A/N: I'm baaaack, a day or so earlier than expected! (grins) UNFORTUNATELY, next week's update won't pop up until Sunday, since I'm away from my laptop. BUT, let us not get ahead of things! Before starting with this chapter…

THANK YOU, a million times, for your FANTASTIC reviews, support, requests and love! I totally makes me all giddy and happy to know that our Hawk has so many fans. But then again, who in their right mind wouldn't adore him?!

Awkay, as I should've been in bed hours ago… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

The Creation of Hawkeye, part 2 of 3 (PARTS OF THIS RATED M)

Tony decided that he'd definitely had more unpleasant business meeting locations than Rome. It helped his mood that the negotiations were actually going quite smoothly. He was willing to dare to call the meeting a success.

Of course he should've known better than to celebrate before it was all over.

He was just heading for a lunch with his soon to be partners when a very beautiful woman with impossibly lively eyes approached him. "Excuse me, Mr. Stark?" He decided that he liked her accent. She handed an envelope towards him. "This was just delivered to you."

Cold shivers ran through Tony, confirming his suspicion that he wasn't going to like this. After a Stark style grin and a thank you he focused on the item. Inside it he found coordinates, along with a tiny bottle full of greenish liquid and a brief message. And a drawn picture of a hawk that'd been pierced by an arrow.

'Bring that antidote here in less than six hours or the Hawk has flown his last.'

Tony had a sinking feeling that the business meeting was over.

/ It took absolutely all Clint's willpower to keep himself from trembling or even running away. But pride rooted him to the spot. So he stood firm, his head held up high defiantly. Ready to face what was coming for him.

Buck, or Trick Shot as the man always insisted on being called during these performances, smirked. With the blindfold covering the archery master's eyes it was impossible to tell how much of the expression was a mask. And then an arrow was leveled at him. "Now, be a good boy… and stay very, very still", his mentor adviced him. "Unless you want me to miss my mark."

Clint snorted. His eyes flashed almost threateningly. "I'm not going to run and hide, old man", he reassured the circus star.

Their audience chuckled. Electricity, tension and anticipation were heavy in the air. Making the air thick. Not a single pair of eyes looked away. The level of adrenaline was palpable.

And then the arrow was sent on its way, right at Clint.

There was a gasp that went through the entire tent. A lot of people leaned forced, anxious to see absolutely everything. Clint focused on not closing his eyes, instead stared at the arrow. Watched how its feathers shuddered as air caressed them.

There was a thud that sounded as loud as a gunshot when the arrow met its mark. For exactly three seconds it was impossibly quiet, save the furious beat of Clint's heart. Then the apple that'd been placed on top of Clint's head broke in half and the whole tent exploded to deafeningly loud applause.

There was an unreadable look on Buck's face when the man removed the blindfold. For a moment they looked at each other until the archer turned towards the audience, bowed and began to take his leave. Clint, however, wasn't finished.

Earlier he'd been introducing his skills to the audience, amusing them with hunting rubber ducks. With a rapid, swift motion he took his own bow and a single arrow. It was flying before he barely knew what was happening.

With a ferocious thud his arrow hit the nose of a clown decoration that'd been directly above Buck's head. His mentor froze. The audience erupted to a storm of laughs, clearly imagining that it was all a part of the show. The eyes that Buck darted at Clint revealed that the true spectacle would happen behind the scenes. And all of a sudden the boy began to regret letting his temper get the better of him.

Twenty minutes later, after two encores sealing the show, Buck cornered him in the backroom. The man's eyes were full of lava. "Don't ever do that again", he man hissed in a voice that would've chilled just about anyone.

Clint gritted his teeth. "You ambushed me with tasking me as a target board." He shrugged. "Consider us even."

The punch was swift and forceful, almost enough so to send him down. Buck's eyes blazed, that fist already raised for a second attack. "This is my show. You respect my rules, or you walk."

