Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"
Thanks to those who reviewed Chapter Two: Guest, Jewls58, Guest, rose, thababes, Viviannafox, shanynde, Guest, JRBarton, BatmanOtaku, Proclaim Thy Warrior Soul, bookworm1517, Sandy-wmd, lunarweather, Reteka Hyuuga, JennyBunny65, Susan M. M, Eringo94, Qweb, Nakova, MissKallie, kimbee, Furionknight, NoLongerHidden, DBhawkguy30, isi7140, Guest, ch33tahp4w, Guest, weemcg33, R1dDL3M37h15, raisingwerewolves, Melissa, Reading4Ever, coastalcajun, LovelyMysteryFan, penguincrazy, LEMarauder, Strawberrywaltz, Cyan B, GremlinX, fanficchica123, GreenLoki, Shazrolane, Squirrel the Man, scottie12524, Brandi Golightly, awkward hawk, Kylen, ladybug114, truefairytales, jaguarspot, The Pris, Kait-WIN3, Kimberly, Divergirl, Lollypops101, Aurora Abbot, and Paradoxical Fish
Special shout out to Viviannafox, Reteka Hyuuga, and Brandi Golightly for nailing the song the chapter titles come from :) For those of you that don't know, that's a running competition to see how early people can name it just from the chapter titles :)
Thank you to Kylen for her awesomeness as a beta and friend!
This story is dedicated to Kylen
On to Chapter Three...
You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you.
C.S. Lewis
Natasha swallowed a mouthful of water from her bottle and watched Clint out of the corner of her eye. He was gulping down some Gatorade, sweat dripping down his temples. Natasha chewed the inside of her lip and set down her water bottle, drifting to his side.
"You didn't ask for a break because you were worried about my leg, did you?"
Clint arched an eyebrow at her doubtfully.
"Of course that's why I did it, you leg's hurting, isn't it?"
Natasha twitched her eyebrow, but didn't admit to anything. Clint's expression softened.
"It's only been a month, Tasha – you don't have to be a hundred percent yet."
Natasha nodded slightly and glanced around – making sure Bryan and Phil were out of earshot.
"Neither do you, you know."
Clint froze with his Gatorade halfway to his mouth.
"I'm fine." He brought the bottle to his mouth and took a quick drink.
Natasha hardened her gaze. He should know better than to use that line on her.
"You're tired." She accused. "And before Budapest, you'd still be bouncing off the walls after a sparring session like that."
Clint screwed the cap onto his Gatorade and all but slammed it down onto the bench.
"What do you want me to do? Pussy out and go take a nap?"
"No – I just want you to own up to it before you have more 'training accidents.'"
Clint rolled his eyes.
"I'm fine."
"You say that to me again, and I'll lay you out right here."
She was sick of watching him suffer in silence.
Clint scowled, but didn't argue her capability of doing just that. Instead he shook his head and turned to sit on the bench, looking up at her with a rare hint of helplessness in his eyes.
"What do you want me to say? That bitch's cocktail knocked me on my ass – hard. And no matter what I do or how hard I push, I feel like I'm running up a goddamned mountain that never ends."
Natasha sighed and glanced over at Bryan and Phil. They seemed to be deep in a discussion about something and weren't paying them any attention. Satisfied, Natasha moved to crouch in front of Clint.
"What can I do?"
"Push me." Clint answered instantly. "And when you see me fading, push me harder."
"Clint…" That seemed to be the path that would lead to more training accidents.
"I need to be ready. When the time comes to go after Williams, I need to be able to get it done."
Natasha sighed.
"When the time comes," she waited until she was sure she had his complete attention, "you won't have to do it alone."
The corner of his mouth turned up and he reached to briefly squeeze her hands where they were folded in front of her.
"I know."
Natasha turned her hands, squeeze his back and then she stood.
"Now, come on – get your lazy ass up," she smirked and backed towards the mat, "so I can kick it back down."
