Author's Note: Yay! Two chapters in one day! This chapter is a little heavy because Clint is 14 and has issues. Don't worry though. They still have lots of fun and we're leading up to my favorite part so far, which will take several chapters to do justice to. Some of the locations in this chapter are inspired by real places, but are not where I say they are. Enjoy!

Chapter 4 – New Day, New Revelations

After an invigorating breakfast of instant oatmeal and coffee strong enough to put hairs on Clint's chest, the young archer felt ready for another day of traveling. He had slept great despite being out in the open. The long ride on the motorcycle had left him exhausted and after that emotional roller-coaster of a conversation over the campfire he had passed out as soon as he lay down. Now, he was even feeling good enough to try to converse with his unlikely companion.

"So where are we heading?" Clint asked as he watched Logan clean up their campsite. It was actually pretty interesting. Logan's method was very different than what Clint was used to from the circus. Before he became Hawkeye, and most of the time after, Clint had helped with packing up and moving the many parts that made up the circus. It was labor intensive but not very detailed oriented. As long as nothing of importance was left behind, they didn't care what the place looked like in the circus's wake. Logan, though, focused on leaving no trace. He even swept out their footprints and buried their ashes before he declared them ready to move on.

Logan looked up from where he was scattering dried leaves over where they had slept. "South, into Colorado, I think," he said with a shrug. "I don't have a specific destination in mind."

"Oh," Clint said, turning that over. "Where would you go if you didn't have to drag me along?"

The man snorted, sounding amused. "Probably up into Canada," he said thoughtfully. "A few weeks in the Canadian Rockies before making my way back East. Who knows?"

Clint made a face. "Why Canada?"

"I'm Canadian, bub, so you keep your opinions to yourself," the apparently Canadian man laughed. He gently bumped Clint's shoulder.

"But I haven't heard you say 'eh' or 'hoosier' once," Clint teased.

Logan shook his head and tossed Clint his purple helmet. "Drop it," he warned lightly, though Clint was sure he was trying not to smile. "Let's go."

Back on the open road, Clint was surprised how much he liked riding like this. He had expected to be nervous to be this close to an adult for this long, but somehow Logan had become "harmless" in his head so he didn't mind clinging to the man as they roared down the road. The ride was fun too, more fun even than traveling with the circus. They stayed off the main roads, kind of exploring. Clint watched the land change from forest to plains and back again. He watched for wildlife, like deer and hawks. Once he even saw an eagle. It was awesome. Sure he had worked with exotics like lions and tigers but there was something majestic about seeing an eagle in the wild.

When they stopped at a fast food joint for lunch, it was the only place that sold food in the itty bitty town, Clint mentioned it to Logan. The teenager wanted to share that moment with someone and his self-appointed guardian was the only one around. He kind expected to be teased about it, but Logan surprised him.

"Good eye," the man said around a bite of greasy burger. "I wasn't sure you'd see it. Looked like a golden eagle, and big enough to be a female. If you watch the telephone poles, sometimes you can spot their nests."

Clint blinked in surprise. "You don't think it's lame that I thought it was cool?" A raised eyebrow was his only answer. Clint cleared his throat. "Did you see those deer about an hour back? They were back in the trees."

"Yep," Logan nodded. "Did you see the faun with them? It must have been born late to still have spots this late in the year."

Clint shook his head in amazement. "No, I didn't. How'd I miss that?"

"Keep your eyes open for this leg," Logan encouraged. He got up to toss his trash and held out his hand to take Clint's but Clint just tossed his ball of greasy paper straight into the can. "We'll make it a competition. See who can see the most wildlife."

"I'm not going to lose, old man," Clint laughed as he led the way out to the bike.

"We'll see, kiddo."

At their next stop, which was for gas, Clint and Logan compared their sightings. Logan won by two deer and three jackrabbits, though Clint had seen more hawks and other birds in the distance.

"No one has been able to match me when it comes to spotting stuff," Clint pouted. "That's why they called me Hawkeye. I don't get it."

"I know what to look for," Logan said with a shrug. "You'll pick it up."

"Are you sure you didn't cheat?" Clint pressed. It really bothered him that Logan beat him. If he wasn't the best, then what good was he?

"Nope," Logan answered. "I've just got experience."

