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When Clint doesn't appear for 48 hours, Natasha doesn't bat an eye. In the scale of things, this is not even the longest she's lost him in a one story building so when Steve starts getting antsy she just takes him aside and feeds him a few Clintastophies relating to being social. It's not that either of them are anti social, she tells him over a cup of coffee. It's just that it's important that they train to be alone.
It's an excuse. A blatant one. Why Clint is hiding, flitting around in the shadows of their lives, is that he's waiting to fall. They both suffer from social anxiety, a product of childhoods where the best moments were spent alone. Hawkeye and Black Window are team players and committed to working with SHEILD and the Avengers. Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton dream of disappearing with duffle bags of cash, fake passports and trackers dug out of their arms. They've both done it. Twice. A month or two down the line, Phil Coulson shows up at their door asking for a favour and their opinion of dealing with people will have swung around. They'll be people people again and although they'll make a fuss they'll trail behind Phil to the waiting helicopter, read though the mission briefs and share little smiles. Back in the game.
"I just want to make sure he's adjusting to being on the team. His integration wasn't great and I don't want him to think that we don't trust him." Steve is thoughtful, meeting her eyes without any signs of ulterior motives. She can read most men like a book and Steve is a giant billboard to her. "I know Agent Coulson is a friend..."
She raises her hand to stop him, listening to the noises around for telltale signs that Clint is listening in. She hasn’t been tracking him, giving him the space and trust he needs, but she knows he’ll use any space he can fit in and there are some conversations she doesn’t want to be pushed into within his hearing.
"It's experimental. He's worried. I know we're all worried, but Barton and Coulson have known each other for nearly a decade. Just give him some time...he's had a hard week." Steve is nodding along, rueful smile on his face.
"If there's anything..."
"Time. Give him time. You know Hawkeye but you don't know Clint."
A decade down the line, and she knows that's still the problem. There are three people in SHIELD who know Clint: herself, Phil and Nick Fury. Defining his relationship to Fury is easy They respect each other, understand each others weaknesses and Fury is currently winning 287 to 280 games at online chess. Defining his relationship with her is complicated. They had sex, laughed and decided never to do it again, and now find themselves wearing ratty sleepwear bitching about anything half the nights of the week. Defining Phil and Clint is like trying to dam up the Ganges with toothpicks: completely impossible to explain. They don’t date, but they have a standing Wednesday night chinese food and beer agreement. They don’t sleep together, but wear any of each others clothes that will fit. They have running jokes, secret smiles and can make a half dozen favourite meals for each other. As well as she knows Clint, as intimately as she knows Clint, she knows she can't be anything but temporary for him and what Clint craves is stability. Quietly, scarily competent Phil Coulson may never marry him but what he's given Clint is far more important. He'd give him a safety net to fall into when people get too much, the job gets too much and he just wants to hide.
She doesn't want to think about what will happen if Phil doesn't make it. Item 87 is risky and will take another four days to knit Phil's lung and heart back together and she doubts they'll see Clint until then. The hack that Tony made into the SHIELD medical surveillance shows progress is being made, a little bar literally saying how long until they know if the promises Thor made are true. Clint is holding it together by hiding himself away, waiting to fall until he his a net, but she’s left wondering if that bar is moving fast enough.
* * *
"He's stealing cold medication." It's a day later and Natasha is running on the treadmill, as captive as possible, when Tony confronts her. He's covered in motor oil and sweat, t-shirt stuck to body in more places than not and is still running on a life high from a week ago. She respected the hell out of him for what he did then, but the work he's done in the last week for repairing the tower and Manhattan as a whole has cemented her opinion. Yeah, he doesn’t sleep and she wouldn’t take back a word she wrote in her evaluation of him, but that just means he fits in with them. In deference, she slows her pace. "Do I have to worry about finding his body while we're doing renovations?"
"No. If he needs medical help he'll come out." Tony grimaces at her words.
"I didn't like him rattling around in the vents while this is a construction zone, and if he's sick I like it even less." It's enough to give her pause for thought.
"What did he take"
"Bottle of sudafed, pack of Kleenex and a three pack of lunch box orange juice cartons. JARVIS says he's taken three spare blankets as well."
"It just sounds like a cold"
"Common side effects of sudafed can include, and I quote, dizziness, headache, nausea, nervousness, restlessness, sleeplessness, stomach irritation and difficulty urinating. I don't like it."
“I can’t help but notice that this is a bit pot, kettle, black, Stark.”
“Ah,” he wiggles a finger at her, “the difference is that I’m not climbing through duct work on closed levels and have adult supervision. Well, Pepper is making me sleep for 20% of the day.” She slows down to a walk. It's a cold, she knows it is, but it's Clint and he's had over half those side effects since the Chitauri. The mantra of what would Phil do? has been ringing through a lot of heads lately and it bounces around hers.
