Just got back from a 22 hour long Marvel Marathon in my local theatre. It was long but awesome! Age of Ultron is just perfect lads. It's kinda made it ok for me to post this chapter, I think! But yeah! That's all I'll say on the matter!
Reviews!
WitBeyondMeasure23; I thank you for your kind words! This will be the definite last chapter of this story, but more will follow!
kamarooka; I kinda wanna print your review into a sticker and have it with me for everything cause it'll work for everything! Thank you, glad you enjoyed :)
ilikehats2; Shhh! You're giving things away so you are! Last chapter of this, but hopefully during the summer, after the majority of people have seen Age of Ultron so it won't be spoilers, I could write more!
discordchick; My dear friend, you and I are in the same boat! I know the movies no longer support cannon Clintasha, it was clear from the first trailer that it was going to be that way, but why would that stop me writing these two together? It has put a bit of a bump in the works, and I feel like people may give up on the idea alright, but I have a number of ideas around it, all will be revealed in this chapter, so don't you worry! Y'see, after this little fic, I won't be following the movies too much anyway! Just random little stories that pop into my head that, so far, have nothing to do with any of the movies, so it doesn't matter!
Last thing! IMPORTANT THING! Lads, gimmie some ideas. My tank may be running dry but I wanna keep writing!
ENJOY! LOVE YAS!
DISCLAIMER! DON'T OWN ANYTHING TO DO WITH MARVEL!
The wind gently tussled his hair as he looked out over the picturesque landscape.
For someone with bang on eyesight, it was honestly the best place he could be right now.
Rough few months.
Rough few years.
But he was a soldier, a fighter, so he'd come out the other side un-harmed.
He sighed gently and wiped the sweat from his brow. It was the hottest day of the year but still he was out in the garden cutting some fire wood.
Standing once more, he grabbed the axe and swung, splitting the log in two pieces before repeating the process again.
He couldn't escape things. He didn't know why he could in all fairness.
He never could.
He was a spy, an agent, he was an Avenger, so why did he think he'd be able to escape all of that?
He laughed humourlessly to himself as he swung the axe once again. Maybe he thought he could because the last time he nearly did..
The rain had him soaked. It had been coming down all day. But he was in the office block all day so this was the first he's been out in it.
He was getting some looks, mainly because he was just in a hoodie, no umbrella, and for one, he had a smile on his face.
Yep!
He may be soaked to the skin, hair sticking to his face, but he had the biggest smile plastered on his face.
This was his six month anniversary.
Six wonderful months.
Six months of the most relaxing, most amazing time he's ever had.
It's been six months since he's left SHIELD.
Three months since he's had the call centre job, give or take.
And Clint Barton was loving every minute of it!
"Evenin' Frank!" Clint grinned as he stepped into the apartment complex, ruffling his hair to try dry it out a little like a wet dog would.
He liked Frank. He really did. He was a jolly old man. Clint had enough conversations with the man to know that he worked for nearly 40 years as a chef, but retirement pay for that is next to nothing so he had to find this night porter job to try keep his home and family afloat.
Clint felt sorry for him sometimes. 60 years old and still working. He never really had experience in the real world before now, either being in the circus or being an agent of SHIELD. He always had an abnormal life, so all of this was a first!
"Mr. Barry, you're going to catch your death!" Frank said through a slight laugh, passing Clint his mail as he passed the desk.
Clint just grinned and waved the guy off, stepping into the elevator then to head up to his apartment. Wouldn't be the first time he was about to catch death! He'd survive this one no bother!
He opened the door to his apartment and gave a happy sigh, placing the backpack down beside the door before heading off to the bedroom to change.
It wasn't much. It was a one room apartment, a small bathroom, a kitchen and a sitting area joined. He never really learned how to cook so the size of the kitchen never really bothered him, he usually just ordered whatever take out he felt like or had a microwavable dinner. Something simple.
It wasn't run down or anything, the one good thing about Fury granting him leave was that SHIELD managed to take care of him in that respect. They found him a nice little apartment in a nice part of mid town Chicago.
A bit away from what he was used to, living mainly in New York or D.C, close to the two main SHIELD bases. But he wanted different, needed different.
He loved his new job.
Hated slacks and shirts though.
Like more than anything.
And now they were wet so he really REALLY hated them!
