Fill in the Blank - Clintasha

2

**June 3rd 2008**

The German summer sun beat down on Clint's exposed shoulders, burning his skin a shiny red as he squinted up at the huge red brick mansion. Licking his dry lips Clint took a sip from his water bottle, doing his best not to look too impressed. He didn't know a damn thing about architecture, but damn Clint couldn't help but admire raw talent when he saw it. It was fucking beautiful.

It also so happened to be directly opposite a public golf course, which was where Clint stood. He leaned most of his weight on his rented golf club, using the guise of a summer golfer to sketch out the perimeter of the building and see what security systems they had in place.

It was hardly the most thrilling job he'd ever taken.

"How's it lookin'?" Bucky's voice asked, interrupting Clint's thoughts through the earpiece he'd handed Clint yesterday.

"Like a push over," Clint replied, giving the building another quick once over. "'Course the outside isn't the problem. Old house like that, they've probably got more internal security than Fort Knox."

Bucky gave a low hum of acknowledgment, though he didn't sound too happy about it. "You need to get in closer?"

Clint turned away from the house, bringing his focus to a game of golf he was pretty sure he was winning. Can you even 'win' a game of golf by yourself? Lining up his shot, Clint realised he didn't care. "No need. The owner's holding a dinner party tomorrow night, so, I was thinking we should slip in through the back and act as waiters for the night. You got a suit and tie with you?" 

Bucky snorted a laugh. "What do you take me for?"

"You really don't want me to answer that," Clint replied, deadpan while he swung his club. The ball sailed through the air and Clint knew it would land in the hole before it did. Wow he was bored. Mind-numbingly, soul-crushingly bored.

"What kind of person does this for fun?" he grumbled as he stalked off to the next hole. "This is the shit paint watches when drying gets too exciting."

"Good to know you're having fun," Bucky chuckled, his voice quiet so as not to draw attention to his hiding spot.

"I'd be having more fun if I didn't have to listen to your fucking voice the whole way through," Clint shot back, glancing wistfully at the treetops of the large hawthorns scattered around the edge of the course. In one of them Clint knew Bucky was comfortably perched, watching the whole scene from above. "How come you got to be the eyes in the sky?" he huffed, not unlike a petulant child.

"Because I'm paying you and I get to choose. Stop complaining," Bucky bickered, without any force behind it, his voice light with banter.

In retaliation Clint sent his next ball flying 3 times higher than was necessary, watching as it potted neatly into the hole for the sixth time in a row. Maybr he was showing off, just a little bit.

Bucky whistled low in appreciation. "Not bad, Hawkeye. Not bad."

Clint smirked smugly to himself, trudging his way towards the next hole.

He'd been a little more selective about his clientele in the past few months, ever since some dudes in Romania tried to sell him into a human trafficking ring. And, while they predictably didn't live to tell the tale, Clint would rather not repeat the experience.

Bucky had chosen Clint because he had what seemed to be an entire crime syndicate to eradicate off the face of the earth and he couldn't do it alone. He had liked Clint's impeccable success record and his reputation of shooting first, asking questions never.

Clint had liked Bucky's lack of connection to human traffickers and his fat wallet, so it was practically a match made in heaven.

They'd been working together for only three weeks and they'd already destroyed nearly five bases with little to no trouble. Life was good.