This is part 2 of the Devilhawk series. Read Target Practice first! This story is a fixit for the two part Matt Fraction Hawkeye story "The Tape" reimagining Clint Barton's relationship to Madripoor (aka Singapore) but without the racism and Orientalism.

Matt Murdock is working late at the office when he gets a text message from Clint Barton. Using a refreshable Braille display paired with his phone, he runs his finger over the message, then again two more times just to be sure he's really getting it.

Come with me to Madripoor, Clint writes.

What?

On vacation. To Madripoor. Come with me.

Why would I want to do that?

Because you haven't had a vacation in forever.

I mean why would I want to go on vacation in Madripoor of all places? Isn't it a third world hell hole?

What are you talking about? It's a modern city! I was stationed there for two years when I was with SHIELD a while back. It's really nice. I didn't realize you were so racist.

Sorry, I didn't mean that. But wait, isn't it one of those former British colonies that still have sodomy laws on the books?

... I don't know, maybe?

So why would we go where we can get arrested for having sex?

They won't arrest us, I promise. I told you, I used to live there. It's fine. Come on, don't you want to go on a tropical vacation with me?

Well, when you put it that way...

The truth is Matt can't say no to Clint, no matter how outrageous the request. They've been together now for almost a year, although they still haven't made any plans to move in together. Matt has been trying to gently encourage Clint to move out of that fifth storey walk-up in Bed-Stuy for months, but Clint is ridiculously sentimental about it. Matt has no intention of moving there himself, so for now they are just continuing along with their lives in parallel but not really together. Maybe taking a trip will shake things up.

And Matt has to admit the idea of a vacation does sound really good. The weather in New York is cold and rainy. It would be nice to go somewhere warm. Somewhere no one knows him. And he can't think of anyone he wants to be with more. The thought of having Clint all to himself in a wide, cool hotel bed...yes, he would definitely like that.

It takes a few weeks to sort out all the details. Getting the plane tickets is easy, and Clint takes care of the hotel. Convincing Foggy to take over his case load takes longer, but after some extravagant quid pro quo promises he works it out.

The evening before their flight, Clint shows up at Matt's apartment with all his luggage, so they can take a taxi to the airport together.

"What is this?" Matt asks, putting his hands on one of Clint's bags, a long resin hard-sided case. "Are you seriously bringing your bows and arrows? Are you even allowed to bring weapons on the plane?"

"I'm an Avenger," Clint replies, ducking his head with some embarrassment. "I just have to show my ID card and they'll let me check whatever, as long as it doesn't explode."

Clint drops his bags in a corner and stretches out on the couch while Matt, who has not even begun packing, hauls a suitcase out of the closet and starts throwing in some clothes. Then he stops suddenly as if something has just occurred to him.

"Hey," he calls from the bedroom door, making sure he's facing Clint. "I thought this was a vacation. Why do you need your weapons? This is a vacation, right?"

"Sure." Clint is good at controlling his heart rate and respiration when he wants to, and even better at lying without breaking a sweat. It's that whole sniper thing, and before that, the years he spent as a thief. Matt cocks his head to the side ever so slightly, just enough that Clint knows he's trying to read him. Clint lets himself go totally still. "Of course it's a vacation. I just like to have them with me."

"Oookaayyy," Matt says slowly. If he thinks Clint is lying, he gives no indication. He pauses for a second, seeming to decide to just go along with whatever Clint has in mind. "Ok," he says again, "Then if you're bringing your Hawkeye gear, I'm bringing my costume and billy clubs." He turns back into the bedroom and pulls a case out from under the bed.

Clint reluctantly drags himself off the couch and into the bedroom, clicking on the overhead light. "What are you, crazy? You can't wear your costume there."

Matt pulls out the red costume and tosses it onto the bed, where it lands heavily. "Why not?" He tips his chin up in that stubborn way he has.

"Hello! Do you have any idea where we're going? Madripoor is literally on the equator. It's like a million degrees every day of the year. You're going to get heat stroke in that thing."

That deflates some of Matt's righteous indignation. "Oh. Really?"