"Just 'cause your old," Clint teased, sticking out his tongue. "Old fogey." He was trying to keep it light, but he was having fun and not watching what he was saying as closely as he should have.

"Watch it," Logan warned. "I'm not so old I can't stay ahead of you."

Clint felt his stomach clench, but he hid it with a grin. "Sure, grandpa."

Logan rolled his eyes. "We'll stop early tonight," he said, changing the subject. Clint let himself relax. "I know a little inn just past the Colorado border." He smiled softly, probably remembering something nice. "First time I stayed there, they didn't even have electricity yet."

"Seriously?" Clint laughed. "How old are you? Were cars invented yet?"

"Ha, ha," Logan shot back. He grabbed Clint's helmet off the bike and tossed it a little harder than he needed to right at Clint's stomach. "It was just built and it was high enough in the mountains that it took a while to lay the lines for phones and electricity is all."

Still laughing, Clint dropped it for now and climbed on the bike. He was glad to hear that it would be a shorter day. His legs were starting to ache and he was sure he was walking bow-legged. He stifled a grin into Logan's leather jacket. Bow-legged archer, he'd have to remember that one.

"Keep an eye out as we start climbing," Logan called back when they stopped at a red light. "If you're lucky, you might spot some elk."

"What do they look like?" Clint asked, curious.

"Sort of like deer, but bigger," Logan said, without the derision Clint had expected for his ignorance. "I'll point one out if I see it. And if we pass cliffs, look for mountain goats."

Clint nodded, but the light turned green so he didn't have to answer. It was just as well. Maybe if he had enough questions when they stopped for the night, they wouldn't have to talk about the future and he'd be able to enjoy this a little longer. In his 14 years, Clint had learned to appreciate the moment because it never lasted very long.

They reached Logan's little hotel just in front of a summer cloudburst. Sadly, they weren't far enough ahead because Logan was still checking in when the heavens opened up and started pouring buckets down on Clint's head. He scrambled to get their gear off the bike and undercover, cursing under his breath as rivers of water flowed down his collar. He couldn't believe how cold the water was, considering it was midafternoon in late July. He was soaked and shivering by the time he dragged everything under the hotel's porch.

Logan came out holding two keys on wooden keychains. He met Clint's glare without flinching.

"Let's get you inside and in a hot shower," Logan said with only the twinkle in his eyes betraying his amusement at Clint's drowned rat look. "This won't last long and we can go to the Hungry Logger for dinner when it lets up."

"Sh...sh…sure," Clint chattered. A hot shower sounded really good right now. He grumbled miserably as he followed Logan to their room.

It was a nicer hotel than the last place. The room smelled clean and the two twin beds frames were made from real logs. The walls were painted in a faded forest green that actually complemented the blue bedspreads. There was a table and two chairs, also made from rough logs, and a beat-up old minifridge that when opened was surprisingly cold.

"My stuff's alright," Logan said, dumping his bags on one bed. "These bags are pretty much waterproof. How's that duffle?"

Clint swore as he jerked open his bag. He knew the stupid thing had once been waterproofed but that was a long time ago. As he suspected the first few layers of his belongs were damp. "Aw, water, no," he whined. He looked up at his guardian with a hangdog expression which made Logan laugh.

"We can hang stuff to dry," Logan offered. "And since we're not on any schedule, if we need to stay an extra day, that's fine. In fact that might not be a bad idea. Town's only about half an hour ride away. We can pick you up a better bag and some of those replacements I promised you. How's that sound?"
"Whatever you want," Clint answered carefully after a moment. He wasn't sure what Logan wanted from him so he wasn't ready to give his opinion, not when it could be wrong. They had been getting along well and Clint wasn't going to jeopardize that, so he deferred to Logan's judgement.

The older man didn't like that answer though. He growled deep in his chest and Clint flinched away from him reflexively. "No, it's what you want. If you wanted to go back out in that mess, we'd do it. If I ask your opinion, I want it, not what you think I want."

A wave of frustration rose in Clint's chest, and he clenched his fists. Suddenly he didn't feel so cold anymore. "You say that, but no one ever means that," he shot back accusingly.

