PRODIGY ~ HOT RIDE
…
Clint wasn't Clint at the moment. He wasn't even Hawkeye.
No, right now, he was Danny Best, from Chicago. Danny liked who he was and didn't expect to change anytime soon. He had a wicked sense of loyalty, which practically guaranteed that he would gain friends, and he was clever, but not spy material of course. Like many men in his trade, he had a temper that got in the way sometimes, and he wasn't known to be a family man. But all other things set aside: Danny was a damn good racer.
Danny had been drag racing since he could reach the gas pedal. He knew through experience what a car could or couldn't do and he knew what a man behind the wheel of another car would expect him to do. He was so good in the fast lane that it was rumored that he could get a team into an armored truck and away with the goods without dropping below eighty miles an hour. Danny particularly liked the rumor that he'd driven right through the middle of a Senator's fundraiser and taken some politician's daughter for the ride of her life… before leaving her at her hotel sans panties. He was so good at getting away though, that no one could prove he'd done anything of the sort.
Clint prided himself on his character inventions. There was more to going undercover than just piercing your ears and wearing civilian clothes. It wasn't all about creating a false history or even distracting people with your skills; you needed to have a personality to fit the expectations of whoever you wanted to fool, all without making it look fake. Personality made everything.
Stepping out of his self-modified Japanese racecar, Danny watched the crowd of skimpily clad girls and racer-wannabes turn to look at him in interest. This was the first time Danny had come around the Daemon races, though he'd made a name for himself at several other gang's races.
"Well, looky-look who's here! It's Danny Best, the best of the best! I was wondering when you be comin' around here!" Go-To yelled as he stepped out of the crowd. Go-To was the man to go to if you had a question about anything to do with the racing world… hence the name. He was the flagman for every track in the area on account of his aptitude for keeping everyone up to speed on the other racers.
"Hey, G. How's it going?" Danny threw his cigarette to the asphalt and slapped Go-To on his shoulder.
Go-To began leading Danny through the crowd, "You know Danny boy, I'm really glad you're here tonight."
"Oh, and why's that?" Danny asked, ignoring the way everyone was looking at him with interest.
"This two-wheeler showed up outta-the-blue and has been taken everyone to the bank ever since, cars and 'cycles both," Go-To said. "Doesn't like to fight by the book neither, even though there ain't any rules on the Daemon track anyway, you know what I'm sayin'?"
Danny got a hungry smile on his face, "Sounds like I'll be getting some fun tonight. Where can I find this motherfucker?"
"On the track o' course!" Go-To said. "Everyone's tryin' their hand. Fire-cracker hasn't been off a race since six o'clock."
The roar of engines could be heard now, getting loader every second. The crowd started getting excited, turning to the deserted street.
Go-To disappeared with a shouted, "That's my cue!"
Danny turned to the road just as a bright green roadster sped around the corner into sight, a sleek little silver two-wheels right on its tail. The crowd got rowdy as they neared the finish line, rivaling the engines for volume, and the streetlights flickered on with the setting sun.
About half a mile from the finish, the motorcyclist hit the speed extra hard, leaning to the right - and then leaning a little more. The people on the sidewalk started to edge towards the buildings nervously. A few women screamed as the motorcycle actually mounted the curb and headed for the crowd… but Danny didn't even blink. Hawkeye saw the table leaning against the tailgate of a truck parked on the sidewalk.
The trajectory and hard-hitting speed worked together beautifully to launch the motorcyclist into the air and right into the path of the car still racing directly for the finish. The driver of the green roadster, obviously startled, let up the speed just enough to let his opponent pull ahead and cross the finish line first.
Amidst cheering, the motorcycle leaned hard into a skidding stop directly in front of where Danny stood, sending up smoke and the smell of burned rubber.
Danny was merely impressed. Hawkeye was thinking this guy had to have training of some sort; he couldn't be just a kid with a passion for racing motorcycles.
Then the motorcyclist sat up and reached up to pull off the helmet… and Danny saw the cascade of bright red hair.
The driver of the green car suddenly appeared, yelling angrily, "Are you out of your fucking mind?! That stunt could've killed someone, you bitch! You can't drive straight into a crowd like that!"
The redheaded woman astride the sleek silver motorcycle sat back with a calculating expression. "Now why would you say I can't do something… when it was me who won? Performance issues?" The woman's smile was cruelly amused. "There aren't any rules on Daemon Streets, hot shot. Remember that next time you race them."
'Hot Shot' stepped toward her menacingly, but Go-To was quickly in the way, saying, "Don't like the way the lady races? Don't race her again. Come on, man, get in your car. Walk away." The driver took Go-To's advice, but not without shooting the redhead several deadly glares.
