Games of Deception (Hawkeye/Avengers)

Chapter 1 - Forgotten Items

-Jacqueline's P.O.V-

I pressed my body against the cold brick wall and pulled the pistol from my coat pocket, putting my finger to the trigger and making my breaths as silent as possible. I had been chased into an abandoned warehouse, and he knew I was here. He would be coming for me at any moment. I was on the second floor now, concealed behind a door.

I took a quick look around the room to get a solid bearing on my surroundings. The room was mostly empty, aside from a few piles of boxes and random knicknacks that the former owners had forgotten to take with them. It had definitely been quite some time since anyone had been here. There were cobwebs wrapped around my ankles and a fog of dust floating through the air in the room, easily visible by the way that the evening sunset was filtering through the broken windows. Some interesting black-and-white photographs piled in the corner of the room caught my eye, but I knew now wasn't the time for exploration. I had a mission to complete.

Silence. He hadn't realized I was up here yet. I slowly slid out from behind the door, pistol at the ready. I could feel blood dripping out of my nose that was now probably broken due to the nasty fall that I'd taken coming up here. It wasn't new for me to get caught up in a chase once in a while, but I always won. I had to make it a little interesting every now and then.

I held my breath and quickly turned, my back flat against the wall again as I heard slow, quiet footsteps on the staircase. This guy wasn't all that subtle, in most cases I'd never even hear them coming. I couldn't help but let a smile escape from my lips. I had him.

I sucked in one last good breath before spinning around and facing my pursuer, gun aimed directly to his skull. I pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. I looked at my hands and realized the pistol I'd carried was now on the floor. The man still had his own gun pointed to me, but made no movements. Nothing was making sense. I was numb.

Then I saw it; the dot of blood slowly spreading into a pool across my chest. I heard another shot and didn't bother to dodge it. I watched in slow motion as it flew directly toward my own heart.

I woke up gasping for air, shooting straight up from the bed and stumbling to the bathroom. I fell onto my knees in front of the toilet, choking and puking out what little liquid was left in me to possibly get rid of. After a few moments of calm, I lifted my head and pushed my hair away from my face.

"Good morning to me."

If nothing else got to me first, these nightmares would kill me. I sighed as I stood up and trudged over to the sink to grab my toothbrush. It took a few minutes of mindlessly fumbling my hands in the medicine cabinet to retrieve a tube of toothpaste and a cup to fill up with water. Hangovers are a joy...and by that I mean I felt like hell and was sick of puking my guts out. This wasn't the first time, but it was a rarity for me. I had tried always be on guard, always awaiting what was inevitably coming to me, but occasionally I suppose the pressure just got to me. Besides, I'd decided that a few drinks every now and then couldn't do me any more harm than what I'd already accomplished without them.

But forget all of that.

I had just finished brushing my teeth when the doorbell rang, which felt like a stab to my eardrums in my current state. Mumbling curses to myself, I quickly put on a clean shirt and threw my long brown hair up in a ponytail while walking to the door of my small apartment. I didn't bother to see if it was anyone I knew before opening the door, I couldn't have cared less at the time.

A man with short, slightly messy blond hair and piercing blue eyes stood across from me. He was tall and muscular, and was wearing a black t-shirt with matching black jeans and combat boots. A bit peculiar, but I paid no mind. Upon opening the door, he immediately held a hand out to me. I hesitantly reached out and shook it as he spoke.

"Hi, I'm Clint. You're Jacqueline Adams?"

"Um...yes?" How the hell did this guy know who I was? My defenses immediately shot up, and I put my hand to my back pocket where my knife was always waiting for use.

"Great. Uh, I found a phone at Ayers Bar last night, and I was told by someone that it belonged to you. He offered to return it, but I told him I would because I wanted to personally tell you how much I enjoyed your performance last night." He smiled lightly, but something seemed off about this guy.

Ah, well that cleared up why the face looked vaguely familiar. A slight relief came over me. The bar he referred to was the place where I did a small singing performance on weekends. Nothing major, just something to earn a few extra bucks. A foggy memory recalled me seeing him standing in the back of the room during my set,and staring a bit longer than I should have.

"Oh, I didn't even realize I'd left it. Thanks a ton. And um, thanks for stopping by last night." My voice was groggy and still slightly slurred, and I was wishing he would leave so I could stop making an idiot out of myself; aside from that,I could somewhat sense that he had put up a defense toward me as I had to him, and that was making me uneasy.

"No problem at all," he replied, taking a step back as a sign he was about to leave, thank God. As he was about to speak again, a massive wave of dizziness came over me. I gasped and put a hand onto the door frame for support, but it did little to no good as I tried to fight back at the room spinning around me and the urge to vomit all over this guy's boots. Clint (at least I thought that was his name) grabbed my arm to keep me from completely toppling over, but then everything went black.

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A/N: Hey everyone, thanks for reading! This is my first time posting a story here, so if you have any suggestions, opinions or comments, I would greatly appreciate them. I of course DO NOT own Clint Barton/Hawkeye or the Avengers.