Colombia

Less than two hours until landing Phil had noticed that his agent had dropped off to sleep, his normally tense face relaxed and tension free as he slept. The file Clint had been reading close to slipping off his lap. Coulson had watched Barton fight sleep for over an hour before his body surrendered to the urge to rest. He stood and walked over to the archer, grabbing the briefing file out of his lap before the papers fell everywhere, Phil was glad the kid was finally getting some sleep because he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something wasn’t right about this mission.

Glancing back at the young sandy haired agent he ran through the mission parameters in his head again, going over every detail trying to figure out what was bothering him so much. From every angle this hit seemed very cut and dry, in and out, no problem, but Phil had been an Agent long enough to know to trust his instincts, and right now they were telling him there was something off.

Luciano Campos was a very powerful man in Bogota, he controlled the government in the city, securing funds as well as the protection for his lucrative illegal drug trading ring. Campos had been on SHIELD’s radar for many years now, but things had been quiet since the attempt on his life almost three years ago, an attempt that had left his oldest, and only son, dead. No one had stepped up to claim the attempted assassination, the only information coming from the rumors swirling in intelligence circles. Campos was a dangerous man and it seemed nearly everyone was gunning for him.

His newest and most dangerous drug, Everglaze, was a drug cocktail that when injected straight into the blood stream, similar to heroin, caused intense hallucinations as well as feelings of euphoria. The problems came when people overdosed, causing heart attacks, nerve damage, paralysis, and even death. It was an extremely dangerous drug because it was a mix of several different compounds that when mixed incorrectly were deadly.

Phil’s eyes continued to scan the briefing packet assembled on Campos detailing his movements as well as a supposed layout of his large mansion close to the edge of the city limits of Bogota. The downside was there were not many tall buildings around his home, more than likely to prevent people like Clint from getting a clear shot at him.

The sounds of movement broke Phil from his thoughts as he looked over to the archer who was beginning to move restlessly in his sleep, no doubt another nightmare playing in his head. He was just about to get up to reassure the kid when Clint bolted upright, chest heaving, eyes wide, and a knife held out in front of him. At the sight of Phil the young agent visibly relaxed and drew a few deep breaths before meeting his eyes.

“How long until we touch down?” Clint asked, once he had his breathing under control, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Um, about that, I was just about to wake you up to get you prepped. We aren’t actually landing.” Phil grabbed one of the packs sitting beside him and extended it towards Clint.

“Seriously? We’re parachuting down? Won’t that be rather obvious Coulson?” His voice held a small amount of sarcasm but the single arched eyebrow told Phil the kid was more amused than he was letting on.

“What? Scared of heights Barton?” He teased gently, curbing the urge to laugh when Clint huffed and grabbed the pack out of his hands.

“Of course not. Just thought we were aiming for subtle here.” Coulson glanced out the window, the soft glowing lights of Bogota in the distance. It was perfect timing, clouds covered the moon enough that their landing should be concealed by the inky blackness of the night.

“It’s a restricted fly area, we’re lucky they’re getting us in as close as they are, remember, this cannot be traced back to a United States op or things will get very messy.” Phil finished strapping into his harness as he watched the archer pack his gear into the small bag, the rifle case laying within easy reach.

T-minus ten until we’re in range Agent Coulson. The voice of the pilot echoed over his comm device. He hurriedly pushed all of his gear and weapons into the small pack before double checking the straps on his gun holster on his side. With everything secured Phil walked over to the door of the Quinjet, waiting on the green light from the pilot. He could sense the archer ghost up behind him, tense energy radiating out from the young agent.

Phil turned, intending to reassure the kid that everything was going to be fine when the pilot’s voice sounded again over his comm, telling him they had less than five minutes to jump in order to reach their destination on the ground. A single thumbs up was given as he punched the button, unlocking the door. Wind whipped around them as they both stood looking down. Clint pushed towards the edge before throwing a honest to goodness grin at Phil.

“Race ya to the ground old man.” With that Clint dramatically stepped out of the quinjet, saluting Phil as he began to plummet. Phil couldn’t help the smile that crept across his face at Clint’s playfulness. He shook his head then jumped out of the plane, glad Clint wasn’t there to witness the flailing of his limbs for a few seconds until he got his bearings.

You look like a fish flopping around up there. Clint’s voice crackled through the comm, and he sighed, the Hawkeye was aptly named, as he didn’t miss anything.
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The ground raced up to meet him as Clint prepped his body for impact with the earth. He landed in a near perfect crouch, his years of acrobatic training serving him well. He took a quick look around him, getting his bearings. Phil had chosen a small clearing in a patch of trees roughly three miles outside of the city limits, just far enough out that their landing wouldn’t have been seen or heard by anyone else.

The sound of air rushing signaled the arrival of Coulson, his landing however wasn’t quite as graceful, as he tumbled to the ground, barely managing to avoid colliding with Clint. As he maneuvered himself out of the tangle of the parachute he caught the young agent’s gaze, shocked when he saw the smile on his face.

“Looks like you could use a little work on your landing there huh Coulson?” Clint barely kept himself from laughing, although he wasn’t able to keep the shit eating grin off his face at the rude gesture the older man threw his way.