Clint's eyes narrowed. The burning in his veins was far more intense than the one on his cheek. "Do you honestly imagine that that slap was the worst I've ever taken?" He took a step closer, ignoring the fact that there was a head's worth of height difference between them. "Just know this… If you ever do something like that again I'll aim at a different target." With that promise he turned sharply and walked away, feeling a pair of smouldering eyes on his back as he went. /

The trees were no challenge for Clint, even with the arrow sticking from his shoulder and the poison coursing through his veins. Furiously ignoring the hellish inferno of pain and constantly growing, eerie weakness he climbed up, finally finding a sufficient scouting point. His sharp eyes darted around, seeking a glimmer of hope or a trace of a throat. He couldn't help wondering which one would come first.

His heart thudded one time too many when he finally saw it. Close to a tree top, of course. Anything else would've been too easy, stuff for amateurs.

It was his own, comfortingly familiar set of a bow and arrows.

Clint frowned, trying to focus enough to evaluate the potential risks. Without a doubt Buck was observing him. He was also willing so suspect that his former mentor had booby trapped the entire area surrounding the treasures. But did he have a choice? Really, honestly? Sure, he could just crouch there, nice, still and invisible. Until the poison finally took effect and he'd drop dead. Or then Buck would get bored and come for him. Whichever might happen first.

Clint swore under his breath and braced himself. This was not going to be pleasant, at all. But he'd never once given up in his life and he wasn't about to start now.

With the agility and grace of a feline Clint slid down from the tree, then inspected his environment. All was still. A little too still to his liking. The warmth and humidity of Greece wrapped around him mercilessly, nearly stealing his breath. Or then it was the poison. The Hawk gritted his teeth as he began to advance.

He slid through the distance separating him from his trademark equipment soundlessly, shielded by the shadows. He was an agent and a former assassin, after all. He could do subtle.

Reaching them was the easy part. Deciding whether it was safe to approach further was far more tricky. Clint's eyes sharpened while he crouched, trying to see even better. He couldn't spot anything that would've seemed alarming. Still he knew better than to let his guard down. Just like he knew that he needed his equipment, desperately.

In the end he sneaked closer as carefully as a thief, all his senses on high alert. His bow felt comfortingly familiar when he was finally able to touch it. Safe. Despite being injured and possibly dying Clint couldn't help feeling comforted, just a little bit. Until he saw a shadow moving.

Several things happened in a flash. Clint sent an arrow through the air. In a couple of seconds a hiss that didn't come from the wind told him that he'd hit at least something. He didn't have the time to feel satisfied. For just then there was a slight rustle. He turned around, an arrow already at a ready. He was a fraction of a second too slowly.

A brand new arrow struck the area dangerously close to his abdomen, sending him into a world of hellish agony.

/ It was after a very busy string of performances Clint fell in. The boy, of course, refused to admit such weakness. Until he collapsed in the middle of a tight rope practise, performing a mighty fall to the safety net.

Buck was just on his way to berate his unhealthily stubborn, unwanted student when he heard voices from the younger archer's room. "… on, Clint." Barney sounded exasperated. "You're burning up and sweating like crazy. Get up, just for a little bit. Then I'll let you sleep."

"… 'ut up", Clint muttered quietly and grumpily, clearly in a great deal of discomfort.

"Oh yeah?" Barney's patience appeared to be wearing thin. "Sit up, right now, or I'll start singing one of those Elvis songs dad always howled."

That seemed to stir something to life. Clint swore in a way no kid of his age should've been capable of before bedsheets sighed. It was at that point Buck peered into the room, intending to enter. He froze by the doorway.

Apparently Barney was helping Clint change his shirt. Which gave Buck a clear view to Clint's back. He shuddered despite himself at what he discovered.

Long, angry scars marred the pale skin. They'd either come from shards of glass or a knife. Or from a violent whipping. Amongst it all cigarette burns could be seen, a lot more faded but still all too clearly present.