Logan sighed from his own frustration and ran a hand through his weird spiky hair. Clint had been amazed that regardless of the wind those stupid points persisted. Logan was never bothered by helmet hair, while Clint's stood up in a static cloud every time. "I always mean what I say, bub," the man said gruffly, returning Clint to the conversation. "I won't always agree with you and sometimes I'll veto your choice but I will always prefer an honest answer."

"People always say that," Clint argued, getting heated. He hated it when adults offered him nice words only to hurt him with their actions. At least the cruel ones were up front about it and he could protect himself from the beginning. He hadn't thought Logan was like that, and he felt betrayed.

"I'm not having this spat with you while you stand there dripping wet and asking to catch pneumonia," Logan snarled. He stalked across the room and snagged a towel off the counter by the sink. He threw the cloth at Clint so it covered his head. "Take a shower and maybe it'll give your temper and mine a chance to cool off."

Clint felt his anger deflate like a popped balloon. He suddenly felt empty and a little scared, but there was no way he'd give this stranger another weakness to exploit. "Fine," Clint shouted, grabbing the towel and shoving his way past the guy to get in the bathroom. He slammed the door with as much force as he could muster in the small space, ignore the bewildered look on Logan's face. With a muttered oath he stripped off his soggy clothes and started the shower, angrily twisting the handles to make the water as hot as he could stand. Once he stepped into the water though, he just slipped to the bottom of the tub and clutched his knees to his chest. Isolated from everything by the locked door and the sound of the shower, Clint let himself sob into his boney knees.

He was certain that he had just driven off the closest thing to a friend that he had left in the world. Why didn't he just agree with Logan and drop it? Why'd he have to go pick a fight with the man? Now Logan would see that Clint wasn't worth his time. He'd leave him here or drop him off at a police station or something. Then Clint would be alone, again. If only he was better about keeping his mouth shut. Swordsman had always said that it was his mouth that got him in trouble; that earned him punishment. Clint was just a stupid kid and he should know better than to fight with adults who knew better. The teenager's mind spun in a maelstrom of misery and regret. He couldn't pull himself out of it until the water from the showerhead started to cool.

\\\/\\\/

Logan stared at the bathroom door feeling a strange cocktail of emotions swirling in his stomach. He was annoyed at the boy for not standing up for himself; he was sad for the miasma of fear that Clint had let off when they started fighting; and he was angry but he couldn't decide who he was angry at. He snarled to himself and threw himself on the bed. In contrast to the sturdy furniture, the walls of the hotel were surprisingly thin, so it was easy for Logan's enhanced hearing to pick of the sounds of Clint crying to himself in the shower. Logan sat back up, unable to just lay down and listen to that heartrending sound. His hands fisted in the bedding, but he kept his claws sheathed. This was not something he could fix by stabbing something. He glanced at the telephone on the small table between the beds. He could call Fury. It would be a distraction from the distraught teenager in the other room.

He had the receiver in his hand before he decided to wait. If he wanted to kid to trust him, Logan couldn't hide anything from him, including a meet with the man who ran the outfit who was looking for the kid. Logan wanted that trust, needed it if Clint was going to stay with him. Unable to listen to the quiet sobs, which were slowing down at least, the mutant grabbed his hat and a cigar and went outside.

It was still raining, though it was starting to slack off, as Logan lit up his cigar. It would be clear within an hour and they could see about getting something to eat. First they'd have to talk. Logan was not looking forward to that, though he had been thinking about how to have that talk all day. He wasn't even sure what he'd done to set the kid off, but before he knew what was happening Clint was yelling and Logan was snarling. Before it got worse or the kid got sick, Logan sent him to take a shower, but even that backfired because it left the boy crying his heart out in the shower.

This kind of thing was exactly why Logan left the school in Westchester in the first place. He was not a teacher. He had been a soldier, and he could train soldiers and lead them if need be; but kids were another matter. Chuck didn't seem to understand that and the telepath had kept pushing to Logan to teach the poor mutant kids that they found and/or picked up. Logan got along fine with kids, don't get him wrong. They liked him because he treated them like people, made them feel safe. That is not enough to be a good teacher or a guardian though. Logan wasn't sure what qualities made a good guardian or parent, but he was sure he didn't have them, especially after what Weapon X put him through. He pretty sure that he couldn't give Clint the support and care the kid needed. Feeling every one of his many years, Logan sighed and put out the stub of his cigar. Damn, if he wasn't going to try though, and the Wolverine was not a man who gave up.

