Clint’s sharp eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face. It was getting pretty crowded now, families and friends and partners and kids all milling around the neat rows of graduating soldiers, waiting to be ‘tapped out’.
It had taken a bit of work, but Clint had managed to track down Barney’s phone number, had called him and actually spoken to him for the first time in years – since Barney aban –
Clint swallowed roughly. Barney agreed when Clint asked him to come to graduation. He’d be here somewhere. It was a pretty big cohort, and they hadn’t seen each other in a long time. Barney was just taking his sweet-ass time finding Clint.
He stood stock still and in perfect posture as he waited. He tried not to let his eyes roam over the joyful and teary reunions all around him. He kept his emotions carefully in check, eyes still searching the crowd.
‘Alright, Barton? You got someone coming?’ one of the other soldiers asked.
‘Waiting on my brother. He’s always late.’ Clint smirked.
He held himself ramrod straight, and waited.
‘Hey Barton, you want my moms to tap you out?’ another soldier asked, voice low.
Clint gave a short shake of his head. ‘My brother’s coming.’
‘Okay man. We’ll see you at the bar after? My moms wants a tour.’
His shoulders were starting to stiffen uncomfortably, but he didn’t waver. He let himself zone out a little though, mentally going over the process of cleaning and reassembling his favourite rifle.
Then his second favourite.
Then a handgun.
Then the bow he had used when he was a kid.
‘Barton.’
Clint jolted slightly, seeing his CO standing in front of him. Oh shit, did he do something wrong?!
‘I’m tapping you, Barton. Time to move.’
The CO’s voice was serious as ever, but there was a hint of pity behind it. Clint glanced around at the stragglers who remained, looking at him with pure pity. Nearly everyone had gone.
Clint felt tears burning behind his eyes but he fiercely held them back. ‘My brother’s had one too many knocks to the head, y’know? Bet he turns up bright and early tomorrow!’ he joked, and the stragglers chuckled.
His CO’s expression remained stern, but there was a flicker of something indefinable in his eyes.
‘Come on Barton. Time for a beer. You can give your brother hell for embarrassing you later. Let’s go.’
Aw hell. Clint hadn’t even realised he should be embarrassed until then – but of course he should be. Standing alone on a parade ground, nobody in his life who cared enough to come see him graduate.
The CO’s hand left a quickly fading heat on Clint's shoulder as he walked away alone, but the warmth only highlighted the lingering cold in his chest.
***
Clint stood at attention, determinedly ignoring the emotional reunions around him.
He had graduated Marine Corps training, and was once again standing on the parade ground, waiting to be tapped.
Ostensibly.
He’d be damned if he was going to stand around again looking like an idiot, waiting for someone who wasn’t coming.
He waited until the crowd was thick among the ranks, before he slid from position and ducked his way through the masses, throwing the occasional grin or bark of laughter, glancing back as if to check his person was following him. He reached the edge of the parade ground and looked around surreptitiously, waiting till the COs were distracted, before he slipped away.
He headed for his barracks, keeping an eye out and an excuse ready on his tongue in case anyone caught him. He’d wait here for a while, then head over and join everyone at the bar for drinks. He’d just say his person had to leave, couldn’t stay for a beer.
He lay back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, counting the minutes as they dragged by.
***
SHIELD training was far more involved and comprehensive in a lot of new areas in comparison to the military. Clint had loved it.
He didn’t love the fact that SHIELD apparently also followed the tradition of having loved ones to tap out the graduates. A stupid, humiliating tradition, in his opinion.
He shifted his feet subtly, watching as the crowds descended on the ranks, waiting for his chance to slip away.
The hand on his shoulder was unexpected.
He jerked his head to look behind himself, and came face to face with Phil Coulson, the most badass agent in all of SHIELD, in Clint’s humble opinion. Rumour had it that he might end up assigned under Coulson – a fact that had him preening like a peacock in public, but as stressed as a wet cat in private.
‘Sir?’ he asked, confused.
‘Congratulations on graduating, Agent Barton.’ Coulson said simply, a hint of a smile on his bland face.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Clint gave him an awkward smile, and turned back to face the front.
‘Keen for a beer, Agent?’
Clint blinked. ‘Uh, I have to wait, sir.’
‘Wait for what?’ Coulson asked.
Clint looked around pointedly. ‘To be tapped, sir. Well, for the others to be tapped. I suppose one of the trainers will come tap me at the end.’ He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice as he explained, but he didn’t think he’d done a good job.
‘Agent Barton.’ Coulson said gently. ‘What do you think I’m doing?’
Clint glanced at him in confusion, before noting the hand still resting on his shoulder. ‘Sir?’
‘I’m tapping you, Barton. Let’s go have a beer.’