Scars and Origins

Chapter 9: The Rumor Mill Pays Off

Chapter 9: The Rumor Mill Pays Off

~ So this chapter is where we're gonna deviate from some Marvel content, because Agents of SHIELD has not been confirmed as canon. Any further mentions of incorrect comic book content, unofficial MCU content, or other sources will simply be answered with #multiverse. This story is based on MCU content, but I do not claim to be an expert, and I will not be running off of any non-canonical content. ~

Natasha never even flinched as Clint paced around the room at 0320. 'Whatever medicine the hospital gave her, it sure is effective,' he thought. Normally on a night like tonight, where he was unable to sleep, he would take his bow, go down to the parking garage (where he rented a space for just this purpose), and shoot to his hearts' content. His fingers ached to feel the pressure of the bowstring. But with Natasha here, he didn't feel comfortable leaving for more than 5 minutes. His jog down to the car and back was one thing. He knew Natasha would need her bag that he retrieved in the morning anyway, and he thought the exercise might help. It didn't. Working on the case occupied him for a couple hours, but he had gotten to a dead end he knew Natasha could solve. Next, he tried a long shower and stress eating not long after that. No dice.

Consequently, he needed to figure out something to do to distract him. He went to the den, where he kept all his weapons, spare ammo, arrow heads, etc. He used a fingerprint scanner to allow him in, and left the doors wide open as he thought about how to occupy himself. Steel plating covered the inside of each door and all the walls, and the floor was stripped down to the bare concrete. A fire in a room full of explosives would be catastrophic, so this minimized that chance. The wall to the left of the door held Clint's 3 favorite bows, one compound, one recurve with customized buttons that connect to his quiver, and another recurve that transforms into a staff. Under those sat shelves of organized chaos. At least 100 arrow shafts, boxes of spare necks and fletchings, and many arrow heads that vary from explosive, to electrocuting, to thermal, and many more. Two extra quivers with prepared arrows sat leaning upright against the shelving. The other walls were lined with displayed hand guns, throwing knives, sniper rifles, and one shotgun that was looking a little dusty. Several different sights, at least 30 different clips, pocket knives, and various hand tools were in boxes on the shelves just under the hung weapons. And the final wall on the right had a long, skinny table against it with a metal rolling chair tucked underneath. On top of the table, Clint's supplies for assembling his own bullets sat, the only thing that wasn't labeled in the whole room. A metal canister marked 'GP' sat in the corner, tightly sealed. Two sheathed swords sat upright next to it. Bins of different ammo were mounted onto the wall, each marked with a different caliber, each labeled FMJ (Full Metal Jacket) or HP (Hollow Point), and some labeled +P/+P+. A bright red fire extinguisher sat next to two bins full of neatly stacked flash bangs and smoke grenades. Everything in its place.

He pulled out all 10 of his personal guns he kept in the room, and began to meticulously clean each one. Each hand gun took him about 20 minutes, and each long range gun took him about 30 minutes. It was nearly 0800 when Natasha had found him beginning to pick up each gun off the tarp he had laid out on the floor of the entryway. Taken aback, she noticed he was slightly sweaty and his arms were covered in solvent and grime.

"Clint," she called, and he turned around as he hung the last rifle back on the wall. Dark circles and worry lines littered his face. "Did you sleep? You look like shit," she said, leaning on the wall across from the den.

Barton rubbed his hands on a clean rag as he replied, "Not really, I figured I would use this time to spruce up my collection." He held an arm up to showcase his room of danger with a kind smile that looked out of place on his worn features. "I needed a distraction to occupy me at 3 am, and I figured I may as well make all this look nice before you saw it," he added, as she crossed her arms sassily in response to him trying to change the subject.