Shhh. You guys are lying. I uploaded ages ago... shhh.
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It was dark. The blackest of blacks. So black in fact that he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. It was cold as well. But not some winter chill that might make your skin prickle with goose bumps, this was different. It was a cold he felt a million times before and will, no doubt, feel a million times again.
It was a nervous cold. A cold that warned of something bad happening. He's been getting this feeling far too much recently.
He opened his eyes slowly and glanced around at the newest abandoned house he called a home. Needless to say, things haven't been great since he left the circus. Sure, it was rough there too, but at least he had a place to stay. A family.
"Family." He scoffed at that thought, sitting up with a grunt on his make shift bed then.
Family. What a pathetic word to think of. His parents were no longer here, his brother left him even after working tirelessly for him. Family no longer concerned Clint Barton.
His day started like every other; the abandoned places he stayed in usually had a little trickle of water in a leaky tap, so he'd wash himself with whatever was there. He'd then eat a breakfast of some crackers, pack up his duffle bag, and move on to the next spot he could find.
Why was he constantly moving? Well, he was an ace marksman, an expert archer, he showed those skills day in and day out, so to say he was currently on people's radar would be a massive understatement.
AND it wasn't in the good way either. It wasn't in the way of people wanting to hire him for acts or offer him a job, no. It was people thinking him a liability, others thinking him a threat.
Either way you look at it, he was a highly hunted man.
He never meant to be. He wanted to be a hero, someone kids look up to and are inspired by. He wanted to be like Iron Man! Man oh man was that guy good! He wanted to see kids dressed in little versions of his outfit at Halloween, little bows sling on their back as they trick or treated at the house he'd finally be able to buy. He wanted to be save people, help the world.
But, when he attempted to, it didn't work out too good.. Long story short, his first attempt at being Hawkeye the hero rather than Hawkeye "the world's greatest trickshot!", well, they thought him a thief.
Took him a while to shake that label, the label of thief and criminal, well, because he turned into that.
It all changed suddenly though. That day with the chill and abandoned house. He was barely a step out of the derelict building when he was approached by a group of men and huddled into a van.
Terrified wasn't even the word for it. There were too many to fight off, he did that math as he was forced into a chair, though he did kick and yell and even managed to clock one on the nose with an elbow.
He looked around his surroundings, the back of a small van. Well, from the outside it looked small at least, inside there was room for the chair he was currently in, space for the big guy, two actually, either side of him. Computer screens lined the walls too. Just where was he?
"Mr. Barton. Sorry for the crudeness of our meeting." He looked to the voice in fear, only to find.. someone who definitely wasn't assassin material. Thin, kind of old looking, dressed in a nice suit and holding a warm smile. It settled Clint immensely. "I'm agent Coulson with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."
Clint stared at him, trying to mouth along the long name with a confused face.
"Just call us SHIELD." The man said through a chuckle, holding up his hand to try stop Clint repeating it. Far too convenient a letter list, if you asked him. Though he later learned it had a must more sinister sounding name. They must change it from Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate so as not to scare new recruits.
"Ok.. Well what would homeland security want with me? I'm no threat." Clint asked with a frown, watching the man curiously.
He gathered he wasn't being arrested, no handcuffs were on him and the atmosphere seemed too relaxed.
"Not a threat, no. And we're not the conventional branch of homeland security." Coulson said with a shake of his head, handing the marksman a file then.
Barton opened it and his eyes went wide, growing even more so with each page turn. It was him. He was in a file. Every single little moment of his circus and criminal life laid out in pictures and documents. Numerous shots of his shows, close ups of each trick arrow he used, the beating he received leaving him for dead, the fights with people in the circus, the attempts at superhero duties, the robberies, everything had a picture and a document with the heading 'Motive, actions, outcome, conclusion' on them.
The end surprised him most, it was a simple letter to the agent Coulson infront of him from someone named Fury.
"Coulson's Requested Clint 'Hawkeye' Barton accepted. Pick up 48 hours. –Fury."
"W-who are you people..?" He finally asked, looking around at the men in the van with a new found terror.
