A/N: DANG! You see, this chapter was by far the hardest to type because the topic has me so riled up. I'm sick and tired of people dismissing Clint, belittling Hawkeye's worth. This is, as well as a request from a dear friend, my strike back. (smirks)

First, though…! You guys just don't stop baffling me. GOSH, so many reviews, so much love! You guys are AWESOME. Let's show the world just how beloved our favorite Hawk is!

Now, because you probably didn't come here for my author's note… Let's go! I REALLY hope that this turns out worth the wait.

What a Hawkeye is Worth

Clint's head hurt and it felt like his whole body was just one, massive bruise. Not that much of a surprise. Over the past twelve hours he'd been in a hand to hand combat with eight hostiles, been thrown out of a moving vehicle, got himself stabbed and had his fun enthroned by having a bullet graze at his arm.

The part that ached him the most, however, was that he wasn't on that mission alone. Natasha was with him and now, because of his mistake, she was unconscious in a hospital. Clint himself had been checked briefly by a medic during the flight and ordered to an immediate debrief. He'd known to expect that it wouldn't be pleasant. He wasn't disappointed.

The man at the opposite side of the table, a rapidly balding fifty-eight-year-old with too large eyeglasses and uncomfortably piercing blue eyes, looked like a bloodhound that'd caught a scent. William Stryker. No one liked the man, especially the agents who had the misfortune of having him for a handler. It was easy to figure out why. "So, agent Barton, let me get this straight… I sent you and agent Romanoff to a simple information gathering mission. And somehow one of you ended up into a hospital?"

Clint's jawline tightened. It hurt from where he'd been punched. "The intel was sloppy at best", he announced, his voice sharper than necessary. His eyes narrowed while memories and anger flooded in. "We basically walked into an ambush."

Stryker's eyebrow bounced up. "Is the intel also responsible for you missing a shot? Because I was under the impression that you were supposed to be the sniper of the group."

That hurt. Enough to make Clint forget to breathe for five long seconds. It was only thanks to all his field experience his expression didn't falter.

Clearly Stryker wasn't done yet. The man took off his glasses and leaned forward. "I'm going to be very honest with you. I've never liked you. When Coulson first dragged you in I thought that he was insane. And then you were made an Avenger?" The handler's nose wrinkled with clearly visible disgust. "Your only use is that you can use a bow and arrows. Which is a pathetic, ancient weapon to begin with. You have no business being a member of the Avengers. And maybe now others will finally listen to me."

There was nothing in those words that wouldn't have haunted Clint's own thoughts during the darkest of times. That wouldn't have kept him up at nights. It took his all not to let it show.

Stryker seemed entirely too pleased with himself. "I'm giving you a chance to prove yourself, though." A file was handed towards him. "Finish this mission and I may have a little faith in you."

Clint Barton was a human being. Nothing more, nothing less. A strong and brave man whose heart was a little too big for his own good.

Hawkeye… was a machine, a soldier. A being trained by a chilling circus and a harsh life since he was a child. An assassin. Since those darker times he'd been an agent for so long that he barely remembered the life before.

Both sides of him were also far too stubborn for his own good. He never, ever listened to orders blindly. If he did Natasha would be long gone. But this was a challenge from someone he abhorred. And there was no way in hell he'd give the bastard that satisfaction. So he lifted his chin and stood firm. "When am I leaving?" No 'sirs', not a trace of respect. The man deserved none.

The sight of Stryker's twitching left eyebrow was quite satisfactory. "You're expected to be ready for the departure in two hours. And before you consider inviting… friends along… This mission is extremely classified, do you understand? Fury wouldn't appreciate you endangering assets that actually count."

Those words slashed deeper than they should've. Clint didn't let it show. Instead the archer searched his pocket until he found a flash drive, slammed it to the other man's desk and began to walk away with sharp steps.

"What is that?"

"That would be the information we were sent to gather." Clint knew that he was hissing but didn't manage to care. "Mission accomplished." The door closed after him.

