Chapter Text
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Clint has seen people fight all over the world.
He’s seen Natasha, both in action and on video footage for close to two years leading to their meet up; A deadly concerto of limbs and sharpness, beguiling in her lethality. When he finally cornered her in a dirty Budapest alleyway, bleeding heavily from his thigh and using his snapped bow as a crutch, all he could see was her red hair, unravelling from under her scarf and sticking to her sweaty face, eyes wide and green and startled.
And then he got to see her fight up close, and they’d been inseparable ever since. The broken ribs had healed, but his dignity had never quite recovered.
He’s seen Cap, a mishmash of boxing techniques and back alley scrimmages, a strange amalgamation of judo evolved out of necessity rather than out of any sort of formal training, although he can tell that some training came eventually. Probably from the Allied forces, when they finally caught up to the errant captain and his commandos ranging the Italian countryside and kicking nazi ass. It pleases him to no end that when he borrows some pages from Natasha’s book and keeps out of his range, he can do some
Even Bruce, when cornered, will put up a fight with fists and krav-maga, trying to keep people off of him with a guilty grimace, until he finally explodes outward in an air clap of green and roaring. Clint was always there after with a bottle of water and a blow by blow recount that probably wasn’t much appreciated, if the pale look and sudden need to lie down was anything to go by.
Whatever; The guy threw a semi truck into a giant robot, and if he didn’t get a massive boner from how awesome that was, it was his own damn fault.
Coulson was a fucking force of nature. he could kill you with anything he found in a glovebox, SHIELD agent guarantee. Or at least, that's what he told anybody who'd hold still long enough, or any baby agent that didn't look properly in awe. The disbelieving looks and noises weren't discouraging at all. More badass for him.
But Clint hasn’t quite seen anything like this.
It’s not that the guy is particularly skilled, which he is. Clint puts him up there with maybe the Calvary. Or Coulson. Strong hand to hand combat, and he definitely made use of his environment, which not everyone was fast thinking enough to do. Clint watched in interest as Tony finally grew exasperated and threw a few repulsor blasts- At low power, obviously. But Clint knew even that much was enough to break a rib or two. Intimately.
But Altair nimbly avoided it with a swing and a miss, slithering under a car, and using it as a jumping board when Tony picked it up to get ahold of a balcony. He was knocked off two seconds later as soon as he got a leg over, when the railing smashed with a repulsor blast, but Clint was impressed.
“We’re getting this on tape right? It’s youtube gold.” He murmured softly into his mouth piece, watching as fucking Iron Man failed to apprehend a straight vanilla human. It’s gratifying, to say the least. As someone who has handed Tony Starks ass to him on a daily basis, sometimes in the hallway, sometimes on the mat, it’s always good to see other people happy to put the billionaire in his place. Him and Natasha couldn’t be everywhere.
The perp, Altair according to their intel, (although everyone knows it’s fake) fought like a multitude of people. Clint could see what Natasha meant, when she said it was like he was sleepwalking.
One minute he was dodging heavy sledgehammer punches from Iron-man’s armor, moving like a circus act and rolling without any sort of care across broken glass and chipped asphalt; And the next he was leaping to his feet as easy as any breakdancer or karate master, punching out with his bad hand and blade strapped to his wrist, sparks flying up where it scraped uselessly off of Tony’s titanium adamantium alloy.
To Tony’s credit, they wanted the guy alive, so it was hard for him to pop off a small rocket like he would any terror organization or human trafficking ring. He kept pulling punches, and although his face was hidden from view, Clint could read the frustration in the set of his shoulders, and how sloppy he started to get as time went on, trying to just land a hit.
”Alright, I’m getting a little embarrassed here.” Tony huffed out, as he spun to catch a blade in one gauntlet, and wrench it to the side. Altair rolled with it, spinning impossibly with his wrist to keep it from cracking like fine china, and in the same motion wrapping his legs around Iron Man’s immovable arm, and aiming another blow at the join of neck and shoulder. “Hawkeye, any time now would be nice.” There’s a brief blur of static as the knife connects with the neck join again, and Tony made a small noise of annoyance. “The kids are watching you know.”
