Disclaimer: Sadly all Marvel's and not mine. If I had done the movies, Clint would have been the star from the start.
Placing: Before the movies.
Warning: I have no idea about the comic's, and just know some tit-bits from gossip and wikipedia, so this is mainly based on the first Avenger's movie.
Just an idea I had, nothing more.
If you have some suggestions who Clint can meet, tell me, I'll see what I can do.
xXxXxXxXxXxClintxXxXxXxStraysxXxXxXxXxStraysxXxXxXxXxClintxXxXxXxXxXxXx
sSsSsSsSs
Prologue
LEARNING HOW TO DUCK –
AND GETTING STUCK WHILE DOING IT
sSs
"Duck!"
Clint's reaction at that exclamation was not the usual. Instead of heading for cover, he groaned annoyed.
"Aw, no, duck!" He moaned. "No duck, please!"
There, in the middle of his new apartment's living room, was quacking a duck. One of its wings was definitely broken and it hopped around clearly agitated.
"I'm sorry, Mr. B. I will immediately call someone to remove it," The old man, Clint's landlord, said in that moment after his first agitated reaction of "duck!" had passed, while opening the door to the apartment fully.
Clint slowly entered his new flat, ignoring the duck in his living room for a moment to look around. It was a small flat with three small rooms. The white paint was pealing from the walls and the flat itself was a little dirty, but it was Clint's – and that was the most important thing.
Of course, that didn't change the fact that there was a duck sitting in his living room. How the hell did a duck get in there anyway?
Clint groaned again and cursed his luck, before sighing and forcing himself to act somewhat professional.
"Don't worry about the duck, Mr. Grills," Clint said. "I will take care of it myself."
It wouldn't be the first time, after all. Since Clint had been a small child, strays seemed to magically find him everywhere he lived. He had found hurt birds wherever he went. Sometimes a hurt fox, badger or rabbit joined him for healing. Clint had long ago learned how to treat various injuries – from broken bones to stitches and troublesome births. Whatever could happen – Clint had at least experienced it once.
In the circus he had found hurt birds, cats and dogs. On his different assassin jobs all over the world he had found the same. In the military he had stumbled upon various animals wherever he went – and now, when he was finally back for good he had a duck in the living room…
"There goes my hope to leave that behind as well," Clint thought while taking the keys from the landlord before letting the old man out. "And I thought that living in a city would spare me from strays."
Maybe, if Clint would have known the future, he would have given back his keys and fled into Sahara desert – but since he didn't know, he would have no way to escape his immediate future…
And so he took the keys and let the old man out.
"Ah! I just remembered," the old landlord said when Clint was already closing the door. Clint hesitated.
"The house occupants are barbequing on the roof every first Sunday of the month," the landlord said. "You're welcome to join, whenever you want."
Clint blinked at that. He had had no proper interaction with other people since he left the army two years ago.
In the end, he inclined his head.
"I will think about it," he said, and the old man nodded satisfied and left.
Clint closed the door and turned to the duck.
"Now to you."
After that, it was routine.
Capturing the duck, sedating it before looking it over, setting the bone and ensuring that it would stay in the right position until it had healed…
It was a routine Clint had done for years, since long before being brought to the orphanage at age six. Even when he himself had been hurt because of one of his father's beatings, Clint had healed the creatures he found and hid in his room. Hell, even when he was in the middle of the war, Clint had healed the hurt animals that found their way near him. Clint had long since given up on fighting his constant luck of finding hurt animals.
After he had treated the duck, he again looked around his flat. Except of the old looking, a little run-down kitchen, it was empty. He would need at least a couch or something to sleep on for tonight.
His eyes returned to the sedated duck. It would be out another two hours, he guessed. That should be enough to find a cheap couch or bed for his flat.
So Clint sat down his two duffle bags and his rucksack – everything he owned, including his weapons – in his future bedroom and then went out to find some furniture.
He found a simple bed and a comfortable mattress in one of the stores he looked and bought both, as well as a pillow and a duvet and some sheets in black and purple. After that he bought some juice, coffee, a coffee machine and some necessary kitchen ware as well as some groceries for dinner. He transported everything home in his old range rover and then started to bring it upstairs to his flat on the uppermost floor.
He was just about to bring up the mattress when two men entered the building.
"Hey there!" one of them greeted him. "I guess you're the new guy from 22C? I'm Evan, your neighbour from 22B and that's my brother Adam."
Clint took the offered hand of Evan.
"Clint," he said.
"You're about to bring up your stuff?" Evan asked, and when Clint nodded, Evan gestured to himself and Adam. "Let us help you."
Clint hesitated just a second before he took the offer. He didn't like someone entering his place, but even he knew that bringing up his stuff alone – especially the mattress – would be a hassle.
