Come Undone (3/?, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, PG-13)
Title: Come Undone
Fandom/Pairing: The Avengers, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Spoilers/Warnings: Is there anyone who hasn't seen the movie yet? Well, if not, this is a fix it. Eventually.
Rating: PG-13 (maybe going up to R later)
A/N: I just realized I hadn't been posting this up on my journals. Doh! But it's also up on AO3.
Summary: It was supposed to get easier, afterwards.
Natasha considers turning around, walking back into the office, and killing Nick Fury, but he'd be expecting it right now, and even she can admit that she's being a little uncharitable.
Then again, it had been a rough week even before Coulson called with the news, telling her "Barton's been compromised" with only the slightest tremor in his voice.
The worst part was that even if neither of them said it, and likely never would, both of them knew it would've been easier if Clint had merely been killed. Compromised, though, meant that certain protocols had to be followed, that possible outcomes had to be assessed and preparations had to be made.
How she was supposed to prepare for the very real possibility that she'd have to kill Clint, she still doesn't know, but thankfully, Coulson hadn't given the order. They'd dodged that bullet. But Phil hadn't dodged the spear.
She hadn't told Clint, and the part that she hates, right now, is that Fury honestly hadn't needed to make it an order. She'd been there when Clint had woken up, when he'd asked how many had died- how many he'd killed- and only part of her lack of response had anything to do with pain. They were fighting a war, and they needed him, and he'd been too close to broken already. Natasha's not enough of a romantic to say that death of a beloved tended to reduce the survival instinct, but she's human enough to admit it.
Besides, all told? Coulson had spared her from killing him, and Fury had spared her from destroying him. She's got that, at least.
Pepper's waiting outside the office Fury's commandeered to show her up to her room, and Natasha's trying to stay focused on making small talk as they take the elevator to the 22nd floor. As casually as she can, she asks where the others are staying. Clint's on the other end of her floor, just down the hall, and as Pepper lets her into her own room, she lets herself look. As if the wood and glass door would tell her anything about what's inside, right now.
She surveys the interior- it's not the same one she'd stayed in while infiltrating Stark Industries the first time, but it's similar enough. Instead, she contemplates her ledger. Fury had made her keep secrets she shouldn't have had to keep, and there's a debt, here. She's just not certain if it's Fury's or her own.
---
Clint fucking hates it here.
That's not fair. This place isn't the problem. He just really wants to see Phil, is all. Doesn't even need to talk to him, he really just wants line of sight for a while. Proof of life. Something.
Instead, he's sitting alone in a guest room, halfway up Stark tower. It's only twice as large as the apartment he shares with Phil, and he can't even imagine how expensive it (and the ten others JARVIS had told him about) had been to set up. He's been in places with minibars, before. This one's larger than his entire kitchen, and better stocked.
Stark even has people to do his shopping for him, or, in this case, for his guests. It's the best of everything- even the socks are perfect, and it's irritating as hell, because he's just not in the fucking mood for nice things right now, even if the whiskey's going down well.
He considers pouring himself another, but there'd been two before this one, during the meeting up in the penthouse bar, while Fury had been running them all through the plan.
First thing tomorrow morning, they're breaking Loki out and steal the tesseract so Thor can take both of them back to Asgard for safekeeping. They're going to scatter, then, because Fury insists it's easier to maintain the story that the Avengers Initiative has been shut down if they're not all hanging around.
Clint's already got a ticket for Toronto in his pocket. He leaves tomorrow afternoon.
The fact that he'll be back later that night, once he's let himself get caught on half a dozen CCTV screens before slipping into the jet that Stark's going to have waiting at the airport doesn't make it any more appealing. The others, he knows, are equipped with similar itineraries, and he supposes he should be thankful.
But his phone's on the bed with a message from Fury, telling him that Phil's fighting off an infection right now- they're taking extra precautions, keeping a very close eye on him, but they've got it under control. And even if that's all Fury tells him, it's not the extent of the message.
Because less than 24 hours ago, he'd led the attack on the helicarrier, and the fact that they don't actually have him locked up as an enemy combatant is a miracle in and of itself. He knows better than to push his luck, right now. Fury's updates aren't entirely about keeping him in the loop, or giving him peace of mind. They exist to reduce the chances that he'll actually have order Clint to stay away, or deal with the fallout when the order gets broken.
