Story Timeline: End of July 2013
Author's Notes
An innocent question from Cap sparks a night of intense emotion in the Penthouse.
Hawkeye and Ainsley are drawn closer when the archer discovers a connection to the young doctor's tragic past and is prompted to reveal his own.
Strong language and some homoeroticism. References to violence and physical abuse.
Natasha Romanoff dropped down on the couch beside Hawkeye, placed a fresh beer in front of him and took a drink from her own.
The archer grunted a 'thanks', intent on the game; frowning with concentration as he worked the controls.
Natasha smiled. She enjoyed watching him play his games, especially the adventure and racing ones he preferred, professing to believe his explanations about good training in manual and visual dexterity.
The level boss finally defeated, he hit the 'pause' button and fell back with a contented sigh. Swigging some beer, he swirled it around his mouth thoughtfully, then turned to his friend
"Tash, you ever get déjà vu?"
She picked some of the metal foil of the neck of her bottle.
"Not really, once is usually enough for me. Why ask?"
Clint stopped trying to balance the bottle of beer on his stomach and sat up, cradling it in his hands
"It's something that's been bugging me recently. Ever since I met Ainsley I've had the feeling we've met somewhere before, or at least seen each other."
It wasn't impossible she thought, having another drink. Facial recognition was an important part of the skill set for the type of work they did. Could be a lifesaver sometimes.
"Well you've been in London. Maybe you saw him in a bar, or perhaps a steam-room?" Her sidelong glance was disapproving
He chuckled.
"I think I'd remember that. Hell, I hope he would too! Ainsley's not the bath-house type though, me neither. Those places could have been built with a hit in mind. Wouldn't want you to see crime-scene photos of me in a gimp mask and jockstrap"
Natasha glared at her friend.
"I seem to remember you didn't mind too much in Copenhagen."
Clint' laugh was short and loud,
"I know. I'm a bad boy who takes unnecessary risks. Still doesn't tell me where I think I've seen Ainsley before though."
She sat back and drank some more beer
"He has got a reputation in his field. Perhaps you saw his picture in a magazine?"
Clint's look had 'You're joking, of course?' written all over it
"Yeah, 'cause you know how much I love to keep up to date with the glamorous world of abnormal psychology."
He picked up the controller again
"It'll come to me eventually. One more level…?"
###
"I am so full! Guys, that was amazing." Steve patted his stomach in satisfaction.
It was just the four of them tonight; five if you counted Bruce, but he had been virtually living in Research and Development for the last few days, engrossed in some project he was working on with Tony.
Tony and Pepper were spending the weekend at the Beach House, at Pepper's insistence, while Thor was away for a week taking a selected group of the Field Ops Academy cadets on a wilderness survival course.
When he had made his first visit to the Field Ops Academy, Thor had pointed out what he thought were some glaring omissions in the wilderness training on offer. It turned out living and surviving in hostile environments was a major part of Asgardian warrior training and his bush-craft skills were formidable, so he had been offered the opportunity to take some of the senior cadets out and put them through what he deemed to be proper field experience.
Tasha and Ainsley had volunteered to cook so, instead of the usual Friday night take-out and beer, they had curried prawns, savoury wild rice and home-made garlic bread washed down with some white wine with a name that Clint and Steve couldn't pronounce. The archer grinned, feeling his body slip into a happy food-coma. Anyone who didn't really know Tasha was always surprised at her culinary skills. Watching her laughing and joking with Ainsley as they prepared dinner had been fun, like one of those cook-off shows Tony claimed not to enjoy.
"Why don't we have this more often?" Clint wondered aloud then laughed as he caught the look on her face and remembered.
Thor's intolerance to shellfish had come a surprise to them all, including the big warrior and the other diners at the restaurant Tony and Pepper had taken them to a few days after Ainsley and Thor had moved in. Edible shellfish were apparently not part of the Asgardian ecology and their digestive system was unable to handle them. The reaction to this alien intrusion into his guts had been instantaneous and 'Mighty'.
"Oh yeah! God of Chunder!"
Tasha shook her head with a smile. It had been weeks before that joke went stale. She piled some of the remaining food onto a plate with fresh garlic bread.
"Bruce has clearly forgotten about dinner so I'm going to take this up, before he scoffs it all" she gestured with the ladle towards Clint, scattering a few grains of rice in the process. Ainsley couldn't help noticing a fresh bottle of Montrachet with two glasses on the tray and gave her a conspiratorial wink.
