Archive of Our Own

Clint is Sick and Grumpy

Clint did not feel well. He thought he was doing a decent job of hiding that fact until he heard the unmistakable sound of his name coming from the person he was most hoping to fool.

“Agent Barton!” Coulson’s voice rang out down the hall and a few startled people even stopped to look at him before moving on.

“Yed, Sir,” Barton answered.

“I’m not sure you should report for training today,” Coulson said.

“Ah’m fined,” he answered, though he was hardly convincing anyone and he knew it.

“Barton, you are not ‘fine.’ Go home and go to bed.”

“Ah’m going to practicthe. Practicthe will make me feel bedder. Look, Ah justh need to work through it.” He thought he’d almost convinced Coulson when something betrayed him. He wasn’t sure if it was the world that swayed or him – though he expected it was him since he was just so damned tired – but Coulson could see Clint was not on the level.

“Bed. Now.” Coulson must have known Clint was about to interject again because he added, “That’s an order.”

“Yed, Sir,” he said with regret.

Barton made his way through the halls back towards his apartment snuffling along the way. He almost tripped but he couldn’t see that there was anything to trip over so he kicked the ground for being mean a few times before moving forward again. He hated being sick. He felt useless and being sent home was proof that he was useless. He felt like punching something, but a target hadn’t yet presented itself so he kept walking, keeping an eye out for something that needed punching.

He was nearly to the elevator that would take him up to the floor where his apartment was when he half ran into a water fountain. It just clipped his side, but it was the perfect excuse to let off a little steam. Clint punched the side of the thing – “Fuck!” and immediately regretted it.

“Damn!” Clint appeared to have scraped his knuckle a little and not done nearly enough damage to the water fountain to make it worth it.

“You know that water fountain did not do anything to you,” a familiar voice came from behind him. Clint grunted in response, but he was still examining his hand. He was thankful he hadn’t punched it any harder.

“Are you okay?” He grunted again. Maybe if he pretended he could ignore her, she would go away. What the hell was she doing here anyway? He knew she worked with Jane and had done so for a while now. Apparently she’d started working with Jane as a college student and Jane had claimed she was ‘indispensable’ and so she was part of the Jane package and if SHIELD wanted Thor, then they wanted Jane hence Darcy came too.

Clint didn’t like it. Jane was one thing, he supposed; she was practical (minus her insistence on Darcy), incredibly brilliant, and doing a lot of work on her own as well was with Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark. Darcy was untrained. Darcy was not a scientist, unless you counted her studies in anthropology to go with her Political Science major which, for the purposes of SHIELD, he did not. Darcy was the kind of person he was going to get killed protecting and she didn’t belong in a place like this. Worse than that, she was distracting.

“Look, Miss Congeniality, you just punched a freaking water fountain, maybe you could use you words, you know just one or two, to let me know if I should find a medic for your hand or if I should just let you continue to bleed on the water fountain.”

“I’m fined,” he ground out before he started sniffling again.

“You’re sick,” she said.

“They should have you doing surveillance.”

“Men,” she said, shaking her head, “biggest bunch of babies.”

“Hey!” he started to protest, but she interrupted him.

“Gimme your hand,” she said ignoring his protests and pulling his hand to her. She carefully turned his hand over in hers. “Where’s your apartment?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“Oh come on, I know that there is no way that Coulson is letting you work in this condition.”

“I can make id on my ownd,” he said, very concerned now that she was going to follow him home.

“You’re a grown ass man, I should certainly hope so. You going to tell me or not?”

“22B,” he said before he’d realized what he’d done. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Obviously whatever he had was infecting his brain.

“Are you going to punch any more defenseless water fountains?”

He considered arguing with her about whether or not the water fountain was defenseless since it had done a good job of bruising his hand, but decided against it. The floor didn’t seem to be staying in the same place, which was weird, because he was pretty sure that the floor didn’t normally move. “I won’t punch anything else,” he answered finally. He blinked a few times. He thought the walls might be moving too which also seemed wrong. He frowned.

“Dude, you are so not okay,” she told him.

“Did you just call me ‘dude’? How old are you anyway? Twelve?”

“You know that wall is supposed to be white, but it could take a lesson from your color right now. I’m going to come with you. No arguing or I will call Coulson and tell him you’re disobeying orders,” she said before one eyebrow quirked up as she waited for his answer.

“How did you know he ordered me to go to bed?” he asked, confused and surprised that she knew.

“I didn’t for sure, but thanks for confirming,” she said, smiling. Damn her! It was the oldest trick in the book and he’d fallen for it. “Come on, big boy,” she said. He realized she was still holding his hand when she dragged him down the hall to the elevators.

“Uh, ‘big boy’? Really? Aih am not five.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not twelve,” she gave him a disapproving look and then proceeded to drag him onto the elevator and press the button for the twenty-second floor.

They didn’t speak, well except for the few times that she said “Bless you” after each time he sneezed and after a few of his coughs as well which she either mistook for more sneezes or decided he needed the blessing for. By the time they got off the elevator he had resigned himself to the fact that she wasn’t going to go away until she was damned good and ready and there was really nothing he could do about it.

He let himself into his apartment and was not surprised to find her barging her way in after him.

“Go lay down,” she said as she began poking her head into his rooms. He could feel his hackles rising at her invasion of his apartment.

“Whad are you doing?” he asked her.

“Just trying to figure out where you would keep your first aid kit and where your kitchen is.”

“I really don’d need your help with mah hand, thank you verdy much,” he said.

“Fine,” she said, “where’s your kitchen?”

“Whad?”

“Agent Barton, unless your head cold has given you head damage, you heard and understood what I said. So please answer my question.”

Clint pointed and didn’t bother to say anything else before wandering into his bedroom. He considered poking around in one of his many closets for some basic first aid stuff but only because she’d been so adamant. Frankly she’d been overreacting as he’d barely scratched his hand and most of what he had was for much worse injuries than this.

He might not keep a lot of furniture, but he did keep a lot of weaponry and medical supplies in his closets. His job demanded he was prepared. He rinsed his hand off in the sink and then went to bed. He pulled his shirt over his head as he worked off his shoes. Shit, he thought when he realized his normally perfect balance was way off and he nearly fell over. He decided he’d better sit down to finish taking off his shoes. He just managed to get off his belt and throw it in the floor before the dizziness got to be more than he could deal with and he just curled himself into his bed.

Darcy came in then and he wanted to be upset about her presence or annoyed by the fact that she was yet again rifling through his stuff and his life, but he was so damned tired and he hurt everywhere.

He must have fallen asleep because he was suddenly being nudged by a soft hand on his shoulder. He dragged his hand over his face, evidently using the one he’d used to punch the water fountain because he found it bandaged and wrapped in gauze. He stared at his hand in confusion.

“I couldn’t find any normal Band-Aids. You have an entire hospital supply closet and no Band-Aids. What is that about?” Darcy asked. She was still in his apartment then. Why was she still in his apartment?

“The kind of injuries I get are either too small to be bothered with, like this one for example,” he bit out, “or are in need much more than a Band-Aid will cover.” His congestion was better, but he wasn’t sure it was cleared up enough for her to be able to hear the aggravation in his voice. Stupid cold.

“I take it you’re a little peeved that I’m still here,” she said.

“Why are you still here?” he asked.

“If you won’t take care of yourself someone else is going to have to do it for you,” she said.

“Don’t you have work to do?”

At his question, a smile curled around the edges of her mouth and he knew that what she said next was not going to make him happy.  “You are my work,” she said.

“What?” He was certain that the pain in his head (and it really was everywhere in his head) was making him hear that wrong.

“I talked to Coulson and he’s agreed that you need some supervision.”

“I don’t need a babysitter!” he protested.

“So he’s asked Jane to let me keep an eye on you, make sure you stay in bed until you’re better.” She was ignoring him again.

“I am better. Can’t you hear how less congested I am?” It was true, he could breathe much easier. Okay, he was still coughing some and again there was that pain permeating through his skull and face. It was weird because it wasn’t all the same kind pain though the different types muddled together. There was thundering in his brain, stabbing in his face, and an aching in his ears. He closed his eyes and tried to just enjoy the fact that he could sort of breathe through his nose for the first time in a while.

“Yes, well that’s the medicine in the vaporizer,” she said, “and you’re welcome.”

“I can take care of myself,” he said, annoyed that she had already proven she could help him and that he didn’t have a better comeback.

