Author's Note: Welcome to my first Hawkeye fanfic! I'm excited to write this, as the new series has really sparked major inspiration - it's just SO GOOD and Hawkeye has long been my favorite (and seriously underrated!) Avenger!

Warning - This won't be exactly canon; it's slightly AU from the current trajectory of the show for what will be obvious reasons, but all characters, appearances, and settings remain largely the same otherwise. A few details are pulled from the comic series but I haven't sourced them for any of the plot. Strictly MCU.

I love hearing feedback, comments, constructive criticisms, whatever you'd like to say, any thoughts you have, I welcome it all. And I try to respond to every message I get so please feel free to reach out and let me know what you think! Hope you enjoy :)

*I do not not own any of the characters, places, or concepts contained herein - all of the aforementioned are the intellectual property of Marvel Comics and their amazingly talented creators. This content is strictly for non-monetized entertainment purposes only.*

((o))

-1-

Kate Bishop came rolling in from her workout at the gym downstairs and made a beeline for the coffee maker, Lucky bounding in behind her. Her long dark hair swung across her back in a messy braid and she was visibly sweating in her basic purple sports bra, eyes bright and face flushed. She gave a dramatic whine when she found that the pot was tragically empty even though the inviting scent of coffee hung in the air of the small apartment, and immediately turned an accusatory glare on Clint Barton.

He sat reading the paper at the tiny dining table, not even sparing a glance up at her. Lucky had come up to check on him and one of Clint's hands dropped down to stroke the dog's ear briefly, still not looking away from the paper. Pizza Dog, satisfied by this gesture, took himself over to the couch and hopped up to take a nap, leaving the noisy human and the quiet human to their usual devices.

"You drank all the coffee and didn't make more? So rude."

Clint still didn't look up at her, but reached over to take a very deliberately drawn-out, noisy sip of the last of the coffee in his own mug before saying languidly, "Shouldn't you be hydrating after a three hour workout?"

His mannerisms reminded her of a cat, looking lazily relaxed when in reality he was constantly ready to spring into action, not to mention the casual smugness and nonchalance that drove her crazy while still somehow being infuriatingly charming. She observed him for a quick moment, always eager to seize an opportunity to look at him when he wasn't looking at her.

The older man's dark blonde hair was slightly mussed and not quite as carefully styled as usual for him, as if he hadn't slept well (and she suspected that he never did). His black jeans and grey t-shirt were perfectly fitted to his strong body, but just a little wrinkled and faded. The short sleeves of his shirt had ridden up slightly around the chiseled lines of his biceps, and she could see faded scars marring the skin of his arms in various places. How much of his body bore such scars? Kate wondered, feeling a twinge of pain for him along with a burning curiosity that was dangerous to dwell on.

He wasn't as well-put-together this morning as she had seen him on other occasions, and yet he still looked good. So good that she had a hard time taking her eyes off him.

She scoffed, shaking off the risky thoughts, and promptly went about starting a new pot. Banging around loudly in the kitchen cabinets, deliberately making as much disruptive noise as possible as she looked for a bag of grounds, she retorted, "I wasn't just working out, I was training. And coffee is made of water, genius. I thought Avengers were supposed to be superheroes, not inconsiderate house-guests."

Clint turned a page of the newspaper, making a point not to show the smile he felt pulling at the corners of his mouth. "This isn't your house. And I am an Avenger, never claimed to be a superhero. The two are not automatically synonymous ya know."

Kate rolled her eyes as she rifled through the third cabinet with no luck, "Okay sure, whatever you say, but I'm calling bullshit CB1." She couldn't think of a single other living being who she thought was more heroic than Hawkeye, but she wasn't going to say that out loud in front of the man himself.

He sighed at the nickname, but had given up trying to get her to stop using it or any of the others she had concocted in order to boost his "branding". It was enough that he'd agreed, begrudgingly, to the revamped matching purple suits when the last thing he wanted was to be more recognizable.

Clint let her go through one more cabinet and two drawers, nearly laughing when she started to swear quietly in frustration, before he finally turned another page and said offhandedly, "We're out of coffee now by the way."

She slammed a cabinet shut and stalked past him toward the shower, glowering at him as she passed the table even though he still hadn't looked up at her.

"I hate you."

That almost got a laugh out of him again but he kept his composure, knowing how much it rankled Kate when he was completely impassive. It secretly pleased him to see her flustered.

Relenting, he took another sip of his coffee then silently held the mug out to her without looking over. She skipped back to him and eagerly took the peace-offering, standing at his elbow and leaning close to read the paper over his shoulder for a minute while she enjoyed the caffeine boost, her "hate" instantly forgotten. He liked his coffee mostly black with only a touch of sweet cream and Kate thought it tasted perfect.

