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tarotgalIn which Coulson feels guilty about chapter 5 and Clint sneezes more than he did in chapter 5.
Title: Assess & Acquire
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: Marvel CMU (Avengers & Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pre-Clint/Coulson
Spoilers: For the first Avengers movie and the first episode of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Warning: Character death. A lot of character death.
Summary: When Clint Barton shows up unannounced on Phil Coulson’s doorstep, Coulson is forced to change his vacation plans. So when a simple mission to assess and acquire an object of unknown origin comes up, he figures there’s no reason he should turn that down. Naturally, things are never as simple as they seem.
Author’s Notes: Written for NaNoWriMo 2014 all in one month (a first for me!). This story is finished but will be posted in pieces. Total word count: 73,274.
Chapter6
The buzzing woke Coulson out of sleep, making him sit up in a cold panic, gasping for breath, but he couldn’t just leap right into the day as if nothing had happened to him. What had happened was almost too terrible to believe. He had just sacrificed Agent Clint Barton—Hawkeye, one of the Avengers—for a chance to prove a theory. The fact that the theory had held up didn’t entirely justify his actions, but it did give him something new to go on. He needed time to figure out what that truly meant. It couldn’t be a great sign that someone in a time loop was desperate for more time. Coulson wondered how many more of these he was going to have to go through—how many more deaths, how much more there was going to be to this mystery.
With a sigh, Coulson climbed out of bed, skipping the bathrobe and slippers this time but remembering the tissue box; that was going to be essential every day. Double sneezes. Every day was starting with Clint Barton and his double sneezes. The other elements around him seemed less important at the moment. He pressed the intercom button and said, in sync with Clint over the speaker, “Agent Coulson, it’s me.” Though he had known it would be Clint, of course, it was still a relief to know the man was not actually dead. The guilt over what he had done to Clint lingered in his mind, and he vowed that today he would put it right. Today he would try to figure out what the device was about, but he would also do everything he could for Clint. And, today, everything began with a whole handful of tissues to catch Clint’s double sneezes.
He opened his door to find Clint standing there, hand raised as if about to knock. But instead of knocking, he snapped forward. “Hahh-Ktshhhhh!” It almost seemed for a moment that he would stop there this time, but Coulson wasn’t fooled. He kept the tissues up and ready when Clint sneezed into them again. “Huh huh-KIHtchhh!”
Coulson waited until after the second sneeze to say, “Bless you,” followed by, “Coming down with a cold, are you?”
Clint snuffled into the tissues before pulling back and shaking his head. “I’ve had it for a few days now. Can’t seem to get rid of it.”
“Have you tried cold medicine?” He’d meant it in fun, because of course he knew Clint had.
Somehow, Clint got the joke and chuckled. “Ran out. Sniff! Sniff!”
“Of course you did.” He reached out and put a hand on Clint’s shoulder, drawing him inside the apartment so that Coulson could shut and lock the door behind them just to be safe. His hand slipped down to Clint’s upper arm and he pulled Clint across the living room, depositing on the man on the couch. He went down to his knees at once and pulled Clint’s sneakers off for him, one at a time. Then, with a hand on Clint’s chest, he gave the man a little push so Clint lay back against the couch cushions. Clint coughed in surprise but he did not protest. “I don’t have any cold medicine here, but I can make a quick trip to the grocery store later this morning to pick up anything you want. And I have a feeling you want a lot.”
Clint took the tissue box from him, helped himself to a tissue, and then plated his face into it. “Huh… uhhhh huhSchhhhhh!” He gave his nose a cursory rub with the tissue. “This is a good start,” he told Coulson.
Coulson’s phone buzzed. Every time he tried to get things under his control, something else happened that threw another unexpected variable into the equation that was today. Knowing it was pointless to ignore the call, he settled on the floor beside the couch and answered. “Agent Coulson here. Go ahead, Agent Hill.”
