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jinxquickfoot · 8 months

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@badthingshappenbingo: Knife to the Throat

Find the fic on Ao3

“There she is. Took you long enough, Bishop.”

Kate figures that walking into her apartment with all the lights turned out isn’t a good sign. When Clint goes to bed early, he usually does it by just passing out on her couch, New York light and noise pollution be damned.

An ominous voice calling her last name from the darkness isn’t a great omen either. Already calculating just how quickly she can get from the front door to her bow, Kate flicks on the lights.

First the darkness, then the ominous voice, and now her partner pinned to the couch he likes to nap on so much with a knife at his throat. Three signs Kate's pretty sure mean danger.

“Don’t,” Madame Masque warns her as Kate prepares to dive for her bow, still hanging up next to her impromptu archery range. Damn, she really needs to take Harley Quinn’s advice and put a baseball bat by the front door or something. “Put down your bag and lock the door.”

Kate does neither, dropping her gaze to meet Clint’s eyes. There’s a trickle of blood drying on one cheek, a split lip, and even from his seated position Kate can see he’s favoring one leg. He winces as he takes in her expression, exasperation and resignation in his next words. “If I tell you to run, you’re not going to listen, are you?”

“Of course not.” Masque leans further over the back of the couch so she can press the knife even closer against Clint’s neck. “The baby hawk is going to do everything I tell her to do, or I’m going to ruin her couch.”

“Sorry, Boss.” Kate drops the bag and locks the door, before turning back to face Masque. “I’m really fond of my furniture.”

“Cute. Shed the coat,” Masque orders.

Kate does as she’s told, raising her hands to show she’s unarmed. Unfortunately. “You know, it’s usually polite to call ahead before you visit someone’s home.”

“And usually it’s impolite to steal what isn’t yours,” Masque snaps back. “Come here. Now.”

Slowly, Kate makes her way across the room, taking in the rest of the apartment. It’s far too quiet. “Where’s Lucky?”

Kate can’t see Masque’s face behind the golden mask, but she can hear the satisfaction in her voice as she says, “Your idiot predecessor decided it was more important to get the mutt out the door than defend himself.”

Of course he had. Well, that’s one less factor to worry about.

Clint shifts slightly under the knife, but that just gets his head yanked back by his hair. Kate starts forward in alarm, only to slam to a halt as Masque presses down, cutting skin. “Stay right where you are. Next time it goes deep.”

Clint tips his head back to meet Masque’s gaze. “If you're looking for the tape, it’s already with Hill,” he says, far too calmly for someone being held at knifepoint. “It’s over.”

“It’s over when I say it’s over,” Masque snaps back. “And this isn’t about the tape. This isn’t even about you, Barton.” She lifts her golden face to glare at Kate. “It’s about her.”

Well, Kate has always wanted an arch-nemesis. She’s not a fan of the part where the villain threatens her loved ones though.

Clint sends her a look, suddenly far more worried than before, knife be damned. “She didn’t do anything,” he insists. “Hill and I set the whole thing up, not Kate.”

“She embarrassed me,” Masque hisses, actually hisses, Kate didn’t even know that people did that. “You think I care about some lost tape? No—I care about putting some dumb brat back in her place.”

“Hurtful,” Kate mutters. “I actually have a GPA of 3.8, so…”

“You will lose something tonight,” Masque cuts across her, and Kate feels her heart pound a little faster. Not Clint. Anything but Clint. She’s already lost her father, her mother, she can’t lose him too. She won’t lose him too. “It will be your choice what it is.”

“My choice?” Choices are good. Choices mean that there’s an option other than watching Clint get his throat slit right in front of her. “How generous of you.”

“Kate,” Clint warns, but he’s cut off when Masque angles the blade right under his Adam’s apple.

Kate can hear the unconfined satisfaction in Masque’s voice as she says, “Go get a knife. The sharpest one you have.”

“The sharpest one I…” Kate trails off, doing a mental scan of the apartment. “You want me to get a knife?”

“I thought Barton was the deaf one.”

“Okay, if you say so.” Kate backs into her kitchenette, careful to not take her eyes off Masque. She slaps her hand along the cabinets until she finds the cutlery drawer.

Masque cocks her head to one side. “What are you doing?”

Kate locates what she’s looking for, pulling out the plastic knife she keeps mostly for spreading peanut butter on toast, and grimaces. It’s still a little sticky.

The reveal is met with twin sounds of incredulity from the couch.

Masque winds her hand tighter in Clint’s hair. “Do you really want to be making jokes right now?”

“You said the sharpest knife!” Kate protests. “This is it! It’s kind of the, um, the only knife?”

There’s a beat of dumbfounded silence before Masque says, “Why do you only have one knife?”

“I’m one person! Why is this such a hard concept for home invaders to understand?”

