Chapter Text
8.1 Clint
The last weeks of July punch into August with searing heat and an unforgiving sun. New York smells like baked garbage and the streets are empty through the hottest hours.
The blissful air conditioning of the tower does nothing to soothe the tension running through the team.
The kids killed by the creature in Manhattan are long dead now, but their families aren’t.
Police platitudes and misdirection don’t work as well on families that are this well connected. They’ve got the money and resources to make their questions and doubts heard, and that means trouble for Shield.
The threat of the murders hitting the press looms over the ops room.
Clint’s been let out of containment because they haven’t told Shield he’s possessed, and they've been more present in the tower. That doesn’t mean that Shield doesn’t know, though. It’s radio silence from Clint’s golden friend. Clint is at once glad and feeling like he’s missing a limb. The panic of containment has dissipated as quickly as it came, and the time stuck in that room feels limp and pointless now. Apart from pizza time.
They’re scattered around the conference table like dropped bowling pins, not talking. Tony’s bandages are mostly off and he’s just left with bruises and sticky translucent dressings. He’s drinking from a pint glass of coffee that seems to be just ice cubes and espresso, and Clint eyes it covetously. Not that Tony’s been out in the heat - he’s just been using some kind of equipment that has left dirty scorch marks down his cheek and shirt.
He looks sad, tired and lost in thought. Cap keeps darting him glances out of the corner of his eye. Clint hopes he’s wrong, but he’s fairly sure Tony’s flight into the swamp got him dumped by his girlfriend.
Supposedly he’s been fixing the suit while Jarvis runs endless tests on the artefacts, but progress is either slow or non-existent.
No word on Clint’s sticky grenade arrows. He was looking forward to those. He had plans for those.
Clint always forgets that the bulk of a job is sitting around feeling impotent while someone else works. For every hour of action, there’s another twelve of inaction and coffee runs. Everyone has their role. When your role is firepower not brainpower, there’s a lot of waiting. Clint’s spent a lot of his life sitting quietly while smarter people talk over his head.
This morning they’re waiting on a Shield liaison called Coulson who’s going to brief them on how Shield is working damage control. Tony scowled when Coulson’s name was mentioned, which Clint figures must mean he’s either an asshole or doesn’t take Tony’s shit. Or both. Judging by how sourly Stark is stirring his pint of coffee, Clint’s gonna go with both.
There’s a layer of personal awkwardness for Clint right now, too. Barnes has gone from being his new pizza buddy to being just as remote as he always was. He contributes his thoughts to the group more often, but hasn’t spoken to Clint one-on-one since pizza night. Clint was hoping to wear him down enough to be friends. Barnes and him have something in common in that most of their friends and family are dead.
Clint’s even been doing Barnes a favour and squishing down the little flare of attraction he feels for him. It squirms about in Clint’s stomach sometimes, when he catches Bucky at a certain angle, or watches him punch through a combat drone.
He doesn’t think Steve and Bucky have a period-typical attitude to sexuality, but it’s never come up and he doesn’t want to risk it. He knows Steve’s got an opinion or two about how far (not far enough) attitudes on race have changed. Steve woke up and saw half his fellow soldiers had their contributions diminished, ignored. For Steve, they’d been taking bullets for the cause alongside him just weeks ago. For modern America they were a footnote.
No one’s discussed queer rights, or marriage, or whatever. He doesn’t know if anyone’s told Steve and Bucky the ratio of heteros to queer people is much lower than advertised. Clint’s never really considered his sexuality being something that he cares much about. He prefers to think of relationships on a case by case, butt by butt basis. That’s what’s worked for him. He doesn’t mention anyone on TV or movies he thinks is hot right now though, which is unusual for him. He’s usually a lot more open.
It’s not like he’s scared of rejection, or anything.
And besides, he seems to have distanced Bucky without any mention of screwing anyone at all.
Maybe it was the comment about overfeeding the cat that pissed him off. It was just a joke. He thought Barnes was supposed to appreciate Clint’s jokes now!
Clint’s hoping he’s going to have a chance during their afternoon training to inject a little camaraderie back into their relationship. Maybe with an arrow.
