Prompt: Where Clint is a genius, and/or smarter than he lets on.

Written for: Bookconquistador

It is my first time writing Clint like this, so I hope captured the theme correctly.

Maybe it was modesty, or maybe Clint did not trust his friends as much as he hoped he did. So he always took the greatest precautions to never be discovered.

Clint would sneak down to the labs at night, when even Tony was asleep, where he would flip on machines, pull out blueprints, holograms, test tubes, and excersise his full potential under Jarvis's ever-present watch and the dim glow of a trio of flashlights.

Jarvis promised never to tell.

Clint wasn't a conventional genius, he hid it all behind his bow and arrows. But he was close to Fury and Coulson for a reason. They needed someone who was brilliant, but level-headed and able to follow most orders, which automatically disqualified Tony Stark.

It also explained why Clint had been allowed to bring Natasha in, he was trusted to assess and make the right decision regarding her.

In some ways it was amusing for Clint to watch the Avengers argue over missions plans, while he sat there quietly, already having mapped out the odds of survival, shortcuts, backup plans, and calculated in a lunch break, all in his head.

He was careful not to let anything slip, per Fury's orders, (they didn't want to make Tony jealous) but sometimes, it was hard.

Tony, inspired by another wave of dementia, had began to formulate ways to make his own signature line of airborne weapons for S.H.E.I.L.D. Now Tony and Bruce were in a lengthy discussion involving the possibilities of eco-friendly warheads.

Clint listened to them drone on and on, while his own mind subconsciously solved the subject of their banter.

"You know, if there is a strong enough launcher, the rockets could conceivably be propelled by an wind-powered generator, integrated directly into the inner workings, and feeding directly into the main power core, it would take less than a pint of rocket-fuel to work the whole device." Clint blurted out.

Everyone turned to stare at him, "What?" Tony asked. Clint felt his face burn, "Nothing." He said quickly.

Tony shrugged, and returned his attention to his charts.

Clint just wouldn't leave well enough alone this time, it was a yearning for recognition that prompted him to spend a full weekend drawing the plans for the Eco-Rocket.

He left the packet of blueprints on Tony's bed, but by midday he was crawling back through the vents to retrieve the papers before Tony found them.

Yes, it was hard being a closet genius.

When Clint dropped down into Tony's room, he found a certain redheaded assassin waiting for him. Natasha was sitting primly on the bed, leafing through the blueprints.

"Nat, can I have those?" Clint asked. Natasha ignored his request, tucking away the blueprints into a black folder embellished with S.H.I.E.L.D logo. "Clint, just stop hiding already." she said.

Clint sighed, and sprawled out on the bed next to her. "It's easier this way, Nat, all they expect me to do now is to run around shooting arrows, I don't want them to expect to much from me...I'm not Tony."

"No, you aren't Tony, you are you, and you shouldn't have to hide it, Clint." Natasha growled.

A smile tugged at the edges of Clint's mouth, "I never thought I meant this much to you." he teased.

Without warning, Natasha pounced on him, flipping him over and pinning him to the bed in one fluid motion, "Don't joke about us." she hissed.

Clint leaned up and kissed her, it truly surprised him sometimes how seriously Natasha took their relationship. But given the redheaded assassin's history, she had a reason.

Natasha wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, and pushing them both down into the bed.
Clint flailed his arms in protest, breaking off the kiss."Nat! this is Tony's room!" he yelped. Natasha frowned at him. "Does it matter?" she queried.
Clint sunk back into the bed...maybe it really didn't matter.

One week later.

Shots echoed around Clint, and he dove to floor, narrowly avoiding the next spray of bullets.

As soon as the bullets had passed over his head, he was up and running again, the main battle was in the opposite direction, but Clint's objective was straight ahead of him.

The Avengers were on foreign territory, trying to prevent a rogue group of mercenaries who had plans to bomb military bases, from launching their stolen jets.

The moment they had landed at the enemy compound, they Avengers had engaged in a vicious skirmish with the very well-armed mercenaries.

Despite having sufficient ammunition, the enemy had been taken by surprise, and did not have the chance to arm themselves properly. They were fighting to get to their jets, if they reached the planes, they could evacuate the base, and rain bombs down the Avengers.

Clint was the only one who had realized beforehand that if they just disabled the jets, the mercenaries would have no escape left, and with no more weapons within reach, a squad of regular troops could dispatch them easily. Coulson and Fury were not too keen on that plan though, insisting that they take they mercenaries captive.

