Archive of Our Own

Clint budges the door open with his already sore shoulder and turns on the light. He releases a pitiful sigh as he realizes it’s been over three weeks since he slept in his own bed. He puts down his bag and stores his bow case under the couch. He toes off his boots and makes his way down the hall towards the bedroom, finding he doesn’t have the motivation or stamina to check his shoulder for real damage. He’ll sort it out in the morning.

He bypasses the light switch and strips off his S.H.I.E.L.D apparel in favor of old sweats. A shiver runs across his body as his feet soak up the chill from the brick floor. He quickly dives under the covers and lets out a long breath, feeling something inside unclench for the first time since he left for the mission. He feels safe.

Clint closes his eyes. And rolls onto his less bruised side. His shoulder will definitely need to be looked at tomorrow. And he needs to track down Natasha, to see if her undercover op played out like she had hoped. He lets his never-ending to-do list slip from his mind as he feels sleep draw him down. He goes willingly.

“He was my handler.”

Clint lurches from the mattress and blinks at the sunlight streaking its way across his legs. He fusses with the sheets that are now tangled around him and gets up, trying to forget the memory that instantly greets him as it does every morning.

He trudges into the bathroom to piss, feeling a tight pull from his shoulder as he does. He tugs off his shirt carefully to see the black and blue he knows will be there. It is, in a word, remarkable. The bruise travels from his collarbone to his armpit and there are about twelve different colors mottling through it. Clint grunts as he prods the skin, never able to resist poking at a wound. He leaves the bathroom, tossing the shirt on the bed, resigning himself to a morning of icing and writing up his requisite report of the mission before debrief.

He walks into the kitchen to find Natasha perched on the counter. She’s reading a battered copy of something in Russian.

“Reading romance novels in another language so I can’t make fun of you?” he asks, heading for the paper coffee cup sitting next to her own.

“Don’t you wish,” she replies with a smirk, folding the page to mark her spot, “I brought you some groceries. Figured you wouldn’t have had time yesterday.”

Clint pokes his head into the brown bag beside the refrigerator. Lots of fruit, bread, microwaveable noodle bowls and a can of soup.

“God, you are the greatest,” he says simply.

“You’re welcome, but I go by Nat, not god.” She looks down to the bruise that paints his skin, “Ouch.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t my finest moment,” he grins and realizes too late it looks like a wince. He turns away to pull out a pear from the bag on the counter, “How did your op go?”

Nat huffs out a laugh, which she only does in the company of a select few. Clint smiles between bites, knowing he is still one of them.

“It was a riot. In more ways than one. My favorite part was when our intel skipped over the fact that Dani was female, so our undercover story had to be retooled at the last minute for the less than accepting mark,” she sips from her coffee.

“Wait. Your Danny was Danielle? Not Danielle Moonstar!”

“Yes.”

Clint can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. Nat looks at him disapprovingly, but he can see right through it. “Oh, that is too funny. Jesus. So, I guess you couldn’t be Mr. and Mrs. Knight, wealthy donors to the cause.”

“No. I was Natalie Youngblood, an heiress with money to spend and Dani was my assistant and handler.”

Clint feels a pang low in his gut at the word, but doesn’t let the mask fall. Instead, he prompts Nat to finish.

“We made it two nights before we got sick of the anti-mutant hate they were spewing and decided to take them all down. Easy squeezy.”

“Lemon peasy,” Clint finishes with a smile. He sobers quickly and adds, “It just goes to show how fucked this country is – thinking it’s more acceptable for Dani, who is a goddamned Valkyrie for fuck’s sake, to be your lackey than your lover.”

Nat nods sagely. A silence settles as Clint finishes his pear. He tosses the stem into the trash before moving around the counter to rest his hip by Natasha. He feels her arm ghost over his back to rest on his good shoulder. He leans in further to her side and closes his eyes, breathing her in. No perfume since it could potentially give away her position. Just her.

Nat’s grip tightens a fraction and she murmurs, “How was your mission?”

Clint keeps his eyes closed as he musters the strength to answer that question. It was three weeks too long. And lonely with someone new in his ear. The weather sucked and his perch was uncomfortable from start to finish. His head hurt just as much as his damaged shoulder. It was awful.

“It was awful,” he admits. He feels Nat nod through her worn cotton shirt that is so soft on his cheek. He doesn’t know why but that is what makes him want to cry. It’s too much. Too much softness on his weathered skin. Too much heat embracing his tired body. Too much sensation after three weeks without anything.

“He was my handler.”

“Shit, man. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah.”

He pulls away from the touch, afraid that any longer and it’ll sear a mark across his skin. He pulls it together, unconvincingly he knows, but Nat lets it pass by without a mention.

“Don’t forget to write your report,” she says instead.

He crumples up his empty coffee cup and throws it away, thankful for her sensitivity that most people overlook.

“I won’t. I was about to do it but you’ve been distracting me.”

“It’s all a part of my plan to get mine done before you,” she adds nonchalantly as she slides off the counter.

“Your mission ended two weeks ago!” he whines.

“Yes,” she answers as she heads for the door, “which means I have at least another five hours, now that you have noodles in the house. I’ve been busy with other stuff.”

“Stuff, right.”

She smiles at him again as she steps outside. The door swings shut behind her and he calls, “I’ll get it done in four!”

He can’t hear her laugh, but he knows its there.

Clint makes his way over to the coffee table, turns on his S.H.I.E.L.D issue laptop and flops down to start writing out his report. He looks at the clock ticking away next to the window and decides to beat Natasha at her own game.

A little over five hours and two noodle bowls later Clint sends the report. He got Nat’s text announcing hers was finished at the four-hour mark. He growled and replied asking her for an apology in the form of bourbon, which was answered with a crying emoji. He gives it a 50/50 chance of her bringing him the booze eventually. Maybe alcohol isn’t the best thing for him right now, anyway.

He stands, his back a mess of creaks from his cramped position on the couch. He decides a shower is the next order of business; at least it’ll help wipe off the mission grime and loosen his shoulder. He turns the knob, takes out his hearing aids and lets the room fill with steam before stepping under the spray. He finds three smaller bruises on his left side and tries not to think of the pain shooting through his side when he landed two stories below his perch onto the roof next door. The explosion had made him lose his footing, and there wasn’t enough time to shoot a grappling line arrow. He was lucky the bruise on his collarbone was the worst of it.

Scratch that. Clint isn’t lucky. He’s a disaster.

It was his first mission back in the field since The Battle of Manhattan and it had been a nightmare. Almost as bad as the nightmare it had taken to get there - three months of psych evals and interrogations to make certain the hold Loki had over him is well and truly gone, sneers from S.H.I.E.L.D agents he had worked alongside for a decade, and the pitying glances from everyone else who thought they understood his pain. He had spent hundreds of hours on the range by himself to keep in the rhythm and keep calm. It had mostly worked. He complied with every order from above. Fury and the World Security Council didn’t think his work after Nat beat him up mid-Battle proved his allegiance and they needed months of notes on his mental state to believe him.

Fuck them.

He walked right back into that battle, knowing the situation on the Helicarrier was his fault, remembering everything he had done while under the Thrall. He shouldered that blame and continued fighting alongside a new team he had never met, and barely knew the names of. He became an Avenger without knowing what they were really avenging. Who.

Phil. 

The Avengers, as they are now calling themselves, are amidst the rubble of Manhattan. Bellies full of shawarma and bodies tired to the core, they walk back towards the quinjet waiting for them a few blocks away. Banner kicks at some rubble as he walks and Stark is typing furiously on something that looks like an iPad knock off. Probably Stark Tech. Captain Rogers looks like he’s seen better days. The shield looks like it weighs more than usual. Clint looks over to Thor, the man he saw that night in New Mexico with Phil. He certainly looks more godlike now that he’s wearing the whole getup. He’s glad he didn’t take the shot back then, but dammit he really wanted to let that arrow fly when they had Loki surrounded. He doesn’t take kindly to being controlled. Natasha is close to Clint, her hair plastered to her left temple by a sticky patch of dried blood. It’s hers, he can see the cut hidden in her hair. She looks at him, sensing his eyes on her.

“Thanks for bringing me back,” he offers. She shrugs. It’s something they’ve done for each other before and there’s no doubt it won’t be the last time.

The group walks quietly onto the ‘jet. He grabs co-pilot as Nat slips into the first seat. She powers up the engines as everyone else harnesses in. As they lift off, Clint looks to his right, surveying the damage. There are already S.H.I.E.L.D teams scattered around, documenting and clearing the worst of the damage. He sees the remnants of Chitauri littering the street and knows there will be a battle between them and everyone else trying to get their hands on the alien tech. He says as much to the group.

“Yeah, god knows that’ll be that hottest ticket on the black market for years to come,” Stark agrees, eyes still on his data pad.

Nat is steering them back to the Helicarrier, which Clint really doesn’t want to think about at the moment. He doesn’t want to face that particular music just yet and turns back towards the rest of the team.

