch leading into the living room and peered around the edge. Darcy was standing in the middle of the room in the same S.H.I.E.L.D sweatpants as before. A tank top like the ones she worked out in had replaced her sweatshirt, which was slung over the back of the couch.
The game 'Iron Man Battle Royal' was splashed across the screen. Tony had sketched up the game idea after the press conference when he announced to the world that he was Iron Man and Stark Industries had pitched the idea not long after. They'd managed to produce the game within a year, though Clint knew Tony had fiddled with the programming on his copy to include other members of the team.
Currently, it was Iron Man on the screen doing a victory dance through the air. Darcy, for her part, was using the downtime to stretch out her arms a little before waving her hand towards the bottom of the screen and returning to the combat menu. Pulling up the character list, she selected another character on the left, then made a second selection from the right list and watched as the game loaded up her choices. Clint actually felt himself blushing a little when the Hawkeye character appeared on one side of the screen and Natasha appeared on the other.
Darcy started to move her arms and legs around in carefully timed motions, directing the Hawkeye character's actions with ease. Well, she did admit to logging a lot of hours on the game when she was in Norway. Even so, she was very good with her current character selection. Which was kind of scary because he knew that particular character wasn't in the primary game.
"You can play next if you want." Darcy's voice startled him, making him jump slightly for the second time that day. Well, night. Could he have jumped twice in one day if one incident had happened before midnight and the other after?
"You're thinking loudly again," informed Darcy. The game on the screen froze as Darcy glanced over her shoulder at him, motioning with one hand to the couch. "At least take a seat. You look like a stalker hovering in the doorway like that."
"Good morning to you too," muttered Clint, even as he moved into the room and perched on the back of the couch. "Why are you playing video games at 3 am?"
"Couldn't sleep," replied Darcy, unpausing the game and continuing to kick the digital Natasha's ass with his character. In some strange and twisted way, it was hot.
"You were sleeping pretty well earlier," pointed out Clint, eyes watching her motions. "I'm definitely teaching you to shoot a bow. Seriously, we'll start tomorrow."
"JARVIS said you busted up your shoulder," stated Darcy, slashing her hand though the air. Her breath was coming faster from the exertion. "You don't get to teach me anything until it's better. Fury's orders."
"Good to know Fury can restrict my leisure activities," muttered Clint unhappily, clasping his hands in front of him and leaning forward on his elbows. "Seriously, what happened? You were sleeping soundly earlier."
"Nightmare," replied Darcy, slicing her arms outward. On screen, Hawkeye released a rapid series of arrows. "Nothing new."
"I'm pretty sure I can't actually fire that fast," stated Clint, watching the screen with sharp eyes. "Want to talk about it?"
"You probably could, it's you after all. And no, I don't really want to talk about it." She went through one final series of motions and the digital image of Natasha fell to the ground. On screen, his own digital double did a really stupid victory dance. "But that's not really setting a good example."
"Not really," agreed Clint, still watching his character. "Remind me to complain to Tony about how stupid those victory dances look."
"Noted." Sighing, Darcy dropped onto the couch next to where Clint was perched. For a long moment, she didn't say anything. On the screen, Hawkeye finally stopped doing his stupid dance and the whole image reverted to the menu. Her eyes never left the screen as she spoke. "It wasn't that bad, as far as nightmares go. Well, my nightmares.
"I was back in Bellevue, sitting on that hill and watching the circus set up. I could see that kid with his bow practicing easily, but everyone else was fuzzy. Irrelevant. I'm just watching them when the police sirens start up. And then the police were flooding the circus and arresting everyone and that kid with the bow started running towards me. He raced up the hill in plain view of everyone, but the police ignored him like they couldn't see him. He stopped right in front of me, panting and bent over and, when he looked up, it was you standing there with that bow in hand. I reached out to touch you, to help lead you away from the circus, but before I could touch you someone grabbed my hair and started dragging me away. He pulled me rapidly away from you, shouting at me 'You can't touch people, freak. You aren't allowed to touch people. All you'll do is hurt them!'. I fought and fought, but I couldn't get away. Then, the police came out of nowhere and tackled you to the ground, started to beat you..."
Shivering, Darcy shot back to her feet suddenly, returning her focus to the selection menu on the screen. She keeps Hawkeye as her character selection and chooses the Hulk as an opponent. "That's when I woke up."
