Author's Notes
Timeline – 1st Week of June 2013
Ainsley is in no mood for games after a difficult introduction to the world of SHIELD bureaucracy, and a bored assassin can be an annoyance.
A chance for Ainsley and Clint to start getting to know each other leads to an embarrassing moment, a violent encounter and Clint uncovering a piece of the young psychologist's past.
Some graphic violence
Ainsley brushed the back of his head. It felt like a bug had landed there, even Tony Stark's Manhattan penthouse wasn't immune to the odd incursion from the insect world. There it was again, something landing in his hair. He caught it between his fingers and examined it. A pistachio shell?
"Hey; wassup Doc?" came a voice from aloft
The doctor turned on the couch and looked up. Hawkeye was perched on the balustrade of the gallery, barefoot, eating pistachio nuts and grinning down at him.
"Clint, what are you doing up there?"
Ainsley had thought he had the place to himself. Natasha was in Washington; Steve had taken Thor up to visit the Field Ops training centre for a couple of days and Tony had gone to San Diego for the opening of a new Stark Foundation project. Bruce would be buried away in one of the research labs and he'd not seen Clint since he got back so had assumed the archer was out on some errand or another.
Clint was still grinning, bits of half-chewed pistachio stuck in his teeth
"Having a no-floor day."
Ainsley closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He'd been here a week and still getting used to the idea of shared accommodation, even when it was as spacious and luxurious as Stark's penthouse. The others were fine but with Clint it was like having a hyperactive teenager around. The psychologist had already come to a tentative diagnosis of a traumatised, possibly abusive, childhood and young adolescence with resulting emotional immaturity and a tendency to regress to juvenile behaviours.
"And what, may I ask, is a no-floor day?"
"I'll show you. Catch!"
He threw the bag of nuts down to the doctor then braced his hands on the balustrade and hoisted himself up until he was standing on the polished wood. Ainsley held his breath as Clint spread his arms to balance himself then nimbly trotted along till he was almost at the point where the gallery ended at the dressed stone chimney-breast. He dropped down onto the bar then vaulted lightly over to the table at the end of the long couch where Ainsley was seated.
The effect was spoiled when the table wobbled and he fell forward onto the couch with a loud 'ooof!". He pulled himself upright and sat cross-legged with his feet tucked under him.
"And that's a no-floor day, getting around the place without putting my feet anywhere that counts as floor" He took his bag of pistachios back from the dumbfounded doctor "Walking on hands is permitted but kinda feels like cheating. This place is great for it."
Ainsley had to agree. The living area of the Penthouse comprised one large open-plan space with multiple areas and levels, including a wide gallery that held Tony's private study, a well-stocked library and a music room. A large sunken lounge space with deep comfortable couches was flanked by a well-stocked bar and open-plan kitchen while one of the biggest plasma screens the doctor had ever seen was mounted above the fireplace. The area beneath the gallery sheltered a formal dining room and a smaller, more intimate lounge they'd designated as a quiet room. The whole south wall was re-enforced glass panels from floor to ceiling, with doors opening onto a broad terrace complete with hot tub and pool. Plenty of places for a bored Hawk to perch.
He laughed and shook his head
"Clint, you're a very strange man and round here that's something of an achievement!"
Clint shuffled along the couch until he was sitting beside him and tried to peer at his tablet
"Whatcha doing?"
Ainsley sighed and put the device into sleep mode
"I'm sorry but I've had a very difficult day" He was trying not to sound too sharp but he'd no desire to be the archer's entertainment for the evening "I really just need a bit of peace and quiet right now. If you want to keep playing your game, I'll go down to the apartment."
He stood up but Clint reached out and caught his arm. His expression was surprised and apologetic
"Hey Doc, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to upset you" He pulled the doctor back towards the couch "Sit down and tell me what's up."
Ainsley sat back down; torn between the desire to vent and the need to escape. Unfortunately, now it would be difficult to do the latter without being deliberately rude to Clint. He sighed again
"I just got my fur rubbed the wrong way at the Hub and it's been pissing me off all day" He looked at the archer and smiled "If you can fix me a cup of tea without touching the floor I'll tell you."
