sparrow // mcu

chapter 8 - mistrust

There comes a point where even someone as highly trained as Clint Barton must sleep.

Imogen had lost count of how many towns they'd skirted around, how many long highways they'd followed. Night had come and gone twice (or thereabouts), but somehow, Clint was still driving, only stopping when he was about to run out of fuel. If she felt tired and stiff, despite dozing her way through a good part of the trip, she couldn't imagine how weary he must be.

"You need to stop," she said eventually, as the lights of another town came into view, drawing closer and closer.

"I'm fine," he insisted. "Just...just gotta-" A yawn cut him off. Imogen rolled her eyes.

"I can drive, you know," she said.

He laughed. "I brought you along, sure, but don't start thinking that means I trust you."

"That's not what I'm thinking."

"Well...good. Because I don't."

"I'd like to live through the day though."

"What d'you mean?"

She huffed impatiently. "I mean, you're going to crash this car and kill us both if you don't stop driving."

Finally, she saw him take a minute to think about it, eyes fixed to the road and a frown to his face. The lights of the next town were just up ahead, a community of a good size despite being in the middle of nowhere, Arizona. He'd have to find a way around the town soon, if he wanted to avoid it like he had every other place they'd passed.

"Fine," he relented with a sigh, and missed the turn off to another highway that would take them around the town. Satisfied, she nodded, turned back to the road, and slid lower in her seat, curling up like a cat.

Ten minutes later, he finally pulled into a hotel. She waited patiently as he organised a room, and stealthily moved his bow and a bag full of god-knows-what inside, before he finally came around to her side and freed her from the cuffs that kept her chained inside the car. Aware of his careful gaze on her, she stepped out into a cold, dark morning, the sun just starting to peek over the horizon.

Her eyes drifted towards the motel entrance, towards the numerous escape routes around the place, all open paths to freedom now that she was unbound, but her feet followed Clint, her escapes left untouched.

The room was dark and dank, with a lingering smell of mildew, but it was clean, with fresh linen and sturdy furniture. There was an old radiator in the corner, marking just how old the building was; Clint put the cuffs down on top of it. "Go and have a shower, clean yourself up," he told her, pointing at the small adjoining bathroom. "I'll put those back on when you're done." She didn't argue, just took the clothes he threw at her from his bag of mysteries and went, closing the door behind her.

There was a mirror directly opposite, throwing her reflection in her face right as she turned around. For the first time, she realised that she was still covered in dirt and grime from the alley and the long drive, and her hair was balled up into the messiest ponytail she'd ever seen. she hadn't even bothered thinking about how she looked the last few days, busy with an insistent headache and trying to argue her way out of the handcuffs...and of course, the eternal chase of HYDRA, who had been right on their tails just yesterday morning. Her clothes had suffered an even worse fate – her shirt sported several small tears from the thorny bush she'd crawled under when she left HYDRA, and her jeans were stained with the dirt from the garden and the field she'd fallen in, and that was before you even got into what had happened in Spokane.

She screwed up her nose and turned away from the mirror before she could see any more.

Her whole body melted under the hot water of the shower, muscles that had been stiff and sore since the fight loosening and relaxing for the first time in days, feeling almost normal. There was soap in there, the usual little tube that comes in hotel rooms, and she used all of it, scrubbing herself all over and watching dirt from gardens and ditches and streets wash away in cloudy bubbles.