A/N. Hello! Sorry to keep you waiting, but I just saw CIVIL WAR! *squeals* No spoilers, but I will say that it DEFINITELY lives up to the hype (in my opinion) and is the best MCU film to date. Solid 9.5/10. I know you guys didn't ask for a review of the film, but I'm giving it anyway xD Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you enjoy(ed) Civil War!
Chapter Seventeen
Clint whistled, eyeing the damage. "You did good," he complimented. "We make a good team."
Viola grinned at him and sheathed her fans. "Thanks. I think so too."
Bodies littered the desert sands all around them. Some groaned in pain, others were out cold, many had arrows in their limbs, and a select few were either cowering in fear or running for their lives.
"I see why they call you Hawkeye," Viola commented, stepping over an unconscious man to reach Clint.
He shrugged in response. Folding his bow, he began scanning their surroundings for a way out of here. They couldn't just walk through the desert and hope they stumbled upon civilization eventually. Dagan Shah's base was strategically placed in the middle of nowhere so that unhappy customers and competing dealers like the Ten Rings couldn't find them. It was smart, yet stupid at the same time because there were limited ways out and limited resources.
Clint's sharp eyes spotted a jeep a few hundred yards away that looked to be in driveable condition. He gestured for Viola to follow him. "Come on. I found us a way outta here."
She trekked after him without hesitation. "To where?"
"Romanoff and I have safe houses all over the globe, including one in Egypt. I can take us there."
"Won't SHIELD- er, Hydra know about them?"
"Not these ones. Nat and I wanted a plan in case we ever needed to get away from SHIELD. We've got money and necessities in each one - everything we could ever need."
Viola was silent for a while, kicking at the sand dunes in her path. "Did the two of you ever think about what you'd do after SHIELD?"
Clint hummed. "Sometimes, but we both agreed that we probably wouldn't live long enough to try. We get some of the most dangerous missions SHIELD has to offer. We're grateful to have lived this long at all."
"But what if you did survive?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Hopefully we'd be old and grey with enough money that we could just settle down somewhere."
"So you never considered getting a different job?"
He didn't answer for a few seconds. "When I first joined SHIELD, I thought about it a bit, but it's become my life since then, you know? SHIELD is the only place I can be that let's me be who I am. SHIELD is who I am." He frowned.
"I can't believe it either," she mumbled. SHIELD… Hydra. They had been working with and for an evil Nazi division for years. They'd been friends with some of them! It was impossible to wrap her head around.
"But that was before the Avengers," Clint said almost proudly. "Now I have a place to live, people I care about and who care about me, a team, and a job. I mean, being an Avenger doesn't pay in cash, but Stark's rich enough to fund us until our grandchildren Avengers have grandchildren Avengers."
Viola laughed. "Is that what you see in your future? Your children becoming superheroes?"
He sobered up again. "Well… for some of us… yeah, I could see that."
"But…?" She prompted.
He shook his head. "It was never in the cards for Natasha and me. SHIELD was too dangerous. We didn't want to bring a kid into that kind of life, you know? Biologically or otherwise."
She nodded. She did know - to an extent - what being a child whose parent was a SHIELD agent was like. She'd lost her father to a SHIELD mission-
She stopped in her tracks, a horrible thought crossing her mind.
What if Hydra had her father killed in a way that looked like he was just a casualty on a mission? What if he'd caught on to them and so they'd scratched him off the list? What if …?
"Hey."
She looked up at Clint with wide eyes.
"What's wrong?"
She felt her eyes water. "My… my dad… he was killed in the field. But what if…?" She swallowed hard. Saying things out loud was a lot harder than thinking them. "What if Hydra had him killed?" She asked quietly, holding a hand to her stomach. She felt sick. She had joined them to be like her father. She had put her faith and trust in them and even respected them.
"Hey," Clint said again, grabbing her shoulder. "We don't know that."
She sucked in a breath. He was right. This was all speculation. But still. She had to know. "I'll look into it when we're back on home soil," she decided, shoving all of those worries in a mental box and kicking it under the table. She had a whole slew of problems to face here in Africa before she thought about who murdered her father.
She started walking again and despite her efforts to stop thinking about it, the possibilities loomed over her, never dominating her focus but always there at the back of her mind.
Clint's hand dropped from her shoulder and he easily matched her pace. It was silent all the way to the jeep. Clint hopped into the driver's seat and Viola ducked into the passenger side. After some hot-wiring, the two of them were tearing out of the compound, leaving clouds of sand in their wake.
