Backup isn't something she's used to having anymore. There have been times it would have been nice, of course, when she'd gotten in over her head and had to fight her way out of a situation instead of through it, but that's not who she is anymore. Vigilantes don't have teams, and they sure as hell don't have sidekicks.
Whoever this guy is, at least he's on her side. The throwing stars hit their mark and take out their targets with a precision that speaks of years of experience. This is far from his first rodeo. But even the most skilled veterans can slip up, and as Daisy grabs one of the last Dogs standing and slams him into the side of a truck, she sees a fall from the corner of her eye that sends her unnamed ally to the ground.
Well, that's just great.
A few more minutes is all she needs to finish her work. The final few assholes are knocked out, and she blows the tires on their vehicles so they can't make a quick getaway before the authorities arrive. Yes, it would probably be easier in some respects to just kill them all and diminish their numbers with the same ruthlessness they've shown in their mission to eradicate Inhumans, but that's not who she is either. Despite everything, Daisy Johnson still trusts the system to keep these human monsters off the street — even if she knows they'll be put away for illegal arms possession or something other than their hate crimes against her people. There are some battles that are just too big for her to fight alone.
Speaking of. Turning back to her new friend, she's glad to find him breathing, at least. She can't tell the full extent of his injuries and this isn't the place to look him over and patch him up anyway, so with a heavy sigh, she picks him up in a fireman's carry, hoping she doesn't cause him more damage as she heads for her van. Doing her best to put him down gently in the back, she spends a full minute debating her options as she settles in the front and starts the engine. She can't just leave him somewhere, and she can't know if it's safe to take him to a hospital, so there's only one option she can live with.
He's out for the full twenty-minute drive across the city to the run-down motel she's holed up in for the night. The sheets are threadbare and the wallpaper is peeling, but it's clean and the rooms don't include other unwanted occupants. Her room is at the far end of the line of outside doors, meaning it's likely no one will see her as she hauls him inside and deposits him on one of the two beds in the room.
"Okay, buddy. Anytime now..." she mutters with a heavy sigh.
Clint wakes up with a pounding head and the impression that he’s not where he’d passed out. Instead of opening his eyes right away and jumping to conclusions, he keeps his breathing steady and tries to piece together what he’d gotten himself into. Thankfully, his mask is still on, so he assumes his identity is protected. It wouldn’t do for the world to know that a former Avenger is responsible for so many bad guys being murdered in cold blood. Not that the world is concerned with the Avengers anymore, not after half the population was dusted and it was proven that the Avengers couldn’t even help…
Still, if they ever do figure out how to fix this, letting Clint’s current murderous tendencies be known to the masses would not be good for his image.
He knows that he’d killed the three Dogs he’d hit with his throwing stars - not surprising, he was Hawkeye after all - but he also knows that he was stupid enough not to get out of the way when the one came tumbling down toward him. He remembers fighting to stay conscious and ultimately losing the battle. After that, a whole lot of nothing.
The fact that he remembers might mean that he doesn’t have a concussion, for once. Small mercies indeed.
Whoever had removed him from the fray seems to be trying to help, if the feeling of soft hands and a bandage wrapping around his arm is any indication. That means there’s at least one person that doesn’t want to kill him… yet.
Now that he’s determined that he’s not in immediate danger, he makes a show of groaning and then opening his eyes, then pushing himself back from the woman he’d seen earlier quickly, making sure that he’s out of reach. “Who are you and why did you save me?” he demands, pitching his voice low. “I saw you at the fight, what were you doing there?”
Fighting the temptation to look beneath that mask takes concerted effort for Daisy while she checks her guest over for injury. He'd hit his head, she can tell that much by how long he's been out, but she's no doctor. There's no blood gushing from under the mask, but that's about all she can tell until he wakes up. What she can diagnose is a lack of major broken bones, though she'd have to do a more thorough check for fractures, and a nasty scrape down his arm.
Her own homemade first-aid kit is a small duffel bag stuffed with disinfectant, sterile bandages, gauze wrap, painkillers, and a dozen rolls of elastic bandages. It's been a while since she'd patched someone else up, but she's had enough cuts and scrapes over the years to know how to clean and disinfect the wound, and how to wrap it tight enough to stay in place but without being too tight.
His breathing doesn't change but Daisy swears there's something different about the man as she wraps his arm, her senses telling her there's something about his vibrations that— Her hands lift away when he groans, and she doesn't move closer or farther away when he moves back himself. She just stays seated on the edge of the bed, letting him ask his questions and looking not the least bit surprised or perturbed.
"My name's Daisy," she answers simply after a moment, her tone conversational like this is just another day. "I saved you because you helped me, though I'm not exactly sure why. I was tracking the Watchdogs — what were you doing there?"