All of a sudden Buck felt sick to his stomach. While he kept staring Clint pulled on a shirt, then crawled back underneath the covers. Barney observed him with a frown until the boy finally spoke out, careful not to distract his brother. "It's incredibly rude to stare", Barney pointed out.

Buck didn't have it in him to feel embarrassed. He apologized with a shrug, his eyebrows furrowing. He felt tempted to ask but didn't quite know how to voice the question.

Eventually Barney looked at him. There was something incredibly dark in the boy's eyes. "There's a reason why Clint has problems with authority. That's what those put in charge over us so far have done to him."

Buck's jawline tightened. He didn't quite comprehend why his chest did the same. "Are you expecting an apology?"

Barney shook his head. "Nah. Fat lot good, those words have ever done." The boy focused on his brother, eyes still hard and almost terrifying. "Just so you know, very soon I'll take him away from here."

Buck's eyebrow rose even higher. Now that was a surprise, although perhaps it shouldn't have been. "And you imagine that he's going to want to leave?"

"Of course he is. I'm all he has in this world." Barney sounded so certain that it was chilling. "He knows better than to let me down." /

Buck turned his head sharply and with a growl, irritated by someone interfering with his plans. Furiously focused and ready to fight despite the arrow sticking from his side. What he met made his eyes widen a fraction. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

His companion shrugged. It was impossible to miss the fact that the other was fully prepared to attack him. "Being dead is boring."

Stun soon turned into something close to rage. Buck's eyes narrowed. "Keep your nose out of my affairs", he snapped as loudly as he dared to, knowing that despite being injured even further Clint was listening.

"What, and let him kill you?" Barney Barton's nose wrinkled. "Nah. You're already a dead man walking. For the sake of fun I'll let you keep tormenting each other a little bit longer. And then, when you least expect it, I'll take down you both. Or maybe I'll let him kill you, after all, like you're wishing him to. Either way I'm going to enjoy this a lot a more than you."

Buck gritted his teeth. His hold on his own bow tightened. "This is the last warning", he hissed. "Stay… the fuck out of my affairs… or I'll give you more than petty sibling rivalry to worry about. Don't forget who taught you."

"Don't worry, I won't forget." Barney's words were without a doubt a threat. "I never, ever forget those who toss me aside and abandon me." The younger man gave him a tiny wave. "Have a fun dying." With those as his parting words the supposedly dead fiend jumped down and disappeared like a shadow. Or a nightmare.

Buck didn't have very long to dwell on the unexpected encounter. Because during their exchange Clint had disappeared from his line of sight. And it was one master archer against another. A teacher against their student.

/ Clint couldn't exactly think of the circus as a home. But he also knew just how much worse it could be so he chose to adapt. Allowed fire and determination to grow inside him.

Buck continued to train him. Far more often than not with very little patience but Clint grew used to that. Despite their frequent clashes something like mutual respect began to form between them. On the day Clint was able to achieve three bullseyes on separate target boards blindfolded Buck nodded with clearly visible acceptance in his eyes. Clint wondered if that was what it felt like to have something like a father figure in his life.

Another performer of the circus, Jacques or Swordsman, as his stagename went, also began to pay attention to his skills. Under the man's guidance Clint's skills as an acrobat grew dramatically. Combined with archery those tricks created quite entertaining spectacles.

Both of his teachers were there when Clint performed his most daring trick so far. His heart pounded as he stood close to the tent's highest spot, staring at the equipment spreading down below. And jumped.

There were several bars on his way, which he grabbed as he progressed. Making his body spin and bend to incredible positions. Defying all reason and logic. Around and around, downwards, a spin after a spin. Until he reached a small, metallic podium that was still dangerously high from the floor. There was a purple piece of fabric waiting for him. He covered his eyes with it and then, with no hesitation despite how adrenaline stormed in his veins, stepped to a tightrope.

