In the films, we see Sitwell at computers. He does more in the comics, but true to form, I'm stirring everything up.


Clint decided that meeting with Sitwell was, initially, almost as painful as breaking a finger. The man tried, really, but he was glad that the first mission with Sitwell as handler was something that was almost routine for him and Natasha, because the man was questioning every decision that the two had made.

"Both of you will be undercover?" Sitwell glanced at the two agents sitting patiently across from him. "That's slightly unusual for your particular skill sets, Barton."

"It isn't, actually." Clint shifted slightly in his chair, trying to get comfortable. "This is a pretty basic deal – get in, kill him, get out. The variables are ones that we've worked with before, we're both going in roles that we've used before, and the location isn't all that difficult, since there aren't any overt hostilities in that region."

"We suspect that this is an assignment that really didn't need us, as it could be completed with the resources already on scene," Natasha broke in, "but we haven't had a chance to ask. This is probably to allow you and us a chance to start working together and establish a relationship in the field."

"There is a matter of trust," Clint took up the thread of conversation, "mostly because we've only worked with Coulson in the past as a team, and...some other reasons. You've read our mission reports, and Coulson's, and I know that he had left other notes on those missions, that didn't make it into the official reports."

Sitwell grinned, leaning back in his chair. "He did. It's actually pretty common for those of us who do work as handlers to share notes about how to work with the operatives, just for situations like this; it's not something that's spread around, so I'd thank you to not tell folks. And yes, this is for us to start learning how to work together without Phil along as a buffer, and in an undercover situation. I'm just really along for the ride, this time, and to work with local law enforcement as needed, but if you do need me to work with them, I've a house that needs cleaning with toothbrushes; you both are good enough to not get caught if you don't want to in this sort of situation. You two aren't the first people that I've been a handler for, just the most unique. I trust that you both have things under control. I really don't know how Phil did it, but I've got several irons in the fire, and it's pretty hard to keep up sometimes. I am glad that you were able to work everything out for this mission."

Clint and Natasha glanced at each other in surprise, then relaxed as Sitwell handed them both sodas.

"House?"

"New Montana safehouse. Middle of nowhere, surrounded by forests, about 2000 square feet, it's absolutely gorgeous for a SHIELD house. Do good and I'll show you it sometime. Leaving next week enough time? Barton, when is your surgery scheduled, if you're actually going through with Stark's crazy idea?"

Clint looked up from the can in his hands, startled at how familiar the conversation seemed. "Time is perfect. Surgery hasn't been scheduled yet, but can be done the day after we get back, especially since it's using some proven stuff that's just had a Stark spin put on it; the docs are running simulations and testing the new parts right now. Expected downtime after that is another three to six weeks, depending on how well everything heals and integrates."

"Good. And just so you two know, I'm not Coulson, and I'm not looking to completely replace him. God, this feels more like I'm a step-parent, not a co-worker, and we're going to have to do something about that sometime. But. Anyways. Start getting everything ready, and get the hell out of my office. What are you, paperweights?"

As Clint opened his bow case to get some time in at SHIELD's range that afternoon, he noticed that someone had gotten to it before him. Lying on the top, with a ribbon, was a pink toothbrush. Maybe this wouldn't be as painful as he first thought, he mused as he laughed softly.


There was no doubt in Clint's mind just how much he relied on his hearing in hand-to-hand combat, which led to the situation that he found himself in the day after the meeting with Sitwell. Hearing aids tucked away in his gym bag, he was facing Natasha in the tower's gym, hoping to keep working out a few new fighting techniques because he wasn't trying to fool himself – as well seated as his hearing aids could be, there was always a risk that he'd lose one or both and they both would rather that he not have to learn anything on the fly. They started as soon as he'd been cleared by Medical, but their assignment put an extra sense of urgency on the pair to make sure that Clint could defend himself.

They had quickly figured out that his best bet would be to have his back to a solid surface such that nobody could sneak up behind him; the problem was when he was in an open area.

"I think," Clint said from his position on the floor after Natasha had "killed" him for the third time in a row, "that I'm going to have to go for the kill a lot more, or at the very least put people down hard enough the first time so that they won't get back up."

"Oh?" She signed. "How?"

"Fewer people to sneak up from behind means less of a chance of getting hurt, for one." He stood up. "Lot harder to fight if I go for the eyes with a knife."

"How many were you thinking of carrying?" Natasha rolled her shoulders, walking around the mat.

"At least three, maybe more, and some throwing knives, too, that whole distance thing." Clint turned, keeping Natasha in his sights.

"Maybe be more consistent with carrying a gun, too," she responded, eyes glancing around the room.

Clint turned slightly, keeping his partner in view, but wasn't expecting the sudden grab and throw from behind as Steve Rogers joined in the fight. Controlling his fall, he responded by grabbing at Steve's still-outstretched hand, pulling the other man down to the floor with him, only to feel a prick of a practice knife at his neck as Natasha moved in for the kill.

Steve's lips moved, obviously saying something. Clint watched the other man, trying to figure out just what exactly he was saying. "You want to help?" Steve nodded. "Sure."

Natasha lightly punched Clint in the shoulder. "Good job on the lip reading," she signed, speaking out loud for Steve's benefit. "Can I stop signing now?"

"Nope," Clint grinned. "We both need to stay in practice. Just a sec, I want to grab some more weapons." He walked to a storage cabinet, pulling out more knives and a small practice handgun, with sheaths and a holster. Once he felt that he could still move and not worry about losing a knife, he grabbed another knife and gun, handing them off to Steve. "You haven't seen me and Tasha practice like this before. Don't hold back, don't break limbs. We fight dirty."

Steve nodded, clipping the knife and gun onto the waistband of his sweats. The three spent another hour fighting, until Natasha called time, and indicated that Clint should put his hearing aids back in.

"It's time for supper," she said, gathering up the weapons from where they'd fallen on the floor as Clint complied with her instructions. "What's your take, Clint?"

"Same as it's always been. I just hope I don't have to fight deaf," he said, "but I can probably handle a few minutes. If it goes any longer than that, then it's something big, and hopefully I'll have my bow and be up high."

Steve rolled his head, stretching out his neck. "I'll always make sure that you're on a rooftop or something, then, maybe one of us to help you out, keep an eye on your back."

Clint glanced at the other man out of the corner of his eye. "May not always have that option, Cap, and I don't take coddling well. I need a shower, and I think that Pepper ordered in pizza tonight, since there's a baseball game on, so let's go."