I will Wait
Thirteen years ago
Clint sat on the bench frantically tapping his foot willing the train to arrive faster and performing any action that would help him stay awake. At this point, he could sleep standing up and he'd do anything for three solid hours of sleep. He clinched his coat tighter to try and stall the coldness from ravaging him. He knew he should be paying better attention to the people around him, but he didn't have the energy to bring himself to focus.
The crowd that had gotten off the last train had thinned out and the loud chatter that had flooded the station died down. Clint gripped his backpack tighter. His peripheral vision caught a man in a dark suit standing beside the bench.
"Clint Barton."
That was never a good sign; the adrenaline started to pulsate through Clint. He sat there completely still preparing to spring into action.
"I want you to put your hands up slowly," demanded Coulson. He hadn't pulled his gun yet, though his hand was hovering above it. There were too many civilians around that they couldn't clear without tipping off the target. He wasn't worried though, Phil had five other agents nearby and he knew the kid wasn't at the top of his game right now.
Clint let out a shaky breath and nodded to himself. This was the end of the line; the station would be surrounded. Still, he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He had never made anything easy on himself, he sure as hell wasn't going to make it easy for someone else. If the guy wasn't even going to pull his gun, then he deserved to have to work for this.
Barton waited until a couple was walking past the bench when he threw his backpack at the agent and took off putting the couple between him and the most likely positions the agent's back up would be.
Phil grabbed the back pack as it flew towards his head and tossed it to Agent Todd who was moving in to assist. He pulled out his radio. "This is Coulson. Subject is on the move and heading to the south entrance." Phil ran after Barton.
Clint weaved in and around the people on the platform. He could see one of the agents getting closer and turned down one of the hallways. The agent that first confronted him followed and called out, "I will shoot you."
Barton slowed to make a turn at the next hallway and paused long enough to pull a young mother and her toddler to the ground as they came around the corner. The bullet slammed into the tile wall causing dust and plaster to rain down on them. Clint wiped the dust from his face and continued running.
Phil made his way over to the two civilians on the ground. "Are you alright?" He waited long enough to get a frantic nod from the mother before continuing his pursuit. If he didn't know better, he'd swear that Barton had knocked them down to keep them out of harm's way.
"Subject has left the building. Agent Feltner is unconscious but not seriously injured. Requesting back up to the southeast exit," came the call over the radio. Phil pushed himself to run faster.
Exiting the train station, Coulson looked around the plaza. It was pouring out, but there were still enough people around for Barton to lose himself in the crowd. A quick flash of a black raincoat caught his eye and he pulled his gun. Phil had a clear shot between him and Barton. He took it.
Clint was sprinting towards the alley when a sharp and all-encompassing pain slammed into his side and knocked him into the wall. He immediately clutched his side. He didn't have to look, but he did anyways. His hand was already drenched in blood but he couldn't stop now. Barton pushed away from the wall and continued on down the alley.
Clint was moving as fast as he could, but Coulson easily caught up to him. When he tripped over his own feet and went crashing to the muddy ground, Clint didn't bother to try and get up. Phil stood at the mouth to the alley and watched as Barton rolled over and painfully sat up, his hand clenched protectively around his side.
"Stand-down. I have the situation under control," radioed Phil before he moved closer to the downed target. Phil stood there for a while taking in the sight before him. The broken person before him didn't look like a world-class assassin. He looked like a beaten down kid that had constantly been on the wrong side of the stick. Maybe all those bits of information he had collected on the archer that never made sense at the time, the odd behavior that wasn't synonymous with a cold-blooded killer, did mean something.
Clint glared at his would-be killer. He got how this all went. He really didn't need it drawn out any longer. "What are you waiting for?" he called out. "Just do it already! Pull the trigger!"
Coulson stood there, two feet from the man he had been hunting for the last year. The person he had sworn he would end for what he had done to Kelly. But he just stood there, as calm as ever, pointing his gun at Barton, but not pulling the trigger.
"Please."
