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Ward crawled through the air shaft of the facility, doing his best to keep quiet. It was by far his least favorite method of moving through a building, but it was one he was familiar with. The Academy had several drills focused on it, one of which had been unofficially coined “The Hawkeye Method.” He supposed it was rather fitting that he was using it now.
Coming to a fork in the vents, he veered left, the blueprints of the building clear in his head. Another sixty meters and he’d be over the targeted room. He checked in over his comm, tapping it twice to signal that he was still alive and kicking, then continued on, ignoring the ache in his knees.
When he reached the grate, he lowered himself onto his stomach and peered down into the chamber. It was devoid of furniture, save for the chair the captive was chained to, and there were three guards in the room: one at each door and one in position in front of the prisoner. Ward got into position, removed the vent’s cover silently, and aimed his sniper rifle, carefully drawing a bead on each man to confirm that he could. When he was certain he could get three clear shots without repositioning, he took them.
A normal silencer, while helpful, did not actually muffle shots as completely as television and movies made it seem. But this was SHIELD equipment, and there were barely puffs of air being displaced as he took the shots. The sounds the bodies made as they fell were louder. He dropped down to the floor, landing steadily on his feet, unsurprised to see the blindfolded prisoner facing him with a curious tilt to his head.
“A one-man mission?” the man asked, his voice rough. “I figured there’d be at least two of you.”
“I have a team,” Ward countered as he moved towards Barton.
Barton visibly started at the sound of his voice. “Not who I was expecting,” he admitted, then blinked up at Ward as his blindfold was removed. “Hello,” Barton said with a smirk. “Who are you?”
“Agent Ward.” He went on one knee to start picking the locks on Barton’s chains. “My team was in the area when we got word you needed an extraction.”
Barton shrugged. “Never heard of you.”
Ward wasn’t bothered by that fact. “At the moment, I’m kind of wishing I could say the same about you, Hawkeye.”
“That’s just because you don’t know me. Trust me, everyone who knows me loves me. It just takes some time.” There was a smile in the guy’s tone, but Ward didn’t look up to see it, nor did he engage in the banter, instead concentrating on his task.
Once Barton’s ankles were free, Ward circled the chair to get his wrists. “How long you been like this?” he asked, needing to judge how much recovery time Barton might need before they could move.
“Thirty minutes?” Barton ventured. “I mean, three days, over all, but only half an hour this time. Was nice and stretched out for a few hours before this.”
“Rack?”
“Hey, got it in one. Ow.” Barton’s hands fell free and he moved his arms, stretching them out in front of him. He stood as Ward circled around again. “Where’s the rest of your team?”
“Waiting to do their parts. You fit to travel?”
“Fit as a fiddle.” Barton peered up at the vent. “You didn’t leave a line,” he pointed out with a pout.
“Not going that way,” Ward countered, then tapped his comm. “Skye, door lock in fifteen.”
“On it,” came the chipper reply, and Ward moved over to the heavy steel door. There was no window, which meant no one could see in, but it also meant he couldn’t see out. He positioned Fitz’s heat signature reader over the door, and surveyed the positions of the four guards in the corridor.
Barton threw one last glance at the vent, then joined him at the door, hand out expectantly. Ward handed him a pistol, and watched as Barton weighed it in his grip, familiarizing himself with the new weapon. “Don’t I get a comm too?”
“No.” Ward didn’t elaborate. Coulson had been very specific about that. Anything that might tip Barton off to the identity of their team leader was strictly forbidden, and the less time he spent around the team, either in person or via communications, the better.
The electronic door lock beeped and turned green, and Ward removed the heat-reading screen from the door. On Barton’s nod, he heaved the door open and together they took out the enemies in the hall.
“That’s going to get some attention,” Barton commented, even as they started running.
“Didn’t think you were one for doing things quietly,” Ward shot back, taking the turn in the corridor and shooting two of the enemy agents coming their way.
“Time and a place for everything,” Barton countered, and he took out the remaining three, somehow using less ammunition than Ward had. That rankled.
They fought their way to the stairwell, which was empty thanks to Skye locking everyone else out of it. “Up,” Ward directed, already taking the first few steps.
“Man after my own heart,” Barton muttered, just a half a step behind Ward. “How many flights?”
“Six. All the way to the roof.”
“Air extraction?”
Ward smirked, even though Barton wouldn’t be able to see it. “Not exactly.” He tapped his comm as they climbed. “FitzSimmons, start the flight. We’ll be on the roof in two minutes.”