It took some maneuvering to cross the Egyptian border, but they managed. It only took them about an hour and half's worth of driving over sand dunes to reach a populated area. "It's called Siwa Oasis," Clint explained as he steered, one hand on the wheel and the other arm casually bent over the shoulder of his seat. "It's a pretty isolated settlement around a body of water that Natasha and I discovered once when we got lost." He glanced over at Viola just in time to see her questioning gaze. "Long story. Anyway, its economy relies heavily on tourism, so we can pose as tourists."
"How did you manage to get a house here?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "The owner… may have died."
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"I didn't kill him!" He sounded exasperated. "He just… conveniently died when we needed a place to stay."
"Right."
"Believe what you want. You're lucky I'm sharing this with you."
She turned away to stare at the never-ending hills of sand. After a while of fanning herself with her metal fans and stewing over everything that had happened, Viola turned back to her partner. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"Sharing this with me. You didn't have to."
He waved away her thanks. "I wasn't going to just leave you there. Not after three months of marriage."
She snorted. "Well… thanks anyway."
"You're very welcome."
They fell into silence again, the humidity hot and heavy against their skin. They'd been in this desert since the beginning of July and the heat had been much worse than this. They'd become mostly acclimated to the weather but a desert was a desert and the lack of food and water they'd brought with them didn't help.
"Do you even know where we're going?" She asked out of the blue, shielding her eyes from the sun and squinting at the windshield.
"I know where it is," he answered.
"Clint…" she said in a warning tone.
"I know it's East, alright? And besides, JARVIS is keeping me on track."
Right. The artificial intelligence permanently embedded into his good ear. Viola felt so much better.
They eventually pulled up to the oasis, stopping to enjoy the view. The water was a deep green and sparkled under the sun, rippling gracefully onto the beach. The earth surrounding it was darker, thicker. Viola unhooked her boots and curled her toes in the hot sand, closing her eyes.
SHIELD was Hydra. Hydra was SHIELD. There was nothing to be done about her past choices. All she could do now was choose to fight Hydra and everything it stood for. Surely she wasn't alone. Not all of SHIELD could possibly want to take away mankind's freedom. It was a safe bet that the Avengers were staunch supporters of free will and civil liberties. Sharon couldn't be Hydra. Viola refused to believe it. Sharon was her best friend. There was no way she could something like that.
What about her old tac team? Were they Hydra? Could their possible associations with Nazism explain their sexism?
What about Fury? Surely he was against Hydra. While a large part of his past was classified, what she did know classified him as a war hero and spy who wanted to protect the world, not take away its current order. And Hill? Viola wasn't sure. Hill had always been a boring stick-in-the-mud, always slightly detached from everyone else, cold and calculating. But Fury trusted her. That had to mean something.
The sound of feet scrunching in the dirt alerted her to Clint's presence. She knew that he could be quiet as a mouse when he wanted to be, so the fact that he was making noise meant that he wanted to be heard. She opened one eye to peek at him.
He was copying her, shoes in one hand, toes digging into the ground. Then he stepped forward, and forward, and forward. He kept going, wading into the shallow water until he was knee deep. He turned and grinned at her like a little kid.
She grinned back and tossed her shoes aside before running into the water, her fleet slapping against the surface and making loud splashes. Her skirt darkened from moisture and grew heavy. She grabbed the ends and hitched it until it was just above her knee and tied a large knot on one side.
Feeling significantly cooler, she kicked at the water, splashing Clint up to his ribs. He gasped at the cold and instinctively curled in on himself. She took advantage and pressed her foot to his sternum. He went down with an "oof!" and a splash. She doubled over, giggling. A calf caught her ankle and her leg flew out from under her. With a gasp, her back hit the water and she was submerged.
The water was just as gorgeous a colour beneath the surface as above, shimmering with sea greens and turquoise blues. She spotted Clint easier and kicked off the sand, diving for him. He dodged to the left and she followed. He rolled into water so shallow that he popped up for air, pushed himself to his feet and started sprinting. Viola, laughing, grabbing her boots and took off after him. Drenched and cool and happy, she chased him around the river's edge until they reached town. They got very strange looks but neither of them minded.
After she'd tagged him and yelled "You're it!", Clint led her through the streets at a leisurely pace. They passed a beautiful mosque and Viola wished she had her phone with her to take a picture. It was not long before they were approaching a small, nondescript bungalow in the middle of the residential area.
Instead of going in the front way, Clint snaked around the back. "I hid the key somewhere in town. I kind of want to dry off before I go get it," he explained. At the back of the house, he felt along the wall until something changed and he pressed his palm to it. A square of blue light lit up around his hand, scanning it.
Viola's eyebrows shot up.
