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Chapter Text

October 1999

Barton vs Shostakov 

"Another clean round by Clint Barton! That left hook at the end rocked The Red Guardian!"

"While Melina and her Red Room training team give Shostakov the once over, Hawkeye is likely getting a game plan from Coach Fury."

"You're right about that, Howard. Nobody can read the tempo of a fight like he can. I expect Hawkeye to come out swinging in Round 6."

"You cut him above the eye."

Clint "Hawkeye" Barton was shaken from his reverie by Nick Fury. 

"Don't target the cut, Barton. Red Room trains for that." Fury advised. 

Barton nodded as Phil directed him to open his mouth, and squirted some water in.

"Jab the chin, and use the Right uppercut."

Barton looked back to Fury, and nodded, before gazing across the ring at Alexei Shostakov, better known as the Red Guardian. He was the top contender for Rogers' Championship, and Barton needed to beat him here. Catchweight fights weren't great on the body, especially when you're fighting from Light Heavyweight to Heavyweight like Clint was. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to knock off one of the greats, and he had to make it count.

Both fighters stood, and the teams cleared the ring. Alexei stared down at the smaller man. Not with hate like most think, just  focus.  

Hawkeye matched his stare and raised his arms. He was a Southpaw, a leftie, and that meant he negated some of Alexei's reach advantage by exposing more of Alexei than a rightie would. 

The bell rang.

He knew Alexei would swing first, and so Barton waited as the big man closed the distance, and fired a right hook aimed for Clint's temple. Clint ducked the hook and delivered a counter left to Shostakov's liver. The blow rocked Alexei, and as the Red Guardian unconsciously brought his arms down, Hawkeye struck.

He delivered a precise left jab to Alexei's nose, then swiftly followed it up with a right uppercut.

The accumulated damage from earlier in the fight and the liver blow added up to send Alexei to the canvas.

As Clint returned to his corner, the ref began his count.

Alexei didn't move until after 10.

Laufeyson vs Barton II

May 23rd, 2012

"The veteran circles the outside, looking for a way in."

"Loki is playing smart here, using his reach to keep Hawkeye at bay."

"Sticking to the game plan laid out by his corner- OH HERE COMES HAWKEYE!"

"WHAT A COMBO!"

"Barton strikes with precision and stuns Loki!"

"And the Kate rings-"

"How will the strategy-"

"Katie-"

"Katie!"

"KATIE!"

Kate snapped awake, sucking in a deep breath and wincing at the bright lights above her. The room wasn't hers, and her Mom was far too close for Kate's liking.

"Mom?" Kate called tentatively.

"I'm here sweetie." Mom replied.

Kate's head was pounding, and as she closed her eyes and focused on the ringing in her ears, she tuned in to the hushed conversation between Mom and another man.

"We found him in the wreckage….. with the position of his body…. It's hard to see him having survived."

"Just fucking say it, Doc."

"Derek Bishop is dead."

Kate's world crumbled.

Sports Center

May 25th, 2012

"The boxing world mourns the loss of a champion today. Welterweight fighter Derek Bishop, who hung up the gloves after the birth of his daughter in 2002, was killed in a car accident today. Bishop won only a single Welterweight title, stunning the Kingpin Wilson Fisk in a bout in 1994. Bishop lost the belt later that year but maintained an underdog spirit, a warrior's heart, and a champion's will. Bishop is survived by his wife, Eleanor, and daughter, Katherine."

ESPN

June 9th, 2012

"Shocking news out of the SHIELD Camp today, as former two-time light heavyweight champion Clint Barton announces his retirement. Barton's coach, the legendary Nick Fury, cites medical reasons for the decision. Barton has a history of injuries to his ears throughout his career, injuries that were exacerbated in his most recent bout against Loki Laufeyson. Hawkeye finishes his career with twenty-four wins, seven losses, and one draw. Of his twenty-four wins, eight were by knockout."

Manhattan, New York

August 12th, 2012

Kate watched as Mom continued to stack boxes. Her eyes settled on each one.  That one was Moms. That one was Moms. That's Mine. That one….

The box was labeled as trash, but Kate could see old videotapes sticking out of the top.  Why throw away old movies?

She grabbed the box and put it in the pile of stuff to keep, drawing a look from Mom.

"Katie, put that back."

Kate looked at her mother, confused.

 "Why? Aren't these Dad's?"

"Yes, sweetie, which is why it can go in the garbage."

"What if I want them?"

Mom softened at that and blinked away tears.

"Then you can have them."

Bishop Penthouse

April 4th, 2014

"Rogers drops Rumlow! Rogers captures his seventh heavyweight title!"

"YES!" Kate cheered.

As the star-spangled fighter celebrated on her TV, Kate's eyes drifted from the historic moment to the tapes on her shelf.

The Hawkeye fights.

She knew it was late. Rogers nearly had to go the distance to beat "Crossbones, " which pushed the fight well past her bedtime.

But one more fight wouldn't hurt. She checked the clock, then the RCA cables on her TV. With the VHS player up and running, Kate looked over her options.

Barton vs Quill, Barton vs Banner…. That was easily his worst loss….. What about one I haven't seen?

Kate looked at the stack of unlisted tapes, the ones marked with only dates, and decided on an earlier fight.

How about….. October 1997.

It was the second earliest fight in Barton's history. His first fight had been the last in Phil Coulson's career. The two had formed a long-lasting friendship in that fight, and it had lasted until Phil passed in 2011.

She put the tape in and sat back on the couch, slamming her mountain dew back as the first fighter, a startlingly young Clint Barton, walked to the ring. She watched as Clint, yet to be called Hawkeye, took his corner and talked with Nick Fury, whose left eye was not whited out yet.

As the second fighter exited the tunnel, Kate got a good look at him. He was young but familiar. He was stocky, and focused, like a fighter in his prime. 

Where have I seen this guy before?

Then, his name was announced.

It was her father. 

Oh my god.

Iron Fist Boxing Gym

June 22nd, 2014

Kate walked through the door to Iron Fist, marched up to the front desk, and eyed the gym around her as she waited for an attendant. Several bags hung from the ceiling, fighters smacking them around and eyeing each other.

Measuring the competition….

"Ma'am."

Surprised, Kate turned and was face to face with a blond-haired man.

"Hi. I'm Kate."

The man gestured to his name tag.

Danny.

"Can I help you?" Danny asked.

"Yeah, I'd like to…." She draws out her 'o' as she produces her wallet "start a membership."

Danny eyes her dryly and raises an eyebrow.

"Please." Kate finishes.

June 22nd, 2021

"BLOCK IT, BISHOP!"

Kate only hears Danny as a left hook catches her on the chin, sending her stumbling against the ropes. Across the ring, Maya Lopez rolls her shoulder, then closes the distance and sends a left jab flying towards Kate, who slides and pivots to her right, and away from the ropes.

Maya keeps coming, and before Kate can refocus, a right cross knocks her to the canvas.

As Kate lands on her back, a bell dings, causing Maya to shoot Danny a dirty look.

"That's enough, Maya."

She signs angrily at him  "I had her!"

He nods and signs back  "I know. I'm glad you can feel vibrations as well as you do."

Maya shakes her head  "I have a crew that signaled me, idiot!"

Danny chuckles, his sarcasm unable to break through the ASL barrier, and slides through the ropes, his eyes on Kate's conscious, but defeated body.

"You good, Bishop?"

"Not really." She replied.

"Shake it off and take the day."

Kate sits up and shakes her head.

"I'm good. Gimme ten."

Danny shakes his head "Take the day. You've been at it all week."

"I have to win this fight, Danny."

"You'll win. Look, you're repping my gym well. Not perfect, but six wins is a solid run, even if each win is padded by a loss or two. Monica Rambeau is a tough fighter, but you're Derek Bishop's kid. You've got the blood of a champion. If I'm being honest-" he steps away, sighing "-you're wasting your talent here."

Kate looks on as Danny walks away.

Is he right? Could I- shit, Lucky!

Kate gets up and runs for the locker room, only slightly embarrassed at her limp.

International Boxing Hall of Fame 

Induction Ceremony 

December 2nd, 2021

Clint Barton watched as the other soon-to-be Hall of Famers mulled around backstage. Rogers and Stark were avoiding each other, and Banner was staring into space, tugging at his suit sleeve.

It was sad.

All of us are shells. Fuckin' ghosts.

His generation of boxers, with trailblazer Natasha Romanoff, himself, the clowns in the room, and Thor, who was still fighting and on a record heavyweight title run, were hailed as the greatest ever. 

Look at us, Nat. You're better off up there. You'd hate us now. Hate who we've become.

Maybe it's better that you're gone.

"Hello there, Mister Barton." Came a familiar, high-strung voice.

Quentin Beck strolls in, wearing that stupid green blazer and ugly purple turtleneck. Barton reels in his emotions, and nods, making a point to adjust his hearing aid.

"Beck."

Quentin chuckles at the stiffness.

"How's Parker?" Clint asks, trying to either put Beck on the defensive or make him leave.

"Laid up, sadly. I think his days in the ring are up." Beck says, a matter of factly.

That makes Clint  bristle . Beck was notoriously hard on his fighters, and Parker was no exception. He had run the kid into three brutal fights with experienced, and dangerous opponents when he was far out of his league.

"That's your fault. He wasn't ready for Marko, let alone Dillion or Toomes."

Beck  laughed  "That Vulture fight was BRUTAL."