The sound of a twig snapping nearby wiped the grin off Clint’s face as he quickly drew a wicked looking black knife from a holster on his chest. Coulson hadn’t heard the noise but sensed the shift in Clint from joking around to predatory, it was very unnerving how quickly the shift had occurred, but Phil focused on listening trying to pick up what had the archer on edge.

Clint had always had exceptional senses, most people were aware of his incredible eyesight, but didn’t realize that his sense of hearing was as good if not better than his eyesight. It was his ability to hear even the slightest shift of dirt under a shoe, or the softest intake of breath that had saved his life more times than he could count.

He moved silently in a circle, eyes straining into the darkness, trying to determine if there was a threat or not. After several tense seconds he allowed his guard to relax slightly, inclining his head to Phil that it was okay to move again. He found Coulson staring directly at him as he tucked the knife back into its holster.

“You can be one scary motherfucker you know that?” The older agent spoke in a hushed tone. Clint stepped closer and offered a hand to help Coulson up, a questioning look in his eyes. His handler grabbed his hand and Clint pulled him to his feet. Another sharp sound of a twig cracking drew both their attention, Coulson going for the Glock in his holster, Clint’s hand reaching to the throwing stars he had tucked into his tactical vest.

Clint’s breathing slowed as he focused on trying to find the threat. He turned slowly to his right nudging Phil towards their bags with all of their gear inside. Phil took the hint and crept over to the gear, holding one bag out for Clint and strapping the other one onto his back. Clint’s rifle was stowed on his back, stock collapsed for easier carrying.

He signaled to Phil, making sure he caught his handler’s nod of affirmation before he exploded into motion. He whipped a throwing star into the darkness of the tree-line, already running, urging Phil along with him, when he heard a gurgled yell and the soft thud of a body hitting the ground.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the breath of the two agents as they ran before all hell broke loose. The clatter of gunfire broke the stillness as bullets peppered the ground around Clint’s feet. He risked a glance behind him and was able to make out the sight of three men as they stepped out of the pitch black tree line. A bullet whizzed past, too close for his comfort making him turn back around, focused on picking his way through the trees quickly.

We need to split up and meet back up at the safe house. You know where that is right? Coulson’s voice came over his comm device startling Clint and nearly causing the archer to stumble. He nodded his affirmation before he realized Phil wasn’t going to be able to see that.

“Copy that boss. Hawkeye out.” He saluted Coulson before he peeled off sharply to his right, planning on doubling back behind the men and taking them out. The gunfire stopped abruptly, an eerie silence compared to the barrage of noise just seconds before. Clint dropped to the ground, listening intently for the sound of the other men as he crept forward, the sound of their whispered conversation leading him closer and closer.

His movements were silent as he ghosted through the trees closing in on his prey. The men seemed to be arguing based on the snippets of angry Spanish he had been able to catch, from the sounds of it he had managed to drop one man with his throwing star and the men were spooked. Clint’s lips quirked upwards in a ruthless grin, this was going to be easy.

Once he was in position behind the three men, still debating whether or not to pursue, Clint pounced, all fluid grace and deadly movements. His throwing star struck the back of the neck of his first target, severing the spinal cord as the body dropped heavily to the ground. Before the other men had a chance to react Clint had closed in on them slashing his knife across the first man’s throat, pulling the body in front of him as a shield.

As expected the last man fired his gun at him, the bullets thudding into the dead body of the man, as his clip emptied Clint moved, throwing the body off of him and sending a kick flying at the gun, knocking it out of the man’s hands. The man scrambled to pull a knife out of his boot, barely able to get it up and block Clint’s first swing at his neck.

The young agent twirled the long black blade twice in his fingers, smirking at the man, before feinting right then slamming the hilt of the knife into the man’s temple. He staggered once before going down on one knee and tried to kick out a leg as a last ditch effort to slow the deadly agent.

Clint dodged the attempt easily but didn’t see the man’s blade as he drove it towards his body. The archer’s right forearm erupted in pain as the blade sliced through his skin. He hissed at the pain but didn’t stop as he catapulted himself into the air, his legs wrapping around the man’s neck as he drug him to the ground, a move eerily similar to that of the Black Widow’s. Once he had the man pinned he quickly twisted his neck, the sharp crack of bones echoing through the small clearing.

The archer stood up brushing dirt out of the wound on his forearm, as his fingers probed it he was relieved to realize it wasn’t a deep wound and wouldn’t even need stitches. He wiped his blade on the shirt of the man and tucked it back in its holster and retrieved the throwing star out of the other man’s neck. He better contact Coulson and let him know what happened, then he needed to get his ass back to the safe house.

“Boss, this is Hawkeye. Hostiles eliminated. Over.” The second the last word left his mouth Clint felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, all his senses screaming at him that he was not alone anymore. He whirled around trying to get his hands up as a figure flew at him.

Barton. You were to return to the safe house, not engage the targets. Are you headed back now? Phil’s voice come over the comm line, sounding concerned. Clint didn’t have the chance to answer as the sharp crack of the butt of a gun connecting with his skull rang out. He gave a muffled groan as the darkness rushed in and his body hit the ground.

Barton? What was that? ………..Barton? Goddamn it answer me! Clint?

Notes