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Avengers - Hint of a Memory [Part 1 of 2]
Title: Hint of a Memory [Part 1 of 2]
Genre: Gen, Clint & Natasha Friendship
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~16,500 words
Warnings: Injury, Amnesia, Mild Violence
Synopsis: He lived a quiet life on a quiet farm near a quiet town. That all changed the day a redhead came knocking at his door.
Author's Notes: The short little fic that got away from me.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
Not much happened in the tiny town of Jackson. Named after the great Andrew and not because he ever set foot in the place but because of its abundance of hickory trees, it was one of the many "blink and you'll miss it" pieces of Americana littering the South. There were sizable pastures of farmland and small little homesteads and a few places that settled for in between and people gave each other their own space and didn't pry much into others' business unless said business was forced upon them.
So it was a bit of a surprise when a pretty redhead came knocking at the farmhouse door well past sundown on a rainy Monday evening, looking tired and worn and with mud stains up her fancy trousers and coating a set of shoes that just looked impractical for the country life. Her face lit up when Corey answered the door though and she seemed to sigh a true breath of relief that someone was present and accounted for out in the backwoods of nowhere.
Her car had stalled out down the road a bit and her phone was just getting no reception, not that there was going to be anyone nearby to call in these parts anyway. Corey left her wrapped up in a blanket with Aunt May and took a flashlight to go see if he could get it working again. He didn't have any real training, not really, but he'd always been good with his hands and figuring things out. He'd fixed May's tractor more than once, and her beat up old truck as well, so he at least knew his way around a machine which was better than nothing. The engine was well and truly shot though, and she must have hit a stone because the left front tire was partially deflated.
He gathered a suitcase from the impossibly small trunk and noted it matched the leather bag she had slung over her shoulder when she arrived and thought of how Aunt May had matching luggage too, only hers was green and ancient in comparison, as he trudged back to the house.
May fussed over him when he got back, like he knew she would, but she also had some hot chocolate on, like he knew she would, so it all evened out. The woman seemed worried about him bothering with her things, and then even more worried when she noticed his slight limp, but he knew May would explain things to her, that leaving her alone in her car when there was a perfectly good spare bed on the second floor simply would not be tolerated.
May was not actually his aunt and he knew that as well as she did, but she was a kind old woman who worked years as a nurse in the local clinic and took him in after his accident, offering him a place to stay and looking after his wounds in exchange for him doing odd chores around the homestead. She called the chores her version of PT and he called them things the old lady simply could not manage on her own anymore, not since her husband died a few years back. He hadn't been able to find a real job, not that there was much worth offering right now anyway, not without leaving and venturing out to the great unknown. It just seemed easier to stay there and help her out what with not having much to get back to of his own, and soon enough the two of them fell into a routine.
He listened and sipped his drink as May gave a general rundown of the place, and then slipped off to his room just behind the kitchen. His leg ached more than he let on, and he took a few aspirin from where he had tucked them away. He'd picked up an extra bottle last time they were in town and kept them in his drawer. It meant May didn't fret about him as much, though he'd be surprised if she didn't suspect something at this point.
The redhead seemed to think something was going on, but was either kind enough to let the matter drop or it simply didn't register as important on her hoity-toity big city view of the world. He heard the creak of the floorboards that signaled the woman being shown what was to be her room for the night, and the open and close of the door that held the spare linens, and figured she was getting settled in. He washed up and climbed into bed and left a note to remind himself to go look at her car again in the morning.
He awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs and the scratch of a spatula against a pan. He had his daily brief moment of panic of where he was and what he was doing, accented by the fact that the sun was shining through the window which meant he had actually slept through the night for a change.
He quickly got dressed and joined the two ladies at the table, Jack the dog laying at his feet and begging for treats. The woman offered him a coffee which he gladly took and she must have made it because it tasted different than May's usual stuff. Not a bad different, just a little sweeter and less bitter than what he was normally used to.
She asked if he knew if there was a mechanic in town and he said that he'd take a look at it himself now in the light to see if he could fix it. She must have took him at his word because, later, she made a call on her cell that was working almost fine now but didn't call for service and instead just told her colleagues that she'd be late.
She insisted on walking back with him to the car, and this time did so in far more sensible clothing. She still wore a shirt that was probably meant to go with some suit, but wore it with jeans and tennis shoes and handled the muck just fine, even with Jack jumping and occasionally splashing beside her.
He looked at the car itself with its sleek lines and all the amenities and knew he had never seen such a fine machine before even as he knew his way around it as soon as the hood was popped. He was in the middle of thinking of how all machines broke down to the same basic principles when it all came down to it, and how Aunt May should really upgrade her old truck sooner rather than later, when the woman broke the silence.
"So, do you think you can fix it?" she asked. She didn't toss her hair or pretend to chew on her fingernail like Lucy from the feed store, but he got the distinct impression that she was flirting with him, her behavior just a tad too casual and comfortable for strangers.
Maybe that's how things were in the city, but he kind of doubted it. He was going to keep with his country manners just fine though, so he nodded and drawled, "I believe so, ma'am."
She smiled, big and wide and it was pretty but he knew better than to think about that part. "Wonderful!" she beamed. She then pushed up the sleeves of her expensive shirt and asked, "What can I do to help?"
He didn't think there was much, to be honest, especially after she looked confused as to where a jack would be to hoist up the car so he could put the spare on to replace the now much flatter tire. After figuring it out himself, he suggested, "Why don't you go back up to the homestead and see if May needs anything? I usually help her feed the chickens by now, and I'm sure she could use the company."
"Are you giving me the brush off?" she laughed.
"I would not dare to do such a thing, ma'am," he insisted, but let her hear the humor in his tone. She didn't seem hurt by the action, and seemed to know her own limitations.
She did, however, see right through his avoidance of her name. "Nat," she said, offering her hand. "You might have missed it last night and it is far more personable than constantly calling me ma'am."
He took the hand easily enough, but did offer a winked, "Of course, ma'am," in return. She shook her head and rolled her eyes but did pause long enough when he offered, "I'm Corey."
She blinked as if expecting something else though he could have sworn May had made introductions the night before. His memory was not always the best, especially when it came to recitation of details versus action, so he just took it as either her not remembering or May herself forgetting in her old age. Regardless, "Nat" covered for it quickly enough and waved her goodbyes as she headed back up the way, Jack torn between following her or staying at his side.
He didn't get the car fixed that day. May had exactly two horses and one was a troublemaker. Bozo, as she liked to call him, chose that day to knock free a part of the fence and escape, nearly trampling the entire chicken coop in the process. Nat seemed to understand even as she asked if she could get a ride into town the next day because her phone kept fritzing in and out and she hoped the coverage would be better there. The ride would cut into his car-fixing time, but they needed a few staples anyway, possibly more than a few as they were feeding an extra mouth.
She helped make dinner that night in thanks and he noticed a bit of red thread that looked suspiciously like the rope that held Bozo's gate together on her sleeve, and wondered just how close to the galloping idiot she had gotten and wasn't mentioning and if that played a role in her desire for a little more civilization.
