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. I do not claim any of the directly quoted lines from "The Avengers" as my own, they belong to Marvel and the writers. The cover art came from a google search with the original source being pinterest where it was credited to Anthony Genuardi.
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"
Alrighty, thanks to all who reviewed Chapter 15: Well done you, GremlinX, Batghost, LostHawk, Rogueroza, BatmanOtaku, GabbyTheBookworm, thababes, RAGAnne, Lollypops101, GinervaMarieChaseEverydeen, CyanB, Kirstiej104, Carolinagirl117, piper, Wolfsdrache, jaguarspot, weemcg33, weathergirl17248, JRBarton, yevguine, donttouchlola447, Sandy-wmd, ladybug114, Natalia Grayson, discordchick, Jesuslovesmarina, Sara, R1dDL3M37h15, truefairytales, Qweb, ILuvClintasha, Arlothia, animexluva13, Guestx3
Shout out to those that have guessed the song for the chapter titles over the last few days: CyanB and Everlily Emrys Holmes
You can guess the song up until I tell you what it is in the final chapter!
As usual, thank you to my wonderful betas Kylen and JRBarton. Who knows where i'd be without them :)
to Rogueroza: good luck on your mid year exams! *sends successful vibes your way*
to Carolinagirl117: Milestone 9 is already written and published :) Sorry for confusing you! It takes place after this story in the timeline, but has already been published.
to jaguarspot: Oh i'm definitely gonna have to send them to Mexico! And no, I had no idea English wasn't your first language! So i'm very impressed :D
to Natalia Grayson: I sincerely hope it doesn't take anywhere near that long. I had a lot going on in my life while working on this story, a lot of not so great stuff. But I've weathered that storm and I have high hopes that it will not take nearly as long for the next one :)
to animexluva13: I actually loved Ant-Man. Paul Rudd killed it and it was so awesome and FUN. I saw the clip and it did not disappoint (it helped that Clint was in it and had lines! lol) I'm looking forward to Civil War.
Now, on we go!
Last time in The Untold Stories:
A few days…could he survive as Clint Barton for a few more days?
He met her gaze and saw the worry there. If he pushed it too hard, her concern would grow. She'd start to wonder why he was so anxious to run.
He could survive a few more days.
So he nodded.
The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.
G.K. Chesterton
April 21, 2012
1:17am
Undisclosed Safe House, Southern California
Clint walked slowly down the hall, eyes straying left to right as he passed each and every cell door. Beyond the bars was nothing but inky blackness, but if he focused hard enough, he could hear overlapping voices and almost see something playing like a broken movie in the darkness.
Where the hell was he? It seemed familiar, like he'd been here before.
"This is your mind, Clint."
Clint pulled to a startled stop, gaze flying out ahead of him to see Phil standing there staring back at him.
"My mind?" He remembered now. He'd been here before, with Loki. The thought had him shooting around an anxious glance, sure he was going to see the god lurking in the shadows with that silky, poisonous smile of his.
"He's not here, Clint. He's gone." Phil's calm, warm assurance drew Clint's gaze back to his handler.
"So are you," Clint pointed out quietly.
Phil's lips quirked into a sad smile.
"I know. This isn't really me, Clint."
Even though he'd already known that, hearing it still drove a knife into Clint's heart. He cleared his throat and watched Phil run his hand across the bars of one of the cell doors.
"If it's not really you, what is it? A hallucination? A memory?"
Phil shrugged, smiling.
"It's exactly what you need it to be. Did you really think that dying would erase me? I've been the voice over your comm for almost nine years, Clint. Doesn't it make sense that your mind would have some version of me stored away for a rainy day?"
Clint arched an eyebrow. That made sense, he supposed, albeit in a weird way.
Phil removed his touch from the cell door he'd been inspecting.
"A prison…what do you think that says about you? Have you thought about it?"
"I think we both know what it says," Clint replied slowly, watching Phil wander closer. "And I don't think either of us is all that surprised by it."
Phil faced him again, a sad smile turning up the corner of his mouth.
"No, I guess not."
For a moment Clint felt so right again. It felt normal, talking to Phil, even if it wasn't really Phil. It was a version of him, a version Clint's mind had apparently kept protected. He felt himself start to smile, only to have it fade when he remembered that this wasn't real, and there was no way it would last.
