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Hand or not, Clint has the kid scooped up as he runs back to the first changing room he had left his gear in when the rumble hits and Clint's stance goes secured for an instant, looking up like every other human being does even when they can't see shit. "The hell was that?" He snaps out of it a second later, closing the security door behind him, Barton grabs the nearest fire extinguisher (safety first!) and smashes the card swiper in hopes to slow the people behind him down. Throwing his bow and quiver over his shoulder again and draping the lab coat he had swiped over the kid's shoulders, bundling him up in it.
"How're we doing on eyes? I still got my toys. Itching to make life hard."
Moving fast, but not at a run, just a rushing clip right now, Barton has a kid in one arm and his pistol in his 'off hand'. Does he have an off hand? Not really. But it's down by his hip, half hidden while he moves from the room. "On the move." Headed toward what he hopes is where he was directed.
The response was Fitz sounding very very out of breath "That would be the sound of a radio deploy explosive on their fuel generator… Look I got their attention but it's now drawing activity on the ground to the opposite side. Our window now won't be very big."
That would be what that thunderous a kaboom was The secondary generator exploding. Lovely! Meanwhile five floors down the child hung onto Clint like he was possibly his only friend in the world and at this moment? Well that might be true.
The door that Clint came through caved easily and would definitely stall them to go around if they were trying to cross through. One good thing he had going for him was that kid was not squirming.
Gear collected when they stepped back out into the lab that Clint came through the child's face buried against his neck. He didn't have to see to know where he was. The hole in the ceiling was still up there where Clint made his dashing entrance. it would not make a suitable exfiltration point however. Not with cargo.
One door left and that left whatever traffic was in the hallway. Before Clint can move into the hall the kid got antsy and pointed. And just then two Hydra goons jogged past the door down to the hall. One thing they did have is the kid knew where people were, or could at lest sense them nearby.
Well when one sense fails you, you get better with what you got.
Assessment: It won't be clean but he could reduce the confrontation volume wise by leaving now given his ability to assess. There are people in that stairwell, and four on the way to it. Waiting will increase that population quickly.
As long as the kid clung to him like a baby sloth, Clint was golden. it gave him the use of one hand, and when you're Hawkeye, that's all you /need/. Two is ideal, but one will do.
There isn't even a glance up into the vent shaft that Barton fell into earlier as they pass it by. The kid points and Hawkeye stills that half a second when he sees the flicker of a shadow somewhere in his vision to tell him that someone is coming. The spy throws himself with a spin against the wall the door was set into, waiting for the men to leave his vision and counting to three before he darts out again and headed in the direction of their pointed exit.
"They're stirred up, that's for sure. They're scattered but not going to stay that way. Making my way to the stairwell. Anticipating resistance. Shadowcat?"
Tall, blond and sneaky strides out into the hall like he owns whatever space he currently occupies (which, he does). A small, frail looking albino kid propped against his hip in one arm, a lab coat draped over him. A weapon in his off hand, hanging loose at his side while he walks at a quick clip. Eyes sharp. Every human and honed sense he had on alert despite his casual appearance.
With senses cranked there was a lot Clint could note going on as the world cranked down in slow motion:
- Shadows on the wall indicating 3 persons coming up behind him. Average height, possibly armed. In this hallway they can only fight two wide.
- 4 people between he and the stairwell, one going to his a button. Makes 7 in total.
- All have sidearms, they'll possibly not try to hit the kid.
- 1 with tranq gun from the initial pack of 3 - no good. Lights out for Clint would be a bad day.
- There's a security scanner on the stairwell he needed to get to. Kitty was not at the controls. Badge still on him? Check.
And then notably, they didn't draw their sidearms yet but knives. Oh smart, so they didn't want to hit the kid. They wanted him alive. Clint? Negotiable.
Fists incoming!
A casual glance over his shoulder to count who was coming up on him, Clint keeps a mental tally on what he's going to be hitting up. The mental math went quickly.
3 behind.
4 ahead.
Flanked against his favor.
Element of surprise in his favor.
Asset in his favor.
Innocent in the line of fire against his favor.
Terrain bottlenecking in his favor.
Knives? Hah. All right, Gilligan.
