We Might Fall

A relevant note: I have bumped Clint's age down to 27, and for the purpose of this story, his family does not exist. Sorry, Laura.

A rare (and the only) disclaimer: I am glad that I do not own Marvel. I would never do it justice. I could never fathom anything as marvelous.

Chapter 1: Clint of Leather Jackets and Raspberry Vanilla Tea

These days, Clint Barton had taken to going on long walks after missions. Really long walks.

He was beginning to really feel the fairly consistent routine – and he didn't quite know what to make of it. It was something solid; but was the solidity worth the absurdly monotonous uniformity? Hawkeye was definitely one for uniformity, but these days, Clint was having a hard time separating his two identities – if you could even call them that. When he wasn't on a mission, he was either on his habitual walk, spending time with his family – family that, might he mention, consisted of his best friend and master assassin, an idiot in a metal suit, a demigod, the walking epitome of patriotism, and, as Tony would so eloquently put it, a 'big green rage monster'. And if not that or the dull, barely commendable training, then what? Missions, training, family – and a dysfunctional one at that. There was nothing that Clint did that Hawkeye didn't do. They were one and the same.

There was nothing else in his life.

What reason did he have? What purpose? He couldn't draw a single feasible thing to mind, and he couldn't simply ride it off as being tired from the mission they had just returned from. Because he knew that even when he woke up the very next morning rejuvenated, he would still feel this same strange hollowness that had been persistently weighing him down ever since the battle of New York.

He heaved a sigh too heavy for his measly 27 years, and leaned over the edge of the bridge he'd come upon. He heard the soothing sound of running water below, and he peered down at the long drop, feeling his stomach turn slightly.

I guess Clint isn't entirely fearless. He thought, knowing that if he was in Hawkeye mentality, the fall wouldn't have even crossed his mind.

He hadn't even registered how far from the tower he was until he turned as the wind caught his face in a light caress, the sound of the occasional car rushing past behind him numbing to a dull echo as he closed his eyes.

The peace only lasted momentarily until he felt a prickle in the back of his neck and he turned to see a girl with her legs dangling over the outer side of the bridge adjacent to him. The panic was quick to set in as he dashed across the road, thankful that it was currently void of cars. His instinct to save people had been heightened as a result of spending time around the Captain. He slowed, though, as he came upon a sight different to the one he had pictured.

Instead of being a crying mess, or even wearing a remotely sad expression, the girl had her eyes closed peacefully, a soft smile tugging at her lips as the wind tousled her brown hair.

Clint froze at the sight and found himself unable to tear his eyes away, despite the thoughts raging through his head about the uncharacteristic reaction he was having to a girl he'd never met.

Suddenly, her eyes flicked open to display a blue that was so light it could have almost been clear, and time seemed to slow for a moment before it was pulled back into motion by a stumble, and a cry.

Clint jumped forward and grabbed the girl's arm tightly, steadying her as she rocked forward, losing her balance.

It was strange, that no words had yet been exchanged. Dull blue eyes met with the lightest he'd ever seen, and he felt a flip in his stomach similar to the earlier one, but somehow drastically different.

Finally, Clint spoke. "You're not going to jump, are you?"

There was a moment of silence before she responded. "Of course not. Are you?"

Clint removed his arm slowly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "What kind of a response is that?" He questioned, fighting the grin that was threatening to break out.

The girl let out an almost humourless breath of a laugh and pulled up to a stand, surprising Clint when the smile – the one that had seemed so genuine – faded altogether. "It was the response of a girl who's had a long day." She stated.

There was a pause. Clint was watching the girl, who couldn't have been more than a few inches shorter than him, and she wasn't meeting his eyes, instead looking towards the ground before shutting her eyes and sighing.

"I know a restaurant that has really good tea." He wasn't sure whether it came out as a request or a statement; he just knew that it was his voice that he heard speaking.

"I don't even know you." She let out an exasperated breath before her eyes flitted away from his for a second before returning to catch them again after an indefinite pause. "But I could use a cup of tea."

Clint was beginning to wonder if he'd been drugged. His movements felt ghostly, his thoughts were fleeting, and he was somehow sitting in an almost formal restaurant, suddenly feeling the absence of his leather jacket as he inspected the girl sitting across from him.

He could see the faint splay of freckles that were barely noticeable, accenting her oval eyes and plumb lips that didn't quite fit the structure of her face. Her hair was a mess of curls that somehow sat in both harmony and disharmony with one another.

