Update Time!
Let me check something here. Nope. They still don't belong to me. I'm just having a little fun and returning them for others to share as well. Sharing is good, right?
Thanks for the reviews.
Shadowbeats22107: Your welcome. I'm always happy to help readers find good reading. I'm also glad that you enjoyed this. I think there are similarities to both of those stories, but probably more to 'Earning Trust.' Both are excellent reads.
Princess PrettyPants: Exactly. Just goes to show how unreasonable we can be sometimes when we're not at our best.
Sandy-wmd: Thank you. That scene made me giggle a bit, too. I'm hoping that showing Nick's softer side is believable in context.
firstbournelegacy: I'm so glad you are enjoying my flight of fancy. Here's the next bit.
Ella: Yup. Hope you enjoy this next chapter as well.
Marqueza: Cute? Nick Fury? ;)
LoverofDogs94: Thank you. I really enjoy exploring other aspects of these amazing characters that Marvel has given us. You're very kind.
Much apprciation for the kind words, the favorites, and the follows. You truly light up my life. On with the story.
Risks 16
Clint knocked lightly at the door to Maria's office. It was early, but he had little doubt that she would be there. Though there were those in the organization who thought her quick rise to her high level position was based on her looks, he knew that she was one of the hardest working people he had ever met. She put in the long hours, made the tough decisions, and well deserved the position she was in.
When the door opened, he saw her, Nick, and Phil seated around her desk, obviously working through plans for the day.
"Sorry to interrupt," he told them. "I'll come back later."
"Come on in," Phil told him with a wave. "We were actually just discussing the report Agent Mahaffey turned in about his last mission. Some things in it don't quite ring true."
"I think he's lying through his teeth," Fury corrected.
"We know that you've worked with him in the past," Maria probed, "and were curious as to what your opinion of him is."
Clint fixed himself a cup of coffee while he considered. "I really can't say, since I wasn't on that mission with him."
"Understood," Fury confirmed. "But I'm asking about the man in general, not necessarily about this particular mission."
He took a sip of his drink, trying to figure out what to say. Maria finally offered him an escape. "I notice that you had requested not to work with him again after the last operation you were on together. Can we take that as your opinion on his trustworthiness?"
Scratching his chin, he finally nodded. "I suppose you could. I don't need to completely trust someone to work with them, but there has to be a certain level of it."
Maria made a note on her data pad. "I'll follow up on that." If her tone of voice was any indication, the man was in for a very rough day.
She looked up at Clint with a slight smile. "I didn't realize Natasha was on assignment."
"She's not," he replied.
"So why are you here?"
He had once joked that he was unable to operate the coffeemaker in his quarters, so when Nat wasn't there to do it for him, he had to stop by her office, since she was the only other person on base who could brew it decently. The truth was, he, Nick, and Phil all worried about Maria and Natasha. They also all knew that neither of the ladies would appreciate being checked up on routinely, so they had worked out a plan where they took turns doing so.
Of course, the ladies had quickly realized what was going on, but decided to let it go. The guys were discreet and it made them feel better and they hadn't crossed the line into interference.
Clint pulled an envelope out of his vest pocket. "I was in Chicago recently and I picked up a little souvenir for you. Nat had said you didn't have one."
The other three all looked at him.
"How was your time there?" Phil asked nonchalantly.
"It was okay," Clint shrugged. "Nat had mentioned a nice house she had visited last time she was there, so I thought I'd check it out as well."
Maria smiled slightly, recalling the details Natasha had given of her foray into the house she had grown up in.
"Of course, you know I'm generally more interested in the ventilation systems of these places than in the actual house itself." He paused. "It's amazing how sounds can travel and distort through the duct work. And how nervous those sounds can make people."
The other three knew that Clint had only made noise because he wanted to. In fact, it had probably taken a concentrated effort to do so, since his success and his life often depended on his absolute silence.
