THEN
"I told you, bitch, to get me more beer!" His father's voice boomed from the living room as Clint huddled on his bed, too scared to come out to go to the bathroom. Still early, his mother would be working on dinner in the kitchen, but his dad had stayed home today, pleading a cold when he was really just hung over like always.
"I bought a whole six-pack yesterday and I couldn't stop today. Roy kept me late to make up for Janice being off on maternity …" His mother tried to explain.
"Stupid cow." Heavy footsteps lumbered down the hallway; Clint slipped under the metal frame, curling up in the back corner into the tightest ball possible. He knew what came next. "You should have done what I asked."
"Harold, we need the money …" She cut off with the sickening sound of meaty fist meeting softer flesh, a groan wrenched from her throat.
"Don't you rub that in my face! I could provide for this family just fine if you hadn't gone and gotten pregnant again." Another thud and tears leaked from the corner of Clint's eyes; he'd learned to cry silently a long time ago. "Get in the car right now, woman. You'll pay in more ways than one."
"But, dinner's on the stove. I know you like to eat right at 5:30," she tried to argue, but he'd already had too much to listen.
"Gimme my keys!" He roared. "We're going to the liquor store and you can buy me a fifth of whiskey."
"Harold, you're too drunk," she protested weakly.
"God damn it, you questioning me?" A crash and his mother cried out once, then bit back her reply. "That's better. Damn dinner, I'm going to teach you a thing or two."
Clint didn't need to see to imagine what was happening, what each sound was as his father dragged his mother out the kitchen door by her hair, slamming her against the counter and kicking the doorframe as he went. More curses from outside, his mother's occasional sob, and then the engine revved and the car backed up with that specific whine it made when someone turned the wheel too hard to the right. Tires squealed and gears ground before the car drove off. He didn't move, too scared to do more than shiver, his Scooby Doo underwear wet now where he'd peed on himself. Sobs wracked his body and he prayed the same prayer over and over again.
"Please, Lord, let him not come back."
It was one of his favorite dreams that his father was gone and it was just his mother, Barney and him. They'd eat macaroni and cheese for dinner, go to the park, and watch T.V. curled up on the couch. She wouldn't be so tired all the time, wouldn't be so sad and no one would ever hit her again. Clint loved that fantasy; it was only slightly better than the one where his real parents showed up, told him they'd been looking for him for years, and took him to live in their lovely little brick ranch house on a street with other kids to play baseball. There'd be family dinners and help with his homework and his own room and maybe even a vacation to Disneyland. He did feel bad about Barney in that one, sometimes adding his brother in to the picture, but usually he was an only child.
Slipping out later, he changed, rinsing out his underwear and pants and hanging them to dry over the radiator so his Dad wouldn't find out and Barney wouldn't make fun of him when he returned from afterschool detention. He saved the roast by turning off the oven and snuck a spoonful of potatoes before sneaking a roll into his room for later; his dad would be angry when they got back and Clint wouldn't get any dinner. Hiding in his room, he waited for someone to come home.
He was still waiting the next morning when the woman in the polyester suit knocked on the door and let herself in the house to tell him about the accident. Looking into the kitchen, Clint saw the cold dinner sitting on the stove then Barney took his hand and they were hustled out of the house into an older model Crown Vic. An office where Clint had soda and crackers was followed by long hours of sitting in a cold metal folding chair and finally another ride to a big brick building with big eyed children all in coveralls watched from windows as the two boys were walked in. Clint went through all of it without any emotion, not even a single tear. He knew they weren't coming back, understood that they were gone like the puppy his father had hated that had followed him home.
And he knew, it was all his fault.
NOW
"A wise man once told me running away didn't solve anything. Something about three being better than one," Bruce said.
"Don't quote my own words at me," Clint grumbled. "This is a completely different situation."
"I won't dignify that with a response." Bruce busied himself making tea with the Lipton bags he'd found in the cupboard. "But I will remind you that I made the same argument."
"Damn it, there's a girl out there who might be … it's not the same." Clint was trying to wrap his head around the pictures in the folder and what they might mean. He wasn't going to just accept it, not without DNA proof – he knew better than that – but really, it didn't matter. Clint was not going to let some sadistic S.O.B. have a fifteen-year-old to torture.
"No, it's not the same," Phil said, setting out the aluminum pans with the take-out Maggie had packed for them. "But you're not going to do this by yourself. That's what they'll be expecting, you to run off half-cocked."
