Safe
Title: Safe
Fandom: Avengers (movie ‘verse)
Characters/Pairing: Clint/Darcy, Natasha, OCs
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 1,439
Prompt: Hurt Comfort Fill: Bodyguards
Summary: Clint is beating himself up for not protecting Darcy.
Content Notes: No standard notes apply
Note: Happy Holidays to caitriona_3, who wanted Santa to bring her a fanfic for this video
Hospitals smelled funny, and nothing good, in his experience, ever happened in hospitals. They made Clint nervous and always had, so perhaps he was a tad bit abrupt, possibly hostile, when he slapped his hand down on the reception counter and demanded, “Darcy Lewis.”
The nurse gave him a dirty look and then took her sweet time typing Darcy’s name into the computer as punishment. “Are you family?”
They wouldn’t let him in if he told the truth, so he lied. “She has no family. I’m her fiance, where is she?”
“If you’ll wait here, someone will be down to meet with you. Please have a seat over there, Mister...?”
“Barton, Clint Barton.” The nurse typed his name in and he was summarily dismissed. Walking over to the wall the nurse had pointed him to, he perched on the edge of a hard plastic chair to wait. This had become a nightmare. He’d been gone less than twelve hours. What in the hell had Darcy been thinking, leaving the safe house?
The man and woman approaching him were not doctors, not by a long shot. Clint could smell cop from where he sat. Lovely, the locals were involved now. He ran a hand over his face and sat back in the chair, adopting a casual pose he didn’t feel as the plainclothes stopped in front of him. He waited for them to speak first.
“Mister Barton?” the woman in the black skirt and red leather jacket asked. The hospital had a good instant messaging system, he’d give them that.
“”Yes.”
“I’m Detective Saunders, my partner, Detective French.” She waved a hand at the man in the trench coat beside her. A trenchcoated detective, how cliche. We’d like to ask you some questions regarding Ms Lewis.”
“Is she alright?”
The woman gave a brief nod. “A doctor will be along to speak with you. We aren’t able to discuss her medical condition.” Taking pity on him, the woman added, “She’s banged up and quite upset, we’re investigating the assault.” He breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t dead. He had begun to fear they were giving him the runaround because she was dead.
But if Darcy was upset, then it had to be bad. It probably hadn’t been an ordinary attacker that had put her here. She was one of the strongest women he knew. “The neighbors said she had been taken away by ambulance. It took me four phone calls to find out which hospital. What happened to her?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine, Mr Barton. Where were you between ten and eleven last night?”
“You think I did this to her?” Rage at the insinuation in French’s voice and the suspicious look in his eye had Clint bursting out of the chair, going nose to nose with the burly male detective that had asked the question. “I’d never hurt Darcy!”
“Calm down, Mister Barton, these are routine questions, no one is accusing you of anything,” Saunders said, a hand on his sleeve, tugging him back and away from her partner.
“Some temper you’ve got there, Mister Barton. Do you get angry with your girlfriend?” French asked, ignoring the looks of warning his partner was shooting his way. If they were playing Good Cop, Bad Cop, they were doing a decent job of it.
Clint threw himself back in the chair. If he got himself arrested for decking the smirking detective, he wouldn’t get to see Darcy any time soon. “I was driving last night, I had a business meeting to attend out of town. You can check the times on my toll pass and I’ll give you the number of the party I was meeting, you can speak to her to verify that I was there.” He pulled Natasha Romanov’s civilian business card out of his wallet and passed it to Detective Saunders.
“What kind of business meeting do you have at that hour, Mister Barton? What line of work are you in?” French asked as Saunders pocketed the card.
“Personal security.”
“And how long have you known Ms Lewis?”
Dangerous waters. Best to stick to the truth as much as possible. “About eight months. I’m really concerned about her, can I see her and talk to you guys later?”
“We won’t take much more of your time,” Saunders replied. “Do you live together?”
“Yes, I just moved in a few weeks ago.”
French was making notes as Saunders took over the questions. “Had you noticed anyone lurking around the apartment?”
He could hardly tell them who was really stalking Darcy. First, they would think he was nuts. Second, S.H.I.E.L.D. would take his to task for blowing cover. He gave a shrug. “Just the usual neighborhood kids, no one suspicious.”
“No threatening phone calls, notes, no one following you or Ms Lewis?”
“Not that I recall. I wouldn’t have left her alone if I thought something like this would happen.” He wouldn’t have. This attack came out of nowhere, he thought he and Darcy were off the radar and safe in this city. He needed to talk to Darcy, find out who attacked her and get S.H.I.E.L.D. or maybe even the Avengers in on it. He sighed as he realized that Thor was going to lose his shit when he found out about this. He shouldn’t have left her. Or he should have taken Darcy with him, insisted she ride along with him for the check in with Tasha. Now look what had happened.