On the other end, Hill said exactly what Coulson expected her to say. “There’s a situation at the New York City Science Museum, an employee has reported a new 0-8-4. I hate to ask, but our resources are stretched at the moment and you’re close, aren’t you?”
For one brief moment, Coulson considered telling her no. No, he couldn’t do it. Have someone else retrieve the unknown object and bring it to him so that it could babysit both the 0-8-4 and the oh-so-sneezy Agent Barton. But, of course, he knew he couldn’t do that. What would happen if someone else tried to pick up the object? Probably nothing good. It was a close call between Clint and all of New York City… but in the end, he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and was always going to make the choice that saved the world. “I’m only a few blocks away. I can be there in no time. But this has got to be the last thing I get called back for while on vacation. And that means telling Fury that his favorite trusty marksman is not available this afternoon either. Agent Barton currently holed up on my couch with a big box of tissues and a bad head cold.”
Clint’s timing could not have been any better if he had planned it. He launched forward in his seat with a strong, “hiht-KETChuhhhhh! HehhSshhhihh!”
“I see. I mean, I hear.”
“Glad that you do, Agent Hill. I’ll go after that 0-8-4 now. I’ve got a protective case right here with its name on it.” When he hung up, he could have sworn Clint was pouting. But Avengers did not pout. Okay, maybe Tony Stark did from time to time, but the others didn’t. Coulson gave him a reassuring smile. “I have a mission, but it’s a quick one—just a simple retrieval job. I’ll be back before noon. And before I go, I’ll make sure you’re set up here and comfortable. Give me two minutes.” He headed to the bedroom, got dressed in his usual suit with his usual tie, but made sure to slip a handkerchief into his pocket as well. His next stop was the linen closet. With his arms full of blankets and pillows, he headed back to the living room.
Clint lay curled on his side, shivering and hugging the tissue box to his chest. “Hehhh… hahh-Uhshuhhh! Sniff!” Despite the tissue box at hand, he didn’t even make a move toward it when he sneezed. Maybe his nose was too sore or maybe he was too cold to uncurl. Whatever the reason, Coulson pretended he didn’t have a problem with a man spraying germs all over his apartment. He slipped the two pillows into pillowcases and set them on the arm of the couch closest to Clint’s head. Then he covered Clint with one, two, and three blankets. He tucked the blankets tightly around the man’s body then rubbed his hand up and down Clint’s upper arm through the blankets.
“A little better?”
Clint relaxed with a gentle sigh. He stopped shivering a few seconds later. “Better,” he agreed sleepily.
“Good. Now get some rest while I’m gone. I’ll be back with more tissues, cold medicine, and orange juice.”
“I like the kind without pulp.”
Coulson knew this of course, but he pretended he was learning it for the first tine. “So noted. Try to get some sleep while I’m gone. And if you think of anything else you need, send me a text. Got it, Agent?”
Snffling as he closed his eyes, Clint nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
Coulson wasn’t even across the room when his phone buzzed. He took it out and looked at the text message: Thank you Coulson. Chuckling, Coulson put his phone back in his pocket. “You’re welcome. Just rest and feel better.”
Heading out of the apartment building was harder than it usually was. He kept wanting to go back up and make sure Clint was all right. He stood outside his apartment building and looked up toward his apartment, thinking about Clint. He even took his phone out, considering calling the man to make sure he was all right, maybe by asking some stupid question about what kind of tissues he liked best. But before he could make the call, his phone buzzed. Of course it was Clint: Get going. I am fine.
Coulson smiled and went. He hit walk signs as he crossed the street at each block, as if that were a sign he could trust that this was the right thing to be doing. He paused once at a drug store, wondering if he should just pop in and buy some medicine, but then he remembered that text Clint had sent him and continued on to the museum. As he walked through the busy entrance hall, however, he got a text that he paused to read: Peppermint tea.
Coulson cocked his head. Peppermint tea? That was his first request? Well, at least it was easy enough.