As a child, Clint had seen houses like the one Maria's father owned. He had always thought that the people who lived in them were lucky. This one was much like he had imagined. The rooms were large and filled with lovely things, though somewhat sterile. More for show than for actual living. Even the staff quarters, while much plainer than the main part, were nicer than anything he had experienced in his childhood.
Then, he found the room on the top floor, tucked among the empty, clearly unused rooms. It was dusty, obviously deserted for a long time, but something about it made his hair stand on end. There were several locks on the outside of the bedroom door.
Inside, the room was barely large enough for the bed, chest of drawers, and desk tucked into it. There was another door, also with several locks on it. He opened it to find a closet, barely large enough for him to step into. He knelt, examining numerous small marks in the plaster.
His stomach heaved when he realized what they were. Tiny dents from small fists and heels, pounding the walls and door. Scratches and dark marks, probably blood, from small fingers.
Quickly exiting the closet, he noticed something strange about the bed, and he stepped closer.
Restraints.
He knew he had to get out of the house. It wasn't time for Walsh to die. Not yet.
Instead, he took a trip to the dump, easily managing to trap a large number of rats in a short time. He also located a couple of very ripe, very deceased ones that he carefully slid into a bag.
The dead ones were place strategically in the trunk of an expensive sports car and in the main part of the house's heating system. The live ones were simply released into various different parts of the house. He selected a couple of very pregnant females and gently placed them in dresser drawers. They seemed delighted by the silk boxers and cashmere sweaters.
After a final stop in the library, he had headed to a hotel for a long, hot shower. The dump and the rats hadn't left him feeling nearly as filthy as that one, small room had. He would never look at those big, fancy houses the same way. They hid the same sort of things that the dumpy, decrepit houses did.
Maria studied him, a question on her face. "I'm sure the rat infestation won't help his nerves, either."
"Rats?" Phil commented.
"Rats," Clint confirmed. "And even all those locks won't keep them from going where they want."
Her eyes widened, understanding what he had seen. Phil and Nick both looked between the two. Clint shook his head. He wouldn't be giving them details. This was too private, too personal. He hadn't even told Natasha all of it, and she hadn't pushed. He had just held her close.
He held out the envelope to Maria and she came around the desk to take it. Nick moved to stand next to her, sliding an arm around her. She opened the envelope and withdrew the two pieces of cardboard taped together. Carefully slicing the tape with a fingernail, she folded back the top piece, drawing in a breath at the photo inside.
It was the same face she saw in the mirror every day.
"Beautiful," Nick murmured.
Phil came over as well, glancing at the photo. "Your mother," he commented.
Maria nodded, unable to speak. She looked up at Clint.
"Nat mentioned that you had said you had never seen a picture of her. It wasn't hard to pick her out of the photo album."
"You look just like her," Nick told her, watching as her fingers gently traced the face in the photo.
"She looks so happy," she commented softly, leaning her head against his chest.
"According to the date on the back, she would have been about 3 months pregnant with you at the time," Clint told her.
She flipped the photo over, glanced at the back and grunted noncommittally, recovering it with the cardboard and sliding it back into the envelope.
"Thanks, Clint. I really appreciate you getting this for me," she told him, carefully placing it into a desk drawer. She looked at him with a small smile. "How many rats?"
"Couple of dozen," he shrugged. "Though probably more than that now, since a couple of mamas were about ready to drop. And a couple of dead ones."
"He really hates rats, I owe you big, Barton."
He waved her off. "My pleasure, Hill. I'll be sure to swing by next time I'm in the area." He nodded, turning to Phil. "What have you got planned for me now?"
"Nothing as enjoyable as playing with rats, but I think you'll enjoy it," Phil told him as the two headed towards the door. "Especially since you'll need a partner on it." The two waved to Nick and Maria as they exited into the corridor.
"Everything okay?" Nick asked, circling the desk to wrap her in his arms.
She relaxed in his embrace for a few moments, then pushed away. "Everything's fine, Nick. You think you'll be able to drop by for dinner this evening?"
He shrugged. "You know my schedule as well as I do."
