Clint didn't honestly expect Mjolnir to move when he grabbed her.
To be honest, Clint's been pretty against picking up anyone's weapons, a hang-up from his circus days when Trickshot would scare him half to death if he came within even a metre of his knives. His SHIELD work has trained him to get out of that behaviour when on a mission – he'll pick up someone else's gun if it means not getting shot. The Avengers are different though, an entirely new and unique situation. So, he reverted. No touching other people's things.
Also, Clint's pretty sure Mjolnir is magic. He'd rather stay away from magical weapons that can pick and choose for themselves who can actually fucking lift them up off the ground.
It happens on a Thursday – which is funny enough, because it's Thor's day – and Clint is getting over a nightmare of a hangover, slash the effects of an adrenaline shot, slash three broken ribs, slash living on less than three hours sleep in as many days. He's bleary-eyed, shaking slightly and it hurts to fucking breathe. It's safe to say, he's feeling shitty. He goes up to the coffee machine, realising belatedly he doesn't have a clean mug in his cupboard. Clint winces as he leans down to reach into a bottom cupboard, where he knows someone threw a stack of red solo cups.
The cupboard doesn't open, because Mjolnir's handle is in the way.
"Okay, I'm not having a very good week. My ribs are broken and just…my life is not going so well right now. Debrief is in less than twenty minutes and I need this coffee, so please don't be a bitch, please, please…" Clint loops his finger in the leather toggle at the end, still leaning over, swaying slightly. He tugs on the hammer and to his surprise, she scrapes along the ground, a little heavy – bitchy – but otherwise moving. "Thanks. Thanks so much."
Clint doesn't know why Mjolnir is on the ground in the community kitchen, but if she's there for a reason, well…he puts her back in place, patting her clumsily.
"Laura won't be jealous, don't worry, I'll just tell her you were making sure I got coffee," he assures the hammer, talking about his prize bow, his wife in Stark design with a Velma Dinkley sticker above the handle. "I have kids with Laura. Kids are better than coffee." Kids = arrows. His favourites are the exploding ones and the ones that split into three – Clint likes to call them Cooper and Lila arrows. "Got new taser ones, recently. They're becoming another fave. Don't know what to call them. They remind me of Natasha, but…masculine. The boy version of her Widows Bites."
The fact that he is talking to a magical hammer doesn't escape him, but his coffee is still pouring into the solo cup from the coffee machine. He gives himself till his coffee finishes pouring, babbling on about the new arrows.
"I really have to think of name for them now. Taser arrows. Chutney? Wait, that's a sauce…do you have any ideas?" Clint looks down at Mjolnir and he gets a distinct feeling of vibration through the floor, enough to make him tingle. Not vibration. Static. "Do you actually have an idea? Man, I wish Thor were here to translate, buddy. I think you and I could have some nice conversations."
Clint's coffee finishes pouring. He picks it up and sips, scalding his tongue but not giving a damn because he's on pain meds. Everything is numb and floaty. He says as such to Mjolnir as he says goodbye.
"Everything is numb and floaty. Seeya later, babe. Maybe we can come up with a new name for the taser-babies between now and the next time we meet. Ciao."
A few weeks later when Loki turns all the other Avengers into four year olds, leaving Clint to babysit them, the last thing he expects to get questioned on when they're big again is how the hell he got Mjolnir back to the Tower.
"Uh…" he blinks at Tony, trying not to see him as the quiet boy speaking in barely-legible Italian because of the thumb stuck in his mouth. "I asked. She's nice."
"My friend," Thor intones, placing a weighty hand on his shoulder. "It is good to know from more than just this experience together, that I can place my trust in you. My hammer is finicky and does not pick her companions lightly. Even my own father has trouble wielding her, at times."
"Right. Awesome," Clint nods along. "Your magic hammer and I have a thing. It's a mutually beneficial relationship. She helped me name Nathanial, while you were miniaturised."
"Who's Nathanial?" Tony pesters.
"Taser babies."
"Taser what now?"
All in all, Clint and Mjolnir get on pretty good.