Barnes is supposed to be aligning their skill sets so they can switch roles wherever needed. Ha. He’d like to see Barnes shoot a bow from a helicopter with anti-personnel mine shrapnel in his ass. Clint kept the little fellas they pulled out of his left cheek for years. He remembers them every time he pulls at the scars when he works his quads. No super-healing for him.
Barnes is a super-enhanced sniper. Probably the best sniper that ever lived. But Clint’s got something he hasn’t.
Clint’s a lucky son of a bitch.
Sure it doesn’t look great on a resume; but he’s alive and kicking, baby.
Clint’s took more damage than a pre-school’s Duplo box. Yet here he is.
He’s lost in thought, planning his next moves with Barnes and pretending to scroll on his tablet, when the mood in the room suddenly changes.
Clint sees Coulson arrive in his peripheral vision but doesn’t react. When he looks up his stomach flip-flops like a hooked fish.
“Phil?” He squeaks manfully. “I mean - Phil. Uh. Hey, man. Sir. What the f-uh, I mean. Jesus. Any more of my crime buddies gonna come crawling out the paintwork, Cap?”
Phil - if that’s even his real name - interjects before Steve can pull up a response.
“Clint. How are you settling in?”
“Uh. Good?”
Last time Clint saw Phil, Phil was pulling the business end of a steak knife out a Czech gangster’s back.
Phil had said he was a ‘specialised’ merc on contract. He didn’t elaborate, and Clint didn’t ask. They both had the same client, so it never seemed necessary. He’d always seemed a little too high brow for Clint’s kind of crowd. Clint had always assumed that just meant Phil was a hitman. The pricey ones will slum it for a job.
“Perhaps I should introduce myself properly. I am Agent Phil Coulson, Shield liaison to the Avengers Initiative.”
Coulson looks at him expectantly.
“Uh… I’m Clint Barton. I uh. Shoot stuff with a bow?” He shoots a glance over at Cap, silently asking him to throw Clint a fucking bone, here.
Stark snorts from across the table and sucks up a big gulp of coffee. “Oh. Wow. So did Barton get the From Russia With Love routine when you were his talent scout, Coulson? Or was it you that played the bikini model?”
Tony’s voice is light but utterly acidic.
“Morning, Stark. And no. We crossed paths on an unrelated mission.” Phil remains calm, bland. It’s why Clint was so sure he was a hitman. “Not that I wasn’t impressed with Clint’s skill set.” Phil flashes him a brief, fatherly smile and Clint’s heart lights up a little before he stamps it out. He can’t trust that feeling. Always leads him right into the line of fire.
Barney used to give him that feeling, and Barney shot him in the back.
“I think it’s best if we just start now, as my time here is limited. Our main goal right now is to keep this from the press before things get out of hand. The majority of these families have connections beyond what a simple cleanup can accomplish. We have had to adapt our goals.”
Cap looks disapproving, but nods. Maybe his capacity for picking lesser evils is higher than Clint thought. Doesn’t change the fact that Coulson has walked in and taken control of the meeting in less than thirty seconds. Clint is impressed at his iron balls, but also affronted on Steve’s behalf.
“Shield is working behind the scenes on a way to make it financially unwise for the majority of the families to allow the story to break. With the right motivation, they will keep the others in line.”
Steve’s expression goes stormy. He doesn’t protest or criticise; just sets his jaw. The fuck is he even gonna say, anyhow? He knows they’re all in bed with spies and bureaucrats. The Avengers are in their playpen, not the other way round.
The whole set-up makes Clint’s skin crawl too, but he follows Steve’s lead and keeps his mouth shut. He’s used to the people he fucks over being the kind of people that kill kids, not their grieving Moms. Clint never thought he was a guy with principles, but here he is.
Stark raises his his dark brows and hops into the silence. “You’re going to use corporate espionage to keep the families quiet?” He says incredulously. “That’s- I mean, okay. Very practical. But also gross. Just give them an NDA and tell them their kids died in some fucked up way the cops are still working on. Problem solves itself.” Tony crosses his arms over his chest, his expression implying that he considers the topic finished with.