"Find him. I'll...find him. I'll find him, Stark."
"You don't have to find him," Tony taps a piece a paper on the dashboard. "He's in the back half of the 72nd floor, between the boxes and the pallets. He's not sleeping, but he hasn't moved in a few hours. And it’s Tony, especially to people who have shut down wormholes slow enough to let me fall back through them."
"Thanks, Tony." He gives her a sloppy salute and pushes off the machine. "I mean that. Clint and I are just not used to...this."
"I know how SHIELD treats the nice things it has. You guys are lucky to have Agent on your side and until he's back on his feet I've got to make sure someone has your back. I don't want to tell him we lost Barton anymore then you do."
* * *
She finds him exactly where Tony said he'd be, curled up in a blanket cocoon with a pallet pulled haphazardly on top of him. The opposite wall had taken a six foot blast and at this height there is a cool breeze blowing even in the mid afternoon.
"That pile of laundry and building material doesn't look like my partner. It doesn't smell like my partner. But yet, the AI we now live with says it's my partner." She's completely unsurprised to be met with silence as she edges closer. "Clint?" Touching him before he acknowledges her is a line she's loath to cross, even now. Let sleeping agents lie unless they’re about to die. She doesn’t think Clint is going to die, not right there, not right now. The pallet next to her foot is easy enough to crack and she’s pleased it generates the reaction of the pile of blankets shifting.
“Hey Nat, the place isn’t really ready for visitors. Come back in a few days.” His voice is groggy and clogged, sluggish.
“You know I can’t do that. Come on Clint, make this easy and come downstairs.” The silence, save for the whistling wind speaks volumes. “You don’t have to go to medical, but you’ll be more comfortable.”
“Nat, the place isn’t ready for visitors.”
“You’re not ready for people, I understand.” She risks putting her hand under the layers of blankets and touches a hot bicep, following him as he flinches away and settles. “If you stay here, Stark is going to physically move you. It’s structurally unsound. I’m just here to give you your options.”
“No medical.” She has to smile at that. Clint’s love of medical is so legendary they keep lollypops and the newest R&D tech on hand to placate him.
“No medical. But probably some Lipton soup and crappy television. You were run down before we got you back, and you’ve not stopped since.”
“I don’t like it.” Trust Clint to sum everything up in an easy sentence. The change, the lack of information on Coulson, being sick and the total uncertainty of how the pieces will fall.
Black Window and Hawkeye are glass half full, Natasha and Clint are glass half empty.
“The Avengers Initiative is my chance to come in out of the cold and your chance to be more than an eye up high. I know you’re tired, I know you hate change and I know you wish he was here. It’s ok to be upset about it, but you can’t do it here. We have a mission, Clint. He fought for us to be part of this and we owe it to him to make it work.”
She keeps her hand on his bicep as he rolls over onto his knees and leavers himself upright, leaving a trail of kleenex and blankets behind him. One of the blankets is still wrapped around him, a quilt that looks old and well worn.
“You look like shit and you smell twice as bad, Hawkeye.” He really does. Blotchy face, snotty nose, unfocused eyes and that sweaty smell only sick people can quite get. He’s radiating stress and strain, like a broken bone that’s been field set. He’s still beautiful to her, even dirtier than he was after the Manhattan battle. He was her fierce, beautiful hawk as he walked through the disaster zone towards the SHIELD field command post on that day, Cheshire cat grin as he nonchalantly pulled arrows out of Chitauri bodies. She smiles at the memory and he smiles back at her, bringing her focus back on the present.
“You know, you didn’t have to go through the whole speech for me. I’d run out of kleenex an hour ago and was just trying to decide if I should keep using my sleeve or move.”
“Jerkface.” She bumps his shoulder lightly even as she pulls him up to stand next to her. They make their way slowly but surely to the elevator and she pushes the button for the fifteenth floor. It’s temporary accommodation, but it’s still far better than they had on any base. They make it to Clint’s door and there are honest to god post it notes attached to it, gentle requests from Steve to take it easy and more aggressive notes from Tony involving putting sleeping gas through the vents. They make Clint chuckle as they push open the door and she pushes him towards the shower, ignoring his groans.
“I just want to go bed, Tasha.”
“Shut up. You know you’ll feel better if you shower.” She helps him peel the clothes off him, it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, and sits on the toilet seat as he methodically washes. The grime slowly washes away, but she can see the tension in his movements and knows the worry will still be on his face. The room is fogging up as she opens to cabinet (neatly stocked with more sudafed and cold supplies, she makes a note to thank Pepper) and he steps out of the shower. He wobbles slightly but catches himself on the wall and waves off her look of concern. With a sigh she pours a capful of the medicine for him, watches is disgust as he blows his nose a half dozen times and steers him out into the bedroom, letting his own momentum take him to the bed.
