After reading CanuckleheadCowgirl's "What if...Episode 907" I was bit by plot bunny that would not leave me alone. After a rough start and a fair amount of advice from the wonderful CanuckleheadCowgirl herself, I finally am ready to post this. Honestly, I was really nervous for this one because it is an AU that I'm starting on my own. Since most of my stories are obscure crossovers, you can see the change in style.

To those who follow me for my other stories, I promise they are still in progress. I am in the process of editing two chapters that should be ready soon. I just had to get this one out before I could focus on anything else again. Thank you for your patience.

Chapter 1- Not the Best Introduction

The circus set up outside a small town in Montana. It wasn't a large circus, but it was more than the sleepy little town, just a hop skip away from the Canada border, had seen before. Carson's Circus didn't usually travel this far north or west, but suspicions about a series of robberies had Old Man Carson moving outside his comfort zone. They needed to make enough money to survive the winter which was coming up faster than he liked. After this they would head South, running ahead of the cold.

The crowd filing into the tent was large enough, especially considering the nearly rural setting. People around here knew horses and they were suitably impressed with the riding tricks, so the ticket booth was always busy when they set up in a new location. Of course the rest of the acts weren't ignored. Jacques Duquesne, known on stage as the Swordsman, had his share of admirers too. Lately, though, it was his protégé that had been the headliner. Clint Barton had started out assisting Jacques and learning to throw knives as part of Swordsman's act, but when Buck Chrisholm, stage name Trickshot, got a hold of him and gave him a bow, Hawkeye was born. Then it wasn't long before word had spread about the Amazing Hawkeye. The little roustabout they picked up a few years ago along with his older brother was finally bringing in the money. The sudden notoriety, unfortunately, led to bad feelings between Hawkeye and his brother, driving the older boy to join the army rather than live in his younger brother's shadow, though there was more to the story than that. Carson hoped that similar feelings didn't spring up between Hawkeye and his mentors now that word had spread about the younger archer.

\\\/\\\/

Outside the tent, a short man with a cowboy hat considered the poster of Hawkeye, World's Greatest Marksman. It was well done, showing the archer posed dramatically with his bow having just released an arrow at a distant target. The whole scene was set on a field of purple, though a lighter purple than Hawkeye's costume. There was a lot of purple and the man shrugged. Considering some of his fashion choices, he couldn't judge. He wasn't a local, more of a drifter who hadn't moved on yet. He had quickly earned a reputation in the local bars as a man you didn't mess with unless you were looking for a beating. Actually it only took two bar-fights and an ill-conceived ambush in the parking lot that sent four men to the hospital to earn that reputation. So when he walked into the circus, no one bothered him, not even the local toughs (a handful of young men who wanted to think they were bad asses, despite being wet behind the ears). He hadn't planned to come, but honestly, he was a little bored. He'd probably move on soon, continuing North into Canada, but for now he decided to enjoy a night out. It should be interesting, anyway.

The stranger paid at the ticket booth and moved with the crowd as they filed into the big top. The smell of animals, sweat and popcorn was almost over powering. All around people from around the area talked excitedly about the upcoming show while children squealed in delight at the treat. He smiled as he allowed the crowd to pull him forward to the bleachers that were set up along one side of the tent.

He took a spot next to the bleachers furthest from the main entrance, preferring to stay on the ground in case he needed to make a quick exit. He wasn't worried about the heavy canvas behind him for reasons that no one in the crowd could have guessed.

No one gave the small man a second look as the show started and he lit a cigar. It was an impressive enough show and the stranger watched it with a small, secret grin. It had been awhile since he had enjoyed himself without starting a fight or drinking, or both.

When Hawkeye came out in his bright purple costume, the young man, no boy, proved himself as good as his advertising. The things the kid could do with a bow and arrow were astounding. He split arrows like Robin Hood, he hit targets the size of dimes as he swung from the trapeze or rode a horse around the ring. The crowd cheered and the kid beamed even as sweat dripped from under his mask. Then the ringmaster called for a volunteer. For some reason, the short man raised his hand, just getting into the spirit of things. Actually it would have looked stranger for him not to raise his hand, since everyone else in the audience was jumping up and down. It wasn't like he was expecting to be chosen.

