He found Clint in the archery range. Again. Phil sighed and took his usual place next to Clint, leaning against the wall with a water bottle at the ready. Clint didn't show any indication of noticing Phil, but he knew Clint saw him. He pounded arrow after arrow into the targets, showing them no mercy. Phil sighed again and looked down at the files in his hands.

"She reminds me of him," He said suddenly. Phil looked up, startled. He knew who 'he' was. Phil just didn't know why. He let the smallest hint of confusion dart across his expression, he knew it would be enough. Clint noticed and elaborated.

"Swordsman was the one who taught me to fight, you know," He said. Phil didn't know, but he knew better and stayed silent.

"We could go round after round without stopping, until we both were exhausted. I would always beat anyone else. Barney came close. But I would always win." Clint said wistfully. Then his expression darkened.

"She's like that. I knew immediately that I could go round after round with her and never win or lose. Hell, I'd even enjoy it," He added quietly. Then the defenses went sliding up and he was on his guard again. He seemed afraid he said too much. Clint wordlessly lifted his bow to let loose another arrow, when he tilted his head. Phil looked up in confusion, who would dare enter the archery range when the Hawk was training?

The doors slid open, and Natasha walked in warily. She ignored Phil and Clint, who seemed more than happy to do the same. She padded over to the shooting range and pulled out a handgun. Phil had no idea where she got that, since new recruits weren't allowed weapons until after 4 months. He wasn't dumb enough to point that out, though. The tension was so thick, it was almost tangible. Clint went back to his bow, but Phil could tell he was still watching Natasha. Across the range, Natasha was doing the same. Phil suddenly felt very small.

Clint was scared. He hated to admit it, but he was terrified. He had joined SHIELD to be better, to be different. Now every change, every shift he had made seemed to melt away, leaving behind the scarred, angry boy desperate for survival. All because of her.

"Come on Clint! You can do better!" Swordsman laughed.

"Stop pushing, it's rude," Clint scowled as he dodged another one of his brother's punches. But Clint knew Swordsman was joking, because he didn't need to do better. He could win this fight with his arm tied behind his back. Clint was getting bored, so he finished it. His brother tumbled to the floor and surrendered. Clint reached out a hand, but Barney batted it away, frowning. Clint shrugged.

Clint's breaths were coming in short, ragged gasps, but he kept going, stringing up another arrow. He focused on the target. Bull's eye.

"Ready?"

"Always," Clint breathed. Then they were off, lunging at each other like feral beasts, hitting, kicking, tumbling to the ground. Then Clint was gone, and all that was left was the wild, untamed hawk. And he liked it. He growled like an animal leapt to his feet to launch another attack. The Swordsman blocked and grabbed his arm, wrenching it over his head, and flipping Clint down to the cold, unforgiving ground below. It hurt, but the Hawk got up. Predators know no pain. Down he went, and up he came back up, never knowing when to quit.

Later, he lay on the ground, back as Clint. Exhaustion drawing in. The adrenaline slowly washed away and Clint was left grinning, waiting for the next moment to let loose, to let go.

Clatter. Clint started and looked down, his previously notched arrow on the ground. His bow was held loosely in his hand. He never dropped an arrow. He never fumbled. Ever. He was shaking. Phil noticed, giving him a concerned look, asking if he needed help. Clint jerked his head, no. Deep breath in, deep breath out. He slowly calmed down enough to look back up. Natasha was staring at him, her pistol forgotten in her hand. All the panic came rushing back, his face flushing red. Then he left.

Phil frowned, debating whether to go after Clint or not. He decided not, feeling Clint needed some time to vent. He sighed and looked up, he was alone. Again. He groaned. Fury's gonna kill me.

Clint leaned his flushed face against the icy meatal of the rafters, 60 ft in the air. No one could find him here, not even Phil. He knew, of course, but Phil was afraid of heights. Clint focused on his breathing. In, out, in ,out. He slowly calmed, and leaned back against the corner of the catwalk. Then his heart jumped into his throat. Someone was here.

A slender figure stepped out of the shadows, her red hair swinging behind her. She quietly made her way over to him and sat down tentatively. He didn't know why he stayed, or didn't tell her to go. Maybe he just needed company. He sighed. What had happened between him and Swordsman wasn't her fault. She was just too similar. Her pearly fingers clung lightly to the cold metal, inches away from his. She closed her eyes, letting him know he could trust her. To his surprise, he closed his too. A slight smile slipped out. Of all the people to trust, he chose the Black Widow, world class assassin, Russian spy. How ironic. Natasha glanced over curiously, before turning back and closing her eyes again. It was dark up there in the rafters, but Clint could have sworn he saw a small smile dance across her lips, too.

I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but the ending was too good to pass up! The beginnings of a Clintasha...? What do you think? Please leave a review, so I can have something in my gmail inbox. (It's currently empty, not a lot of people email me. I wonder why...)

MilkyWay out :)