Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Avengers or any of the wonderful characters. I'm just playing in their sandbox.

Author's Note: This story was written as a birthday gift for my close friend and faithful beta, theicemenace. There is a story behind this one, but I'll let her give me permission before I share it. Suffice it to say, it inspired this story. For those of you who are wondering, this story is complete. It was written inside of 48 hours and is not long or involved, mostly fluffy, sappy OC pairing for our favorite archer. There is some Steve/Natasha in here, very minor whump, and a lot of (hopefully) "Aww" worthy moments. Consider this your warning to brush after each chapter so your fanfic teeth don't rot. "Dear Mr. Hawkeye" was beta'd by the lovely pisces317 and MB86. Thank you so much for your input, ladies! It is greatly appreciated.

Also, there may be some inconsistencies in the information about accounting in this story. I am no accountant, and the most work I've done in any field associated with money was either double-checking figures or cashiering.

Also, this story is not connected in any way to my "New York State of Mind Series."

Without further ado, I give you the story. Ice, I hope you have a wonderful birthday, and a blessed year to come! ~lg

oOo

It had been a long mission. The job itself wasn't all that different from any other Clint had done before his little sabbatical with Loki. The reactions to him had changed. Director Fury welcomed him back after almost seven months of inactivity, saying the psychologists could find no reason for him to stay out of the field. Yes, Clint dealt with nightmares and likely always would. Yes, he had a few issues left to work through. But sitting around with nothing to do outside of Avenger business had worn on him. When Fury offered him a simple recon mission to Europe, he jumped just to get back into the world.

No, it wasn't the job. It was the people. SHIELD had strict policies concerning interpersonal relationships on the Helicarrier, and most of the crew abode by those policies. Partners were not allowed to engage in romantic relationships with one another, disputes were to be settled with minimum violence, and attacks of any kind would not be tolerated. But that didn't stop rumors and glares and whispers meant for him to hear. They called him a traitor, wondered if he even cared about the those killed in the attack, and generally speculated when he would once again betray them all. The truth was that Clint cared a great deal and wondered the same things. He just didn't let it paralyze him to the point he couldn't live. It meant trips to the Helicarrier were never easy anymore. The only place he felt at home was with the Avengers.

Granted, he didn't actually live with them. While they all lived in Stark Tower for one reason or another, they weren't roommates like a twisted version of a frat house. Each one of them had their own apartment, and they respected those apartments like they would any other person's home in any other tower in the city. Clint had moved into the Stark Tower right away, his former home having been destroyed and his quarters on the Helicarrier vandalized. He appreciated Stark's offer of a place to live on the heels of that still-unreported incident and found himself truly relaxing here.

Now, he let himself into his apartment and set his bags at his feet. The walls had been done to look like exposed brick, the light fixtures bare and concrete floor covered in rugs. It was very similar to the apartment that had been destroyed, and he loved the exposed beams on the ceiling. The furniture was solid wood and fit the feel of the entire house. Peeling off his jacket, he hung it on the coat rack beside the door and then wandered into the kitchen.

A massive pile of mail rested on his desk nearby, but Clint ignored it in favor of starting a pot of coffee. His typical post-mission routine was to let said coffee brew while showering and slipping into jeans and a t-shirt. Sometimes, he and Natasha went out to dinner, but she was on her own solo mission. So, he settled for the coffee.

After his shower, cut short by the aroma wafting from the kitchen, he poured his first cup and wandered over to his desk. Part of the mail was legitimate bills, but most of it was fan mail. He quickly sorted it, tossing any envelope that had a woman's name or smelled like perfume into the trash. He set aside those with kids' handwriting for later. And filed the bills. Most of them were set up on automatic bill pay anyway, and it was only his credit cards. Stark covered living expenses, and he bought groceries as needed.

Carrying a second large cup of steaming coffee to the couch, he flopped down and started opening fan mail. It was snowing outside, with Christmas a little over a week away, and the fan mail gave him something to do. It had become a regular occurrence for all of the Avengers to receive copious letters, though Stark and Rogers got the lion's share. Clint, Natasha, and Bruce pulled in a fair amount, and Natasha had proven surprisingly gracious in how she handled it. She ignored the marriage proposals—like Clint, laughed at the scores of women trying to look like her—like Tony, and answered every child's letter by hand—like Steve. Clint also answered letters, but his chicken scratch was hard for even him to read, so he tended to type. He especially liked the kids' letters. They made him laugh, and he usually had one or two drawings to hang on his refrigerator. Since it was the only way he had to enjoy children's art, he ignored Stark's jabs whenever he had the Avengers over for dinner.