He didn't go straight to bed that night, but took a light and wandered the property, locking Jack inside to avoid the distraction. Something was spooking the animals more than Bozo's day out and even the much calmer Bubbles was uneasy. He patted the mare along her forelock and offered her an apple and continued his rounds. He found himself at the old barn that really wasn't much more than a beat up oversized old shed at this point, but found the padlock still in place as always and nothing around it amiss.
He shrugged and made his way back to the house, verified with Aunt May that all looked well even if the animals didn't think so. They debated a possible storm on its way and he headed off to bed.
He woke soon enough slick with sweat and with images he'd rather not have in his head. Blood and metal and dirt and impact and his bones seemed to still feel the reverberation of the force while he lay there silently panting and trying to set his heart to rights. He didn't immediately fall back asleep after that, never did after any dream involving the accident, but lay there and listened to the quiet creaks of the house, the rustle of the leaves outside his window. He could hear May's snuffles and snores and the shuffle of what was probably Nat up above him. He hoped he hadn't woke her and eventually drifted off to sleep again debating between offering her an apology if he did or if he should let it be if she was having troubles of her own in an unknown place.
He did, however, wonder why he heard a name decidedly not his own this time around, and why it matched the one Nat accidentally called him earlier in the day.
He did all his morning chores bright and early while May whipped up some breakfast. The truck was a two-seater and so Aunt May drew up a list of what they needed and offered to stay behind. It wasn't like she could ride in the back and there was no way either of them would make their guest do it, and he needed a part for the car and another for the tractor and he just didn't think either one of them would know which ones to get. May shoved some cash in Corey's hand and gave him a peck on the cheek before she waved them off from the porch. He felt uneasy leaving her behind, especially with the unsettledness from last night, but knew she had lived this life far longer than he had and could manage just fine.
Nat made her calls while he shopped for parts. She bought hers but he insisted on buying the one for the tractor. She insisted in turn on buying him lunch in thanks, though she certainly played with her phone more than made any smalltalk while they waited for their food. He eyed the beer she ordered but stuck to soda despite her offer, knowing May frowned upon even those little vices and he would never risk driving after having zero tolerance anyway.
They did chat a little about the meal and about what food he needed to buy and she slipped and said the wrong name again but, after the dream from the night before, he called her on it and asked, "That name - it's the second time you've called me that - is he someone special?"
She seemed to study him for a good minute, long enough for him to wonder if he had crossed a line, before she admitted, "Clint was a good friend of mine. You remind me a lot of him. Well, not the beard, but the eyes." He swiped at his chin self-consciously, the bristles tickling his palm. It had been easier to grow it while his hands were healing, barely able to hold a spoon let alone a razor. "You definitely have his eyes," she finished, as if that settled that, and maybe it did.
He took her at her word and let her move on to other topics including the car, which he had to admit would likely not be fixed until tomorrow at the earliest because they'd get back too late to do much but finish up the chores. A farm was a farm, small as it was, and there was work to be done on it. She seemed okay with that, and mentioned that she may have possibly already told her cohorts that she'd be there for a few more days. Now she did that thing that Jen from the gas station did and looked up at him with this little tilt to her head and he got the feeling he was being flirted with again.
He smiled back, but left it at that. If she was already getting him confused with another that'd be no basis for any sort of relationship, even the one-night ones Jen kept playing at. He was fixing her car and he hoped they could be friendly-like if not actually friends, but had a feeling she was going to forget about him the moment she got back on the road. She had lost a tad bit of her big city attitude, but Aunt May said you can never take the city out of a girl, not completely, so he settled for being nice and letting anything else be a surprise.
He bought the things on May's list, surprised when Nat met him at the truck with a bag of her own. "No peeking, that'd be telling," she chided, which he took to mean she planned on making them dinner or maybe breakfast during her stay. They loaded the bags in the back of the truck and he hoped she hadn't been foolish enough to get something breakable as the ride back would be less than smooth and, besides, having chickens meant you rarely ran short on eggs.
They made more smalltalk on the way back, but he noticed her playing with her phone again. She caught him catching her and had the grace to look guilty. "I was trying to see exactly where it cuts out so you don't have to go all the way into town just for me," she admitted.
The little lines disappeared only about a mile from their property, which meant she only had to go for a short-ish walk to be connected with the world again. He wasn't sure why that was so important to her since he rather liked the quiet of a countryside that barely got a television signal on a good day, but reminded himself that city and country were as different as those two mice in that children's book tucked away on the shelf in the living room.
They unloaded their goods and he finished up some of the heavier lifting jobs May just could not handle on her own despite her insistence she could. He checked to make sure Bozo and Bubbles hadn't destroyed the repairs he had made the day before and was pleased to see the gate holding well. As he walked back to the house, he swore he saw something out of the corner of his eye, but turned to find nothing save for the leaves on the trees and bushes lining the west side of the property looking well and disturbed. He swore under his breath about wolves and foxes, not actually hating the animals but not liking the damage they could do to a coop. The guilty part of his mind made him look about to make sure May didn't hear him, though he fought the urge to put change in the swear jar all the same. Technically it was all her money anyway, but it didn't change the whole penance factor and the need to watch a mouth that had urges she just didn't approve of in her presence.
He returned to find Jack dancing at Nat's feet while she cooked up something that smelled delicious. Given that May was not protesting someone else using her stove, even his good Auntie must have been impressed.
"It's actually really simple," Nat insisted, and proceeded to show them both how a few additions made something ordinary seem like something so much more.
He took a bite and the favors exploded on his tongue, warm and familiar with just that little extra edge of something different. "It's Laotian," she explained. "Well, the spices are close to it. I know someone who makes this in a way that puts mine to shame, but this is as close as you are going to get for now."
Corey had a feeling she was talking about that man friend of hers again, Clint. He didn't take the bait though she seemed to look at him almost expectantly. "It's good," he confirmed, and that seemed enough, even though May insisted on a glass of milk to cut the heat.
He washed the dishes in thanks for the meal but she insisted on drying them. He was pulling on a jacket and reaching for the rifle kept just behind the kitchen door when he caught her watching him curiously. "Something's been spooking the animals, more at night than any other time it seems," he explained in answer to her unasked question. He noted a wary surprise wash across her features, and admitted, "Probably fox or wolf. A shot is enough to scare them off without doing any real harm."
She nodded and her face settled into something resembling relief. "Do you want company?" she offered, which rather surprised him to be honest.
He shook his head though, images of her fancy shoes and sleek car dancing about his head. "Naw, I got it. You keep Aunt May company, see if you can get her to turn in at a reasonable hour instead of staying up late with her magazines." He had just picked up more that day, so it was likely a lost cause, but it would keep them both busy at the very least.
He left before she had a chance to argue with him, though he was willing to bet she was tempted to follow anyway, just to be contrary. He heard the creek of the door behind him and was ready to sigh and find a kind and polite way to cuss her out for sticking her nose in business she knew nothing about. Instead, Jack the dog came trotting at his side and he was forced to crack a smile. She got her way of him not being alone, and he got his way of tending to the rounds in relative peace. A compromise, whether he wanted one or not.
