Warnings: Strong language.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers.
11.
Coulson set the file down in front of Fury. "We have a new development."
Fury looked questioningly at his best agent.
"Barton walked away from the hit."
"And?"
"He took down the other assassin, and jumped inside the blazing house for the father and daughter." He looked Fury in the eye. "Psych has him all wrong. I know they do. He could have beat it out of there. He didn't even have to go. We can use that."
Fury leaned back in his seat. "He won't join."
Phil smiled grimly. "He will."
ADX Prison, Florence
The man in the suit was obviously extremely high up, the guard figured, casting him a few wary glances as he led him down the hallways. He'd seen the government ID, but no one without a high security clearance was allowed to see this particular prisoner. The man was a hard core mercenary who had more supposed murders than they'd been able to pin on him. Most of the inmates were terrified of him, and all of the guards were wary.
He was Hawkeye, for goodness sakes. The name whispered in fear in the underbelly of the world. The man was a legend. Some swore he was a demon.
The man in the suit walked with a purposeful step, his demeanor radiating calm. The guard had asked him several times if he was sure this was the man he wished to see.
Finally, they stopped outside of a heavy cement door. The guard pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. "Just knock when you're done," he said and locked the man inside.
The suit stood just inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting before moving further in. His eyes fixed on the man in the orange jumpsuit on the other side of the table, shackled down, but leaning back in his chair, relaxed and smirking.
"Hey man, the FBI was already here last week. You need to learn how to send memos."
The suit's expression never changed. He walked slowly towards the available chair and lowered himself into it. All through this, he never broke eye contact.
Hawkeye resolutely stared back. He knew these intimidation techniques. Everyone who'd been to see him had done the same. They had all been sorely disappointed.
The staring contest lasted ten minutes, neither man willing to give in. But there was something about this man's stare that unsettled Barton. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Who the fuck are you?" he finally blurted. "I don't have time for this shit."
"Got a lunch date, do you?" the man asked blandly.
"Yeah," Barton sneered. "With your mother."
The suit hummed, but his face never changed. It was really starting to bother Barton.
Finally, Barton said, "What do you want?"
The man pulled out a thick file and slapped it on the table in front of him. He shot Barton a glance over the top of his nose before opening the file and reading, "Clinton Francis Barton, aka Hawkeye. Born in Waverly, Iowa, to parents Francine and Roger –"
Barton scowled and made to slam his hands on the table, but the chains prevented him. "What's your game?" He growled.
The suit flipped through a few pages. "Anthony Drew. Steven Hopps. Madeline Schultz. Zoltan Szabo. Count Strauss, Countess Strauss, Nicholae Rov-"
Barton attempted to stand this time, but his legs were shackled and the chair was bolted to the ground.
The man folded his hands atop the file and looked back at the fuming prisoner. "And those are just the ones we're aware of. Though there are a great number of rumours circling about the man with the arrows. Not exactly low profile, is it?"
"It makes a point."
"You certainly have. Barton, my name is Agent Phil Coulson and I work for an organization called Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. You probably haven't heard of us, we're pretty covert."
Barton remained silent and still.
Agent Coulson continued, "You have some very specific skills, skills that could be utilized for the purpose of good."
Barton chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "You want me to work for you? That's funny. Why the fuck do you think I'd agree to that?"
The agent raised an eyebrow. "You're on death row."
Barton's smile slid from his face and his eyes narrowed.
Agent Coulson leaned forward, his voice low. "Now, you listen here, Barton. This is a one-time offer. After I leave this room, the offer expires. You got that?" He paused, letting that sink in. "SHIELD is offering you a position as field agent. Your aim is quite extraordinary. And you get out of here." His voice dropped lower. "I read the files. You're a shadow. Twenty-seven rumoured hits, and you get caught on one that wasn't even your hit. You risked it all for one little girl. That's not the mindless killer in these files."
The assassins face was like stone, his eyes unwavering.
Very slowly, Agent Coulson closed Barton's file and stood from the table. He pushed his chair in delicately. With slow, measured steps, he headed to the door and knocked twice.
"Wait," Barton said.
Coulson turned back. Barton was sitting up straight, eyes widened. "Wait." He breathed a little harder, the threat of imminent death starting to crush his insides. "Wait. I – what do I do?"
The door creaked open and the guard appeared in the doorway. "I'll be in touch," was all Coulson said before he left.
