Colombia

Coulson’s pager rang out in the silence of the room. He hurriedly turned it off, glancing to the bed to see if it had disturbed the archer, breathing a sigh of relief when Clint didn’t move. He checked the message on his device, nearly groaning when he saw Director Fury needed to see him in his office immediately The last thing he wanted to do was leave Clint, especially since he felt he might be getting through to the archer finally.

It was probably a mission briefing for one of Natasha’s upcoming assignments. He cast another worried look to the bed, Clint had only been asleep for a few hours now, hopefully he could attend the meeting and make it back here before the kid woke up. With that in mind he stood up carefully, stretching the stiff muscles in his back before making his way to the door and opening it quietly, knowing Clint had superior hearing, not wanting to disturb him.

Once in the hallway Phil walked briskly out of the living quarters and took a private elevator up to Fury’s office. The lift stopped with a soft chime and he stepped off the second the doors opened, making his way to the door at the end of the short hallway. He knocked once, knowing the Director was inside. The sound of the locks disengaging was his cue to enter. Sitting at the middle of a small table was the imposing figure of Director Nick Fury.

“Agent Coulson, before we get down to business I heard Barton didn’t show up for training this morning. Have you been in contact with him today?” The Director asked as Phil took his seat at the table.

“Yes Sir, he trained with Agent Romanoff this morning, before I caught on that he was sick. I sent him back to his bunk room and told him not to attend general training.” Fury eyed him closely, but decided his answer was good enough and leaned back in his chair, tenting his hands over his mouth as if contemplating what to say next.

“How is Barton’s training coming along?” The question was asked so nonchalantly that Phil was immediately suspicious. He knew Fury received twice weekly updates on the archer’s progress ever since he was brought to SHIELD.

“He’s doing extremely well. He has shown a surprising efficiency with languages, and was able to last the longest during anti-interrogation sessions. He’s on track to at least tie, or possibly break Romanoff’s record to make it through training.” Phil dropped off waiting to see where Fury was going with this line of questioning.

“Excellent.” Fury slid a folder over the desk into Coulson’s hands. “Then he should have no problem handling this.” Phil flipped open the file and quickly scanned the contents. Everything seemed like a routine hit, nothing out of the ordinary, but he couldn’t help the feeling of foreboding that settled in his stomach.

“Luciano Campos has been a thorn in our side for too long. He controls Bogotá and this new drug he has been pushing, ‘Everglaze’, has killed over 150 people in the last three months alone. He needs to be eliminated, and Barton is the perfect operative for the job.”

“You want me on site to run things?”

“That’s what I had planned, this being his first op and all. Wheels up in less than twelve hours, you know the drill.” Fury nodded indicating the meeting was over and Coulson could leave.

“And Coulson?” The director called out as his hand was on the door handle. “I don’t want to have to send anyone down to medical to subdue him, so make sure Barton behaves himself.” With that said Nick Fury spun in his chair his mind already shifted to his next task at hand.
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Phil glanced at his watch as he strode down the hall towards the living quarters of the base. He planned on checking on Clint to make sure he was still asleep before sneaking down to the dining hall to grab them both some food to eat as they went over his assignment. He was almost to the archer’s door when he heard what sounded like a muffled sob. He looked around him searching for the source when he heard it again, only this time it sounded more distressed.

He was standing in front of Clint’s door, his hand hovering above the handle debating if he should go in, when a keening whimper came from inside solidified his resolve. Coulson pushed the door open quietly hoping to avoid the archer waking and attacking before looking. His eyes were drawn immediately to the bed where Clint thrashed under the sheets, muffled gasps and whimpers escaping his mouth.

Phil drew closer, debating what to do, he knew when he woke Natasha from her own nightmares she usually came after him with the blade she kept within her reach at all times. He really didn’t need to deal with a knife wound today, especially with wheels up in a few hours, so he tried calling Clint’s name, attempting to break through the grip his nightmare had on him.

“Clint!” He pitched his voice low and gentle watching as the archer stirred slightly. “Clint, wake up. It’s okay, its just a bad dream.” Phil nearly jumped out of his skin when Barton jack-knifed upright, breathing heavily and trembling. Clint’s shadowed blue-grey eyes met his and Phil could see all the pain and guilt briefly before he brought his mask back into place.

“What are you doing in here Coulson?” Phil was sure the words were meant to be scornful, but any heat was taken out of the statement due to the breathlessness Clint was experiencing. Phil briefly wondered if the kid remembered how he collapsed into his bed and slept while Phil kept watch. But the thought was dismissed as he watched Clint absently rub at the scar that he knew stretched across his chest, while trying to get his breathing under control.

“I heard noises in here and was just checking to make sure you were alright.” He purposely left out that the sounds he heard were sobs, knowing that Clint hated to show any weakness at all. “Did you want to talk about it at all?” Phil expected he would be turned down as the archer retreated back into his shell, but he figured he would ask.

“There was so much blood.” Clint gasped out. Phil’s expression sharped as he quickly looked his agent over, checking for any wounds on him he may have missed. He caught Clint pulling at his shirt, panic clear in his blue-grey eyes as his breathing started to quicken again.

