~Memory~
A fat raindrop splattered in the corner of his eye as he peered up into the increasingly dark storm clouds. Large puddles spread across the street, constantly rippling from the torrent of water descending from the sky. He hoped it would ease up soon as it was making the butterflies in his stomach increase tenfold. These were not exactly ideal conditions, especially for a newbie.
Clint wiped the water off his face despite the fact he'd be wet again only moments later. His shoulders were getting cold from the way his clothes were as absorbent as a sponge. He strode on towards the apartment building determinedly. He wasn't about to let his boss down and besides, he was being paid a hefty sum for this job.
The details in the brief had specified that the man's apartment was on the 5th floor of a large apartment building but he did have a window that fed directly onto a fire escape. Even from this distance, Clint counted the floors, he could see his target's light was on suggesting he was home or maybe paranoid of burglary.
Barton picked up his speed as he got closer to the building and slipped down the alley way next to it. He peered up, whilst shielding his eyes from the rain, at the metal steps ascending the side of the building. He found a trash can abandoned nearby and used it as a boost for him to jump off. His fingers snagged the rusty metal of the ladder and proceeded to haul himself onto the first level. Clint huffed out a breath.
Creeping up the stairs, he moved silently but with efficient speed until he met the only lit window; it wasn't exactly bizarre that it was alone as it was past 3am. He peered inside and haltered. The room was small but definitely didn't look as he'd been picturing inside his head for an apparent assassin. A small couch and coffee table sat in front of a small television which was positioned beside a large bookcase stuffed with novels. A baseball cap, sporting the local teams colors, was hooked over the top edge of the case. There must have been a mistake.
However, at this moment the homeowner strolled back into his living room, forcing Clint to shuffle back the hide most of his body around the wall. He kept his eyes glued to the person though. He was definitely the target. Who could forget that blond hair and bulging muscles from the ID picture. The man was wrapping his forearm in bandage while wincing. Clint now had the evidence to suggest this man was the assassin he'd beed hired to kill. He pulled his handgun out of its holder and waited.
Eventually the man sighed and padded back through to where he'd come from, the bedroom Clint assumed. Barton waited a while before slipping the many locks on the man's window. Quietly, he encouraged the window to slide open which allowed him to climb inside. The smell of the room, like cotton and workout sweat, hit him suddenly but it was the opposite of unpleasant. He crept to the bedroom door and peeked inside to where the man, surprisingly to Clint, was knelt praying beside his bed. Eyes closed is ideal for murder.
He slipped closer to the man and raised the gun to aim towards his head.
Suddenly, the man flipped around and threw a Russian throwing knife at Clint's arm making him drop the gun to grab his wound. Noticing his target moving, Barton swiftly whipped out his trusty bow and arrow, aiming them for the now standing man's heart. The target raised his hands in apparent surrender.
Seconds later something sharp hit the back of Clint's neck. It felt like being sung by a wasp. His steady fingers automatically dropped his weapon despite his minds protest. The world began to spin while the carpet zoomed up to his face. He landed heavily with a deep outburst of breath. Darkness began to creep in on his sight but the last thing he saw was this assassin peering down on him with pity.
It was light when he woke up as the blinds weren't even pulled down which didn't help his pounding headache. It took him a moment to remember where he was; at which point he was surprised that he'd even woken up at all. Clint scanned the small bedroom before frowning when he noticed he was on his target's squeaky bed. He wasn't dismembered or disembowelled or anything else beginning with 'dis-' and he wasn't even tied up. Instead he had the majority of his clothes stripped off and hung on the radiator over in the corner, a thick blanket holding him down and a glass of water and a pill beside the bed which he assumed would ease his head pain. He wouldn't consume either though. He may be a rookie but he wasn't stupid.
As he was peering at the bedside table, he hadn't notice the bedroom door silently swing open. The fellow assassin stood their assessing the injured man's actions. Clint was so oblivious to him that the sudden appearance of a voice made him jump.
"Why do you use a gun?" The voice asked.
Clint span his head around to stare at his kidnapper... or host? Or captor? Hostage taker?
"What?"
The man, the file had called him as 'Cap', rolled his eyes but in a jokey manner, "A gun? Why do you use one?"
Was this a trick question? It felt like a trick question so Barton asked, "Is this a trick question? I use a gun because that's what you're supposed to use, what everyone uses, it's easiest and quickest."
He leant against the door frame, "But you're clearly more proficient with a bow. Surely you get that it's pointless to put yourself at a disadvantage just because it's 'what you're supposed to use'." He placed air quotes around the final words.
Barton squinted suspiciously. He inspected the man as though he could sense malice from the surface. He didn't speak for a few moments but Cap seemed happy enough to allow him to roam his body. He sure knew what it was like to just need to fully figure someone out.
"Do you eat pancakes?" The target asked after waiting long enough, "How about bacon?"
"Bacon?" Barton's still muddled brain struggled to comprehend.
"Yeah, I went to get some this morning. Do you eat it? You're not vegetarian or something?" He asked as he backed back out to the lounge and through to the kitchen.
He'd gone out and left a murderer, more specifically his murderer, alone in his apartment? Barton could have done anything while the man was gone.
"Uh, no. I'm not a vegetarian." He called to the other man.
"That's a relief or this would have been a waste." He returned back with a steaming plate of pancakes and bacon, "Although, I'd have to applaud you for sticking to a cause you believe it."
There was so much food it was practically a mountain of calories being placed on his lap for him to devour but his stomach was grumbling demandingly. He lifted the fork hesitantly, "Is this poisoned?"
Cap huffed a laugh while exiting the room once again. He called back, "What would I gain from that? I could have just killed you while you were sleeping. Tip one: Never make a job harder than it needs to be." He entered back with all Clint's equipment in his arms and a large duffle bag to conceal it, "And I'm not being rude but I'm more of a lone wolf these days and it's already 2:30pm so if you wouldn't mind eating up then getting out."
Clint smirked, "Aren't you supposed to be more subtle to a one night stand?" He fluttered his eyelashes.
"Sure, let me try again. You're useless to me so get out. Oh and if you actually want my advice drop out now." His tone was harsh but his expression was concerned.
"What? Why?!" He blanched after swallowing a bite of pancake.
Cap sighed and edged closer into the room until he was at the foot of the bed, "You're going to get yourself killed. I heard you outside my window then saw you when I came out to see what the noise was. I could have killed you without you even knowing it was coming. I almost did but hey, we were all newbies once."
"I can't. I need the money." He thought back to his family. They were struggling through.
There was silence at they stared at each other. Cap's mind was ticking over at 100km as he fought an inner conflict. Mind versus heart.
"Fine, I'll help you but this doesn't make us friends." He snapped, crossing his arms.
"Help me? How?" He needed help, he wasn't denying that. He was just confused about how to actually be an apprentice of an assassin.
"We'll train together for a few weeks and you can come on some jobs with me until you've got the ropes."
A smile began to curl up Barton's lips as he gazed up at his new mentor. This day could only get better; not being dead, getting a mentor and free breakfast!
Within a few months Clint had jumped up several levels and was ready to begin working alone. However, he never stopped thinking about Steve and everything he did and sacrificed for him. He managed to find him a few times but it was definitely a hard man to track down.
