CHAPTER FOUR

He got up at 5:00 am. Or, he woke up at 5:00. It took at least twenty minutes of glaring at the ceiling and wall clock while snuggling into the comforter of his bed before Clint finally forced himself to get up. After a shower, he slipped into grey jeans, a red tee shirt, and his black leather jacket with extra large pockets for his gun.

When he looked out the window he saw the streets still cloaked in darkness. With a huff of exhaustion, he put the coffee pot back in the machine and started brewing a fresh batch for that morning. As it got to work, he took another few minutes to examine the intel he had.

Clint didn't know how long he had spent staring at the same picture over the past few days. It was the most recent one, taken a week before by his contact down here in D.C. assigned to tail her. She sat at a cafe table on the sidewalk, sipping a warm drink of some kind. She wore a ragged, slouchy knit grey beanie hat, a common tell in many of her more recent photos. According to a note with the photo, the piece of paper she stared at on the table contained a map of D.C. Highlighted was Anacostia and Ivy City.

"What is your motivation," Clint murmured. When he noticed the coffee had finished, he grabbed a travel mug and poured as much as he could into it before downing half of what was left. He spent a bit of time picking up the intelligence folder and hiding it in his clothes. Then he downed the rest of the coffee pot's coffee.

The time read 6:22. He checked to make sure he had his gun, wallet, Shield ID, and pocket knife. Finally he picked up the photo of his target and folded it, slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans. Day one of his mission. He had to follow his target-

"What did it show you, Agent Barton?"

"My next target."

"Tell me what you need."

Clint grabbed the wall to steady himself. He closed his eyes. Deep breaths. Loki wasn't here. This was his mission from Shield, not a mission from a psychopathic false god. As quick as the memory had surfaced, it disappeared. He straightened himself up. He could feel his left hand shaking. She's not Loki, he reminded himself, she's barely older than a teenager.

When his hand stopped shaking, he nodded to the door to reassure himself. With his travel mug in one hand and a book and phone in the other, he set out into the streets of Washington, D.C.

By the time the sun had risen above the horizon enough to actually contribute a decent amount of light, Clint had reached the Washington Monument. Plenty of early bird runners doing the trail around the National Mall meant Clint didn't look out of place. The food trucks along all the sidewalks had already started lining up. It amazed Clint to no end that the food trucks could park so close to each other; barely two inches between trucks. What if someone wanted to leave early?

He found a bench near the Washington Monument. There was a certain solace to sitting in the early morning with only the sound of runners and a few cars. Washington, D.C. felt less crowded somehow than New York City. No wonder Steve had taken up residence down here. It was probably easier on him transition-wise.

One of the food trucks opened at 8:00. Clint lined up and grabbed a breakfast sandwich. Now that the sun shined bright enough, he slipped on his black sunglasses as he took up his spot on the park bench. He had a few hours before the woman was supposed to show up so he got to work on his book, though he didn't pay attention to it much. It wasn't in his nature.

He had a mission. And a few hours later his target showed up. He didn't move towards her. Instead he watched her closely without drawing attention. There was no mistaking it- the grey hat gave her away. She stood about 5 foot 6, long blonde hair hanging loose. In her ears were earbuds. He noticed that her phone looked rather expensive compared to the plain clothes she wore. Likely stolen.

She went to one of the pizza trucks - at least she had good taste - and ordered a slice to go. Still Clint didn't move. He had gone completely still as he watched her walk down 14th Street to Jefferson Drive South West. He took out his map when she disappeared from view. There was a Metro stop on Jefferson Drive. With a quick google search, he found that it served the Blue, Orange, and Silver lines. He sighed. It wouldn't even take three stops to get to L'Enfant Plaza, the biggest hub for the DC Metro.

He spent the rest of the day at the museums, killing time. He'd have to stake out the same place tomorrow anyways. He hoped to follow her then, at least get a lead on her movements throughout the city.

As he reached his apartment that night, he didn't even bother to text Steve about how the day had gone. He felt too tired. He went straight to bed.

Clint followed the same routine for three more days. He brought his book with him to the Washington Monument, watched her during her walk through the city, and went home before dark. She seemed to use the metro sparingly. On the sixth night of his mission, he noticed she took a different route. She took the metro - Smithsonian to Metro Center and Metro Center to Gallery Place - before switching to the Red Line and heading North. So far she'd stayed mostly south.

This intrigued Clint too much, but she shook his tail on her before he could tell what stop she got off of. So he made up his mind.

"Hey Steve, don't wait up for me to watch Firefly tonight. I'm trying something new today." He texted Steve at 8:00 when he reached the park bench.

On that day seven, he watched her go up to the pizza food truck as usual. He got up from his regular bench and hoped in line behind her. He observed her as best he could close up. She wore shabby jeans and a black band logo shirt with a grey zip-hoodie over top. The line was longer today, a Saturday, and it gave him time.

He held a piece of nanotechnology in his fingers. As she stood nearly at the place to order, he tapped her on the shoulder, leaving the tracker on her jacket. She turned.

"Sorry, just wanted to say that I love your Panic! At the Disco shirt," Clint apologized sheepishly.

She grinned. "You're good. Panic is one of my favorites." She had to turn quickly back to the truck to order her pizza. "Slice of pepperoni please."

As she bantered back and forth with the food truck owner, he calmed his nerves. He hated how symmetrical her face was. It bothered him just like in the photos. Too perfect. Almost like Thor. Almost like Loki.

She left and he ordered. Taking his slice back to his park bench, he started pretending to read again. But his mind was a million places except for the story. Once she disappeared down the road, he checked his phone. The tracker had already started working. He flashed a tight smile at the phone.

He leisurely made his way back to the apartment again. Going straight to his own rooms, he sat down on the couch and flipped the TV on. He had a few hours to kill.

"I think I'm making headway," he texted Natasha around 5:00 PM.

It didn't take long for her to reply. "Oh?"

"Got a tracker on her today. I'm going to follow her tonight." He flipped channels. Finally he settled on hockey.

"Be careful,Clint," she replied.

At seven o'clock that night, Clint got his suit on. He put his black jacket over it. In the dark at night it seemed like he was wearing regular clothes, only these were bullet resistant. He carried with him his bow in a case that resembled an ordinary briefcase. Hopping on the metro, he took it to Brentwood, just as his tracker showed on his phone.

Brentwood. One of the most dangerous places in the D.C. Metropolitan area. Crime here was at a high, and poverty too. The two went hand in hand. What the hell was his target doing there. There wasn't anything worth stealing in Brentwood.

"What is she doing," he muttered to himself as he disembarked at the Brentwood station. He checked the tracker again. She wasn't far.

He thanked his lucky stars that it was already night, and a cloudy one at that. He stuck to the shadows. He caught sight of her half an hour later, walking down a street with a hood up to cover her face and earbuds in her ears once again.

She certainly was bold. Walking down one of the most dangerous parts of D.C. as an attractive young woman was either brave or stupid, and he wasn't sure which one at this point. And what happened next only served to reinforce his decision that it was one or the other. As he saw five large men approach her, he took the opportunity to scurry to the top of the townhouse he stood beside and watched from the roof. When he reached the top, he dropped into a crouch. A man with a sniper rifle lay at the edge of the roof. Clint took him out quickly, dropping him unconscious behind him at the back of the roof. Instead, Clint took up the sniper rifle in his place to watch.

He wasn't close enough to hear their discussion. He could read the lips of the men, but her back was to him. Clearly they were acquainted, or at least familiar with each other. He could see gang symbols on the tattoos of the men, and he started to unpack his bow just in case.

"What the hell is she playing at," he muttered.