Heya.

So I'm back with a new fic after my PC ate everything I'd ever written before (grrrr) so I hope it's to your liking. If it's not, too bad. I'm not one of those people who will change their story because someone doesn't like something or other. Please note the following things.

1) I do not own these fandoms. I wish I did but alas, I do not.

2) Here be slash. If you don't like it or don't know what that means, there are plenty of het stories around. Find one of those. That said, this is eventual slash. It will take time.

3) I'm Australian. My words may be spelt differently to you. I will not change them to suit you. Also, my knowledge of Americanisms is seriously lacking. I might get things wrong and I would love it if you could tell me. Eg - Jello in America is called Jelly here, thus Jelly in America is called Jam. Confused yet? Now you understand my dilemmas.

4) In that vein, I only speak fluent English. A big shout out to PtitBlond who has devoted much time to fixing my terrible French. Any Russian and German has come direct from Google Translate, so blame them ;-) Of course, if you do speak either of those languages and care to help me fix it up properly, please pm me! I would love for the text to be correct and will adjust this to add your fabulous name.

5) I don't have a beta. All mistakes (which I hope to keep to a minimum, let me know if you see any!) are mine. Feedback, con crit and reviews are treasured. Flames will be laughed at and promptly deleted.

I hope you enjoy the story and my aim is to add a new chapter each week.

Cheers, Jace.

A to X

Chapter One - Anything but X-cellent

"That's wonderful guys!" smiled Clint as he looked at a radiant Coulson and Cap. The pair had just announced that they were an item in front of the team. The only absent Avenger was Natasha who was securing a particle weapon in Iqaluit for SHIELD and wasn't expected back for another few days. Clint was most thankful for that because she would have seen through his mask in an instant and perceived the heartbreak he was carefully trying to keep hidden. Ordinarily, Coulson would have noticed as well but the agent was way too deliriously happy about starting his new relationship to care.

So there Clint stood, amid his friends (and he finally felt like he could call them that) and forced himself to just keep fucking smiling. Steve was blushing an adorable pink colour and Tony had already dashed off to one of the many bars in the tower to bring celebratory drinks. Clint had to force himself to sip the champagne and not chug it all down because the last thing he wanted was to call attention to himself. Coulson would be much more likely to notice him that way.

Clint cracked his obligatory jokes although he would rather have gone a few rounds with Galactus on his own with a broken bow than laugh. He kept a polite grin perpetually on his face and gave a nice toast to the new couple. That was when he almost fell to pieces. Coulson gazed happily back at Clint with such a sappy look on his face that it tore his heart in two. He was so feverishly joyful and he was looking at the archer, expecting him to feel the same. Thankfully the (usually) sharp man and SHIELD's most efficient agent (second to Fury himself) was for once completely oblivious.

It took a few hours before Bruce sidled out of the room and now that Clint wouldn't be the first out of the door, he took the chance to bail. Tony tried to get him to join an impromptu celebration at a nearby club but he managed to avoid it since he'd only just got back from a mission. That was the only time Coulson studied him carefully and after the agent made sure his subordinate was well, just tired, he swaggered to his room.

Alone at last, Clint finally let the tears he'd held in fall silently. Apparently the fact the he'd been sleeping with Coulson for almost a year now meant nothing to the senior agent.

Turning the temperature of the shower up to scalding, Clint slipped in and tried to wash the pain away with very limited success. It was the only time he allowed actual sobs out, otherwise JARVIS would hear them and report it back to Tony. That could not occur. He wouldn't let it. When he finally got a handle on his emotions, he stepped out of the shower and into his usual boxers. They were black with silver spider webs over them; a Christmas gift from Natasha. He slid into bed, hoping that when he woke the next day, he'd feel slightly better. Fat chance of that happening though he bitterly thought to himself.

The bright sun woke Clint up the next morning and he wearily sat up in his bed. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and freaked the fuck out when he realised that the gun he usually kept under his pillow was missing. It was then that he remembered why he'd forgotten his usual nightly routine and the pain hit him like a barrage of bricks in the face. His mouth tasted feral since he hadn't brushed his teeth and he threw on some casual clothes before meandering down for breakfast.

