A Fool's Dance

Chapter Thirteen

AN- potentially triggering things in this chapter.

James looked up from his bowl of cereal when he heard someone walking into the kitchen. He remained still, trusting that the shadows would keep him hidden. Natalia slipped into the kitchen and sat at the table across from him. So much for being hidden.

"You know where he is, don't you?" She demanded.

James remained silent. Even without answering, he knew he was. Natalia shook her head and stood up. He followed her movement around the kitchen with his eyes, still frozen where he sat. She yanked open the fridge after pacing for a minute or so and pulled out a water bottle.

"How is he?" she asked.

James elected not to tell the truth, carefully keeping his face in the shadows so that she wouldn't be able to tell.

"He's fine."

"Then why did you have to buy him groceries? I thought you hated each other."

"We do," James replied.

Natalia made a disbelieving snort and took a sip of the water. James continued watching her closely, never taking his eyes off of her.

"You'd let me know if anything happens?"

He nodded once in agreement and then she was gone. He went back to eating his cereal in silence. It wasn't long before someone else came into the kitchen. James made sure to be silent as he watched Stark pull out a pan from a cabinet. It wasn't the first time he'd witnessed the man make food early in the morning before falling asleep at the table.

He fought down a smirk as he stood up. James walked across the kitchen and placed his bowl in the sink, careful not to make any noise. He leaned up against the counter behind Stark and waited for the man to turn around.

"J, how close are you to finding any leads on Barton?" Stark asked.

"Why don't you just give up?" James asked.

The scream he got in response pulled a smile to his lips. Stark whirled around and glared at him.

"He's a friend. That's why," Stark snapped.

Before James could answer, his phone vibrated with a text. He turned away from Stark and pulled his phone out. It was from Barton.

Help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clint stared at his phone, ignoring the blood running down his arm. He could see that Barnes was typing out a reply, but he didn't care. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he texted the assassin in the first place. Clint leaned back against his couch and turned on his tv, throwing his phone to the side. The tv helped to alleviate some of the silence and emptiness of the apartment.

At the surface of another memory of his time with Loki, Clint dug the knife into his arm again. He stared for a minute at the steady stream running down his arm before he closed his eyes and listened to the tv.

It slowly became quieter to Clint and he went limp against the couch.