Go-To reappeared by Danny's side. Before he could say anything though, Danny was saying in amazement, "The fuck, G! You didn't tell me she was a goddamn girl."
Go-To smirked, "Wanted you to see her skills first. Doesn't disappoint, does she? And mighty pretty, I might add."
Danny huffed, watching the redhead drive her motorcycle to the lot where all the other cars were. "Who is she?"
"Says her name's Anna Whitaker. Never heard of her before today. You?"
Danny shook his head. "I gotta meet this chick. Get someone to watch my car…. And find me a bike with some extra kick." With that, he strode away through the crowd.
Danny Best might be interested in a little friendly competition, but Agent Barton wanted to know what the hell the Black Widow was doing out of confinement. This just seemed like the least obvious way to find out.
She was no longer Natalia Romanova. That girl was so far-gone in a whirlwind of densely packed therapy that she'd needed a new name to compartmentalize the change. She now called herself Natasha Romanoff and, no matter how similar their names were, she found it… progressive, for lack of a better word. The only name that stayed consistent with her was the Black Widow. The Black Widow embodied the one who'd escaped Red Room, the one who'd made the decision to free-lance, and also the one who'd decided to follow a certain S.H.I.E.L.D. agent home. She would never give up the Black Widow.
But right now, she was Anna Whitaker, the mysterious motorcycle racer that'd appeared out of nowhere and was currently making a splash. That was the beauty of this cover operation; she didn't need a backstory. All she needed was a disarming personality, which was easier than cake to pretend.
"Nice race."
Anna looked up from her work on the tires of her motorcycle to see a stranger looking down at her. Natasha, however, recognized Agent Barton. He didn't waste much time, did he?
"Thanks," Anna smiled. "It's nice to know someone appreciates it when I think outside the box." She was using her Texan accent today.
The man smiled, "It's nice to know someone around here still thinks outside the box."
Anna laughed flirtatiously and held out her hand, "Anna Whitaker."
He shook her hand roughly, "Danny Best."
"You race, Danny?" Anna asked, one eyebrow raised.
Danny smirked, "Haven't lost in years." He feigned a bored look. "Kind of sad really."
Anna laughed, "Oh! Do I hear a challenge?"
Danny's smirk grew wider. "I don't know. Do you?"
"Alright, Mr. Best," Anna said, grabbing her helmet. "Find yourself some wheels, because we..." she put the helmet on her head "… are gonna have ourselves a little race."
Many an engine-roar, landing-thump, and tire-squeal later, Danny and Anna were neck-and-neck two miles from the finish line.
Even on a borrowed motor, Agent Barton was hell on wheels. Natasha had had to pull out all the stops to keep up with him… and she had to say, it was refreshing to say the least. All of her fancy jumps and direction-changes hadn't fazed him in the slightest; in fact, he'd done some of his own tricks that'd caught even her off guard.
And now, when tricks would only slow them down, it was all down to that moment when the drivers would have to give that last chemical kick of speed. This was where Natasha wasn't her most confident. Too soon and you'd run out of juice before you crossed the finish. Too late and the other driver would outrun you.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Barton starting to slide into the lead. The finish line was half a mile away… it was now or never.
Clicking the button on the right handle bar, Natasha felt the machine under her start to hum violently and her speed increased exponentially. The adrenaline gave a leap in her heart and she couldn't help the wild smile under her helmet.
The finish line was barely ten meters away when Barton somehow shot ahead of her.
He won the race by three feet.
Switching out of the chemical-induced turbo, Anna skidded to a stop and, sweating and slightly out of breath, watched the spectacle in front of her.
The crowd on the sidewalks was louder than ever as Danny Best threw his motorcycle through a few victory circles, causing an even bigger riot. People ran out to meet him, most of them girls in short skirts or tight pants. Go-To, the flagman, announced that Anna Whitaker had finally been defeated. Jumping off the bike, Danny ripped his helmet from his wild blond hair and lifted his hands in the air, yelling and smiling triumphantly.
Natasha told herself that it was Barton just playing to his character, but she could help the anger bubbling in her chest. As petty as it sounded, she did not like that he'd won her. All of their previous interactions had ended with the understanding that everything that happened to her, or didn't happen to her, was because she'd wanted it to. In her mind, when she lost to him it was because she didn't have the choice; it was because he'd forced her to loose.
Thank the fucking lord she'd suffered through the therapy or she wouldn't have been able to keep character.
Anna shook her head and pulled the helmet off, looking good-naturedly disappointed. Danny Best was walking toward her, a smile on his face.
"Good racing," he said when he'd finally reached her. He held out his hand.
