Clint "Hawkeye" Barton

@that-hawk-guy

Role Play Blog for the marvel superhero. Follows a mix of the comic verse and cinematic universe.

31.2K posts

“Fuck!” Clint snarled as he realized the team had extracted—without him.

He breathed through his nose, a hand pressed to his bleeding side, trying to stay calm and keep his heartbeat regulated.

scarredbookworm

It had been a messy fight, and there was glass and dust and all sorts of other debris everywhere. Kate rounded the corner of the building, trying to take stock of the damage, when she stopped. There was a man leaning against the wall, hand pressed to his side.

"Shit," she said, dropping the broom and rushing to his side. She pulled off her apron and pressed it into his side. "Okay, I don't know much first aid but I think you ought to lie down."

“Nah…it’s just gonna hurt for a bit. You should go…get somewhere safe. Who knows what’s lurking about,” Clint said, thinking it’s pointless to try and save him at this point.

scarredbookworm

"I'm pretty sure the fight is over, so let me take care of you," Kate insisted. "I can't see under your uniform but this feels like a lot of blood and that's bad. Is there someone i can call? I doubt the phones are working.

She had a suspicion he was one of the avengers but wouldn't mention it. The uniform looked too professional and high tech to not be.

“Lines are down and my comm is compromised,” Clint offered. “I’ll be fine…it’s just a flesh wound. Just need to get to the tower and they’ll patch me up.”

“Fuck!” Clint snarled as he realized the team had extracted—without him.

He breathed through his nose, a hand pressed to his bleeding side, trying to stay calm and keep his heartbeat regulated.

scarredbookworm

It had been a messy fight, and there was glass and dust and all sorts of other debris everywhere. Kate rounded the corner of the building, trying to take stock of the damage, when she stopped. There was a man leaning against the wall, hand pressed to his side.

"Shit," she said, dropping the broom and rushing to his side. She pulled off her apron and pressed it into his side. "Okay, I don't know much first aid but I think you ought to lie down."

“Nah…it’s just gonna hurt for a bit. You should go…get somewhere safe. Who knows what’s lurking about,” Clint said, thinking it’s pointless to try and save him at this point.

Role play blogs aren’t just about cliques and it shouldn’t be about who you’ve known the longest either. Well it should be but also- there are a lot of shy cinnamon rolls out there waiting for you. But they don’t know that you can vibe with them right off the bat if they’d only send in a meme or a starter or something!

So reblog if you’re the type of blog that is open to NEW friendships even if you are already connected to old ones. New friendships mean new experiences and more people to talk about your muse’s together. This is a clique free blog despite the people who love sending me in asks and there’s much love for them but I’ve also got love waiting for you if only you’d send that one message.

“Fuck!” Clint snarled as he realized the team had extracted—without him.

He breathed through his nose, a hand pressed to his bleeding side, trying to stay calm and keep his heartbeat regulated.

@fan-maddson

Clint breathed as he sat upon the catwalk, watching the avengers move below. Lately he’d felt…restless. He wasn’t sure why. But this mission? It rubbed him the wrong way.

And the artifact on the pedestal down below felt almost…familiar.

“Eyes sharp, guys,” Stark called over the comms.

Clint was silent, watching the scene unfold. He narrowed his eyes as the object pulsed with power. Steve brought the shield up and approached. But as he did, Clint realized second too late it was going to fire.

“Cap! Watch out!” He cried as he jumped down. He ran and shoved Steve moments before it fired, ignited Clint in fire.

Fannie walked the street of New York, holding her sweater close to her body. The weather had turned chilly a few days ago, but she was still holding out hope it was a false alarm.

Clint felt the fire course through his body, and felt as some sort of binding fell away. As he collapsed, he swore his soul left his body but then was slammed back in.

For a moment he was dead.

Steve panicked as he dropped beside Clint, the others rushing to them as well. No pulse, nothing.

But then clint’s eyes snapped open and his chest heaved as his eyes glowed almost black. Steve stumbled back in shock, staring with wide eyes.

As Clint came back to himself, he wasn’t himself. Or maybe was himself—just his old self that had been locked away.

He was once more Hades.

@fan-maddson

Clint breathed as he sat upon the catwalk, watching the avengers move below. Lately he’d felt…restless. He wasn’t sure why. But this mission? It rubbed him the wrong way.