“Right, which is why you’re really going to hate this next bit,” she said, arms crossed over her chest. She really shouldn’t do that, it brought too much attention to her – Clint looked away.

“What’s next?” he said, feeling a little resigned.

“I asked a medic to come up.” Clint’s only response was a long groan. “He’ll be here shortly which is why I woke you up.”

“I don’t need a medic for a cold.”

“No, you wouldn’t need a medic for a cold, but I don’t think that’s what this is. You’re too tough a guy to be such a big baby over a cold,” she explained.

Clint groaned again, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult and decided he couldn’t be bothered to be insulted or complimented and he’d just stick with being annoyed.

“There he is,” she said in response to something he didn’t hear. “I’m going to get the door. Move from this bed and so help me, I will get my Taser and don’t think I won’t use it on you and watch TV while you drool into your pillow.” She gave him a pointed look before leaving. Her words sounded familiar, like a story he’d only half listened to, but he was too foggy to put it together at the moment.

She didn’t really need to worry. Clint was finding that he really didn’t want to move because it made everything hurt more and the room seem less stable. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to move in the thirty seconds she was gone, but he appreciated the threat nonetheless.

“Hello, Agent Barton, I’m Doctor Zhivago.” A man with white hair that curled around his ears stood over his bed. Clint snorted.

“Did you marry Laura?” Clint asked.

“Ah, good to see you’ve kept your sense of humor, but I am not kidding,” the man said. Clint looked at the older man and he continued, “I was born with the last name Zhivago, I didn’t figure I had any choice but to become a doctor. I was sure it was my fate. As it turned out, being a doctor was a bit of a calling so, there you go. Also, my wife’s name is Megan, but she is quite lovely.” Clint looked at Darcy who shrugged. “Now, let’s take a look at you, shall we?”

The doctor set down his bag and began to pick out the usual instruments to examine a patient and much to Clint’s relief, Darcy left the room. He hadn’t asked her to leave because she didn’t seem to do anything he asked, but he was relieved she wasn’t going to stay and watch the doctor look him over. Having one person examine him so closely was uncomfortable enough, two was just too much. He was a sniper for more reasons than just that he had impeccable aim. He liked being the watcher out of sight, never mind the spotlight. 

The doctor didn’t speak much while he examined Clint. “Well, Agent Barton, I can see you’re a dedicated man. I was told you tried to go to work today?”

“They wouldn’t let me,” he said and okay that was a little pouty and he knew it – not that he would ever admit that out loud. “I just need to work through this,” he added, wondering why he was bothering to protest at all.

Dr. Zhivago chuckled. “That’s a lovely idea and perhaps I might agree with you if you had a cold or, say, mono. However…you have the flu, a sinus infection, and an inner ear infection. Your usual balance and aim is going to be considerably off until you’re better. You need a strong antibiotic and I’m going to get you a prescription for Tamiflu was well. In the meantime, I recommend that you stay in this bed.”

The doctor put emphasis on his last few words, paused, and then continued. “You should be very grateful Miss Lewis called me. Inner ear infections are not a joke.” Clint grunted. He still thought everyone was overreacting, but at least he knew why the walls and the floor weren’t behaving the way they usually did.

He heard the doctor close the door behind him and then must have fallen asleep because he was startled awake again by the sound of the door opening which didn’t mean much on its own, but the sun had left the sky which did mean a good amount of time had passed.

“Hey, sleepy head,” a soft voice reached him and he was momentarily confused. He hated sleeping during the day when he was home; it always left him feeling so disoriented. Now the one person he couldn’t handle being in his space was waking him up. The one person he was truly afraid of. He hated having someone in his home when he was sleeping.

“Hey,” he said with a scratchy croak he didn’t recognize in place of his usual voice.

“Okay. So. I’ve got the medicine from Doctor Zhivago,” she said the doctor’s name with a fake deep voice and a chuckle before moving on, “and I have to say, it looks like he gave you the good shit.”

“Good shit?” Clint didn’t have any idea what she was talking about.

“Yeah, it’s a codeine based cough suppressant. This stuff will really help,” she said.

“No.”

“No?” She looked confused.

“No codeine.”

“Why not? It really works, and it isn’t a strong dosage, it won’t get a man like you too high, maybe a little groggy, but that’s all. And it will help with pain I know you must be in,” she argued. “But don’t worry; I won’t make you admit that you’re hurting.”

Clint’s throat hurt too much to comment so he shook his head vehemently instead. That was a mistake because the world started spinning in earnest, but he was definitely not taking anything with codeine in it.

“Okay,” she said after watching him a minute, “but the flu stuff and the antibiotics are non-negotiable. Will you consider plain old cough syrup?”

He took a moment before deciding. He didn’t care for it either, but the cough was killing his already raw throat and he supposed if it would help him get her out of his house quicker and his life back to normal then it would be worth it. “Okay.”

“Alright,” she said, “well, first soup and crackers.”

“Soup?”

“If you think I’m letting you take all this medicine with no food on your stomach you are seriously mistaken. Besides, food is required with the antibiotic.”

“You made soup?” he asked. She rolled her eyes.

“It’s out of can.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said those words to anyone when it wasn’t a ‘thanks for having my back’ on a mission or to a waitress. Here Darcy was, in spite of his many well voiced arguments against her presence at SHIELD, helping him in a very personal way. He didn’t deserve such treatment from anyone; least of all her.

“You add water and throw it in a pan on the stove. I can handle that much,” she continued, apparently not realizing that he actually meant it. He winced. He didn’t blame her - he’d always been a bit of an ass to her. But dammit, he couldn’t think when she was around. His world was black and white and he needed it that way. She not only blurred the lines to gray, but brought in colors. She was a flower in winter and he couldn’t bear to watch her freeze in the cold of the world he lived in.

Even so, she needed to know he was thankful. Her hands were busy with bottles as she sorted out what he needed now and when he would need it again. He wrapped a hand around one of her wrists, causing her to stop and stare at him.

“No. Really. Thank you,” he said, looking her in the eyes this time, and watched as a whole number of emotions and responses played across her face. When he thought she might actually response, he coughed, and added, “Aren’t you worried about getting sick?”

“Well, your sinus and inner ear infections probably aren’t contagious so I’m not too worried there,” she said. “As for the flu, well I’ve never actually had it so I can’t say I’m too worried about that either. But anyway, I’m going to go get your food and some more water.”

She left, but returned quickly with a tray full as promised with a bowl of soup, a side of crackers out of a pack, water, and a side of Jell-O.

“Jell-O?” he asked.

“I hope you like strawberry Jell-O because there is now a ton of it in your fridge,” she said.

“You made Jell-O?”

“I can boil water.”

“Why are you doing all this?”

“Because no patient should go without soup and Jell-O,” she said matter of fact-ly.

“Darcy, I –“

“Barton - shut up, eat your soup, take your medicine, and get better. Romanov has already been by asking when she’s going to have her sparring partner back and Banner is hoping you’ll help him with some target practice stuff because he wants to be able to defend himself without turning into a raging green monster… or something. Thor wants to see you in a marksman competition with Robin Hood –“

“Who?” he interjected.

“You know,” she waved her hand as if this was a sufficient description but magnanimously added, “his Asgardian archer friend. My money’s on you. I don’t care if his semi-immortal ass has had a few millennia to practice.” Clint decided this was a little more information than his currently short circuiting brain could handle.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I think,” he said.

“Just get better,” she said, “is my point.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, genuinely smiling for the first time that day.

“Good,” she said. “Now the 90s called and they want their TV back. So I’ve brought my laptop so we can watch something.”

"There's nothing wrong with my TV," he said defensively.

"Correction. There wasn't anything wrong with your TV fifteen years ago."

"What are you going to make me watch?" he asked.

“Oh, we’re going to watch the first season of ‘The Bachelor.’ I mean we’d watch this season, but I feel like since I’m assuming you’re new to the show that we should start at the beginning.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he said, genuinely having no idea what she was talking about.

“It’s reality TV where women compete to land a handsome, rich, bachelor.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“You don’t really watch television, do you?”

“I watch, um.” Clint wracked his brain for a show he might have caught, but he couldn’t come up with anything convincing. “No, I guess I really don’t watch much TV.”

“You’re in for a real treat,” she said without elaborating. She crawled on top of the covers beside him with her laptop. She must have hit play because out of the corner of his eye he could see the scene began to unfold but, Clint hadn’t really taken his eyes off Darcy. She’d curled herself into his bed with her laptop not giving a crap that he was sick or that he’d been such an insufferable ass to her since she’d gotten to SHIELD. If she wanted to watch some ‘The Bachelor’ crap, then he would watch The damn Bachelor.

