Civilians rarely experience the strange hell that comes from waiting for a combat mission to actually start. The waiting can drive you crazy if you don't stay focused on getting ready. Some guys claim that they love it, that they actually love the anticipation. But nearly 15 years into the game and Clint Barton still hadn't gotten used to it.

Usually he looked to his team for support in situations like this. Maybe joke around with Coulson on the radio, talk sports with Bridge, or flirt with Daisy in front of Natasha and watch the fur fly. Right now he didn't have that option because he wasn't working with his typical crew.

Budapest was a joint operation between SHIELD and the US Army, which meant that the specialized skills of several agents were spread around to create two teams with very different capabilities. Team One was mostly composed of Bridge, Daisy, a couple of the really hardened guys Clint knew and respected, with Maria running the show.

Clint wasn't on that team.

Clint was on Team Two, which consisted of three SHIELD agents (Coulson, Frank Castle, and himself) working with a bunch of very annoying mutant psychopaths from William Stryker's Weapon X project.

And he hated Team Two. Hated everything about working with mutants and Stryker and creepy, morally bankrupt science projects where they handed a gun to lunatics and said "go get 'em".

He wouldn't be here, would have never joined up on this mission, if it wasn't for who they were trying to find.

"Who are we picking up again?" Clint could hear Wade Wilson from the other end of the plane joking around. Normally he would've just tuned it out but Wilson hadn't shut up since the pre mission breifing and the guy was starting to get on his nerves.

"Some dishy SHIELD bitch." That voice belonged to Victor Creed, some sort of half animal/ half man creep who could send chills up your spine with a look.

"Dishy?"

"Yeah, they had her photo in the file."

"Oh." Wilson said with a shrug. It was clear Wilson hadn't actually read the briefing. Why would he? He was an assassin and assassins don't read files. It was unprofessional but Clint had gotten used seeing wetwork guys act like idiots. "What's her name?"

"Natasha." Creed's voice was now a soft growl and Clint could almost hear the erection in the guy's voice. For some reason, it was really getting on Clint's nerves.

"Natasha." Wilson said, liking the name, "Sounds sexy. You said she's a dish?"

"Yup." Creed seemed to be getting more and more excited and Clint knew Creed was picturing Natasha Romanoff. Naked. Doing things. "If she lives through this bullshit, maybe we should show her a good time." Clint had to bite his tongue.

Natasha could take care of herself and he didn't need to go around defending her honor every time some asshole made a lewd comment behind her back. She was a big girl. She didn't need big strong Hawkeye to take care of her. Except he really wanted to. He wanted to walk over to Victor Creed and plant an arrow in the guy's face and then keep shooting arrows until there was nothing left of the mutant killer but a big red smear on the walls of the plane.

This was a big problem for Clint, a weakness he couldn't shake. He was way too attached to a woman who probably didn't think about him as anything more than a good time between missions and a drinking buddy.

"Maybe we should ALL show her a good time." Wilson joked, "Family style."

A couple of members of the Weapon X team started laughing and everybody was imagining taking turns with the girl from their dossiers. Logan dropped a fairly vile joke about how Fred Dukes would propose marriage to her and that made everybody laugh harder.

That was about all Clint Barton could stand. Since his bow was still stuck with the rest of his gear, he reached into his belt and pulled one of the steel throwing knives he kept as a back up. With a quick motion of his arm, Clint sent the knife across the cabin of the plane and landed perfectly between Wade Wilson's crotch and his knees, two inches below the chatty killer's testicles.

The laughing stopped.

The End