"Clint, wake up."

Waking up Clint was like trying to raise the dead, and your whisper had zero effect on the man, his snoring easily drowning out any effort your voice had. "Barton!"

This time, you at least received a grumble and a heavy-handed wave that nearly slapped you across the face in his attempt to make you leave him alone. He rolled over in his bed and away from your voice, likely not even aware that it was you, pulling a pillow over his head with a groan and what you were certain were an impressive string of curses.

"Does he have it or not?" came your partner's voice through your comm. "We don't have a lot of time here, doll."

"I'm working on it, Buck. Have you ever tried to wake up a rock? I can imagine it's a lot like this." But he was right, the clock was ticking and it felt like each second that passed moved by faster than the one before it, and the sound of Bucky breathing in your ear only fueled your urgency. "BARTON!"

"FUCK! WHAT?" he bolted up, staring straight ahead, but his hands were almost adorably positioned as if he were pulling his bow. It took a minute for his senses to return to him, looking around the room and only finding the darkness of night until he actually turned his head to see you mere inches away, looking at him intensely with only the moonlight to show your features. "Jesus, (Y/N)," he sighed, flopping back limply onto his pillow with a huff, "you scared the hell outta me. What do you want?"

"Chloroform."

"I'm sorry? Did you just say-"

"Chloroform, Clint," you urged, "it doesn't sound like many other words. So, do you have it or what?"

With his curiosity piqued, and not in a good way, Clint pushed himself up on his elbows to sit, leaning back against the headboard of his bed with a stern but amused grin across his lips. "What's so urgent? Why are you asking for chloroform at 2am?"

"I'd rather not say. I just need a yes or no."

"Well I'd rather not give it to you-"

"So, you do have it," you smiled back. You couldn't deny that you were a little proud of yourself that he had cracked so quickly, especially when you heard a loud sigh of relief from Bucky at the other end of your comm.

"Yeah, but I still haven't agreed to give it to you."

"Come on, Barton, just give it up!"

"Whoa, sweetheart, we're not that desperate."

"Shut up, Buck," you hissed through clenched teeth. You sat at a stalemate with the archer, each of you doing your best to hold both a straight face and your resolve, determined to not be the one to give up. He might be able to be turned, you thought, and he could make a good ally, but time was running out and he would have to be considered for the next run. This one was on the brink of failing. All you had left was to push your bottom lip out just the slightest bit, softening your expression with a look that somehow still worked for you more times than not.

"Fine, just stop staring at me like that," Clint finally relented, rolling to his side to reach his bedside table. He foraged around loudly in the drawer for several minutes, setting random items on his bed to get them out of the way as he searched.

"Barton," you asked cautiously, "why do you have one of Thor's hair ties?"

"He dropped it and I'm a friend."

"Then give it back."

"No, it's mine now. I didn't say that I'm a good friend."

You could only shrug and continue to watch, waiting for him to come up with the one and only thing that you were looking for, until the obvious question finally struck you. "Why do you have chloroform in your bedside table anyway?'

"I prefer not to say. Alright, here," he popped up again, holding the small, dark glass bottle between his fingers. "but I'm not the one who gave you this, understand?"

You readily took the bottle with an enthusiastic nod, but something curious caught your eye straight away, and it actually didn't even surprise you at all. "This says Clint Barton's Chloroform on it. I think it might be pretty obvious."

~~~

With the mission underway and Clint's chloroform working beautifully, your plan suddenly hit an unexpected snag. You should have known that it was going too well, and as you and Bucky stood in the middle of T'Challa's kitchen, lights off and dressed in full black, you realized that you were lost.

"Shit," Bucky snapped, "we must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I swear, I need a map to find anything in this place."

"What are we going to do?" you whispered back. You looked down and saw the man at your feet begin to stir, so you knelt at his side and unzipped the body bag that Nat had lent you, holding the chloroform saturated cloth over his mouth and nose again. "I can't keep knocking him out like this. I'm worried that I'll give him brain damage or something."

"Okay, let me think." Bucky exhaled heavily, frustrated and a little nervous, rubbing his eyes as if taking the fatigue away would help. "Well, I 'spose we could just do it here?"

"We used the kitchen last time, remember? I don't want to get a reputation around here for being predictable. Besides, isn't it kinda gross? People eat here."

"No, I've got it! Change of plan!" he snapped his fingers and bounced a little on his heels in his excitement. "The supply trucks come in soon, right? I'm sure we could find a box big enough, then slip it onto one of 'em right before they leave. The next stop has to be hundreds of miles from here. He won't have a clue where he is."

"Hmm, okay..." you hummed to yourself, "that could work, and it's all we've got now. You go check the garage and I'll look in the delivery bay...if I can find it." You shared a quick nod with your partner in crime, the two of you turning to move in opposite directions from each side of the room as fast as you could. It only took you two stops to ask for directions from T'Challa's computer system, whereas it took Bucky four, but as you made your way through the menagerie that was his home, the king himself had stumbled upon your work.

Literally.

"Ow! What the-" he called out quietly, hopping on one foot with perfect balance as he held his stubbed toe. T'Challa quickly took a seat at the table, turning the lights on so that he could see what was left just lying in the middle of the room without a care, but when he saw the large black bag, he knew immediately what was going on. "Why do I keep finding bodies in my kitchen?" he grumbled, standing to inspect it. "This is getting weird."

He worried for just the flash of a second as his fingers took the zipper pull, and just before he caught his first glimpse of what state of person might be beneath it. It was a relief to see the movement of breathing, but when he saw the face of your victim, his first reaction of amusement was quickly taken over with a sense of responsibility to foil your plans once and for all.

"Sam, wake up."