“JARVIS, reduce lighting by 90%” She has to haul Clint the last few feet up to his pillow, but he’s pilant in her arms and when his hand lightly grabs her wrist she doesn’t hesitate to follow it’s pull downwards. He’s radiating heat as she curls her back to his chest, his arm settling over her waist and his head resting lightly on top of hers. “Isn’t this better than being alone under some blankets in a blown out room?”
“Yeah. It’s better. You make it better.”
“But?”
“I don’t know.” The sadness breaks through his voice and he sighs.
“He’ll be fine.”
“How do you know? All we know if that they’ve got some tech and they’re going to try it and....” She sits up abruptly and turns over to peer down at him.
“Haven’t you been watching the feed?” He frowns, and that’s all the confirmation she needs. “Tupoy, this is what happens when you isolate yourself. JARVIS, please bring up feed 843-PC and stream it onto the window.” Clint’s eyes flicker towards the window and he’s captivated by the sleeping image of Phil Coulson, 78% recovered.
“Stark?”
“Stark. He’s making steady progress. If you’re good and rest up, you’ll probably be able to come with us to lurk with intent when he reaches 98%.” She lies back down, curling into her previous position. Behind her Clint’s breathing steadies, but he still shivers when he wraps himself around her.
“Are you going to say something about how if I’d just stayed down here and been part of the team the last few days I would have known about this feed?”
“No, Phil can deal with that.” She can feel his smile through the top of her head. “They’re good people. They want to get to know you.”
“Ok. Breakfast tomorrow.” His voice is getting sleepy already as they watch the mesmerizing raise and fall and Phil’s chest on the window across from them.
* * *
She wakes to find the bar at 84% and Clint still transfixed by the image, his hand absentmindedly playing with one of her curls.
“Feeling better.”
“Yeah, much. I want waffles.”
It’s a relief to see him get to the floor in a fluid motion and start rooting through the dufflebag by the foot of the bed. It’s an even bigger relief when he trails her to her room and onwards to the communal breakfast area. It’s practically noon but their breakfast shuffling draws out Pepper, who is charmed by a suddenly bashful Clint, then Tony, Bruce and Steve. It’s all slightly halting until Bruce and Natasha get the waffles on the table and Clint absentmindedly starts building a little waffle tipi.
“That is the single most fucking fantastic use of waffles I’ve ever seen.” Tony tells him, gleefully eyeing his own plate. Ten minutes minutes later Pepper and Natasha declare Steve’s Stark Tower, complete with Chitauri damage thanks to some creative nibbling, the winner of the waffle building competition. Tony is irate at being disqualified due to using a foreign object (a toothpick) as the hinge for his waffle cabin door. An hour later and she sees Clint faltering a little, longer pauses talking and methodically shoving more bacon into his mouth.
“Come on Clint, I’ll find you a book or something.”
“A book?” Tony snorts and gets up, stepping out of the room before coming back with a Stark Tablet and putting it in front of Clint. “It’s got a kindle mode on it, if you’re desperate, but there’s a couple of platform games, and a few castle defence ones plus, you know, the Internet so you can download anything you want. Phil Coulson steam is a double tap on the top left corner.” Tony leans over Clint’s shoulder to demonstrate and Natasha is about the warn him but her words are needless. Clint is happily poking away and asking questions. Apparently medical has had it right all along, the way to get her partner to lower his defences is food he likes and shiny new technology.
“Great Tony, just what he needs. A new toy to keep him up all night.” Clint just grins at her and pushes the chair back.
“Well, it’s been nice to meet you guys again. This is a good cafe? Same time tomorrow? Ok.” He’s out of the room before he’s stood up, leaving slightly bemused expressions behind him.
“I like him! He can stay!” Tony announces, shattering the quiet. Pepper rolls her eyes.
“I just can’t believe that he didn’t have a heart attack when I turned into the Big Guy, given that he had no idea who I was.” They all laugh at Bruce’s comment and Steve flashes her a genuinely relieved smile before she excuses herself. She stops by her room to grab her own Stark Tablet before heading on to Clint’s.
“I said that the kitchen was a good cafe and we should meet there at the same time tomorrow.” She laughs at him. They’re sprawled on his bed, a fresh pack of kleenex next to him and Phil watching over them both. He was playing chess when she arrived, patiently waiting Fury to make his next move. She’s glad they’ve gone back to their game, thrilled to briefly see a few words in the in game chat mode, but Clint tells her that Fury likes to think a lot about his next move and minimizes it quickly. It turns out that two Stark Tablets are better than one when it comes to games, and they’ve been besting each other at a Mario Kart rip off for the last hour.
“It could have been worse.”
