Colombia
Walking a Fine Line, Between Wrong and Right
Swish, thud. Swish, thud. Swish, thud. His hand reached back to draw another arrow, growling in irritation when he realized his quiver was empty. His footsteps echoed off the walls of the empty target range as moved from target to target pulling his arrows free, noting in the back of his mind that each arrow was buried, dead center, in every target. With his quiver full again he returned to the line, pressing a button next to him which started the targets in motion.
He nocked an arrow and drew it back, relishing in the feel of his sore muscles, released a deep breath and let the arrow fly. Before it even had a chance to hit the target he had another drawn as he sighted down the shaft at his next target. He pushed himself harder, his hands nearly a blur as the arrows rained on the targets. The last arrow buried itself halfway into the target with a dull thud, but still the archer was not satisfied.
Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye, never missed a shot. But tonight wasn’t about the practice, tonight he was running from the demons that chased him. Sleep had proven itself nearly impossible most nights, the only relief he could find was at the bottom of a bottle or at the mercy of a pill, but even then the silence was only temporary, and he found he hated himself even more in the morning.
So he shot his bow, losing himself in the endless pull and release. With his bow there were no faces to haunt him or voices to taunt him, there was simply his beautiful piece of weaponry and a man. And so night after night he found himself at the range, pushing himself until he was on the brink of collapse, sometimes even past that point.
There had been more than one occasion on which he barely was able to make it back to the maze of vents running through SHIELD’s base where he stayed before he blacked out. Even then his reprieve didn’t last more than a few hours before the faces and voices began swirling around his head again; he found himself jerking awake panting for breath, sweat pouring off of him, the familiar weight of his blade pushed out as if to ward off any attack.
Tonight’s voices had been particularly vicious, the comfort his bow usually brought denied, his body practically vibrating with a dark, restless energy. Knowing he would get no rest tonight he started towards the targets once again, gathering his arrows, welcoming the pain his screaming, cramped muscles brought.
His hand stilled, halfway through pulling out an arrow, as a face flashed into his mind, the face of a young woman who turned on him with tear filled brown eyes. Why? Why did you kill him? He never hurt anyone. And she was right, her father was a lawyer, a good wholesome apple pie, white picket fence, living the American dream, type.
But he had been nosey, pushing and snooping too closely for the local crime syndicate’s liking, so the hit had been ordered. One million dollars in exchange for one man’s life. One simple shot for him, and a big payout. However he hadn’t accounted for the daughter who walked through the door just as the arrow flew through a window and buried itself in the man’s throat. He died in her lap as her brown eyes overflowed with tears and her sobs echoed through the room.
Clint wasn’t sure why he had watched this interaction, after all it was still a clean hit, he hadn’t been compromised, but he found himself unable to move from his position as his eyes took in the young woman’s grief. After being numb for so long this kind of emotion was foreign to him. It wasn’t long after that the nightmares began, going from a handful every once and awhile, to an alarming frequency.
A snap brought him back to the present, he glared angrily at the back half of one of his arrows gripped tightly in his hand, which was shaking slightly, the other half still embedded in the target. He fought the childish urge to fling the broken piece across the room and scream. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm the panic rising in his chest. He pulled the broken arrow from the target, scowling as his hand still shook, then glanced at his watch as he started back towards the line.
4:08. The green numerals glowed up at him. Damnit, Phil is going to be at my room any second to wake me up for morning training. He had been doing some extra training with Phil each morning as a challenge, since many of the recruits in general training were no match for the kid who had been a contract assassin for three years already. Clint was pleasantly surprised when he found the older man was much quicker than he looked, due to his past as a boxer before he was recruited to SHIELD.
Clint was sure Phil had caught him down here in the early hours of the morning more than once, as every so often he could feel another presence in the room, but he was always too focused on beating the guilt out of himself to bother seeing who it was. If Phil knew anything he never let on, although Clint wasn’t necessarily much of the conversing type anyways, preferring to keep his dark thoughts to himself. Speak of the devil. Clint thought as his highly attuned senses knew the moment someone entered the room.
“You’re early Barton, I suppose the saying ‘there is a first time for everything’ is correct.” Phil chuckled at his little joke as he moved closer to the archer, noting his shirt was plastered to his body from sweat and his posture seemed a little more tense than usual. He sighed sadly in his mind, when was the kid going to open up? He knew Clint spent more time on the range or track than he did sleeping.
