Rain pelts the cracked concrete of the abandoned hangar. Floodlights cut through the mist as the team surrounds the two fugitives. Clint and Grace stand back-to-back — dirty, exhausted, but defiant. The whir of repulsors and the quiet hum of weapons fill the air.

Clint: dryly “Guess this answers the question of whether they were gonna call first.”

Grace stays silent, her breathing steady despite the chaos. The figures step from the shadows — and leading them is the man Clint least wanted to see tonight.

Steve: “Clint… you shouldn’t have run.”

Clint lowers his bow slightly, his voice calm but hard.

Clint: “You were hunting us, Steve. What did you expect us to do? Wait around for the cuffs?”

Steve’s expression tightens, rain dripping from his jawline as he studies the two of them.

Steve: “You’re saying this was a setup.”

Clint lets out a low, humorless chuckle.

Clint: “You think I’d go rogue for fun? You think she would? After everything we’ve done for this team?”

For a long moment, Steve says nothing. His shield lowers an inch, his tone softening.

Steve: “Then prove it. Come in peacefully. Let me help you.”

Clint shakes his head, stepping just slightly in front of Grace.

Clint: “We’ve played that game before. It never ends with helping. It ends with isolation cells and people pretending to believe you while they plan your transfer.”

Lightning flashes through the broken skylight, lighting the strain on both their faces. The air hums with tension — old trust cracking under the weight of suspicion.

Steve: quietly “You don’t trust me anymore.”

Clint exhales, lowering his bow another inch.

Clint: “It’s not about trust, Steve. It’s about history. And you don’t know mine as well as you think you do.”

Steve steps forward, his eyes steady — searching Clint’s face for something real.

Steve: “…Then help me understand. If what you’re saying is true… we find who did this — together.”

Clint studies him for a long moment, rain dripping from his hair, lightning glinting across the metal in Steve’s hand. Grace’s eyes flick between them — silent, waiting.

Clint: “You sure about that, old man?”

A faint smile breaks through Steve’s hardened expression.

Steve: “You’ve never known me to back down, have you?”

The storm rages around them, thunder rolling across the skyline. Slowly, Clint lowers his bow and nods once. The smallest crack in his armor.

Clint: “All right. Let’s see if you still know how to fight with me — not against me.”

For the first time in months, there’s a glimmer of something like hope in his eyes — fragile, but real.