“Hey, hey, hey, Clint, you’re okay. You’re safe.” His words didn’t seem to have any effect on the archer who was in the middle of a full blown panic attack, his breaths sawing in and out too quickly. Phil moved closer, extending his hand and gripping Clint’s shoulder, squeezing tights as he commanded, “Barton, breathe. I need you to take a deep breath right now.”

The authority of his tone seemed to break through Clint’s panic induced haze, after a few seconds of concentration he was able to draw in a slightly deeper breath than the wheezes from earlier. After a few deeper breaths Clint’s hand over his scar slowly dropped into his lap, the agent and handler sitting in silence broken only by the sound of Clint’s harsh breaths.

“Thank you Coulson.” The archer said quietly once he had control of his breathing. Phil only nodded, trying not to embarrass Clint and not wanting to break the moment. After several more beats Clint broke the silence. “I was stabbed when I was just 16, then left for dead.” Phil’s eyes widened, when he realized what the archer was doing. He remained silent, mentally pleading for the kid to continue.

“There was so much blood, I still don’t know how I lived through it.” In the dim light of the room Phil was able to watch as Clint’s eyes hardened, not a sign of the vulnerability he saw earlier in the blue-grey orbs. A strangled sigh escaped past his lips, a tell for exactly how on edge Clint was.

"My parents died in a car crash when I was 8. Drunk driver, I wasn’t too sad to see my old man go, that sonuvabitch.” Clint’s jaw clenched slightly but he continued. “Barney and I bounced around from boy’s home to boy’s home, until one day Barney told me we were leaving it all behind. I trusted him of course, being older he had to know what was best right?” The rhetorical question laced with venom hung in the air for a few seconds before Clint soldiered on.

“When I first saw that Carnival it was just, wow. The colors, the smells, were incredible for an eleven year old kid.” Clint’s eyes got a faraway look as if he was back walking between the tents again. “They found Barney and I hiding out in one of the prop tents, Mari, she went by The Mystic, took us in. At first we just helped with the set-up and tear-down, But after the fourth or so show I found a bow in the prop tent, and I was fascinated.” His eyes lit up at the happy memory.

“Trickshot found me using it one night and after some persuading he decided to train me, and tell me everything he knew. Before long I was better than he was, and thanks to a few of the acrobats’ training, I had my own act put together. The Amazing Hawkeye, the kid who never missed.” Phil found himself wishing he could see this young carefree Clint, the one he got occasional glimpses of when Barton was in a particularly good mood.

"Then one night I was up on the high wires, it was where I went to be alone, I could see everything better from a distance. Well I was up there when I heard the Swordsman, who led our show, talking to someone. Being the nosey 16 year old I was I had to move in closer and find out what was so important that they were having a meeting in the middle of the night for.” Clint laughed humorlessly, the brief silence in the room was nearly deafening to Phil.

“I sat up in the high wires and listened as the Swordsman bragged about how he had been stealing from the show the entire time, then he offered to cut someone in. Imagine my surprise when Barney’s voice answered him back. I had to do something, I couldn’t let my brother steal from the show that had basically saved our lives, so I confronted them. I told them I would tell Trickshot, then they moved on me. Barney had three years on me, and I had always been a little on the scrawny side. It didn’t take long for him to overpower me, I was too small to do anything about it.” Clint’s voice was dry, the self-reproach and hate evident in his voice.

“Barney held me down as the Swordsman stabbed me, twice.” His hand was twisted in his shirt again, absently fingering the since healed wounds. “The second time he drew the blade across my chest, just trying to inflict more pain. They disappeared as I bled out on the straw floor of the big tent. It was dumb luck Mari found me, turns out she had been looking for me when she saw I wasn’t in bed.” Clint turned and looked to Phil, his eyes full of an emotion he wasn’t sure he could identify.

“I left not too long after I healed up. Nothing to my name. I had a particular skill set and I found it payed well, the rest is history.” Phil marveled at the kid sitting in front of him, against all odds he was a survivor, and even with the hand he was dealt managed to come out on top. He could only guess at how much the three years of mercenary work ate at Clint’s soul.

They lapsed into a somewhat comfortable silence, Phil lost in his musings, Clint trying to push all the ghosts back in the box he tried to contain them in. The moment broken when Clint’s stomach started protesting his lack of food, the kid shot Phil a sheepish grin.

“Don’t suppose we could go get some food?” Phil laughed placing a hand on his agent’s shoulder.

“Yeah we should be able to do that.” Clint started to stand, his muscles sore from Natasha’s beatdown were now stiff and protesting the movement. After he had the worst of the kinks worked out he grabbed his duffle exchanging his sweaty shirt for a fresh one.

“And Barton, you’ve just received your first assignment. We’ll go over the details after you get some food.” Coulson managed to keep a stoic look on his face at Clint’s wide eyed look of astonishment.

“But I’m not even out of training yet.” He pointed out, worried there had been a mistake.

“Director Fury seems to think you’re ready. Welcome to SHIELD Agent Barton.” Phil announced with a wide smile.

Notes