This is a fic I've been aching to write since I got home from Uni', so while my Cabinbondlock is on hold, here, have a little Deaf!Clint ficlet :)

You have to listen to this:

watch?v=4sZK4Hd28VA

when you're reading, it's the whole point of the fic.

He was the best marksman in the world. Everybody at S.H.I.E.L.D. knew that. They often said, among themselves, that he could turn anything into a lethal weapon. Sometimes, they even took bets to know if he'd used this or that thing to kill someone in the past. But there was one thing that they didn't know.

No. Scratch that.

Two things that they didn't know of.

First, Clint was 80% deaf. Only Stark, Director Fury, Coulson and Natasha Romanoff knew about his condition. Coulson, because he'd been the one to call Clint in when the injury had happened. Fury, because Coulson had to report such a consequent injury. Romanoff, because she'd figured it out on her own, Clint not having had the courage to tell her. Stark, because he'd been the one who designed the little earbugs Clint now wore day in, day out, to heighten his hearing sense.

Second, that Clint played an instrument. It only seemed logical, with his well trained fingers and his synchronisation, him playing an instrument seemed only logical. But that was a secret he kept to himself. And nobody would be able to tell that, in the night, when everybody was asleep in Stark tower, Clint sneaked out of his room, into the rebuilt lounge, where a grand piano stood, almost daring him to play it. Obadiah had played on it, when he was still alive.

He'd been a pretentious douchebag. Clint had never liked the man. But, he understood the urge that magnificent piano gave him. He needed to feel his fingers caress the ivory, he needed to hear the clear sound coming from the insides of the wooden châssis. Like the body of a woman, this piano needed to be touched, to be felt.

He would sneak down, JARVIS letting him do it, promising not to tell Stark about it. He'd been doing it since before his hearing loss. And he was going to keep doing it. However, the music made him open up in a way not even Natasha could hope see him. The music flowed inside of him, the sound of the keys hitting string reminding him of the string of his bow. He knew his passion for the piano came from the bow. There was no other way of finding a link between the two instruments.

Everybody at S.H.I.E.L.D. knew that Clint liked Metallica. And Megadeth. And Iron Maiden. And Bruce Springsteen. He'd often argue with Stark, on which bands were better and why. Most often, they'd end up a tie and play a song each, to most of the Avengers' despair – having a Black Sabbath song blasted in your bedroom on a Sunday morning, followed by Master of Puppets' drumming rhythm, was really not everybody's cup of tea.

However, one night, when Steve wondered out of bed, woken by a crippling sense that something was wrong, he heard someone play a song he knew. He couldn't remember the title, but he was sure he'd heard it somewhere. Was it some Chopin ? No, that wasn't possible. Chopin didn't sound like that. It sounded too familiar, and at the same time, strangely eerie. He'd have said the beginning sounded a little bit like Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, but that wasn't it.

As he walked down the corridor, the sound grew louder and louder, and he finally clicked. It was one of those songs Stark or Barton liked to play, when they reached a compromise with their music tastes. But it usually didn't sound like this. This was... like the sound of a heartbreak. There was truly no other word for it : it was heartbreaking to listen to it. He would've teared up if he hadn't reached the lounge, and saw Barton's back, arched onto the grand piano Stark had insisted on keeping – even though nobody played the piano. He'd been wrong.

Rogers moved closer, tip-toeing so as to not disturb the archer, who seemed deeply touched by what he was playing. A hand grabbed his wrist, and he immediatly went to strike the foe down, but when he faced Stark, looking at him with a tired expression, he understood. Do not disturb Clint.

« Let him play, » Stark said out loud. Loud enough so that Clint would hear, Steve thought, but the archer didn't stop playing, the music entering a bridge in the song, where he knew the guitar solo would've been. He could hear all of the despair and all of the hurt he ever felt when he'd woken up from the ice in that music, and it made his heart clench together.

When Clint didn't react to Stark's voice, he furrowed his brows, questionning – not wanting to open his mouth to break the magic the music brought to his heart. Stark shook his head, and pulled Steve over to the bar, behind Clint, making sure he didn't make any noise. But Clint kept on playing. Steve figured he was just ignoring them, but Clint was such a loud-mouth it surprised him that he hadn't stopped and tried to justify himself.

« He plays like this, » Stark started, gesturing to the piano and the player, followed by his pointing at his heart, « because he can't hear what he's playing. »

Steve shook his head. « I'm sorry ? »

Stark smiled, as he poured some Jack Daniels into a glass and handed it to Steve. « He's 80% deaf, which means he can't hear us if he doesn't have his hearing aids in. Which he doesn't, see ? »

The billionaire pointed to the side table, next to the piano, where the two hearing aids, lay, resting, leaving Clint vulnerable to everything he wouldn't be able to hear coming.

« I usually come down here, at 3 am, and almost every night, he's sitting there, playing that piano, probably thinking nobody knows, » Stark went on, sipping on his own alcohol, a deep sadness resting in his eyes, as Clint gently stroked the ivory keys, finishing up, rubbing his eyes, before he put his hands back to work, playing the same song again.

« We all know, well, except you, Cap'. » Stark then said, as he looked at Clint's back, wanting to comfort him. « But nobody tells him. It's his little secret. You should leave it be, tomorrow, when he'll pretend that this never happened. »

Steve nodded, putting back the glass on the counter, not wanting the alcohol Stark had offered. He remembered all the hurt he'd felt in his chest at the sound of the music, and now he understood why. You don't know what you have until you've lost it. That's exactly what he was hearing. Through the notes, through the sounds of the piano.

« Don't talk to him about his hearing problems either. He'll probably kill you if you do, » Stark stated, melancholically, as he finished his glass and smiled at the Captain. « I'm going back upstairs. Just, be gone before it's 4:30, alright ? He usually plays an hour and a half, sometimes more, but you don't want to be here when he stops and turns around, you really don't. »

With a smile, the billionaire left the lounge, leaving the Captain on his own, still staring at Clint's back. His heart felt heavy. Not only was Clint a deeper individual who had demons, but he managed to play them out the best he could. Playing the piano without hearing. Steve smiled when he remembered thinking it was Beethoven. He'd been deaf too, hadn't he ?

But no. He knew this song.

And, as he walked back up the corridor to his room, he knew what it meant to Clint. As long as there is music, even if he can't hear it.

Nothing else matters.