The shower was turning off just as Logan came back inside. Logan sat at the little table and waited for the young Hawkeye to make an appearance. It took longer than expected. Apparently the kid had forgotten dry clothes in his rush so he came out wrapped in three fluffy towels that pretty much made him look like a walking marshmallow. One was over his head, one draped over his shoulders, and one wrapped around his waist pretty much covered the boy. Clint was skittish though so Logan stayed quiet, projecting calm as hard as he could. He felt like he was stalking a deer, trying to get close enough to pet it without scaring it off.

Clint dug into his bag and pulled out pants and underwear but all of his shirts were damp. "Aw, shirts, no," he said softly, rummaging through with increasing frantic motions.

"Take one of mine," Logan said softly.

Clint jumped, looking sheepish but went to the bag Logan pointed at. "Aw, flannel," he whined but took a shirt and his pants back into the bathroom to change.

When he came back out, he looked only a little funny in the oversized flannel shirt. Without speaking, Logan helped him hang all of the damp clothes up to dry. It didn't take long and a quick peek out the window revealed it was still raining.

"We should talk, kid," Logan said as Clint stared at the rain in disgust. When the kid made a face at the idea, the mutant laughed. "I know, but I think we should clear the air."

Clint took a seat, cross-legged on his bed and Logan reclined on his, both of them suddenly nervous. Clint spoke first. "I'm sorry I yelled," he said softly, barely over a whisper.

"Don't fret, I've had plenty of people yell at me," Logan said, smirking at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Clint watching him closely. "Must be my winning personality, 'cause I get that a lot." He looked over and caught Clint's gaze. "I'm sorry I got upset too. I'm not sure what I said, but if I hurt you, I'm sorry for that too."

Clint shook his head. "I overreacted; it's not your fault."

"It ain't yours either," Logan assured him. "I only want you to be able to speak your mind to me, Clint. I'm not a complicated man. I will always prefer the truth, even if I don't like it."

Clint shrugged but didn't argue. He didn't look like he believed it either, but Logan would just have to work on that.

"I know it's hard to believe," the older man admitted. "I have trouble trusting people too. So I'm going to be completely honest with you and you can work on being honest with me. Sound fair?"
The boy looked skeptical but said, "If you keep your end, I'll try."

"Fair enough," Logan agreed. He peeked out the window again, hoping for the rain to have let up enough for them to go to dinner. No such luck. "I guess we can start now." Logan took a seat on one bed and scrutinized his partner. "I'm going to call my contact in SHIELD. You can stay and listen to at least my side of the conversation."

"You sure?" Clint asked suspiciously.

Logan raised an eyebrow but instead of arguing he picked up the phone and dialed. After several rings, a deep voiced answered.

"This better be important," Nick Fury snarled over the line. "I don't have time to waste on chit-chat."

"I'd never do that to you, Nick," Logan replied coolly. He waved Clint over so the boy could listen better.

Clint climbed up behind Logan, leaning as close as he could without touching the mutant. Logan nodded at him as Nick complained.

"Logan, why are you calling me? I thought you were all wrapped in that school in Westchester with no time to waste with my 'petty errands', I think you called them," the director said.

Logan shook his head. "I know you knew where I was, because your rookies thought I was your errand boy," he scolded.

That got Fury's attention. "Explain," he ordered sharply.

"Not over the phone," Logan argued. "I want to talk face to face."

The line was silent for a minute while Fury thought that over. It was a common tactic of his to make people squirm and give up more than they intended. It usually worked to, as evidenced by Clint's squirming. Logan was going to have to work on the blonde's patience if Nick's silence bothered him so much. Finally, Nick answered, "What part of the country are you in?"

Logan kept it vague, just in case. "Colorado."

"I have some errands to run in that area," Fury said thoughtfully. "What are you thinking?"

Logan considered his answer carefully. Then he had an idea. He pulled out a pamphlet he had stuffed in his pocket. It advertised a renaissance festival with pictures of men and women in period dress on the front and a list of attractions on the back. It caught the mutant's attention because of a photo of three men with long bows and he kept it because a contest on the back that he thought would interest the kid. "We'll be in Larkspur on Saturday. Think you can fit me in?"

