"Clint... Clint I'm fine, really." I muttered as Clint set me down on the couch when we got back in.
"No, you got choked half to death, Bailey. You're not 'fine, really.'" Clint frowned at me and went to the kitchen.

"Clint, seriously -" I began, as he came back with a damp cloth, and a small green box. "What's in there?"

"Medi-kit that Bruce designed." He grunted, sitting down next to me on the couch. "Now, what hurts?"

"Just my neck." I lied. He raised an eyebrow.

"Bailey..."

"And my ribs." Where the guy had thrown me, I'd hit my ribs pretty hard on the floor. I had a feeling they were bruised pretty hard. I really got my ass handed to me out there.

"Lift up your shirt." He ordered, opening up the box.

"Clint I don't really think that's -"

"Do it." He raised his eyes to me, daring me to challenge him. Sighing, I lifted up my t-shirt a little.

"Oh yeah," he deadpanned, "because I can totally check your ribs by looking at your waist. Higher."

I sighed, and stretched out a little, so I could lift the top more easily. I glanced back to look at what he was doing.

"Okay... So this balm stuff, you just apply it to bruises, and it helps relieve swelling and pain, according to Bruce." He took out a small tube, unscrewed the cap, and put a little on some cotton wool. "It may sting, or be really cold, or really hot. I don't know."

"Oh, that's comforting." I muttered, and he laughed as he gently, stroking the cold balm across my ribs.

"Any better?"

"A little." I admitted, as the balm began to work. He rubbed the cotton wool just a little higher on my back, and then froze.

"Clint?"

"Is this a scar?" He asked, his index finger gently brushing against the mark on my back. Instinctively, I tugged my shirt back down and moved away.

"Bailey?"

"I don't want to talk about it." I said, my voice coming out far harsher than I'd meant it to. He put on hand on my shoulder, and slowly turned me to face him. I lowered my eyes.

"Look at me." He said gently. I kept my eyes on the leather of the couch. "Look at me."

I brought my eyes up to his face, and he quietly asked me what the scar was. My throat closed up, and my eyes burned, and I shook my head, trying to swallow the tears away. He softly murmured my name and stroked one hand against my cheek, trying to coax something out of me, but every time he said my name, I gave another curt head shake.

"I said no, Clint."

He sighed, furrowing his brow. Finally, he suggested sharing some of his own back story with me, in exchange for knowing about the scars.

"But you'll know everything!" I wailed, forgetting about trying to put on a brave face, and forgetting about trying to hold back tears. "If I tell you about the scars then you'll know about everything. A-All about me. All about w-hy F-Fury brought me up-p the ladder s-so quickly... All about e-v-verything."

"Bailey, look at me." He caught my chin with one hand staring at me with cool blue eyes. "If you don't want to tell me, if it's that bad, then you don't have to, okay? I just-"

I shook my head, gripping my head in my hands for a few seconds to try and clear it and steady myself, before looking up at him, swallowing the remains of my tears. "No. You'd got the right to know, Clint."

He took a deep breath. "Okay. Shoot."

I thought about it for a second. "I think it'll be easier if I just show you. Wait here."

He watched, confused as I left to go to my bedroom, where I changed into a tank top with a low back. I checked in the mirror - yes, the marks on my back were still visible - before walking back into the living room.

"Bailey, what's going on?"

I shook my head, keeping my eyes on his face as I completely relaxed. It was hard; I spent 90% of the time with the back of my brain commanding me to concentrate on keeping them in, it was like a natural instinct to keep myself held together. As I felt them unfurl from between my shoulder blades, it was like I'd let out the huge breath I hadn't even been aware I'd been holding. As I felt my muscles relax, I watched Clint's eyes grow wider and wider.

"Holy shit." He whispered, staring at the large wings that had unfurled from my back.

"Yeah." I lowered my eyes, shuffling uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Those are... real?"

I nodded.

He paused.

"Can I touch them?"

I laughed, "Of course."

He stumbled over to me, staring at them. Slowly, he reached one hand out and brushed his fingers against them. They weren't feathery, nor were they scaly. If I had to describe them, it was like running your hands through silk. Clint stared at me for a few more minutes.

"You've had these for... How long exactly?"

I shrugged. "All my life."

"So this makes you a what exactly?"

"Half-Angel."

"Half Angel," he echoed, his voice higher than normal, "Jesus Christ my partner is a Half-Angel."

I smiled sympathetically. He was the fourth person in the world to know about it, behind Fury and my Parents. Not even my extended family knew anything about it. If anyone asked, the scars were surgical, from when I was in a car accident at a young age. As I grew older, I just told people I couldn't remember where I got them from. They seemed to buy it.

"Do you want to sit down?"

"No, no I'm good here. I'm good, I'm good standing." He ran a hand through his hair, messing the back up. "I uh... You got any special powers?"

I was confused. "Like?"

"Like I dunno, telepathy, healing, that kind of thing." He thought about it for a moment, and then lowered his voice. "Can you hear prayers?"

I smiled again, and shook my head. "When I was a kid though, I used to be able to hear people's voices. Just occasionally. Usually at night. I cold hear people's prayers. As I grew older though, they became fainter and fainter, and by the age of eight or nine, I couldn't hear them at all."

He nodded along, swallowing hard. "I uh... shit. I kissed an Angel."

"Half-Angel."

"Whatever." He looked back at me, and then at the wings, which arced high above my head. "Those things get any bigger?"

"Nope, but if they're making you uncomfortable, I can pull them back in?"

"Uh..." He cast them one last glance. "Just... just a little?"

I nodded, focusing my thoughts on the spot just in between my shoulder blades, and I felt them retract. Soon they were a quarter of their original size, and Clint seemed more comfortable.

"Okay, so that makes sense. Fury wanted you on the Avengers team because of those, but you needed to be trained in all of the hand to hand combat and stuff before hand. Right?"

I nodded.

"And it's a secret?"

"Not even on my SHIELD files. You're the fourth person to know."

He nodded again, smiling a little now. "Understandable, I mean -"

"You freaked out, so what are other people going to think, right?" I suppressed a yawn, walking past him and dropping back down onto the sofa. After a couple of minutes, he followed me, and sat down next to me, staring into middle distance.

"Do you want to know my deep, dark past then, Bailey?" He asked eventually. I studied his profile for a few seconds, before shaking my head.

"Not tonight. I'm too tired." I moved a little closer to him, and tentatively put my head on his shoulder. He started, surprised, but after glancing at me quickly, he leaned over so that he was laying stretched out along the sofa, with me cocooned up against him, gently breathing in the smell of his deodorant through his top. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, while his fingers absently trailed over my wings, softly massaging them. I didn't even notice as I slowly drifted off to sleep in his arms, my earlier hysteria, and near death choking forgotten.

Notes