(Can anyone recommend a fun thing to do when you’re stuck at an airport for 7hrs?)
The bell on the door rang, signalling Clint’s first customer of the night. Seeing as how it was a Thursday night, Clint didn’t have to look up to see who it was.
“Hi, Phil,” Clint greeted with a smile.
Phil smiled back, and headed straight for his usual seat at the bar. “I’ll have my usual, please.”
Clint reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of the local brew, popping it open before placing it on a coaster in front of Phil, “Tough week, huh?”
“Hellish is more like it.” Phil rolled his eyes. “I’m just glad it’s over, you know?”
“You and me both.” Clint huffed.
“Insane customers, again?” Phil asked before he took a sip from his bottle.
“It’s those Tracksuit Draculas. Every other day, they come in after I’ve explicitly told them the last time that they were banned, and all they say is,” Clint changed his tone to mimic the Tracksuit Dracula, although his accent might have been a bit exaggerated, “Bro”
Phil laughed wholeheartedly, imagining Clint’s frustration towards the unruly regulars at Sherwood.
Phil stumbled upon Sherwood a few months back. He had just been assigned the Hawkeye case that month and his leads were getting him nowhere. He was just about to give up for the night when he spotted the bright purple neon arrow sign a block away and decided, a beer couldn’t hurt.
He was only supposed to go in, have a beer, and head home to start on a fresh trail but he ended up staying until last call. Clint Barton was a charming young man with more than a handful of colorful stories. There wasn’t a dull second that Phil could remember that night. After that, Phil came to Sherwood at least once a week, whether he was alone or with his friends.
“Like that’s going to change my mind,” Clint shook his head in annoyance. “Anyway, what about you? what made your week so terrible?”
“Another dead end,” Phil sighed, “I’m starting to think the suspect I’m looking for isn’t even real. Like, they just sent me on a wild goose chase, you know? I mean how am I supposed to find a guy when the only thing I know about him is his alias?”
“I’m sure, as horrible as bosses can be, they wouldn’t do that to you. You’re their best detective. They just gave you the hard cases is all.” The door rang softly, and Clint turned to the new patrons, “Be with you in a sec.” He turned back to Phil and gave him a reassuring smile, “I’m sure you’ll get a break in the case soon. I’ll be right back, okay?”
Phil used the time Clint was busy to nurse his beer. He technically wasn’t lying to Clint. He was looking for someone who’s killed people before. And he did technically work for the government. Clint assumed that he was a detective when they first met, so Phil just rolled with it.
---
A few hours had passed and Phil’s friends had finally shown up, each with their own story of woe from that week. Customers started piling up after the first hour and Phil hasn’t had a chance to speak with Clint again. Not that he minded. He’s sure it was tough running the bar on his own. Phil was just as happy to watch Clint work.
Jasper was waxing poetic about something Melinda said to him in the break room when the door opened and a familiar face walked in - Ms. Juliet Prisco - a regular in the black market scene and has more than once, employed Hawkeye. If anyone could tell him where Hawkeye was, she could.
He watched her as subtly as he could. It seemed Ms. Prisco was not alone, Phil thought to himself, noting the four guys scattered around the bar, seemingly searching for someone. Phil was just about to offer the lady a drink when he noticed her henchmen going through the back door with her leading the way.
Phil excused himself and headed for the door but it was locked. Phil was pretty sure that led to the back - he’s seen Clint bring out the trash through that door - and he could probably catch her and her goons if he ran.
Phil raced for the front door and was already in the alley when he heard the telltale sounds of a fist fight. Someone slammed into the dumpster, followed by a body hitting the wall. There were a few grunts and groans, but hopefully no one was dead. Phil still needed to interrogate them, after all.
Phil turned the corner with his hand on his gun only to be faced by the barrel of another gun. That turn of events wasn’t as surprising to him as finding out who held the gun.
“Phil?” Clint asked, surprise clear on his face, “Shit, I almost shot you I’m so sorry,” He pulled the gun away quickly. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Clint had Juliet in a one-armed choke-hold while the rest of her goons laid on the ground, unconscious. Juliet used the momentary distraction Phil served, and bit Clint’s arm, making Clint let go of her with a yelp.
“Okay, now you’re just being childish.” Clint frowned, inspecting the bite mark for any real cuts. He released the magazine from the gun and cocked the bullet out of the barrel. He pocketed all of the bullets and handed the empty gun to Juliet. “As I’ve said before, I’m done with that life. Find someone else, and if any of you come back one more time, I swear I won’t pull my punches.”
Juliet looked like a peeved off spoiled brat, but eventually stomped away.
“Um...” Clint started, turning to face Phil again, “That was... uh...”
Phil stared at him for another second before saying, “You’re Hawkeye.”
He wasn’t accusing Clint of anything. He was simply stating a fact. Clint, on his part looked unsurprised.