Anna smiled and took his hand, "You too. We should do it again sometime."
Danny looked like he was going to say something, but he got distracted by his phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered it saying, "Hey, Nat… hey, wait… I can't fucking hear you. It's too loud out here… wait a minute…" Natasha got the message loud and clear.
Danny walked toward an old dimly lit bar.
Anna quickly put up her bike and found a roundabout way to the side door. She easily found him in the men's bathroom and as soon as the door had closed behind her, Barton closed his phone, turning toward her.
"What are you doing here?" he asked calmly, his hands relaxed at his side.
"Same as you," Natasha said, folding her arms.
"This isn't a two person job."
"Fury seems to think so."
"Why you?"
"They didn't give me specifics."
"Bullshit. You know."
Natasha narrowed her eyes. How did he do that? "This is my first field assignment."
Barton scowled, "And I'm the babysitter, is that it?"
Natasha confirmed it by not saying anything.
"Why send you to me? I'm not an S.O."
"How should I know?" Natasha asked.
"Lets stop pretending we both don't know how good you are at reading people," Barton said seriously.
Natasha huffed. How was he still reading her? Why couldn't she lie? She'd thought that the weeks in the Glass Box had messed with her poker face somewhat and that was how he'd read her then… but now? She should be better at it than this. Maybe she angrier about loosing that she thought.
"What are they looking for, Romanova?" Barton asked.
"It's Agent Romanoff now, Barton," she said. "And as for your question, I'm not sure."
"What is Agent Romanoff's best guess then?" Barton said, sounding impatient for the first time.
Natasha sighed, leaning her shoulder against the wall opposite the sinks. "Coulson said something about seeing how well we work together, which makes me think they're trying to figure out what happened in Rome."
Barton's eyes widened and his forehead creased. "What do they think happened?"
Natasha opened her mouth but Barton cut her off, "If you say you don't know, I swear..." He let the threat go on unheard.
Natasha narrowed her eyes. This was frustrating her. She'd have to give up trying to lie to him. For now. "The common theory is that I seduced you. They want to see if you're compromised."
Barton's reaction wasn't what she expected from an obviously heterosexual man. She would've expected indignation at the word compromised… even an appreciative once-over of her body wouldn't have been surprising.
But Barton snorted. He actually snorted. Not a laugh. It was a derisive snort.
Natasha felt something bristle inside her; however unintentional, he'd just challenged the Black Widow, and the Black Widow took challenges personally. If he didn't think that she could seduce any heterosexual man she set her mind to, including him… she was going to prove him wrong. Period.
"Are you under surveillance?" Barton asked.
Natasha shook her head, "No. They don't want to risk exposing you."
"So they're using the honor system. Or they have an unfounded trust in their lie detectors," Barton said, smiling to himself.
Natasha found herself wondering if maybe he wasn't all there upstairs.
Footsteps. Right outside the bathroom door.
Barton immediately reached into his pocket, going for his phone, but Natasha had other… more convincing plans. She grabbed a handful of his shirt and pushed his back into the wall, simultaneously thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Barton tensed for a moment, but a second later, his hands went directly to her ass and he was kissing her back vigorously, not at all hesitant.
Natasha was grimly satisfied. Judging by the way his body temperature spiked when her hands went up his shirt, he'd be a very responsive target if ever she should be so inclined. She could consider his challenge dead and buried.
But at the same time, she felt a little disappointed to find that he was just like other men, which was a very unexpected feeling. Too many things were unexpected around Clint Barton.
Natasha heard the door open. "Hey, Danny boy, you in here?" It was Go-To.
Anna was a little embarrassed at being caught and tried to pull away, but Danny's hands remained on her waist, holding her against his chest as he asked, "What is it, G?"
"When you get a minute," Go-To was smirking from the doorway, "I have someone who wants to meet ya."
Danny chuckled, "Yeah, give me a sec."
"Don't be all night about it." Go-To laughed, shaking his head, and shut the door.
Natasha thought she might need to deactivate the current situation with a few choice violent words. But… as was becoming fucking tradition… she didn't expect what Barton did next.
He shoved her away to stand in the middle of the bathroom, away from the door and all possible cover, and instantly had a gun trained on her forehead. The expression on his face was one she'd never seen from him; it was… blank. His hand was absolutely steady, his breathing even. He looked more ready to kill her now than he had that night in Rome.
Natasha's mind was running a million kilometers per hour, but she couldn't see a way out of this. She would have to remain still and hope he wouldn't shoot her. She couldn't run away, couldn't grab anything quick enough, and wasn't close enough to disarm him. Barton was simply too excellent of a marksman for any hope of succeeding.