"It's okay, Clint." Phil moved closer, expression warm and full of affection. "Just because it's not real, doesn't mean you can't enjoy it. Besides, it's not completely a figment of your imagination. Some part of me will always live in you, that's how families work."
"I'd rather you just lived for real."
Phil's hand reached out and gripped the back of Clint's neck.
"I know. And I'm sorry. But I can't change that and neither can you…but you can change your future."
Clint frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"You're running, Clint."
Clint cut his gaze away. Phil tightened the grip on his neck, drawing his gaze back.
"You made me a promise, kid, and last I checked you took your promises pretty damn seriously."
Clint shook his head.
"I can't go back. I can't…I can't even deal with what happened to you. How am I supposed to be at SHIELD without you? I won't be able to keep that door shut and I know, more than I know anything, that I won't survive opening it. Losing you, it's gonna be the end of me, Phil."
Phil's smile was full of such warmth and understanding and genuine affection that Clint's heart ached.
"Clint, you have always been stronger than you believed. Not only are you gonna survive losing me, but you're gonna become someone greater than you can even imagine. You're the strongest person I've ever known, and for as long as I've known you, you've never seen that. See it now, Clint. Go back. Be strong. Be an Avenger and be the hero of your story."
"I'm no hero."
Phil's smile turned a little sad and he withdrew his hand from Clint's neck.
"One day, kid, you're gonna see you like the rest of the world sees you. Like I see you. Like Natasha sees you. One day, you're gonna see yourself as you really are…and then you'll know."
"Know what?"
Phil just smiled and backed away.
"I can't ruin the ending, now can I?"
Clint felt panic seep in as Phil continued to back away.
"Don't go."
Phil paused, expression turning serious.
"I'd never leave you, Clint. I will always be here for you, one way or another."
"I want to stay here, with you."
Phil chuckled and continued to back away.
"I wish you could. I wish it was really me here with you now. But it's not…so really, what would you be staying for?"
Clint knew that was a fair point. But even so, watching Phil walk away was gutting.
"Go back, Clint. Be an Avenger. Be everything you were meant to be."
Clint nodded and watched Phil stop at a distant cell door, saw him smile and pull it open. He turned back to look at Clint though, instead of stepping in.
"I'll be here, whenever you need me. But if you ever remember one thing I've told you, remember this. You are strong, Clint. Don't let weakness become an excuse."
Then Phil stepped through the cell door and disappeared. Distantly, Clint heard the sounds of laughter before the door shut and the hallway fell silent again. Clint started slowly towards the door Phil had chosen. After a few steps he moved faster, soon he was running. He skidded to a stop at the door and looked into the inky darkness, straining to see what was inside.
He could see it, just barely, flashes like a broken movie.
Coney Island.
Clint watched the flashes, drinking in the memories. For a day that had started off rocky, that one had sure as hell turned into one of the better days in his life.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head forward until his forehead hit the bar.
Clint opened his eyes calmly and without the surge of panic that had come to be expected over the past several nights.
A dream.
Of course it had been a dream.
He sat up slowly, turning to put his feet on the floor. Natasha shifted behind him but didn't wake. Clint leaned forward, placing his hand over the spot Phil had gripped on his neck. He closed his eyes and imagined the warmth of his friend's hand.
Sudden and overwhelming sorrow started to bubble inside him and he snapped his eyes open, standing abruptly.
He couldn't open that door. No matter how strong Phil believed he was, he wasn't ready. Not now, maybe not for a long time. Maybe not ever.
He headed for the bedroom door, pausing when the sheets rustled behind him.
"Clint?"
"Can't sleep," he whispered. "I'm okay, go back to sleep."
He heard her shift, watched her push herself to sitting to regard him through the darkness.
"You sure?"
He opened his mouth to tell her 'yes', that he was fine. That she could go back to sleep. But then, the sight of her sitting there with sleep tousled hair, wearing a black tank and a pair of his boxers changed his mind. He suddenly just wanted to be around her, to have her presence surrounding him, driving away the sadness and offering comfort that only she could.
"I'm gonna make some coffee," he told her quietly, "want some?"
Her smile was warm and relieved and impossible to miss.
"Sure."
Natasha curled her legs underneath her on the couch and cradled her steaming cup of coffee in her hands. She blew on it gently as she watched Clint sink onto the couch next to her, his own coffee mug balanced easily in one hand – the liquid barely even rippling despite his jostling movements due to his steady hands.