In the end, with the help of Evan and Adam, it took less time than Clint had anticipated and soon his mattress, the bedding and the still apart bed were standing in Clint's living room. Clint went into his kitchen to check on the duck and while Evan and Adam looked interested at the empty room that would one day be Clint's living room.
"You're still missing a lot of furniture," Evan commented dryly when Clint returned with a juice for each of his helpers.
Clint shrugged and held out the drinks inwardly unsure if he should be happy that he bought some glasses or unhappy that he bought some. If he hadn't bought them, he could have gotten rid of them faster, but he also would have been pecked as unsociable and Clint wasn't sure if he wouldn't need some help from his neighbours one day…
"Don't have anything else," he excused. "It's this or coffee."
The guys waved it off and took the juice.
"Nah, it's fine," Evan said amused. "Like that I can at least tell the girls I had something healthy today!"
Clint rolled his eyes.
"Healthy, sure, man," he said amused. "That's if you disregard all that sugar in there…"
Evan snickered.
"I never said I'd tell the girls what 'healthy thing' I inserted," he countered amused.
Clint's lips twitched.
"But come on, tell," Adam spoke up in that moment. "What's up with the missing furniture?"
"I will have to buy it first," Clint replied, still a bit amused. "I thought that buying a bed would be the direst at the moment."
Evan laughed at that.
"Obviously," he said. "Just knock if you need some help bringing the rest up. The girls won't mind to help and if I'm in I can help you with the heavier stuff."
"The girls?" Clint asked, now hearing – well, actually lip-reading – those word the second time.
"We share flat," Evan said. "Ginny has just started her new job, I'm a college student and Clara goes to nursery school so neither of us has enough money for a flat by ourselves yet. There's a fourth living with us who just finished schooling, but he's currently home with his parents. It was practical to share flat - and the one we have is a lot bigger than yours, so we don't mind."
Clint nodded at that. Even with the money he had from his army days, he would have not enough money to maintain a flat in the middle of New York if he wouldn't freelance as an assassin.
"What are you doing?" Adam asked in that moment. "College as well?"
Clint shrugged.
"I'm just returning from a longer stay in the hospital. I'm not sure yet what I will do, maybe college, maybe a job, I'll see." It wasn't even a complete lie if you ignored the one and a half years he had worked as a freelance marksman. He had been in a hospital for about half a year, regaining his agility after the injuries he had maintained thanks to a bomb.
Not, that Clint ever planed on going to college. He might have sat his middle school exams early – or in time, if you went with his official age – yep, to Clint's utter regret there was a five years difference between his actual and his official age (bloody big brother and his wish for money!) – but he had never gone to high school. He was simply far too active to sit down and learn boring stuff like history, so he had disregarded high school long ago already.
Adam and Evan exchanged an uneasy glance and Clint suppressed an eye-roll.
Bloody nosy and concerned neighbours and their misconceptions!
"I'm alright again," he said, before adding a fake-explanation. He had no intention to connect his army identity with the new one he had constructed just a few days ago. "Car accident. Wasn't too great, but can happen to everyone."
Except that normally normal people didn't have a car thrown at them as a 'car accident' thanks to a hidden bomb, but, oh well…
Evan nodded slowly.
He looked a bit hesitant, but there was no disbelief in neither Adam's nor his own eyes so Clint took it as a success.
"Anyway, if you need help, just knock," Evan said in that moment. "I'm quite sure that Mrs Brown from 22E and Evelyn Simmons from 22A would also help you if you need help – just don't ask 22D. That man is quite stuck-up. I think he's thinking that he's something better than us because he works in a bank, but I guess you will find out soon."
After another ten minutes of mindless chatter, they finally left Clint to build his bed.
Clint was just finishing, when his doorbell rang.
He sighed inwardly and then went to the door. A woman was standing outside, a little girl of about three or four on her right and a little boy of about one or two in her arms.
Her daughter held a plate.
Clint suppressed another sigh and opened the door to the smiling woman.
"Hello!" she greeted him enthusiastically. "I'm Evelyn Simmons from 22A and these are my children: Mercedes" – she indicated her oldest – "And Benjamin."
"Clint," Clint answered and the woman smiled.
"We just wanted to welcome you to the neighbourhood!" the woman said. "We've some mac and cheese since we thought you might have had no time to cook today. If you need anything, just knock on our door!"
"Thank you," Clint said, forcing himself to smile. That was the moment an elderly woman left 22E and – when she saw Evelyn and the children standing in front of his door – joined them. She had some muffins on a plate in a hand and smiled at him when she reached out a hand to him.
Clint shook it.
