The doorbell to Clint's apartment rings, making the lights flash on and off. Clint pulls the door open, revealing a tall, well dressed man in a suit and tie, holding a white blind person's cane, with round red glasses hiding his eyes. It takes him a beat to recognize the guy.

"Uh, Matt? Hi?"

"Barton, when you invited me over for target practice, I assumed you meant Avengers Mansion. I didn't think I'd have to cross borough lines just to get here."

"Now I live here," Clint says lamely, getting the word order slightly mixed up, like usual when he's distracted. He doesn't want to say, my ex-wife got the Mansion in the divorce. "I, uh, thought we'd be in uniform? I wore my chevron and everything." He gestures towards the lightweight bulletproof shirt he's wearing, black with purple insignia on the front.

Matt snorts with laughter. "I never said, you just assumed." He reaches forward to trail a few fingers over the front of Clint's shirt. "I'm sure it's a very nice chevron." Matt then uses the same hand to push Clint aside and step into the apartment, folding up his cane and taking off his glasses, and tossing them onto the kitchen counter. "You going to introduce us?" he asks, pointing his face toward the couch, where Kate is lacing up her sneakers.

"Hi D-a-r-e-d-e-v-i-l," she says, fingerspelling it with an eye on Clint so he knows she knows. "Don't mind me, I'm just leaving. Enjoy your p-l-a-y-d-a-t-e," she adds as she breezes out the door.

"That's Kate, my, uh, sidekick," Clint explains as the door clicks shut behind her.

Matt hears her call out, "Partner, not sidekick!" through the closed door.

Lucky wanders up to Matt and sniffs at his hand.

Clint rubs the back of his neck as he stares at Matt, who's now bending down to pet the dog. He's feeling intensely awkward and annoyed already. What the hell is he doing? It was harder to tell before with the costume, but now that he sees Matt in street clothes, he can tell this is someone with a lot of education and probably a fancy day job. Why would he want to hang around with a former carnie who never even graduated from elementary school? On the other hand, Clint thinks back to those fight videos. You don't learn to punch like that in college. Did this guy grow up on the streets too? What's his story?

Matt seems to sense his nervousness, because he takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "Should we just get right to it then?"

"Ok." Clint picks up a bow, a smaller one that's easy to handle. "Right here."

Matt comes to stand directly in front of him, holding up a hand until he grasps the bow. Clint stands right behind him, showing him where to put his feet and how to square his shoulders, then puts his hands on the bow and they draw it back together. Not everyone can draw a bow on the first try, but Matt's surprisingly strong. They release the bow and Clint puts an arrow in his hand, letting him feel the tip, the plastic fletching, and the nock at the back, then shows him how to fit the nock in the bow. Matt draws it back on his own.

"Ok, so now how do I aim?" he asks.

Clint shrugs. "How should I know? I use my eyes. Use your superpowers, Daredevil." Matt hasn't actually told him he has powers, but Clint assumes he must to do what he does. And right then, Clint sees him use his powers. Matt takes a deep breath and goes completely still, turning his head so his ear is cocked toward the target on the other side of the room, and clicks his tongue. It's not a big noise, but the apartment is quiet and Clint is standing right next to him or he probably would have missed it. Matt adjusts his aim, then lets fly.

The arrow hums across the room and thuds into the bottom corner of the target.

"How'd I do?" he asks, grinning, as his flat blue eyes swim around sightlessly.

Clint is still feeling a bit ornery with him. "See for yourself."

Matt frowns and again turns his ear toward the target. "It's hard to pinpoint something that small at a distance when it's not moving," he explains, then strides across the room to check the target with his hands. "Oh, is that me?" His face falls.

"It's not bad for the first time. Here, how to adjust, I'll show you. Your elbow. You gotta lift more."

They try a few more times, and Matt's aim gets closer and closer to the center of the target. After a while, they call it a day and head up to the roof with some beers from the fridge. Once they settle in to two tattered old lawn chairs, Clint starts feeling awkward again. So far all of their conversation has been voiced, but he desperately wants to sign with someone. That's why he invited this stuck-up over-educated prick to his apartment. He can do target practice any day with Katie.

We sign, o-k? he asks, putting aside his beer. You understand?

I try, Matt answers hesitantly. Not very good at signing.

Practice.

"What? Sorry, I don't know that sign."

P-r-a-c-t-i-c-e, Clint spells out, then repeats the sign, brushing his right hand in a fist across his extended left index finger.

Matt tightens his lips, for the first time looking less than self-assured. "Actually, it's not that easy for me to pick up all the movements, especially with fingerspelling."

Clint grunts and looks away. "Never mind." He picks up his beer and takes a long swig, trying to look unconcerned.

He feels a hand on his knee, and looks back sharply. I want to sign. Matt adds, "What I meant was, it's easier if I can feel your hands while you're signing. Do you mind?"

Clint shakes his head. They drag the two chairs closer together, so they are facing each other, and Matt leans forward and places his hands lightly on top of his. He's glad there's no one up here right now because it must look really weird. Matt is close enough that he can feel the other man's breath on his cheek, but it's not such a bad feeling. His eyelids droop down, his eyes rolling slowly back and forth. Clint shows him the sign for practice again, and this time he gets it.

They don't talk about much the first day, but pretty soon they're meeting up once a week or whenever they're both free, for target practice or sparring then beer and conversation. Matt can really put it away, and Clint admires that. He's also got an incredible memory, and his signing gets better surprisingly quickly, especially considering that he can't look up videos on his own to study. They get on with a combination of signing and talking, but Clint doesn't mind even the talking. When Matt uses what he calls his courtroom voice, he's really easy to hear and lipread because he enunciates so clearly.