He didn't want to take the kid out of his possession on the off chance some damn scientist might pluck him out of whatever hidey hole he'd put him in, so Clint took it upon himself to keep the kid close, still draped in the lab coat. "Keep your head down, kid." His quick instruction before shit gets real.
Stare the assholes in front of the stairway down as he walks up with that quick, businesslike pace, not stopping to pause or give them time to figure their own shit out, he starts with a thrust kick into the first man's knee, leaning backward while he telegraphs his broad arcing swipe with his knife — Why the hell do people do that? Do they think it just looks cool? It's never effective.
The man's knee buckles and he wildly swings out in pain, falling to one side. Still armed but not effective while his knee is on the wrong side of his neck. Bent back, Clint steps in tight, rolls his hips and spine to lead with his hip and stay ducked down while the second guy with a knife comes in. Barton comes in low, letting the kid cling to him, leading ass/hip first into the second man's hips to make things hard on him.
phrasing
Clint's arm shoots forward, then pistons back with momentum to catch the guy square in his diaphragm. Forearm to block the guy's wrist as the knife comes in hot, then falters as the wind is knocked out of him. Clint stands upright, headbutting the man's nose with the back of his stupidly hard head with a sickening crunch as the cartilage snaps. A heavy hand peels the unfortunate knife wielder's thumb backward to try to pry the knife free.
Two down.
Two ahead.
Three behind.
The child closed his hands around Clink's shirt. Man, children are almost as bad as cats to not trip over. The first two Hydra goons gone the others closed fast. When Clint turned back around there was a knife coming at him which got blocked, but not without paying the toll of taking a solid right hook.
A firearm was brought up which was walked slowly on Clint and child until the Mutant Clint was protecting dug his fingers into him tightly and cried, voice in split octaves. The pistol in the hand of the Hydra woman holding it wobbled. Her eyes glassed over and her body hung in the air speaking in gasps in Russian.
Over the headset it was Leo's voice asking «What's happening down there? We are getting crazy readings off the instrument panel!» A pause, «Shadowcat come in….Do you copy?» There was no response though he patiently tried to get confirmation.
In the hallway the situation was now:
Two down
One behind
One trying to mob Clint
One ahead
One hitting the floor dead looking like a broken marionette after hanging slightly in the air for a moment.
The Mutant spoke in a rasp as if catching his breath, "…Friend… Don't… hurt…my…. Friend." Well the person getting him out had status and the kid was grabbing onto English.
That hook is pretty mighty. Clint's can't block them all. In fact, he keeps the med bay in business pretty regularly. He'll be surprised if he comes away without bleeding out of at least a couple areas. But the kid certainly helps. They aren't sending bullets at him just yet because they need their 'asset' back and—
Holy shit
Clint takes a moment of pause as the air around him feels…different. Maybe it's not really different. Maybe it's just his perception as the tiny body in the crook of his arm goes rigid and rasped against his neck a threat and one of the attackers simply…hung there…in mid air for a moment.
I repeat: Holy shit
She falls and after a beat of shocked pause from everyone in the hall, Clint's sharp attention swings back toward the likewise stunned man that was still trying to get him in a squishy hug of death.
He gets a slight leg up in the scuffle as he wrestles with the guy, one armed. A quick sequence of blows back and forth, Clint feels bruises spring up on his skin, but nothing broken yet while he backs the guy up, him using the butt of his gun as a bludgeon and the guy trying to catch him with the knife. The hard sounds of bodies hitting bodies as they turn around in the cramped hallway, Barton catching a foot to the chest, moving the kid just out of the way as that boot hits him and throws him against the wall.
The ONE guy in hydra with fighting training comes back at him to presumably finish the job as Barton shoves himself forward off the wall by his brutish shoulders, leans back and plants his goddamn boot right on the agent's throat. The blow immediately has the guy gagging and slashing wildly with his knife as Clint tips forward, following momentum to pin him against the opposite wall by his neck.
"You know how they say baby rattle snakes are more dangerous than adult ones?" Clint explains in a long about way to Fitz as he looks down the hall. It's a pretty ridiculous position. His leg stretched up high, boot planted on a man's throat. And NOW he decides to explain.