Clint knows- Coulson had been swearing flatly and steadily in the comm for a good half hour as he reads the twitter feed, until Clint had finally turned it off.
Tony shook the guy off, and threw him into a car. The door dented, and Clint winced.
“Well, Mommy’s going to have to put up with it until Daddy can get a clear shot.” Hawkeye quietly replied, his bowstring lighting a soft touch against his cheek as it drew by his face. He’s used to this; Sitting entirely still, eyes focussed on a scene far away. Waiting for the right moment. In truth, sometimes he feels like that’s all he is, the heart of him.
Watching and waiting.
”I’m going to get you a clear shot, and ignore that whole mommy daddy line of conversation for reasons I’m sure you’ll agree with me on.”
“That would be great honey. When you have time.” Clint didn't twitch a muscle when he replied, unmoving.
”Damn it Barton.”
Clint hummed in agreement, watching as Stark shook off his deadly burr, and managed to put some distance between them with a well timed concussive burst from his repulsor, spooking the perp like a startled animal. Clint can see the way his thighs tense, the way his chest is moving under his ratty jacket that he’s heaving for breath; He’s going to run.
He doesn’t give him the chance.
He let’s the arrow go, and it hit right in between the scruffy and worn shoes without hitting him, the canister built in the tip releasing it’s puff of anesthetic with a small crack-pfaff that Clint could hear all the way from his perch.
The wind was strong, but as Altair reared back in alarm, Clint saw it catch his face, and the way he was breathing hard from his acrobatics gave him a good lung full.
And then he makes a break for it.
Iron man doesn’t make a move, just makes a scathing noise in his com.
”This is below my pay grade- Why am I here again?” He waved cheerfully at someone in a second floor window who’s taking pictures with their phone, and turned to the cops, no doubt opening a line in their CB’s for Coulson to talk to.
“Because Thor is off world, Natasha is in Tokyo, and Bruce would crush the perp like a tiny bug.”
“I’m beginning to grow tempted.”
“Try to contain yourself until Coulson gets a whack at him- He’s been following leads on these guys, whoever they are, for like. Ten years. It’s real conspiracy theory stuff, even for him.” Clint said conversationally, as he jammed an arrow in between two ac units, and then clipped it to his bow. He flipped his legs over the edge of the building and rappelled down, gloved hands keeping his pace on the line while the tiny engine combined with the generator built into his uniform whirred gently. “Secret governments, assassinations, ancient cults-“
”All in a days work. And I do love to put a smile on his face. Need me to back you up?”
“Nah. Pose pretty for some pictures and smooth things over with the cops. It’s all clean up from here.” Clint set boots on the ground and unclipped himself, taking in the alley, and starting where he’d tracked Altair’s movement to. It was easy to predict, as someone grew lethargic and clumsy, where they’d head. As well as a couple of small drops of blood, tiny pinpricks that Clint's eyes picked up easily against the gray concrete.
”Alright. But you’re dragging the body mister- No, officer, I wasn’t talking to you, christ-“ There’s a lack of muffled static that tells Clint Tony’s turned his attention elsewhere. Which is probably for the better- The millionaire had barely agreed to help SHIELD in the first place.
Mostly because he’d been pretty irritated that someone had gotten ahold of phone plans that weren’t supposed to be out until next year- As well as supposedly some files he’d been keeping on the down low, involving repulser technology.
He liked to think Tony knew why Natasha had been in his offices at night, besides supposedly catching someone breaking in that they’d tagged on the “person’s of interest” list. But they politely didn’t say anything to each other about it over breakfast, and turned their energies in being passive aggressive to new levels of sarcasm.
Clint clicked the volume off, prowling down around the computer store, and behind the pawn shop, noting the lack of rats, and the garbage can on it’s side. If someone came back here for their impending nap, then they would have been clumsy, scattering the rats. Perfect.
He’s already planning his smug retelling to Natasha, including embellishments and blatant lies.
”Shit. Shit shit shit- Hey, Desmond, wakey wakey, c’mon…”
There’s muffled groan, and what sounds like slapping sounds.
“Nope, wake up buddy, we have to get you to the car-“
Clint did a quick peek around the corner, trusting whoever it is to be busy enough with their friend to not be looking up.