"Defunct Terrorist Organization A.I.M. Suspected of Increased Illegal Activity in New York City," she read the headline of the article he was looking at out loud and now Clint did look up at her in annoyance. He folded the paper and tossed it on the table, crossing his arms.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

She took a drink from his mug and shrugged, letting the cup cover the smile she couldn't seem to help when she was with him. "Well I guess now someone has to go to the store for more coffee. And food. We probably need food. Every good hideout needs food. Poptarts maybe."

It was his turn to scoff as he got up from the table and reached for his leather jacket draped over the back of the chair. "Gross. No poptarts. You get showered and then go meet your contact at Bishop Security to see if they have any current information on A.I.M.'s movements in the city. They could be connected to all this, to what's going on with Eleanor and Kingpin."

A shadow passed over Kate's face at his mention of the most recent development in their investigation. It was still so hard for her to believe her mother could be capable of such things, and she knew her refusal to think about it was not the healthiest way to deal with the situation. But she just couldn't right now.

Clint was almost sorry he'd said it when he saw the stricken look on her features. It was only a beat though before Kate seemed to mentally skip right past it, as if he hadn't said anything about it at all. He let it go for the moment, well aware that she had yet to fully process the betrayal.

She drained the last of the coffee and handed the empty mug back to him, much to his surprise and irritation. Sighing, he carried it over to the sink and dropped it in none-too-gently while Kate watched in amusement.

"Well I'm banned from the building now since the last time I tried to use my Mom's laptop to break into the system, I don't have a contact anymore, they've all been ordered not to talk to me." The effort she was making to sound nonchalant about the situation was evident in her voice and body language, as she tried to shrug it all off, but he didn't feel the need to point it out. It was hard enough on her already without his rubbing it in that he saw right through her act.

Clint moved to the front door, shrugging his brown leather jacket on and buttoning it up in anticipation of the cold outside, "Figure it out then," he said shortly. "Just meet me at the diner at 6 with whatever information you find." Then the door was shutting behind him and he was gone before she could say anything else.

"Sheesh, Mr. Cheerful," Kate muttered to the empty room.

Left alone with her thoughts, there was too much noise in the silence of the apartment and she didn't want to start thinking about any of the million things that were going wrong in her life right now. She didn't want to think about how rapidly things seemed to be unraveling around her, how even though she had met her hero and somehow, miraculously, he was here with her, but he didn't want to be and obviously felt like he'd been trapped into this trouble she'd inadvertently started. How it turned out nothing she had spent her life believing in was as it seemed. Instead she hurriedly pulled up a playlist on her phone, connecting it to the bluetooth speaker in the living room and turning the volume up to drown out the voice in her head telling her she couldn't escape from this for much longer. It was all catching up faster than she could run. But for the moment music was all she wanted to hear, the rest would come down later one way or another.

And she would go get in the shower, but because she wanted to, not because Clint told her to. First, though, she went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water to take with her, because she was in fact so very thirsty and definitely needed to hydrate. Kate had just waited until he was gone because she wasn't about to give Hawkeye the satisfaction of being right. Again.

((o))

Kate was late for their 6 PM meeting, and he tried not to start worrying that something had gone wrong. Simple intel-gathering was well within her capabilities and it was her mother's company anyway, so the risk was minimal. If the risk wasn't minimal he never would have sent her out alone in the first place, and Eleanor Bishop remained unaware that her daughter knew the truth about her criminal activities. There was no reason yet for him to think anything had happened to her.

Still, when he glanced at his watch to see the time was 6:17 and she hadn't responded to his text, there was a heavy feeling in his gut. He hated this, that he cared enough about this girl to be worried. He'd told himself he was never going to take another partner on, not after what happened to Nat-

Clint stopped himself, severing that line of thinking with cold, brutal force. He couldn't go down that mental path. It led him into dark places and he lost himself in that darkness - he couldn't afford that right now. He had to maintain focus and see this mess through quickly.

His clamshell flip-phone dinged from the table where it sat in front of him, and he was thankful for the disruption to his dark thoughts, cursing under his breath, "About fucking time Kate."

But it wasn't from Kate. It was from Laura.

I know you're doing your best to be here for Christmas, but if you can't you know the kids will understand. We can wait until after the holidays to tell them the news anyway, don't you think? Maybe it's for the best you're not here - pretending would be hard on both of us Clint. And the divorce will be hard enough on them when it's not Christmas.