Clint's answering smirk was a mixture of predatory and playful.
"We'll see whose ass is on the ground at the end of the day."
She arched a challenging eyebrow.
Oh, it was on.
"He's tapped out and she's been favoring her leg for the past twenty minutes – they both need a breather and I'm not talking a 15-minute break. I'm talking vacation."
"Clint hasn't been out on assignment since Budapest and Natasha got a milk run surveillance mission. They haven't exactly been hitting it hard lately."
"You asked my opinion and there it is."
Phil sighed. He knew Todd was right. But getting either of those two knuckleheads to admit they needed a break was next to impossible. Not with an impending confrontation with Williams hanging over their heads.
He shook his head. He'd probably pulled more miles out of Clint this morning that he should have. That must have drained the kid's reserves because by the end of that sparring match he'd practically been dragging. And Natasha, usually all aerial acrobatics, had barely left the ground for the last fifteen minutes of the match.
He glanced over Todd's shoulder at the two objects of their conversation and whatever response he had for Todd died on his lips. Instead he couldn't help but shake his head in fond exasperation.
"Tapped out, huh? Did anybody tell them they needed a breather?"
He nodded his head towards the pair of assassins across the room, who were circling each other on the mat. And if he knew anything about Clint and Natasha – and he liked to think he did – this was going to be good.
Natasha moved first – as she usually did. One moment she was shifting like a panther stalking its prey, the next she was a blur in the air, feet angling towards Clint's head.
"Favoring her leg, you said?" Phil smirked over at Todd.
The other man blew out a disgruntled huff and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Barton must have pissed her off."
Phil tilted his head in assent – that was a likely possibility.
After that the two assassins were nothing but a blur. For a while, they both seemed like nothing had changed. Like Budapest had never happened. Natasha had never been shot, Clint had never been poisoned.
It was Clint he saw it in first. Subtle retreats, chest heaving a little more than normal. He was fading. Natasha kept pursuing, her own recovery not seeming to catch up with her as quickly.
With a thud, her boot sent Clint's back slamming into the wall.
"That's enough." Phil moved onto the mat, already preparing a viable excuse to call it a day.
But neither of them moved – to back down, or otherwise.
Clint let the wall hold him up while he sucked air back into his lungs, eyes locked on Natasha's.
"That's enough."
Phil's directive had her arching an eyebrow in question.
Clint worked his jaw. God, he was tired. His eyes twitched down to Natasha's leg when she shifted her weight almost too subtly to notice.
Out of nowhere, he had a flash of memory. Natasha, tied to a chair, leg bleeding from a bullet Alex Moreno had put there. All because of Williams.
Fucking Williams.
He had to be ready – he had to.
So he nodded at Natasha. She took a breath and nodded once in return.
Then she was on him, elbow angling towards his jaw.
Clint caught her elbow in his hand and pulled her off balance, pushing her to the side as he spun away from the wall, crouched in his defensive stance.
He would be ready when he had to take down Williams – ready to face that bastard and anybody he had with him. He would do whatever he had to so that son of a bitch never hurt anybody he cared about again.
A wave of adrenaline swept through him.
He crouched under Natasha's leg as it arched towards him, bracing his left hand on the ground and lashing out with his own legs, kicking her weight bearing leg out from under her. He stayed low to the ground and he spun his body around his hand, coming to a stop in a low crouch. Then he launched into a back handspring, giving himself some distance.
Natasha was already springing off the floor. He never had known her to just hit the mat. She always managed to turn a fall into a move. Now was no different. Any normal person would have just landed on their back – Natasha, she braced her hands on either side of her head and coiled her body even as she fell.
No sooner had her shoulders touched down, than she was exploding back up again. She ran at him, planting one foot on his thigh and using him as a platform as she brought her leg around, angling for his head.
Clint arched backwards, air shifting in front of his face as her leg passed over him. He brought his hands up and pushed hard on the back of her leg. The added momentum forced her into a spin. She brought her leg down and did an awkward spin/stumble to gain her balance back on the mat.
