Chapter Text
The further the Asset gets from the base, the more he feels Hydras hold on him slipping. The icy grip of his programming recedes and vague memories start to flicker through his head. One day he thinks of himself and hears a gentle woman's voice calling him “James”.
Not the Asset.
James.
After months of wandering, James finds himself in Brooklyn and it just seems… right. He can’t explain why, but he’s reluctant to pull himself away from the city. He manages to get an apartment in an old run down building in Bedford-Stuyvesant. It's larger than he needs but it’s secure. Despite the ageing nature of the building itself, the security system is top of the line and the locks look to be brand new. That and the lack of security camera’s help James to settle his paranoid mind.
He hasn’t met the landlord yet, but the residents of the apartment block sing his praises. Simone, who lives opposite him, brings James a small welcome basket one his first day and tells him about the weekly BBQ’s on the rooftop, insisting he go to the next one. Two boys rocket through the hallway and James waves off her apologies, assuring her he doesn't mind. Hearing the kids laugh as they play is so different from the background noise he’s used to. It’s almost nice.
He knows he can’t let himself get too comfortable. A go-bag stays propped up next to the door, always ready for a quick escape if he’s compromised. As tempting as it may be, he just can’t let down his guard here. His apartment is not a home, it’s just a hide-out.
***
The second James wakes up, he grabs a notebook and starts to scribble what he can remember from his dreams. There’s nothing too concrete this time; the smell of apple pie, a glimpse of a tattered rabbit toy, a woman screaming. But he writes it all down, hoping that eventually he’ll be able to rearrange his scribblings into a coherent string of memories.
Heavy foot fall tearing up the main stairway breaks James concentration. His body tenses and he listens closely, cursing when he catches snippets of a Russian conversation.
He’s been found.
James grabs at the gun he keeps at his side. He considers jumping out onto the fire escape and sliding down to the ground floor, but he hears a rapid knocking at the door to the apartment opposite his. Before he can think things through, he throws his door open, wanting to dispatch the intruders before Simone or her kids have a chance to open their door.
His eyes snap to the two men in the hallway, they’re dressed in matching red tracksuits and arguing in Russian about where to find someone called Barton. James shoots them both in the kneecaps with quick efficiency. Logically, he knows that he should kill them and leave no trace but the list of people he’s killed just keeps growing the more he gets his memories together. He won't add to that list if he can help it. ‘Get out.’ He growls, heading up to the stairs where he can hear more commotion.
A bullet bursts through the window, slicing through his right shoulder. He hisses as he raises the arm to shoot back at the attacker. He takes a moment to hide in the stairwell, listening to the noises of the building and finding that most of the action seems to be up on the roof. Keeping a tight grip on his gun, James sprints up the stairs.
When he kicks the door to the roof open, James spots a blond man standing on the edge of the rooftop with a bow and arrow of all things. He’s dressed in faded purple pyjama pants and a stained white t-shirt. Bandaids cover most of his exposed skin and when he turns James can see a freely bleeding cut on his forehead. The man eyes him critically, aiming an arrow at James as he arches an eyebrow. ‘You’re better dressed than the rest of them. Tracksuits not your thing?’
It takes James a few moments to figure out what he means. ‘I’m not with them.’
‘Who are you with then?’
‘Just me. I live here.’
The man's face relaxes and he lowers his bow. ‘James, right?’
James doesn’t lower his gun, unwilling to let down his guard.
‘I’m Clint. The landlord.’
‘...Ah.’
‘Didn’t you get the message to stay inside while I sorted this out? Oh shit, did I not add you to the building group chat. My bad. I-’ Clint dodges an incoming bullet and trains his attention back to the ground, shooting a volley of arrows at a dark green truck.
‘I’m sorry about this.’ James offers as he positions himself next to Clint, shooting the Russians who had appeared in the windows in the building opposite them.
‘What do you mean? It’s nice to have some back up. Didn’t realise you were military.’
‘They're after me. Don't know how they tracked me, but I guess Hydra is smarter than I gave them credit for.’
Clint stills next to them. ‘Hydra? Why are- … We’ll circle back to that. This aint Hydra, this is just the tracksuit mafia.’
