1. Chapter 1

The first time, it was on a dare. Like most of his life, Clint thought in retrospect: someone told him he couldn't do something, so he broke every rule in the book to prove that he could.

He was at Stark's Bar, his favorite hangout, sitting at his favorite spot at the bar. His favorite bartender, the husky-voiced femme-dyke name Pepper, served him his favorite drink and then left him the fuck alone, just the way he liked it. The only drawback was that on Thursday nights the place became more of a dance-party kind of club, with an actual DJ and go-go boys undulating suggestively on the small platforms scattered around the place.

Clint didn't know if they were any good because he couldn't see them, but he had enough experience in gay bars like Stark's to know they probably weren't. If the catcalls they usually got were any indication, he was right. But Clint was 90% blind, so he was mostly annoyed at the louder music and the bigger crowd. The regulars knew him and knew not to jostle him, but with strangers around Clint had to hold back on his instincts to break the hand of anyone touching him. He sat facing forward, nursing his drink and probably looking angry behind his sunglasses, not that he would know, but he had a good idea.

"You suck!" Some moron who was louder than anyone else yelled. From the direction Clint figured the guy was insulting one of the go-go boys.

"Asshole," Pepper muttered.

"You need better bouncers," Clint offered.

Pepper laughed in agreement.

The go-go boy snapped back something insulting and the guy kept yelling. Clint tuned them out until the guy shouted "I bet the damn blind guy could dance better than that!"

The place came to a crashing halt, despite the music continuing to blare. But Clint could hear the way people stopped moving and talking, and he knew without a doubt they were staring at him. Feeling sorry for him.

"Hey! Don't pick on him, he can't help it!" The go-go boy's voice was shrill and affronted.

Clint stood up.

"Barton, sit down. I'll make you another drink," Pepper soothed.

"Don't worry, Pep, I'm not starting a fight." Clint slammed the rest of his drink and turned around. "That a bet?" He yelled towards where the heckler was standing.

"No, man, forget it. I didn't mean it."

"What, you got no balls? Not going to stand behind what you say?" Clint walked towards the dance station. He had been getting drunk at that bar for over a year, so he knew the layout better than most of the employees. If no one got in his way, he could walk exactly where he wanted to be.

"The kid can't dance, is all. I stand by that," the asshole said defensively as Clint got near him.

"Sounds like you're chicken shit to me, man. You said I could dance better than the kid, but you're not willing to bet on it."

"Hey!" The go-go boy chirped up, giving away his exact location. Clint reached up and grabbed his knee.

"Get down," Clint said as he pulled. The kid could either get down or end up with a dislocated knee, so with a slight screech he scrambled off the platform.

"Seriously, man, you're crazy if you think I'm going to let a blind guy get up on that platform and dance." The guy had lowered his voice. Clint could tell that most of the crowd had gone back to dancing or boozing. He wasn't even sure why he was pushing the whole thing, other than being pissed off. He was blind, not incompetent, and just drunk enough to be angry about it.

"Coward," Clint spat. "You think it was funny? You hurt that kid's feelings and you make me look like some helpless invalid. No, you're taking this bet. You said the blind guy could dance better, well, how about we test that?"

"Ohmygodno!" The go-go boy gasped and tugged at Clint's shirt. "No! Doesn't matter, he's an ass, just forget about it! I don't want you to get hurt!"

"Jesus, you people are pathetic." Clint pushed the kid away. Reaching out, he felt the edge of the platform and launched himself up easily. His shoulder hit a pole, which he hadn't expected but suddenly made everything much easier. It had been twelve years since he had worked a silks act in the circus, but it wasn't too different, and he was still in shape. "Hold these," he said, tossing his sunglasses down at the go-go boy, pleased when he heard the kid catch them. He still had his aim, too, and with that comforting thought Clint closed his eyes, wrapped a leg around the pole and got to work.

By the time the bar closed, Clint was down to his underwear and had made nearly $200 in tips, which was more than he got in a week from his VA Disability Compensation.

It started as a dare, and turned into a job.