“Yeah, not really.” He sends a purple shell into her car as he replies and she ricochets into the wall with a hiss. “Hawkeye wouldn’t have said something like that.”
“No, but Hawkeye wouldn’t have said anything at all.” He leans back against the headboard, eyes shut, and she watches her little cart race past him.
“Who should I be when I get to see him?”
“Who do you want to be?”
“Someone he’s proud to know, proud to have trained and work with. I don’t want him to think I’m the weakest link.”
“You know you’re not. What happened to you, with Loki? It would have happened to anyone who stood between him and his goal.”
“Except for Phil. He didn’t stop at a light tap there.” There is a tired smile on Clint’s face and his eyes are still closed. “I guess that bastard really did know something about hearts.”
“Have you looked at the list?”
“You know I have.”
“And?”
“Objectively, I know it isn’t my fault. I know SHIELD doesn’t blame me, I know the Avengers don’t blame me, I know Phil won’t blame me.”
“But non-objectively?”
“I wouldn’t trust me. I wouldn’t want to work with me. That’s why I wanted to be alone, Nat. Because I can’t trust myself and I don’t know what to say and it’s easier to be a set of objective eyes, it’s easier to be Hawkeye then it is to be Clint right now. He’s the weak link.”
“Do you know,” she says after pause, “ when Phil called me to tell me you’d been taken his exact words were Barton’s been compromised. Not Hawkeye, Barton.”
“Natasha...” She pulls him down, wraps her arms around him and holds him close.
“I think that answers who he’d want there when he wakes up.”
“It can’t go anywhere. You know it can’t.”
“Not with Hawkeye. But I’m pretty sure Clint Barton has a chance.”
* * *
To his credit, Nick Fury isn’t even remotely surprised when the they show up in the medical wing of the downed helicarrier.
“Two at a time. I don’t care which two. As soon as he starts getting tired you are all getting the hell out of my hair again.”
“Agreed.” Tony replies and Fury fixes him with a stare.
“I’m so glad you agree to the conditions of seeing my agent on my helicarrier that you weren’t invited to.” She sees Clint’s hand flex, but thankfully Steve beats him to the punch, at least metaphorically.
“I don’t think he’s your agent anymore, do you?” Fury nods his head once in a silent acknowledgement of what they know is all true. Phil will belong to the Avengers more than SHIELD now.
“We’re taking him off the drugs, Sir. Someone recognisable would be good.” The doctor smiles and Clint and Natasha follow him without a word. The room is intensely familiar to them both and they slip to the left side of the bed, as out of the way of the machines as possible. “We’ve removed the breathing tubes and restarted his heart. It’s just a simple case of disconnecting this artefact now and, if everything is good, he should wake right up.” Alien tech makes it all seem too easy, too sudden, so they’re not expecting it when the doctor flips one switch and Phil Coulson’s eyes bolt open. Moment of truth, she tells herself as she pushes Clint forward and uses her hip to pin him to the side of the bed.
“Hi Phil, Sir. I watched you while you were sleeping. I think we’ve both learned a valuable lesson about stepping in front of aliens with glowing blue spears and I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee with me.” There a second of stunned silence before Phil starts laughing, laughing and grabbing at Clint’s hand with his own.
“Jesus, Barton, I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re back to normal or not.” Clint melts into the chair and Tasha satisfies herself with gently squeezing Phil’s knee and the smile she gets in return.
“Just wanted to make sure you’re ok, Coulson. It’s two a time, well, probably one at a time now and I know Fury is pacing outside to brief you.” She leans down to kiss him briefly on the forehead. “Don’t do it again.”
“Fingers crossed” he replies, but can’t physically cross his fingers because they are all caught up in Clint Barton hands. She slips out of the room and straight into Fury.
“Sir.”
“Agent.”
“Any chance of giving them a few more minutes, Sir.”
“Two.”
“Thank you, Sir. Oh, and Sir...I’d knock.” He laughs at that, a full on laugh and she doesn’t know where it comes from. It’s been easy to forget these last few weeks that Nick Fury is human, that Phil Coulson is that his friend and that he values all his players, from pawn to queen. He likes to think a lot about his next move. She doesn’t envy the choices he’s had to make and how he had to make them.
“Good advice, Agent Romanoff.”
She makes her way to reception, knowing she’s going to have to play a game of twenty questions before she even makes it to seat, and gently takes a single toothpick from the nurse station. She lets it roll around in her fingers, the smooth edges contrasting with the sharp points and she thinks the impossible might just happen. Thirty questions and a cup of coffee later, Steve ask the only question that matters.
“Do you think they’re going to be ok?”
“With enough toothpicks and enough time, yeah, they will be.” Steve frowns her her.
“I don’t get that one.” She pats him on the knee.
“Don’t worry, Steve. Some things are just impossible to explain unless you’re there.”