They were short one hen, but he found her under the coop of all places. He would have probably missed her if Jack hadn't run under the stilts and rustled her up. The horses were fine, but something in his gut told him to check the shed. The lock was in place, but at an odd angle that wasn't just from the wind. The weeds around it also looked like they had seen better days, the smell of recently crushed vegetation flooding his nostrils.
It would appear they had something more than foxes or wolves after all. With the exception of a very large wolf, for which he'd had seen more evidence than this, this was done by a person, which meant someone was sneaking around the homestead. He'd have thought it was maybe their guest, but she had been with him all day. It could have been May, but she avoided the shed unless she had to, and would have avoided stepping on the little purple clover she liked so well.
He raised the gun and stared out into the darkness, eyes locked on what he knew to be where the leaves had been moving earlier that day. "You best be leaving this place alone lest you want trouble," he spoke out into the nothingness. Jack accented the threat with a bark that was less than vicious, but the sentiment was there.
He held his position for a good while, waiting to see if whoever it was would show themselves. When they did not, and when his leg ached too much for him to stay out much longer, he lowered the weapon and slowly headed back towards the house, glancing over his shoulder more than once along the way. He wasn't going to tell Aunt May about this, not yet, but he most definitely needed to check on some things in the morning.
The remainder of the evening was far from restful. He tried to sleep, but his mind kept filling with dreams of things he'd rather not dream. Add to that the fact that any little creak of a floorboard or rustle of wind had his eyes snapping open, and he was down right exhausted come morning.
He had a job to do though, and more than one at that. He didn't taste his breakfast, but he tasted the moisture in the air when he ran through his morning chores. Even with the threat of the storm overhead, he didn't immediately go fix the car, but instead made one last round near the shed. Nothing had changed from the night before, but nothing felt one hundred percent right either, so he found himself looking over his shoulder at the edge of where the property faded to trees and brambles even as he made his way to wrap up the repairs, Jack at his side.
He opened the hood to get started, or finished as the case may be, and had to take a moment and just stare. There was a spark plug not quite sitting where it was supposed to be. When he picked it up, the casing was cracked straight through and he was sure as he could be that it had not been like that just the day before else he would have picked up another one when they had gone into town. He knew his memory wasn't what it was supposed to be though, May had told him that enough for it to sink in as a reality, so there was a chance, slim as it may be, that he had simply missed that one small thing in the mess of everything else.
He didn't want to waste more time going back to the store and he certainly didn't want to have to explain to their guest that they needed yet another thing, so he pocketed the broken one to see if he might have a spare laying around the barn or with the pile of stuff May's husband had left when he passed away. William had been mechanically inclined, or so it would seem, and had parts and pieces everywhere, despite May's best attempts at a clean up job. Whatever he found might not be in perfect condition, but it would be better than nothing. Besides, Nat seemed like the practical type, to a degree, and he was willing to bet the paycheck he didn't have that she would take her nice fancy car to a nice fancy shop once she got back to civilization.
It was well past lunch when the storm rolled finally rolled in. Save for the single spark plug, he was fairly certain everything was in working order. He grabbed his gear and headed back, fat drops of rain starting to soak in through the flannel of his shirt along the way.
He put his toolbox in the main barn where he usually did, and took the chance to look through William's old gear to match up the plug. He left the doors open and something decidedly not thunder or lightning caught his attention outside. Dark, fast, and low to the ground, but he was fairly certain it was not a fox or wolf based on the size and the subtle reflection of what looked to be glass or metal and definitely not eyes or teeth. Besides, Jack was not the brightest of animals and he'd have gone after something small and furry even if it was larger than himself. When it came to people though, he was a good judge of character and stuck close to those he trusted, much like he was doing now.
The rifle May knew about was back at the house, but he'd found a spare tucked in with William's things some time back, latched but not locked in its case and in fairly decent condition. He grabbed that and tucked some slugs into his pocket and into its barrel. He checked it in the shadow of the doors and made sure it was good and ready when he stepped back out into the rain.
The shape had headed towards the trees, away from the barn and towards the old shed. There was a fair bit of open land to traverse to get there on either side of the house that stood in the middle, but he knew that land well enough to trust his steps and his stride even in the mounting mud.
A noise caught his attention just in front of the house and he worried that someone had already gotten there before him. He whipped around, rifle at the ready, imagining the worst. Instead, Nat peeked her head outside the door and eyed him with the gun, a muddy mutt at his side. Before he could give her some empty platitude or worthless excuse, her cheerful smile turned to something far more dour and he dare say deadly. "Fuck," she growled, an odd accent to her tone. "Stay there and try not to get shot," she ordered before she darted back into the house.
He heard her shout something to Aunt May that sounded suspiciously like a direction to hide and he didn't know why but he expected her to reappear with the other shotgun in hand. Instead she came back out stripped down to the tank she had been wearing under a white button-up and wielding two much smaller and much fancier weapons. "Where are they?" she demanded when she joined him in the rain. She slid a clip in with practiced ease and glanced around into the growing darkness.
He took a moment to pause and blink and was in no way finding her presence and attitude attractive or comforting except for the part where he really did. "They headed for the shed; I think they've been there before," he finally answered at her look of impatience.
They took a total of about three steps in that direction before the first shot rang out and wood splintered from the siding behind them. Jack whimpered and she pressed them both down and back behind the relative safety of one of the porch supports and fired seemingly blindly around the other side. There was the sound of impact though, right before a whole new round of a whole lot more shots rang out.
"Those are definitely coming from the woods," he pointed out, confirming his earlier suspicions.
She nodded in agreement and then headed in a decidedly different direction. "Where in the world are you going?" he asked, hoping she could hear him as the wind began to pick up.
"We need something from the car," she replied. It sounded like she added that it may be more than one thing, but the first part didn't make sense so he wasn't sure about the second. He'd been at that car for days and there wasn't anything there of importance in so far as he could see, and why would she leave something so valuable so unattended in the first place?
He followed her anyways because the woman should not be alone, armed or not, when unknowns were floating about, especially when those unknowns seemed content to continue to shoot at them both. She popped the trunk and tugged at what he had thought was where the wall of the trunk met with the seat of the inside. It came loose and he caught sight of a shiny black case right before he nearly caught a bullet to the ear.
He dropped down and fired both rounds and fumbled in his pocket to prepare to reload. There was no way his handful of slugs were going to hold off whoever was after them and so he made the executive decision to get to the hell out of there and get to the ammo back at the barn. "This way!" he ordered, no longer caring what his companion found so precious as to risk her blood for.
She surprised him by following him and laying down cover fire. She reached to close at least one of the doors behind her and a noise caught his attention in the usually relatively quiet barn right about the time she shouted, "Clint, behind you!"
He dropped down and fired a shot at pretty much the exact same time she did, a man in full tactical gear sailing a good foot backwards from the force of impact.
"You're still calling me that name," he griped as he looked around for something else to use as a weapon and filled his pockets with what he could. A single shotgun and the two handguns she had were all fine and dandy, but he was practical enough to think they were clearly outmatched and needed something more.