There was the sound of typing as Nick looked up the small town, then swearing. "Hell, no," the man snapped.

"That's where we'll be," Logan deadpanned, winking at the kid who was staring at the slip of bright paper like a winning lottery ticket. "I'll be near the archery sign-up."

"You bastard, there is no way I'm going to a…"

"In the meantime," Logan interrupted, keeping his amusement out of his voice, "I recommend you look into why your agency is so interested in Carson's Circus."

"If you're pulling my leg," Fury threatened. Behind him, Logan heard Clint swallow nervously.

Suddenly tired of this game, the old feral sobered up. "I'm dead serious, Nick. Something stinks in your organization and I'm giving you a heads up."

"Fine," Fury said and hung up abruptly.

Logan turned to the kid who was staring at the phone with wide eyes. "He'll be there and we'll fix this," he said and ruffled the kid's blond hair. It stood up straight from static, leaving the boy with an angelic halo.

Clint mumbled something too low and garbled for even Logan to pick up. The boy's cheeks were turning bright red with embarrassment, though Logan couldn't guess what sparked that reaction.

"Say that again?" Logan prodded gently. "Remember what we just talked about."

Clint heaved a sigh strong enough to lift his whole body. "I know we're supposed to lay low, but…" he trailed off.

Logan knew exactly what the teenager wanted but he wanted the kid to admit it out loud. "But…" he prompted.

Clint glared at his protector but let it all out in a rush. "I know we're supposed to lay low and not draw attention, because people are looking for me but since we're meeting your friend anyway and we'll be there for a while and since I don't have that much money and no way to make more, maybe I could possibly enter the archery competition?"

Logan chuckled but when Clint's face fell, he was quick to explain. "Of course you can enter," he explained. "That's why I choose the festival for the meet, kiddo. I figured you'd be itching to show your stuff."

Clint couldn't hide his grin, but he narrowed his eyes in what he probably though was a menacing expression. "That doesn't seem like a good way to keep our cover."

The older man shrugged. "Who cares? It's not like they'll come after you in the middle of the festival with me watching ya." He grinned and bumped the archer's shoulder. "Thought you'd like a bit of fun. I'll even buy you a turkey leg."

Logan wasn't sure if it was the offer of food that tipped the scales but Clint positively beamed at the idea. It was pretty endearing actually and Logan felt himself returning the smile wholeheartedly.

When the rain finally let up, they rode down to the restaurant Logan mentioned for dinner. It was a friendly feeling place, full of the diner's namesake with a healthy scattering of tourists. Luckily they didn't have to wait for a table and quickly ordered off the limited menu before the waitress left them with their drinks.

"Nice place," Clint said politely, looking around at the framed pictures and newspaper clippings. Some of them were pretty old, dating back to the founding of the little town that Clint couldn't remember the name off.

"It'll do," Logan agreed, though he was glaring at his ice tea. "They've changed it since the last time I was through here. Made it more tourist-friendly."

They chatted amiably until their food arrived. It was hard to hear over the din, but Clint was a pretty good lip reader so they managed. It was nice to talk about nothing of importance. The conversation drifted from their ride to funny stories of past road trips to Clint's funny stories of the circus. By the time their burgers arrived, Clint had the old man chuckling into his ice tea over the time Buck got stuck in the monkey cage and how Betsy the chimp wouldn't let him leave without stealing everything in his pockets including the lint. He didn't mention how Betsy died from food poisoning at the next stop, though. After the food arrived, however, conversation was abandoned in favor of eating. The food was delicious and Clint was positively enamored with the sweet potato fries. His enthusiasm was so great, that Logan ordered some to go so Clint could have a snack later. The teenager rolled his eyes at Logan's comment about putting some meat on his bones, but he accepted the fries with grace.

Things were still lighthearted after they returned to their room. Logan pulled out a battered paperback to read for a while and Clint took out his bow to check and oil it. He wanted to make sure all of his equipment was in top shape for the competition on Saturday. He was really excited to see the other archers shoot. He knew he was the best but the only other archer he knew was Trickshot and he wondered how they compared. He was almost giddy with the possibilities.