‘The….the what?’ That has to be the most ridiculous name James has ever heard, even if it is apt for the tracksuit clad men.
Clint lets out a huffed laugh as he crosses the roof to check the other side of the building. ‘Tracksuit mafia. Their boss is bad news, but they’re too disorganised to be much of a threat. They're just pissed I won the building from them and want it back. But you know, over my dead body and all that.’ Clint winks before letting loose another round of arrows.
James lets the information wash over him. ‘...Oh.’
Clint's eyes track a new moving van which speeds down the street, sighing in relief as the tracksuits clamber into it to make a hasty escape. ‘That should take care of them for a while.’ He clicks a button on the side of his bow and it collapses in his hand. He turns to face James, his eyes falling on the bullet wound in his shoulder. ‘You get hit?’
James shrugs, wincing as it aggravates the wound. ‘Its fine. Went straight through.’
‘....Come on.’ Clint gestures for James to follow him. ‘You hungry? I have pizza in the fridge.’
Not sure how to handle the situation, James says nothing and follows him to an apartment. He notices that instead of an apartment number, there's a lopsided purple ‘H’ hanging over Clint's door.
‘H?’ James queries.
‘For Hawkeye.’
‘Hawkeye?’
Clint shoots him a bemused look before opening the door. ‘You know, the Avengers?’
‘...That a band or something?’
Clint laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. ‘You been living under a rock?’
James avoids eye contact. ‘Something like that.’
‘Huh…’ Clint grabs a first aid kid that was sitting by the doorway and tosses it to James before heading to the kitchen.
After a quick glance around the apartment, taking note of the escape routes and the surprising number of hidden weapons. Arrows litter the far wall, embedded into the brick into the shape of a H.
‘You always fight with arrows?’ He asks. He knows Clint has a gun concealed on his belt but he hadn’t touched it once during the fight.
‘Yeah, it's kind of my thing.’ Clint calls from the kitchen, an amused lilt to his voice.
James drops onto the couch to dig through the first aid kit. It’s surprisingly well stocked, given the amount of white bandages littering the man's limbs, James assumed he’d be in need of a refill.
James takes his arm out of his jacket, careful to make sure it still covers his metallic limb and sets about disinfecting the wound.
Clint reappears, dropping a pizza box onto the coffee table, and a one-eyed labrador pads into the room, sticking close to Clint while keeping his eye on Bucky.
‘You’re not allergic to dogs are you?’ Clint asks, reaching for a slice of pizza.
James just shakes his head, tending to his wounded shoulder.
‘So.’ Clint starts through a mouth full of cold pizza. ‘Hydra?’
James freezes, every curse he knows running through his head. He should have kept his stupid mouth shut. Eyes flicking to the open window, James plots his escape. His apartment is four floors down. He should be able to jump onto the balcony, grab his go-bag and get the hell out of here before the man can grab his bow.
‘Hey.’ Clint's voice is calm as he drops onto the sofa next to him, digging through the first aid kit for bandages. ‘It’s cool. If Hydras hunting you down, we must be on the same side. It’s all good.’
James gives him a confused look, flinching as Clint starts to bandage his shoulder. ‘...How do you know about Hydra?’
Clint laughs under his breath. ‘Kind of the hot topic with the Avengers at the minute. Ever since Red Skull showed his ugly face, bragging about how he has Caps bestie, we’ve been tearing through all their bases.’
James scowls as images of a man tearing his face off fill his head. ‘...Red Skull died. A long time ago.’
‘That's what we thought.’ Clint hums. ‘But I suppose if Cap can make it to modern times, it's not too surprising that Skull could too.’
James scowls, his head is pounding. There’s a memory there but he just can’t bring it to the front of his mind fully. Something about a shield.
The second Clint is done with the bandages, James shrugs his jacket back on, feeling fractionally less exposed.
‘So, how do you know about Hydra?’ Clint asks, his expression calm and curious.
James stares down at his boots, trying to work out what to say.
‘You don’t have to tell me everything. I just need to know if the people in my building are in danger.’