Still smirking about it, Coulson headed into the AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY section of the museum by way of the security guard stationed there. He followed the crowd swarming toward the research laboratory where the 0-8-4 was being held. The moment he set eyes on the object again, he wondered if its great display of blue and purple threads of dancing energy would ever get less impressive. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled that it was making him live this day over and over again, but he had to admit that without it, he would have been dead at the docks from a gunshot wound and Clint would be out both a handler and a caretaker.
His phone buzzed again, and Coulson chuckled to himself. Nice timing, Clint. He checked it: cough drops.
Then, a few seconds later: honey or herbal ones.
Though he already knew this, he couldn’t tell Clint that. Instead, he texted back: You should be trying to sleep.
He didn’t expect a reply, but he got one: I tried. The sneezes keep coming. Come back with tissues.
Before Coulson could send a reply, one more text came through: Lots and lots of tissues.
As he put his phone away, Coulson realized he had been smiling like an idiot this whole time. Some of the researchers were staring at him, but not as many as when he walked over to the 0-8-4 and picked it up. The anticipated gasps came from all around. “Agent Coulson from S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he said, as he put the object into its case. “I believe someone called us this morning?”
Dr. Daniels stepped forward. “I did.” He stuck his hand out for Coulson to shake.
“Thank you notifying us about the object. We’ll take it from here. Could you make sure your research notes get sent to me and my team?” Coulson said all of this while shaking the doctor’s hand.
Dr. Daniels looked stunned. “Oh, all right.”
And Coulson took off. Not until he was crossing the entrance hall again did he remember about the little girl who had bumped into him. He just so happened to spot her across the hall. She was sitting on her father’s shoulders, delighting at looking at a display of metal birds dangling from the second story balcony above her head. She raised her arms up, trying to touch one, but they were up far too high. Her fingers flexed and wiggled hopefully. Coulson hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed when she realized she would never be able reach. Still, her father patted her ankles reassuringly.
Once outside on the city streets again, Coulson found his phone buzzing again. He wished he were more surprised. He checked his texts and saw: Did I mention orange juice?
Coulson rolled his eyes. He reached the city supermarket and took an escalator down into it while texting back: You did. No pulp. It’s practically in the cart now.
He was certain Clint was going to get no sleep at all this morning, which probably should have been obvious that first day when he’d seen the way Clint had sneezed his way through the whole box of tissues. Clint would definitely need more of those. So Coulson rounded up all the usual suspects in the grocery store, filling his cart quickly with item after item. Once again the cold medicine threw him. There were too many choices. Obviously what he’d bought before hadn’t cleared Clint up the way he’d hoped. Maybe it was time to try something stronger.
“Got a cold?”
“What?” Coulson turned and found an older woman with dusty gray hair standing there, a heavy basket of vegetables clutched in her hands.
The woman nodded toward his cart. “Tissues, orange juice—looks like everything you need to fight a bad cold. Do you have one?”
He shook his head. “No, my…” How did one describe Clint Barton? The Avenger who just showed up on my doorstep this morning has a cold? Or the excellent marksman who is probably making a mess of my apartment right now has one? Or maybe the man I’ve known for years but have only recently just discovered I might have feelings for because he kissed me as I was dying has a cold? “My friend has a cold. I’m picking up some things for him.”
“That’s so nice of you,” she said. “If you’re feeling indecisive about what to get, I can recommend the NyQuil.”
Coulson located that on the shelf and immediately made it part of his cart. “Thank you.”
He checked out and left, glad that the building and the city had not exploded yet, and glad that he was heading home. His hands were so full of bags he almost couldn’t manage the lock for the building’s door. He hit the wrong button in the elevator and had to wait through an extra floor before getting to the penthouse. And then he had to put down a few of the bags to get the key in the lock of his door and put his finger on the thumb panel at the same time. The retina scan was easier to manage, requiring him to just lean forward and not blink for a second. S.H.I.E.L.D. security measures had always made him feel safe before. But that was before he had brought an 0-8-4 home.
“Huhhh… huhhh-IHShuhhhhh! Uhhh… Hehshhhhhh!”