"And I'll kill you if you try to slip away." Natasha was already eating her penne with vodka sauce and cappicola. The scary part of that statement was how calm she was and how much she meant it. The second she'd seen that photo of the girl's battered face, she'd donned her war mask and Clint knew he'd lost the argument before he ever started. Phil might listen to reason, but Natasha was already planning exactly how the bastard who did that would meet his end.
"We need background; we're not going in blind." Phil unwrapped the garlic bread and sat it on the counter. "I can get all the info …"
"No." Clint said. "No SHIELD. You know there are no secrets once something's in the system."
"Then Tony. JARVIS can search …" Bruce started.
"No. No Tony, no SHIELD, no Avengers." Clint was adamant on this point. It was bad enough Bruce knew that there was no way he could keep Phil and Natasha from knowing something had happened when he came back to the table. He'd be damned if he let his past tarnish the best thing he'd found in a long time. "Low key, quiet, in-and-out. No one knows I've been there."
"You can't go in without resources and intel," Phil protested. "I can use level seven access, hide my fingerprints."
"SHIELD still doesn't completely trust me, and you know it. They find out I was moonlighting on their dime?" Clint wasn't going to let that happen.
"Okay, no SHIELD," Bruce agreed.
After opening the file, for a second or two, Clint had forgotten they'd been in a public restroom, probably under surveillance by whoever dropped the file there. Then his instincts kicked in and they'd gone back out, he'd made up an easy excuse, and they'd split up, Bruce and Clint heading back to the Tower, going through security then using the protocol for slipping out unnoticed, the new one Tony had instituted to hide their comings and goings. They'd come back together here, in one of Clint's safe houses in Bed-Stuy.
"We call Rachel. Jace can get us there faster than any airplane with no digital trail. She and Ben can prepare a dossier; hell, she'll probably have it ready when we call."
"RJB Investigations? You trust them?" Of course, Phil knew who Clint was talking about. Phil knew everything. He'd woken from his coma and immediately asked how Clint and Bruce were doing even though they'd started dating after Phil was stabbed by Loki.
"Hell no, but they already know enough to be dangerous, and they'll keep things off the books." Clint had met the three mutants in Charleston, S.C., and they'd been very helpful in getting away from HYDRA and Ross, at least for a while. All of them had government and military backgrounds but they'd gotten burned out and chosen to go it alone, a fact Clint respected. "So, Nat and I go down there, find the girl, kick some ass. You two stay here and be our eyes and ears …"
"No." Bruce growled, the Hulk's deeper tones in his voice. "I'm going."
"Bruce." Clint turned. "We've just gotten to the point where people aren't afraid of the Big Guy. Public opinion is changing; last thing you need is video and pictures of the Hulk smashing up Bogota on a personal vendetta."
"Fuck that." He was changing, green spreading up his neck. "I don't care what people think. I know where you're going and he can get there himself. There's no stopping him."
"I'm not going to mess up your life because of my fuck up. Not going to screw up anyone else's either." He only had a few good things to his name and most of them were right here, offering to walk into hell with him. That knowledge twisted the knot tighter, unspoken emotion lodged in his throat. "Last thing all of you need is your name connected to a washed up merc turned killer."
"Cupid wrong," the Big Guy said, still Bruce sized, thank God. "Hulk already screwed up, hurt many, doesn't care what Cupid's done. Go smash bad guy who hurts little girl."
"She could be my daughter." Clint winced at the word. "I used a woman, left her high and dry and pregnant. I knew what I was doing, damn it. Why would you want someone like that?"
"Because I love you. We all love you." Bruce was back, his hand warm on Clint's back, a tentative touch. "You're more than worth it."
"You are such an idiot." Natasha chided. "Quit being a drama queen. Like none of us have black marks on our souls? This is your chance to erase this one, make it right and we're damn well going with you, so shut up and deal with it."
"God, why do I have such bossy people in my life?" Because, he knew, he needed someone to kick his ass often, make him a better person. "Okay, okay, Nat, Bruce and I go down and …" Phil's calm cool stare stopped him. The agent didn't have to say a word; when Coulson decided to do something, you got out of his way. SHIELD lesson 47. Clint sighed. "Fine. We all go."
"I've got a contact in the Bogota Police we can work with. I'll put in the call," Natasha offered.
"I was in Soacha for a while, working at a free clinic run by nuns. They'll know someone to talk to from the convent," Bruce said.
