Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Marvel. I just have fun with their characters.
A/N
Hallo all, I would have posted this earlier except fanfiction spat its dummy and refused to let me login due to a server error. It's back up now though!
First of all I want to say that it was pointed out to me earlier this week that I made a mistake in the first chapter. Apparently a Lt. General is way too high in rank to deal directly with a Corporal, something that my internet research didn't tell me. I immediately changed Hunt to a First Lieutenant and want to thank JRBarton for pointing that out!
I was also browsing through my early notes for this story and found info I originally meant to include in the authors note of chapter 1. I thus added it a couple of days ago so if you haven't read the chapter for a while it may be worthwhile looking at the notes again.
Also thanks for the reviews! Armand, Guest, velveteen habit and jaguarspot all reviewed chapter 3 so a big thanks guys, I am glad that you are enjoying it.
Armand; Yes, Phil probably could figure out what happened if he looked hard enough but for the sake of the story the 'how did the assassin do it?' remains a mystery. Plus, Australia is a long way away from America and the police reports of the accident wouldn't have been as complete as Phil would like, he probably wouldn't have had much information to work with. I actually hadn't thought of that so thanks for pointing it out!
Guest; I am honoured that you like my updates so much. I will only be updating on the weekends but will be putting another chapter up tomorrow if everything goes according to plan and fanfiction doesn't decide to lock me out of my account again.
As always this story would not be what it is without the input of my beta's, so a huge thanks to Midnight Star26 and jaguarspot! Any mistakes that turn up are mine as I am still addicted to editing after the chapter is supposed to be finished.
I used an online translator for the Russian in this chapter and hope that no one is offended. If any one would like to volunteer as a translator please PM me! I am also looking for French and German translators if anyone is interested.
Enjoy chapter 4!
Every human walks around with a certain kind of sadness. They may not wear it on their sleeves, but it's there if you look deep. Taraji P, Henson
Chapter 4: Follow the Arrows
Moscow, Russia: January 1998
Clint shivered even though he was wearing long thermal everything as well as an insulated coat, a thick beanie, boots made for the biting cold, skin-tight gloves and thick pants. All that and he was still cold.
"Worst places in the world to be 101; Russia in winter, unless you're inside with the heating turned to high." He thought to himself as he tried to think of warm places.
Clint put his hands deep in his trench coat pockets and kept his head down as he hurried along the street, the snow continued to drift down round him making the world white. At least his hearing aids hadn't frozen like the last set had when he'd been in snow, Clint knew the new pair were cold resistant to an incredible degree, but he'd still been warned that excessive exposure to cold would shorten their lifespan. Clint still didn't like them but he didn't really have a choice in the matter, an assassin who couldn't hear wouldn't last long in the world.
Clint was on his way to a meeting with a Russian millionaire who had contacted him personally and stated he wanted Hawkeye's specific skill set for a special job, and would pay him well for his trouble if he would just meet him in Moscow. Clint had been suspicious at first, it sounded like a setup, but the man had gone as far as to transfer half the agreed fee (which was a lot) into his account in advance. Clint had agreed because of that but was still on high alert for a set up and had all his senses tuned for an ambush. It didn't help that this part of town was seedy, with most buildings empty and falling apart, and looked completely devoid of human life.
As the building he was to meet his client in came into sight Clint ducked into an alleyway and did a quick check of his weapons to make sure he could reach them easily if the need arose. He then opened the backpack he was carrying and removed his bow and quiver. Clint settled the later on his back before locking the limbs of the bow into position and grasping it in his right hand. He was ambidextrous but found he was best with his left hand when it came to archery. After doing another check that his numerous knives were all within easy reach, Clint took a deep breath to calm his thudding heart, if something did go wrong with this meeting he had to be ready to deal with it and he could only do that if he was calm and focused. He figured his face was obscured enough with the scarf and beanie so he didn't bother to wear the mask he often used. Clint had gone into the alleyway but it was the assassin Hawkeye who stepped out and walked up the front steps of the building.
The front door opened with a screech that made him wince slightly as the sound went straight through his head. It led into a foyer area that was empty save for a blonde girl sitting behind a desk reading a book. She gave him one look, saw the bow, and pointed to a door just to the right of the desk which was closed.
"Через него, вы ожидали." (Through there, you're expected.)
"Спасибо." (Thankyou.)
Clint opened the appointed door. He understood Russian well enough to scrape by, though he needed much more practice in speaking it. He understood more words than he spoke and knew lots of very creative Russian swearwords thanks to the circus Strongman but he hadn't spent enough time in Russian countries to learn to speak it fluently.