“I, for one, look forward to taking them down, one by one,” he admits. He knows it’s personal, but vendettas aren’t always a bad thing.

“Count me out,” Banner admits.

“Don’t worry, big guy. I think S.H.I.E.L.D will want you in the labs with me,” Tony grins as he claps the doctor on the knee, “I’m emailing Pepper right now to let her know we need a floor at the tower devoted to Gamma research.

Clint sees Rogers wince wearily before slipping on the stoic mask again. He reminds himself to ask Phil what the Captain’s deal is with Gamma radiation. If anyone knows, it’ll be Phil and his plethora of knowledge on the man.

“I think Nat and I can handle the black market baddies. Man, that’ll be like a vacation for us, right?” he looks over to Nat and sees her smallest smirk.

“Sounds like a walk in the park,” she answers.

“Just you, me, and Phil again.”

Clint sees a lot of things happen at once.

First he sees Nat’s fingers blanch on the stick. She doesn’t take her eyes off the Helicarrier, a small dot fast approaching in the distant clouds. He turns his head and then notices that Rogers looks like he’s stopped breathing or something. Stark has paused typing mid word and that’s the last warning sign.

He feels his lungs constrict. Something bad happened. Something everyone knows but him. Thoughts rush through his head. He must have done something under the Thrall, something he can’t remember. Loki took something else from him.

“Do you mean Phil Coulson?” Tony asks, and it’s Tony now. The Stark persona is gone in the blink of an eye. Stark didn’t know Phil’s name or ever care to learn it. Tony does. Clint’s lungs are still refusing to work but he manages a nod.

In the future he’ll look back, knowing this was the last moment when everything in his life made sense. The last time he was whole.

“Barton, I’m sorry to tell you this but Coulson died on the ‘carrier earlier today.”

Stark says it and it’s a matter of fact. His eyes pan over the others strapped in the back. No one looks ready to reveal a different truth. He turns to Natasha, his last hope. She is there waiting for his gaze. Her eyes say it all.

He turns forward, eye glazed over as Natasha begins to maneuver the ‘jet down for a smooth landing.

“Did you work with him a lot?” Stark asks. It’s the quietest he’s ever heard the man.

“He was my handler.”

“Shit, man. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah.”

Clint decidedly does not look at Natasha as she opens the bay door to let everyone off the ‘jet. He picks up his bow and quiver, empty except for one lone arrow and brushes by everyone. He has to get out of here, away from these people he barely knows, away from Nat’s questioning looks, somewhere safe. He chokes when he realizes the first place he wants to go is Coulson’s office.

Clint does not appreciate being handled with kid gloves. From day one with his new handler, Agent Byrne, has been treating him like a level two probie and he can’t stand it anymore. The three week mission could have ended days earlier if she had let him do his job and make the call from his perch. But the Agent had continually replied,

“Negative, Hawkeye. Keep the mission in mind.”

Alright, he gets it. She wants to play it by the book until she’s more comfortable as a level seven in command of an unruly asset. He’s seen it all before.

However, he can’t think of a single excuse for the fuck up that happened today in Philadelphia. He is back on the Helicarrier and he knows this is the end of it. He might as well clean out his bunk right now. Byrne fucked up majorly and now he was going to pay the price for his recklessness.

“Hawkeye. Please fall back. Your mission parameters don’t require your presence on the ground.”

“Listen, Agent! I’m not going to watch from the roof as they wipe the floor with your suit buddies. This is going to hell, so why don’t you call in the Calvary to clean up this mess,” he replies with a shout. He runs down the last set of stairs and bursts out onto the street. He blinks once to adjust to the light and sees two marks savagely beating a new recruit into the cement. He quickly nocks two arrows and lets them fly. He turns to find the next target before they even hit the ground. He barely registers Byrne yelling in his ear, telling him kill shots are unacceptable.

Fuck that. He’s not watching agents die today.

By the end of it, he downs seventeen AIM cronies and saves the lives of five agents. No thanks to Byrne, who refused to get out of the control van parked one block away. About halfway through the assault, he switched the radio frequency on the com built into his hearing aids, effectively shutting Byrne out.

Now that the fight’s over, he walks the block to find Byrne on the phone beside the van. He sneers down at his boots. He was wrong – it seems that she did eventually make it outside. She swivels around as he approaches, and immediately hangs up.

“Barton. You are hereby off the roster until further notice.”

“Is that your way of thanking me for the five saves I just logged?”

“No. It’s for deliberately turning off your com during a situation, which you yourself created!”

She is huffing wildly, like it’s taking everything not to get in his face. He wants to see if she’ll break.

“We both know you started it.”

He smiles – with teeth – as he reaches up to take out his aids.

Clint watches as Byrne snaps before his eyes. It’s like some sick, silent opera. Her eyes burn as she registers his action and she immediately slaps the aids out of his hand. They fall to the pavement and she efficiently squishes them beneath her boot.

Clint can’t help the left hook that comes out of nowhere to connect with her cheek. He watches as she rocks backwards, taking a fighting stance. She swings, crashing her fist into his nose. He feels the blood and tastes it pooling on his upper lip. Clint has a distant thought that those are the last aids that let him hear Phil’s voice. He’s had enough. His next strike is an uppercut and he knows he’s playing dirty now, but they’ve both crossed the line. She falls to the ground soundlessly, dazed but refusing to give up. He notices the blood leaking from the shallow cut on her cheek before turning to retrieve the remnants of the two aids smashed into the ground.

He walks away without hesitation.

He roots around in his locker, looking for the spare set of aids he keeps downstairs. He eventually finds them and tests to see if the batteries are still good. He snaps next to his right ear and then his left, pleased to find everything in working order. He begins stripping off his tactical suit as he hears Natasha sigh from the doorway. He turns around to find her leaning there, hair pulled tight in a bun and exercise gear clinging with the sweat pooling in the crevices along her body. His eyes snap back to his own body as he carefully takes his still tender shoulder out of the suit.

“I heard you lost it today.”

“I think you heard wrong. Byrne lost it first.”

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t lose it too,” she says simply.

He shakes his head, knowing she’s right. Truth be told, he’s been itching for a fight since his first day with the shrinks following Manhattan. He sits down heavily on the bench and holds his head in his hands. He feels Nat sink down next to him and he instinctively leans onto her, feeling the warmth and knowing she is the last person to judge him for today.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Nat.”

And that’s it. The truth spilling from his mouth before he can think twice. He doesn’t want to be here anymore – hasn’t since that evening on the quinjet, or the morning they watched Loki saunter back to Asgard safe in his brother’s care, or the day of the mass memorial that S.H.I.E.L.D organized for all the agents lost in the Battle. He’s wanted out since Phil’s life was stolen. Since realizing he participated in it. Knowing without him, Phil could still be here huffing his annoyance over the coms and grinning wickedly at Fury’s wry comments. Nat strokes up and down his spine, knowing there’s nothing to be said.  They’ve always promised that when the day comes when one of them wants out, the other will be there to make it happen.

“What do you want?”

It’s been so long since he’s even entertained that question. His first answer has been on the tip of his tongue for weeks. He wants to have Phil in his ear again. Instead he says, “I want to go home.”

“Okay,” she sighs.

The next few hours are a blur. He waits patiently as Nat uses her field knife to dig the S.H.I.E.L.D issue tracker out of his arm and doesn’t wince when he realizes it was a gift from Phil after their first year together as a team. He has a matching one tucked into one of his boots haphazardly kicked under his bed upstairs. After she finishes bandaging his arm he shimmies through the ducts to collect three bows from the weapons hold, including the first one he was ever issued at S.H.I.E.L.D and gathers as many arrows as he can fit in the four quivers they’ve custom made for him over the years. He meets back up with Nat in her bunk and sees the go-bag he keeps by the door as well as three duffels. She is meticulously combing through the gear, checking for trackers. There is a small pile already sitting next to her on the bed. He leaves her to it as he showers and uses a buzzer she keeps in her bathroom drawer. He shaves his hair close to the scalp, enjoying the feel of it on his calloused fingertips. He decides that the scruff on his neck and cheeks can stay. Clint comes out of the bathroom and picks through the clothes Natasha has sorted, finding his favorite jeans and a worn shirt that started out a bright purple, but had nearly faded into a deep gray. He pulls them on and begins packing his things.

“I’m going to miss you, Clint.”

“Same here, Nat. Look me up if you’re ever nearby,” he looks up and catches a small smile tugging at her lips. He would love to kiss her one last time, but knows she’s not as careless as she used to be. She’s become even more protective of herself, which Clint is eternally grateful for.

He knows she can handle any situation S.H.I.E.L.D throws her way, but he still feels the need to say something, “I can come back if you ever need me,” he admits. He can see that she knows he means her, not the Avengers. She’s the only one he’ll come back for and that’s fine. Expected.

“Any suggestions for a replacement to fill your spot on the roster?”