Today's batch of mail was no different. He received a letter from every kid in a third grade class in Michigan. They had talked about heroes, and their teacher included her own note of thanks in the large envelope. He found several drawings of himself—grossly over-exaggerated—as well as the typical childlike adoration. It always went a long way to soothe his mind, and he figured he could try to live up to their expectations. His shrink liked for him to receive the mail, and he even knew he was calmer after getting a child's letter saying they liked his bow.

Halfway through the pile, he came across an envelope addressed in a child's handwriting. The address read, "Mr. Hawkeye, Stark Tower, New York." Some kind postmaster somewhere had added the actual address and zip code. Tearing the letter open, Clint smiled at the writing. This kid couldn't be more than eight.

Dear Mr. Hawkeye,

I am writing to ask you if you will take my aunt out on a date. Her name is Courtney Bauer, and she is very pretty. Her birthday is in January, and she told my mom that she wants to go on a date. Since she likes you after watching the news about the Avengers, I thought she might like to go on a date with you. Would you?

Sincerely,
Jeremiah Staterson

For several minutes, Clint just stared at the letter. Other than Ms. Bauer's name, it contained absolutely no information on the woman. But the kid's thoughtfulness made him smile. A kid that would write a perfect stranger to make what was likely a joking statement come true. . .that was a kid Clint liked immediately.

But he set aside the letter and reached for another envelope. He had made it a policy to never date anyone. After all, his job was such that most women would panic after the first time he came home injured from a mission. And, as much as he loved Natasha, he couldn't bring himself to think of her that way. Not after years of surviving seemingly impossible events.

However, his mind wouldn't let the simple letter alone. He wound up holding one from Michelle in Las Vegas while thinking about Jeremiah. Years ago, before the circus and its chaos, he had wanted to get something for someone. His brother had seen a brand new football in town, and he'd mentioned to Clint that he'd like to have that for his birthday. Back then, Barney had been mostly selfless and wanted the football so he and the older boys in the orphanage could play with the real thing, not one that was rigged up. Clint had gone to the orphanage's director and made the request directly to him. The man said he would find a football for the children. Clint's spirits soared, and he looked forward to Barney's birthday until the day came and went without note. The promised football never appeared, and Clint had forgotten that disappointment in the wake of the fights and bullying that followed.

Now, at thirty-six years old, he remembered that incident and sighed deeply. Jeremiah had sent him a letter asking for something that seemed so insignificant. But, to a child, the insignificant things meant the world.

Deciding he could at least consider the request, he pushed off the couch and walked to the computer. Using the letter's postmark and the name, he began a bit of research. He had access to SHIELD's databases but figured he'd leave a little mystery rather than doing a full background check. Instead, he used his access only to locate Ms. Bauer, find out what she did for a living, and get a picture of her. She really was very pretty. Not strikingly gorgeous like Natasha, but beautiful in her own way. The picture he found was from the website for her job. She worked as an account manager at a bank in Amarillo, Texas. Her brown hair was shot through with natural blond highlights, and her green eyes sparkled at the camera. Her smile held a bit of mischief, making Clint wonder if she was the prankster on the job. Her clear skin and elegant clothes only enhanced her appearance.

Clint stared at her picture for a long time as he thought. Could he really make this little boy's request come true? Steve and Bruce would have tried to do so, but both of them drew the line at dating women they didn't know. So what was it about Jeremiah's letter that got to him? The faith that he would answer? That it was obviously done without Ms. Bauer's knowledge? Or the memory of having asked for something with such sincere honesty to have it ignored? He couldn't answer that, but he found himself making a decision. Next month, midway through, he was going to Amarillo and doing his best to fulfill a loving nephew's wish. He couldn't do it for everyone, but maybe he could make it happen for Jeremiah. If only in some small part to make the child in himself a little happier.

oOo

Halfway through January, Clint arrived in Amarillo, Texas, on a cold, windy, sunny day. Considering he'd left snow and gloom behind, he liked the sunlight. But dark clouds scudded across the sky, promising a storm before the day's end.

The bank where Courtney Bauer worked was in a decent-sized building that housed several other businesses. Unlike New York, where buildings like this towered dozens of floors into the sky, this one was only four stories tall. The first two floors belonged to the bank, and the others were leased to various corporations for local offices. Security was fairly tight here, and he quickly glanced around the lobby as he walked through the door. The high ceiling gave way to warm tan tile and carpet. Several people stood in line for the tellers to his right while a very pregnant lady waited behind a circular information desk to his left.