The door led into a short corridor with another door at the end which stood partially open, yellow light spilling from it. Clint could hear low voices coming from behind it but couldn't understand what was being said, and as he halted outside the door and knocked the voices died down.
A sharp voice bid him "Введите" (enter), so he did.
As he stepped into the room his eyes quickly took in everything inside. The room was small and brightly lit by two light bulbs. The plaster on the walls was faded and peeling, and there were no windows making the space feel very stuffy and cramped. In the centre of the room was a table with three chairs grouped around it. The two chairs facing the door were occupied and Clint took a good look at the two men sitting there.
The first one was short and heavily built, though the beginnings of a double chin suggested something other than muscle. He had black hair slicked back and a short neatly trimmed black beard, his dark eyes looked greedy and mean. He was wearing jeans and a black and green jacket with a thick gold necklace hanging around his neck. Someone obviously watches too many gangster movies, Hawkeye thought; the man was trying too hard to look intimidating.
The other man was taller and much more muscled; he had light brown hair and those same dark eyes. Probably a brother, Clint guessed. He was wearing a pressed black suit complete with tie and dress shoes, and was sitting stiffly in his chair; the way he was eyeing Hawkeye made it clear he was obviously very nervous about this meeting.
Standing, or rather slouching, against the wall behind them were four more men dressed alike in black leather and all carrying weapons, they were obviously their body guards. As Clint entered the room they straightened up and eyed him nervously, no one draw weapons but by the way they twitched it was obvious that they would like to. Hawkeye inwardly smirked, his reputation preceded him, and the bow in his hand made it unmistakable who he was. It was good they feared him; it gave him an advantage he could use if this meeting went south. Though Clint had no doubts he could take them all out if he needed to, and could have even if they weren't afraid of him.
Anton Barsukov, the shorter man, looked up as Hawkeye entered the room. He was slightly surprised by what he saw. For starters the man couldn't have been taller than 5 foot 10, and looked very young. Then he saw his eyes and quickly reversed his opinion, those eyes were dangerous. Despite his physical appearance Hawkeye was someone to be reckoned with. The bow held casually in his right hand, the full quiver slung over his back along with the wicked looking knife strapped to his leg only served to confirm this. And those were just the weapons he could see, Anton had no doubt there were more. Overall the picture pleased him, even if it was rather unsettling. He'd initially had his doubts about hiring Hawkeye to do this job, but now he was sure he'd made the right choice.
"Привет Соколиный глаз, это был хороший из вас приехать. Просьба занять место, поэтому мы можем говорить бизнес. Вы хотите говорить на английском языке или вы счастливы продолжить этот разговор на русском языке?" (Greetings Hawkeye, it was good of you to come. Please take a seat so we can talk business. Would you like to talk in English or are you happy to continue this conversation in Russian?)
"Я понимаю Русский, но во избежание недоразумений было бы легче говорить бизнес на английском языке." (I understand Russian, but to avoid misunderstandings it would be easier to talk business in English)
"I understand." Anton said in smooth English with only a slight accent. "This is a very important job and we must avoid misunderstandings at all costs. I am Anton, and this" he waved dismissively at the taller man next to him, "is my younger brother Viktor. Do not mind him; he is here to learn only and will not interrupt. Now let us talk business."
He removed a photograph from a pocket in his jacket and placed it on the table between them.
"This is who I want taken out, name's Grigory Vetrov, a retired engineer, but one who knows too much about me and my business for his own good. His address is on the back, you will receive the rest of the money we agreed upon when he's dead. Understood?"
Hawkeye studied the photo, no doubt memorizing everything about the man's face. Anton felt vaguely uneasy despite being sharp and hard about this meeting. This man so far had basically said nothing, and it was somewhat intimidating. The way his eyes had roamed over the room as he walked in was also spooky. His eyes were about all that could be seen due to the coat, scarf and hat he wore, likely on purpose so Anton couldn't get a good look at his face. And he never relinquished his grip on his bow, instead picking up the photo in his left hand. Anton was suddenly immensely glad he was the one hiring this man, and not the one who would be on the receiving end of his arrow. Anton put on a tough exterior and had to work on looking menacing but this man managed to be intimidating, menacing and everything else that goes with it without even appearing to try too hard.
"Okay. I will contact you when he's dead so you can transfer the rest of the money. After I make contact you'll have a 24 hour timeframe to deliver it. Don't try to cheat me as that makes me angry, and I'm not nice when I'm angry. And you won't be able to hide, there is nowhere in the world where I won't be able to find you if you try anything funny. You try to double-cross me; well, as they say, dead men tell no tales."