Don't tell
The signing was discreet, even though Clint's back was to her. Ainsley's nod of response almost imperceptible.
"I'll not be long" she called to them as she entered the elevator
Liar he thought, with a smile.
Steve poured himself another big glass of the fancy wine. He would have preferred beer to be honest but this stuff packed an unexpected kick. Even though his system metabolised alcohol so fast it was hard for him to get properly drunk he could feel it going to his head slightly. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity. 1930's Brooklyn didn't have wine at the dinner table. That was for people in the movies and, well, rich fags.
That's not a nice word he reminded himself. He wouldn't want to say something like that around anyone but especially not Dr Kerr, he was a good man. Classy, like the British guys he used to see in the movies with their servants, shiny motors and big country houses; the sort Peggy Carter had grown up around, that he'd met in London during the war. Heck, Dr Kerr's grand-daddy was maybe one of those fancy British officers with all the gold braid and medals.
"What was it like for you guys growing up?" he asked out loud.
His interest was genuine, the desire to find out how much had changed or stayed the same since his own narrow childhood in the Depression; especially since Dr Kerr and Barton had such different backgrounds. Maybe it was the wine but tonight he really wanted to know.
Fuck, not this again thought Clint
"Look Cap" he tried to keep his voice light, but this was dangerous ground "Not all of us had the best time growing up so let's talk about something else shall we?"
"Aw Hell, Barton" The wine must really be getting to him "I grew up in the Great Depression, you don't get much worse than that. I mean you were a circus kid weren't you? And you" he gestured to the doctor "I'll bet you grew up in some big old place in the country with dogs and all that stuff"
The soldier, still flushed with the unanticipated potency of the wine, smiled; feeling like an eager kid again, staring at the fancy folks on the silver screen
"Didja have a butler?"
"Leave it, Steve!" hissed Clint, anger starting to show in his face.
"No, actually" Ainsley's answer was sharp, a brittle edge to his normally calm tones "we had a housekeeper, Mrs McGrory. Her husband Jim did odd jobs in the house and gardens. They had a flat above the stables…"
Dogs; was it the barking of the McGrory's dog that woke them up?
Steve's smile broadened. This was the real deal. The next words hit him like bullets
"There was a fire" Ainsley said bluntly "just after Christmas. My sister Isobel and I were 8. Someone managed to get us out. Our older brother, Philip, died of his burns on the way to the hospital. Our parents and grandparents died in the house"
It must have been Pip; his bedroom was on the same landing as ours. Mummy and Daddy were further up the main stairs. The fire had already taken hold there and the roof was starting to fall
There was something empty in the doctor's voice, automatic, like the words were coming out on a conveyer belt. Clint moved to sit beside Ainsley putting an arm around his shoulders. He was still talking. Staring blankly at a spot on the rug, holding his half-finished wine, trying to drain the raw psychic wound.
"After that it was all family lawyers and trusts, boarding schools, staying with distant cousins during the school holidays. Izzie and I hated being apart, we were inseparable during the holidays. Shared an apartment at University. I specialized in Psych, Izzie in Paediatrics. 'Real medicine, not your spooky mind stuff' she used to say."
Clint could feel the doctor shaking; a constant, shallow muscular trembling. The archer swallowed, unsure of what was coming next. He'd read about the fire in newspaper reports online when looking up some of Ainsley's details out of curiosity 'Seven Die in Country House Blaze Tragedy', hadn't bothered to read much further after that.
"I went to Vienna to work with Professor Feldermann. She went to out to Bafandi and…"
That was the point he broke down. Clint held him close, feeling the young doctor convulse with grief. His stomach had gone cold and tight at the mention of Bafandi. The name might not mean anything to Captain Asshole Who Needs to Learn How to Fucking Google but he had been on the ground there, saw what happened. Still gave him bad dreams.
Steve, astonished at what he had unleashed, stood up and made to step forward, his mouth opening to say something. Clint glared at him with raw fury in his eyes.
"Fuck off, Steve! Fuck off, right now!" He went back to comforting Ainsley, cutting off any possible response.
Steve had left by the time Ainsley started to straighten himself up, wiping his eyes and taking the glass of wine that Clint had filled for him.
