Colombia

On the way to the dining hall Clint took advantage of his momentary freedom to peek in on the general training going on in the main gym, a particular red-headed agent catching his attention. In the same ring she had kicked his ass in several hours earlier, she was engaged with two other agents, who were sorely outmatched.

Now that he didn’t have to worry about her attacking him Clint was able to really observe her and her skills. She moved with a deadly grace, no wasted movement or energy, her lithe body twisting and contorting, seeming to avoid every blow. He couldn’t help but marvel at the absolute destruction wrapped in one beautiful package. And damn was she beautiful.

It had been her beauty that had been his downfall back in Israel. The siren that had caught his eye from across the ballroom happened to be none other than the deadly Black Widow, spinning her web, beckoning him ever closer, before she pounced.

He had been close enough to make out the sprinkling of freckles across her nose, close enough that her breath had mingled with his, less than inches from tasting her lush red lips. Clint’s hand went involuntarily to the small raised scar on his right side, courtesy of her blade. Rookie mistake.

Even from his vantage point some 15 yards away his sharp eyes caught the brilliant flash of her green eyes as she flipped one agent, while kicking out at the other. As the one on the ground jumped back to his feet she was already crouched to the side of the ring, daring the two agents to come to her, expertly snaring them in her web. Clint felt Phil walk up alongside him, his handler joining him in silence as they watched the lethal dance of the Black Widow.

“She’s good isn’t she?” Phil remarked absently, as entranced in the Widow’s movements as Clint was. Clint hummed in affirmation as she locked her thighs around the agent’s throat, very similar to this morning’s session. A heartbeat later the agent was on the ground, and she had rolled gracefully to her feet, her eyes traveling upwards to meet Clint’s. He barely stopped his eyes from widening in surprise, she obviously knew he had been there, as she winked and turned to step down from the ring.

“Yeah, she’s something else.” He murmured more to himself than anyone else, he watched as she strode away from the group, her gait similar to that of a big cat; graceful and quiet, the promise of danger surrounding her. He found himself wondering what her lips tasted like, and more importantly if she would kiss back.

Coulson cleared his throat, effectively drawing the archer’s gaze away from the red-head, Clint met his handler’s eyes sheepishly before starting off towards the dining hall again.
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“So I’m taking out a drug dealer, but I can’t use my bow?” Clint spoke while waving his fork in the air around him, obviously not happy with the no bow rule Fury had set.

“Correct, Luciano Campos is your target. And I’m assuming Fury doesn’t want you to use your bow because this hit needs to be untraceable. We can afford for anyone to trace this hit back to SHIELD, so no bow.” Coulson stared over the table at Clint one eyebrow raised waiting for the young assassin to object again.

Clint stared down at his tray of food quietly for a few moments, picking at the remnants on his plate, he seemed to have made up his mind as Phil could see the resolve flashing in his blue-grey eyes.

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat right?” Phil looked at him confusedly. “I mean, I’m not only good with my bow. This will be easy.” Clint paused, looking up at the ceiling momentarily losing himself in his thoughts before muttering,

“I can’t help but think I’ve heard of this Campos guy before. I guess it could be a common name.” Even as he said the words he couldn’t help but notice his stomach churning with uneasiness. He stood up quickly, grabbing his tray and walking over to dump what was left in the trash, Coulson trailing behind him, doing the same.

“I need you to report down to Medical to be checked out and cleared for this assignment.” Phil nearly laughed at the look of dismay on Clint’s face as he knows the archer’s least favorite place in the entire base was the Medical Bay. But protocol was protocol, and Clint needed the good doctor’s say so in order to leave base for this assignment.

Clint seemed to sense the determination radiating from Phil, and he knew there was going to be no slipping away from this one. He sighed heavily and turned, headed down the corridor towards the Medical Bay aka Hell. Once he was nearly out of sight Phil allowed himself to smile, knowing that the agent was slowly warming up to him.
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One hour and 4 shots later Clint practically fled from Dr. Graley and the medical bay, wincing at the pain in his shoulder where the shots were administered. In his hurry to get away from the needles and all over awfulness of the medical bay he ran straight into the chest of none other than Director Nick Fury.

“Agent Barton. I haven’t heard a peep out of Dr. Graley, I assume everything in your evaluation went well?” Clint only nodded, his mask slipping back into place, masking any real thoughts he had on the matter. He could feel Fury’s gaze as it swept over him, and he resisted the urge to fidget.

The only other interaction he had with the Director of SHIELD had been an icy exchange once the quinjet had touched down from Israel. The imposing figure of Nick Fury had been waiting, leather duster, eyepatch and trademark scowl, to escort Clint to a holding cell until he had a chance to debrief Coulson and Romanoff. He knew the man had taken a special interest in his development, and Clint hoped that this assignment was a tip of the hat to the skills he had displayed.

“Agent Coulson is waiting for you in Briefing room 3. I wouldn’t keep him waiting.” Clint stuffed the urge to salute the man as he turned and started towards the stairs. “And Barton?” Fury called after his retreating figure. “I trust you’ll get this done quickly and discreetly.” With that Fury turned and continued his way towards Medical, and Clint continued towards the stairs to meet with Coulson.
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“Campos has pushed millions of dollars worth of this drug into the Colombian drug trade. Known on the streets as ‘Everglaze’ or ‘Neuroblast’ this drug is derived from the plant Pseudotsya Majus, native to Colombia. Originally this plant had been used in various sedatives across the globe, but drug producers found a way to blend it with several other substances, ultimately leading to the production of drug cocktail that is Everglaze.” Phil stopped his brief to look at Clint, who seemed to be in danger of nodding off, his blue-grey eyes slightly glazed over as he fought to keep them open.