Once out of the clothes and into a nice clean and warm set, he went out to his sitting area to relax and watch some tv.
He avoided news. Avoided any current affairs. He didn't want to know what was going on in the world because while the news said one thing, he knew SHIELD had a completely different and worst things hidden.
He just couldn't handle that anymore. He was a civilian. At least, he thought he was a civilian.
He had a job, he had an apartment, he had a rent, he had bills, he had no bow and he had no arrows. He didn't kill anyone anymore.
He didn't go infiltrate some hardened criminal's base. He didn't have to hide on rooftops for hours on end to pick off a target that may or may not show up. He didn't have to put up with annoying partners that seemed to hate everything he did.
Annoying partners.
He actually found himself missing Natasha Romanoff at times.
She kept him on his toes. Kept him on his A-game. Because there was no way he'd ever back down from her or her challenges.
Damn, maybe he gave up to her when he left..
Nope! No regretting it, Barton! You always wanted a normal life, now you have it, don't throw it away just because you want to win a stupid contest that doesn't even exist!
Before settling down to watch whatever game was on tv, he grabbed a bottle from the fridge and sat down again to relax for the evening.
This is what he wanted!
Khost got to him.
A little too much.
He was compromised in the worst possible way, both mentally and physically.
That was ten months ago. He spent a month in hospital being prodded and poked, kept in isolation since whatever that imitation serum they pumped into him had him aggressive with any little annoyance that got to him.
He thought he was better though, they thought he was better. He had physically healed.
Not mentally though.
Nine months ago was his first mission again, a simple hit, and he got it done no problem.
Eight months ago, he was with Natasha again. They had to capture a drug lord for questioning. Things got a little testy when he had a bit of a panic attack, but he was fine in no time.
Seven months ago, something cracked.
It was a basic escort mission, nothing too tricky, but the building they had to take their mark from must have reminded him too much of the one he was captured in when in Khost, so he may or may not have sent an arrow through their mark's shoulder thinking he was going to hurt him.
He was in the middle of aiming another arrow at the fallen mans skull when Romanoff stepped between the two and he snapped back to his senses.
Six and a half months ago, he was released from hospital after a mental break down, and put in for leave.
Six months ago, Coulson tried his best to talk the archer out of leaving.
But Clint Barton was compromised.
Clint Barton was broken.
Hawkeye was no more, and there was nothing that could be done about it.
So, he became James Barry. A call centre agent, moved from Iowa to look for an opportunity at being a business man. No friends, just incase. That was one major stipulation.
As Hawkeye, an agent of SHIELD, and as well as a travelling carny, he made a lot of people unhappy and had ALOT of warrants out for his head right now.
He couldn't risk getting people caught up in that.
Maybe one day, when things seem to settle out, when he knows no one's after him, maybe one day he can have that family life he wanted. Have friends over for barbecues, have kids playing in the yard while him and his wife sit in the kitchen with a cup of coffee.
For now, Mr. James Barry just had to build up a life for himself in this place.
Otherwise, the whole cover Fury made him would be a waste.
And if it was a waste, then Director Nicholas J Fury wouldn't be a happy man at all..
He didn't beg or plead when Barton went to him with the news. Clint wondered, looking back, if the man even cared he was leaving.
On a personal level, mind you. He knew all too well Fury wasn't happy at all with losing his best sharp shooter.
But there was a flaw with Barton. There was something in him that he figured no one else had in the business.
No, not the botched serum that had him fucked beyond compare.
He had a sense of humanity.
He had guilt, a lot of the time hated some of the things he had to do.
He hated taking parent from kids with the swoosh of an arrow. He seriously hated seeing the life draining from someone's eyes as they finally leave this world for whatever the hell comes next.
He was human.
He was good at what he did, he was one of the best.
But he never had spy training, never had assassin training. He was just an amazing marksman and they took him from that, honed in whatever little bit of fighting skills his elder brother thought to him, and sent him out to the field for whatever the hell they wanted.
Fury must have known that, because when Clint went to the man to resign, the older gentleman just nodded and said he'd get things sorted.
A week later, he was handed his cover, told good luck. Fury reminded him that the door was always open for Hawkeye to return whenever he felt well enough to.
Clint Barton disappeared.
Well, not quite. You might think that alright! But not quite.
On his file, stamped across in nice red ink, was the word "Terminated".