He snapped the phone shut and tossed it back on the table without answering the text. Clint honestly didn't know what to say to his ex-wife, and he wasn't good at these things anyway. Never had been. Besides, she was probably right - she usually was. Laura was one of the smartest, most practical women he'd ever met in his life. That's why when she'd told him six months ago that things were just not working between them anymore, he knew the careful wisdom of that truth and how difficult it had been for her to say it to him after all they'd been through.

They had both done their best after the Blip to regain what they'd had before, and of course he had been beyond overjoyed to have his family back after so much terrible loss. 5 years was such a long time though, and in that time Clint Barton was consumed by so much grief and rage that he'd entirely lost his soul within the storm. Becoming the Ronin gave him an outlet for all the pain and anger that had replaced all the good pieces of him, erasing the man he was from existence just as effectively as if Thanos had Snapped him away too. In his darkest moments Clint had found himself wishing that The Mad Titan had done just that.

He loved his family with all of his being though, what was left of himself anyway, and he did everything in his power to be fully present for them, to be his old self. And while he did find his way easily back to fatherhood, being a husband was different story. He could not connect, could not find a way to turn off the savagery that had taken root in his heart and kept him from letting himself be vulnerable or intimate, even with his wife. And when she looked into his eyes she said she didn't recognize him anymore, the man looking back at her felt too much like a stranger after all was said and done. He didn't blame her - he felt like a stranger even to himself.

Laura had been patient with him, and they had tried for over a year to make it work, but the man he'd been before was simply gone. There was no getting around it, there was no faking it, and they didn't want to fake it. They cared about and respected each other too much to do one another that disservice. So together they had made the difficult decision to end their marriage, though they had yet to tell their children, or anyone else for that matter. They would still be dedicated loving parents together, they would still be friends, and sometimes they would even be colleagues if the need arose. But they would no longer be lovers - that part of their life together was over.

The divorce had been finalized months ago, though their marriage, their relationship, ended a year before. It was done, and had been so very civil. Clint knew it was the right thing for them to do, but it was just one more loss, one more failure. He'd grieved her once and then it felt like he had lost her all over again. Just one more thing lost to the fire.

It was too much and it all made him feel numb.

And yeah, Laura was right. Christmas was a really shitty time to tell the kids that things were about to change. Giving the appearance of normalcy had been easier while he was away so much for work, but they couldn't keep that charade up for much longer and it wasn't fair to them to continue this way. Their children were smart, perceptive, and Clint had no doubt that they sensed something had shifted.

He would let Laura know later how right she was, and that he was still going to try to be home for them on Christmas Eve if he could manage it. Nothing was more important to him than his children and he wanted to be there for them and protect them from as much of life's hurts as he could.

It stung him that there were inevitable disappointments they would not be able to avoid, but at least they were here, back in the world, to experience life at its fullest even with its downsides. Clint was more grateful for that miracle than he would ever be capable of expressing.

The front door of the diner jangled to announce the arrival of someone, making him look up in hopes that it would be Kate. He badly needed a distraction and if Kate Bishop was anything she was a world-class, pro-level master of distraction by simply being herself. But it was just an elderly couple coming in to pick up an order at the counter, and the sight of them holding hands left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hadn't always been such a jaded old man, Clint just had difficulty remembering when that time was - it had been so long and so much had happened between that man and who he was now.

He looked away with a grunt, trying to ignore the prickle of concern creeping up the back of his neck now that it was approaching the 20-minute mark with no sign of his self-assigned protégé nor any word from her.

Being late was not very like her. It wasn't as if it had never happened before, but in each of those instances she'd texted or called to make sure he knew. Once she'd even just sent a pizza emoji by itself as her way of telling him she'd stopped for food, but she'd never been unresponsive for this long in the time that he'd known her. He was probably overreacting - though he frequently called her "kid", she was in fact a grown woman fully capable of taking care of herself. Mostly, he corrected, thinking of the times he'd barely managed to keep her from getting herself killed even in their short time together.

Tired of thinking about it, and feeling a familiar agitation beginning to build under his skin, Clint picked up his phone again to call Kate's number. His sharp eyes continued scanning the sidewalk outside through the glass front of the diner while he held the phone to his enhanced ear, even searching across the street trying to catch sight of her approaching. There was no sign of her.

"Hi hi, this is Kate and you've reached my machine. Well, not my machine, this is just a voicemail, not a machine. No one has a machine anymore. Anyway, you know what to do." Her vibrant voice played in his ear, the call going straight to her voicemail. This was followed by a short beep and the silence of a recording waiting for a message. Clint hung up, resisting the urge to throw the phone through the fucking window. That wouldn't solve anything, though it might make him feel better.

