Chapter Text
Quietly and carefully, he had followed the tracks, always keeping a safe distance and with utmost concentration. He was getting closer, at least to the larger group. The woman's tracks were barely recognizable after her pursuers had trampled over them. He almost had the impression they had done it intentionally. But it was pointless, because they had left a much more noticeable trail. Unless they wanted to attract someone. Perhaps they expected Robby to have gone off alone and on her own. Perhaps they suspected another team. Because, if he had understood Robby correctly, SHIELD units always deployed in at least twos. Which made sense.
Since neither the trees nor his shoulder left him any other option, he deviated even further from the obvious hiking trail and thus the trail. For his own and Robby's safety. They might set a trap for him at any moment if they expected a partner.
From time to time, he checked the tracks to make sure, both groups were still following the path and whether he had gotten any closer to them. He wasn't, at least he couldn't tell. A faint worry began to grow within him: Was it really Robby, and was she in danger? Or was it a perfidious plan to get him to do whatever? But who knew about him? No, that couldn't apply to him. Even at SHIELD, hardly anyone knew who he really was.
"I should have made a different decision in Harrisburg, run away and start over somewhere new," he muttered to himself.
"Oh. Don't kid yourself, Barton! You're screwed. You have nowhere to go. You can't do anything other than what those two freaks taught you. You are nothing. You can't do anything. You have no money, no place, no people waiting for you, missing you. You're a fool and alone. You always have been."
It was painful to realize this again and again, to see how true it was. The week at SHIELD had been a bubble, a respite from reality. A break he had desperately needed for a long time. But it was over. He would make sure Robby was safe and not in danger, then he would leave. He owed it to her, right? No, not really. If she hadn't stopped him, he could have made his loot and then taken his share from those two idiots and would have been far, far away long ago.
He hadn't been to Asia in a long time, or Europe. France was nice, or Italy. He'd spent the last two years in England, good business, lots of freedom. He'd learned a lot there, done a lot of tough shit. They were sick, the British, when they didn't like someone. There were so many options there, but no, it had become too foggy, too damp, too dreary for him. Russia? No, not now, so close to winter there. South America would be a nice change, but so much suffering and poverty, between drugs and corruption. So many children on the streets. No, that would only drag him down again. So maybe retirement? A life? But with what prospects? An office job? Impossible. Assembly line? No, he'd go crazy. A salesman, like the fence in Allentown? Yes, he could, but not in a supermarket, more like a sales representative, which wouldn't be much different from his previous job. In the security industry, yes, maybe. But in doubt, it certainly wasn't pleasant for the boss to have to dispose of corpses on a regular basis. Circus or sports were also out of the question; his talents were too outstanding, his style too unique to remain inconspicuous.
It was enough to make you tear your hair out! There was simply nothing for him! Except to remain a hitman or disappear into the madness of stupidity. He could have screamed, he was so frustrated by this situation. Stupid Robby Morse! With her stupid talk! She'd put a lot of ideas in his head. What a good man, destined for better things, a second chance! Nonsense!
But as he cursed and ranted to himself, everything changed in seconds. The discontented thoughts were forgotten, for ahead, from somewhere, the wind carried the sounds of battle to him. He concentrated even more on his surroundings and the sounds, following them hurriedly, but not without caution.
Then a shot shattered the tranquility of the forest, followed immediately by two, three more. Shouts, orders were being given — he recognized this by the tone, but he couldn't understand them.
Without neglecting his safety, he rushed toward the sounds, his weapon ready for immediate use. Even though he had only experienced this type of engagement twice before — unintentionally, of course — he moved forward without hesitation or uncertainty. How to stay hidden, unnoticed, had long ago become second nature to him, even if he couldn't do it as quietly as he would have liked. A forest was simply not something to be traversed quietly and without noise.
It only took a few minutes to reach the scene of the current incident.
A small clearing stretched before him, where the hiking trail he had been following intersected with another. Logs lay on both sides, marked, neatly stacked, and ready for transport. Deep ruts had been dug into the intersecting path; a logging road used for transporting timber was also much wider than the hiking trail. Parked to the side was an ancient black Chevy Storm; he'd driven one like that in Asia the last time he'd been there.
Suddenly, he remembered how he'd learned to drive. It had been José who'd taught him, in his pickup truck, which must have been older than the founding fathers. An involuntary smile crept onto his lips as he thought of his old friend.
He'd been 15 and almost desperate to keep the rusty monster in the field. The ground had been muddy and soggy. They'd finished dismantling shortly before, the circus entourage had already left the area, leaving only the two of them behind, unnoticed by the others. They'd both felt carefree, free. As if they were alone in the world, with no one to stop them or tell them what to do. But then Trickshot had shown up and picked him up for a job.