Darcy sighed, sounding disappointed.

“What?” he asked, confused, “I will watch ‘The Bachelor’ if you want to watch ‘The Bachelor’ whatever the hell that is.”

“I don’t want to watch ‘The Bachelor,’” she said and he thought she now sounded resigned. “I just wanted a little payback for the shit you’ve been giving me for-ev-er while I had the chance. But I just can’t do it. I can’t do it to myself so I’ll just have to come up with some other way to torture you.”

Clint was trying to figure out if he needed to respond to that, but apparently his participation in this part of the conversation was unnecessary.

“Okay, finish your food, mister, seriously.” Darcy started to get up and pack her laptop away again.

“Wait,” he said. She stopped shoving the things around in her bag to look at him, but she didn’t say anything. “Look, don’t go yet. Put on whatever you like, have some soup and some Jell-O and stay.”

“Now you want me to stay?” she asked incredulous. “You couldn’t wait to get rid of me before and now you’re asking me to stay a little longer?”

“This place, this thing that we’re doing, it gets people killed. People who are smart and trained and killers themselves. I didn’t want,” Clint couldn’t find the words to finish that sentence so he let them fall away. “I’m sorry, I know you took out Thor with a Taser which is really fucking badass actually, but you can’t Taze Loki, not when he’s got his power. Plus, there are so many other monsters out there waiting in the dark, ones that can take you out before you even know they’re there and I know this because I am one of those monsters.”

“I get that you think I’ll get everyone killed or at least die very spectacularly myself. I’ve always gotten that, though I had hoped you would let it go when you realized I am not leaving, but you’re a stubborn bastard. You are not a monster - an asshole maybe and a stubborn bastard definitely but you are not a monster. Not that I can talk about being stubborn, but that is not the point.” Darcy eyed him like she thought he might interrupt her, but if he had an inclination to do so, the look she was giving him warned against it. She continued, “I’m talking about how earlier today I could hear your teeth grind from the other side of this apartment because you knew I was in here, in your space.”

She gestured with her hands at the room. He was rather impressed that she did not put air-quotes around the word “space” as so many other women he’d dated had, not that he was dating Darcy. Oh lord, why was he thinking of Darcy and dating in the same sentence? He pushed that aside and focused on what she was saying.

“You couldn’t wait to get rid of me and now you don’t want me to go? Should I find you a psychiatrist as well as Doctor Zhivago or do you just need a Midol?”  Darcy demanded.

Clint’s lips twitched in a desperate attempt not to laugh, which he was pretty sure meant he was smirking. “I’m not accustomed to visitors.”

“Clearly not,” she said, hands on her hips and then she curled her arms over her chest again. He really wished she’d stop doing that.

“Cut me some slack. I was raised by a circus after all.”

“Yes. But not by wolves.”

“Wolves have better manners.”

“Well, you should know better by now. Surely Phil has given you some lessons.”

Clint raised an eyebrow at her answer. “Phil?” he asked.

“Coulson,” she said, like he wasn’t well aware that his boss’s name wasn’t ‘Agent’ or ‘Super Ninja Spy’ or ‘Thiever of iPods’ as she was so often prone to calling him.

“I know Coulson’s first name. Why are you using it?”

“It annoys him so I’ve gotten in the habit of doing it,” she said, grinning like a mad woman. Annoying Coulson was quite possibly Clint’s favorite endeavor so he couldn’t hold that reasoning against her.

“I can’t think of a better reason to do anything,” he said as he found himself smiling and happy despite the pain in his head and the scratch in his throat. And when Darcy laughed, he decided it was safer to believe she’d given him the drugs that made him feel better than to think that it might just be her that was making him feel so good.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. “You gonna finish your soup before it gets cold?”

“Have you eaten anything today?”

“Um...”

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, but I promise not to grind my teeth if you do. Or shout. And I’m happy to share.” He held up the tray and gave her his most sincere (under the circumstances) ‘you-know-you-want-to-stay-with-the-sad-sick-man’ face and hoped for the best. She laughed, so he considered that a success.

She went and got soup, but she never got her laptop back out of her bag. It turned out they didn’t need it. Darcy was a fantastic conversationalist despite the fact that she liked to act like she knew nothing about anything. It seemed like they talked about nothing and everything and she could talk about anything. She kept up most of the conversation, making it easier on his throat, which was, he admitted, swollen and rather sore. 

“All right. You should get some more rest. Listen, I know you don’t want to take the cough thing, but maybe you should think about taking it at night. Just at night. It’ll help you sleep and keep the coughing at bay which will help your throat. You’ll feel better in the morning for it.”

He shook his head no gently. He just couldn’t have it because it messed with his head too much and left him too unfocused and he was already disoriented.

“All right, let me see if I can find a night time over the counter cough medicine then,” she said before she went to pile up the dishes.

Clint got out of the bed and slowly went towards the case in one of his closets. If he was going to be stuck in bed, then he needed something to do. He unlocked the weapons cabinet that he’d had built in. Just because he relied on his bow and just because he preferred it, didn’t mean that he didn’t keep a complete arsenal. He had an order to cleaning his weapons and he picked the one that was next, the Walther PPK. He made sure it wasn’t loaded and checked that the safety was on out of habit before getting out the rest of the cleaning materials.

He then sat in the floor of his room and began cleaning. Just as he was finishing, Darcy reentered the room. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“Uh?” Clint wasn’t sure he understood the question.

“You’re supposed to be in bed. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“This is restful,” he said, still confused.

“No. No weapons.”

“But I was just –“ he argued.

“Doctor’s orders,” she said.

“Liar.”

“Fine, caretaker’s orders and if you don’t promise to leave the guns and whatever other weapons you’ve got stashed around here alone until you’re better then so help me I will spend the night here and watch you sleep.” Clint would be lying if he wasn’t tempted to see if she’d actually do that, but decided against it.

“I promise,” he sighed. He thought for a moment she looked almost disappointed, but he must have been confused.

“Good. Now. Here’s this.” She handed him cough syrup and water. “I’ve got mint tea brewing which should help your throat and I’ve combined it with some chamomile to help you sleep. I’ll be back early.”

“Darcy –“

“Leave your phone on so you’ll be able to hear me calling you when I need you to let me back in tomorrow morning.”

“Darcy –“

“Take your medicine and go back to sleep.”

“Darcy –“

“Just make sure you let me in tomorrow.”

“Darcy –“

“I just,” she started.

“Darcy!” he said. When she didn’t say anything more, he continued, “You didn’t have to do all this and you certainly don’t have to come back tomorrow.”

“Well,” she looked disconcerted a moment, “I’ll be here, so you’ll just have to deal with it.”

He grinned. “I wasn’t saying,” he chuckled and tried a different route, “I’ll make this up to you.”

She smiled and he knew he’d said the right thing. “I would settle for you not petitioning for my dismissal every day.”

“Done. I promise not to petition for your dismissal more than once a week.”

“Ha ha. Good night, Barton,” she said, walking out of the bedroom, presumably towards the door. He carefully got up and followed her out to lock up behind her.

After she was gone, he did as he was told and took all his medicine. After sleeping all day he didn’t know how he was going to sleep tonight, at least not at first, but as he drank the tea she’d made sitting while his kitchen table he realized he was actually quite achy and still very tired. He finished taking his medicine and checked the clock and saw that it was now after one am. He couldn’t believe she’d spent that much time with him today. He finished the tea and the water and made his way back to the bed.

He would find a way to make it up to her.

Clint is Sick And Bored

Clint woke up early and was feeling much better. He was surprised by how much better he felt in part because he hadn’t realized just how crappy he had been feeling the last few days. He still wasn’t up to his usual energy, but he also knew he wasn’t going to sleep any more. It was his habit when he was bored and not sleeping to pull out a weapon and clean it. He was halfway to his case when he remembered his promise.

“Dammit,” he said. He was bored and he wasn’t sleeping and he was going to have to find something to do. He thought about reading but the dizziness from his ears and the ache in his sinuses put him off that idea for now.  He glanced at the clock. Now he wished Darcy had said when she would be here because dammit he was bored and antsy.

He thought about what he’d do if it were a normal morning which was shower and then have coffee and toast; which seemed like just as good an idea today as it did any other morning. He made the toast and coffee first knowing Darcy would fuss at him if he took the medicine without food. He might have still taken the shower first, but the coughing was getting worse again. The coughing wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for his already scratch sore throat and the fact that it felt so very draining.

