8. Chapter 8

"Can't stand this shit. I'm a fucking busy man, just tell me if the show—"

"Sit down," Phil snapped, then as an afterthought, "Sir."

Fury sat down, eyeing Phil maliciously. Phil took the high road and stared at the stage. They were there for the dress rehearsal, without much of a clue as to what they were going to see. Phil had stopped haunting Clint's practice times, since it was obviously impossible to keep up his stalking routine unnoticed, which he figured in the long run was probably healthiest for himself. It did beg the question of why Clint had not called it out earlier than he had, but Phil was determined not to ask that question.

The other routines were just as much of a mystery. Everyone had changed up their usual, added new sections, and come up with multiple routines to rotate through. So, while Phil had actually seen Thor's strange (eerie, really) magic act and Banner's bizarre stand up, he had no idea what to expect in full. Carol Danvers and Steve Rogers had struck up an immediate and terrifying friendship, pretty much taking charge of the whole team and scaring off outsiders who were not stage hands— up to and including Tony Stark. They even designed a joint routine that, rumor had it, was a strip tease tango so hot that people in the audience might self-combust (that was Sitwell's opinion, and he was usually sweating profusely when he said it). Everyone had risen to the challenge of making the show a one-of-a-kind stellar event that would be unlike any regular "variety act" out there.

Steve was also the "ring master" (as Clint called him) and started the show by coming out in an old-fashioned long-tailed tuxedo and top hat right out of a 1930s movie, looking like a movie star and moving like a dancer. The insane twink Peter Parker started his routine of completely silent, wall-crawling acrobatics while Steve was still talking, and it set up a strange, otherworldly mood. The first act was Thor's, the electricity from his "magical hammer" sparking all over the stage (and Phil made mental note to add a rider to their insurance for the traveling show). Phil was impressed with each performer, but it was mostly a blur until the silks dropped for Clint's act. Phil managed not to scoot forward on his seat like an anxious little kid.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce to you Hawkeye. Take nothing he does for granted, his aim is perfect and his goal is to amaze you. Is he blind, or blindfolded? Is he falling, or flying? Will he give you what you want, or take what you most hold dear? Hold on to your loved ones: the Hawk doesn't have to land to grab what he wants!" Steve announced and left the stage as the lights dialed down low.

Phil almost laughed when Clint first walked out because he had a bright purple blind fold on, which seemed far more outrageous than even the odd loin-cloth-style outfit. He wore the blindfold casually, walking across the stage and up to the silks with his usual confidence, and somehow that seemed to make Clint's blindness secondary to the performance. It became nothing more than a dramatic note, an almost clichéd trick of the modern performer saying to the audience, "hey, I'm so good I don't need to see what I'm doing!" Which in Clint's case was more than just a brag. Chances were good that people would not believe that Clint was actually blind because of his act, so the blindfold was a brilliant stroke of disruption. People would not know what to expect.

The music started, a low tapping that Phil recognized instantly as taiko drumming. Clint started casually enough, grabbing one line and hand crawling up it in time to the steadily growing beat. For the next few seconds he performed typical turns and twists as he worked down the line, the second line hanging motionless a few feet away. He did a head-over-heels roll up the line, then leapt from one to the other, swinging out and around as he caught himself in a move that would have broken both legs if he missed and landed on the stage from thirty feet in the air. Phil's hands were clinched on the edge of his chair, and did not let go for the next five minutes as Clint defied gravity and common sense, alternating between free falling, leaping, climbing and flying. His moves were tight and precise, carefully thought out and well-practiced yet flirting on the edge of chance. One slip and he would end up in a broken heap.

But Phil saw more than just a man performing a dangerous routine. Clint was expressing his freedom, chasing dreams through the air the way he could not on the ground because of his blindness. He was showing the world his true self.

He was beautiful.

He was perfect.

He was Hawkeye.

He landed off a double back flip like a bird coming to roost. Standing up, he bowed, then pulled off the blindfold as he straightened up and looked straight out into the audience with his broken eyes on display. Phil heard Fury take in a deep breath, which was as much a show of complete shock as the man ever would give, and Sitwell cursed behind them. Apparently, that was a late addition to the act. A very effective one, Phil admitted, as Clint turned gracefully and stalked off stage.

Phil really did not pay any attention to the acts that followed, even the one where Clint (back in his familiar sunglasses) shot arrows at apples held up by Natasha, who was in turn being held up on Steve's shoulders. Phil remained lost in thought, retracing every move that Clint made on the silks, trying to think of a way to compliment the man without coming off like a screaming tween at a boy band concert. He wasn't sure he had enough control to not make fool of himself.

More importantly, he was absolutely sure that he had nothing that Clint needed. Tony had already pointed out that Clint did not chase money and did not seem interested in sex, and with the routine he just put on he would probably not be lacking in marriage proposals or job offers from Cirque de Soleil. Phil was fairly self-confident, and he had wooed and bedded enough men in his life to know what he had to offer, but he was not going to fool himself either. He was a mildly boring administrator with thinning hair and a sense of humor so dry his moniker in the military had been "Cactus."

Clint was damaged and perfect, a study in contrasts so sharp it could cut. Phil had never seriously considered settling down into a steady relationship, because the twists and turns of his life angled him away from that kind of happily ever after. In that moment, though, as the final curtain dropped and the staff who had come to watch all burst out into manic applause, Phil sat still in his chair, trying to image what it would feel like to have that kind of life with Clint. He wanted nothing more than to be everything Clint wanted, even if it was pretty clear that Clint neither needed nor wanted anybody. Especially not Phil.