Clint can’t help but laugh. He hasn’t given it any thought, really, but he’s sure there’s someone at S.H.I.E.L.D who’s paid to do just that.

“Well, Katie would love it. But she’s a little green still. Actually, Dani would be fantastic. And she even uses arrows –sort of,” he sees Nat roll her eyes, “Oh you know what I mean.”

Nat picks at her thumb nail, “I’ll give her a call and see if she wants to move to the big city.”

“Might be a nice change from being surrounded by rugrats all day,” he shrugs as he zips up the last bag. Nat reaches out to put two around her neck and picks up one of the bow cases. Clint grabs the remaining things and they leave the room without another word.

They make their way through the halls, sure to remain out of view of all the cameras on board before reaching the hangar. Nat looks over to Clint, about to ask him the question he knew would be coming.

“Are you sure? This is a one way ticket.”

“Yes, Nat. I’m sure.”

She nods approvingly and collects his items into a small metal cargo bin. Clint keeps one bow case on his back and takes a harness off the wall. In less than two minutes he is standing on the edge of the Helicarrier, the wind whipping through Natasha’s hair making it dance wildly across her face. He loves her so much and says that into her ear as she pulls him into a crushing hug.

“Love is for children,” she mouths once he pulls back away from her neck. He only catches it by reading her lips, expressive as always. He smiles at her and nods a final goodbye. Without a second thought he jumps from the deck and begins falling.

The night over New York is bright with the lights peppering the city and he grins, thinking of the possibilities. Dreaming of his new future away from his prison as a S.H.I.E.L.D operative. He pulls the cord and floats down to land with a rustle in Brooklyn. He waits after collecting his parachute, smelling the sea breeze fluttering in from the South East. Three minutes later, the metal box containing all the items Nat packed lands with a thud a few hundred feet away in an abandoned lot. He watches the Stark drone release it and fly back towards the Helicarrier. He salutes, knowing Nat will smile at that.

Clint walks the few blocks to the safe house he and Nat set up in Brooklyn after an incident involving a level seven agent selling secrets to HYDRA. He is glad to see the van still parked in the loading dock, and smiles when he realizes Nat slipped the keys in his pocket at some point. He jumps in and goes to pick up his things in the lot, thinking of where home will be now.

Clint eventually finds a home in Vermont. It’s cold all the time and rains at least once a week, but the air is clean and he is surrounded by trees that are great for climbing. He shoots game on his land, which stretches for miles and miles and finds that he is content to be away from the life he once led. He doesn’t get the paper and doesn’t ever turn on the radio. He doesn’t keep tabs on the Avengers, knowing that Nat would contact him if anything went sour, but he does catch a headline on the papers when he ventures into town sometimes. He sees Iron Man holding up a building and Thor grinning next to small children who look absolutely star struck. There’s never a photo of Nat, which he is quietly grateful for, knowing she’s safer that way. There’s an old issue of TIME with Rogers on the cover in the desk at his house. It reminds him of Phil so he burns it that evening while sitting in front of the fireplace.

Time passes and Clint becomes a local. The grocery store clerks know he likes his ham sliced very thin and the gas station dudes nod when he fills up his beat Ford pickup. He sees little kids rejoice in the fall leaves that litter the sidewalks and watches in fascination as the bucks that roam through his woods slowly scrape the fuzz off their antlers. There is a homeless woman that lives on the church steps and he watches her grow colder and hungrier as the season changes. He drives to town one day and notices she is missing. He hopes the church found a place for her to stay and doesn’t want to think about the possibility of her body lying cold and stiff in the morgue an hour away in the nearest city. He wonders who she was and then worries that someday someone will think the same thing about him.

The winter is miserable, but still better than life under the thumb of S.H.I.E.L.D. He feels like he’s living a long mission in the Ukraine all over again and hunkers down for the long haul, finally emerging from his nest in April once the snow is just grey patches dotting the landscape behind his house.

He drives back into town and gets cell phone service for the first time in months.

2 New Messages

He knows they’re from Nat and is instantly worried for her. He plays them in order, the oldest from Christmas Eve.

“счастливого Рождества. I’m thinking of you tonight.”

He breathes a sigh, feeling a bit easier about the ominous messages and presses play on the second one, from just five weeks ago.

“Clint,” there’s some static interference and he hears her breathing sharply and his heartbeat replies by lodging in his throat waiting for her to continue.

An alarm blares in the background.

“Clint. Call me. Please.”

The message ends and he sees his hand shaking as he lowers the phone. He dials Nat’s phone and is met with a machine saying the phone has been disconnected. He swears and slams the steering wheel.

He jumps out of the truck and goes into the gas station. He nods as he hands over the money to fill the gas tank and turns, catching a glimpse of the first newspaper he’s seen in months. The headline and accompanying picture startles him even more.

Rescue Mission Ends: Two Avengers Presumed Dead

 He speeds away from the gas station, deciding it’s time to return to New York.

The only place he can think to go is Stark’s tower. Clint drives like a maniac, cutting off everyone he sees and ignoring tourists shouting for him to slow down. He arrives at the building and parks on the curb. He grabs his bow from the gun rack on the back window and runs inside.

“Excuse me, sir. You can’t park there,” a security guard stammers from behind the check in desk.

“Like hell I can. Tell Stark I’m coming up.”

“Whoa whoa, man! Who do you think you are?” he demands as he swings out from behind his desk.

“I’m Hawkeye,” he answers as he pushes past the man and heads for the elevator.

Once inside he remembers why there are no buttons on the wall.

“JARVIS! Take me to Stark.”

“Yes, Mr. Barton,” the computer replies smoothly.

He barely feels the elevator move but then the doors open he is faced with a room he remembers. It’s where he let Loki walk. He seethes at the memory.

“STARK!” he yells into the empty space.

“Mr. Stark is currently on the balcony,” JARVIS answers calmly.

Clint hates that fucking computer. He rushes across the room and out the glass door to find Stark sitting cross-legged with a bottle of rum at his elbow. He looks up when Clint approaches.

“Well, look who’s back for the fun.”

Clint instantly wants to strangle the man. He’s clearly drunk and in no mood to fill Clint in on the details. He hopes acting like a professional will ease the situation.

“Stark. Sitrep.”

Tony barks a laugh and grabs at the rum, nearly toppling it the process, “You’re not the first person to say that to me, you know.”

“Stark. Tell me what the fuck happened. I saw the paper today for the first time in five months. What the hell is going on?” he demands.

“Oh, I’ll tell you. First Bruce goes and gets himself kidnapped by HYDRA. For experimental Gamma radiation weapons, you know. Then, Fury decides Natasha should just go set him free. By herself! We wake up the next morning and she’s gone. Poof. Radio silence. That plan is a bust, so then he thought ‘You know what, you and Cap just go in and finish the job’ and we did. They beat the hell out of Cap – I mean they fuckin’ captured Black Widow, man, they’re more than we ever imagined – and I came running home with Cap in my arms to give fuckin’ S.H.I.E.L.D a fuckin’ sitrep. That’s what’s going on Barton,” his name is said with so much disdain that Clint is surprised he can even hold Tony’s gaze.

“We’re going to get them.”

Tony’s eyes drift down and he looks over the edge of his tower, “I don’t see how. It’s been five weeks, Barton. Five. All intel says they’ve been bodies on the floor for at least two of those.”

“Well, I’m here now and I’m not giving up on my best friend so easily. And when we find them I won’t tell Banner you gave up on him like the S.H.I.E.L.D head honchos said. So, you sober up and I’ll find Fury. We’re not going to let them down.”

“Forget Fury,” Tony grunts as he grips Clint’s hand for help getting up, “JARVIS take Barton here up to the office.

“Yes, sir,” the computer answers.

He walks to the elevator, watching Tony take a drink of water as the doors close.

Clint takes a deep breath as he waits.

“You are now at the office,” JARVIS supplies as the doors slide open.

He walks out and feels his heart drop. Sitting behind a desk is Phil Coulson, looking like nothing has changed in the past year as he types while reading a document off his desk. He looks up after a moment and his eyes lock onto Clint’s.

“Agent Bart-“

“What the FUCK?” he screams.

Phil stands from behind the desk and tries again, “Agent -“

“I said WHAT the FUCK!” before he can think twice he grabs an arrow from his quiver and has it pointed directly at Phil’s heart.

Phil is silent.

“JARVIS. Is S.H.I.E.L.D Agent Philip J. Coulson, codename Delta Echo 7309 standing in this room with me right now?” he asks calmly.

“He is indeed, sir.”

Clint breathes out through his nose harshly, refusing to blink in case Phil moves or disappears.

“Care to explain, Phil?”

“Not while there’s an arrow pointed at me,” he says and it is so typically Phil that Clint aches. He feels his world come crashing down and he quickly gulps some air to gather his wits and slow the adrenaline running through his body. He lowers the bow, but keeps the arrow nocked.