Clint doesn’t recognize her, or her name, unfortunately, so he’s not exactly sure how to proceed. He frowns beneath his mask and tries to remember if he’d heard the name before, or if he knows anything about this enhanced woman. It might be the concussion but he’s coming up absolutely blank. He brings his hands up to his pounding head and asks, “got any advil or something?” This conversation will go much better if he can actually think without wanting to scream.
“So what happened? I was tipped off that a small group of Watchdogs would be at that location causing trouble. I was there to take them out. Obviously, you being there caused some problems and it didn’t exactly go as planned… Seems like we’re on the same side, at least.”
Daisy doesn’t seem to be threatening at all - at least not toward him - and when he’d regained consciousness, she’d been helping him, so he holds his arm back out so that she can continue wrapping it. “Where am I?” he adds after a thought. He’ll need to know so that he can get back to his temporary safehouse, after all.
What he really wants to know is how she’d gotten caught up in this. It’s clear from her abilities that she has a vested interest, but there might be more to it. He needs to know if he’ll be running into her again. If she plans to keep going after the Dogs, the two of them are going to have to learn to work together.
Anonymity is the greatest weapon for people in their profession. It's why she's removed his jacket and gloves but left his mask in place. If he chooses to reveal his identity to her, she'll protect his secret until he gives her reason not to, but trust like that isn't easily given. She doesn't connect the dots for him as to her own identity either, knowing the news outlets have at most gotten blurry security cam photos of her. Not that they'd be able to find much on Daisy Johnson anyway — just like with Mary Sue Poots and Skye, her current identity was thoroughly erased when she went off the grid.
Standing, she moves to the little table beside the window where the contents of her duffel spill across the scratched surface. Three white pills are tipped out of a small bottle, and she walks back to offer them and a bottle of water to him before resuming work on his arm.
"We're across town from the warehouse," she explains, "where I followed those assholes to after watching them all week. I was trying to find their weapons source and you interrupted."
There's nothing accusatory or angry in her tone, just a hint of exhaustion from being back at square one on that front. If things had gone differently, she might be pissed as hell at this new stranger, but he'd been trying to help back there, and they do seem to be on the same side, so she can't find it in her to be angry at him. Yet.
Clint takes the pain meds and the water gratefully, first swallowing the pills down and then chugging the water. He waits until Daisy is finished wrapping his arm up before pulling it back toward himself. They’re pretty far from where he’d been staying, so he’ll need to figure out how to get back once they’re done here.
“All week, huh?” Clint replies, looking around for his things as he continues to probe her about her role in the situation. “I was tipped off this morning that they might be at that warehouse. I thought it was gonna be a dead end until you showed up,” he admits, “I’m just wondering why my contact didn’t mention that someone else was after them… Seemed like you had the situation well in hand. I could have made better use of myself on another job. Y’know, not unconscious.”
He stands up and grabs his jacket from where it’s sitting on the bed, but he doesn’t put it on just yet. “At least it looks like we want the same things. Maybe give me a heads up next time you’re on a job and I’ll help out if I’ve got the time.” He holds out an untraceable communicator toward her so that she can enter whatever information she wants to give him, if she so chooses. “Maybe next time we can actually work together?”
Daisy keeps herself busy putting away the supplies, stuffing it all haphazardly into the duffel the way it had been before. Simmons would be appalled before acknowledging that it's good Daisy has them at all, even if she's not storing them properly.
His contact. Must be nice to have contacts. The only person Daisy keeps in touch with anymore is Yo-Yo, and that's mostly so she can get updates on the team and whatever meds the speedster Inhuman can steal for her. It means regular visits to LA, but there's usually work for her to do while she's in the area. But it is good to see her friend, and more importantly to see that she's still alive.
Taking the communicator, she just holds it for a moment, studying the tech and trying to place if it's run-of-the-mill or something more specialized. Fitz would be able to tell with a single glance...
"Why are you after them?" The question tumbles out before she can think twice about it. "You didn't use powers back there, just weapons, so I'm guessing you're not enhanced, just really good at what you do. You've had training..." She's thinking out loud now, pondering the possibilities aloud and putting together puzzle pieces. "Military? You don't really seem the type... Former intelligence?"
Hell, he might be former SHIELD. There are a lot of them out there, with so many choosing not to join the reformed agency after what happened with HYDRA. She doesn't blame them, of course. The betrayal had cut deep for all of them.
Clint watches Daisy as she tries to place the communicator. He’s using the most run of the mill model he could get ahold of because anything higher tech would be a clue as to his identity. He shrugs his jacket back on while she studies it, but still doesn’t make any moves to actually leave. “You can speculate all you want, but I’m not giving myself away.”
He’s not even sure he should if they do start working together. It’s probably better this way, them not really knowing who the other is.
