Prismatic ⇒ Avengers [ 2 ]

Tremors

"Well, at least god loves a trier."
"You gonna stand there and mock me all day, Barton?"

I scowl as I pick up the knives from the floor. Not one hit the target, not one. Admittedly, aim has never been my strong suit, unless I'm using something big- like a jeep- to throw.

"You know, Jo hit every target while she was midair."
"Well, forgive me for not twirling around like a rotisserie chicken." I snap back. "Jo happens to have better aim."

When I look back at him, he's smirking. "Rotisserie chicken?"
"Yeah, the weird twirly thing you do in the air." I say, shrugging. "I've seen the videos of the New York fight."
"I'm not sure that's the technical term."
"Simple, descriptive, does the job." I spin a knife in my hand and almost slice my fingers off. "God, give me a stick to hit people with any day."
"You might not always have a stick."
"And I'm more likely to have throwing knives?" I ask doubtfully. "Just because you can kill someone with a playing card, doesn't mean I can turn everything around me into a weapon. I usually am the weapon."

"It's been proven that the hulk can be turned off in you." Clint reminds me.
"Let's just hope Loki's glow stick is next to me the next time I'm captured." I deadpan. He stares at me, and I shrug. "Worked last time."
"I don't think messing with alien shit is ever a good idea, speaking from experience." My hand falters on one of the knives, before curling around the handle again.

For the most part, I try not to think about the sceptre and it's blue stone. The colour sometimes haunts my dreams, turning my mental images into a blue-tinged nightmare, and when things are deadly silent, I hear it whispering. I've never told anyone, but I know I should probably consult the others- Lee or Killian, at least. Any knowledge about the thing would be appreciated.

"What was it like, when you were being controlled by it?" I ask in a would-be casual voice as I look away from him. Another bad habit. Whenever I ask a question that isn't a simple one, I don't look at people. I'm scared what I might see.
"Honestly? It didn't feel bad, at the time. You didn't question things because you didn't need to. I was still myself," Clint begins. A knife rushes past my face, rustling my hair, and hits the target in the middle. Show off. "-but I had a different mission. It felt reassuring, at the time at least. Afterwards, not so much. Coming down after that hurt."

It doesn't sound much like anything that happened to me- it wasn't reassuring, and I wasn't myself, and there was definitely something about it that felt bad. The pain, however, I can relate to.
"What was it like for you?" Clint asks, as another knife hits the target. When I glance round at him, he's throwing them over his shoulder.
"Uh..." I wince at the sound of the knives hitting the targets. Thud. Thud. Thud. The sound of them whizzing through the air is pale yellow, but when they hit the target, the sound turns rusty orange. "I don't know. I felt like I was plugged into the mains electricity." I say as lightly as I can. "It was pure power. I thought I was going to burn alive."

I don't mention that it was intoxicating. I don't say that I could see the universe in twelve seconds. I don't mention that part of me craves that power, needs it. That even now, when I don't know where the sceptre is, it calls to me.

"You're lucky you didn't." Purple takes over blue, and I snap back to reality. "It's better off in Thor's hands, once we find it again."
There's an edge to his voice, like he knows what I'm thinking, and I turn around to face him fully, fixing a smile on my face.
"Yeah, you're right. Whatever it is, it's dangerous." I agree. "Listen, about Russia- I'm sorry. I fucked up, I got you in trouble, and I ruined the mission."
"Yeah, I guess you did." Clint agrees. My shoulders droop. "But none of that matters. Everyone fucks up on mission. I've fucked up on missions."
"Yeah, sure." I snort. He never misses. How the hell can he mess up as badly as I did?
"Yeah." He insists. "You ever assassinated the wrong head of state?"
My mouth drops open. "You didn't-"
"I was young, and stupid, and I was sure I had the right guy. Left the building, went back to my hotel, drank a few beers. I didn't realise I got the wrong dictator until I saw the newspaper headlines the next day."
"What did Fury say?" I gape, my own worries completely forgotten.
"Nothing. He looked like he had a really bad migraine, and then he told me to get out." He chuckles. "So don't sweat it. There are always other leads, and besides-" he twirls the knife effortlessly. "Ivanna Draco had it coming."