Surprisingly the ringmaster did call for him. "You, in the cowboy hat and cigar, come up and help out our archer."

The man shrugged and walked into the ring. Some of the crowd booed because they weren't picked. The man grinned around his cigar.

"Now, don't be like that, folks. Hawkeye's still young enough to need a growth spurt, so I picked someone his size," the showman joked. "Tell us your name sir."

"Logan," the man answered, raising an eyebrow at the short joke. He was used to it and at least this man meant it in good humor. Though, if he said the word "runt" all bets were off.

"Well, Mr. Logan, let's set you up." The ringmaster waved over one of the pretty trapeze girls. She was young with bleached blond hair that shone in the stage lights. She had nice smile and was just starting to fill out her skimpy leotard. Logan gave her a wink as she led him over to a large wooden target that was taller than he was. She giggled and took his hat, with a promise to give it back, and set an apple on his head, William Tell style.

"Don't worry," she whispered to him. "He never misses."

Logan gave her a grin. "I'm not worried, darlin'."

Hawkeye strutted across from him, at the far end of the ring. "Now hold still," the boy called. "Don't want to give you a haircut." The crowd laughed.

Logan chuckled, appreciating the kid's moxy. "Bring it, bub."

Hawkeye loosed an arrow and it nailed the apple, dead center. The crowd cheered wildly. Logan wiped apple juice out of his eyes and took his cigar out of his mouth.

"Nice shot, but not as good as you were doing earlier," the stranger challenged.

"Really?" Hawkeye shot back. "Maybe I was worried you'd flinch."

"I don't flinch," Logan said as he started to bring his cigar back to his mouth. It was knocked out of his hand by an arrow. He considered the two halves of his smoke on the dirt floor. "Pretty good, bub, but now you owe me a cigar."

Hawkeye laughed and walked across the ring to shake the man's hand while the crowd went crazy. "You're right, you don't flinch. Good show." In an under tone, he added, "Sorry about your cigar. Thanks for being a good sport."

With that he took a bow and moved left making room for the next act, which the ringmaster was already introducing. The pretty girl gave Logan back his hat and showed him back to where he had been standing.

The rest of the show was good but Logan wasn't paying attention. He was thinking about the kid, Hawkeye. The kid was a showman and an actor but he couldn't fool Logan's nose. Logan wasn't as normal as he appeared. He was a mutant and one of his abilities was enhanced senses. He could smell emotions and lies. Under the sweat and adrenaline of the show, Logan smelled fear, anger, and a host of other negative emotions a kid shouldn't have to deal with. Logan wasn't naïve. Life wasn't fair and bad things happened to good people and all of that. None of that meant he couldn't try and do something about it. The bright young man who ate up the crowd's attention with every bullseye was secretly hurting. Logan decided he didn't like it and despite his better judgment, he was going to get to the bottom of this.

As he tracked Hawkeye's scent through the maze of tents and trailers, Logan wondered what he was doing. It wasn't his responsibility to save a kid from his less than ideal life. Logan had his own problems and his method of problem solving wasn't very nice. He couldn't take responsibility for a teenager. He should really leave before he got tangled in something that was none of his business.

Logan had just about talked himself out of doing anything when he finally found the kid at the edge of the camp. There were two men with him and it sounded like things were getting heated. Logan pulled back into the shadows before any of them noticed him.

"Why?" Hawkeye was asking. From where he stood, Logan could only see the back of his blond head. The kid had taken off the mask and now he sounded even younger than before.

"We needed the money," one of the men said. He was still in costume, like Hawkeye. Both were obnoxiously purple. "You have a problem, brat?"

"You can't steal from the circus," Hawkeye exclaimed. "How could you? We're a family."

"And what do you know about family?" the second man said. He wasn't in costume like the other two but he had a bow and quiver over his shoulder. Strangely enough, Hawkeye wasn't carrying his weapons which made Logan nervous. "Your daddy was a drunk who beat you and your brother. Then he killed himself and your mother, leaving you with a brother, who, news-flash, left you to." The man shoved the boy, making him stumble back.

"Barney didn't leave me!" the boy shouted. "He joined the army, but he still cares about me."

