sixthiterationlogs | With Every Mistake We Must Surely Be Learning

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With Every Mistake We Must Surely Be Learning

WHO: Clint Barton
WHERE: House 13
WHEN: February 21
OPEN TO: Peggy Carter, Stella Gibson if she wants
WARNINGS: Probably lots of vaguely amorphous stuff, talk about blood and killing; will expand if it becomes more explicit

It's a fairly well-established routine by this point, this trade of... things. Really it's mostly Clint keeping busy, because if Clint didn't keep busy, he'd probably go throw himself off the canyon wall. Thoughts of home, his family, the chaos of the world that was going on when he'd been pulled into the village - all of that would make him break, no matter his friends and as-good-as-family that he has here. He's already had one breakdown; he's not allowing himself to have another. But it's been established for awhile now that when Clint hunts, he hunts first for his own house and the people living there, but some of the extra is set aside for Peggy and Stella while the rest goes to the inn and the communal pot. He's also on call for handyman jobs if they're needed, though fortunately that isn't all that often since whoever originally built these houses built them sturdily and to last. (Better than a lot of modern houses, he knows that all too well.) In return, if he needs help with something, he can ask for it, his house get some fish, and he gets a sparring partner when they're feeling up for it.

But it's been so weird lately, for a lot of people. The tension in the village has been drawing tighter, not helped by the letters in the red envelopes that have been popping up for months now, nor the fact that it's been winter and winter just breeds malaise. Without an active way to fix things, Clint knows he's not all that much help in that kind of thing, and so he's been spending a fair amount of time in the woods away from the village, which is half of what led to him nearly dying the month before. At least out there he can get things done, hunt and mark trails, search for other ways out even though he doesn't think he'll find any. His meat delivery isn't as big as it has been in the past, but it's time to make it, and so Clint's stepping up onto the porch of House 13 and knocking on the door, like he has so many times in the past.

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The only reason that Peggy has put some effort into herself today is that she knows Clint's routine. She knows to expect him at some point, so she's managed to get on a pair of trousers and a blouse, though she's braided her hair because she hasn't had time to pin it and, most tellingly, she hasn't put on lipstick.

It's a clear sign that she has no intention of going outside at all, if she can help it. When the knock on the door comes, she heads to greet Clint, taking in a deep breath to muster up the energy she'll need to get through this, hopefully without giving too much of her current state away. Gesturing for him to come inside, she offers a subdued smile. "What's on the menu today?" she says, trying to sound jovial, though she swears she still hears the hollow echo in her words.

Even in a place without a calendar (they really should make one of those at some point, even though it feels like a defeat to admit they need one - some people have been here for a year and a half, after all), it's easy enough to keep track of seven days. Clint will generally stick to a once-a-week delivery system unless he gets a really bags a lot of game, which happens more in summer and so far only once in winter. It's a routine, not one he loves, but one that helps him get by in this world that feels like it's pressing in around him and trying to smother him with how much it won't let him do.

Peggy trying to hide her much more subdued frame of mind is instantly obvious to him, even with that smothering-blanket effect he's currently fighting himself. She might wear her hair braided and not styled if she knows she's going to be doing something intensely physical, or she might not put on lipstick if she's simply run out, but never both at once. The smile doesn't reach her eyes like it normally does and Clint can't stop himself from frowning at the picture she presents, eyes zeroing in to focus on her, even as he's presenting her with the makeshift game bag he cobbled together from carefully-cleaned skins months ago. "Squirrel, rabbit, and a little extra venison I managed to get. Want me to put it in your icebox?"

"Please," she agrees, gesturing for him to come inside. "The teapot is flowering decently," she calls over her shoulder, turning her back on him so that she doesn't have to think too much about the arrangement of her features in order to hide anything. "I think I can spare a cuppa, if you'd like."

It's the least she can do, given that even in a barter economy like this, she comes up lacking. It's a shame that no one wants spy skills in trade for food and goods. "I'm sure Stella will appreciate it every bit as much as I do."

Yeah, Peggy clearly doesn't want him asking any questions, and - for the moment - Clint's inclined to let her get away with it. After a year of knowing Peggy in her prime, seeing her face-to-face on a very frequent basis, it's still hard sometimes for him to forget that awe he had of her when he was first recruited into S.H.I.E.L.D. Most of the time it's something he's aware of but ultimately not at all relevant; just, occasionally, he remembers that "don't question Agent Carter" is not just a good idea, but a direct order. This moment is a weird combination of both, and so he pays attention, but he doesn't bring it up.

Yet. That look on her face and the very specific tone she's taking means he's watching her carefully as she leads him into the house, though it'd be easy enough for him to find on his own even if he'd never been here before since it's not like any of these houses are all that big. "Sure, if you're okay with giving some up. Laura'll laugh when I tell her the only caffeine I got here was the occasional tea." Since she was the tea drinker in the family, especially during pregnancies. "I still don't know how you Brits like all that shit."

"Years of practice and the luck of tea already flowing in our veins," is Peggy's reply, rather pleased that they're able to switch to inane pleasantries. If they're focused on this, then they don't have to talk about why she hasn't been going out to do her normal routine. It means that she doesn't have to undergo questioning.

Eventually, she has to turn around in order to hand Clint the cup, but by then, she's able to slide her mask into place, able to play the role even if it exhausts her. "You must miss them greatly," she says. "How long has it been since you saw them?"