He swore he heard her grumble that there was a reason for the name, but it was drowned out soon enough by another crack of thunder and another burst of gunfire. Someone was coming at them from the front, and another from the back, and the only thing he could think of was to go up because then at least there was a chance to escape through the hayloft. The landing may be less than fully soft as there was not nearly enough piled at the bottom outside, but at least it would be a means of escape, so there was that.
He shoved Jack behind the workbench and ordered him to stay before he grabbed her shoulder and pushed her towards the ladder, surprised when she barely flinched at the action though she did shrug him off and insist he go first. He clambered upwards and less than silently cursed the leg that wanted to give way in the action as of course it chose now to act up because he really needed it not to.
She shot the man coming in the front and he shot the man coming from the back while he was halfway up the ladder and he had a brief moment of thinking they were in the clear and could just climb back down and get to the house to call the sheriff and let them sort it out before she urged him to continue because several more attackers were on their way.
"What the hell did you do?" he asked as he tripped up the rungs.
"Corey Meadows doesn't have the security clearance to know," she answered, pushing him from behind. He flopped forward and scurried out of the way so she could follow him and she added, "Suffice it to say, it appears to have really pissed them off."
Up in the safety of the loft, she did a once over as if to secure the place before she knelt down to dig in that fancy case of hers. She pulled on a pair of what looked to be rather bulky fingerless gloves, at least one of which glowed with lines of blue when she activated some hidden switch. He had no idea what the other one did, but he was distracted by four more men coming in the front and what sounded like an equal number from the rear. "Ready?" he whispered, even as he wondered if he should shoot first and give their position away, or wait until the bullets started coming at them.
She answered both inquiries at the same time by emptying the remainder of a clip into the men approaching them and sliding another into place. He shook his head and started firing as well, the recoil of the shotgun and the need to reload repeatedly slowing his pace.
He left her side when Bozo whinnied in a worrying way and he turned to find at least one man using the stall wall to try to lever himself up to the loft. He fired once and knocked the man backwards but was rewarded with the disappointing click of an empty barrel when he tried to fire again. He reached in his pocket and knew this had better end soon because he simply did not have enough to hold them all off, but breathed a silent sigh of relief when a much smaller caliber finished the job so he didn't have to.
He whipped around to thank her and found her standing there with a flick of her red hair and smirk fully in place and he could almost hear her confident snark, but whatever she was going to say was drowned out by the scrape of a boot on the ladder.
A man in black lunged at her and he managed a strangled, "Tasha!" in warning. Her eyes widened and she dropped down and did something that looked incredibly acrobatic and complex but not quite deadly enough.
The two wrestled and he picked off a third and then he heard through yet another rumble her shout of, "Take the shot!"
Electricity raced off the lines of blue on her wrist, answering at least what the thing did, but all he could concentrate on was now easily he could hit her instead of the guy now pinning her down and he tried to get over there to at least knock the guy in the head with the butt of his rifle but the guy he'd just shot grabbed on to his ankle and tried to yank him down and he heard an almost pained, "Clint, take the damn shot."
He still liked the pistol-whipping with a rifle idea but chose to use it on the ankle-biter instead and then fired at the still flailing melee on the other side of the loft, the black clad man collapsing in a neat heap that she tossed off of herself haphazardly.
After reveling in the fact that she was safe and sound, he reveled in the fact he succeeded. "I- I made it," he blinked.
She rolled her eyes and brushed dust and hay off of her now red-tinged tank. "Of course you did," she told him, sounding oddly almost chiding. "You never miss, not when it counts."
He blinked again and this time had flashes of targets both paper and human crumbling, of blood and splinters and sparks and fire that blinded his eyes, only to disappear and fade back to the damp darkness of the barn as his eyes refocused. "Yeah, well don't count on that. It's pretty damn easy to miss when you're out of bullets." He wasn't technically out, but he was a lot closer than he'd like to be and it was an uncomfortable feeling as he doubted they were out of the woods yet what with not yet actually reaching the woods where these guys seemed to be coming from.
"When you're done with that, try this," she told him. He watched as she reached in the shiny black case again, this time coming up with a misshapen bit of metal and wire. She tossed it at him and he caught it easily enough. He was still trying to figure it out as his hand fit neatly into a grip that seemed made specifically for it. His arm shot outward on instinct and metal unfolded and snapped into place, wire growing taught with the action.
"A bow?" he asked incredulously. "You want me to give up a shotgun with limited ammo for something with no ammo at all?"
"I would never leave you high and dry like that, Barton," she promised. She pulled what had to be the final item given its size from the case. It was some sort of high tech quiver with some seriously short arrows. He was about to make a remark that would no doubt be cutting and sarcastic and possibly inappropriate given the company of a lady about their size, but she keyed a sequence on the side and each and every one twisted upwards to full length, the quiver itself growing to steady them along the way.
He settled for a huffed, "Still limited ammo," instead. He eyed them when she slid them over and let his curiosity get the better of him when he asked, "How'd they do that anyway?"
"Gift from Stark," she shrugged. "He thought it might make them easier to transport. Still in prototype stage, but usable."
And he could see Tony's reasoning even as he could see the design being laid out in glowing images in that huge lab of his. Smaller, more portable for rushed or covert trips, but with the same effectiveness when expanded to their true size. He shook his head trying to place that. How did he know this man, this Mr. Stark? How did he know the guy's first name was Tony, or what his lab would look like? How did he know to slide the quiver into place, its weight a familiar presence across his back?
His confusion must have shown because there was a flash of sorrow across Natasha's, no, Nat's face, for a split second before it smoothed out to something impassive and expressionless. "You're in there, Clint. Somewhere. We'll get you back or burn the world trying," she promised.
"But..." he started, but wasn't sure how to finish.
There was another flicker of emotion, this one something far more personal, before she said, "You called me Tasha, you took the shot, and you hold that bow as if it were your own because it is. Your name is Clint Barton and you are a friend and teammate and a hell of a lot more." She cocked her head to the side at a new noise, likely the next wave arriving. "And, as usual, someone wants you dead."
He tilted his head, considering, but still could not make complete sense out of everything. It was too much at once. Too much strangeness, too much change, too much that seemed familiar and terrifyingly different all at the same time. Too much danger in the quiet safety of the life he had finally slotted himself into.
The noise was growing closer though, soon the barn would be fully surrounded and they would be trapped inside with limited weaponry and limited choices. It would be easy enough for the faceless enemy to set fire to the place, to light it up even with the storm and smoke them out or let them die trapped inside like the poor animals locked in their pens.
He eyed the opening in the loft and frowned. The chute wasn't set up and it was a sizable distance down. The landing was going to hurt like hell, but the alternative was not an option, not really, so he calculated the trajectory needed while his companion took out anyone dumb enough to slip into her line of sight.
Most of the soldier-like attackers were gathering around the front and rear entrances for the attack, and only two seemed to even think of checking the sides. The rifle would be too loud and warn of their intent, the armed men would be on them before they even hit the ground. His fingers drifted towards the quiver, the polymer fletchings tickling the tips. Decision made without really thinking about it, he let off two shots in quick succession, two figures dropping near soundlessly into the mud and gunk.
Nat was at his side, doing her own calculations for the jump. She eyed the hits and patted his arm lightly. "You're still in there," she insisted, right before she pushed him over the edge.