"I know just who to tap for quiet extraction of information; she's trapped in a cubicle down in the research office. She can get what we need." Phil used one of their burner phones. "And I know just who to use as our Tower insider to get access to JARVIS. We'll need equipment, phones, money … I assume you have a stash here?"
"Updated just a few months ago." As if this was a regular op, they were falling right into planning mode.
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Transportation?"
"I'll have Jace meet us here once we're ready to go," Bruce answered, taking Clint's phone. Events were spinning out of his control; Clint sat and listened to the swift flow of words. Bruce squeezed his knee, Natasha bumped her leg against his, and Phil's mouth quirked up in the tiniest of smiles.
Pushy. The lot of them.
And, dear God, he loved them all.
"No, Phil … just no," Clint protested as Melinda May came through the doorway. "I thought we agreed. No SHIELD."
"Nice to see you too, Clint." She was dressed all in black, her leather jacket buttoned up against the cool wind outside. "And I'm so far down in the bowels of records that I don't think I count anymore."
"Your choice," Phil reminded her.
"And I stand by it. Whatever this little party, I'm not combat ready." She glanced at Natasha, gave her a respectful nod, offered a half smile to Bruce. "Research, I can do. No one will be any wiser considering the amount of paperwork I already handle."
"That's all we need, Mel," Phil assured her. She shrugged and walked to the window, checking the perimeter as she went. You could take an agent out of the field, but the training remained. Bruce looked askance at Clint but Melinda's story wasn't his to tell. What was the phrase? There but for the grace of God.
"Let's get started." Clint wanted to get this part over with as soon as possible. Rehashing old memories in front of others wasn't his idea of a fun evening, especially when he'd originally planned to be celebrating his wedding night right about now.
"We've got one more coming," Phil said. "Might as well wait on him before you …"
With perfect timing came a knock on the battered wooden door. Clint opened it to see familiar blonde hair and blue eyes. "No. No. No." He knew he sounded like a petulant child, but this was getting out of hand. "Phil!"
"Don't worry; I'm not going to tell Tony anything." Steve entered the room, nodded at the others and closed the door himself. "We haven't had the pleasure," he said to Melinda.
"Melinda May and you're Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you."
"Tony just accepted you leaving during the homecoming sex marathon? He's eavesdropping, got a parabolic mic pointed right at us by now." Clint couldn't believe it. Melinda's eyebrows rose, but Steve took it all in stride. Never mind that the safe house was covered by Tony's best jammers; if Tony wanted to know what was going on inside, he'd find a way to do it, legal or not.
"Tony's in the lab, has been for a good hour. Some new top secret project – don't tell him I know it's a present for my birthday. Thanks for the idea, by the way, Phil." Steve walked over to Clint and put his hand on Clint's shoulder. "It's okay, Jack."
"Right in the middle of my backswing," he returned. Damn it, Steve was good at saying just the right thing and reminding Clint of their past adventures together wasn't fair. Steve accepted Clint's unspoken apology and went to sit by Bruce. They all waited for Clint to begin.
"Before I was recruited by SHIELD, I took a contract on Rogero Ochoa, the son of one of the original founders of the Medellin Drug Cartel. He'd become a liability but his father wouldn't deal with him, so I was brought in to do it." Clint tried to remember to breathe as the words tumbled from his mouth. "Rogero was just 21, but he'd left a trail of bodies behind him, all girls, the younger the better. The oldest was 12, the youngest 7-years-old. Battered and raped, the bodies were found with designs filleted in their skin."
"Tell me he died poorly." Natasha's face was impassive, but Clint knew the passion that burned behind that mask. She wasn't joking.
"The compound was impossible to get into; the workers and the guards were members of the same families, all of whom owed their allegiance to Ochoa. So I identified a weakness and exploited it." He showed them the first picture. "She was a maid in the main house, and I only knew her as Angel. I played on her fears for her youngest sister, seduced her so she'd get me inside. I did the job with extreme prejudice and left. Never looked back, didn't really care to know what happened next."
"It sounds like you rid the world of a killer," Steve said as he passed the picture over to Melinda who'd come to stand nearby. "No one would blame you for that."
"Someone does. Tonight, this was left where I would find it." Clint passed the article over, giving them a second to read it. "The m.o. is exactly the same as Rogero."
"A copycat?" Steve suggested.
"Who wants your attention," Melinda declared. "A protégée or a sibling, someone who wants to follow in his footsteps."
"Rogero had a younger brother, Julio. Kid was fifteen and lived in the compound." That was the ironic part of this all; Clint knew exactly who had sent him the folder and exactly what he wanted.