"I'm sorry" his voice still shaking "You always tell yourself that time will make it hurt less but that's just a therapeutic lie. I lost a part of myself forever when they finally found her body"
He drained half the glass and made to stand up "I should apologise to Steve. I didn't mean to be so sharp about it all…"
"No!" Clint's voice was steady but firm and he held the doctor in his seat "He had no right to push you into talking about things you didn't want to. Let him apologise first, then you can be all nice and Britishy and Dr Ainsley about it."
Ainsley smiled shyly and held on to the other man's hand, finding comfort in its warmth and the familiar calluses. Clint was a real jackass at times but he could show a fierce, protective, heart and a profound empathy for the pain of others when he turned the clowning off.
"Would you like to see a picture of her?" he asked, pulling out his wallet. Clint nodded
"Yeah, I'd like that"
Ainsley handed him a passport sized photograph.
The young woman held the lens of the camera with a confident gaze. Her light hair was tied up and back and a small gold crucifix shone against the deep green of her dress. She looked intelligent and compassionate, her eyes the same gentle grey as her brother's. Despite the softer lines of her face the features were identical. Dr Ainsley Kerr was handsome, but Dr Isobel Kerr had been beautiful.
Clint began to cry. It wasn't Ainsley he had met before.
"I think we need something stronger than the Montrachet" said Ainsley beginning to rise. Clint grabbed him by the wrist, wiping away the tears with the heel of his free hand
"I met your sister"
The doctor sat down again, surprise and shock on his face. Clint gulped down the rest of his wine and began to speak.
He had been with a SHIELD team on a training mission in Central Africa when the news came of the sudden explosion of savage inter-tribal violence in the Bafandi Republic. They were re-assigned to aid the evacuation of hundreds of western tourists, businesspeople and diplomats trapped in and around the capital, Kintenge. By the time they arrived, Etienne Banda International Airport was already a battleground and evacuation zones were being set up in the suburbs.
"We were sent to protect a pick-up zone near a hospital on the south side of the city. Some kinda charity place run by nuns"
Ainsley nodded
"St Joseph's. The Sisters of the Immaculate Heart, they'd got connections with Izzie's old school and she'd always been passionate about their work. She'd gone out there to set up a new paediatric clinic, talking about vocations a lot; her faith was deeper, richer, than mine. She loved being in Bafandi, once the clinic was running she wanted to stay on and help keep it going"
Clint put his empty wine-glass to one side
"I think we will need something stronger, Doc!"
He continued speaking as Ainsley fetched a bottle of Tony's best bourbon and a couple of glasses. The mission brief had been simple. Keep a clear route for the western evacuees and prevent the locals from mobbing the evacuation transports as the sounds of gunfire and explosions came nearer. They'd held back old men and women, terrified children, mothers pleading with them to at least take their babies. Men who had served in some of the harshest combat situations on the planet wept for days afterwards.
He had seen her across the chaos, through the archway of the convent forecourt. The nuns had tacked a sheet with a hastily painted red cross onto an old truck and she was helping them load it with toddlers and infants. Somehow, he had made it across the crowds and reached her; the look of hope in her eyes fading when she realised he had just come for her, to offer her a space in the transport.
Every detail was clear in his mind's eye. Standing there on the back of the truck in jeans and a white blouse, long ash-blonde hair tied back with a black velvet ribbon, she was out of place; like she should have been shopping in Paris or drinking wine with friends outside a smart London café. Not here in the burning capital of a country descending into massacre. The way she looked at him, she knew she was doomed; her, those frightened old nuns clutching onto their rosaries and the wide-eyed children too terrified for tears.
"She just looked at me Doc, real sad, and said 'I must help them'"
Clint was shaking so much he had to hold his glass with both hands in order to drink. Ainsley felt his own shock fading. The pain remained. sharp and jagged but with a strange sense of closure, hearing the details of his sister's last days, doing what she believed was right even if it meant giving up the chance of her own escape. He could tell what the man beside him was thinking, knew the words before they came out.
"I shoulda done something, Doc. I coulda grabbed her and thrown her on that transport."
Clint's face was full of grief and he broke down into tears again.
"I shoulda tried to save her for you."
They held each other for a long time, the doctor and the archer. At last Ainsley spoke, topping their glasses up with more of Tony's bourbon.