She tries not to think about how she'd gone home, seen everyone. She tries not to think about how it had filled her with grief because of how things had gone.

"You guys were in India too long," is the only response Clint has to that sally as he opens the icebox and starts emptying the game back into the storage compartment. They're going to have to do something soon about getting more ice, but at the moment he's not entirely sure how that's going to work, and it's not something that needs to be handled immediately.

Before accepting the tea, he washes his hands under her tap, grateful that they do at least have running water here. It also helps him get himself under control; it's not like he doesn't think about his family every day, because he does. A lot. But he's also still here, not with them, not where he wants to be. And as much as he knows Peggy would be understanding about that, thoughts of his family... somehow, they're private. One thing that's his and his alone in this mess. When he takes the cup, there's a sad, kind of twisted smile on his face; not bitter, but maybe vaguely despairing. "Over a year. I've been here... about thirteen months, now."

"Yes, we were," she agrees ruefully, given that it had been only a generation separated for her, changing when she was a child. Still, Peggy's been in war too long to think that any country should rightfully be taking possession of another without consequence. Keeping her hands busy only lasts so long and inevitably, she has to turn and look at Clint, her own cup of tea in her hand.

"I'm coming up on two years," Peggy admits, though she doesn't have a family to return to. When she'd first arrived, one of her first thoughts was that she had to hope that Howard would search for her as vigorously as he did Steve, but going back, it seems like no time at all has passed. "I'm sorry you haven't seen them in so long."

He's found that most of the people here don't have family to return to, in the way of dependents. Parents or siblings, yeah, maybe close cousins, but few people here are married or have children. Clint still hasn't told most people here about his circumstances - only four altogether, including Peggy who'd found out through spectacular accident - because he doesn't need the pity and he doesn't want to wallow. He's done enough wallowing.

But he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to talk about them. He could talk to Wanda, or Nat, but it was ...nice, in a way, to have someone who's never met them take an interest in them, even if it was only because of knowing him. Proved to him again that joining S.H.I.E.L.D. had been the right choice, since it was still very much Peggy's organization when he was recruited. "Yeah, me too." Half the tea is gone in one long drink (it's still cold outside, and the tea is hot), and he sets the cup on the counter for a minute. "Can't go back - so I probably shouldn't torture myself with all of that, right? I don't need to go crazy again."

Going crazy is something that Peggy sometimes feels as if she's doing, right now. It's like she's on the brink of something and she's struggling and pushing against a bubble, trying to escape. Nothing happens, though, and she keeps on having to fight. "I'm not sure I'm the best person to give you advice on that," she admits, playing with the rim of her teacup.

"I think you can find others here who might be better at providing you the sort of advice to get you through," she says, not wanting to bring that burden on herself, not when she doesn't think she'd do a very good job at all.

"I've talked to the best people about that before. Doesn't make a whole lot of difference to have them if you don't have people standing next to you, too." After Loki he'd spent a lot of time with the shrinks, and that was after the time in isolation to make sure he was clear of any influence. And sure all of that had helped, but the real key to getting him back to himself after what he'd been through had been Laura, and Nat, and Fury. They'd fought to restore him to what he should be and wouldn't let him give up on himself, though god knows he'd tried. And they hadn't given up on him either, even when he'd tested their patience so much because of course he'd had to be problematic.

Taking the rest of the tea at a gulp, Clint sighs in both contentment from the hot drink and a little sadness from Peggy's words. He'd been planning to let it go, but after she says those particular words, well, that plan was out the window. "What is it? You're trying to hide it, but you're run down. What's going on with you?"

This is the trouble with letting Clint in and being polite - it means that she has to come to terms with the fact that they have to acknowledge that something is wrong. "How much have you heard about the letters that went out to people? The ones making demands?"

She keeps a steady expression, refusing to let anything slip past that she doesn't want to slip. She's a spy, after all, she can do this despite how hard it's been personally. She's not sure how much Clint will like her after she tells him the story, but then, when has she ever cared to be liked before?

There's always something wrong. Even in their homeworld, there was always something wrong. The big question was really what to do about that something being wrong, how to address it and fix it. The problems they had here are certainly bigger than usually cropped up at home, thanks to lack of technology and no way to leave and all that other stuff, but it's still the same in principle.

"A lot. Haven't gotten one yet, but they may know I'm willing to try just about anything to see if we can get out of here." Clint sets the cup down on the counter, turning to lean against it backwards, crossing his arms and watching Peggy with a look that's very much a match for hers. "Bev got one asking her to steal from someone else - I said I'd do it for her, but we figured it wouldn't work like that. With the second round, I volunteered to be injured to test that request - that kid Finnick took me up on it. It worked, but we still don't know a lot. And a couple days ago Ned showed me the one he just got, and we went out and hunted down a bear together."

"I didn't think that it would work, with a bear," is what Peggy says, because the letter had been quite clear about the sacrifice, though she doesn't want to get any deeper than that. "I fulfilled the letter of the law," she says, because that's what matters. "And I was rewarded. It was terrible, and I did something awful here only to find that things are just as awful at home."

It stings terribly to admit to this, but she has to. After all, it's the cloud that she can't escape from under. "I was wrong. I was wrong in so many ways, both to listen and to expect anything but what I got."

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With Every Mistake We Must Surely Be Learning

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