A woman with short dark hair was holding Altair- ‘Desmond’, apparently- up with an arm thrown over her shoulders, her face pinched with worry and some blood smeared across her front where the guy’s face was gushing.
”Christ. Someone has some medical issues.” Clint observed grimly, restringing his bow from it’s former use as climbing gear. He had one more tranq arrow ready, but unfortunately he was reluctant to use it. They cause more medical problems than was really good, and the woman looked a little on the small side. As well as the stupid things were apparently pretty costly to R and D, and he maybe got two every mission.
’But they can give me like, twenty smoke bomb arrows.’ He sniffed a little irritably, before rounding the corner.
“Hands up.”
The woman looked up, and Clint knew a look of desperation when he saw one. Her eyes were wide, startled. But there was a gun in her hand down by her thigh, and a draw between her eyebrows that said she wasn’t going to let her accomplice be taken in without a fight.
’Personal attachment.’ He noted drily, while Desmond seemed to stir slightly, pushing clumsily at the woman and trying to get his feet under him.
“I wouldn’t bother buddy. You’re going to be out in about five seconds, so you might as well- Whoops. There he goes.” Desmond’s knees buckled, and the woman suddenly dipped under the extra weight, making a startled grunt. Clint took the opportunity to release his arrow, knocking the gun out of her hand and probably breaking her trigger finger if the yelp of pain was anything to go by. “Theeere we go, out like a light. Now, put your hands on your head.”
“Why, so you can drag us to some dark guantanamo bay bullshit prison where we can get the waterboard special? I don’t think so asshole.” The woman snapped, bristling like an angry stormcloud, crouching down over her unconscious companion and glaring. She put a hand down to his neck, checking his pulse, and wiping some of the blood away from his face with the other hand.
“We’re not that kind of organization. Probably.” He allowed, thinking of the levels of access he was missing. “Listen, I really don’t want to shoot you, you seem like a really nice lady-“
“Stick it up your chimney fuck-face.”
“Alright.” Clint drew his bow back and aimed for something non-lethal-
But just as he went to let go, in the one second he picked right shoulder, he heard the screech of tires and what sounded like a trashcan being disintegrated.
He turned like a startled cat and jumped to the side, rolling with the fall as a van slammed into two more trashcans, scraped the brick wall of the alley, and hit a dumpster with an almighty crash- Before slamming right into him and sending Clint flying into a wall, his head slamming back and lights flashing in the black of his vision. He wasn’t a stranger to knocks to the head- Half of his uniforms involved some kind of helmet. Unless of course, they were urban missions like this. Clint could generally argue that the limit to his vision wasn’t worth safety when the risk of him falling off of something was practically nil.
’Oh, but you jump off so many things agent Barton!’ They’d argue, words floating meaninglessly over Clint’ head while he tried to negotiate at least twice as many explosive arrows.
Embarrassingly, this was the last thought he had before he passed out.
Tony was going to have a fit.
######
He woke up to a large amount of swearing in korean.
”Goddamn british piece of shit, I’m going to find out where he lives, and I’m going to rip his toenails out and feed them to him. And when I’m done with that? Teeth. Something with the teeth. I’ll figure it out when I get there, I’m going to bring some pliers, a bottle of whiskey and a box of chocolates, and we’re going to fucking tango.”
His korean was a little rusty, but he was pretty sure of the torture scenarios. They were very colorful.
Clint made a small croaking noise and tried to sit up, the familiar feel of an IV drip and a massive amount of gauze wrapped round his head. There was a crash of metal, and what sounded like a whole pack of dogs started barking somewhere close by.
“Lay back down you fucking idiot, you have a concussion.” A small hand pressed on his chest, and the familiar smell of antiseptic and latex made Clint obey without asking, used to waking up in medical with no idea how he got there.
As he laid down and made eye contact with a small cat poster on the wall however, he realized he may not be in SHIELD medical.
He sat back up, much faster this time and with a small cascade of medical debris off of his legs and chest. He ignored the dizziness in his head, getting up and trying to keep from falling over. Or throwing up. “Where the fuck am I.”
