"Negative on front parking lot."
He gave the lot a darting glance to make sure before joining the hoard of shoppers pouring into the mall. Eyes appearing forward, but all-seeing at the same time: an essential skill. Few but his own would guess what he was about.
"Negative first floor."
The voice pierced through his headset. It felt so unnatural, the whole thing. This isn't me. Why I am doing this?
He didn't want to be there, hunting down two of his best friends. He knew he wasn't the only one who hated the mission. Yet even though he wasn't the only one who couldn't believe that Natasha Romanov and Steve Rogers were targets, he felt isolated. But he had his reasons. And a prayer alive in his heart that they wouldn't find them.
"Negative second floor."
"Circle round and work your way up to me. Third floor."
He breathed a sigh of relief, while simultaneously wishing he could strangle the head of the strike team right there in the middle of the mall. He deserved it. They all deserved it. Yet he was too smart for that. But his task was a little easier now: no sign of them. Yet somehow worse. If he knew where they were, he could help them. But then the number of targets would go from two to three. Am I being a coward?
Destination: third floor. No need to think.
He momentarily escaped onto the escalator, brushing against a young teenage girl, who enjoyed the experience a little too much. "Sorry."
The girl giggled her forgiveness, apology, or something to that effect. She pretended to ignore him as they rode shoulder to shoulder. Don't think.
"Nice badge there." She pointed to the bow and arrow on his sleeve. The escalator reached the floor before he was obliged by the constraints of society to respond. Next floor, next escalator. As he tried to blend in, he couldn't help but scan the hoards of shoppers crowded on the escalators going up and down on either side of him. Hiding in plain sight, are we, Natasha?
But they were. On a descending escalator to his right, facing each other in sweatshirts. He almost started. This would have been reassuring, had not the next moment Natasha planted her mouth directly on Steve's. Now. Forcefully. And they weren't stopping. Was that his hand on her waist? No, they didn't stop. She didn't let go, he didn't relinquish until they reached the floor below. They walked away from the moment as quickly as they had run into it. But that didn't matter to Clint. His mission had been compromised. And so much more.
It could have been a ploy. But he had no way of knowing.
And as he ascended to the third floor, he felt his heart plummet to the floors below.