A Fool's Dance

Chapter Fifteen

Clint stared blankly at Barnes as he moved around the kitchen, making some food for the both of them. He couldn't be bothered to move from his seat in the living room. Barnes's arm glinted and Clint couldn't help but stare at it. When the man turned around, he glanced up at his face before turning his attention back to his arm.

"Trade stories?" Barnes asked, moving towards Barton with two plates of pasta in hand.

"What?" Clint replied, pulling his gaze away from his arm.

"Trade stories," Barnes repeated.

"I don't understand," Clint said slowly, watching as Barnes set the plate in his lap.

"What part of that don't you get? You tell me your story, and I tell you mine"

Clint lowered his gaze to the spaghetti in front of him. He wordlessly shook his head and began pushing his food around on the plate. Barnes sat down on his coffee table and stared at him.

"Shall I go first?"

Clint shook his head again and kept his gaze on the pasta. He knew Barnes was waiting for some kind of reaction, but Clint couldn't muster the energy. The tv kept the apartment from being too quiet.

"You should have stayed with Steve."

Slowly Clint lifted his gaze to find Barnes still staring at him. The lump in his throat seemed I get bigger and Clint closed his eyes.

"Felt like- Phil looked up to him. Couldn't do it, ya know," Clint whispered hoarsely.

"Your husband, right?"

Clint squeezed his eyes shut tighter and nodded. He jumped when he felt a hand brush his shoulder.

"Steve told me that he died."

Clint stood up abruptly, hardly noticing that the plate fell from his lap. Barnes looked mildly surprised as Clint brushed past him. He kicked the bedroom door shut behind him and turned the lock. Clint hardly made it three steps before he collapsed and started sobbing silently.

He heard footsteps signaling that Barnes was about to unlock his door and come in, so he dried his eyes and crawled into bed.

"You got any sheets for the couch?"

"Laundry room," Clint replied softly.

His door clicked shut. Not soon after, Clint fell asleep with tears streaming down his face.

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

James pulled and tucked the sheets on the couch to where they covered the dry blood. He left the plate of spaghetti on the floor where Barton had dropped it, and snagged the pillow out of the arm chair. After a few minutes of tossing around on the couch, James managed to get comfortable.

Try as he might, he couldn't get to sleep though. James rolled over so that he was facing the tv and reached forward to pick up the remote off the coffee table. He turned it off and resumed his earlier position facing the back of the couch.

It didn't surprise him when the first scream broke the silence. James rolled off the couch to his feet, then began walking towards the bedroom. The door was unlocked from earlier still, so he was able to slip in silently.

Even in the dim lighting, he could see the pure panic in Barton's face. James kept his footsteps light as he crept forward. Again, Barton didn't seem to be entirely awake enough to notice him.

James studied him for a moment before reaching out with his flesh hand to touch his shoulder. He quieted almost immediately and relaxed against the bed.

"Barton."

His eyes snapped open and he jerked away from James.

"What? How did you-"

"You were screaming loud enough to wake everyone in this building. Thought I would check on you," James shrugged.

"I'm fine."

James nodded doubtfully and retreated back into the living room. He remained awake, sitting on the edge of the couch, for a good while after he left the bedroom. Once again the screaming started up. He didn't bother with silence as he went back this time. James slipped into the bed behind Barton and wrapped his good arm around the man's chest.

Instantly the screaming tapered to a stop and Barton curled up closer against James's side. He pretended not to notice how the other man had tears on his face, or how the other man fit perfectly against his side.

"It's alright. Go to sleep," James whispered.

He definitely pretended not to notice the odd feeling spreading through his chest as he studied Barton's sleeping face.