There’s a flash of silver, and then blood is streaking down Clint’s face.

Kate starts forward with a shout, only to freeze when the knife is shoved back against her partner’s throat.

Blood continues to spill from the fresh cut, far deeper than the one on his neck, and way too close to one of Clint’s eyes.

“No more games,” Masque says, slowly and clearly. “You fight with a sword. I’ve seen it. So go get the sharpest one.”

Swallowing back the horror that she’s just gotten Clint unnecessarily hurt, Kate pads over to the archery range, locating the katana she never uses. It’s more ceremonial than practical—a gift from her mother on her eighteenth birthday. Even after everything that had gone down on Christmas, Kate hadn’t been able to part with it.

There’s a sharp intake of breath behind the gold mask as Kate brings the katana closer. “You own a Master Yoshihara blade?”

“It was a birthday present.”

“That’s sweet. Take it out.”

“Kate, don’t,” Clint starts, but breaks off again when the blade bites into the already existing cut.

Kate slides the katana out of its sheath. “What, are you challenging me to a duel or something?”

“A duel is carried out to defend your reputation. You’ve already cost me mine. And now, that same action is going to cost you, Bishop. Completely your choice. Barton’s neck, or one of your hands.”

Kate blinks, sure she’s misheard. “I’m sorry, what was the second choice?”

“One of your hands,” Masque repeats, as though that’s a perfectly reasonable request. “It was going to be just a finger or two, but I’d hate you to use a blade that masterful on something so small.”

“She’s not doing that.” Clint’s words open up his wound a little deeper, but he doesn't stop. “Kate, just go.”

“Then you’re going to die, Barton. Which is perfectly fine by me.”

Kate lifts the sword so it’s pointed straight at Masque’s face. “If you kill him, you have nothing left to stop me from fighting you.”

Masque huffs. “Please. You are not going to kill me. The best you could do is get someone up here to arrest me and I assure you, if you do that I will be free and clear within the hour and your precious partner will be rotting in a morgue somewhere. So make a choice, Bishop. Chop, chop—pun intended.”

“Of course it’s intended.” Kate forces herself to breathe, meeting Clint’s eyes again, trying to ignore the blood still dripping down his face. Her fault. She’s not going to let this get any worse. I have a plan, she tries to project at him.

Clint’s shoulders stiffen in the way that means he definitely understood her, and he definitely wishes he hadn’t. Still, he gives her the slightest nod, showing her he’s ready.

Kate flips the sword over in her hand, rallying herself. “Okay, I can’t just…” She makes a vague swing at her wrist. “I need a hard surface.”

“Then get on the floor.”

“Right, yeah that’s…. that’s a big surface.”

“Stop stalling. Or I’m making the choice for you and it’s Barton’s neck.”

Kate sinks to the floor, holding her free hand out in front of her. “Don’t. I’m doing the hand one, alright? I’m doing it.” She makes a show of psyching herself up. “Rand Enterprises still makes cybernetics, right? I think my not-stepdad might actually have some contacts there he could—”

She throws the sword.

If it had been anyone else, it would have sliced right through their face. The sword pings off the golden mask just as Clint wrenches on Masque’s wrist, disarming her a second before he dives out of the way of the ricochet.

He needn’t have bothered. Kate’s aim is true. The sword pings off the mask at an extreme right angle, embedding itself in the far wall and far away from where it might have hit Clint.

Masque stumbles, trying to right herself, but Clint’s faster. He drives across the couch, tackling her out of sight. There’s a thunk that sounds suspiciously like a knife handle hitting a skull, and then— “Kate? You alright?”

“Still got two hands.”

Clint’s head pops up from behind the couch, taking her in before he slumps over the cushions in relief. “I can see that. Anything else we need to worry about?”

“You’re the one who’s bleeding all over my furniture.”

“And you’re a superhero now, you should get used to bloodstains.”

“Gross.” Kate clambers to her feet, making her way over to where she can see the unconscious Madame Masque for herself. “Think she meant what she said about getting off scot-free?”

“Probably,” Clint admits. “That’s rich people for you, Miss I own a Master Yoshihara sword.” He dabs at the cut under his eye, wincing. “Find the first aid kit, I’m going to call Hill. Maybe she can stick Masque somewhere she can’t buy her way out of. And Kate?”

Kate pauses, waiting for the speech. God knows her mother gave it to her enough times. You’re reckless. You’re irresponsible. You need to do better.

Clint offers her a crooked grin. “Nice shot.”

Kate’s shoulders drop in relief, a warmth spreading through her chest. “Yeah, well, I have a somewhat decent mentor.”

“That you do.” Masque stirs with a groan, causing Clint to kick her in the head, knocking her out again. “First aid kit. Phone Hill. Then go get Lucky back and call it a night?”

Kate smiles back at him. “Sounds perfect, Boss.”

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