Six Years Earlier - Maximum Security Prison

Clint Francis Barton sat in a cube with his hands cuffed at the wrist, resting on the table. A doctor entered the room behind him and had been jabbering about his case and this and that for so long that Clint eventually began drowning out his words and instead, mentally singing the lyrics to classic 80's hits in his head.

That was, until the Doctor spoke a few words about him that caught his attention.

"Say again?" Clint spoke for the first time during the evaluation.

"I said, something isn't right here. It doesn't add up... " The Doctor took a seat in across the table. Behind him, an obvious two-way mirror stood. Clint could see the silhouette of two men standing in the room behind him, observing him, no doubt. He hated feeling like some kind of science project to be studied.

"How does a celebrated Olympic gold medalist go from that, to having all this? You're really moving on up. This, I must say, is an exceptionally clean prison." The Doctor pointed out. Apparently, he'd gone over Clint's file, indeed. The last couple prisons Clint had been incarcerate in and been quite ... in poor taste, one might say. He'd fought with prisoners and became such a threat that this was the current and acclaimed most strong prison he could be shipped off to. For this weekend, anyway.

"Here's the thing: I understand some Olympians train for years. They spend, literally, thousands of hours perfecting their craft. I heard you just showed up at a qualifying event and borrowed some guys bow-took one shot- and hit a bulls-eye from over one hundred yards. That can't be a true story, can it? How does something like that just happen?"

".. I had an unfair advantage, Doctor." Clint shot back, sharply. He hated when people spoke of his past. It was just that. The past. It happened. And due to all of it, however it had unfolded, now he was here. This was his life now. One bad choice led to a lifetime of hell. It only took one second.

"Yeah. I'll say. The normal person has around a hundred an fifty million rod cells in their eyes, you have closer to four hundred million. And on top of that the enhanced muscles around your eye allow for orb distortion, giving you the ability to change focal length... We know all about this. We know about the Program."

Again, talking about him and his past. It was territory he didn't wish to dive into. Not now. Not again. Not ever. Be that as it may, he grumbled with his next response.

"Then it should say in there, in your file," Clint pointed to it. "That I also have fewer crones in my eyes than most people. As a result, I view things differently than you do."

"And that means?" The Doc asked, quickly examining his notes for such additional facts.

"I see mostly in black and white, high contrast, what's real an what's not."

"... I'm not sure what- " The Doctor was half way through his papers, none of this was obviously in there. Clint figured a little demonstration was perhaps in order.

"Can I borrow your pen?" It was rhetorical, Clint was already reaching for it.

"My pen?" The Doctor held up his pen, the letters Hi-Tec engraved on the side.

"Uh huh-" Clint plucked it from the Doctor's fingers, his grip was very loose.

And in that instant, the Hi-Tec pen shot across the room and stuck into the glass window behind him with a TINK!

"Okay... Impressive, but not why-"

"Wait."

Within a moment, the glass began to spider-web into a million little pieces. CR-CR-CRACK! It shattered in the next blink. And who was standing behind that two-way mirror? None other than Nick Fury, a big guy with an eye-patch covering his left eye, and one of his agents. Shocked isn't quite the word used to described the looks on their faces. Not the word that would do justice to their expressions, anyway.

"Why don't we quit screwing around and you tell me what it is you want?"

Fury smirked. "Uh-huh, that'll do." He turned to leave the room, his agent following closely behind.

"Your orders, General Fury?"

"Oh, I like him. Sign the boy up. He's gonna work out just fine."

"Sir, he is in prison for murder..."

Fury stopped in his trail, and slightly quirked his head. "And who here isn't guilty of that?"

Clint F. Barton became Agent Hawkeye, and spent the next twelve months of his life training to be a top ranked agent in the field.