When he did make it to the shower, he wondered if he’d ever felt anything so very wonderful. He stood there a long time, letting the heated water run through his hair and over his body; easing his muscles and washing away some of the lingering fogginess he felt. He was still congested, still in pain, and still dizzy, but he was definitely better.

He briefly considered never leaving the shower, but he eventually managed to get out. Dripping, he wrapped a towel around his waist and went to enjoy another cup of coffee when he heard the annoying generic jingle of his phone which in spite of Tony’s pestering him to change it to “anything else for the love of all that is Holy and Classic!” he had never bothered to personalize. He scrambled to figure out where it was since he had been ignoring its existence for the last sixteen hours or so.

“Barton,” he said, grabbing it off the nightstand just before the call went to voicemail. He hadn’t had time to check the caller id.

“Let me in,” Darcy’s voice greeted him.

“Yeah,” he said, dashing through the bedroom door and through the kitchen, opening the door to find Darcy. Initially he’d seen a look of impatience on her face, but it quickly switched to surprise which was when he remembered that he was standing there dripping and in nothing but a towel.

Then the dizziness caught up with him. Dashing had been a very bad idea. Darcy dropped her bag and rushed forward, steadying him.

“Hi,” he said, blinking rapidly.

“Let’s get you sitting down a minute.” She shuffled him into a kitchen chair and waited till he’d been sitting a moment before saying anything else. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just dizzy for a moment,” he said, meaning it. He was already feeling steadier again.

“You ran to the door, didn’t you?” she asked.

“I may have moved rather quickly.”

“I’m glad to know you took me seriously when I told you to be sure to let me in this morning, but I didn’t expect you to run. Doctor said your balance was off, remember?”

Clint leaned over with his head in hands letting his head play catch up with this body. He’d wait a day before he tried running again.

He felt Darcy’s hand on his shoulder which reminded him of exactly how little he was wearing at the moment. She was so close and so warm and he was so very naked and it was playing with his balance worse than the infections were. He was still a little too congested to actually smell her, but he remembered from oh so many encounters with her and passing in the halls that she smelled like apples and lilies (or some other light flower he couldn’t name) with an undertone of something else he couldn’t describe that made him want to run his mouth along the curve of her neck just to see if she tasted as good as she smelled.

Fuck. He jumped up and immediately collapsed back down, dizzy once more. She’d removed her hand when he’d jumped and he told himself he was glad, relieved even, but mostly he wanted to touch her and have her touch him back in more than some pitying gesture.

“I need to get dressed,” he announced.

“Don’t hurry on my account.” He could practically hear the smirk in her voice. He looked to see her smiling and her lips twitching at the edges.

“Wench,” he said laughing, “you’re enjoying this.”

“Seeing the ‘eye in the sky’ knocked out of his perch for a bit? Yes, a little. I’d tell you I’m sorry, but I’m not. You kind of deserve it.”

“I need get dressed,” he said, standing. He didn’t get very far before she’d grabbed his wrist. He knew he was sick and off kilter for the mere reason that she was able to grab him. It took every bit of concentration and effort in him to remember that it was Darcy and that she was not a threat and flipping her would not be a good idea, especially if he wanted to hang on to the towel. He wrapped his hand around the towel, to secure it, he told himself. He was most definitely not thinking of what it would be like to have her pinned underneath him sans the towel.

“I was only teasing,” she said, “don’t be such a baby.”

“I do deserve it,” he said. “I deserve anything and everything you dish out.”

“My, my, our tortured hero complex is coming out in spades today. Listen, I don’t blame you. I really don’t. Go get dressed, I brought games.”

“Games?” He looked at her.

“Yes, I figured you’d be bored.”

Clint would never be sure what came over him in that moment. Perhaps it was the drugs or the towel or the fact that even though he couldn’t smell the coffee that morning, he was sure he could smell her and she was delicious, but whatever it was it took over his body and turned off his rational mind. He couldn’t help it. He brushed a kiss to Darcy’s cheek and then scrambled to his room to put on clothes as quickly as he felt he could manage without causing another dizzy spell.

When he was dressed, though he hadn’t bothered to put on shoes or socks, he made his way back to the kitchen where he found Darcy leaning over the kitchen table and spread out before him was a plethora of games. Some he knew and some he didn’t, but the range of things she’d brought was amazing.

He picked one up, reading the title off the box. “13 Dead End Drive? What is this?”

“Oh! We have to play that! You’ll like it. You try to kill people off to be the one who inherits the most money.”

“Uh, seriously? It looks like a kid’s game.”

“It is a kid’s game! And it’s great. My dad and I used to play it. He joked it was training for real life,” she said.

“Your dad must have an interesting sense of humor.”

“Let’s just say, he’s… a bit of an acquired taste. Though,” she smiled in sort of odd way that he didn’t think he’d seen before, “you’d probably like him. Well, so long as you didn’t have to work with him.”

“Why? Is he difficult to work with?”

She laughed outright at the response and he wondered what memory of her father she was recalling. “Only if you’re bad at following orders.”

“So he’s military then?” he asked

“He was…” She seemed to be hesitating.

“He was? Is he, I mean did he?” Clint didn’t know how to ask if her father was dead.

“Oh no! He’s still alive and kicking people’s asses.”

“I think I would like him then,” he said, meaning it.

That crazy grin she’d had before came back and he was terribly curious what it meant. “He’s six kinds of crazy.”

“You think he could compete with the crazies here?”

“And then some,” she said.

“Well, in that case, I think we’ll play this game first.”

Clint had not had such an awesome sick day since – well now that he thought about it -- ever. She taught him to play 13 Dead End Drive where he found her bloodthirsty streak to be both maddening and endearing. He might have considered letting her win, but he had no chance because she smoked him.

Later, Steve came by saying the same thing that kept him from getting drunk tended to keep him from getting sick so he didn’t think it would do any harm. They ate sandwiches and Jell-O. They played Go Fish which Clint won with no trouble and when he suggested poker he was met with a resounding, “No!” from both of them.

“I don’t mind losing, but I want to at least have a chance at winning whatever we play next. I’ve had enough of your poker face for one day. Smiling is good medicine, you know,” Darcy said.

“I thought laughter was the best medicine,” he retorted.

Darcy waved a dismissive hand. “Either way, you can’t laugh with a poker face.”

“Says you,” Clint retorted again.

“Says me,” Darcy said, “and I’m in charge. What next?”

“Candyland,” Steve suggested.

“Perfect!” Darcy said.

It was a cut-throat game, but eventually Clint was victorious.

“Well, it’s been fun,” Steve said, “but I’ve got some stuff I have to do this evening.”

“Aw, don’t go!” Clint and Darcy said, nearly in unison.

“You two are entirely too competitive for children’s games, but let me know if you pick this up tomorrow. I’d love to take you both down in Sorry,” Steve answered.

“Dude, you are so on,” Darcy said. Clint nodded while trying to squash the emotions that had flooded him. He was thrilled that Darcy was already promising to be back tomorrow and thankful for the friendship Steve was offering, but he was also jealous of her enthusiasm to see Steve.

No, that couldn’t be right. He needed to clamp all this down. It was probably just the infection or the flu talking anyway. He was thankful for all the things she’d done. Yes, that was it. He was thankful.

She was grinning, arms crossed over her chest, and the memory of her scent came unbidden into his mind. He was grinning back at her, happy even though he still felt cruddy, and he was leaning forward to catch any trace of those lilies and apples.

He was so screwed.

They played video games after that. Old school Atari games that he couldn’t figure out where she found them: Frogger (she kicked his ass), Pole Position (which she giggled about constantly, which made him laugh and both of them kept getting their cars blown up), and Mission Command (which he owned, thank you very much).

She made dinner for him again, which he tried to protest against but lost rather badly. She stayed with him through dinner and then sent him to bed promising to be back in the morning and to wipe the floor with him at Jenga.

He passed out shortly after she left, although he was feeling better even though some of the pain in his head remained. He had just enough time to wonder if he would sleep before he was out.

A Small Army

When he woke up the next morning, Clint realized that antibiotics and modern medicine were, in fact, marvels of modern(ish!) science. He even managed to finish putting on clothes before Darcy was at his door toting three ridiculously large McDonald’s bags.

“I brought breakfast,” she announced.

“For what army?”

Darcy grinned. “Ours,” and as she responded, two heads popped in from the hallway behind her.

“Like I said, I’m taking you all down in Sorry,” Steve said, smiling.

