Colombia

Phil nearly winced as he watched Clint slam into the ground for the fourth time in a row. It was obvious the kid was off his game, his reactions slow and his attempted jabs sloppy. He couldn’t help but wonder how long the kid had been at it before he found him down on the range, a quick glance at his watched revealed the two had been training for close to an hour and a half, and it was obvious Clint needed a break.

“Alright, alright kids. Time to break it up.” Phil moved closer to the ring stopping them just as it looked like the archer was about to be pinned by the red-head again. His shirt was plastered to his skin with sweat and Phil could just make out the trembling of his limbs, a true sign of how far he had been pushed. Natasha on the other hand was barely breathing hard, a light sheen of sweat coating her porcelain skin.

She nodded once to Phil then shot a cocky grin over her shoulder at Clint as she climbed under the ropes and snagged a towel seeming to melt into the shadows of the empty gym. Clint managed to stay upright until she disappeared, his knees buckling as soon as he felt she was gone. Phil’s eyes shot open in shock as he watched the archer go down, barely managing to scramble under the ropes in time to grab hold of Clint’s shoulders, preventing him from face planting onto the mat.

“Take it easy kid.” Phil soothed him gently, completely expecting to receive a dark glare as Clint pulled out of his grip. Instead he was completely blown away when Clint actually leaned into his touch, letting out a low moan. Phil’s hands moved over the archer’s body, slightly panicked, checking for an injury.

He had seen the kid with a bullet in his leg and a stab wound to his abdomen, but not once had Clint leaned into his touch or appeared vulnerable in any way, preferring to deal with his wounds in private.

"Barton, can you tell me what’s going on?” Phil spoke slowly and calmly debating with himself whether or not to page medical and have someone sent up to check him over.

“M’fine. Just dizzy.” The archer’s words slurred slightly as he tried to push himself out of Phil’s grip and up to his feet. Phil wisely let go but stayed close as he wavered on his feet.

“How long were you at the range before I found you? And don’t try to lie to me, I have ways of finding out.” He added the last bit even though it was a bluff, to be honest no one was able to keep track of the archer’s comings and goings, lending credit to the ‘ghost’ theory most of the other recruits had about the elusive Clint Barton.

“Dunno, maybe three hours?” Clint’s eyes widened when he realized what he had just revealed and he cursed the exhaustion wearing on his body for his momentary lapse of judgement. He knew Phil was just as surprised as he was by his revelation based on the man’s raised eyebrows, he braced himself for the questions he knew Phil had.

“Damnit Barton.” Phil breathed out quietly. Clint wasn’t ready for that response and his head swiveled, his steely blue-grey eyes meeting Phil’s with a breathtaking amount of vulnerability flashing across his face before he took a breath and the mask came back down. Clint took a deep breath telling himself Phil was only concerned because this was going to interfere with his training schedule, he didn’t really care.

He was so intent on telling himself this that he missed the sadness in Phil’s eyes when he realized what Clint was doing. It broke his heart that someone had beaten this kid down so much that he really thought he was alone in all of this. He could only guess at the horrors he had faced in his nearly three years spent as a gun for hire, or more accurately a bow for hire. Phil knew when he first joined SHIELD, nothing but a fresh-faced nineteen year old, his first dozen or so kills haunted him, even though he knew their deaths were warranted.

According to the intel, which there hadn’t been much of, one of the world’s top mercenaries known only as Hawkeye, had 312 accredited kills, his signature standing out from the rest as a single jet black arrow to the throat. Phil’s orders had been clear, recruit the archer to SHIELD, or eliminate him. When he came face to face with the assassin on a dusty side road in Jerusalem he expected to see the face of a hardened killer, but was shocked when he met the eyes of a kid who couldn’t have been more than 21 years old.
……………………………….

Time was running out, the Prime Minister of Israel was scheduled to speak tomorrow night and Phil was no closer to finding the damned assassin than he was two weeks ago! He pulled the slim file that contained all the information SHIELD had been able to compile on the mysterious archer known as Hawkeye closer to him, flipping it open to the first page, his eyes skimming over the pages he had committed to memory days ago.

‘Age: Unknown. Sex: Male. Description: Male of unknown age, highly proficient in the use of a bow. Most targets eliminated with single arrow to the throat. Also proficient in knives and throwing stars. Kill count: 312.’

