"Your mission is simple. Infiltrate Rodrigo's organization and befriend his son, Alex. We've got to get him to turn against his father or they stand to become the strongest arms dealers in the world."
"Wouldn't it be easier to just shoot them both from a few miles out?" Clint muttered as he lazily flipped through the file, feet up on the desk.
"No. SHIELD wants them in play. We just don't want them gaining any more power than they already have." Coulson circled around the table and pulled out his chair to sit across from Clint. "You're going to be in pretty deep cover for a while."
"Yeah, I get that."
Phil handed him another file. "You're Nathanial Larks, security for a drug dealer in LA. Our fictitious drug dealer also has a Mexican branch. You with me?"
Clint nodded. If Phil didn't know him so well, it would look like the archer wasn't paying any attention.
"Since you don't exactly pass off as Mexican, you're going to use the dead girlfriend excuse. Your boss didn't give you the approved time off and you're laying low in Mexico looking to start fresh so you don't have to go back to working with him."
"Can't I just give them some bullshit about how much I love tacos instead?"
Coulson snapped the folder out of Clint's hands and pointedly tapped the cover story that was outlined. "I do not prepare these covers so you can make up whatever suits you."
Clint pulled the folder back. "Okay, okay. I get it."
"We'll use your regular extraction cue."
Clint snorted. "Seriously? You're going to stick with a want ad for a 'lost, one eyed hawk'? Who even owns hawks anymore?"
"You don't own hawks, Barton. Falconry is not about owning a hawk. It's about the bond between a wild bird of prey and a man. About hunting together and accomplishing-"
"God, Coulson. You're a fucking nerd."
"I'm just saying. Falconry is a lifestyle. The relationship that develops with a wild animal must be strong enough to encourage the bird to come back to the falconer."
"Please stop talking. I've got a mission to prep for." Clint gathered the paperwork and headed for the door.
"Oh eight hundred."
"Yeah, yeah."
Clint was annoyed to find out that Rodrigo Montoya's son Alex, was not actually a boy at all but instead a very, very boyish looking girl. She was in her early twenties and apparently primed to start leading her own branch of her father's organization.
He'd spent the morning tailing what he believed to be Alex Montoya's girlfriend in an effort to find his target only to discover she was actually the Alex he was looking for. Coulson's ideas for getting him inside the compound had to be thrown out the second he realized the mark was a girl and he'd retired to a shooting range he'd found between his local accommodations and the mark's home.
"SHIELD really needs to do something about their intel," he muttered as he let off another shot at the target in front of him. It had been about an hour since he'd left a fairly grumpy message for Coulson to call him back and the gun range seemed like the best place to let off some steam while he waited. Two more quick bursts and his magazine was spent.
"That's some pretty fancy shooting," a soft voice said behind him in Spanish. "You bested the record."
"Not even a personal best," Clint found himself growling back in Spanish as he pulled the gun back and removed the mandatory goggles. "Too easy."
Turning, he found himself face to face with none other than Alex Montoya herself. Her boyish figure was even more emphasized by her choice of clothing and the gun dangling from her right hand. "It was my record."
"Yeah, well. Keep practicing." Now that she'd met him, any options for continuing this mission had gone to shit.
He made it all the way to the desk and started doing a run through of the equipment with the desk clerk when she approached him again. "Show me."
"Sorry?"
"Not even a personal best? Prove it. Do better."
Clint narrowed his eyes at the girl. "What's in it for me?"
"Hundred thousand Pesos." That Clint hadn't been expecting. "And a job."
"And if I can't?"
"Hundred thousand, and a finger." The girl smirked. While Clint was pretty attached to his fingers, years of being a carnie taught him to never back down from a seemingly impossible challenge.
"Double or nothing if I can do it in half the time." He grabbed the gun back from the shell-shocked employee at the counter and snatched up another box of ammo.
"Deal." Alex followed after him. "Looks like I'm about to get me a couple of fingers."
