The Avenger known as Hawkeye executed a double somersault with a half twist, firing twice, vaulting from the wreckage of what had been a spinning flail arm and landing lightly on the balls of his feet, rolling sideways as the electrical pulse bolts from a wall gun-mount seared the space where he had landed. As he regained his feet, he spun, looking for the next threat as his hearing registered the two impacts of the explosive arrows he'd launched.
Nothing. Had he finished the training sequence?
Clint Barton wasn't like the other Avengers; he didn't have any super abilities. As an ordinary mortal fighting alongside Norse gods, an angry jade behemoth, a billionaire with a battlesuit, and someone who was transformed into the epitome of human development, he had to step up, and affirm to himself that he was worthy of the trust placed in him. Barton was an intelligence professional, and while he'd never admit it, he knew from experience that in the field that a weak link in the field could make the difference between life and death, and the Avengers often played for high stakes. Although he presented an arrogant and aggressive facade, he knew that he needed to be able to back up his bravado. None of the others doubted his worth, but only by hard work and constant training would Hawkeye be able to justify their faith in him.
One of the several sub-levels of the Avengers Mansion was a training facility, with ten settings of difficulty. Hawkeye had worked his way up from level one to level five, and had the bruises to prove it. One of the perks of being an Avenger was access to Tony Stark's fertile mind; while SHIELD had designed several rather nifty arrow payloads for Hawkeye during his tenure as a SHIELD special agent, they were nothing compared to what Stark had made for him. The Avengers training facility was self-repairing and adapting; it was directed by Stark's AI JARVIS, who had proven itself to be tactically superb at devising new and interesting challenges.
The lights dimmed, and Hawkeye tensed, scanning for threats until a voice came from the shadows.
"Hawkeye? Can I talk to you for a moment?"
Clint relaxed. He knew that voice well; Natasha Romanova, a.k.a. the Black Widow had been his partner at SHIELD for some time, until she had infiltrated Hydra under orders for Nick Fury and framed Hawkeye as a traitor. Ordinarily, that would have spelled a messy end to their relationship, but Hawkeye was an intelligence professional; he knew how murky things could get when duty conflicted with personal feelings first-hand.
After the Avengers had captured M.O.D.O.C. and Baron Von Strucker during their war over and amidst the streets of New York City, Hawkeye had covered for her, helping her escape SHIELD custody as she went underground once more, looking for Nick Fury to clear her name. They had shared a kiss before parting, and that kiss had left Hawkeye with more confused feelings than ever before.
He watched as she strode into view, the material of her trademark black catsuit gleaming as it caught the odd shafts of light. Whatever her other faults, the Black Widow was a knockout, with a strong, athletic body crowned by a glorious mass of deep red hair.
"Natash...." he began, but the Black Widow stepped forward into his arms, hushing him with a kiss. The kiss grew in passion and intensity, and Hawkeye found it hard to form his next sentence. As he leaned back and tried to speak, the Black Widow raised a finger to his lips.