The good feeling inside him died abruptly, but it had come at just the right time. After all, he was in the middle of a gunfight! There was no room for nostalgia right now, even though he had kept an eye on the scene in front of him. There were the five guys who had come across the woman's trail; one was lying motionless on the path, two were standing behind the pile of wood on his side, firing at the small car. It was a diversion so the other two could get behind their target unseen. While number four moved toward the second pile of wood, still far from his target, the last one crept almost directly toward his position, only moments away from spotting him.
He had never been in a situation like this before. A gunfight like this, a siege, stalking enemies, and someone he had to take into account – he had never experienced anything like it before. He was unsure, undecided about what to do. Just kill the men?! That would be his logical conclusion from the situation, but… Robby had made a bigger impression on him than he'd wanted to admit. Did he still want to be the mindless killer, simply pulling the trigger without asking? Like he'd done over the past few years whenever a contract met his approval? Back then, he'd always known who he'd take out and why. Back then, he'd determined the time and place, the setting. There had rarely been any outside interference, and most of the time he'd acted from a distance: a manipulation, an explosive device, a shot. Of course, he'd been discovered more than once, had to shoot and fight his way out, and escape in a breakneck manner. In the Triskelion and with Frog and Mud, he'd pulled the trigger without hesitation, but then he'd also been a target; there was no other way. Now he was an unknown quantity in a game of unknown quantities. He was the ambusher, and he had no knowledge of the situation, who was playing good or evil. If he released the arrow, he would inevitably kill or at least critically injure. What if it was Robby's colleagues who had tracked them down?! She had asked that none of her men be killed. But none of the men wore that ridiculous eagle, and in the headquarters, absolutely everything and everyone was covered in it, even the underwear and socks they had given him! No wonder if everyone there had a corresponding tattoo on their skin! No! He couldn't kill indiscriminately here, so he lowered the bow and reached for the weapon with the tranquilizer instead. Just in time, because his first opponent was now directly in front of him, shocked by the next opponent, this gave him the necessary reaction time. The surprised opponent had no chance to react, he collapsed while Clint aimed at the other two behind the pile of wood.They, too, had no chance to truly perceive the enemy behind them before the projectiles containing the knockout poison pierced their skin. The remaining opponent, however, had taken advantage of the action to approach Robby unnoticed and jumped at her as his three companions collapsed almost in unison. Clint's warning cry came too late, as did the arrow he shot along with it. The other had something in his hand and rammed it into Robby's neck while holding her in front of him as a shield. That didn't stop the arrow, allowing it to hit its target anyway. The last opponent also collapsed, pulling Robby to the ground with him. Neither of them moved. Not without caution, Clint rushed to her and sank to one knee.
"Robby, Robby, look at me," he called to her, but she barely reacted. He took her head and turned it towards him. The panic in her eyes was years of fear through him. But then recognition flashed in her; she had probably thought he was one of the enemies at first. He saw her struggle to react to him, but she was incapable of doing so. On her neck, where the guy beneath her had injured her, there was nothing more than a tiny red dot; next to them on the floor lay a small plastic tube, as long as a ballpoint pen but at least three times as thick in diameter. An EpiPen; he'd seen things like that before. The guy must have injected her with something!
She tried to speak, but he had to lean very close to her mouth to hear the quiet, staccato words:
"Clint... jacket pocket... syringe... now."
When he raised his head again, her eyes were closed and she was stunned, unconscious, stiff.
In shock from the whole situation, he frantically searched her pockets and only found what he was looking for on the third try. It didn't look like what he'd expected to be a syringe.
Her combat suit was a full-body suit that allowed little access to her body, so he was forced to inject whatever it was into her neck, like his predecessor. Of course, only after he'd figured out how this little thing worked. It only took a few minutes for her cramped body to relax somewhat, but she remained stiff and unconscious. Had she tasted some of her own "medicine"? If he'd understood correctly, it shouldn't be possible, because the drug was SHIELD's property and still in the testing phase. It wasn't standard equipment. So either SHIELD had a massive security problem or it was really agents of her organization who had ambushed her here. His next problem, however, was what to do now? He had three stunned, one dead, and one enemy with an unknown status, plus Robby. That made six people he couldn't just leave lying in the middle of the path.
He first checked the status of the other men and dragged all five of them into the clearing. Robby's target was dead, just like his last one. So the likelihood of them being SHIELD agents was ruled out, and the eagle was missing everywhere, which only confirmed his suspicion. He tied up the three unconscious men with the cable ties from their own pockets; they were carrying nothing except these and their weapons. Then he searched Robby's pockets for the key to her car.
He crammed the two bodies into the trunk; she really could have chosen a bigger car! That was borderline, even for his taste. Getting the three drugged-up people into the back seat was a logistical and strenuous feat. Getting Robby into the passenger seat, on the other hand, was easy. He left the clearing. Fortunately, the day was drawing to a close and they wouldn't stand out like sore thumbs. Not entirely, anyway, because the car had the draught of a fishing boat before it was discharged. The forest road was almost impossible to negotiate with the car.