“Do you have a contact number, Mister Barton, in case something comes up during the investigation?”
He gave Saunders his card and stood up. “I need to see Darcy.” He needed to make sure she was okay. He knew he was too close, he was the wrong one for this. He cared for her too much and he let his emotions blind him and let her sway him from his job. He’d left because she had persuaded him to go.
Saunders and French walked him up to the room. Darcy was curled on her side, one hand curled under her chin. He felt something in his gut tighten as he looked at her. Her face was a mess, bruised and cut and oh, God, why had he left her?!? He went to the bedside and tucked a loose curl back over her ear.
“Darce?”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him, miserable. “Hey Clint.”
“Baby, why’d you go out alone?” Hyper-aware of the cops watching from the door, he couldn’t say what he wanted to say.
She gave a limp shrug under the sheet covering her. “I needed milk. I hate dry cereal.” It seemed a little hard for her to talk with her lip split.
“Don’t try to talk if it hurts.” He leaned over and kissed an unmarked spot on her forehead. “Did you see who did this?”
“Not really. I’m sorry.”
She was sorry? “This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault, Darcy. I shouldn’t have left you alone.” He gently ran a hand over her shoulder, afraid to press too hard for fear of hurting her.
“I’m tired,” she whispered in a small voice.
He pulled the thin hospital blanket up and tucked it around her. “Sleep. I’ll be over here, okay?” He tossed his head towards the chair beside the bed.
“Yeah. Okay. That’s good.”
~*~
“I’m not doing it. I’m not taking your assignment,” Tasha snapped, glaring at him across the table.
“I failed, Tasha. I failed and she got hurt. She needs someone else to watch over her until this is over.”
Tasha slapped her hand on the table, making him jump. “So you walk away? You walk away from the best thing that’s happened to you in years? Don’t do that to yourself Clint. Don’t throw away a good thing because you think you stumbled.”
“I can’t protect her.”
“Bullshit,” she snarled. “Boo hoo. You know what I think? I think you’re scared. I think this is the excuse you need to back away. No, to run away! Lie to yourself all you want, Clint. This isn’t about protecting Darcy.” She stood and stalked off, red curls bouncing. Then she paused and looked back over her shoulder. “And I’m not taking your assignment.”
He sighed. As usual, Tasha hadn’t said what he wanted to hear, but probably what he needed to hear.
She leaned back around the door frame and called cheerily, “Oh, by the way, Thor is looking for you.”
Clint thumped his forehead on the table.
The End
Fandom: Avengers (movie ‘verse)
Characters/Pairing: Clint/Darcy, Natasha, OCs
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 1,439
Prompt: Hurt Comfort Fill: Bodyguards
Summary: Clint is beating himself up for not protecting Darcy.
Content Notes: No standard notes apply
Note: Happy Holidays to caitriona_3, who wanted Santa to bring her a fanfic for this video
Hospitals smelled funny, and nothing good, in his experience, ever happened in hospitals. They made Clint nervous and always had, so perhaps he was a tad bit abrupt, possibly hostile, when he slapped his hand down on the reception counter and demanded, “Darcy Lewis.”
The nurse gave him a dirty look and then took her sweet time typing Darcy’s name into the computer as punishment. “Are you family?”
They wouldn’t let him in if he told the truth, so he lied. “She has no family. I’m her fiance, where is she?”
“If you’ll wait here, someone will be down to meet with you. Please have a seat over there, Mister...?”
“Barton, Clint Barton.” The nurse typed his name in and he was summarily dismissed. Walking over to the wall the nurse had pointed him to, he perched on the edge of a hard plastic chair to wait. This had become a nightmare. He’d been gone less than twelve hours. What in the hell had Darcy been thinking, leaving the safe house?
The man and woman approaching him were not doctors, not by a long shot. Clint could smell cop from where he sat. Lovely, the locals were involved now. He ran a hand over his face and sat back in the chair, adopting a casual pose he didn’t feel as the plainclothes stopped in front of him. He waited for them to speak first.
“Mister Barton?” the woman in the black skirt and red leather jacket asked. The hospital had a good instant messaging system, he’d give them that.
“”Yes.”
“I’m Detective Saunders, my partner, Detective French.” She waved a hand at the man in the trench coat beside her. A trenchcoated detective, how cliche. We’d like to ask you some questions regarding Ms Lewis.”
“Is she alright?”
The woman gave a brief nod. “A doctor will be along to speak with you. We aren’t able to discuss her medical condition.” Taking pity on him, the woman added, “She’s banged up and quite upset, we’re investigating the assault.” He breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t dead. He had begun to fear they were giving him the runaround because she was dead.
But if Darcy was upset, then it had to be bad. It probably hadn’t been an ordinary attacker that had put her here. She was one of the strongest women he knew. “The neighbors said she had been taken away by ambulance. It took me four phone calls to find out which hospital. What happened to her?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine, Mr Barton. Where were you between ten and eleven last night?”