One Year Later - Avengers Initiative Complex

In truth, Clint's first couple of missions were boring. It beat life in prison, staring at the damn ceiling day and night, but not by much. This was it, he thought? This was what he had to be trained for, what he had to be made sure beyond any doubt that each and every mission could very well be the last thing he ever did in life? Just bringing in random people, or preventing thugs from doing what they were inclined to do? For the most part, he wasn't even hired for his skills. Somewhere in that first year he had to ask what the point was?

Then it came to him, slammed down by Nick on the table before him.

"You wanted a dangerous mission, Barton." Fury said seriously, but with the slightest hint of a smile. "You got it."

The folder had "AVENGERS INITIATIVE" printed in bold but small letters across it. When he opened the file up, all he saw was a petite red head with a wicked glare.

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"Cute," Clint remarked.

"But deadly," Fury corrected. "Natasha Romanoff. AKA, Natalia Romanova. AKA, Black Widow."

"'Black Widow', huh?" Clint smirked playfully. "Does she bite?"

"A little bit."

"I thought you said this was a dangerous mission, sir?" His tone was dry.

"I did. And it is. Don't let her looks fool you, she'll kick your ass three ways from Sunday if you give her the chance to."

Clint let this sink in for a moment. "Huh."

"She's of Russian origin. A spy for the Soviet. Best of all, a master assassin."

"Ooh, I like her already." Clint Considered. "So, what do you want me to do, eliminate her?"

"We want to recruit her."

"... You're shitting me."

Fury chuckled. "She would make an excellent addition to our team, don't you think?"

"Yeah, except for the fact that she's a killer."

"And you're not?"

This left him dumbfounded. Fury had a point. A couple of points, even. For all SHIELD could care, Clint could have been left to rot away in prison for his crimes. He was brought into the Initiative for a reason. And it was for this very reason that they now sought out this girl, this Black Widow.

"So when do I leave?"

"You already have."

"Huh?"

Nick Fury began to blink, literally. His body shifted in and out of frame, until he was gone completely. It had just been a hologram. The window to Clint's right did the same. What had once been the compound location was now replaced by light blue sky and clouds. He'd been flying to the location of his mission the entire time.

" ... Man, what if I'd said no!" Clint called out, but got no answer. "These people are tricky... I don't even know where the hell I'm going!"

One Hour Later - NYC - Near Stark Industries

"Barton, you read me?" Fury roared through his ear-piece, causing Clint to wince.

"A little bit more loudly and clearer than I need to, sir." He pulled up his choice of weapon, the customized recurve bow. "So, what's this chick doing here, anyway?"

"We have it on good authority to believe she is attempting to assassinate Tony Stark."

"That rich douche? And I'm trying to stop her... Why?"

"Don't get smart, Barton."

"Roger, General, I'll stay dumb." Clint heard Fury swear through static, and this made him smirk. "So what's she want him dead as a doornail for, Nick?"

"We don't know yet, just that someone has put up a hitman for hire, and we've tracked her here in the last two days. Now, Barton, it is very important that Stark does not come into contact with her."

"He afraid of girls named after spiders or something?"

"Just keep her out of sight, will you? We'll keep Stark occupied elsewhere in an undisclosed location, for your own protection, it's better you don't know."

"Lucky for me... Alright, I'm headed in."

Clenching his bow with an arrow in hand, Clint entered the Industries which was mostly abandoned. The other agents of SHIELD surrounded the base so that no one could make any quick exits.

While he didn't exactly consider this girl a major threat, he kept Fury's words in mind. He wasn't looking to have his ass kicked, especially by a little girl. He approached with caution, keeping his eyes peeled, looking every which way possible.

"Fury," Clint called out. "You sure she's in here?"

"Positive, the scan reads two life forms inside the building."

"Well, I'm not seeing anything..." Clint continued stepping cautiously, ready for any hint of an attack, any sign of life. He got well into the building, only to find nothing. "Nick, man, I'm telling you. There is no one here but me. She's not in here." Having that said, he lowered his bow. This would later be considered a mistake on his part.

Ever get that feeling you're being watched?