“I’m here to get Nat back,” he states, bypassing the entire Phil situation for the moment, “While I’m waiting for Stark to sober up I need a full sitrep and then I’m taking anyone available from the other super teams to go get her.

“Agent Bar-“

Clint can’t help cutting him off again, “Listen, Phil. I don’t care if you’ve tried everything. I don’t care if it’s a lost cause. You haven’t let me try yet. So prepare another mission. I’m going with or without S.H.I.E.L.D’s support.

There is a long pause. It feels like the longest of Clint’s life.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Clint breathes a sigh as Phil sits back down at his desk. He types quickly, looking up at Clint out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ve just loaded this Starkpad with a full sitrep and the contact information for the X-Men currently in the city. Thor is out of state, but I’ll get him here within the hour. We’ll have a briefing downstairs with him and Stark at,” he looks to the clock by the door, “1400 hours.” Phil hands over the pad and Clint turns without another word.

Once in the elevator he asks JARVIS, “How do I get to the roof?” 

Clint perches on the roof to try to get a handle on the situation. Captain Rogers is currently in the medical wing of Stark’s tower, now boasting the name Avengers Tower, and waiting for his serum to kick in and heal the four-inch deep wound in his neck. He’s clearly not up for the mission since they have him doped out on the hard drugs. He gets why Stark started drinking.

Based on where their trackers went dead, Nat and Banner are being held in a secure facility deep in the Canadian woods - Opasquia Provincial Park, to be specific. It’s not accessible by road, even in good weather, and there’s only one known commercial airstrip in the park. Clint can’t understand why Fury decided Natasha should be the first one to go in after Banner, since there are two Avengers that can fly. All he can tell is that her phone call to him happened just after she went off the S.H.I.E.L.D radar. He closes his eyes for a second, but then starts picturing the worst possible scenario. He quickly swipes to the next file on the second rescue attempt.

The Captain and Stark got as far as the airstrip before they were attacked. It seems Coulson was the lead agent on the op, giving directions from the Helicarrier. Not that it did much good. His notes on the mission said that Cap took down a few targets before one got the jump on him and slashed at his throat. He went into shock within two minutes. Iron Man was holding his own, but made the call to return Cap to the safety of S.H.I.E.L.D’s closest medical facility in Winnipeg. Clint doesn’t blame him for making that call. He probably would have done the same. But, at the same time, he knows if he had been there it wouldn’t have gone down like that. They needed someone with eyes up high to watch their backs.

Clint takes a moment to silently curse S.H.I.E.L.D for not bringing in another sharpshooter to replace him on the team. He’s in the middle of thinking of shooting an arrow through the center of Fury’s eye patch when he sees Thor land on the small landing pad a few stories down. An hour after he came up to the roof. Coulson was right on the money.

“He was my handler.”

Clint feels tears prick at his eyes, but lets out a shaking breath to compose himself. He wants nothing more than to punch the man in the face. In fact, he looks forward to it. And he’s pretty sure once Nat is back, she’ll join in on the fight. He wants to hit until his knuckles bleed and then he wants to pull out every arrow he has and let them all loose on the only handler he ever trusted. He thinks of all the people that he thought cared for him over the years and realizes the pattern had no reason to end with Coulson. They all gained his trust and then destroyed it. Broke him. Broke everything he built. His father. Barney. Trickshot. And now Coulson. He stands up and decides the only thing to do is put it on the backburner. He’s here for Natasha. Clint made a promise to her and he won’t let her down.

At 1400, Clint walks off the elevator to find Stark and Thor strategizing on the couch while looking at a projection of the park, Coulson standing by the window gazing out over the city and Kate Bishop with her head in the fridge. She looks up when he walks over and he smiles, realizing how much he missed her.

“Katie.”

“Hey, Clint! Thanks for the short notice mission,” she pulls him in for a hug, “but no thanks for not telling me your were leaving town.”

He pulls back, “Sorry about that.”

She smiles anyway, still young enough to forgive and forget, “Don’t do it again.”

He can’t make any promises so he turns back to the others. He’s about to ask them to gather when the elevator dings another arrival. The doors part to show Dani Moonstar standing with her bow at her side. Before Clint can walk over, Thor is up and has bundled the young woman in his arms. Perplexed, he sees Coulson’s brow furrow and realizes he’s not the only one out of the loop.

“Hi Thor! It’s good to see you!” Dani says, hugging him back.

“Lady Moonstar! It has been too long,” the god replies, letting her down.

“I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” Clint admits as he goes to shake her hand.

“This Lady saved the Allfather Odin from the death goddess Hela and spent time studying under our mages. She has been a member of the Valkyrior for many years. We are great allies,” he finishes with a grin.

“Well, that’s great. We’ll need all the allies we can get,” he concedes, “Let’s talk about the mission.”

The group sits on the couches and tables surrounding the hologram Stark and Thor had been discussing earlier. Everyone but Coulson, who stays by the windows.

“As you may or may not know,” Clint starts, “two of the Avengers – Dr. Bruce Banner and the Black Widow - have been captured by HYDRA agents located on a base somewhere in the woods of Opasquia Provincial Park. I’ve asked you all here to help get them back.” He sees a few heads nod and stutters after recognizing this is the first time he’s been the point person on such a large team. He has a distant thought that Phil should be the one coming up with a plan and presenting it them. No. He shoves that aside and decides Phil doesn’t matter. He will damn well organize this op and it will go off as planned.

“So, if you’re all willing to help, here’s the plan.”

Seven and a half hours later, Clint is prepping his quinjet for a dark landing on the airstrip where Stark and Cap were ambushed. Katie hovers over his shoulder, clearly interested in the inner workings of the ‘jet. Phil has been silently strapped in for the entire flight, only tapping his com to alert the rest of their team to their descent.

Clint touches down and opens the bay door, rushing out with Katie on his heels. They are dressed for the weather, but there is still a moment of shock as the first whip of wind brushes across his cheek.

“Barton and Bishop en route,” he says into the air.

“Roger that, stay safe kiddos” Stark replies. Clint looks up and sees the distant streak of blue high above their heads. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel great to be on a mission again. They run for about a mile, coming to an abrupt stop when they reach the last coordinates registered on Nat’s chip. He signals to Katie to start searching.

“Moonstar?” he asks.

“Here.”

“We’re at the first rendezvous. Are you and Thor ready for Phase 2?”

“Aye,” Thor rumbles.

“Just give us a course and we’ll be on our way,” she finishes.

Clint joins Katie as they use various Stark tech to comb through the wooded area. It’s only a matter of minutes before he hears Katie over the com.

“I found the Widow’s phone!”

Clint rushes over to see for himself. There it is, sitting casually under a rotted out log. He picks it up hesitantly and flicks it open. Clint smiles, looking at Katie. Nat’s tracker is still working.

“We have coordinates.”

He hears a woop that is definitely from Tony and a sigh of relief, which he thinks must be from Phil. He swallows and reads the numbers off, Katie plugging them into her own phone’s GPS.

“Thor and I are five minutes out. Should we hold for you to get there?” Moonstar asks, wind blowing through her com.

“Yes, we’ll be on the north side in 12 minutes,” Katie adds.

“See you there,” Stark pipes in.

Katie silences her com and says, “Come on old man. Race ya!” She takes off at a dead sprint and Clint starts after her, a laugh out before he can stop himself.

The race ends in ten minutes as they begin slowing when the trees thin. Katie catches her breath while Clint pokes his head around a large boulder.

This is definitely the place.

It’s a large compound, complete with razor wire fences and guard posts dotted all over the place. There’s a patrol with a massive dog on a short leash and two guards smoking near a door. Clint’s smile is wicked.

“We’re here and ready to move in.”

Clint hears the beeps of four other coms and motions for Katie to get out her gear. She nods with her first arrow nocked and they begin the ground assault.

Clint focuses on his breathing, still elevated from running through the trees. He fires an arrow into the eye of everyone he sees. One man falls from the perch. The other dies where he stands. Katie takes out the guard dog’s owner as Moonstar and her goddamned winged horse land on the other side of the 12ft fence. The horse rears at the dog and it growls in response, weight back as if to strike, but Moonstar uses her telepathy to guide it towards the other guards. The dog lashes out at the nearest one, ripping him to the ground and pulling at the man’s bloodied arm like a ragdoll. Thor is there, too, beating people into the still frozen dirt with his blood red cape flowing in the breeze.

Clint gives Katie a boost to climb the fence. She makes it up, shoots another guard and slips through the razor wire without a scratch. Another bonus of being so young and flexible. Clint is about to start his climb when Iron Man touches down with a crash next to him.

“Want a lift, Katniss?” he asks with a chuckle.

“Yes please, Peeta,” he replies with a smirk. Stark lifts him up like a swooning heroine and glides easily above the fence. However, he doesn’t give Clint any warning when he drops him unceremoniously on the other side from 15 feet up. Clint rolls out to prevent a broken ankle or two and curses up at the man.

“Thanks, asshole!”

