❝ In a mirror, darkly. ❞
• • •
Clint Barton. Spy, assassin, master archer. Caffeine addict. Hot mess. After the Battle of New York, Clint is forced to come to terms with the mind control Loki forced him into. The longer he's recovering, the cleare...
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CHAPTER THREE
When Clint got off the train at Union Station, he groaned as he saw people flooding into the station drenched from the rain, only a few smart ones with umbrellas. One of those, he was not. He pulled his black hood over his head, adjusted his grip on the duffle bags, and started towards the exit onto the streets of Washington, D.C. He should've expected rain in October.
He glanced at the large clock on the wall. 8:54. The train had taken longer than expected. Clint just hoped Steve stayed up this late because he was starving. As he walked out into the rain, he made a cursory glance of the nearby Columbus Circle. A few taxis lined up. He ran towards one.
"Hey!" Clint knocked on the window.
The taxi driver lowered the window. "Where are you going?"
Clint gave him the address as he tumbled into the back of the black cab. He tossed his bags into the seat next to him and flung the backpack off his back to the floor. As soon as he closed the door, the driver started away.
The glow of the streetlights, sometimes red, sometimes green, sometimes yellow, flashed off the pools of water on the ground in the darkness of night. Clint stayed quiet. A weight seemed to lift off his shoulders now that he was in a different city than New York. Most of the clean up from the Chitauri had ended a month ago, but whenever he saw the under construction Avengers Tower he felt sick to his stomach.
It had been easy during the battle. Focus on the mission. Just the mission. Capture Loki. They'd had to put a stop to his rampage. Killing had never been his favorite activity, despite being called an assassin by most in his business. But with Loki he'd been tempted.
Maybe if I'd killed him, I'd sleep better, he mused to himself, watching the rain cascade in waves down the window of the taxi. Flashes of headlights as cars crossed in front at the light almost put him to sleep. He rarely slept anymore. At least not soundly. Sometimes he would get so tired that he'd sort of drift into unconsciousness that it was hard to wake from, but he didn't count that as sleep. It just made him feel more exhausted when he broke out of it.
He yawned. He had a mission. Focus on the mission. Just the mission. Capture Paige Wilson. His phone buzzed. Steve Rogers. "Hey are you almost here?"
Clint nodded to himself. He replied. "ETA five minutes. What's there to eat in your place?"
After a moment, he got a response. "There's a Subway right next door. We can grab sandwiches."
"You haven't eaten?" Clint raised an eyebrow in surprise as he waited for a reply.
Buzz. "Figured I'd wait for you."
Clint shook his head with a smile. Trust Steve to be like that. Such a class act. He'd been down to D.C. and seen Steve multiple times with Natasha since the Battle of New York. They'd been debriefed at the Triskelion over and over. Clint held a tremendous amount of respect for Steve. "Thanks. Almost there. I'll drop my crap off in my apartment and then find you."