"Throw Izzie anywhere?" he gave a short laugh, remembering her courage and fire "She would have kicked you in the balls, hard, and climbed right back on that truck. I'm the one that should've been there…"
He had meant to arrive the weekend before, flying to Kintenge from Vienna and then travelling with her to Ethiopia to visit the rock churches at Lalibela, but there was a concert in Salzburg. Martha Argerich playing a new arrangement of the Chopin Nocturnes, absolutely unmissable, so he had arranged to take a later, midweek, flight. An hour before landing the plane was diverted to Nairobi; frantic checking of cell-phones telling the passengers of the horrors unfolding on the ground below.
"If I hadn't been so bloody pissy about that concert I would have been there. We could have got out together."
Clint shook his head.
"Nah, Doc. I know what you're like. You woulda been alongside her on that truck, smacking me in the nuts."
Ainsley let out a long sigh
"At least I would have been with her… I remember waking up in that ghastly hotel room in Nairobi with a sudden, horrible, feeling; as if half of me had been ripped away. They didn't find her remains for another two weeks but from that point onwards I knew my Izzie was dead…"
The elevator doors opened and Natasha came in, cautiously sensing the atmosphere of the room. Bruce was behind her, turning his glasses nervously in his hands.
"Okay" She said slowly "would someone like to give me an idea of what's happened here?"
"We bumped into Steve" explained Bruce "He said he'd caused a bit of trouble, upset you both"
Clint ran his hand over his face, explanations were one thing he didn't want to bother with right now.
"Look guys, Steve pushed the 'let's share happy childhood memories' routine too far and it's brought up some seriously bad stuff that Ainsley and I have to deal with"
He looked at them both with a pleading expression
"If you want to hang here we can go downstairs but we could really do with a bit of alone time right now."
Natasha looked as if she wanted to say something but changed her mind. She turned to Bruce
"Let's give them some space" She could feel Banner's anxiety like a physical force. The constant effort of the scientist's hard-won control over the beast caused him to instinctively shy away from personal conflict. It wasn't the big crises that worried him these days, rather the possibility of all the little things piling up until the pressure was too much to bear.
As the elevator doors closed behind them she reached out and lightly took the older man's hand. Bruce glanced at her with an expression of surprise but slowly curled his fingers around hers.
Clint exhaled slowly and poured them both some more bourbon. They had almost finished the bottle but screw that. Tony must have caseloads of it downstairs. He handed Ainsley a glass, the young doctor looked drained and empty. In his guts the archer knew the night was not over but they could rest from speaking for a while.
"C'mon, Doc. I'm taking you to bed."
He hadn't been thinking about sex, just going somewhere safe and private, but the need for physical release of the evening's stress took over even as they stumbled through the door. Embracing hungrily, tugging at each other's clothes. Clint pulling of the doctor's shirt, Ainsley grabbing the back of his neck and kissing him hard as they fell onto the bed
"I need you so much right now!"
It was different without Thor, even when not joining in he had always been there watching his lover and friend enjoy each other. With the Asgardian present it could feel like Clint was trying to prove himself; as if being assessed for technique, form and endurance. Now with just the two of them in the big bed, he was tender, sensual, almost shy at first
Not as tall or muscular as Thor or Steve, Clint was still a physically impressive figure in his own right. Lean and hard, patterned with scars of combats past; the wide chest and shoulders of a bowman tapering to a trim waist and long powerful legs.
He felt Ainsley's smooth hands tracing the lines of muscle and ridges of scar tissue, down towards the sensitive small of his back as he moved slowly and rhythmically, breathing shallow and fast as the doctor's exploring fingers sent shivers running over his skin
Ainsley gasped as bigger man shifted position, falling back onto his heels and lifting the slim young doctor up to straddle his lap, allowing Hawkeye to bring him to orgasm with fluid, skilful movements of his hand; the thrust of the archer's hips faster and harder as he approached his own climax. When he finally came it was with a series of soft, groaning, sighs as they collapsed onto the sheets, tangled in each other's arms.
They lay side by side for a long time. Clint's head rested on Ainsley's chest and the doctor softly stroked his hair and face
Mom used to stroke my head like this.
It was one of the few good things he could recall, those brief periods when she wasn't drunk, or ornery, and remembered the two young sons she was supposed to care for.
"My folks died when I was just a kid" He spoke hesitantly and glanced up, unsure whether he should continue. Ainsley kissed his forehead.
"I'm sorry; and I'm ok if you want to talk about it" Clint settled his head back down and wrapped his arms around his companion's waist.