"Forget it," the first man said. "Barney isn't coming back for you. You're stuck with us. Are you going to give us any trouble?" He was staying calmer, just standing with his arms crossed over his chest. When he moved, Logan noticed he wore a sword on his belt, which wasn't as weird as it could have been. This was a circus, after all. Still, the blade didn't look like a prop and the man stood like he knew how to use it.

"I don't want trouble, sir," Hawkeye mumbled, looking at the ground. His posture was submissive, but his fists were clenched. "I just don't think you should steal from the circus. We are all relying on that money. You have to give it back."

"Give it back?" the second man snorted. "Forget it, forget you saw anything." He shoved the kid again.

In the shadows, Logan ground his teeth trying to keep a growl in. These men were pushing it. Betrayal, abuse, and stealing were all things that got on his nerves. It was so tempting to step in, but he wanted to see how the kid would handle the situation.

"Please, Jacques," the kid begged, stepping forward to lay a hand on the man's crossed arms. "I won't say anything, not to nobody but we have to put it back. This is wrong."

The swordsman pushed the kid back hard enough to knock him on his ass before drawing a sword. Holding the blade to kid's throat, the older man glared down. "No, I won't put it back. I need the money to pay off some people. Don't get in my way, you little shit."

"Buck," Hawkeye turned to the other man, his voice small, "please?"

The second man looked over at the other man before stepping back. "No, Clint, I'm not saving you here. You need to be smart. Either you die right here or you join us. We could use another hand after your brother left and you're more than agile enough to do it. Think about it."

"No," Hawkeye shouted. Logan was impressed with the kid's guts, considering he was still at sword point. "I won't help you steel from gaffer! I won't become a common criminal!"

"No?" the swordsman said, using the blade to tip the boy's head up. "What do you think we've been training you for? To be a circus act your whole life? Don't you want something more?"

The kid's voice shook but he still answered strong. "I don't care! I won't help you!"

The other man, Buck, stepped forward and hit the kid with his fist, knocking him into the dirt. Logan had to take a deep breath to keep control. He could feel the skin stretching over his knuckles. When Clint tried to get up, Buck kicked him while the other man stepped back and watched. "You're being an idiot, Clint. We are offering you a better future than this two bit circus. Think about your future. Don't throw it away." He looked around and, spying a pile of firewood, went to pick up a piece.

Hawkeye looked up and seeing what his mentor was doing, curled up in a ball, holding his arms up to protect his head. The swordsman, Jacques, just kept watching with a grim look on his face, though he kept his sword out and at the ready.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson, boy," Buck snarled. "And maybe this time it'll stick."

Logan decided he had seen enough. When Buck raised his piece of wood to hit the kid, Logan rushed forward and grabbed it before the carnie could bring it down.

"Watch it, bub," Logan growled. "I don't think you want to do that."

Buck wretched the timber out of Logan's hand. "You better get out of here," he threatened. "This ain't any of your business, gilly."

Logan appeared to ignore the men as he crouched down to talk to the kid. "Hey, you alright?"

"What are you doing here?" Hawkeye groaned. He clutched his side where Buck had kicked him.

"You owe me a cigar," Logan pointed out, trying for a joke. From the kid's face, he could tell it fell flat.

Logan felt a blade against his back, interrupting his conversation. "Stanger, you will leave if you want to see tomorrow," the swordsman said coldly.

Hawkeye's eyes were huge and Logan almost choked on the anger and fear that was coming off the kid in waves. Still the kid had guts. He got to his feet without help, though he winced from the bruises, and waved his would be savior off. "Get out of here," the kid hissed at Logan. "I don't need no help."

"Listen to the brat," Buck said, still brandishing the hunk of wood. "Git!"

Logan turned around to face the men. It was almost amusing that they were trying to intimidate him. "Give me one good reason," he challenged.

Jacques moved his sword tip to Logan's chest. "Leave now, or I will run you through. This is your last warning."

Hawkeye pushed Logan out of the way so he could face his mentors. Bemused, Logan let him. "Leave him alone. He didn't do anything." His strong front was weakened by the blood dripping from his lip.

"We'll finish dealing with you in a minute," Buck said as he swung his improvised club. Logan was expecting an attack and moved to defend himself, but Buck hit Hawkeye on the temple instead and the boy crumpled to the ground.

