The Hawk Stoops
This story was inspired by a line from Spun's "Nobody Panic This Time" And a dare by J. Thanks! Thanks to John D and TAC Matt for their consulting. Thanks for the sense of humor, guys!
I own no rights to the Avengers, their Characters, or to Marvel. I also own no rights to NERF.
First fiction. Rated T for language, violence.
A/N I wanted to tidy this story up a bit after rereading it. Thanks for the reviews. They have helped, and meant a lot.
1. Skirmish
It looked like a good day in New York. The two men slumped in the nondescript gray Honda thought so. Seth and Tom had been waiting for this day, and wanted it to be memorable for everyone. Especially SHIELD.
The plan was simple: wait for targets, hit hard, get the hell out. Others would take over from there, telling their story, and the government's (and SHIELD'S) assaults on freedom and those who defended it.
Tom sat up and hissed at Seth in the back seat, as a compact man in a hooded sweatshirt and jacket slammed out of the building, turning to argue furiously with the man behind him. The dude was low level, but the suit was obviously Somebody. Perfect. Tom eased the car forward as Seth raised his weapon.
Even in the middle of an argument he was bound to lose, Clint Barton's hawk eyes missed nothing; the car, the open windows, the rifle barrel coming up… he exploded into motion, his right arm knocking Coulson into an untidy heap on the sidewalk, his left hand pulling and throwing a knife so fast Tom almost didn't see it happen.
He did hear Seth gasp and a clatter-what the hell- was he hit? Shit he hit the gas and swung away from the curb. There was notime-HolySHIT! as the man leaped at the car-shit!- almost landing IN the front seat HolyMotherof his head smashed into the door frame-then the world exploded as his face hit the steering wheel. He may not have felt himself hit the door frame again. He probably also missed getting rear ended by the cab behind them, driving the sedan into the box truck in front like a nail in a board. He might have been pleased that his attacker was flung off, but he missed that too.
Agile as he was, Barton had no chance of avoiding the truck either. He barely managed to turn slightly and duck as he hit, sliding bonelessly under the truck where he was overlooked by the first agents arriving on the scene.
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2. Regroup
Nick Fury seemed to apparate to the scene at Phil Coulson's voice over the comm: "Agents down! West entrance!" He arrived to find Coulson still on the ground, looking terrifying. Agents and medical staff were swarming Coulson, the wreckage, the two men in the sedan, and a very defensive cab driver. Fury scanned the scene, noting everything but one missing man. He looked at Coulson, who shook his head.
"AGENT DOWN! WHERE IS BARTON?" Fury in a rage had once briefly reminded Thor of AllFather Odin- a fact he kept to himself.
Galvanized, the agents soon spotted Barton's huddled form under the truck and quickly called for medical assistance.
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The day was not looking all that great at SHIELD'S medical unit. On the secure wing, the two prisoners looked to survive, but neither was talking, due to a fractured skull and a knife wound to the throat, respectively. Facial recognition programs had identified them as members of the American Freedom Defenders Militia. The group, based in Md and NJ, was known to SHIELD and other government agencies, but usually more for secrecy and fiery rhetoric. What was going on?
On the next corridor, things were unpleasant for the Avengers as well. Phil Coulson, still flat on his back with a broken ankle and severe vertigo from hitting his head, was seriously pissed at his roommate, and not bothering to hide it. For Coulson, master of the thousand yard stare, (SHIELD legend said he had turned a man to stone once with that look) that was pissed indeed.
His roommate was holding up under it well. Barton was conscious after several anxious hours, but kept pretending he wasn't in order to ignore Coulson. Propped onto his left side, back to the room, Clint was in a lot of pain with his latest concussion, cracked ribs, (he'd lost count at this point) and a fractured shoulder blade. Even Tony Stark had paused for a moment at that one. Just one.
"Something new to do, Errol? Or do you have a check list?"
This wild overreach at humor earned him glares from everyone in the room. Even Phil Coulson.
Stark left the room abruptly, muttering about updating Natasha. She was on her way back from unspecified business on the West Coast, andnobody was looking forward to her reaction to this mess.
This left Steve and Bruce to continue the argument with Coulson on their team mate's behalf. Yes, Barton had stormed out of a meeting. Yes, he had knocked his superior on his ass. And yes, he had, in fact, brought a knife to a gunfight. But, Clint stomping out of a meeting was old news; (The Hawk did not suffer fools. And his definition was broader than most.) he had in fact won the gunfight; and Coulson could have landed better. Suffering from a thunderous headache, Clint was content to focus on nothing more demanding than the candy stash Thor had brought.