Part Two on Live Journal | Part Two on Dreamwidth
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: Gen, Clint & Natasha Friendship
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~16,500 words
Warnings: Injury, Amnesia, Mild Violence
Synopsis: He lived a quiet life on a quiet farm near a quiet town. That all changed the day a redhead came knocking at his door.
Author's Notes: The short little fic that got away from me.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
Not much happened in the tiny town of Jackson. Named after the great Andrew and not because he ever set foot in the place but because of its abundance of hickory trees, it was one of the many "blink and you'll miss it" pieces of Americana littering the South. There were sizable pastures of farmland and small little homesteads and a few places that settled for in between and people gave each other their own space and didn't pry much into others' business unless said business was forced upon them.
So it was a bit of a surprise when a pretty redhead came knocking at the farmhouse door well past sundown on a rainy Monday evening, looking tired and worn and with mud stains up her fancy trousers and coating a set of shoes that just looked impractical for the country life. Her face lit up when Corey answered the door though and she seemed to sigh a true breath of relief that someone was present and accounted for out in the backwoods of nowhere.
Her car had stalled out down the road a bit and her phone was just getting no reception, not that there was going to be anyone nearby to call in these parts anyway. Corey left her wrapped up in a blanket with Aunt May and took a flashlight to go see if he could get it working again. He didn't have any real training, not really, but he'd always been good with his hands and figuring things out. He'd fixed May's tractor more than once, and her beat up old truck as well, so he at least knew his way around a machine which was better than nothing. The engine was well and truly shot though, and she must have hit a stone because the left front tire was partially deflated.
He gathered a suitcase from the impossibly small trunk and noted it matched the leather bag she had slung over her shoulder when she arrived and thought of how Aunt May had matching luggage too, only hers was green and ancient in comparison, as he trudged back to the house.
May fussed over him when he got back, like he knew she would, but she also had some hot chocolate on, like he knew she would, so it all evened out. The woman seemed worried about him bothering with her things, and then even more worried when she noticed his slight limp, but he knew May would explain things to her, that leaving her alone in her car when there was a perfectly good spare bed on the second floor simply would not be tolerated.
May was not actually his aunt and he knew that as well as she did, but she was a kind old woman who worked years as a nurse in the local clinic and took him in after his accident, offering him a place to stay and looking after his wounds in exchange for him doing odd chores around the homestead. She called the chores her version of PT and he called them things the old lady simply could not manage on her own anymore, not since her husband died a few years back. He hadn't been able to find a real job, not that there was much worth offering right now anyway, not without leaving and venturing out to the great unknown. It just seemed easier to stay there and help her out what with not having much to get back to of his own, and soon enough the two of them fell into a routine.
He listened and sipped his drink as May gave a general rundown of the place, and then slipped off to his room just behind the kitchen. His leg ached more than he let on, and he took a few aspirin from where he had tucked them away. He'd picked up an extra bottle last time they were in town and kept them in his drawer. It meant May didn't fret about him as much, though he'd be surprised if she didn't suspect something at this point.
The redhead seemed to think something was going on, but was either kind enough to let the matter drop or it simply didn't register as important on her hoity-toity big city view of the world. He heard the creak of the floorboards that signaled the woman being shown what was to be her room for the night, and the open and close of the door that held the spare linens, and figured she was getting settled in. He washed up and climbed into bed and left a note to remind himself to go look at her car again in the morning.
He awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs and the scratch of a spatula against a pan. He had his daily brief moment of panic of where he was and what he was doing, accented by the fact that the sun was shining through the window which meant he had actually slept through the night for a change.
He quickly got dressed and joined the two ladies at the table, Jack the dog laying at his feet and begging for treats. The woman offered him a coffee which he gladly took and she must have made it because it tasted different than May's usual stuff. Not a bad different, just a little sweeter and less bitter than what he was normally used to.
She asked if he knew if there was a mechanic in town and he said that he'd take a look at it himself now in the light to see if he could fix it. She must have took him at his word because, later, she made a call on her cell that was working almost fine now but didn't call for service and instead just told her colleagues that she'd be late.
She insisted on walking back with him to the car, and this time did so in far more sensible clothing. She still wore a shirt that was probably meant to go with some suit, but wore it with jeans and tennis shoes and handled the muck just fine, even with Jack jumping and occasionally splashing beside her.
He looked at the car itself with its sleek lines and all the amenities and knew he had never seen such a fine machine before even as he knew his way around it as soon as the hood was popped. He was in the middle of thinking of how all machines broke down to the same basic principles when it all came down to it, and how Aunt May should really upgrade her old truck sooner rather than later, when the woman broke the silence.
"So, do you think you can fix it?" she asked. She didn't toss her hair or pretend to chew on her fingernail like Lucy from the feed store, but he got the distinct impression that she was flirting with him, her behavior just a tad too casual and comfortable for strangers.
Maybe that's how things were in the city, but he kind of doubted it. He was going to keep with his country manners just fine though, so he nodded and drawled, "I believe so, ma'am."
She smiled, big and wide and it was pretty but he knew better than to think about that part. "Wonderful!" she beamed. She then pushed up the sleeves of her expensive shirt and asked, "What can I do to help?"
He didn't think there was much, to be honest, especially after she looked confused as to where a jack would be to hoist up the car so he could put the spare on to replace the now much flatter tire. After figuring it out himself, he suggested, "Why don't you go back up to the homestead and see if May needs anything? I usually help her feed the chickens by now, and I'm sure she could use the company."
"Are you giving me the brush off?" she laughed.
"I would not dare to do such a thing, ma'am," he insisted, but let her hear the humor in his tone. She didn't seem hurt by the action, and seemed to know her own limitations.
She did, however, see right through his avoidance of her name. "Nat," she said, offering her hand. "You might have missed it last night and it is far more personable than constantly calling me ma'am."
He took the hand easily enough, but did offer a winked, "Of course, ma'am," in return. She shook her head and rolled her eyes but did pause long enough when he offered, "I'm Corey."
She blinked as if expecting something else though he could have sworn May had made introductions the night before. His memory was not always the best, especially when it came to recitation of details versus action, so he just took it as either her not remembering or May herself forgetting in her old age. Regardless, "Nat" covered for it quickly enough and waved her goodbyes as she headed back up the way, Jack torn between following her or staying at his side.
He didn't get the car fixed that day. May had exactly two horses and one was a troublemaker. Bozo, as she liked to call him, chose that day to knock free a part of the fence and escape, nearly trampling the entire chicken coop in the process. Nat seemed to understand even as she asked if she could get a ride into town the next day because her phone kept fritzing in and out and she hoped the coverage would be better there. The ride would cut into his car-fixing time, but they needed a few staples anyway, possibly more than a few as they were feeding an extra mouth.
She helped make dinner that night in thanks and he noticed a bit of red thread that looked suspiciously like the rope that held Bozo's gate together on her sleeve, and wondered just how close to the galloping idiot she had gotten and wasn't mentioning and if that played a role in her desire for a little more civilization.
