This chapter brought to you by a left turn at Albuquerque and a question.
"Three days," Clint muttered under his breath as he turned on the TV in his room. "How'm I supposed to figure all this out in three days?" He looked over the envelopes scattered across his bed. "Okay. I can do this." He carefully opened all of the envelopes, reading the pamphlet that was tucked into each letter, then either tossing them into a pile on the bed or onto the floor. "So, work it out. What'd be easiest?" He stood up and searched through his desk for a notepad and pen and started making lists. "Still think they're all nuts." Still mumbling to himself, he didn't hear the knock or the door open.
"You know, Clint," Coulson's voice made Clint jump. "Talking to yourself is generally a bad idea when you're someplace that you shouldn't be heard."
"Yeah, but I'm in my room. Anybody listening in deserves whatever they hear." Clint went back to staring at his lists. "Um, how'm I supposed to choose one of these?"
"Close your eyes and pick one?" Coulson looked between the piles on the bed and the floor.
"Bad attempt at a joke, boss." Clint shook his head. "When's your birthday? I'll get you a joke book."
"Private." Coulson sat down in the desk chair. "Think about your options. You'll need someplace to stay. I wouldn't recommend staying on campus; harder to just disappear. So you'll want a school that's close to a safe house."
"Can't I stay here?" Clint glanced over at Coulson. "Sure, safe house would probably be the most logical, yeah, but they don't have things like the range and I do need to practice." He paused with a sly grin. "And a chance to sneak into places that you probably don't want to know about and if anybody asks, I was in here all night. And Intel might want to check out the bottom left drawer of the desk under the air vent."
"We'll see. Now. How big of a school?" Coulson reached out and grabbed Clint's notepad. "It actually looks like you've narrowed it down quite a bit."
"Yeah." Clint held out some letters. "These three. One's in New York City, one's in Pennsylvania, one's in Virginia."
"So," Coulson leaned back in the chair. "Why were you so confused?"
"Not just choosing one, but cover story too." Clint pointed at the notepad. "Top page. I'm thinking that I can be living with an aunt and uncle. Aunt has whatever Medical suggests."
"Good start. You'll want to think about where you're from, because you do have a bit of an accent sometimes, usually when you're stressed." Coulson closed his eyes, thinking. "I'd suggest Midwestern states other than Iowa. Also why you're with an aunt and uncle, because that will raise questions about parents. I'll look up hospitals near the Pennsylvania and Virginia schools since you're doing the sick relative route; you come up with names. Also siblings, cousins, that sort of thing."
"'Kay." Clint nodded. "You're okay with being an uncle?"
"It's a new one for me, but I think I'll survive." Coulson nodded. "Now. Canada. Good to go?"
"In a couple days, like you wanted." Clint nodded. "Pilots agree that landing on the mountain'll work. Want some more time with my bow on the range and testing those new arrows, but yeah. Should be good." He pointed at a corner of his room. "Have everything else that I think I'll need already; just have to fill some water bottles."
"Good. And Intel?"
"I told 'em, boss, they keep on sending me stuff that I can't read, I'd have to do something about it. They sent me an update on the guy in all the wrong colors, so I did something about it. Not my fault they can't listen to and remember a polite request."
Clint dumped his bag on the floor and gently placed his bow and quiver on a seat in the back of the Quinjet before going to lean over the pilot's shoulder. "Hey. You guys still cool with the mountain?" He glanced back as Coulson entered the jet and the pilot nodded. "Heya, sir."
"Clint." Coulson nodded. "Good to go?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Next question. College decisions?"
In response, Clint went to his bag and pulled out some papers. "Pennsylvania. I like the weather, although it was a close call between it and Virginia. New York's just too…crowded. Also think I finished a cover story."
"Which is?"
"Aunt Mary and Uncle whatever-the-hell you want to be called. Aunt has cancer. I went to live with them because they're close to school. Parents are back home in Kansas. No siblings and cousins are all off wherever. Good?"
"Mary?" Coulson looked curiously at Clint. "I don't think that was your mother's name."
"Yeah, Medical came up with it." Clint shrugged as the jet took off. "Meg wouldn't tell me why, just that they had fun and wish they could be more involved in figuring stuff out like that instead of," he paused to think before pitching his voice to sound closer to the nurse's, "'just patching up idiot agents.'"
Coulson was trying to hold back a smile. "Typhoid Mary then, I'm thinking if Meg was saying that it was fun. You can look her up later. And that's a good start." Taking the papers, he scanned them then scribbled a name down. "You'll need to flesh it all out a little bit more, since people will probably be asking a lot of questions, but I'll take it. You have two weeks until orientation. That's your deadline." He started scanning the rest of the papers. "When we get back I'll get a car set up for you to use. Don't expect anything flashy; you're supposed to be a broke college student. And Intel said that they'd try to remember better next time, but they'd also love to know how you managed to avoid the cameras." He handed over a manila envelope. "And the update that is now in black and white."