Tony returned, sliding a bundle wrapped in what looked like a T shirt into the bedside table. Clint carefully raised an eyebrow.
"All of it?"
Stark shrugged. "Three. Shield has one. Along with your other ordinance." A cautious nod. "Your little black case. Glue. Your dre- why do you even carry a dremel?"
"You don't?"
" And that project for you to look over. When you're ready. Tomorrow will do."
This raised a wobbly smile from Clint and suspicious looks from the other Avengers. Clint was more than capable of finding trouble without help- thank you very much, Tony. Long experience said he would break for the ventilation system as soon as nobody had eyes on him. He had a nest in there somewhere where it was quiet and comfortable- rumor gave it a beer cooler- and away from the doctors.
The team was sympathetic, but their friend was still too unstable to wander off alone, cranky roomate or not. They arranged to take turns keeping watch and offering support and mediation as needed.
Bruce and Steve slipped back in around 11 to find Coulson snoring, Thor's head on his chest, and the far bed empty. Bruce facepalmed and shook his head; Steve sighed, then smiled ruefully. Let Natasha order him out when she got here. He'd sleep better tonight where he was. He glanced at Thor and saw blue eyes twinkling back at him and a smile. Coulson's eyes were still closed, but there was a distinct smirk on his face. The Hawk was in his nest.
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3. Battle Joined
Clint woke abruptly, confused. In his hideout, almost buried in blankets, it was dark and quiet. What had he heard? Movement was not attractive, but he felt uneasy. Suck it up, Clint. He eased himself out of his mammoth bedding pile, hurting everywhere. He very carefully worked himself to the nearest duct cover to listen. There. Footsteps. Several sets of booted feet. Not med staff. What the hell? Not SHIELD at this hour. Voices, low at first, then rising to outrage, anger. A scuffle, blows. More voices, this time from the door on South. A gunshot. Shit. Invaders.
"All right folks, I know it's early. Too bad. We're here to pick up some friends and get out. Help us out and get back to your jobs." A voice of authority. "Otherwise, it will get messy." Heading this way, toward Central. How many? Clint strained to count, to figure… leader. Driver- forget him for now. Footsteps, splitting up… corridors. Two to move their men? Specialist? Too many not to have been seen. What else? Clint tried to clear his foggy head. This could get ugly. Think! Doors, North and South. 6…7? They would block the doors immediately... Shots. Yep. Taking the doors. Damn, damn, damn.
"Ok, they know we're here. Finally. We begin. SHIELD won't make a move yet, we have the floor and their people." Same voice. Head man. Ex military. Used to giving orders. And being obeyed.
"Doctor- how many people are on the floor? Staff, and patients. And where?"
"Six staff." Jim Ralston. Good man. For medical. "Myself, two nursing, three assistants. All here, as you see. Patients? The two men brought in yesterday. Yours?" Silence.
"Two surgical cases on West. South, one orthopedic case."
"Why are there six charts here, Dr Ralston? Where is your sixth patient?" This guy was no fool, whoever he was.
Neither was Ralston. "He left against medical advice. Couldn't stop him." Clint grinned. True. Almost never could. Good man indeed.
The phone rang.
Boss, as Clint had dubbed him, gave some muttered instructions. Clint caught "packs". Mining the doors, he thought. They'll negotiate, then make their stand. They have to know they won't walk out. Was this a suicide group?
"Speaker on"
"This is SHIELD Director Fury. May I ask who you are and what you are doing in my building at this hour?"
"Ah, Director Fury, the man who plays at God. You may call me Crow, coming home to roost."
"Haven't played that role lately, Crow. Why are you here?"
"To pick up our friends and leave peacefully. What else?"
"You tell me. You sound smart. You know walking out won't happen unless it's with hands in the air."
"Then we wait. The doors have charges. We are armed, and are entertaining 11 guests while others tell our story. And tell about the attempts to wipe us, and others like us out. About Hank Fletcher.
Of course, we will wait only so long before making our own statement." Click.
The Avengers joined Fury and his men during the call.
"Who are these guys? What is this?" This from Bruce.
"American Freedom Defenders Militia. Making a statement" Stark was deep in his tablet.
"These are Barton's guys? What are they saying?"
"That they, and groups like them have been targeted for harassment, prosecution, and in some cases, assassination. Hank Fletcher particularly." Heads swiveled his way. Steve froze. Tony shrugged.
"Facebook. And YouTube. They haven't mentioned Barton's audition for the newest Bourne movie yesterday."
"Do they have Clint?"
"No." Steve. "He said 11 people, not 12." Steve always knew.
"This does not sound like a good time." This from Bruce.