Frustration drove him to his feet, donning his jacket with a frustrated jerk before tossing some cash on the table to pay for the two untouched plates of cold pancakes and cups of coffee he had ordered for them half an hour ago. He couldn't just sit there doing nothing any longer, he needed to be proactive before he started thinking too much. And if Kate had gotten herself into trouble the the longer he sat here waiting the worse it would be.

Jamming his phone into his front pocket, Hawkeye swept through the jingling door back out onto the street, headed for their shared Manhattan headquarters (aka Aunt Moira's apartment). That was the most likely place to find her and the first place to start his search. Next would be her mother's penthouse, though Kate and her mother were not on the best terms at the moment and he doubted she would go there lightly.

Clint had his own apartment in NYC, a building he owned actually, but had yet to rent out any of the other units to tenants. It was a walkup only several blocks from their current hideout and it wouldn't have been unreasonable to think he might find Kate there, but she had never been to his building and didn't know where it was. He'd never taken her there and had no intention of doing so since there was no real reason for her to know where he lived on his own time.

Though he'd admittedly been spending a lot of time staying at Moira's lately, both when Kate was there and when she wasn't, the most private of the Avengers liked knowing that there was a place all his own in the city. At the moment, however, being there alone reminded him too much of all the things he had lost and he would rather not think about any of that.

He was a little surprised though that the curious and intrepid young woman, who definitely had boundary issues, had not tried to follow him to his apartment yet on the few occasions that he had gone home.

She'd asked him about his place before, when she wanted to know if he always stayed in a hotel when he was in New York, and had been seemingly satisfied by his vague description of the rundown building he'd purchased 6 months ago but had done very little with since. He'd also told her that he wanted to expand his apartment to span the entire top floor so that next time his kids wanted to visit the city they wouldn't have to stay in a hotel. He wanted to make a home away from home for them.

This private disclosure in conversation with her had taken him off guard - he remembered wondering why he'd told her something so personal so easily, so casually. It wasn't like him to be so... open. But there was something about Kate that drew things like that out of him, and Hawkeye didn't like it. Maybe he could blame the daiquiris they'd been drinking that night.

Maybe not.

And he definitely didn't like that she wasn't here, or how anxious it made him. She had better have a damn good reason for making him worry.

((o))

Having completed her hack into the Bishop Security database and finding what she was looking for with surprising speed, Kate found herself struggling to get back up into the ceiling vent she'd dropped down from into the server room. She kicked and pedaled her legs in midair like a frantic swimmer, probably looking like a complete idiot as she strained her arms to pull herself up. "I really need work on my upper body strength," she lamented, finally hauling herself over the edge and laying there a moment to catch her breath, her legs still hanging down through the hole before pulling the rest of her body in and closing the vent behind her.

The thick dust inside the shaft made her cough and she quickly slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, paranoid that someone might hear her. She wasn't sure what would happen if she got caught inside the building and turned over to her mother but she didn't particularly want to find out, and confronting Eleanor right now was the worst thing the younger Bishop could imagine.

Getting into the building itself had not been as challenging as she'd anticipated, though it probably helped that Kate had studied the security blueprints of the facility in her spare time at her "job" when she was bored, which was constantly. The position her mother had given her as a part-time assistant analyst had been little more than busy work and a way to keep tabs on her daughter, who admittedly tended to get herself into trouble when she had too much free time on her hands. In light of recent events, Kate found herself resenting her mother's manipulations even more, and while she may have felt some guilt in the past for using her position to gain access to data and files she shouldn't have, she wasn't feeling any of those misgivings now. If anything, she felt justified in hacking the data network behind her criminal mother's back for information that might actually help save people.

She got moving again, pushing herself along at a steady pace and being careful not to make too much noise or put too much of her weight in one spot. It was important to keep her weight evenly distributed as much as possible so the ducts would support her, otherwise she might go crashing through the ceiling (again), and with her luck probably land right on her mother's desk.

When the shaft turned vertical, she spider-climbed up 50 feet, really wishing she had worn better footwear for this part so she wasn't backsliding so much, her arms and legs beginning to ache with the exertion. It grew more narrow near the top and Kate had to squeeze through the u-bend in the duct there, dismayed to find that the other side was also a sheer drop another 100 feet back down, her flashlight barely illuminating the bottom. This was not going to be easy. Already she had underestimated what this would be like, unprepared for the nearly unbearable heat and the stuffy air that made it difficult to breathe, not to mention all the dust and grease built up on every surface that made it difficult to get a solid grip. It was nothing like what you saw in the movies, and she tried not to think about how truly dangerous this was.

She just kept telling herself this was for a good cause, in service of protecting the city she loved, and she was doing this to prove to Hawkeye she was worth his time, that she could be valuable. Almost there Kate, just keep moving.