In the end, his psychologist was responsible for him being here. In the last few weeks, he'd vacillated between just thanking Jeremiah for his letter and actually taking Ms. Bauer on a date. When his shrink found out about the letter, he recommended that Clint go on the date. His reasoning was sound, Clint supposed. As a SHIELD agent and a member of the Avengers, his entire world revolved around his work. His psychologist wasn't suggesting he get a girlfriend just because, but he did say that Clint needed to form relationships outside of his job, friendships that would be beneficial in the long run. In taking Ms. Bauer on this date to make her nephew happy, he might find just such a friend.

The lady behind the information desk looked up as he approached. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah, I'd like to open an account." He had considered his options and decided a direct, honest approach was best. So, he'd done a bit of research and figured this bank would be great to use for saving some extra cash—as if he needed it.

The lady nodded and motioned to a gathering of chairs. "Have a seat over there, and someone will be with you shortly," she said after taking his name.

Clint thanked her and settled in the only chair with the back against the wall. Like any other law enforcement officer, he hated the thought that someone could come up behind him and startle him. While he appeared to flip through one of the random magazines on the table, he watched everything going on around him. The information lady clearly knew who he was by the way she kept glancing over at him. One of the loan officers openly checked him out, giving him a smirk when he glared at her, and no one else approached him.

Then, Ms. Bauer appeared. She was even prettier in person than in her picture. She stood around five-five and wore an attractive green business suit that made her eyes sparkle. Her brown hair was long, falling down her back to her waist and held back in a simple ponytail. She'd had the front styled so that several strands of hair framed her face, and she moved with a grace that startled Clint when he spied the heels she wore. How women could walk in them was a mystery, but he'd seen Tasha do it multiple times. Seeing a woman who was becoming more and more attractive by the moment wear shoes like that suddenly explained to Clint why Natasha deliberately chose them for missions.

Ms. Bauer walked over to the information desk, and Clint pasted a completely innocent expression on his face as she spoke with the information lady. He caught her startled glance his direction, the way her cheeks flushed slightly telling him that she recognized him, and how she surreptitiously straightened her clothes. He pretended to be absorbed in the article in Popular Mechanics, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking at her, as she approached him. "Mr. Barton?"

Clint looked up and quickly jumped to his feet. "Just Clint," he said shaking her hand.

She smiled. "You want to open an account?"

"Yes." He followed her to her desk, doing his best not to check her out or act like he was a hormonal teenager. He'd seen some of the most beautiful women in the world, but this one account manager had gotten under his skin just by her appearance. Her blazer cinched perfectly at her waist, and her skirt was just long enough to cover her knees but left her legs looking like they went up to there. Giving himself a mental shake, he focused on her eyes and found them laughing at him.

"So," she began as he settled into a chair, "what kind of account are you looking for?"

"Uh. . ." He frowned. "A savings account. I'm based out of New York, but I come this way quite a lot. Thought I'd like to have something on this side of the country, as well."

"Okay." She pulled out paperwork and passed it to him. "I need you to fill this out, and I'll need your driver's license."

He hitched himself up on his right hip to pull his wallet out of his left pocket while taking the paperwork from her. After passing over the license, he focused on printing his name legibly in bold, block letters. After filling out all the required blanks, he let his gaze wander across her desk until it stopped on a picture of her with two boys on either side. "Your sons?"

She grinned, pointing at each one in turn. "Nope. My nephews. Jeremiah and Josiah."

Clint blinked at the unusual name. "That's different."

"My sister loved it." She went back to typing as he studied the picture. "She likes Bible names."

Clint nodded without commenting, his attention captured by the picture. Jeremiah Staterson grinned impishly next to his aunt, looking just like the kind of kid who would sneak out of the house to send a letter to one of the Avengers. He glanced over and caught Ms. Bauer watching him. "They look like great kids."

"They are." She decided to face him, her assessment frank. "So. Are you really Clint Barton?"

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "Yes, I'm really Clint Barton, though I think what you're getting at is if I'm really Hawkeye." He watched the flush that crossed her face again. "To which the answer would also be yes."

She shook her head. "Sorry. It's just. . . .A few days ago, I had some yahoo come through here trying to get money out and pretending to be someone he's not. To have one of the Avengers come through. . . ."

He understood and said so. Over the next few moments, they chatted lightly about New York's weather, the difference between there and Amarillo, and anything that crossed their minds. Clint found her easy to talk to and wanted to spend more time with her. All too soon, his account had been opened, and he held the information on it in one hand while standing to meet her eyes. "I know this seems a little weird, but. . . ." He took a deep breath and decided to just be frank. "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"

She blinked, and he saw the panic in her eyes. Before she could say anything, he raised a hand. "I mean, as friends. I'm only in town today, and I like talking with you. No pressure. Just two people having dinner at a steakhouse and going their separate ways. If I'm really that unbearable, you can feel free to ignore me the next time I drop by to make a deposit. Or just smack me or something."