One coming in hot from (previously) behind him, Clint mutters, "Cover your ears," to the kid and crosses one arm behind his back, weapon upside down, firing two shots. The casings ping hotly to the floor and the oncoming agent's kneecaps explode in a fine red mist. "That's not just snakes." Explaining the readings in a vague way.
Clint shouts as the guy quickly losing consciousness under hit boot, pinned to the wall, manages to lodge the knife into the top of Hawkeye's thigh. "UNCOOL!" He spins around, attention on the fellow whose whites of his eyes are quickly turning red while he struggles with consciousness. Glaring, Clint holsters his weapon. Grabs the knife sticking out of his thigh. Yanks it out. And without looking, throws it at the one guy left between him and the stairwell's ankle. Hawkeye then bends his knee and comes in close to hiss at the guy who is barely conscious, "I /like/ these pants!"
The Hydra agent tried to wrestle Clint's boot from his throat but there wasn't much time. Grab the ankle and push? Nope. Try punching the inside of the thigh to weaken it. The first couple hammer fists that landed solidly. In the end the tension was aided by that stab to his assailant's thigh. But the stab only made that SHIELD Agent nastier and slowly the man with PAVLOV stenciled on his uniform, slowly sank to the group.
Naptime for HYDRA. Get that man milk and a graham cracker, STAT.
The agent coming up behind Clint screamed as the collapsed full tilt face first onto the floor holding their legs trying to figure out where their knees went to and why there was just bone shrapnel there. Who does that!?
One left between he and the door and he just caught that knife , screamed and collapsed into the floor trying to draw their sidearm.
Except for the potential to get shot the path was clear!
Clint's boot left a black mark on the wall as it and the body slumped to the floor. Well. mostly everything was taken care of. Not out of the woods yet. Hawkeye stopped the remaining person up short, but watching that hand go for their side arm, Barton had to move quick.
So. He did.
By playing a game of quick draw like they were in the wild wild west.
"Draw!"
And centered a bullet right for the agent's weapon hand.(edited)
Assuming that all went according to plan and his bullet hit its mark — let's be honest, seriously—Clint hefts the kid up with a reassertion of his grip around the small body and heads for the stairway as planned. Swiping his keycard on the way.
"Left the party early. In the stairwell. Status?"
Assuming the door kicks open, he ducks his head down, then up the center of the well to check for inhabitants. Then grits his teeth and takes the stairs two at a time until his leg gives out, then takes them one at a time. Blood soaking down the leg of his pants as he goes.
Noting the crew heading up ahead of him, he lags behind enough to stay ducked and hidden.
The Hydra agent on the floor with the knife in his ankle squint to Agent Barton maybe momentarily caught off guard but made a fast draw for it. He was good. Okay he was getting there. Sadly, his career in this age as a gunfighter was now over with that big dang hole in his hand.
Yup. There was screaming after the POP!
Level cleared!
Next challenger…
Over the comms Fitz' voice crackled in «*"Shiteshiteshite okay sooo we have movement on teh ground. I'm trying to take and take care of them but that also I may be shooting in your direction wheeeen you make surface. Let me know when you're coming out and I'll give you a gap in the cover fire. ETA?"//»
The stairwell was thankfully solid in teh center for the most part lacking that 'keyhole' that you see in apartments. This was taking up as littel space as possible which made it both difficult but also lending better cover for Clint.
As it so happens HYDRA was responding to the lab and the surface event which meant Clint was moving with the flow of traffic and not against. Bonus.
As Clint came through teh door the electronic latch clsoed behind him. It was potentially useful if he could find a way to seal the doors as a secondary possiility, but for now? out out out! There were a few people moving to the surface about a foot and a half up. Their footfall covered Clint's keeping up allowing him to sound as another responder without much question.
No word from Kitty.
"It's adorable that you think you can hit me," Clint shoots back in an undertone while he peers up the stairwell again. Yeah, much like the first reader, he attempts to disable it, but this time it's quieter by cracking it with his side arm. No gunfire in this echoey chamber of doom. It may or may not break it.