Clint faced Beck, and growled, "It's shithead promoters like you that get fighters hurt."

Beck meets him head-on "It's shitheads like me that make the most money, Hawkguy."

Clint took a breath, unclenching his fist and sighing.

"I have a speech to give. Fuck off, Beck."

"I will, ten years from now and sixty million dollars richer than you. Go on and give your speech, birdy. Get out of  my  sport."

Beck smirked, and walked away, leaving Clint fuming.

He was right about one thing, Clint realized.

It is time to go.

In the seats….

Kate looked up at the poster, showing a battle between Clint and Tony Stark in 2009. She remembered that fight. Tony was on a hot streak that led to his eventual first (and only) title win. He beat Clint by decision, enduring some of the best boxing Clint had ever delivered.

She focused back on the stage, on the podium, where Clint would be immortalized in a few minutes. This was the end of the boxing road (and she was only at the start, and it felt like she was going nowhere)

She looked at the event itinerary. The memorial for Natasha Romanoff would kick off the event, followed by her posthumous induction by Hall of Famers Milena Vostokoff, Alexei Shostakov, and young star Yelena Belova. Alexei and Milena had adopted and trained Natasha and Yelena in self-defense. 

Apparently, they both caught the bug  Kate thought.

After that, Banner would be inducted, then Clint. 

End of an era….

The lights dimmed, and Kate sat upright, 

Here we go.

Backstage

Clint knew Natasha was up first and nodded in respect to Alexei as he passed by. He smiled and nodded at Milena, who nodded as well. 

Yelena looked like she wanted to kill him. Clint was appalled by the apparent anger Yelena was showing as she walked out onto the stage.

The fuck?

Clint shook his head and went over his speech again. He had it down, but he wanted to get that exchange out of his head.

And Beck.

He sighed and pinched his nose, before squaring his shoulders and joining the other inductees at the backstage tv, watching the event. Yelena wore a somber smile, but her eyes were filled with something else.

Looks familiar, huh Clint?

Shut the fuck up.  Clint countered his inner monologue.

And you wonder why no one is talking. You are poison, Barton, and Nat was the cure. No one cares about you without her. Your career was a waste.

Fuck this.

Clint rips his speech up and storms out. 

Fuck the ceremony. Fuck Beck. Fuck Boxing.

He shoots a text to Laura, letting her know he's leaving, and gets his jacket, knowing damn well he will never come back to New York.

In the Seats….

Kate watches as Natasha's family is presented with a plaque bearing Natasha's name, and a Hall of Fame ring. Alexei is openly crying, whereas Milena and Yelena are more reserved.

As she gets ready to clap, her phone vibrates. Then it vibrates again.

Damn it, Mom.

She stands and makes for the exits, pulling out her phone and getting ready to answer the call.

She presses accept as she crosses into the atrium. 

"Yeah, Mom?"

"Katie, where are you right now?"

"Um…" Kate glances around "The mall?"

"The mall?"

"....yep."

"Why does it sound like a question?"

Kate sighs "Look,"

"No." Mom interrupts "Katie, I put up with you taking Boxing classes. But the sport itself is a waste of time."

"Really? because I could make lots of money."

Kate exited the arena and started walking down the block.

"If you wanted money, come work for the company.".

"That sounds boring."

A sigh comes over the line.

"I get you're trying to connect with your father."

Kate picked up her speed, and tries to pass the guy walking in front of her….

….and immediately trips over the bottom of a pole.

As she fell, she saw her phone drop, and as a firm hand wrapped around her bicep, heard it clatter and break on the cement.

She regained her balance and whirled around to thank her savior.

Clint Barton, Hawkeye, Two Time Light Heavyweight Champion, stared at her.

"What? Aren't you going to say thank you?"

A smile breaks out on Kate's face.

Chapter Text

Manhattan, New York

December 2nd, 2021

The girl’s smile broke into a look of surprise “You’re freaking Hawkeye!”

Clint allowed her a moment to be starstruck, holding a tight-lipped smile and patting her on the arm. This girl was beaming with happiness, and it kind of shocked him. After a moment of her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, she hugged him, stiffened, pulled back a bit, shrugged, and hugged him tighter. Clint decided to wrap this up.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” He said softly as he  pried  the girl off of him. As she backed away, he took a moment to appraise her. She was young, no older than 20, with long black hair pulled into a ponytail. She was wearing a jet black suit, sand loafers to match. Her eyes, large and storm blue, analyzed him as well.

Clint was not at all what she expected. He was wearing a tux, unbuttoned at the sleeves and the jacket. He looked old, far older than the mid to late forties she thought he would be. His short, spiky hair was gone, traded in for a slightly longer cut, which had flecks of gray in it. He wore a beard, longer than stubble, but no more. His eyes, a windy gray, took her in.

Am I wearing deodorant?  she thought.

I think I broke her.  Clint’s mind was buzzing. A stressful day punctuated with the most awkward encounter with a fan that he has ever had.

“I always wanted to….” the girl began but trailed off. 

After a moment, she continued.

“I’ve dreamed about this for a while. I was hoping we’d meet at the ceremony… I wanted you to sign my gloves but I forgot them.” She spoke slowly, as though she was holding back another wave of excitement.

Clint nodded and smiled. 

Be polite, Barton.

“Look, it’s to meet you, but I have somewhere to be.” He said before he tried to step around her.

But in her confusion, the girl forgot to move, blocking Clint’s way.

“Wait.” She said, “isn’t the event the other way?”

Clint paused, before saying “It is, but I’m not going. Now excuse me.”

He tried to step around again, but this time the girl planted herself in his way intentionally. 

“Why? It’s the Hall of Fame dude!”

“It is.” he replied “Which is why I’m not going. I’m done with boxing. Please, ma’am, excuse me.”

Clint tried to step around her once more, but as he planted his foot, he heard a crunch.

“My phone!” she exclaimed.

“My bad, I’m sorry ma’am.” Clint supplied automatically as he stepped back, appraising the damaged phone.

It was broken. Very broken. 

“Well, fuck.” the girl cursed, surprising Clint.

After a beat of staring at the phone, the nature of the situation hit Clint.

He doesn’t know how far this girl is from home, and she has no phone. She can’t call an Uber if she hasn’t already, and his room has a bed for one. Goddamnit.

“Have you called an Uber?” he asked, knowing damn well most cabs were waiting on drunk kids who partied too late, not this girl.

“Um, no.” the young woman replied, and Clint internally cursed as he checked off solution number one.

“How far is your place?” He asked.

“Brooklyn.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” She popped the ‘p’ and blushed furiously.

The poor girl’s embarrassed.

“Friends, Relatives?”

“No friends.” She supplies “But….” She trails off, and Clint waits a moment, then two as this girl does rather complex calculations with her eyes before they dart to Clint.

“But what?” he asks.

“My aunt lives about a dozen blocks away.”

“A dozen?” Clint asked.

“Yeah.”

“Anything closer?” Clint asked. He didn’t want to get caught out in public with a girl younger than half his age. He had a wife. While Laura was forgiving as hell, he wasn’t about to push his luck.

“I know my coach sleeps in his gym most nights.”

“Coach?”

“Danny Rand.”

“Rand as in Iron Fist?” Clint asked “The boxer?”

“Yeah!” She confirmed excitedly, which made Clint raise a finger to shush her.

“Easy on the excitement, kid. Which way?”

“That way, about eight blocks.”

“Fucking Eight?” Clint was shocked, at how big was this city.

“Yeah.” the girl said, unfazed by his use of the F-bomb “Straight through Hell’s Kitchen.”

Fuck. I can’t let her walk through there alone.

Clint sighed, drawing the girl’s attention.

“Let’s go.” He said suddenly.

“Really? Let’s….. as in, both of us?”

“I need to make sure you get there safely, plus I know Rand. It’ll be easier to explain if I’m there with you.”

“How? I just need a place to crash.”

Clint pinches his nose “I’ll explain as we get- look can we just get going, please? I have a long travel day tomorrow.”

“Yeah-I mean yes! Absolutely! Let’s go…” She trails off “On an adventure.”

Clint rolls his eyes and starts walking, and he hears the girl sputter as she races to catch up.

“I’m Kate…. by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Kate.”

“So why are you done with boxing?” Kate asks.

“Why are you so annoying?” Clint asks in return.

“Annoying is subjective. I’ve been told by many people I'm endearing,” she answers.

“Oh yeah, are you one of those people?”

A Pause and Clint crosses the street, J-walking with no particular amount of urgency.

Let’em hit me.

As they hit the sidewalk and start down the street, the environment begins to get dirtier, although admittedly, he has never seen Manhattan Island, let alone New York, as clean.

“Maybe.” He heard Kate finally respond as she catches up, matching his stride.

“Well, what else do you tell yourself?” He asked, knowing damn well she could handle doing all of the talking as they headed to the gym.

“Well, I tell myself a lot of things. Like that, I have great posture! A degree!”

“A degree at 19?”

“Running start.”

“Ah.” He nods.

“I have a great left hook?” She says it as a question, but the topic triggers that itch in Clint’s brain.

You still like boxing, Barton. 

Ask her about it.

Ask about the next talent that will get crushed by Beck and an uncaring industry.

Do it, coward.

He sighs and stops, before turning and facing Kate, who nearly runs him over. She staggers back in surprise, and Clint raises an eyebrow, as well as his right hand. He opens it, exposing the palm.