“Please,” Natasha said, “you’ll be Sorry you played me.”

They piled into his apartment. Darcy found plates and glasses (she pulled orange juice from somewhere though he couldn’t figure out where) while Natasha and Steve cleared off the other games from the table and set out Sorry!

Clint had believed yesterday’s Candyland game had been cut throat but after witnessing the bloodshed over Sorry!, Sorry! The Rematch, and Monopoly: Blood Money Edition (classic Monopoly—just add The Black Widow and Darcy then stir); Clint realized it had been child’s play.

When the girls suddenly came to a truce and decided just to beat the boys, all hope had been lost.

As it got closer to the evening, Darcy made “quesadillas” (there was cheese and there was tortilla, but he wasn’t sure the rest of it qualified though he wasn’t going to argue with the results), the group swung back from “I will bleed you dry with my hotel suckas!” to less dangerous topics; such as SHIELD and work.

“So Clint, when are you going to stop playing sick and taking advantage of Darcy’s soft heart and come back to work?” Natasha asked as she settled into her chair.

“Doc said to wait a few more days, but I’m feeling much better. I was thinking I might be able to report for some target practice tomorrow, that is if I can get the doctor to sign off on it.”

“Which doctor did you get?” Steve asked.

“Zhivago,” Clint said, only slightly surprised that Darcy hadn’t chimed in with him.

“Really?” Steve asked, looking confused. Natasha didn’t comment, actually she wasn’t even looking at him.

“Seriously, his name is Zhivago,” Clint answered, assuming that Steve’s question was the same as the one he’d had.

“Yeah, I know. I spent a lot of time in medical while they thawed me out and after just to make sure that I continued to be stable,” Steve explained.

“He’s not one to make rounds,” Natasha said. While her eyes were back on him, he felt like she was actually studying some point behind him. It was rather unnerving when she did that.

“That’s odd,” he said, “he didn’t act like it was out of the ordinary when he was here. Did he, Darcy?”

“Nope, not all,” she said. Clint thought he heard something in her voice and he wished he could see her face.

“Did you request him?” Natasha didn’t ever put emphasis on her words, but Clint got the feeling that Natasha had been watching Darcy this whole time, gauging her.

“I asked for the best. So, yeah, kinda I guess. He said he didn’t usually make house calls, but I was able to persuade him to come over from medical. It wasn’t like I could get Clint in the med wing.”

“Hate the med wing,” Clint grumbled.

“He doesn’t do house calls,” Steve insisted. “He sends other doctors to do that. He’s part of Dr. Banner’s…”

Natasha interrupted him. “Dr. Zhivago is a very kind man. I’m sure he was just doing something nice for a friend,” she said.

Steve looked at Darcy. “I didn’t know you knew the Doc. He’s a fine man. How,” but he stopped midsentence. Clint was certain that Natasha had kicked Steve under the table. Even if Clint hadn’t been fairly certain he’d heard the soft sound of Natasha’s boot against Steve’s shin, the stunned and confused look on Steve’s face would have convinced him. Natasha was either up to something, hiding something, or (and mostly likely) both.

“Steve, didn’t you want to see that new piece Pepper bought for the art room before closing?” Natasha was usually better at changing the subject, but then Steve didn’t truly seem to understand the idea of subtly or discretion; the man ran around bashing people with a shield wearing the American flag after all. It was no wonder Tony and Steve had trouble getting along, they were practically two sides of the same coin.

Clint stood, “Steve, Natasha – I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you coming by and helping me deal. The meds have been treating everything but the Cabin Fever.” He wasn’t in any hurry to see them leave, but he could tell that Natasha was about to drag Steve out by his collar. While he didn’t know what her motivations were, it was always best to help her rather than hinder her.

He shook Steve’s hand and shared a grin with Natasha. She knew that he knew she was purposely avoiding that conversation, even if he didn’t know why.

Her expression said very clearly, Ask Darcy.

Why? He asked, back. They had worked together so long expressions could say a lot.

Her response was not one that could be translated into words; it was merely the kind of glare he got whenever he asked a stupid question, one he knew wasn’t going to get an answer.

“I guess I’ll see you later, Darcy,” Steve said managing to give her a quick hug before Natasha was dragging him out the door.

Darcy looked confused and they both stood there and listened to Steve ask Natasha what was going on until the sounds of his voice and footsteps faded (you never heard Natasha).

“So,” Clint said.

“Yeah, um, so how do you feel about key lime pie?” Darcy asked, turning towards the fridge.

“I love key lime pie,” he answered. “But, wait, Darcy.” She kept busying herself with little things in the kitchen and he was sure she was avoiding him. “Stop, Darcy, please.” She didn’t look at him, but she set the plates on the counter and didn’t move to go to the fridge for the pie. “What was that about?” he asked once she was still.

“You know Natasha better than I do,” she answered, “maybe Steve really did want to see the new piece. I think it’s a Renoir.”

“He can see that piece anytime and Natasha’s version of what constitutes art has more to do with how easily she can kill someone with it and the ability for her to hide it in one of her secret pockets. Why was Steve so surprised that Dr. Zhivago came here?”

“He doesn’t generally leave the lab,” she answered.

“So why did he come?”

“Because I asked him to,” she said. “When I’m not working with Jane, I act as a go between for all these departments who want stuff from Coulson – people who then owe me favors. I called one in.”

“That’s all?” he asked.

“I honestly do not know why Natasha and Steve were making such a big deal about it.” Her statement rang true, but he still got the feeling that she was leaving something out. At the very least, he was missing something.

“Yeah, of course, sorry,” he said, but then something else occurred to him. “Did you call Steve and Natasha, too?”

“I did call them, but I swear I didn’t need to exchange favors for that. They were happy to come, I promise,” she answered. “I swear to God, Clint, they are your friends.”

“You did all this, you arranged all this,” he said.

“They wanted to come! They were happy to!” She sounded so desperate.

“Stop thinking I’m angry or hurt or whatever it is you think that I am feeling right now. I’m not angry or hurt; I’m just trying to understand.”

“They didn’t come on their own because they didn’t think you’d want them to. Natasha said the last time you were sick that it took an order to send you home and then you locked in yourself in your apartment and didn’t let anyone in for three days.”

“Okay first, she is exaggerating. It was one day, two maximum. Second, it isn’t them I’m confused about. What I can’t figure out is why you’re doing all this. Yesterday I thought it was your assignment, but today is your day off Darcy. I know it is.”

“I told you,” she said, “everyone deserves –

“Yes, I know, everyone deserves soup and Jell-O, but, Darcy, you have gone far above and beyond soup and Jell-O.”

“Fine,” she said, “you want to know why I’m doing this? I’ll tell you. Better yet, I’ll show you.” She turned to face him and closed what little space was there was left between them. Before he understood what she was about to do, she was kissing him (surprising) and he was kissing her back (not so surprising).

He couldn’t decide if this was the best or cruelest moment of his life. She tasted better than he could have imagined, her hair was softer than he’d thought possible, and the fit of her against him felt like she’d been tailor made for this. She felt perfect, but he knew he couldn’t have this, that she deserved better than the archer in the shadows.

“No.” He broke off the kiss. “Darcy, I’m no good for you.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” she said and the break in her voice broke something in him.

“Darcy, you deserve better than this, better than me,” he tried to put all of what he meant in those words.

“I’ve heard the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech before Clint.”

“That’s not –“

“I have to go,” she said. She grabbed her purse but didn’t bother with the stacks upon stacks of games she’d brought; she just walked out the front door and didn’t look back.

Clint watched her go knowing his apartment would never feel the same.

Clint is Late for the Party

He was back at work the next day. He had always thought his world was black and white, but now he just found it gray. Moments he didn’t see Darcy, he craved her, but seeing her was no better if not worse.

Hours passed into days. He was better, fit again, at least his body was. The kitchen table was empty now. Natasha had come one day and said that Darcy had asked her to get the games. He wasn’t sure if he was sad or relieved that Darcy didn’t come but either way he knew he didn’t blame her.

“You’re an idiot,” Natasha said as she collected the games and piled them into the bags.

“What?” He had sort of heard her, but he’d mostly been somewhere else.

“Why the hell would you let her go?”

“How do you even know about that? Wait, never mind, I don’t know why I asked that question. Tasha, she’s too good for the life I would give her.”

“You’ve got some idea or image of what life is good enough for her then,” she stated.

“Well, no, not exactly,” he hedged.