His tongue-in-cheek answer made her laugh, and she shook her head. "The bank frowns on employees having relationships with our members."

"Just dinner."

She sighed. He could see the wheels turning and decided to add one final plea, using his best puppy-dog expression. "Please?"

That did it. She rolled her eyes, obviously amused with his antics, and chuckled. "Fine. I'll meet you at Hausler's." She gave him the address. "Seven work?"

Clint nodded. "It does." He met her eyes. "Thanks, Ms. Bauer."

"Courtney," she corrected with an answering grin.

He left the bank a few moments later with his day definitely brighter.

oOo

Courtney Bauer could not believe what had just happened. Hawkeye had just asked her out to dinner! She'd seen the man sitting and waiting to open an account, and she'd been hard-pressed to not stare. The only video she'd seen of one of the Avengers' most elusive members was grainy at best, but she'd been intrigued with how he used a bow and arrow instead of the expected gun or energy weapon. To find him sitting and waiting to talk to her, looking a hundred times better in person than he did on the screen. . . .She suddenly wanted to squeal in spite of how the bank would cause it to echo.

Marcy, her best friend and the "information lady," as most people called her, stood and waddled over with one hand on her rather large stomach. "So. . .?"

"I'm having dinner tonight with a member of the Avengers." Courtney's statement came out sounding absolutely disbelieving. She blinked and frowned. "What am I going to wear?"

Marcy dissolved into laughter, and the two women went their way. Dinner with Clint—she forced herself to think of him by his first name and not Mr. Barton or Hawkeye—wasn't a fancy affair. He'd likely show up in jeans and that leather jacket. Granted, he made casual clothes look like a designer suit. Today, he'd worn well-fitting jeans, a gray pull-over, and the aforementioned leather jacket. His gray-blue eyes sparkled, and he looked nothing like the focused man with a bow and arrow that she'd seen on television eight months ago.

The rest of the day passed in something of a haze as she mentally went through her closet and decided on what to wear. She figured she might as well make a good impression so, when she got home, she changed into a long denim skirt, high-heeled boots, and a green turtleneck sweater to combat the cold. Then, she pinned her long hair into a bun, wrapped her scarf around her neck, and shrugged into a wool coat. All too soon, she was at Hausler's, a locally owned steakhouse known for decent prices, great service, and wonderful food.

She spotted Clint as soon as she walked through the door. The greeter smiled, and Courtney motioned toward Clint as he stood. He still wore that leather jacket and looked just as amazing as he had earlier that day. His smile brightened his face as she approached, and he caught her coat as she slipped out of it. With her scarf joining it on the back of the chair next to her, she settled at the table and wondered what to say.

Clint obviously had no problems. "Thanks for meeting me." He smiled ruefully, his face showing a touch of regret. "But I have to be honest."

Courtney's heart fell. If something was wrong, why had he asked her out? "O—okay."

He eyed her. "Don't get me wrong, I probably would have asked you out anyway." He leaned on his elbows. "But the reason I came was because I got a letter. From Jeremiah."

She felt her face pale and then flush as he produced the letter. She read it, from the "Dear Mr. Hawkeye" opening down to his name in his childish scrawl. Part of her wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in with her. The other wanted to laugh. She chose the latter reaction. "I am so sorry! He said he wanted to write you, but his mom told him no."

He grinned. "I'm glad he did." The grin fell off his features, and his tongue made a brief appearance as it touched his lips in a move that was both alluring and infinitely uncertain. "The last few months haven't been easy. Since the attack. So, getting letters from the kids has helped. A lot. Jeremiah's was one of the best."

Seeing as she was already here, Courtney decided to settle into the dinner and treat it as if they were friends. "Why is that?"

"Because he didn't write wanting a picture for himself or to show off his artwork." Clint met her eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I love those letters. But he wanted to do something for someone he cares about a great deal, and I know a little of what that's like."

Courtney held his gaze as she caught the meaning behind the words. She couldn't understand the weight he put on them, but he sincerely wanted to be here, with her, having dinner and laughing. Somehow, fulfilling her nephew's request had become incredibly significant to this member of the Avengers, and Courtney didn't have the heart to walk out. She smiled at him. "So, you came and opened an account just to meet me?"

"Yep." Just like that, the lighthearted man from the bank had returned. He sat back in his chair and picked up his menu. "I'm paying, by the way, and the only embarrassment I promise is to have everyone sing Happy Birthday to you."

