I had this one prevailing idea stuck in my head so I wrote it down and voila! This story takes place when Clint was first added to SHIELD. It is sort of a mix of the cinematic universe, the comic universe, and my own head cannon. Treat it like an AU if that bugs you.
Also if you really like it, tell me because I do have ideas for more chapters.
Night had fallen on the city, replacing natural light with the artificial glow of street lamps. The temperature had dropped a good ten degrees and a light snowfall had begun. From his perch upon some random rooftop, Clint watched his breath turn to fog in the cold air. Winter time in Stalingrad he thought to himself.
He had been positioned in his spot, five stories up, for about three hours, staring at what must be one of the least appealing parts of the city. Below him was a courtyard, or rather an open space between decrepit buildings. Encircled by the graffiti covered structures were two bushes and a park bench that was one fat ass away from collapsing. Clint had nicknamed it The Waiting Room, used by the "pharmacists" in the alley to his right, and soon to be used by the unfortunate person he was sent to wait for.
Coulson had him on sniper duty. It wasn't his favorite thing to do, but now that SHIELD had deemed his aim an asset, it was likely all he would ever do. All he could do really. Coulson had convinced Fury to bend enough rules to get him sworn in and sent through basic training. SHIELD wasn't in the habit of hiring seventeen year old felons, and they certainly weren't going to send any on undercover missions. The archer could either snipe or go back to serving twenty-five to life.
"Barton are you paying attention?"
A smooth voice chirped in his left ear. Clint pressed a finger against the earpiece, responding to the man.
"You know Coulson, if you're just going to sit and watch me what's the point of this mission? Couldn't you just shoot the target?"
"Don't get snarky. You may have been with SHIELD for almost a year now, but six months of that was training. You're still on probation."
"Yeah, yeah" he mumbled.
A small smirk played across his lips when he noticed movement in the windows across the street. Clint was convinced the Agent's observation had less to do with probation and more to do with genuine concern. Clint wasn't prone to trusting anyone – not anymore at least - but something about the suited man was fundamentally trustworthy. His presence relaxed Clint. Coulson often said the young blond had the opposite effect.
"So when is this party gonna' start? My fingers are starting to freeze."
"Did you even read the mission file?"
"No, that's your job."
Clint could almost hear the eye roll.
"Your target is a particularly dangerous agent, that's why we're waiting at a distance. We do not know when they will arrive, only that they live two floors down from my location."
"So we wait."
Clint sighed, shifting into a more comfortable position. The snow was falling faster now, making it necessary for him to flip up the hood of his jacket.
"Fuck it's cold," he muttered through chattering teeth.
"Language."
"Phil, I'm here to shoot someone. Let's have a little perspective here."
"Watch your mouth."
It was Clint's turn to roll his eyes. He was about to continue the argument when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Running through the streets was a woman dressed in all black. The left sleeve of her coat was torn and Clint had a feeling the stains down he front weren't barbeque sauce. He pulled his bow closer.
"That her Coulson?"
"Yes, take your shot when you have it."
Clint affirmed his orders, reaching backwards into his quiver as he did so. He grabbed what he knew to be a lethal arrow and notched it, simultaneously aiming the bow. There was a scope mounted on the weapon (why he wasn't sure, he didn't really need it) through which he could clearly see the woman's face. Her skin was pale except for her cheeks which were red from the cold, almost as read as the curls framing her face. Emerald green eyes were searching the area around her, looking everywhere but up.
She was gorgeous, no doubt about that, but it wasn't her beauty that had Clint slowly releasing the tension of his bow. It was her age, or rather lack of it. She couldn't be more than sixteen.
"Coulson, she's a child!"
"Just because you turned eighteen last month and are now considered a legal adult, doesn't give you the right to call everyone a child."
Clint rose from his sitting position to crouch on his knees. He tracked the girl's movements across the courtyard, not taking his eyes of her for a second.
"No look at her, really look."
The redhead was darting from obstacle to obstacle, hiding behind everything she could find. Periodically she would glance behind her, looking for something that wasn't there, yet. Somebody, or thing, was chasing her.
"I'm repositioning myself." Clint stated before rising to a standing position. That proved to be a mistake. AS soon as he stood her head whipped towards him. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and then she was off, running through the streets again.
"Shit," Clint hissed. "I'm in pursuit."
The blond ran to the edge of the building, thankful he had thought to set up a repel line earlier. He was on the ground in seconds, chasing after the girl.
"You don't have to be at close range to use arrows Barton."
"Yeah… I won't be using those."
She had left his line of sight by now, but thankfully there was enough snow on the ground for her feet to leave impressions.
"This is not mission protocol."
"Screw the rules, I was in the circus!"
With that he muted his mic. He was sure to get hell for that later, but it was the least of his troubles now. He didn't know why, but he couldn't bring himself to kill the girl, wouldn't kill the girl. She was running from something, scared and probably drugged by the looks of her staggered footprints. Whoever she was, she needed help and whether she liked it or not, he was going to give it to her. It was uncharacteristically altruistic of the archer, but it wouldn't be the first thing to have changed since he started his new, slightly more legal job.
Clint followed her into an alley, which probably wasn't his brightest idea. It was a dead-end, something she realized before he did. Once she got as far down as she could, the redhead rounded on Clint, pivoting like a ballerina. Her hair flew in a wave behind her, a solid curtain of scarlet ringlets. Her eyes flashed with danger as she took steps back towards Clint. She was like a raging goddess. He was awed to say the least.