And Clint couldn't for the life of him figure out why the hell he was noticing so many little details.

I'm a spy. He decided. I'm a master assassin. Of course I'm analysing her. But part of him knew it wasn't just analytical.

"I wasn't going to jump, you know." He glanced up at the sound of her voice, which, despite her shy appearance, seemed a little deeper and a little less meek than he'd previously thought. "Honestly." She continued at his prompting expression. "I just really like the stars, and that bridge has a really nice view."

"You go there often?"

"Sometimes."

"Hm. Vague."

She shook her head at him, the ghost of a smile peeking its way out. "Vague? Hm, sounds familiar. A little like the man who took me out to a fancy restaurant for nothing more than tea whilst he was wearing plaid and I was wearing a sundress – and I don't even know his name."

Clint smirked, peering out the window and looking hard at the sky. "Huh, that's odd, I don't see any sun."

Clint felt some kind of pride bubble in his stomach when she laughed quietly, shaking her head. "What's your name?" She asked seriously.

"Clint."

"Alright, Clint, 'Man of Plaid', what had you out at 10pm on a Monday night?" She asked with a small twitch of her lips.

Clint shook his head. "Okay, so, one," he held up a finger. "I usually wear leather. And two," He raised a second finger. "I don't even know your name. That's no fair." He couldn't help the smile that slipped its way onto his face.

She smiled and laughed. "It's Hallie." She paused after a moment and frowned, rubbing her head. "I meant Hadleigh. I was going to say that most people call me Hal. But, I don't know, I guess 'Hallie' just... Yeah. It's Hal." She gave an apologetic smile. "I've had a long day."

"You're not the only one." He let out a sigh and allowed his posture to sink slightly as he sipped at his tea. The mix of raspberry and vanilla hit his tastebuds wonderfully, and he took a deep breath before he noticed a pair of blue eyes watching him curiously. "What?" He asked, fighting the embarrassment that wanted to show through. "Can't a man enjoy his tea?"

Her eyes widened for a second before she pursed her lips. "Sorry. You just didn't exactly seem like the raspberry vanilla type."

He raised his eyebrows. "What type would you recommend for me?"

She laughed. "I would have thought you were a coffee type of person, truthfully."

He nodded. "Every morning." He said seriously, though his smile betrayed his tone.

She let out that breath of laughter that she seemed to repeat often. "Bingo." She said quietly.

He sighed into his tea once more. "So?" He questioned, continuing at her confused expression. "What had you out so late?"

"I asked first." She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Clint sighed as the smile left his face, not particularly wanting to delve into that part of his life. "I got back from a mission today. I'm on the special forces." He explained, giving her a half truth. Something like that. He mused to himself. "I'm always tired after missions, so I walk."

She nodded. She seemed to understand that he didn't really mean physically tired, and she left the subject at that. "I was delivering a manuscript to my boss." She said, staring out the window and sipping at her own tea. "I work at a publishing firm," she explained. "And for the better part of my life, I've been an insomniac, so a lot of my hours are put in during the night." Clint listened, curiosity eating at him. Oddly, he didn't feel an ounce of guilt. "But last night, well, I guess I actually slept some, so I didn't finish reading the manuscript on time – I'm a copy editor, so I have to make sure things are ready for publication; part of the later stages of publishing." She paused to rub her head again. "Sorry. That probably means absolutely nothing to you."

"It's fine." He answered simply, not wanting to stop her. "I do find it hard to believe that you felt guilty for sleeping, though."

She just laughed quietly. "I guess so." She gave a half smile. "Anyway, I handed it to him and he was pretty mad." She continued. "I mean, I get it though. He's so stressed with all the recent manuscripts coming through the system." She paused again and seemed to contemplate continuing before she stopped completely.

Clint smiled slightly. "Well, you read for a living. Finally, a girl who loves books and doesn't have glasses." He quipped in an attempt to lighten the almost sullen mood.

It seemed to work as Hallie laughed almost a little too loudly. He gave her a strange look before she gestured towards her eyes. "Contacts." She grinned, the widest smile he'd seen out of her that night. "Glasses aren't the most convenient when you're trying to drink hot tea."

Clint blinked before a similar grin broke out onto his face. It quickly moulded into a smirk. "Oh, so you knew you'd run into a devilishly handsome man who'd take you out for tea?" He raised his eyebrows as she laughed again.