“Then you must have some idea of what she wants out of her life and you know you can’t provide it.”

“Well, I mean.” He wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“Barton, she wants you. That’s the life you, oh and consequently only you, could give her, you –“ Whatever insult she’d thrown at him disappeared in a blare of alarms.

They looked at each other and said in unison, “Intruder.”

They rushed out of his apartment quickly, heading for the area where the breach was coming from. He and Natasha were the first to arrive, but he knew the other agents weren’t far behind.

A young woman in layered tops, a red skirt, and black leggings was sparring with a taller bland looking man in a black suit who looked like one of the many SHIELD agents running around the agency.

Clint’s hands were pulling out a spring action emergency bow Tony had made for him to fit in his pocket so he could have it at all times along with a few dart-like arrows which had different functions and without conscious thought he launched a tranquilizer dart at the man.

He didn’t know where Darcy had learned to fight like that, but she was still at a great disadvantage in that skirt which hindered her kicks and her height which shortened her reach.

The man dropped instantly and a split second later Natasha made it to Darcy’s side, just in time for the Avenger to catch Darcy before she collapsed. “Barton!” She might have said more but saying anything was unnecessary because he had already read Natasha’s expression, Weak pulse. Clint was already yelling at the medics to get their asses down to the wing, even as he slid into a seated position next to Darcy, stroking her hair.

Coulson arrived shortly before the medics did and he raced to kneel down beside her on the floor. Both Clint and Natasha moved to make space for the man. “Oh God,” he said under his breath, “No, no, no, not you. No, oh no, Darcy, baby, honey, no, stay with me, please, sweetheart.” Coulson kissed her forehead before the medics loaded her on a gurney and were racing her to the med wing, Coulson on their heels. Clint was left to stare after them in confusion. He wanted more than anything to run after them, but he knew that wasn’t his job right now.

Clint looked at Natasha. He read concern and anger in her face and he could see that she would shortly turn into a powerful weapon of vengeance, but the one thing he did not see was surprise.

“What do you know that I don’t?”

“Clint, there is absolutely not enough time for that.”

“Now is not the time for your sarcasm!”

“No, right now is the time to get that man awake and torture him until he tells us who sent them.”

On that he could agree.

They picked the man up and took him to one of the secure facilities and Clint found what was (more or less) the antidote for the drug he’d used to knock the man out. It left the man a bit wired and a little dazed, but Clint thought they would be able to use that to their advantage.

“I’m glad to see you’ve got the man awake,” Coulson commented as he entered the room.

“How is Miss Lewis, Sir?” he had to ask; he had to know she wasn’t gone.

“They’re running tests. They think she was injected with some sort of venom. If they can figure out what it is in time, then they think they can stop it.”

“How much time do we have?”

“They aren’t sure. They say they can hold it at bay for a day, possibly two without knowing exactly what they’re fighting. It isn’t one they’ve seen before so they think that it’s human engineered.” Coulson met Clint’s eyes then. “The medics, they don’t know what a fighter she is; she can get us two days, but I don’t want to have to make her do that. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Natasha said, smiling. “I believe I have just the thing for this.”

“Use it.”

Natasha’s injection worked like a charm and the man was babbling about scorpions and venom in no time, but it did take them a few hours to figure out that Scorpia was a person and that she had planned the intrusion, but that Darcy had been unexpected and instead of getting to Fury, Coulson, or Hill as hoped, Darcy had challenged him. No one was supposed to have challenged him. He looked like a SHEILD agent and he had everything a SHIELD agent was supposed to have. Everything had been copied perfectly. He couldn’t understand how some girl, some nobody could have figured out what he was up to, alerted everyone to it, and destroyed the entire plan.

Clint had no sympathy for the man, but there was something he could relate to in all that. Darcy had come out of nowhere, looking innocuous, and then thrown everything off the rails. Yup, he knew what that felt like.  

They got enough clues from the man about the location that they were able to quickly figure out within a few blocks, where they could find this woman.

Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, Coulson, Black Widow, and Hawkeye studied the building they believed to be Scorpia’s head of operations and worked on devising the best way in.

“We need her alive,” Coulson said. Clint wondered who Coulson was most concerned would kill the woman.

“These foul villains cannot go unscathed for their contemptuous acts. Let no man doubt the fire he brings upon his own head should he choose to inflict harm upon our Shield Sister.”

“I’m not sure what he just said, but if he said ‘Let’s kick ass’ then I’m in agreement,” Tony said.

“We need to do this smart,” Steve stated.

“Why do you think we’re still standing outside?” Tony countered.

“Enough,” Coulson said. That’s when Clint saw her. He was sure it was Scorpia in a suit that gave her a tail much resembling a scorpion’s deadly stinger. He took a deep breath, aimed for the portion of her neck that was not covered by her suit, and launched the arrow through the window.

Chaos ensued when the woman dropped. “I’d say now is the time to pick off the minions,” he said dryly.

“For the love of God, please tell me you didn’t kill her,” Coulson said.

“Nope, but I’m not sure how long that dart will keep her down, so we’d probably better hurry.”

The Avengers made short work of Scorpia’s minions, but even so Scorpia was already starting to come to when they managed to reach her. Clint had stayed where he was dropping thugs who thought to escape rather than fight. Unfortunately for them, between Clint and the agents on the ground waiting to hall off every non-Avenger who came out of that building, running wasn’t really an option.

Natasha was the first to reach the floor where Scorpia lay flattened, though Clint thought the villainess might be rousing. He had a good view of the room from his vantage point and could see what was going on from where he perched on the ledge. It was subtle, but he was sure some of her limbs were starting to twitch ever so slightly. Natasha was smart though, launching one of her infamous Bite’s into the room, further stunning Scorpia and crippling the two of her employs who had been smart enough to stay away from the windows and Clint’s aim.

Natasha was smart. She made sure everyone was down, zip cording the hands of the two minions, though she waited for Cap and Coulson and a few other agents before approaching Scorpia. The others lifted her body while Black Widow secured the scorpian’s tail to the woman’s body so that she couldn’t use it to strike at anyone. They’d get the suit off of her back at the building.

Now that it looked like they had everything under control, he called Banner. “How’s Darcy?”

“She’s hanging in there. I’ve tested her blood and the low doses of anti-toxin, but I really need a sample of the venom to be able to really make her better,” Banner answered evenly.

“It’s coming to you,” Clint said before hanging up.

They hurried back to the Tower, but no one spoke. Even Thor, who was usually boastful and loud after battle, was reserved. Tony with the help a few agents made fast work of disassembling Scorpia’s amour, though the first part to be removed was her tail which they sent directly to Banner and (Clint later found out) Zhivago to create an anti-toxin.

Coulson and Fury were putting together a team to guard, watch, and question Scorpia as she came to. She was receiving medical attention as well, though Clint was less inclined to give it. Now that he was essentially useless, he found himself pacing the medical wing.

It had been a few hours since he heard anything but he didn’t have any right to push for answers, no right to go and see her, let alone hold her.

“She’s going to be okay. They’ve cracked it and she’s already breathing easier and the fever is breaking,” Coulson’s words pierced his thoughts.

“I’m glad to hear it, Sir,” he said.

“Why did you push Darcy away?” Coulson asked. He was not one to beat around the bush.

“What do you mean, Sir?”

“She’s never said anything, but I’ve known her a very long time so I knew why she wanted to help you when you were sick. Then she suddenly went back to her usual tasks and hasn’t spoken a word about it. So, I’ll ask you again, why did you push her away?”

“She's too good for me,” Clint said.

“Of course she is. So why the hell would you let her go?”

“She deserves better than me!” Clint was too afraid to let himself hope that he could have her.

“I'm of the opinion that there isn’t a soul on this planet or any other planet for that matter who is good enough for her. But you're a good man and if you'd stop being an idiot, you'd make the both of you very happy.”

“Sir, just who is Darcy to you?”

“If you tell anyone this, so help me I will find a way to station your ass in Antarctica for the rest of your life. Her connection to me could put her in more danger than she’s already in and I won’t have that.” Coulson closed his eyes and lowered his voice before he continued, “She's my daughter, Barton, and I just gave you my blessing. Don't fuck it up.” And with that Coulson strode through the bay doors where it seemed Fury was waiting for him. Clint stared after him for a full minute before he decided that he couldn’t live in a gray world any longer, not since Darcy had painted his life with color.