Clint wasn't sure what to say. He really wasn't. The idea that anyone might have a nightmare that involves not being able to help him is...weird. Yeah, he's had a lot of dreams about the people he couldn't save, about not being able to save the ones that matter to him. Phil has been a recurring theme recently and is just as common of an occurrence as Natasha, both before and now. But knowing that Darcy had at least one similar dream about him both makes him sick (because he's part of the cause for her fear) and strangely happy (because it shows she cares at least a little).
"That's pretty bad," stated Clint.
Darcy just shrugged as she started going through similar motions as before. On screen, the Hulk roared and charged at Hawkeye. "Like I said, it's not as bad as the others, but it's still bad. Normally, there's blood."
"The bloody ones are the worst," muttered Clint.
"Definitely," agreed Darcy, her motions picking up rapidly as the battle on the screen became more heated.
Clint watched the screen silently for a moment before speaking. "Does talking about it help? The dreams, I mean. It never seemed to before."
"It's hard to say," admitted Darcy. "It helps others understand what's wrong though."
"So, when I do it, it helps you figure out what's bothering me," reasoned Clint slowly. "Then why'd you agree to tell me?"
"Because you needed to hear it," replied Darcy. She paused the game, turning completely to face Clint. "I've told you that I've been through something similar to what you went through, but someone saying 'I know how you feel' and someone being able to say 'this is what happened to me' are two very different things. The second is more powerful, more reassuring. Plus, I can't expect you to talk to me about what happened to you if I don't give you something in return. Part of the recovery is about finding people you trust to help you though. I don't expect you to trust me blindly, but I do want you to trust me at least enough that you feel like you can talk to me. And the best way to do that, is to show you that I've gone through the same thing you're going through now."
"I do trust you enough to talk to you," stated Clint, eyes meeting hers. "It's actually easier than I thought it would be. But it's still..."
"...hard to start," finished Darcy with a sigh, kneeling on the couch beside Clint again. She was facing him this time, her arms resting on the back of the couch beside his hip. "Trust me, I know. It's been years since I had to start facing everything, but I remember how hard it was. I wouldn't even talk to Phil about what happened for the first month I lived with him." Hesitantly, one of her hands reached out to take his. This time though, instead of just her fingers on top of his, she pressed her fingers to his palm and her palm against the back of his hand. "Just talk when you're ready to. I don't expect you to tell me everything at once. Hell, I don't expect you to even tell me everything, period. But I am here to help you discuss whatever you feel you need to discuss."
"Thanks," muttered Clint, closing his fingers over hers. Gently, he squeezed her hand. "Thank you."
"Anytime, Clint," assured Darcy. "Anytime you need to talk or want to, come find me. I'll make time to listen, no matter what I'm doing. You can't recover from this alone and no one expects you to."
His thumb brushed over her knuckles slowly, stroking the skin. "You know the reverse applies as well, right? If you need to talk about anything, I'm here."
"Thanks," murmured Darcy quietly, her eyes falling to their hands. "I appreciate that."
Disentangling their fingers, Darcy stood again and unpaused her game once more. Clint silently watched as she started battling the Hulk once more. Her motions were fluid, sharp and accurate. It wasn't until the fight was done (with her as the victor) that he spoke. "Do you ever feel like you should have done more to stop yourself? Fought harder against everything you did?"
"I used to," confirmed Darcy. "There was always that voice saying 'you should have fought harder', 'you hurt people and, if you'd just done more, it wouldn't have happened'." She flicked her wrist, bringing the game back to the main menu again and turned to face Clint once more. "Eventually though, I realized there wasn't much I could have done. At the time, I didn't realize what was happening. Yeah, I knew on some level what I was doing was wrong, but someone was finally showing me kindness. Someone finally wanted me around. And all I wanted was to make that person happy, make them want to keep me around." She shrugged slightly, looking back at the TV and selecting yet another opponent. She didn't start the game though, opting to refocus on Clint once more. "I was so desperate for that approval, for that hint of love, that I was willing to do anything to keep it."
"So what brought you back?" asked Clint curiously. "'Tasha beat me senseless, but I'm guessing that wouldn't work on you."
"No," confirmed Darcy quietly. "Phil is the one who brought me out. He was nice to me one night and expected nothing in return. He would talk to me if he saw me, follow me to make sure I was safe, just simple stuff. It- he was able to make me realize what was going on because he'd been nice to me."
"Kindness is it's own tool," stated Clint. "And it's own weapon."
