These festivities were stupid. Baclath would not waste her considerable intelligence coming up with a more adept word for it. The music, the dancing, the ice skating -- it was all so trivial. Did these people not realize how close their destruction was? That they were in a war? This city would be the first to fall, and then the rest would topple like dominoes. This world would be another Skrull victory, she would ensure it.
For now, that meant sticking to her mission -- and her cover. Irritating as it was, Kate Bishop was social. She was chipper. If only Baclath had gotten to her before this change of heart from her recent hardships. Though she was far more useful attempting to redeem herself than she was wallowing. Reforming the Young Avengers was a prime opportunity.
“Hey there!” she called to someone near the music. “Wanna dance with me?”
summary: clint’s killed caden, but her protégé baclath won’t allow the fight to be over that easily
trigger warnings: death, violence
featuring: @hcwkguys
The war on the streets was not going well. Baclath was beyond irritated with Vorian. He wasn’t half the soldier that he thought he was, and not even a fraction of the warrior Caden had taught her to be. She had been taught well, and even amidst the chaos, had managed to hold onto her disguise. Caden would have done the same, she was sure of it.
The ship itself was under attack as well, and the prisoners were escaping. Baclath had to be cautious, and she had not been included in Maximoff’s plans, so she was unsure what tactics the ‘heroes’ would use. She needed to find Caden. They needed to regroup, and take this planet by force, find a way to use this chaos and confusion to their own advantage.
She slipped back onto the ship as silently as she could, dodging through the halls, ignoring Skrull and human alike. But as she made her way into the depths, she heard a familiar irritating voice -- Clint Barton. There was only one Skrull who could be facing him, and Baclath grinned to herself. Finally, the fool would meet his end, another tally on Caden’s list of victims.
But when she rounded the corner, she saw something that made her heart stop.
Caden was sprawled on the ground at Barton’s feet. Bleeding, and from her true form. Which could only mean -- but it couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t. Baclath refused to accept it, but the rage was building in her chest, the kind of fury that only came from vengeance.
“You will pay for this!” she screamed, lunging forward. She had Kate Bishop’s toys on her back, the bow and arrow, but Clint Barton did not deserve a clean death. She would rip him apart with her bare hands, wearing the face of the girl he so adored.
The fight with the Skrull seemed to go on forever, but when it was over, it ended all at once. The silence that followed the alien’s fall was almost overwhelming, and Clint took a moment to stare down at its body before picking his bow back up. He’d just retrieved the weapon when he heard someone else entering. Turning towards them, he sighed in relief at the familiar face. “Katie,” he breathed, taking a step towards her.
Before he could get another word out, she was lunging for him, murder in her eyes, and screaming in a tone he’d never heard from his protege. Oh, he realized belatedly, fumbling with his quiver and attempting to nock an arrow. Not Kate. So he’d missed that, too. Natasha and Kate were arguably the two most important people in the world to Clint, and he’d failed them both spectacularly.
Scrambling backwards to avoid the Skrull’s outstretched arms, Clint swallowed thickly. “You guys don’t like playing fair, do you?” he muttered, trying not to trip over the body in the floor. He hadn’t even caught his breath from the last fight yet. “Can I have a time out? A pause?”
Baclath had murder in her eyes, on her mind, in her heart. Her hands were extended, ready to claw out the eyes of this sorry excuse of a human. She had a moment, to see the flash of sorrow cross his face, and it spurred her on. He stumbled back out of her grasp, but she was relentless. She would not be denied.
“Fair?” she hissed, rounding on him once more. She reached down, picked up Caden’s sword. There was blood already on the blade, but not Barton’s. Not yet. “Do not speak to me about fair!” she screamed, brandishing the blade. She pointed it towards him, held it with more confidence than the bow. She ripped both quiver and bow off her shoulders, threw them behind her. Caden would have been disgusted at how she abandoned her disguise, but she saw no other way to avenge her. “For weeks, I have suffered through every sniveling word from your lips. The inane drivel, the constant chatter. Did I get a ‘time out’ from you? No!” she screamed, slashing forward, aiming for his chest.
“And now, you’ve slain her!” she yelled, swinging wildly as she lunged forward again. “She was ten times the warrior you were! How, Barton? How does someone as stupid as you manage to kill her?”