"SHIELD." Coulson simply replied, that warm smile still there. "We want you to join."
"Join what?" His question was met with a simple laugh and he felt the van begin to move.
"Just agree. If you don't like it, you can leave."
So he agreed. And he stayed. It promised a hot meal and a nice bed. That man, Agent Coulson, trained him up to near army standards. His shot needed no work, but Clint wasn't really an athlete at that time, so by god did he need some physical training.
Coulson was a nice man. Genuine. Though, a lot of times he seemed secretive, aloof even, Clint could tell he was a gentle soul at heart. Even when he did choke Barton out showing him a hold, the next few days of non-stop apologising had him wondering why such a man was even in an organisation such as SHIELD.
"I'm good at what I do. Keep your arm up." Was his response to Clint's question, stupid of him to ask during a sparring session because the momentary lapse in concentration allowed Coulson slam him hard on the mat. He couldn't shake the headache from that mistake for a week.
It was soon clear that he was under Coulson's command. While, over all, he received his missions from this Fury guy, it was always Coulson that would command him through the missions.
They got a bit repetitive after a while. Being an ace marksman, it was usually sniper duties or protection decals. But he was finally doing honest work. Finally being the good guy in the world.
There was something he needed help with though, that Coulson was still, about a year into Barton's work with SHIELD, trying to get rid of.
His conscience.
Barton had racked up an impressive kill list. All wanted by various US and international authorities. All criminals, scum, the lowest of the low. To all extents purposes, he was a hero. He was saving the world from international and home catastrophes. He was saving billions of lives by erasing one.
Well, the count at that point was more like 137.
But Barton would feel bad after every single one. He would struggle with his actions for weeks after a mission. Coulson would find him in the training yard at all hours of the night, always after he'd cross another name out of agent's bingo books. It's not an uncommon trait. Not by a longshot. But most agents are over it in the first few months. It could and would lead to problems if left un checked.
Barton would go missing for hours on end, turn up for training, then leave again. Finally, Coulson found him one day. Only because he used the tracker embedded in the archer's arm.
"You're a gentle soul, Hawk." Coulson commented late one night, early one morning, whatever you would call 4:48am, as he crawled through the rafters above the training ground. Barton was hugging the post, just watching the empty floor below.
"Most people would call that weakness, sir." Clint responded with a shake of his head, not even looking at the man who was struggling to shift into a seated position.
The past year did Clint physical good. Proper food, training, and a warm place to stay all meant he finally looked and felt healthy. He had put on good weight and muscle and looked like an agent.
It did the opposite to his mental good though. All the missions, the killings, the screams. All the injuries and times he's been captured and tortured for information he never even knew existed. It took away the joker quality in him. It turned him serious. He wasn't Clint anymore. He was Hawkeye. He was a SHIELD agent. He was serious and deadly.
"Those people are fools." Coulson shrugged, sighing then when he finally found a way to sit like his apprentice. "The ability to feel, mourn, celebrate, laugh, cry, mixed with the skills you have.. That's what makes a top agent. That's what makes you a top agent."
"What about you, sir.." Clint began softly, closing his eyes from tiredness. "How many sleepless nights have you had during your time here..?"
"I still have them.." He smiled, Barton's head moving to look to him. "Why else would I be here talking to you at this hour?"
Barton didn't know how to respond, he just watched the man who trained him gently squeeze his shoulder.
"You're human. Not a machine. Don't forget that. I miss the annoying idiot who shot apples out of people's hands in the cafeteria. If you're up, go down there and shoot." He gave Clint one last smile and nodded to the training ground, turning to crawl back out of the rafters then. "And call me Phil. Sir makes me sound old."
Clint Barton genuinely felt happy for the first time in a long time. As he jumped from the ceiling to shoot targets, he recalled the advice just given by his mentor. That wasn't superior advising an apprentice.
No.
That was a father advising a son.