“Anytime!” Stark gleefully replies as he blasts his repulsors towards three guards giving Thor a hard time further down the line.

Clint takes a moment to marvel at the group surrounding him and thinks this is what he has been missing for so long – the feeling of someone at your back that you can trust. He runs towards the only visible entrance and finds the two guards that had been smoking under the dull light have been dropped to the ground. He figures Stark hit them with a blast while he was already occupied. He broadcasts over the coms once through the door.

“I’m inside, ladies and gents. Back up might be helpful if they let the Hulk loose to play.”

Thor answers with a throaty laugh, “I enjoy sparring with the Hulk. Moonstar and I will be at your side.”

“I’m hot on your heels!” Katie adds.

“Stark, you got the outside covered?” Clint asks as he follows a narrow hallway towards a steel door.

“Gladly.” he hears the whine of the repulsors being fired over the coms.

Clint spends more time than he would like hacking into the electrical panel beside the door, but by the time he forces the override, Thor and Moonstar are running down to meet him. Together, they trample their way down the passageways, choosing the path of least resistance. Moonstar makes quick work of any HYDRA agents that approach, landing her psionic arrows on every single one. They all fall to the ground, shocked into reliving their worst memory. Clint shudders at the thought of her mutant abilities and knows why the Asgardians like her so much. They round a corner and Clint nearly looses an arrow right into Katie’s face.

“I accidentally took a left back there,” she shrugs as she points a thumb back over her shoulder.

Clint looks down at the coordinates on Nat’s phone. They haven’t changed, but they haven’t seen any rooms where she and Banner could be held yet.

“I think we must be on the wrong level or something,” he says to the group.

“A sub floor?” Moonstar prompts.

Kate grimaces, “I haven’t seen any stairs.”

“Mjölnir will solve that problem.” Thor wastes no time in beating the absolute shit out of the cement floor beneath their feet. Within a minute he has a gap wide enough for even his broad shoulders to fit through. They drop down, one by one, to a level that looks much more sinister. The long hallway is lined with cells, ending with a door that is already opened. Katie begins looking in all the cells, as Clint slips to the end of the hall. He takes a quick look through the gap in the door and sees an iron staircase leading down into a three-story room, practically a warehouse, empty except for HYDRA agents and Banner.

He taps his com to relay the news.

“How many agents?” Coulson demands, piping up for the first time during the mission.

Clint looks again.

“I count thirteen. Two in the rafters and one in an expensive suit.”

“Ringleader,” Katie supplies as she circles back to Clint, shaking her head to tell him the cells are empty.

“Banner’s condition?” Coulson presses.

Clint wants to groan that Coulson should just get his ass down here and see for himself if he cares so much.

“Strapped to a chair. Looks out of it. No eyes on Natasha.”

Clint waves Thor and Moonstar over to join them. After a quick discussion, they agree that Thor will get Banner and take him back out of the compound, leaving the other three to find Natasha. They all nod as Clint nudges the door open.

It creaks open and all at once the eyes of every HYDRA agent swing up to the group. Before any arrows fly the suit says,

“Ah, took you long enough.”

He snaps his fingers and at once Clint knows it’s a bad sign. The HYDRA agent closest to Bruce jabs a small needle into his neck. He watches in horror as the Hulk takes form before his eyes.

Clint takes out the two agents in the rafters and then uses a tethered arrow to swing down to the floor. He hears Katie and Moonstar running down to join the fray and sees their arrows whizz by occasionally to make another agent fall to the ground. Thor uses Mjölnir to land safely next to the Hulk. He takes a mighty swing that forces the Hulk to stagger backwards.

The fight rages on as Clint notices the suit and three men escape through an inconspicuous door near the end of the vast room. He dodges HYDRA goons as he runs after them, vaguely registering that more agents seem to be coming to replace their fallen comrades. He continues his pursuit, glad to hear the com chatter in his ear that keeps him in the loop of the fight going on behind him. He comes to a junction and is unsure of which way to go until he sees a shadow flicker in a doorway on his left. Clint runs and sees through the small glass pane that the three men and the suit are inside. He swings the door open wide, bow drawn at the ready.

“Agent Barton. Please do come in.”

Clint looks around wildly for any sight of Natasha, careful to keep the agents in his sight. They are all huddled around a machine centered in the room, one typing away at a speed even Stark would be impressed with.

“I’m not an agent anymore. You need to update your records,” he sneers.

The suit smiles, which pisses Clint off even more. “Well, after today do you really think going back to the woods is an option?”

Clint lets an arrow fly, piercing the computer guy directly through the heart. His lifeless body slumps over his still hands.

The man tsks deep in his throat and shoves the dead agent out of the chair. One of the other idiots sits down without a second glance at Clint.

“Hawkeye, you should probably not kill people without knowing what their work entails,” he hums as he paces around the table towards Clint.

“And why shouldn’t I just shoot you?” he demands, pointing the next arrow at the man’s left eye.

“Don’t you want to see your Widow?” he smiles again and Clint is so close to killing the guy. He fucking hates playing games.

“Where is she?”

“Ask and you shall receive,” the man answers, folding his hands together as if in prayer. Clint has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Typical bullshit. A wall panel slides slowly open to his right and he sees Nat’s red hair first out of the corner of his eye. She is standing, a good sign. He turns his head to ask her if she is okay, but is instantly paralyzed.

He opens his com channel.

“Eyes on Nat. She’s under Loki’s Thrall.”

The silence hangs across the channel for too long and all Clint can do is pray he is wrong. Unfortunately, he remembers that glazed look and that blue fog far too well. His first thought is that Natasha should have killed him already. He looks back over to the man in the suit.

“What have you done to her?” he demands.

The suit walks over to Nat and runs his fingers through her hair. Clint wants to murder him. No, he wants Nat to murder him.

“She is such an effective tool, but we knew we would need to find a way to harness her power. Luckily, someone else did the research for us.”

“She’s not a tool. She’s a goddamn person,” he hears himself yelling.

“Oh, I disagree,” the man looks to his crony sitting behind the computer. “Please turn her new program on.”

Clint shoots before the agent moves a muscle.

The suit clears his throat as the third agent leans over his dead co-worker.

“Please, Hawkeye, you are jumping the gun. Save your arrows for the Widow. You will need them all, I am sure.”

Clint turns, about to shoot the third goon but sees Nat move. Shit. Shit shit shit.

“Nat’s attacking,” is all he can get out before he is fighting for his life. They’ve sparred thousands of times and fought as enemies before, but it has never been like this. She is whip fast and every offensive move he makes to strike back is telegraphed. She blocks them all. He feels his heart beat elevate as he realizes the worst. What if he has to take out his best friend?

He continues to defend himself, realizing too late that he has left his right shoulder exposed when he dodges a punch. She reaches out, ripping his arm from the socket in the blink of an eye. He bites down on his scream as he falls to the ground. He executes a sweep kick, to prevent her from taking further advantage but she jumps easily to avoid it. He lands a kick from his crouch and she rotates his foot, causing him to roll away. He can’t stand up quickly enough. She pummels him senseless. He feels his right hearing aid go from the endless punches she lands there.

“Nat!”

He hears himself say. It doesn’t register. She continues the assault. He tries to protect his vital organs. The other hearing aid starts a fizz, from all the blood clogging it he thinks distantly. The last thing he hears is his own scream when she breaks his knee.

“Nat,” he begs, not hearing himself. He is seeing stars and the pain is bleeding into every pore of his body. He wants to die. He wants Nat to end it. He wants to be free. He wants her to be free. The stars before his eyes start to morph and he understands this is it, he always figured he would die at the hands of someone he loved. His father’s brutal fists or Trickshot’s arrows to his thin legs as punishment for poor form. His only wish is that Nat didn’t have to wake up to the realization that she took a life after someone took her mind. He knows what that feels like and it hurts more than the pain she is causing him now. There is, in his opinion, nothing worse.

He closes his eyes and notices the blows have stopped. She must think he’s already dead. Close enough, really. He blinks his eyes open for one last look and sees a silent tableau before him. Nat is crouched no more than a foot away, holding her head between her bloodied hands. Her look is pure anguish. Clint sees Moonstar behind her, looking intently at Nat. Ah, telepath. His head lolls to the other side and he is faced with Phil Coulson silently screaming at the man in the suit, a gun to his head. Clint registers that his hand is shaking.

His handler’s hands never shook.

And he never screamed, either.

He sees Katie run to his side, her hands covered in his blood within seconds. She looks terrified as she presses to keep some of the blood inside. He wants to tell her it’s a losing battle but can’t find the words.

He closes his eyes.

Miraculously, they open again. He immediately wishes they hadn’t. There is a blinding pain and Clint wants nothing more than to roll away from it, to run and hide forever, but his body won’t move like he tells it to. The lights make his eyes water and he blinks back the almost-tears. He can feel his right arm bound to his chest, which is heaving from the shaking breaths he takes. He remembers the blue Thrall in Natasha’s eyes and the pain washes over him again. He lets his head fall to the side, trying to breathe through the wounds and emotions all clamoring for purchase inside.