After a little peek in Barton’s quarters revealed that the bed was untouched, the only personal items in a small duffel at the end of the bed, Phil wondered if the kid ever slept. All the recruits joked behind his back that he was a ghost, not needing food, water, or sleep apparently. But Phil knew better, as the archer turned to face him he could make out the deep lines of exhaustion around the kid’s eyes, and the tight line of his shoulders a tribute to the aching muscles underneath.
"Looks like you got a head start on this mornings practice. Ready for some hand to hand? I happen to have a surprise for you.” Phil barely concealed a smile at the curious look Clint shot him, making him look very much like the 21 year old kid he was, the darkness in his eyes gone for a brief second before the mask he wore like a second skin slipped back into place. Clint hit a button, resetting all the targets before tucking his bow on his back and following Phil up to the training gym.
.............................
SHIELD’s training gym was completely deserted, no doubt due to the early hour, as most general training didn’t begin until 7am. Clint glanced carefully around the gym, trying to see what Phil could possibly have planned for him, he wasn’t overly fond of surprises so he wanted to be prepared.
“Well, since it seems like you’re already warmed up want to get right to it?” Phil asked the archer over his shoulder as he walked over to the raised sparring ring off to the far side of the gym. Clint tried to keep the relived expression off his face, but judging from the smirk on Phil’s face he didn’t think he was successful, so he just nodded and stepped up to the ring, pulling his shoes off before climbing under the rope.
He tossed a quizzical glance back at Phil when he noticed the other man wasn’t joining him in the ring, but Phil just smirked again at him. Clint was about to tell him where he could shove that smirk when he started speaking.
"You know I’ve been training you since you obviously weren’t being challenged by the other recruits, but you’re starting to get too good for me.” Clint let his own cocky smile show, thinking maybe he would be getting the morning off, and maybe he could finally get a little bit of sleep.
“And that’s why I went and found you a new sparring partner.” The smile slid right off of his face as the hair on the back of his neck stood up, his senses screaming that he wasn’t alone in the ring. Clint spun, hands up in a defensive stance, his jaw nearly dropping as he took in the red-haired woman now in front of him. He could have sworn they were the only people in the room. He glanced at her again warily, there weren’t many people who were able to sneak up on him, he was hoping it was just the exhaustion throwing off his senses, she couldn’t be that good.
“Barton, meet Agent Romanoff. You’ll be sparring with her from now on. Best of luck….” Phil turned his back heading for the chair not too far off from the ring to watch. “You’re going to need it.” He added under his breath, chuckling.
Clint’s eyes traveled over the woman’s petite frame before meeting her large emerald eyes as she shot him a flippant grin that said he was going to get his ass kicked and she was going to enjoy every second of it. He couldn’t stop himself as he lifted his eyebrow as if to say ‘give me your best shot.’ There was no way this tiny little thing was going to give him a challenge.
She sprang into motion, closing the space between them before he even completed his thought, delivering a staggering blow to his left ribs even as she planted her foot into his right instep in the same breath. Clint was barely able to duck his head back as she kicked up, her foot swiping through the air above his nose. He lifted his right forearm up to block her next shot to his ribs when suddenly she grabbed tight to his arm then dove between his legs, pulling his arm with her.
He felt himself falling forwards but was able to correct his balance and somersault himself back into a standing position, thanks to years of acrobatic training from his time at the Carnival. The startlingly beautiful red-haired agent posed crouched in front of him, and to his surprise winked at him before catapulting herself up, her thighs wrapping around his neck as her momentum drug him to the floor.
As her grip tightened around his throat he found himself thinking wryly. If I had to die, this wouldn’t be a bad way to go, wrapped in this gorgeous woman. He knew she had him pinned, with one move of her thighs she could break his neck in this position. After a second more she released her grip and was on her feet a second later, hips swaying as she went for her water bottle in the corner.
The sound of Phil's slow clapping rang out through the empty gym, Clint’s eyes traveling to his, noting the sparkle of humor in the man’s eyes. He let out a disgusted sigh and pushed himself to his feet, rubbing at his neck absently as he faced Phil.