That's right, Clinton Francis 'Hawkeye' Barton had been terminated from SHIELD.
Now, one might think that means fired. In normal business circumstances, it means fired.
In SHIELD circumstances, it means fired.
The difference? Well, when you're fired from SHIELD that means you're fired from life. To have Terminated stamped across your file, you must be dead.
So he had a nice little grave out somewhere on the outskirts of New York.
Just incase SHIELD was ever raided and his file stolen, it had to look like he was no more.
He liked it there.
He went there once or twice just to see what's it like. It was always well maintained and cared for, actually looked like someone cared about him!
It's the strangest feeling, seeing your own headstone sitting infront of you.
Humbling.
Calming, some would say. He would say, actually.
The great Hawkeye never liked thinking about death. He felt immortal. Even when faced with the most harrowing and dire situations during his time with SHIELD he never thought that he WOULDN'T get out of it with his life.
Clint Barton? Well, he was different from Hawkeye. Hawkeye was his adrenaline side, his cocky side, the side that said nothing is impossible and impossible is nothing.
Clint Barton was a humble kid from Iowa just trying to find some place in the world.
And seeing his grave, seeing Hawkeye laid to rest, gave him the most peaceful feeling he could ever wish for.
Before the game was even half over, he was knocked out on the sofa, snoring away with a smile on his face.
He could count on one hand the amount of times in the past six months he's slept in his own bedroom.
Not that there was anything wrong with it.
Had a bed, a pillow, a blanket, and it was always a nice temperature.
But he always had far too deep a sleep in the thing.
A deep sleep meant dreams.
Dreams meant nightmares.
Nightmares meant screaming.
And screaming meant panic attack.
He couldn't handle that, so most nights he came home from work or from a day of jogging and training (hey, he might not be a SHIELD agent anymore, but he has to keep some sort of fitness up!), he'd settle down on the sofa with a drink, and would be out in no time at all!
It was a nice routine.
Had him sane.
Kept him sane.
Alright, fuck it, he wasn't sane, but it kept him less mad at least!
The dog barking next door was the first thing to alert him to something not right.
That dog never barked.
He was the quietest and most well behave mutt he ever came across.
So something must have spooked him well to have him going mad.
He kept his eyes shut so he could listen carefully, just incase something was a miss.
It shouldn't be, maybe their owner just gave him a fright or something. But years on the job had him edgy at any change in the normal behaviour of a place.
Sure enough, he heard it, the click of the latch as someone pried his balcony door open.
Dammit, someone found him..
Or maybe it was just a normal every day break in..
Or they found him..
Dammit, lay still..
Where's that pistol..? Under the sofa, Barton. Just reach down before they spot you..
He could tell it was late without opening his eyes.
He watched enough tv early mornings to know what the schedule was and he knew it was between 3am and 3:30am just from the sound of the presenter.
They were behind the sofa. Whoever the hell 'they' were.
He may have been six months out of practice, but years of training and experience doesn't leave a person THAT quickly!
In one swift motion, he rolled off the sofa and grabbed the pistol he kept taped beneath it.
He was paranoid, so what!? Apparently there was good reason to be!
The silencer would do the job. It wouldn't be heard!
He aimed at the intruders head, lying on the ground by the sofa on his side to get a good shot.
Two taps of the trigger, two bullets into the skull, even before the guy had a chance to turn around.
Clint waited to hear the thump of the persons body, not wanting to take any chances with things.
When he heard no more, he stood and went around the sofa to see who he just killed.
It was dark, but his eyes were always alright with that. Joys of being the infamous Hawkeye, after all.
He hunkered down on his knees to get a closer look, the person was face down on the ground so he couldn't see much other than the exit wound at the back of his head.
Carefully, he turned the intruder over so he could get a look, see if he knew the person.
As the dead weight got far enough for Barton to see the front of him, the archer froze.
This couldn't be happening..
He dropped the body and fell on his ass to scoot away.
On the mans torso was a bulletproof vest, with a symbol he's only seen in closed SHIELD dockets.
Never in person, because the organisation simply didn't exist anymore!
Barton was too in shock to hear the footsteps of someone else until it was too late.
As he turned to aim his pistol, a tazer was shot right at the archers heart, sending him down into electric induced spasms in a nanosecond.
The familiar darkness was approaching just as the jolt of electricity subsided, and he could just make out some muffled voices.
Dammit all..
There was no way this was happening.
No was this was real life.
Darkness soon took him, and the last thing he could see made him sick to his stomach.
That damn logo that should have been destroyed in the 40's..
Hydra had taken down Hawkeye.
Muffled voices.
That's all he could hear as he tried pull himself to the world of consciousness.
Hopefully this time they'd actually let him..
Each time he's tried, something would be jabbed into his neck and he'd be knocked out again.
He didn't want that again.
He needed to find out where he was, what he was dealing with, and work out a way to escape.
Even breaths, slow the heart rate, don't show emotion, don't show fear.
SHIELD interrogation training.
But, this wasn't interrogation.
They just kept knocking him out again.
So, what was this?
It appeared he had been caught, because soon after that thought had his mind going 90, a nice freezing cold bucket of water was thrown over him.
"Rise and shine sunshine!" A southern accent, he's heard it before. Maybe when he was trying to come to the past few times.
His eyes shot open as the water sprayed down his body, leaving him slightly breathless in the process.
Dammit all! He only had his thoughts gathered then they go and ruin it!
Who's they again..?
Dammit, concussion.. Too easily confused..
He looked at his grinning captor to try figure it out.
Currently, he was in the all too familiar position of being tied to a chair. The room was actually nice, seemed to be well maintained, or at least the half Barton could see was.
A light hung right above him, a tactic he learned that throws off the captive, makes them see shadows that shouldn't be there and therefore makes them doubt sanity.
There was carpet underneath, nice, red. And a desk just infront of him with a nice chair behind it, one of those fancy one's he's only ever seen in movies or tv shows.
Dammit, he was shivering now.. Why'd it have to be ice water!? Now his nerves were shot completely!
Who were these people..
He looked to his captor once more to try guess.
The guy was not much taller than Barton, though he built a lot! Simple clothes for someone who was holding someone else hostage, a shirt and some jeans. Normal face, nothing standing out about him. Brown hair with slight blond streaks. That's about it.
No one Barton recognised, so he wasn't a wanted man.
Dammit, you know this Barton..
How long has he been here? A while judging by the weakness in his muscles. He tried move his arms though they were tied behind him and did a quick guess.
About a week's muscle loss.
Dammit, no one knew he was missing..
If they did, he'd be out.
"Not one for talkin', huh?" The man chuckled, and it was only then Barton realised the guy had been talking to him through all his thoughts.
"Not really, no." He replied simply, finding the strength in his voice odd. Were they keeping him hydrated or something? No way he could go a week and still sound so fine.
"What a shame, I love to talk.." The man frowned, grabbing a spare chair before advancing on Clint.
He stayed calm as the guy sat opposite him, remembering all his training and knowing not to spill anything.
All Clint could smell was coffee off the guys breath as he leaned in close to the archer.
"Killed a good friend of mine, y'know.."
"Shouldn't have been snooping around my apartment then."
"Perhaps.." The southerner hummed in thought, surprising Clint then by giving him a solid punch to the jaw.
The guy was on point though and caught Clint by the shirt collar before he fell with the chair.
He just smiled like nothing happened then as Barton tensed his jaw to test the pain.
Clint froze, all his training gone out the window, because the guy sitting across from him was rubbing the spot he just seconds ago abused. The hell was he doing?
"But something that belonged to us was there.."
"Who's 'us'?" Clint asked as calmly as he could, annoyed at himself for not remembering.
The guy smile, and Barton's heart sank.
He knew that smile, finally placing the voice aswell.
He started shaking and the southerners smile just widened.
Khost.
That day in Khost, he was in the room for maybe five seconds just giving orders.
Hydra.
They were Hydra in the apartment.
Oh shit..
"My dear boy, you didn't really think we'd let you get away that easily, did you?"
He was speechless. For the first time in a long time words just escaped the archer entirely.
He couldn't do that again, couldn't go through that hell again, but if there was no one around to notice him gone, then who would help him..?
Wait, Barton.. They kept you out.. You're not feeling much of any pain in your jaw or in your head..
Shit shit shit..
"I will admit, I didn't think you'd last through more shots." The man grinned, patting Barton's cheek before getting up to go pour himself a drink from the little bar in the corner. "But, you seemed to handle it ok. Maybe because we finally fixed our formula.."
