❝ In a mirror, darkly. ❞
• • •
Clint Barton. Spy, assassin, master archer. Caffeine addict. Hot mess. After the Battle of New York, Clint is forced to come to terms with the mind control Loki forced him into. The longer he's recovering, the cleare...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER FOUR
He got up at 5:00 am. Or, he woke up at 5:00. It took at least twenty minutes of glaring at the ceiling and wall clock while snuggling into the comforter of his bed before Clint finally forced himself to get up. After a shower, he slipped into grey jeans, a red tee shirt, and his black leather jacket with extra large pockets for his gun.
When he looked out the window he saw the streets still cloaked in darkness. With a huff of exhaustion, he put the coffee pot back in the machine and started brewing a fresh batch for that morning. As it got to work, he took another few minutes to examine the intel he had.
Clint didn't know how long he had spent staring at the same picture over the past few days. It was the most recent one, taken a week before by his contact down here in D.C. assigned to tail her. She sat at a cafe table on the sidewalk, sipping a warm drink of some kind. She wore a ragged, slouchy knit grey beanie hat, a common tell in many of her more recent photos. According to a note with the photo, the piece of paper she stared at on the table contained a map of D.C. Highlighted was Anacostia and Ivy City.
"What is your motivation," Clint murmured. When he noticed the coffee had finished, he grabbed a travel mug and poured as much as he could into it before downing half of what was left. He spent a bit of time picking up the intelligence folder and hiding it in his clothes. Then he downed the rest of the coffee pot's coffee.
The time read 6:22. He checked to make sure he had his gun, wallet, Shield ID, and pocket knife. Finally he picked up the photo of his target and folded it, slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans. Day one of his mission. He had to follow his target-
"What did it show you, Agent Barton?"
"My next target."
"Tell me what you need."
Clint grabbed the wall to steady himself. He closed his eyes. Deep breaths. Loki wasn't here. This was his mission from Shield, not a mission from a psychopathic false god. As quick as the memory had surfaced, it disappeared. He straightened himself up. He could feel his left hand shaking. She's not Loki, he reminded himself, she's barely older than a teenager.
When his hand stopped shaking, he nodded to the door to reassure himself. With his travel mug in one hand and a book and phone in the other, he set out into the streets of Washington, D.C.
By the time the sun had risen above the horizon enough to actually contribute a decent amount of light, Clint had reached the Washington Monument. Plenty of early bird runners doing the trail around the National Mall meant Clint didn't look out of place. The food trucks along all the sidewalks had already started lining up. It amazed Clint to no end that the food trucks could park so close to each other; barely two inches between trucks. What if someone wanted to leave early?