He didn't go straight to bed that night, but took a light and wandered the property, locking Jack inside to avoid the distraction. Something was spooking the animals more than Bozo's day out and even the much calmer Bubbles was uneasy. He patted the mare along her forelock and offered her an apple and continued his rounds. He found himself at the old barn that really wasn't much more than a beat up oversized old shed at this point, but found the padlock still in place as always and nothing around it amiss.
He shrugged and made his way back to the house, verified with Aunt May that all looked well even if the animals didn't think so. They debated a possible storm on its way and he headed off to bed.
He woke soon enough slick with sweat and with images he'd rather not have in his head. Blood and metal and dirt and impact and his bones seemed to still feel the reverberation of the force while he lay there silently panting and trying to set his heart to rights. He didn't immediately fall back asleep after that, never did after any dream involving the accident, but lay there and listened to the quiet creaks of the house, the rustle of the leaves outside his window. He could hear May's snuffles and snores and the shuffle of what was probably Nat up above him. He hoped he hadn't woke her and eventually drifted off to sleep again debating between offering her an apology if he did or if he should let it be if she was having troubles of her own in an unknown place.
He did, however, wonder why he heard a name decidedly not his own this time around, and why it matched the one Nat accidentally called him earlier in the day.
He did all his morning chores bright and early while May whipped up some breakfast. The truck was a two-seater and so Aunt May drew up a list of what they needed and offered to stay behind. It wasn't like she could ride in the back and there was no way either of them would make their guest do it, and he needed a part for the car and another for the tractor and he just didn't think either one of them would know which ones to get. May shoved some cash in Corey's hand and gave him a peck on the cheek before she waved them off from the porch. He felt uneasy leaving her behind, especially with the unsettledness from last night, but knew she had lived this life far longer than he had and could manage just fine.
Nat made her calls while he shopped for parts. She bought hers but he insisted on buying the one for the tractor. She insisted in turn on buying him lunch in thanks, though she certainly played with her phone more than made any smalltalk while they waited for their food. He eyed the beer she ordered but stuck to soda despite her offer, knowing May frowned upon even those little vices and he would never risk driving after having zero tolerance anyway.
They did chat a little about the meal and about what food he needed to buy and she slipped and said the wrong name again but, after the dream from the night before, he called her on it and asked, "That name - it's the second time you've called me that - is he someone special?"
She seemed to study him for a good minute, long enough for him to wonder if he had crossed a line, before she admitted, "Clint was a good friend of mine. You remind me a lot of him. Well, not the beard, but the eyes." He swiped at his chin self-consciously, the bristles tickling his palm. It had been easier to grow it while his hands were healing, barely able to hold a spoon let alone a razor. "You definitely have his eyes," she finished, as if that settled that, and maybe it did.
He took her at her word and let her move on to other topics including the car, which he had to admit would likely not be fixed until tomorrow at the earliest because they'd get back too late to do much but finish up the chores. A farm was a farm, small as it was, and there was work to be done on it. She seemed okay with that, and mentioned that she may have possibly already told her cohorts that she'd be there for a few more days. Now she did that thing that Jen from the gas station did and looked up at him with this little tilt to her head and he got the feeling he was being flirted with again.
He smiled back, but left it at that. If she was already getting him confused with another that'd be no basis for any sort of relationship, even the one-night ones Jen kept playing at. He was fixing her car and he hoped they could be friendly-like if not actually friends, but had a feeling she was going to forget about him the moment she got back on the road. She had lost a tad bit of her big city attitude, but Aunt May said you can never take the city out of a girl, not completely, so he settled for being nice and letting anything else be a surprise.
He bought the things on May's list, surprised when Nat met him at the truck with a bag of her own. "No peeking, that'd be telling," she chided, which he took to mean she planned on making them dinner or maybe breakfast during her stay. They loaded the bags in the back of the truck and he hoped she hadn't been foolish enough to get something breakable as the ride back would be less than smooth and, besides, having chickens meant you rarely ran short on eggs.
They made more smalltalk on the way back, but he noticed her playing with her phone again. She caught him catching her and had the grace to look guilty. "I was trying to see exactly where it cuts out so you don't have to go all the way into town just for me," she admitted.
The little lines disappeared only about a mile from their property, which meant she only had to go for a short-ish walk to be connected with the world again. He wasn't sure why that was so important to her since he rather liked the quiet of a countryside that barely got a television signal on a good day, but reminded himself that city and country were as different as those two mice in that children's book tucked away on the shelf in the living room.
They unloaded their goods and he finished up some of the heavier lifting jobs May just could not handle on her own despite her insistence she could. He checked to make sure Bozo and Bubbles hadn't destroyed the repairs he had made the day before and was pleased to see the gate holding well. As he walked back to the house, he swore he saw something out of the corner of his eye, but turned to find nothing save for the leaves on the trees and bushes lining the west side of the property looking well and disturbed. He swore under his breath about wolves and foxes, not actually hating the animals but not liking the damage they could do to a coop. The guilty part of his mind made him look about to make sure May didn't hear him, though he fought the urge to put change in the swear jar all the same. Technically it was all her money anyway, but it didn't change the whole penance factor and the need to watch a mouth that had urges she just didn't approve of in her presence.
He returned to find Jack dancing at Nat's feet while she cooked up something that smelled delicious. Given that May was not protesting someone else using her stove, even his good Auntie must have been impressed.
"It's actually really simple," Nat insisted, and proceeded to show them both how a few additions made something ordinary seem like something so much more.
He took a bite and the favors exploded on his tongue, warm and familiar with just that little extra edge of something different. "It's Laotian," she explained. "Well, the spices are close to it. I know someone who makes this in a way that puts mine to shame, but this is as close as you are going to get for now."
Corey had a feeling she was talking about that man friend of hers again, Clint. He didn't take the bait though she seemed to look at him almost expectantly. "It's good," he confirmed, and that seemed enough, even though May insisted on a glass of milk to cut the heat.
He washed the dishes in thanks for the meal but she insisted on drying them. He was pulling on a jacket and reaching for the rifle kept just behind the kitchen door when he caught her watching him curiously. "Something's been spooking the animals, more at night than any other time it seems," he explained in answer to her unasked question. He noted a wary surprise wash across her features, and admitted, "Probably fox or wolf. A shot is enough to scare them off without doing any real harm."
She nodded and her face settled into something resembling relief. "Do you want company?" she offered, which rather surprised him to be honest.
He shook his head though, images of her fancy shoes and sleek car dancing about his head. "Naw, I got it. You keep Aunt May company, see if you can get her to turn in at a reasonable hour instead of staying up late with her magazines." He had just picked up more that day, so it was likely a lost cause, but it would keep them both busy at the very least.
He left before she had a chance to argue with him, though he was willing to bet she was tempted to follow anyway, just to be contrary. He heard the creek of the door behind him and was ready to sigh and find a kind and polite way to cuss her out for sticking her nose in business she knew nothing about. Instead, Jack the dog came trotting at his side and he was forced to crack a smile. She got her way of him not being alone, and he got his way of tending to the rounds in relative peace. A compromise, whether he wanted one or not.