For some reason, that promise made her laugh again. And she relaxed. When he produced Jeremiah's letter, she'd been ready to bolt out of the restaurant and never show her face again. But Clint spun the letter to make it seem such a wonderful gift, and she figured the least she could do would be to enjoy Jeremiah's birthday surprise since her plans to meet with her family had fallen through.

Picking up her menu, she quickly decided on what she wanted and was surprised when Clint ordered for both of them. As soon as the server had left their table, he started a conversation about her life and family. He wanted to know everything about her nephews, including their ages, and he gently probed her life as well. She learned he was also single, that he lived in Stark Tower, and that he considered the Avengers his family while he learned she was single due to a bad experience, lived in a small apartment, loved working with banking institutions but not the job she had now, that her nephews were huge Avengers fans, that her sister had three dogs and two cats, and that her brother-in-law was in the Army National Guard. Somehow, he made the mundane details of her life seem important and, by the time dessert rolled around, she'd started a conversation about different kinds of bows just as a way to draw him out. He clearly loved his chosen weapon, and it wasn't so close to the attacks in Manhattan that he couldn't talk about it. He happily regaled her with the differences between longbows, recurve bows, compound bows, and crossbows as she mentally took notes in case they ever spoke again.

As promised, he had the waitstaff sing Happy Birthday to her, and she laughed until she couldn't breathe as he grinned happily from his chair. Then, she looked at the massive brownie and ice cream concoction. "You're eating part of this."

"Okay." Clint picked up his spoon and helped her finish off the dessert. He eyed her as she scraped the last of the chocolate off the plate. "Got your phone?"

Courtney blinked. "What?"

"I get the feeling Jeremiah's going to want proof," he said simply, though his eyes sparkled.

She laughed. "You have no idea! I was just sitting here wondering how on Earth I was going to get a picture out of you for him."

He grinned again and took her phone from her. Then, waving down their server, he asked the guy to take several pictures of them. He tugged Courtney around to his side of the table then hammed it up for the camera, making her laugh like a teenager every time. By the time he was done, she had three silly and one serious picture of the two of them. He looked over her shoulder, invading her space and giving her the chance to breathe in his aftershave while studying the images. Her favorite wasn't the serious one, though it was a wonderful picture. She liked the one with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his nose wrinkled as she threw her head back and laughed. Why he'd done that remained a mystery, but it epitomized what she knew of Clint Barton. He might be a man with dark secrets as evidenced by the shadows in his eyes, but he was still a kid at heart. And that's why he'd gone out of his way to make Jeremiah's birthday request for her come true.

A short while later, after he'd paid for their meal, they walked into the cold Amarillo night side by side. He moved gracefully, his hands shoved into his pockets as he stared into the sky. "Thanks," he said softly, all of a sudden very serious.

Courtney blinked at him. "It was my pleasure, Clint. Really. I had a great time, and I'm glad you decided to give Jeremiah his wish."

He looked at her then, and the weight of his gaze startled her. His hand came out of his pocket, and he held a simple white card out to her with a number printed on it. "That's my personal cell," he explained. "If you need anything—I don't care how unimportant it seems—give me a call."

"Clint, I can't just. . . ."

"I don't have many friends, Courtney," he interrupted her. "And, after laughing with you in there, I'd like to think I have one in Texas."

There was a lot more to the story, and she knew it by the almost desperate way he used the word "friends." But she nodded anyway. "Next time you're out this way, I'll see if I can get Jeremiah and Josiah to come along."

His smile stretched across his face. "I'd like that."

They stood there for a few moments, neither of them wanting the evening to end but both of them knowing their time had run out. Finally, Clint nodded. "Have a great evening, Courtney." He turned and walked toward a truck parked several spaces away.

She quickly dug into her purse to pull out her cell phone. Tapping the screen to enter his number, she watched as he paused, blinked at his phone, and then stared at her. She shrugged. "Now you have my number. Call sometime. We'll talk."

Leaving it at that, she headed for her car and slipped behind the wheel. She still needed to have a conversation with Jeremiah about writing the letter, but it would be much different from the one she'd planned when Clint first told her that he'd come to Amarillo because of Jeremiah. She'd explain that asking people out for his aunt wasn't appropriate and then show him the pictures of the two of them making silly faces. She spotted Clint watching as she pulled out of the parking lot and lifted a hand in farewell. Once home, she again studied the pictures on her phone and then picked her favorite—the one with his tongue hanging out and his face scrunched up—for her wallpaper.

Just wait until Marcy saw this!

~TBC