So instead of running straight to the jets and knocking holes in them, everyone else was having a free-for-all out on the concrete runway. Which meant that Clint was going to have to dispose of the jets himself.

So Clint took leave of his companions, and ran off towards the aircraft hangar. His absence would eventually be noticed, but Clint was out of arrows, so he did not have much to contribute to the ongoing battle anyway.

Clint groaned as he reached the aircraft hangar, and realized that the huge double doors were locked.

He ran down the side the side of the hangar, and found a utility door embedded in the hangar wall. With simple kick, the door crashed inward.

Clint darted into the metal barn. Rows and rows of gleaming planes stretched throughout the hangar.

In the corner, barrels of jet fuel were stacked. Clint looked at them, before deciding that they were to volatile for his task. He meant to disable the planes, not destroy them.

Clint went to every jet in the hangar, peeling back plating and detaching several wires, and finally shattering the windshields.

Clint was finishing with the last jet when the enemy troops finally burst into the hangar. Clint was overpowerd by a group of them, and one knocked Clint unconscious with the butt of his rifle.

It didn't matter though, it would be impossible to get any of the jets airborne now.

As Clint had predicated, with their planes out of commission, and no other route of escape, the mercenaries surrendered.

Clint woke up in a S.H.E.I.L.D hospital room, with a pounding headache. Through the haze of pain meds, he registered the two faces looking at him, Coulson and Natasha.

"Did we win?" he asked hazily. Natasha plopped down onto the chair next to his bed. "Yes we won." she said. Clint nodded in satisfaction, and pulled the covers up over his head, "Alright then, goodnight." he attempted to say.

"Just a moment, Clint." Coulson said, tugging the sheet back down, " We found you in the base's aircraft hangar with a severe head wound, the main combat was nowhere near that hangar, so what were you doing there?"

"I'll file my report in the morning." Clint mumbled. "No, I want to know now." Coulson persisted. "I needed to disable the jets in that hangar." A look from Natasha told Clint that further explanation would be needed.

"We took the enemy by surprise, they outnumbered us, but they weren't sufficiently armed. If they managed to get on those jets, they would have bombed most of sky-high, escaped, and started an early raid on their targets."

Coulson frowned as a thought popped up. "Clint was right, we should just sent in a team to focus solely on the jets." He whispered aside to Natasha.
"Next time, we will listen..." Coulson began. But Clint was already asleep again.

*************************************
LB

Clint was back in Stark Tower the next day. He was drinking coffee in the kitchen, and reading a physics book that was disguised by the cover of a popular novel.

Clint was reaching for his plate of leftover Chinese's takeout, when a muffled explosion and a string of curses echoed down the halls from the labs.

Clint leapt to his feet, "Tony?" he called "Tony?"

Normally Tony would not have answered, but Bruce wasn't present, and Tony wanted an audience for his latest inventions.
And also someone to participate in the heavy lifting.

So Clint spent an afternoon in the labs, pretending that he could not understand the intricate workings of each machine that Tony presented to him.

It was late afternoon when Jarvis announced that they had a visitor. It was Dr. Helen Cho. She had brought the synthetic-tissue casket with her.

"It began to malfunction, and then stopped working altogether." Helen explained. "I was told to bring it to you."

Clint who had been loitering about, looked up in surprise, wondering why he had not been asked to appraise the machine first.

"I'll fix it." Tony assured Helen recklessly. Clint wandered out as the two began talking.

His final destination was his room, and Clint could not think of anything that looked better than his bed and pillows. Clint pivoted around, and fell face-first onto his bed. As he was falling asleep a few minutes later, his comlink beeped. Clint groaned as he reached down and unhooked it from his belt.

"Clint, we need you to down here." Natasha's voice instructed.

Clint kicked his way out from the nest of sheets he had constructed around him, "Can I be late thirty minutes?" he asked.

"Clint!" Natasha said in exasperation. "Alright, I'm coming." Clint drawled. "What's the problem?"

"Fury has a mission for us."

"Right." Said Clint, as he slipped into the vents, "Listen Nat, Helen brought her machine here, can you tell me what all that's about?"

"Not until you come over here." said Natasha teasingly.

Clint smirked, and made obnoxious kissing sounds over the comlink, "I be right there."

Next chapter is coming soon...