A/N: This is my first foray into a non-romantic story. I love Hawkeye/Clint Barton and feel he doesn't get enough love in the MCU. He's a total bad ass that holds his own among all the Avengers with superpowers. However, I wanted to make this story about Frankie and not about him. Plus, as the story progressed, I just couldn't see it becoming a romance. I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1
"Where can I find Little Tito?" a resonant voice from the bar demanded.
Frankie sighed and brushed aside a strand of her dark hair that had escaped from the braids that pulled her hair back from her face.
"We're not open yet," she replied, not bothering to turn around, and continued to dry the glass in her hands. Manuel, the bar's owner, had called her in for the early shift because his nephew had failed to show up yet again and she was already out of patience.
"I'm not here to drink," the man behind her huffed. "I'm just looking for Little Tito."
She ignored him and kept drying glasses. Telling him where Tito was wouldn't do either of them any favors. All Tito's friends knew where to find him and sending back someone who wasn't a friend would only piss him off. She was already on thin ice with him. Nope. She was just going to mind her own business. Maybe he would give up and go away.
"Look," he said after a bit, his words clipped, and his voice raised, "can you quit doing that and turn around?"
"I'm busy. Go bother someone else."
She heard movement and hoped he was leaving. This was one of those times when the old mirrored bar back would have come in handy, but Manuel had been too cheap to replace it when it was broken during the battle for New York.
Without warning, a strong hand gripped her shoulder and spun her around to be face to face with the bothersome man. He gripped the counter on either side of her hips and leaned into her personal space, only having to lean down a little to get in her face. Frankie recognized him instantly, how could she not? His was a face that taunted her in her nightmares night after night and left her burning with anger and despair. A steel band of hate wrapped itself around her chest making it hard to breath.
Cool blue eyes regarded her with annoyance. He had jumped over the bar and was standing so close that she could smell the sweat on his skin from the hot New York summer and, underlying that, the scent of the soap he used. Of course, he didn't recognize her. Why would he? She had just been another faceless victim of his thoughtless pursuit of vengeance.
"Do I have your attention now?"
She leaned as far away from him as the counter at her back would allow, and blew out a breath. "I don't need any trouble," she said carefully.
He nodded his understanding, "is he in the back?" He jerked his head towards the door that led to the back offices and storage rooms of the bar. Manuel let Tito conduct business back there in return for protection and other vaguer benefits one would get for accommodating a crime boss. Granted, Tito was little more than a small-time thug, but the world on the streets of Bedford Park was small and its denizens liked to keep it that way.
Not taking her dark eyes off him, she nodded almost imperceptibly. Behind her, she felt along the edge of the shelf for a small button. It had been installed decades ago and was one of the few things in the bar that Manuel bothered to have repaired or upgraded when needed. The original purpose of the button was to summon help from the back. Then, during the gang wars of the 80's and the police crackdown on drugs in the 90's, it became an alarm for those in the back. Now, in addition to the button, there were hidden cameras monitored from the main office, but someone had to be in there to see the feed. Frankie knew that Manuel was in the storeroom with Tito now.
His eyes flicked down quickly indicating he had caught the movement. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," his voice turned to steel and he reached for her arm, but she darted to the side, effectively putting more distance between them, and raised her hands were he could see them.
"Can't blame a girl for trying to save her job, can you?" she gave him a lopsided grin that she didn't feel. Every instinct screamed for her to either run away or to slap the smug expression off his face. Caught between her flight or fight impulses and unable to act on either, she settled for defiance, raising her chin and meeting his eyes that were almost level with hers.
The corners of his eyes crinkled with humor.
"You might want to find a new job."
He hopped back over the bar, moving with feline grace and barely making a sound. As he stalked to the door, he looked back at her.
"You should leave." Then he opened the door and disappeared through it.
Frankie sagged against the bar, letting out the breath she had unconsciously been holding. She couldn't believe it. The one person she hated more than anyone else had been standing inches from her. She had fantasized for years about what she would do if she ever met him. Screaming at him. Hitting him. Stabbing him. Causing him the same pain he had caused her. He had been right there.
And she had done nothing.
"I'm sorry, Rory," she whispered to the silence of the bar, angry at herself for her inaction.
Resolutely, she pushed away from the bar. She was not going to miss the opportunity to extract the punishment he deserved. The only weapon she had available at the bar was the knife used to cut lemons and limes for drinks. The blade was only five inches long, but it was sharp as hell; she should know, she cut herself often enough with it. Picking it up and wrapping herself in righteous anger, she walked around the bar and towards the door.
Hawkeye was going to pay.
She crept down the hallway trying to walk softly in her boots, only being somewhat successful. The first two doors she came to were open, but no one was inside. She expected that. Manuel and Tito were the only others in the building this time of day, besides her, and they were in the back storeroom. That door was standing ajar and she could hear the murmur of voices from inside.
Standing outside the door, she jumped as she heard a thud and then a shriek of pain from inside.
"Fuck! I'm telling you the truth! We don't have any of that shit here!"
"So, you don't mind if I look around?" Hawkeye asked.
"Hell, knock yourself out," Tito laughed. "If I had some of those, I wouldn't still be hanging around this shit hole."
"Get me down from here!" a voice cried that was barely recognizable as Manuel's.
"Shut up!" Tito told him.
"If you don't have them, do you know who does?"
"Why the hell should I tell you?"
"Because if you don't, the next one goes through you."
The silence that followed his threat was only broken by a moan from Manuel as Tito considered his options. Apparently, he decided it was in his best interest to cooperate because she heard him curse under his breath in Spanish.
"I've heard some rumors, but nothing concrete. I'll ask around."
"You have a day. I'll be back tomorrow," Hawkeye warned. "And don't think about trying to avoid me. If you make me look for you, I'll bring some help with me. And they won't be willing to overlook your little business here like me," he chuckled. "I don't think you would like their reaction."
"Hey, there's no reason to get all hostile," Tito said, his voice raised nearly an octave in alarm. "I told you I would ask around. I'm a man of my word."
Frankie was about to push the door open and slip inside, when it was yanked open. Hawkeye was standing in front of the opening, his back to her and a hand on the door. Around his broad shoulders, she blanched at the sight of Manuel pinned to the wall with an arrow from the bow that the so-called 'good guy' held loosely at his side. Manuel might be a cheap bastard but she had worked for worse people. He certainly didn't deserve the torture that Hawkeye was dishing out. Frankie's resolve hardened.
"You better be," he told Tito, then spun quickly to leave. She raised the knife and stepped into the doorway to meet him.
His eyes widened with shock and pain. Both of them froze in place; her dark eyes locked on his.
From within the room, Tito called, "get back to the bar, girl!"
Frankie ignored his command, instead she leaned in and twisted the knife, hissing through her clenched teeth, "that's for Rory, you bastard!"
Then she released her grip on the knife, spun away and sprinted down the hall and out into the main room. She ran behind the bar and grabbed her purse, not slowing, then out into the street. She didn't stop running until she was two blocks away, then turned the corner and sagged against the building, gasping for breath. She had stabbed an Avenger. Oh, man, was she in a lot of trouble!