“I’m the kinda guy that likes to take out the trash, and they’re pretty much the worst of it. I’ll do what I need to do to make sure this world is safe for whoever is left in it.” It really is that simple to him. He doesn’t care that he’s killing; he’s killed before and he probably will again. At least this time he only answers to himself, and not some intelligence agency that’s been thoroughly infiltrated by the enemy. Clint can’t trust anyone else to be on his side, not really. Daisy seems okay for now, but no one can know what lies ahead.
“You gonna give me a way to contact you or are we just gonna keep fucking up each others’ jobs?”
Yeah, it would have been too easy if he'd tipped his hand this early. Trust is hard-earned for Daisy, so she gets it, but there's something in her gut telling her that she can at least trust him this much. Because as far as answers go, his is a damn good one in her book. So after another moment of hesitation, she enters a number that will route through two different untraceable connections before reaching her. SHIELD has been after her since Quake first started making the news; she doesn't need them tracing her through this guy if they get wind of this... alliance between them.
Fishing out the half-full bottle of painkillers, she tips a few out into her hand and swallows them dry before recapping it and holding both it and the communicator out for him to take.
"I'll get more, and you're gonna need it," she explains. "Do you have far to go? I can drop you off somewhere a bit more accessible."
Clint takes the bottle and stashes it in his jacket, then pulls on his gloves. It’s dangerous for him to have been barehanded since Daisy seems like the type of woman that might have access to fingerprint tech, but it’s too late to cover those tracks now. If she finds out, she finds out, he’s just not about to outright tell her.
“You think you can drop me off closer to the warehouse?” he asks. He’s not staying particularly close to that location, but it’s where they’d originally met. He doesn’t think being dropped off there will be less of a chance that she can track him back to his safe house.
Finally, he takes his communicator back and stashes it as well. “You didn’t happen to recover some of those throwing stars, did ya? I’m running low and I really don’t want to have to go out and buy more looking like this.”
She absolutely could have fingerprinted him... if she'd felt the need. If he wasn't apparently on her side, she might have done so while he was out, but he's not a Watchdog and so he's welcome to keep his secrets. Maybe one day he'll reveal himself if they do see more of each other in the future. Then again, maybe he won't.
"Sorry, they're probably locked up in evidence by now," she says with an actual apology in her voice. Hauling him out before the authorities showed up had been her priority and she hadn't even thought to retrieve his weapons from the bodies. That sort of thing has never been a concern for her.
"Come on, I'll get you as close as we can without drawing attention." Grabbing the bag of first aid supplies, she makes for the door. There's nothing of hers left in the room; she probably won't be back tonight.
She opens the door and steps outside, glancing back over her shoulder as she moves toward her van. "How's the head, by the way? Any blurred vision or nausea?"
“Damn,” Clint says, making a face beneath his mask. He’s going to have to try and find a weapons cache and lift some. Good thing he’s pretty good at taking bad guys out. “Runnin’ low.” It’s the one problem with essentially being in the wind. He can’t rely on any of his old contacts to hook him up with weaponry because then he’ll give himself away. He knows that the Ronin is known in certain circles, and if someone like Natasha were to link him with his new identity, he knows that there will be hell to pay.
He limps after her as they leave the hotel room, climbing up into the other side of the van. “Thanks for this, eh?” he says. Daisy is really doing him a solid by dropping him off closer to his safe house. If he trusted her more, he’d get her to drop him off there, maybe even offer her a place to stay with him. He’s getting ahead of himself though. There’s no way for him to know if this potential partnership will even work out.
Turning toward her when she asks about his head, Clint jokes, “never had any complaints,” but then sobers. “It’s probably not a concussion. I’ve had enough of them to know.”
She gives him a once-over as he walks, not able to tell much about him but definitely noticing that limp. Since nothing's broken, her guess is some deep bruising from the sudden collision with the concrete floor. It's the sort of injury she's all too familiar with, so she knows he'll be stiff as hell tomorrow.
"Oh, you have bad guys fall on you often?" she jokes in return, tossing the bag over the seat into the back of the van. There are a few other bags back there, along with a monitor and keyboard setup and a rolled-up sleeping bag. This is usually where she stays — living in her van just like before she'd joined SHIELD.
Pulling out of the hotel parking lot, she keeps her eyes on the road but directs a serious order his way. "Just make sure to ice everything to help with the swelling." A beat, and then she adds, "I can stop somewhere if you need me to grab stuff to help with that."
“You’d be surprised,” Clint admits. He looks out the window as they leave the hotel, trying to place their location. He doubts that Daisy is going to return here again, not now that he knows the location. As much as he can’t trust her yet, she can’t trust him either. It’s okay. It’s for the best for both of them. It’s better that they have more secrets than not between them.
“Got some stuff where I’m staying. Gotta take care of myself you know? No powers.” While that admission might be a clue to his identity, he figures it will lead her further away from it. If she thought that he was enhanced in any way, she might associate him with the Avengers, or SHIELD, and neither of those are things that he wants. The more of a mystery he is, the better.
