Another drabble on tumblr.

Write one where Clint misses.

Ok. I interpreted that in my own way.

Have at it.

Current Song : No Children by the Mountain Goats

Current Thought: I wanna do more drabbles.

Title taken from a quote found on the internet that goes:

Be smart enough to hold on, be brave enough to let go. Sometimes, we need to hold onto faith while letting go of the outcome. Open your hand and hold your dreams gently, don't try to grab them.

Brave Enough To Let Go

Clint was on a special mission. He'd been away from home for far too long and after this, the Council promised to ship him back up to New York. He missed the Avengers, he missed Tasha, he missed having shawarma on the weekends and going out for drinks and karaoke on Friday nights.

He missed Phil.

Oh God he missed Phil with this burning ache in his chest. He needed the other man, straight away and as fast as he could get him. It wasn't fair that the council had just scooped him up and made him leave his partner behind like that for so long.

And sure, Phil was going on all these kinds of business trips to promote the Avengers. So he was at least busy and not stuck at home in their room in the Avengers Mansion missing Clint to pieces.

It went like this: the Council wanted more promotion for the Avengers. More PR, more stupid galas and parties and award ceremonies. They wanted more everything, they wanted to Avengers to be seen as the good guys and only that. They wanted them to be seen as the underdogs who stood up for whatever they believed in.

All Clint had to do was get this last shot in and he could go home and leave the Council to their plans. That's all he wanted to do.

"You're next target will be leaving the building in five minutes," the Council's handler told Clint through his earpiece. "Last target. Then you're scott-free."

Clint nodded. He had one arrow left after all the people on the Council's laundry list of the day. He just wanted to get rid of it. Clint started counting down, watching like the hawk he was named after. The first thing he was doing was kissing Phil senseless and then locking them in their room for the next three days and making hot, crazy, passionate love to him until neither of them could walk, never mind work.

He smirked to himself, the grin falling away fast as the door of the building started to open. Last shot, last target, last arrow, no missing. Then he could go home to-

Clint caught himself right before he released his arrow. His heart was in his throat because nothing was making sense. Nothing at all. He spoke into his head-set, hoping that his voice wasn't shaking.

"Sir? What the hell is this? Some kind of joke?"

"Agent Barton, you have a five minute window. Hit your target and you can go home," the man said.

Except Clint couldn't because his target was Phil.

Sweet, kind, patient, sarcastic Phil Coulson, the man he was in love with, the man trying to get their stupid superhero team loved by the world, the man who loved Clint for some crazy reason and the man Clint was supposed to be killing for the Council.

What the hell?"

"Sir," Clint tried again, "that's -"

"Agent Coulson, yes. But there's good grounds for it, that are high above your pay-grade."

"I'm not shooting him, an agent of SHIELD, sir," Clint spat out, his hands becoming sweaty. "Give me one good reason," Clint croaked.

The man sounded irritated and told Clint more than he should have. "The Council believes that the death of your handler will make the world look at the Avengers in sypathy and awe for moving on and making their deceased handler proud. He needs to go for the benefit of the team. You have three minutes Barton. That's an order."

So they were sending him to off Phil. They wanted to kill Phil to make the Avengers look good and give the world a soft-spot for them? No. No, no, no. Clint couldn't do this. He couldn't kill him.

Fuck it, but he loved the man.

"Sir-"

"Now Barton! Or you won't be coming home to anything!" was the answer.

Last shot, last target, last arrow, no missing or there wasn't going to be a home to go back to. Except Phil was his home. And if he did this, then he would have nothing.

Clint trained his sights on the man far below him, standing in front of the building, conversing with an ambassador. Unaware and ignorant that Clint had been sent here to end his life.

Clint "Hawkeye" Barton aimed. He lined up his arrow with the center of Phil Coulson's forehead. He pulled his arm back, getting ready to loose his arrow. He adjusted his stance and blinked. And then he closed his eyes, aimed high, and let her fly.

And he missed.

Ok. Hope you liked it. I enjoyed writing it.

I also made a little alternate title, but it was too long.

It goes:

"I'm the world's greatest marksman. I don't miss. But for you? For you I'd miss on purpose."

I likey. Anyway.

Peace out and review!