“Is that your way of saying welcome home?” Coulson asked, hauling all of the bags inside and dropping them on the kitchen counter.
Clint sat up on the couch, rubbing the back of his hand at his nose. “Sniff! Sniff! Did you… sniff! Did you get tissues?”
Realizing he had forgotten the trash can from the bathroom and a stern reminder about not leaving tissues all over the floor, Coulson looked over to see Clint on the couch, an island amid a thick sea of tissues. Realizing he didn’t really care that much, Coulson brought a box of tissues out of one bag and threw it over the counter and across the living room to Clint, who actually caught it. The man wasn’t an Avenger and former circus performer for nothing.
“Thah… huh… ihhhhhh… uhh-HuhhShhhh! HehShuhhhh!” Clint ripped open the box far too late to catch those sneezes, but he buried his face in tissues by the third. “Huh huhfshhhh!” He coughed and blew his nose until Coulson joined him in the living room. Coulson sat on the edge of the couch with the bottle of NyQuil. He carefully poured a capful and handed it over to Clint, who just stared at it.
“Did you or did you not want cold medicine?”
Clint melted back against his pillows and lay down again. “Is that the only thing you bought?”
Coulson had to admit the bright green wasn’t particularly comforting, and this stuff never tasted very good, but medicine wasn’t supposed to taste delicious; that’s how you knew it was working. “I’ve got some nasal spray and cough drops in the bags somewhere.”
Clint looked longingly over at the bags. “I guess I’ll sniff make those work. I can’t take NyQuil, Sir.”
Coulson looked down at the cup of green in his hand. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Hehhh… hehhh-KITChhhhh!” Clint sneezed freely, as if he didn’t have a tissue box right there in his hands.
“Because, I’ve got to say, you look and sound like you need some cold medicine. And, coincidentally, I’ve got some right here in my hand…” He held the cap out toward Clint again.
But Clint shook his head, sniffling. “Coulsod… there’s alcohol id that. Huhh… huhh-KIHShhhhh!” Finally, with his nose dripping, he helped himself to tissues to blow and wipe his nose repeatedly.
“There’s a small amount, yes, but I’ve taken you off active duty with S.H.I.E.L.D. and unless you’re planning on driving a car just now, which I wouldn’t recommend with you sneezing like this, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Clint turned his head toward the pillow and sniffled a few more times, not meeting Coulson’s eyes.
So, of course, Coulson felt as though he had missed something important here he should have known. “Clint?”
“My dad was an alcoholic. You know my file backwards and forwards. Sniff! Sniff! I thought you knew that.”
Damn it. He had known. “You don’t—”
“I don’t. Sniff! Sniff!”
“I’ve seen you drink on operations.”
Clint gave him a weak smile. “Looks like my act was too sniff convincing. Hehhh… hah HUHShuhhh!”
“Bless you.” Coulson poured the bright green liquid back into the bottle and set the whole thing aside, out of sight where it wouldn’t bother Clint. “I’ll go get you some other brand.”
“No.” With the quickest reflexes Coulson had ever seen, Clint reached out and put a hand on Coulson’s shoulder. “No, you just got home. Stay.” He sniffed hard. “I can make-do with sniff with whatever else you got for me. Hehhh… hehhh-Uhschhhhhh!”
Coulson patted the back of Clint’s hand. “As long as you’re sure.”
Clint nodded, though he didn’t seem to have convinced himself, let alone Coulson. So Coulson got up and brought the bags over. He handed things to Clint, one item at a time, until Clint was buried under everything and trying to hold back his laughter. He looked out from between two boxes of tissues. “I’m sure. But maybe not everything all at once?” Coulson helped to un-bury him.
“Did you get anything for lunch?”
“You’re hungry!” Coulson stood up. “That’s a great sign. Classic chicken soup coming right up.” Coulson donned a blue and off-white striped apron he kept on a hook in the kitchen by the pantry. He tied it on with a bow in the back then got out the can of Campbell’s chicken noodle. He poured it into a pot, filled the can with water, and poured that into the pot as well. As it simmered on the stove, he got out a tray, big bowl, and soup spoon. He found a sleeve of Saltine crackers and added that to the tray. “Soup’s on.”