"Don't be sorry, I wasn't. They were mean drunks." He spoke in short, blunt words about his parents. Dad, hard and brutal, who taught his sons by way of savage beatings for any fault. If he was deep enough in the bottle, a tap left running or an unflushed toilet would have them hurting for days. Mom too busy sucking on her own whiskey tit to care. Just happy the fists weren't aimed her way.
"One night they were driving home drunk and went bang under an 18-Wheeler coming the other way. Smeared all across the highway. I was 8 and Barney was 10"
Aunt Adie, Mom's sister, she was nice. She woulda taken Barney and him in, but she was over in Nevada raising three of her own kids on a waitress's salary and Uncle Dom's disability. She didn't have the money, space or time so it was off to the County orphanage. Only change there was the beatings came from the other kids. He and Barney learned to fight back and to fight well. One night Barney caught one of the bigger kids trying to do 'stuff' to Clint in the bathroom. Barney had smashed the boy's face into a mess of blood and broken teeth. He grabbed his brother's hand and ran off into the night with him.
The Carnival people had taken them in, fed them and given them a warm clean bed for the night. He remembered lying awake, listening to them to the adults outside arguing in hushed tones about what to do with them. Times may have moved on but the old Carney custom of giving refuge hadn't much changed. The next few years were good ones. Clint, leaner and quicker, was taken on as an apprentice to Trickshot; the archer and acrobat with the Robin Hood act. Barney had gone under the wing of the Swordsman, knife thrower and sword swallower extraordinaire.
Travelling from town to town, honing their skills, growing in size and strength, the boys were part of a tribe with a simple rule 'Look after your own'
When he was 16, Clint found out the Swordsman was stealing the Carnival's funds, fixing the books to disguise his embezzlement. He confided in Barney and they arranged to meet up with Trick and the others to tell them the truth.
Barney had warned his mentor; the Swordsman was waiting for him instead, saying hello with a baseball bat to the gut. The teenager was beaten near to death by the man he had called "Uncle Jake", while his big brother stood by and watched. Didn't lift a finger or say a word, even as Clint screamed and begged him to make it stop.
Clint sat up and ran both hands through his unruly thatch of light brown hair. Ainsley had got up and was fetching them a couple of beers.
"Aww crap, Doc!" he gasped "Must sound like I'm trying to play a game of 'Who had the worst shit growing up?'" Ainsley handed him a beer and sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his shoulder.
"I think it's safe to say we've both had more than either of us deserve" he observed with a dry smile.
"I woke up in a ditch somewhere, they must of put me in one of the trucks and dumped me. Never knew what they told the other Carneys. Never saw any of them again."
He took a long drink, feeling it sharp and cold at the back of his throat. He'd lain in the ditch for a couple of days, slowly dying of thirst and exposure, until a couple of hunters found him, took him to the local hospital. He'd known what it meant if he stayed there; back into the institutions – juvenile home for sure; no foster home would be keen to take a damaged, half-feral, boy his age.
Soon as he was able he sneaked out while the nurse was dozing; broke into a hunting goods store to get a couple of good bows and a supply of arrows. The next few months he was on own, moving from squat to squat; living off thieving, drug dealing, even a bit of hustling when he was really broke. Making contacts but never friends. Keeping his distance, afraid of another betrayal.
The man in the suit had offered him a 'proposition'. He looked official but didn't smell of cop. The boy was used to 'propositions'; they usually meant a couple of hundred bucks and a sore ass for a day or two. Instead the man had taken him to a diner, bought him the first hot meal he'd eaten in a week or more.
The boy wolfed down tacos and coke while the man talked about the organisation he belonged to, how it was interested in people with 'unique skill sets'. Whatever the fuck that meant. Seemed that high wire robberies committed by a teenager with a bow and arrow had caught some folks' attention.
The choice came when the waitress brought the check. He could leave with the man and learn how to develop his skills in the service of something bigger, or he could walk out on his own into the arms of the cops in the car outside. As choices went it sucked, but he went with the one that didn't seem like it would involve spending the next 15 to 20 doing 'favours' for smokes.
Clint Barton left the diner alongside Agent Phil Coulson
"Phil sorta mentored me through the Academy, kept me out of trouble, got me in tight with Fury. Took me a long time to trust 'em, but they came through for me. Phil was my first S.O. and Fury was his."
He looked up, his eyes dry but full of sadness.