Anton decided right then and there that he would certainly be following Hawkeye's orders to the letter. The second he rang that money was being transferred. He might be a coward, a bully and a small-time aspiring crime lord but he wasn't stupid, this man was deadly. He nodded in agreement and smiled, showing all teeth and not much else due to his nerves.
"Of course, as soon as Vetrov is dead you'll get your money; I can assure you of that. A pleasure doing business with you Hawkeye."
Anton watched as the other man nodded, and just managed to suppress a shiver. Those man's eyes were enough to give a sane man nightmares for months, they were the eyes of a killer, a highly trained and experienced killer. After Hawkeye left Anton felt he could breathe again and was immensely glad it wasn't him the Hawk was after. Vetrov was a walking dead man already, he just didn't know it.
Phil Coulson was waiting outside Fury's office, thinking over his problem. He'd hit a very hard brick wall with his research into Hawkeye, so much so that he felt like banging his head against a real brick wall in frustration but had managed to stop himself, reasoning he'd be no good to anyone unconscious. He absolutely had to get to the bottom of this, but he'd need Fury's help for what he had planned that might give him a lead, hence why he was currently waiting outside the man's office.
Almost two months had passed since Fury had first given him the task of finding out more about the mercenary Hawkeye. In that time Phil had dug deep in every place he could think of, and the results were almost zero. All he'd found out that they didn't already know was that Hawkeye was a name feared by all in the underworld. Phil also found out if you double-crossed him you wouldn't survive; this assassin liked to make a statement. The rumours and stories that Phil had heard through his underground contacts were pretty dark and grim and his message was very clear, 'don't mess with me if you value your life'. Phil could appreciate that message but apparently many others couldn't if some of the stories he'd heard about what his assassin did were even half true.
However, none of the information Phil had painstakingly uncovered in the course of his two months of research had been very helpful in finding out this assassin's identity.
What Phil had managed to find out was that he'd first appeared almost ten months ago, or at least his arrows had, he'd never been seen doing a job. After the incident in Melbourne Phil had watched every single second of security footage from that night and hadn't found anything suspicious; men wearing waterproof trench coats and women in waterproof jackets were all that he'd seen. He still had no idea how Hawkeye had managed to pull off that job and it was frustrating him no end. Phil didn't like not knowing something, curiosity was what killed the cat they said, but it hadn't killed Phil yet and so long as he was alive he'd continue to be curious. Or nosy, depending on whom you asked.
Killing under almost impossible situations seemed to be this mercenary's specialty, if the other places where arrows had been found were anything to go by. And that was it, no more information could be found. Hawkeye was, to all intents and purposes, a ghost. If it wasn't for his arrows Phil wasn't sure he'd believe he actually existed outside of being a myth or a patsy for the criminals who didn't want to be identified by having their own codename. There was just one option left that had yet to be exhausted, Phil didn't know if it would work but it was the only thing he had been able to come up with that might give him a lead as he was almost at his wits end.
Fury's voice from inside the office brought Phil out of his musings and back to the present. The door opened just then and Junior Agent Victoria Hand exited. Spying Phil her eyes widened slightly and she nodded at him respectfully as he was a higher level agent.
"The Director says you're to go in now, sir."
Phil nodded his thanks and entered the office, carefully shutting the door behind him. Fury was sitting at his desk watching Phil. There were spare chairs in the room but Phil elected to stand; he nodded a greeting at his boss. Fury looked at his agent and got right to the point.
"What's up Phil? I can tell by that look in your eye that you've got some big plan that you want my help with and that it's something I'll probably regret helping you with later. Is this anything to do with Hawkeye by any chance?"
Phil wasn't surprised Nick had guessed right, the man was scarily perceptive and finding Hawkeye was rapidly becoming an obsession of Phil's.
"Yes, it is. The thing is Nick; I've run into a dead end. I can't find any more information on him other then what we've already got. He, and we're only presuming this assassin is male as I haven't gotten confirmation either way, is a ghost and shadow hiding in a world that's full of both of them. The only solid thing about him is his arrows so I was wondering..."
"If I could somehow get you some of his arrows so you can play with them."
Fury finished Phil's sentence and Phil closed his mouth and nodded. It was a few moments before Fury spoke and when he did he looked very thoughtful.
"Actually, it's not a bad idea, providing we can get actually find some and get hold of them. What lead you expect to find on an arrow I'm not sure, but if that's what you want I'll see what I can do about it. Believe me; I want to know who this Hawkeye is just as much as you do."