Darcy is Sick And Cranky

She hadn’t woken yet, but her color was looking better and the monitors showed that her heart rate was much stronger. There were a few chairs around the room. He pulled one up to her bedside, getting comfortable enough for a long sit. No way was he going to leave her side.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t close his eyes for a bit.

“He’s been there about eight hours you know,” a soft voice came creeping through the shadows of Clint’s mind.

“He’s just feeling guilty,” said another whisper in the dark.

“That’s not why he’s here,” the first voice said. It took a moment before the sleep started to clear from Clint’s mind.

“He didn’t want me,” said the second and he knew it was the voice that haunted his dreams.

“Tell me what he said,” the first voice said, which he now realized was Natasha’s. Even though he was awake now, he didn’t want to give away that he was hearing the conversation. He needed to pretend to remain asleep, at least for the moment.

“He said that he was no good for me and that I deserve better.” Darcy’s pain was palpable in the room and he wanted to hold her, do anything to make the pain leave her voice.

“And that’s exactly what he thinks,” Natasha said.

“How am I ever going to believe that’s true?”

“Do you love him?” Natasha’s voice had never sounded so gentle. He didn’t hear Darcy give an answer but she must have responded in some way, because after a moment Natasha continued. “Then you’ll figure it out.”

Clint heard the echo of a door closing and he knew Natasha had gone. He also suspected that she’d realized he was awake. It wasn’t anything specific but nothing got past that woman. He used the closing door as a good reason to pretend to wake up without giving away to Darcy that he’d heard the conversation. He sat up and blinked a few times to clear his vision.

“You’re awake,” he said to her. She was examining a tube that ran from her arm to an IV bag.

“As are you,” she answered.

They didn’t speak for a long time. Clint didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to repair the distance between them.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of him. “How did you know that man wasn’t a SHIELD Agent? Surely you don’t know all them.”

“I know most of their faces, so seeing one I didn’t recognize was unusual especially since I helped with the interviews of all the recent hires. On top of that, he just…he didn’t move quite right.”

“He didn’t move right?”

“I’ve grown up around SHEILD Agent type men, you know? They all have the same walk, the same posture, the same vague idea of purpose, but this guy - .” She waved the IV free arm. “He was shifty.”

“You attacked him because he was shifty,” Clint half said and half asked, not sure he was understanding what she was saying.

“I didn’t attack him,” she said, sounding a little indignant. “I asked him who he was and where he was going. He moved to knock me over the head, but I hit the alarm that Tony built into my watch. I dodged him, which threw him off balance. I took advantage while I had it.”

“You did great,” he told her.

“I can’t believe I let him get me with that needle. I should’ve expected something like that,” she said.

“You couldn’t have known what to expect,” he said.

“If he hadn’t been cornered, if his planned hadn’t gone so wrong, I don’t think he would’ve injected me. When he couldn’t get to his target I think he decided I would have to do,” she said. “But I still should’ve expected him to have something on him.”

“I think you surprised him, fighting like that.” He meant it as a compliment but she looked wounded like he’d belittled her.

“I’m more resilient than people give me credit for,” she said.

“I know that now. I admit that I didn’t before you helped me,” he told her.

She smiled again and he felt better. “What? It was helping you that changed your mind about me working for SHEILD? Not the fact that I recognized an intruder when I saw one, raised an alarm, and managed to fight him until back up arrived?”

“Knowing you’re resilient and knowing you can fight are two different things. How was I supposed to know you could fight like that? It’s not as though you ever told any of us.”

“I like being underestimated. Makes people lazy and unobservant and gives me an advantage,” she said, smirking a little.

“Mmm,” he said. “Those certainly sound like the words of Coulson’s daughter.”

At first, the look on her face was one of surprise, but then she grinned. “He told you then, did he?”

“Yes,” he said. “It explains your common love for Tasers.”

She laughed. “How to use a Taser was a very early lesson in my life and I loved it immediately. He taught me a lot,” she paused before adding, “still is teaching me.”

“You were right,” he told her.

“About what?” she asked.

Before he could answer her question, the door opened and a tall familiar man walked in. “Miss Lewis, I see you’re awake! That’s good news and you have a visitor as well. How are you, Agent Barton?” Dr. Zhivago looked Clint fondly and Clint found himself smiling back in spite of himself.

“I’ll be even better if you tell me Darcy can go home soon,” he answered.

“I do have good news on that front. Darcy,” Dr. Zhivago turned his face to her while he spoke, “It looks like you’ll be able to go home tomorrow. We just want to keep you another day, just in case.”

“I’ve been in this bed for days! I just want a shower and my own bed. Isn’t there any way I can go home now?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Lewis, but we need to keep an eye on you. I don’t want you going home by yourself just yet,” the doctor said.

“What if she wasn’t alone?” Clint asked.

The doctor considered him a moment. “What are you suggesting?”

“What if I stayed with her?” He hadn’t thought out the words before he’d said them, but they felt right. He could feel Darcy staring at him, but he held the doctor’s gaze.

“Clint, you don’t owe me anything,” Darcy protested.

Clint decided to have that conversation later. “What do you say, Doc? Can I take her home?”

“If you promise to take very good care of her,” he said. “I think that can be arranged. Let me do one more blood test.” Darcy squeezed her eyes shut while the doctor took the blood and Clint found he had his hands around her free one before he’d thought to consider his actions. Darcy’s eyes snapped open and focused on him. She pulled her hand away and Clint wanted to protest, but the doctor finished and was speaking again. “I’ll need to get this to the lab. It will likely take about an hour, all right, Miss Lewis? I’ll have one of the medics bring in some food for you and Agent Barton.”

“He’s not staying,” she said. The doctor looked confused.

“Yes, I am,” Clint said immediately, “and food would be great.”

“Don’t you have more important things to do?” Darcy asked.

“Nope,” he said smiling. “I’ll be staying, Doc.”

The doctor looked back and forth between them a moment, examining Darcy’s dangerous expression against Clint’s before speaking again. “Ah, I see,” the doctor said. “Well, I’ll leave the two of you to work out whatever this is.”

“There’s nothing to work out,” Darcy said as the doctor left the room, but if the doctor had thoughts on that statement he didn’t provide them. She turned on Clint. “I don’t want your pity.”

“I’ve never pitied you,” he answered.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she insisted.

“Good to know,” he said.

“I’ll be fine here tonight.”

“I’m sure you would be, but I think you’d rather be home. You did say you wanted a shower,” he said. Then he added, “On the other hand, I’m sure they’d be happy to give you a sponge bath. I could ask them to arrange that for you.”

Darcy’s expression went from longing to concern and eventually to resignation, which instantly turned to an accusatory squint. “You’re evil,” she said flatly.

Clint grinned. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Darcy looked ready to throw a pillow at his head when the food arrived.

“You haven’t had food on your stomach for several days,” the medic said taking a tray off her cart. “I would recommend that you don’t try to finish everything.”

“It’s soup and bread and Jell-O and I’m starving,” said Darcy.

“Just eat slowly and don’t force yourself is all I’m saying. The medic had brown, short curly hair that just framed her face and very kind eyes. At least they were kind when they looked at Darcy. She regarded Clint with a look that was nothing less than suspicious. “You had better be not be causing trouble or upsetting this young lady,” she said to him. Glaring at him while she handed him a tray of food similar to Darcy’s she continued, “This young lady has already been through more than enough and I will thank you not to hinder her recovery.” With that she left the room.

Clint was completely confused by what just happened and stared after the medic after she left. Darcy snorted and he turned to look at her. “You heard her. You’re not allowed to upset me.” Darcy smiled as she said it and Clint thought maybe he should thank the medic after all.

They ate mostly in silence, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as he feared it might be. When the doctor came back, they were talking again the way they had that first night she made soup for him.

“Your blood work looks good,” the doctor said as he entered the room. “Agent Barton, I expect you to stay with her two days. She’ll need supervision for those days and then you will need to bring her here to do a final test.”

“Another test?” Darcy moaned.

“Hopefully, it will be the last, but yes one more blood test. Now, let’s get you ready to go home.”

Clint left the room, though he didn’t go far, as they removed the tubes and got her out of the flimsy gown thing they’d put her in and back in her usual clothes. She started to argue when they told her they were going to put her in a wheelchair. He heard her voice rise over all the other noises and voices.

“I am not an invalid!” she yelled.

“Miss Darcy, you can’t know how strong or weak you’ll be,” came Doctor Zhivago’s ever patient tone.

“They didn’t break my legs!”

Clint decided to intervene. “Don’t worry about the wheelchair,” he called into the room, “I’ll just carry her if she starts to get wobbly.”

