These were dangerous times they lived in. Their heyday was passed, replaced instead with an army of villains, former allies, twisted by necessity. By the desire to survive. The need to live in a world of their making, a world where they could walk free and never mind the freedoms they had to relinquish first. Some accepted it, embraced it, made the best of a bad situation.

Others, like Clint, refused. He'd never been good at being told what to do anyway, this was just another situation with a yoke he wanted to lose. His registration wasn't compulsory, they couldn't demand it of him even if they'd tried, but he almost wished they would just so he could say the words. Make a stand to their face.

As it was, he fought alongside the same people he always had. He owed them more than he owed these pretenders, respected them more. Knew he could expect the same in return.

He'd been out on a patrol when he got the call. A time and a place, and he didn't need to ask who it came from, that was already understood, although the why was less so. He assumed it was because she had a lead, an in, and they were getting fewer these days but every inch counted. You couldn't afford to overlook anything.

The rendezvous wasn't far from his current position, it didn't take long to make his way there. Quiet, out of the way, a safe point where they wouldn't be seen, out of the way of HAMMER's patrol teams. He blended in with the gargoyles, hid among them while he waited, hunched his shoulders and kept an eye out.

 [continued from this]

Things eased up after that first day, as things started to return to normal.  Or as normal as they could get; just as Barton had kept Natasha to himself for a month or so after first recruiting her, to get her prepared for operating under S.H.I.E.L.D., so did she him before getting him back to base.  He'd wanted to readjust, to regain some measure of usefulness, to at least figure out if he could before submitting himself to the rigorous testing and poking and prodding he knew Fury would insist on before clearing him for duty.

It was far from perfect; every new environment required at the very least a set of eyes to guide him, since he couldn't count on being able to familiarize himself with the place beforehand.  He was learning to guide off of sounds, to get a better, almost intuitive understanding of where he was and where things were in relation to him, but it was still a work in progress.

He tested the weight of the bow in his hand, and at least getting it ready to fire he could have done blindfolded anyway.  Muscle memory guided his movements, but he didn't fire, not yet, only held it up, tested the pull, nocked an arrow and drew back, just for a moment.  Just to get a feel.

So far, so good.

Questions, comments, queries, etc, feel free to throw them here; I'm still new to the muse, so I welcome your crit -- it's the best route to improvement, after all.

Constructive criticism is helpful and appreciated, general flames not so much. Anon on, IP tracking off; have at it, folks.