“You get really good at dressing your own wounds when you have a job like ours,” he adds with a self deprecating chuckle. “How about you? You got any magic healing abilities? Do they work on others? You wanna share?”
No powers. Good to have that confirmed, not that it does much to narrow down what his affiliations might be. What it does do is make her slightly more inclined to trust him, given how he's fighting the Watchdogs even though he doesn't really have any skin in the game. Inhumans and other Enhanced are the latest Most Hated groups around, and their public allies have been few and far between.
"I wish," she answers with a scoff. "I can manipulate vibrations, and if there's a way to use that to heal people instead of hurt them, I sure haven't figured it out."
She's a walking weapon and in the wrong hands... Her grip tightens on the steering wheel, her jaw clenching. What happened with Hive still hurts; she has a feeling it always will.
“No shit?” Clint asks. He’s never met anyone that can do something like that before, but it does explain what he’d Sean before getting fallen on. “I mean it worked out for you, chasing bad guys and all,” he makes sure to add. He doesn’t know anything about her really, but there’s always a reason for people to be out here alone, hunting those who hurt them.
Clint’s out here because it was his job, the Avengers’ job, to stop Thanos and they’d failed horrifically, so it’s his fault now that the less savoury individuals are having an easier time of it. No one else is going to do it, so it’s gotta be him.
“Probably best to keep that under wraps though. Don’t want the wrong people finding out.”
She glances over at the chasing bad guys part, offering an amused half-smile. Yeah, it's worked out for her. Not that she wouldn't still be out here if she'd been gifted a more passive power, but being able to send her opponents flying off their feet certainly helps.
His next words wipe the smile from her face, though, and she keeps her eyes firmly on the road.
"Yeah, I kinda figured that out a while ago," she says, her voice quieter and a little strained. A while ago as in when she'd learned her mom had been dissected because of her powers; a HYDRA scientist cut her to pieces and left her body in a ditch like a pile of garbage. The monster probably would have tried to do the same to Daisy if he'd lived to see what she'd become after Terrigenesis, but Coulson hadn't given him the chance.
Clint hears the pain in her voice and decides not to comment on it. Instead, he looks out the window, taking note of their location. He hasn’t been in the city long, having been tipped off about the WatchDogs only a few days ago. He needs to know his way around if he’ll be here for a bit.
When they arrive near the warehouse, Clint opens the van door and hops out. “I’ll be in contact if I hear anything. You can do the same.”
He doesn’t want to give too much away, but if they are going to work together, they should practice, make sure they can compliment each others’ fighting styles in a fight. “Where I come from, I’m used to working with other people. If you want, I know a place we can practice together, maybe figure out how to be most effective, if you want to keep working together. You don’t have to be a lone wolf.” And neither does he echoes in Clint’s brain. He’s been on his own by choice since Thanos, and now here he is, trying to recruit this poor woman that just wanted to help him out. Old habits die hard.
No, she doesn't have to be, but she deserves to be, doesn't she? It's that guilt gnawing away at her, digging its claws into every part of her life in some shape or form. Some days, she can't even brush her teeth without feeling guilty — which is, of course, ridiculous, but since when does her mind ever make sense?
Her hands adjust on the wheel as she looks over at him, that proverbial hand offering to pull her out of this darkness she's swimming in, whether or not that's the intention. But she can't just... She just can't.
"Everyone who gets close to me ends up dying," she tells him, feeling like the warning is more than justified. No one should wander into her life without knowing what they're getting into. "You don't really want to get pulled into that."
“With all due respect Daisy, you aren’t the first one that’s said that to me. Besides, I can say the same about myself. You and I are doing dangerous things out here, might be nice to have someone watching your back. You don’t want it, that’s fine. But it won’t stop me from showing up places you might already be.” He doesn’t really give her the chance to respond, preoccupied now with thinking about everyone he let down, that he let die when Thanos snapped his fingers.
He pulls his hood further forward and disappears into the darkness. He isn’t hard to track from here, but since she seems adamant that they not continue their acquaintance, he doesn’t think she’ll follow.
Clint gets back to his safehouse, checks in with Nat, and plans his next move.
Three days later, he sends Daisy a short list of coordinates and a time along with the message: dogs next strike. I won’t get knocked out this time, I hope.
There's no one for Daisy to check in with. She's cut herself off entirely from everyone she knew and loved, her lone contact only receiving the occasional message whenever she needs something. SHIELD is looking for her and it would be so easy to just go home and step back into her old life... but she can't take the easy road.
Her nights are spent sitting in grimy diners drinking too much coffee and using free wifi to research her prey; her days are spent sleeping in her van on the edge of the city. There's nowhere else she feels safe or comfortable enough to let her guard down. That's probably the hardest part of this new life — she'd gotten used to feeling safe.
She'd gotten used to having a home.