“Jab,” he says.

“What?” Kate asks.

“Right Jab, to my hand,” he orders.

“No way! Really?!” She asks, excitement climbing.

“Before I change my mind, Energizer.”

Kat nods and sets her feet, and readies herself. It takes ten seconds, and when she delivers the jab, her form pays off, but the force is underwhelming.

“Pfft. Is that it?” he asks “C’mon, Kate. Jab my hand.”

Kate nods, and sets herself again, delivering a harder jab.

“Again.”

Jab.

“Again.”

Jab.

“C’mon, you call yourself a fan?”

Her next jab does more than move Clint’s hand. It managed to knock him somewhat off balance. He chuckles and shakes his hand out, nodding all the while.

“Not bad. Had to motivate you, but you at least got the form down.” He says.

Kate stares at him, eyes bright.

“Thanks.” She says after a moment, still, clearly starstruck “Danny has been preaching the jab lately. Says I’d win more fights if I used my reach.”

“Height and weight?” he asks, damning the cardinal rule of what to ask a girl.

“Five eight, one-hundred and thirty pounds.”

Clint nods “Looks like average reach for a girl your size.”

“An inch over, according to Danny.”

“Still a good advantage. Most females in the sport are actually under the average. Mainly because of Nat-” He stops.

“You mean the Black Widow?” Kate asks somewhat carefully, which Clint appreciates.

She can read people.

Good physique and a decent head on her shoulders.

Better steer her way, Clint.

“Yeah.” After a pause, he nods “Been standing on the side of this grungy street long enough, let’s get to the gym.”

20 minutes later….

“I still don’t know how you beat Wilson.”

“Before he moved up to heavyweight, his coaching was shit.” Clint says, pointing to the gym “We’re here.” He adds, approaching the door to Iron Fist.

He knocks on the metal door twice, then pushes the buzzer. Given the age of the building, he doubts it works. He looks at Kate as she watches the door, a sad look in her eye. He sighs internally and pushes the buzzer one more time. It was past eleven, and Rand was always a stickler about good sleep. As he turns to Kate to ask if Rand might be home, the intercom buzzes to life.

“‘Ello? Who the hell is at my door at eleven at night?”

Before Clint can speak up, Kate does.

“Danny, Hi!” She greets “it’s Kate.”

“Kate? Bishop?”

“The one and only.” She confirms.

Bishop?  Clint’s mind races, remembering a fight from his greener days. A stockier man, almost a heavyweight, with black hair, forgiving brown eyes, and a hell of a left jab.

Shit.

The door opens, and Danny Rand, wearing gym shorts and a tank top, greets them.

“Hey, Bishop. Do you need a place to crash?” he asks as his eyes glance over to Clint “Holy shit. Clint?”

“Hey, Danny.” Clint nods.

“What’re you doing here?” Danny asks wearily.

“I was uh, just making sure, uh, Kate here got somewhere safe for the night. Her phone broke.”

“It was my fault.” Kate hastily adds.

Danny eyes her for a moment, before nodding.

“Both of you get in here. Temperatures are gonna drop even further soon. Supposed to be like hell out there tonight.”

As they enter the building, Kate replies “Yeah, I’m surprised it hasn’t snowed yet.”

“It will,” Danny confirms.

10 minutes later….

While Kate was in the lockers, showering and changing into her spare athletic sweats, Clint and Danny sat down in the latter’s office.

“So uh, how’d you come across Bishop there?”

“I left the event early. I’m tired of being paraded around when I hardly did shit compared to the others.” Clint answers “Not to mention I disagree with a lot of the things the sport does now, including the control promoters have over their fighters.”

“This about Beck and Parker?” 

“It is a little bit, yeah." Clint answers, fiddling with his hearing and nodding.

Danny nods and the two enjoy a pause before Danny adds “Caused quite a storm on Social Media.”

Clint chuckles “I hope I did. Even if I don’t see it, it’s still nice to know I can fuck with the sport a bit.”

Danny eyes him, before speaking again “This is about Natasha.”

Clint darkens, but Danny doesn’t back down. The “Iron Fist” always knew how hard to hit and where to hit.

Clint nods, his throat dry.

Danny sees Clint swallow and offers him a bottle of whiskey. Clint shakes his hand and waves him off, going for the glass of water nearby.

“I should get going.” he says “Before Kate gets back and talk-”

“You’re scared of her,” Danny interjects.

“Of Kate?”

“Of what she represents. I know you see it in her. The talent, the intelligence. That’s no ordinary gym rat.” Danny elaborates further “The only other gals I see right now with that potential are Belova, whose chasing a belt right now, and Lopez, who is getting eyed by Fisk’s promotion.”

“Fisk is a promoter?” Clint asks, surprised.

Danny nodded “After three years as a heavyweight, he coached for a while, then dipped. Came back about four years ago as a promoter. Made a scene wiping the floor with Murdock’s guys.”

“How many fighters is he employing?” Clint asks quietly.

“A handful. Eric Stevens is making mincemeat of the middleweights, and he’s got negotiations with Lopez in three days. I doubt she’ll stay here. She fuckin’ hates my guts.”

Clint’s head dipped back, and he sighed for the eleventh time tonight as he watched the ceiling.

“Belova?” He asks after a minute.

“Signed with Red Room, but after Natasha…. She opted to sign with Iron Maiden. She’s with her mother.”

“Good.” Clint releases his breath. If Belova signed with Fisk or Beck, he’d have a stroke, and he  knows  Natasha would roll in her grave.

Another pause and Clint is eyeing the whiskey. Danny watches with an amused look. Finally, Danny breaks the stalemate.

“Bishop is starting to draw eyes.”

Clint’s head snaps to look at Danny, eyes slightly wider.

“Two of Fisk’s guys were taking notes. Heard the word ‘spar’ a lot.”

“They’ll use her as a punching bag.” Clint states.

Danny nods “They’ll convince her she’ll be a star, with access to good facilities, and offer her a wage she really can’t refuse.” he looks to Clint “She pays to come here and punch a bag, occasionally a person. I make a little from her exhibitions with other Gyms, but I can’t see her turning down her first opportunity to collect a real check from this.”

“Jesus.” Clint breathes. His knuckles are turning white from how tight he’s gripping the desk he’s on and he can barely contain his anger “Fuck.” he breathes out.

Another pause, another glance at the whiskey, and Danny notices again. Instead of offering it, he grabs the bottle, opens his drawer, places it in there, and shuts the drawer. Then, he looks at Clint, eyes expectant, and glimmering.

Clint knows that look, sees Danny intake a breath and he fucking  knows.

“Train her.”

“Fuck no.”

“Fuck yes, Clint.”

“No, Danny. I won’t.”

“Clint.” Danny  hisses  his name and Clint gets it. He gets the point way fucking too late.

“You and I both know that there ain’t a male fighter between here and fucking Shanghai, going east, that can crack the top fifty in a weight class right now. But a female fighter, an uncut gem, with boxing lineage and a natural talent, coached by a two-time champ, in a gym run by a longtime welterweight contender? She’d have a shot, Clint.”

Clint knows he has made every good point in the book, and his only possible counter would be how far away he lives. Iowa to goddamn New York isn’t an easy commute. 

“I don’t want to use her to fix  our  problems with the business, Danny.”

“We wouldn’t be.” Danny shakes his head “We’d be treating her properly, and simply showing the industry how it’s done while making sure she’s as safe as she can be while she climbs the ladder.”

“Have you tried warding her off?”

“For seven years, Barton. She’s not going anywhere, and I cannot turn away a paying customer.”

Clint rubbed his head and sighed for the twelfth time.

Well, fuck it. The details will sort themselves out.

“Okay,” Clint says.

“You’ll do it?”

“Sounds like we don’t have a choice. It’s us or Fisk, and after Parker, I’d rather not see her go down that route.”

“Good, here she comes.”

“Wait wha-”

The office door opens, and Kate enters, a bottle of water in hand as she goes for a cot in the corner.

“I’m just gonna crash in the lounge. Is that cool?”

“It is.” Danny replies “You know what’s cooler?”

“Lucky’s auto feeder?”

“Nope,” Danny says, and he nods to Clint, who sighs for (hopefully) the final time and faces Kate.

“Danny and I are gonna train you.” Clint finally says.

For the second time that night, Kate’s smile threatened to tear her face in two.

Chapter Text

Iron Fist Boxing Gym

December 3rd, 2021

This is so…freaking….cool.

I’m being trained by Clint Barton.

Kate was laying on the cot she commandeered from Danny’s office, her eyes resting on the ceiling of the lounge. It was half-past three in the morning, and all she could think about was when Clint would come in and tell her to get up and go for a run. She felt like it would be anytime.

Not to mention that the sooner we train the sooner I can get home to Lucky.

His auto-feeder had enough food to get him through until tomorrow, and she had just filled his water dish when she had left for the Hall of Fame event.

I wonder what made Clint hate boxing so much. More importantly, what made him put that hate aside to train me, without me asking.

Kate put that thought aside.

I’m getting trained by one of the best ever. This is too freaking cool to be true.

She felt the need to pinch herself. To check and see if this was real.

“Ow.” She whispered, having pinched a little too hard. As she rubbed the spot where she had pinched, she looked at the clock, its digital numbers casting a red aura on the table near it.

Three thirty-three. I wonder where he is?

