A/N: Alright, so... firstly, special shout-outs to everyone who's reviewed, with a special shout-out to sass-mistress-lucifer. Also thanks to those who added it to their respective lists. Also: Yes, I know Clint's middle name is Francis... I thought I had corrected it, apparently I haven't yet... I promise, I will get to it at some point... But I am aware of the mistake lol.

Clint was organizing the books he'd grabbed from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s library when he heard the heavy knock on the door. Setting down the rest of the books down, he opened the door, a grin coming to his face when he seen Phil standing there, a brown Chinese food bag in hand.

"You like Chinese?" Phil asked with a smile, holding the bag up.

"Yeah. C'mon in," Clint said, holding the door open. "Was just finishing putting my books away."

"Oh, speaking of… I've got your test results back. From the scholastic, weaponry, and vision," Phil said, setting the food down on the small table, and pulling the white containers out. "I didn't know what you liked so I got… General Tsao's, Beef Chow Mein, Chicken and Broccoli, all with pork fried rice."

Clint sat down, eyeing the food eagerly. "Not really picky, sir. Been a long time since I've had Chinese."

Phil chuckled, passing over the Beef Chow Mein, and a container of pork fried rice. "So which results you want first?"

Clint nearly choked on a particularly large bit of Chow Mein. "Uh… I don't care. Take your pick."

Phil shrugged as he opened up the container of General Tsao's. "Well… Your vision was better than anything we've seen here at S.H.I.E.L.D. And let me say, we've seen the best. Your score literally places you between a hawk and an eagle."

Clint chuckled a bit, before frowning abashedly as a few grains of rice fell from his mouth. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine. What's so funny?"

"It's just uh… Back with Carson's carnival, I uh… I had my own act for a while, and they… they billed me as 'The Amazing Hawkeye'. Just… kinda funny, I suppose."

Phil thought for a moment, before nodding with a smile. "Interesting. So I guess we'll have your field name then."

"No." The answer was sharp, flying out of Clint's lips almost before he knew what was happening. "I mean… No, sir. If that's alright sir. I'd rather not."

Phil looked at him funny, but nodded. "Alright. We've got a little less than eight weeks to figure it out. How'd your appointment with Dr. Balcom go?"

Clint gave him a wry grin. "Nice segue, sir. But it went good. I like her. She uh… She doesn't beat around the bush."

"That's what I hear. Your range scores topped out… But I'd like to take you out to the Blocks tomorrow. The range doesn't really offer a good indicator of your skill."

Clint looked up at him curiously. "The Blocks?"

"Yeah. It's a four square block radius city we made. Complete with dummies set up. We use to for practice ops. Takes up about a half mile. You feel up for it?"

"Yeah. Of course, sir. Honestly, the range wasn't a challenge. I'd enjoy getting some good practice in," Clint said with a grin, setting the empty box down. "So. You lead with the good news… How bad was the school test?"

Phil grimaced. "Well… There's some more good news… and some… 'eh' news."

Clint chuckled. "Alright. So what's the good news?"

"Well… For someone with an eighth grade education, you managed to pass your algebra, trig, and calculus with flying colors."

"Uh… not sure what that is, but… great?"

Phil looked at him, and for a moment, Clint felt the overwhelming desire to laugh at the look on Phil's face, equal parts shock and disbelief.

"Um… yeah, that's… that's actually amazing. Calculus and trigonometry are advanced mathematics," Phil said slowly. "We're talking complicated processes."

Clint shrugged uncomfortably. "I've always been good with math, sir. It's always come easy for me."

"Yeah… Ok. So um… Your science skills were middling –biology was a fail, but you managed to barely pass chemistry. History was… Well, I won't lie, Clint, it was… pretty bad."

"How bad?"

"Well.. you got about twenty percent right," Phil said apologetically. "Your language skills were good. Out of three levels, you had…" He glanced down at the paperwork, "threes in Russian, French, and Spanish; twos in Afrikaans, Arabic, and Chinese; and ones in Hindi, Italians, and Portuguese. Three is native speaker, two is fluent, one is passable. Which is… actually pretty impressive. We've got agents of twenty years who aren't don't speak more than two languages fluently."

Clint shrugged, eyeing the chicken and broccoli. At Phil's nod, Clint grabbed the container. "I uh… Always had a knack for languages. Although that might have had something to do with culture-crash. You're on a job, you wanna eat, you learn to pick up the local languages pretty quick. And there were a lot of Russians and French in the carnival," He said between bites of food.

"Speaking of the carnival… I managed to track down some more of your personal records. Got faxes from the hospital where you were born, the school at Waverly… And I also managed to track down Carson Carnival of Traveling Wonders."

Clint felt a wave of homesickness run through him, quickly followed by a wave of nausea at the thought of his last night at the carnival.

Phil must have noticed the look on his face. "You want me to keep going, or…?"

"Nah. I'm good. How's Old Man Carson?" He forced out, shoveling more food into his mouth.

"Good. He actually remembers you. Said he's going to send me one of your flyers. And his daughter… Marcella? She seemed quite excited to learn you were doing well."

Clint chuckled. "I assume you didn't tell her the whole 'hit-man, sent to jail, working for the super-secret spy organization' thing?"

Phil smiled. "Uh, no, I didn't. I just told her I was a friend helping you out; that I'd gotten you a job working with me."

"Uh huh. Doing… what, exactly?"

"Weapons testing for a private contractor."

"And she bought that?"

"Oh, yes," Phil said with a smile. "Seemed excited about it, actually. She said to make sure I told you hi, and you should come back and visit. That she misses you."

Clint smiled sadly, as his appetite vanished, shoving the food away. "Yeah. That sounds like Marcy. She was a good kid."

"Kid?" Phil asked with raised eyebrows. "She didn't seem much younger than you."

"Two years younger. Although… her world? She might as well have been a baby. Girl was brilliant at catching pickpockets, and short-changers, but when it came to life outside the carnival… She was as naïve as a nun."

There was a few minutes of silence, while the two men stared at the table, before Phil cleared his throat. "You… wanna talk about it?"

Clint shrugged uncomfortably. "Not much to talk about. I was ten, she was eight… I was the only person her age, so we… we bonded. I think she…" He chuckled a bit, "I think she thought of me as her stray puppy sometimes. We uh… When Barney and I joined, we… we were… outsiders. Other than Carson and Marcy, everyone there was… well, an odd duck, you know? Carnies don't necessarily fit the definition of 'normal'. So everyone else there was either an oddity, or an outcast. Then Barney and I show up, two normal kids… So there was a lot of uh… suspicion.

"Barney did a bit better than I did. He was thirteen… Big for his age. He made himself useful, got close with some of the others. But me… I was small… Mostly deaf. Wasn't much for me to do. So I was always the last one to eat, first one to get picked on… Marcy took me in. At night, while Carson would be getting everything ready for the next day, she'd sneak me into their trailer, make sure I got a shower, hot meal… Sometimes, when she knew her dad would be late, she'd let me get a few hours of sleep on her bed."

"Where was your brother during all this?"

Clint scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. "Barney was… Well, he was thirteen, you know? Teenager, been dragging around his little brother, protecting him, watching out for him for four years… Once we were at the carnival, he just… he enjoyed his freedom, I guess. Didn't want me hanging around his neck anymore."