For several long moments they sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the ocean through the open windows. Natasha waited patiently. He'd invited her to join him, she wouldn't make him regret that. Either they'd talk or they wouldn't. Being with him, offering silent companionship would be enough for now.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but confident.
"I want to go back."
Natasha blinked. Back?
"A couple of days ago you said…"
"I know what I said," he swallowed and cleared his throat. He turned slightly so he could meet her eyes, "but it's just getting worse. Running farther won't make it any better." There was emotion in his voice, emotion he'd been keeping fiercely guarded over the last few days. But even though she could hear it, his expression was still resolutely stoic and the walls in his gaze were going up before her eyes.
"What changed?" she asked quietly. It didn't feel right. It was a full 180 from what he'd insisted on two days ago. Something had happened, some shift that she didn't know about.
Clint sighed.
"I know it doesn't make sense. I know a couple of days ago I said I wanted to go…but I can't do that, not anymore."
Natasha lowered her coffee mug, balancing it on her knee. She was still confused. His words, they didn't match his eyes. Where his voice was laced with conviction, his eyes spoke of contradiction. He didn't want to go back, with all his heart he wanted to run the opposite direction. She could see it. Even if he'd never admit it, going back to face those memories he was denying absolutely terrified him.
"Why? It's what you want, I can see it in your eyes. I don't understand what changed."
Something in his gaze shifted and for a moment she thought she had him, that he'd give in and just confess so that she would understand. Just as quickly, though, the look faded and then an emotion that looked something like heartbreak pushed to the forefront in his eyes.
"I made him a promise, Natasha."
And that was when Natasha knew he wouldn't be swayed. Clint had tied this into some sense of duty, of owing something to Phil. What was best for him – what he wanted – be damned. She could only sit there, shoulders slowly drooping as he went on.
"I promised him I'd keep fighting, that I wouldn't go backward." He swallowed thickly and went on, "If I walk away now, I'd be breaking that promise…and I don't know if there would be any coming back."
She resisted the urge to say what she was thinking, that maybe 'no coming back' was better. He was right. It was getting worse. He barely slept and when he did it never lasted. The dreams were worse than they'd ever been. He had to physically force himself to eat. There were moments when anger seemed to bleed from his every pore, but also moments when 'broken' was the only word she thought could accurately describe him.
Clint was putting everything he had into … well, not into keeping it together, but into hiding that he had already broken into a million pieces. Hiding it from her, the rest of the world, and from himself.
Because just like he'd told her on the rooftop back in Brooklyn, he couldn't face it. He couldn't open that door.
She didn't know what to do. Going back? Back to New York and SHIELD, she was afraid now that it would only add fuel to the fire raging inside him. That being closer to the memory of what had happened would make things even worse.
SHIELD wasn't the only, or even the noblest, of places to do good in the world. And the Avengers weren't the only ones that could fight the bad guys. They could find another place to fight, a place that she wouldn't have to worry would bury him under the weight of heartbreak and memory.
"Clint," she started slowly, waiting for him to meet her gaze, "not going back isn't the same as going backwards. It's just moving forward in a different direction. 'Going backwards' was never about where you were, not to Phil. It was about how you lived, the choices you made, and why you made them. He wouldn't care where you were, New York or the North Pole, as long as you weren't letting the darkness win."
He stared at her, gaze searching hers as he absorbed her words. When he spoke again, his voice was a little shaken.
"I just don't want to let him down again, Natasha."
"How would you be letting him down? Huh? How?" she asked gently.
"Being an Avenger – it was all he ever wanted for me. When he read me in on my part in the Initiative a few months ago, it was written all over his face. He wanted me to finally be the hero, Nat. How can I not do that for him now?"
Natasha spoke then, reaching out to snag his wrist and squeeze it to be sure she had his undivided attention.
"The Avengers, and your part in it, was never about him wanting you to be the hero, Clint. He never wanted you to be the hero. He wanted you to see that you already were one."
He looked away then, his insecurities rearing their ugly head right on cue.
"I'm no hero, Natasha. I never have been."
"That's bullshit."
Her blunt, forceful reply had his eyes snapping back to hers and she went on before he could argue.
"What the hell do you think you've been doing the last nine years for SHIELD? Playing patty cake?"