She glared at him – it wasn't often anyone could make the Widow look anything less than graceful. Clint shrugged in vague apology. She came again, swinging with her right fist. Clint blocked the hit, twisting his arm around hers and locking it against his side. She swung with her left, he repeated the defense. Now both her arms were trapped.
"Sloppy, Nat."
She smirked.
"Nat…"
She pulled backwards suddenly, curling her knees up to her chest and slamming her boots into his chest. He was forced to release her arms in favor of keeping his ribs intact. She landed on her back, rolling into a backwards somersault and to her feet. Clint waved a scolding finger at her.
"Not nice."
She shrugged and he rolled his eyes.
This time when she came at him, he didn't bother blocking. He just ducked her attempted kick, and spun away. He dodged her flurry of punches and flying elbows next, never letting her make contact. He saw her spin, leg coming up and headed for his ribs. He crouched and exploded up, arching backwards. He barely cleared her leg as he curled his body into the flip.
He landed in a crouch, and immediately kicked out low at her legs. He straightened slightly even as she fell, and slammed his palm against her collar bone. The added force kept her from springing back up or from rolling away.
He shifted his hand around the base of her throat, pulled her up and pulled her to his chest. He managed to get both legs wrapped around her waist and got his arms wrapped around her neck.
She huffed in frustration, flailing uselessly – but they both knew it was over. If this was a real fight, her neck would be broken right now. She tapped his arm and he fell back on the mat, breathing hard.
She twisted, still between his legs, bracing one of her hands on the floor and looking down at him.
"Jesus," she breathed out with a gasp. "Where the hell did that come from?"
Clint lifted his hands and dropped them back down to show he didn't know.
"You haven't moved like that since…"
"Before Budapest?" Clint sighed, bringing a hand up to scrub across his face.
She nodded.
"Where'd it come from?"
"Just got my second wind, I guess."
She arched her eyebrow.
"That's a hell of a second wind."
He shrugged.
"You two okay?"
Phil and Bryan both came to crouch next to them.
Clint pushed himself up so he was leaning back on his hands.
"I'm good," he glanced at Natasha, "you good?"
She nodded.
"I'm good."
They both looked at Phil and Bryan, whose eyes were wide. Clint couldn't blame them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken down Natasha. Before Budapest, that was for damn sure.
"You two good?"
Bryan snapped his mouth closed from where it had been hanging open and Phil just arched an eyebrow.
"Yesterday you're letting me dislocate your shoulder and today you're taking down Romanoff like it's an everyday thing. Forgive me if I've got a little whiplash." Bryan gave them both a dry look and stood.
Clint winced and glanced at Natasha – who was suddenly glaring at Bryan. Phil hid a grin behind a fake cough and averted his gaze.
"So it was you?"
"Oh damn, would you look at the time." Bryan started backing towards the exit. "I've got a hand to hand class to go teach."
"Bryan."
"See you kids later!" The door swung closed behind him.
"It was an accident, Tasha." Clint assured, suddenly concerned for Bryan's immediate safety. "More my fault than his."
She turned her glare on him.
"Oh, really?"
Clint cleared his throat nervously.
"No – you know what? All Bryan's fault."
She rolled her eyes.
"You two done?"
They both looked at Phil.
"Care to share where exactly that little exchange came from? I seem to recall issuing a stand down."
Clint shrugged.
"I gave her the go ahead."
"After she'd kicked you into the wall." Deadpan – one of Phil's specialties.
Clint nodded.
"And that seemed like a good idea?"
"I gotta push past the fatigue, Phil. I gotta be ready."
"Oh I get that," Phil assured. "I'd just like to know when you had time to take a steroid shot."
"It was easy." Clint sat forward and criss-crossed his legs and stole a sideways glance at Natasha. "I just remembered what's at stake."
Phil nodded and squeezed Clint's shoulder.