Meanwhile Steve, who'd been notified by Nick Fury about the not exactly a hundred percent smooth ending of Strike Team Delta's latest mission, entered a hospital and soon found the correct ward. He considered turning back the second he heard a much too familiar voice arguing loudly and colorfully with the staff. Before he could make up his mind his phone began to ring. A frown appeared to his face when he noticed who the caller was. "Clint? Are you here at the hospital?" A solid enough assumption, considering the brief yet blunt description Fury gave him.

There was a brief pause. Was that a hiss? "You're with Nat, right?"

Steve refocused on the hallway ahead just in time to see a teary eyed nursing student rushing out of a room, wiping her eyes. Soon enough a rather large male nurse followed, something that looked suspiciously lot like an I.V. pole flying after him and narrowly missing him. The Captain had a nasty feeling that he'd found his target. "I'm on my way there. Why?"

"Would you tell her that I'm sorry she got hurt?" And the Hawk did sound sorry. Enough so for it to break Steve's heart. "I'd come and tell her myself, but… I'm sort of busy."

Steve's frown deepened while dread began to swell. Wasn't the debrief supposed to be over already? Then why…? His eyes widened a fraction under the eventual realization. In a flash razor sharp anger came flooding in. "They can't be sending you on another mission! You'd need medical attention…"

"I'm fine, Cap." Which in Clint-language most certanly meant that the archer was anything but. "Honestly. I've done this before."

Steve gritted his teeth, hard. He didn't like this, even one bit, but there was very little he could do about it without Clint's cooperation. "I won't hesitate notifying Fury if necessary", he pointed out. He'd go after the Hawk personally if he felt that he needed to.

"I think he's busy enough without having to worry about me." Someone could be heard talking. Clint replied briefly before refocusing on him. "I've gotta go. Make sure that Tasha doesn't get herself into a trouble."

Glancing towards the room that he'd spotted before Steve noticed a couple of security guards approaching with a very nervous looking doctor. He winced. That's a full time job, isn't it? "You make sure that you don't get yourself into a trouble in the meantime", he adviced. And meant it. Because he had a very nasty gut feeling about this.

"Yes, sir." There wasn't much of mirth in Clint's voice. "See you." And at that Clint decided that the conversation was over.

Steve sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. He lifted his head just in time to see the doctor who just went into Natasha's room emerging, nursing what seemed to be a very sore, possibly bleeding nose. Fighting the urge to swear he sped towards the direction.

By the time he finally made it to the scene Natasha was having a very loud, far from civil conversation with the security guards. As soon as she saw him her eyes flashed. "Get me out of here. Now."

A couple of hours later, after filling up all sorts of paperwork and chasing down members of staff bold enough to face the redhead, the duo was on their way out of the building. Natasha still bristling, Steve feeling like a parent whose kid just had a very humiliating, very public temper tantrum. The whole building most likely sighed with relief when the door closed after them.

"It'll be a miracle if none of those people sues you for assault", Steve pointed out.

Natasha shrugged. She didn't look very remorseful. "I have a severe concussion, I was confused."

Steve made a mental note to ensure that she'd never, ever be taken to a public hospital again.

Clint was aching, absolutely exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep for a month. But he was also furiously determined. A lesser man might've said desperate.

This was by no means the first time his worth had been questioned, by himself as well as others. But it rarely hurt as much as it did now. Natasha got hurt because he failed to do the one thing that defined him. He wouldn't go back, couldn't go back, until he felt like the Clint Barton he was supposed to be.

So he bandaged his own injuries the best as he could and packed up all the equipment he'd need. Which, in full truth, wasn't that much. He then headed towards one of the most deserted corners of the world. And fought furiously to ignore the small, nasty voice in the back of his head asking if it might be beneficial to the rest of the Avengers if he'd choose to never return.

Tony was just about to head to the hospital to check up on Natasha when the redhead stormed in, followed closely by Steve. The looks on their faces made his eyebrow bounce up. "Uh… Shouldn't you be in a…?"

Steve excused himself when the Captain's phone began to ring. Natasha rolled her eyes. "I have a cracked rib and a concussion. Trust me, I've had worse." Her eyes flashed when finding his. "Have you seen Clint?"