Aw, shit. The Skrull was pissed, that much was clear. It was a stark contrast to the one who’d been disguising herself as Nat, a completely different ball game altogether. With her, every move had been calculated, planned. Every word she’d said had been with the intent to throw him off balance, every blow intended to kill. Clint had thought it’d be easier if she were more emotional, more likely to slip up.
He was starting to realize he’d been wrong about that.
This new Skrull, the one with Kate’s face, she was obviously emotional. Her words were angry, but beyond that, they were hurt. She wasn’t just furious he’d killed the alien who lay in the floor now, she was distraught. It was almost as if she were mourning. He’d been wrong before, he realized; he’d assumed Skrulls were incapable of love. Apparently, they were, at least on some level.
“You could’ve left,” he shot back, angry and heated. “I mean, a lot of good it did you, huh? You’re losing, you know that? The weeks you spent hanging out on my couch, listening to my ‘constant chatter,’ it was all for shit! You could’ve just left, and it wouldn’t have made any difference at all.” He stepped back, desperate to avoid her angry slashing with the sword. The blade opened his shirt, drawing a thin line of blood across his chest, but the damage was superficial. Hopefully, it’d stay that way. Dying here just after surviving the impossible odds he’d been thrown with the Skrull masquerading as Natasha, felt too cruel a development even for someone with Clint’s luck.
He took another step back as the Skrull lunged forward again, retrieving an arrow from his quiver as he moved and nocking it into his bow. He couldn’t allow himself to hesitate before firing it off, couldn’t allow himself a moment to breathe. This thing was pissed to hell, and she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him as revenge for protecting himself against her slain friend. “You’re goddamn right I killed her!” He spat the words out angrily, loosing his arrow in the Skrull’s direction. “That thing disguised itself as my wife for weeks. Manipulated me, fooled me into thinking everything was fine while the woman I loved was suffering. Wanna know something? Killin’ her was easy.” He was taunting the Skrull now, hoping to play on her emotional vulnerabilities the same way the last alien had preyed on his. It’d almost lead to his downfall, and if he played his cards right, it would lead to hers.
At least, that was what the logical part of his brain was insisting. On a more emotional level, the words felt good to say. Killing the Skrull had left him feeling vindicated, and taunting this one had a similar effect. Mostly, though, Clint was goddamn sick of being called stupid.
Baclath had lost her mother to the glories of war, and her father and brother had been nothing more than complete disgraces to their kind. Caden was all she truly had, all she needed. Every move she had made during this invasion, it had been to please her mentor, to prove herself worthy. There had been mistakes, too many to count, but in this final test, she would be victorious. She had to be. Clint Barton would not be allowed to walk away, not after what he had taken from her.
She scoffed at him. “I am not going to explain the nuances of Invasion and disguise to you,” she spat. Her eyes flicked down to Caden, narrowing in fury once more as she glared at him. “I endured it for her. She taught me how to fool you, but truly?” She let out a scathing, cold laugh, lacking humor but full of spite. “That part was easy. Even by human standards, you are pitiful!” she screamed again, eyes gleaming at the sight of blood on his chest. She would see every drop of his spilled on the floor. Her mentor’s body and blade would be bathed in it.
He shot at her, but she hardly felt the arrow graze her side. She was solely focused on him, swinging wildly, hungry for his death. His words fueled the fury in her, and if he hoped that it would make her stumble, he was sorely mistaken. She let go of the sword with one hand, and gripped his wrist, twisting it roughly until he would be forced to let go of the bow. “Killing you will be even easier,” she snarled, letting go and slashing the sword down again. “And anyone who might have mourned you will already be dead!”
The Skrull was fast, dodging his arrow like it was nothing, and for the first time, Clint considered the fact that this might not be fight he could win. He was usually all right when it came to optimism. After all, he’d endured a lot of shit in his life, from his father’s own cruelty to SHIELD’s impossible expectations to overcoming death itself. He’d made it through a lot, and he’d gone into every situation, every impossible battle with that in mind. If he could survive Loki, if he could make it through Ultron and HYDRA and the tracksuits and the Swordsman and Trickshot and Harold goddamn Barton, he could manage on measly Skrull, right?