“Friendly Fur animal clinic.” The woman said grimly, looking faintly homicidal as she snapped her gloves off, and threw them in the trash. “I’ve been black market for twelve years and those fucks drop a government spook on my doorstep without so much as a ’Sorry for the trouble Seung, we really appreciate it Seung’. My whole business down the shitter and that british fuck gave me five hundred bucks. Five hundred bucks.” She glared at Clint furiously, as if incensed by his presence alone. Her black hair was in a messy bob, multiple pens stuck through it, and it gave her a slightly manic look over the top of her silver glasses.
“Um.” He looks down at his gear, frowning. Most everything was still on him, and the rest was piled in the corner of the office, looking very out of place against the little fun prints of kittens and goldfish on the walls. His comm was even still in his ear, although the thought of turning it on so it could crackle into his splitting head wasn’t on the top of his list of priorities.“…Who are you?”
“Doctor Kim Seung. And who are you? CIA? No, I bet you’re a fucking fed, you smell like one.” She wrinkled her nose, and then grabbed his arm, inspecting it closely, and startling him into straining backwards like a reluctant animal. He was really starting to question this woman’s medical acuity. “Yep. Definitely a fed, they don’t give CIA this shit. You're lucky I take my oaths seriously or I would've let you sleep outside and get knifed by a hobo. Fucking feds. ”
Clint looked down and realized the reason why SHIELD hadn’t activate this subdermal tracker and burst in, guns blazing, was the small jumble of wires and half-assed circuity stuck with duct tape around his arm, right over where the almost invisible scar line of his tracker was. He picked at it and got a nail under, ripping it up with a wince as it brought up what felt like half of his arm hair with it.
’Natasha may have been right about wearing sleeves.’ He admits reluctantly, rubbing the reddened patch of skin. He flips his comm on, and is immediately struck with a barrage of noise. 'And the helmet. She can never know.'
“Clint, report in." There was a clatter of keys, and a small chime of an alert going off. "Agent Barton, what’s you situation- Agent Macy, can you get me those satellite pictures yesterday, please and thank you- Somebody get Fury on the line and tell him to stop calling me-“
“Barton reporting in.” He said into his comm, ignoring the glowering from Dr Seung. It appeared to be her default state anyway. There was a beat of silence, and then Coulson’s voice coming in clear across the line, no doubt the rest of the noise from baby agents quelled with a simple hand gesture. ’Hot.’ Clint thought with a small grin, getting cautiously to his feet and collecting his gear from the corner. It was all mostly unscathed, although his bow was scraped all to hell, and two of his arrows were snapped. Confusingly, one of his gloves were missing.
“Do you care to explain why the last location we have you in is a bloodstained alleyway, and now we have you at…. An animal clinic in Soho?”
“Accomplices.” Clint explained, pulling a face in embarrassment. “Uh. They hit me with a truck.”
There's a long moment of cold silence, and Clint tried not to look like he's being chewed out. And probably failing, judging from the smirk that the asshole doctor was sending his way. “Is that supposed to be an excuse Agent Barton?”
“… No?”
“It better not be, because if you think for one second I’m letting this gross underestimation of a hostile target go by without disciplinary action, you’re sorely mistaken. You and Stark both.”
“Can you even punish Stark?” Clint asked, not a little sulkily.
“I know someone who can.”
He let that terrifying thought settle for a moment, before letting out a heavy sigh. “Glad you’re ok Barton.” There was a flurry of clicks on the other line. “I’m sending a car to pick you up. And bring your friend.”
Clint looked up at Seung and tried not to look too cowed, clicking his com off.
“Cancel your appointments for today." She gave him a suspicious look, and Clint didn't miss the quick flick of her eyes towards the medical cabinet. "Relax. We’re just going for a little ride. Those people who brought me in have been giving us the slip for a while. And there's something in it for you if you can help us find out where they're holed up.” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully at her. Shield wasn't FBI. They didn't let good sources like this go to waste. And hell, any underground doctor that's been practicing this long was someone who knew how to avoid attention. And how other people pulled it off as well.
“Yeah. I fucking bet.” But she heaved out a sigh like it was only what she expected, and followed Clint as he led the way to the street.