Clint's expression became thoughtful
"Okay, but you might want to come over to the kitchen otherwise I can't guarantee no spillage."
The whole experience had been purgatory from start to finish. He'd assumed the trip to the Hub to finalise his clearance as a civilian Consultant would be a mere formality given Director Fury's approval. The classified location of the SHIELD operations base required an initial journey to the New York Field Office and from there to a military airbase to get on a transport jet. It had been aggressively unpleasant. The Agent who escorted him was sullen and uncommunicative, the jet smelled of oil and stale sweat and the other passengers, clearly all SHIELD agents going by their identikit suits and haircuts, had been as monosyllabic as Agent Warrilow.
At the Hub, he had been escorted straight to the office of an Agent Hand, one of the senior Agents, without so much as a cup of coffee. Agent Hand made it quite plain this was no formality and his clearance depended on him answering to her satisfaction. Fury's opinion did not matter to her and she was not inclined to view the doctor as more than a potentially unreliable dilettante. Her vehemence implied to Ainsley that she did not have as much influence in the matter as she pretended.
This was followed up by a series of probing questions most of which were about the Avengers rather than him. Hawkeye seemed to be of singular interest, and her questions an attempt to obtain a psychological evaluation by an underhand route. Eventually he lost his patience, something he rarely did, and called her out on the appropriateness of her line of questioning; indicating he would be submitting an invoice for his standard consultancy fee if it continued.
This firmly concluded the meeting. Closing her file, she sent him out to be issued with a biometric identity card for Class 5 Consultant Clearance and instructions to return to New York on the next available stale-smelling transport. The whole business was a transparent and insulting waste of time to get something he could have picked up at the Field Office.
"If this is what being associated with SHIELD in any capacity is like I'm not sure it's something I want to do."
"Vicki Hand's a bitch" Clint said aggressively "A good agent but a bitch. She'll make things awkward enough just to show that Fury doesn't call all the shots, without actually being obstructive."
Ainsley drank some of the tea. For an American, Clint made a surprisingly good cuppa. It helped that he boiled the water properly rather than just sticking the mug in a microwave. He felt better for having released some bile and more inclined to make conversation.
"She asked a lot of questions about you, like she was trying to get a profile. That really was the last straw."
Clint's whole posture tightened and his eyes narrowed
"What was she asking?" there was an edge to his voice the doctor had never heard before.
"Mostly whether you spoke much about what happened before the Chitauri invasion, particularly if you ever mentioned 'The Assault' or spoke about an Agent Coulson." He looked at Clint questioningly "I've heard Thor mention that name a couple of times but without any context. Did something happen to him during the invasion?"
Clint slid of the worktop and walked over to the couches. The fun had gone out of no-floor day. He sat down with his elbows on his knees, rested his head in his hands and sighed heavily.
"Could you get me a drink please, Doc?"
"Sure" replied Ainsley "Beer or something stronger?"
"Beer will be fine thanks. You fancy ordering pizza and sticking it on Stark's tab?"
As they ate, Clint told Ainsley the story of what had happened before the Battle of New York or at least the version of events he'd been told afterwards. He hadn't learned of Phil's death until he'd asked about him at the Shawarma Palace. The question had been met with an uncomfortable silence finally broken by Tasha, who'd informed him that Agent Coulson had died on the Helicarrier. Even if he hadn't done it with his own hands, his actions had caused the death of his mentor and oldest friend.
"Could I really have done all that stuff without knowing about it, Doc?" he could hear the plea for reassurance in Clint's voice "I mean you can't just switch off someone's mind like that, can you?"
Ainsley finished his beer and got up to fetch them some more.
"If you'd asked me that just over a year ago, I would have said no. That kind of deliberate reconditioning, if it were possible, would take years; months at the very least if extreme methods were used. Even then the psyche would be constantly rebelling against the artificial intrusion. The idea that you could take a man's mind and turn it 180 degrees with a single touch belonged to the realm of fantasy and science fiction."
