Work Text:
June, 2020
As Clint Barton meandered through Central Park, he gave a quick flick of his wrist to check that time. 3:07 - close enough. He’d had to skirt around a protest march which he agreed with completely but, as an Avenger, couldn’t afford to get involved with. Fury had laid down the law - they couldn’t take sides or, more importantly, be seen as resisting Legitimate Authority. (No matter how morally corrupt or how racist said “Legitimate Authority” was, or how unjust and illegally its minions acted). They all thought that that was a crock of shit, but had, reluctantly, agreed. For now. (Clint suspected that Steve would break and show up carrying a protest sign any day. And the rest of them wouldn’t be too far behind. Still, for now they were staying out of it, as Tony and JARVIS worked tirelessly to ruin people’s credit ratings.)
About 100 yards ahead of him and a little to the right, a man was sitting on a low stone wall, ostensibly reading a book. There were other people around, but no one too close. The man looked to be in his 40s, maybe 50s, Caucasian, ginger hair running to gray. He wore a black T-shirt, indigo jeans, and black running shoes, topped with the ubiquitous light blue face mask. Check, check, check and to be expected. Considering the, er, surreptitious nature of today's meeting, Clint had left his usual customized face mask (purple with yellow arrows) at home, and was wearing a more generic mask featuring Captain America's shield. (It amused him, so sue him.)
Clint gave a little wave and sat down on the wall, about 4 feet away. Because you could not have a private, possibly illicit, conversation AND be properly Socially Distant, damnit!
"What're you reading?", he asked, all friendly-like.
"'Becoming' - Michelle Obama's book. She's a good writer." The man held it up to show the photo of the former First Lady on the cover.
"Yeah?" Clint scratched his neck. "My girlfriend said she'd let me read her copy, but she keeps lending it to all her friends."
Pleasantries over, and identities established, they got down to business. The man put the book down without bothering to mark his place and sidled closer to Clint. Clint sighed inwardly, but just held up a hand as he pulled out his phone.
"Just a sec, OK? I gotta check something."
This man, or whoever he represented, had contacted Clint - contacted Hawkeye, specifically - through his old channels, the ones he'd used way before he signed his contract with SHIELD, back when he'd been an Independent Contractor, AKA Assassin for Hire. He didn’t work independently anymore - he only killed for the government (well, SHIELD), and of course as an Avenger. But he kept some of those old channels open, because if Aggrieved Party A put out a contract on Death-Deserving Party B, better Clint should hear about it (and, hopefully, stop it in its tracks) before someone else took the job.
So. And here they were. Clint was very curious as to whether this guy was an anonymous flunky, or someone JARVIS could actually recognize, mask and all. JARVIS did not fail him. No flunky he, he was - wow, that important. Not just politically powerful, but very well respected. If - call him George, don't even think the last name - wanted to put out a hit on someone - well, he'd listen. Maybe try to persuade the guy that there were better ways, such as ... strongly threatening.
Clint slid his phone back into his pocket and returned his attention to his would-be employer, waiting for him to speak. After a moment's hesitation, the other man pushed down his mask and sighed heavily.
"Look, Haw--ah, you know - you can see what's going on in the country today. It's a disaster! America's tottering on the brink of economic collapse, revolution from both the left and the right. No one expected this! We need to act now - if it isn't already too late to save it. We never imagined he’d go this far! Me, I'm a life-long Republican, I believe in structure - but this goes way beyond political parties. He's ... insane! He has to be stopped!"
None of this being either a newsflash or a question, Clint waited to hear more.
"So ... the November election. Two possible outcomes - either he'll lose or, Christ help us, he could win reelection." Seriously, this guy should be glad Clint wasn't charging him by the minute. But he finally got to his point.
"If he loses, he'll never be more dangerous than he will be from November 4th to January 20th, the interim period, when he can do anything he wants, and has absolutely nothing left to lose. He could completely ruin this country by Inauguration Day. But if he wins four more years - Heaven help us all! So...." George stopped talking and shrugged, apparently considering his point made. Which, Clint guessed, it was. BUT! What. The. Ever-loving. Actual. FUCK! Even Robin Hood ever only went after the Sheriff, not the fucking KING!
Clint cursed mentally and edged much closer, so they were face to face, mere inches apart. With a sigh, he pulled down his own mask. So help him, if this jerk was asymptomatic, he would - well, never mind that now. His voice a whisper, his lips barely moving, he murmured, "The President of the United States of America. Commander in Chief. The guy in the Oval Office. That's who the hit is on."
His new friend visibly relaxed, obviously relieved that Clint had finally gotten with the program. Well, talk about insane.
"Are you INSANE?!" Clint hissed.
George spread his hands placatingly. "But - you can see the need, surely. There’s no other way. And money is no object. We can raise as much as you--"
"Stop! Just stop!" Clint held up both hands peremptorily, and slid back a couple of feet and fixed his mask over his face. Even if he didn't catch the guy's COVID, his insanity might be just as contagious.