“Looks like you’ll have plenty to learn from Agent Romanoff.” He smirked and glanced at his watch. “And you still have time for a couple more rounds before general training.” Clint barely restrained a groan as he caught her eyes again, the gleaming green orbs full of mischief. This was going to be a long day.
He nocked an arrow and drew it back, relishing in the feel of his sore muscles, released a deep breath and let the arrow fly. Before it even had a chance to hit the target he had another drawn as he sighted down the shaft at his next target. He pushed himself harder, his hands nearly a blur as the arrows rained on the targets. The last arrow buried itself halfway into the target with a dull thud, but still the archer was not satisfied.
Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye, never missed a shot. But tonight wasn’t about the practice, tonight he was running from the demons that chased him. Sleep had proven itself nearly impossible most nights, the only relief he could find was at the bottom of a bottle or at the mercy of a pill, but even then the silence was only temporary, and he found he hated himself even more in the morning.
So he shot his bow, losing himself in the endless pull and release. With his bow there were no faces to haunt him or voices to taunt him, there was simply his beautiful piece of weaponry and a man. And so night after night he found himself at the range, pushing himself until he was on the brink of collapse, sometimes even past that point.
There had been more than one occasion on which he barely was able to make it back to the maze of vents running through SHIELD’s base where he stayed before he blacked out. Even then his reprieve didn’t last more than a few hours before the faces and voices began swirling around his head again; he found himself jerking awake panting for breath, sweat pouring off of him, the familiar weight of his blade pushed out as if to ward off any attack.
Tonight’s voices had been particularly vicious, the comfort his bow usually brought denied, his body practically vibrating with a dark, restless energy. Knowing he would get no rest tonight he started towards the targets once again, gathering his arrows, welcoming the pain his screaming, cramped muscles brought.
His hand stilled, halfway through pulling out an arrow, as a face flashed into his mind, the face of a young woman who turned on him with tear filled brown eyes. Why? Why did you kill him? He never hurt anyone. And she was right, her father was a lawyer, a good wholesome apple pie, white picket fence, living the American dream, type.
But he had been nosey, pushing and snooping too closely for the local crime syndicate’s liking, so the hit had been ordered. One million dollars in exchange for one man’s life. One simple shot for him, and a big payout. However he hadn’t accounted for the daughter who walked through the door just as the arrow flew through a window and buried itself in the man’s throat. He died in her lap as her brown eyes overflowed with tears and her sobs echoed through the room.
Clint wasn’t sure why he had watched this interaction, after all it was still a clean hit, he hadn’t been compromised, but he found himself unable to move from his position as his eyes took in the young woman’s grief. After being numb for so long this kind of emotion was foreign to him. It wasn’t long after that the nightmares began, going from a handful every once and awhile, to an alarming frequency.
A snap brought him back to the present, he glared angrily at the back half of one of his arrows gripped tightly in his hand, which was shaking slightly, the other half still embedded in the target. He fought the childish urge to fling the broken piece across the room and scream. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm the panic rising in his chest. He pulled the broken arrow from the target, scowling as his hand still shook, then glanced at his watch as he started back towards the line.
4:08. The green numerals glowed up at him. Damnit, Phil is going to be at my room any second to wake me up for morning training. He had been doing some extra training with Phil each morning as a challenge, since many of the recruits in general training were no match for the kid who had been a contract assassin for three years already. Clint was pleasantly surprised when he found the older man was much quicker than he looked, due to his past as a boxer before he was recruited to SHIELD.
Clint was sure Phil had caught him down here in the early hours of the morning more than once, as every so often he could feel another presence in the room, but he was always too focused on beating the guilt out of himself to bother seeing who it was. If Phil knew anything he never let on, although Clint wasn’t necessarily much of the conversing type anyways, preferring to keep his dark thoughts to himself. Speak of the devil. Clint thought as his highly attuned senses knew the moment someone entered the room.
“You’re early Barton, I suppose the saying ‘there is a first time for everything’ is correct.” Phil chuckled at his little joke as he moved closer to the archer, noting his shirt was plastered to his body from sweat and his posture seemed a little more tense than usual. He sighed sadly in his mind, when was the kid going to open up? He knew Clint spent more time on the range or track than he did sleeping.