She rolled onto her back and resumed staring at the ceiling, waiting for Clint or Coach Rand to come through the door and start tossing pillow, shoes, or even gloves.

It never happened.

8:30….

He hadn’t come yet, and Kate had been falling in and out of sleep for the better part of the past two hours.

This might suck.

She sat up, back popping as it changed positions.

Mild sleep and I’m probably already late. He’s probably on some kind of Hawkeye schedule or something.

She stands, puts her hoodie on, matching it with her sweatpants, and quietly trudges downstairs. As she nears the bottom of the steps, into the slightly underground gym, she stomps her feet, hoping to show that she was energized.

“Okay Coach! I’m ready to -”

Kate goes silent upon laying her eyes on the empty gym. It was Friday, which meant it was cleaning day, and yet Danny was not down here with the bleach and rags out. Also absent was Clint.

Maybe they are in the men’s showers?

She goes to the Men’s locker room door, sits by it, and listens, waiting to hear the sound of talking, or a shower spray, or something. 

Silence. A deafening silence. One of those silences where the only thing accompanying your thoughts is the fan running in another room.

Maybe they’re upstairs?

So she dutifully travels back up the stairs, past the lounge, and to the office. At the door, she stops and listens. She doesn’t hear any muffled conversation. In fact, she hears snoring. One person, a man, snoring.

Danny stayed overnight again…

With a sigh, Kate pushed on the door, and as it opened, began her greeting.

“Hey Coach, have you seen -”

She stopped again, because at the desk, asleep in Coach Rand’s expensive office chair, with an empty bottle of whiskey tipped over on the desk, and definitely not training her, was Clint.

Clint had slept through her greeting and was still unconscious, drool running down his lip, and into his beard.

What?

She cleared her throat and hoped Clint would hear it. But he didn’t. He was passed out, absolutely smashed, and she was not being trained.

She took a breath and calmed herself. Maybe they weren’t supposed to start yet.

She decided to speak.

“Mr. Barton?” She asked, and waited. The man did not move an inch and continued snoring.

“Clint,” Che called, and again he did not move.

“Clint!” She yelled, and finally, his eyes cracked open.

Clint’s eyes were still hazy as he got his bearings, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, the pounding headache Kate knew he had must’ve subsided because allowed his eyes to slide over the room, finally finding his way to Kate.

“Oh.” He said, pupils finally resizing, “Hey.”

Kate gave a short wave, “Hi.”

He sighed and made to stand, before putting his hand on the desk and sitting back down. He glanced at his watch, then at kate. His eyes narrowed, and he analyzed her face for a moment.

“How much sleep did you get?” He asked.

“Not as much as you.” She replied.

Clint chuckled. Not a healthy chuckle, but more like a forced noise, as if to award her a point.

“You must be one of those early-riser types.”

Kate nodded.

“Lemme guess, four in the morning?”

“Three.”

“Oh.” He said, seemingly surprised, “Special girl.” He added.

He tried to stand once more, this time reaching his feet. He stretched and reached for the ceiling, his shirt tugging up as he did. Kate’s eyes slid down, and she could make out scars. As he relaxed and turned to face her, Kate met his eyes.

‘So uh, what are we starting with? Stretches, Laps?” She asked.

Clint examined her for a moment. Kate felt him looking her over.

Looking for tells.  

“What?” He asked, shocking her out of her own mind.

“Nothing!” She replied, “I’m ready to go!”

“You look like you have somewhere to be.”

She paused. She did have another place to be. 

Lucky needs his tummy wubbins.

“Where?” he asked after a moment.

“I have a dog who hasn’t seen me in almost sixteen hours,” Kate replied.

“Really? At your place?”

“Yup.”

“In Brooklyn?”

“Double yup.”

Clint clapped his hands together.

“Great, there’s your warm-up!” He exclaimed.

“What? Go home and pet my dog?”

“Triple yup,” Clint replied with a cheeky grin, “Good head scratchings too.”

“Okay,” Kate started, “Then when I get back, we’ll go for a run?”

“Oh no no no,” he began, “You’re gonna run there.”

“What?!” 

“You’re going to run to Brooklyn, take care of your dog, and run back.”

“That’s like fifteen miles!”

“Eleven point-two according to Google.” Clint replied, swiping around on Danny’s tablet, “Oh man, Twitter is going nuts over me missing the event last night.”

Kate sighed, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Clint asked, “Don't be! Spending last night on a field trip with you was way better than going to some suit and tie event.”

“It’s not just a suit and tie event, Clint. It’s the Hall of Fame!” Kate exclaimed, her frustration mounting, “Why didn’t you want to go anyways?”

Clint looked up from the tablet and directed a pointed stare her way. Kate froze under his gaze. Which had gone from glassy to cold. After a moment, it warmed, although forcefully.

“You should get on your run,” He began, “Poor doggy probably misses you.”

“Clint -”

“Now, Bishop.” He said, the warmth fading from his eyes.

She held his stare for a moment, then nodded, before turning around and exiting the room, leaving Clint alone.

Thirty-Seven Minutes, Twelve Seconds, and Eleven point-two miles later….

“Lucky!”

As Kate came through the door to her apartment, she found the Dog in question, a one-eyed golden retriever, staring back, a slice of pizza hanging from his mouth. Upon seeing Kate, the pizza fell, and Lucky came running to greet her, jumping excitedly up onto her.

“Hey boy! Who's a good dog?” She asked, making Lucky’s tail wag faster than before.

I don’t smell poop… or pee. Greer must’ve been by. I probably need to buy her a present or something.

Standing from the furry reunion, Kate wandered into the living space, where she examined Lucky’s auto-feeder. Deducing it had enough food for another day, she moved on to the water dish, which was empty, but still had signs of recent moisture on the bottom.

Got here just in time.

She picked up the dish and placed it under the faucet, before turning the water on. While the dish filled, she eyed the rest of her space. Boxing posters, a heavy bag, and several pairs of discarded gloves and used rolls of tape lay around.

Not bad at all, Kate. If all goes well you won’t need much of this anymore.

She continued to glance around, reaching the fridge, where a newspaper clipping was hanging.

Hawkeye’s last fight.

Barton vs Laufeyson II. Hell of a fight. Shame Clint lost, Loki was such an asshole back then. At least he cleaned up his act.

The water began to overflow, and Kate cursed as she emptied some into the sink, and then placed the bowl back in its spot. Lucky immediately began to lap up water. Kate smiled and contemplated sitting on the couch, turning on the TV, and relaxing. But she had somewhere to be, and another run to start.

She bent down and scratched between Lucky’s shoulder blades.

“I’ll be back tonight buddy. Gotta go train with Hawkeye.”

She sighed at that.

Does he even want me?

Guess you’ll have to find out.

Quiet, inner me. Outer me is using the mic.

She decided she’d run back. Danny would be in right now, and when she had a moment, she could clarify the situation with him. Clint seems to be less revealing.

With a final glance at Lucky, Kate made to exit the apartment, when her phone began to ring.

It was her mother. Kate cleared her throat and answered.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, Katie. I was at the office earlier and was thinking of you, so I figured I’d take a personal day and come get you. What do you say we head down to Coney Island? I know we haven’t been in a few years and I figured going on the tilt-a-whirls would make for a better day than TV and paperwork.”

“Um.” Kate started, “I would. Mom, I would, but I have training commitments at the gym.”

There was an exasperated sigh on the other end, and then she heard her mother speak.

“Of course you do.”

Kate’s throat tightened.

“But we can go tomorrow?”

“I can’t. I’m out of town for the next few days. I have business with the Duquesne family. It’s a six million dollar deal and I can’t mess it up.”

Kate’s throat got tighter.

“Mom, I’m sorry-”

“Just forget it, Katie, we can go another time.” Mom interrupted.

Kate paused, then nodded, before remembering her mother couldn't see it.

“Yeah. Tha -”

“Honey, I’ve gotta go. Another call is coming in. I love you.”

“Love you too.” Kate managed to say before her mother hung up.

Her throat remained tight, and the vice around her chest was never more present. She knew her Mom hated boxing, and yet somehow when it mattered she managed to put her own mother after it every time.

Goddamnit, Kate.

Kate let her head fall and bump the wall, ignoring Lucky’s concerned look. After a moment, she glanced at him.

“I’ll be back soon, boyo. Don’t worry about me.”

With a smile, she turned to leave, and she locked the door behind her.

Her keys were still on the counter.

Back the other way, Thirty-Nine minutes, Twenty-two seconds, and Eleven point-two miles later….

As she approached the gym, Kate saw Danny cleaning the window. They shared a nod as she approached, and as she came through the door, he came over to greet her.

“Hey Kate, how’s Lucky?”

‘He’s good.” She replied, “Very furry.”

Danny chuckled before his look sobered up.

“I talked to Clint. He told me where he sent you. We had uh, words.”

“Oh.” Kate was a bit surprised, “I wasn’t mad.”

“Doesn’t matter. I told him last night to be up and at it early.”

“Where is he now?” 

“I sent him back to his place. Figure we’ll pay him a visit later.”

“Where’s he live?”

“Brooklyn.”

Kate paused before she could reply, her eyebrows furrowed. As she made to reply again, a loud engine roared from outside, and a beat-up Challenger pulled into the old loading area outside. The engine cut, and the door swung open, revealing Clint, looking somewhat cleaned up and decently alert.