It was a broken whisper, but it carried to Coulson's ears. He bit the inside of his lip and holstered his gun. Phil moved next to Barton, the archer's eyes on him the whole time, and squatted next to him. He reached over and pulled open the man's jacket. It wasn't the best shot Phil had ever made, but it was deadly all the same. Clint didn't make a move, didn't stop the agent from opening his jacket. "It's bad," informed Phil, "and it's going to prove fatal in less than thirty minutes without proper medical attention. It's not a good way to go."
"What, this is more entertaining for you to watch than putting a bullet in my head?" snapped Clint. The agent looked him straight in the eyes. What he was looking for Clint didn't know, but he must have found it because he looked away and pulled Barton's coat back over the gushing bullet hole and stood back up.
"I'm going to do something for you that no one's ever done before," said Phil.
"What's that? Put me out of my misery cause I can tell you right now, leaving me to die wouldn't be a first."
Coulson had to give him credit. Even facing death, the archer maintained his attitude. It made the earlier 'please' all the more real. "I'm going to give you a chance," corrected Coulson.
Barton snorted. If he was going to be made to suffer in his final moments, he could do without the jokes. "Don't you mean a second chance? People usually offer second chances."
"You have to have a chance to start with before you can get a second one," Phil stated matter-of-factly.
Clint flinched slightly at the seriousness and sincerity the agent exuded. "You mean that, don't you?"
"Against my better judgment, yes."
Cautiously Clint asked, "What if I mess it up?" There was really no point in contemplating an offer of any kind if it just led back here.
"I caught you once. I think I can do it again. You're a complicated individual Mr. Barton, but more importantly, I think you might be capable of extraordinary things. You certainly are better than what you have done. I think people might benefit from your skills." Phil paused while Barton seemed to consider that. He wasn't above playing on someone's emotions. "You don't really have a lot of options here, so for once in your life, make the right decision."
"And how do I know you're the right decision?"
"Because if you choose to come with me, I'll see that you'll get the medical attention you require, followed by a roof over your head, training to make you the best you can be, and a job that allows you to help people using your god-given talent as a marksman. If you refuse, which is entirely within your right… I won't let you die alone in this alley."
"So you are going to shoot me."
"No. It's not going to end in an alley with a bullet in your head. I will, however, wait with you while you bleed out. You won't die alone."
"That's not a hell of a choice."
"No," agreed Coulson as he sat next to the archer. "Life isn't full of choices with equally enticing options. But I suspect this is one of the better offers you've received in your life. You have to make amends one way or another. I'm giving you the choice on how you're going to do that."
Four Hours Later
Phil stood outside Barton's recovery room watching the kid sleep. He didn't turn to acknowledge Fury when he joined Coulson at the observation window. The minutes tick away silently.
"When I told you to shoot him," started Fury, "I didn't think I had to be explicit and say dead."
Coulson never took his eyes off the man in the bed. "You once gave a young man with a chip on his shoulder an opportunity to do great things… world-benefiting things."
"And what? You want to pay forward that good deed to him? We're not running a home for wayward souls Coulson."
"I suppose not," conceded Phil.
"Definitely not," reaffirmed Nick.
Another silent moment passed. "You value people with skills Director."
"I do."
"He kept us running for over a year. I don't know many agents in your employ that can do that."
"I don't either."
"Might be worth looking into," offered Phil.
"Might be."
Coulson waited to hear Barton's fate. He knew it was a long shot bringing him in but something in those desperate grey eyes had stirred something in Phil and he couldn't bring himself to be the one to extinguish the miniscule flame of hope and goodness that had clearly never been nurtured within the kid.
"Bury the file."
"Sir?" asked Coulson, his confusion ringing through.
"If you want to give him a shot, then you're going to have to bury the file. The only way anyone is going to trust him, is if they never know his connection to Pierce. The only way he's going to make it is if you clear his slate," instructed Fury.
"So we're not going to tell him…"
"No. It will be the push he needs to do great things." Phil just nodded despite his reluctance to go along with that part of the plan. He could see the Director's point. "And Phil," Fury added before leaving, "don't make me regret giving you a chance."