After a while though, Logan put down his book and Clint could feel the mood shift. He hid his nerves by double and triple checking the fletching on his arrows. They were the cheapest money could buy and if Clint didn't keep an eye on them, they'd fall apart and mess up his shot. He'd refletched a couple already and reattached the tips to most of them. He was fiddling with an arrow with a loose tip when Logan cleared his throat.

"Have you given any more thought of what you'd like to do?" the man asked, carefully not meeting Clint's eyes which he was grateful for.

"Kind of?" Clint temporized. "I mean, I've thought about it but I haven't thought of anything new, ya know?" Logan nodded, apparently waiting for Clint to continue. Clint took a deep breath to center himself, reminding himself to be honest, no matter what the price. It wasn't that hard really, but the cost still worried him. There was always a cost. "I think staying with you would be the coolest option. I mean, you have been really nice to me so far and you've already taught me a bunch of different things. Buck and Jacques, they taught me a lot to but they were kind of focused on one thing, so I only learned one thing from them and after getting to know you, I think you could teach me a lot of things and that'd be really cool," he tried to explain. Out of the corner of his eye, the blond could see the mountain man (the guy seemed most at home in the woods and blended right in with the loggers at the restaurant) nod again. Now came the hard part, Clint thought. "That'd be my favorite option, but I understand if that won't really work. I'm sure you don't want a kid hanging off you, slowing you down. I know I'm holding you back, I'm not dumb." He took a deep breath and gathered his courage. "So, I was honest about what I wanted, like you said, but if it won't work out; I've decided I'm okay with that. I'll make the most of whatever happens, I'm good at that."

On the other bed, Logan crossed his arms and leaned back, staring at the ceiling with a thinking face. Clint went back to counting the fletching on his arrows, not that he remembered the numbers but it was something to do with his hands.

"First, I want you to know that I've enjoyed having you around," Logan said, breaking the silence that had descended. "You're a snot nosed punk and a smart mouth, but I like that. Sure, it'd be easier on my own, but I've never been one for easy." He held up a hand when Clint opened his mouth to interrupt. "And this thing with SHIELD, my bet is it'll be dealt with after I talk to Nick, and if it ain't, well, I'm not one to run from a fight either. You're not keeping me from something, 'cause I didn't have any plans to begin with."

"Why do I hear a huge 'but' comin'?" Clint pointed out sullenly.

"'Cause I'm not sure you'll want to hang around after I finish being honest with you," Logan told the ceiling. Clint didn't like his tone; it made the guy sound so old and tired. "I told you at the beginning I had my own problems, but that is really a gross understatement. For starters I don't remember much from before about ten years ago."

Clint tilted his head. "Why?"

"I was in a government program called Weapon X for a long time, but I have no idea how long. They experimented on all of us and messed with my head. Some of my memories are false and others, well, they don't always make sense." Logan ran a hand through his hair, making the points more prominent. It sounded like he was reciting a speech that me memorized and Clint wondered how long the man had been planning this talk. "After that I was in a Canadian special forces team, and I stayed with them until things got complicated. Lately, I've been fightin' with a new team out of New England, but we're not exactly government sanctioned either."

"What does all that mean?" Clint asked, trying to get his mind around it all. It sounded like Logan had already led a long and exciting life, not to mention dangerous. Honestly, he sounded like a badass.

"It means, bub, that I've got people gunning for me from at least two supposedly friendly governments. That's in addition to personal enemies, some of which I don't remember until they show their slimy faces. And I might have pissed off most of the global terrorists groups at one point or another. They'd all like a shot at me, but they won't take it till they have a clear shot 'cause if they miss, they know I'll come after them."

"Man, you just sound cooler all the time," Clint said with youthful exuberance. He had put down his bow and gave Logan his full attention. "Can you teach me to fight? I bet you know all kinds of cool moves."

Logan huffed in amusement. "Sure, kiddo, but I got one more secret. First, I gotta ask: what do you know about mutants?"

