Chapter 6
Matt hadn’t dreamt. He hadn’t had a nightmare. For once, he wished he’d had one or the other. It might have felt longer before he had woken up if he had.
Instead, his hours asleep has slipped into a few moments and morning had swiftly crept into existence. Clint, Laura, and Nat were already downstairs. He’d been listening to them for a while, not wanting to go downstairs himself. Nat had been the first awake and her activity in the kitchen greeted Matt as he woke earlier that morning. The smell of pancakes that had wafted up his nostrils was soon followed by a taunting ache in his knuckles. A reminder.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Matt was acutely aware that he couldn’t remain upstairs forever. Clint had already mentioned waking him up, though Laura had persuaded him to leave it for a little longer. Going by Clint’s inability to cease his fingers’ drumming, Matt guessed that ‘a little longer’ was almost over.
Reluctantly, Matt left his room.
He’d worn the hoodie again, knowing that suddenly uncovering his knuckles would seem suspicious, but he made less effort to ensure the sleeves hung over the bruises and cuts. The conversation he walked into somehow sounded almost entirely natural and easy to Matt’s ears. If he ignored the nervousness tainting Clint and Laura’s heartbeats, there would be nothing giving them away.
None of Clint’s worry was present in his voice. Neither was it present in the body language being displayed around the table. It was unnerving.
Matt approached the table with what he hoped was a reflection of the calm that surrounded Natasha. “Morning Matt,” Laura greeted him.
“Morning,” he replied.
Clint and Laura looked towards each other as Matt took a seat, placing a pancake on the empty plate in front of him. “They smell lovely,” he remarked in hoped of delaying the inevitable even just for a few more seconds.
“I made them this morning,” Nat told him, “Clint has an obsession with them.”
“They’re one of the only things you can cook.”
“More than you, then,” Laura stated.
“I’m getting better,” defended Clint.
“That’s not the hardest thing in the world,” Nat said.
Matt listened quietly, chewing his pancake and grateful for every second that passed not focused on him. Sadly, it wasn’t long before the voices died down around him and his senses noted Clint watching him. One of Matt’s hands was clenched under the table in an attempt to manage his nerves, at least so they wouldn’t be visible the three people surrounding him. Laura’s breathing pattern changed; she was about to say something.
“Matt, we need to talk to you.”
Her words poked at the dread already residing in his stomach. “Okay,” the reply fell from him in a voice far quieter than he had intended.
“We noticed yesterday that your knuckles were injured,” she told him in a voice far softer than he had predicted.
“We just want to know what happened,” Clint added, tone similar to Laura’s.
“It’s nothing,” was the reflexive response that came from Matt, and one that he hoped they had been predicting.
Stick had always told him people couldn’t know. They couldn’t know about his senses and they couldn’t know about the training, otherwise he would be forced to stop and be left as the weak child Stick had found. But then, it had stopped anyway after Matt had ruined it. He’d failed Stick and Stick had left. Now he was ruining his chance with the Bartons as well. At least he was consistent. It’s your fault for getting close, Matty, Stick’s voice scolded him.
“Matt, we just want to know what happened so that we know you’re okay,” Laura tried to reassure him.
“I’m fine,” he told them, which of course they didn’t believe, but they waited for him to continue, “I just hit a wall.”
It wasn’t too far from the truth, and yet it wasn’t close enough to make complete sense. With his knuckles in the state they were in, there should have been some sort of mark on his wall, as well as the fact Clint or Laura would have heard him hitting it. None of them picked him up on this, however, with Laura moving straight on to her next question, maintaining a calm voice, “Why?”
“I was angry.”
“About what?”
My dad is dead because of me. I killed him. “Just angry,” he said instead.
Matt wished he couldn’t sense the fact Clint and Laura looked doubtfully at each other after he spoke. “Do you think we could have a look at your hands?” requested Clint
Hesitantly, Matt obliged, unclenching his fist as he brought it up from beneath the table and pushed his sleeves down from over his knuckles. Both Clint and Laura tensed when they saw the damage but didn’t say anything immediately. Matt knew they would only doubt his story more now than before, but he hadn’t thought of a more believable lie that wouldn’t end in more uncomfortable questions than he’d have to deal with anyway. “You cleaned them?” Clint questioned.
“Yes. They really aren’t that bad.”
“Can I just check them properly,” Laura asked, reaching out her hand for his.
“Okay,” Matt agreed, though he knew she wouldn’t find anything she couldn’t already see.
He offered his right hand to her, slightly to the left of her outstretched one, and sat silently as she checked it over before moving on to his left. She quickly concluded that nothing was broken, just bruising and cuts. When Laura released his hands, he shoved them into his hoodie’s pockets, hunched his form over slightly and waited for the words that were preparing themselves in Clint’s throat. 'Shouldn’t have gotten close', Stick taunts.
“Look, Matt, we know you aren’t telling us the truth,” Clint begins and Matt wants to only have to listen to the constant buzzing of his hearing aids, “and we won’t force you to, but we want you to know that we are here to listen if you want us to.”
“Or if there are other things we can do to help,” Laura added.
For the first time in years, Matt didn’t trust his ears. Their heartbeats hadn’t wavered, and they hadn’t even hinted at the possibility of him having to leave. He wasn’t completely sure how to react. He’d messed up and they knew he was lying to them, but they were simply telling him they wanted to help? “I…” Matt starts but finds the only thing that makes sense to say is, “thank you.”
“Of course, Matt. We just want you to be okay and happy,” came the earnest words from Laura.
Matt is thankful that Stick’s voice doesn’t bother him for once. He stayed downstairs for the rest of the morning, trying to show how grateful he is. Replacing the dread he had felt earlier, was the persistent worry that this was his chance and he couldn’t screw it up.