“Negative, Ward,” Coulson’s voice interjected. “Skye was unable to re-engage the ground floor lock. You’ve got incoming. May is on her way to you. FitzSimmons will start the flight when you’re clear again.”
“Roger that, sir.” He glanced back at Barton. “They’re following,” he explained just as a shot rang out from below. “But we’ve got a friendly on their six. We just have to hold them off.”
“Easily done,” Barton said with a grin. Then he ran to the staircase railing, and threw himself over. Ward had only a moment to panic, thinking the obviously crazy agent had leapt directly at their attackers, when he noticed Barton’s legs clinging to the top of the railing. The man himself was dangling down, twisting and shooting, and eventually the return fire stopped.
“May,” Coulson said in Ward’s ear. “Apparently Agent Barton doesn’t need your help. Fall back, but stay at the door as a guard.”
“Sir,” came the crisp acknowledgment.
Barton was swinging himself back up, grunting with the effort, so Ward stepped forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him upright and letting go as soon as he was properly vertical again. “Leave some fun for the rest of us, Barton.”
Barton flashed him a smile, but didn’t comment. “Roof?”
“Roof,” Ward confirmed, and they started off again. “Sir, now would be a good time for the chopper.”
“It’s in flight. ETA, eighty-seven seconds.”
Eighty-three seconds later, Ward and Barton burst out onto the roof, guns up and facing seven armed and armored enemies, their forms dark against the black, starless night. “Well,” Barton said. “So much for a clear landing area.”
Ward said nothing except, “Sir?”
A light in the sky came closer, accompanied by the whirring of a bird’s blades. The sound of automatic gunfire erupted, and while the enemy agents all scattered, Ward calmly started shooting them down, one by one. Barton joined in, and soon enough all seven were dead or disabled.
The helicopter turned and flew away again, and Barton watched it go, every line in his body tense. “FX show?” he asked, his voice tight. “Lights and audio rigged to a small remote controlled device?”
Ward nodded. “Unconventional, maybe, but it gets the job done.”
“I’ve seen it before,” Barton snapped. “It’s not a new trick.”
Ward shrugged, neither understanding nor caring about the man’s sudden shift in mood. Instead he swung the bag on his back around, pulling out the retractable bow and the double arrow he’d been given. “Here. South wall. I was told you’d find an appropriate anchor point.”
The look on Barton’s face as he reached out for the weaponry was inscrutable. His fingers touched the bow reverently, but his eyes were flinty as he met Ward’s gaze. “Your team just had this lying around?” he asked in a hard voice, even as he snapped his arm forward to unfold the bow.
Ward just nodded once, because he honestly didn’t have an answer for that. Coulson had brought it from his office to the briefing. Why Agent Coulson had had it in the first place, Ward didn’t know, but he wasn’t one to wonder about things that wouldn’t affect his mission.
Barton, clearly sensing that he wasn’t going to get any more of an answer, turned and strode to the south ledge. “And your team leader trusts me to make the shot?” he checked, already drawing the string back and sighting down the line.
“Is there a reason not to trust you?” Ward asked, curious.
“Not a one,” Barton replied gruffly. “Doesn’t mean all handlers are on board with this type of weaponry, or what I can do with it.” He let the arrow fly, the line unfurling behind it, then spun on one heel and shot the second arrow into the wall by the stairwell. The grappling hooks did their job, latching on to both targets, and the zip line tightened between them. “After you,” Barton intoned with a tight grin.
Ward stepped onto the ledge of the roof, attached his snap hook to the line, and jumped. He landed and disengaged from the line quickly, knowing Barton would be right behind him. The van pulled up suddenly, coming to a quick stop. The tinted windows meant the driver was kept hidden, but Ward would recognize May’s style anywhere.
Barton reached the ground just as Skye threw open the back doors to the van. “Let’s go!”
Ward jumped in first, Barton on his heels. Skye manhandled the doors shut as May took off, and Barton offered both Skye and Ward a hard look as they busted through the gates of the compound. “Where are we headed?”
“Safe house on the edge of the city, provided we can dodge any tail we get.”
Barton grinned, sharp and maniacal. “Yeah, I sort of blew up their motor pool. When I first got there.”
“Nice,” Skye said appreciatively. “So, hey, I’m Skye, and it’s pretty much amazing to meet you. Not just meet you, but, you know. Help rescue you.”