They were short one hen, but he found her under the coop of all places. He would have probably missed her if Jack hadn't run under the stilts and rustled her up. The horses were fine, but something in his gut told him to check the shed. The lock was in place, but at an odd angle that wasn't just from the wind. The weeds around it also looked like they had seen better days, the smell of recently crushed vegetation flooding his nostrils.
It would appear they had something more than foxes or wolves after all. With the exception of a very large wolf, for which he'd had seen more evidence than this, this was done by a person, which meant someone was sneaking around the homestead. He'd have thought it was maybe their guest, but she had been with him all day. It could have been May, but she avoided the shed unless she had to, and would have avoided stepping on the little purple clover she liked so well.
He raised the gun and stared out into the darkness, eyes locked on what he knew to be where the leaves had been moving earlier that day. "You best be leaving this place alone lest you want trouble," he spoke out into the nothingness. Jack accented the threat with a bark that was less than vicious, but the sentiment was there.
He held his position for a good while, waiting to see if whoever it was would show themselves. When they did not, and when his leg ached too much for him to stay out much longer, he lowered the weapon and slowly headed back towards the house, glancing over his shoulder more than once along the way. He wasn't going to tell Aunt May about this, not yet, but he most definitely needed to check on some things in the morning.
The remainder of the evening was far from restful. He tried to sleep, but his mind kept filling with dreams of things he'd rather not dream. Add to that the fact that any little creak of a floorboard or rustle of wind had his eyes snapping open, and he was down right exhausted come morning.
He had a job to do though, and more than one at that. He didn't taste his breakfast, but he tasted the moisture in the air when he ran through his morning chores. Even with the threat of the storm overhead, he didn't immediately go fix the car, but instead made one last round near the shed. Nothing had changed from the night before, but nothing felt one hundred percent right either, so he found himself looking over his shoulder at the edge of where the property faded to trees and brambles even as he made his way to wrap up the repairs, Jack at his side.
He opened the hood to get started, or finished as the case may be, and had to take a moment and just stare. There was a spark plug not quite sitting where it was supposed to be. When he picked it up, the casing was cracked straight through and he was sure as he could be that it had not been like that just the day before else he would have picked up another one when they had gone into town. He knew his memory wasn't what it was supposed to be though, May had told him that enough for it to sink in as a reality, so there was a chance, slim as it may be, that he had simply missed that one small thing in the mess of everything else.
He didn't want to waste more time going back to the store and he certainly didn't want to have to explain to their guest that they needed yet another thing, so he pocketed the broken one to see if he might have a spare laying around the barn or with the pile of stuff May's husband had left when he passed away. William had been mechanically inclined, or so it would seem, and had parts and pieces everywhere, despite May's best attempts at a clean up job. Whatever he found might not be in perfect condition, but it would be better than nothing. Besides, Nat seemed like the practical type, to a degree, and he was willing to bet the paycheck he didn't have that she would take her nice fancy car to a nice fancy shop once she got back to civilization.
It was well past lunch when the storm rolled finally rolled in. Save for the single spark plug, he was fairly certain everything was in working order. He grabbed his gear and headed back, fat drops of rain starting to soak in through the flannel of his shirt along the way.
He put his toolbox in the main barn where he usually did, and took the chance to look through William's old gear to match up the plug. He left the doors open and something decidedly not thunder or lightning caught his attention outside. Dark, fast, and low to the ground, but he was fairly certain it was not a fox or wolf based on the size and the subtle reflection of what looked to be glass or metal and definitely not eyes or teeth. Besides, Jack was not the brightest of animals and he'd have gone after something small and furry even if it was larger than himself. When it came to people though, he was a good judge of character and stuck close to those he trusted, much like he was doing now.
The rifle May knew about was back at the house, but he'd found a spare tucked in with William's things some time back, latched but not locked in its case and in fairly decent condition. He grabbed that and tucked some slugs into his pocket and into its barrel. He checked it in the shadow of the doors and made sure it was good and ready when he stepped back out into the rain.
The shape had headed towards the trees, away from the barn and towards the old shed. There was a fair bit of open land to traverse to get there on either side of the house that stood in the middle, but he knew that land well enough to trust his steps and his stride even in the mounting mud.
A noise caught his attention just in front of the house and he worried that someone had already gotten there before him. He whipped around, rifle at the ready, imagining the worst. Instead, Nat peeked her head outside the door and eyed him with the gun, a muddy mutt at his side. Before he could give her some empty platitude or worthless excuse, her cheerful smile turned to something far more dour and he dare say deadly. "Fuck," she growled, an odd accent to her tone. "Stay there and try not to get shot," she ordered before she darted back into the house.
He heard her shout something to Aunt May that sounded suspiciously like a direction to hide and he didn't know why but he expected her to reappear with the other shotgun in hand. Instead she came back out stripped down to the tank she had been wearing under a white button-up and wielding two much smaller and much fancier weapons. "Where are they?" she demanded when she joined him in the rain. She slid a clip in with practiced ease and glanced around into the growing darkness.
He took a moment to pause and blink and was in no way finding her presence and attitude attractive or comforting except for the part where he really did. "They headed for the shed; I think they've been there before," he finally answered at her look of impatience.
They took a total of about three steps in that direction before the first shot rang out and wood splintered from the siding behind them. Jack whimpered and she pressed them both down and back behind the relative safety of one of the porch supports and fired seemingly blindly around the other side. There was the sound of impact though, right before a whole new round of a whole lot more shots rang out.
"Those are definitely coming from the woods," he pointed out, confirming his earlier suspicions.
She nodded in agreement and then headed in a decidedly different direction. "Where in the world are you going?" he asked, hoping she could hear him as the wind began to pick up.
"We need something from the car," she replied. It sounded like she added that it may be more than one thing, but the first part didn't make sense so he wasn't sure about the second. He'd been at that car for days and there wasn't anything there of importance in so far as he could see, and why would she leave something so valuable so unattended in the first place?
He followed her anyways because the woman should not be alone, armed or not, when unknowns were floating about, especially when those unknowns seemed content to continue to shoot at them both. She popped the trunk and tugged at what he had thought was where the wall of the trunk met with the seat of the inside. It came loose and he caught sight of a shiny black case right before he nearly caught a bullet to the ear.
He dropped down and fired both rounds and fumbled in his pocket to prepare to reload. There was no way his handful of slugs were going to hold off whoever was after them and so he made the executive decision to get to the hell out of there and get to the ammo back at the barn. "This way!" he ordered, no longer caring what his companion found so precious as to risk her blood for.
She surprised him by following him and laying down cover fire. She reached to close at least one of the doors behind her and a noise caught his attention in the usually relatively quiet barn right about the time she shouted, "Clint, behind you!"
He dropped down and fired a shot at pretty much the exact same time she did, a man in full tactical gear sailing a good foot backwards from the force of impact.
"You're still calling me that name," he griped as he looked around for something else to use as a weapon and filled his pockets with what he could. A single shotgun and the two handguns she had were all fine and dandy, but he was practical enough to think they were clearly outmatched and needed something more.
He swore he heard her grumble that there was a reason for the name, but it was drowned out soon enough by another crack of thunder and another burst of gunfire. Someone was coming at them from the front, and another from the back, and the only thing he could think of was to go up because then at least there was a chance to escape through the hayloft. The landing may be less than fully soft as there was not nearly enough piled at the bottom outside, but at least it would be a means of escape, so there was that.