The masked stranger has been firmly pushed from her mind until she gets the message that can only be from him. She stares at the alert on her phone for a long while, sipping at the mug of old, burnt coffee in her hand until she makes her decision. And then she's packing up and heading out, unwilling to lose this opportunity even if it means she'll have to risk someone else.
Clint is standing there, in his full Ronin get up, waiting for things to get started when he sees Daisy out of the corner of his eye. Not wanting things to go down the same way as they did the last time, he steps out of the shadows for a moment to motion her forward. This time, since they both know that each other is there, the battle goes a little bit better - at least it does for Clint. He doesn’t end up passed out., waking up in a strange hotel room with a strange woman.
It goes well enough that he contacts her again for his next hit, and then again for the one after.
After the tenth time that they effectively take out a group of Dogs, Clint turns toward her. “Look, I know you’ve been living pretty rough. I can’t give you luxury, but I can offer a hot shower and a meal. Come back with me. I haven’t died yet, so I think I’ll be safe for a couple hours.
He’s currently staying at one of the nicer safehouses he knows about, so he feels okay about offering some small luxuries. If she wants to stay, he thinks he’d be open to that part too. Who knows, it might be good for the both of them. “You coming?”
It's dangerous to get used to having someone around. Daisy reminds herself of this every time she receives a message from the strange; each time she shares a tip she's received; when they're fighting side by side; as he says goodbye and walks away. Counting on people and expecting them to be there is how she's gotten hurt too many times before — the exception to which has and always will be SHIELD, the family she's turned her back on. And yet she keeps working with him, this man whose face she's never once seen, and slowly she starts to feel a little less lonely whenever he's around.
Maybe that's why when he makes her this out-of-the-blue offer, she doesn't immediately turn him down. It would be nice to have a shower without having to pay for a hotel room, even if half the time it isn't her money she's paying with. (A perk of being one of the world's best hackers.) And for a little while, she might feel—
Nope, not going there.
"Yeah, okay," she finally agrees, still not sure it's the best idea but forging forward anyway. "Thanks."
It’s not necessarily a good idea for him. He was an Avenger, and the Avengers failed everyone. And now, now he’s the one not only taking care of the bad guys but also killing them. The Avengers already had a bad rap for unintentionally hurting people, and now he’s out here doing it on purpose.
But the offer has been made, and Daisy’s agreed, so now he can’t go back on it.
He follows her back to the van and directs her to his current safehouse. It’s not exactly in town, being a little ways off, but still has running water, hydro and it looks abandoned enough that no one should think anyone is there. “Come on,” he urges, “van around back. We don’t want to get caught.” Once they’ve parked and headed in, Clint starts dropping his weapons and taking off his uniform.
Right before taking off the mask he turns toward Daisy and says, “now don’t freak out.” She has nothing to fear from him, but it still might be shocking. He pulls off the mask carefully, bring his hand up to try to smooth over his blond hair. “So uh hey. I’m Clint.”
There's comfort in being outside of the main part of the city. Before she'd gone through Terrigenesis, she would have found solace in being lost in the center of a bustling town, shrouding herself in the anonymity populated areas offer. Now, though, she has to worry about someone recognizing her, or a rogue quake in her sleep. Risking the lives of hateful, murderous assholes is one thing; she refuses to put innocents in harm's way.
She doesn't let the shock show on her face as the not-quite-a-stranger-anymore starts removing the uniform he's never once been without in the time she's known him. He trusts her this much now? It's surprising, to say the least, but in a good way.
Don't freak out. The words haven't even begun to fully process in her mind before her stomach bottoms out and the world falls away beneath her. The man standing before her isn't a stranger at all, not really, and suddenly her fight or flight instincts are screaming at her to run run run as she struggles to match the man she's worked with these past weeks to the hero she's admired for years.
"You—" Her voice cracks and she clings to the strap of the duffel on her shoulder like it's a goddamn lifeline. The shock is plain as day on her face now, with hints of panic creeping in at the edges. "Did... Did Coulson send you? Is that why— all of this?"
She wants to fling herself out that door and never look back, but she wants answers just a little bit more.
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Whoever this guy is, at least he's on her side. The throwing stars hit their mark and take out their targets with a precision that speaks of years of experience. This is far from his first rodeo. But even the most skilled veterans can slip up, and as Daisy grabs one of the last Dogs standing and slams him into the side of a truck, she sees a fall from the corner of her eye that sends her unnamed ally to the ground.
Well, that's just great.
A few more minutes is all she needs to finish her work. The final few assholes are knocked out, and she blows the tires on their vehicles so they can't make a quick getaway before the authorities arrive. Yes, it would probably be easier in some respects to just kill them all and diminish their numbers with the same ruthlessness they've shown in their mission to eradicate Inhumans, but that's not who she is either. Despite everything, Daisy Johnson still trusts the system to keep these human monsters off the street — even if she knows they'll be put away for illegal arms possession or something other than their hate crimes against her people. There are some battles that are just too big for her to fight alone.
