The Nikki Wolf Chronicles || Avengers

CHAPTER (18) EIGHTEEN

"Where's Blackeye?" Tony asks, peering over our heads.

"Who?" Bruce asks, his mouth ending in an 'o' while fixing the thin glasses that sit upon the bridge of his nose.

Steve rolls his eyes, and Tony replies with, "You know. Black Widow and Hawkeye! Where are they?"

"Natasha is nursing Clint back to health," I voice, daring him to make a snide, implied remark; he smiles, but says nothing.

"I ship them so hard."

Every head in the room swivels to him-- Bruce, Steve, Thor, Director Fury, and myself. We give him blank stares that say, What are you babbling about?

"Tumblr talk," he explains, as if it's obvious. Silence follows, and Tony adds, "None of you have a Tumblr? Unbelievable. Not even you, Nik?" I shake my head. "Twitterr? Facebook? ...MySpace?" he laughs at the last option, shaking his head, then continues. "Haven't you ever seen my fan bases? They're huge. Iron man never goes out of style." He smiles at this.

I don't have any of that. Half of the reason is because I'm not a social butterfly. The other reason is that I don't have the time-- okay, I'm too lazy to keep up with that stuff. So I say, "Just an email." Tony shakes his head, completely repulsed by this bit of news.

He mutters something under his breath, then leaves for the kitchen to grab something to eat. My stomach is content, having been filled an hour ago with a hearty supper. Steve follows, Nick goes to attend to other matters, and the rest of us sit around the dining room table in a comfortable silence.

"What happened to Clint?" I ask, the question having lingered in my mind like a bad aftertaste; something like cranberry juice after brushing my teeth. Thor tugs at his sleeves while Bruce looks knowingly at him.

"A bomb was triggered. It'd been a trap. Clint was the only one of us three who could experience the injuries to its max."

Thor adds, "I was a fool to think they would just let me waltz back in there and find any information we may want. I would deeply apologize to Clint, but he is in no condition to be... socializing."

Bruce reaches over and pats Thor's shoulder, then leans back and asks me what we found at Natasha's site. I tell them about the incredibly realistic robots, the loud music, the low-ceiling rooms, and the expensive throne that didn't seem to belong there. As I say one thing, I remember another, so the story I tell is all a bit scrambled.

"We've learned that powerful music is used, explosives is welcomed, and robots roam the Earth, and are most probably connected with the tall man that Clint and Natasha--and you--almost caught," Bruce reviews, counting on his fingers. "Not bad, but we're going to need more."

I pull my hair back taught and tie it with an elastic, suddenly exhausted.

"I'm going to hit the hay," I notify everyone, as Tony and Steve come back in with BLT sandwiches. The bacon in the kitchen wafts in, and I inhale deeply. "Good night."

As I leave, I hear a flurry of "Sweet dreams," "See you tomorrow," and "G'night" responses following me out.

--- --- ---

He winces as Natasha dabs his cuts with hydrogen peroxide. He doesn't try to hide that the stinging hurts-- besides, even if he did cover up, Natasha would see right through. Without words, she gently cleans his forehead with a saturated cotton ball.

Clint thinks back to when he'd been put under the spell of Loki, and Natasha had literally knocked sense back into him. He also thinks of the agents he had killed, while under the trance. He has never been told the number, but it still nags him. Especially since he has another number on his mind that upsets his thoughts.