A man pushed open the door to Sébastien Lacharriere's inner office.
"Hawkeye, Monsieur Lacharriere will speak with you now."
Hawkeye stepped past the man and into Monsieur Lacharriere's office. Monsieur Lacharriere himself was sitting at a desk in the middle of the room. A single, straight-backed chair sat on the opposite side of the desk, clearly intended for use by visitors.
"You must be Hawkeye." Monsieur Lacharriere said, motioning for him to sit down in the chair.
Hawkeye remained standing, a smirk on his face. "You sound surprised."
"I wasn't expecting someone so … banale." The Frenchman struggled for a moment to find the right word before reverting to his native language. (Ordinary.)
"Je ne viens pas ici pour discuter de mon remarkableness ou l'absence de. Vous avez un contrat pour moi? (I didn't come here to discuss my remarkableness or lack of it. You have a contract for me?)
If Monsieur Lacharriere was shocked by Hawkeye's grasp of French, he didn't show it. Instead he pulled a folder out from somewhere behind his desk and slid it to Hawkeye. He opened the folder to reveal a picture of a small, blond woman.
"Son nom est Sophie Kiemle." Monsieur Lacharriere said. "J'ai besoin de vous pour l'éliminer" (Her name is Sophie Kiemle. I need you to eliminate her.)
"I have a fee, Monsieur." Somehow, Hawkeye managed to fill the word with contempt, making it very clear what he thought of the man.
"And it will be paid. Half will be given to you now and you will receive the rest after the job is done."
"Dites à vos gens de me rendre mes armes en je m'en irais." (Tell your people to give my weapons back and I'll be on my way.)
"Louis, donne lui ses armes." Monsieur Lacharriere called to someone in the outer office. (Louis, give Hawkeye his weapons back.)
One of Monsieur Lacharriere's assistants entered the office carrying Hawkeye's bow and quiver of arrows. Hawkeye took them from the assistant, who quickly hurried out of the room, no doubt having heard of Hawkeye's reputation. He slipped the weapons over his head with the ease of old familiarity and moved to leave. Unable to resist a parting shot, he paused at the door and turned back to Monsieur Lacharriere.
"You should really get better security. Sie haben nicht einmal prüfen, mich für Waffen. Sie fragte nur." He said, switching to German just to frustrate the other man. (They didn't even check me for weapons. They just asked.)
He turned and left, leaving a frustrated and confused Monsieur Lacharriere behind.
Clint pushed the door to his safe house closed. Almost immediately, the mask of a snarky, experienced killer dropped and for just a second a nineteen year old boy was in its place. Then, Clint forced his emotions down and the guise of an assassin returned.
He exchanged his sleeveless black shirt that he used to intimidate clients for a loose fitting black tee-shirt. As he grabbed a packet of ramen from the pile in the cupboard and put a pot of water on to boil, he ran over the information he had on his target.
Sophie Kiemle. Small, blond female currently on a business trip in Austria. He'd have to find out which hotel she was staying in, but he knew a few people that could help.
Clint dumped the noodles and seasoning into the boiling water. He would have to get a flight to Austria in the morning. He sighed. Austria never had been his favorite country. He'd make the job as quick as possible and then get the hell out of Austria.
The timer for his ramen went off, pulling him back to reality. He dumped the noodles into a bowl and sat down at the little kitchen table with a map. To anyone looking through the window, he would look like just another university student studying for his mid-term exams.
Phil Coulson stopped punching the punching bag and looked up as a young woman pushed open the door to the training room.
"Agent Coulson, Director Fury would like to see you in his office immediately."
Coulson pulled off his boxing gloves and started unwrapping the athletic tape wrapped around his wrists.
"It's Hill, isn't it?" When she nodded, he continued. "Thank you Hill. Please tell the director that I'll be there in ten minutes."
Hill turned and left. Coulson sighed. Director Fury always seemed to have to see him when he was in the middle of something. Still, Coulson supposed it was better than the middle of the night.
Ten minutes later, Coulson was standing in Fury's office in one of his less rumpled suits, trying to ignore his still wet hair.
"You wanted to see me sir."
"Yes. How much have you heard about Sébastien Lacharriere?"
"Not much. He's a businessman in France. Why's he on our radar?"
"About a year ago, he started selling illegal weapons. Until now, he kept it relatively small and in Paris. Last week, we got reports saying his partner was going to set up a second location in Austria. That's your mission. Take out the partner and, if possible, Sébastien Lacharriere."
"When do I leave?" Coulson asked, accepting the folder Fury slid across the table.
"1700 hours." Fury replied, his tone making it clear the meeting was over.
Coulson left, already starting to look through the information for the mission.