He handed Clint his beer and sat down beside him
"Then the skies tore open, raining down aliens and beings out of ancient legend, and we entered a new Age of Magic and Monsters. All the rules we thought were fixed in place have gone out of the window."
On an impulse, he carded his fingers through the archer's thatch of untidy brown hair. Clint instinctively moved his head into the touch like a cat being stroked.
"Poor Clint; you were the first casualty in a war we haven't even begun to understand yet. In World War One they shot men with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as cowards, what they're doing to you now is no less barbaric."
Clint clenched his eyes shut to hold back the tears and took a long drink of the beer. It was painful that this guy he hardly knew could get it better than men he'd served alongside for years.
"What's so fucked up is that's the kindest thing anyone's said to me in months" his voice was quiet and low, his fingers picking nervously at the label on the bottle "Phil was like the dad I wanted to have and the first real friend I ever did have. Losing him hurts worse than anyone can imagine, I'm not even sure if Tasha really knows how bad it feels"
Ainsley reached out and took his hand
"I know what it's like when you lose someone so close. Something inside gets torn away and nothing can ever fully heal the wound."
Clint nodded silently, still trying to hold back the tears, and squeezed the doctor's hand. Ainsley put his arms around him and drew the archer into a close hug. The bigger man couldn't hold it in any longer and let out a heaving sob, his shoulders shaking as he held on to the young Englishman for comfort.
Eventually the shaking and sobbing faded and he straightened himself up, wiping his face with his hand.
"I'm really glad you're here, Doc and I'm sorry for laying it all on you like this." He tried to smile "I'm not always this crazy, it's just been a really shitty few days for me."
Ainsley handed him some tissues
"If you don't mind me saying, it sounds like it's been going on more than just a few days. If you ever need to talk…"
Clint gave his nose a great honking blow. He turned to Ainsley, the crooked grin back on his face.
"Depends. What clearance they give you?"
The doctor took out his shiny new ID card and showed him. Clint let out a long whistle of surprise.
"Hell, Doc! No wonder The Hand That Bites was being such a bitch. Fury must have big expectations if he's chucking you in at that level."
Ainsley raised an eyebrow and his voice dripped with sarcasm
"Well that's not in the least bit intimidating, I must say."
Clint laughed and patted his back, again the touch lingered for a fraction longer than normal
"You'll do okay, Doc. Calling out Vicki Hand on first meeting shows more brass ones than most guys I know. Let me put my boots on and we'll go for a proper drink. I know a really great little bar."
###
Well, if this is Clint's idea of a great bar I'd hate to see some of the other places he drinks
The sound of country music ground out over the hum of conversation in the low, badly lit bar room. The choice of drinks was beer, spirits, or beer and spirits. Ainsley had rightly guessed that a bottle fermented Brooklyn No 2 was not going to be on offer. A group of Hells Angels wannabes hogged the solitary pool table and the smell was 'interesting'. The doctor had settled for Budweiser as the least potentially toxic option.
They talked a great deal about nothing much; Ainsley about music, movies and vintage cars, Clint about comic books and free-running, the one thing he seemed more obsessed about than archery.
Clint noticed that any questions he asked about the doctor's family were skilfully deflected. Ainsley was as unwilling as him to talk about that part of his life. That puzzled him, he had good reasons for not wanting to speak about his experiences growing up but nothing about the Englishman suggested he had that kind of trauma in his past. What little had slipped out seemed to imply a happy, cared-for childhood cushioned by lots of very old money.
As the night dragged towards closing time Clint was talking less and less, realising he was happy just to listen to Ainsley rattling on about his enthusiasms. His grey eyes sparkled behind the lenses of his glasses as he spoke about the bottle green MG Midget sports car he was having shipped over and he had the funny little habit of tugging his earlobe when he laughed.
Ainsley was halfway through talking about the reconditioned leather upholstery when he felt Clint's hand on his thigh, a gentle but insistent pressure. He looked up from his drink and saw the hungry, pleading expectancy in the other man's eyes. Clint swallowed hard and moved his hand marginally further up.