One look at the box of Lucky Charms almost caused him to collapse in hysterical laughter at how unlucky and uncharmed his life was turning out to be. So he grabbed out some Rice Krispies instead. It was mercifully desolate in the kitchen and he scarfed his breakfast down so he could escape before anyone else showed up. That way he wouldn't have to fake his usual demeanour when he really just wanted to shoot something. Or break down crying. Or both. Fortune smiled on the archer and he snuck off to the range for several hours of brain numbing training.

Clint showered, this time with the water at a more normal temperature before heaving an internal sigh and making his way to the den. After a mission, he'd normally catch up on his TiVo shows and if he broke his normal pattern, Coulson at the very least would notice and that was unacceptable. He watched the next episodes of The Walking Dead, CSI and his personal favourite, Arrow. His usual game of working out how many special effects were wrong, like improbable blood spatter re-enactments and incorrect grips on weapons kept his mind off the Avenger's latest couple. That was until the pair walked into the room. It was a lot more difficult to disregard their existence when they were there in person.

Rogers pulled Coulson into his lap and they both blushed as they tried to get comfy on the couch next to Clint. Knowing it would be unusual for him to ignore them, Clint looked at the crimson pair with a (hopefully unnoticed) forced smile. "Hey guys!" he chirped.

"Morning Clint," answered Rogers. "Your mission in Baghdad was a success then?"

"Yeah, I holed up in a hotel in Sadr City waiting for the perfect shot and eventually, yep. One bullet in the chest," Clint said casually.

Rogers frowned and Coulson didn't deign the conversation with a response. "Wait, wasn't an American ambassador killed there yesterday?" asked Rogers in a stern voice.

"That's classified," Clint stated in a monotone.

"Clint, you can't just go around shooting Americans. Even if they are overseas," Rogers crossed his arms and openly glared at the archer with disapproval.

Clint couldn't help it. He snorted at the naivety that was sitting next to him. "Cap, I know it goes against your delicate sensibilities but you do know that I'm an assassin, don't you? I kill people for a living." He was inwardly rolling his eyes. How could a man from the forties who fought in World War II and saved the planet on an almost weekly basis for a couple of years now still squick at assassination? Surely anyone in the forces would understand that sometimes, as unpleasant as it can be, execution from an unknown assailant can save more lives than a drawn out diplomatic situation or an exacerbated standoff.

Rogers' eyes narrowed. "It's just not right."

In his peripheral vision, Clint saw Coulson give a slight nod before divulging the classified information. Apparently the good Captain would be better informed now since he's dating the agent. He wondered if Coulson realised that he was already compromised. Then again, Clint had been compromised for almost a year but Coulson had never given him privileged information. Clearly sex was all the agent had ever wanted from him. Which just made the fact that he had (despite his best efforts) fallen in love with the man all the more embarrassing.

Clint swept the thoughts away and filled in some details. "I saved his life. The ambassador had been wearing a kevlar vest under his shirt fitted with a powerful sedative and a blood bag. The Iraqi government thought the man had been bribing officials and were going to arrest and execute him. SHIELD needed someone that wouldn't miss and that was me."

"Oh, sorry Hawkeye. I should have known better," apologised Rogers.

Clint privately agreed, the super soldier should have known better, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He had nothing to prove. He'd been an Avenger since the siege on Manhattan almost two years ago. Trust was halting at first since he had been a mind-controlled drone but he'd shown them all, time and time again, just how dedicated he was to the team. He shrugged his shoulders at his field commander and threw him a half-smile. Coulson was too busy watching the television to see their exchange.

Not wanting to spend any more time with the two snuggling on the couch, Clint rose to his feet and stretched with a somewhat loud yawn. "Anyways, I'll catch you two lovebirds later," he chirped and was pleased he managed to keep his tone light instead of sarcastic. "Just don't christen the couch. Ew. We've still got to sit there you know," he said with another non-noticed forced smile and airily swept from the room.

Clint pinched some snacks for lunch and took them to his room. He collapsed onto his bed with an indistinct noise of combined disgust, relief and despair. It was barely three in the afternoon and the archer was already exhausted. How was he supposed to get through tonight's team dinner without smacking his head repeatedly into his plate of pasta or steak or whatever?