"Okay, listen. Listen carefully.” Hawkeye let his voice go low and cold, and fixed a man with an icy blue glare.
"Number 1. Any pres--anyone in that job is going to be well protected, and this guy is particularly paranoid. It’s simply not possible. No matter how good you are.
"But hey, number 2, if it was hypothetically possible, if someone was good enough and actually made the shot, there is ZERO chance he could get away with it. He’d either be killed on the spot or hunted down. The entire nation would mobilize until that guy was caught, no matter what they thought about uh, the Target personally. I don't care how much you're willing to pay, the guy who does it can't spend a dime if he's dead, doing life in prison or sitting on Death Row."
Warming to his subject, and forgetting completely that he should be taking a down payment from George so he could turn him in to the Secret Service, Clint - regretfully - thought of other reasons why he, in particular, could not take the job. He blew out his breath.
"And number 3. Say somebody's willing to give up his life to do it, he thinks the sacrifice is worth it, or he needs the money for his kid's operation. Whatever. That guy is NOT ME. I'm a fucking Avenger! I’m … respectable!” (And wow! – when had that happened?) “Uh, I--we have an image to live up to. We fight the bad guys, but we do it legally. We protect people! And I'm part of a team. If I get caught, no one will believe that the others, Iron Man - Cap, even! - didn't have a clue what I was planning." (Left unsaid, but very real, was the certain knowledge that Natasha would eviscerate him if she knew he was so much as thinking about this! She would probably insist on doing the job herself, but she wouldn’t let him risk his own life.) "I can't do that to them. It would destroy the whole team - not just their faith in me, but any good they could do for the world. We're the GOOD GUYS, not the superhero division of Murder, Inc."
George nodded sadly as Clint made his points. He seemed resigned already, as though he knew it had been a longshot, but he had had to try. Clint wondered how many hitmen had turned him down already. No professional would take the job, and no amateur could carry it off. Really, it couldn’t be done, and it shouldn't be done. It was WRONG (although he could definitely see George's points, yeah, and he was probably right about all that, but it was still wrong), and he, of all people, certainly couldn’t be the one to do it!
Somehow, that was where his mind got stuck - that HE couldn't do it. Or anyone else he could think of, really. None of the Heroes … maybe the Villains? He ran his mind through the Usual Suspects. All either incarcerated/dead, out-of-town/off-planet, or … well, he couldn’t think why any of them would put themselves out to help, even the ones who had teleportation and/or diplomatic immunity. Probably laughing themselves sick right now over how the United States was destroying itself from within.
"I understand," George said. His mouth twitched, like he was trying to smile politely but couldn't quite summon it. "Thanks for your time." He picked up his book, shoved his mask back over his face, and turned to walk away.
One of these days Clint's mouth was going to get him in trouble, and Ding! Ding! Ding! - today was his lucky day!
"I know a guy." George stopped dead, frozen mid-step.
"Um, I might, maybe know a guy." Because it suddenly occurred to him that he did know a guy who might not mind dying once, maybe twice, as long as he didn't get life in prison. And Deadpool was just crazy enough, and good enough, to pull it off.
George wheeled around. Excitedly he blurted, "Can you--" He stopped and lowered his voice. "Can you - will you put me in touch with him?"
"Hell, no." Clint shook his head. "I'll talk to him. IF this thing happens, I’ll give you a bank account number and you'll put $20 million in it. I’ll make sure it goes where he wants it to. Understood?"
"Yes, of course!" George nodded vigorously. Even with the mask, Clint could see that he was smiling broadly. "Thank you so much!"
"Hey, no. There’s just one guy - I don't know if he's interested, and I'm not gonna push him. I’ll just mention it. That's – that’s as far as I can go."
"Yes, yes, of course. I understand." But George was still happy, Clint could see. He’d given him hope, where before he’d had none. Hope of successfully committing treason. SHIT! Troubled times, indeed.
George looked all around the area (oh, now he was being cautious?) then hurried down the path, with just one quick look back over his shoulder. Clint, of course, had been scanning the area the entire time, and wasn’t worried that they'd been overheard. BUT.
If he was smart - if he had any brains whatsoever - he would just go home and forget the entire thing had ever happened. Not say anything to anyone, and most especially not to Mr. Wade Wilson. Yep. That was definitely the thing to do.
Clint picked himself up and wandered back more or less the way he'd come. Just a pleasant afternoon in the Park. Waste of time, really. Still, no harm done. Nothing but talk. Have to make sure that Wade understood that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES WHATSOEVER was Spiderman to be involved AT ALL! If, you know, he even mentioned it.
But he knew already that he would. Clint hadn’t had much of a formal education, but he remembered a quotation he’d read by Thomas Jefferson, “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.” Fuck it. Let the chips fall where they may.
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