Wrong, he realized as she gripped his wrist and twisted harshly. Pain shot through him, radiating up his arm and forcing the bow from his hands. He cringed as it dropped to the ground. In close combat like this, it wouldn’t have done him much good to have it, but he felt strangely naked without it. He was entirely defenseless now, nothing but the arrows on his back. He’d gotten lucky with the first Skrull; she’d given him the window that allowed him to get an arrow loose, and her final lunge in his direction had given him the chance he’d needed to drive it into her chest. This Skrull, though, didn’t seem to be making the same blunder.
He might die here, he realized solemnly. He might really, honestly die here, so soon after he’d fought hard for one impossible victory. Clint could become just another victim of this invasion, could lose any chance he might’ve had to make things up to Natasha and Kate. The thought sent a rush of icy fear through his veins, and he kicked out desperately at the Skrull in an attempt to free his wrist from her grasp.
Yes, Baclath thought fiercely. There was fire in her veins and victory was so close she could taste it. She would avenge her mentor -- no, more than that. She would surpass Caden, killing the one that had bested her. When this was over, her blunder with Watson would be forgotten. She would have commendations bestowed upon her, she could become Veranke’s right hand woman. She would serve the Skrulls and she would bring glory enough to erase the mistakes of her family name. Baclath would be the only name that mattered from here on out.
She tightened her grip on Barton’s wrist, squeezing tightly and yanking him roughly, far out of reach of his pathetic weapon. She pulled him close, her face was inches from his, his breath hot and sticky and labored. He would not last much longer, and the thought was tantalizing. She brought Caden’s sword up, rested the blade against his cheek. “Any last words?” she hissed, sneering at him. His fear was palpable. She was moments away from ending this once and for all.
“I do!” came a voice from behind her. Baclath did not even have time to turn, before she felt the arrow pierce her back. It went deep, punctured something vital. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that her grip slackened on both Barton and the sword. She heard it clatter to the ground, and she fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Now she turned her head, and her eyes widened. No, she thought. It couldn’t be.
But it was. Kate Bishop -- the real Kate Bishop -- was standing over her. Barton’s discarded bow in her hand, another arrow already nocked into place. The girl’s gaze was cold and furious, her lips pulled into a tight frown. “Futz you, bitch,” Kate said, and that was the last thing Baclath heard.
Kate was panting, her heart pounding, and sickly thin. But she looked a damn sight better than the Skrull, who slumped over, driving the arrow even further into her skull. Kate immediately threw her arms around Clint, held him tightly. “How are those for last words?” she asked, just before a choked off sob wracked her body. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she whispered, clinging to him even tighter.
The pressure on his wrist was growing, and Clint could practically feel the bones grinding together painfully. It made sense, he guessed, dying here. He’d managed to outlast one alien invasion, managed to live through Loki and the Chitauri. He should’ve known he wouldn’t get lucky a second time. Clint was going to die here, the same way he should have died in New York or Sokovia, and he’d stay dead the way he should have after HYDRA.
Dimly, he was aware of the Skrull speaking to him, aware of her spitting venom in Kate’s voice, demanding last words from him the same way countless villains had before. Usually, he’d respond with a quip or a joke, all feigned confidence and absent of fear entirely, but this time, his mouth couldn’t seem to get anything out. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. He was going to die pathetically silent, and no one but this alien wearing his best friend’s face would ever even know.
The blade’s metal felt cool against his cheek, and Clint clenched his jaw and tilted his head, staring defiantly into her eyes. Maybe his death would be pathetic and unnoticed, but he’d be damned if he let her see how afraid he was.
And then, all at once, it was over. Not in the way Clint had expected, not in the way he’d been preparing himself for. For a moment, when the Skrull’s expression changed, he was sure her blade had pierced him, sure that he was going to die for real this time. Instead, the alien fell, sword clattering to the ground next to her body. The pressure on his wrist was gone, and Clint stumbled backwards.
Wildly, he looked around, drawing a sharp breath when he saw Kate holding his bow. It’s a trick, his mind warned him. It’s another Skrull, it’s an alien, it’s a trick. His eyes were wide, and he took a hesitant step back as she made her way towards him. She approached the Skrull on the ground and loosed another arrow, and Clint’s shoulders slumped in time with the bowstring’s snap, the tension bleeding from his body all at once.