A low whistle escaped his lips. "Has anyone told you how magnificent you are when angry?"
She only snarled. Idioms concerning cornered felines came to mind. He was starting to see why SHIELD wanted her gone. Their moment glaring at each other in the snow was interrupted by three men. They had come up behind Clint, their heavy winter coats just as stained as the girl's.
The three stooges were shouting in some language that was not English, Russian most likely. The redhead answered right back, snarl intensified tenfold.
"These the people you're running from?"
Cling gestured to the men, He didn't get an answer from the girl, not that he expected one. She was arguing with the men, who were reaching for the guns he assumed they had holstered at their waists. All Clint was really doing was standing in the alley, just asking to be caught in the crossfire. The man closest to him eventually realized he was there. The bearded goon motioned to Clint and asked the girl something. He must have asked who Clint was to which the girl would have responded with something along the lines of "no one," because the guy was definitely reaching for his gun now. Clint was a witness to something they didn't want anyone to see.
The blond didn't wait to find out what the Russian was going to do. Within an instant he had an arrow notched and sent it though the man's heart. The other two shouted, stepping towards Clint, but were stopped short when throwing knives embedded themselves in their throats. Clint lowered the arrow he was just about to notch, turning to the redhead. Her arms were still outstretched, her body frozen in throwing position.
"You're fast," he muttered. "And deadly. Fast and deadly and still gorgeASACK!"
He shouldn't have left his guard down. The moment he had, the girl came running, wrapping her thighs around his neck. It wasn't erotic in the least bit, it was terrifying. Clint could feel his airway closing, crushed by the sheer force of her grip. He wrapped his arms around her body, now dangling from his neck, and slammed them both against the brick wall of the alley. She released, gasping in pain when her head connected with the solid surface. He choked on the sudden inflow of air, but quickly recovered and pinned her against the wall. It didn't take her long to get out of his hold.
They backed away from the wall, trading blows as they circled each other. Clint couldn't help but notice how different their fighting styles were. He had learned to fight out of necessity. Experience had taught him what hurt most and how to inflict that pain on others. He had no real style, he simply took shots when he saw them and he was not below taking some cheap ones. SHIELD training had forced him to learn some organized styles, but he still relied on what was ingrained in habit. She was obviously highly trained, every bit as disciplined as Clint was scrappy. Her kicks and jabs always landed where they would most effectively disable her opponent. However, as their fight continued she started getting sloppy.
Clint watched as she got progressively slower. Her eyes glazed over and her breathing morphed into something closer to hyperventilating. Some one – probably the dead guys behind them – had most assuredly drugged her, and it was starting to take its toll. He could see why they would do that. Even as her age she would have been damn near impossible to take down sober.
"You need to calm down!" he shouted.
She didn't listen, but instead kicked him in the stomach. He managed to grab ahold of her ankle on her next kick. He rotated it, forcing her to face away from him and extend her leg backwards to avoid wrenching the joint. Her other leg was promptly kicked out from under her and she went toppling to the ground. Clint jumped on top of her, pushing her lean body into the snow. She struggled, shouting in Russian and trying to slip out from under him, but she didn't have the energy. She stopped moving after a while and just laid in the powder white snow quietly mumbling.
Clint let out a deep sigh; they were done, for now. He had to say he was pretty surprised no one had come to investigate. You would think that at least someone would have heard the noise. Then again the lack of curiosity was probably why she chose to live here. Then he remembered his handler.
Where the hell was Coulson? Now that the girl had calmed down, he could spare a hand and turn the volume back up on his comm. His fingers hadn't even touched the surface of the small device when he heard the crunch of feet on snow.
"No need Barton. I'm right here."
Agent Coulson came walking up the alley, stepping around the three men.
"You were sent for one girl Clint, and you left her alive and killed three others."
"Yeah! Well where were you when all this was going down?"
Clint looked to the older man looming above him. The suited man did not look happy at all.
"There were two men who didn't make it into the alley."
Clint noted the lump beginning to form on the man's temple and the lack of sarcasm in his voice. He was in some deep shit, but he doubted he would regret anything he had done. His gut instinct told him he was right and that somehow keeping her alive would work out in the long run. He didn't respond to Coulson, he couldn't figure out a way to explain his assuredness. He simply looked at the man, hoping he would understand without words like he always did. After a minute Coulson sighed.
"You could probably get off her now. She doesn't seem to be going anywhere."
Clint looked at the girl beneath him. She was asleep now, or close to it. He rolled to the left, lying on his back and accepting the hand offered to help him up.
"Someone has slipped her a healthy dose of roofies. She needs medical attention." Clint informed his handler.
He leaned down, wrapping one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. When he stood up he tried his best not to shake her. She seemed lighter than she should be, like she hadn't had a good meal in some time.
"You can't bring her with us."
Coulson's expression was incredulous.
"Watch me."
Clint marched down the alley carrying the redhead. She was limp in his arms, prompting him to shift her head so it rested on his shoulder. She would have enough pain when she woke up, she didn't need a wrenched neck.
He took a moment to figure out where the prearranged evac sight was in relation to their current position, and then set off towards it. Coulson was left in the alley to watch the teenager as he limped away. The girl must have injured his left leg in the fight.
"Six months," Coulson muttered a slight trace of a smile on his lips. "Six months and the kid's already compromised."
There we go! Bam!
Thank you to any of you who read this and please let me know if you like it! I'll probably post my other chapter ideas anyways but it's nice to know that people want to see them besides me.