"You two go get cleaned up – meet me on the roof in 15. I got a call today. Some of our leads have finally panned out and it's time to start making plans."
"That's him." Clint handed the black and white surveillance photo back to Phil.
"You're sure? You took a lot of contracts during that year, Clint."
Clint tossed a dark look at Natasha. She raised her hands in silent apology.
"Where is he?" Clint turned his gaze onto Phil.
"Athens."
Clint nodded.
"You think this will work, Phil?"
None of them said anything for a long moment.
"It's either this, Clint – and you try to make it right with him – or you kill him."
"I've never been against the second option." Natasha muttered darkly, crossing her arms across her chest.
Clint rubbed his hands up his face and into his hair, closing his eyes in frustration.
"It won't work, Phil. I can give him the guy that issued the contract, but Williams is still gonna want me dead. It's not gonna matter that I tried to make it right. I killed his daughter. If someone iced me, would that be enough for you?"
Phil sighed and rubbed his forehead. That, of course, was a resounding no. But he couldn't tell Clint that, because that wouldn't be a productive addition to the conversation.
"Either way, you have to try, Clint. If we can get away with not having to take the bastard out and therefore not getting you put on the priority list, I'd like to."
He'd do whatever the hell he had to get Clint through this mess alive.
"Fine." Clint sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
"We'll leave tomorrow." Natasha agreed.
"God, this sucks." Clint turned and moved to the edge of the roof.
Phil and Natasha shared a long glance and then she tilted her head towards Clint. Phil took a breath and headed to the edge of the roof.
"I'll see you guys down at dinner."
Phil didn't hear her move – just heard the door close behind her. He moved to stand next to Clint, staring out over the base with him.
"This is a good thing, kid. This is our best chance at ending this."
"I know." Clint sighed. "I'm just…" He shook his head.
"Just what?" Phil turned to regard Clint's profile and waited.
"Tired." Phil could hear the truth of that in Clint's voice – a bone-deep weariness. A weariness that he knew had nothing to do with his lack of sleep last night. He wasn't sure if Clint wanted him to read in that far or not though, so he played it dumb.
"You're probably due for a good night's sleep."
Clint blew out a humorless chuckle and shook his head.
"That's not what I mean."
Phil blew out a breath.
"I know."
He didn't know what bothered him more – that Clint was admitting to anything at all, or that he had no idea what to say to him. Because the truth was, Phil was tired too.
"Then the man just starts stuttering about blisters in all the wrong places and has a full-on emotional breakdown right there in the middle of a combat lesson."
Everybody at the table chuckled as Todd finished his story.
"So naturally, instead of deal with it himself, Todd sends the blubbering mess to me – to treat the blisters, he said."
Dan glared good-naturedly across the table at his friend.
Todd tossed Dan a smirk.
Clint huffed a laugh, leaning back in his chair, one arm tossed over the back of Natasha's, the other hand absently moving his food around on his plate with his fork.
"Nothing but heart, are you, Bryan?"
Todd smirked, spooning a large mound of spaghetti into his mouth.
"You should have called in psych. It took me twenty minutes to get the guy to tell me why the hell he was in my infirmary."
Dan shook his head, but there was a telling smirk on his face.
"Sounds like you two had an eventful day." Phil couldn't hold back an amused grin as he twirled his own spaghetti onto his fork.
"Every day is eventful at this three-ring circus we call a base." Dan shook his head. "If it's not you two," he pointed his fork accusingly at Clint and Natasha, and Clint's sudden expression of innocence matched Natasha's, "giving me an aneurysm, it's Bryan driving recruits to breakdowns, or an idiot being an idiot."
"You mean you've got more than just Barton fitting that last bill?" Todd smirked evilly at Clint.
Clint smirked dryly back and raised a single finger to the man in response.
Phil rolled his eyes and debated momentarily whether to rat out Natasha's hidden grin.