How you learn signing so quickly? Matt asks him.

Two years deaf school, Clint explains. First grade, second grade. Brother B-a-r-n-e-y also learned, we used at home.

"What? I thought you only were injured last year," Matt says. Clint shoots him a look, because he hasn't told Matt any of this. Did he read his Avenger file or what? But then he would already know everything, so why ask? Even though Matt can't see the look Clint just gave him, he seems to pick up on the change in mood instantly, because he adds apologetically, I read in newspaper, looked up last week, saw what happened. Sorry.

Clint shrugs.

You were deaf as a child?

Clint rotates his fist like a nodding head. Yes, father beat me, seven years old. Blood came out my ears, no more sound for a long time. No money for s-u-r-g-e-r-y or hearing aids, public school wouldn't take me, so I was sent to deaf school. He doesn't tell this to just anyone, but this guy seems like he would understand.

That's i-l-l-e-g-a-l, Matt tells him. You could have s-u-e-d.

Clint waves a hand dismissively. It was o-k, a good school, good experience.

Only two years?

My hearing started to recover on its own. Then mother, father died, we were taken out of school, and sent to a Catholic orphanage.

Matt doesn't know those signs, so Clint spells it out for him. Once he gets it, his normally impassive face goes pale. Me too, he signs, pointing to himself.

You too? Was it bad?

Yes, very bad. Sorry.

Neither of them say anything more for a moment, not wanting to go into more detail of shared horrors.

But it's o-k, Barney and I left, joined the c-i-r-c-u-s, Clint adds, and Matt gives a bark of laughter.

"No kidding!"

"Yeah, that's what we did." You too?

Matt takes a long swig of beer. "Something like that."

"Were you blind then too?"

"Since I was nine." Matt adds the signs at the same time as speaking.

"Oh shit man, I'm sorry."

Matt smirks. "Sight is overrated."

"Come on man, you gotta tell me how you do it," Clint says in what he hopes is a cajoling tone. "I told you all my secrets. So what's your superpower? Is it like super hearing or what?"

Matt nods slowly. "Yes, that's part of it. All my senses are heightened, but it's more than that. I can feel things with radar."

"What, like a bat?"

"Yes, just like a bat. I can hear everything, but not just that, I can feel the air currents and sound waves on my skin. I don't get a lot of detail, so I can't read the expression on your face, but I can tell where everything is, especially when things are moving."

"Must be nice."

"It has its advantages."

Did you ever want to trade it all just to be a normal person? Clint asks, switching back to ASL.

No, never. Matt's signs are usually kind of loose and hesitant but now he snaps his fingers forcefully. He's really sure. You?

I don't know. Maybe. Being deaf as a kid is why my eyesight got so good. I had to really look, notice everything. No distractions, nothing gets past me. But life as a hearing person is a lot easier, I know from personal experience.

He pauses for a moment, but Matt doesn't say anything or take his hands away. Suddenly, it all comes pouring out of him, so fast he's not sure if Matt can follow, but he keeps going anyway. Why did that happen to me? The attack, that weird clown guy. It's like he knew me, knew about my past. If he wanted to kill me, why didn't he just shoot me? Why stab me in the ears with my own arrows? Who even does that?

He stops again. Sorry, did you get any of that?

I got enough. You think he knew you?

I don't know. It just felt that way, like he had seen inside me.

Matt sits back with a sigh. "I don't know, it's just like that sometimes. If you start thinking it's personal, you'll drive yourself crazy, believe me. You just have to keep moving forward, doing what you can to protect people."

Clint mirrors Matt's posture, leaning back against the chair and closing his eyes, blocking him out. Barney said get it all back, and they did. They won. So why does he still wake up every day wishing he were someone, anyone else?

He must have had more beer than he realized because he feels tears leaking out of his closed eyes, tracing down the sides of his face. He's glad Matt can't see him. Oh wait, but that asshole can probably smell his tears or something. Ugh, people with powers are the worst.

Clint bends down to pick up his beer, using the movement as an excuse to rub roughly at his face with the front of his t shirt.

He takes a long swig, then wedges the bottle between his knees to sign, I hate the way Kate looks at me. I can see the pity in her eyes. We used to be close but now I can't even talk to her.

He was expecting more sympathy or something but instead Matt just smirks at him and replies, I can't help you with your girl problems.

What? You think...? No! Kate is nineteen!

So?

You think I'm having sex with her? What kind of creep do you think I am?

Matt shrugs. Isn't that why superheroes get sidekicks?

Clint snaps his first two fingers to his thumb. No!

You're telling me the Avengers aren't all having sex with each other?

Clint scratches the back of his neck and looks away, while Matt grins some more.

I don't have that kind of relationship with Kate! Anyway I think she only dates women. We don't really talk about that.

Ok, ok, Matt backs off. Sorry. What you were saying before-remember your disability doesn't define you.

Easy for you to say, no one knows you're blind. I don't have a secret identity. Everyone can see these, he jabs two index fingers at the purple hearing aids, and I can't talk properly.

Secret identity no more. I told you it was in all the papers. I think you're the only one in the whole city who didn't know. And I have a day job. You think people don't notice I'm blind?

Clint doesn't say anything.

It's part of who you are but it doesn't define you, Matt repeats, moving his hands more forcefully to make his point.

Clint brushes his hands away in annoyance. "What does that even mean!" he bursts out. "I got enough of that empty bullshit from the therapist the Avengers made me talk to. I expected more from you."

Matt sits back in his chair, his face unreadable as usual. Clint you dummy, he thinks to himself. Why do I have to be such an asshole?