As she was trying to get turned around in the tight space and find her footing to start a careful descent, her boot slipped on the smooth metal surface and she lost her purchase, gasping as she started to tumble downward. Her stomach lurched and her heart ran wild with a spike of fear, scrabbling for a handhold that wasn't there as she plummeted several feet before managing to catch herself by kicking out against the galvanized wall and slamming her back against the opposite side to jam her body in place and stop her fall.

Kate groaned in pain and leaned her head back against the warm metal panel, panting and feeling all the places where she would definitely have bruises later from this, giving herself a second to let her heartrate slow to normal again before resuming the climb down. No sooner had she taken her first tentative step, with her back and shoulders pressed firmly against the side of the vent shaft, arms locked out to the sides to stabilize her body and booted feet bracing against the opposite wall so she could slowly lower herself a foot at a time, than she felt her phone slip out of her front jacket pocket. It seemed to happen in slow motion, and she reflexively grabbed for the device, which immediately resulted in her sliding down another ten feet before catching herself again but not the phone as it tumbled away into the darkness below. "Nonono!"

After what felt like an eternity, but was really only about 5 seconds, she heard the unmistakable sound of plastic colliding with metal at the bottom of the shaft, wincing as it shattered loudly, echoing the noise back up to her ears. Well that's just great. Why hadn't she thought to secure her phone when she knew she was going to be crawling around in air vents? That was an easy answer: Because I'm such a fucking amateur. At least she still had her taclight, fastened securely around her wrist so there would be no chance of dropping it. Without it she would be stranded in the blackness of these tight, airless, unforgiving spaces, and probably die there, now with no way to call for help. They wouldn't even find her body because no one knew she was up here, not even Clint. Missing person, forgotten, a stupid mummy in a mineshaft.

The thought of getting stuck in this godsforsaken place and dying alone in the dark made her suddenly want very much to get the hell out of there, and she started descending the duct in a hurry, slipping a few times in her haste but making good progress. When she reached the bottom she heaved a sigh of relief, resting a minute while she took the time to collect what was left of her destroyed phone and her cracking composure. It wouldn't do to leave the busted device here, just in case someone else found it. That would simply be unprofessional and sloppy - Hawkeye would not approve. Its fractured pieces went into the zippered inside pocket of her coat this time, then Kate flattened herself out to see what lay ahead in the narrow turn of the vent at her feet.

She could see daylight ahead and hear distant sounds of traffic, so she knew she must be close to the exit she'd been aiming for. If her calculations and recollection of the blueprints she'd studied were correct, this shaft should empty out on the first floor level in the building's west alley, making for an easy 10 foot drop to the ground. The shaft was a tight fit but she got herself in headfirst, testing the limits of her flexibility, and started the long straight drag toward the large grate she could see far ahead. It was a good thing she wasn't claustrophobic, otherwise the two-foot-square space she was inching through might have made her start to feel suffocated and trapped.

"You're not panicking, you're fine. You're breathing, you're moving, you're fine," she repeated this mantra to herself quietly as she kept going, one hand in front of the other, pulling herself along until she could touch the metal of the grate that lead out into the alley, slivers of daylight and cold air moving over Kate's face like a reward at the finish line. The grate was screwed into the surrounding metal, but Kate was actually prepared for this part, switching off the taclight and pulling the bottom cap off to reveal the hidden compartment inside that housed a miniature multitool. She remembered a few months ago when she bought the military-grade taclight online, her mother had seen it on the credit card statement and lectured her about wasting money on something she was never going to use. Well the joke was on her - Kate had known someday it would come in handy.

Using the screwdriver attachment, she worked on the screws until they were all loosened and she could pull the grate aside enough to fit through the opening, trying not to rush too much in her pressing need to get out. With the metal finally pried back, leaving a few ragged sharp edges she would need to be careful of, Kate eagerly stuck her head out to take in a lungful of fresh New York winter atmosphere. Dull grey light washed over her along with the breeze, and she never felt more relieved in her life to be breathing in the city air. Her eyes were closed as she took several deep breaths, letting the anxiety of what she had just put herself through slowly subside. She'd accomplished what she'd set out to do, gotten through it, and secured the information they needed. She hoped Clint would be happy with the results.

Then Kate opened her eyes and looked down, relief instantly turning to mild distress as she realized she had not calculated correctly when she recalled the ventilation system's layout. Of course.

This vent was not on the first floor of the building. It was on the third. And the cracked concrete of the narrow alleyway looked very far away at what Kate estimated to be somewhere around 25 to 30 feet below.

Well shit. This was gonna hurt.