After a little peek in Barton’s quarters revealed that the bed was untouched, the only personal items in a small duffel at the end of the bed, Phil wondered if the kid ever slept. All the recruits joked behind his back that he was a ghost, not needing food, water, or sleep apparently. But Phil knew better, as the archer turned to face him he could make out the deep lines of exhaustion around the kid’s eyes, and the tight line of his shoulders a tribute to the aching muscles underneath.
"Looks like you got a head start on this mornings practice. Ready for some hand to hand? I happen to have a surprise for you.” Phil barely concealed a smile at the curious look Clint shot him, making him look very much like the 21 year old kid he was, the darkness in his eyes gone for a brief second before the mask he wore like a second skin slipped back into place. Clint hit a button, resetting all the targets before tucking his bow on his back and following Phil up to the training gym.
.............................
SHIELD’s training gym was completely deserted, no doubt due to the early hour, as most general training didn’t begin until 7am. Clint glanced carefully around the gym, trying to see what Phil could possibly have planned for him, he wasn’t overly fond of surprises so he wanted to be prepared.
“Well, since it seems like you’re already warmed up want to get right to it?” Phil asked the archer over his shoulder as he walked over to the raised sparring ring off to the far side of the gym. Clint tried to keep the relived expression off his face, but judging from the smirk on Phil’s face he didn’t think he was successful, so he just nodded and stepped up to the ring, pulling his shoes off before climbing under the rope.
He tossed a quizzical glance back at Phil when he noticed the other man wasn’t joining him in the ring, but Phil just smirked again at him. Clint was about to tell him where he could shove that smirk when he started speaking.
"You know I’ve been training you since you obviously weren’t being challenged by the other recruits, but you’re starting to get too good for me.” Clint let his own cocky smile show, thinking maybe he would be getting the morning off, and maybe he could finally get a little bit of sleep.
“And that’s why I went and found you a new sparring partner.” The smile slid right off of his face as the hair on the back of his neck stood up, his senses screaming that he wasn’t alone in the ring. Clint spun, hands up in a defensive stance, his jaw nearly dropping as he took in the red-haired woman now in front of him. He could have sworn they were the only people in the room. He glanced at her again warily, there weren’t many people who were able to sneak up on him, he was hoping it was just the exhaustion throwing off his senses, she couldn’t be that good.
“Barton, meet Agent Romanoff. You’ll be sparring with her from now on. Best of luck….” Phil turned his back heading for the chair not too far off from the ring to watch. “You’re going to need it.” He added under his breath, chuckling.
Clint’s eyes traveled over the woman’s petite frame before meeting her large emerald eyes as she shot him a flippant grin that said he was going to get his ass kicked and she was going to enjoy every second of it. He couldn’t stop himself as he lifted his eyebrow as if to say ‘give me your best shot.’ There was no way this tiny little thing was going to give him a challenge.
She sprang into motion, closing the space between them before he even completed his thought, delivering a staggering blow to his left ribs even as she planted her foot into his right instep in the same breath. Clint was barely able to duck his head back as she kicked up, her foot swiping through the air above his nose. He lifted his right forearm up to block her next shot to his ribs when suddenly she grabbed tight to his arm then dove between his legs, pulling his arm with her.
He felt himself falling forwards but was able to correct his balance and somersault himself back into a standing position, thanks to years of acrobatic training from his time at the Carnival. The startlingly beautiful red-haired agent posed crouched in front of him, and to his surprise winked at him before catapulting herself up, her thighs wrapping around his neck as her momentum drug him to the floor.
As her grip tightened around his throat he found himself thinking wryly. If I had to die, this wouldn’t be a bad way to go, wrapped in this gorgeous woman. He knew she had him pinned, with one move of her thighs she could break his neck in this position. After a second more she released her grip and was on her feet a second later, hips swaying as she went for her water bottle in the corner.
The sound of Phil's slow clapping rang out through the empty gym, Clint’s eyes traveling to his, noting the sparkle of humor in the man’s eyes. He let out a disgusted sigh and pushed himself to his feet, rubbing at his neck absently as he faced Phil.
“Looks like you’ll have plenty to learn from Agent Romanoff.” He smirked and glanced at his watch. “And you still have time for a couple more rounds before general training.” Clint barely restrained a groan as he caught her eyes again, the gleaming green orbs full of mischief. This was going to be a long day.
