Clint POV
The desert wind was hot and dry against my face, but welcome instead of the usual constant heat. I rolled the sleeves of my uniform up and glanced around at the other men in the squadron breaking down camp. While the rifle was reassuring in my hand, I still hadn't gotten over the fact the army wouldn't let me use my bow, which I was a better shot with anyways.
"James, you just gonna stand there or help load the truck!" Marshall called.
"Something's off!" I replied, squinting at the specks on the horizon.
The wind picked up and I winced as sand blew into my eyes.
"Load up, men," Sergeant Lewis yelled.
I trudged over to the convoy truck and climbed into the back, sitting down next to Marshall. I turned the saftety on and removed the magazine from my gun as the truck started moving.
"Can't wait to get back and have a cold beer," Marshall told me as he lit a cigarette from my pack.
He held one out for me and I accepted it after a moment. He started to pass the lighter, but I shook my head. I didn't like to smoke, but it did give me something to chew on as I tried to think about what had felt off when they were loading the trucks.
I jumped when the convoy in front of us exploded. Marshall tossed my helmet out the back and shoved me off the truck. I had to roll to avoid being hit by the truck behind us. Sand lifted off the ground and hit my eyes, some going into my nose and throat. I coughed and looked around for the magazine to my gun. Another explosion knocked me off my feet into the sand. I couldn't breathe without sand getting in my nose as the wind picked up more and more sand.
"Marshall!"
"Lewis! Guys!" I screamed, pulling the hem of my shirt up over my mouth and nose.
I spun around, trying to see anything. There were gunshots off to my left and I started forward. I heard myself scream as a bullet went through my shoulder.
"Barton?"
I blinked a few times and lowered the knife away from the man's throat. It took me a second to make out Agent Coulson's face clearly. It was his usual blank expression but his eyes were wide.
"What the hell are you doing asleep in the vents?"
I shook my head and tightened my grip on the knife as hot air started blowing through the vents. Nausea clawed at my stomach and I shoved the older man out of the vents so I could drop down. I didn't bother catching myself as I hit the ground. I fought down a shudder and tried to push Afghanistan out of my mind.
"Barton."
I pushed myself up into a sitting position and glanced up at him. His expression was still unreadable. His left hand was covering his upper right arm and I glanced down at the knife I still had in my hand.
"Sorry, Agent Coulson. I didn't mean-"
"It's fine," he shrugged, "We were going to medical anyways."
I fought the urge to look away when his head tilted slightly. I shoved the knife into the top of my boot and reached for the crutches on my bed. I got to my feet and placed the crutches under my arm and waited for him to lead the way.
Several people, all dressed in either black or suits, stopped and stared at me, or perhaps Coulson. I couldn't help the scowl that started to pull at my face at all of the attention. I usually blend in, but it's hard to with crutches. Coulson glanced back and I frowned at the hint of amusement in his eyes.
"You aren't going to make friends by glaring at everyone," he said over his shoulder.
I rolled my eyes and continued walking behind him. If he hadn't shot me, I could be heading back to my safe house in London right about now. If I tripped him with the crutches, how far could I get before he shot me again with the gun he had hidden inside his suit jacket. Better not risk it.
I felt my scowl deepen when I noticed Agent Garrett walking towards us. Before I could stop myself, I stuck my tongue out at him. It probably wasn't one of my best ideas, but the look of irratation that flashed across his face was pretty great.
"So you found him then? Where did the brat go?" Garrett asked, narrowing his eyes at me when Agent Coulson glanced over his shoulder at me.
I tightened my hand on the grip of the left hand crutch and shifted my weight to my good leg.
"Vents."
"Jesus, Phil, did he do that to you?" Garrett asked, pointing at the red streak across Agent Couslon's upper arm.
Agent Coulson shook his head and covered his arm with his left hand again. I frowned at the man's back and flipped Garrett off as he glared at me.
"Barton, go to the end of the hall, take a left, first door on the right. They'll know who you are. Go."
Garrett moved out of the way, muttering under his breath and I limped down the hall. A few of the doors were open and I could see inside. Most of them looked like a standard doctor's exam room, a few were offices, and one was a supply closet. The end of the hall branched in two opposite directions. There was a red line on the floor to my right and double doors just behind the line. I fought down another wave of nausea as I realized they led to operating room. I rubbed my shoulder for a second and turned left.
Of course the door I needed to go through was at the very end of the hall. As I walked, I looked into the open rooms. Two were just offices and one was a bathroom.
"Mr. Barton?"
I looked over my shoulder at the nurse or whatever the older guy was and noddd. He waved my inside the room and I glanced back at the end of the hall.
"I don't bite, son."
I swallowed and peered inside the room. There wasn't any kind of operating table, so I stepped further inside, shutting the door after me with one of the crutches.