"Day doesn't go by without me wishing he was still around."
Ainsley settled down beside him and pulled the covers over them, drawing the bigger man into an embrace.
"We never stop missing those we truly love, just as we never stop loving them. If their memory wasn't so precious, we couldn't endure the pain" His voice was drowsy. Both men were drained to the point of exhaustion and sleep was creeping up. Clint nodded slightly and kissed him.
"So, you're Catholic, right?" The question came as a surprise to Ainsley
"Not particularly observant but yes, why?"
Clint chuckled
"Just wondering what the penance is for having sex with a heathen God?"
Ainsley laughed and pulled him in close, whispering in his ear
"After-dinner conversation with Steve Rogers."
###
The view from the Penthouse took a lot of beating, Steve thought. The only better vantage point was the bridge of a helicarrier but the coffee wasn't as good there. He drained his second mugful and sighed. He'd wrecked three punchbags since last night, taking his anger out on canvas and stuffing.
The 'wasn't my fault' routine had been first port of call. No way he could have known about the tragedies that destroyed the Kerr family. But Dr Kerr had always been emphatic about redirecting the conversation when he'd asked before, in that polite British way which really meant 'shut up'.
"Nice boys don't keep asking" Mama had said when he'd been looking for a second portion of something or trying to get some treat they couldn't afford, but this time he'd just kept pushing even though Barton had warned him off twice and Dr Kerr was looking like he wanted to be somewhere else.
Sure, he hadn't liked the way Barton spoke to him; that savage, obscene dismissal, but he'd maybe deserved it, what with Dr Kerr being so upset and all, crying over the twin sister he'd lost. He remembered the surge of grief he'd felt after he learned how long he'd been gone and realised Mama would be dead.
He'd looked up 'Bafandi' on the computer, read the SHIELD files about what happened there. Stuff as bad as the Nazis in Lidice or Oradour-sur-Glane. Saw that Barton had been on the ground, seen it first-hand. Understood his reaction.
There was a noise behind him, someone yawning and scratching; slopping coffee and sugar into a mug. He waited until the slurping finished and heard the relieved gasp before turning around. Barton was leaning against the worktop in a threadbare T Shirt and boxers that had definitely seen better days.
The two men stared at each other across the room, then both tried to speak at once; a comic moment that lifted some of the tension.
Steve jumped straight in
"I shouldn't have opened my big fat mouth. You and Dr Kerr made it plain enough you didn't want to talk about your families and you gave me fair warning to back down. I'm sorry I didn't pay attention and I'm sorry for upsetting you both the way I did. I guess I spoiled everyone's evening. Probably owe Tasha and Dr Banner an apology too, worrying them like that."
Clint smiled. He'd been squaring up for a shouting match but, colossal, self-righteous pain in the ass or not, the guy was a Boy Scout through and through. He scratched the back of his head and started fixing a fresh pot of coffee.
"I guess I owe you an apology as well, Cap. I was pretty harsh with you last night, can't say I didn't mean every word at the time though"
He was even using a new filter paper the way Cap preferred, even though Clint thought it spoiled the taste.
"I get where you're going with this thing of living together as a team, able to function as a unit at a moment's notice an' all that. I think it's a good idea, really, but we've all got our own stuff going on as well and some of us aren't ready to share it all up-front. You want sugar?"
"Just black and strong" Barton's idea of coffee was something akin to hot syrup. Steve had joined him in the kitchen area, looking through cupboards "Any idea where Dr Kerr keeps his tea? If I can remember how to do it, I'll make him a cup"
"Even if it tastes like ditch water, he'll drink it to be polite!" The guy was manning up and doing his best, time to throw him a line.
"Look, anytime you want to come out with your happy Brooklyn memories that's great, I'm sure we'd all love to hear them, just give the rest of us a bit of wiggle room when it comes to the personal stuff. So, what was it; stickball at recess and cherry sodas for 5 cents?"
Steve swallowed a mouthful of coffee and grinned
"I got beat up every day and twice on Sundays"
Clint laughed.
"C'mon, Cap! Let's go take Doc his tea so you can say your piece and he can be all 'Oh my dear chap, think nothing of it! All forgotten already!"
His impression of Dr Kerr was even worse than Natasha trying to do Thor. Steve clapped him in the shoulder with a broad smile.
"Sure thing! And Barton? Please put on some pants."