"What else?" Melinda was smart and blunt enough to speak her mind. "If it was just revenge, Phil would be working with the local police to solve the case."
"This is personal." He needed a deep breath as he laid out, the picture with the little girl and the birth certificate. Steve picked up the photo, down at the document, then back to Clint.
"You didn't know," Steve said, not a question, a statement. "She looks happy."
Melinda had a little smile on her face. "She looks like trouble. Those knees. Been climbing a tree or crawling in the mud, I'd bet."
"It doesn't matter if she's mine or not." Clint put the final picture on the counter. "He knows that I'll come get her regardless."
"Good God," Steve breathed. Melinda curled a hand into a fist and flashed a look at Natasha. "SHIELD can send someone down there …"
Clint tossed the file, the name clearly visible. Steve waited; being in a relationship with Tony had taught him to bide his time rather than press the point. Melinda's eyes widened and she cursed under her breath. "Well, I lost that bet. Always thought Ronin was a Navy seal. Phil, you dog, you knew and you still took my money."
"Didn't I read a field report from, what, five years ago about an H.Y.D.R.A. operative selling performance enhancing drugs laced with rat poison? I seem to remember the name Ronin as the freelancer hired …" Steve stopped, the pieces clicking into place. "You've kept Ronin alive all this time? Does SHIELD know? Of course they don't."
"Why do you think I knew all those mercs to hire for Loki?" Clint shrugged. It wasn't like he'd been a double agent, he'd just occasionally used the persona to get the job done … or to get a job done that needed doing. "Great way to gather intel."
"So this Julio, J.O. I assume, knows you're both Ronin and Hawkeye." Steve liked to talk things out. "And he has a girl he claims to be your daughter from an illicit affair years ago. You want to go down and rescue her on your own to keep the information quiet and to protect her."
"About sums it up," Clint agreed. Put that way, it all seemed so reasonable. Maybe he should just call in SHIELD or let Tony go blow the place up with his repulsors. Why did he want to keep Ronin secret anyway?
"And you want us to do what?" Melinda asked.
Phil answered for him. "We need information on Ochoa and the compound, old surveillance reports from when we were trailing Clint pre-recruitment during the time of the first killings, anything SHIELD has that might help."
"And me?" Steve asked.
"Yeah, why him?" Clint seconded. He'd wondered what Phil thought Steve could do.
"Steve has backdoor access to JARVIS and Stark tech. Tony gave you override command, did he not? One that even he can't break?" Phil looked at the blonde.
"Yeah. He insisted I have a way to access the system without worrying about him looking over my shoulder. Don't think this was exactly what he had in mind though. And I'm not sure we should be lying to him and the others." Steve held up a hand when Clint began to protest. "However, I understand not wanting to broadcast this information and that Tony has no filter on his mouth, so I'm okay with asking JARVIS for help. But, I reserve the right to change my mind if the shit hits the fan and you need us."
He didn't want to agree to it, but Bruce's direct look and the nudge he got down the line of their connection swayed him. "Agreed. If I'm dying, you can get her out."
"Pretty sure that's my job," Natasha said. "They can come clean up the rest of the mess."
"We also need to fly under the radar; we know there's a mole inside somewhere," Clint continued. "Bruce and I could disappear for a few days, say up North to a little bed and breakfast? Tony would buy that and it's believable."
"And I can honestly say that I knew you were leaving and Tony was in the lab working on his secret project and didn't want to be disturbed. Sometimes dating an obsessive science guy can be useful." Steve offered.
"No one ever knows where the Black Widow is," Melinda said. "But Phil going missing? Lots of people will notice."
"Not if I'm working through potential mission files from my office in the Tower. Amazing thing about technology; emails can be sent, reports and requests for information, without being physically present." Phil had a point; JARVIS would be able to send a steady stream of communication.
"With Thor gone, Tony in his lab, Carol and Hank busy with their projects, you might get three or four days on our end," Steve said. "I doubt you'll need that long, though."
"Why not?" Bruce spoke for the first time since they'd gotten there.
"You think it's a coincidence that this happened now? Right in the middle of all of the fallout from Fisk? And suddenly a mysterious folder appears designed specifically to lure Clint away, expecting you to rush down there all alone. It's connected, all right, even if we can't see how."
Everyone stared at Steve except Clint. He already knew this was a trap for not only him, but all of them. And he didn't plan on avoiding it, but going in head first.