Chapter 7.
Jemma woke to a familiar sensation, a masculine voice saying her name and a warm hand stroking her hair.
"Not now, Fitz," she mumbled. "Tired."
The hand stilled, and she blinked slowly, struggling to get her eyes to focus. They snapped open as Clint drawled;
"I see I may have mistaken the situation. Agent Fitz regularly wakes you, does he?"
"No!" she gasped out. "I mean, yes, but not the way you're thinking. I fall asleep in the lab a lot."
He stared back at her impassively, and Jemma blinked the last of the drowsiness away. He was fully dressed in his sleeveless combat suit again, Agent Barton ready to go out and fight the bad guys. There was nothing about him that indicated he'd just spent over an hour having ridiculously good sex. But then for him it was probably just average sex, Jemma thought a bit dismally.
"Fitz is my best friend. He's like a brother to me," she insisted, suddenly desperate for him to believe her.
"Well, he'll be back shortly, along with the others. You'd better get dressed." Clint gestured to the end of the bed, where Jemma found her neatly folded clothes. Along with fresh underwear. How did he get into her cubicle to get those? They were biometrically locked, she and Fitz had installed the locks themselves – that was a really stupid question, she chided herself as he left her alone to dress. This was Hawkeye she was talking about. Still, she'd have to get him to tell her how he got around the security.
He wasn't there when she left the cubicle, the bed neatly made, and slipped into her own room. Her used underwear had even been put into her laundry bag. Bloody man. One glance in her mirror and she winced and reached for her hairbrush and makeup bag. She had major bedhead and post-coital drowsy eyes, plus lips so swollen she doubted she'd be able to disguise them.
Clint wasn't around when she finally left the bathroom, and she found him downstairs on the ramp, securing a pair of black and silver motorcycles parked in the spot Lola usually occupied. He glanced up as she walked down the stairs, but didn't say anything. Well, he wouldn't. Two agents were there as well, delivering a large stack of what looked like weapons cases.
"The weapons lockers are over here," Jemma offered, "can I help you stow anything, Agent Barton?"
"Thank you, Agent Simmons, I have it under control." He finished securing the bikes and scooped up a couple of the cases. It was a clear dismissal, and Jemma tried not to feel hurt as she went back into the lab and tried to get back to work. It really didn't help that she was hyper-aware of him moving about, every motion smooth and economical as he stowed his gear.
Fitz arrived back first, carrying some new bits of equipment and babbling excitedly about new tech, although he threw in a few disparaging remarks about Tony Stark who'd apparently invented it.
"Be nicer about Stark," Jemma nudged his shoulder and whispered. "Remember we're working with one of the other Avengers."
"Oh," Fitz looked up at Clint, who was still packing things away on the ramp. "Are he and Stark friends?"
"I don't know, but the rumour is Stark built them all an apartment in his tower when it was rebuilt, and that Barton actually lives there between missions."
"Rumour's correct," Clint called through the open lab doors. Damn it, he must have super-hearing as well! FitzSimmons twitched. "And yes, Tony Stark's a friend. Doesn't mean he's not an obnoxious bastard, though. Feel free to bitch about him if you want to."
Jemma giggled with embarrassment as Clint walked through the lab doors, one case still in his hand. Fitz had flushed to the roots of his hair.
"It seems disrespectful, sir…"
"So is Tony Stark. Although I have heard him say one or two admiring things about your work, Fitz."
"Me, sir?" Fitz went even redder and started stuttering. "Tony Stark knows my name?"
"Certainly he does." Clint put the case down on Fitz's bench and opened it. "Both your names." His eyes slid across to Jemma for a moment. "And stop calling me sir, Fitz. My name's Clint. Agent Barton if we're in company with non-team members."
"Yes, sir – Agent Barton – Clint – oh, hell," Fitz ducked his head with embarrassment and Jemma patted his shoulder consolingly. "It's a bit difficult," he muttered. "All the Avengers are practically living legends. Literally in the case of Thor and Captain America."
"We're no different to everyone else. Well, except Thor, but he's a really nice guy, once you get past the strange way he talks. And when you meet Captain America, just call him Steve. He'll be your friend for life."
"When we meet Captain America?" Jemma picked up on the important word in the sentence. "Is that likely?"
