[fic] nobody can bring you peace (but yourself) [1/1]
This has been festering in my head for a few days now, the whole 'how Clint makes peace with his past' and 'why William Brandt doesn't have a reaction to the train-yard in MI:GP', with mentions of Clint/Coulson (aka how they somewhat fumbling-ly got started). Also, Clint is like this giant M&M. Hard shell outside, soft chocolatey core inside.
Sequel of sorts to living for tomorrow.
Title: nobody can bring you peace (but yourself)
Fandom: S.W.A.T. (2003), Avengers (2012)
Pairing: Implied Jim Street/Brian Gamble, Pre-Slash Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Warnings: PG-13 for Clint's mouth, again.
Summary: Clint makes his peace with his past after he gets into trouble in another train-yard, far far away from home.
"Nobody can bring you peace but yourself."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Clint manages five years before someone gets curious. Well, that might actually be his fault, partly, because obviously he hasn't made his peace with his past and their last mission happens in a goddamn train yard like the one Brian Gamble died in, and partly because there was this jackass of an op leader with a fucking superiority complex who had demanded that he get his ass out there not even twenty-four hours after his last op with Coulson.
There's someone with him, not Jim, but Clint can't stop the name from slipping past his lips as he's wheeled into one of SHIELD's waiting medical vans. He thinks it's his handler, Phil, but Coulson isn't there, Coulson is probably at home with a beer and a book instead of having to deal with him again.
Clint's chest tightens as his body convulses again.
He can't fucking breathe.
He can't-
Clint's world goes dark, and the voices he keeps hearing trail off into nothing.
------
Clint wakes to a room that's too clinically white for his liking, and a sense of deja vu, he's woken up in a room like this before five years ago, bandaged and with an IV drip in his arm, again. There's a lingering taste of bile and medicine in his mouth, and he's pretty sure that there had even a tube down his throat not too long ago.
"Who's Jim?"
The question is out of the blue, making Clint freeze. He hadn't even spotted Coulson sitting there behind the proverbial mountain of paper, a facade of calm that masks the quiet concern in his eyes.
"How do you-?"
The agent cuts him off with a wave of his hand, striding over to sit at Clint's bedside.
"You called out a name when we were transporting you."
We.
Then it registers. He had been there. Phil Coulson had been there, right there when the medical teams had bundled him off.
It makes something warm settle in Clint's gut knowing that of all people, Coulson had come, because the last time he'd experienced something like this was with Jim, and the thought of that makes something else twist in his chest. Coulson is different from the other agents, most of whom can't tolerate his snarky attitude when he's out on a mission, and Clint (secretly) likes him, going as far as occasionally bringing him coffee. And bagels. And sometimes a sandwich.
This really makes Clint like his handler a lot more.
Coulson settles down, watching Clint with a laser like focus that the archer is familiar with for his line of work, but has never had it trained on him until now. It's unnerving - much as being stared at by a one-eyed man is - and makes Clint feel like a kid again. He wants to tell Coulson that it's classified, but his handler's clearance level is probably higher than his and though it's not mentioned in the file that's been handed around during briefings, Fury probably has a file on him somewhere that names Brian Gamble (presumed dead) as one of his known alias.
He's silent for a long time, and quietly marvels at the patience with which Coulson simply waits. Clint knows, somehow he just does, that the agent sitting beside his bed will walk away if he asks him to, but maybe this is his time to make peace with his past.
"I knew a guy once," he starts hesitantly, and that's how Clint spends the afternoon recounting the life he had as Brian Gamble, the friendship he had with Jim Street, and how Street punched him and left him in a train yard all those years ago.
Sequel of sorts to living for tomorrow.
Title: nobody can bring you peace (but yourself)
Fandom: S.W.A.T. (2003), Avengers (2012)
Pairing: Implied Jim Street/Brian Gamble, Pre-Slash Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Warnings: PG-13 for Clint's mouth, again.
Summary: Clint makes his peace with his past after he gets into trouble in another train-yard, far far away from home.
"Nobody can bring you peace but yourself."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Clint manages five years before someone gets curious. Well, that might actually be his fault, partly, because obviously he hasn't made his peace with his past and their last mission happens in a goddamn train yard like the one Brian Gamble died in, and partly because there was this jackass of an op leader with a fucking superiority complex who had demanded that he get his ass out there not even twenty-four hours after his last op with Coulson.
There's someone with him, not Jim, but Clint can't stop the name from slipping past his lips as he's wheeled into one of SHIELD's waiting medical vans. He thinks it's his handler, Phil, but Coulson isn't there, Coulson is probably at home with a beer and a book instead of having to deal with him again.
Clint's chest tightens as his body convulses again.
He can't fucking breathe.
He can't-
Clint's world goes dark, and the voices he keeps hearing trail off into nothing.
------
Clint wakes to a room that's too clinically white for his liking, and a sense of deja vu, he's woken up in a room like this before five years ago, bandaged and with an IV drip in his arm, again. There's a lingering taste of bile and medicine in his mouth, and he's pretty sure that there had even a tube down his throat not too long ago.
"Who's Jim?"
The question is out of the blue, making Clint freeze. He hadn't even spotted Coulson sitting there behind the proverbial mountain of paper, a facade of calm that masks the quiet concern in his eyes.
"How do you-?"
The agent cuts him off with a wave of his hand, striding over to sit at Clint's bedside.
"You called out a name when we were transporting you."
We.
Then it registers. He had been there. Phil Coulson had been there, right there when the medical teams had bundled him off.
It makes something warm settle in Clint's gut knowing that of all people, Coulson had come, because the last time he'd experienced something like this was with Jim, and the thought of that makes something else twist in his chest. Coulson is different from the other agents, most of whom can't tolerate his snarky attitude when he's out on a mission, and Clint (secretly) likes him, going as far as occasionally bringing him coffee. And bagels. And sometimes a sandwich.
This really makes Clint like his handler a lot more.
Coulson settles down, watching Clint with a laser like focus that the archer is familiar with for his line of work, but has never had it trained on him until now. It's unnerving - much as being stared at by a one-eyed man is - and makes Clint feel like a kid again. He wants to tell Coulson that it's classified, but his handler's clearance level is probably higher than his and though it's not mentioned in the file that's been handed around during briefings, Fury probably has a file on him somewhere that names Brian Gamble (presumed dead) as one of his known alias.
He's silent for a long time, and quietly marvels at the patience with which Coulson simply waits. Clint knows, somehow he just does, that the agent sitting beside his bed will walk away if he asks him to, but maybe this is his time to make peace with his past.
"I knew a guy once," he starts hesitantly, and that's how Clint spends the afternoon recounting the life he had as Brian Gamble, the friendship he had with Jim Street, and how Street punched him and left him in a train yard all those years ago.