He entered the building and came face to face with Kate and Danny. He was startled but shook it off quickly.

“Kate, hi.” He waved a hand, “How was your run?”

“It was good,” Kate answered stoically, “How was your drive to Brooklyn?”

Clint’s false confidence faltered, and Danny capitalized.

“You do know you agreed to train Kate, right?”

Clint swallowed.

“Guys, I-”

“No!” Danny yelled, and Clint jumped.

After a pause, Danny sighed and looked at Kate, then at Clint.

“We haven’t even used the fucking gym and I already know how we’re gonna do this.”

Kate’s brows furrowed along with Clint’s as Danny stood taller and spoke louder.

“You’re both gonna train together. You’ll come here for exercise and fitness, maybe the occasional spar. But you’re gonna start alternating nights in each other's apartments.”

“What?!” Kate exclaimed.

“That’s bullshit!” Clint’s voice rose with hers.

“Shut Up!” Danny cut them off.

He looked at Kate, who still had that offended look on her face.

“Hear me out.” He said to her, before turning to Clint, “Listen up, Barton.”

Then he got to his point.

“The Red Room was the most successful dynasty in boxing history because Alexei and Milena trained with those kids at the gym and at home. Hydra and Shield did too. Best gyms in the country, maybe the world, and all of them made the team their life. Now I have a business to run, like a fucking adult. But since you are literally nineteen,” he gestures to Kate, then his eyes turn to Clint, “and your wife wears the pants, you two need a little rapport. You need chemistry, and to trust each other.”

He sighed and looked Kate in the eye.

“I got you a fight with Jessica Jones in three months. I don’t wanna see either of you in this gym until one month before the fight for training camp.”

Kate was stunned, but Danny was relentless as he turned to Clint.

“You will train her or so help me god I will shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll be tasting the sole.”

“Why not just train me here?” Kate asked.

“Because I clearly can’t leave this place in Clint’s care, and he is a better fighter than me. You need his expertise, I have clients, and I can’t ignore them. I was hoping I could trust him to be responsible while my eyes were away, but I guess not.”

Clint shook his head, “Don’t punish her because of me, Danny.”

“I’m not.” Danny said, “I’m hoping she’ll straighten your ass out because Laura clearly hasn’t.”

Clint stepped forward fast, and Kate put an arm between them, providing a surprisingly effective barrier.

“Do you want to die?” Clint asked, seething, “Do you want to fucking die?!”

“I want you both out of my gym until camp,” Danny answered, and he pointed to the door.

Clint held his ground, practically snarling, but Kate finally opted to speak up.

“Clint, it’s fine. Let’s go.”

Clint held Danny’s eyes for a moment, before nodding to himself and stalking out to his car.

Kate made to follow, but Danny grabbed her arm.

“He doesn’t hate you, Kate.” Danny said, “He knows your potential. I need you to trust me when I say this will work.”

Kate hears the car door shut and shrugs Danny’s arm off before rushing out to the car, leaving Danny alone.

“Good luck, guys” Danny whispers to himself.

Outside, Kate slides into the passenger side as Clint starts the car.

“So whose-”

“Zip it and listen.” He interrupts, “We are going to my place so I can pick up some things. You’re gonna wait in the car. We are staying in your place the whole time, and you will do as I say, and train as I instruct you. Do you understand?” Clint looks angry, so Kate nods.

“Good. if all this works out, I won’t be your coach for longer than three months.”

Two hours later….

It was barely one in the afternoon when the strange bedfellows reached Kate’s apartment. Clint had a backpack and a suitcase with him, and he dutifully trailed Kate up the steps. As they neared Kate’s door, she reached for her keys.

Where are my keys?

Where the fuck are my keys?

“Uh, Kate?” Clint asked.

“Um,” She paused, “Might’ve left my keys in my apartment earlier."

Instead of being shocked, Clint rested his suitcase against the wall, and stepped forward, reaching into his coat pocket.

“Move,” he instructed.

“What’re you- Oh,” Kate said, watching as he produced a bobby pin and a small screwdriver.

Clint worked at the lock for five seconds before the door clicked, and he twisted the nob and pushed the door open.

“Must be getting- What, the fuck?” Clint was surprised at the boxing memorabilia around the room the heavy bag, and the fact that a pizza was scattered across the floor, where a one-eyed golden retriever munched on a slice.

“Uh,” Kate spoke from behind him, “Welcome to Casa de Bishop?”

Clint slid his backpack off and let it hit the ground.

“Want Mac n’ Cheese?” She asked.

Clint simply turned and raised an eyebrow.

Chapter Text

Kate Bishop’s Apartment

December 3rd, 2021

As Clint settled into the unused office/guest bedroom, which was maybe half the size of a normal bedroom, Kate refilled Lucky’s feeder and water and put on his collar and leash. The poor dog needed a walk. He had been cooped up for the better part of a whole day, and Kate wanted to get away from Clint for a little bit while he settled in, since he wanted no part of her right now.

Which is bullshit. Why agree to train me if you’re gonna be grouchy about it?

Nonetheless, she let Lucky run amok in excitement and dipped her head into the spare room to inform Clint of her departure.

“Clint? I’m takin’ Lucky for a walk. I’ll be”

“No, you aren’t,” Clint interjected.

“Uh, what?” Kate was confused. 

“WE,” Clint continued “Are going on a run. So you and Lucky wait by the door, I’ll only be a minute.”

“But I just ran all”

“Kate.” He cut her off “You were about as red as a tomato when you got back to Rand’s gym. As much of a nightmare running over twenty miles in a few hours can be” he glares “including your cab rides.”

Kate freezes. 

Well shit.

“We need to work on your cardio. Championship fights can go up to twelve rounds.” He finished.

Kate stepped a little more into the room, perplexed “I wasn’t going to be fighting for a championship.”

“Then why am I here?” Clint asked.

A pause, then Clint continued.

“Aren’t you a wannabe boxer?”

“Well yeah but-”

“Then understand two things: Your career can end at any time, and any fight can propel you into the spotlight. It’s up to you to figure out how you handle those two things.” He stepped towards her, eyes focused on hers, drilling past her defenses and into her soul “Your Father was one of the toughest dudes around, and nobody gave him the time of day until he sent Shostakov packing.”

Kate’s eyebrows climbed to her hairline “My dad fought The Red Guardian?”

Clint nodded, a smile playing at the corner of his lips “1992, Shostakov was doing a string of catchweight fights for Dreykov and the Red Room. Dreykov was trying to promote his newest generation of fighters. Funnily enough, a guy named Derek got paid two hundred dollars to go a few rounds with him. He went the distance and won by split decision.”

There was a pause, and Kate had to digest this. Why hadn’t she seen this fight? Where was the Shostakov vs Bishop fight?

“Bullshit.” She decided on it being bullshit. 

“Really?” Clint smirked. He pulled out his phone, an older Samsung, and scrolled for a minute. He then produced a picture and showed it to Kate.

It was Alexei Shostakov and Milena Vostokov’s first kiss in the ring. They had met a year prior and were recently engaged here. Shostakov looked worse for wear, with bruises on his face. But in the background, smiling at a woman-

That’s Mom….

What?

“He beat the fighter who would define heavyweight boxing in the nineties,” Clint spoke calmly “I’m telling you this because as much as I don't want to be here, I owe a favor to Rand, and I owe a little more to boxing to try and leave it in better hands. So we can train until you puke, and then train some more, or we can call off the fight with Jones, get your fight with Rambeau back on, and I can be on my way. But do not waste my time Kate, or I will choose for you.”

Kate realized that Clint had sobered up a lot in the past few hours. He was also mildly inspiring.

You’re just starstruck.

I don’t care. After a speech like that, I want to try,

Your funeral.

“I’ll be at the door.” She nodded.

“With your keys?” Clint asked, smiling a little more now.

“Yes. Keys are good.”

Fort Greene Park

Brooklyn, New York

Twenty Minutes later….

The jog from Kate’s Apartment along Flushing Avenue had been nice. It served as a short little warmup for both Lucky and Clint, who had not jogged seven-point six Miles that morning.

Clint’s a dirty liar. There’s no way anybody could do eleven-point two miles in thirty-seven minutes.

She knew Clint had been bullshitting when he accused her, more or less, of cheating on her run. But what Clint failed to realize was that New York was not as big as it seemed. Of course, he spent much of his time on a farm away from this or in an apartment over in Crown Hills. Which is odd.

Isn’t he married though? Why are you here, Clint?

Kate had, wisely, opted not to ask. The man in question was either lost in thought or had turned his hearing aid off.

He’s not that much of a dick.

Clint held up a closed fist, indicating that they halt, as they approached a tree. He rested his arm on it and leaned into the tree. He regained his breath in moments and turned to Kate.

“What now?” She asked as Clint stepped away from the tree and towards her. In response, he furrowed his eyebrows. 

Was he confused?

“For exercise.” She stated. He nodded, held up a finger, and reached up to his ear. He adjusted his hearing aid, rubbed his index thumb pads together near it, and nodded. His eyes found hers once more.

“What?” He asked, indicating he was confused as to why she was looking at him.

You Dick.

“What do we do next? The workout isn’t over, right?” Kate asked.

He nodded and stepped back “For me it is. For you? Not even close.”

Kate nodded. Clint was retired. It made perfect sense why he wasn't working out.

Clint spoke again, scratching Lucky’s ears as he did so “Give me as many push-ups as you can in two minutes. Then we’ll do sit-ups.”