Clint caught the look and shrugged, dropping his hand. "What? It's called a 'safe house' for a reason." The door clicked open. He turned the handle and opened it wide. The house was dark, as all of the windows had been covered, presumably from the last time Barton or Romanoff had been here. He stepped inside and held the door open for Viola, smiling.
"I thought safe houses were supposed to be inconspicuous?" She asked as she entered, squinting in the sudden change of lighting. The shade felt nice.
"That's why the scanner is in the back."
She rolled her eyes-
A boot landed in her stomach and forced her backward. She knocked into Clint who fell into the already closing door, slamming it shut and shrouding them in darkness. Two hands found her wrists and tried to twist them one way, but she forced them to go the other, pushing off of Clint and kicking straight in front of her. Her calf hit right between a man's legs and he let go with a squeal of pain. She spun and whacked her foot against his temple, blinking furiously to try and make her eyes adjust faster.
Clint's cry of pain had her whirling around. "Barton! Ugh!" A boot kicked one of her knees so that she fell into a kneel. She kicked backward with her other foot and hit nothing. Suddenly there was an arm around her throat wasting no time in choking the light out of her. She dug her nails into the person's clothed forearm and tried to stand, but it became evident that her attacked was also kneeling. She was in no position to flip them over her shoulder, so she'd have to do this the alternative way.
She rammed her elbow back, hitting what she knew to be an abdomen. The person doubled over, but didn't let up even a little. She could feel her face going red and her eyes widening. She thew one foot forward and found the door. Pushing off of it, she shoved the both of them backward. She heard their skull crack against the floor and he released her.
Gasping, she rolled away as spots danced in front of her, even in utter blackness. "Barton!" She coughed, trying to find him. There wasn't a single source of light in this entire house. "Clint!"
Muffled grunts and groans to her left. A kick came out of nowhere and smashed her across the face. With a cry, she spun and went down, crashing onto her stomach.
She needed to find a source of light. She needed to open the door.
Rolling away, she heard a foot stomp on the floor where she'd just been. She pushed herself to her feet, trying to orient herself in a room that was suddenly spinning. She bolted for what she thought was the door and ran into the wall. She ran her hands along the smooth rock, feeling for wood or hinges or something.
Someone grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked, throwing her across the room and to the floor. The water from the oasis was weighing her down as she struggled to push herself up. "Show yourself!" She barked, angry now. They weren't playing fair. They obviously had some sort of night vision goggles or some sort of advantage to be winning a fight like this. They were cheating.
"Viola!" The door burst open and light flooded what turned out to be a bare foyer. There were four attackers, two on Clint, two approaching her. As soon as the sunlight shone inside, each of them covered their eyes and reached for their goggles. Viola lunged for the closest two and swung her legs around while holding all of her weight on her hands. She tripped them both up and flipped to standing, shifting her feet and hands into a fighting stance.
While the two of them crawled to all fours, she jumped and stepped on both of them. They cried out and went back down again, where she punched them both into submission.
"Viola!" Clint cried again.
She whipped around, hair flying, in time to see Clint tackle a man who'd been about to come at her with a knife from behind. The two of them wrestled for a moment before Clint gained the upper hand and knocked him out. All four lay on the ground, limp and unconscious.
Panting slightly, Viola stood, wiping sweat or oasis water from her brow. "Thanks," she said.
"Don't mention it," he breathed, standing before bending over and grabbing his knees, which shook.
"Clint?" She stepped closer, finally noticing the blood dripping down his side. He'd been stabbed. She rushed over to take a look, kneeling beside him and gently pushing his torn shirt to the side. It wasn't just dripping; it was oozing, pouring, gushing blood and it dribbled all down his leg.
Thinking quickly, she held out one leg and untied the knot of her skirt. It fell to its full length around her, pooling at her feet. She grabbed the side of the slit she'd made earlier about halfway up and tore all the way around. Half the skirt came away easily, the ripping sound loud in the silence of the house. "This won't hold for long," she warned, wrapping it around him like she'd been taught. "It's really thin material."
"It's fine," he gasped, looking paler by the second. "I've had worse."
"Of course you have," she mumbled under her breath, yanking the makeshift bandage as tight as it would go.
He sucked in a breath, straightening. "The safe house was compromised."
"No shit."
"It had to be Hydra."
She glanced at the fallen men. Sure enough, the SHIELD insignias were emblazoned on each of their shoulders. It made her want to vomit. She stood and grabbed his arm, looping it around her shoulders so that she could help him walk.
"I'm fine," he protested.
"Shut up, Barton. Where's the medical kit?"
"We can't stay here."
"I know. Where's the kit? I'll grab it and we can go."