"What, these guys, or their claims?" Stark. "A number of sites are making noise about this. And about the government's history towards radicals, would-be revolutionaries, dropouts, cults. You know, Kent State, Ruby Ridge, Waco… Hank Fletcher and his people, and groups like them, these days." Steve turned to stare.
"Who is this Hank Fletcher?" Bruce asked.
Fury answered. "Member of a very large family known best for sporting guns and hunting and archery gear…"
"Fletcher Arms," Tony glanced at Steve, who was very still.
"Some of the family are involved in politics of a decidedly non-mainstream persuasion. Hank was the leader of one of these branches. Allied with a number of other groups. He was killed 3 weeks ago when his weapons cache exploded, apparently while he was standing next to it."
"What?" Steve turned to stare at Fury, then Tony. "Is the government harassing agitators? Killing them?"
(Are Natasha? Or Clint? hung in the room.)
"NO!" Fury. "Yes. Government agencies, including SHIELD, keep an eye on certain groups or individuals, foreign or domestic, whose words or actions mark them as a potential threat to our country. THAT IS OUR JOB. And, may I remind you, yours. And yes, we have moved, after much soul searching, to remove a threat, to avoid an event like another Oklahoma City, another base attack. Or a bridge bombing. To keep our country and our people safe." "This is not news, people. What would you do?" Fury's face was older. Steve shook his head, looking grim.
"Where do you draw the line?" Bruce's face was strained.
"Where will you?" Fury jerked his head at the doors to the medical unit. "Where do you think Barton will draw the line? Look at the websites. This could get bloody. Do we wait?"
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Clint was in full mission mode, eyeing the setup. Semtex charges at the doors, manual detonators. Men on each corridor, 3 at Central. And Crow. Handguns, some semi-automatic rifles. The men looked resigned and resolute; nothing to lose. Bad sign.
8 men… need to thin the herd before trying to get people in. Weapons… not too bad. Three knives. Guns would be noisy, and his bow would be worse than useless in the vent system. Best stay away from hand to hand. Tony's project- tweaking Clint's beloved NERF gun-or more specifically, its darts… maybe a useful distraction. In spite of everything, Clint smiled slightly. And bring the glue Tony had left. You never know. Thank you, Tony. If you need guns, you can take them .
But carrying things when all you're wearing is a pair of scrub pants requires thought. Knife sheaths on forearm and calf, as usual. Third one, on the back. Mmph, no, not there. OK. Tied into the T shirt then, with everything else, over the shoulder. Nickelback. Burn it to the ground...Time to go.
Moving is slow. He's really dizzy. He can use his right arm, but it's difficult and it's not fun. Along with the bones, the muscles were smashed and protesting every move.
Well, he'd had worse. Time to rain hell.
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The guy on West walked the corridor every few minutes. Bored, and antsy. And out of sight. Clint eased his way out of the vent in the last room, trying not to hiss in pain. He waited inside the door for the next pass. The man never saw the knife that killed him. He needed to hide the body to create confusion and stay hidden. But there was no way Clint was going to be able to haul the guy into the duct system. So. The window is right there. Hope nobody is standing below. Quietly. Back to hunting- with a gun, now.
Clint had no sympathy for these men. They were targets, invaders, threats to innocent agents and friends. Off to East next, to check out the secure unit. With a stop to make on the way.
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Phil Coulson was biding his time. The dizziness he felt whenever he moved his head would pass. He would get an opening, and there would be hell to pay. Barton was probably already at work. Coulson smiled to himself. The Hawk had no sense of self preservation. God help those men.
There was a faint scraping above him as the vent cover opened. Something heavy landed perilously close to his crotch. He grabbed it reflexively and his hands closed over a handgun. A Sig Sauer P229, in fact. Very nice, Barton. He buried it in his pillow as the cover closed. No sense at all.
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"Sir?"
Crow turned to Jess, his floater. He looked nervous and very young. Well, Crow considered, he was. Committed, but young.
"Joe is gone."
Crow's eyebrows rose. "Gone?" The hairs rose on the back of his neck.
"Not here. There's a window open, street's 2 floors below."
"You believe Joe ran?" Joe had been with AFDM since the beginning. Joe would never have bugged out.
"What else?"
"Look closer. There are some very sharp people here. Not all of them are friends."
"Yes. Sir."
"Now. Be careful. There may be boojums."
Jess' eyes widened as he caught the reference. He swallowed, nodded, and moved off.
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There was a flurry of noise and movement in the main hallway as Natasha Romanov strode toward her team, scattering agents around her like balls on a pool table. Her face was composed as always, but there was an energy coming off her that was frightening. Her greeting wasted no time.