“How can you be sure these people will choose money over their kids? Not every rich asshole is the same.” Barnes adds in, somewhat unexpectedly. His voice is low and even but has a little Brooklyn twang that Clint is really, really into.
He speaks to Coulson, but it’s Steve that Barnes is looking at.
“Wealth and power is a house of cards, Sergeant.” Coulson says, unaffected by the interjected criticisms. “These families have a lot to lose. So do their connections.”
“Speaking of.” He continues, glancing at Stark. “We need someone to find a way to access Mr. Cartwright. We need to obtain more concrete information about the artefact Clint was attempting to steal, and establish if it is similar to the artifacts recovered from the murders. It may also offer us an opportunity to get closer to these families. The world of New York money is a small one. As Tony is already an acquaintance of his brother, we will leave this aspect of the mission to you, Captain.”
Tony rolls his eyes at Coulson’s instructions and Nat is as silent as she’s been the past half hour.
“Seems to me you’ve planned most of it already, Phil.” Steve says, crossing his arms over his massive chest. His forearm covers the Shield logo emblazoned on his shirt.
“While it may not seem like it, I am giving you as much leeway as I can.”
He pulls a thumb drive from his nondescript briefcase and sets it on the glass conference table with a click.
“Additional intel on the Cartwrights and the victim’s families. We’re no longer moving data between Shield and the tower wirelessly.”
“These families are well connected enough to interfere at Shield? ” Nat murmurs, locking eyes with Coulson for the first time. Lots of juicy history there, Clint can feel it.
“No.” Phil says, “But Cartwright is.”
-
“Phil’s pissed off.” Nat says from the Ops room windows. She’s got her arms folded across her chest, gazing out over the city.
“Really?” Tony quips, rolling his chair backwards and making for the coffee cabinet. “Because he seemed so full of jests and good cheer. I saw him almost have an expression.” Tony’s sarcasm lacks its usual jabbering energy. It’s delivered flatly to the room at large.
Nat looks over her shoulder at him, beautiful hair swinging around her cheek.
“Pissed and worried. When he says he’s giving us leeway, what he really means is he’s keeping a lot off the books. That drive probably has the whole picture, rather than the one Shield was going to give us.”
“We really gonna stay in bed with people who spy on each other , as well as us?” Bucky says, “Who clearly have some other shit going on backstage? Who can just… I don’t know, shift a few fuckin’ dollars around and people sideline their dead kids?” Bucky’s jaw is set with disapproval and his grey eyes are still on Steve.
They’re communicating silently, but Clint thinks he gets it.
Bucky is making sure Steve’s reservations are given a voice. He’s being a moral sounding board, encouraging Steve to play devil’s advocate and moral crusader at the same time. Helping Steve get to his conclusions faster.
“I get it, Buck. Every move from now needs to be with the understanding that if Shield is going to pick and choose what they share, so are we.”
This back and forth seems practised. Like it’s been done a hundred times on a hundred jobs. If Bucky is recovering enough to work with Cap like he did in the commandos, it means their team has a powerful new asset.
Every strategist needs a verbal ping pong partner. They need to hear the problems so they can build the solutions. Clint’s just hoping he gets to play too.
“Way ahead of you there, Cap.” Stark says. He sets down a coffee for Steve and Clint. He serves Nat and Bucky a cup each of the gross tea they got at the farmer’s market.
Everyone murmurs their thanks and the room falls quiet again.
“Shield was… disappointed.” Steve says after a while, staring at his reflection on the table. He turns his coffee cup pensively.
Starks eyebrows raise as he takes his seat again. “How so?”
“In me, I mean.” Steve stops his cup and rubs a little at the condensation on the glass. “They wanted something from me. They didn’t get it. I’m pretty sure if they had, there would be no Avengers.”
“They wanted a good soldier. They got a good man, instead.” Nat says from the windows. She’s facing them now, leaning against the glass, and Clint might be imagining it but she looks a little sad. A little proud.
“You think they wanted a loyal super soldier agent? Like a Shield champion, or something?” Clint says.
He doesn’t know why he’s asking. Of course they did.
“They spoke a lot about Howard. He had a big role in Shield. I get the feeling his memories of me weren’t that... accurate.” Steve glances at Stark, but Stark doesn’t shoot out his usual attack. What would have been chum in the water a couple of weeks ago is now nothing but conversation.