He shook his head with a sigh. "In the bathroom. Through there." He nodded at the doorway furthest to the left. Slipping out of his grip, she went to fetch the kit. She spotted it easily under the sink and swiped it, returning to Clint and helping him walk out of there.
"You said this was a possible tourist attraction right?"
"Yeah."
"So let's find a hotel."
He shook his head again. "No. This whole place is too dangerous. Hydra knows where here. It won't take them long to search the entire oasis. We need to leave."
She frowned, thinking. "Well, those agents had to have gotten here somehow."
"They must've flown in. Good thinking."
"Unless they were dropped off."
"In which case they'd need pick up once their mission was done."
They stopped, turned, and stared at the house. "I'll grab one of their comms," she decided, leaving Clint to his own devices for a few seconds while she went to grab it. Just as she did, it crackled to life.
"Tac Team Omega, what's your's status?"
Hesitating, Viola pressed the button on the comm. "Mission complete. Requesting extraction." She tried to make her voice lower to disguise it.
A beat. "Who is this?"
Shit. "… Hail Hydra?"
Communication cut off immediately. She ran back out to Clint, heart beating faster. "Their handler called," she admitted, fingering the device in her ear. "I tried to request pick-up but let's just say the request was denied."
"Did he recognize you?"
"He recognized that I wasn't one of his agents and that I knew that he was Hydra."
"So basically he knows it's us."
"Basically."
"Okay, well that's good. That means he'll send reinforcements if Hydra really wants us dead. Those reinforcements have to have transportation that we can hijack."
She nodded, seeing where this was going. "Right. We need a strategic place to fight."
"We also need to get away from civilians."
She looked around. It was either fight in the middle of the oasis with lots of things to hide behind and lots of civilians in danger or fight in the middle of the desert where you were out in the open but not in danger of killing anybody. There was no in-between. "We'll have to make a run for it to get far enough away, assuming that reinforcements are close by." She tried to make eye contact with him to see if he was okay with her choice.
He seemed to be. "Let's back to the jeep."
Still soaking wet, the two of them walked back the way they came. Everyone stared, but Viola and Clint were saving their lives by walking away so they paid them no mind.
Once they reached the vehicle, Clint plopped down in the passenger seat with a grunt. Viola stepped onto the rubber shelf just below the floor of the jeep to stand higher and cracked open the medical kit.
"What are you doing?" Clint, still gripping his side, shifted away from her.
"Patching you up before we have to fight." She picked up a needle and thread. "I don't have any alcohol, unfortunately."
Confused, he eyed her suspiciously. "Every kit has some."
"Not the good kind."
"Ah." He nodded in realization, sitting back. "I could've use some of that."
"Yeah. Me too."
They'd only driven for about ten minutes before the roar of a jet's engine tore through the air above them. Sand began to swirl in tornadoes that flicked into Viola's eyes and clung to her damp skin and clothes. She braked hard and the vehicle jerked forward. Clint jumped out of the jeep first. "Run!"
Viola hopped out and looked up. The jet was descending - right on top of them.
She dove to the side and rolled into the sand twice before popping up in a crouch, one fan drawn and flipped open. The jet hovered mere inches above the roof of the car, its engines glowing.
It was a quinjet, SHIELD-issue, which meant that it was probably Hydra. Viola wasn't taking any chances. She glanced at Clint, who had rolled to the other side of the jet and pulled out his bow. He nodded at her and drew an arrow.
The hangar door of the jet released and slowly lowered. Viola's heart thundered. Friend or foe? Could it be Sharon? Sharon knew she was here, but she was also on assignment to protect Captain Rogers and Agent Banks. Could it be their handler, here to fight them for not dying like they were "supposed" to?
The tops of helmeted heads came into view, followed by goggles, kevlar, and heavy guns and artillery. "Hydra!" She yelled and ran to the left. Bullets peppered the dunes behind her, sand exploding among the swirls. She kicked up yet more sand as she tried to find traction. She could hear nothing over the humming jet and her pounding heart.
Clint caught up with her and they both ran. The jet followed before setting down just in front of the jeep, narrowly missing it as its wheels popped out. Immediately, the Hydra agents jumped out and gave chase.
Viola knew that she and Clint couldn't get too far. They needed that jet to get out of here. They had to circle back around. They nodded at each other and each curved in opposite directions. With a flick of her wrist, her other fan unfolded and she held the both of them in front of her like shields as she sprinted. Bullets bounced off of them harmlessly, the adamantium impervious to most weapons. When she was close enough, she threw her arms to the side and jumped.
