A/N: These are my Hawkeye Headcanons! I'm going to post another (short!) drabble in a bit, called Tequila that deals with a Natasha headcanon I have, but I need to start working on this story that's been bugging me for awhile. It's not named, yet, but it takes place about three years after The Avengers. It is based off of the Phase One movieverse because I started writing it before Iron Man 3 came out. (The only thing that I'm pulling from after The Avengers is Phil Coulson being alive. Thank the PTB for Joss Whedon!) If I tell you anything more, it's probably going to give away the plot, but I can tell you that it's an angsty hurt/comfort romance. And let me say now, I hope you will cry. Cause if not, I will.
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Clint doesn't like letting Natasha drive. Ever. Except in Russia; then it's okay.
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He really does sleep in a nest. Elevated bed, piles of pillows and blankets, and he sleeps curled up in the center.
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Hawk he may be, but without a coffee transfusion in the morning, early bird he is not. Not a night owl either. He leaves that craziness to Nat.
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He can cook. He can cook well. Really well. He just doesn't do it often.
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Barton sings, and he's actually pretty good, but he really only does it when he's bored out of his skull spotting for Nat on a mission and only ever over comms.
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He's a smartass. Caw, caw, motherfuckers!
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He prefers to travel by air vent. Hidden, stealthy, and he can scare the crap out of Tony.
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Ever since Loki, Clint gets chronic optical migraines. The only things that seem to help are pitch darkness, silence, and Natasha.
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He and Nat sleep together. Not for sex (at first) but for comfort after a tough mission. Nightmares suck.
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When they do start sleeping together, it's because they're the person that the other trusts the most, who knows the most about them. They know what the other does for a living; they don't have to lie. (Part one of sex)
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Clint hates hospitals. Has for a long time. Even when he's hurt, he spends as little time there as humanly possible. (Part one of hospitals)
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He speaks a little bit of a lot of languages, but only a few fluently. Aside from English, he speaks French, Spanish, and German, with passable Italian, Greek and Hebrew. Nat is teaching him Russian.
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Clint can't remember anything from while he was under the influence of the scepter. The last thing he remembers is a wall of blue and the words 'You have heart'. That is, that's all he remembers until he dreams.
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His superior eyesight comes from the fact that he has over twice the number of rods in his eyes, and less than a quarter of the cones that the average person has. This means that his focus is greater, and he sees in mostly black and white for higher contrast. This also enables him to see through two way mirrors.
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(Part two of hospitals) Nat and Clint patch each other up whenever possible. Stitches, cracked ribs, dislocated joints, they do it all. They do draw the line at head injuries and broken limbs.
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He doesn't miss. Ever. Except for that one time in Prague. And Nat has never let him forget it.
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(Part two of sex) When they do start sleeping together, sometimes it's tender, but more often than not, it's bloody and violent.