“They were. I mean, when I was a little kid they were. They were memories of a real man. But you know how it is, few fingers of whiskey a day, old age, hard work… they change your perspective. You whitewash, you choose to forget what you need to. When I got older they were more stories of a mythical hero. Not memories of a man that did heroic things.”
Tony sighs into his fresh coffee. “Dad looked for you for years. Never gave up. Thought you were what the world needed. He used to say you’d have fixed ‘Nam. Whatever the fuck that meant. Most people don’t know that the bulk of the Stark fortune didn’t come from shooting Nazis. It came from a nuclear arms race. Somehow I don’t think the goals of an arms dealer and yours woulda matched up, Cap.” Tony grins at Steve wryly, and there’s a little sadness to it.
“And it’s Dad’s perspective Shield has had the most of. They asked me, of course. Before telling me they found you.”
“What did you tell them?” Steve says lowly. There’s a kind of intimacy to their conversation, like they’ve forgotten the rest of the team are there. Well. At least Mom and Dad aren’t fighting.
“Nothing. Told them Howard drank enough to think I Love Lucy was a war documentary. Then I started asking why they were trying to psych profile a guy that had been dead 70 years, and the questions dried up.”
Steve clearly doesn’t get the reference, but grins anyway.
“So the Avengers are what, a consolation prize to Shield?” Bucky says, sipping his disgusting tea like it's the ambrosia of the Gods. “The alien shit scared them enough they’ll settle for soldiers they can’t control?”
“Just because they can’t control us doesn’t mean they don’t have our balls in a vice, Buck.” Steve sighs. He looks at Nat a little sheepishly before he continues. “They have everything on us. If the world finds out about this team we’ll be in some concrete box somewhere as soon as-”
Steve falters, realising what he’s said and looking distraught. “I mean- shit, shit Buck I didn’t mean to be so.. so-”
Barnes rolls his eyes. “Don’t have kittens, punk. I’m not gonna cry.” He tries to kick Steve under the table, but can’t reach. Clint kicks Steve for him.
“Ow! Damnit, can we just get back to the matter in hand?”
“Alright, alright.” Tony interjects. “Official Avengers debrief starting now. Everyone put your big boy pants on.” Tony bashes his empty cup on the table like a Judge’s gavel.
Steve rolls his shoulders.
“Right. Our next move depends on this data drive. It’s early in the day. Jarvis, can you sort through this data and give us each a copy? Let’s take a break before training, then go over what Coulson’s given us separately. I want everyone’s independent perspective on the Cartwrights. We’ll strategise in the morning.”
Steve’s swift raise from his seat lets them know they’ve been dismissed.
Time to dig in the Cartwright’s dirty laundry.
8.2 Steve
Steve never ceases to be amazed what Clint has accomplished without any formal training or chemical help.
Steve’s watching the stringy clouds through the glass balcony doors, having attacked a light lunch spread that Tony ordered to the communal floor. Clint had left the tower ‘on business’, pilfering one of Tony’s nicest bikes.
He’s back now, naked apart from a pair of violently purple running shorts. He brandishes a gallon tub of ice cream, so large it needs a plastic handle. Clint’s eating out of it with a serving spoon.
“You have any idea what Shield just paid me, Steve? For doing basically nothing? This was forty nine dollars. ” He shovels a spoon of ice cream into his mouth. “It’s organic. ”
“Living the high life, Barton.” Steve says. “Coulda bought a house and a coupe for that, in my day.”
Clint misses the joke utterly, nodding and putting his ice cream under his arm like a football, heading for the balcony.
His physique is perfect. Honed specifically to his skill set over years of trial and error. Steve’s never seen anyone train as much as Clint does. According to Clint, if he doesn’t train constantly he ‘forgets how to backflip’. Steve figures that means he relies a lot on muscle memory in sticky situations - his drills seem to be focused on shooting from any angle, any time, no matter the footing or space. He’s built his own training equipment out of the modular bits of steel and plastic in the gym.
Steve’s going to get to watch him use them today.