He scowled a little, then arched an eyebrow sarcastically.
"I've been killing people."
She could understand how that wouldn't seem all that heroic to the outside observer. But she wasn't an outsider. She'd been in the trenches with Clint. She knew him. She knew his heart and she knew, without a doubt, that 'hero' was the only way to describe him.
"And how many lives have you saved by killing those people? How many innocents have you protected with every arrow you fired? How many fates have you changed with every bullet? Huh? Do you have that number? Cuz I don't. The number is too damn big to tally."
He shook his head.
"That's not being a hero, Natasha. It was my job."
"Fine, it's your job. Does that change what it is? Does that change the outcome of your choices? What about Henri Moreau? I'm pretty sure when you tackled him and took a bullet to the back for him, he considered it pretty damn heroic."
He just shook his head again, stubbornly refusing to agree.
"Right, that was your job and it doesn't count. What about all the choices you made that weren't part of your job? Do those count?"
That got his eyes on hers again, and she could see that he already knew where she was going. And he couldn't deny it even though he wanted to.
"What about with me? What about when it was your job to kill me? And instead, you saved my life. You gave me a new life. Maybe that didn't mean as much to you, but to me…" she shook her head and bit her lip. Thinking about that moment, all those years ago, about the choice he'd made. He'd had no reason to trust her, to believe that she could ever be anything more than what she'd been then. He'd almost lost everything because of that choice. "The number of times in my life I needed someone to save me, that I needed a hero, come to exactly one. That was it and when that moment came, my hero was you."
His gaze softened and he sighed. Sensing she was gaining ground, she pressed on.
"And what about Phil? What about in Croatia, when you stepped in front of a bullet meant for him? Was that your job? Because last I checked, instead of saving him you should have been going after the shooter. But you made a choice, just like you did in Paris. So don't you dare try to tell me you aren't a hero."
He remained silent in the face of her words, neither denying her claims nor agreeing with them. Natasha took a deep breath and let the point rest.
"If you want to go back," she allowed calmly, "we'll go back. But don't make it about you 'finally becoming a hero'. If we go back, it's with the understanding that you've got nothing to prove to anyone but yourself."
He was quiet for a moment longer before he finally spoke, his words soft but sincere.
"Maybe it is me I need to prove something to, then." Resolve hardened his eyes as he went on. "I need to prove to myself that I can do it, that I can be what he," the unspoken 'Phil' hung over them like a thick, choking fog, "wanted me to be. Maybe I need to prove that what happened with Loki – what he unleashed in me – I need to prove to myself that I can keep that contained. I need to prove that I can still beat the darkness. Maybe the place to do that is in New York with the Avengers, maybe it's not. But it seems as good a place as any to start."
Natasha nodded.
"Then we'll go back," she agreed. "But if we do, something's gotta change. She grabbed his hand and held it up between them, showing the shallow cuts on his fingers from drawing his bow too many times without his guards. The calluses he had could only do so much to protect him when he fired for that long. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. You can't keep punishing yourself. You're the only one that thinks you deserve it."
He lifted his chin a little in defiance and Natasha lowered her voice, throwing all her own worry and emotion into her tone.
"I can't watch you do this to yourself night after night…I get that you need it sometimes, but I need you to find another way to cope. Please."
His expression lost its defiance in the face of her open sincerity and his eyes softened.
"I don't know what else to do," he admitted quietly.
"What you do, is accept that maybe you don't need to be punished. That the only one that thinks you do, is you. You accept that, and maybe you can find another way to get through the night."
He sighed and looked away.
"I'm just asking you to try, Clint, for my sake if not for yours." She was pleading now – she could hear it in her voice – but she couldn't bring herself to care.
"I'll do better," he promised finally, his tone sincere. "I won't let it go this far again."
She nodded, accepting the words for what they were, and sat back on the couch.
"So we go back," she sighed. "We move into the tower and try this whole Avenger thing."
He nodded.
"We give it a shot at least…see if we can make it work." He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. "We see if it helps."
"And if it doesn't?" she asked quietly. Because she knew that it might not. That they could get there and things would only continue to get worse.
Clint rubbed a hand across his face wearily.
"Then we re-evaluate…if nothing changes, if nothing gets better…" he trailed off and shrugged one of his shoulders again.
She nodded.
"Okay."