"At some point," his face remained still and impassive. "Steve's a close friend, and heavily involved in the S.H.I.E.L.D. rebuild. We may well run across him."
May came striding up the ramp then, Skye trotting along on her heels. "Settled in, Clint?" she looked at him.
"Yes, thanks, Cav," he responded, and she nodded before striding off up the stairs, throwing a terse;
"Wheels up in ten," over her shoulder.
"You did not just call her Cav," Skye skidded to a halt just inside the lab doors and stared at Clint in awe.
"I wouldn't recommend you follow my example, Skye," a slight smile cracked the impassive façade. "It might not be conducive to your health."
"How is it conducive to your health?" the hacker pushed, slinging herself into a chair. "She always just snarls 'Don't call me that' if the word Cavalry is so much as mentioned."
"It's a long story. And not mine to tell. Don't bother hacking into files looking, Skye. It's not written down anywhere but in my and Agent May's heads."
Skye eyed him speculatively. "Do you like bourbon?"
"Sure," he grinned properly this time, and he was definitely looking at Jemma. She busied herself at her lab bench making sure everything was secured for takeoff. "But you'll not have any more luck drinking me under the table than you do Agent May. Less, if anything. I have more body mass than she does and I normally drink with the Avengers."
"So?" Fitz said.
"Bruce Banner admittedly doesn't drink, but Steve Rogers can't get drunk. His metabolism breaks the alcohol down too fast. Thor is Asgardian and our booze doesn't even touch him. Tony Stark is an alcoholic who goes through expensive Scotch like water. And I believe Agent Romanoff actually has vodka flowing through her veins instead of blood."
"That's physiologically impossible," Jemma muttered instinctively as Skye and Fitz laughed at Clint's joke, "alcohol isn't a carrier for haemoglobin…" she made the mistake of looking at Clint, and his eyes caught hers. Her voice trailed off as she saw his pupils blow wide with lust.
Skye caught the tail end of the look between them and her eyes widened speculatively. She might have said something deeply embarrassing except they were interrupted by May's voice over the intercom as the ramp started to grind closed.
"Strap in."
Fitz picked up the case Clint had put on his bench. "Is this important, Agent Barton – sorry, Clint?"
"We'll talk about it after takeoff." Clint took the case back and ushered them all to the jump seats, pulling on a headset. "Secured for takeoff, Agent May."
Somehow Jemma found herself sitting next to Clint, his muscled thigh pressing hard against hers throughout the takeoff. He was holding the weapons case across his lap, and once the Bus was levelling off at altitude, opened it up in the lab to reveal a bunch of long black rods.
"Unfinished arrows," he told them. "I want you to adapt your ICER rounds for arrows."
"Ah," Jemma lifted one of the arrow shafts. It was hollow, and unexpectedly light. "What is it made of?" she asked curiously.
"Carbon fibre and ceramic composite," Clint replied. "Means I can use a cylinder instead of a solid shaft and adjust the weighting as required. Ideally I prefer interchangeable heads but we can start with specialised arrows."
"Of course," Fitz was already pulling up a schematic. "We could use a polycarbonate tube for the dendrotoxin…"
"I brought tubing that fits the arrow shafts, too," Clint moved some of the black rods so they could see the thin clear tubes beneath.
"Well aren't you helpful," Jemma murmured, her mind already occupied with the problem of adapting the delivery mechanism.
"I try, Jemma," his tone was definitely darker and huskier. She tried not to shiver as he moved deliberately behind her, ostensibly to peer at the computer screen over her shoulder.
"The arrowhead will be the issue – we slowed the ICER round down to low velocity so it's non-lethal…" Fitz was already muttering to himself, lost in the problem.
Disinterested, Skye scooped up her laptop and backpack and headed for the stairs. Glancing back as she started to ascend, she saw Agent Barton standing very close to Jemma. Skye grinned and ran up the stairs. Looked like the attraction might well be mutual. Well, Jemma deserved a good man. And if he could introduce Skye to Captain America… Skye licked her lips. Maybe she'd get a shot at one of her favourite fantasies too.
So – this is where plot starts happening. Don't worry, I promise there will be more smut and plenty of it! I'm blown away by the response to this story so far, please keep the comments coming though, it really does encourage me to keep writing.