"Thanks boss, I honestly don't know what else to do as my research has hit a dead end. At least if I have something solid that we know for certain belonged to him I might feel like we're getting somewhere, unless his arrows are as intangible as he seems to be."
"Well, I'll see what I can do about it Phil, but this won't be easy. I can't make any promises."
"Thanks Nick, I really appreciate this. Let me know when you find anything, and good luck."
"Will do Phil. By the way, you might as well take this paperwork with you now; it'll save me having to deliver it to you later. It's about that op in Bolivia; Agent Hand was just dropping off her report regarding it and I'm still waiting on yours."
Phil almost groaned at the pile of paper Fury pointed out. It was huge, and paperwork was the last thing he felt like doing just now. He was sure he hadn't signed a form upon joining S.H.I.E.L.D that stated there would be so much paperwork. He picked it all up and turned to go, but just before he reached the door he was struck with inspiration. He turned back to face Fury who looked up from his work at him with a raised eyebrow that rapidly turned into a frown as Phil smiled sweetly at his boss.
"You know SIR, that I really appreciate all this, don't you SIR? All this help you're giving me SIR."
"Get out of my office NOW!"
The Hawk was on his perch. He'd set up his surveillance post on top of the closed-down cinema located almost directly across the street from his target's house, the roof had just the right amount of flat and sloping surfaces. He'd been observing for 8 days now, and what stuck out most was that Vetrov only left the house twice; he was a real home body. Groceries were delivered right to his door along with whatever else he needed. The two times he left were very significant though, they were the nights a local band played live at a small club not far away. They played there twice a week, always the same nights. Tomorrow night they were due to be performing again, and Clint was pretty sure his target would go out to see them, and that would be his chance. Vetrov always took a taxi to the actually place but had to walk the distance from his front step to the road and so would leave himself exposed for just enough time for Clint to do this. For anyone else this job would be almost impossible, but Clint wasn't just anyone.
Seeing the lights go out in the house across the street Clint decided to call it a night, this man was normal in every way and slept at night so it was pointless to keep watching him, especially when he'd already decided on a plan of action. Clint gathered the few things he'd brought with him on the surveillance trip and climbed down from the roof. He rounded the corner of the building on silent feet only to run into something soft, warm and solid that was being equally quiet.
"Oof." He gasped and then before he could react or do more than blink the other person had pinned him up against the wall and was holding a knife to his throat. All that registered with the snow and growing darkness was the person was wearing black everything like him, and had long red curls that flowed out from under a beanie, before a soft female voice hissed in his ear.
"Что вы здесь делаете? Вы бы лучше Скажи мне правду, или я убью вас. Почему вы сохранение вкладок на Ветрова?" (What are you doing here? You'd better tell me the truth or I'll kill you. Why are you keeping tabs on Vetrov?)
Clint decided to tell the truth, or at least stay on the line of truth.
"Я делаю мою работу." (I'm doing my job)
"И только то, что работа это будет?" (And just what job would that be?)
Clint didn't reply to that, instead he decided it was time to turn the tables. He didn't like others invading his personal space, and he definitely didn't like a knife been held to his throat, come to think of it he didn't like anything being held to his throat, it never ended well either way. Clint figured it was time to do something about it now while this girl was talking and hopefully slightly distracted.
A little less than 5 minutes later he had her pinned to the ground and unable to move, he was holding his knife to her throat. He had to admit she was good, he'd had to use every trick he knew to take her down and had likely only succeeded in the end because she'd lost her knife and been distracted for half a second; once that had happened his superior size and weight had won out. He had lost his scarf and hat in the process, but then she had lost hers as well. In spite of winning the fight Clint still had a pretty good gash on his arm that he'd have to see to later and some bruised ribs. He was sure she at least had a few bruises. For the moment however his injuries were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
"Теперь это моя очередь задавать вопросы. Что вы здесь делаете, и почему вы хотите знать, что я делаю? Кто вы работаете для?" (Now it's my turn to ask questions. What are YOU doing here and why do you want to know what I'm doing? Who do you work for?)
Her deep green eyes bored into his, and he could clearly see the anger blazing in them. She attempted to move but he was holding her down in a way that made it nearly impossible, though if she'd really wanted to she could probably have gotten away, the way she'd handled herself in their fight had told Clint she was very highly trained. Clint was grateful for those lessons spent learning mixed-martial arts and self defence techniques in Asia, he'd realised he needed some more advanced training in hand-to-hand very early on. He wasn't expecting a straight answer to his question and not wanting to hurt her unnecessarily as she was obviously just doing her job like he was Clint was unsure what he was going to do next.
Therefore, it was a surprise to him when she spoke not in Russian but in English.