Clint landed lightly on the roof of the building across from the hotel Sophie Kiemle was staying at. A few bills in the right hands had made it easy to find the woman. Before Clint had even landed, he had had the name of the hotel and the room number. He settled down to wait. The hotel entrance was too open a place to get off the shot. He'd have to run some surveillance and find a quieter place to make the shot. It wouldn't do to draw attention to himself. He was pulled out of his musings by the appearance of Sophie Kiemle. She strode out of the hotel, towards the little diner Clint knew was a few blocks away. Clint followed her, staying on the rooftops so he had a better vantage point. She reached the diner and went inside.
"Dammit." Clint muttered to himself, slipping his bow and quiver off his shoulders. As much as he hated leaving them behind, they would stand out too much in the small diner. He tucked the bow and quiver against the edge of the roof so they wouldn't be easily visible and clambered down the fire escape, dropping the last twenty feet and rolling to absorb the impact. He let his muscles relax until he looked like any other tourist on vacation. Then, he walked into the diner and took a seat in a booth, only glancing at Miss Kiemle for a second.
Clint's booth was back to back with Sophie Kiemle's booth, providing cover while still allowing Clint to hear what she said.
"Hallo sir." Sophie said. (Hello sir.)
"Sophie Bitte rufen Sie mich an Franz." A male voice replied. Clint assumed someone had joined Sophie at her table. (Sophie please, call me Franz.)
"Es tut mir leid, dieses Treffen so kurzfristig arrangieren, aber ich lasse die Stadt von morgen und wir haben einige Geschäfte zu kümmern." (I'm sorry to arrange this meeting on such short notice, but I'm leaving the city tomorrow and we have some business to take care of.)
Dammit. He'd have to take her out tonight.
A waitress approached his booth.
"Hallo Sir. Was kann ich Ihnen bringen?" (Hello sir. What can I get you?)
"Ich werde einen Kaffee bitte." Clint replied. (I'll have a coffee please.)
"Sie sprechen unsere Sprache sehr gut. Haben Sie schon einmal hier?" (You speak our language very well. Have you been here before?)
"Ich habe viel Zeit in Deutschland auf Geschäftsreise verbracht." (I've spent lots of time in Germany on business.)
The waitress left and Clint was able to catch the last few words of Sophie's conversation.
"Ich werde Sie heute Abend treffen und machen den Austausch." (I'll meet you tonight and make the exchange.)
A minute later Sophie left as the waitress returned with his coffee. Clint took the cup from her and handed her the money for the coffee.
"Danke." (Thanks.)
He followed Sophie out the door, retrieving his bow and quiver before setting off in the direction she had gone.
Agent Coulson tapped his comm as Sophie Kiemle entered the penthouse suite of her hotel.
"I found her."
After a moment, Director Fury's voice came over the comm line.
"Good work Watchdog. Run -"
Coulson cut Director Fury off. "She's leaving the country today. Our base in Vienna told me when I landed. Which does raise the question sir, why didn't you tell me when you were briefing me on the mission?"
"I didn't think you would accept the mission if you knew she was leaving today."
Agent Coulson cut the connection. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a slight movement on the rooftop across the street. He raised his head to find the source of the movement, but there was nothing there. Frowning, Coulson adjusted his position slightly so he could see the rooftop and the penthouse suite.
A few minutes later, Sophie left the penthouse suite. Coulson grabbed his pack and went down to street level, following a little bit behind Sophie. He followed her for about four blocks before she turned down a dimly lit side alley and stopped.
Agent Coulson looked around and, upon finding a fire escape on a building at the mouth of the alley, climbed halfway up so he had a good vantage point. He pulled a gun out of his pack and turned on the night vision on his scope, lining it up so he had a clear shot at Sophie Kiemle. He put his finger on the trigger and squeezed. Sophie Kiemle collapsed backwards, dead, a bullet in her head and a black arrow protruding from her heart.
Agent Coulson tapped his comm. "Requesting permission to change my mission parameters."
"Why?" Director Fury's voice came over the comms.
"Because I'd like to attempt to bring in a new asset, sir."
Fury sighed. "You have to make this mission harder for everyone, don't you? There's still twenty-four hours left in your timetable. Do what you want with it. When that time expires, I want you back at base, with or without your new asset."
Hawkeye slung his bow over his shoulder and quietly descended to street level, pulling a sweatshirt over his bow and quiver and becoming just another person wandering around Salzburg. He glanced around, noting several policemen in the crowd. As he turned the corner, he noticed a man carrying a duffle bag moving in Hawkeye's general direction, purpose clear in his eyes and in the bag he carried. Hawkeye slipped into a side alley and waited. When the man turned the corner, Hawkeye charged him and wrapped his arms around the man's neck. The man dropped his bag and twisted, pulling Hawkeye over his shoulder and into a headlock.