"Now that you mention it – Barton probably deserves his own category."
"Bite me, Wilson."
"Sorry, kid, I don't bat for that team."
Clint rolled his eyes and Phil hid a grin behind a fake cough.
It was nice to see Clint loosening up a little. The kid had been wound tighter than his bow string lately.
"Oh trust me, Wilson. We all know what team you bat for."
Dan glared across the table, but there was a telling redness spreading up his neck.
Natasha arched a questioning eyebrow at Clint and he grinned.
"We all got an unexpected backstage pass to Wilson's extracurricular activities yesterday."
"Shut up, Barton."
Clint continued as if Dan hadn't spoken.
"Braxton, believe it or not."
Natasha's eyebrows rose in surprise and she gave Dan an approving nod.
"Barton!"
"What?" Clint laughed. "It's not like it's a secret." He smirked. "At least, not anymore."
Wilson's glare might have been more intimidating if his face hadn't turned red.
"Clint." Phil wasn't really scolding him. He just figured he should intervene on Dan's behalf since it didn't seem anyone else was going to.
Clint raised his hands in acquiescence and fell silent.
"You're an ass, Barton." Dan still looked disgruntled.
Clint smiled, putting his hand to his heart.
"Aw, Wilson, you're filling me with warm fuzzies."
Dan rolled his eyes and gave way to the grin that had been trying to fight its way free. Todd had been straining to hold in his own laughter throughout the entire conversation, and it finally burst forth. Natasha smiled as she watched the entire thing and Clint was still leaning back in his seat – amusement written across his expression.
Phil shook his head, only barely managing to keep his own face neutral.
They should time their dinners with Todd and Dan's more often – it was always amusing.
"See you tomorrow! We'll do lunch!"
Brianna Williams waved to her friends as their cab pulled away.
Clint kept his eyes focused on the book he was reading as she walked by his outdoor café table. He took a final sip from his coffee and then stood. Her car was parked right around the block. There was an alley between here and there.
More people should pay attention to alleys when they were walking – especially at night.
He knew for a fact that Brianna Williams wouldn't be paying attention to that alley – or to anything else around her. She'd be paying attention to one thing – her cell phone. The thing was practically glued to her face.
He followed her around the corner, lengthening his stride and coming up silently behind her. She had just sensed him behind her when he reached around, wrapped a hand around her mouth, and spun them both into the alley.
He held her against the wall, one hand on her mouth, the other on her throat, and listened. There were no screams, no shouts – no one had noticed.
Good.
He pulled away his hand from her neck and reached to his back, pulling his knife.
It wasn't until then that he saw her face.
She was crying and saying something into his hand over and over. Her eyes were terrified. She didn't know why this was happening – why he had come for her.
That really sucked for her.
"I'm sorry."
Confusion broke through the terror for a moment – then she saw him bring the knife up and the terror was back.
He slid the blade across her throat smoothly, silently guiding the body to the ground. He looked up and down the alley as he cleaned the blade on her coat, then he slid it back into the sheath at his back. He reached into his jacket, carefully pulling out an arrow he'd brought with him.
He had to leave his calling card – it was the only way to make sure no one else claimed the contract.
He blew out a breath and closed his eyes. Then he clenched his jaw, opened his eyes and slammed the arrow home into her chest, where her heart was.
He stood, stripping off his gloves and shoving them into his jacket pocket.
Another day, another dollar.
He moved towards the mouth of the alley.
"Why?"
Clint froze.
"Why did you kill me?"
He turned slowly, mouth going dry. It was hard not to recognize that voice. He'd spent weeks eavesdropping on it.
Brianna Williams was standing in the alley, blood soaking her shirt and the arrow still sticking straight out from her chest.
His hand twitched in the direction of the Desert Eagle he kept in a holster at the small of his back, its twin was in a shoulder holster, hidden under his jacket. But he didn't draw it – not yet.
"You should be dead."
She tilted her head to the side, her long blonde hair shifting from the slight breeze.
