Fic: The Greatest of Ease
Title: The Greatest of Ease
Summary: Clint discovers a new point of view.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 648
Rating/Contents: PG, canon-typical violence, suspension
Pairing: Gen, Clint-centric
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For
kink_bingo (suspension)! A Kink Bingo story with no sex or shippery of any kind! It had to happen eventually.
This is the culmination of the mission they've been on, the point where they've gotten everything they need, and all Clint has to do is come in and clean up, take out the target anonymously from a distance so that Natasha's cover isn't blown. It's not the most interesting part of the job, but that's SHIELD, where killing a guy a hundred yards away from the fiftieth story of an office building is child's play.
"As soon as you've got the shot, take it," Coulson's voice says in his ear. "No chatter until the target is down."
"Affirmative, sir," Clint says, inching forward. He's working with his rifle today, which he doesn't hate and he doesn't like. He maintains his skill, practices carefully, but he'd be up there with his arrows if there was any way, if he didn't have to go through all these windows to reach the target.
Arrows aside, this is just a crappy setup. The window only slants open so far, which he can work with, but the corner of the building that Natasha and the target are in is blocking his view, making the target appear and reappear as he paces, no doubt mansplaining something that Natasha is going to soak up every single word that she can from before Clint takes the guy down. He cranes his neck, looking side to side out the window to see if he can do better, and that's when he spots it, the perfect vantage point.
There's some kind of construction going on a few doors down, maybe window repair or something like that. There's one of those platforms like window-washers use, the kind on wires, but Clint's not interested in that. What's much more interesting is underneath it, a net of thick webbing hanging down, something to catch god knows what if it's dropped. The holes are big enough that Clint isn't sure how it's supposed to be any good, but it's just right for his purposes.
Clint backs out of the room, creeping through the hallway and picking the lock on the door to the right office. There's no window, so it's not hard to get himself outside and into the net. There's just enough room to prop his gun, and this is absolutely perfect. It's one of the better nests he's been in, in terms of ventilation and comfort. He's very used to sitting for hours and hours ignoring leg cramps and rocks, but this is nice, calm.
He's always liked being up high, being where he could watch, being secluded but seeing all; it's just that he's never really felt it like this before, the distance, the separation. He's always been tethered, stuck like gum to the side of a building, carefully maintaining his connection so that he doesn't make that one misstep that ends everything. This is totally different; he's not up high, he's in the sky, he's part of it. It could be terrifying, but it's so comfortable, so comforting. The net isn't going to let him go, because the sky isn't going to let it, isn't going to let its child fall.
The target moves, and there's the shot, beautiful and clear. Clint fires, dropping the target in two shots, and that's it, the deed is done.
"Target eliminated," Clint says into the comm.
"Confirmed," Natasha says, and Clint can see her kick the mark's body before she runs off, screaming wildly to the rest of the house about the horrible thing that's just happened.
"Team two, fall back," Coulson says, and even though he moves the radio away from his mouth, Clint can still hear his angry sigh. "Do you have a death wish, Barton?"
Clint grins to himself. "Negative, sir."
"Get the hell down from there."
Clint straps his gun to his back and pulls out his grappling hook.
What was he gonna do, take the stairs?
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/430191.html.
comments over there.
Summary: Clint discovers a new point of view.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 648
Rating/Contents: PG, canon-typical violence, suspension
Pairing: Gen, Clint-centric
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For
kink_bingo (suspension)! A Kink Bingo story with no sex or shippery of any kind! It had to happen eventually.
This is the culmination of the mission they've been on, the point where they've gotten everything they need, and all Clint has to do is come in and clean up, take out the target anonymously from a distance so that Natasha's cover isn't blown. It's not the most interesting part of the job, but that's SHIELD, where killing a guy a hundred yards away from the fiftieth story of an office building is child's play.
"As soon as you've got the shot, take it," Coulson's voice says in his ear. "No chatter until the target is down."
"Affirmative, sir," Clint says, inching forward. He's working with his rifle today, which he doesn't hate and he doesn't like. He maintains his skill, practices carefully, but he'd be up there with his arrows if there was any way, if he didn't have to go through all these windows to reach the target.
Arrows aside, this is just a crappy setup. The window only slants open so far, which he can work with, but the corner of the building that Natasha and the target are in is blocking his view, making the target appear and reappear as he paces, no doubt mansplaining something that Natasha is going to soak up every single word that she can from before Clint takes the guy down. He cranes his neck, looking side to side out the window to see if he can do better, and that's when he spots it, the perfect vantage point.
There's some kind of construction going on a few doors down, maybe window repair or something like that. There's one of those platforms like window-washers use, the kind on wires, but Clint's not interested in that. What's much more interesting is underneath it, a net of thick webbing hanging down, something to catch god knows what if it's dropped. The holes are big enough that Clint isn't sure how it's supposed to be any good, but it's just right for his purposes.
Clint backs out of the room, creeping through the hallway and picking the lock on the door to the right office. There's no window, so it's not hard to get himself outside and into the net. There's just enough room to prop his gun, and this is absolutely perfect. It's one of the better nests he's been in, in terms of ventilation and comfort. He's very used to sitting for hours and hours ignoring leg cramps and rocks, but this is nice, calm.
He's always liked being up high, being where he could watch, being secluded but seeing all; it's just that he's never really felt it like this before, the distance, the separation. He's always been tethered, stuck like gum to the side of a building, carefully maintaining his connection so that he doesn't make that one misstep that ends everything. This is totally different; he's not up high, he's in the sky, he's part of it. It could be terrifying, but it's so comfortable, so comforting. The net isn't going to let him go, because the sky isn't going to let it, isn't going to let its child fall.
The target moves, and there's the shot, beautiful and clear. Clint fires, dropping the target in two shots, and that's it, the deed is done.
"Target eliminated," Clint says into the comm.
"Confirmed," Natasha says, and Clint can see her kick the mark's body before she runs off, screaming wildly to the rest of the house about the horrible thing that's just happened.
"Team two, fall back," Coulson says, and even though he moves the radio away from his mouth, Clint can still hear his angry sigh. "Do you have a death wish, Barton?"
Clint grins to himself. "Negative, sir."
"Get the hell down from there."
Clint straps his gun to his back and pulls out his grappling hook.
What was he gonna do, take the stairs?
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/430191.html.
comments over there.