He's an assassin.
That's his job, that's what he's good at, and even though following orders isn't his style, Clint ignores any other thoughts and focuses on his missions, focuses on the feel of his bowstring being pulled taut and the sound of the arrow percing his target, because he knows he could do a hell of a lot worse than SHIELD.
In fact, he has.
That's why this mission feels so familiar to him. His new target, Black Widow, is making a name for herself the same way Clint still would be if he hadn't been given the chance to change sides two years ago.
Clint stares at the debriefing packet on the table, his legs propped up leisurely on a stack of year old magazines. He might not looked stressed (of course he doesn't, he knows how to hide his emotions) but the thoughts running- no, stampeding through his mind won't stop.
He wonders what makes him different from her: a few less kills, a different weapon, luck? It's luck that got him here, no matter how many fucking times he tries to deny that, luck that stopped him from being another dead enemy on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s list.
When given the choice, anyone like him would pick working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Killing is killing, but at least this job comes with a little less guilt at the end of the day. But that's the thing: not everyone is given the choice, and he's definitely not in a position to decide.
Clint picks up the packet again, flips through information which he already knows. He wills himself to see Black Widow as text on a page, an open-shut case that hopefully won't end in a lot of paperwork.
She's a leftover remnant of a dead regime, an uncontrollable variable which needs to be wiped out. That's his job. Wipe her out.
He appraises the mission carefully. A few days to locate her, maybe a couple more for recon, his usual shot, and then it would be all over, time for the next target to be killed. Clint begins to wonder if anyone would miss her, but he stops that thought quickly.
Besides, he knows no one will.
XXX
"Remember, this is just a standard mission," Coulson's voice crackles through his cell phone, as if he knows where Clint's thoughts were in danger of straying last night.
"Aw, hell, I thought I was going to a tea party," Clint responds, weaving through lanes of traffic that thankfully become less congested the further away he gets from the airport.
Black Widow is one of the least innocent targets he's ever received. A string of deaths follow her, and even though it's impossible to prove she's guilty for most of them, the few that Black Widow can be pinned down for are enough to warrant S.H.I.E.L.D.'s interest. Her work in Sao Paulo alone would grant her the death penalty even in the most lenient countries.
Clint knows that, and he won't let some half-formed sentimental thoughts cloud his mind.
He follows the G.P.S.'s instructions blindly as it takes him through the streets of Sofia. Clint vaguely recognizes some of the Bulgarian street signs from past missions in this country.
His first lead claims that she's currently after Dimitar Nikolov, head of one of Bulgaria's top smuggling organizations. All he has to do is latch onto Nikolov and wait until Black Widow appears. Simple.
XXX
Clint lies flat on his stomach, the uneven cement of the roof scratching his arms as his eyes scan the building across from him. The night air is cold and dry, but he doesn't feel anything; Clint is focused on the mostly dark building, a few remote lights shining from the otherwise dark warehouse.
The Black Widow is in there interrogating her target. Or, at least he thinks she's interrogating him. He's not quite sure of the Black Widow's methods.
Either way, the order is clear. Clint is simply waiting for his chance. This is one of the things he's good at, the ability to outwait his prey, and he knows the second she exits that building his mission will be over.
He's still waiting hours later as the sun starts to come up.