He locks eyes with Coulson, sitting across the room - frozen to the spot. Clint recognizes fear when he sees it, but it doesn’t make sense to see it reflected in Phil’s eyes.

A nurse comes in, interrupting his thought and then he slips back under.

The next time Clint stirs, the pain has been replaced with a sharp ache in practically every corner of his body. Eyes still closed, he starts by wiggling his toes. They do and he sighs, even though he knows his knee is probably shattered beyond recognition. His fingers move too, but his left thumb is certainly broken. He tries to remember the damage as it occurred. Concussion with multiple skull fractures. Broken cheekbone. Broken thumb. Right shoulder out of joint, possible nerve damage. That makes him want to cry. Just that injury is enough to sideline him from archery. He breathes deeply and fights not to wince. Broken ribs. Busted knee. Broken spirit? Yeah, that too.

He should have died.

He blinks his eyes open and immediately looks to his left. The seat is empty.

Figures.

“Clint?”

He hears his name but doesn’t know if his voice will work. How long has he been in this bed?

“Barton.”

That makes him pay attention. His eyes open and there is Katie standing next to his bed. He tries to smile. A spike of pain flares in his cheek. Goddamn. That is really broken.

“I knew you would come back to us eventually,” Katie says, sitting lightly next to his undamaged arm. She holds his hand, careful of the broken thumb.

He raises an eyebrow. It’s all he can manage.

“Dani said that your deathglow - or whatever it’s called - dissipated about a week ago, but it was pretty touch and go there for awhile.”

 Jesus.

He wants to thank her for staying by his side when he was bleeding all over the cold floor, when he was dying right next to his best friend, who had no idea. He wants answers to his questions about where he is and the mission and Phil. He wants to sit up and talk like a normal human that is intact and unbroken.

All he can scrape out is, “Nat?”

Katie nods. “She went into some sort of trance soon after you were unconscious. Dani got her back to the ‘jet, where Tony already had Bruce sedated.”

He nods for more.

“She’s back as herself, but she’s not okay. I mean, obviously. You of all people get that,” she pauses to see if he can handle more. “Coulson basically took the HYDRA suit hostage. It was an awful flight back with you practically dead on the floor of the ‘jet and Nat in a nightmare world that Dani created to keep her occupied. Coulson spent the whole time with a gun pointed at the guy but he wouldn’t tell us how to fix Natasha. After we landed I went with you, but Thor told me later that Coulson shot the guy before any S.H.I.E.L.D people could come to take him away.”

He sees Katie swallow.

“Dani kept Natasha in the trance for four days before Bruce and Tony figured out a solution. Turns out they had been testing it on Bruce before she got there and he still had residual stuff in his bloodstream. They synthesized a serum. At least, that’s how they explained it to me,” she finishes with a smile.

Clint tries to say something else but he’s asleep before he can muster the energy.

He wakes again and the pain is there. He guesses it’ll probably be his new best friend for a long time.

He looks to see if anyone is standing guard this time.

It’s Phil.

He feels a sigh escape his lips.

Phil is at his side in a second. Clint wants to pat the bed, invite him to sit like Katie did. But that’s what friends do and he doesn’t think of Phil as a friend anymore.

“How are you feeling?” Phil asks quietly.

“Shitty,” is his honest answer.

Phil doesn’t look pleased at that reply, but his throat is dry and his face still hurts like hell. He doesn’t have a lot of effort to give at the moment. Phil presses the call button on the side of the bed and a nurse joins them with a clipboard. She greets Clint with a smile and welcomes him to Stark’s medical wing. Her bedside manner grates at his nerves but she doesn’t seem to notice or care. She lists off his injuries – all the ones he imagined on that first day and tells him he should expect to be here for at least two more weeks.

Clint looks up at the ceiling and thinks that dying would have been a lot easier than this.

Phil sits back down after she leaves. They don’t speak so Clint decides he should use his valuable time to sleep some more.

“Holy crap!”

Clint wakes with a jolt, which only makes pain spark across his body. He sees Stark at the doorway and wants to murder him.

“Dude your face is one big bruise. Has someone gotten you a mirror yet?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Hold on,” Stark trails off as he walks out the door. He’s back all too soon and then he’s holding a hand mirror, probably pilfered off some poor nurse. He holds up the mirror and Clint sees why he shouted. It’s really fucking ugly.

“Thanks,” Clint manages.

“Anytime, bro,” he says while he slumps down in the chair where Phil had been.

There is a silence, which strikes Clint as odd. From what he remembers, Stark tries to fill every silence with his own voice.

“How’s Nat?” he questions.

“Better,” Tony answers with a frown, “but she’s really beating herself up about everything.”

“Can you tell her to come see me?” Clint asks and he’s proud his voice is holding up.

“I’ll try. No promises,” he smiles.

Another silence.

“Maybe you should wait for the bruises to go away first,” Stark tries.

“She’s seen worse.”

“Has she?”

It’s four more days before Nat comes to see him.

It’s the same day the nurses allow him to sit up for a few hours. He’s sitting there, relishing the new vantage point from his window when he hears her soft footsteps in the hallway. She’s letting him know that she’s coming.

He smiles and for the first time it doesn’t turn into a wince from the pain.

She knocks at the doorframe politely and he waves her in with his free arm.

She takes a few steps in and crosses her arms.

He realizes she is expecting a fight but that’s the furthest thing from his mind.

“Thanks for coming,” he offers instead.

She nods, looking intently at his face. He allows all the emotion to show, inviting her gaze. She is still searching when he pats the empty space next to his hip.

It’s a long three seconds before Nat releases a breath and moves towards him. She hesitates once again when she reaches his side, but after another moment she sits. He wastes no time in reaching out for her hand.

She’s been his rock for so long – since her first day as a member of S.H.I.E.L.D, really. He trusted her even before that, when he dragged her back to Fury demanding that she get the chance to prove herself as an agent. She has reached out to him after every bad mission and was by his side during every long night following Manhattan. She watched from the sidelines while he went through the months of psych evals. He knew she was on the other side of the glass while they interrogated him. His greatest memories of S.H.I.E.L.D are when he and Nat went out under Phil’s command to hit marks and save lives. He wouldn’t trade those days for anything. He won’t let this come between them, not after being a team for so long. He can’t lose everyone.

“I’m sorry, Clint,” she whispers, tightening her grasp. He knows she needs to say it. She wants forgiveness and he gives it without a pause.

“I know. Me too,” he says, drawing her in against his side. It’s a familiar feel for them, his nose pressed against her collarbone. Her hair tickles his ear and it feels so normal. They stay like that for a long time. Too long, the nurse chides when she comes in to check on Clint. Nat pulls herself free. He can see the familiar spark in her eyes underneath all that anguish and Clint is reassured, knowing it’s the slow return of the Nat he remembers. She’s about to leave but Clint need to tell her.

“Nat. You didn’t do this to me. And I’m going to keep saying it, just like you kept telling me that I didn’t kill all those people on the ‘carrier.”

She nods and then slips out the door.

His head falls back onto the pillow with a grunt.

It’s a new day and he wakes to find Phil in the chair again. He’s working on something and hasn’t seen that Clint’s watching him. For the first time, Clint allows himself to dwell on Phil. He still needs answers, but he’s not sure he wants those floodgates to open. He’d rather just read a really long report about the whole situation.

How is Phil alive?

Magic. Life model decoy. Fury.

When did he come back?

Probably the day after hightailing it for Vermont. Fuck you.

Has he been working for Stark this whole time?

Stark infuriated Phil before –

Was Phil ever standing behind that mirror during his months of interrogations?

God, please no.

What now?

Who fucking knows.

Clint is still processing the possibilities when Phil looks up. He can’t decide if he should avoid him: go back to sleep, call the nurse, get up and jump out the window. Or maybe he should just face it. Talk to Phil. He looks to the window and realizes he is pitiful. He clears his throat.

“So, Coulson. Care to explain why you’re here?”

He watches Phil breathe out carefully, unused to hearing his last name from Clint’s lips when they’re not in the field. Still, he’s clearly been expecting this conversation. Clint pushes away the resentment over the fact that Phil has had longer to practice what he is going to say.

“Yes, now that you’re no longer threatening me with an arrow,” he replies smoothly.

Bastard.

“Okay. Enlighten me,” he demands.

“I was pronounced dead on the Helicarrier during the Battle of Manhattan. I woke up some time later in a S.H.I.E.L.D facility. They had kept me on ice while Fury –“

“How much later?” Clint needs to know.

“Fourteen weeks.”

Clint does the math in his head and immediately regrets it.

His heart lurches, “You were alive while I was still working missions.”

Phil nods. Clint looks down to his hands, trying to make sense of it. He sees his fingers, the knuckles almost as white as the sheets. He wants to rip them. No, he really wants to get up, walk across the room and punch Phil. Hard enough for Clint to break another finger or two. He wants to see Phil cry and beg his forgiveness. He wants to walk out of the room and never look back.