Laughing, she kissed him lightly, pushing him towards the door. "About as well as I know my own."
"We'll see how the day goes and touch base later," he agreed, heading down the hallway to get his own workday underway.
As usual, Maria's workday was long and busy. A few major decisions, tons of the minor minutia that comes up in the operation of such a large organization. Stopping in the cafeteria to grab a quick sandwich, Clint had caught up with her.
"So that was the room you grew up in?"
"For the most part," she verified. "He preferred me to be out of sight as much as possible. Fortunately, that meant boarding schools once I was old enough."
"Does Fury know?"
"He knows parts, but not that particular part," she told him. "He knows I have a touch of claustraphobia, but he doesn't know why."
"He won't hear it from me," Clint assured her.
"What about Coulson?" she asked.
"He asked if I learned anything he should know about and I told him nothing that was anyone else's business. I didn't even discuss it with Tasha and she didn't push."
"Thanks again," she told him, patting his shoulder. "Like I said, I owe you big."
He grinned. "Enough to take another try at the range?" he asked. "I visited a friend who's made several of my best bows for me. I picked up one that I think would be perfect for you."
An earlier attempt to teach her to use his bow had left them both frustrated. "I think that you'll do much better with a weapon that fits you better," he encouraged.
"I suppose if you're willing to try again, I am too," she responded.
When she got back to her quarters that evening, she carefully tucked the photo Clint had brought her into the drawer of her bedside table. She made a note to pick up a frame for it soon. She realized that she hadn't seen or heard from Nick all day. Though they didn't always cross paths during the course of the day, she figured that he would make an effort to check on her, since anything having to do with her father usually got his protective instincts up.
Looking in her refrigerator to see what she could put together for dinner, she gave him a call. His greeting was unusually subdued.
"You busy or you want to come join me for dinner? Nothing fancy, but I can probably throw something together."
There was a pause. "Do you mind if I beg off tonight?"
"No problem. Still working?" she asked.
"No," he answered. "Just feeling old and tired. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"Okay," she agreed as he disconnected.
She considered. He did sound tired, but she suspected there was something more to it than that. Finally, she headed towards the side door.
The layout of their quarters at the Avengers Tower had worked so well that they had decided to use a similar plan at headquarters. An area had been set up between their two living areas as a workroom of sorts, offering access to much of what was available from their official offices. It allowed them to work together more easily and to take care of more business without having to dash out in the middle of the night. It was a good place to get the day started and Phil often joined them there in the mornings for a little casual conversation and that first cup of coffee.
It also allowed them easier access to each other.
She crossed the work area, keying open the door to Nick's quarters. At first, she thought he must be in bed, since the living room was dark. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she finally noticed him sitting on the sofa. She turned a lamp on low.
"What part of 'tomorrow' do you not understand?" he asked, taking a drink of the deep amber liquid from his glass.
"I've always liked to be early," she told him. "You want to tell me what's going on?"
"Nope," he replied. "You want to tell me why you closed up when Clint mentioned that your mother was pregnant in that picture?"
"Nope," she echoed. Neither spoke for several moments.
"What can I do?" she asked.
"Leave me alone," he muttered.
"Have you eaten anything?"
"Yes."
"Today?"
"Yes."
"Recently?"
"I'm not hungry and I don't need you taking care of me," he spat.
He could have sworn the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. He glanced up to find her staring at him angrily, hands planted on her hips.
"So, it's okay for you to take care of me when I get hurt or sick or when I'm upset or having nightmares, but it's not okay for me to take care of you?"
He had enough presence of mind to not to mutter the 'right' that came to mind.
"You helped me when I got shot," he reminded her. "You helped me dress and shower and changed my bandages."
"One time," she shot back. "How often have you been there for me?"
"We're not keeping score, Maria," he answered.
"It's not about the score, Nick," she corrected, "It's about being there for each other. You remember a recent conversation about sharing things? You said that it hurt you to see me hurting. Well, it hurts me to see you hurting, too."
"This is different," he claimed.