“Barton. Are you even listening?” He was answered by a low grunt as Clint rubbed his eyes. Phil couldn’t help but feel bad for the kid, he had probably only slept for four or so hours before he had been woken by his nightmare earlier. And before that, who knows how long it had been since the kid had gotten a decent nights sleep. He decided to have mercy on his agent, knowing there would be time to pump him with more information once they got to the safe house.

“Let’s go get packed up, you still have to head down to tech and pick out your gear for this assignment.” Clint looked up at him at the mention of weapons, and Phil rolled his eyes. “I should have known you would be interested in your weapons.”

“I’m not using SHIELD gear.” Clint’s quiet refusal stopped Phil short. There was a slight undercurrent of something in his tone he wasn’t sure he could identify.

“What are you going to use then?” Phil wasn’t sure where he was going with this, any weapons the kid had were confiscated when he arrived on base. The only response he received was Clint standing and walking out of the briefing room, the door practically slamming behind him.
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Kneeling next to his bed, covers still rumpled from where he had twisted them during his nightmare, Clint pulled a long slender case out and set it on top of the mattress just as he sensed his door opening. Ignoring Phil he placed his thumb on the locking mechanism, it gave a quiet beep as the lock clicked open. Nestled inside the case was a matte black Barrett .50 Caliber sniper rifle, this wicked piece of weaponry had served him nearly as well as his bow had. He picked it up, relishing the familiar weight in his hands.

The SHIELD database had a file full of hits that had not been linked to anyone, or were generally unclaimed, Clint had a feeling that if he looked he would recognize most of the hits. He had used his rifle in several situations where his bow wasn’t practical, with a range of nearly 2,600 yards by the time the target fell dead Clint was already gone.

He could feel Phil’s eyes on him, silently demanding an explanation as to why he had a sniper rifle in his room when SHIELD protocol clearly states that agents were not allowed weapons in their personal spaces.

Coulson would probably shit a brick if he found out how many weapons I have stashed around this base. Clint thought wryly. He took a deep breath and turned to his handler, rifle still in hand. The single raised eyebrow on Phil’s face told Clint he was waiting for an answer.

“I uh… had a day off. So I left and went to my storage locker to grab this beauty.” He rubbed his neck, purposely leaving out the other two duffle bags of weapons he had grabbed as well. From the look on Coulson’s face Clint knew that the older man probably didn’t believe him. Looks like he’s finally learning, I don’t do anything half assed.

“Well, I’m gonna take a guess and say that rifle is responsible for most of our miscellaneous kills then.”
Phil’s voice was even, just a hint of sarcasm in his tone, as he met his younger agent’s blue-grey eyes. The slight darkening in his eyes was all the confirmation Phil needed.

“Go ahead and get packed up kid, we’ll still have to hit tech on our way to the quinjet, gotta grab our comms. I’ll expect you down there in thirty.” With that Coulson turned and left as silently as he had come, the soft click of the door betraying he had ever been there.

Clint snagged the oiled rag out of the case as he lowered himself to sit on the bed, still cradling the rifle in his hands. After a moment he began to methodically disassemble the weapon, oiling and checking all of its parts were in working order, even though he knew it was in mint condition. He made sure all of his weapons were cleaned weekly, it never hurt to be prepared for anything.

Once he had the gun reassembled and packed neatly back in its case Clint pulled his go bag from his closet, checking the contents. Three pairs of shirts, two pairs of shorts, a couple pairs of underwear and socks, as well as a small waterproof bag containing his passport, fake ID’s, and enough cash to get him out of the country. At the very bottom of the bag wrapped in one of the tee shirts was a black custom Heckler & Koch P30 handgun.

He repacked everything into the bag neatly before rummaging through the large duffle at the end of his bed where he kept all his other clothes. He pulled out several more changes of clothes as well as his trademark blacked out fatigues, the ones he always wore on hits, and shoved them into his bag.

Clint set everything on his bed before slipping into the bathroom to shower and shave quickly. He stepped out from the bathroom, grabbed his duffle and slung it over his shoulder, then picked up the Barrett’s case and walked to the door of his room. He paused and looked back as he flicked off the overhead lights, his room empty minus the duffle at the end of the bed, swallowing tightly as a deep feeling of unease crept through his body.

Clint shook his head quickly, trying to rid himself of the dark thoughts threatening to swoop in as he closed the door and headed down the hallway to meet Coulson. He glanced down at his watch quickly, I’m only two minutes late, take that Coulson. He thought smugly, knowing his handler hated when he wasn’t punctual.

As expected Coulson’s disapproving face met him outside the door to the tech department. Clint met him in front of the door, trying to keep the shit eating grin off his face, which was getting harder and harder to do around Coulson he noticed. Phil didn’t say anything but jerked his head in the direction of the door, signaling for Clint to head inside.

The archer just raised a single eyebrow but opened the door and stepped inside. Phil shook his head wryly with the kid’s back to him, he was secretly pleased with Clint’s tardiness as it was obvious he had showered and some of the darkness was gone from his eyes. He checked his watch, just under an hour until wheels up. They better hurry.

Notes