And the artifact on the pedestal down below felt almost…familiar.

“Eyes sharp, guys,” Stark called over the comms.

Clint was silent, watching the scene unfold. He narrowed his eyes as the object pulsed with power. Steve brought the shield up and approached. But as he did, Clint realized second too late it was going to fire.

“Cap! Watch out!” He cried as he jumped down. He ran and shoved Steve moments before it fired, ignited Clint in fire.

Fannie walked the street of New York, holding her sweater close to her body. The weather had turned chilly a few days ago, but she was still holding out hope it was a false alarm.

“CLINT!” Nastasha screamed as she saw her best friend hit and then light up like a Christmas tree.

Steve stood in shock before he moved, intending to try and get Clint away from whatever that light was.

The light died down and Clint collapsed to his hands and knees, his body vibrating….

With power and memories.

Steve slid to Clint, immediately grabbing him, intending to check him for injuries. But any cuts, bruises, or injuries he had started to fade and heal.

“He alright?!” Stark yelled, landing nearby. Bruce and Thor stood staring in shock and worry.

“I…I remember…” Clint gasped.

@fan-maddson

Clint breathed as he sat upon the catwalk, watching the avengers move below. Lately he’d felt…restless. He wasn’t sure why. But this mission? It rubbed him the wrong way.

And the artifact on the pedestal down below felt almost…familiar.

“Eyes sharp, guys,” Stark called over the comms.

Clint was silent, watching the scene unfold. He narrowed his eyes as the object pulsed with power. Steve brought the shield up and approached. But as he did, Clint realized second too late it was going to fire.

“Cap! Watch out!” He cried as he jumped down. He ran and shoved Steve moments before it fired, ignited Clint in fire.

mission-log-hunt

I really need to disappear into RP tonight. Anyone want to RP?

The Other Hawkeye

@scarredbookworm

Clint sat stiffly in the metal chair, arms crossed, jaw locked tight as Nick Fury paced the room like a caged panther.

The debrief had been dragging on, but Clint wasn’t paying much attention to the words anymore. He already knew the mission had gone south. Knew the cost. He could still feel it bleeding under his skin.

Across the table, Katelyn Turner sat just as still, her expression a mask of calm that only Clint had learned to read beneath. Tension coiled in her shoulders. A tightness around her mouth she hadn’t quite managed to hide.

She was angry. At herself. At him. At how close it had come this time.

“You two are lucky you’re still breathing,” Fury said, voice sharp enough to cut steel. His one good eye pinned them both like insects under a glass jar. “But luck’s not a strategy. I need partners who watch each other’s backs without question. No second-guessing.”

Clint swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. His hand tightened into a fist against the table, knuckles whitening.

Once, a long time ago, he’d lost a partner because of a bad call. Natasha had barely made it out of her Red Room past before some goddamn bureaucrat sent them both into a no-win mission. She hadn’t survived it. Clint hadn’t survived it either—not really.

Since then, he hadn’t let anyone get close. Hadn’t dared.

Until her.

Fury’s voice dropped lower. “This is it. Official or not—you’re a unit now. From here on out, you move together. You fight together. You survive together.”

Clint didn’t glance at Katelyn, but he felt her glance at him. A flicker, a breath.

Something cracked open in his chest, sharp and dangerous.

When Fury finally dismissed them with a clipped nod, Clint pushed back from the table and stood, feeling the weight of it all settle onto his shoulders.

He waited until they were in the hall, away from Fury’s sharp eyes, before speaking—his voice low, rough around the edges.

“You alright?” he asked, because it was easier than asking if you’d died out there, I don’t know what the hell I would’ve done.

Clint exhaled slow. “Next time,” he muttered, “you stay behind me. Got it?”

The words tasted like fear. Like regret. Like a promise he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to keep.

Because somewhere between all the missions, the training, the teasing and the silence—she had become everything.

And sooner or later, one of them was going to have to admit it.

"You got that right," Clint said strongly. "And I wouldn't ask for anyone else watching it either. So no worries there...not even Nat compares to you."

Dreams of the Past

@fan-maddson

The sky was still thick with smoke, the kind that clung to your lungs and made your heartbeat echo in your ears. Sirens wailed in the distance—ambulances, firetrucks, maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. containment units—but Clint barely heard them.

He blinked, his body aching like he’d been crushed and rebuilt bone by bone. One hand gripped the edge of a crumbling rooftop, the other still clutched his bow. Familiar weight. Familiar burn. But everything else felt… off.

He sat up slowly, boots scraping over concrete dust. The chaos of the battle still lingered in the streets below, but it was over. He knew it. Just like he knew something impossible had happened.

Because he remembered dying.

He remembered the last breath torn from his chest, his fingers bloody and trembling as he reached for a face he hadn’t seen in years. Fanndas. The woman he’d loved from a distance, foolishly, stubbornly, believing she deserved more than a broken man with blood on his ledger. He’d walked away and let her live a nightmare.

And in death, he’d been told the cruelest truth—she was his soulmate. Not just a regret. Not just a fleeting “what if.” She had always been meant for him. And he had failed her.

Now he was here. Back. Reborn in the smoking ashes of Manhattan, the past roaring around him like it had never ended. His hands were younger. His scars fewer. His heart? Still wrecked.

“Son of a…” Clint whispered, dragging a hand down his face.

He stood up slowly, surveying the skyline. Stark’s tower in the distance. Cap giving orders below. The city broken but standing. His timeline had been reset, and he’d been dropped in right at the start of everything.

No hesitation this time.

He turned away from the wreckage and pulled his comm earpiece off. There were things to deal with—debriefings, cleanup, Fury’s lectures—but none of it mattered. Not until he found her.

He didn’t know where she was, but he knew he had to be the one to get to her first this time. Before the wrong man did. Before the years stole her light again.

Clint Barton vanished from the rooftop like a ghost, nothing but shadow and grit, his heartbeat pounding one name through his veins like a war drum.

Fanndas.

This time, he wouldn’t fail her.

Clint chuckled. "Relax. She was fighting with us and she's my best friend. I just meant I sort of disappeared on all of them. And I know how to hide from her if needed. She's not looking to hurt me."

The Other Hawkeye

@scarredbookworm

Clint sat stiffly in the metal chair, arms crossed, jaw locked tight as Nick Fury paced the room like a caged panther.

The debrief had been dragging on, but Clint wasn’t paying much attention to the words anymore. He already knew the mission had gone south. Knew the cost. He could still feel it bleeding under his skin.

Across the table, Katelyn Turner sat just as still, her expression a mask of calm that only Clint had learned to read beneath. Tension coiled in her shoulders. A tightness around her mouth she hadn’t quite managed to hide.

She was angry. At herself. At him. At how close it had come this time.

“You two are lucky you’re still breathing,” Fury said, voice sharp enough to cut steel. His one good eye pinned them both like insects under a glass jar. “But luck’s not a strategy. I need partners who watch each other’s backs without question. No second-guessing.”

Clint swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. His hand tightened into a fist against the table, knuckles whitening.

Once, a long time ago, he’d lost a partner because of a bad call. Natasha had barely made it out of her Red Room past before some goddamn bureaucrat sent them both into a no-win mission. She hadn’t survived it. Clint hadn’t survived it either—not really.

Since then, he hadn’t let anyone get close. Hadn’t dared.

Until her.

Fury’s voice dropped lower. “This is it. Official or not—you’re a unit now. From here on out, you move together. You fight together. You survive together.”

Clint didn’t glance at Katelyn, but he felt her glance at him. A flicker, a breath.

Something cracked open in his chest, sharp and dangerous.

When Fury finally dismissed them with a clipped nod, Clint pushed back from the table and stood, feeling the weight of it all settle onto his shoulders.

He waited until they were in the hall, away from Fury’s sharp eyes, before speaking—his voice low, rough around the edges.

“You alright?” he asked, because it was easier than asking if you’d died out there, I don’t know what the hell I would’ve done.

Clint exhaled slow. “Next time,” he muttered, “you stay behind me. Got it?”

The words tasted like fear. Like regret. Like a promise he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to keep.

Because somewhere between all the missions, the training, the teasing and the silence—she had become everything.

And sooner or later, one of them was going to have to admit it.

"Agreed," he said. "I don't even want to imagine a world without you in it..."

Clint knew if he somehow lost Kate...he'd lose every good part of himself. She was what kept him grounded and kept him going.

The Other Hawkeye

@scarredbookworm

Clint sat stiffly in the metal chair, arms crossed, jaw locked tight as Nick Fury paced the room like a caged panther.

The debrief had been dragging on, but Clint wasn’t paying much attention to the words anymore. He already knew the mission had gone south. Knew the cost. He could still feel it bleeding under his skin.

Across the table, Katelyn Turner sat just as still, her expression a mask of calm that only Clint had learned to read beneath. Tension coiled in her shoulders. A tightness around her mouth she hadn’t quite managed to hide.

She was angry. At herself. At him. At how close it had come this time.

“You two are lucky you’re still breathing,” Fury said, voice sharp enough to cut steel. His one good eye pinned them both like insects under a glass jar. “But luck’s not a strategy. I need partners who watch each other’s backs without question. No second-guessing.”

Clint swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. His hand tightened into a fist against the table, knuckles whitening.

Once, a long time ago, he’d lost a partner because of a bad call. Natasha had barely made it out of her Red Room past before some goddamn bureaucrat sent them both into a no-win mission. She hadn’t survived it. Clint hadn’t survived it either—not really.

Since then, he hadn’t let anyone get close. Hadn’t dared.

Until her.

Fury’s voice dropped lower. “This is it. Official or not—you’re a unit now. From here on out, you move together. You fight together. You survive together.”

Clint didn’t glance at Katelyn, but he felt her glance at him. A flicker, a breath.

Something cracked open in his chest, sharp and dangerous.

When Fury finally dismissed them with a clipped nod, Clint pushed back from the table and stood, feeling the weight of it all settle onto his shoulders.

He waited until they were in the hall, away from Fury’s sharp eyes, before speaking—his voice low, rough around the edges.

“You alright?” he asked, because it was easier than asking if you’d died out there, I don’t know what the hell I would’ve done.

Clint exhaled slow. “Next time,” he muttered, “you stay behind me. Got it?”

The words tasted like fear. Like regret. Like a promise he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to keep.

Because somewhere between all the missions, the training, the teasing and the silence—she had become everything.

And sooner or later, one of them was going to have to admit it.

He sighed and shook his head. "and I would choose you over me. Every time."

He wouldn't repeat his past mistakes...those mistakes lead to injury or death. He wouldn't add Kate's name to his own personal ledger.

The Other Hawkeye

@scarredbookworm

Clint sat stiffly in the metal chair, arms crossed, jaw locked tight as Nick Fury paced the room like a caged panther.

The debrief had been dragging on, but Clint wasn’t paying much attention to the words anymore. He already knew the mission had gone south. Knew the cost. He could still feel it bleeding under his skin.

Across the table, Katelyn Turner sat just as still, her expression a mask of calm that only Clint had learned to read beneath. Tension coiled in her shoulders. A tightness around her mouth she hadn’t quite managed to hide.

She was angry. At herself. At him. At how close it had come this time.

“You two are lucky you’re still breathing,” Fury said, voice sharp enough to cut steel. His one good eye pinned them both like insects under a glass jar. “But luck’s not a strategy. I need partners who watch each other’s backs without question. No second-guessing.”

Clint swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. His hand tightened into a fist against the table, knuckles whitening.

Once, a long time ago, he’d lost a partner because of a bad call. Natasha had barely made it out of her Red Room past before some goddamn bureaucrat sent them both into a no-win mission. She hadn’t survived it. Clint hadn’t survived it either—not really.

Since then, he hadn’t let anyone get close. Hadn’t dared.

Until her.

Fury’s voice dropped lower. “This is it. Official or not—you’re a unit now. From here on out, you move together. You fight together. You survive together.”

Clint didn’t glance at Katelyn, but he felt her glance at him. A flicker, a breath.

Something cracked open in his chest, sharp and dangerous.

When Fury finally dismissed them with a clipped nod, Clint pushed back from the table and stood, feeling the weight of it all settle onto his shoulders.

He waited until they were in the hall, away from Fury’s sharp eyes, before speaking—his voice low, rough around the edges.

“You alright?” he asked, because it was easier than asking if you’d died out there, I don’t know what the hell I would’ve done.

Clint exhaled slow. “Next time,” he muttered, “you stay behind me. Got it?”

The words tasted like fear. Like regret. Like a promise he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to keep.

Because somewhere between all the missions, the training, the teasing and the silence—she had become everything.

And sooner or later, one of them was going to have to admit it.

"Ha ha," Clint teased. "I should have followed your lead during that mission anyways. Your ideas were more solid than mine..."

His words were honest and not biting. Hindsight was also crisp and clear.

Dreams of the Past

@fan-maddson

The sky was still thick with smoke, the kind that clung to your lungs and made your heartbeat echo in your ears. Sirens wailed in the distance—ambulances, firetrucks, maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. containment units—but Clint barely heard them.

He blinked, his body aching like he’d been crushed and rebuilt bone by bone. One hand gripped the edge of a crumbling rooftop, the other still clutched his bow. Familiar weight. Familiar burn. But everything else felt… off.

He sat up slowly, boots scraping over concrete dust. The chaos of the battle still lingered in the streets below, but it was over. He knew it. Just like he knew something impossible had happened.

Because he remembered dying.

He remembered the last breath torn from his chest, his fingers bloody and trembling as he reached for a face he hadn’t seen in years. Fanndas. The woman he’d loved from a distance, foolishly, stubbornly, believing she deserved more than a broken man with blood on his ledger. He’d walked away and let her live a nightmare.

And in death, he’d been told the cruelest truth—she was his soulmate. Not just a regret. Not just a fleeting “what if.” She had always been meant for him. And he had failed her.

Now he was here. Back. Reborn in the smoking ashes of Manhattan, the past roaring around him like it had never ended. His hands were younger. His scars fewer. His heart? Still wrecked.

“Son of a…” Clint whispered, dragging a hand down his face.

He stood up slowly, surveying the skyline. Stark’s tower in the distance. Cap giving orders below. The city broken but standing. His timeline had been reset, and he’d been dropped in right at the start of everything.

No hesitation this time.

He turned away from the wreckage and pulled his comm earpiece off. There were things to deal with—debriefings, cleanup, Fury’s lectures—but none of it mattered. Not until he found her.

He didn’t know where she was, but he knew he had to be the one to get to her first this time. Before the wrong man did. Before the years stole her light again.

Clint Barton vanished from the rooftop like a ghost, nothing but shadow and grit, his heartbeat pounding one name through his veins like a war drum.

Fanndas.

This time, he wouldn’t fail her.

“There’s things I need to tell you. I won’t keep any secret from you, and honesty is needed if we’re going to survive together.”

The Other Hawkeye

@scarredbookworm

Clint sat stiffly in the metal chair, arms crossed, jaw locked tight as Nick Fury paced the room like a caged panther.

The debrief had been dragging on, but Clint wasn’t paying much attention to the words anymore. He already knew the mission had gone south. Knew the cost. He could still feel it bleeding under his skin.

Across the table, Katelyn Turner sat just as still, her expression a mask of calm that only Clint had learned to read beneath. Tension coiled in her shoulders. A tightness around her mouth she hadn’t quite managed to hide.

She was angry. At herself. At him. At how close it had come this time.

“You two are lucky you’re still breathing,” Fury said, voice sharp enough to cut steel. His one good eye pinned them both like insects under a glass jar. “But luck’s not a strategy. I need partners who watch each other’s backs without question. No second-guessing.”

Clint swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. His hand tightened into a fist against the table, knuckles whitening.

Once, a long time ago, he’d lost a partner because of a bad call. Natasha had barely made it out of her Red Room past before some goddamn bureaucrat sent them both into a no-win mission. She hadn’t survived it. Clint hadn’t survived it either—not really.

Since then, he hadn’t let anyone get close. Hadn’t dared.

Until her.

Fury’s voice dropped lower. “This is it. Official or not—you’re a unit now. From here on out, you move together. You fight together. You survive together.”

Clint didn’t glance at Katelyn, but he felt her glance at him. A flicker, a breath.

Something cracked open in his chest, sharp and dangerous.

When Fury finally dismissed them with a clipped nod, Clint pushed back from the table and stood, feeling the weight of it all settle onto his shoulders.

He waited until they were in the hall, away from Fury’s sharp eyes, before speaking—his voice low, rough around the edges.

“You alright?” he asked, because it was easier than asking if you’d died out there, I don’t know what the hell I would’ve done.

Clint exhaled slow. “Next time,” he muttered, “you stay behind me. Got it?”

The words tasted like fear. Like regret. Like a promise he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to keep.

Because somewhere between all the missions, the training, the teasing and the silence—she had become everything.

And sooner or later, one of them was going to have to admit it.

“I still have nightmares about it,” he admitted. “So if you ever truly stay the night with me, be warned. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

He glanced at her, his eyes expressive.

“But I wanted to let you know. When we get to my actual place? I do have a photo of her there. Just one…I didn’t want you blindsided.”

scarredbookworm

"I'm assuming sharing a bed during a mission doesn't count as truly staying the night then," she countered, "no matter how much you seem to enjoy being the big spoon."

Then she offered him a gentle smile. "Thank you for the warning. I'll pay my respects to her when we get there."

He nodded. “Thanks…but don’t worry. I’m not done weird person with a shrine or anything.”

He gave her a small smile, hoping she’d take the joke and help him lighten the conversation.

scarredbookworm

She snorted, smiling back. "Never said you were. Never thought you were, either. But the people we love never really leave us, and they deserve our respect... if they've earned it. Sounds like she did."

“Yeah…you guys would have liked each other. Probably would have ganged up on me a lot,” he mused.

scarredbookworm

That got a laugh out of her. "Think we could have kept you in medical longer? That would've been the real win, not having you pull your IV out as soon as you felt like you could sneak out of there."

“Oh definitely. She was a nurse,” he snorted. “It’s how I met her. I had been shot in the ass. When I hit on her, she said ‘At least you still have a nice ass, even if a bit holy’.”

scarredbookworm

"Oh, so that's what that scar is from," she replied, not even hiding the fact that she'd looked at his backside long enough to notice it. "She was right though. You do have a very nice ass."

She shot him a smile, then added, "I hope we're stopping for food. I'm starving."

“Whatever you want,” he said. “And it’s a bit of a drive. So yes on food. And maybe a motel or hotel too.”

scarredbookworm

"Doesn't matter to me. Probably something we can eat on the go for now and if we stop for the night we can grab pizza. And if you need me to drive at some point I can."

She knew he wouldn't--he always drove, no matter what, which was fine with her.

He nodded. “Alright…there’s a spot outside of the city that uses beef tallow and there’s no coconut or tropical stuff. So safe for you.”

Dreams of the Past

@fan-maddson

The sky was still thick with smoke, the kind that clung to your lungs and made your heartbeat echo in your ears. Sirens wailed in the distance—ambulances, firetrucks, maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. containment units—but Clint barely heard them.

He blinked, his body aching like he’d been crushed and rebuilt bone by bone. One hand gripped the edge of a crumbling rooftop, the other still clutched his bow. Familiar weight. Familiar burn. But everything else felt… off.

He sat up slowly, boots scraping over concrete dust. The chaos of the battle still lingered in the streets below, but it was over. He knew it. Just like he knew something impossible had happened.

Because he remembered dying.

He remembered the last breath torn from his chest, his fingers bloody and trembling as he reached for a face he hadn’t seen in years. Fanndas. The woman he’d loved from a distance, foolishly, stubbornly, believing she deserved more than a broken man with blood on his ledger. He’d walked away and let her live a nightmare.

And in death, he’d been told the cruelest truth—she was his soulmate. Not just a regret. Not just a fleeting “what if.” She had always been meant for him. And he had failed her.

Now he was here. Back. Reborn in the smoking ashes of Manhattan, the past roaring around him like it had never ended. His hands were younger. His scars fewer. His heart? Still wrecked.

“Son of a…” Clint whispered, dragging a hand down his face.

He stood up slowly, surveying the skyline. Stark’s tower in the distance. Cap giving orders below. The city broken but standing. His timeline had been reset, and he’d been dropped in right at the start of everything.

No hesitation this time.

He turned away from the wreckage and pulled his comm earpiece off. There were things to deal with—debriefings, cleanup, Fury’s lectures—but none of it mattered. Not until he found her.

He didn’t know where she was, but he knew he had to be the one to get to her first this time. Before the wrong man did. Before the years stole her light again.