“Skye,” Ward warned, because he did not want this to turn into some Avengers fan shit.
“Sorry, not rescue you. Extract you. Whatever.”
“I’m grateful,” Barton said, but the hard, suspicious demeanor he’d adopted on the roof hadn’t subsided. He looked at them with narrowed eyes. “Who’s the leader of this crazy team? I’d like to thank him myself.”
Ward kept his expression passive, intent on not giving anything away. Skye, unfortunately, was still unschooled in such things, and she slid her eyes away from Barton.
“Not gonna tell me, huh? I assume whoever it is isn’t going to be at the safe house?”
“Our orders are to drop you, and make our way back to our base,” Ward explained. “Your ride will come for you tomorrow.”
Barton nodded, his shoulders settling back against the wall of the van. But then he moved, quick and confident, and suddenly Ward was face down on the floor, his arms and back pinned under one knee, and he was certain his own gun was leveled at the back of his head. “Fuck your orders,” Barton hissed, low and dangerous, as Skye yelled behind them. “You’ll be taking me back to your base and letting me say thank you very kindly to the person responsible for my rescue.”
Ward braced himself, because there was no way in hell May didn’t know exactly what was going on in the back of the van. She would be swerving or braking or accelerating soon enough, in an effort to dislodge Barton, and Ward would have to be ready for it. There weren’t many who could take him down, but clearly Barton was one of them, and Ward would need every advantage he could get if he was going to get out of this.
“Sir, we have a situation here,” May’s calm voice sounded in his ear, loud enough that it was echoing from the front of the van, and Ward felt Barton twitch.
“Barton?” Coulson guessed.
“Has subdued Agent Ward and is asking to be brought back to base.”
Coulson actually sighed, which Ward wasn’t sure he’d ever heard before. Certainly not over the comms in the middle of an op. “Can he be neutralized?”
“Possibly. But he’s armed and determined.”
“Bring him in,” Coulson said after a pause.
“Already on our way to you. Barton,” she called out after having cut off the communication. “He’s agreed. You can let Agent Ward go now.”
“Come on, May. You know if I do that, you’ll just drive around in circles until one of you can get the jump on me. Not happening.”
“No one’s going to dump you by the side of the road, Hawkeye. I said he’s agreed, didn’t I?”
The pressure at Ward’s back loosened minutely, but still not enough for him to free himself. “Is it him?” Barton asked, his voice sounding rough. “Or am I crazy?”
Ward privately thought that the two weren’t mutually exclusive, but he also thought maybe it wouldn’t be wise to put voice to that. May seemed to be thinking along those same lines, and kept quiet. Miraculously, so did Skye.
“Jesus,” Barton whispered, and just like that Ward was free. He rolled to his feet and lunged for Barton, who was now sitting pressed against the doors at the back, the gun tight in his hand, but not aimed at anything in particular. Ward forcibly took the weapon from him and debated clocking him, just on general principle, but was stopped by Skye’s hand on his arm.
“Don’t,” she said quietly. “He’s, well. Imagine how you’d feel if— No, sorry, strike that. Imagine how I’d feel if the situation were reversed.”
Ward ran a critical eye over Barton, who did, indeed, look like he was losing it. Then he glanced at Skye, understanding her point. Ward himself would shrug and declare it part of the job, if his long-lost SO came back from the dead. Skye, however, would have a hard time with it, especially if it were Coulson. And while he would have thought Barton to be more on Ward’s end of the emotional spectrum, clearly this was something that skewed more towards Skye’s sensibilities.
“Fine,” he agreed, consciously loosening his muscles. “Go sit up front with May.”
“Why?”
Because Barton might start asking questions and Ward didn’t trust Skye not to answer them. They might have been heading back to the Bus, but their orders to keep Coulson’s identity a secret still technically stood. “Because he might flip out again, and I don’t want you back here for that.”
“Aw, you do care.”
He gave her his best unimpressed look, but she just patted his arm and left, maneuvering past the equipment and into the front. Barton honestly didn’t seem like much of a threat anymore, but Ward wasn’t taking any chances. He sat on the chair by the computers, and kept his gun aimed in Barton’s general vicinity, if not on the man himself. The other sniper was quiet for the rest of the trip, however; subdued, even if Ward could see how tight every muscle in his body was.