“Okay, gotcha,” Kate said, lowering herself into leaning front-rest.

“I’ll tell you when,” Clint spoke calmly, eyeing his watch “now.”

Kate started like a horse in a race. Her arms ached a bit as she rattled off ten push-ups in what she knew was ten seconds.

I got this.

Except she didn’t. By the forty-fifth push-up, her arms were jelly and her time was nearly out. Clint, being the merciful man he was, called time.

“Not bad. Take a minute, then we’ll do your sit-ups.”

“How’d I do?” Kate asked.

“Again,” Clint started “not bad.”

Kate’s brows furrowed “How far off was I?”

“You think you were off?”

“Based on the look on your face, I’d say so.”

Clint sighed.

“Hydrate, Bishop.”

She threw him a mock salute and dutifully took a few sips from her water bottle, an old, beat-up purple mess of stickers that had seen better days. Clint, meanwhile, paced. His eyes were focused on the horizon, and not on the person he was more or less responsible for. After a few moments of silence, filled with only the sound of Lucky panting happily, Clint snapped his fingers.

“Alright, get on the ground. Same deal, as many as you can in two minutes. Also, Kate?”

She looks him in the eye. Clint opens his mouth to speak and pauses. He shuts it and lowers his head, instead opting to get on the ground to hold her feet in place. Kate watches him for a moment and then chooses to ignore him.

“Ready,” Clint begins “go.”

Kate starts a tad slower, choosing to pace herself. She’s able to blow through the first twenty relatively easily, again being in great shape. Suddenly, Clint claps.

“Damn good, Kate.”

She was confused. Didn’t they just start?

“We just started.” She stated.

“It’s been two minutes, Kate.” Clint replied, “You were in the zone.”

“Oh.”

Shit.

“So I did good?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Clint replied, his eyebrows raised.

He helped Kate to her feet and gave her a once over. His eyes took in every detail. Kate felt exposed, vulnerable. He nodded, his gaze meeting hers after lingering on her arms for a moment.

“We need to build your arm strength. You get a lot of power from your body, but your jabs would benefit from some more fast-twitch muscle.”

Kate nods.

That’s fair. I might be the only person who prefers cardio to an actual workout anyhow.

“You’ve got great stamina already. Given the Jones fight is only six rounds, we can put off targeting that for now.” he pauses to scratch his chin, and Kate eyeballs Lucky, who has managed to pass out. The one-eyed dog had already had quite the day, and he still had a bit more to do before he was home.

I feel ya, buddy.

“That’ll do it for today.” Clint suddenly said.

“What?” Kate whipped her head back up to meet Clint, who was also watching Lucky.

“I said,” he meets her eyes “that’ll do it. I needed to see where your body was at. What I see, is good,” Kate smiles widely, but Clint raises a finger “Tomorrow, we hit that bag in your Apartment. We need to see your fundamentals.”

Kate nodded. She knew that Clint wasn’t going to like what he saw, but she also knew whatever changes he made, and whatever skills he would show her, would make her better.

“Let’s get a move on. I got a phone call to make and I’d like to be showered and relaxed when I make it.” Clint said.

So they did.

Kate Bishop’s Apartment

Brooklyn, New York

Twenty-two minutes later….

Upon arriving at the apartment, Clint let Kate get the first shower while he refilled their water bottles for tomorrow.  He knew she’d be a while, so he settled into the reclining chair and pulled out his phone. With a cautionary glance at the bathroom, he dials Laura’s number.

“Clint?”

“Hey, hon.” He greets. His chest warms at the sound of her voice.

Been too long.

“How’s the training?” the voice of his wife is sweet, even if Laura herself is direct.

“It’s good. Lotta potential. Gonna see about her fundamentals tomorrow.”

A pause. Laura is thinking.

“How’re you holding up?” she asks after a moment.

Clint sighs. He rubs his eyes and gazes at the bathroom door again. Lucky is laying at the bottom of it, waiting for Kate to finish. He smiles at the dog and takes another breath, slowing his heart.

“I’m doin’ a bit better today. Kinda fucked up the start but I think I’ve salvaged it for now.”

“How did you “fuck up” at the start of the day?” he can hear the frustration in her voice.

He smiled.

“Decimated Danny Rand’s bottle of single-malt whiskey last night. Slept till eight-thirty.”

She chuckles.

Could’ve been worse.

There’s another long pause and Clint hears the water in the bathroom stop. He had maybe a few more minutes if Kate was anything like Lila.

“Kids?” He asks.

“Watching TV. I think they know the anniversary is coming up.”

Clint heaves another sigh as a dull, uncomfortable ache settles in his chest, right over his heart.

“You think Barney would have approved of me training her?” he asks.

Laura remains silent and Clint ponders his own question. Barney had been every bit as invested in the sport as Clint had. The only difference between them is that Barney hadn’t fallen out of love with the sport. It’s what caused them to split. 

Of fuckin’ course he would have loved it, you jackass. He woulda hopped on a plane and flew over to help.

“It’s only been a year, Clint. Stop having those thoughts.”

Damn mind-reader.

He takes one more glance at the bathroom door.

“I gotta go. The last thing I need is this girl asking about my private life.”

Laura chuckles and that ache fades. His smile grows and he, for a moment, chuckles with her. Another silence settles on them, and he can see Laura building up the next statement.

“We’ll fix this, Clint.”

He smiles.

“I know. I love you.”

She remains silent, then speaks.

“Love you too. Stay safe.”

He hangs up and pockets his phone before turning on the TV. A few moments later, Kate exits the bathroom and maneuvers to her room in a clean change of clothes, before returning with a small bag of candy.

“Ah Ah Ah.” Clint says “Nope. Put that away or you’ll be throwing it away.”

Kate frowns.

“Really dude?”

“Yeah. You’re on a diet.”

As Kate stomps back to her room to put her stash away, Clint can’t help his smile.

Barney would fucking love her.

Chapter Text

Kate Bishop’s Apartment

December 4th, 2021

Well, this is embarrassing.

Kate was sitting on the floor, the heavy bag swinging to and fro in front of her. To her left was Clint, who was laughing silently with his face buried in his hands. Lucky was asleep on the floor, and Kate’s face ached slightly.

In her excitement to show Clint her fundamentals, she had laid into the bag with a basic combo, albeit too hard and with no one holding the bag. The heavy bag, a bit on the lighter side of inanimate sparring partners and coated in rough leather, reeled from her blows before counterattacking with the use of physics. The unsuspecting Kate was promptly knocked on her ass.

At least Danny isn’t here. He’d roast me into oblivion.

“Your winner by knockout, Heavy Bag,” Clint announced in a flat, disappointed voice.

I wish Danny was here.

Kate stood up and shook her arms out, and looked at Clint,

“I’m sure you’ve been knocked down by a heavy bag before.” She said,

Clint nodded, and placed his hands on his hips, looking at the bag and nodding at it.

“Yup. But the difference is no one saw me go down. You on the other hand had a whopping two audience members. Imagine thousands.”

Kate shook her head and resumed her stance, measuring up the bag. Clint meanwhile stepped to the opposite side of the apartment champion and secured it with his hands. He leaned around the bag and nodded to Kate.

“Very rarely do rematches happen. Often it’s because the promoters realize they can make a shit ton of money by throwing the same two guys at each other. Most of the time the boxing world doesn’t bite on it. Other times they go for three. You and this bag are getting a rare chance, don't fuck it up.”

Kate furrowed her brow.

“You and Loki had two fights. I thought that was because you hated each other. I don't hate the bag. It beat me fair and square.”

Clint shook his head.

“The whole thing about him calling Laura a whore was a rumor started by his agent. I bought it, and he needed to beat an established fighter. So we squared up and the first time around I whooped his ass. Knocked him out in the second round.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ there,” Kate spoke with caution.

“BUT…. Loki wanted another go at me, and his agent was in with the guys in the commission. So they talked to my agent, Jasper Sitwell. Real scumbag, that guy. Anyways…” Clint swallows “Sitwell took a larger cut of the profits to get me back in the ring with Loki. So we fight again and he wins by decision.”

Kate tips her chin down a bit, focused on the conversation,

“It was rigged.” She assumes.

Clint waits a moment, his eyes glistening just a bit before a nervous smile breaks through his composure.

“No.” He says after a moment.

“No?” Kate asks.

He shakes his head. His shoulders slump, but his hands never leave the bag.

“Loki wore me down. He was perceptive, more so than even some of the greats. He knew how I fought. As soon as our second fight was announced he worked on his cardio and his jabs. Then he threw over 300 jabs across ten rounds that night. I couldn’t create a window to attack. He cut my cheek,” he gestures to the small scar on his cheekbone. “And my brow, and left me so bruised that my eye swelled shut. They weren’t hard punches. They were just effective. He was efficient, and I respect that.” Clint smiles again “We ended up making peace after he found out about his agent's bullshit. I had retired, but he sought me out, and apologized.”

Kate watches him. Clint was deep in a memory, and she didn’t want to shock him out of it. Nonetheless, he emerges from that memory a few seconds later, and his happiness had dimmed a considerable amount.

“That whole run, despite all the bullshit, is one of the best times I had as a boxer. I felt alive. I loved the sport for one last time before I got out.” He looks at Kate “Find those happy moments in between all the bullshit, I guess is the moral of the story. Don’t get too swept up in the drama.” He nods at the bag “Show me what you got.”