He shoved Jack behind the workbench and ordered him to stay before he grabbed her shoulder and pushed her towards the ladder, surprised when she barely flinched at the action though she did shrug him off and insist he go first. He clambered upwards and less than silently cursed the leg that wanted to give way in the action as of course it chose now to act up because he really needed it not to.
She shot the man coming in the front and he shot the man coming from the back while he was halfway up the ladder and he had a brief moment of thinking they were in the clear and could just climb back down and get to the house to call the sheriff and let them sort it out before she urged him to continue because several more attackers were on their way.
"What the hell did you do?" he asked as he tripped up the rungs.
"Corey Meadows doesn't have the security clearance to know," she answered, pushing him from behind. He flopped forward and scurried out of the way so she could follow him and she added, "Suffice it to say, it appears to have really pissed them off."
Up in the safety of the loft, she did a once over as if to secure the place before she knelt down to dig in that fancy case of hers. She pulled on a pair of what looked to be rather bulky fingerless gloves, at least one of which glowed with lines of blue when she activated some hidden switch. He had no idea what the other one did, but he was distracted by four more men coming in the front and what sounded like an equal number from the rear. "Ready?" he whispered, even as he wondered if he should shoot first and give their position away, or wait until the bullets started coming at them.
She answered both inquiries at the same time by emptying the remainder of a clip into the men approaching them and sliding another into place. He shook his head and started firing as well, the recoil of the shotgun and the need to reload repeatedly slowing his pace.
He left her side when Bozo whinnied in a worrying way and he turned to find at least one man using the stall wall to try to lever himself up to the loft. He fired once and knocked the man backwards but was rewarded with the disappointing click of an empty barrel when he tried to fire again. He reached in his pocket and knew this had better end soon because he simply did not have enough to hold them all off, but breathed a silent sigh of relief when a much smaller caliber finished the job so he didn't have to.
He whipped around to thank her and found her standing there with a flick of her red hair and smirk fully in place and he could almost hear her confident snark, but whatever she was going to say was drowned out by the scrape of a boot on the ladder.
A man in black lunged at her and he managed a strangled, "Tasha!" in warning. Her eyes widened and she dropped down and did something that looked incredibly acrobatic and complex but not quite deadly enough.
The two wrestled and he picked off a third and then he heard through yet another rumble her shout of, "Take the shot!"
Electricity raced off the lines of blue on her wrist, answering at least what the thing did, but all he could concentrate on was now easily he could hit her instead of the guy now pinning her down and he tried to get over there to at least knock the guy in the head with the butt of his rifle but the guy he'd just shot grabbed on to his ankle and tried to yank him down and he heard an almost pained, "Clint, take the damn shot."
He still liked the pistol-whipping with a rifle idea but chose to use it on the ankle-biter instead and then fired at the still flailing melee on the other side of the loft, the black clad man collapsing in a neat heap that she tossed off of herself haphazardly.
After reveling in the fact that she was safe and sound, he reveled in the fact he succeeded. "I- I made it," he blinked.
She rolled her eyes and brushed dust and hay off of her now red-tinged tank. "Of course you did," she told him, sounding oddly almost chiding. "You never miss, not when it counts."
He blinked again and this time had flashes of targets both paper and human crumbling, of blood and splinters and sparks and fire that blinded his eyes, only to disappear and fade back to the damp darkness of the barn as his eyes refocused. "Yeah, well don't count on that. It's pretty damn easy to miss when you're out of bullets." He wasn't technically out, but he was a lot closer than he'd like to be and it was an uncomfortable feeling as he doubted they were out of the woods yet what with not yet actually reaching the woods where these guys seemed to be coming from.
"When you're done with that, try this," she told him. He watched as she reached in the shiny black case again, this time coming up with a misshapen bit of metal and wire. She tossed it at him and he caught it easily enough. He was still trying to figure it out as his hand fit neatly into a grip that seemed made specifically for it. His arm shot outward on instinct and metal unfolded and snapped into place, wire growing taught with the action.
"A bow?" he asked incredulously. "You want me to give up a shotgun with limited ammo for something with no ammo at all?"
"I would never leave you high and dry like that, Barton," she promised. She pulled what had to be the final item given its size from the case. It was some sort of high tech quiver with some seriously short arrows. He was about to make a remark that would no doubt be cutting and sarcastic and possibly inappropriate given the company of a lady about their size, but she keyed a sequence on the side and each and every one twisted upwards to full length, the quiver itself growing to steady them along the way.
He settled for a huffed, "Still limited ammo," instead. He eyed them when she slid them over and let his curiosity get the better of him when he asked, "How'd they do that anyway?"
"Gift from Stark," she shrugged. "He thought it might make them easier to transport. Still in prototype stage, but usable."
And he could see Tony's reasoning even as he could see the design being laid out in glowing images in that huge lab of his. Smaller, more portable for rushed or covert trips, but with the same effectiveness when expanded to their true size. He shook his head trying to place that. How did he know this man, this Mr. Stark? How did he know the guy's first name was Tony, or what his lab would look like? How did he know to slide the quiver into place, its weight a familiar presence across his back?
His confusion must have shown because there was a flash of sorrow across Natasha's, no, Nat's face, for a split second before it smoothed out to something impassive and expressionless. "You're in there, Clint. Somewhere. We'll get you back or burn the world trying," she promised.
"But..." he started, but wasn't sure how to finish.
There was another flicker of emotion, this one something far more personal, before she said, "You called me Tasha, you took the shot, and you hold that bow as if it were your own because it is. Your name is Clint Barton and you are a friend and teammate and a hell of a lot more." She cocked her head to the side at a new noise, likely the next wave arriving. "And, as usual, someone wants you dead."
He tilted his head, considering, but still could not make complete sense out of everything. It was too much at once. Too much strangeness, too much change, too much that seemed familiar and terrifyingly different all at the same time. Too much danger in the quiet safety of the life he had finally slotted himself into.
The noise was growing closer though, soon the barn would be fully surrounded and they would be trapped inside with limited weaponry and limited choices. It would be easy enough for the faceless enemy to set fire to the place, to light it up even with the storm and smoke them out or let them die trapped inside like the poor animals locked in their pens.
He eyed the opening in the loft and frowned. The chute wasn't set up and it was a sizable distance down. The landing was going to hurt like hell, but the alternative was not an option, not really, so he calculated the trajectory needed while his companion took out anyone dumb enough to slip into her line of sight.
Most of the soldier-like attackers were gathering around the front and rear entrances for the attack, and only two seemed to even think of checking the sides. The rifle would be too loud and warn of their intent, the armed men would be on them before they even hit the ground. His fingers drifted towards the quiver, the polymer fletchings tickling the tips. Decision made without really thinking about it, he let off two shots in quick succession, two figures dropping near soundlessly into the mud and gunk.
Nat was at his side, doing her own calculations for the jump. She eyed the hits and patted his arm lightly. "You're still in there," she insisted, right before she pushed him over the edge.
Part Two on Live Journal | Part Two on Dreamwidth
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