"Where are we?"
Fury's explanation was brief and to the point. She nodded calmly.
"I'll go."
"No." This from everyone.
"Barton is in there injured and on his own. He won't wait for us. They'll figure out who Coulson is, that Clint is missing. They'll be after him."
"Agent Romanov, we are working to get Cap and Thor in there to take the doors back so we can get people in. We need information, but too many agents in there will attract attention. If we had some hard intel, it would help. Barton's throwing their guy out the window didn't help us all that much.
"Maybe he didn't have a pencil with him." Everyone turned to look at Bruce.
"What does he have?" Natasha demanded.
Tony answered. "Three of his knives. Lock picks, I think. His dremel tool. Super glue. And, um… his Nerf gun and some darts."
"WHAT?" Everyone.
"I know, nobody needs a dremel that often…"
"Mother of God, Stark…" Steve's patience was short.
"I thought he'd like a project. We were working on amping up the gun and pimping out the ammo."
"How, exactly?" Fury
"Well, the new darts can be rigged to accept different loads; you know; blades, hypos, pepper spray- that's the payload he has with him."
Fury's eyebrow was rising toward the ceiling. "Why are you making lethal NERF guns?"
"We were bored."
"OK, you two are no longer allowed to hang out unsupervised after this is over." Fury returned to matters at hand.
"Natasha, you follow Cap when he goes in." No response. Everyone looked around.
Fury sighed and closed his eye. "Agent Romanov, tell me you are wearing your comm unit."
Silence.
"This does not mean she is not," Thor offered. "She may be busy".
Fury tried again. "Agent Romanov, any information you care to share would be appreciated."
"Copy." A whisper. Steve smiled, just a little.
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4. End Game
Clint rested a moment. He was still very dizzy, his head and ribs were screaming, and his shoulder was threatening to shut down altogether.
He was over the locked room on East holding his pals from yesterday. They were both deeply unconscious. Good. Complication. A buddy was with them. Dozing. Was this the guy in the corridor? Clint thought hard. Damn, that hurts. No, different guy. Sneaking a nap. OK, fine, take this guy first, then the man outside. Breathe. Steady. He eased the vent cover open. The guy was fast. He was on his way to his feet when Clint's amped up NERF dart hit him just below the eye. No matter. The tip, rather than foam, was a large soft pellet filled with a custom strength pepper spray that shattered as it struck, splashing hell into his eye. As he opened his mouth in shock, a second dart hit him in the back of his throat. He collapsed, gagging. Clint slid to the floor, grabbed the man's gun and hit him hard enough to make him forget his throat.
Oops. The man outside heard something, and came in fast. The dart gun in Clint's right hand fired in reflex. Right in the eye this time. He grabbed the knife on his forearm, and took him down. Catch him before he hits the floor, Clint… Damn, man. Bad idea. Don't do that again.
Lock the door and jam it with Tony's "superhero" glue- I love you, Tony. It will slow them down. Not for long, though. They'll notice three missing men very soon, and realize they have a mystery guest. Not much time left. Head for South. Hurry. SHIELD would likely come in North first, through the ceiling. Got to get the South door open. Get going, Clint. No time left.
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Steve was ready to go. He would go into the ceiling and drop just inside the door, taking out the bomb and anyone in reach. Thor would come in at South, with SHIELD behind him. The hope was that Clint, or Natasha, (or both) would have taken some men down. Barton's actual condition was unknown.
"Sir?" Crow turned sharply to Jess (the kid, he admitted to himself) He looked confused and worried.
" I can't find Ty or Jim … and the door to Seth and Tom's room is jammed; we don't know how, no answer inside."
"They're in there."
"What? Sir?"
"They're all inside. They have not left. Joe did not just leave. They are in that room and someone put them there. Find out who that is. FIND HIM. "
"Sir? Who…"
Crow was already at the phone.
"Director Fury!"
"Crow?"
"We have a small problem here. You have a big one. I suggest you call him off immedia-"
"I sent no one in there, Crow."
"-immediately, or you will have new deaths on your conscience. If you have one."
"Any deaths are on you, Cr…" click.
"Dr Ralston." Ominous. "I will ask you again. Where is your sixth patient?"
"As I told you, he left AMA last evening, with head, rib and shoulder injuries." Ralston's determined calm and the alert stance of his staff told Crow all he needed to know, short of the identity of the hunter.
"I think not. May I see his chart, which I see has been removed? Now, please."
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"Get ready, Rogers"
A bare whisper over the comm. Familiar, controlled, but urgent.