Clint's not friends with Fury like Phil is; there's too much distance in the chain of command, not enough history, and Clint owes Fury more than Fury owes him. Clint does respect the guy, though, and knows him just well enough to understand that yeah, it's a rope he's being given here, but Fury's trusting him enough not to hang himself with it.
It doesn't mean he's not considering it anyway, because sitting here, in a room that's just too damned nice to feel comfortable, he's starting to feel the walls closing in on him, compressing all of his stray thoughts into an ugly knot that he can't unravel, and it's a little bit like yesterday all over again.
He'd known his thoughts then, too and he'd been equally powerless against them.
He swallows the last of his drink, gets up and pours himself another half-shot. Not enough to get drunk, maybe it'll be enough to let him sleep.
---
It's not. He dozes, he dreams, he becomes a shell of himself with a monster inside, and he's awake again.
He paces, takes a shower to pass the time, and winds up on the tile just gasping, trying to catch his breath, trying to get the shaking under control.
He considers the door, the hallway, all the way down to where Natasha's staying, and can't decide whether he wants to see her or not. He doesn't even know if he's angry with her or if he has a right to be, and knows better than to presume.
He misses Phil. Tells himself he doesn't have to, not so much, anyway. It doesn't change anything.
He lies down again until he gives up, and stares at himself in the window's reflection until the image he's seeing stops making any sort of visual sense and it's like looking at a stranger. When the sky outside starts to lighten, he disappears entirely, but the sun's coming up now and he's got himself under control.
He thinks it'll be okay.
---
He's the first one down in the morning, but nobody here knows him well enough to think it strange. Stark and Banner both look exhausted, Thor and Rogers probably never are, and by the time Natasha arrives, it's time to go.
Stealing the tesseract is easy, but that's not what they're nervous about. Even Thor's looking nervous. He's got this thing, he's carrying, looks like a golden jawbone. It's horrific, really, when Clint sees what it's used for. Loki's not resisting, allows it to be fixed to his face, and then, Thor assures him, he's powerless.
And it might work, for now, but as they're heading out to the park- Ms. Potts, apparently, has voiced major concerns regarding structural integrity of the penthouse deck- Clint can feel Loki's eyes on him, and it's hard to tell, given the mask, but it looks like he's smiling.
Chapter 4
Fandom/Pairing: The Avengers, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Spoilers/Warnings: Is there anyone who hasn't seen the movie yet? Well, if not, this is a fix it. Eventually.
Rating: PG-13 (maybe going up to R later)
A/N: I just realized I hadn't been posting this up on my journals. Doh! But it's also up on AO3.
Summary: It was supposed to get easier, afterwards.
Natasha considers turning around, walking back into the office, and killing Nick Fury, but he'd be expecting it right now, and even she can admit that she's being a little uncharitable.
Then again, it had been a rough week even before Coulson called with the news, telling her "Barton's been compromised" with only the slightest tremor in his voice.
The worst part was that even if neither of them said it, and likely never would, both of them knew it would've been easier if Clint had merely been killed. Compromised, though, meant that certain protocols had to be followed, that possible outcomes had to be assessed and preparations had to be made.
How she was supposed to prepare for the very real possibility that she'd have to kill Clint, she still doesn't know, but thankfully, Coulson hadn't given the order. They'd dodged that bullet. But Phil hadn't dodged the spear.
She hadn't told Clint, and the part that she hates, right now, is that Fury honestly hadn't needed to make it an order. She'd been there when Clint had woken up, when he'd asked how many had died- how many he'd killed- and only part of her lack of response had anything to do with pain. They were fighting a war, and they needed him, and he'd been too close to broken already. Natasha's not enough of a romantic to say that death of a beloved tended to reduce the survival instinct, but she's human enough to admit it.
Besides, all told? Coulson had spared her from killing him, and Fury had spared her from destroying him. She's got that, at least.
Pepper's waiting outside the office Fury's commandeered to show her up to her room, and Natasha's trying to stay focused on making small talk as they take the elevator to the 22nd floor. As casually as she can, she asks where the others are staying. Clint's on the other end of her floor, just down the hall, and as Pepper lets her into her own room, she lets herself look. As if the wood and glass door would tell her anything about what's inside, right now.
She surveys the interior- it's not the same one she'd stayed in while infiltrating Stark Industries the first time, but it's similar enough. Instead, she contemplates her ledger. Fury had made her keep secrets she shouldn't have had to keep, and there's a debt, here. She's just not certain if it's Fury's or her own.