"That was a mistake," Logan growled. He stepped forward menacingly so he could stand in front of the unconscious Hawkeye.

The swordsman decided to take the initiative and attack first. He thrust his sword into Logan's chest without warning, but instead of going right into the shorter man's heart like expected, the blade slid along his ribs leaving a bloody gash. Logan snarled and smacked the blade a way. Ignoring the injury, which was already healing, he swung an adamantium reinforced fist and broke the man's jaw. Buck moved forward to defend his partner or just because he saw an opening and swung the piece of wood again. It splintered over Logan's head and didn't even slow the mutant down. A right to the archer's stomach forced the bully to double over and Logan grabbed his hair so he could nail him with a wicked uppercut that knocked the man out cold. In a matter of seconds it was over with all three performers on the ground.

"Well, now what?" Logan murmured to himself. He couldn't leave them there but he had a big bloody hole in his shirt that was sure to draw attention.

With a sigh, he zipped up his jacket to hide the hole. He'd have to throw the shirt away and now he'd have to wash the coat or it would smell like blood. He cursed under his breath and turned to where Hawkeye was laid out in the dirt. Left with no other options or ideas, he bent down to pick up the kid, bridal style, and went to find someone in charge.

\\\/\\\/

Walking back into the crowd, it was obvious that something had stirred the hornet's nest. Most of the customers were leaving peacefully enough but the circus folk were running around in apparent panic, closing down the circus, even though it early. Most of carnies running around did not look friendly, though they were very focused on their own tasks and didn't pay any attention to Logan. The bearded lady was the first to notice Logan and his burden.

"Goodness gracious," she exclaimed, pulling Logan off to the side where they wouldn't be trampled. Logan also noticed that now they were mostly out of sight of the main thoroughfare. "What happened? Is he okay?" Now that she wasn't on stage, the thick Russian accent she wore like one of her scarves fell off to reveal something a little more Southern.

"He'll be fine," Logan promised, shifting the boy so his head was on Logan's shoulder so the woman could get a better look. "He took a hit to the head is all."

The woman, Madam Z or something, shook her head sadly and reached over to touch Hawkeye's head gently. "Poor boy, and he couldn't have picked a worse time to get into trouble."

"Someone stole from the owner, right?" Logan grunted.

"How'd you know?" she gasped, looking around wildly.

"I found the kid arguing with the men who did it. They're knocked out back there, beyond the trailers," Logan explained, jerking his head back in the general direction of where he left the other two. "He was trying to get them to give it back."

The woman stroked her beard thoughtfully. "Figured it be those two. They're rotten apples, for sure. But that's not the only trouble right now."

Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course it wasn't that simple, it never was in his life. "What's wrong?" He looked down at his burden. "Never mind, where should I take the kid?"

The woman shook her head fiercely, flapping her hands around in distress. Her scarves fluttered around her like colorful wings. "He's not safe here. There are men here, government men, who are looking for the Swordsman and Trickshot. They're with the owner right now and they are demanding the circus cooperate with them." She looked very offended by the idea. "Everyone knows Clint is their apprentice. The men'll take him too and who knows what will happen to the poor boy."

Logan growled. He wondered when the suits had shown up, because he couldn't remember seeing or smelling them. Either he was losing his edge (unlikely), or they had come while he was dealing with the kid's mentors. Which means they moved in after the show. Logan wasn't sure what that could mean. "Can't you hide him till the grunts leave?"

She shook her head again. "No can do, sugar. Carson won't protect the boy, especially if Jacques stole from him. He'd be deadweight and we can't afford that."

"Lady, I don't like what your implying," Logan groaned. How could it have come to this? "You want me to take the kid? How do you know you can trust me?"

"I know these things," the woman said haughtily, waving her hands around some more. She had a twinkle in her eye as she said that, despite her dismissive tone and Logan wondered what else she knew. Maybe she was a mutant to, but he wasn't going to ask. "Please, just get him out of sight. Before the government men see him. Clint's a good boy, too good to be mixed up with this."

Logan looked down at the boy in his arms. Hawkeye, or Clint, looked young, barely a teenager with sharp cheekbones that showed that he hadn't always had the food he needed. Logan felt his heart clench. He didn't need this and the kid would probably be in more danger with him than alone, but… But he couldn't just abandon him. He was committed now and damn the consequences. He'd work it out later. He had always been a seat of his pants planner anyway.

