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They never talk in New Mexico.
It’s not exactly a surprise. Clint’s only there for security, hiding on rooftops and in air vents like any self-respecting sniper (probably), and the girl is so Earth-bound it’s a wonder she hooked up with Doctor Foster in the first place.
He admires her from afar though; in Clint’s line of work it’s rare to come across a woman who can’t snap his neck with their thighs, and Lewis- while clearly capable of taking a guy down (if the piece she’s got tucked into the back of her jeans is anything to go by)- has enough spirit and glib personality to keep up with the best of them. So he hides and watches her maybe a little more than he does any other non-combatant, but not nearly enough to compromise his job.
Even so, Clint will admit that it’s only his extra interest in the girl that has him noticing her subtle retreat with the cell phone as soon as the heat from the flame-throwing terminator dies down. He follows her from the rooftops, partly out of curiosity, and partly out of concern that she’ll break the non-disclosure forms Shield’s not yet gotten around to having her sign. He throws down a bug before she ducks around the back of the convenience store- there’s no way he’d make out what she says elsewise- and hunkers down to observe.
“Dad,” come the words in his earpiece. They’re echoed slightly by the soft hum of her voice some 100 feet away from him. She runs a hand through her hair, exposing a cut on her cheek. She looks pale but collected, which is admirable considering the circumstances.
“No, I don’t need anything,” she says with a frustrated roll of her eyes. She sits down- more like a controlled collapse, really. Clint can empathise- he still remembers what it felt like coming out of his first performance. His first op. when the adrenalin had disappeared, leaving him with trembling limbs and an empty feeling in his gut.
“I’ve just had one hell of a day, is all,” she tells the man on the phone. She rolls her eyes again at something he says, “No, Jane’s fine. Now, we’re not having teething problems! Jane’s not that kind of soulmate, you know that!”
Huh. Soulmates. That’s not in her file.
Lewis huffs in mock outrage and wraps a hand around an ankle. “You’re unbelievable,” she growls. She grins and laughs, but sobers quickly. She glances around the alley, and Clint ducks down before she can glance up and spot him.
“Shield’s here,” she murmurs, and Clint stiffens. The way she says it… like she already has a good idea of who they are. He frowns down at his hands; he’d not been there when Shield’d turned up to confiscate Foster’s gear, but as far as they know, Lewis had no concept of Shield prior to yesterday. “They want me to sign a NDA, I think… No- no. You don’t need to send me a lawyer.”
Clint pulls a face, bewildered and troubled all at once. This definitely needs to be addressed by Phil ASAP, because if this girl’s on the wrong side of the law- working with Jane Foster- then Shield needs to know. And fast.
“No,” she growls, sounding annoyed. He holds his breath, just waiting for her to mention Thor. “I think they just wanted Jane’s research.” Oh. “But Dad… Erik says they’re bad news- the last guy he knew that Shield showed an interest in got Disappeared.”
An extended pause as her father speaks- Clint regrets that the bug isn’t strong enough to pick up his words. “I just... y’know. If I don’t see you ever again, send my love to the kids. Oh, and you, I guess,” Lewis hums. She laughs again. “I’ll keep an eye on her. Oh yeah- they took my ipod, too!”
Clint almost snorts; from concerned soulmate and daughter to petty teenager in the span of five seconds, but something makes him suspect that the shift in demeanour is a deliberate move on her part to deflect from the situation. It’s the same redirection technique Natasha uses.
There’s a noise from the mouth of the alley, and Darcy makes a soft sound at the back of her throat. “I gotta go,” she says, distracted now. “Stay safe, okay?” she laughs, “You know I don’t believe you… Yeah. I love you- yes- bye dad. Bye.”
“Darcy!” another woman exclaims. Doctor Foster. There’s a scuffle as the woman stands.
“Janey, hey.”
“Who were you talking to?”
Clint peeps over the side of the building, just in time to catch her shrug at the scientist. “My dad.”
Foster gives her a weighted look. “You didn’t-”
“No!” she growls, looking exasperated. “Jesus, Jane. I’m not insane! I just wanted to hear a familiar voice.” She laughs suddenly, and holds up her hands at the shamefaced woman. “God- my hands are shaking,” she confesses, and boy, if this girl really is evil, then she’s damn good at hiding it. “That was… that was really messed up.”
She sounds halfway to tears, and Clint suddenly feels like a heel, spying on this private moment. He ruthlessly quenches the sentiment and watches as Foster mutely opens her arms for Lewis. She strides forwards, wrapping her arms around Foster’s waist.
“Barton, report.”
Clint jumps, startled by the short burst of noise in his ear. He retreats further on the roof, where he’s confident the women and their moment can’t see him. “Present, Sir,” he replies softly. He crouches down behind the shop’s exhaust vent.
