“But I’m going back out there because this is my job, okay? And I can’t do my job and babysit. Doesn’t matter what you did or what you were. If you go out there, you fight and you fight to kill. Stay in here, and you’re good. I’ll send your brother to come find you. But if you step out that door, you are an Avenger.”
I feel like Hawkeye is the secret prizefighter in the Avengers, because we all forget that he recruited Black Widow when he was sent to kill her; he’s not dead so he obviously won that fight and offered her amnesty. (At least in the MCU.)
SHIELD decided to send Barton after Russia’s deadliest spy. Why did they send him? They could have sent Fury. They could have sent literally anyone. But they sent Clint. Because he’s a lot tougher and better at his job than anyone thinks he is. He also did this all while deaf.
In order to make the choice to offer her life, he wasn’t sniping her long distance with an arrow; he bested her at hand to hand combat, avoided being killed or her slipping away.
Clint sighed, the brush twirling carelessly between his fingers. Most of the time he liked his job, he really did. Being the makeup artist on sets of actors and models, making them gorgeous enough to be worshiped, flirting casually with some of the biggest names in society, definitely had its perks.
Today, though… Today was the special kind of hell that made him question if the others had been a hallucination. He’d been hired out for a men’s fashion magazine shoot. Men were even more particular about their makeup, because unlike women who were going for a certain look or effect, men wanted all the benefits of makeup without actually looking like they were wearing any at all. Today there had been a steady stream of haughty men who had either not spoken a word to him, or done so only to tell him what a terrible job he was doing.
And the very last model he was supposed to work on before he could get paid, pack up, and go home, was late.