The cargo hold was open when they reached the Bus, and May drove them straight onto the plane. She parked and cut the engine, and Ward braced himself, waiting for Barton to move, but the man just sat there. The front doors of the van opened and closed, and Skye and May’s footsteps moved in opposite directions.
“Get us in the air.” Coulson’s voice was quiet through the walls of the van, but clear. Barton let out a breath, and finally stood. Ward stepped forward, ready to shadow. He wasn’t entirely certain of the man in front of him, and he didn’t like having him on the Bus.
“For fuck’s sake, Ward. I’m not going to kill him.”
“All due respect, Agent Barton, I don’t know you. And the number of people who have tried to kill him the past couple of years is bordering on the ridiculous.”
Barton’s already hard scowl deepened further, but he didn’t say anything else. He merely pushed the doors open and stepped down onto the plane. Ward followed, gun pointed slightly down but not quite away.
Coulson was standing in front of Lola, expression and stance carefully neutral. “Barton.”
Barton pulled up short and Ward stopped in an effort not to run into him. His fingers tightened around the grip of the pistol, just in case. “Jesus,” Barton breathed. “I looked for her. After . . . When things settled down, I’d wondered where she’d gone.”
“She must have been in R&D by then,” Coulson said, running his hand over Lola’s hood. Ward would likely never understand the need to anthropomorphize inanimate objects. They were just tools to be used, in his eyes. “She’s had some . . . modifications.”
Barton’s shoulders tensed even further. “That the going price for betraying your friends, sir? A big-ass plane and ‘modifications’ to your baby?”
There was a small increase in the tightness around Coulson’s eyes, and his gaze slid away from Barton to focus on Ward. “Put the weapon away, Agent Ward, and join the others, please. Agent Barton is not a threat.”
Ward hesitated for a moment, but an order was an order, and “the others” were all hanging out on the balcony, not at all subtly. He could take the shot just as easily from there, so he nodded and moved away, though the gun stayed firmly in his hand. Fitz nodded at him, but his eyes didn’t stray from the scene below.
“It wasn’t betrayal, Barton,” Coulson said, and his voice was quieter, even though he had to know it would carry anyway. “It was—”
“Fuck if it wasn’t! What the hell, Coulson? Do you have any idea what was happening while you were off playing dead? Do you even care what you left behind? Do you care about who—”
“Don’t you dare. You’re hurt. I get that. But don’t you dare question my emotions, Clint. I have a reputation, I know. But you know me better than that. You know—”
“Do I? Because the person I knew wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have let his friends grieve while skipping all over the world with some new fucking team. He wouldn’t have . . . Nat. Did you even stop to think about Nat? You were one of the first people she trusted unequivocally. You know how hard it is for her to trust. What do you think this is going to do to her, huh?”
“Barton—”
“No!” Barton was beyond keeping his voice down, but Ward didn’t think for one minute that the man didn’t know they were all there, all watching. “No. You’re going to hear this. Jesus, fuck. What about Kelly? She loved you, you know. She cried, Coulson. I did that to her. I made the call, I told her you were dead, and she cried!”
“You didn’t have to—”
“The hell I didn’t! I wasn’t gonna let some stranger do it. Some SHIELD desk jockey she didn’t even know? I bargained for that phone call, you asshole. I didn’t exactly have a lot of chips left after Loki, but I wasn’t about to hand that over to anyone else.”
Coulson’s lips moved, though the words themselves weren’t audible up on the balcony.
“Don’t thank me, you jerk. I broke her fucking heart. Over what, a lie?”
“It wasn’t a lie. Not at first.” Coulson’s shoulders straightened, but that was the only tell Ward could see. “I did die. There were . . . measures taken to bring me back.”
“Fuck you and your ‘measures,’” Barton snarled, his whole body tense and coiled, and Ward propped his wrist on the balcony’s rail, gun aimed casually. A clean shoulder shot should do the trick, if need be.
“Hey!” Skye’s voice was loud and sudden, but Ward didn’t flinch. “You don’t know what he’s been through, okay? You didn’t see him when—”
“Thank you, Skye,” Coulson said, quiet but firm. “I don’t need you to defend me.”
“Well you’re not doing such a good job of it,” she grumbled softly, not letting it carry. It was overshadowed by Barton’s snort of disdain anyway.
“Cute,” he grunted, glancing briefly at the gathered team before looking back to Coulson. “How long, huh? How long will you stay with this team, Coulson? Will you make them think they’re special? Make them believe they’re your friends — or worse, some kind of dysfunctional spy family? How long until they find out the truth? Until you abandon them, let them think you’re dead?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Barton, and I’d appreciate a chance to at least inform you of the facts. You can rail at me later, preferably in private.”
