Ghost - An Avengers Fanfiction

Chapter 4

"Don't move." 

Clint walked slowly around the bar, gun still aimed at the Ghost Thief's head. The Thief had frozen in place, watching Clint from within the shadows of the hood. Rain pelted against the windows, the rhythmic drumming filling the silence. Clint stopped a foot away from the Thief, gun still up. They both stood there, sizing the other up. The Thief was shorter than Clint by a few inches, and didn't look to be as well built, but the thick leather jacket the Thief was wearing made it difficult for Clint to make out the Thief's physique. Apparently realising the game was up, the Thief's hands started slowly raising, signifying surrender. Clint relaxed his grip on the gun slightly, one hand reaching out to grab the Thief's arm. A sudden flash of lightning lit up the while penthouse, blinding Clint.

The Thief took the opportunity to kick up at Clint's hand, causing the gun to go flying across the room. A sharp pain shot through Clint's jaw as the Thief's elbow collided with his face. Not to be outdone, Clint blocked the Thief's follow-through kick and struck at the Thief's ribs, smirking as his fist connected solidly. They continued to spar, ducking and blocking each other's attacks, with alternate strikes hitting their targets. The Thief fought in a vicious way, using fast attacks, striking without mercy and blocking a majority of Clint's advances. A roundhouse kick to the side sent Clint sprawling to the ground, right next to his gun, and he rapidly grabbed it and aimed it at the Thief who was standing over him.
Clint squeezed the trigger, and time seemed to slow as the bullet rushed towards its target - the Thief's shoulder. Just before the bullet could hit its target, the Thief vanished. The bullet zoomed through the space that had been occupied by the Ghost Thief only a split second before, and completed its trajectory by smashing one of the large panes of glass that offered a view over the city of New York. The penthouse filled with the cold night air, and the rain blew in, adding to the sudden chill. Only one thought crossed Clint's mind as he lay on the floor, his gun still aimed at where the Thief had stood a second ago - right, this guy teleports.

Clint groaned as he jumped to his feet. The Thief must be gone, he thought bitterly.
A dark shadow on the ceiling caught Clint's attention.

A man-shaped shadow.

A man-shaped shadow that suddenly dropped from the ceiling and was about to land on Clint.

He braced himself for impact, but instead of feeling the weight of the Thief on his head, Clint felt a sharp kick to his back that pushed him forward. Clint turned his fall into a roll and was immediately on his feet again, gun at the ready. The Thief had disappeared again, but reappeared at Clint's side long enough to deliver a solid punch to Clint's temple. Clint turned, his head throbbing in pain, but this time the Thief appeared behind him. Two arms wrapped around Clint's waist and he was thrown bodily at the bar. His back hit the edge of the bar, but his armoured vest under is uniform prevented any major damage. The Thief appeared, standing with one leg either side of Clint's aching body as he lay on top of the bar. The Thief stood motionless over Clint, as if savouring the sight of him lying injured. Sure Clint was hurting, but he'd had worse before. Making the Thief think he was more injured than he actually was was just a plan to lower the Thief's guard. Clint could feel a large shard of glass from the window under his hand, and he slowly closed his fingers around the jagged edges of the shard. The Thief struck out a heavy boot and kicked the gun out of Clint's hand. Clint raised his other hand into the air and drove it downward towards the Thief's leg.

Clint could feel warm blood on his fingers as he stabbed the large shard of glass into the Thief's thigh. The Thief didn't make a sound, instead deciding to kick Clint so he slid off the bar and crashed to the ground behind it. As quick as a flash, the Thief was on the floor beside him, and had grabbed the collar of his uniform. Clint wrapped this hand around the neck of a bottle of alcohol, intending to hit the Thief with it, but before he could, the Thief had half lifted him off the ground and rammed Clint's head into bar. Clint wasn't unconscious, but his vision was clouded with dancing black spots, and the ache in his head had become a sharp pain. He realised the Thief was dragging him across the floor toward the smashed window. The freezing rain helped revive Clint a bit and he realised the Thief was lifting him up by the front of his suit. His feet left the ground and Clint realised the Thief was dangling him outside the window. The only thing between Clint and the cold hard concrete of the pavement was 96 floors of air. Clint realised he was still holding a bottle of alcohol in his hand, and without a second thought he struck it over the hooded head of the Ghost Thief with as much force he could. 

