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SHIELD HQ, New York
"Barton?" Coulson's voice fed into Clint's earpiece as the archer nocked another arrow and prepared to release.
"Coulson!" Clint greeted cheekily. "How's babysitting duty with Stark going?" he laughed and released the arrow, burying it deep into the chest of the dummy at the end of the range. He pulled out another arrow from the quiver and nocked it fluidly, preparing to loosen.
"Uneventful so far, but I've been reassigned and so have you."
Clint lowered the bow and arrow and tilted his head to the left, anticipation bleeding into his veins. "A new assignment? Where?" He was like a dog that had set eyes on a slab of steak.
"New Mexico."
"New Mexico, huh?"
"That's right, protection detail."
Clint narrowed his eyes, intrigued. "Who needs protecting in New Mexico?"
"It's not a who, it's more of a what."
Clint's eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Enlighten me, please. I'm all ears," he remarked sarcastically.
"A hammer. That's what needs protecting." Coulson's voice remained clear and direct, unwavering.
"Course it does," Clint responded with dead pan humour, shaking his head. Over a month off duty and this is what he gets handed? A hammer? He couldn't help but feel that his job was about to get a whole lot more complicated.
"I'll brief you on everything once you get here. Wheels up in an hour."
"Yes, sir," Clint answered as the comm clicked off. He replaced the bow in it's case and exited the range.
SHIELD base, New Mexico desert
"And you're okay?"
Clint had rang Natasha as soon as could following the news of the Stark Expo incident.
"Yeah..I'm fine." She was currently in the bath, submerged by bubbles, letting her battered skin soak. She rubbed absently at her sore arms, stifling a groan as she accidentally brushed against the bruises.
Clint registered her subtle noise and his heart leapt in his chest. "You don't sound fine..."
"Clint, it was nothing I couldn't handle, okay? Stop worrying."
His frown turned into a faint smile when the image of his partner kicking ass at Hammer Industries flashed across his mind. He knew damn well it was nothing she couldn't handle.
"How is New Mexico anyway? You figure out what the hell that thing is yet?"
"Ha, no. Don't go holding your breath. The longer we're here, I think the less we know about that thing," Clint shook his head, vexed. He stood up and peered out of the window, taking in the darkness that had surrounded the base. "Food is awful. Sleeping quarters are cramped and down right unsanitary. Weather is pure balls. You know I was hoping for something a little less wet, maybe work on my tan."
Natasha giggled, imaging him waggling an eyebrow suggestively. She needed some light-hearted humour after the events she had endured.
"Coulson's been on edge these days though. I thought spending time with Tony Stark would loosen the guy up, but he's wound tighter than a drum. He needs to learn how to relax."
"He's always been like that, Clint. You know how he is when he gets his head in the game. Get in, get the job done, and get out."
"The man's gonna give himself a heart attack if he's not careful."
"All agents reporting to base. All agents reporting to base."
The intercom sounded causing Clint to sigh heavily. He cleared his throat, "I miss you, y'know.."
A wistful smile illuminated Natasha's face and a weary ache started bubbling inside her. "I miss you too, but this will all be over soon, okay? Hang in there. If I can endure Tony Stark for as long as I did then you can certainly endure whatever that hammer has to bring."
"Yeah, I suppose. It has me irked though, Nat. What is it here for?" He laughed uneasily and then his smile disappeared. "What the hell is it doing in the middle of the desert? And why now?"
"I know you're less than excited about the whole thing but look on the bright side...you'll have me all to yourself once you've figure all of that out."
"I'll hold you to that, Widow."
Natasha chuckled in response and Clint let his eyes slide close, wishing he could see her smile and laugh. "See you soon, Hawk," her voice bled deliciously through the line sending goosebumps up the archer's spine.
"See you soon," he responded before hanging up, stuffing the phone into his jacket pocket and making a beeline for the door.
"I need eyes up high...with a gun."
That was his cue.
Clint ventured towards the arsenal of arms and placed his hands on the rifle. He paused for a split second before grabbing the compound bow.