"You're American, aren't you?" She barely whispered, her accent definitely Russian. "I can tell by your accent. They're teaching me to speak American. My bosses want to know who hired you to kill Vetrov. Just tell me who did and there'll be no more trouble."
Clint had to concentrate hard not to let his guard down as he answered her in Russian, the fact she'd spoken English made it difficult for him to stay focussed.
"Дайте мне одна хорошая причина, почему я должен сказать вам, что вместо того чтобы просто убить тебя прямо сейчас." (Give me one good reason why I should tell you that instead of just killing you right now)
Her gaze didn't waver.
"Because if you do that my bosses won't be pleased and will most likely hunt you down and finish you off for killing a valuable asset. They aren't worried about Vetrov dying if that's what you're worried about; they simply want to know who ordered his death as it's on their turf."
Clint thought about that as he looked into her eyes, trying to see if she was telling the truth. He was normally pretty good at reading people but she wore an unreadable mask. That mask couldn't hide everything to someone with Clint's eyesight however, and he saw a glimpse of something else in those eyes that made his heart hit rock bottom, it was like looking into his own soul. In that brief moment Clint read darkness, hopelessness, loneliness and a whole lot of other things all rolled into one. This girl was as lost and broken as he was, and she couldn't have been any older than him either. With this realisation instead of answering her question Clint asked her one.
"If I let you get up can I trust you not to attack me? It's a little hard to have a conversation like this with someone when you've got them pinned to the ground, so I'll make a deal with you. I let you get up, as a result you don't attack me, I answer your question, and you answer one of mine. How's that sound? We both get what we want without getting hurt."
He saw a brief flicker of what may have been confusion pass through her eyes before it was gone, replaced instead by a look of cool determination.
"Agreed." She said, her Russian accent very clear.
Clint got off her and allowed her to stand up. He kept his knife in his right hand however, and he noticed she picked up the knife she had dropped in their earlier scuffle without taking her eyes off him and didn't bother to re-sheath it. They stood there eyeing each other for a moment before Clint spoke.
"The man's name was Anton Barsukov. That's all I know about him."
It actually wasn't all he knew; he knew more details about this man but figured a name was all she needed to know, it was time to find out something about her.
"Now my turn for a question sweetheart, a deal is a deal. Who are you working for and why would they be concerned about an old man's death?"
She glared daggers at him for a few moments because of the nickname (Clint wondered if he'd gone too far, she was obviously another assassin and it wasn't a good idea to piss off assassins, he would know after all) before she opened her mouth and replied.
"I work for an organisation that is concerned for the safety of this country."
He realised as she looked at him tight-lipped with blazing green eyes that was all he would get out of her. Still he had the answers to his question, time to end this meeting.
"Are we good to go now that you've got your answer?" He refrained from saying sweetheart this time, he kind of wanted to live another day if that was an option.
She nodded once, and looking at her without her hat and scarf obscuring her features Clint became fully aware of just how pretty she was. Her hair was, as he'd already noticed, bright red, long and curly. She had long eyelashes and her features were breathtakingly beautiful, even in the dim light. The darkness in her soul, however, was unmistakable. Clint sheathed his knife and watched as she did the same. She then slipped away from him like a shadow, but just before she reached the corner he spoke up, not really knowing why he did but meaning every word.
"Удачи." (Good luck.)
She paused and turned back to face him. She must have read the sincerity in his eyes because she gave him a stiff nod and replied tersely.
"Так же вам." (Same to you.)
Then she was gone, leaving Clint wondering if he had actually heard those last words or had imagined them. Clint shook his head, trying to clear it of the image of her eyes. They reminded him to much of himself, and that wasn't a good thing. Right now he had a job to do and couldn't afford to be distracted any more than he already had been, after all his life depended on him being able to do his job no matter what happened.
The Taxi driver, the only eye witness to the event, later reported that the arrow that ended Vetrov's life had come out of nowhere. He hadn't even known what was happening until after Vetrov had suddenly dropped to the ground with an arrow through his eye and by then it was too late to do anything. The mystery of Vetrov's death joined hundreds of other files on unsolved homicides which were collecting dust in the local police station archives and having no living relatives the old man was quickly forgotten.
The rest of the money for the hit was transferred into an offshore bank account immediately following the awaited phone call and the bird had flown almost before the dead man hit the ground.
End of chapter 4.
One guess as to who the mysterious redhead is! I think that everyone but Clint knows the answer to that one. I hope you will tune in tomorrow for our next instalment of Shades of Red and Black;
Chapter 5: Paris
Would love reviews on what you thought of this chapter!