"Robby Morse, that's a bonus, at least. You really owe me something now."
He drove back to his car and hid Robby safely in the back seat. Then he took the small car to the junkyard where he'd found the first SHIELD vehicle. It was the weekend, so no one should notice the car and its crew so quickly. It wouldn't be too easy for the three of them to escape, either. Then he set off on foot back to his car. It was a long walk, but he was fast and stamina-conscious, even though jogging had never been one of his favorite sports.
It was dark when he reached the car, and he quickly checked Robby, who was still unconscious but otherwise unremarkable.
Before taking her to his lodgings, he got some groceries and painkillers in case the headache was bothering her as much as it was him.
His small room was equipped with a hotplate and a microwave, not the best for making good food, but he was used to worse. It had also been a long time since he'd cooked for more than himself — no, it had been a long time since he'd cooked at all. Takeouts or microwave-only meals had dominated the past year.
Robby stirred on the bed as he turned off the hotplate.
"Uhaaa, AHHHHHHHH. Urgh. Fuck," she said, eyes still closed and far from awake, rubbing her face with both hands, then her neck, before beginning to massage her temples.
"Oh, Sleeping Beauty's woken up. Did you sleep well, Princess?" he said, but only slightly amused. The situation was, to say the least, awkward, complicated, and not without danger.
She flinched, opened her eyes, and tried to get into a fighting stance. Overwhelmed by the shock and dizziness, combined with what he assumed was a headache, she almost immediately lost her balance and landed heavily on the ground. But Clint had foreseen the reaction and its consequences and skillfully caught her.
"Clint?!"
The recognition and surprise were clearly written all over her face.
"Why? How? Where...?" She was confused, more than that.
"Woah, slow down. You've been gone a long time, Robby. Will you be able to stand when I let you go?" he asked probingly.
She nodded, but didn't seem entirely confident about it.
"I've got you," he assured her sincerely. Then he carefully placed her on her own feet, one hand securing her back, supporting and nurturing, the other raised and ready to intervene at any moment.
Both were caught in that moment of closeness, unable to break away. But then Clint cleared his throat, as if emerging from a trance, but still maintaining eye contact with her.
"Are you okay?!"
She nodded weakly, and he finally let her go. Robby swayed only briefly, then stood firmly and looked around. But then, in the absence of anywhere else to sit, sat back down on the edge of the simple, narrow bed she'd been lying on. She looked questioningly at Clint, but he first handed her a water bottle and a pack of painkillers. Then he pointed to the food.
"Eat first, then we'll talk. Straight talk."
She nodded, took the bottle and the pills, swallowed three at once, and immediately downed the rest of the bottle.
"Thanks. That smells good. You cooked?" she asked, sniffing with pleasure. Her stomach growled happily, which brought a smile to both of their faces. Embarrassed for her, amused for him.
"Don't call it cooking. It's not possible here, but I made the best of the situation."
"Hmmm, it's... it doesn't happen often, actually never. Apart from my uncle, nobody really does it. Not without having to enter a restaurant."
A sad statement, Clint thought. She felt the same way he did, even though they were on opposite sides of the law.
"Why?" he asked, genuinely curious, as he filled a plate and handed it to her. She nodded gratefully and placed it on her lap; she didn't need more than a fork to eat; he'd already taken care of that.
“Um, uh. Well. I don't have a boyfriend, a partner. Actually, never. In the academy, among us cadets, it was forbidden, and quite honestly, even though it was different than a regular school, they were all pubescent idiots…” she laughed sheepishly, “Bobby didn't mind the prohibitions, but I… Well, there was only one, back then, but that was towards the end of my studies, a lab partner. It only lasted a few months, then our paths diverged, both professionally and personally. And in the last few years… getting to know someone outside of the division is difficult. You have to keep all this secrets to yourself, lie, make up excuses, there's little time together, lots of broken promises, accusations, dissatisfaction. Family members can become targets, leverage. That doesn't really work, and with colleagues, no. Most men are still pubescent, think they're Superman, or are conceited, arrogant, and superficial. Or simply too old and numb. I'm not the woman for in-between times, I'm one of the few women who have made a reputation, a name for herself. That scares off the few normal, sensible men…” she paused, took first one, then a second forkful of food, chewed and moaned with relish, “... Ohhh, damn, this is good. Really delicious.”
Meanwhile, he had eaten straight from the pan; the dishes here were pretty scarce; even for a single room, one piece of each was more than spartan. Her groan, however, had briefly frozen him in his tracks, so that his spoon had stopped halfway in the air. It took a few seconds before he startet moving again and immersed himself in chewing to hide his irritation. She hadn't noticed, she was to focused on her owm plate.