Eating the chocolate biscuits he'd pilfered, Clint was wondering how long he'd be able to last before the others started to notice that he was broken. If Natasha was here, she would have cornered him, gotten the story out of him and they would be downing shots of vodka already. God he fucking wished they could be doing that right now.

Clint's sharp eyes fell upon the full bottle of vodka resting on his coffee table that Nat had gifted him a few weeks ago on his birthday and he thought, Why the fuck not? He rolled off the bed with a casual grace and picked the bottle up. His original intention was to get a shot glass from his kitchenette but decided that he didn't really give a flying fuck at the moment and started swigging straight from the bottle. The liquid fire burnt through his body and we welcomed it. After he'd polished off a third of the bottle, his thoughts turned back to his teammates.

Tony wouldn't notice Clint had a problem unless the archer morphed into a naked woman or a circuit board. As he was neither, he was pretty much safe there. Bruce was usually too busy keeping his own emotions under control to really notice anyone else's. The God of Thunder would probably be waxing on about his Jane Foster and how wonderful she was or defending the actions of his brother, Loki, and ensuring everyone knew he was being punished severely at the hands of Odin. Sam was still too busy geeking out that he was the newest Avenger and lacked any real knowledge of him to make an actual assessment.

The four people most likely to notice that Clint was pretty much feeling constant physical pain since the announcement yesterday, were the couple themselves, Cap and Coulson (he refused to think of their given names anymore) plus Pepper and JARVIS. Thankfully the couple were too busy groping each other in public to give a shit about him. Pepper was rarely around so the only real threat was JARVIS. Maybe that could be turned from a problem into an advantage.

Clint licked his lips before calling out to the Artificial Intelligence. "Hey JARV?" he voiced questioningly.

"Yes, Mr Barton," came the British voiceprint as smoothly as ever. Damn Tony really is a genius when he wasn't being conceited or an asshole. Or both.

"You know pretty much everything that goes on in this tower, don't you?" Clint asked rhetorically.

"I do possess an intimate knowledge of every electronic function of this building, including Sir's specialised suits and with an expansive memory unit plus ninety-seven point six percent visual coverage of the interior and nearby exterior..."

"JARV," groaned Clint with amused exasperation over the computerised voice. "A yes or no would have been sufficient."

"Perhaps, Mr Barton, you should have used that particular limiter with your initial request. In that case, yes, I do know virtually everything that occurs in this tower."

Clint rolled his eyes at the smug voice. He found it funny that the artificial intelligence was far sassier than his creator. Sometimes the student does surpass the master. "Great." The smile slid from his face. "So, you know, well knew, about my, er, not relationship, obviously..." He trailed off trying to put his thoughts into words. The vodka he was still consuming was probably not helping.

"If you are referring to your arrangement with Agent Coulson, then the answer is once again yes." The quieter tone conveyed sympathy and Clint couldn't help but feel a rush of affection for JARVIS.

"Hmm, arrangement," Clint said aloud to himself. He snorted. "I wish I'd known it was only an arrangement," he muttered to himself. Louder, he spoke back to JARVIS, "So, you probably know that I'm pretty fucked up right now?" He turned the end of the sentence into a question.

"Yes, Mr Barton." The lack of snark and sarcasm reignited Clint's tears. Someone (even if it wasn't human) knew he was at his lowest of lows. He found it to be oddly comforting.

"Could, er, could you help me keep that information confidential? Even from Tony?" the archer asked somewhat timidly. He and JARVIS had been partners in crime in a few pranks since his arrival at the tower but this was definitely a different kind of request.

"I will do everything in my power to help you to do so, as long as it doesn't conflict with my higher order programming," confirmed JARVIS.

Clint sighed with relief and swigged from his rapidly depleting stock of vodka. "What could conflict, JARV?"

"There are only three commands placed higher than the safety and well-being of the Avengers. The safety and well-being of Mr Stark takes precedence..." began JARVIS.

"Naturally," Clint acknowledged. That much was obvious. "I assume the next is the same but for Pepper, yeah?"