"Fine, what about his stuff?" Logan growled, letting her see how annoyed he was. To her credit, she didn't even flinch.

"I'll send one of the girls with it after it quiets down. We'll be moving out tonight, after this whole mess, so she can drop it off on our way through town. Where are you staying?"

"Little motel outside town, called Wayside Inn. Look for the room with the Harley outside," Logan grunted.

"Fine," the bearded lady agreed. She looked around, fugitively. "Now, get out of here." She ran her fingers through Clint's hair. Her eyes were sad and Logan looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimate scene he was in the middle of. "Take care of him, he hasn't had nearly enough of that."

"Yeah, yeah," Logan grumbled. He turned and ducked behind a vendor's tent that the owner was starting to tear down. He melted into the shadows, disappearing with the young archer before anyone had a chance to ask where they had gone.

Clint Barton woke up in a rush with a splitting headache. He recognized the pain, knew it like an old friend, not that he had many friends. Through the fog of pain he tried to remember what happened. . He remembered seeing Jacques leave Old Man Carson's trailer with a suspicious bag. He remembered the show, with the short man in the cowboy hat. He remembered going to put away his bow and catching Jacques counting out the money with Buck. He remembered fighting with his mentors. Then the guy from the show butted in and Jacques threatening him and... He couldn't remember anything after that. It was a blank. He groaned and clutched his head, which felt like someone hit him with a 2x4, wait… Someone had. He remembered what happened now. Stupid Buck.

Still holding his head, which felt like it wanted to split into pieces, Clint looked around taking in his surroundings. He wasn't at the circus anymore, obviously. He was on a bed in what looked like a ratty motel room, not that he'd been in many motel rooms, but they all kinda looked the same. He looked down. Okay, he was still dressed. That's nice but where were his shoes? He wanted to be gone before who ever had brought him here came back. He got up and looked around some more. He saw a set of bags that looked like they went on a motorcycle and a leather jacket over the chair. Clint considered going through them to find out more about where he was, but decided against it. He didn't need to antagonize whoever it belonged to.

He went to the sink to rinse out his mouth, which tasted foul. One of the lights over the mirror was out, but the other was bright enough for Clint to see his face. He had a wicked goose-egg on the side of his head that was tender to the touch. A bruise was starting to form from Buck's fist and he had a scratch under his chin from Jacques' sword. Overall, he looked like elephant shit.

Turning resolutely away from his reflection, he noticed a shirt in the trash. Curious, he pulled it out. It was bloody with a big slash in the side. Clint dropped it in disgust and, he had to admit, a little fear. It looked like Jacques' work, so whoever brought Clint here had had a run in with the Swordsman. That didn't bode well for Clint, who was the Swordsman's student. He needed to get out of here.

Clint found his shoes by the door and quickly put them on, ill-fitting though they were. He had gone through another growth-spurt recently that made his shoes too tight, but couldn't afford new ones yet. He found his stage mask on the table and stuffed it in his pocket. He wished he had his bow. That thought caused a physical pain in his chest. His bow was a part of him and the one and only thing that truly belonged to him. He wasn't Hawkeye without it.

Shaking off the melancholy, he crept to the door and carefully opened it. It was dark out, so he had lost a couple hours. The parking lot was lit by four lamp posts at the corner of the small parking lot. A big sign that said Wayside Inne, Vacancy, glowed in red and white neon. The whole place looked deserted. Clint almost expected to see a tumbleweed blow past. An owl hooted and Clint tried not to think about the stories they told around the fire about how owls foretold men's deaths. He swallowed nervously, but when nothing moved outside, he opened the door enough to step outside. He was already making plans to find the circus or at least a phone and some money. He would need different clothes, since he was still in his costume.

"Where do you think you're going?" said a rough voice from beside the door making Clint jump. He bit his cheek to keep from making an undignified sound. Turning around, he saw the man from the show sitting in a chair next to the door, out of sight of the doors or window. He had his boots up on the railing and his cowboy hat pushed low over his face, but not so low that he couldn't puff on his cigar.

