Billy & Clint | Late Wednesday Morning (backdated)

[x-hawkeye.livejournal.com]

Clint's cleaning out his desk when he gets an unexpected phone call.


Clint rubbed his cheek, winced at the pressure he'd put on the bruise there, and tossed a couple thumb drives in his knapsack. He supposed he was just lucky he and Hendrickson hadn't both been fired outright. Still, getting relegated to Barrow, Alaska wasn't much better. At least he had a couple weeks to prep for the transfer - which meant cleaning out his desk.

His phone rang just as he reached for the handle on another drawer, so he paused long enough to answer the phone. "Barton," he said, going for the drawer again. He couldn't believe how much stuff he'd accumulated here.

"Clint Barton?" A voice on the other end queried. "This is B---uh, Az---uh, we met the other night. In the alley."

Clint paused. You had to be very dedicated to get through SWORD's automated, looping circuits to get to an agent - or you had to have the agent's name. "Which alley?" He asked, checking to see who might be close enough to overhear the conversation. "Like an alley-alley or the alley behind the club?"

"You meet many guys in darkened alleys?" The voice asked skeptically. "This one should be pretty memorable. There was a distinct lack of pants. By the way," he added after a moment of some undecipherable muttering. "If you're trying to record this, it's going to be garbled. Probably," echoed a moment later, much less audibly.

"Well, I mean," Clint said, confused by the muttering and the comment about recording. "SWORD records everything, it's not like I have a big red button labeled 'activate to record' or something. But to answer your question, I don't meet many guys in darkened alleys, but I tend to end up there with quite a few. And girls. Whichever. Were you lacking pants or were other people lacking pants?"

"Oh, I definitely had pants," the voice emphasized. "The other guys, not so much. And if it weren't for you...or maybe your partner, they'd have lost more than that. He's not listening, is he?" A bit of paranoia crept into the tone. "Never mind. That's not important. I...wanted to see if you were serious. About the better ways of helping people, I mean."

"Yes, absolutely," Clint said, confusion and teasing leaving his tone completely. He lowered his voice a little, though he sat back in his chair so he didn't look quite so furtive. "What you've been doing - it's drawing a lot of attention specifically to anti-mutant groups and the people who support them. The obvious conclusion is that the perpetrator is a mutant looking to get even. Whether or not that's the root of your motivation, it's having some really negative consequences for people in District-X. It could get worse, spread outside that community. After M-Day, everybody's twitchy." He paused briefly, then smiled. "Though the bacon thing - that was impressive."

The voice snickered. "I can't take full credit. I was inspired by my local diner." After a moment, he composed himself. "Why shouldn't we balance things out? They're gunning for us, why shouldn't we tip things a bit more even?"

"You can't go after them directly," Clint said. "It gives them the opportunity to play the victim, the martyr - they hold up whatever you've done as evidence that mutants are dangerous. It adds ammunition to everything they're already using to try to push Registration through. And in the end, it creates this loop of fear. M-Day happens, baseline humans hate and fear mutants more so they strike out. Mutants react by attacking back which just causes more fear and anger. Endless downward spiral into oblivion."

"So do you actually have a better suggestion, or is that the line they've told you to feed 'delusional psychopaths' while they trace the line? Which they can't, in case you're wondering," the voice added after a moment.

"No," Clint said, quirking another rueful smile. "That's not just the line they've told me to feed delusional psychopaths. But since you're not one of those, anyway, you shouldn't worry." He paused for a long moment, weighed his options, and then continued, "I think you've met my brother. Apparently you left his ears ringing."

"Your brother?" the voice sounded confused for a moment. "Ooooooh, the guy from the other night. He's your brother? Yeah, sorry about that. I was trying to help and...didn't realize it would do that to him. Is he ok?"

"He's fine. Took a couple days to make the ringing go away," Clint said, quirking a smile. "But what I'm trying to tell you is - we have a few things in common. I think it might be good if we meet up outside work. You pick the time and place." He surveyed the mess that was his half-packed desk before continuing, "I've got nothing but time for the next couple weeks before they ship me to Alaska."

"Alaska? New York's not cold enough for you?" The man turned silent as he pondered the meeting. "Okay, tomorrow. There's this bar down in Lower East Side. Hooligan's. Say... 8:30?"

"Sounds good," Clint agreed. "I'll meet you there - solo. You don't bring your friends, none of my coworkers will show up. It'll be good."

"It's a deal," Billy replied. "I'll be in the back--the one wearing pants."

Laughing a little despite himself, Clint shook his head. "I have a feeling that's not going to narrow things down for me, but you know what I look like, so just flag me down. I'll buy you a beer, we can have that talk."