She hoped that things got better – hell, she might even take worse. The limbo Clint was clinging to – the land of denial where he refused to acknowledge the effect Phil's death would have on him – wasn't healthy. She understood why he needed it, but she was increasingly worried that the longer he straddled the fence…the harder the landing on either side would be.
April 26, 2012
10:47am
Stark Tower, Manhattan
"Clint?"
Clint blinked slowly, shoulder leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were fixed on some invisible spot on the pristinely cleaned floor of Natasha's new bedroom, but he wasn't really seeing it.
He was somewhere else, with someone else.
"You have shown me your heart, Agent Barton."
"Clint!"
He blinked again, lifting his gaze from the carpet and looking at the source of his snapped name.
Natasha was standing in the doorway of her closet – her unreasonably large walk-in closet that she'd never fill half of – staring at him.
He furrowed his brow slightly, confused by the worry in her gaze. How many times had she called his name? The question in his eyes must have been obvious, because she answered it.
"I said, do you want to go find your room when I'm done here?"
Clint didn't even have to think about it, for that reason, his answer was immediate and firm.
"No."
Natasha sighed, retrieved more clothes from her duffle and headed back into her closet.
Clint watched her pull open one of her weapons bags and pull out her Makarovs. She lifted them up and pressed them against the wall. Then she tilted her head slightly as if she were gauging the placement of a picture frame, and then nodded.
"Closets are good for weapon storage. Plenty of space," she commented absently.
Clint, despite his sour mood, found himself grinning. Maybe she would fill the closet, probably to capacity, just not with silly things like clothes.
He glanced down at his own bags. One duffle of clothes and various belongings. One duffle full of weapons. A backpack full of books, one bow case and one quiver. His entire life, packed into a few SHIELD issued duffle bags and a worn backpack.
With a slight frown he nudged the bags into the corner with his boot. She tended to keep her room neat, and would probably eventually get annoyed with his stuff taking up floor space. But he had absolutely no desire to find the room Stark had assigned him, even less desire to 'unpack' and 'settle in.' Sleeping had become something of a bottom priority and when it became a necessity, Natasha's bed would be as good as any…that or he could always go back to old habits.
He caught sight of a vent cover in the ceiling. A little narrow, but he'd be able to fit.
"Ready?" Natasha's voice drew his attention back to the closet.
She was flipping off the light and pulling the door closed.
His response was to lead the way to the bedroom door. She fell in beside him and together they moved down the short hallway to the main living space of her assigned apartment. The furnished living room was nicer than anything Clint had ever personally lived in. The small kitchenette was just an added bonus, though Clint wasn't sure why Tony had bothered with that. The common floor had a full, practically professional-grade kitchen, a dining area, a living room and a home theater.
It was obvious that an attempt at forced 'team bonding' was in their immediate future.
Though, as far as Clint was concerned, 'team' was kind of a stretch for him. It would take more than thwarting one man's quest for world domination to convince him 'The Avengers' actually had what it took to be something real.
They exited Natasha's apartment and headed for the elevator.
"You think Fury has a mission for us?" she asked as they rode down to the garage level.
"That was the deal," Clint replied.
He'd better. Clint had endured ten days of 'recovery' – though those days had been anything but restorative – and now that he was back in New York he was itching to be back in the field. He needed the distraction.
Hopefully Fury held up his end and provided just that.
End of Chapter 16
So I know that was shorter than most of the other chapters have been. But we had to get from last chapter to NEXT chapter so here we are :)
Did that dream in the beginning break your heart? It broke mine. Phil was SO much to him and even if Clint can't deal with his loss yet, at least he isn't going to run. Running would be the easy way, right? And Clint never does things the easy way lol
Tomorrow, this journey comes to an end. I can't believe we have marathon'd through almost 17 chapters already. So, meet me back here tomorrow for the conclusion! Until then, scroll on down, drop me a line, and enjoy your preview.
"No. What I think is that he needed to do this on his own. You see it just as clearly as I do, Romanoff. He's drowning. He's needs to know that he can still do his job. He needs to know that he still has what it takes to be what he was before Loki. This mission, it has one purpose. To test him. Either he'll sink or he'll swim."
Natasha stared at him, eyes on fire.
"And if he sinks?"
Fury stared at her, face resigned.
"I have to believe that he won't. I have to believe that he is every bit the man Phil Coulson believed him to be."