“Ihhh.. Huhh… huhhUhtchhhh!”
“Blow your nose!” Coulson called back toward the living room.
Clint obeyed the order. And he sounded miserable doing it, poor guy.
There was no hurrying the watched pot on the stove, so Coulson stood there, forearms resting on the counter, head bowed. The warmth of the stove was a comfort, as was the promise of food and some normalcy on a day that was anything but normal. He wasn’t even that hungry. But the smell of the soup cooking made his mouth water. There would be enough in the pot for them both to have some. Coulson got out a second spoon and a mug for himself. He tidied up around the kitchen while waiting. And he took the useless bottle of NyQuil to the bathroom medicine cabinet, returning with the mini trash can, which he plopped on the floor right next to the couch. Better late than never, even in a time loop.
When the soup was finally ready, Coulson poured it into the cup and the bowl and carried the tray over to Clint. “Sit up,” he told Clint, who was buried under blankets again.
“Don’t want to. Cold. Shivery.” Clint slipped down further beneath the blankets with a pathetic sniffle.
Coulson countered with, “Do it anyway. Hot. Soup.”
Peaking out from under the blankets, Clint still looked reluctant. “I don’t want soup. Can we order a pizza?”
“You’re sick, so you’re getting soup. I slaved over a hot stove for something like fifteen minutes to make this, so you’re going to eat it. Unless you’re actually a vegetarian and I never noticed because of your superb acting skills?”
Reluctantly, Clint took the chicken soup. He crumbled up some crackers into it before taking his first taste. And once he did, he went back for a second spoonful and a third directly afterward.
“I take it that means you like it?” Coulson asked, settling into the armchair with his steaming mug of soup and a spoon.
“Don’t get your pretty… hah… heh-Huhshhhhh! Don’t get your pretty apron in a bunch. It’s good. It’s no pizza, but it’s good.” He had another spoonful. “Pizza for dinner?”
“We’ll see.”
“Heh… good… hahhh… huh-HShhhhhh! Huhhhh… huhh-KTSSchhhh! Oh… crap. I can’t… huhhh…” Clint made a grab for the tissues and buried his nose in a whole bunch of them. “Hehhhh huh-Uhtchhh! Huhshhhhh! Huh-huh… huhh-Uhshhhh! Huh… huhhh…” he wavered, lifting his head up from the tissues for a second. His tongue poked at his bottom lip. His nostrils quivered. Then he fell forward, nose meeting the handful of tissues again. “Huhh… huf… huhhhh-Kehshhhhh!” Coulson remained there, nose in the tissues, taking sniffly, deep breaths, until he was apparently sure he wasn’t going to sneeze again. He gave his nose a hard wipe then lifted his head. He looked relieved for about a second before snapping forward. ”Scuse… huh-huh-UHShhhhhh!”
“Bless you!” Coulson said, whistling. “I’ve seen you sneeze a lot, but that was damn impressive.”
Clint looked down at his lunch and made a face. He helped himself to another couple tissues and blew his nose. Then he looked up at Coulson, sniffling. “You’re sure you don’t sniff, sniff, have any cold medicine lying about in a suitcase somewhere or something?”
“I’m absolutely sure.”
“Want to go check?”
Coulson gritted his teeth and tried to stay positive, though Clint was starting to not make that so easy. “Want to try some nasal spray?”
Clint shrugged in a noncommittal way. “Guess so.” He reached over to the coffee table for it and the tray on his lap tilted just a little too much. Coulson made a dive for it but wasn’t fast enough to keep it from spilling. “Damn it!” The whole thing wasn’t lost, but it was enough to soak a blanket, a bit of the couch, and the carpet.
Coulson set his mug down on a coaster on the coffee table and then went for his dish towel. “Didn’t burn yourself, did you?”