"Yeah, you got everyone in the joint rushing out of here like there's a Beatles concert up there." He keeps limping up the stairs. The numbness and torn muscle starting to make him a little sluggish. Hawkeye carefully presses his gun-toting hand to the side of the kid's head to encourage him to keep it down and says lowly to him. "Almost out of here kid. Then it's all fro-yo and oreos. Shadowcat, respond."
It wasn't his job to worry, but he's going to on some very vague, surface level. He had his objective and like any good agent, he was going to complete it.
And maybe then fuck it all up and turn around after if she didn't appear.
"Give me a 45 count. Things are looking pretty smooth down here. Haven't even had to use my toys." Now you've jinxed it, Barton. He continues up the stairs, leaving enough room between himself and the people who were flooding out. He rushes the second to last set of stairs to get a look at who is ahead of him, specifically. Will he be dodging soldiers, or more white coats?
Winded from the blood loss and effort of it all, Clint charges ahead based on that assessment.
Shadowcat did not respond.
Fitz was doing a great job keeping his head in the game right now. «"45 and counting"» There was a pause and a strained, more persistent request, «"Shadowcat, report…"»
Still silence.
The temperature was notably cold and moving into biting. another floor to go and nearing the top floor a couple things were apparent. One was people were, naturally, coming up the stairway behind him to respond. Not great. The front of the bunker didn't have lab coats. They were HYDRA black uniforms of security personnel. Something was readily apparent though. While there was security personnel they were also on the ass end of Kamchatka in an unfindable base that didn't exist. Well armed, not with legions upon legions of people but against Lone Fox and Cub? Ya know two was more than plenty.
The Bunker's blast doors that kept bad things out were pulled closed and they were looking to get vehicles revved and pulled up. This was going to get complicated…er. There needed to be a word that meant More Complicated that wasn't 'Bartoned'.
There was still a security access door to the left for civilian use. Across the room access panels , and what looked like the foreman's office and a security checkpoint which he could avoid if he broke right.
Breaking right also meant drawing a lot of attention but getting to the door and getting out. Maybe?
Maybe.
Well, he put himself on a timer now, so he had to improvise.
Luckily, improvising is one of his main stats.
Okay, there had to be a better way that running through snow with a kid and a ton of attention at his back. Maybe inspiration struck in the form of a bunny. "No go on the front. Too much resistance for asset removal. Blast doors. They got garage access topside?"
Sure, Barton gambled with his own life constantly, but the 'asset' was living and breathing. And like … 8.
Said asset was clutched tightly to Clint. Yeah, totally inconspicuous.
Fitz broke in «"I'm outside the blast doors but I should have the maneuverability to meet you around back on the side opposite. You shoooould by all rights be ground level. If we can box them in to forestall pursuit I can take the swing around to make sure the ground is clear.>"» A long pause and terse words came back through the mic «"Kitty where. Are. You?"»
Still no answer. Fantastic.
Still there was the sign above on the far side which meant going through more- oh hey, armored vehicles were also getting ready to move. Toward the back there are vehicles. and in the middle of it all were some thirty growing to 50 personnel leaving the lab rats below to sort out the asset mess. Presently they were predominately focused on the blast door.
The majority of attention on the blast door, Clint took it upon himself to go /not there/. Dripping from a leg wound, bruised and toting a terrified kid, he is anything but inconspicuous. "Rendezvous in three around back. I'm topside, gonna use the hawk-exit."
Armored vehicles to the rescue. Sure, he could cripple them by knocking out an emp. But guns don't need electrical to fire, and his asset was full of blood.
He swung in the direction of the nearest cluster of armored vehicles that provided any kind of cover. Hoping for luck to be kind today and find someone ready to roll out with keys, or stupid and distracted enough to leave an engine warm.
You know what would come in handy?
Magical mutant go-go juice powers.
-_-
You know what Clint didn't possess?
Magical mutant go-go juice powers.
Damn shame.
Finally luck made a brief cameo in the form of one guy climbing into the driver's seat. Seeing Clint he turned an d almost spoke but something happened. His hand about to draw his sidearm pulled almost entirely out of the holster when he froze in place, standing up straight and then had toes just barely off the ground. No kicking. Just eyes that went for a flash milk white before dropping to the floor like a pile of dirty laundry with an ugly squid on the label and a body inside.