---
Clint fucking hates it here.
That's not fair. This place isn't the problem. He just really wants to see Phil, is all. Doesn't even need to talk to him, he really just wants line of sight for a while. Proof of life. Something.
Instead, he's sitting alone in a guest room, halfway up Stark tower. It's only twice as large as the apartment he shares with Phil, and he can't even imagine how expensive it (and the ten others JARVIS had told him about) had been to set up. He's been in places with minibars, before. This one's larger than his entire kitchen, and better stocked.
Stark even has people to do his shopping for him, or, in this case, for his guests. It's the best of everything- even the socks are perfect, and it's irritating as hell, because he's just not in the fucking mood for nice things right now, even if the whiskey's going down well.
He considers pouring himself another, but there'd been two before this one, during the meeting up in the penthouse bar, while Fury had been running them all through the plan.
First thing tomorrow morning, they're breaking Loki out and steal the tesseract so Thor can take both of them back to Asgard for safekeeping. They're going to scatter, then, because Fury insists it's easier to maintain the story that the Avengers Initiative has been shut down if they're not all hanging around.
Clint's already got a ticket for Toronto in his pocket. He leaves tomorrow afternoon.
The fact that he'll be back later that night, once he's let himself get caught on half a dozen CCTV screens before slipping into the jet that Stark's going to have waiting at the airport doesn't make it any more appealing. The others, he knows, are equipped with similar itineraries, and he supposes he should be thankful.
But his phone's on the bed with a message from Fury, telling him that Phil's fighting off an infection right now- they're taking extra precautions, keeping a very close eye on him, but they've got it under control. And even if that's all Fury tells him, it's not the extent of the message.
Because less than 24 hours ago, he'd led the attack on the helicarrier, and the fact that they don't actually have him locked up as an enemy combatant is a miracle in and of itself. He knows better than to push his luck, right now. Fury's updates aren't entirely about keeping him in the loop, or giving him peace of mind. They exist to reduce the chances that he'll actually have order Clint to stay away, or deal with the fallout when the order gets broken.
Clint's not friends with Fury like Phil is; there's too much distance in the chain of command, not enough history, and Clint owes Fury more than Fury owes him. Clint does respect the guy, though, and knows him just well enough to understand that yeah, it's a rope he's being given here, but Fury's trusting him enough not to hang himself with it.
It doesn't mean he's not considering it anyway, because sitting here, in a room that's just too damned nice to feel comfortable, he's starting to feel the walls closing in on him, compressing all of his stray thoughts into an ugly knot that he can't unravel, and it's a little bit like yesterday all over again.
He'd known his thoughts then, too and he'd been equally powerless against them.
He swallows the last of his drink, gets up and pours himself another half-shot. Not enough to get drunk, maybe it'll be enough to let him sleep.
---
It's not. He dozes, he dreams, he becomes a shell of himself with a monster inside, and he's awake again.
He paces, takes a shower to pass the time, and winds up on the tile just gasping, trying to catch his breath, trying to get the shaking under control.
He considers the door, the hallway, all the way down to where Natasha's staying, and can't decide whether he wants to see her or not. He doesn't even know if he's angry with her or if he has a right to be, and knows better than to presume.
He misses Phil. Tells himself he doesn't have to, not so much, anyway. It doesn't change anything.
He lies down again until he gives up, and stares at himself in the window's reflection until the image he's seeing stops making any sort of visual sense and it's like looking at a stranger. When the sky outside starts to lighten, he disappears entirely, but the sun's coming up now and he's got himself under control.
He thinks it'll be okay.
---
He's the first one down in the morning, but nobody here knows him well enough to think it strange. Stark and Banner both look exhausted, Thor and Rogers probably never are, and by the time Natasha arrives, it's time to go.
Stealing the tesseract is easy, but that's not what they're nervous about. Even Thor's looking nervous. He's got this thing, he's carrying, looks like a golden jawbone. It's horrific, really, when Clint sees what it's used for. Loki's not resisting, allows it to be fixed to his face, and then, Thor assures him, he's powerless.
And it might work, for now, but as they're heading out to the park- Ms. Potts, apparently, has voiced major concerns regarding structural integrity of the penthouse deck- Clint can feel Loki's eyes on him, and it's hard to tell, given the mask, but it looks like he's smiling.
Chapter 4