Bruised Egos and Moralities (Clint)
When Steve had called, Clint wanted to say he’d considered not going. Wanted so deeply and desperately to say, cry to the sky until he was hoarse and raw that he’s hesitated, considered not picking his bow back up, that he’d thought against it.
He’d been retired after all, done and finished after the mess of Ultron. His side still ached, even now. As much as he’d moved past, as much as he could understand and as much as he could say he’d forgiven Wanda and (posthumously) forgiven Pietro, his side still ached.
And, obviously, he was spending more time with his family; his children and his wife. After so many years of field work and undercovers, so much time away from the children he loved so dearly- he was trying to be a present and active father. Trying. But, even he could admit, he was wishing, hoping for that momentary switch where he’d no longer feel the itch and urge to hunt every day.
But yes, after so many years of it all, the his SHIELD work, the undercover missions, and all of the long weary nights on watch, that muscle memory and those behaviors weren’t likely to ever leave him, especially couldn’t leave him in a day, no matter how much he wished for it. Laura had already well noticed, Clint could certainly tell. Her far-away looks, the repeated moments where she caught herself falling so easily into Single Mother Running The Household mode, even when Clint was right there. Those days, those moments, Clint felt his absences a bit more every day, felt the lack of him in the very bones of the house.
And like that, what would change if he simply, disappeared again. Extended his absence, a little longer. It was a glaring thought, one that hung over him like a weight more and more with each passing morning, every moment where he’d notice how easily the Barton home flowed around him, missing him by more and more.
And he’d promised to take the kids jet-skiing too.
When Steve called, telling Clint to hurry in, that Wanda was being interned at the compound of all things and that Tony was acting as the government’s lapdog, keeping them from saving lives, Clint wanted to say he’d hesitated. He wanted to argue until he was red and blue that he’d hesitated, that he’d considered and questioned, that he’d stopped to think about it. He’d promised not to lie to Laura though.
He could tell in Laura’s face as he left, he wasn’t fooling anyone. He couldn’t bring himself to stop though, one last mission, one last run.
Even if he tried to feel the lie on his teeth, he knew deep in his bones that he wouldn’t be able to stop this early, that soon. That was always something he’d admired about Laura, she would be a trained agent until the day she’s die but that she wasn’t a field agent anymore. She didn’t have that itch in her bones and that ache in her back that sent her into the world to fight, to hunt, to work. She’d been able to stop, to settle into the world and find some peace for herself, something she’d hoped Clint would’ve found in her and their kids too.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t find that wanted peace here and now, couldn’t find that moment to breathe when the itch of the bow still stung his fingers, even as he slept.
Sure, he’d like to argue day and night that the main push, the main thing that got him off the couch and out the door following Steve’s call was the line about Wanda, the lone orphan who’s brother died saving Clint’s life and thus leaving Clint with a debt, locked in the big bad compound. Clint had seen the news, knew what was being said, knew what SHIELD protocol would have been had the organization still been functional, but he couldn’t bring himself to blink much at that. Steve had called, asked Clint to help, asked him to jump.
He’d want to argue that Wanda and her circumstances would be his driving force, and later he would, but the true and honest drive was that he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest knowing he could be out fighting, out saving.
As he packed up quickly, promising the guise that he’d be home soon enough, and planned to head to the compound with his stashed gear in hand while his head held high, he could almost bring himself to ignore the withdrawn look on his children’s faces and the deflated look on Laura’s.
Almost.
Steve called, asked Clint to jump, and Clint didn’t even think to ask how high.