Bustling out of the trailer and into the sludge, he ran as fast as his feet could take him. Heavy droplets of rain spilled down from the blackened sky and approaching thunder began to roll above them. He clung on to the wires of the craned box and hopped in, rising towers above the base to get a better look. The bearded imposter was currently pummelling his way through the best of what SHIELD had to offer in muscle.
"Barton, talk to me." Coulson's voice boomed in his ear.
Clint took aim. "Do you want me to slow him down, sir? Or are you sending in more guys for him to beat up?"
Coulson fought the urge to smile at the archer's snarky remark. Barton always did know how to amuse him at the best and worst of times. "I'll let you know."
Clint watched carefully and tried his best to hide the winces he made as the statuesque intruder launched into one of the heftiest agents SHIELD had on site, Buck Hale. The crane groaned as it waved in the air, accompanying the grunts the grudge match was eliciting.
Frankly, the whole thing was embarrassing. Hale was getting his ass handed to him. The intruder pinned him down with a drop kick to the chest and ensured he stayed down with a swift kick to the head for good measure. The guy had spirit, Clint would give him that.
"You better call it, Coulson, 'cause I'm starting to root for this guy."
When silence greeted him, Clint remained composed but ready. He watched the man rip away the translucent tarpaulin and approach the hammer—the hammer they were supposed to be 'protecting'.
"Last chance, sir," Clint ground out as he further retracted the bowstring, zoning in on his target's chest, taking aim once again.
"Wait, I want to see this."
The man groaned and wailed in the rain as if his life depended on lifting that hammer. But it was no use—it wouldn't budge. His feral roars cut through Clint like a hot knife as the rain pelted the man's devastated face.
"All right, show's over. Ground units move in..." came Coulson's voice through the comm.
Clint lowered the bow, loosening his locked muscles as he did so. The man's head dropped to his chest in defeat. SHIELD guards approached carefully and apprehended him without resistance. He had given up all hope of salvation, of forgiveness, of redemption.
Clint coughed uncomfortably, clearing his suddenly tight throat, as he was lowered down to the muddy ground once again. He couldn't stop his mind flooding back to a scene some years ago when an unfortunate meeting with his brother ended in a similar way.
"Hey, how's Goldilocks doing?" Clint exited his room, towelling his freshly showered hair, when Coulson passed him on the corridor.
Coulson glanced up from his pager and set eyes on the archer. "He's not talking, which is making things a whole lot harder then they have to be."
"Coulson, maybe you should go easy on the guy."
"Excuse me?" Coulson narrowed his eyes at his agent, not quite believing what had come out of his mouth.
"Look, all I'm saying is he didn't kill anyone, he didn't blow up the base, and he didn't take your precious hammer," Clint argued, looping the towel behind his neck and holding it there with his hands.
"He put Hale in the hospital with a concussion and four broken ribs!"
"Might teach him to work on his hand-to-hand," Clint mumbled, not quite as low as he would have liked.
Hale was impatient, overly hot-headed, and was clearly lacking in the close-quarters combat area of expertise. Maybe Goldilock's impromptu sparring session would teach him a few lessons.
"Barton, get back to your post before I make you do Hale's paperwork as well as your own this weekend."
"All right, I'm going...I'm going," Clint began, turning his back on Coulson in an effort to avoid the verbal threat. "When's the last time you got a good night's sleep, huh?" he chimed playfully as he continued his trek, rubbing the back of his damp head with the towel.
"My sleeping regime is none of your concern," Coulson threw over his shoulder as he made his way back to the interrogation holding room.
"Goodbye," the bearded man muttered just as Coulson stepped back into the room, his face moist with newly shed tears.
"Goodbye? I just got back."
Clint made his way back to his room with a cup of coffee in his grip and the towel slung over one shoulder.
An intruder, invisible to mortal eyes, had his own eyes trained on the archer as he returned to his quarters. He had overheard his conversation with the man they call Coulson. The archer had vouched for Thor and had expressed concern for his superior underneath all the banter. He had an aura of determination, honesty, and discipline about him. He followed his gut instinct. The archer had heart, the intruder deduced with a devious smile.
End of Chapter 4