His nerves were gone as he sat in the office. He wasn't expecting it to be how it was. He was expecting dark and dreary, grey walls with one simple light. But instead, it was an open office. Windows covered one corner behind the diagonally positioned desk, allowing a beautiful filter of natural light into the space. The walls were grey, yes, but a soft grey that felt warm. The wall behind the chair he was sitting on was blank. Though, knowing the rest of the rooms in this building, it no doubt held a screen activated by the owner's voice.
He never thought Nick Fury to be an actual guy. He was always given orders by him, but never heard his voice. He thought it was some mysterious controller, like Charlie from Charlie's Angels.
The man who walked into the office scared the ever loving crap out of him. The only reason he didn't freak was because Coulson walked in behind Fury, looking happy as ever.
Barton stood to attention when they entered, shaking Fury's hand when offered. He was trying his absolute best not to stare at the eye patch.
"You don't want to know, kid." Fury said with a slight smirk, causing Clint to assume he was asked a lot how he got the patch. Nick went around and took his seat, motioning Barton to do the same.
So he did. Coulson hovering in the background.
"Sorry it took so long to meet. A lot of agents in this place I still have to talk to." Fury said in a bored tone, flicking through some files on his desk, trying to find the one he needed. "Though Coulson talked my ear off about you before you even arrived, so I know enough."
Clint looked back to his mentor in surprise, just earning a smile and a motion that said turn back around.
"Well.. Thank you sir." Clint said quietly, not knowing if he should nor how to respond. He received just a nod.
"How's Cap guarding duty? Giving your back time to heal?" Fury asked as he watched Clint, to which the Hawk nodded.
"Yes sir. Thank you for giving me the time off missions." He said a little braver, feeling a little at ease with how Fury was talking to him. Not a scolding boss way, it was just like he was a friend genuinely curious.
He had been off missions for six months with back issues. Damn thing was nearly snapped in half during a mission in Japan. He always thought Ninjas to be a joke, a kid game or movie basis. He now knew them to be real and fucking lethal.
Desk work bored him too much so he was over joyed when Coulson offered him the duty of guarding Captain America's.. well.. 'hospital room'.
"You won't thank me if he wakes during your shift." Fury laughed, and Barton wondered what he meant, though he didn't have time to react. A file was pushed across the table infront of him.
"If you're all healed up, I have a new mission for you. Top secret." Fury said in a slightly more serious tone, telling the office to lock down then. The windows went black and a light came on, Clint assumed no sound could travel out or in. "Russian KGB group has been a thorn in my side for as long as I can remember. Now, their newest asset has got on my radar. And not in a good way. She'll be difficult. Credited with too many assassinations and take downs for me to feel comfortable disclosing. She landed in America about two years ago and targeted Stark Industries. I don't want to know why, I just want her dead. Got it?"
Clint nodded, knowing it must be a serious mission if he was called in to discuss it personally.
Regardless of this persons skill sets, he could take her out no problem.
Though he ran into an issue when he opened the folder. The picture staring back at him wasn't the first time he's seen this face. The gentle curve of her lips, the bright red hair, those eyes, though in a picture, as mesmerizing as ever.
"She goes by Black Widow. Squash that bug."
Clint looked from the picture, to Fury, and back again, getting lost in those eyes for the billionth time. He wouldn't be able to kill the person staring back at him.
He wouldn't for the simple fact that the first time he met those eyes, he fell in love with the owner straight away.
Things suddenly went fuzzy as Fury went on about the details of the mission, and Clint didn't know why. He doesn't remember this happening. But things quickly went black and cold again.
As he opened his eyes from the world of black, he entered a world of bright light and dull pain.
Confused, he glanced to the side and saw the face he was once targeted to kill. The lips curved into a soft smile, her hand holding onto his.
"About time.. Tony was about to dump ice on you." She said softly, and he couldn't help but smile.
"I bet you'd love that.. Me in a wet shirt.." He tried laugh, though it was more a wheeze with how dry and raspy his throat felt.
"Ugh. Don't start. I may have to jump you here and now." She groaned, though broke out into a laugh soon after.
He just smiled and closed his eyes, the feeling of a hand gently running through his hair soon following.
He made the right call all those years ago, keeping her by his side kept him alive to this point.
And he loved her for it.