‘....Hydra is looking for me.’ He admits quietly. ‘But I’m good at what I do. I’ve covered my tracks.’
Clint hums thoughtfully. ‘You want a beer?’
‘What?’
‘Beer.’ Clint repeats, getting to his feet and heading back to the kitchen. ‘Help yourself to the pizza too. It’s the good stuff.’ He calls as he opens the fridge up.
James chalks his lack of response up to his sincere lack of social skill practice. Before he can figure out how to react to this bizarre situation, Clint reappears and presses an ice cold beer into his gloved metal hand. James slips it to his flesh hand, the cold strangely grounds him. Helping him centre himself again.
Clint leans back, sipping his own beer with a contemplative look on his face. ‘Want to help us fuck Hydra over?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Intel is limited at the minute. If you used to work with them, I’m sure you have plenty you could tell us.’
‘“Us” being … the Avengers?’
‘Yeah. You could be as anonymous as you want. I can be the middleman.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Taking down nazis is a perk of the job.’ Clint grins.
James is surprised by the chuckle that escapes his lips, he tries to cover up his laugh by bringing the beer up to drink. ‘...Alright. I can give you a list of coordinates and key players?’
Clint's eyes go bright as he grins at James. ‘That’d be great.’
‘You got paper?’
Clint looks around the apartment, he frowns and settles for ripping the lid off of the pizza box and passing it to James with a sharpie.
James stiffles his laugh more successfully this time. He scribbles down a list of the numbers and names that come to mind, working more on instinct than with conscious thought.
‘Fuck.’ James hears Clint whisper. He stops writing to glance at the man questioningly.
‘Rumlow… You’re sure?’
James glances down at the name he’s written; Brock Rumlow. James thinks back, trying to work out how he knows it. He sees the man flicking through a red notebook, memorising the trigger phrases. ‘I’m sure. They were training him to be my handler before I left.’
Clint's calm demeanour fades into a more serious expression. ‘I… Give me one second.’ He holds up a hand as he grabs his phone and jumps to his feet. He stays in James’ line of sight but paces up and down the living room as he talks. ‘Nat. S.H.I.E.L.D has been compromised. Yeah. Hang on, I got some more info for us to work off.’ He pauses by the coffee table to take a picture of the pizza lid James has been writing on. ‘Sorry, source is classified. Gonna stay that way.’ He looks over at James with a wink. ‘Yeah, I’ll be over at the tower in the morning.’ Rolling his eyes, Clint falls back onto the couch. ‘Come ooooooon, Nat. I just had to fight off the tracksuits. I can’t leave now.’ He sighs, rubbing his face. ‘Fine, fine. I’ll be there in half an hour.’ He hangs up with a heavy sigh. ‘Hey can I ask you a favour?’
James raises an eyebrow in response.
‘I know you probably want to high tail it out of here, I get it. But I could do with someone keeping an eye on the place while I go to work. The tracksuits aren’t likely to come back tonight, but I’d feel better with someone looking after the folks in the building.’
James considers it for the moment, thinking about Simone and her two sons in the apartment opposite his. ‘...Sure.’ He can always run if it does turn out to be a trap.
Clint clinks his half drank beer bottle against James’. ‘You’re the best. I’ll be back by the morning.’ He chugs the rest of the drink and grabs his bow and quiver before dashing out of the apartment, leaving James alone with the dog in a jarring display of trust.
James takes a moment to watch the door that the man has slammed behind him. He sighs, grabbing the pizza box and putting it back into the fridge before gently petting the dog. Uneasy about leaving the dog alone, James gestures for it to follow him, impressed as it dutifully follows him down the stairs and back to his own place.
Scooping up an unused notebook, James sets up camp at the window to the fire escape. He keeps an eye out for men in tracksuits while he digs into his memories for anything specific he can recall about Hydra. Before he knows it, hours have passed and the note book is filled with information. He sighs, resting his pounding head against the glass of the window. He decides against sleeping tonight. Between the Russian threat and pulling from the Soldiers memories, there’s no way he’ll be able to sleep peacefully. At least the dog is good company, he watches it sleep calmly by his feet and slowly lets his mind start to settle.