“Thor and his companions are returning to Asgard,” Coulson reports. “I want you on point.”
“Roger that, Sir.” He hesitates, glancing over to where the alley is hidden from view. He hears nothing through the bug- they must have left. “Sir, I think the Lewis girl knows more about us than she lets on.”
“Darcy… Lewis?”
He worries at a cut on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t remember when he got it. “She called her father. Seemed pretty evident that whoever they were, they knew about Shield too.”
A long pause over the comms. “Thank-you, Agent Barton,” he says eventually. “I’ll look into it.”
Clint nods in satisfaction; in Coulson’s books, that’s as good as a guarantee that it will be dealt with. “Thank-you, sir.”
“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Hawkeye?”
He grins at the expectant tone and starts to run. “On it, Agent Coulson,” he grunts, and jumps from one building to the next.
And as far as Clint is concerned, that’s that.
Only it isn’t, as it turns out.
He doesn’t see Darcy Lewis again until Shield falls and Natasha pulls him out of an undercover op in Baltimore he’s been working on for the last six weeks. Just as well, too, because Andre had been watching him for the last day or two with an increasingly suspicious eye.
Turns out, dumping all of Shield’s files onto the internet has the added bonus of exposing every single person Shield has ever had in their employ. Including agents who just so happen to be in deep cover missions.
Yeah, great one, Nat.
He’d have expressed his displeasure to the woman, were it not for the fact that he’s 100 percent sure she’ll maim him. It’s fairly obvious Hydra’s big reveal has rattled her to no end, and Clint’s not about to pick at that scab. They retreat to Stark’s Tower; the man has the money, the facilities and the staff (especially now that Hill’s there, which is a shocker, because Clint had been pretty certain the DD would rather pull out her own teeth with a pair of pliers than work for the guy, but hey- apparently standards lower dramatically once you realise you’ve been working for the bad guys all along) to make the prospect inviting, but really, it’s the Inventor’s promise of new and shiny trick arrows that wins Clint over.
So imagine Clint’s surprise when, on the second day in the Tower, he sees Doctor Jane Foster and her suspicious intern-come-assistant Darcy Lewis, sprawled out on the couch of the common room. Both are asleep- some 2D animated film playing still on the obscenely large tv- their arms and legs tangled together in a way that doesn’t exactly scream ‘platonic soulmates’.
Clint’s steps falter at the sight. It’s… well it’s cute, sure, but it’s hardly what he expects to come across in the newly named Avengers’ Tower common room. Don’t they have their own floor where they can cuddle like that?
He stands there staring at them for far longer than he probably should. Lewis- suspicious background or not- is quite the attractive woman, and he finds himself almost jealous of Foster, who’s nestled between her sizeable boobs. Clint reasons the jealousy down to his sexually frustrated state; it’s been months since he last had sex, and the dry spell is grinding on his nerves.
He scratches at the slightly raised words just above the right sleeve of his shirt. Clint’s starting to feel like a creep now, so he shakes himself out of his musings and heads over to the kitchen. He’d only come up here in the first place to steal the coffee.
Clint doesn’t start following her.
He doesn’t.
Or at least, not at the start. Sure, he’s still suspicious- especially after the whole Hydra thing- but Coulson promised to look into it, and that he obviously did nothing about it is enough to stymie his doubts for the immediate future. Beyond that, it’s fairly clear after a few days that Natasha obviously likes her.
As does Stark, Clint learns, when he stumbles across them on one of his routine investigations of the ventilation system. It’s day six of his time in the Tower- eight days since Shield fell- and Clint’s seen Tony only a handful of times, and Lewis even less. From what he has seen of her, what’s stood out is her wicked smile and sharp wit that’d normally have him chasing tail in an instant.
It’s two in the morning- Clint tends to do his ‘investigations’ late at night, where he’s unlikely to come across others. So to ‘stumble’ across the two of them is Stark’s lab is more of a surprise than it should probably be (you know, considering Stark).
He hears the soft voices before he sees them, sounds rising from the ventilation grid ahead. He moves forwards silently, mildly puzzled. Clint didn’t expect anyone on this floor at this time of night, and yet, here they are- Lewis and Stark- wrapped in a tight embrace-
-Wait.
What?
He stares down at the pair in confusion, but yep- that’s the two of them, definitely hugging like Pepper isn’t Stark’s ladylove. Tony’s hands grip at the woman’s night shirt like he’s holding on for dear life, and Lewis, from what he can see, is rocking the pair of them ever so slightly.
He watches silently, awed and unnerved, as their little moment drags on and on (it looks like a really good hug, actually. Clint’s a little jealous- Nat never hugs him like that). Stark is a tactile guy, but not in this kind of way, he’d thought. But here he is, a look of something fragile and tender on his face, clutching at Lewis like she’s the only thing tethering him to the ground.