Kate sets her feet and delivers a simple left-right-left. A simple combination to dial in her distance. She hooks her right elbow and follows through with a right hook to the lower bag, or the “body.” Then, she throws an overhand left to the upper part of the bag, or the “head.” She steps back, and leans on her right foot, driving off of her left foot and throwing a powerful right hook to finish. She stands straight and leans around the bag to get Clint's approval. Clint nods, appraising her for a moment.

Then he speaks,

“Not bad. You figured out your reach and adjusted for that powershot at the end. You could beat that Lopez gal with that. I reckon she’s beaten you with it.”

Kate blushes, and nods,

“My first spar with her. She was supposed to help me warm up as she was finishing for the day. Must’ve been in a bad mood because she laid me out flat with it. I’ve never used it against her, but I’ve run that sequence against a couple of the others in Danny’s gym. Works like a dream if you land the body shot.”

“I know.” Clint replies, “Body shots, especially liver shots, are going to be your bread and butter for the Jones fight. I’ve seen one of her fights. She’s aggressive. Aims for the head and scores a lot of hits. You can wear down someone's jaw the same way you wear down a body, and she’s damn good at it. We’ll get your head movement sorted during camp, but right now I want you to drill body shots. Low jabs, hooks, even uppercuts down low. Anything. Run them on repeat. Make them memories. A perfect liver shot can turn a fight around, and you should be able to throw one out on instinct.”

Kate nods, takes a swig of water, and gets into her stance. Clint grabs the bag.

“Ready?”

She nods, and her hands fly.

Six Hours Later….

“Let’s call it here,” Clint says as he picks up his phone. 

There was a text from an unknown number on it. He opens the message as Kate heads to her room, and reads the message,

Is this Clint Barton?

Did someone get a hold of his number?

He shrugs and sets his phone down. He could deal with freaks and stalkers later. For now, he needed to get off his feet and tip his head back.

Damn, I’m old.

His phone dings again. Clint groans and looks at the offending device. He could chuck it out the window right now. Kate would never know. It’s not like they won’t be apart for too long for the next three months. He doesn’t need it.

It dings again.

Motherfucker. Stalkers, man.

He grabs his phone and opens it, intending to block the number when his eyes scan the second message,

Clint? It’s Maria.

Maria? Who the hell is Maria?

He reads the third message,

Nick was in an accident. They airlifted him to a hospital in Queens, I’m sending you the address.

An address popped up in another text bubble on his screen, and Clint found himself jotting down a note for Kate before running out the door, leaving a very confused Lucky behind.

New York Presbyterian Hospital, Queens

“Nick wasn’t the religious type.”

Clint’s voice startled Maria out of her reverie. She was older than he remembered, and seeing her had awakened memories he thought lost. The hospital waiting room seemed more bleak in the presence of a woman he remembered as brilliant.

“Clint! Good to see you!” She stands up and hugs him. From what Clint could see, she had been crying.

“How is he?” He asks.

Maria gazes back at the door and hesitates. She sighs, then turns back to Clint,

“Six car pile up. I was in the passenger seat. Truck coming the wrong way smashed his side of the car. Rolled us a good bit too. He’s banged up and seriously injured, but he didn't lose consciousness.” She pauses, “I hope he’ll be okay.”

“He will be.” Clint says, “he’s the toughest son of a bitch I know. Plus he coached me, and put up with Stark after I left.”

Maria was silent again, and he could see her slipping back behind the walls she had popped out from behind moments earlier.

“Maria,” he calls gently.

She looks back at him, eyes brimming with tears,

“He’s gonna be okay.” He says.

“Maria? Clint?” a voice calls from behind him.

Maria smiles upon seeing the owner, and Clint turns to see Steve Rogers approaching them.

“Steve, good to see you.” Clint greets calmly.

“You as well.” he replies before turning to Maria, “I came as quick as I could.”

“Wish it was under better circumstances.” She replies to Steve, “What about the others?”

Steve shakes his head, “Stark is on his way back to California. Banner went with him. It’s just us.”

“No Thor either?” Clint asks.

“He’s got the main event tomorrow in Dubai. I don’t want to throw him off, and Nick wouldn’t either.”

Clint nods at Steve’s answer and the three of them stand in a somewhat awkward silence for a moment, each appraising the others. Finally, Maria speaks,

“I’m gonna go grab snacks. Be back in a second.”

As she wanders off to find food, Steve and Clint take seats in opposite rows, facing each other. The silence persists, and after a few moments, Steve spoke up,

“Missed you at the ceremony the other night. Had to thank the commit-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Clint interjects.

Steve raises his eyebrows, “So why show up? To begin with?”

“Because I was in a good mood before Quentin Beck shit on it.”

“I see.” Steve nods.

“Why do you care anyway? You’re the darling. More time for you to talk about your career.” Clint bites out.

“Here we go…” Steve begins, but Clint puts a hand up,

“No. Don’t. I was out of line. Sorry.”

The silence resumes, and it is thick.

I’m such a screw-up. Coach is in there dying and I’m out here trying to pick fights.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’m just stressed right now.” Clint says after a moment.

“I think we all are. It’s okay, Clint.”

“No, it’s not. My coach is possibly on death’s door, which is shit because I could use his advice right now.”

“About what?” Steve asks cautiously.

Clint sighs,

“I’m training this kid. Bright girl. Smart, strong, and fast. Both in her brain and her body. But I feel outdated. Like I don’t know if the methods that were used on us would work with her.”

Steve shakes his head and chuckles. Clint notices immediately the light in Steve’s eyes.

“What? What's so funny?”

“You know what Coach would say.” Steve starts, “If you gotta think about it, switch it up.”

“How does that apply?” Clint asks.

“None of us were trained the same. Stark was on the treadmill and indoors. You and I were at different altitudes outdoors. Romanoff was trained in blizzards and Banner in the heat. You gotta find what challenges her, and push her into it. Don’t just work on her weaknesses, immerse her in them.”

“I dunno if that will work, Steve.”

“It will. Trust me on that.”

“What makes you THINK it will work?”

Steve smiles, and glances at Clint, “Us. nine championships between you and me. Ten if you count Stark. Fifteen if you add on Banner and Romanoff. Thor’s only got three himself, but two of those were with Asgard before he joined Shield. Nick knew how to build us up: By breaking us down in controlled environments, and reforging us.”

“I need to break her?”

“Find her weakness, and make her confront it. If she endures, and I have a feeling she will based on how you talked about her, then she’ll thrive going forward. That weakness may not be evident now, but it’ll show.”

Silence. Then Clint smiles.

“Thanks, Cap.”

“Always, Hawkeye.”

Kate Bishop’s Apartment

30 minutes after Clint’s departure

“Clint?” Kate called out. He wasn’t in the living room, and his keys were gone, so he must’ve gone somewhere.

As she glanced around, she found a note. His signature was at the bottom.

Kate,

Had to go see a friend in need. Eat the prepped meal. Do not order any food. Stretch before bed, and give Lucky some extra scratches for me. Will call when I know more.

-Clint

Kate put the note back on the counter and opened the fridge, grabbing her chicken breast and warming up the stove for use. Chicken and Broccoli was the main course, with a side of carrots. Clint had laid out a weekly nutrition plan and prepped the following day's meals each night before he went to bed. His “nightly ritual” he called it.

She wakes up Lucky with a kiss on the head and begins scratching him relentlessly while the stove warms up. Lucky, of course, was in no hurry to resist. She wonders who the friend in need is. Is it a boxing friend? An old friend from school?

Whoever it is, they must be pretty important. 

She eyes the heavy bag one more time and decides against the rubber match.

I have a good memory of the second fight. Don’t need a trilogy.

Chapter Text

December 5th, 2021

Kate Bishop’s Apartment

Kate jolts awake to the sound of her alarm blaring at max volume. The sound, a piercing noise that screamed ‘red alert,’ echoes through her apartment. She snatches her phone from the nightstand and lazily taps the screen several times until the noise stops. Rising from her bed, she stretches her arms and glances around. After a moment of contemplation, she rises and exits her room, stumbling into the living area of her apartment, where Clint Barton was....not there.

The absence of the shower running, as well as the fact that the bathroom door was  open,  was a clear indicator that Clint was either still in Queens or on his way back. 

I should call him….

… but first breakfast.

Kate wanders to the fridge as Lucky rises from his slumber and meanders over to his water dish. Kate glances at the one-eyed canine, who examines her with a tired eye after raising his head from the bowl, water dripping to the floor.

“Mornin’ Pizza Dog.”

Lucky performs the equivalent of a doggy smile, eyes bright and tail wagging as he lumbers over for some scratchings. Kate requires no urging and begins to scratch Lucky between his shoulder blades as she sips some water. She supposes she should take Lucky for a walk, and maybe a jog. But the dog seems in no hurry, so neither is she.

Kate picks up her phone and begins browsing her socials. She likes a few posts here and there, laughs at a meme or two, and kills a little bit of time before her workout. The sun has risen a bit higher now, and so Kate gathers her sweatshirt, jumps into some sweatpants, and leashes up the dog. Lucky puts up no resistance of course. The trials of being a good boy include being a patient one. With her necessities on her person, and Luck in tow, Kate heads out the door, and into a cold, but not unwelcoming December morning.

