batmanschmatman | 119 [spam/voice]

[Spam for Clint]

[Barton. Barton was the leak in the department. It took everything he had not to just march over to his apartment right after talking with Lensherr and drag him down to the office himself, because he was angry. Really, really damn angry, because he didn't care if Clint was worried about his reputation being sullied. He'd sold the mob information, and two agents were dead. There was a chance - a slim one, but still a chance - that their deaths had nothing to do with what Barton had given them, but until he had proof otherwise, he was going after a guy who'd caused the death of two agents and God knows who else.

He wasn't at the office, surprise surprise. Admittedly, no one else was either, it was too early in the morning for most of the other agents to even consider coming in, and he knew he should probably leave a note or something at least to one of the other agents, but he wanted to do this himself. He'd never been great being a team player when it came down to it, and this was no exception.

Besides, he was less likely to run if it was just his partner approaching him, versus an entire pack of feds.

He finally ran into him downtown, and went to pull him aside, starting to head away through the small crowds that had started to gather so they could go somewhere quiet to talk.]

We need to talk.

[Private to Narvin, dated to after the Spam]

I found your fucking rat.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It had started as a joke because he stayed at the office so late. A night owl. But anyone who knew anything about birds knew that owls were vicious predators in their own right, and the name had taken on a second meaning when he'd started bringing in criminals, who were usually a little worse for wear.

He was efficient, and he was brutal, and right now, he was mad.

So, as soon as they were alone, tucked away from the rest of the populace in an alley, he turned and punched him in the face. Hard.]

You sick fuck. [And he went to pin him up against the wall so he couldn't run.] I know you've been handing over information to Prefect to protect your goddamn reputation. You'd better hope to God the information you gave them didn't get McGinnis and Kelley killed or so help me, I'll put a bullet in your head myself.

[That punch threw him. it all threw him. Clint didn't have a moment to respond before he was knocked back against the wall and pinned. He struggled, forcing his brain into focus.]

...Handing over information? [Oh god. Lie. Lie. But any good agent would see, any good agent would know. At the very least Dick, with his grip pinning him to the bricks behind him would be able to tell that Clint's heart was going a mile a minute.]

You've got the wrong guy.

[Dick didn't let up pressure, because he knew he was lying, and it just made him madder. Yes, Lensherr could have lied, but his information up until then had been good, and it fit in a way that nothing else with this case did, and he was handing him over to Lone and that was going to be the end of it.]

Two people are dead because information got leaked. Now, I don't want to think you just handed them over on a silver fucking platter for these shitheads, I want to believe you're a half decent guy who's just got his back up against the wall. But the more you lie to me? The rougher this is gonna be.

[there is a flicker of worry in his gaze.] You don't understand.

[Talk, keep him talking, lull him with his voice and then what? Clint finds the courage somewhere-somewhere to look the other man in the eyes and his gaze is...ashamed.]

...For every one of ours they picked off, I took two of theirs. Two. [He did have that reputation. If he shot mob officers they stayed down and dead.]

[That really just makes him angrier. Grayson has that reputation too, of putting people down when they made it clear they'd rather not go to prison, but that rationalization, that trying to make it sound like there was something okay with this made him want to put this guy in the ground himself.]

I don't give a shit what you did to them. You don't sell out your own guys, you son of a bitch. [He grabbed him by the collar and started dragging him back off into the street.]

Start walking. There's a shot if you're honest about what happened, you'll get off with some jail time and a chance to start over again. But try anything now, and I meant what I said about shooting you.

[Clint hesitates, raises a fist and drops it.] You want me to admit it?

[He remembered rain. The smell of the sea. He sagged visibly before looking back over his shoulder.] Do you know what it would have done to this town? That cop-Blake. He was a wife beater, but he had a kid and they...they needed justice. I didn't know.

[He doesn't cry. He doesn't beg. He sounds...blank.] I didn't know.

[Dick just shoves him along. They're headed back towards the office, and it's better that he doesn't get upset, really. It'll keep the bystanders from wondering too much about what they're doing. Grown men didn't just wander through the streets weeping. Especially not local heroes.]

You were trying to do your job. [His voice was flat, the anger still simmering under the surface, but he's more interested in getting back to the office and making sure Barton's not going to try anything funny than screaming at him right now.] No one's gonna blame you for fucking up with Coulson. People are gonna blame you for being a fucking rat.

You're not from around here Grayson. You don't get it, guy makes a misstep like that...it was for the job.

[lies. But there's truth there too. anyone with eyes can see them both.] For the job.

[There was a strong bubble of resentment about that, because he was so goddamn tired of people acting like he didn't get it while he was here. Really, they didn't. Redemption had its issues, but it wasn't Chicago. These guys in the department might have their stings to set up and mobsters to play cops and robbers with, but he'd spent the last five years bringing hardened killers to justice, and being treated like he'd been born yesterday was wearing on his nerves. Especially when it was coming from a guy who was informing on his own team.] No, I'm not from around here. I'm from fucking Chicago, where guys like you get fed to the fucking wolves when they pull shit like this. You're lucky you're not where I'm from.

[And he really, really wanted to hit him again, but they were in public, and as much fun as it would be, he wanted to be the better cop, here, at the end of the day. He'd told Erik he'd hit him once for him, and he had, and he'd have to satisfy himself with forcing him along down the street if he started hesitating..]

Guys take a misstep like that, they get people killed. Good people, who had families and did their jobs, and you're nothing more than a selfish, rat prick for thinking what you did was for "The Job".

[His hands tightened and for a moment he thought about bumrushing him. His feet even slowed in the street as he shot angry looks at every person walking down the street.

A few shrank back, but only a few. Gaze lowered, he inhaled and exhaled.

And kept walking.]

Big deal, guy from the circus making it in a town like this.

[Dick slows too, and there's definitely something dangerous in his expression as he watches and calculates how fast he'd be able to draw his gun before Barton tried anything.

But he didn't, and while the weariness doesn't really leave him at all, he keeps walking and doesn't openly threaten him.]

So I've been told.

[Clint shrugs his shoulders.] ...I wouldn't have done anything if I hadn't thought..

[He deflates] roads not traveled and all that I suppose.

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