"I'm Elise Brown from 22E. Welcome to the neighbourhood!"
In the end, Clint had no choice but to beg both women and the children in and chat with them for about ten minutes. Clint was definitely grateful that he had only bought his bed today or he might have been forced to feed his neighbours as well. Like it was, he could usher them out of his rooms after ten minutes of mindless chatter.
Relived, he closed the door behind them.
"And here I thought that in New York, nobody would be interested in their neighbours," he grumbled. "Why does the house I move in, have to be the odd one out?"
And that was the moment, the duck finally woke.
What a great first day!
oOo
"Sir," Nick Fury looked up from his paperwork.
"Cheese," he greeted the man at the door.
"I have some news, sir," Phil Coulson said, in his hands a folder.
"News?"
Phil put the folder down in front of Nick.
"There're new killings all over the States," he said.
Nick Fury pulled the folder towards him and opened it.
Slowly he looked through the papers in it with a small frown on his face.
"Do we know who is doing it?" He asked concerned.
"As far as we know, the assassin we call 'Hawkeye' is active again," Phil Coulson replied. "Too many of those have been killed by arrows or something else thrown from a greater distance."
Nick Fury sighed.
"Anything else about the cases?" He asked
At that Phil hesitated – unusual for him.
"Cheese?"
"There's evidence that there might be going on a lot more than we thought there is," he finally said.
"Care to explain?" Nick Fury asked.
Phil turned around the folder and opened it at a specific page. Then he turned it back towards his boss.
"Antonio Salvera," he said. "Officially a simple accountant. Killed on his way to work in broad daylight by a thrown knife in the back. No witnesses, no trace of his killer."
Nick Fury nodded and Phil continued.
"We found evidence that he was part of a smuggler ring," he said sighing. "He smuggled little children and sold them to brothels and private persons."
At that, Nick Fury grimaced.
"And that changes everything how?" He asked.
The answer was a sigh then Phil Coulson opened another page in the folder.
"John Avery," he said. "Shop keeper. Killed in the middle of the night by an arrow in his eye. No witnesses, no traces of the killer."
He paused, took a deep breath and continued.
"Evidence that he killed at least ten people," he added.
Nick Fury's eyebrow rose and Phil opened the next page.
"Hermann Engert," he said. "Teacher. Killed from behind with an arrow while jogging. No witnesses, no traces of the killer."
Nick looked at the laughing man in the picture, his frown deepened.
"We found pictures and evidence that he raped at least twenty girls between twelve and fifteen," Phil said.
Nick Fury's eyebrow rose even further.
"Are there more like that?" He asked interested.
Phil Coulson sighed.
"We're still doing research," he said. "But until now in every murder of 'Hawkeye' we took a deeper look at the victim, we found something fishy going on with them."
"So you're telling me –"
"That it seems that there's more going on than we thought until now," Phil ended the sentence. "Hawkeye isn't just a killer, sir. It seems he's some kind of avenger for those who had to suffer by the hands of his victims."
Nick Fury's eyes narrowed at that.
"Why did you come to me with that?" He asked suspiciously.
The answer was an innocent look on the normally bland face.
"I thought you should know, sir," Phil replied, his voice as innocent as his face.
Nick Fury snorted.
"Cheese," he said. "I know you for far too long to not understand that you want something from me…"
The answer was another innocent look.
"Don't look at me like that, Cheese!"
There was a sigh then his friend pulled out another sheet of paper and put it down in front of Nick.
"I want you to sign this," he said.
Nick Fury looked at the sheet.
It was a recruitment allowance.
"You want to recruit him," he said blankly.
Phil's face returned to its innocent look.
"You want to recruit him," Nick Fury repeated disbelievingly.
His friend looked at him with huge puppy dog eyes.
He groaned.
"Alright," he finally gave in. "Let's recruit an insane assassin. It's not as if we had something better to do."
He took out a pen and signed the form.
The answer was a nearly unseen grin on Phil Coulson's face.
"But you are the one to find him and bring him in!" Nick Fury admonished Phil. "Do you understand?"
The feral grin the normally stoic Phil Coulson sent him didn't give him any kind of relief.
"Of course, sir," his agent assured him, his eyes gleaming. "I wouldn't think of doing anything else."
Then Phil gathered his papers, turned and left the room.
Nick Fury buried his head in his hands.
He wondered how long it would take to have an insane assassin in SHIELD.
Oddly enough, in the end it wouldn't be Phil who recruited Hawkeye.
If Nick had known, he might have committed suicide the day he signed the recruitment papers.
xXxXxXxXxXxClintxXxXxXxStraysxXxXxXxXxStraysxXxXxXxXxClintxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for to day. Since I couldn't get rid of the story, I decided to write it down.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild