Work Text:
Clint was in the kitchen, spreading mayonnaise on his ham sandwich when the rumble of engines rattled the window panes above the sink. He lifted the sheer curtains to one side to see what kind of trouble had come to him today. The high sun illuminated the black shape of the quinjet as it landed in the field west of the house. Clint swore and dropped the curtain.
The screen door banged back into its frame as Clint emerged onto the porch with his bow in hand. He held an arrow to the string but didn’t pull back or even lift the bow all the way. Instead, he waited at the ready for the person climbing out of the jet. Female, dressed in black. Pale skin, dark hair. Maria Hill.
Maria approached and stopped, standing in his grass and gazing up at him like it was a fucking Sunday visit. “Are you going to shoot me, Barton?” she asked.
“Maybe. I haven’t decided.” Clint didn’t move the bow up to aim for her or down to put it away, just kept it at the ready. “I thought I told you that I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“I need to talk to-”
“No.”
Maria sighed. “You haven’t even heard what it’s about.”
Clint shrugged and lowered the bow. “Doesn’t matter, I’m retired. You got my notice, didn’t you? Pretty sure I gave it to you sometime between getting my ass kicked by half of my team and getting locked up in a secret underwater prison.”
“Believe it or not, this wasn’t my first choice.”
“It shouldn’t even be your last choice. Take me off the list.”
Maria sighed again, this time heavier. Her shoulders sagged and her eyes got sad. It wasn’t a lot of emotion because Maria never showed much, but it was enough. Clint shook his head and turned to go inside. The screen door creaked but didn’t slam back into place behind him. Maria followed him inside.
“Barton, you can’t just walk away from all of this.” It was a stupid way to start this argument.
“I think you’ll find that I can,” he rebutted. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the counter so he could look Maria in the face. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is dead. The Avengers are falling apart. Exactly whose authority says that I have any obligations left to anyone but my family?”
“I’m not here under anyone’s authority except my own,” Maria explained.
“Bullshit. Where’s Fury? Is he out there waiting to make a grand entrance?” Clint leaned forward, eyes boring into Maria’s passive face. He pointed out the window at the quinjet, which was still sitting in the field with its engines quietly rumbling. “Or maybe he’s snuck into my barn so he can surprise me with an inspiring speech.”
“Fury’s not here,” she said, like that made it any better. “He told me to leave you out of this.”
That was a surprise. Fury was generally of the opinion that once you were an asset, you were always an asset. Of course, Clint hadn’t spoken to Fury since before S.H.I.E.L.D. fell apart. Who knows what kind of affect that might have had on the former Director. Clint rubbeed his mouth. “So why are you here?”
“I need to talk to you about an assignment.”
Clint huffed and rolled his eyes. Standing up straight, he his back to Maria and picked up the butter knife that was covered in mayo. He scraped the excess white goo back into the jar and then screwed the lid back on. He dropped the knife in the sink on his way to the refrigerator.
“As I already said, I’m retired. Cap got me out there already and look how that turned out.” It had turned out with his ass in a prison cell, thanks to Stark’s drama. Yeah, they all got out eventually. He hadn’t really been worried. Cap wasn’t one to let his team take the fall for him. But still. There were several weeks of imprisonment when his wife and kids had no idea where he was, when he was coming home, or if he was even alive.
“This has nothing to do with any of that.”
Clint scoffed. “It never does.” He took a large bite of his sandwich.
Marie closed her eyes, clearly asking for patience. “Why don’t you at least hear me out before you say no? I promise, this isn’t like the last time. There should be no danger with this assignment.”
“Should? See that’s what gets me. Should. Should be no danger; practically a milk run. And oh by the way, there may be a super-powered robot trying to keep you from getting that milk.” Clint knew he was being deliberately difficult but he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t getting involved again and the longer Maria stood in his kitchen with that long-suffering expression, the more likely he was to give in. Laura would kick his ass if he agreed to anything while she was at work.
“I’ve considered this very carefully, Clint,” Maria explained. “There’s no one better suited to this than you. I wouldn’t be here unless I was absolutely positive it was necessary.”
Clint shook his head. “I don’t what it is.” He took his sandwich with him towards the back door, away from Maria.
“Won’t you even take a look and tell me what you think?” Maria pleaded.
“Leave it on the table,” Clint called over his shoulder as exited through the back. He crossed the yard and headed towards the treeline where his four-wheeler was sitting by the fence where he’d left it for lunch. Less than ten minutes later, the quinjet rose above the house. It flew over his head, sending the trees swaying in its wake as Maria finally left. Clint shook his head and threw his wire cutters back into the box before snapping it closed. He pulled off his work gloves and tossed them in the back before getting into the seat of his four wheeler and driving it back to the garage. No way he’d be able to finish today with Marria’s mission haunting him.
He entered the house and toed off his shoes near the door. He hadn’t done it when he came in for lunch. There would be dirt on the floor and Laura would complain. It's what they did.
There was an unmarked folder on his kitchen table when he walked in. Clint froze. That wasn’t the only thing. Sitting next to the folder was a teenager with brown hair and an uneasy grin. The kid waved at him nervously.
“Er, Hi! I’m Peter,” he said in a rush. “Peter Parker.”
“Who?” Clint snapped.
“Um, I thought Agent Hill would have it explained it. I mean, I know you and I didn’t really get introduced before, but, also, it didn’t seem like a real fight. Maybe I should - “
Clint held up his hand and Peter Parker’s voices cut out abruptly. He could practically feel the jolt of the kid’s teeth clacking together.
“Please tell you’re not that spider-kid from the airport,” Clint begged.
Spider-kid sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “I’m Spider-Man,” he corrected with a determined lift of his chin.
Taking a deep breath was supposed to help Clint regain his composure, or at the very least give him a moment to think of something to say. It did neither. So Clint took another. And another. Until finally, he was able to ask, in what he thought was a perfectly calm voice but seemed to come out as an indignant squeak, “And just what are you doing here?”
Peter deflated at that question, his shoulders rounding forward as he picked at the corner of the folder in front of him. “Um, I guess I’m here for, like, training or whatever.”
“Training?”
“Yeah. You know Tony-”
Clint cut him off again. He honestly didn’t need to hear anymore. “Let me guess, Tony brought you in and then didn’t follow through. Typical.”
“No! That’s not true. Tony was just really busy and I didn’t list-”
Clint’s expression was enough to send the kid trailing off into silence with that one.
Peter looked nervously around the room for a minute before trying again. “I guess, Agent Hill thought you could train me?”
“I’m not a babysitter,” he protested, going to the kitchen sink and peering out the windows even though he knew they had left. Maybe they were hovering just out of range so Maria could come back and shout ‘psych!’ just to see the expression on his face. Christ, let this be some sort of joke.
“And I’m not a baby,” Peter complained, although he did it half-heartedly.
“When is she coming back to get you?”
“Well…” Peter rubbed the back of his neck and then shrugged. “I was supposed to stay with the Avengers for the summer while school is out but she brought me here instead.”
Peter’s gaze slid across the room. That’s when Clint saw the stuffed duffle bag sitting on the floor near the front door. He swore. Peter’s face got red but he didn’t say anything just, played with the edge of the paper files some more. He sounded so disappointed by the change of plans that this clearly wasn’t his idea and he wasn’t any happier to be here than Clint was to have him.
Clint relented, “Look, make yourself at home. I’m going to call Maria and sort all of this out, ok? We’ll get you back where you belong.”
Peter didn’t look particularly pleased but didn’t say anything when Clint went out to the barn to get the secure satellite phone to call Maria.