A/N: It's been a while for me, so I hope every one enjoys!

A drabble series that completely disregards Hawkeye's origin story, just so you're forewarned.

Takes place very shortly after the events of the Avengers movie.

I don't own Inuyasha or the Avengers.

0-0-0

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Natasha asked as she stepped into director Fury's presence.

"Agent Romanov," Fury greeted, staring out at the room full of his subordinates, dutifully working away. "Do you have any idea where, exactly, Agent Barton is right now?"

"On leave, sir?" Natasha answered faux-solemnly.

Fury arched one eyebrow imperiously. "Where. Exactly."

Natasha shrugged one shoulder carelessly. "With his family?"

Fury sighed and turned to look out at the panoramic view. "That's what I was afraid of."

0-0-0

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Hawkeye appraised his targets, noticing the slight deviation from the arrow in the furthest left target with a connoisseur's eye.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Clint sighed dramatically as the volley of arrows embedded themselves dead centre in the targets, putting his shots to slight shame. He glanced over his shoulder at the smirking woman standing twenty feet behind him.

"That fancy job is weakening your skills!" Kagome accused.

"Fancy job?" he repeated incredulously.

"Fancy!" she accused, "Pencil pusher! I bet you have a cubicle."

"I hardly think being an assassin is fancy," he retorted, more than used to her absurdness.

"Government paid jobs are fancy," she said, "and I've seen your pay cheque... there were a lot of zeroes."

Risking his life and never taking any credit for it brought in the big bucks, not that Clint particularly cared about the money. He lived in a studio apartment that could more accurately be called a nest and spent most of his spare time practising with his bow... the money just sort of collected dust in the bank. Unlike Kagome, who lived in a ridiculously opulent mansion. "And your job isn't?" he asked.

"Onii-san doesn't pay me," she shrugged carelessly. "S'not fancy."

Clint turned his gaze to take in the luxurious grounds, complete with archery range, Olympic swimming pool and helipad. "Really?"

"You live here too!" she reminded him, folding her arms and apparently taking umbrage at his tone.

"I drop by sometimes," he corrected, putting his bow over his shoulder and wandering out of the archery range.

Kagome's bare feet tapped frantically against the wooden floorboards as she followed after him. "So you drop by to use my archery range and then you just leave? You have no respect for your sensei."

"Maybe if you weren't three feet tall," he muttered, grinning secretly at the little growl of outrage at his jibe towards her height.

"I'm five foot four!" she retorted and then her voice became melancholy, "you'd probably remember that, if you were ever around."

Refusing to rise to the bait, Clint entered the changing rooms and put his compound bow away. He was used to the abrupt change in tone, just like he was used to the emotional blackmail; Kagome had always been a master at guilt trips.

"I'm going in the shower now," he told her, turning his head slightly to gage her emotions. She stood in the doorway of the changing room, arms folded beneath her breasts, one tiny foot tapping the ground irately. There was a pout on her face that screamed trouble.

"You'll stay for dinner, right?" she asked, her voice trembling just a little.

Clint sighed as he pulled his shirt over his head. Regardless of his intentions, that tone had his will crumbling like Papier Mache. "Fine," he conceded.

"Yes!" she fist pumped the air, all signs of her former melancholy chased away.

"I'm getting naked now!" he reminded her as he unbuckled his belt.

"I'm going! I'm going!" she cheered, "but I still won!"

She squealed and ducked out of the door when his trousers came sailing at her head.