"Yeah," sighed Darcy, "I know. Phil used it as a tool to gain my trust and, ultimately, it was for the best. I wouldn't be alive today if he hadn't gotten me out. He's the only person I can think of who ever had my best interest at heart."
Clint nodded slowly, eyes sliding back to the screen. "A lot of guys at S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't think Phil cared about much. They always assumed that just because he didn't let what he was feeling show, he wasn't capable of feeling anything." His eyes fell to his hands, thumb running over a scar across his knuckles. He remembered how he got it all too well: some cocky jackass had said something nasty about Phil being a robot; Clint had knocked out several of the man's teeth and been suspended for a week. He probably would have been discharged except Natasha had told Fury what happened. It's the only thing that had saved his hide.
"Is that from when you punched the man who accused Phil of being a brain-washed, careless robot who saw every agent as replaceable?" asked Darcy, her own eyes staring at his hand and the scar etched into his skin.
"Yeah," confirmed Clint.
Darcy smiled a little, reaching out to touch his hand again. This time though, there was less hesitation. Instead, she gently pulled his hand up so she could see the scar for herself. One of her fingers traced the edges for a moment before she brought his knuckles up the rest of the way and kissed the scar. "Thank you."
Well, that was surprising. "Uh, for what?"
"Standing up for Phil," explained Darcy, dropping his hand. "When he told me what happened, I wanted to come to work with him the next day and give you a hug for what you'd done."
Clint chuckled a little. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," confirmed Darcy, her smile turning sad. "He wouldn't let me because he didn't want me involved in S.H.I.E.L.D., but I still wanted to thank you for that somehow. I ended up getting your address from Fury and sending you a stuff penguin that said 'Thank you' on it."
"Wait, that was you?" asked Clint in surprise. "I always thought that was Phil because the penguin had a Captain America costume."
"I was really into Captain America back then," confessed Darcy, a bit of a blush crossing her cheeks as she ducked her head.
He had to admit, her blush was adorable. It made her look so much younger, it was hard to imagine this was the same woman that could strong-arm Jane around or survive as an intern at Stark Industries. Then again, there were times he'd looked at Phil and been unable to reconcile the man he was seeing with the cool-under-pressure badass ninja of S.H.I.E.L.D. "It's cute, but where did you find it?"
"Uh, I kind of made it." Her admission was quiet, but Clint could hear her clear as day.
"Really?" asked Clint, more than a little surprised. He wouldn't have guessed it was hand made. Custom yes; hand made, no. "Wow, you did an amazing job."
"Thanks," muttered Darcy quietly, blush intensifying.
It made him smile a little. One of his hands rose to rub at the back of his neck a little nervously. "Um, not to be weird or anything, but I actually still have it."
Darcy's head snapped up, eyes wide. "Really?"
"Yeah," confirmed Clint, a bit of his own blush appearing on his cheeks. "I named him Captain Ameriguin. He lives on my bed, whatever that happens to be at the moment. I even carry him on missions sometimes. Phil usually holds onto him if things are dangerous though. Er-" he paused, realizing the error in what he said. "I guess I mean Phil used to hold onto him for me. Guess I can't take him in the field anymore."
"That's alright," assured Darcy gently, offering Clint a smile. "I can always watch him for you."
"Bring him to me if I'm in medical or after a bad mission?" asked Clint, the smile returning a little to his face.
Darcy's smile turned into a smirk as she stood again, flicking her wrist to start the match. "Only if I get to take pictures of you cuddling a penguin doll in medical."
"I'm pretty sure 'Tasha already has those," stated Clint. "Phil used to bring it up as a way of getting me to actually stay in medical. But if you want more, go ahead. I'm not ashamed to admit that I like to cuddle."
"Hmm," hummed Darcy, arm slashing through the air. "So that's how I ended up curled against you earlier."
"Hey!" objected Clint, voice light. He was going to tease her a little; it was the first chance he'd had so far. "Don't pin that on me. You're the one who cuddled up against me."
Darcy froze. Completely froze in the middle of the match. She didn't even pause the game, which meant Loki was able to start beating her character into the ground. It actually made Hawkeye wince. Before he could comment though, she canceled the match and returned the game to it's main screen. "If you want to play, go ahead. I'm going to get some sleep. Goodnight."
Clint watched as Darcy practically ran out of the room, only pausing long enough to grab her S.H.I.E.L.D. sweatshirt. Mentally, he could barely process that she was leaving before she was just gone. What the hell was that about?