"You bastard.." Barton growled, jumping and pulling at his ties now to try get loose. "You can't do this to people!"
"Of course I can." He smirked, Clint figured he was finding his attempts at escape amusing from the way he was watching.
What was his name even.. He was way too proud to ask, and he didn't think he was ever told, so he was now just called Asshole in Barton's head.
"I'm trying to make you better, stronger. I'm trying to make you perfect."
"Humans aren't perfect. We have flaws. That's the whole point." Clint growled once more, finding a little give in the rope when he tugged at it once more.
It seemed like asshole was having none of it though, because he simply drew a pistol from his side and sent a bullet right into Barton's shoulder.
He hissed and shut his eyes, but wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction of a scream.
"You're just about complete, so we we're gonna send you to the arena to test you out." Asshole said with a sickeningly sweet smile, like he didn't just send a bullet right into his shoulder or anything!
"What arena?" He tried growl the question, but he was losing blood a little quickly so it made him a little too weak.
Funny. He read in all the old case files that Captain America would be fine, would just patch right back up. Seems like this serum wasn't perfect, not by a long shot. Seemed to thin the blood to reduce pain rather than help cells to reduce pain.
"All of us chose different people. So, now that all of you are all supered up, it's time to fight."
Barton's heart stopped.
He had to fight someone? Why?
Was this just another innocent person that was plucked from the street because they looked like they could be supered up?
"Now, I will warn you.." Asshole started as two guards picked Barton up from the chair, still keeping his hands tied though so no matter how much he struggled he just couldn't get away. They knew his tricks. He'd usually swing up over their shoulders and have them knocked out in a nanosecond. With a bullet in the shoulder, that was impossible.
"The guy you're about to face is leading champion.. 27 and 0. But, when you beat him, the rest are noobs like yourself so it'll be fine! "
This made Barton feel more ill than anything. Because he figured that a fight between two attempted super soldiers would be to the death..
Before he knew it, his ropes were cut and he was pushed into a fighting arena, literally right outside the door of the room he was just in.
Glancing around, he could see that the high walls were topped with metal bars in a dome shape to prevent escape. He could hear chatter and cheers so he guessed there was some kind of audience up there.
Those sick people.. They probably pay to watch this thing happen..
His shoulder was killing him, literally and figuratively. He had to keep his opposite hand on the wound to try stop the bleeding as best he could. He probably wasn't the bookies favourite right now..
Another quick look revealed no weapons around. Straight up fighting then.
He wasn't left wondering about things for too long though, soon enough the opposite side of the arena's wall lifted, revealing his opponent.
He was a stocky guy, no wonder he won this thing so many times in a row. No way in hell was Barton getting out of this without a fuck tonne of broken bones and torn muscles.
He was taller than Barton, by a bit, not too much. Cropped black hair, shirtless like the archer, and in the same kind of sports shorts aswell.
Clint glanced at the newcomers eyes as he got into a fighting stance, releasing his opponent wasn't doing the same.
Something passed over his eyes that Barton knew shouldn't have been there.
Some emotion that a killer or fighter shouldn't hold.
Soon, the new comer shook his head a little and smacked his side, causing Barton to frown in confusion.
Why would he do that..?
Not long to ponder the actions of the challenge infront of him, since the man was stepping up to square off with Barton.
The crowd cheered like mad, and it almost felt like being a professional wrestler or something. Being adored for killing eachother.
Ok, wrestling wasn't THAT bad, but you get the idea!
Neither made a move.
Both just seemed to be staring eachother out of it.
He noticed the guys right foot move first, then his left hand swinging back in a fist.
This was familiar, and Clint actually found himself smirking as he ducked to avoid contact, swinging up with his right fist to try nail him on the jaw.
It was quick paced.
It was at speed.
It was fighting, something he hasn't done in SO long. But it was natural.
It was right.
This is what he was born for.
The guy avoided his upper cut by leaning back, and Clint's eyes went a little wide.
Before he even saw the knee coming up towards his chest, Barton crossed his arms over to deflect the blow, latching onto his attackers leg then to fling him away.
Stand off.
And the crowd was going mad.
They were slightly panting, eyeing eachother up a little.
But something seemed way too weird.
This was way too familiar.
Not the fighting, he knew that would feel natural.
But the style, the sequence.
Damn..
He hit his side.. Impact.. Tracker..
To test what he hoped wasn't true, Clint ran at the attacker, arms out to go for a choke.
Sure enough, the attacker grabbed onto Clint's shoulders and monkey flipped him backwards.
Expecting it, Clint landed on his feet, but quickly cursed and fell to a knee, gripping his shoulder that was now sending fresh waves of pain through his body from the contact.
His eyes were only shut a moment, but his opponent took full advantage and lunged, sending Clint to the ground.
He tried roll away but couldn't. The guy had a grip on his neck.
This wasn't why he couldn't roll away though, it was more the shock of what was going on.
He wasn't being choked.
The grip around his neck was made look hard, but it was gentle as anything.
"Agent Barton.." The guy whispered, and it caught Clint more off guard than anything so far.
"I knew it.. You are SHIELD.." He whispered back, his hands now clawing at the mans to try act for the audience. They were going mad, so they wouldn't be heard.
"Agent 23, undercover.. We gotta get you out of here.." He said back quickly, and Clint couldn't agree more!
His vision was going blurrier and blurrier by the second, he had lost way too much blood and the over exertion of combat hadn't helped.
Even if their moves were basic SHIELD training spars, it was way too much for a bullet hole to handle.
Suddenly, agent 23 rolled them over so Barton was ontop, and Clint had enough sense to realise he needed the roles reversed for a moment. So his hands went around the agent's throat the same way as before in opposite, and he called in to whoever was around this place.
"STRIKE Team; emergency evac. Bring heavy. Barton compromised, bring bow."
Those words.. He couldn't help but grin.
It had been so long since he got to play with his bow.. And he couldn't think of a better reason than now to kill some people with it!
"Serum doesn't work.." Barton said quickly, flipping off the agent when he made it look like he kicked Clint.
23 put Barton in a headlock, and he happily played along.
"I know.. They think it does but it doesn't help me." The guy replied, taking an elbow to the face as dramatically as an Oscar winner would.
"You fading..?" He asked Clint after the archer fell to his knees, going over again to push him to the ground.
"Little.." He mumbled back, rolling with the punches the agent was throwing so they wouldn't fully connect.
It was true, he really was. He was finding it more and more difficult to keep his eyes open, and breathing was now a struggle. He heard the agent say something, but it was over shadowed by an explosion that rocked the place and sent the crowd into a different kind of screaming.
The agent very quickly jumped up, fighting off some of the guards that came after himself and Clint.
Barton was just struggling to sit up right now though, when he did he just watched for a moment as the carnage unfolded around him.
There weren't many agents, they obviously weren't expecting an evac yet at all. Two guys came in and were already struggling, the agent 23 was trying his best to keep the guards away from Clint.
But that's not who he was really focused on.
He was more focused on the one agent that was fighting their way over, bow and quiver slung on their back all the while.
"Can never stay out of trouble, huh?"
"What can I say? I have a knack for it.." He replied a little less cocky than he usually did, mainly because he was damn grateful to see her face.
"Come on then. We have work to do." She grinned, and he accepted her help up before taking the bow and arrows from her.
It felt like he never missed a beat, because before he knew it, he had three arrows flying into some guys that were coming for them.
"Then let's do this. Seems like you've gotten sloppy without me, Natasha." He grinned, and she rolled her eyes before leading him in a run out of the arena and through the building.
"We've never been better, bird brain!" She snorted back, and he had to laugh. They had fallen back into their old ways so easily, he liked that!
It was simple to fall into routine again. It really was. She had her guns firing into any enemy they came across. His arrows never wavered and hit true each and every time.
"I dunno, seems like you missed a step there!" Natasha gloated as she helped him up a flight of stairs, he just took another bullet, this one to the side, not embedded, just a nasty graze, so of course she was gloating.
"Oh, excuse me miss perfect! I think I just took that one for you! Want it back?" He growled, though he knew well by now that she only ever teased like that to make him forget about things.
"No no. Be a nice thing to bring back to your little work friends."
She kicked open the next door and froze. Easily twenty guns were trained on them on this level, another thirty up top on the balcony.
He glanced at her and gave a weak smile, snaking his arm from around her shoulder to neck an arrow.
"Shall we?" He asked with a smirk, and she just smirked right back.
"Loser buys dinner later."
He nodded in agreement and let the arrow fly, ducking and rolling just like Natasha when a flurry of bullets came their way.
He pressed the familiar button on the handle of his bow and an explosion rang out, taking out about fifteen guys.
"Fifteen to three!" He shouted over to the other side of the room, knowing that's where Natasha was. He ducked a punch that was thrown his way and replied with the bow being smashed in the attackers face, another taking an arrow when he recovered his bow again. "I'll take lobster later!"
"The arrow did that for you, doesn't count!" He heard being called back, and he couldn't help but laugh.
They just kept coming though, and he wasn't getting any stronger. Adrenaline was literally the only thing keeping him going right now.
They were side by side for a moment, guards advancing in on them slowly as they tried catch thier breath.
"Go right, I got this.."
Without another word, he made his way to the balcony where he knew it was clear and started firing arrows. Agent 23 joined soon enough and was trying to help them, but there were just way too many.
Something caught his eye as one of the attackers went down, the arrow through his skull knocked something out of his ear. A comms set..
They were fucked..
If these guys were getting information from someone watching, then they were at a serious disadvantage.
He looked around to see if he could find anywhere it would be, and soon enough he did.
A little box stuck out from the wall above him, he chose here because he thought that would give cover, he never guessed it would be an actual room. But from the looks of it, this large room may have been the old arena. Balcony for viewing and a box for important people.
He'd bet anything that's where they are watching everything.
He had to scramble their comms, and he only knew one way how.
This was going to be bad..
He changed the tips until soon a head was screwed on he very rarely used.
A sonic arrow.
An oldie, but a goodie.
This close proximity though. This was gonna hurt him more than anything.
But they were surrounded, he had to give the others a chance!
Taking aim just above him, he quickly let the arrow fly, trying his best to protect his ears.
No use though..
It exploded nearly immediately, the box went boom, the comms no doubt sent the sound to each attacker down below, and no one would be able to withstand that and fight on.
Barton couldn't, and the sound he got wasn't amplified like theirs would be.
The explosion threw him flat on his back, but there was no ringing, no muffles. There was nothing. He could just see blurred shapes and feel some vibrations around him.
He let out a shuddery breath as he suddenly felt completely weak, letting the darkness take him to the familiar resting place he loved.
He lost alot that day. So much blood, so much hope for the world outside of SHIELD.
His hearing.
Damn, his hearing..
That was the one main thing that he always regretted..
He sighed as he packed up the chopped wood into the wheelbarrow, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow before gazing up at some clouds.
That mission thought him he could never escape the business. Never.
He could never escape her either..
It had been a while since the last time he saw Natasha.
His world shattered.
She declined his proposal. Said something that morning about not being able to give what either of them wanted and she couldn't pretend she could.
He tried tell her it was fine, that none of it mattered, that he still loved her.
But no use.
She left two days later for another mission and that was that.
He didn't know what would happen between them. She called now and then, with a mission or just to ask opinion, never much personal.
He sighed gently and headed back towards the little house, enough wood in hand for a fire.
He got on with life. He had to. He couldn't wait around for the day that may never come, the day she realised that none of it mattered to him, none of the stuff that she couldn't give mattered to him.
He couldn't dwell on it now though, he had dinner to put on, mouths to feed.
Before he made it to the porch, his cell rang. A withheld number which always meant Natasha.
He groaned a little and dropped the freshly chopped wood, heading in and straight up the stairs to the main room. Mission. Important one if it was a call, he usually got a text.
He needed his bow.
"Where to?" He asked the second he answered the phone, knowing that's all the conversation needed right now.
"Tower. You have 6 hours before we leave." Nothing else, she just hung up. Always business when on the phone.
In person, it might be different. He didn't mind that, maybe once they see eachother again they would just fall back into routine like that day all those years ago.
He would never get out of being a spy..
Actually no. Not that he'd never get out of being a spy.
He'd never want to get out of being Hawkeye.
But, worse than that, so very much worse.
Just hearing her voice say those simple words made him realise too.
No matter how much he tried to move on.
No matter how much he tried get over things.
He would never get out of loving Natasha Romanoff..
Be back around the end of May! Thing's will be fine, trust me ;)
Thanks for sticking till the end!
Much love,
Tara.