"Oh I am, Clint Barton. I'm dead all right. Because you killed me."
She smiled silkily.
"And now…my daddy's gonna kill you."
Clint's neck tingled and he spun – right into a flying fist. He stumbled back a step – wide eyes taking in the sight of a raging Matthew Williams. Clint backpedaled.
What the fucking hell?
"You killed her! You killed my baby girl!"
Williams ran at him. Clint pulled his gun from his back, brought it to bear, and fired.
At nothing.
Williams was gone – so was the girl. He turned, breathing harshly, and searched the entire alley with his eyes. He was alone.
"I'm going to kill you, Barton."
He spun, but there was no one there – just a voice, a phantom.
"But first…I'm going to make you pay."
Clint turned again – determined to find the source of the haunting whisper.
Phil.
He was in a heap at the other end of the alley, not moving.
"NO!"
He ran towards him, but just as he went to his knees at his side, he was gone. He spun in a frantic circle on his knees, the hard pavement cutting into his pants.
"Phil!"
"He's dead, Barton!"
Williams strolled down the alley towards him, his daughter following at his shoulder.
"They're all dead – because of you."
Clint flinched when Natasha was suddenly on the ground next to him. He reached for her just as he realized there were more bodies. Phil was on his other side. Wilson and Bryan were piled across the alley. Fury was collapsed against the wall.
Clint shook his head.
"No…I didn't know. It was just a job. It's not my fault." That's what Phil had told him. What everybody had told him.
William's voice was suddenly a whisper next to his ear.
"You don't really believe that…do you?"
Clint lurched back to consciousness with a gasp – blinking blurrily at the dark room down the sights of his Desert Eagle.
"Clint?"
He flinched, twisting in the bed and leveling the gun at Natasha's forehead. She didn't move a muscle, just met his eyes.
"You with me?" she asked warily.
He blinked, sliding his finger off the trigger. Then he swallowed thickly around his ragged breathing and glanced around the room once more before nodding.
"Then why don't you put the safety back on…and give me the gun."
Clint frowned, thumb drifting towards the safety switch on the gun he still had pointed at her. Sure enough – it was switched off. He lowered the weapon and shifted the safety back into place. Natasha shifted next to him, carefully reaching to take the gun from him.
"You've never slid the safety off coming out of a dream like that."
He shook his head. She was right. Jesus, he could have killed her.
"You okay?"
He rubbed his hand across his eyes and sighed.
"Guess I should stick with a knife, huh?" He offered a weak grin. She quirked her lips.
"You'd have never gotten a shot off."
He smiled. He'd been on the wrong end of enough of her bad wake-ups to know she wasn't going to hold this against him any more than he did her. She inclined her head to catch his eyes.
"I'm not gonna ask again."
"I'm fine."
"I'd call bullshit – but I doubt it'd get me anywhere."
Clint twitched an eyebrow in agreement. She knew him pretty damn well.
He slid out of the bed and reached for his pants.
"Want me to come with you?"
He knew she would – in a heartbeat. He'd do the same for her. But he just wanted to lose himself in the range – wanted to lose himself in his bow. He didn't like anyone – not even Nat or Phil – to see him like that.
"Nah – go back to sleep."
She stared hard at him for a moment before slowly nodding. Clint nodded back and pulled on a t-shirt, then his boots. Then he reached for his bow and quiver on his dresser.
"If I'm not back by the time you get up, I'll meet you for breakfast."
She nodded and then he slid out the door.
Clint slid down the half wall of cinder block he'd been using as 'cover' and sat, sucking air back into his overworked lungs. He didn't even want to bother checking his time. He could tell by the new level of exhaustion he'd managed to reach that the time was gonna be too slow for his liking. That didn't matter, though.
Tonight wasn't about improving his time.
He looked down at his left hand, clenching it into a fist to stop the subtle tremble that had settled in. He closed his eyes, dropping his chin to his chest and forcing himself to take deep breaths. He'd been at the combat range for over two hours – hadn't stopped for anything but water until now.