Shit
This was his own fault. Hawkeye's interest in him had been subtle but still evident, it should have been plain to him the man was in a place where he would overinvest in any gesture of affection. This would have to be dealt with carefully. He put his hand over Clint's and gently, but equally insistently, removed it.
"I think we should go home and talk" he said quietly
Clint nodded, his jaw tightening.
It was only a few blocks to Stark Tower so they decided to walk. Clint had tried to say something as soon as they were out of the bar but Ainsley had indicated he'd rather wait till they were home. The doctor had stopped off at an all-night store to get a packet of cigarettes. Clint hadn't seen him smoke before and took this as a bad sign. Ainsley continued on in silence, smoking and deep in thought, while Clint walked beside him; shoulders slumped and face grim
Stupid fucking Dumbass Barton
He couldn't go five minutes without screwing something up one way or another. The guy was just being nice and caring because that's the kind of man he was; why pull a dumb stunt like that? Even if he wasn't Thor's lover he'd not given any sign of being interested that way. Had he reckoned that just because Ainsley was gay he'd jump on the nearest available dick? Wouldn't blame Doc for thinking that or moving out with Thor first chance they got. Maybe he should step up to the plate and ask Tony if there was a free apartment elsewhere he could move into. That would be less hassle, if Thor or Tasha didn't beat him into hamburger first. He reckoned he'd stand a better chance up against the Big Blond.
They'd only gone a couple of blocks from the bar when they heard the shout behind them
"HEY! FAGGOTS!"
Clint let out a long breath to release the tension in his stomach and glanced behind them. Two of the wannabe bikers, big dudes but clumsy looking. Gym and steroid muscle, the type who relied on size and attitude rather than skill. He put a protective, and provocative, arm around Ainsley and whispered to him
"Keep walking. When I push you, run!"
Ainsley nodded, his face felt cold and there was a sharp knot of fear in his stomach but Clint's face was set and serious with a hard, cold, look in his eyes the psychologist hadn't seen before
The shout was closer
"Hey! Faggots! We're talking to you!"
Clint's free hand slipped into the pocket of his cargo pants. There was a little surprise he always kept in there.
A beefy hand landed on his shoulder and a voice acid with stale beer snarled at him
"Hey Faggot! You deaf?"
WRONG thing to say, Beerbreath!
The backhand strike smashed Beerbreath's nose and fractured his cheekbones, sending him stumbling back with blood spurting between his fingers. Clint pushed Ainsley forward out of harm's way as the other big dude aimed a haymaker at the side of his head. Hawkeye used the momentum of the push to bring his elbow back sharply into Haymaker's throat. The blow wasn't hard enough to crush the windpipe completely but as Haymaker went down, goggle eyed and choking for breath, it was clear he wouldn't be getting up any time soon.
Beerbreath tried to come at him but Hawkeye took his legs out from underneath him and had him pinned, one knee grinding into his armpit. Beerbreath saw the flash of steel and felt the point pressing at the corner of his eye. He tried to screw his eyes shut, feeling the blade cut his eyelid as he did so, and a dark patch spread across the crotch of his denims.
"Clint!" Ainsley hissed urgently. The archer scanned his surroundings. The sudden violent altercation was attracting rubberneckers, too many witnesses and the cops might be on their way. He spun the balisong knife shut with an expert flick of his wrist.
"This deaf faggot's letting you keep your eyes today" he snarled and twisted his knee hard. Beerbreath howled as his shoulder was forced out of its socket.
Clint grabbed Ainsley's arm and steered him out of there
"Let's go!" was all he said.
The doctor was hard pressed to keep up with the assassin's stride as they made their way quickly the last couple of blocks to Stark Tower. Clint was breathing heavily through his nose, jaw clenched, eyes still fixed and cold. His body tightened even further as they entered the express private elevator to the penthouse. He hated travelling in them, too vulnerable and easy to get trapped, but going up 80 stories without one was a challenge even for him. Ainsley concentrated on the flickering numbers of the LED display as they soared upwards
Okay. I'm in a lift with an angry, psychologically damaged, assassin who made a very clumsy pass at me half an hour ago, and the only other person around upstairs tends to damage cities when he gets stressed out. What part of this is a good idea?