“You think I did this to her?” Rage at the insinuation in French’s voice and the suspicious look in his eye had Clint bursting out of the chair, going nose to nose with the burly male detective that had asked the question. “I’d never hurt Darcy!”
“Calm down, Mister Barton, these are routine questions, no one is accusing you of anything,” Saunders said, a hand on his sleeve, tugging him back and away from her partner.
“Some temper you’ve got there, Mister Barton. Do you get angry with your girlfriend?” French asked, ignoring the looks of warning his partner was shooting his way. If they were playing Good Cop, Bad Cop, they were doing a decent job of it.
Clint threw himself back in the chair. If he got himself arrested for decking the smirking detective, he wouldn’t get to see Darcy any time soon. “I was driving last night, I had a business meeting to attend out of town. You can check the times on my toll pass and I’ll give you the number of the party I was meeting, you can speak to her to verify that I was there.” He pulled Natasha Romanov’s civilian business card out of his wallet and passed it to Detective Saunders.
“What kind of business meeting do you have at that hour, Mister Barton? What line of work are you in?” French asked as Saunders pocketed the card.
“Personal security.”
“And how long have you known Ms Lewis?”
Dangerous waters. Best to stick to the truth as much as possible. “About eight months. I’m really concerned about her, can I see her and talk to you guys later?”
“We won’t take much more of your time,” Saunders replied. “Do you live together?”
“Yes, I just moved in a few weeks ago.”
French was making notes as Saunders took over the questions. “Had you noticed anyone lurking around the apartment?”
He could hardly tell them who was really stalking Darcy. First, they would think he was nuts. Second, S.H.I.E.L.D. would take his to task for blowing cover. He gave a shrug. “Just the usual neighborhood kids, no one suspicious.”
“No threatening phone calls, notes, no one following you or Ms Lewis?”
“Not that I recall. I wouldn’t have left her alone if I thought something like this would happen.” He wouldn’t have. This attack came out of nowhere, he thought he and Darcy were off the radar and safe in this city. He needed to talk to Darcy, find out who attacked her and get S.H.I.E.L.D. or maybe even the Avengers in on it. He sighed as he realized that Thor was going to lose his shit when he found out about this. He shouldn’t have left her. Or he should have taken Darcy with him, insisted she ride along with him for the check in with Tasha. Now look what had happened.
“Do you have a contact number, Mister Barton, in case something comes up during the investigation?”
He gave Saunders his card and stood up. “I need to see Darcy.” He needed to make sure she was okay. He knew he was too close, he was the wrong one for this. He cared for her too much and he let his emotions blind him and let her sway him from his job. He’d left because she had persuaded him to go.
Saunders and French walked him up to the room. Darcy was curled on her side, one hand curled under her chin. He felt something in his gut tighten as he looked at her. Her face was a mess, bruised and cut and oh, God, why had he left her?!? He went to the bedside and tucked a loose curl back over her ear.
“Darce?”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him, miserable. “Hey Clint.”
“Baby, why’d you go out alone?” Hyper-aware of the cops watching from the door, he couldn’t say what he wanted to say.
She gave a limp shrug under the sheet covering her. “I needed milk. I hate dry cereal.” It seemed a little hard for her to talk with her lip split.
“Don’t try to talk if it hurts.” He leaned over and kissed an unmarked spot on her forehead. “Did you see who did this?”
“Not really. I’m sorry.”
She was sorry? “This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault, Darcy. I shouldn’t have left you alone.” He gently ran a hand over her shoulder, afraid to press too hard for fear of hurting her.
“I’m tired,” she whispered in a small voice.
He pulled the thin hospital blanket up and tucked it around her. “Sleep. I’ll be over here, okay?” He tossed his head towards the chair beside the bed.
“Yeah. Okay. That’s good.”
~*~
“I’m not doing it. I’m not taking your assignment,” Tasha snapped, glaring at him across the table.
“I failed, Tasha. I failed and she got hurt. She needs someone else to watch over her until this is over.”
Tasha slapped her hand on the table, making him jump. “So you walk away? You walk away from the best thing that’s happened to you in years? Don’t do that to yourself Clint. Don’t throw away a good thing because you think you stumbled.”
“I can’t protect her.”
“Bullshit,” she snarled. “Boo hoo. You know what I think? I think you’re scared. I think this is the excuse you need to back away. No, to run away! Lie to yourself all you want, Clint. This isn’t about protecting Darcy.” She stood and stalked off, red curls bouncing. Then she paused and looked back over her shoulder. “And I’m not taking your assignment.”
He sighed. As usual, Tasha hadn’t said what he wanted to hear, but probably what he needed to hear.
She leaned back around the door frame and called cheerily, “Oh, by the way, Thor is looking for you.”
Clint thumped his forehead on the table.
The End