Fifteen minutes later, Clint was happily counting two hundred thousand Pesos and waiting in front of the range for the girl to get off the phone with her father. Coulson naturally chose then to call in on Clint's cell.
He dug out the phone and paced around the corner, dropping about a third his winnings at the feet of some poor homeless person. "Your intel sucked."
"What's the problem, Clint?"
"Your son isn't a son at all, but a fucking daughter."
The other end of the line went silent and Clint could practically picture Coulson's mind whirring to process the new data.
"Hey SharpShooter!" Alex called to him from around the corner. "You still want that job?"
"Screw it, Coulson. I'm in. Just get the fucking intel right next time. Someone could get killed with the lousy information they've been turning out lately." He snapped off the phone and pocketed it before turning to Alex and switching back to Spanish. "Of course."
The job was essentially a glorified bodyguard. He was given limited access to the family villa and frequently assigned to hang out in one of their guard towers whenever there was a delivery or visitor coming in.
Every morning Clint made it a point to read the local paper. He pretended his Spanish wasn't good enough to understand everything so he has an excuse to ask Alex for some translation and explanation. Pretending to be an American as part of his cover had its perks.
"You Americans have such terrible Spanish."
"No, I think it's this awful newspaper." Clint folded the paper dramatically and chucked it back onto the table. "I'm great at Spanish!"
Alex laughed at him as she poured herself some coffee. "Why do you read that garbage?"
"It's the news."
"It's a lie." She sat across from him.
Clint watched as she stirred her coffee, and then tapped her spoon on the edge of her cup exactly three times like Natasha always did. "What do you mean?"
"Reporters are paid to report but they are paid by corporations pushing their own agendas. Go in to town see the people, see what is not reported on."
"There are two sides to every story."
"Show me some more of that fancy shooting. Then I will show you the real news."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "You think I'm going to teach myself out of a job?"
She pulled a knife and, without hesitating, stabbed the table between his hand and his coffee cup. "I think it's part of your job."
Her serious face was so forced Clint couldn't help but chuckle. The determination however reminded him of his days in the circus and trying to convince Jacques to teach him new tricks. "Alright, kid. I'll show you a few things."
They spent every afternoon and evening when Clint wasn't doing some form of security practicing on her personal range. He helped her improve her shot by teaching her how to work on instinct but kept most of his carnie tricks to himself.
Despite orders to the contrary, Clint found it incredibly difficult not to get attached to the young girl who had both his tenacity and Natasha's fiery passion. He watched her take what was likely the hundredth attempt at a near impossible shot and couldn't help but wonder what kind of terror actually combining the two assassins would produce. Not that it would ever happen. Natasha would kill him before she'd even consider it.
Alex cursed again seeing she had missed yet another shot. "This is impossible." She yelled, throwing the gun down and ripping off the gloves she was wearing before throwing them onto the floor as well. "No one can make that."
Clint smirked as he gently picked up the gun and wiped it down. "Care to make another wager?"
"Hell no. You cheat."
He stepped into position anyways and checked over the gun once more. The shot was hard but would actually be easier if he ricocheted the bullet off a nearby metal beam, which would then adjust the bullet's trajectory so it would hit the target perfectly. He calculated, aiming first for the target, then for the ricochet point. When he had his shot lined up, he turned his head away and looked Alex in the eyes as he pulled the trigger.
Her expression went from mocking to disbelief in perfect timing from the sound of the ping off the metal beam to the sound of the soft thump of the bullet hitting its target.
"How the -?"
He didn't need to look back to know he had sunk dead center, her expression was enough. "First rule of being a good shooter." She took the gun as he gently pressed it into her hands. "Respect the equipment."
As he hit the door to the range, he nearly ran face first into his actual employer, Rodrigo Montoya. Rodrigo pushed past him towards Alex and handed her a letter. Clint hesitated in the doorway as she opened it.
"They accepted my deal?"
Rodrigo nodded. "I'll send Carlos to do the exchange."
"No. I want to go. This is my sale."
"Alex -"
"We'll bring backup." Alex's eyes met Clint's and he nodded.