"The detonators are hand held. They're missing men. They're on the move….."
"They've made Clint."
"Cap, GO!"
Clint also heard Crow's voice, and knew he was out of time. Get the guy at South door. Out of the vent, no need to worry about noise now. The man in the corridor comes charging in. Idiot. One shot gives the fool no time for regrets. Grab his detonator, and drop it in the toilet. One door free. Come on, guys.
"AGENT BARTON. YOU WILL COME INTO THE HALL IMMEDIATELY. In five seconds I will shoot Dr Ralston, your protector, then Agent Coulson, your roommate. Then, I will come for you."
Clint stepped into the hall, hands raised. Left hand raised, anyway.
"I am impressed, Agent. You are very, very good." Crow and the young man Clint had seen at Central had their guns trained on him.
"In here, please"
Clint followed him into Coulson's room.
"Before I kill your friend, and then you, where is my detonator?"
The Hawk eyed his prey. "In the toilet. Like your crappy plan."
A furious backhand blow with the gun took Clint to his knees. It was followed by a rain of blows (kicks?) to his head, shoulder and ribs. They definitely knew where to hit. Oh God… give me one shot back… He fought to stay conscious, and dimly heard what had to be Cap taking the North door. There was another crash, closer, the thud of heavy feet, and the sound of somebody hitting a wall very hard. Thor. About time, guys.
Crow swore. Clint reached for the knife on his calf. Go down fighting.
Two shots roared, so close together they almost sounded like one report. Crow dropped beside him. Another body fell nearby.
Coulson. And Clint knew who had fired the other shot. He'd always known she would be there.
The Black Widow climbed gracefully out of the vent opening and walked over to him, eyeing Coulson as well. He was leaning on the bed rail, but more or less upright.
Clint dropped onto his butt as Cap and Thor ran in, Tony and Bruce in the hall behind them.
Natasha took his arm to pull him to his feet, muttering in Russian. Definitely not endearments. Nice to see you too, Tasha.
"No, just let me sit here a minute. I'm fine, just… damn it Natasha, that hurts!"
"Don't be such a baby, Barton. Get up."
"If I throw up on you, it's your fault. And I know how you love that."
"Fine" Natasha stalked out of the room, the Avengers staring. More Russian. Seriously rude Russian. Dr Ralston followed her.
Clint took his own advice and heaved, head and ribs promising vengeful payback.
He sat, head drooping, rousing a bit when Coulson tossed him a towel to wipe his mouth. Phil looked at Steve.
"How long was she in there?"
"Hour, hour and a half."
Clint and Coulson looked at each other . Clint managed a smile, and then they were giggling like third graders as the others stared. No one ever heard Phil Coulson laugh like that.
When they finally got it together, Bruce asked "Something to share?"
"Agent Romanov is a touch claustrophobic," Coulson answered.
"She's probably looking for someone to beat up," Clint added cheerfully. "She'll be back. Cap?"
Steve clasped Clint's left arm and lifted him carefully to his feet. Clint leaned on him heavily, and Steve was worried to feel his friend, the toughest of them all, shaking all over.
He straightened as Bruce and Dr Ralston came in with a wheelchair.
"Oh hell, no. I'm going home." Clint said.
"Clint. You are in shock and in pain. We need to treat that. And we need to do a CAT scan to make sure that you have not been injured further." Or much further.
"Then we'll see about you going home." Bruce was implacable.
Dr Ralston spoke, "Agent Barton, we all owe you our gratitude here. Please accept gracefully." He had a padlock in his hand. He'd used it on the vent cover before. Crap.
Clint sighed. "Fine. But no chair."
Natasha returned, Fury in tow.
"I brought you something I found in your bloody crawl space." It was Clint's NERF gun. He gave her a brief (and cautious) one armed hug.
Fury said "Please tell me you did not go after terrorists with that." Clint shrugged, then winced.
"How did it work, then?" Stark demanded. Clint held up two fingers.
Tony's smirk risked a slap from everyone in the room. "Told you."
"Why not a damn light saber?" Fury had to ask.
"Too heavy." Clint assured him.
"Crazy bastards."
Clint held up his NERF gun and blew away an imaginary puff of smoke. And smiled.
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Epilogue
The next morning, while he was still asleep, the wall outside SHIELD'S cafeteria sported a life size photo of a shirtless Clint Barton looking sideways over his NERF
gun, wearing the smirk that had driven his superiors insane for years. As well as a lot of women. And more than a few men.
The caption read:
WHEN A BOW WON'T DO: THE WEAPON OF CHOICE FOR SHIELD'S
BAMF
Naturally, a copy hung in the Tower that night.