His voice was dead when he finally spoke. "If you ever touch me like that again, cover or no cover," Barton said, still emotionless, "I will end you."
Natasha didn't move, but allowed her eyes to blink in reply. Maybe she didn't know Clint Barton as well as she'd like to think. One thing was certain though; he was not like any man she'd met so far, and he was dangerous for it.
Hawkeye didn't allow Clint to think about it after he saw the acknowledgment in the Black Widow's eyes. He couldn't deal with Clint Barton's shit in the middle of an op. Clint Barton couldn't be here right now. Clint Barton wasn't here. Only Hawkeye.
Hawkeye put his gun back in his waistband at the small of his back, saying, "I'm assuming that you know why we're here. Go-To is just about to introduce me to Zander Bertrand."
Natasha's eyes lit up.
"Yeah," Hawkeye said, nodding. It'd taken a full month of high profile racing to get the bastard to surface. Natasha's excitement was warranted. "Stay where you can see me and I'll let you know when I'm about to make a move." Without another word, he left the bathroom and went back out onto the street.
Walking around as Danny Best was harder than it'd ever been before or should ever be. Clint Barton kept wanting to surface and Hawkeye was wrestling him down, which left little room for Danny.
"There's the man! Danny! Over here, bro!" Go-To called. He was standing next to a man Danny had never met before but Hawkeye recognized him easily.
"Danny, meet Zander Bertrand," Go-To said. "Zander, this is Danny Best, the guy who won the race against the redhead hottie."
Zander held out his hand, smiling smugly.
Danny took it briefly. "No disrespect man, but uh… what do you want? The only reason I'm here is 'cause I know G. and he said to meet you." Hawkeye allowed some of his anger at Natasha to influence Danny's words.
"Oh no, no disrespect. As it stands, I owe you an apology," Bertrand said. "I understand you were… busy when Go-To went to find you."
Go-To chuckled, saying, "How about I leave you gen'lemen to it huh? Get another race started." He disappeared into the crowd.
"So, uh… what's this about? What do you want?" Danny asked again, conscious of how out-of-the-way they were.
Bertrand leaned against the wall. "You interested in a job?"
Danny shrugged, "Depends on what you're asking."
"Look," Bertrand pulled out a pack of cigarettes, "you're a smart guy. Lots of talent behind the wheel. Good head full of all the right questions." He offered Danny a cigarette, which was turned down. "There's a specific team of racers I think you'd be perfect in."
"And if I'm not interested?"
Bertrand shrugged, "It's an open invitation. I leave and you contact me if you change your mind." He held out a card with ten singular digits on it.
Danny took it, looking at Bertrand with wary eyes. "Why do I feel like this job isn't just about racing cars?"
Bertrand's smile widened, "You'll have to join the team to find out. Trade secrets, you know. I'm sure you understand."
Danny's eyes narrowed.
"Don't loose that card," Bertrand said as he started to walk away. "See you around, Danny." He disappeared in the crowd.
Hawkeye made sure he wasn't going to turn around before following him out to the curb. As he walked, he dialed the number on the card.
By the time Hawkeye caught up to Bertrand, the gang-leader was next to his car, his bodyguard holding open the door. He had his suit-jacket held open as he searched for his ringing phone.
Hawkeye suddenly broke into a run. As he sprinted forward, he shot a bullet into the bodyguard's sunglasses a mere second before he tackled Bertrand. Three bodies hit the ground and screams echoed through the crowd.
Bullets started flying from the other side of Bertrand's car. Hawkeye rolled once across the sidewalk and killed the driver with one squeeze of the trigger. He barely even had to think about aiming.
Bertrand had managed to get to his feet and run a few steps before Danny's shiny black racer skidded driver's side first to a stop in front of him. The open window showed a frightening redheaded woman with a pistol aimed at his head.
Hawkeye grabbed Bertrand by the collar and hauled him around to the back of the car. The Daemon Gang-leader was resisting, asking stupid questions like "What are you doing?" and "Do you know who I am?"
Bullets started flying, making everyone on the street scream and duck.
"Hurry up, Barton!" the Black Widow yelled, returning fire.
Hawkeye calmly but roughly shoved the resisting man the rest of the way into the trunk and slammed the lid down.
"Get us the fuck out of here!" he yelled, jumping into the passenger seat barely a second before she hit the gas.
"You get the phone?" Natasha asked as she shifted gears.
Hawkeye held it up for her to see before he had to turn and aim out the window at a car full of gun-wielding hostiles.
The car looked like Swiss cheese by the time they lost the Daemon Racers and all three passengers were bleeding, but alive.