Clint wasn't afraid, not really. There was a safety net to catch him and he'd walked the rope so many times that its shape had to be etched on his feet. Besides, hesitation would've only broken his balance. With elegant steps he reached the other side, where he felt the warmth of flames. Now came the tricky part.

Clint willed his hands not to tremble as he took an arrow and a bow. He swallowed thickly before putting the arrow to the fire, lighting it up. Knowing that wasting time would only get his hands burned he aimed and let it go. In a few seconds there was a roar as flames caught a hold of something. That was when Clint finally removed the blindfold.

Of course he'd known what to expect but actually seeing it… He couldn't help but grin. On the exact opposite side of the tent, far away, a very large picture of a hawk rising to its wings was in flames. Like his very own declaration of war.

When he reached the floor his two mentors were still admiring the results of his work. "You know…", Jacques thought out loud, his lips pursed. "If you want to be a proper circus performer you'll need a stagename."

Clint glanced towards the man. Trying not to notice how his heart thudded with anticipation and hope. "Any suggestions?"

"How about Hawkeye?"

Clint's grin threatened to split his face as he wondered if he'd finally found a place where he could belong.

But nothing good was to last forever. Because Barney observed the scene as well, his eyes dark and full of a storm threatening to erupt. He felt the world crumbling down around him. /

Clint gasped, breathless from the immense agony. For a few moments the whole world spun dangerously before his eyes. Nearly fell out of focus.

The archer actually stumbled for a step. Then, with the iron hard will of a warrior, picked himself up and found cover instead. Concentration was hard to find but he succeeded eventually. Adrenaline sharpened his head to a chilling extend. He pressed a hand against his new injury with a low, furious growl.

He was definitely bleeding but he was fairly certain that the arrow hadn't succeeded in puncturing any vital organs. In full honesty he was a little surprised to be left alive. Apparently this little game wasn't over just yet. He also noticed that the second arrow looked different and wondered with dread if he had more than one person to worry about.

Fantastic…, he mused sarcastically.

That was when movement caught his eyes. He readied his bow in a flash but before he had the chance to use it his target disappeared. He smothered the desire to snarl from frustration, knowing how dangerous it would've been to catch attention.

The poison was making it increasingly difficult to remain still. And eventually he found himself beginning to tremble. The bushes beside him rustled, betraying him. That was all it took.

Behind him the nature whispered signs of someone taking cover and settling to aim for the perfect shot. The Hawk spun around, working his hardest to do so with as little noise as possible, and aimed. Sun shone on something metallic at least thirty steps away. Believing in no coincidences he let the arrow fly.

So did his opponent.

TBC

A/N: Those of you familiar with the comics already know how the circus thing came down. (winces) But how is Clint's meeting with his past going to end? And who contacted Tony and why? In the next chapter we'll see if this all has at least a happyish ending…

Thoughts? Comments? Rants…? PLEASE, do drop me a line or two! And never hesitate to make requests. I LOVE them!

Until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll meet you all there.

Take care!

Guest (1): GOSH, I really hope so! It's FANTASTIC to hear that you enjoyed the chapter so. Hopefully the rest of the story won't disappoint, either.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

Guest 13: HOORAY! I'm overjoyed to hear that you've had a good journey. Hopefully the rest will reward your expectations!

It's always AWESOME to meet a fellow Hawkeye fan! He's totally my favorite Avenger, too, mainly because he's so very HUMAN amongst the rest of them (thus also the most vulnerable, despite his skills). Which is why I just couldn't resist the temptation to type this collection. (grins) You're awesome, too!

Massive thank yous for the fantastic review!

Guest (2): Yay! I really hope that the rest won't fall flat in your book, either.

AH! I'm typing this in bold in case someone else is wondering. My goal is to update this collection every weekend, mainly because I love this so much. (grins) Soooo, expect updates between Friday and Sunday.

HUGE thank yous for the review!