Clint Barton vanished from the rooftop like a ghost, nothing but shadow and grit, his heartbeat pounding one name through his veins like a war drum.

Fanndas.

This time, he wouldn’t fail her.

“Your mom told me you didn’t want to see me when I came looking for you…said you were betrothed and couldn’t be seen with another man,” he admitted.

He looked at her.

“That was about…two years ago.”

The Other Hawkeye

@scarredbookworm

Clint sat stiffly in the metal chair, arms crossed, jaw locked tight as Nick Fury paced the room like a caged panther.

The debrief had been dragging on, but Clint wasn’t paying much attention to the words anymore. He already knew the mission had gone south. Knew the cost. He could still feel it bleeding under his skin.

Across the table, Katelyn Turner sat just as still, her expression a mask of calm that only Clint had learned to read beneath. Tension coiled in her shoulders. A tightness around her mouth she hadn’t quite managed to hide.

She was angry. At herself. At him. At how close it had come this time.

“You two are lucky you’re still breathing,” Fury said, voice sharp enough to cut steel. His one good eye pinned them both like insects under a glass jar. “But luck’s not a strategy. I need partners who watch each other’s backs without question. No second-guessing.”

Clint swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. His hand tightened into a fist against the table, knuckles whitening.

Once, a long time ago, he’d lost a partner because of a bad call. Natasha had barely made it out of her Red Room past before some goddamn bureaucrat sent them both into a no-win mission. She hadn’t survived it. Clint hadn’t survived it either—not really.

Since then, he hadn’t let anyone get close. Hadn’t dared.

Until her.

Fury’s voice dropped lower. “This is it. Official or not—you’re a unit now. From here on out, you move together. You fight together. You survive together.”

Clint didn’t glance at Katelyn, but he felt her glance at him. A flicker, a breath.

Something cracked open in his chest, sharp and dangerous.

When Fury finally dismissed them with a clipped nod, Clint pushed back from the table and stood, feeling the weight of it all settle onto his shoulders.

He waited until they were in the hall, away from Fury’s sharp eyes, before speaking—his voice low, rough around the edges.

“You alright?” he asked, because it was easier than asking if you’d died out there, I don’t know what the hell I would’ve done.

Clint exhaled slow. “Next time,” he muttered, “you stay behind me. Got it?”

The words tasted like fear. Like regret. Like a promise he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to keep.

Because somewhere between all the missions, the training, the teasing and the silence—she had become everything.

And sooner or later, one of them was going to have to admit it.

“I still have nightmares about it,” he admitted. “So if you ever truly stay the night with me, be warned. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

He glanced at her, his eyes expressive.

“But I wanted to let you know. When we get to my actual place? I do have a photo of her there. Just one…I didn’t want you blindsided.”

scarredbookworm

"I'm assuming sharing a bed during a mission doesn't count as truly staying the night then," she countered, "no matter how much you seem to enjoy being the big spoon."

Then she offered him a gentle smile. "Thank you for the warning. I'll pay my respects to her when we get there."

He nodded. “Thanks…but don’t worry. I’m not done weird person with a shrine or anything.”

He gave her a small smile, hoping she’d take the joke and help him lighten the conversation.

scarredbookworm

She snorted, smiling back. "Never said you were. Never thought you were, either. But the people we love never really leave us, and they deserve our respect... if they've earned it. Sounds like she did."

“Yeah…you guys would have liked each other. Probably would have ganged up on me a lot,” he mused.

scarredbookworm

That got a laugh out of her. "Think we could have kept you in medical longer? That would've been the real win, not having you pull your IV out as soon as you felt like you could sneak out of there."

“Oh definitely. She was a nurse,” he snorted. “It’s how I met her. I had been shot in the ass. When I hit on her, she said ‘At least you still have a nice ass, even if a bit holy’.”

scarredbookworm

"Oh, so that's what that scar is from," she replied, not even hiding the fact that she'd looked at his backside long enough to notice it. "She was right though. You do have a very nice ass."

She shot him a smile, then added, "I hope we're stopping for food. I'm starving."

“Whatever you want,” he said. “And it’s a bit of a drive. So yes on food. And maybe a motel or hotel too.”

Clint "Hawkeye" Barton @that-hawk-guy - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag