AN: I own nothing. (Not even the PC this has been typed on!)

I wanted to try my hand at a Hawkeye recruitment fic, I admit it takes a while before we see anybody from SHIELD but hopefully that will add more to the excitment (?) Thoughts and opinions appreciated. Enjoy!

-A-

Clint sat on the corner of the high-rise looking out over the city. Tokyo wasn't so bad and after three months he was even starting to learn a bit of the language. But he wanted to go back to the US. Unfortunately he had another three months left on his contract here, and even when this contract was finished there was no guarantee that he'd get to go home. His boss could send him anywhere.

Clint was owned by one Antonio Moretti, head of the Italian Mafia Family that was based in Baltimore. Moretti would loan him out to other business men for a very large price, contracts were drawn up, terms and conditions applied. Clint Barton was a weapon, nothing more. He had no say in where he went or when. If you had the money you could purchase Clint for a set period of time to complete one or many jobs of your choosing. Not the life Clint had envisioned for himself but it was better than nothing, better than what he had come from.

"Ah man, what is it with you and rooftops?" asked Daiki coming up behind him. Clint had heard the roof access door open, so he didn't startle when the nephew of his current owner spoke. He didn't even bother to turn around, let alone answer. He knew Daiki wasn't finished. The man spoke way too much for his liking. "And do you have to sit on the ledge? Kimura will be pissed if you fall. He paid a shit load for you."

"I don't fall," muttered Clint, scowling that Daiki would bring up his ownership.

"Uh-huh, I won't remind you of the job you pulled three weeks ago then," laughed Daiki still standing three feet away from the edge.

"I was pushed," growled Clint. He still had some of the bruises from that incident, not to mention his fractured ribs were still healing. But considering the man who had pushed him was dead, by Clint's hand. Clint still considered himself the winner.

"Right, whatever. Boss wants you," said Daiki walking back towards the roof door. "Like stat."

Clint rolled his eyes, if he ever found out who gave Daiki the complete boxset of ER to watch he would kill them very very slowly. Climbing down from the ledge he followed Daiki inside. He'd learnt a long time ago that when it came to taking orders from the men who owned him, you didn't make them wait. No matter who they were.

-A-

Daiki led Clint down the stairs and surprisingly into the main bar and not Kimura's office.

Kimura was sitting in the corner with his right hand man, Haru discussing something that looked important. Both of them were frowning.

Clint took his cue from Daiki on when he should bow his head in respect. That was still something he was getting the hang of. The customs in Japan were very different from anything he'd come into contact with before, even the Russians weren't as complicated as these guys.

"I have another job for you," said Kimura raising his head to look at Clint.

Clint stayed silent. He found that was always the best policy with these guys. Forget customs, you couldn't fuck much up if you didn't talk.

Kimura slid a photograph across the table towards Clint. Picking it up Clint saw it was grainy image, obviously taken from a distance with a lens that had an inadequate zoom to it. Not the best thing to work with when carrying out a hit.

"These Bōsōzoku have become too much of a nuisance. Take them out. Take them all out," ordered Kimura.

A small hitch in Daiki's breath was the only clue that this job was not going to be straight forward. He didn't even know what a Bōsōzoku was. So he asked the only acceptable question he could at this point. He'd get more information from Daiki later. "Where do I find them?"

"They own a warehouse on the waterfront," informed Kimura before striking up conversation with Haru again. That was his cue to leave, he'd been dismissed.

"What's the deal?" asked Clint as he followed Daiki out of the building and into the street.

"Deal?" asked Daiki in confusion.

"Yeah, why is this job worse than any other? And what's a Bōsō...?" Clint waved his hands around indicating that he couldn't remember the rest of the pronunciation.

"Bōsōzoku," laughed Daiki. "They're low life street thugs who really like their bikes. But they're dangerous, love their weapons and are always in large numbers." Daiki stopped laughing and turned to face Clint. "This group in particular are bad news. There's no way you'll be able to take them all out."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," huffed Clint as he pocketed the photo and started walking down the crowded street.

"You don't get it Barton," yelled Daiki stepping into Clint's path. "These guys are killers."

"News flash, so am I," growled Clint.

"Not like this you're not, not like them."

"Daiki, Kimura wouldn't send me to do a job that I have a likely hood of dying on. It's a breach of contract."

"You think my uncle cares about a contract? If it suits his needs he'd send his own family to their deaths. It's just business."

Clint looked at Daiki in surprise, "You're serious?" Clint didn't have much knowledge on how families should behave, let alone have any experiance on the matter. But from what he had observed from Moretti, family was important. Hearing this from Daiki didn't sit well with him. If this truely was going to be some kind of suicide mission it might be enough to void his contract.

"Hell, yeah," shouted Daiki. "Look, I like you man. You're a good guy, but there's no way you can win this one."

"I'm not a good guy, Daiki," sighed Clint as he started walking again.

"Where are you going?" asked Daiki to Clint's retreating back.

"To see a friend."

"You don't have friends," called Daiki as he watched Clint turn the corner and out of view.

-A-