It’s so… intimate.
Something inside Clint aches at the observation. Nevermind sex; he hasn’t had that kind of contact for years. He forgets how much he likes it.
Clint backs away from the vent, feeling a little embarrassed. This isn’t his scene to see- this little pocket of intimacy in Stark’s workshop in the dead of night; even if it does seem very much like Stark is cheating on Pepper with Lewis. Clint makes a strategic retreat back to his floor, where a bottle of whiskey is waiting for him with his name on it.
He’ll deal with whatever that was in the daylight.
Or not, because he comes across Darcy Lewis the very next day. She’s wrapped in the arms of Pepper Potts- Tony’s fucking girlfriend. She’s softly stroking her hair as though there’s nothing odd about this at all.
Out in the open.
In the kitchen common.
Where anyone- where Clint- can see.
He stops so quickly just outside the elevator that he’s half surprised he doesn’t get whiplash.
Good God.
First Stark, now Potts?
Maybe his initial assumption was wrong- which, in hindsight makes sense, because it’s glaringly obvious that Stark adores Pepper. And right now it’s being made quite clear that Pepper feels something for Lewis, because this does not look much like a platonic cuddle. Which leaves the only plausible option- the three of them are in some kind of weird triad where Stark and Potts share the girl. It’s strange, but not out of the realm of possibility, and honestly who is he to judge when his primary weapon is a goddamn bow and arrow.
Clint quietly withdraws from the women’s private moment. This is so far above his pay grade it’s not even funny, and the only reason he’s up here at all is because for whatever reason, the coffee on his floor tastes like shit.
The elevator doors close silently behind him, and Clint wonders if it’s too early to start drinking whiskey in his coffee too.
This, Clint thinks quietly to himself, is starting to get distinctly out of hand.
Natasha.
Natasha, on the couch, lounging comfortably between the legs of Lewis, with her head resting happily against her breasts. Lewis herself is asleep, one arm wrapped around Nat’s waist, the other laying on her head, short fingers threaded through her red hair as though she fell asleep halfway through stroking the assassin’s hair.
The latest episode of Dog Cops is still playing on the screen, but Natasha is watching him now, and not the tv. She raises a brow, almost daring Clint to say something smart.
He scratches at the back of his head- it’s tempting, but payback from Nat is a bitch. He shrugs at her instead.
“Don’t let Stark see you like that,” he tells her softly, so Lewis doesn’t wake. She rolls her eyes. “You’ll ruin that tough girl image.”
She smirks at him. “I don’t need an image for him to be scared of me.”
He tilts his head in acknowledgement, and they stay quiet as Lewis’ hand on her stomach twitches. She doesn’t wake. Natasha eyes the arm fondly, and Jesus Christ, it’s barely even been two weeks and Lewis is already chummy as hell with Natasha. Natasha don’t touch me or I will break you Romanov. Clint hasn’t even spoken to her yet.
There’s a quiet ping from the ceiling and both of them look up- a force of habit.
“My apologies, Agent Barton, Agent Romanoff, but Sir requests your presence in his workshop. He has a series of new arrows he wishes for you to test.”
Clint brightens. “I’m needed elsewhere,” he tells her and Natasha rolls her eyes at him again.
“You’re needed nowhere.”
He pouts at her. “Harsh. Why are we friends?”
Her eyes shine in amusement. “Because you’re mostly not useless. Now go away- I’m still watching Dog Cops.”
He does go away then, but only because Stark promised him new arrows.
Foster and Lewis leave the next day for another one of their trips into the wilderness, and when they return they bring with them Thor. He’s been off-world somewhere, helping his Asgardian mates.
Clint likes Thor, even if his presence reminds him a little of his time with Loki. He’s loud and boisterous and far smarter than he lets on. Clint has always suspected that this is the case, but Thor uses sound like a shield, concealing his intelligence and millennia of wisdom with his loud booming voice and over-the-top laughter.
Tony has a party, to celebrate the three’s return. Even Rogers and his new partner-in- crime Wilson turn up for the little shindig, and there’s enough alcohol and good cheer going round that Clint, in his inebriated state (he’s probably had four beers by now, and a tequila sunrise poured by Natasha, who drinks vodka like it’s water) thinks it’s a great idea to sneak after Lewis and Stark when she leads Tony away with a firm hand at his elbow. He hides in the generous rafters above the mezzanine floor Lewis takes Tony onto.
He’s not stalking her. He’s not. It’s just that she and Jane have been gone for a month and a half, and he still has no idea about Lewis’ trustability… trustiness… trustworthiness.
Okay, so maybe he’s not so much inebriated at this point as he is plain out drunk.
Won’t stop him from moving stealthily, either way.
“Darcy,” Tony whines. “Darcy, there’s a party, like, right below us! Can’t it wait ‘til tomorrow?”