"Who are you?" He asked, loosening his hold slightly so Hawkeye could answer.
"Roy Jackson." He replied, the picture of a scared teenage boy.
"Well, Roy Jackson, you can call me Coulson." Coulson said, pulling off the sweatshirt covering Hawkeye's bow and quiver with one hand, keeping a tight hold on his wrist with the other. "Why do you have a bow and a quiver of arrows? Unusual weapons for a teenager, especially in the city." He removed the quiver from Hawkeye's back, slinging it and the bow over his shoulder.
Hawkeye relaxed some, adjusting his body language to match that of an overconfident teenager from the lower city.
"Protection." He paused for a moment. "Don't you want to search me? Make sure I don't have anything else on me."
"I know you have a gun and several knives on your person. I would highly advise against trying to use them. Knives and guns are not uncommon to carry for protection, especially in the lower city. What I'm interested in is the bow and arrows."
"I told you, it's for protection."
"Arrows aren't defensive weapons. Not at close range. And you're hardly likely to be threatened at a long distance in the city."
Hawkeye stayed silent, which Coulson took to mean he agreed, however much he hated it.
"Arrows are an assassin's weapon in the city. They're the trademark of one of the best assassins I've heard of." He released Hawkeye's arm. "If you know where to find said assassin, tell him I want to talk."
Hawkeye spun, sliding his bow off Coulson's shoulder and pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back.
"You want to talk? Talk."
Coulson nodded.
"But," Hawkeye continued. "We talk on my terms." He aimed his arrow at Coulson's heart. "Tell the truth and tell it quickly or I put an arrow through your heart."
Coulson thought for a moment, deciding how much to tell him.
"You have three seconds to start talking."
"My name is Agent Coulson. I work for Shield. I saw how you shot Sophie Kiemle tonight. I want to recruit you as an asset for Shield."
Hawkeye hesitated. This Coulson man seemed like he was genuine, but in Hawkeye's line of work it paid to be cautious. He lowered his bow, without removing the arrow from the string.
"Alright. I'm Barton. Why do you want to recruit me? I'll know if you're lying." The last part was a bluff, but Clint hoped it would work in his favor.
"You have qualities we look for in our assets. And we need more long distance operatives." It was a risk, Coulson knew, revealing their weakness but for some reason he felt like he could trust Barton.
Before Clint could reply, a gunshot cracked the air.
"I have to deal with them again?" Clint mutters to himself. He turned to Coulson. "You should get out of here. These fights get messy and I would hate for your agency to come after me because you took a bullet in a gang fight." Although he didn't say so, Clint liked this man. He had an unusually high opinion of Clint and he didn't want to ruin that.
"I'm here 'til the end of the day. If you want to join, come to the airfield by ten o'clock."
Coulson turned then hesitated. He didn't like leaving a person to face an undetermined number of gang members alone, even a person as capable as Barton.
"Go. This is my fight."
Coulson shrugged the quiver of his shoulder and tossed it to Clint, before turning and hurrying off.
Clint slipped the strap of the quiver over his head so the quiver lay comfortably across his back. He loosened the knives strapped against his wrists, enabling them to slide into his hands in an instant.
As the first attackers rounded the corner, Clint nocked an arrow on his bow.
"Walk away now and I won't follow. I'd really take the deal if I were you."
They didn't answer. The man at the head of the pack pulled out a gun and clumsily aimed it at Clint.
Clint sighed. He drew back the bowstring and released the arrow in one fluid movement. The black arrow sprung forward from the bow to bury itself in the man's chest. Three more followed it in rapid succession, finding their marks in the throats and chests of the men on either side of the leader. Then, the gang was on him and he tossed his bow clear of the scuffle, sliding knives into his hands as the bow left them.
Clint launched himself into the air, flipping over his attackers heads and driving his knife into the back of the attacker on the left's neck. He rolled as he landed, coming up just in time to get a fist to his face from the last man in the gang.
"You killed my best friends."
"And now I'm going to kill you." Clint replied. He didn't say it angrily. He said it on a scarily calm voice, stating a fact. That frightened the man more than any threat could.
In his anger, the man had overlooked the knife that was still in Clint's right hand. Now, Clint pulled the man close and thrust the knife into the man's heart.
Clint collected his weapons and climbed onto the roof. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, he began making his way back to his safe house. He had a lot to think on.
This is probably one of the longest stories I have written to date. I have all the chapters written, so I'm going to try to post one chapter a day (Probably at night). Hopefully no one seems to OOC. Keep in mind though that this takes place about ten years before the events of The Avengers, so everyone is a little different.
*Bonus points if anyone can tell me in the comments what song the chapter titles come from*