“Here’s what I know, sir. I know you were mourned. I know people grieved for you. People you used to care about. I mean, Jesus, you want to get your heart broken, you just sit there and try to watch Pepper Potts not cry whenever your name is mentioned. She liked you, you know. She thought you were her friend. And even Stark. Fuck, did you know he set up a trust in your name for Kelly’s orchestra? He’s funded the whole thing for years. Thor feels responsible, because it was his fucking brother. He saw, he knew somehow that I— He fucking apologized to me, Phil! To me. And Steve. Steve Rogers, Coulson? Your hero? He took your death on as part of his body count. He watched his friends mourn and couldn’t do a damn thing about it, and you were fucking alive the whole fucking time!” Barton stopped, and Ward recognized a bid for self-control as Barton’s chest rose once with a deep breath, then sank back down.
The sudden silence was broken by Simmons’ whisper, her head close to Skye’s. “Is he going to punch Agent Coulson, or kiss him?”
Ward’s eyes narrowed as Skye snorted quietly. “Well, it is Hawkeye,” she said, and Ward ignored the implication that there was something about Hawkeye he was supposed to know and instead concentrated on his aim as the girls silently giggled for a moment.
“What do you mean,” Coulson asked, his voice just a shade off steady, “Thor apologized to you?”
“What?”
“You emphasized the fact that Thor apologized to you. Explain.”
“Fuck you.” Barton’s scowl hadn’t lessened and his body was as coiled as ever, but he dipped his head a bit. “Fuck you, sir. His brother killed you. He killed one of my best friends — or so we thought — and you want to know why he’d bother to apologize?”
“But there’s something else. What were you going to say, Clint?”
“I . . . No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to appear suddenly, alive and well, and just dive right back into my head. You lost that privilege when you faked your death.”
“I didn’t ‘fake my—’”
“You used to know everything, you know?” Barton continued on, heedless of Coulson’s protest. “You knew how important you were. You knew— God damn it. Tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t know, Coulson. Fuck, please tell me you didn’t know, because my best friend would not do that to me. The Coulson I knew would never have let me think he was dead. Not if he knew . . .”
“Knew what, Clint?”
“That I loved you!” The words were hurled with venom, with pain, and if Coulson’s sudden shift in expression was anything to go by, they’d hit their mark. Of course they had, Ward thought mirthlessly. Hawkeye. The senior sniper’s shoulders sagged then, his spine curved as his head hung low, and Skye’s quiet, “Shit,” carried further than she’d probably intended.
“I loved you,” Barton repeated, quieter now. “I loved you and I helped kill you, only you weren’t really dead at all, and what am I supposed to do with that?”
“I didn’t know.” Coulson took a step forward, but he kept his arms at his sides. “Clint, I swear to you, I didn’t know.”
“I thought . . . Even if you hadn’t figured it out for yourself, I thought Kelly would have . . . I don’t know. Mentioned it, or something.”
“I didn’t believe her,” Coulson said, and he raised one hand in the direction of the balcony, giving the All Clear, Get Out signal. Ward lifted his wrist from its braced position on the railing, dropping his hand and relaxing as Coulson took another deliberate step.
“You should have. I thought it was kinda obvious, really.”
Coulson shook his head and put himself right in front of Barton. Ward tugged on Skye’s sleeve. “Come on,” he whispered as Barton sagged forward into Coulson. “That was our signal to leave.”
“But it’s just getting good,” she protested quietly, her body leaning back but her hands still wrapped tightly around the railing.
“It’s not our business though, is it?” Simmons added, though she too was still looking down into the bay below.
“It’s not,” Fitz agreed, and he pulled her away. “Come on, Jemma. We need to make sure the lab’s secure for takeoff.”
“Skye,” Ward said, and she reluctantly moved away, grumbling under her breath.
The engines started up then, the whole plane thrumming with promise, and Ward spared one last glance to the figures below. Coulson was ignoring May’s warning over the intercom, choosing instead to wrap his arms around Barton, who barely looked capable of standing on his own anymore.
Ward quietly guided Skye to the lounge and told her to strap in.
He’d have to report in soon. Once word got out that Coulson was alive — and Ward highly doubted Barton would keep his mouth shut — John would definitely have to change his plans.