He can’t, though. Not in this state. He can’t do any of it. All he has are his fucking words.

“Finish you story, Coulson,” he grits out.

“Fury used an experimental treatment. My heart started beating again about three hours later. He shipped me here for recovery, so I was here during your final mission under Agent Byrne. The only people that knew I was alive outside of S.H.I.E.L.D were Stark, Pepper, and the med staff here. While I was recovering, Pepper offered me a job consulting for the Avengers, which is what Fury was planning anyway. I stayed here and started running missions in January.”

“And how did everyone take your miraculous return from the dead?”

“About as well as you’re taking it.”

Clint lets the scowl show.

“I have a good reason to feel this way, Coulson.”

“Yes, you do. But I have my own reasons, too.”

“What? For not letting me know you were alive?” his voice is getting too loud. He briefly worries about disturbing other patients, but remembers Rogers was long healed before he woke up.

“Yes, Clint! I –“ he falters.

Clint jumps at the opportunity, “Do you know what it was like, Phil? Not knowing you were dead until I mentioned you and Stark had to break the bad news. I had to pretend you were just another agent. Another handler in a long line to bite the dust over the years. Well, we both know that’s not true!”

“You didn’t have to pretend. The rest of the team would have been here for you if you had explained it to them,” Phil reasons.

Clint huffs out a groan, “Explained what? I don’t even know how to explain it! ‘Oh, Phil Coulson died? Yeah, I knew him. He was my handler for almost a decade. I used to sleep in safe houses while he stood guard. I trusted him to have my back. The only original issue Captain America trading card he was missing is number seven in the set of 12, but don’t worry Nat and I found it in Atlanta. We were hiding it in her room to surprise him on his birthday. Maybe now we’ll put it in his coffin! He was a good guy, always level headed and in control. He was in my ear for so many missions and now I’m worried I’ll wake up one day and forget what his voice sounded like.’”

There’s a silence that whittles away at Clint’s frayed nerves.

“Is that what I should have said?” he demands.

Phil doesn’t answer.

“I just can’t imagine a world in which it would be okay for you to not tell me you were alive,” he closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. He’s not going to let Phil see him fall apart. He’s learned to hide it so well.

“Clint, I’m sorry.”

“Good.”

There is a pause, an impasse. Clint can feel that Phil wants to explain it all, give his reasoning behind each decision. But no matter what he says the root of the problem remains - Phil lied.

“I understand you’re upset, but I need you to hear me out.”

Clint opens his eyes, “No. I don’t! You know when it would have been a good time to talk about this? When you were here – five fucking floors below where I was sleeping every night!”

“I was barely alive at that point, Clint!”

“Yeah, but you were ALIVE. I would have been sitting in that chair day and night if you had given me the chance.”

“I know,” he says, looking down at his hands.

“I can’t forgive you.”

Phil freezes and Clint is sure he’s stopped breathing. Phil has seen Clint’s file enough times to know that there are very few people Clint won’t forgive. It’s a short list, containing everyone who’s ever torn his life to shreds. He looks devastated and Clint can’t help it.

“For now,” he adds.

Phil looks back at Clint with a hopeful crease in his brow. That’s all he can bare to take.

“Get out.”

Phil doesn’t come back, at least not when Clint is awake. There are rustles in the dark that sound familiar, but he is still on enough drugs to fall back to sleep without a second thought. Katie comes around a few times and Dani stops by to check in with Thor in tow. They don’t stay long, but he appreciates the thought. The other Avengers visit with food, which Clint is really so grateful for since the nurses insist Jell-O is the way to go until his cheek is completely healed. Natasha stops by frequently, sometimes twice a day. She comes in and perches by his feet, touching him to ground herself. He is glad to help her find her way back.

He gets to leave the med wing six days after he fought with Phil. They move him back to the room he used after Manhattan and he’s surprised that it hasn’t changed. It reminds him to pester Stark about finding a replacement sniper for the team.

He heals really slowly. It is excruciating, especially since his usual cure of whining to Phil is impossible now. He doesn’t even see the man for another week. They pass each other in the kitchen, Clint hobbling on his crutches to get to the coffee pot.

“Can I help?” Phil asks politely.

Clint wants to roll his eyes but his armpits hurt like a motherfucker, so he decides to put up with Phil walking on eggshells around him.

“Sure. No sugar, please.” He sits heavily on the stool at the counter and waits.

Phil pours, knowing which mug is his from the draining board. He hands it over, carefully avoiding brushing Clint’s fingers, which makes him sad, more than anything else. They had been so carefree with their emotions and touches back before Loki put him under the Thrall and everything went to hell. Clint tries not to think about his old life. They’re all different people now, for better or worse.

Phil walks away with a nod and Clint thinks that maybe they’re making the best of a bad situation.

Two weeks later, Pepper knocks on the door to his suite. He invites her in and they sit together on the couch.

“I’d offer you tea or coffee, but I don’t have enough hands to do that. You’re more than welcome to my kitchen, though,” he explains.

“That’s fine. I drink enough coffee as it is. I was wondering if you would want to discuss your future as an Avenger.”

“I’m not doing that anymore, Pepper.”

“I know, and that’s why we’re discussing it. I think there might be some other avenues for you that don’t involve you being on the Avengers team.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Like what?”

“Well, the reports on your mission to Opasquia say that you managed that team with a high level of competency despite it being extremely personal circumstances – not to mention that S.H.I.E.L.D had already failed twice at the same objective,” she replies.

“I wouldn’t really define it as competent. I nearly came home in a body bag,” he smiles.

She chuckles, “Still, a lot of us were very impressed. We were wondering if you would be interested in forming your own team.”

He’s about to interrupt but she plows on.

“It wouldn’t be S.H.I.E.L.D affiliated. You would report to Captain Rogers and the rest of the Avengers as a sort of special ops team, but you would be virtually independent from them. You can pick your squad and choose your missions, as long as you agree to be the point person and come as back up whenever the Avengers call.”

Clint shuts his mouth, which has been gaping gracelessly during her pitch. He thinks about the offer and knows that he wants to say yes. But, there are other things to consider. Mainly it’s the possibility of working alongside Phil again. He’s coming up empty with other real reasons to hesitate. His safety? His now abandoned home in Vermont? They’re both sad excuses for the real problem itching under his skin.

“Sounds like a lot of paperwork. Can I think about it?” he asks instead.

“Of course. Let us know when you reach a decision,” she says as she stands.

“I will. Thanks, Pepper.”

She stops with her hand on the door.

“Let me just say a lot of people have missed having a sharpshooter on the roster, but at the same time they don’t want to look for a replacement.”

He smiles as she leaves.

He spends a whole hour mulling it over before he decides, but he waits another 23 to tell anyone. There really wasn’t the possibility of him turning it down. He missed the pump of adrenaline that can only come during a mission and he’s worried he’ll just fade away into nothingness without it. His whole life has been fueled by the promise of another day in a dangerous situation. He’s used to it now, like a familiar addiction. He should probably quit.

Instead, he goes down the few floors to the Avengers office. The elevator opens and Clint hobbles over to Pepper, who is sitting behind her desk practically yelling into her phone.

“It doesn’t make a difference, Maria!”

Clint catches Phil’s eye from where he is standing. It’s a look he can’t decipher.

“Just text me when you decide, please,” she finishes and hangs up with a flourish.

“S.H.I.E.L.D troubles?” he starts.

“No. Agent Hill can’t decide where we’re going to dinner tomorrow night.”

Clint is a little unsteady at the thought. Are they dating or is it like a “We All Hate Stark” thing. He thought Pepper was dating Stark, but he’s been out of the loop for so long. He wasn’t really in that loop to begin with, actually. Either way, that’s probably too much power at one table. He wants to shudder at the possibilities.

“Have a seat, Clint,” she offers, pointing to the chair across the desk.

“No, I’m okay. I just wanted to come down and tell you I’ll accept.”

Her smile is absolutely radiant, “That’s great news! Have you given any thought to who you want involved?”

He catches her eyes slide to Phil’s side of the room. That’s a pretty obvious hint that he’s going to pretend he didn’t see.

“I was thinking Katie and Dani if they want in. Tigra and Bobbi if Fury is willing to let them out of his sight.”

“All women,” she says, and he can’t tell if she’s approving of his choice or trying to figure out why he’d do that, “Anyone else?” she prods.

Ugh. No. Not Phil. Let it go, Pepper. “It’d be great to have someone that can fly. Maybe Colonel Rhodes if Stark could part with one of his suits. Otherwise that Parker kid would do.”

He hears a scoff from Phil in the corner. Before Clint can stop himself he whips around to face the man he has tried so hard to forget, “What?”

“Nothing, I just know Peter Parker well enough to recognize that you would tear your hair out if you had to command him in a team situation,” he answers.

“What makes you so sure about that?”