The bottle, which Clint realised was red wine, smashed against the Thief's skull and shattered into a thousand pieces from the force of the impact. Clint felt his heart leap to his throat as the Thief let go of his suit and fell backward. Without his bow, Clint had to figure out an alternate course of action to stop himself plummeting to his death. Clint kicked his legs out, and he managed to plant his feet against the very edge of the shattered window. Using his momentum, he kicked his legs up with all his might, and propelled himself toward the walkway which extended around the outside of the penthouse. Clint managed to grab onto the edge of the cold hard concrete and pull himself up. He lay for a second on the cold wet ground, the adrenaline still pumping around his body. A second later he was up, his boots sliding on the wet ground as he ran back into the penthouse. He shook his head as the rain poured into his face, the cold water drenching him from head to foot. Clint squinted as he slid into the dark penthouse, his eyes stopping on the two dark figures beside the smashed window. The young agent, Larson, was kneeling over the dark shadow on the ground that was the Thief. Clint noticed the dark red blood smeared over the bottom of Larson's face, with the blood still dripping sluggishly from his obviously broken nose. Larson pulled his hands away from the Thief's neck, the sharp end of a syringe glistening in the lights of the city outside.

Larson spoke up, his voice wavering and slighlty muffled. "Sir, I've tranquilised the Ghost Thief just to make sure she stays unconscious."

Clint nodded and moved forward. He stopped suddenly as his mind processed what the young agent just said.

She.

She.

 Clint rushed over to the Thief and knelt down. A flash of lightning illuminated the penthouse, and for a few seconds Clint could see the Thief's face. The Thief was a young girl, about 13 or 14 Clint guessed. She had long dark hair, pulled up into a ponytai.. That was all Clint could really make out. The rest of her face was a mess of glass and blood, and what Clint guessed to be a bit of red wine from the bottle he had hit over her face. A wave of guilt rushed over Clint as he looked down at the pale, bloodied face of the young girl. The water on the ground was red with her blood, both from the injuries on her face and from the large shard of glass still embedded in her leg. Larson made a small noise as he shifted his weight, looking at Clint expectantly. Clint took a deep breath and nodded to the young agent.

"Good job Larson. Contact the Quinjet and get them to land. Tell the medical officer to prepare for three unconscious persons and one injured." Clint nodded his head toward Larson's broken nose. Larson grinned, his boyish features shining through the blood and pain on his face. 

"How about you sir? Are you alright?" Larson asked, his voice concerned. Clint nodded once, taken aback by the young man's concern. 

"I'll be fine. Once you've contacted the Quinjet, take Agent Jones to the landing bay. I'll take Hartwig and the Ghost Thief." Larson shook his head as he stood.

"It's alright sir, I'll get Hartwig as well." He quickly walked over to the large unconscious Agent Hartwig and  grunted as he lifted the muscly man over his shoulders in a fireman lift. Clint watched the young man walk to the lift and shook his head. He crouched down and scooped the young girl up in his arms, carrying her bridal style. He started towards the elevator, just as Larson reappeared to grab Agent Jones. Clint's attention was grabbed by the buzzing coming from his pocket..

He grabbed his phone and answered. Tony's lively voice rang through the penthouse.

"Hey Legolas, how's the mission going? Is the penthouse still in one piece? We only finished repairs last month. Pepper won't be happy if you've made a mess."

Clint turned and looked around at the destruction behind him. The smashed coffee table, the broken bottles on the bar, the shattered glass of the window and the randomly situated pools of blood.

"My apologies to Pepper then." Clint replied with a small smirk.

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I have dedicated this chapter to CelticLands because she is such an amazing person! She is one of my absolute favourite authors on Wattpad, and if you haven't already, you should definitely check out her works! 

I am not good with writing actions scenes at all, but I am open to any feedback you guys have! Thanks for your patience. The next chapter or two might take me a little while to write, but after that I should be able to update a little more often because after this, the storyline is a lot clearer in my head. Thanks! 

- Ruby