Speaking of. Turning back to her new friend, she's glad to find him breathing, at least. She can't tell the full extent of his injuries and this isn't the place to look him over and patch him up anyway, so with a heavy sigh, she picks him up in a fireman's carry, hoping she doesn't cause him more damage as she heads for her van. Doing her best to put him down gently in the back, she spends a full minute debating her options as she settles in the front and starts the engine. She can't just leave him somewhere, and she can't know if it's safe to take him to a hospital, so there's only one option she can live with.
He's out for the full twenty-minute drive across the city to the run-down motel she's holed up in for the night. The sheets are threadbare and the wallpaper is peeling, but it's clean and the rooms don't include other unwanted occupants. Her room is at the far end of the line of outside doors, meaning it's likely no one will see her as she hauls him inside and deposits him on one of the two beds in the room.
"Okay, buddy. Anytime now..." she mutters with a heavy sigh.
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Still, if they ever do figure out how to fix this, letting Clint’s current murderous tendencies be known to the masses would not be good for his image.
He knows that he’d killed the three Dogs he’d hit with his throwing stars - not surprising, he was Hawkeye after all - but he also knows that he was stupid enough not to get out of the way when the one came tumbling down toward him. He remembers fighting to stay conscious and ultimately losing the battle. After that, a whole lot of nothing.
The fact that he remembers might mean that he doesn’t have a concussion, for once. Small mercies indeed.
Whoever had removed him from the fray seems to be trying to help, if the feeling of soft hands and a bandage wrapping around his arm is any indication. That means there’s at least one person that doesn’t want to kill him… yet.
Now that he’s determined that he’s not in immediate danger, he makes a show of groaning and then opening his eyes, then pushing himself back from the woman he’d seen earlier quickly, making sure that he’s out of reach. “Who are you and why did you save me?” he demands, pitching his voice low. “I saw you at the fight, what were you doing there?”
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Her own homemade first-aid kit is a small duffel bag stuffed with disinfectant, sterile bandages, gauze wrap, painkillers, and a dozen rolls of elastic bandages. It's been a while since she'd patched someone else up, but she's had enough cuts and scrapes over the years to know how to clean and disinfect the wound, and how to wrap it tight enough to stay in place but without being too tight.
His breathing doesn't change but Daisy swears there's something different about the man as she wraps his arm, her senses telling her there's something about his vibrations that— Her hands lift away when he groans, and she doesn't move closer or farther away when he moves back himself. She just stays seated on the edge of the bed, letting him ask his questions and looking not the least bit surprised or perturbed.
"My name's Daisy," she answers simply after a moment, her tone conversational like this is just another day. "I saved you because you helped me, though I'm not exactly sure why. I was tracking the Watchdogs — what were you doing there?"
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“So what happened? I was tipped off that a small group of Watchdogs would be at that location causing trouble. I was there to take them out. Obviously, you being there caused some problems and it didn’t exactly go as planned… Seems like we’re on the same side, at least.”
Daisy doesn’t seem to be threatening at all - at least not toward him - and when he’d regained consciousness, she’d been helping him, so he holds his arm back out so that she can continue wrapping it. “Where am I?” he adds after a thought. He’ll need to know so that he can get back to his temporary safehouse, after all.
What he really wants to know is how she’d gotten caught up in this. It’s clear from her abilities that she has a vested interest, but there might be more to it. He needs to know if he’ll be running into her again. If she plans to keep going after the Dogs, the two of them are going to have to learn to work together.
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Standing, she moves to the little table beside the window where the contents of her duffel spill across the scratched surface. Three white pills are tipped out of a small bottle, and she walks back to offer them and a bottle of water to him before resuming work on his arm.
"We're across town from the warehouse," she explains, "where I followed those assholes to after watching them all week. I was trying to find their weapons source and you interrupted."
There's nothing accusatory or angry in her tone, just a hint of exhaustion from being back at square one on that front. If things had gone differently, she might be pissed as hell at this new stranger, but he'd been trying to help back there, and they do seem to be on the same side, so she can't find it in her to be angry at him. Yet.
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“All week, huh?” Clint replies, looking around for his things as he continues to probe her about her role in the situation. “I was tipped off this morning that they might be at that warehouse. I thought it was gonna be a dead end until you showed up,” he admits, “I’m just wondering why my contact didn’t mention that someone else was after them… Seemed like you had the situation well in hand. I could have made better use of myself on another job. Y’know, not unconscious.”
He stands up and grabs his jacket from where it’s sitting on the bed, but he doesn’t put it on just yet. “At least it looks like we want the same things. Maybe give me a heads up next time you’re on a job and I’ll help out if I’ve got the time.” He holds out an untraceable communicator toward her so that she can enter whatever information she wants to give him, if she so chooses. “Maybe next time we can actually work together?”