Tony shook his head slowly, dread rising within. "No. I thought…"

Just then Steve returned. The look on his face was a solid warning before the words. "That was Fury. Apparently Barton was never signed in to have returned from the mission."

They'd never heard Natasha cursing as she did then. "He's not on an assignment. He's hiding."

Over the couple of weeks that followed Clint didn't return. One mission ended. Stryker pushed him right to another one, stating that reports and briefing could wait. The Hawk was too proud to resist, to admit defeat. Especially when he still had something to prove to himself.

It was horribly exhausting, as missions always were. Being constantly on guard… Chasing, running, hiding, fighting… It didn't help that whenever he would've had the chance to sleep a little he saw an injured Natasha falling to the ground every time he closed his eyes. So instead of resting, or eating properly, he chose to train. Prepared furiously for a yet another battle.

It was a very late night in a city the name of which Clint was rapidly forgetting. He was just self-tending to a knife gash when something on the TV caught his attention. It wasn't in English, of course, but he understood a word here and there. What got to him far more, however, was the footage.

The rest of the Avengers were there, appearently having successfully completed a mission. Natasha still had a bandage on the side of her head but otherwise she appeared unharmed. Grateful people cheered while the team prepared to head home.

Clint stared at the TV screen, feeling oddly numb. Unable to look away although he would've wanted to. He swallowed thickly, a horrific taste rising to his mouth although he was beyond relieved to see that his friends were alright.

See?, a voice in the back of his head sneered. They're doing just fine without your meddling. What do you have to go back for?

Clint shot five more arrows to his target board, ignoring how his hands were shaking.

Stryker wasn't afraid of many things. But when Nick Fury entered his office with a loudly speaking dark look on his face William tensed and sat up straighter. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Fury responded with slamming a thick file in front of him, narrowly missing his fingers. "In that file is an exact report on the hand to hand combat training agent Barton has received. He's one of the three most gifted ones that I've encountered. It helps that he's a former acrobat whose skills some Olympic medalists might envy." The one eyed man sounded treacherously calm and composed, which promised hellfire. "And if you bother to look further you'll find a description of the weaponry he's specialized in. You've seen his marksman skills on the field, several times over. His aim is just as good with weapons other than the bow. For years he was S.H.I.E.L.D's leading firearm instructor. I'm appalled that you haven't seen to need to have that essential knowledge on one of your agents." (1) Nick's eyes narrowed. "Each member of the Avengers was picked because when they're together their strengths and weaknesses balance each other out perfectly. None of them are weak or unworthy. A lot of their enemies have gone down for imagining differently." That sounded suspiciously lot like a threat.

Stryker wasn't smart enough to shut up. He lifted his chin. "So he's a decent agent. I still fail to see why he was chosen as an Avenger."

"Because not everyone on that team can be a super soldier, a man who on occasion becomes a green monster, a god from another realm or a man in a iron suit. Along with his skills he's a reminder of exactly what they're fighting for." Nick's remaining eye held such a look that would've chilled anyone to the bone. "He has more heart than most people I've met in my life. Loki saw that right away. I wonder how long it'll take before you do." With that the man began to leave.

Stryker couldn't resist a one more comment. His facial muscles hurt from the grim expression that'd taken over. "And still he's only human, Fury", he pointed out. "One of these days you'll get him killed."

Fury's hand twitched, reaching out either towards the door handle or the man's gun. "I'm perfectly aware of the risks and so is he. He faces them willingly every single day because he still believes that what he and his team do can make a difference. I'm not sure if it's lunacy or bravery." The director darted a far from pleasant look towards him over his shoulders. "I'm curious, Stryker… Since when have you considered being human a weakness? If we wouldn't keep our own planet safe then who else is supposed to do it?" Already with his back towards him the man went on. "And by the way… You may want to keep in mind that very few things happening inside this building go past my knowledge. The next time you try to get one of my men killed no one will find your body." With those ominous words the door slammed closed.

It'd been three weeks. Four if the mission that led to Natasha's injury was counted. Clint Barton was finally coming back home.

Steve's posture was unnaturally stiff while he waited for the tiny aircraft carrying the archer to land properly. Alarm bells were going off in his head although he wasn't yet entirely sure why. "Have you heard from him? How is he?"

"Bruises and minor injuries, he said." Fury sighed heavily. "Which means that I'm expecting nothing short of broken bones and gunshot wounds."

Steve winced. At the moment he was glad that Natasha hadn't heard of Clint's return yet. His welcome home might not have been a very pleasant one.

Finally the aircraft they'd been observing with watchful eyes came to a full stop. In an instant the two of them were moving, neither feeling any need to talk much. It didn't go unnoticed that Clint wasn't emerging yet.

Reaching the stairs and then the plane itself took what felt like ages. Steve looked around with a frown until he noticed a familiar, disheveled bush of fair hair. "Clint?" He walked closer, his chest tightening uncomfortably. Out of silent agreement Fury stayed behind. They knew, all too well, how little Clint liked being crowded, especially if he was feeling vulnerable. "It's just me, Steve. Do you need a hand to get out?" the Captain offered.

There was still no reply and by then Steve realized why. Clint's eyes were closed while the archer rested on his seat, breathing heavily. Asleep, then?

Steve reached out a healthily cautious hand and hesitated for a long time before daring to touch his friend's shoulder. "Hey, time to wake up. You've landed."

There was still no reaction, not even a twitch. All of a sudden Steve began to feel very, very cold. Against his better judgement he shook the Hawk's shoulder, first lightly, then harder. When that had no results he reached out two far from steady fingers and lay them against his friend's neck.

"Clint?"

The hospital's waiting room smelled disgustingly sterile while Steve sat there, his head buried into his hands and struggling to will down a fast approaching, mighty headache. He hadn't stopped shaking since the plane and his heartbeat didn't seem to want to calm down. His thoughts were whirring madly.

Dehydration, malnutrition and a dangerously high fever. Countless of bruises, evidence of encounters with both knives and firearms. By some miracle the only bones the archer had managed to break were three ribs. Unfortunately one of them had gone a breath from puncturing his lung. Which, all alone in the field, certainly wouldn't have been ideal. Yet the worst of Clint's problems was a severe infection from one of the numerous wounds on his back. It was difficult to determine when, exactly, he sustained it. Due to the location it must've been next to impossible for the archer to take care of on his own. Did the man even notice it?

As it was the hospital staff couldn't say how long it'd take before Clint would recover from such a wide spread infection. From between the lines Steve could read a much too clear, nauseating 'if'. Right now they worked on getting the infection under control, while also struggling to get the Hawk's fever down and making sure that the man received much needed fluids. All Steve could do was wait, and he hated waiting. It was little comfort that Fury claimed he'd handled to one responsible for sending Clint on all those missions.

Steve's head snapped up at the sound of approaching steps. It wasn't a doctor. Instead he blinked twice at the sight of Natasha and Bruce entering the room. He was about to ask how they knew to come until he realized that Fury must've notified them. The two greeted him with solemn nods, then sat far closer than either would've usually felt comfortably with. Without saying a word the three of them attempted to find comfort from one another.

Tony was the next to arrive. For pretty much the first time ever the billionaire was absolutely, unnervingly quiet while taking a seat of his own. If they hadn't already been far too aware of how wrong things were that would've been the final proof. Thor marched in about ten minutes later, appearing outraged and almost scared at the same time.

And so they sat in a complete, tense silence. Until it got too much for Tony. "When this drama is over and done with… I'll beat him up for startling us like this."

"Get in line", Natasha muttered.

As soon as Clint woke up he became acutely aware that something wasn't right. He was supposed to be on a flight back home. So why did the space around him smell like a…?

Oh… shit…

"A-ha! I saw that twitching eyebrow!" Tony's voice succeeded in startling him but it also pulled him towards it. "That's the spirit, Sleeping Beauty. Open your eyes already. You've been snoozing for a while."

It was a mighty struggle. But eventually Clint's eyes opened a crack. He frowned while the billionaire's face came to focus. "What the hell are you doing in Tokyo?" He probably didn't sound even nearly as coherent as he imagined.

Tony's expression was far from impressed. "Newsflash, Tweetie. Despite trying very hard to get yourself killed you made it back to States. I'd like to say that in one piece but… Well, take a look around you and do the math."

Clint didn't have to. Instead he looked at Tony, saw signs of exhaustion and worry. His stomach dropped. "Look, I'm fine…"

Tony snorted. For exactly a second something almost like tears could be seen in the man's eyes. "No, you're seriously not. Yet, anyway. But we'll all make sure that you will be."

Clint swallowed. Unsure how to process the proclamation. "I appreciate the concern, Tin Can, but I'm a grown man", he rasped. "I can take care of myself."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Do us a favor and let us be the judges of that for a bit, yeah? Because, like it or not, that's what friends are for." The look darted at him was meaningful. "You're stuck with us, Feathers."

Clint had absolutely no idea what to say to that, what to even make of those words. Before he could decide the room's door opened and Natasha walked in. Instantly their eyes met. Clint's chest area tightened and his mouth opened for a long overdue apology until he saw something in Natasha's eyes that made all words evaporate. Simultaneously they both melted to a small smile that spoke more than a million words.

For the first time in weeks Clint felt like he belonged. That infuriating noise in the back of his head was quiet. When he woke up again five hours later and Steve was there, asking if he was alright, he was able to answer honestly. "Yeah, I am."

Sure, his insecurities would most likely always linger there, rising their ugly head on occasion. A lot of people would never accept that he belonged to the Avengers, that he was enough to earn his place. Clint was alright with that. If he himself forgot he had friends who would be there to remind him that he was their Hawkeye, their eyes in the sky.

End of story.

1) In case you're curious, as for that description… The 'leading firearm instructor' is the only bit I came up with. (Purely because, to me, it'd sort of make sense. He's a freaking marksman and pretty much the world's best sharp shooter…!) The rest is pretty much canon with the comic-world. Ain't he awesome! (LOL, like I'd need to tell you guys that…!)

A/N: Phew! This totally took me a while to type, despite not being my longest chapter. Hopefully I managed to get the chapter's point across…?

Poor Clint! That scene with Laura alone (where he thought that she was hinting he shouldn't be an Avenger) was an indication to how much he doubts himself sometimes. We love you, Hawkeye!

Soooo… Any good, at all? Something to be deleted? PLEASE, do let me know!

UP NEXT:

The Luck of an Archer (deflecting bullets is a neat trick – unless it goes horribly wrong…)

A Hawk's Sick Day (poor Hawk doesn't seem to be feeling too well…)

A Little Friendly Fire (one of Clint's children learns the hard way why his father is very, very serious about weapon safety)

Until next time! I REALLY hope that you'll join in then for some more feathery madness.

Take care!

Guest 13: It feels so good to hear that you've enjoyed the ride so much! We'll see how you'll like the ride still to come. I've got lots of plans for our beloved archer…

Colossal thank yous for the review!

Guest: I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it! Since learning of Clint's deafness in the comics I've been itching to sneak it into my fics. This was the perfect opportunity. (grins) GOSH, you're making me grin like a loon with joy! I REALLY hope that you'll be as pleased with the next one(s).

Massive thank yous for the review!

Guest218: You're making me feel super flattered here! (HUGS) I REALLY hope that the chapters to come will meet absolutely all your expectations. LOL, hey, how much of a sadist am I, then, typing these? (giggles)

I also noticed that the collection appeared a few days after this one. Personally I'm more into Clint-whump (which is why I haven't read it yet) but the idea sounds cool. (grins) Clint's the ULTIMATE hurt/comfort material, though. (snickers)

Monumental thank yous for the review!

PrincessApplePie: I sure did! I couldn't resist the opportunity. When your previous review came in I had a feeling that you'd like the idea. (grins)

Thank gosh poor Clint had his team! And he didn't miss out on hearing his son for the first time. (smiles)

Awww, thanks! I'm happy and flattered beyond all words, here. (BEAMS)

HUGE thank yous for the review!