"Indeed, Miss Potts is then afforded the same conditions. The third is the physical safety of the civilians in and around the tower. Sir believes that the Avengers and SHIELD personnel should be able to take care of themselves so their safety has been relegated lower in my programming. As long as the subject of your arrangement does not come into conflict with these conditions, I will never divulge the information. Even to Sir."

"Thanks JARV, you're a gem," smiled Clint sadly.

"Naturally, Mr Barton," agreed the AI which elicited a small laugh from the miserable man. Clint drank in silence for a while and noticed his bottle was almost empty. That sucked, even though it was only about half the size of a regular one. The archer added a mental note not to piss off Tasha three days before his birthday, it caused her to be less generous than usual.

Clint nearly dropped the vodka when JARVIS's voice reminded him that it was almost time for the team dinner. He downed the rest and unsteadily rose to his feet. The world swam more pleasantly around him. The pain he'd been feeling in his chest since the day before had become a dull ache. Still noticeable but muted. He actually felt like he could survive this dinner intact. Maybe. "Hey JARVIS?" he called out.

"Yes, Mr Barton?"

"If you think I'm gonna be caught out at dinner or something, could you maybe help me out?"

"With a distraction of some sort perhaps?" asked the AI with a tinge of smugness.

"JARV, you're a genius. If you were human, I swear we'd be married," Clint smirked.

"Only if the ring is a Harry Winston," noted JARVIS snootily, causing the archer to laugh properly for the first time since the unexpected news.

"Only the best for you, hey JARV?" said Clint when his laughing eventually receded.

"Of course."

Clint made his way to the elevator and then the kitchen. Bruce smiled as he gave him a stack of bowls and the archer laid them out in the adjoining dining room. It had become a habit for everyone attending the dinner to help in some way. Not wanting to get stuck with doing the dishes, he thought he'd tackle an infinitely easier job. Made slightly more difficult due to the alcohol but pretty easy nonetheless. He had a strong suspicion he might need a quick getaway later on and getting stuck in the kitchen would be counterproductive.

It seemed the gamma radiation scientist had whipped up a traditional Indian luksa and it smelled heavenly. There were buttered and unbuttered slices of bread, extra chopped vegetables and carved meat laid out in the centre of the table so everyone could add whatever flavours they wanted to. Clint's mouth was watering in anticipation. Soon the dinner table was full of people all hungrily eyeing the food.

When Bruce finally sat with a pleased huff, Rogers cleared his throat. He lowered his head and said Grace and even though most of the others weren't the type, it had become a part of their routine. How could they deny the poor man one of the few things that hadn't really changed since the forties?

Clint sat still as Steve thanked God (who Clint certainly did not believe in, especially not after this) for keeping their team members safe again and asked for Him to watch over Natasha in Canada so she would return home safely. He then went on to thank God for his family (they were once just friends but now, they had sort of become a family) and then for Phil. Clint was pleased he had already drank the full bottle of vodka and that he wasn't holding anyone's hand at the time or they would have felt his involuntary spasm at the mention of the relationship.

After Cap started waxing on about Coulson, Tony abruptly interrupted him with, "For God's sake, Steve. Talk about him while we eat. I'm starving and the robotics sure don't weld themselves."

Cap blushed a deep scarlet while a flutter of appreciative giggles travelled around the table. He gestured wordlessly at the meal and the usual table chatter began as the Avengers savaged their dinner. Clint's taste buds were in heaven. Even though Bruce's globetrotting didn't help too much for his research, it did wonders for his culinary skills.

Clint had been focussed on getting every drop of the luksa on the inside of his bowl with a slice of bread when Coulson startled him with a sharp, "Barton!" He looked at the agent with surprise.

"What?" he asked as the conversations around them fizzled out. What had he done? He was just eating dinner.

The agent look at his asset with suspicion. "You're being rather quiet at your end of the table."

Clint shrugged. "It's too good to talk through, Bruce." He sent a smile the chef's way which was gratefully returned. Many of the others shared his sentiment.

Coulson however was not to be put off. He kept shooting a guarded stare Clint's way. Nearly everyone had finished eating before the agent spoke up again. "You're drunk, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

The archer nodded as the Avengers looked at him warily.

"You've been drinking without moi?" asked Tony in a mock hurt tone.