Clint opened his eyes, staring at his hand again.
He'd promised Phil once – a long time ago – that he wouldn't use his bow as a punishment. That he wouldn't punish himself with the one thing that was more a part of who he was than his own name.
He was no better than he had been almost seven years ago.
He was just as weak as he'd always been.
Clint clenched his jaw and stood, nocking an arrow and letting it fly. The timer beeped as it started but Clint was already moving. All he could hear was his blood pumping in his ears, all he could feel were his muscles burning as he pushed himself harder and faster.
Natasha sighed and rolled over in the bed, blinking into the darkness at the bedside clock.
3:37
Over two hours since he'd left. She twisted, looking over her shoulder, but she already knew he wouldn't be there. Even asleep, she'd have noticed him returning. With another sigh, she dropped back onto her back.
Tonight was just gonna be one of those nights apparently.
She curled back onto her side, pulling Clint's pillow towards her and resting her head on it instead. She closed her eyes and relaxed, allowing sleep to pull at her again.
Phil yawned and signed his name to the bottom of the form he'd just finished filling out. Why did it feel like the paperwork never ended? He shifted the form to the completed pile resting next to him on the bed and looked down at the next page he had to sign.
He sighed suddenly and glanced over at his phone.
Call it a gut feeling – but he suddenly had the unreasonable urge to call Clint. The archer should be asleep – getting some very needed rest. But something felt unsettled in the back of Phil's mind – the same thing that had led him to the roof in the middle of the night more than a few times.
They were past that though – past him having to drag the truth about his nightmares out of Clint. They'd been past that for a long time.
Phil looked back at his pile of paperwork.
A light knock came at Dan Wilson's office door. When no response was immediately forthcoming, Nurse Jamie quietly pushed it open, peeking her head in.
She made an 'oops' face when she saw Dr. Wilson dead asleep on his couch. The poor man had barely stepped foot out of the infirmary in the last two days. She bit her lip and silently tiptoed into the office. As quietly as she could, she rested the stack of patient charts on the edge of his desk and tiptoed back to the door.
With exaggerated caution, she pulled the door closed behind her as she left.
"Get your ass moving, Baxter!" Todd shook his head and rolled his eyes. Baxter wasn't going to make it through this program. The guy just wasn't cut from the right cloth – didn't have enough drive in him. Tonight – running night maneuvers – was going to be Baxter's last chance at redemption.
Todd sighed and uncrossed his arms, walking across the dark field towards where his recruits were congregating. Movement in the trees caught his eye and he paused – turning in that direction.
He cocked his head.
He could have sworn he'd seen someone.
Something in his gut tightened in warning, years of instincts telling him that it didn't matter that he couldn't see anything amiss right now. Something was wrong.
Todd turned and ran towards his recruits.
"On me!"
The group hadn't even gotten fully turned to face him when an explosion suddenly rocked across the training field. Todd turned in time to see what used to be the east wall of the main training gym reduced to a mountain of flaming rubble.
Clint sent an arrow flying home into the last target, a fraction of an inch to the right of the arrow from his last round. Then he turned, already bringing his last arrow up, pulling back on the string. The fletching brushed against his cheek as he sighted down its shaft. The timer was across the training area – but he had a straight shot to it.
As long as he wasn't even a fraction of a centimeter off his aim.
Clint let the arrow fly.
He watched it whistle through the air, passing over a half wall, between two staggered and angled walls – at his angle the opening was only about two inches, and through a gap between boards in a stack of crates. Then it slammed home and the timer beeped.
Clint turned away before he could see the time. He didn't want to see it – didn't care about it.
All at once the rush of adrenaline flowed out of him and he reached to brace himself against a pile of tires. His shoulders burned and no matter how much he clenched his hand, he couldn't stop the shaking.
Phil was gonna be pissed.
