"So what makes you so special?" Clint asked quietly. I glanced around to look at him. He was pacing behind my back in a semi circle.

"Hm?"

"What makes you so special, that you're a Level Eight? Relax your shoulders."

I did as I was told, and tried to focus on the target in front of me.

"I don't know, maybe it's just my winning smile."

"I'm not kidding. Your files you're twenty four years old. You've been working at SHIELD for two years now; almost three. You didn't go to College. You have no background worth mentioning. So how did you even make it through the door?"

My hands shook as I gripped the bow more tightly. Clint either didn't notice or didn't care, and kept talking.

"Bailey?"

I fired, and completely missed the target. He sighed.

"Come on, you can do better than that."

"Yeah, well it's a little hard to concentrate with you bugging me back there, Barton." I snapped.

"Relax your shoulders." He muttered, continuing to pace. "And tell me how you managed to get to Level Eight in under three years. What makes you so damn special?"

I lowered the bow, and turned to face him. "That's none of your business."

"Really? Because you're one of the Avengers now. That may not mean a lot to you, because you haven't been in combat with any of us. We seem a little rough around the edges, but we're a team. And team members don't keep secrets from each other."

I stared at him, unblinking for a few seconds. "So what's your dark past then, Clint? What are you willing to share?"

He licked his lips slowly, his eyes roving across my face. "That's different."

I scoffed, and pulled out another bow. "Yeah, totally different."

"I mean that. I've been part of the team. I've fought. I've protected. What have you done? You walked in here all special and high and mighty, with Fury talking about you like you're so damn special. And you know what? After all that talk, after all that build up, after thinking that you could possibly be part of our team, and possibly be special, you turn out to be ordinary."

With every word he moved a little closer to me, until there were only a few inches separating us. I could have backed down. I could have cried - Lord knows I wanted to.

But I didn't.

"What the Hell is your problem with me, Clint?"

His eyes narrowed. "I don't trust you. No one here does. For someone who climbed SHIELD's ranks so quickly, you're just another pretty face in the crowd."

He gave a mirthless smile, and took my bow and arrows from me.

"You should go. Natasha's got to start training you. Maybe you can get something out of your time with her, seeing as you're just as bad in this as you were yesterday."

I felt a burning lump in my throat. Clint was still talking, his tone light and his words dark, obviously not caring about what they were doing to me. I swallowed hard, trying to force the lump in my throat away, so that it wouldn't dissolve into tears.

"I'm not ordinary." I managed to croak.

"What?"

"I'm not ordinary. There's a damn good reason I managed to get here as quickly as I have."

"And what's the reason?"

I swallowed hard, and sneered at him. "And why would I tell you that, Clint Barton? In the two days I've known you the only thing you've done is try to make me feel like I'm not worth being here. Part of a team my ass."

His eyebrows raised as I spoke, and then, as I swallowed again, my vision blurred and one tear rolled down my cheek. He inhaled audibly, and began to move towards me.

"Bailey, I didn't mean to-"

"No." I pulled away from him, brushing away the tears with one hand and forcing a smile. "I'm just going to have to learn to prove myself as one of the Avengers, aren't I?"

He tried to say something else as I left, but I ignored him, getting out of the room as quickly as possible. I didn't want anything to do with him. He was a jerk, and an asshole, and a self-righteous one at that.

---

"Ah, morning how are yo-" Natasha froze when she saw me fling my bag down in the corner of the training room. "What's up?"

"Guess your text to Clint to get him to stop being a Douche Bag last night didn't help much." I muttered, wandering over to the mat to face her. She frowned sympathetically.

"Want me to talk to him again?"

"No, it's fine. I'll just have to get over it I guess."

She smiled gently. "You know, Clint's not actually an asshole. He just isn't too comfortable with new people. After the attack on New York, he isn't too trusting. And what with you rising through the ranks pretty quickly, your reputation preceded you. We expected someone..."

"Older?" I suggested, and she nodded, unabashed.

"Yes. Someone older."

"Well sorry to disappoint." I joked, trying to put Clint out of my mind. "But I'm all of twenty four."

"Mmh..."

Notes