"Oh, absolutely." She nodded seriously. "I'm psychic."

Clint leaned back, not hiding his amusement. "Oh, really?" He smirked expectantly.

She nodded again, retaining the seriousness.

"What am I thinking about right now?" He asked, leaning forward slightly.

There was a pause. "How good the tea is." She stated matter-of-factly.

He shook his head with a grin. "Not even close."

She fought a smile as she tried again, a little more tentatively this time. "Leather jackets?"

He shook his head once more.

She smiled slightly. "What I look like with my glasses on?"

He grinned slightly. "Warmer."

She shrugged after a few moments of thought. "I have no idea." She caved, a sheepish smile crossing her face.

He leant back again, having not previously realised how far forward he'd ended up.

"I was thinking about how blue your eyes are." He said simply.

He didn't miss the hint of red in her cheeks as she faced him once more. "Yours are blue, too."

"Debatable." He shrugged simply. "I think they're grey."

She frowned, an odd expression as her upturned lips met with a furrowed brow. "No, they're definitely blue."

He shrugged again. "Eh."

"Eh." She mocked half-heartedly.

The two both leant into their respective chairs, and Clint sighed pleasantly as he finished the last of his now lukewarm tea. Hallie followed suit and the two ended up in a comfortable silence, both staring out the window at the mostly deserted streets.

Clint looked up as a waiter approached, handing them the bill with an almost reproachful look. Clint accepted it with a frown, pulling out his wallet and handing over the correct amount, skipping on the tip. I haven't been paid yet. He mentally apologised. Sorry, bud.

Hallie only seemed to look up at that moment. "Wait, did you just pay?" She asked, glancing at the now retreating waiter.

Clint nodded, and Hallie bit her lip.

"I don't know whether to feel bad for not having anything to pay you back with, or for the fact that we just came into a fancy restaurant wearing the quintessential of casual clothes and ordered nothing but tea."

The two looked at each other for a moment before both of them broke, Hallie laughing sheepishly while Clint chuckled. That explains the waiter's attitude. He thought. Who goes to a fancy restaurant just for tea? I do.

Shortly after, the pair were standing outside the place, ready to part ways. Clint had pulled out his phone a moment earlier and called for a taxi.

He retrieved a fair amount of payment, nearly all he had on him, suddenly glad he'd skipped the tip to the waiter. It would be just enough.

The comfortable atmosphere laid out by the restaurant and the tea seemed to have dissipated, and Clint almost felt awkward standing beside the girl. He didn't know what to make of how the night had played out. It almost seemed surreal.

Little did he know, Hallie was feeling the same way. "Uh, Clint." She suddenly clapped her hands and nodded to herself. "Thanks." She shoved her hands into the thin pockets of her cardigan. "You made my evening a lot better than it would have been."

She leaned up just as the taxi pulled up beside them, leaving a slight kiss on his cheek. She couldn't help but become hyper-realistically aware of the heat in her cheeks right at that moment.

Clint took her arm gently and pushed her towards the taxi just as she turned to walk away. "No way." He shook his head. "This is my thanks for making me feel a little less tired." He said, gesturing to the taxi. He leaned into the open passenger side window and handed the driver the money in advance. "She'll tell you the address." He said.

When he was stood tall again, he noticed Hallie looking at him strangely. "What?" He questioned.

She shook her head with a smile. "Nothing. That was just really… gentlemanly." She nodded in approval at her choice of words. "Thanks. Get home safe." She told him, hesitating at the open door of the taxi. "Fare thee well, Clint of leather jackets and raspberry vanilla tea." She teased, giving him a last, almost reluctant, smile.

"Farewell, Hallie of books." He grinned.

She frowned and cocked her head with a smile. "It was a silly mistake. I told you that wasn't actually my name, though."

He shrugged with his usual eyebrow raise. "Is now."

The two shared a mutual smile before finally parting ways.

That night, Clint slept well for the first time in a while. He couldn't exactly remember how long it had been. He'd given up counting the restless nights a long time back.

And it wouldn't be until the morning when he'd finally realise that he'd let the one thing that could possibly have separated Clint Barton from Hawkeye slip right between his fingertips. And he had no idea how he would ever contact her again.

A final relevant note: I would really appreciate any reviews on this story, whether it's feedback or just encouraging words. This is sort of different to anything I've ever written. Feel free to ask questions, etc.

Ciao, friends.