[H3][b][i]Earlier...[/i][/b][/h3]

Clint slowly, gingerly raised his hands, his left hand open, letting the bow balance perfectly across his palm in a gesture of complete submission to the moment.

"That's right.  Come to a complete stop."  The voice echoed through the space.

Clint's hands came to a halt just above head level, the bow stopped gently swaying.

"That's good."  The other man's growl confirmed.  "Aaaand, we've got you."

Hawkeye's glare slightly squinted, he maintained a laserlike focus on a set point.  His back to the man, he got his bearings in the room.  Recognised his target.

"What are you waiting for?  A 'Go'?  You know the exercise starts via motion detector."

Clint's breath came with control, a wry smile started to cross his face, and he waited until the motion detector would pick up on the subtle gesture.  It did, and a light changed to green in front of his face, with almost inhuman quickness, his right hand dropped behind him to a fletching from his quiver.  His left arm turned and with a twist of his wrist, the bow was aimed.  With automatic speed that can only come from the muscle memory of uncountable hours of practice, the right hand snapped the arrow into place, and drew back.

Clint fired off the arrow into the corner of the room in front of him to his left with a release so consistent he could tradmark it, the highly-vulcanised rubber on the polybutadiene tip had the arrow ricochet off the side wall, followed by the front and then soar back towards the man who had just fired it.

Clint jerked his thumbs behind him, gesturing towards the target and swivelled to watch it's trajectory, struggling to keep pace.  The arrow struck true on the target with a solid "Thukk!" hitting a pressure panel on the target which stopped the clock, measuring micro seconds next to the green light.

"Perfect."  The elderly growl of the man who once went by the name Captain America echoed once more through the intercom speaker.  "Now if we could just see you do it once more without the showboating..."

[color=aa5da5][b]"...Then it wouldn't be as fast."[/b][/color]  Replied Clint, cutting the elder leader off.

"You don't get bonus points for flair in this business, Hawkeye."

[color=aa5da5][b]"And I don't get points deducted for it either.  If it were your life on the line, would you rather I shave a second from my time turning to draw and face, or would you rather I make the play that gives the least time for the bad guys to get a shot off?  The fast play was exactly what I did, and if I consistently make the shot then that's the shot I should take.  Or are you trying to tell me you never threw a bank shot with that shield of yours?"[/b][/color]

Silence was palpable from the booth.

Clint turned his back on the target once more, and before the exercise could be reset, quickly drew an arrow, fired once more into the corner into the left, drew another and fired into the right corner, and pulled two more from his quiver, turned his bow sideways and with a single shot fired both into each corner.

Without turning around the solid "Thukk!"s of all four arrows gave proof to the result as he walked towards the exit of the training facility.

[color=aa5da5][b]"Sounded pretty consistent to me.  Good practice, El Capitan."[/b][/color]

[hr][sup][h1][center][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/565188788159119361/870715661461106808/hawk2idea.png[/img][/center][b][center][color=navy] H A W K E Y E[/color]
[color=darkmagenta]H A W K E Y E[/color][/center]
[/b][/h1][/sup]
[sub][b]SEASON ONE[/b][color=aa5da5] Sensation & Wonder[/color][/sub][indent][sup][right][b][color=white]HAWKEYE #1[/color][/b] [color=aa5da5]Ricochet[/color][/right][/sup][/indent]
[hr]
[H3][b][i]Earlier Still...[/i][/b][/h3]

His back hit the meshing of the net one more time, his body falling deeply into the slack of it's extremely gentle tension.

"Again, Barton!  I thought you'd been practising!  Gambon--!"

[color=aa5da5]"I have been!"[/color]  The young boy called out, scrambling across the net like a baby spider before finding the edge and expertly flipping out - the trick he'd most had time to learn, since the circus had been looking to train him in the art of the trapeze.

"Well, the Gambonnos keep telling me you could be some kind of acrobat, but I'm seeing a lot of falling!  What have you been learning?"

[color=aa5da5]"Ernesto and Luigi are tumblers, most of what I've been learning has been closer to the ground body-control stuff.  I don't see them hafta go up and swing, I'm tryin' my best!  I never learnt this kinda stuff yet!"[/color]

"Well, we're learning it now, Clint!  Get your butt back up that ladder, your brother's barely had a chance to get a sweat going!"  The Ringmaster called back to him.  "Now move your keister, meester!"

This was not remotely true.  For whilst it was accurate that Barney had so far had very few opportunities to swing out on his trapeze - waiting and watching whilst Clint had to get his early swings to establish and build up momentum - the lights and pressure of the moment, combined with the height itself to have the older brother sweating bullets.  He'd re-chalked his hands a dozen times already and secretly was making silent prayers for his brother to fall, before he'd have to try his own part.

For Clint's part he was to swing through once, return, make a second swing and then attempt to reposition himself so that he could hang by his legs, return, and then it would be Barney's turn.  So far, Clint had struggled with repositioning himself, the arms of a young boy seeming to get too tired by the swings for the arduous task of lifting himself up to get his legs right.

Far below a few of the other performers had started to watch on, the young boys had demonstrated early promise operating booths, juggling, tumblework with the Great Gambonnos, now was their chance to not only step up into a future place in the spotlight, but also to fill a need in the circus.  Tiboldts Circus had long operated without a trapeze act, choosing to instead take on certain fringe performances less traditionally thought of in line with a circus who were at the very pinnacle of their skillsets.  As popular as a trapeze act is, Keibler had found them to be a dime a dozen - half of the draw of a circus, is to offer something astounding that people hadn't seen before.  And headline trapeze acts weren't exactly cost-effective, as popular a draw as they could be.  No, if he could raise such an act from the ground up - say, from two young orphans who feel indebted and a familial connection to such a circus, it might be possible to create an additional draw at an affordable price.

Clint scrambled up the ladder once more.

[color=deeppink][b]"He's getting tired..."[/b][/color]  Came a voice over Keibler's shoulder.  [color=deeppink][b]"...and frustrated."[/b][/color]

Clint lifted himself onto the platform panting.  [color=deeppink][b]"Tired and frustrated means he's eizer going to push to do it to spite you, or he's going to get sloppy.  Either way, zis won't prove his skill."[/b][/color]

Clint took the trapeze in his hands, and glanced down at the pudgy ringmaster standing below and the headliner that stood behind him.  He furrowed his brow and with a determined expression he leapt and rode the cable once more.  Barney prayed again.  Clint swung back, his arms burned.  He twisted his hand around the otherside of the trapeze contrary to how he was taught.  His technique was broken, flawed, but he refused to fail and hear the bloated blowhard's yelling one more time.  It might be ugly, but he wouldn't give Keibler the opportunity - as if that fat load would have a hope in Hell of riding the trapeze himself.  He swung through, and Clint scrambled to climb the trapeze, he made it up, albeit looking shaky and then repositioned himself to cling to the trapeze by his own legs.

Far from pretty but he'd done it.

Barney nervously swung out, then swung back, the next pass was the money shot.  Barney would release and soar through the sky only to be caught in his younger brother's arms.  

Or that was the theory at least.

But their timing was off.  Barney's nervousness saw him swing early, the two lines never coming into synch.  When Barney released he found only air, and Keibler proceeded to fill that air with expletives and bluster.  Clint let go and dropped into the net below once he saw his brother get clear, further angering the ringmaster.  So far it had been easier for the smaller boy to get back to the trapeze platform by climbing back up the ladder, than by trying to swing there.  It felt much safer, since he could only just reach the trapeze from the platform when on his tiptoes.

Clint bounced across the net and flipped out of it once more, landing once again with perfect balance.  The ringmaster threw a swift kick in his direction whilst he ran across for the ladder, which the young boy easily dodged with some fancy footwork whilst flashing a cheeky grin.

The man behind Keibler raised an eyebrow, as he watched the way the younger Barton boy moved.  As the two Barton brothers climbed up their ladders, the headliner said something to the ringmaster.

"Are you sure?  He'll be your responsibility."  The voice of the louder man carried further.  "Fine by me, wasting enough of my time here with them any way..."

"BARTON!!  You'll be working with Duquesne from now on.  Listen closely and pay attention!"

The brothers looked down from their elevated positions.

[color=aa5da5]"Which[/color][color=red] one?"[/color]  They both called out at once.

"Clint!"  Keibler called back up.  The younger brother watched his older brother hunch over in some combination of disappointment and shame.

[color=aa5da5]"Can my brother come too?"[/color]

The ringmaster and the dashing French swordsman quibbled for a few moments.

"That's fine.  Just get down here."

[hr]

[H3][b][i]Earlier Again...[/i][/b][/h3]

[color=aa5da5]"So it's got John Travolta 'n' Christian Slater in it and..."[/color]

"Who's Christian Slater again?"

[color=aa5da5]"He's the guy who played Will Scarlet in [i]Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves[/i]."[/color]

[color=red]"We just hired that, Clint!  I wanna get [i]Executive Decision[/i]!"[/color]

"What's that one?"

[color=aa5da5]"Kurt Russell and Steven Segal.  There's a plane full of some chemical bomb thing and they're trying to stop terrorists from dropping it or blowing up or some junk."[/color]

"Oh I don't know if we want to be watching something violent with chemical weapon bombs in it Barney..."

[color=red]"What Clint wants to get has nuclear weapons in it!  And we just hired it the other week!"[/color]

[color=aa5da5]"Heee-eey!  I liked it!  I wanna see it again!"[/color]

[color=red]"Yeah, well I spoke with Andy about it at school, 'n' he says the Government doesn't even call it that when nukes get stolen!  They call it an 'Empty Quiver'!"[/color]

[color=aa5da5]"So!  The movie's still cool, stink-face!  Broken Arrow sounds better!  Whadda you care?!"[/color]

"Why don't we get something [b]nice[/b] like [i]Muppet Treasure Island[/i]?"

[color=aa5da5]"MOOOOOOO-[/color][color=red]-OOOOOOOOM!"[/color]

In his memories, his father's footsteps echo like thunder here.  His presence growing an uncanny mass beyond any plausible reality.  An impossible weight that would drag the family down to the depths of their destruction.

[color=red]"Stink-face?!  Go to Hell, Butthead!"[/color]  Replied Barney on delay, lashing out at the younger brother.

The brothers skirmish, the footsteps rumble to a crescendo, the pair find themselves in the growing shadow of a colossal figure.  A muscular arm - well grown from the exercise of chopping, slicing and hauling meat in business hours, and pumping beer and bourbon 'n' Cokes as the sun starts to set - broke the fight up by grabbing the older brother and throwing him into a wall.  Swearing and yelling followed, which Clint's memory had long since blocked out or forgotten the particulars, but he seems to remember the larger man blaming his son for the recent damage done to the wall by being thrown into it, and kicks him solidly in the ribs.

The man sweeps by the younger boy, who's mouth remains agape, and grabs their mother by the hook of her arm.  Clint could swear he could smell Wild Turkey wafting from his very pores.  Their mother doesn't struggle, but does crane her neck slightly, trying to check whether her older son is OK - more concerned for his health than the what will follow.

Barney's bruises and broken rib, painful as they were, would not be permanent that night.

The car that was wrapped around the tree and both parents fatal injuries most certainly would be.

The punishment of leaving the boys at home, whilst the parents would choose the selection for 'Movie Night' ironically sparing the children's lives.

If Clint were a more sensitive type he might remember them as the contradictory voices of violence and peace that they were.  Instead he remembered them as a saint and an asshole.  A tragic loss, and an absolute example of the type of person he would never want to be.  A humourless thug, willing to project his strength over the most vulnerable.

Pulling the woman out of the door as she tries to check on her son's well-being, whilst knowing full well the price of open resistence from past experience and still having many of the scars to prove it, the loudest echo of them all is reserved for the slamming of the door as Harold Barton stole their mother on that night.

The second they're gone, the fight is put behind them and Clint rushes to his older brother's side.

The older brother pushes him away, wanting to be left alone after the vicious beating he had just taken.