The few notes they had compiled basically admitted they had nothing on Hawkeye, but as he had completed more and more high profile hits the Council had grown increasingly agitated. The Council had initially come down with a kill order on the archer, but Phil had convinced Director Fury to give him a chance to bring Hawkeye in as an asset for SHIELD.
He reminded the Director that Agent Romanoff, better known as the Black Widow, had become irreplaceable since Phil had brought her in just over a year ago. He couldn’t help but remember that during her time as an assassin for the Red Room she had racked up a kill count nearly as impressive as the archer’s.

So when word came through that a hit had been put out on the Prime Minister of Israel, Phil, along with his agent Natasha Romanoff, had boarded a Quinjet and set off for Jerusalem immediately. Phil knew with this high profile of a hit there were few who would take the job, but if he were a betting man he would have put money on Hawkeye to snatch up the available contract.

What he hadn’t counted on was for the archer to be so hard to pinpoint. With the various rumored descriptions of him floating around the intelligence circles Phil was starting to wonder if anyone had ever gotten a good look at him.

Which was why he was so damn surprised when he caught up to the assassin in a dusty alley in the market district of Jerusalem to find himself staring into the stormy blue-grey eyes of a kid. He had been pressing a hand to his side, blood seeping out past his fingers, his pant leg soaked in blood, no doubt the only reason why Phil was able to catch up to him.

There was a desperate light in his eyes, one that told Phil more than if he would have screamed at him. Phil held his gun out placatingly then holstered it as the kid watched him trying to tamp down the curious light in his eyes under a stone cold mask.

“Listen, I just want to talk. I have a very lucrative offer for you.” He held his hands out, watching the kid’s eyes, trying to indicate he was no threat. There was a slight whoosh before Phil’s arm erupted in searing pain. He saw the throwing star embedded in the soft stone of the building behind him as his peripheral vision caught a flurry of movement. Spinning quickly Phil realized he was now alone in the alley and he couldn’t help but grin slightly, the kid had some fire in him.
…………………………….

The memory drifted away as quickly as it came as Phil shifted to catch the archer as he almost went down again.

“When was the last time you slept Barton?” He paused, hoping the kid hadn’t passed out on him. “C’mon Barton, you don’t want me to call down to medical do you? You know they would have a field day poking you and putting you on bed rest.” He was just talking now, trying to get any response out of the archer without letting on how worried he was.

“M’okay Coulson. M’gonna be late for training.” Phil barely stopped his groan of disbelief. Clint was damned lucky Phil wasn’t hauling his ass straight to medical to get checked out.

“Nice try Hot Shot, but the only place you’re going is your bunk room. I will let your trainer know that you’re not coming in for training today.” He heard Clint grumbling under his breath as he, with Phil’s help, stood up slowly.

Phil was right behind Clint the entire way back to his bunk room, noting once they were in his room how Clint eyed his bed with a look of disgust. Phil looked at the bed, then back to Clint, who was starting to sway on his feet again, and just sighed.

“Where do you usually sleep?” Clint’s wide eyes met his, a questioning look in his eyes.

“I sleep here obviously.” The words didn’t have their usual fire behind them, and Phil knew them for what they were, a lie.

“I thought I told you to stop lying to me. Now I haven’t been out in the field in a few years, but I’m not stupid, you have barely anything in this room, plus two of the pillows from the bed are missing.” Coulson faced his extremely stubborn agent with one eyebrow raised, daring him to contradict his observations. Clint’s eyes clouded with something that looked vaguely like shame mixed with anger before he fixed his gaze firmly on the floor.

“I sleep in the vents.” His reply was so quiet that Phil almost missed it. Phil wasn’t even sure how to respond to that. He knew the kid wasn’t sleeping in his room, but he would have never guessed he was holed up in the vents running throughout the base.

“Well you’re in no condition right now to be crawling around in the vents, so will you be okay in your bed for the day?” He posed the question gently, knowing Clint had a reason for not using his bed, but doubting he would be told that reason. He could sense the archer’s hesitation as he headed towards his bed and climbed in, a sigh escaping as his abused body relaxed. Clint positioned his body carefully, his eyes towards the door.

Phil thought he caught the glint of a blade under the pillow when everything clicked into place. The archer had to be paranoid about someone sneaking up on him in his sleep, no doubt leftover habits from his years as a mercenary, one couldn’t be too careful in that field, and he had no one to watch his back.

The vents were his escape, he knew no one would be able to find him up there, so he was able to let his guard down and sleep. He could feel Clint’s eyes on him as he grabbed a chair from the desk area and settled himself in it.

“You go ahead and get some rest. I’ve got first watch.”

Notes