“He’s so much like you when you first joined.”

That hits Clint like a punch to the gut.

He is instantly thinking back to those early days when Phil brought him in, rain soaked and completely broken after too many years barely squeaking by as a mercenary. It was easy to decide to stay after finding out the hard way that he had too many morals to work with those people. But mostly he found himself staying because of Phil – the man who not only let him use a bow from day one, but actually encouraged him. Clint isn’t afraid to admit that there haven’t been many men like that in his life. In fact, Phil was the only one that ended up on the positive role model/mentor side of his list. Until Manhattan.

He can’t think of an answer to that so he turns back to Pepper, “Anyway, that’s my list. Let me know if Fury gives his approval.” He turns and starts making his way back to the elevator, trying to move his bum knee as quickly as possible. He gets in and breathes out, but his next thought is interrupted.

“JARVIS, hold the doors.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Close the doors!” he says under his breath between gritted teeth.

“I didn’t catch that, sir.” JARVIS says smartly.

Clint decides that as soon as he is off the crutches he is going into the air ducts to try and find a way to disable JARVIS.

Phil slips in next to Clint and he’s not even pretending to be there for a good reason. He looks directly at Clint as the doors close. Clint wills his face not to flush under the close examination. Well, the bruises would probably hide it anyway. He turns to look at Phil, with his dumb forgettable face and the blue-green eyes that have always seen right through his bullshit. He still feels the urge to lash out and yell, but it’s just a simmer now. What he really wants more than anything is to be the way they were before. He thinks S.H.I.E.L.D must have their hands on some tech that can rewind time.

A fucking time turner, he realizes with a laugh.

Phil ignores Clint’s outburst.

“Your team sounds promising,” Phil begins.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You know you can always come to me for help, right,” he continues. It’s hesitant, which is really odd.

“I said yes because Pepper said S.H.I.E.L.D wouldn’t be involved.”

“I’m not, strictly speaking, a S.H.I.E.L.D agent anymore.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe that. Not after Fury spent all that time bringing you back. He’s gonna get his money’s worth.”

Phil doesn’t argue that point and an uncomfortable silence settles between them.

“JARVIS, this trip seems to be taking significantly longer than my ride five minutes ago,” Clint notices.

“Routine maintenance, I can assure you,” the computer replies.

Clint groans, knowing someone – probably Stark – is meddling in his life.

Phil breaks the silence, “You forgave Natasha.”

It strikes Clint as a weird question and then it hits him that it’s not a question at all. It’s the most childish argument Phil could ever make.

“Yeah. I did,” he pauses, “And you think your next on my list?”

Phil doesn’t say no so Clint looks deep into his eyes, wanting to get this point across without any follow up questions. Ever.

“The difference between you and Nat is that she didn’t know she was killing me.”

The doors finally open and Clint steps out.

Surprisingly, Fury approves of his team. He gets Dani, Bobbi, and Tigra. Katie signs on for part time, since she’s still in school and that makes Clint want to cry. She’s practically a child! He instantly feels so responsible for her and finds himself worrying that she shouldn’t be on his team. He can’t guarantee her safety. Luckily, she calls him an idiot and quickly proves her mettle in the training sessions. Rhodes is also on loan, since he still works for the U.S. government, so they end up having Spiderman as a permanent member of the team.

Phil was right.

The kid is so cheeky and Clint secretly loves it, but as their leader he spends most of his days trying not to strangle him.

They are a really good team.

After two weeks together, Clint has earned the trust of everyone – including Dani’s fucking Pegasus, Brightwind. He remembers the horses from his days at the circus and finds that even flying ones like sugar cubes.

After three weeks, they get their first mission. He flies the team to St. Paul in one of Stark’s upgraded quinjets. He smiles when he looks to his left and sees Dani balanced on Brightwind, yelling through the wind at Rhodes in his own Iron Man suit. They are racing through the clouds and she is most definitely winning. Clint makes a mental note to taunt Rhodes about that later.

They return a day later with bumps and bruises, but all intact. They live all around New York City, but that night they camp out in the Tower to tell the Avengers all about their mission. Tigra embellishes a bit, but Clint won’t tell.

It becomes a habit. Every time either team has a mission they always meet up at the Tower afterwards to check in with the other team. Sometimes there is someone stuck in medical after a fight. In that case, they’ll all take turns stopping in to say hi, or in Katie’s case – bring ‘Get Well Soon!’ balloons. Once, the entire Avengers team is stuck in decontamination following a brush with a nuclear reactor. Clint sneaks a pizza into the air ducts and drops it down to them. They have a pizza party through the glass wall and everyone laughs when Natasha beats Thor to the last slice.

Phil is there sometimes. He sits at the table and laughs at the appropriate moments and helps to fill in parts of a mission when the Avengers mouths are too full of Bruce’s delicious cooking. Clint finds himself staring every once and awhile. He can’t help it. He still misses that voice in his ear.

It is four months before the two teams work a mission together. It’s in New York, of course, and there are probably too many people on the ground. They get in each other’s way, but after a bit of struggle they find their rhythm. They get shawarma afterwards and Clint knows he can’t be there. He catches Nat’s eye and she gets it, nods back at him. He tells Bobbi not to wait up for him and goes in the opposite direction, back towards the Tower. Of course he runs into Phil when he finally gets to the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.” Phil is smudged a bit from being so close to the action.

They move around the kitchen easily, an old habit. Clint eats standing by the sink and Phil sits at the table. After a moment, he decides it would be okay to sit. When he pulls out the chair across from Phil, Clint can see a spark in his eye. It’s happiness, he guesses.

“How did you guys do today?” Phil asks.

Clint swallows through the scalding Chinese food he just reheated, “Good. Any day without Peter ending up in the med wing is a success in my book.” Phil laughs. “I can’t stand his whining,” Clint adds.

“Now you know how I felt all those years when you and Natasha bothered me day and night with your attempts to get out of mandatory medical rest,” he says with a smile.

Clint smirks, thinking of one time when they were both stuck there and had planned an elaborate escape before Phil walked in and sat between their beds, head buried in the mess of a report they had handed in. They stopped trying to break out once he was there.

“Are you enjoying bossing Stark around now?”

“Not at all. There’s no sport in it.”

Clint laughs hard.

“Oh, so it was all a game with us?”

Phil sobers, “No.”

Clint looks up at that, but decides to ignore it and move on, “I hear Stark is thinking of proposing to Pepper.”

They gossip about their teammates for a bit, but soon their plates are both empty. Clint can’t think of anything else to say.

He gets up from the table and grabs Phil’s plate without thinking. He washes them and puts them by the sink to dry. He dries his hands and turns around to find Phil there, in his space. He feels trapped.

Phil notices and takes a step back, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He feels stupid. He knows Phil isn’t a threat, but there is something so deep inside that won’t allow him the trust they once had. It makes his heart ache at the thought.

In a different universe this would have gone a completely different way:

Phil would have come back from the dead and his first thought would’ve been to tell Clint and the others, to let them know that he was still alive. Clint would have spent endless nights by his side, helping him shave in the crappy light of the S.H.I.E.L.D recovery room. He would have thrown a fit, telling Phil how stupid it was to go up against Loki by himself. Phil would’ve replied, saying that he wasn’t thinking straight. He had been compromised right along with Clint. After weeks of itching to leave and a litany of complaints, Clint would have been there to help Phil out of medical and up to his own room at Avengers Tower. Phil would have asked Clint to stay by his side for one more night, saying that he didn’t trust Stark to let him rest. Clint would have seen through it, and he wouldn’t have cared one bit. One night would’ve turned into two, three, a week, months. They would’ve admitted what they should have years ago. They would’ve quietly moved into the same room at Avengers Tower, but JARVIS’s loose lips would’ve given Stark the perfect excuse for a party. Clint would have used the party as the perfect way to gather their friends as witnesses and Phil would have asked Natasha to pick out their rings. They would have spent years curling up at night beside each other in between missions to save the world before Clint decided he was ‘too old for this shit’ and they retired to a small house in the Vermont woods. Phil would have found an ancient issue of TIME magazine with Cap on the cover in a dusty desk. Clint would have gotten it signed and framed for their 10^th anniversary. They would have been by each other’s side until the very end.

This is not that universe.

“Do you think there are alternate realities?” Clint asks with a lump in his throat.

“Yes,” Phil answers immediately, “I’ve seen enough unexplainable crap to believe in almost everything.”

“I hope there are,” Clint admits.

It seems like Phil knows what he’s thinking. Like he used to when they were in the field together. Anticipating every move, every thought.

“Me too,” Phil agrees.

Clint takes two steps forward and reaches out, holding Phil in his arms. They breathe each other’s air for a minute and then it’s over. They both let go.

This is not that universe.

Maybe one day they’ll get to that house in the woods, but Clint thinks that life is one that will go unlived. It died when Loki put that light in Clint’s eyes and again when he took it from Phil’s. But, there is always the potential for a new reality, if not a second chance.