“I don’t think it can,” she says, shaking her head. From his perch above them, he can only see the back of her, once again. She says something else, but it’s said too low to hear.
Tony stiffens though, the lines of his face growing shocked and agitated. “What do you mean he’s-” he breaks off, rubbing a hand over his face. “Are you- are you sure? He could just be some-”
“I’m certain it’s him, Dad. I almost tazed him, but-”
“Holy shit-” he exclaims in sudden realisation, far louder than he should be, “Stark is your dad?”
The pair of them startle, glancing upwards to stare at the source of the noise.
“Barton?’ Stark says, somewhere between appalled and bewildered. Clint moves to jump down, but he mis-judges and slips, falling out of the rafters to land in an uncouth heap at the feet.
Lewis yelps. Tony curses. Clint groans and tries to get his breath back.
“Barton, what the fuck?” Tony growls at him. He doesn’t make a move to help him up.
“What did you think he was?” Lewis questions him.
Almost in unison, their eyes widen.
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
That is a surprise. “Huh,” Clint breathes.
“This is-”
Stark makes a sound somewhere between a dying cat and an angry elephant. “No. Nope.” He mutters, eyes bouncing between the two of them in a way that tells Clint that he knows exactly what’s just happened. “Nope. There is no way. Just- nope.”
Darcy rolls her eyes in exasperation and offers Clint her hand. “Shut up, dad.”
Her skin is warm and soft, but her grip as she helps him up is strong and sure. Clint doesn’t let go when he’s straightened. He’s fairly certain he’s gone into shock.
“I thought he was-” he breaks off, eyes widening, because oh- wow, he was so, so off. Darcy pulls a disgusted face.
“Seriously? Are you insane?”
“A little.”
Tony goes pale. “I need more alcohol for this,” he mutters, and downs his mostly full glass of champagne. He grimaces. “Fuck, alcohol- I need Pepper- Pepper!”
Darcy doesn’t so much as flinch at Tony’s half yell, half desperate scream. “Would you go away, dad? You’re cramping my style.”
Clint just barely stops himself from shivering at the way her eyes run up and down his form. He’s only half sure he’s passing muster. Tony looks like he’s just stepped in something smelly and distasteful. “You,” he growls at Clint, finger pointed in a very accusing way. “You are not to touch my baby girl.” And to emphasise his words, he karate chops their still clasped hands. Darcy rolls her eyes. Clint’s hand feels as though it’s burning.
“And you, missy,” he rounds on Darcy, who blinks at him innocently. “No nookie. No kissing. No thinking about kissing. In fact, why don’t the two of you just stand at opposite ends while I go find Pepper.”
“Kindly fuck off, would you Dad?” And wow, if Clint had ever talked to his dad like that he’d have been in a world of pain. “I have a soulmate to woo, and you are being so not cool about this.”
Stark looks horrified. Clint would be hysterical were he not so in awe. “But Darcy-”
“Tony. Go find Pepper. Or Steve. Or literally anyone. Go- leave,” she ushers her father off the mezzanine with hands on his shoulders. Stark goes with only a little struggle, but it seems he’s in about as much shock of all this as Clint is. Darcy turns backs to him as soon as she’s sent him half stumbling down the stairs.
“Now, where were we?”
Clint blinks at her. Darcy’s lips twitch wickedly.
“The strong and silent type, huh? Funny, Natasha always told me you were a huge nerd.”
She comes up close, hips swaying ever so slightly. Her eyes are very blue.
“Your eyes are really blue,” he tells her. And promptly wishes there’s a window he can throw himself out of. Smooth. Real smooth.
Darcy grins. “Your arms are really nice. Or so I hear, anyway.” Her smile turns rueful. “You’re the reason I ever found my dad, did you know?”
He shakes his head mutely. She wraps her hands in the sides of his now dusty suit jacket. Her perfume smells like roses.
“I thought you were in a triad with him and Pepper.” He blurts out.
Darcy bites her lip, obviously holding back a laugh. She huffs softly and Clint is certain he’ll never smell roses and think of anything but this moment ever again.
“I think, maybe, you shouldn’t make assumptions, if this is how far off the bat you’re going to get.”
He nods quickly enough to make himself feel nauseous. There is, he suddenly recalls, still a good amount of alcohol running through his system. “No promises,” he breathes. Darcy’s eyes glance off to the side for a moment, still trying to contain her laughter. Clint kind of wishes she wouldn’t- he’s never heard her genuinely laugh before.
“Good,” she murmurs. “Because you what happens when you assume things, don’t you?”
“Uh.” God, but she’s close enough that if he tilted his head just so, he’d be kissing her. Unsure what to do with his hands, he rests them on her waist.
“Mm,” she purrs, and moves in for the kill. ‘You make an ass of me and you.”