"Really, Coulson." Clint smirked as he pulled out a map and some pictures. "Did you even look at some of the stuff that I was learning? I hacked into their cameras and deleted the video."
"Oh, for the love of," Coulson sighed. "Clint, that wasn't the reason why you had to learn all that."
"Practice?" Clint glanced up with a grin. "And it was fun?" He looked back down at the map, tracing different routes from the landing zone to the target's location with a finger. "'Sides, I can hack into SHIELD computers, I can probably get into others, right? From what I've seen, SHIELD's a bit more advanced than other places."
"Some groups are close, but yes." Coulson nodded. "When it comes to a lot of our targets, though, you're right."
"And for people that're supposed to be smart, they should've looked at the timestamps. Couldn't figure out how to change those, so there's a good 15 minutes or so that aren't there anymore."
"15 minutes?" Coulson shook his head. "Next time, you've got five, especially for an office that small."
"Yeah, well, I can't type very fast still." Clint muttered. "And aren't you supposed to discourage pulling pranks?"
"If you can take it, Clint, you can give it. That's always been my position. Although don't even think about going after my quarters."
Clint nodded, wondering if Coulson was leaving him loopholes on purpose, or if he was just overlooking things.
"I have a purpose behind everything, Clint. Don't forget that." Coulson held up the college paperwork before sealing it in its envelope. "This is good. And you need to work on your facial expressions; you're like an open book."
Clint made a face at the bright sunlight when the jet landed, pulling out his sunglasses before picking up his bag. "Okay then." He reached for his quiver.
"Clint." Coulson was holding out a radio and earpiece. "Try not to babble too much. I've got work to do." As Clint nodded and slipped out of the jet, still adjusting his things, Coulson reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. Opening it, he sighed at the orders Fury had handed him that morning. These weren't ones that he was allowed to refuse. "I'll need your help, gentlemen," he said, moving to the cockpit. "We're going to need to pull something on Barton, preferably sometime tomorrow."
"Sir?" The pilot glanced back. "We're scheduled to be here for three days, you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure." Coulson made himself sound firm. "This is a target that, if Barton can't pull it off, we can quite easily take him out with the on-board weapons."
"I don't like it, kid seemed a little high strung to me." The co-pilot shook his head. "And it's not in my job description, playing tricks on people."
"Sir, could it get all this done faster?" The pilot was glancing between Coulson and the co-pilot. At Coulson's nod, he frowned. "Jack, rumor has it that Psych is actually going to beat Medical in their basketball game this year, and that's supposed to be happening day after tomorrow. I'll do it, sir." He paused. "What is it, by the way?"
"Just telling Barton that we've been captured but you got free." Coulson didn't move. "Few words over the radio, that's it."
"Can I ask why?"
Coulson raised one eyebrow at the number of questions he was being asked. "Luckily for you, I'm able to answer that one. It's a test. He passes if he completes the mission before coming back. If he doesn't, that just means more work for him." Moving back to a seat, he tried to get comfortable. Giving it up as a lost cause, he pulled out the work he'd brought and waited for Clint to call in. It took longer than expected before he heard the radio.
"Here. Up a tree. Few more men than Intel said there'd be." Clint sounded slightly distracted. "No plane, some sort of tanks near the house that look like they hold propane or gas. No car, either, but a whole lotta people in the house."
"Your plan?" Coulson flipped open the report from Intel.
"Hang out in my tree and watch for a bit, see if I can actually see the target." Now Clint's tone was scornful. "Same plan as when I left the damn jet. Lovely hike through the woods, blow some stuff up, kill some guys, and then you come and get me because I so don't want to hike back up that hill. It's steeper than the map says. Then go home. Or I could go and knock on the door and say that I brought booze. That's a college thing, right?"
Clint shook his head at the lack of response, shifting position slightly and double-checking the knot on his safety line. He felt an odd flashback to the circus and how he'd just wait on his perch there until it was time for him to perform. Except that this time, his "performance" was to kill people. He smirked and let out an amused breath, thinking over how much his attitude had changed. Glancing up at the sky, he pushed his sunglasses back into place with one finger and settled back against the tree trunk. He wasn't quite sure about sleeping and suddenly wished he'd brought a book or some music. This was going to be boring. Trying to get a little more comfortable, Clint just stared at the house.
The sun woke Clint from the light doze he'd fallen into, and he quickly glanced around. Everything inside the house was still quiet, and he carefully pulled out a granola bar before keying up his radio. "Morning. Nothing changed except that the party ended way too early, a whole herd of deer came through, and a skunk camped out under my tree for a bit."
"That's nice. Check in this evening." Clint blinked at the blunt tone of Coulson's voice. He wondered if the other man had actually slept – the floor of a Quinjet probably wasn't the most comfortable, but it was better than a tree. And they had coffee and hot food, instead of water and some granola bars. With a shake of his head, Clint shouldered his bow and untied his safety line, carefully climbing out of the tree. He'd take a walk around, just to make sure that his impressions of the area were the same as last night. And to work the cramps out.
Coulson glanced at his watch a few hours later and nodded. "Do it."
Shaking his head, the pilot keyed up the radio. "Barton." Looking over at Coulson, he asked, "Still sure you want to do this, sir?"
"I'm sure." Coulson didn't like doing this to Clint, but he'd rather risk the archer getting mad now than making a bad decision in the future.
"Yeah." The radio crackled to life.
With a deep breath, the pilot pushed the transmit button. "Situation. Eight, nine guys with guns showed up. I got away. Orders?"
Clint took a deep breath, closing his eyes and tightening his hold on his bow. "Fuck," he whispered to himself. "Fuck. Okay." Glaring at the house, he shifted position on the branch slightly as he keyed his radio. "What can you tell me?"
"Just that. Some guys, armed. I wasn't in the jet, but saw it. They stormed in, grabbed Agent Coulson and Jack, and now they're all just sitting there. Our guys are tied up, one guy's got a gun pointing at them. I'm just a pilot, I don't know what to do."
Clint wanted to kill Coulson, then resurrect him and kill him again. Coulson wasn't supposed to get caught. He was Coulson. Invincible. "Okay. Sit tight. I'm on my," he stopped, trying to think. SHIELD over Coulson, as much as it may hurt. Target first. Clint shook his head, trying to reconcile the need to complete the mission with his want to get back to the jet. Everybody was alive so far, and injuries healed, if they were even hurt. "Does it look like they're talking with anybody over the radio? Does it look like anybody's hurt?" He shoved his sunglasses down, roughly squeezing the bridge of his nose. He didn't like the feeling that his decision to finish the mission was both right and wrong at the same time, and it just added to his overall aggravation and stress.
The pilot glanced at Coulson, who shook his head. "No. At least, it doesn't look like it. And they hit Coulson over the head, but he's awake and looking a little pissed."
"Okay. He always looks at least a little pissed. Are you secure?"
Coulson nodded and smiled a little as the pilot grinned. "Secure enough, I think."
"Good." A faint explosion sounded through the radio. "Lemme finish here and I'll be on my way back to check it all out. Tell me if it looks like anything changes there, understand?"
Clint drew another arrow, checking to see that it was one of the exploding ones. He had to hand it to R and D: they knew how to create some nice explosions. Aiming at the house, he watched as it hit the roof. Slight pressure from his index finger had it exploding, and people were suddenly running outside. "Stupid," he muttered to himself as his eyes narrowed, searching for the primary target. "Only having one good door like that. Always have at least one other exit." Spotting the man responsible for his newest nightmare, Clint led his target slightly and loosed the arrow, smiling slightly as he watched it hit the man in the head. "Boom," he whispered. Just in case. Another handful of arrows, and he was out of targets.
As Clint lightly dropped to the ground, he ran his fingers over the arrows he had left. There were more than ten, so he was good, especially if he could meet up with the pilot. With a fast glance around, he started heading back to the plane. "Dammit, they were supposed to come and pick me up, not get caught."
As he approached the tree line, Clint stopped. "Status."
The men in the jet all jumped slightly as Clint called in, and a shake of Coulson's head had the pilot sitting back in his seat. "Wait."
"Repeat, status."
"Don't say anything; let him work it out himself." Coulson glanced around as he closed the file he was looking at. "Might want to start your preflight checks, though. And be prepared for him to be a little upset."
"Dumbass," Clint muttered. "Probably got himself caught. Or is asleep." Finding a good tree, he quickly climbed up and looked around. Spotting the jet, he frowned as he slid back to the ground.
Coulson just nodded as Clint stormed up, hoping that the archer would listen and not just react. "Success?"
"Bastard." Clint pleasantly said as he walked into the jet. "Same to you two, for going along with this." Dropping his quiver and bow on a seat and his bag on the floor, he pulled the radio out of his ear and turned it off. "You owe me, sir."
"I didn't ask that, Barton." Coulson just stood there with his arms folded. "I asked if you were successful in your mission."
"I'm back, aren't I?" Clint didn't know how he was feeling. "Arrow in the head and it even blew up when I pushed the button. Hard for anybody to survive that. I also blew up some fuel tanks and killed everybody that I saw, which even thinking that there was trouble here felt pretty damn good because I also recognized a couple of 'em. Then I had a slightly stressful hike back here, only to find that you lied to me."
Coulson frowned. "Outside, Barton," he ordered, then turned to the pilots. "You see nothing, you hear nothing. You will be ready to take off when we return, understand?" Pulling his gun, he dropped it on a seat, noting that Clint had left his bow and arrows behind. With a deep breath and a firm nod, Coulson calmly walked down the ramp. He'd halfway expected the fist swinging at his face, and Coulson just grabbed it and spun Clint around, forcing the younger man further away from the jet. "Not a word, Barton."
Clint ignored the order as he struggled slightly against the hold. "You're a damn bastard, Coulson, pulling that shit. You promised to not lie to me."
"I didn't lie." Coulson calmly swept Clint's feet out from under him, following the archer to the ground. "I didn't say a single word over the radio since you checked in this morning."
"You made the pilot lie, and that's close enough. You lied to me."
"You're very stuck on that word, Clint. So use your damn brain and listen to me, then think it over. I was ordered to test you, and frankly, isn't it better to know that this was a test that you passed instead of having it be a real-life situation where you fail?" Coulson forced his voice to remain even as he shoved Clint's hand up to be further away from the knife he could see and shifted one knee to rest on Clint's free hand. "Because next time it might not be a test."
Clint didn't respond as he assessed the situation and how to turn it around on Coulson. Jerking his head back, he managed to get one knee up and used that as leverage. Ignoring the twinges he could feel, he twisted around and broke Coulson's grip before scrambling back slightly. "There shouldn't've had to have been a test. Don't you trust me?" He could feel his voice start to crack slightly and he just stayed there, staring at the ground and his bleeding hand.
"Yes, Clint, I trust you. Fury trusts you. But Fury's bosses don't trust you like we do and they're the ones who said to do this." Coulson prayed that Clint would never find out that that statement was partially false. "Hopefully now they'll trust you more. But they don't trust most people; I don't think they really trust Fury."
"Still." Clint pulled off his sunglasses. Turning, he glared at Coulson. "You still followed the order and it was a fucking stupid order." Shoving his sunglasses back on and standing up, Clint finished, "you owe me."
Coulson didn't move from his seat on the ground as he watched Clint storm back to the jet. Pulling an envelope out of his pocket, he ripped it open and slipped out the papers, giving them a fast glance. Shaking his head, Coulson found a pen and crossed out a couple lines, rewriting the information. He'd never really liked going by the name Paul anyways, and this was probably the best apology he could give. Standing up, he replaced the papers in the envelope and headed back for the jet. He heard the ramp closing behind him, and saw Clint bent over a pad of paper, hand bandaged, writing furiously. Moving to stand behind the pilots as the jet lifted off, Coulson murmured, "Stop by the target first. There's space to land; there is a runway unless it was completely destroyed."
Clint just glanced up as he felt the jet land. Recognizing that they weren't back on the Helicarrier, he focused back down on the paper in his lap and the report he was writing. He knew he wasn't thinking straight about what Coulson had done, but he didn't really care. A kick at his ankle had him looking up again.
"Clint. You may be pissed off, but you still need to do your job. Get up and walk me through this place." Coulson turned and left the jet, assuming that Clint would follow. A fast look told him everything that he needed to know, so he only partially listened as he walked around. He sighed at the loss of the building and any potential information that was inside, turning to face Clint. "Okay. Back to the jet. We're done here."
The flight back to the Helicarrier was quiet, and the level of tension had Coulson worried. "Clint." When the archer didn't look up from the paper in his lap, Coulson sighed. "Dammit, Clint," he started as he moved to a seat next to Clint. "You're right. I was wrong." He kept his voice low. "I should not have done that; I should have taken those orders and told Fury to figure out another way to placate the Council. But I didn't, and I'm sorry for that." Clint's only response was to tear the top two pages off the pad in his lap and hold them out.
Clint watched out of the corner of his eye as Coulson visibly tensed and took the papers. He'd spent the time that he was writing also thinking; and while he would probably never be happy about what had been pulled, he was starting to think that he understood why. He allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk up slightly as Coulson relaxed. "May not be happy with anybody right now, sir, but I'm not going to leave over something stupid. I can understand why you pulled that. Kinda." He turned slightly in his seat and pulled off his sunglasses, staring at Coulson. "But if you ever pull anything like that again, I don't know what I'll do. Taking a swing at you will be the least of your worries, I do know that." At Coulson's nod, he slouched back and closed his eyes. "So yeah. But I still trust you." He felt something being dropped into his lap and opened one eye, seeing that it was the letter to the college. "Why'd you open it? Thought it was all good."
"Take a look." Coulson shook his head. "I changed a few things. I was going to just let you find out at orientation, but I think that you don't want to be surprised like that so soon after today."
Clint sat back up, pulling out the papers. Reading the changes, he smiled. "Thanks, sir. Be easier to remember. And, yanno," he shrugged as he put the papers back, "thanks. Again."