Her walk begins slowly, matching the pace of her furry companion. Lucky is excited to be out, and the amount of sniffing the retriever is doing tells Kate that a lot has gone on in the doggy world. Regardless, Kate allows Lucky only moments here and there, moving with a purpose. Her walk becomes more brisk, warming her blood and energizing the two of them. Within a few minutes, Kate manages a jog, with Lucky trailing just behind her. 

After about half an hour, Kate and Lucky come to a stop at a small park. The park was familiar to her, but not one of her usual stops. It was almost the opposite direction of her usual haunt, where she and Clint had first gone.

I should call and check-in.

The thought is logical, and although it surprises her, Kate finds no excuse not to. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and within a few moments, has Clint’s number ringing. It only rings twice before she hears a familiar voice on the other end.

“How’s the run going?” Clint asks.

“Good,” Kate replies automatically.

There’s a pause, before she continues, “How are things?”

“Good. My pal should be up and moving in no time, but I’m gonna hang around for another day. He might need help getting home. Is Lucky with you?”

Kate glances down at the one-eyed dog lying in the grass, “Of course he is. You really think I’d skimp on his exercise just because you aren’t here?”

“Ha ha,” Clint begins before sighing, “When you’re done with the park, go ahead and take a rest day. Don’t hit the bag. It would be best if you recovered a little extra energy. We’re gonna go hard when I get back.”

Kate nods and absent-mindedly pets Lucky. A day off sounded good. She could play some-

“Kate?”

He’s still talking. Listen, Kate!

I’m trying. Shut up, inner-me.

“I’m listening.” She tosses out the words quickly.

“Uh-huh. I said Don’t forget to prepare meals for tomorrow. I won’t be there tonight to get your calories counted. You’re trying to hold weight, not lose any.”

“I thought weight cutting wasn’t until camp anyway?” Kate questions.

“Normally yes. But you are already pretty fit, and right in your weight class. Making weight shouldn’t be an issue. We might have to bulk you up depending on how your first weigh-in goes at camp.”

“I feel pretty good right now, though.”

“Noted.” He says, “Do me a favor and think about how you feel at your present weight. If you’re feeling good there, then we’ll keep you there. But a little more size can’t hurt.”

“Roger that.” She says slowly. Weight wasn’t something she often had to consider at the gym, mainly due to the nature of the fights. They were often on a few weeks notice and “camp” was training every day until a few days before. This was different to her. A new thing.

Kate liked new things.

“Alright, I gotta go. Keep Lucky moving. It’s good for him.” Clint says before quickly hanging up.

“Oh.” Kate says to no one, “Bye, then….. Clint.”

Kate pockets her phone and looks at the dog next to her. Lucky was out cold.

“You wouldn’t hang up on me, would you?” She asks.

“I do not think she would.” An accented voice, thick and very surprising.

Kate whips around, planting her feet in a loose stance. Lucky stirs, but remains oblivious to reality.

In front of Kate is a woman. Maybe ten years her elder, and blonde. Piercing green eyes level with her blue ones. She is clad in a green pea coat, and black leather gloves cover her hands. Kate finds her familiar, but cannot place where she knows her from.

“He.” Kate corrects nervously after a moment.

The woman nods, “He.” She corrects. “Does he have a name?” She asks after a pause.

“Lucky.” Kate answers “His name is Lucky.”

The woman appraises Lucky for a moment. Then her eyes level with Kate’s, “Good name for a good boy.”

There's silence after that. A standoff between the two women. Kate isn’t sure what to make of the stranger. She seems smart from the look of her. She’s squared away, well dressed, and has a look to her that says “I’ve been through things.”

Kate searches for her initial trepidation and finds none. Instead, she is intrigued.

The silence breaks, however, when the woman speaks.

“Yelena.”

Kate is confused for a moment, and it must show because the woman repeats herself.

“Yelena. My name is Yelena. It is polite that the dog knows my name because I know his.”

“Oh,” Kate begins “My name is Kate. Kate Bishop.”

The woman nods once at her, “Kate Bishop.” She repeats. She rises and extends her hand.

“Yelena Belova.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Yelena Belova, veteran boxer, lightweight. Challenging Peggy Carter for the title in two weeks at MSG. Kate has a ticket for that fight.

“B-Belova.” Kate stutters out as she shakes the offered hand, “Like Yelena Belova? Boxer?”

A single nod from the woman, Yelena, serves as confirmation.

“You know me. If you know me, you must follow the sport, yes?”

Before Kate can reply, Yelena continues,

“Women’s boxing is not all that popular, at least to non-boxing followers, sadly, and you are rather fit, given that it is eight in the morning and you are at least halfway through a morning workout. You are a boxer, yes?”

Kate nods, taken a bit aback by the deduction.

“You’re surprised, yes?” Yelena asks.

Kate nods again, the motion becoming automatic. Yelena watches her for a moment. Her eyes narrow slightly.

“Don’t be, Kate Bishop. You can never be surprised in our profession. Preparation is key, and staying focused after the fight begins is important.”

“We’re gonna fight?!” Kate loudly asks, surprised.

“N-no? It was just advice.” Yelena answers.

Kate takes a deep breath. Yelena smiles and begins to walk past Kate and Lucky, who has only now woken up. Yelena bends down and lightly scratches Lucky’s head. Kate continues to watch Yelena, and clears her throat,

“You uh, you got any plans? Coach gave me the rest of the day off.”

Yelena turns to Kate, a gleam in her eye.

“As much as I would like to spend the day giving you advice, I feel like Mr. Barton has more than enough experience for you.”

Kate’s stomach plummeted to her feet. Yelena had heard her say Clint’s name, and the tense tone her voice had taken on suggested the two were not on good terms. 

Yelena notices Kate pale, and smirks,

“I’ll be around, Kate Bishop. Tell Mr. Barton I said hi, and that I will be seeing him very soon.”

Yelena walks away, calmly, whilst Kate stands unsteady.

Oh, shit.

Kate sits down on the bench, her mind racing at a thousand miles an hour. Yelena Belova was a force, and she knew who Clint was, who SHE was. That was awesome and terrifying at once. 

Kate decides right then and there to go home and get dressed. She had a day off and needed to get her mind off of things. Who better to visit than dear old Mom?

Ten Hours later

Eleanor Bishop’s Residence, Columbus Circle, Manhattan, New York

Kate approaches the large door slowly. The last time she and her mom had talked, it had been the night of the Hall of Fame ceremony.

The night I met Clint.

Her Mom hadn’t been happy about her attending, which Kate completely understood. Boxing had taken her husband from her for months at a time. While Kate was not a regular at her home, she knew that her mother still resented the sport, and by extension Kate's affinity for it. Regardless, it was Kate’s life, not hers.

Kate knocks four times and waits.

When her mother answers the door, Kate sees things she hadn’t hoped to see.

Eleanor was in a robe. A lair of sweat was visible on her face, but her hair was not very wet. Behind her, Kate saw two pairs of shoes lying on the floor, which was unusual given the rules regarding show placement. The first pair was her mother's, the second, was a pair of black dress shoes.

Before Eleanor could say a word, a voice rings out from the residence,

“Who is it, love?”

But Eleanor was focused on her daughter, whose eyes brimmed with tears before she turned and left, leaving Eleanor at the door.

Kate hadn’t felt this kind of anger in years.

Traitor.

Her mom was a goddamn traitor.

One Hour Later

Central Park

Kate needs to get going soon. She knew that. While Lucky was stocked up, New York wasn’t the safest place for a woman after dark. The initial anger had subsided, and been replaced with sadness. She knew it was perfectly reasonable to move on after over seven years. It wasn’t uncommon. But she just hadn’t expected it. Maybe it was the high she was riding from meeting Yelena Belova, but her emotions hadn’t exactly been manageable. She was going to call tomorrow and was more than prepared to apologize. 

Kate considers calling Clint, but the idea of telling him about Yelena Belova is a bit daunting. So instead, she waits till the lights brighten the night sky, and she begins to walk to the street to hail a taxi. Upon arriving at the street, she begins her wait alongside a boy her age, wearing a sweater over a button-up shirt. Brown hair and brown eyes complimented a softness. He was sporting a black eye, and his arm was in a sling. His cheek is a myriad of colors, from purples and yellows to pink and red, with a small cut in the middle of it.

He looks like hell.

“You okay?” She asks.

The boy looks at her and nervously smiles.

“Y-yeah. I’m okay. Thanks.” He stutters out. 

The voice is soft, but Kate recognizes it. It’s the voice of Peter Parker, a young boxer who had won a few upsets recently. He just signed with a new promoter, if she remembered correctly.

Kate wishes for a moment that she had a promoter who could get her big fights.

She doesn’t tell Peter that she knows who he is. She’s already had one famous boxer figure her out today. Two would be alarming. 

Peter hails a cab and goes to get in. He stops, however, before he can step into the cab, and turns to Kate,

“Why don’t you take this one? I gotta make a call.”

“You sure man? I’m good at waiting.” Kate replies.

Peter nods.

“Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

Kate nods once, before climbing into the cab, and looks back at Peter,

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Peter has tears in his eyes now. But he nods, and Kate reluctantly shuts the door.

She can’t help the feeling she’s making a big mistake as the cab pulls away. Her phone dings, and she unlocks it to see a message from her mother.

I know you’re upset, and I’m sorry. We should talk soon.

Kate closes her phone, leaving Eleanor on read, and leans back in the seat, sighing.

So much for her day off.