I fell down a Pinterest rabbit hole and came across a tumbler post about how the different Avengers deal with a girl being hit on at a bar. Had to write out Clint's. This may become a series of one-shot's about Clint and his unique ways of dealing with the dicks of the world. Let me know if you have ideas! :)

I promise I'm still working on Our Own Hands Against Our Hearts! Christmas took a lot out of me, plus I discovered I'm super bad at writing arguments between characters. I just want them to all get along! I'll get it up this week (I hope!).

O'Shaughnessy's was Clint's favorite bar in New York. At least for the moment. It wasn't a dive bar, but it wasn't fancy either. The tables were always slightly tacky from too much spilled beer, but it wasn't so dirty that you were afraid you would catch something nasty just by being inside. There were three exits, the front door, the back door by the bathrooms, and one out of the kitchen. The kitchen (which Clint had investigated his first time in), was so tiny you couldn't fit more than two people inside without someone ending up with their hand in the fryer, so he wasn't worried about an entire gang of thugs hiding out in there. And, the best part of the whole bar was that the entire back wall was a gigantic mirror. Clint could sit anywhere in the bar and see two exits, the kitchen door, the bar and all the patrons. It was an assassin's worst nightmare for an op, but a dream for a night-off watering hole. Plus it was within walking distance of the Tower.

Which is why he was currently sitting in one of the low-backed booths with Natasha beside him, backs to the door, with Steve sitting across from them, enjoying a beer. It was a rare evening off for them, just a couple of ex-military friends, hanging out, swapping war stories. Or at least it was... Until Steve got that 'Wrongs Needing To Be Righted' look in his eye. Clint tracked his eye-line in the mirror and saw what had Cap's hackles up. A pretty brunette at the bar was being accosted by Slick-and-Sleazy. Clint had clocked her coming in, but since he was out with friends and not looking for a hook-up, he had dismissed her. Clint saw the slight muscle shift that signaled Steve was about to get up and he held out his hand to stop his friend.

"Stay right there, Captain Impulsive. I'll handle this one."

Steve gave him a disgruntled look. "Impulsive? Really?"

"Look, you head over there, here's what's gonna happen: You tell Mr. Wall Street to leave the lady alone, he says something smart-ass, you tell him he's had too much to drink, he throws a punch, you punch back and suddenly you've broken a couple tables and we get thrown out of the bar. I like this bar Steve. Don't get us thrown out."

"And you won't get us thrown out?" Steve's voice dripped with doubt.

"Trust me. I've got this."

Steve glanced over at Natasha, who simply shrugged a shoulder. "He's got this."

Clint fixed his hair in the mirror and turned to Nat, baring his teeth. "Do I have anything in my teeth?"

"You're clear," she replied with a smile. "Go get 'em tiger."

Clint slipped out of the booth and sauntered over towards the bar. Well, he may have sashayed a bit in the middle there. Just trying to get into character. He came up to the bar, standing right next to the offending party, his bare elbow bumping into the suit jacket of the man who was still intent on the brunette.

Clint bumped the elbow again, harder. When Wall Street turned to look, Clint gave him a winning smile and a lifted eyebrow. "Hey there handsome, haven't seen you here before!"

The confused look on the man's face almost undid Clint. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Wall Street pulled back a bit, glancing around to make sure that Clint was actually talking to him. "What?" Eloquent this guy was not.

"I just haven't seen you before. Trust me, I'd remember an ass like that. Let me buy you a drink." Clint laid a hand on the man's forearm that rested on the bar counter. The guy pulled back like he had been burned, turning fully to face Clint in the process.

"Back off, dude!" Oh, God. He was a 'dude'-guy. Probably a frat-boy in college and yelled at his secretary at work.

"Oh, come on. You don't come out to a bar dressed like that and not want to get hit on." Clint raked his eyes up and down the expensive suit the sleaze-ball was wearing.

"I'm not gay!" Wall Street almost spluttered.

"You just haven't been with the right guy, handsome. Trust me." Clint tilted his head back and slightly to the side, looking down his nose at Wall Street. They were about the same height, but Clint knew how to look predatory to almost anyone. Clint pressed his advantage, taking one step closer, invading Wall Street's personal space.

Wall Street's eyes widened slightly. This was it. Fight or flight. Clint braced for either one. Wall Street took a step back, his eyes on Clint, almost as if he were waiting for Clint to close the distance. Then he turned and fled, not even glancing back at Clint or the brunette at the bar.

"THAT'S WHAT AN UNWANTED ADVANCE FEELS LIKE, ASSHOLE!" Clint yelled after the retreating form.

Clint winked at the gaping brunette and ambled back to the booth and his grinning friends. "Told you I've got this, Cap."

The round of beers from the grateful brunette a few minutes later were icing on the cake. Definitely his favorite bar in New York.