Avengers Imagines

Whiplash (Pt. 1/2)

The facility could be being robbed blind and you doubted if you would bring yourself to care any less. Partly because you were not physically present there at that moment in time, but for the most part because it was your day off. The collective forces of good and evil could not make you relinquish it.

That being said, what about something that existed in the between? Between good and evil, love and hate, right and wrong, wedged so far in the gap it was impossible to tell what it had originally been?

The duvet was up to your chin and the television was playing some random program you had forgotten to keep track of when there was a knock at the door. Pounding thunder more than a knock — loud, obnoxious, urgent.

One thing was certain — whoever had decided to ruin your rest was going to meet their maker sooner than anticipated. You switched off the TV and held your breath, hoping the disappointment would drive them away.

The knocking came harder, louder if possible. It appeared as the whoever was on the other side wanted to seal their fate with death. Debating the options to changing your name and moving across the country, you headed for the door.

It was as if lightning had run through you. You still had the good sense to check the peephole before answering the door, and on the other side, was Laura. Of all the people who could be standing at your door in that moment, it was Laura Barton.

You would be less concerned if it was Steve with his hair in flames, what with all that hairspray he used. But it was Laura Barton — the woman you had wrong beyond repair.

The decision has never been yours to make. Clint made it for you. He made you the other woman. The two of you were great together — the ultimate power couple. Besides, nobody in the team knew he had a family back home. Not until Ultron.

When you initially found out about Laura and the kids, you were naïve enough to think two things — that your boyfriend was cheating on you, and that this was the worst it could get. Turned out, your boyfriend had been a husband since long before you came into the picture, in addition to the fact that you were the one he was cheating with, not on.

That was the last time you had spoken to him, not for the lack of effort on his part. Clint had tried to explain how special you were and that it was possible to love two people at once. If selfishness had been in your nature, you would have quit the team and never looked back. But it was not, so you stayed, only turning bitter with each passing day.

Laura and you never got the closure required and now she was standing at your door in tears, the last place she would go, a year after it all had happened. For what?

Any other time, you would have turned on your heel and gone right back to bed, but there was something in her eyes that worried you — other than tears, there was fear.

Knowing nothing good would come from it, you let the door swing open. Laura looked as though she had crossed the distance between her farm and your apartment on foot, with two children clinging to her on either side. Her tears gained momentum as soon as she saw your face. “Help us.”

Last you had seen of her, which also happened to be the first, she had indubitably been with child. So, by count, when there should have been three children with her, there were only two. Maybe she miscarried, or maybe the third child was simply home with its father. No need to jump to the worst possible alternative.

Asking any question seemed pointless, not to mention gravely insensitive. Instead, you welcomed the three of them in. Thinking quickly, you separated the children from their distraught mother, engaging them in cartoons.

Next order of business, you prepared a cup of tea for Laura, who gulped down half of it before she was able to form a single coherent word. “We...we got into a fight and I didn't think anything of it until he picked up his gun. I t-thought he was going to shoot...”

She bit her lip, a shiver coursed over her. “...shoot me but then the kids started crying and he pointed the gun at them and I...I didn't know where to go. He would find us at the facility.”

You had never held Clint in particularly high esteem for a while but the bar was pushed underground. The shock was still sinking in, the sight of the fraught woman in front of you forcing its case. Reaching for Laura's hand, you held it tight, as a show of support. This would be your vindication; this would be your purge.

Something reminiscent of a smile was beginning to form on her face when there was a rap at the door, acute and pointed, and Laura drew away from you as though you were made of knives. With most of your attention still on her, you craned your neck to glance at the door. You knew what she was thinking. Unfortunately, you were thinking it too.

The question of why Laura would have the address of the woman her husband was cheating on her with rose and died in your mind, all in one fleeting moment. Preparing your body for come what may, you slowly unlocked the door. “Clint.”

“(Y/N).” There he was, your eyes went over him in disdain. For the past year, Clint had made a career out of not noticing you any more than he absolutely had to. Disregarding your existence altogether, he took on a surprisingly jovial tone. “Laura!”

Crossing your arms over chest, you steeled yourself in the likeness of a wall. It did not take long for Clint to realise moving you was going to be a monumental feat. He raised a brow. “You'll keep me from my family?”

“Oh, no.” You rested your palms on either side of the doorframe, forming a proper barricade. “No, the law will keep you from your family. At least a hundred yards, but I'll see what I can do.”

“Move.” Clint did not appreciate your wit. Such shame. You cocked your hip to the side, challenging him with your eyes.

The next thing you felt was a sharp jab in your foot — you couldn't believe it, the son of a bitch was crushing your toe with the heel of his shoe. Stepping back, you tried to swing the door shut but too late. Clint wedged his shoe in the gap and like a battering ram, and pushed his way in.

Your first priority was checking on Laura, and were relived to know she had moved to the furthest corner of the room. The relief was short lived, for Clint was rapidly gaining on her. You pounced ahead of him, attempting a roundhouse kick which he foiled by grabbing hold of your leg right before it made contact. Sailing with the wind, you looped your knee over his neck and brought him down.

Clint was up in a second. He hauled you upright by your hair and you succumbed to yelping in pain. Your eyes grew wide as soon as you took notice of the marble countertop nearing, and immediately squeezed shut when your head was pushed into it.

Once. Twice. Your skull threatened to crack open. The third time, you thrust against Clint's arm, driving the back of you head into his face. Pain rumbled in his throat.

Clint was holding his hand to his nose,  the blood spurting from which had turned his fingers and majority of the lower half of his face red. You forced your elbow firmly into his chest before turning around, only to find the man collapsed on his knees, swaying slightly.

Sparking in your veins was liquid fury. You could tell yourself you were doing this for Laura all day long but the truth remained — you had welcomed your first and likely only opportunity of revenge, from the man who had tainted your soul, broken it in some irreparable way.

“My son. They have...” Clint had to stop in order to catch his breath. The mention of a child made you hold off on a punch that was sure to knock out at least a few teeth. No amount of blood could mask the utter helplessness on his face. “They have my son. Please, help us.”

You tried to make sense of what he had said, the process of which yielded more questions than answers. However, before you could voice any of them, Clint was lying on the floor, well out of consciousness.