Clint gives a little sigh of exasperation. "Yes, really! I've never seen you wear anything but a suit and tie, but you really should pack shorts and t-shirts if you have any. Think of the hottest summer day you've ever felt here. And shoes you don't mind getting wet, because it rains like every day. Don't say I didn't warn you." He turns to go back to the couch, but pauses and adds, "If you want to bring your billy clubs you can put them in my case."

They have to take two flights on Madripoor Airlines, first a seven hour flight from JFK to London, then a fourteen hour flight from London to Madripoor. The transfer is a pain in the ass, with a mad dash through the airport trying to find their gate, then the ground crew hassling them about Clint's case full of bows and arrows. The Heathrow gate agents seem markedly unimpressed with Clint's Avengers card, but Matt lawyers their way through with some smooth talking and veiled threats about a diplomatic incident and bad PR for failing to accommodate disabled passengers, while Clint sits back silently and tries not to smirk too obviously. In the end they make it to their plane on time and with all their luggage.

The flight attendants make a fuss over them, which Matt milks shamelessly, giving them his most dazzling grin. They get to board early, and on the second flight somehow they get moved to the bulkhead so they can stretch out their legs. Clint is pretty sure some passengers got bumped to other seats somewhere else on the plane, but he doesn't question it.

Matt smiles some more and they get free drinks handed to them while the other passengers file in to their seats.

They both down their drinks, then Clint taps the back of Matt's hand to get his attention. I've never seen you work the disability thing so hard, Clint signs to him.

Never fail to take advantage of the ignorance of others, Matt replies.

O-k smartass. I'm taking these out now. He pulls out his hearing aids with a little twisting motion. The sound of the engines and the proximity of the headrest creates too much feedback, and anyway the white noise blots out most speech. Let me know if they say anything important.

No way, you're on your own. I'll be meditating, Matt replies.

What, the entire fourteen hours?

If I can.

Whatever. Knock yourself out. Just remember to get up and walk around every few hours.

Clint leans back and immediately falls into a dreamless sleep. When he wakes up, they're in the air, a flight attendant gently shaking his arm as she serves him a tray of food. Matt waves his away without turning his head or opening his eyes.

While he slowly chews the flavorless meal, Clint stares at Matt's profile. As always, he's amazed, overwhelmed that this gorgeous, perfect, confident person wants to spend time with him. That red hair, that pale skin, that square jaw. His broad shoulders overlap the edges of the uncomfortable seat, and his long legs reach all the way to the bulkhead. Clint is used to blending in, staying unnoticed, but wherever Matt goes, he stands out. People stare like he's a movie star. He complains about the attention but Clint can tell he is secretly loving it.

There's always that moment on these long flights where Clint feels like it's been forever already, but when he looks at the flight log on the video screen, it says ten more hours until they reach their destination. Ugh. He drifts in and out of sleep, but the flight attendants keep waking him up to offer food and drinks normally only given to the first class passengers. He watches some anime movies because they have subtitles so he doesn't have to try to use headphones.

Like clockwork, Matt gets up every hour and makes a circuit around the cabin, then sits back down, still as a statue, his breathing deep and regular. They don't sign to each other. Clint can only imagine what the noise and stale air are doing to his senses.

The plane icon on the flight log inches over the Indian Ocean and at last the map of Southeast Asia starts to come into view. Clint tries not to think about where they are going and why. He still can hardly believe that Matt agreed to come with him. Matt, who claims he always knows when someone is lying. It's crazy how far Matt is trusting him on this.

By the time the plane lands, Clint is nearly in a fugue state brought on by sleep deprivation, vague motion sickness and low oxygen. All the free alcohol the flight attendants gave them followed by watery coffee doesn't help either. Matt seems to be in even worse shape. He barely nods when Clint signs at him that it's time to go.

The moment he steps off the plane, Clint feels the warm, humid Madripoor air all around him, like the hot breath of an animal. That smell of the close, still air immediately takes him back ten years. What am I doing here? Come on Barton, keep it together, he tells himself.

As they stagger through the airport to immigration, Matt hangs on Clint's elbow in a way he has never done before, like he really needs to be guided. The immigration agent doesn't say anything when they both go up to the counter together. He just glances at their photos and stamps the pages. It isn't until he sees the agent say [Welcome to Madripoor] that Clint realizes he forgot to put his hearing aids back in.