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His contact. Must be nice to have contacts. The only person Daisy keeps in touch with anymore is Yo-Yo, and that's mostly so she can get updates on the team and whatever meds the speedster Inhuman can steal for her. It means regular visits to LA, but there's usually work for her to do while she's in the area. But it is good to see her friend, and more importantly to see that she's still alive.
Taking the communicator, she just holds it for a moment, studying the tech and trying to place if it's run-of-the-mill or something more specialized. Fitz would be able to tell with a single glance...
"Why are you after them?" The question tumbles out before she can think twice about it. "You didn't use powers back there, just weapons, so I'm guessing you're not enhanced, just really good at what you do. You've had training..." She's thinking out loud now, pondering the possibilities aloud and putting together puzzle pieces. "Military? You don't really seem the type... Former intelligence?"
Hell, he might be former SHIELD. There are a lot of them out there, with so many choosing not to join the reformed agency after what happened with HYDRA. She doesn't blame them, of course. The betrayal had cut deep for all of them.
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He’s not even sure he should if they do start working together. It’s probably better this way, them not really knowing who the other is.
“I’m the kinda guy that likes to take out the trash, and they’re pretty much the worst of it. I’ll do what I need to do to make sure this world is safe for whoever is left in it.” It really is that simple to him. He doesn’t care that he’s killing; he’s killed before and he probably will again. At least this time he only answers to himself, and not some intelligence agency that’s been thoroughly infiltrated by the enemy. Clint can’t trust anyone else to be on his side, not really. Daisy seems okay for now, but no one can know what lies ahead.
“You gonna give me a way to contact you or are we just gonna keep fucking up each others’ jobs?”
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Fishing out the half-full bottle of painkillers, she tips a few out into her hand and swallows them dry before recapping it and holding both it and the communicator out for him to take.
"I'll get more, and you're gonna need it," she explains. "Do you have far to go? I can drop you off somewhere a bit more accessible."
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“You think you can drop me off closer to the warehouse?” he asks. He’s not staying particularly close to that location, but it’s where they’d originally met. He doesn’t think being dropped off there will be less of a chance that she can track him back to his safe house.
Finally, he takes his communicator back and stashes it as well. “You didn’t happen to recover some of those throwing stars, did ya? I’m running low and I really don’t want to have to go out and buy more looking like this.”
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"Sorry, they're probably locked up in evidence by now," she says with an actual apology in her voice. Hauling him out before the authorities showed up had been her priority and she hadn't even thought to retrieve his weapons from the bodies. That sort of thing has never been a concern for her.
"Come on, I'll get you as close as we can without drawing attention." Grabbing the bag of first aid supplies, she makes for the door. There's nothing of hers left in the room; she probably won't be back tonight.
She opens the door and steps outside, glancing back over her shoulder as she moves toward her van. "How's the head, by the way? Any blurred vision or nausea?"
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He limps after her as they leave the hotel room, climbing up into the other side of the van. “Thanks for this, eh?” he says. Daisy is really doing him a solid by dropping him off closer to his safe house. If he trusted her more, he’d get her to drop him off there, maybe even offer her a place to stay with him. He’s getting ahead of himself though. There’s no way for him to know if this potential partnership will even work out.
Turning toward her when she asks about his head, Clint jokes, “never had any complaints,” but then sobers. “It’s probably not a concussion. I’ve had enough of them to know.”
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"Oh, you have bad guys fall on you often?" she jokes in return, tossing the bag over the seat into the back of the van. There are a few other bags back there, along with a monitor and keyboard setup and a rolled-up sleeping bag. This is usually where she stays — living in her van just like before she'd joined SHIELD.
Pulling out of the hotel parking lot, she keeps her eyes on the road but directs a serious order his way. "Just make sure to ice everything to help with the swelling." A beat, and then she adds, "I can stop somewhere if you need me to grab stuff to help with that."
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“Got some stuff where I’m staying. Gotta take care of myself you know? No powers.” While that admission might be a clue to his identity, he figures it will lead her further away from it. If she thought that he was enhanced in any way, she might associate him with the Avengers, or SHIELD, and neither of those are things that he wants. The more of a mystery he is, the better.
“You get really good at dressing your own wounds when you have a job like ours,” he adds with a self deprecating chuckle. “How about you? You got any magic healing abilities? Do they work on others? You wanna share?”
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"I wish," she answers with a scoff. "I can manipulate vibrations, and if there's a way to use that to heal people instead of hurt them, I sure haven't figured it out."
She's a walking weapon and in the wrong hands... Her grip tightens on the steering wheel, her jaw clenching. What happened with Hive still hurts; she has a feeling it always will.
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Clint’s out here because it was his job, the Avengers’ job, to stop Thanos and they’d failed horrifically, so it’s his fault now that the less savoury individuals are having an easier time of it. No one else is going to do it, so it’s gotta be him.
“Probably best to keep that under wraps though. Don’t want the wrong people finding out.”