Phil.
He should have just gone to him from the beginning – like he'd been doing ever since the Andes. He should never have fallen back into his old self destructive habits. It hadn't worked – he didn't feel better. If anything, he felt worse. Felt more hopeless about the whole damn situation than he had since it started. His stupid, weak seventeen-year-old self had put everything his nearly twenty-five-year old self cared about in jeopardy. He'd done this. He'd done it by taking that contract and killing Brianna Williams.
He stiffened suddenly.
He needed to talk to Phil – even if it was just for the guy to ream his ass for going to the range instead of to him. Because for as much as he knew it…he just suddenly needed to be reminded he wasn't alone anymore.
God, he was such a whiny little bitch sometimes.
Clint rolled his eyes at his own neediness and pushed off the tires. He almost left his arrows to come back for later. The combat range wouldn't open for a few more hours and no one would be the wiser if he just came back after talking to Phil.
But a team could have it reserved for an early session and he'd have no way of knowing. The thought of someone else pulling his arrows from the targets made his skin crawl.
Besides the feeling of a full quiver on his shoulders was a hell of a lot better than the feeling of an empty one. And a full quiver would look a lot less suspicious to Phil too.
He moved around the range, collecting his arrows, checking to make sure they were still flight worthy, and stowing them back in his quiver. He only had a few left, two targets worth and the ones on the timer.
He reached up, grabbing onto a thin ledge under one of the targets and pulling himself up. There was exactly one foothold he could use to stay up and with a little bit of contortion, he was able to get his left boot onto it. He pushed up, balancing easily on the one foot. He kept one hand braced on the ledge and reached for his arrows with the other.
He heard it first. An explosion – C4 by the sound of it.
A breath later the room shook – shook so hard his one foot lost its purchase and down he went.
Clint hit the ground hard on his back, but was able to use the fall's momentum to twist into a roll, coming up to his hands and knees.
Then he flinched and reached to cover his ears when red lights started flashing and the emergency alarm started blaring at an annoyingly high pitch.
Natasha's eyes snapped open. She was out of bed with her gun drawn before the muffled sound of the explosion had even faded away. She winced when the base-wide emergency alarm sounded a moment later.
Phil flinched, eyes going wide when a muffled 'boom' echoed through the walls.
"What the hell?"
He reached for his boots, standing even as he pulled them on. He didn't react as the alarm started blaring through the halls – he just reached to his nightstand and wrapped his hand around his sidearm.
Dan flailed to consciousness, landing on the floor with a thud as everything in his office shook.
"Holy mother…"
Dan climbed to his feet as red strobe lights on the walls started painting his office and an eerie glow and the alarm started screeching.
"What the hell?"
"What's the hell was that?!"
Fury demanded as he stalked into the control room from his office.
"I don't know!" Agent Maria Hill replied as she stood over, glaring over the shoulder of the security agent on duty.
"There!" The security agent pointed at his screen. "An explosion, east wall of the main gym."
Fury stared down at the screen and they all watched a mass of black clad, armed men pour through the empty space that used to be a wall.
"Agent Hill – initiate emergency lockdown protocols."
She stared at him, the eerie red glow from the emergency lights flashing off her eyes.
"We're under attack."
End of Chapter 3
And here we go! Show of hands for anyone that saw that coming? When the summary said fight where they lived...I was being literal! It's ON now...so get ready for a battle to rage!
Chapter four is headed your way tomorrow!
Getting reviews is how I would imagine it would feel to be on the receiving end of a smirk from Clint...it sets my heart a-flutterin...
Here's your preview!
"That one's mine."
She rolled her eyes.
"I think my bullet to his brain did the job."
"I could argue that my arrow to his heart did it first."
She opened her mouth to tell him just how childish he was being when a sound behind them had them both spinning on the spot. Clint's arrow took down the man on the left a second after her bullet took down the one on the right.
She nudged him and they moved. They'd argue about the kill count later.