Clint puffed out his chest. "I'm going back to the circus," he said hotly. "Do you got a problem with that?"

"Not particularly," the man sighed. "Though, it probably isn't the best idea."

Clint glared at the man. "Who asked you?" He looked around. The little motel was pretty empty, there was only one other car in the parking lot, other than the motorcycle that was probably the man's. There wasn't even any traffic on the street. He pushed down the rising feeling of panic. "Why'd you kidnap me?"

The man sighed and took his feet down so he could sit up. He put his forearms on his legs and looked up to meet Clint's eyes. "I didn't kidnap you, kid. You were kind of forced on me." Clint scoffed. "Believe me, it wasn't my idea."

"Whose was it, then?" Clint accused, frustrated and feeling a little betrayed. Someone at the circus didn't want him around so they what, sold him to this guy? Clint felt a little dizzy but there was no way he was going to show any kind of weakness.

"That bearded lady, Madam Z or whatever. Some government suits were lookin' for your so-called mentors," the disgust in his voice was obvious, "and she didn't want you anywhere near the fall out. Someone'll be dropping your stuff off tonight. We'll talk about what happens after that," the man explained, patiently. He hadn't made a move toward Clint, but he was poised like one of the big cats at the circus, ready to pounce.

"You can't keep me here!" Clint protested, clenching his fists.

"Nope," the man agreed. "But where are you going to go?"

"I can take care of myself," Clint insisted, taking a step away.

The man raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. "You might as well wait until someone drops off your stuff. Hard to run away without a nickel to your name."

Clint bristled and while he didn't disagree, that didn't keep him from arguing. "Bet I could," he shot back. "I'm pretty talented you know. I could make it work."

The man considered him for a long moment, not saying anything, just staring and it was starting to creep Clint out. "I bet you could," he said finally. "Still, it'd be easier with your stuff, so just relax for now." He held out his hand to Clint, palm up and non-threatening. "Name's Logan."

Clint decided to bide his time, he could always run later. Besides, he had a sinking feeling that if Logan didn't want him to leave, there was nothing Clint could do about it. "Clint Barton," he said, taking the offered hand. Logan squeezed his hand gently for a quick moment, not even enough time for Clint to get concerned for his fingers, before dropping his hand and leaning back. "Also known as Hawkeye, World's Greatest Marksman," he continued, grinning.

"Yeah, I saw you," Logan replied. "You're pretty good."

Clint scoffed and tried his best to look offended. "I'm the best at what I do," he boasted.

Logan chuckled. "Me to, bub," he said wryly. Clint guessed there was a story behind that, but didn't ask. He was trying to rack his brain for something else to talk about then Logan stiffened.

Logan turned to look down the road. "Get inside," he ordered. Clint decided to obey without arguing because Logan looked worried. Vaguely, he can hear a car coming.

"I'm going to watch through the curtains," he challenged, his hand on the door knob.

"I'd be surprised if you didn't," Logan said. "Now, hurry."

Clint ducked inside and closed the door just as a large, dark SUV pulled into view. Clint hurried to the window and pulling back just a corner, peaked out.

\\\/\\\/

As soon as Clint was out of sight, Logan leaned back in his chair and put his feet back up. Over the last few days he'd heard a lot of cars pass by the sleepy little motel and he knew the regulars. This car wasn't a local. It was too smooth, too powerful for a local cowboy or passing tourist. Truthfully, he recognized the type of car, but he'd wait for confirmation before he made a move. For now, he wanted to project an image of nonchalance, of relaxation. He tipped his hat low and pretended to be asleep as the black SUV pulled into the parking lot. It gave him time to think.

Logan had brought the boy to his hotel without running into trouble, which surprised him, but he wasn't the sort to question it. After laying the kid on the bed, and taking of his shoes because Logan was not a barbarian, he had stood there for several minutes trying to figure out what his next move should be. After coming up blank, he put it off and cleaned up from the fight. Then he came outside to wait and smoke. It wasn't too long before he heard the kid moving around. Oddly enough, Clint moved like a cat. A normal person wouldn't have heard a sound as the boy investigated the room. Logan was surprised the kid hadn't gone through his stuff, though he appreciated it. Clint wasn't a bad kid, but he certainly had issues. Enough issues that Logan wouldn't be able to just put him back in the system. The mutant had lived a long time and he held no illusions about how badly the government could drop the ball on a boy like Clint. For better or worse, Clint was his responsibility now.