He would’ve have sworn he heard an “Evil man” and a “This is absurd” but there was no further argument over the wheelchair.

She clearly didn’t care for the wheelchair, but she did allow him to push her down the hall, into the elevator, and then down a few more hallways. When they got to her apartment, he was pretty sure she’d had enough.

“This is ridiculous,” she announced. She dug through her purse and found her keys. She stood, bracing herself first with the wheel chair and then with the door frame she got the door unlocked and the door open.

He was certain, she shouldn’t be up and about yet, but he understood her need to do this so he walked in behind her, leaving the wheelchair until he had her settled.

She was using the walls to help steady her movements, but he knew that this walk to her room was taking more out of her than she’d anticipated. He watched her carefully, waiting for the sign that her legs were about to buckle. He knew it was coming but if he grabbed her too soon she’d take her anger out on him.

He saw the familiar signs of a person about to stumble and he caught her, wrapping his arms around her middle so that she wouldn’t fall forward.

“No more wheelchair,” she said stubbornly.

“I wasn’t going to suggest it,” he said.

“You’re not going to carry me, are you?” she asked.

“I was just going to help you walk, if you’ll let me.”

She nodded and he adjusted her so that she was leaning against his side with one arm wound around his neck. He kept one arm around her waist. They moved forward and he let her set the pace. It would have been easier and faster to carry her, but he understood her need to do this.

By the time he got her to the bedroom, he knew she was exhausted all over again. She tucked herself into the covers and was asleep almost instantly. He didn’t think she would be showering just yet, but after a nap maybe she could manage a real bath.

Truce

The doctor had made it pretty clear Clint was not to leave her for long periods of time; so he called in reinforcements to stock up one simple, light foods and bubble bath.

“You want me to get what?” Natasha looked at him and he thought she might have drawn blood with her eyes, but he resisted the urge to check for injuries while she was still staring at him.

“Bubble bath,” he said. Natasha glared at him. “It’s for Darcy,” he added.

“Have Steve get it.”

“Steve is in charge of getting the wheelchair back to medical,” he protested.

“That’s not that big a deal, he can have an additional job,” Natasha argued.

“I’m afraid he’ll think I’m attempting to take advantage of her in her currently weakened condition,” he admitted.

“Are you?”

“No! She said she wanted shower, but Natasha, she can’t stand up that long yet. I thought it might be a good alternative.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You know she’s probably already got some. Most girls do,” she said.

He wanted to make a snide remark about if ‘most girls’ included Natasha herself, but he liked his blood inside his body.

Natasha silently searched Darcy’s bathroom for bubble bath and was, thankfully, successful. “I thought she might be vanilla girl, but it looks like she’s into lavender,” she said.

Clint did his best to make a mask of his face. Natasha was not fooled. “Speak of this and I will cut you,” she said.

“Fair,” Clint said and they spoke of it no further.

Later in the afternoon, Clint gentled nudged Darcy. She blinked awake looking confused.

“How long have I been asleep?” she asked him.

“Only a couple of hours, I just thought you might want to have a bath.”

“A bath?” she said, sounding like she might be having a daydream about it already.

“Yeah, Natasha found bubble bath so I could run the water. You know if you want me to.”

“A bubble bath? Really?” she said longingly. Then she squinted at him. “What are you up to?”

“I just thought a shower didn’t seem like a good option yet, but that you might want to soak in some hot water,” he shrugged. She continued to eye him suspiciously so he added, “Can we call a truce? Be friends?”

Darcy considered him and the proposition for a few moments, and then answered him, “Okay, yes I want a bath, please.”

“Dinner after?” he asked.

Her eyes got wide. “Dinner? Any chance of real food?” She looked hopeful.

“What do you want to eat?”

“I… I don’t know but something with a dead animal in it for the love of God!”

Clint smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.” He got up and ran the bath, dumping about twice as much of the bubble stuff as was recommended because it did not look like it was going to bubble enough. He ran it a little on the hotter side so that if she took a while to get in, it would still be good and warm for her.

“I’m going to let that run, okay? It should be ready in a couple minutes.”

“I can make it that far, in case you’re worrying,” she said.

He smiled. “Promise? I can go get Natasha if you want.”

“No, I can make it. I am feeling better. Plus, I’m motivated.”

He laughed. “Yell if you need something then.”

She nodded her head and he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Clint called Natasha. “Can you pick up some boneless cooked chicken breasts?”

“Yes,” she said. He was thankful for her help, though he knew this was more about Darcy. Something told him that something about Darcy reminded Natasha of someone she lost, someone very close to her heart.

“Oh and croissants,” he said.

“Seriously?” Natasha asked.

“I think Darcy likes them,” he said.

“Fine,” she said right before hanging up on him.

Clint kept it simple. He made a light chicken salad and included some grapes and apples he found in her fridge.  

Natasha decided she’d stay for dinner after all. She was sprawled, leaning back in a chair at the kitchen table, twirling a pocket knife through her fingers when Darcy came out of her room dressed in a t-shirt that read “Give the Rabbit Some Trix!” and jeans. Her hair was still quite damp and Clint noticed her fingertips were still wrinkled from the water and he smiled to think she’d stayed in the tub that long, not that he really blamed her.

“Feeling better?” Natasha asked.

“Muuuuccchhhh,” Darcy said.

“No troubles getting dressed then?” Natasha asked. Clint was thankful she’d asked. He was still worried about Darcy, especially after earlier, but he didn’t feel like he could ask her that question.

“Hah, I sat down a lot,” Darcy said, laughing a little. “It was way more exhausting than usual, but I do feel stronger than I did earlier.”

“Good.” Natasha smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Me too,” Clint said, setting a plate in front of her with a sandwich cut in half, baby carrots, and a cup of vanilla pudding.

“Chicken!” Darcy exclaimed. She took a bite. “Clint, you are my new best friend.”

“I went and got everything,” Natasha needled. Darcy was too busy eating to respond but Natasha was smiling before she too bit into her sandwich. Mouth still half full she added, “Not bad, Barton. Not as good as your archery, but better than your hand-to-hand combat.”

The dinner conversation continued from there. Natasha acted as a buffer and eased any of the awkwardness left from The Kiss. Clint could hear the capitalizations of ‘The Kiss’ in his mind and wanted to punch himself in the face. This business of capitalizing The Kiss was ridiculous, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it at the moment. Punching himself in the face wasn’t going to help and doing so would not get him anywhere except into a padded room.

Darcy managed to get through most of the food before she looked full and sleepy again. Natasha scarfed down two sandwiches and Clint had three before they were done. Of course, they both finished before Darcy did but they sat with her through the whole thing.

Natasha even helped Clint clear the table and put dishes in the dishwasher before she bid them both goodnight. She hugged Darcy before she left. “If you need anything, anything at all, you call Clint and make him get it for you,” Natasha added making Darcy laugh.

Heal

Once Natasha was gone Clint said, “You know I’m not leaving you here on your own, right?”

“Why are you doing all this?” she asked. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“This isn’t about owing you though I’ll admit I can’t imagine not helping you after everything you’ve done for me.” Clint sat down beside her again and took a deep breath. “Darcy, you said you’d heard the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech before, but that wasn’t what I meant. Will you let me try to explain? I’m not so good with real words.”

“Okay,” she said, leaning forward in her chair at the table, placing her elbows on her knees and propping her chin on her hands.

“You don’t know what I’ve done. I’m,” he paused a moment, “I’m a killer. Not like Tony feels he’s a killer because of the way his weapons leaked into the wrong hands or the way Banner is when the Hulk takes over. Darcy, I have hunted people down, stalked them, and waited. When I got an order, I never questioned taking the life I was told to end. That blood is on my hands, Darcy – How can I touch you with all that blood on my hands?”

For a long moment neither of them moved nor spoke. Then Darcy sat up and reached for his hands. She kissed each fingertip and palm of both his hands. “I’ve seen your files, Clint Barton. I know what you’ve done. It isn’t that I want you in spite of knowing those things. I want you, at least in part, because of the choices you’ve made and the weight you bear.”

She leaned forward and kissed him. It was soft, nothing more than a press of her lips to his, but it was enough. Enough to know that when she healed that she would help him make peace with himself. He kissed her back, tentatively holding her face in his hand as he did. She sighed and it sounded happy.

After a moment, she pulled back and smiling she said, “You’re still sleeping on the couch tonight.”

He laughed. “Just be sure to tell your dad where I slept.” And he kissed her again.