Clint shrugged, "Sorry Iron Brat, I was participating in a Skype drinking game."

"JARVIS, how much of my alcohol has Bird Brain drunk?" Tony asked his British conscience.

"None Sir," came the ever-present voice in reply.

Tony's eyes narrowed on him. Clint shrugged again. "It's been a while since I've seen Tasha so I logged on with a couple of friends and drank the vodka she bought me for my last birthday."

"Who are these friends and why were we not invited to this party?" asked Thor loudly, of course. His expression was a cross between an angry glare and a cute pout.

"Just some of the many nameless SHIELD agents I knew from before the Avengers," said Clint who was starting to worry about this line of questioning. The lie of a drinking game was pretty much the only plausible explanation he could give them to assuage their suspicions. Originally he was going to say he was drinking with Nat but then Coulson would have checked in with her and discovered the lie.

"Did you best the weaklings with your drinking prowess?" Thor talked over the many questions thrown Clint's way. He spoke as if the answer was already clear and there was a note of pride in his voice.

"Of co..." started Clint but a loud explosion ended the conversation. Cap, Coulson and Bruce immediately sprang to their feet. Normally Clint would have too but his inebriation had dulled his body's automatic response to a blast.

"JARVIS?" asked Tony from his chair as he used his napkin.

"It would appear that the toaster that you made sentient a few weeks ago has, for some reason, detonated," the AI informed him.

Cap raced into the kitchen and put out the couple of small, lingering fires as Bruce sat back down heavily, taking some deep breaths. Tony was muttering to himself, no doubt trying to work out why his toaster had blown up.

Thor crossed his arms and pouted at the table. "Now how am I supposed to make the tarts that pop (but do not really pop) now? Gwenelg would always tell me what to do since the buttons would sometimes change places."

"For the last time, Shakira," snarked Tony, "The toaster does not have a name!"

"But in the mighty halls of Asgard, Gwenelg used to prepare the most amazing feasts, worthy of..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," grumbled Tony in exasperation. "It was just a bloody toaster."

The prince looked horrified. "It used blood? If I had known it used dark magic to prepare..."

Clint tuned out of the rapidly degenerating conversation and made his escape, snagging a new bottle of vodka from one of Tony's bars on the way. He chuckled to himself. Now he had taken some of the multi-billionaire's alcohol.

When he was safely sequestered in his room, Clint called out, "Thanks JARV. I'm pretty sure that you just saved my ass out there."

"It's just one of my many talents, Mr Barton," came the pleased-sounding reply.

Clint chuckled. Without any fanfare, he opened the bottle and started round two. He bravely called Nat who chastised him immediately for drinking from the bottle (how did she even know? Bloody super spies) and since she was waiting in a bar for an informant at the time, they actually did drink a few shots of vodka together. He could tell she knew something was up but she didn't press him for details and he just hoped to hell she didn't call up Coulson about it.

Natasha swore and the call abruptly ended so Clint assumed her operation had just gone south and he hoped she would be okay, even though she's the fucking Black Widow. She's ALWAYS okay.

After the second bottle was completely consumed and the alcohol really started to catch up with him, Clint unfortunately began to hear the sounds of very loud sex.

Clint froze. He'd never really noticed that Cap was living directly below him until then.

Clint found his IPod and jammed the buds into his ears as quickly as he could. Electropop covered the sounds that he knew were still going on and his mind just kept torturing him with the information. It was then that he came to a very unpleasant realisation. If he could hear Cap and Coulson... doing that. Then Cap would have heard them... doing that too. He must have known.

Sitting still for a moment, Clint let that information sink in.

The first thing he thought was that it was the most un-American thing Rogers had ever done. Especially since the man was Christian. Whatever happened to Thy shall not covet their friend's lov... no, boyf... er... fuckbuddy? Add that to Coulson's hurtful betrayal and Clint didn't think he could do this anymore. He couldn't have his handler and his field commander fucking without being completely compromised. Especially since they both knew he had been in a long term whatever and neither had the balls to say ANYTHING about it to his damn face. And they expected him to be happy? Thrilled? Fucking ecstatic? NO FUCKING WAY.

He's out.