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Clint was a professional. He had also been a SHIELD agent for long enough to know the myriad of ways that missions could go wrong, so the sight of a person boldly escaping the building that he had been staking out in itself wasn’t enough to make him startle.
It wasn't even the fact that this white-clad figure, or others like them, were on the SHIELD watchlist as a group of highly-skilled Assassins and that they were still unknown in their affiliations and considered dangerous to provoke.
No, the thing that made Clint curse out loud was the fact that his eyes had spotted the person tucking that damned artefact into a pouch at their belt.
Because of course someone would steal the one damn thing they needed to stop a carnivorous alien race from reopening an ancient portal to Earth's all you can eat buffet of humans.
Great.
With a mental 'fuck you' to the do-not-engage orders currently on order for this group of Assassins, he adjusted his position, took out a tranquiliser dart and aimed at the white-clad person. His aim was true. Hawkeye didn't miss - not exactly. Somehow, the Assassin knew it was coming and dodged it, as gracefully as a cat.
On a positive note, the Assassin changed his heading towards Clint, so he didn't have to hunt the person down.
On a negative note... Yeah. That.
Up close, he could tell that this was definitely a man - one who clearly preferred to fight up close and personal, as evidenced by how the man was immediately in his space during the fight that inevitably followed. Sure, Clint was no wimp at knife-fights or hand-to-hand but this guy was clearly an expert.
He might be a little bit in trouble.
His earpiece crackled to life, "Having trouble?" Rebecca's voice came through. Because he hadn't needed to leave his rooftop perch, she still had eyes on him. Which would be a lot more helpful if there was any backup available within a three mile radius.
Rebecca didn't sound worried, but she was surprisingly serious when she told him; “Agent Barton, repeat after me: Nothing is true.”
That, what? The agent dodged another hit. The other guy was fast. It was like fighting a bulky Natasha. Just as quick and nearly as flexible, but damn if he didn’t have power behind his punches.
Not seeing the harm in it, Clint repeated Rebecca's line, though the words came out stilted and laboured due to the physical exertion.
Thankfully, they had an immediate effect.
Instantly, the Assassin jumped back and then stood still. His head was tilted so that Clint could just see his eyes as the other man examined him for a long moment.
The SHIELD agent stayed where he was, keeping a wary eye on the man while trying to catch his breath.
“And everything is permitted,” his opponent finally answered, the words oddly weighty. It was clearly a code phrase of some sort.
How did Rebecca of all people know it?
Still - good. That was good. Clint wasn’t counting on a code phrase getting him out of this because there were plenty of ways for something like that to fall through. But even a breather was appreciated at this point.
“Ok, now ask him to give you the artefact,” he was advised over the earpiece, “Say that it’s important. That there are innocent lives at stake and shit.”
And yeah, Clint was entirely doubtful of that working, but what the hell, why not? “Um. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to part with that artefact?” he ventured, “I know you stole it fair and square, but it’s kind of important. There are innocent lives at stake.”
He felt foolish even asking. As if an Assassin was going to care about shit like that. Then again, Clint cared – he had cared even during his mercenary days.
He wouldn’t have taken a stranger’s word for it, though, so there was that.
“Oh? Is that so?” the white-clad man asked, stepping closer. With his head tilted towards him, Clint could now finally see the Assassin’s face clearly beneath the hood. The man was roughly around his own age, handsome despite the scar that marred his lower lip.
Clint looked at him warily. “Yes,” he affirmed.
“In that case it would be my honor and duty to assist you, mio frattello.” While the words and the small dipped bow that accompanied them were dramatic, there was not a hint of mockery in the man’s tone or face. To Clint he actually read as genuine.
Huh.
The agent stayed tense as his previous opponent held out the contested item and was surprised when nothing happened other than the Assassin obligingly dropping it into Clint’s hesitantly outstretched hand. No trap. No sudden moves.
Guess Rebecca was really onto something here.
“Good, now say thank you and kiss him on the mouth,” she told him.
Clint blinked, his brain stalling for a moment. Because. What?
“Don’t just stand there, he’s going to think something is up,” the female voice in his ear insisted.
Seriously what? Was this a thing? Like the code phrase? Was this a thing that a group of trained killers just randomly did with each other?
The Assassin tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing him. Shit. Well, Clint Barton was nothing if not a professional. Mostly.
“Thank you,” he said numbly to the man. Then he leaned in and kissed the guy straight on the mouth. The Assassin seemed to freeze for just a moment but then a hand came up to cradle the side of Clint’s head and he was met in full. Enthusiastically.
It was a pretty decent kiss, actually. No plays for dominance, no aim of seduction, just a heady, confident meeting of mouths, melding into pure enjoyment.
When he leaned back, the Assassin was smiling at him.
“Uuh… Thanks,” Clint said again, for lack of anything else to say.
The charming smile turned up a notch. “Oh, you are most welcome, tesoro.” Then the man shook his head and stepped back. “I’m afraid I cannot linger, but I truly wish you the best of luck with your endeavours. And may we meet again, mio amico.”
With one last dip of his head, the man turned and gracefully ran across the rooftop. Then he leapt down, his white robes billowing behind him like wings.
He stared after the guy for a moment, then looked down at the artefact in his hand. Well, that worked. Surprisingly.
Secret Assassin cults were so weird.
“Seriously, what just happened?” Clint asked, “Does this group of assassins kiss each other whenever they decide they are on the same side?”
“Yes!” a breathless voice answered him, “So you definitely need to kiss every Assassin you meet.” There was the sound of a half-choked laugh and several deep breaths before that statement was followed up by a somewhat more serious sounding: “Except don’t, because they will probably stab you.”
Shit. It wasn’t a thing.
Clint knew he shouldn’t have messed with Rebecca’s work area.
“Really? That’s how you have your revenge?” he asked, because what the hell was wrong with her? “You get me to make the moves on a dangerous killer?”
“Oh, relax. Ezio’s both easy-going and simply easy. He’s kind of legendary for being a complete and utter man slut. On a side note, if you’re considering having sex with him, I highly recommend it. As long as you’re just in it for a night of pleasure, that is.”
“You’ve had sex with him?” he asked, not sure why he was even bothering to be surprised by that.
“Of course I did. I mean, it’s Ezio Auditore Da Firenze. It’s one of those things that if you find yourself in a position where you can, you can’t not do it. Like sitting on an actual throne. Or trying to lift Mjolnir."
“Have you done either of those things?”
“No. But I totally would if I got the chance," she answered factually, "I mean, who wouldn’t?”
Well, that was fair. The agent considered the artefact in his hand for a moment. Clint was alive, he got the artefact and that kiss wasn’t bad either. All in all, it was a win.
“That could have gone worse,” he mused. “So, hey, do you know any other handy code phrases? Because that was actually useful.”