As soon as they disembarked in the living area the doctor headed over to the bar and poured them both a generous measure of whiskey.
"Remind me never to try and sneak up on you in the kitchen to give you a surprise"
Clint stared at him for a moment then laughed and took the glass that Ainsley offered
"Hell Doc! That's pretty much true for all of us round here." His face became serious again "I'm a killer. It's what I'm trained to do and I'm one of the best there is. Folks like you shouldn't have to know guys like me exist."
Ainsley sat down on the couch and put his feet up, casually brushing away a few of the pistachio shells from earlier.
"My last lover was S.A.S., you're not the first killer I've met. Just because I've had a comfortable life, don't assume it's been a sheltered one."
He sipped his whiskey, staring off into the middle distance.
"I know the world can be a terrible place."
Clint scratched at the back of his head and sighed
"Look, Doc, what I done earlier…"
Ainsley looked up at him
"We can either agree to forget about it or we can sit down and talk it through, which would you prefer? It doesn't have to be tonight."
Clint sat down beside him, holding his drink in both hands
"I don't often go for guys. When I do it's either 'cause I'm mega-horny or…" he turned to look at Ainsley, the coldness in his eyes had given way to a deep sadness "…or cause there's something really special about them."
He swallowed half the whiskey in a single mouthful.
"I wasn't horny tonight, Doc. Just maybe wanted to be with someone to understands a bit about what's happened to me" he grinned ruefully "Hoped maybe you and Thor were 'open'"
Ainsley put his arm around Clint's shoulder's and drew him closer, trying not to think too much about what the other man had said in case he started crying
"Clint, Thor and I haven't been together long enough to even think about that yet. Even if we had, the suggestion would have to come from him and I'd need to know you a lot better before considering it."
He leaned over and kissed the archer lightly on the forehead
"Underneath all that crazy there's a funny, brave, good-hearted man I really want to be friends with. Can we just stick with that for a while?"
Clint leaned his head against Ainsley's shoulder. That option actually sounded a lot better than what he'd had in mind earlier.
"Hugs are still okay, right?"
The young doctor laughed
"Hugs are fine, but no naughty touching or I'll tell Tony about your Team Jacob boxer shorts!"
"Twilight's cool" grumbled Clint into his glass as he finished off his drink.
They sat and talked for a little longer before heading off to their separate apartments. Clint decided to let his curiosity get the better of him. Switching on his laptop he Googled
'Dr Ainsley Kerr'
All that brought up were lists of publications, articles and coldly academic data.
Damn, he's smart! No wonder Fury wanted him Clearance Level 5
He'd never heard of a civilian consultant getting that level of clearance before. He and Tasha were Level 6. That suggested Fury had something big in mind for the psychologist.
No Facebook, Twitter or Instagram; Doc's only on-line presence a discreet professional website with qualifications, credentials, links to articles and an email address. No personal information anywhere.
He tried something else. A lot of these upper-class Brits had double-barrelled surnames, what if he just didn't use his full name
'Wyndham-Kerr, family'
That was better, it brought up a whole list of British newspaper archives. He clicked on the first link
Seven Die in Country House Blaze
Leading Scientist and family killed in Boxing Day tragedy
'The scientific and artistic communities are in mourning today after fire swept through historic Wyndham House in Suffolk in the early hours of December 26th, claiming the lives of eminent physicist Sir Francis Findlay Wyndham-Kerr and his wife Lady Elizabeth, better known as the sculptor Elizabeth Cross; together with their son Edward, daughter in law Magdalena and their eldest grandson Philip. Also killed were Mrs Wyndham-Kerr's parents, the composer Mannfried von Kesselbaum and his wife Sophia. Their surviving grandchildren, Ainsley and Isobel, both 8, are being cared for by relatives…
A full investigation is to be held but preliminary reports suggest the fire was caused by faulty or corroded electrical wiring in the upper floors of the 17th century building…'
Awww Doc… Awww Doc, no….