The appearance of SHIELD complicated things even more. He had assumed that the suits the bearded lady had talked about were at most FBI, but SHIELD issued vehicles added a whole new facet to an already complicated problem.

Logan watched from under the brim of his hat as the SUV parked under one of the lamp posts. After a full minute, three men in fancy suits got out. It was obvious that the delay was due to an argument because the one who stayed by the car was frowning, just short of a pout. Logan pegged him as a rookie right off. He was proven right when an owl hooted and the man jumped and swung around with a hand on his holster; a jumpy rookie. It was a good thing they left him at the car. Logan didn't feel like getting shot tonight. Besides, it'd scare the boy who was watching from behind the curtains.

The other two men were more professional. The shorter man, though he still had a few inches on Logan, was stocky and moved like a boxer. The taller man took his secret agent status too seriously. He wore a suit just like the other two but his shoes were shined and he wore dark glasses despite how dark it was. All three of them had those stupid ear pieces that looked like worms coming out of their ears. If these were the men at the circus, it was no wonder that they circus people were spooked. Logan hoped it was intentional, otherwise they were bigger fools than they looked.

"Sir," said the tall one when the two were close enough to Logan.

Though he considered ignoring them, Logan answered, "What do you want, bub?"

"Sir, we need your help," said the short one. He smelled nervous.

"Highway's that way," Logan replied and jerked his thumb down the road. He didn't push up his hat. "Other way'll take you into town."

The men shared a look. "Actually, we need you in a more official capacity, Mr. Logan," the tall one said. Logan noticed that he dropped the "sir". "

Now Logan tipped his hat back and considered the two men. "What kind of 'offical capacity'?" he asked, choosing his words carefully. "I didn't know I worked for SHIELD. If I do, Nick Fury owes me some serious backpay," he added, name dropping to see how they would react. The short one flinched, but the tall one didn't react. Interesting.

"No, sir," the short one said, bringing back the respectful "sir". "We were sent to retrieve two targets. They have eluded us. When we learned that you were in the area, we hoped you would be willing to assist us in tracking them."

"You're throwing that royal 'we' around a lot," Logan said, keeping his attitude loose. "Who told you I was here? Is the director in charge of this fiasco?"

The tall one removed his glasses. His grey eyes were too close together so he looked crosseyed all the time. No wonder he wore the glasses. "No, Director Fury is not leading this operation, I am."

"And you couldn't capture two targets," Logan said. "Now why should I do your job for you? I don't work for SHIELD," he repeated in case they missed it the first time.

"You have before," the tall one said. The short one wiped his brow. "We have leads on our primary targets. We need you to find our secondary target. Director Fury said you were the best."

Logan stood up, facing off with the two agents. "I am the best, but I don't do favors for baby agents who can't do their jobs. Nick wants to call in a favor, he'll have to do it himself." He was betting that Fury would have better things to do than come up to Montana after a couple of carnies. This whole thing smelled funny and it had his hackles up.

"Would you like to see who we're after," the short one said, holding out a file in his sweaty hands.

Logan glared at it. It was tempting. The more information he had the better he'd understand the situation. He needed to make sure it was Clint they were after and why. The kid was a crack shot, but when did SHIELD get so hard up for recruits that they'd abduct a kid from the circus. Still, he didn't want these agents sticking around while he was hiding Clint in his room. "Not interested," he said finally. "Get someone else to be your sniffer dog."

The tall one looked like he wanted to argue but the shorter agent shot him a look and he quieted down. "SHIELD will remember this," the agent said instead, offering a challenge that Logan was sure he was not authorized to give. He raised an eyebrow at the implied threat, but did not rise to the bait. The agent huffed before turning on his heel and marched back to the vehicle, his back tight with hurt pride. The shorter agent gave Logan an apologetic smile and hurried after his partner. All three climbed back in the SUV and with an unnecessary squeal of their tires. Logan waited until he couldn't see their taillights before he turned to enter the room. He had a lot of thinking to do but first he had to deal with a skittish boy. This would be interesting.