Gaia'schild: I can't see why you would think I'd actually include my real name in it. This is a crackish take on Hawkeye and an average civilian. Not a self-insert story.

Also I changed the first chapter around because I wasn't really satisfied with how it turned out.

This update was super fast! haha

An agonized scream pierced the air.

From where he lay, Hawkeye shot a hand up and slammed his palm over her mouth while he pressed a single finger to his lips in an effort to get to understand—shut up.

He'd hit her a little harder than he meant to in the first place. That would probably explain the look of utter mortification on her face and the glossy eyes to match. She was probably on the brink of crying but this seemed to shut her up really good.

Slowly, he let his arm fall limply to his side while he relaxed comfortably into the rubble of glass shards beneath him, trying hard to ignore the very prominent red mark he'd made on the lower half of her face. That was nothing compared to the injuries he'd ended up harboring. Hawkeye had scratches in all sorts of unsuspecting places from the impact of the fall but after a moment of consideration, he decided this was child's play compared to what he'd been through in Budapest. So he inhaled deeply before sitting up, feeling fragments of glass crack under his weight.

Lee sucked in a breath.

Hawkeye shifted his gaze; his eyes widened, "Don't."

Her face puffed up as she held that same breath, cheeks flushing a brilliant shade of red.

"Don't you dare," he stated firmly while creasing his brow in agitation.

She made a muffled sound that resembled faintly of a rat caught in a trap but Clint was far too tired to make those same washed up metaphors so he reached an arm out in an attempt to mediate the very obvious tension in the air— "Listen, you're not going to—"

–and before he could finish, she burst into tears.

He was running.

Jesus Christ, the last thing he wanted to do was make a girl cry but duty called and so here he was on the field, trying to find a high ledge to stand on.

Anybody who had any practical training knew that whoever had the higher ground had the tactical advantage in battle. Especially for archers.

But somehow, despite this little piece logic screaming at him to find higher freaking ground, he ended up on the low with the rest of his crew. Thor. Steve. Natasha. Bruce.

So he pulled that arrow back and felt his bowstring stretch taught.

And he watched it soar, and fly high into the blue…

…until Loki caught it firmly in his grasp. He smirked. Stupid human.

Three.

Two.

An explosion.

This time, it was Hawkeye's turn to smile.

Bullseye.

"All civilians on thirty-ninth are evacuated," Steve stated into his mic, taking a quick glance around the vicinity before stepping over the rubble.

"Wait," Hawkeye paused suddenly.

"I'm waiting, dear," Stark stated from the other line.

"I left someone in the tower," Clint continued vaguely while Steve spared him a glance from the distance, "the same tower you dropped that girl off from earlier. The fortieth floor. The stairs are broken so she can't go down."

"Got it."

Hawkeye didn't see her after that bout of waterworks. It wasn't too much of a surprise. Presumably, Tony did what he had to do, saved the damsel, took all the glory and got her on safe ground again.

Hawkeye was on his way home.

He felt…oddly normal.

Well, as normal as somebody like him could get.

"You hit a girl?" Steve was only mildly amused as he took a seat next to the very piqued archer on the couch, "That's very chivalrous of you."

"I didn't hit her," Clint managed to maintain some sense of calm while he scooted over to make room for him, "she was screaming. I had to shut her up."

"So you hit her," obviously, he wasn't going to let this go.

How does everyone know about this? Clint thought bitterly to himself as he made his way towards the small kitchenette in the corner of the room. Oh right, I decided to confide in the world's worst confidante.

"She was crying when I picked her up. Jeez—did you hit her or something?"

"I had a job to do."

"She said you hit her. Is that true?"

"…no."

"…"

"…yes. Okay. I did. But I also saved her goddamned life. Not that it matters, apparently."

"That's low. Hitting a woman? Where's your sense of compassion?"

"Really? You're going to talk to me about compassion, Stark?"

Steve turned on the television and relaxed into the cushions of the couch, which apparently, was a very difficult thing to do since he wouldn't stop fidgeting, "So what do you plan on doing when you get back? Take a vacation?"

"I don't take vacations," Clint replied blandly while he poured himself a glass of water.

"Right," Steve smiled halfheartedly, "not even after saving the world from mass destruction?"

"There's always going to be another villain," Hawkeye shifted his gaze to the television set—but he wasn't really watching. News on the Chitauri attacks had been viral for the past six hours. He'd been standing on the battlefield when everything was happening so there wasn't anything he hadn't seen already.

Plus, this news was constantly rewinded, repeated.

"Wow," this was when Steve decided to look over his shoulder and spare his friend a glance, "I didn't think you were the type of person to be into clichés."

"Just because something is cliché doesn't make it stupid," Hawkeye didn't miss a beat on this one.

Suddenly, a timid looking girl in a very, very familiar looking orange tattered dress appeared in the corner of the screen with a blanket wrapped around her shoulder. She smiled weakly, a good distance away. Iron Man saluted and took off in a blast, the air around her lifting her skirt up slightly.

Before Clint could properly register this, the camera shifted back to the reporter while she tugged over a nearby waitress who gave her gratitude to the fantastic Captain America.

Hawkeye watched Steve carefully from behind, halfheartedly expecting a "hell yeah," or even a "that's right," but he seemed to forget that once upon a time, even Captain America was a soldier so humility came easy to him, even in this field of egos and passive aggressive. So when the interview simmered into silence, Hawkeye discerned from this distance Captain America's clenched fist over the ledge of the couch.

"Sometimes we forget these people are human," he said, suddenly.

A moment of silence passed between the two.

"That they don't have superpowers or acrobatic training, or anything that could help them in that kind of situation," Steve lifted the remote the turned the television off.

And the words he never said aloud: they need us.

Slowly, he stood up from where he sat and stretched his arms out high into the air while stifling a yawn, "I'm off for a nap. If you know what's good for you, you should get some rest too. Since you don't plan on taking a vacation from this and all."

Thank you guys for the reviews on the last chapter (: and wow, 24 story alerts already? You're all amazing.