“Can’t get rid of me that easy.” His voice expressed his shock as everything that had happened began to sink in. His arms wrapped loosely around her neck when she first approached, but when her shoulders shook with the sob his grip tightened. “Katie,” he muttered, leaning into her. “Fuck, Katie, I’m so sorry. I should’ve --- I should’ve known.”
It was over. At least, this part of it was. Kate wanted to be strong, wanted to be able to fire a joke at Clint, because he looked just as shaken as she felt. But she couldn’t. She was reeling from everything that had happened, the thirty-seven days she’d spent as a prisoner, the Skrull she’d just killed. It wasn’t like the Syndicate, even if the motions had been the same. That thing had kidnapped her, taken over her life, and tried to kill one of the most important people in the world. Kate could put up with a lot of crap. But if you threatened Clint, you were done.
“Good,” she muttered, hugging him even tighter. She wanted him to know she meant it, because she couldn’t bring herself to say how much she had missed him out loud. Her mind felt like it was full of static, but all that mattered was she was here, and he was here, and they were alive, and they were together. Hawkeye and Hawkeye. She buried her face in his shoulder, shaking her head. “Shh,” she said, voice muffled. “Don’t do that to yourself. It’s not your fault, it’s mine, I let them -- on New Years, I thought I could take one down on my own, but he beat me.” She picked her head up, looked at Clint desperately. “It was Peter. I mean, it wasn’t him, but it looked like him. Peter Quill.” The warning was probably way too late, but he needed to know.
For the first time since stepping foot on the Skrull ship, Clint felt almost at ease. The pounding in his chest steadied a little, his hands stopped shaking as he rubbed them comfortingly on Kate’s back. The battle wasn’t over, and the war was far from won, but Kate was safe and that went a long ways. Kate was safe, she was here, and they were together. For the moment, Clint had to let himself enjoy that. If he didn’t let himself enjoy the little things from time to time, there was no way he ever would have made it this far.
“It’s not your fault, Katie,” he assured her gruffly, shaking his head. “Those things… They’re strong.” He’d nearly been killed twice now by Skrulls wearing the faces of people he loved, so he knew exactly what she meant. At her revelation -- It was Peter -- he sucked in a breath, remembering the words the first Skrull had spat at him. Quill is dead, she’d told him, and it had seemed ridiculous at the time, but worry gnawed at his gut now. “We’ll find him,” he told her firmly. “The real him. And -- And all of them.” Peter, Natasha, Johnny Storm, everyone that they still didn’t know about… They’d find them all and bring them home. Clint just hoped that didn’t mean putting together dozens of funerals for them all.
There was a lot swirling around in Kate’s head right now. Amid all the static and the shock that she really was finally free -- the realization that she wouldn’t have to spend another second inside that haunting, horrible cell -- her thoughts turned to her friends. She’d asked MJ to join the Young Avengers right before she was taken. Clint had nearly been killed by her Skrull-self -- what about everyone else? What if the Skrull had already gotten to them?
She didn’t have time to ask right now. Or to freak out, even though she desperately wanted to. “They’re also stupid,” she muttered, picking her head up. “They honestly thought they could take down Team Hawkeye? No way, bros. No futzing way.” She managed a weak smile, eyes still watery. “Let’s go find them, Clint. Let’s end this, once and for all.” She gave him one final squeeze, then pressed his bow into his hands before striding across the room and retrieving her own. Slipping the quiver over her back felt like coming home.
Baclath wanted to rip Vorian limb from limb. But that would be too detrimental to the invasion, his host was very important to their plans. But the idea that she had to repay him in any way for finding this insipid moron of a host, and particularly by spending time with Clint Barton, was as laughable as it was offensive.
Nonetheless, Baclath had always done her duty. And if Vorian could manage to snag more new hosts from this event while Baclath had Barton’s attention, it would be worth it. She supposed.
“Heya Clint!” she called brightly, making sure to sway a little, spilling the drink in her hand (untouched, to only her knowledge). Approaching him while Kate was ‘drunk’ would alleviate any discrepancies while she fell into character. “Isn’t this like, the best? Look at all the colors! And the snow!” God, Kate Bishop was easily amused. Like a lesser life form, entranced by anything shiny. It must’ve been why she and Barton were so close.
