A Fool's Dance

Chapter Twelve

Clint woke up to find himself in his bed. His throat was so raw from all the screaming, that he couldn't even talk. He kicked the damp sheets off of him and peeled off his sweat soaked clothes. Clint sluggishly pulled on some sweatpants and stumbled into his bathroom. He pointedly ignored the scars on his chest from past missions with Phil and brushed his teeth to get rid of the nasty after taste of his beer.

Clint stepped out of the bathroom, feeling a little better now that he was sort of clean. He stepped over to his bedroom window and opened the window a crack to let the hot air out.

He walked around his apartment and unlocked all of his windows. He decided to leave the chair jammed under the door handle. Clint flopped down on his couch and stared at the ceiling. He struggled to stay awake for a moment. He turned up the volume on the tv and glanced down at the broken beer bottle.

Clint bent over and picked up one of the shards. The edge sliced his finger, causing him to wince. He leant back over and picked up all of the glass. Slowly he got to his feet and stumbled into the kitchen. The glass shattered even more as it hit the bottom of his trash can.

A wave of dizziness crashed over him and Clint grabbed the edge of the counter to hold himself upright. Black spots danced across his eyes and he took a few deep breaths. He couldn't afford to pass out. If he passed out, he wouldn't be able to wake up from his nightmares quickly.

He was vaguely aware that the floor was rushing up to meet him. There was a brief flash of pain as he hit the floor, and then he was passed out next to the fridge.

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James went along his usual route back to Barton's a day after his second visit with groceries in his duffel bag that he stole from Natalia. He easily scaled the fire escape and blinked in surprise at the fact that the window was already open. James shifted the bag and grabbed his knife, slipping inside silently. He avoided the creaky area of Barton's floor and kept his ears open for any noises that shouldn't belong.

It was unusually silent, except for the tv that was playing a little loudly in the living room. James stepped into Barton's bathroom and checked behind the door and in the shower, but no one was there. He slipped into the hallway and stuck close to the wall to avoid the creaking there. From what he could see of the living room, it was empty. He rounded the corner, knife in front of him, and froze at the sight of Barton on the floor, obviously unconscious.

He ran to the front door to make sure it was locked and then to the windows. He gritted his teeth when he noted that they were all unlocked.

Upon closer inspection when he knelt next to Barton, he realized that the man hadn't been attacked. James nudged his shoulder a few times, but the only response he got was a small groan. He set his bag down on the kitchen table and grabbed the pitcher off the top of the fridge. James filled it with some cold water from the sink and rather unceremoniously tossed it onto Barton.

The man awoke with some spluttering and James hid his smirk as he replaced the pitcher on the top of the fridge. Barton scrambled to his feet and stared at him in thinly veiled shock.

"You wouldn't pass out if you had food and drank water," James told him as he unzipped his duffel bag.

He pulled out the plastic bags and started setting them on one of the counters. Barton just stared at him.

"You gonna help?"

"Why are you looking after me?" Barton demanded hoarsely, pushing his wet hair out of his face.

"Don't want you dying before I can kill you," James shrugged.

He opened the fridge and began putting away the stuff that needed to be refrigerated. He filled a plastic cup with water and held it out to Barton with his good arm.

"Drink. I'll make some lunch."

"You can't show up uninvited and expect me to have some kind of lunch date with you."

"Lock your damn windows. This isn't a lunch date. You need to eat and I know you won't if I leave. I'm half tempted to drag your ass back to Steve so he'll shut up about me tracking you down for him."

Barton sat down at the table as James went about making some sandwiches. He handed Barton a plate and sat down across from him.

"And keep the damn window closed."

"It's almost like you care," the archer whispered hoarsely.

"I don't."

James watched him eat the sandwich and finish drinking the water. He cast a long look around the apartment before getting up and locking all of the windows again. James started for Barton's bedroom and paused when the man cleared his throat.

"I've got a door, jackass."

James remained silent for a few seconds.

"If I go out the door, you won't lock it and put the chair back. I'll go out the window."

He stepped into Barton's bedroom and was unsurprised that the man followed him.

"Oh, one more thing," James added, turning back around to face Barton.

He dug a cellphone out of his jacket that he stole from Stark and tossed it to the archer.

"Call or text if you need help."

James ignored the odd look Barton gave him and stepped out of the window.