He notices Tony eyeing Clint’s butt dimples from the recliner, where he’s supposedly napping. Interesting.
Tony realises he’s been caught and let’s out a grunt, closing his eyes again.
“How is that even possible without super serum?” He grumbles resentfully, sinking further into his chair.
“Phil says Clint’s been ‘The Amazing Hawkeye’ since he was a teenager. I guess it’s his natural way ‘a being, now.”
Tony darts him a glance, brown eyes twinkling with mirth. “Ya think I should incorporate the leotard into his tac gear?”
“Depends how much of Clint you’re willing to leave to the imagination,” Steve grins, pulling a plate of grapes back into his lap. Every time he thinks he’s done with food, he’s not. He reaches for the cheese board on the coffee table just as Bucky wanders over from the kitchenette.
Clint’s left the balcony doors open, and they blow heat into the room like a blast furnace. He’s trying to get Jarvis to spray him with the garden sprinklers. Steve envies the creative way that Clint uses technology - like he believes anything is possible.
Steve has taken technology mostly in his stride, but for some reason still assumes it has it’s limits. He knows it does, to an extent. But Clint sees technology in a joyful, childlike light that Steve wishes he could do, too.
Jarvis concedes sprinkler control and Clint settles down on a lounge chair to tan under the spray, huge tub of ice cream abandoned by a potted cactus.
Bucky is watching Clint intently. It reminds Steve of how Alpine watches the pigeons on their balcony. Interesting.
Steve doesn’t know if Clint knows how much ogling he’s receiving today. Maybe he’s used to it. Ogling isn’t as frowned on, these days, or Clint wouldn’t be wearing a sixth of an outfit to lunch. A little catholic part of Steve is scandalised, but he ignores it.
Knowing that a lot of modern people were indifferent to queerness gives him a sense of safety he can’t really define. He’s not ready to talk about it yet, though. He has this horrible feeling he’ll say something wrong and offend someone. Make everyone think he’s some closed-minded dinosaur.
Old habits die hard, and silence is one of the hardest habits to kick. He always spoke out on race and gender, in the war. Never this, though. It remained unspoken. Queer people were something that happened in theory, elsewhere. Maybe he didn’t say anything because it was the only issue of inequality that would devastate him. Poverty wasn’t one of them, really, despite growing up on the bread line. Everyone he’d ever known was poor.
He loved Peggy. He had every intention of marrying her and never bringing his other feelings to light.
Did that make him a coward? Should he have done more?
Queer advocacy would have landed him in jail, probably.
It certainly didn’t sell war bonds.
“You’re looking fuckin’ miserable, Rogers. Eat ya cheese board before the cat does.” Bucky quips, sliding the balcony door shut.
“Jesus, it’s hell on earth out there.” He says, mostly to himself. He pulls some apricots out of his pocket and looks at the sky sullenly.
Steve looks around to see if the cat has designs on his Jalapeno cheddar, but she’s slinked out to the balcony to sun herself.
“So uh. We’re just going to let Barton run around free and naked now, despite his little visitor?” Tony says, gesturing at Clint through the glass.
“Clint says he hasn’t heard from him in weeks. Says that he doesn’t think this alien is even there all the time. It jumps in through his dreams, as far as he can tell. Stays a while after he wakes sometimes, but mostly not.”
“Getting access to Clint when he’s most vulnerable. Clint’s dreams being the door he uses - I don’t like it.” Bucky says, throwing an apricot pit to the kitchen trash with flawless accuracy.
“No. Nor do I. Clint also says that only you can see it, when the alien is there. In Clint’s eyes.” Steve raises his eyebrows at Bucky, who shifts a little uncomfortably.
“Yeah. The alien says it’s because I’m brain damaged, or somethin’. Think we should crack the whole team on the head a coupla times, Stevie?”
Steve sighs and doesn’t answer. The way Clint had put it, Bucky can see this alien because his mind has been broken and rewritten so many times. He’s somehow more open to seeing whatever power the alien has. There’s gotta be a way of using that. It’s an asset they can’t ignore.
“Let’s leave the issue, for now. I’m not seeing any danger in Clint being free to roam, for now.”
Steve rubs his hands together.
“Now someone help me with this cheese board.”