"Why? Because it's you and not me?"
"Exactly," he admitted.
With a growl of frustration, she stormed out of the room, returning to her own quarters. He winced, knowing he had not handled that well, that he had hurt her. But he knew that he would be bad company tonight and that, had she stayed, he probably would have ended up hurting her worse.
It was probably better this way. He refilled his drink and considered getting up to turn off the light she had turned on. He decided that it would be too much effort.
Several minutes later, the door opened again and she returned carrying a lap tray. She crossed the room to set it across his lap.
"Eat," she ordered.
"Not hungry."
"I didn't ask if you were hungry. I just told you to eat."
He looked down at the plate. A fluffy omelet stared up at him, the yellow speckled with mushrooms, green peppers, cheese shreds, and tiny tomato pieces. Two pieces of toast rested next to it, so crispy they were just seconds from being burnt. Just the way he liked it.
"That's an order," she told him, still standing in front of him with her arms crossed.
"An order?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"An order," she confirmed.
"I'm taking orders from you now?"
"If you know what's good for you."
Deciding to take the path of least resistance, he picked up the fork and dug in. The flavors burst on his tongue, making him realize that he really hadn't eaten today.
With a nod of satisfaction, Maria sat down at the other end of the sofa, pulling out her laptop and going to work. When he finished, she silently stood up, taking the tray into the kitchen to clean up. She then returned to her spot, turning her attention back to the report she was perusing.
Nick continued to sip at his drink.
As the silence stretched out, Maria started to wonder if she was doing the right thing. How would he respond to her pushing? She finally decided to offer something.
"If my mother looked happy, it wasn't about being pregnant," she told him. "Neither of them wanted children. I was what they commonly refer to as an accident."
"I assumed he told you that?"
Maria nodded.
He grunted, the silence returning.
Finally, he spoke, still without looking at her.
"I got a call earlier today from Dutch. He was the CO of my commando unit."
She waited silently while he took another slow drink. "He told me we lost another teammate last night."
She sat her laptop aside, turning to look at him. "What happened?"
He took his time. "Spider Robinson put a bullet through his head."
Maria closed her eyes. It was always hard to lose a comrade, but knowing it was at their own hand made it even harder. There were always the questions.
"Do they know why? Did he leave a note."
"No note, but he had a lot of health problems. PTSD among them."
She scooted over, sitting on her knees next to him and wrapping her arms around him. "I'm so sorry."
"It just makes me feel so...old...tired..." he told her, finally leaning into her embrace. "You fight next to these men, see so many die, and when you make it back, you think that that means that everything is going to be okay. You just have no idea how much it's going to affect the rest of your life."
She held him tight, feeling him relaxing, then shaking in her arms. When the worst of it had passed, she scooted back to the end of the couch, pulling his head onto her lap. He stretched out, taking her hand. She threaded the fingers of one hand through his, the other hand gently stroking his head.
"Thanks for staying," he told her softly.
"Thanks for letting me," she replied. "So, I assume 'Spider' wasn't the name his parents gave him."
He laughed. "No, I think it was Walter. But the guy could climb anything. He was the best advance scout I ever knew. I remember this one time..."
She continued stroking his head while he reminisced, recalling happy memories of his teammate, friend, and brother. His voice started to fade, the pauses lasting a little longer.
Finally, his breathing evened out and he drifted off to sleep. She contemplated waking him to move to the bedroom. The position wasn't very comfortable for either of them. When he sighed, clutching her hand, she rationalized that he had slept in much more uncomfortable positions.
And she wouldn't be sleeping.
Tonight, it was her turn to stand guard. Tonight, she would offer comfort and chase away the nightmares.
She kissed her fingertips, then lightly touched his lips.
"I love you, Nick."
Figured it was time to let Maria do the comforting and let Nick show his vulnerable side. As always, I would really love to hear what you thought of this.
Next chapter of 'Complications' is almost ready. Not so sure about the next one of 'Stroll.' It's being difficult.
Kisses to all!