There were five agents. They stood in a straight line but as soon as she or Clint tried to pass them, they backed into a circle. An arrow found its mark and one went down, the arrow protruding from his throat. Viola sliced at the sling of the gun and it felt to the ground with its weight. She spun and sliced at skin all around her. Several cries of pain followed, so she kept going. She twisted and kicked, elbowed, sliced, and danced until they were all on the ground.
"Stevenson!"
She turned. Clint threw an agent off the ramp of the jet and into the sand. He looked at her. "Come on!" He waved her over with big, rushed movements of his arms.
She ran, folding her fans and sheathing them as she did-
BANG!
Her legs faltered as her brain fumbled with what the heck just happened.
Thwip!
Someone behind her gurgled and fell silent.
She stumbled and fell, face planting in the sand.
"Viola!"
She'd been shot before. In the arm. In the leg. A graze at her side. But never in the back. She could feel the blood drain from her face, which made sense since most of it seemed to be pooling around her, oozing from behind.
Stunned, she tried to move her arms, push herself up maybe, but they were stiff and unhelpful. All of her focus was on the bullet hole. She could feel her insides being torn. She could feel something very, very wrong with her body and it fucking hurt.
Clint's large hand wrapped around her bicep and pulled. She knew it was Clint because everyone else was unconscious. She'd been sure that she'd knocked all of those guys out. Maybe she'd miscounted. Maybe one of them had woken up. Maybe the world was out to get her.
Right. She had to breathe. Gasping, she tried to move her legs as Clint practically dragged her to the jet. While her arms were stiff, her legs were like jello and they flopped in the sand. All of her senses honed in on the wound and that made it hurt more.
The only thing that was hot now was the blood pouring from her in tidal waves. Weakly, she pressed her left hand to it, the other hand too occupied over Clint's shoulder. Her left hand was so red she may as well have been wearing a glove.
The bullet was still in there. She could feel it lodged into something. She wasn't super familiar with human anatomy but whatever it was, it felt important. God, the metal was fucking warm.
She was hyperventilating.
"Just sit tight, okay? I gotta get us in the air. Keep pressure on that wound." Then Clint was gone and she was sitting on a bench inside the jet. When did they get in here?
She leaned back and rested her head against the wall. She'd been in jets like this one dozens of times over the course of her run at SHIELD. Never had she felt so simultaneously disgusted are relieved at the sight of it.
She pushed both hands harder into her wound, grinding out her pain through her teeth. It burned like being dumped in a vat of oil. Her blood was boiling, making her sweat as she writhed on the bench and tried not to cry.
It was significantly cooler on the jet. There was no sun in the back and the A/C was definitely on. Clint must have turned it up. The quinjet thrummed suddenly harder and began to rise. Panting, Viola reached for the med kit beside her with the hands of Lady Macbeth. She missed a few times and stretched the wound the wrong way and cried out, but she grabbed it and pulled it toward her. With one shaking hand, she fumbled with the latch and popped it open.
Staining everything with blood, she thrust her hand inside and searched for the tweezers. As soon as her fingers brushed metal, she yanked them out. Her hand was practically vibrating. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
Oh God, that made the pain worse.
She opened her eyes and Clint was there, plucking the tweezers from her weak grip and disinfecting it before digging it into her side. She screamed and tensed immediately, her legs jerking upward. She narrowly missed kneeing him in the ribs. She clawed at the bench beside her for something to cling to. She found the seatbelt on either side and pulled as hard as she could. They resisted and she pulled harder as the tweezers swished around in her bullet hole.
She twisted her wrists around the seatbelt and kept pulling, screaming and trying to jerk away from him but knowing that he had to do this. The alcohol stung like a bitch and she wanted nothing more than to kick him away, fall into unconsciousness, and hope it was gone by morning. But she knew that was illogical so here she was.
Finally, finally, the tweezers clamped around the bullet and dragged it out of her. The metal was gone. Her body fell slack and she slumped to the side. Clint caught her and laid her down on the bench gently. She blinked up at him. He was also pale, even at this angle with the light above him and his face cast in shadow. She glanced down. His makeshift bandages were completely soaked through.
She tried to laugh, but the hole in her side didn't think that was a good idea. "We match."
He shook his head. Maybe it was in amusement or denial or disappointment or exasperation or just to tell her she was wrong. She couldn't tell anymore. "I was stabbed. You were shot. Big difference."
"Same spot, though."
He looked down. He snorted. "What do you know? Twinsies?"
Laughing felt good, even when it hurt so damn much. She grabbed his hand. "Twinsies."
A/N. Siwa Oasis is a real place near the Libyan-Egyptian border. I apologize for any inaccuracies or unintentional offense (if any). If you notice something wrong or inaccurate, please PM and I'll fix it ASAP.