A/N: Not sure about this one. . . un-beta'd. Reviews are welcome. Concrit is most welcome.
Clint had lots of practice hiding.
"I'm gonna beat you senseless you little runt!" when he was five years old his father growled this at him and said he'd better run and stay out of his sight for a while if he didn't want the beating of his short life – after knocking him down with a slap that had his ears ringing – well, this is when he began to learn how to hide, fear becoming more familiar than anything else.
"Dumbest kid I've ever had living under my fuckin' roof!" when he was seven and his foster-father hollered this from the living room and that when he laid his hands on that "stupid little shit who can't even pass a spelling test" he was going to knock some sense into him, well, Clint scurried away quietly and found the best hiding place he could, his breaths heavy and shame smothering him.
"Stay the hell out of my life," when he was nine and Barney shoved him down the front steps of the house and added he'd better not catch Clint eavesdropping on him or he'd whip him, well, he wiped the blood off of his scraped elbows and found a place to hide, his adoration turning to ice in his chest.
The circus demanded a lot of hiding.
"Come here ya little punk-ass kid!" when he was just an errand boy and the one who cleaned up after the animals in the ring at night, well, he learned to go hide as soon as he was done with his chores or one of the older kids would give him a slap and make him do theirs, a desire for friends being drowned by resentment.
"If I find you you're gonna give me what you fuckin' owe me," after the performers realized Clint would do whatever they wanted for a little extra cash, well, he had to hide it from Barney if one of the them gave him a tip for something he did. If he found out Clint was hoarding it he'd beat the shit out of him on sight, so Clint learned to go buy a candy bar and then find the best hiding place he could to eat it, pride turning to skill at smothering evidence.
When he joined The Swordsman's act, hiding from Barney took on a new meaning.
"You wouldn't be here if it weren't for me, you motherfucker!" after a good payout from a good show, well, it turned out now Clint had to hide because of his own money – if he didn't hide Barney would corner him after a payout and use his superior size and speed on Clint and pound him until Clint couldn't see straight. Then he'd take the money, forcing Clint to come to him for cash. Clint learned that payday demanded the best hiding spots. He'd go stock up on supplies so that Barney couldn't take his money and then he'd hide, desperation clawing at his throat.
Duquesne required a different kind of hiding. He was The Swordsman, an older performer who'd been with Carson for years, and he was angry at Clint from the start. Carson said the act needed some fresh blood, some spark that had gone missing.
"Gonna fuck up my show, you little punk?" after Clint was declared the spark and Duquesne threatened to set him on fire if he didn't deliver. Off target by a half inch and Clint would find himself with swollen eyes and a wrenched shooting arm. Mess up working the crowd and it was worse. The first time he got caught after a bad crowd Duquesne cracked his cheekbone, his anchor point. He had to use stage makeup to cover it before the next show and the tears of pain from drawing to the cracked bone ruined the makeup within ten minutes of the act's start. He learned that hiding from Duquesne was his first priority if a show didn't go well enough, pain hovering around the edges of every target he shot.
He became an expert at hiding, so when SHIELD discovered him a few years after he left the circus they had a hell of a time tracking him down. Evasion was instinct by then.
Agent Phil Coulson changed everything for Clint Barton.
"Come do some good with your skills," Coulson told him in an alleyway after a fight and, well, good seemed relative but there was something about that voice and Coulson's eyes that made Clint want to try, so he went with him and hiding became much harder.
"You have a gift," instilled a stifling fear of disappointing Coulson, letting SHIELD down, those who had believed in him and never hurt him. He spent hours and hours on the range, shooting until his fingers bled, simply to ensure that his gift would stay with him in the field so they wouldn't turn on him and shatter the fragile sense of place he found after joining up.
"I do trust you," knocked down a wall that Clint had figured would stand tall around him his whole life, the words spoken by Coulson in the middle of a mission on its way to hell. Clint had upheld that trust, had saved the mission, and had retreated to the roof of headquarters afterward, shaking in a corner, tasting bile as he realized that no one had ever said that to him before in his life, and he figured he'd better find a better hiding place before someone made the mistake of trusting him again.
"I want you," turned resentment and shame into adoration after years of working with Phil and longing, trusting, guarding this man who trusted Clint and found out every one of his hiding places but never used that knowledge to harm him.
"Come back to me," turned desperation and pain to trust and contentment after Phil spent a month in medical and Clint spent a month dying a little bit every day. When they each came out of hiding they spent two weeks without leaving each other's sight, rebuilding trust, adoration, and pride in what they'd found with each other.
Hiding was no longer an option.