Quiet words. "No." from the Mutant. It was apparent where SHIELD's concern in HYDRA having custody of such a child lay. The initial assessment was correct, there was no way this kid was ever just going to live on a farm somewhere tra-la-la. Not likely in any case.
Keys hung in the ignition and the garage door was behind them. The garage door opened behind them and the passenger side door flung open across from Clint as he stepped tot eh ajar Driver's side door.
Honestly, Clint could've handled it.
One guy, half in a car, doors make for fantastic weapons and shields (ask Steve). But just as Clint was going to make a sprint for the distance between himself and the guy, he froze.
He froze and eyes flashed white. And Clint froze as well, hand splayed outward while he waits to see what's going on.
The small breath on his neck whispers something and though Clint's can't hear it, he can damn well guess that as the driver crumbles, that the kid has something to do with it.
A hand and side arm touches the side of the kid's head again with a metallic click rather harmlessly as he closes the distance to the driver's side. Just as the door across from him opened up.
The weapon flings out to point at the intruder.
Kitty Pryde.
She'd seen better days; hair frayed, several bruises, cut lip and a very bloody arm. With her good arm she pulled herself up into the seat and she said, out of breath, "Get us out of here" Her eyes went to the kid, to Clint, to the kid, to Clint.
"Phasing stopped working." Because the munchkin got out of containment no doubt. "Comms shorted." because Kitty is… sometimes Kitty. "Fitz have our exfil?" She winced but the young woman was a determined professional. "Does he have aspirin?"
The barrel of the gun pointed at her went up to the ceiling as Clint exhaled a sigh and gave her a flat look. "Prima donna," Hawkeye accuses dryly and reports as he gets in to the driver's seat and deposits the kid in the seat next to him, onto Kitty's lap, prying fingers off of him. "Got Asset, got Shadowcat. Prepare for evac in back. — Okay, pal. You put your seatbelt on and stick with my friend here," Barton explains to the kid so he doesn't fry Kitty, keeping an eye on all his mirrors. "Keep your head down. Stay low, and we'll be out of here in no time."
"Keys. Yes."
Clint turns the engine over and wastes no time, turning them around to aim for the garage door. "Hold on to your hats. This'll be fun. C'mon you tentacle heap, let's see what you got. " Hawkeye floors it, pedal to the metal, aimed for the door. If one didn't know better, there may just be a glimmer of a wild smile on the spy's face.
Were we to show you, the viewers at home the rest of the plan we would need to ramp it down into slow motion.
ONE: The kid is finally peeled off and given to a very protective Kitty trying to keep HYDRA mitts off fellow mutant.
TWO: A vague look of a LOT of concern as she couldn't phase and at some point we let Clint drive.
THREE: The vehicle spun a 180* and met the rolling bay door which popped off its hinges. The military vehicle's reinforced chassis boasted no concern for the door but now they couldn't see.
FOUR: Fitz swung the Quin Jet into place lowering like an avenging angel from the sky (which was to say, thankfully there and, yeah, a bit bad ass).
FIVE: Ramp lowers. Guns lower. Temperature lowers.
SIX: Clint, peering through the small visibility he has hits a rocky incline that tips the vehicle back giving it enough lift that the garage door finishes sailing over the top of the utility vehicle with the most horrendous hell screech since Maria Hill last yelled at him.
SEVEN: The garage door (now airborne) slams into the pursuit vehicle behind them.
EIGHT: Guns off the Quin Jet fire over the top of their heads as Clint navigates rocks and ice.
NINE: The gunfire slams not into the pursuit truck but the roof of the base barricading the opening in a healthy blanket of snow making them go around.
TEN: Clint hits the edge of rough terrain and jumps several more rocks instead of trying to swerve around them.
ELEVEN: BRAKES! BRAKES! BRAKES!!! They stop just in time for Clint to throw the get-away-mobile into neutral and slide sideways to block the ramp.
TWELVE: Everyone exits the passenger side. Ramp closes as Fitz and the Quin Jet soar high to recloak.
Fitz sighed, "Thaaaaaank goodness you're back. I was almost staring to get bored."
MISSION STATUS: S.H.I.E.L.D. 12 Step Program - Successful