"The people with abilities that they talk about in the news?" Clint asked. He had a feeling he knew where this was heading, but he'd wait till Logan confirmed it. "I don't know. The papers all say that they're dangerous, but I've heard people say that about circus folk." Clint shrugged. He remembered reading about a man who could cause earthquakes and a woman who could control the weather. At the time, all he could think of was that he wished he had a power; then no one would mess with him. He had stolen a newspaper and was hiding under one of the trailers until Buck cooled off after an incident, so he had been feeling particularly helpless. He smiled at his unlikely protector. "We had a contortionist from Germany stay with us for a while. She was really nice and told me stories about a blue devil with the heart of an angel. He was the one who got her out of the country when her ex was hunting her."

Something about that made Logan laugh to himself, but he sobered up quickly and didn't explain his reaction. "Well, not everyone is so understanding. It's going to be a problem wherever I go." He took a deep breath and finally turned to look Clint in the eye. "Do you think you can handle that kind of prejudice? Even if you're completely normal, you'll be labeled if you're with me."

Clint rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. "Seriously, Logan?" he asked, incredulous. "You found me in the circus being roughed up by my teachers! You think you being a mutant will scare me off? Fat chance, bub. Just try getting rid of me now. Everything you've told me makes me want to stay. It sounds like you could use someone to watch your back. Guess what: I've got excellent eyesight." He reached across the little aisle between the beds to poke the old man in the shoulder. "I don't scare easily."

"I didn't think ya did," the Canadian acknowledged wryly. "Just thought you deserved to know what you'd be getting into."

"Yeah, well, it's a little," the archer pinched together his fingers in demonstration, "concerning to add more shadow agencies after me and I have a lot to learn so I won't get us killed; but I'm game. I'm not real book smart but I'm a quick learner. I won't let you regret this," he grinned. Then a chill settled over the blond when Logan only stared at him. The old soldier narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and it made Clint's dinner sit heavy in his stomach. He tried to back track, "I mean, only if you still want me to stick around, I don't want you to feel you have to keep me or anything."

Logan growled deep in his chest, making the hairs on Clint's arm stand up. "I told you, bub, that I like having you around. Don't insult both of us by trying to back out of this," he paused to find the right word, "partnership we've got here. Despite a rough start, I think we've got a good thing here."

Clint perked up, his hopes rising. "You mean it?"

"I said I don't lie," Logan huffed. "Yeah, I mean it."

Clint couldn't stop the cheer that forced itself out of his mouth if he tried, which he didn't. "Whoopee!"

"Hey, none of that, short stuff," Logan scolded, but he was grinning to so Clint ignored him.

It was liberating, Clint thought, having someone like Logan in his corner. The geezer was tough, with a history that Clint was kind of excited to hear about. What kind of fights had the mutant been in? That led him to another question. "What's your power?"

"I got a healing factor that lets me bounce back from pretty much anything and enhanced senses. Those are the gifts I got naturally." He grinned at the teenager, baring his teeth, and held up a hand. With a shnick sound; three long, sharp, metal claws slipped out between his knuckles. "These, the program I told you about gave to me. My whole skeleton is coated in this metal, making it unbreakable." He retracted the claws and the thin slits in his skin instantly healed.

Clint's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "Damn," he breathed. He hopped off his bed to come sit next to the other man and poke at his knuckles. "I don't even know what to say. That's pretty cool, freaky as all get out, but really cool."

"Thanks, bub," Logan mumbled with just a hint of amusement as he waved off Clint's questing fingers, making him retreat back to his own bed.

After that revelation, silence descended in the little hotel room, but this time it was cozy like a soft blanket. Clint relaxed into it, listening to the old radiator kick on and rattle as it tried to warm the room. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like this, and it took a minute to recognize the feeling: safe. It was… nice, addicting, really. He knew, from past experience, not to get too comfortable. After all it had only been a couple days, Logan could still change his mind, but Clint didn't think so. The mutant seemed the type who didn't change his mind easily; so maybe it would be okay. It was surprising to learn the man was a mutant. Sure he was hairy and his hairdo was unusual to say the least, but he still looked like a normal man. The teen wished he had a mutation like that. He knew his eyesight was abnormally good, but healing or unbreakable bones would have been nice. Then he wouldn't have all the scars he did, more than a fourteen year old should have. Maybe, just maybe, this time, with this weird old mutant, things would be different. Clint sighed and crawled under the blankets when Logan finally turned off the light. He would pray as hard as he could, but in the end, he wouldn't hold his breath.