Disclaimer: Not Mine. ALSO...as people have probably noticed, this is a story covering several characters and timelines, hence the switching timelines POVs. If this story is confusing to follow, just try to think of them as interconnected vignettes.

OK, so...I've put this off for a bit because of school, but since I am in the mood to be productive, I thought I'd post this little bastard (at long last). Hope the Clint Snark and James cameo makes up for the wait.

Here we go...

Chapter Nine: An Interlude—When the Hawk met the Stag

Clint felt his eyebrows creep up his forehead and a smirk twitch at his lips as he got a good look at the "Agent on Loan" from England, James Potter. From how much Fury had bitched and grumbled, he'd been expecting a thick-necked military type, a full-on stereotype made of muscle and attitude. Though the attitude was there, the rest was surprisingly lacking.

James Potter knew his shit, Clint could give him that. Field experience aside, he looked like a grade-A dork, like one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. lab lackeys that tooled around in R&D all day. His flyaway hair made him look like a muppet, and those fucking coke-bottle glasses were hilarious (until Clint remembered that the blind bastard would be covering his ass under fire). On top of all of that, the bastard was scrawny. OK, so, maybe wiry would be a better term, but still. Magical powerhouse or no, if the guy lost his wand, a strong fart aimed in his direction would knock him over.

Clint felt a bony elbow jab him in the ribcage and tossed a look at Nat, who was giving him the Eye for Not Paying Attention. Potter and...Potter (damn, but that would get annoying) were giving him dark looks. Well, Scrawny Potter was. Red-head Potter was rolling her eyes at Clint and doing the same elbow thing to her husband as the Widow was doing to him. Huh. Figures. Maybe it was a red-head thing...or maybe it was just a 'Fucking Pay Attention, You Idiot' thing.

Coulson, the guru of handlers, didn't even pause to give Clint the stink eye he knew he had coming. The guy had the patient of a saint. Either that, or he had a really, really huge crush on the Red-headed Potter and didn't want to yell at him in front of her, which looked pretty likely, if the looks that Scrawny Potter was tossing Agent ZenMaster was any indication.

"...you'll leave here at 0830 Tuesday morning, and travel by jet. You'll be met at the airport by our contact when you arrive. From there, you'll—"

Clint tuned out the rest of the spiel. He'd already read the mission report and was long-past the point of needing pre-op briefings, which made him wonder which Agent Potter was being treated like a Rookie, to deserve the play-by-play run-down. A slow smirk twisted his lips as he locked eyes with ole Tall'n'Scrawny. He'd bet Coulson's Captain America cards that Coke-Bottle Potter was the one with that honor. After all, Fury obviously had no issue with Red going on mission while preggo.

He'd obviously tuned out the rest of the meeting, as Clint blinked and looked up to see that Potter had stepped into his personal space and was staring down at him, hard. "What is your problem? You've done nothing but smirk and stare this whole time. Did you even pay attention to the briefing? I'd rather not die because you screwed up."

Clint gave the Dweeb with Attitude an unimpressed look. "It's not my qualifications that are in question, Bean Pole. I know how to do my job. You on the other hand...well, you're the one who's here as a tag-along."

Embarrassed red was really not the best look for the guy. Unluckily for Clint, Geek Boy's wife seemed to pop up before the man could snap back, and dragged the mouthy Brit away before he could dig himself in a hole. Obviously, Red had been paying attention when Coulson had mentioned that he and Tash were running the Op. She was sharp, he'd give her that, even if she'd spoiled his game of "Sabotage the Annoying Newbie."

Another sharp jab, this one landing between two ribs, made Clint yelp and toss Natasha a pout. "You and your damn, bony elbows...that fucking hurts, you know."

A raised brow and a frown. Typical Nat. "Stop messing with him. I'd rather he not hate us before we're reliant on him following orders."

"Yeah, sure. Spoil my fun. I'll be on the roof." Clint didn't have to see Nat's expression to know that she was eye-rolling him.

Jesus. Fuck. DON'T LAUGH. DON'T. When Clint had heard that Potter (he was a long way from calling the guy James, but had at least stopped calling him Scrawny) could shape-shift, he'd expected...well. To be honest, Clint wasn't sure what the hell he'd expected, but he sure as hell hadn't imagined that the guy would turn into something as useless as a juvenile deer...sorry, stag. He knew that he'd given Potter a lot more shit than he deserved, but come on! The guy had been bragging not-subtly-at-all for weeks that he could shape-shift, and that it would be useful, and that Clint would feel ridiculous once he saw how useful a skill it was.

After all that build up, after all that posturing, Clint was left with, well...Bambi. Or, Bambi's dad. Either way. Venison stew was venison stew, no matter how you looked at it, and if if Potter pranced out into the streets of Budapest as a stag, he'd get himself killed...or locked up by some well-meaning game warden.

A wheeze made it past his hard-pressed lips as Bambi-Potter pranced around the room, and Clint had to turn away or give in to hilarity. This guy. Honestly.

...he'd give Potter one thing. He was good for a fucking laugh.

… …

Clint felt the cold through his shirt as he leaned against the thick, glass paneling of the walls. The bright colors of a video game projected from an obscenely large TV set reflected darkly into the tinted glass of the room, making the massive sitting room come alive with tiny, writhing shadows. Harry, a pleased smirk twisting his mouth, broke out into a celebratory dance around the couches even as Black pouted over his Mario Kart loss. Stark, the bastard, was smirking and Bruce had subtly raised the newspaper that he was not-really-reading to hide his smile at Black's epic loss. Remus, the only one really acting like an adult, was eye-rolling everyone and patting Black's head like he was some brat to be coddled.

"Sorry, Siri, but I guess you're not as 'unstoppable' as you thought!" Harry seemed to have dropped the steering remote to dance around his godfather, waving his arms like a loon, as he taunted the older man with his celebratory boogying.

Really, as much as the kid was his and Nat's, he was very obviously Potter's, too. That pride...that ridiculous, showy pride that popped up every once in a while was so much like James'.

There was a time when he would have hated having any kid of his share any traits with that smug bastard, but...war (or battle, anyway) made strange bed fellows, and James had grown on him...like a fungus...an awkward, moody fungus.

So, maybe the kid could hold grudges better than Nat, and could out-snark even him, but every once in a while, Clint would catch him laughing, or boasting, or even just acting like a regular fucking teenager and he'd see ole Jimmy-boy. He'd have liked to have known the kid before all this mess, sure...but maybe ole Pot-Head had been a good fit for a foster dad, after all.

[End Chapter]