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His next words wipe the smile from her face, though, and she keeps her eyes firmly on the road.
"Yeah, I kinda figured that out a while ago," she says, her voice quieter and a little strained. A while ago as in when she'd learned her mom had been dissected because of her powers; a HYDRA scientist cut her to pieces and left her body in a ditch like a pile of garbage. The monster probably would have tried to do the same to Daisy if he'd lived to see what she'd become after Terrigenesis, but Coulson hadn't given him the chance.
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When they arrive near the warehouse, Clint opens the van door and hops out. “I’ll be in contact if I hear anything. You can do the same.”
He doesn’t want to give too much away, but if they are going to work together, they should practice, make sure they can compliment each others’ fighting styles in a fight. “Where I come from, I’m used to working with other people. If you want, I know a place we can practice together, maybe figure out how to be most effective, if you want to keep working together. You don’t have to be a lone wolf.” And neither does he echoes in Clint’s brain. He’s been on his own by choice since Thanos, and now here he is, trying to recruit this poor woman that just wanted to help him out. Old habits die hard.
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Her hands adjust on the wheel as she looks over at him, that proverbial hand offering to pull her out of this darkness she's swimming in, whether or not that's the intention. But she can't just... She just can't.
"Everyone who gets close to me ends up dying," she tells him, feeling like the warning is more than justified. No one should wander into her life without knowing what they're getting into. "You don't really want to get pulled into that."
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He pulls his hood further forward and disappears into the darkness. He isn’t hard to track from here, but since she seems adamant that they not continue their acquaintance, he doesn’t think she’ll follow.
Clint gets back to his safehouse, checks in with Nat, and plans his next move.
Three days later, he sends Daisy a short list of coordinates and a time along with the message: dogs next strike. I won’t get knocked out this time, I hope.
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Her nights are spent sitting in grimy diners drinking too much coffee and using free wifi to research her prey; her days are spent sleeping in her van on the edge of the city. There's nowhere else she feels safe or comfortable enough to let her guard down. That's probably the hardest part of this new life — she'd gotten used to feeling safe.
She'd gotten used to having a home.
The masked stranger has been firmly pushed from her mind until she gets the message that can only be from him. She stares at the alert on her phone for a long while, sipping at the mug of old, burnt coffee in her hand until she makes her decision. And then she's packing up and heading out, unwilling to lose this opportunity even if it means she'll have to risk someone else.
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It goes well enough that he contacts her again for his next hit, and then again for the one after.
After the tenth time that they effectively take out a group of Dogs, Clint turns toward her. “Look, I know you’ve been living pretty rough. I can’t give you luxury, but I can offer a hot shower and a meal. Come back with me. I haven’t died yet, so I think I’ll be safe for a couple hours.
He’s currently staying at one of the nicer safehouses he knows about, so he feels okay about offering some small luxuries. If she wants to stay, he thinks he’d be open to that part too. Who knows, it might be good for the both of them. “You coming?”
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Maybe that's why when he makes her this out-of-the-blue offer, she doesn't immediately turn him down. It would be nice to have a shower without having to pay for a hotel room, even if half the time it isn't her money she's paying with. (A perk of being one of the world's best hackers.) And for a little while, she might feel—
Nope, not going there.
"Yeah, okay," she finally agrees, still not sure it's the best idea but forging forward anyway. "Thanks."
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But the offer has been made, and Daisy’s agreed, so now he can’t go back on it.
He follows her back to the van and directs her to his current safehouse. It’s not exactly in town, being a little ways off, but still has running water, hydro and it looks abandoned enough that no one should think anyone is there. “Come on,” he urges, “van around back. We don’t want to get caught.” Once they’ve parked and headed in, Clint starts dropping his weapons and taking off his uniform.
Right before taking off the mask he turns toward Daisy and says, “now don’t freak out.” She has nothing to fear from him, but it still might be shocking. He pulls off the mask carefully, bring his hand up to try to smooth over his blond hair. “So uh hey. I’m Clint.”
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She doesn't let the shock show on her face as the not-quite-a-stranger-anymore starts removing the uniform he's never once been without in the time she's known him. He trusts her this much now? It's surprising, to say the least, but in a good way.
Don't freak out. The words haven't even begun to fully process in her mind before her stomach bottoms out and the world falls away beneath her. The man standing before her isn't a stranger at all, not really, and suddenly her fight or flight instincts are screaming at her to run run run as she struggles to match the man she's worked with these past weeks to the hero she's admired for years.
"You—" Her voice cracks and she clings to the strap of the duffel on her shoulder like it's a goddamn lifeline. The shock is plain as day on her face now, with hints of panic creeping in at the edges. "Did... Did Coulson send you? Is that why— all of this?"
She wants to fling herself out that door and never look back, but she wants answers just a little bit more.
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If you want him to call her something else, lmk! I'll change it.
it works!
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