Clint shrugged again. Squatting down next to the couch, Coulson took a look at Clint’s hands. He looked all right, though the backs of two fingers were a little red. “I’ll get some cream for those.” He cleaned up the mess and went back to his bathroom. His medicine cabinet was just as bare as his pantry and fridge, but he did have an emergency first aid kit. He had to wait for Clint to finish blowing his nose again before he could apply the cream to the slightly burned area. “I take it you don’t want any more soup?”
Clint sniffled and shook his head. “I’m not too hungry anyway.”
This statement earned Clint an eye roll, though Coulson bent his head so Clint couldn’t see it. With the spill cleaned up and the burn treated, Coulson plucked the nasal spray off the table and put it in Clint’s hands. “There you go.”
Clint tore open the box, broke off the plastic safety seal, and shoved the tip up his right nostril. But he pulled it out a second later, face screwing up. “Huhhh… huhhUshhhh! HuhSchhhhh!” He blew his nose, then he tried again, inserting the end. This time, he managed to push the end down once to release a squirt into his nose. He tried to inhale at the same time, but his nose was far too stuffed up with cold. He coughed and pulled the bottle of nasal spray out immediately. Between the coughs there were sniffles and between sniffles there were “h’TSHHHH!” short, urgent sneezes. He thrust the nasal spray back at Coulson. “Dod’t wadt this either,” Clint told him.
“How about cough drops?”
Clint shook his head. “Throat doesn’t hurt right now. But I… I… huhhh…. Huhhh huh-Ihkschhhh!”
Of course it didn’t. He’d asked for cough drops and now he said he didn’t need them. Glorious. And Coulson knew the one thing he needed, Coulson hadn’t managed to get. It was no wonder Clint was miserable, but he wasn’t making it easy for Coulson to help him. “All right. But you’re still feeling sneezy?”
This time, Clint nodded. And sniffed hard three times. And nodded again.
Without cold medicine, Coulson didn’t have too many options to offer. “Would you like to take a shower?” Clint narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Hot steam will help clear you up a little.”
Clint was either easy to persuade or desperate, because he headed to the bathroom, stripping off items of clothing as he walked there. Coulson watched him go, shaking his head. He stripped off the top, soiled blanket. He was out of blankets, but he could give Clint the comforter off his own bed.
“Coulson?” Clint called from the bathroom. “How does your shower work?”
Coulson’s eyes narrowed as he walked back to the bathroom. “Turn on the water, then switch it to shower mode in the up position.” Pretty much like every other shower on the planet.
“Which way is the hot water?”
In addition to the muffled voice, Coulson could hear sniffling through the bathroom door. “Turn it to the left, Clint.” He heard the water streaming from the faucet. Then he heard the spray of water coming down as a shower. He stood outside the door, arms crossed over his chest, waiting and listening, just wanting to be sure Clint was doing all right. One strong sneeze and he could slip and fall and kill himself. Coulson had been through a handful of deaths now, none of them great. But slipping in the shower because of a sneeze had to be close to the bottom of the list of preferable deaths.
Coulson headed to his bedroom for the comforter and ended up sitting down on the end of the bed. He listened to the faint sound of Clint sneezing and the water running and no shriek and thump as the man fell. Certain Clint had made it through that sneeze safely, Coulson fell back on the bed. The mission at the docks. The trip to the museum. The investigation into the 0-8-4. Coulson had been through a lot lately, but today was more exhausting than everything so far.
He took out his trusty cell phone and made a call to Agent Hill. “I successfully took possession of the 0-8-4,” he told her.
“Good work, Sir. We received the research and tests from the museum and sent it to your team, as requested.”
“I have another request.” This was met by such an uncomfortable pause Coulson worried the call might have dropped.
“Go ahead, Agent Coulson.”
“Bulgaria. I need you to connect me to our team in Bulgaria.”
“I can’t just—”
He cut her off, “It’s important. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have a reason. I have to contact Agent Romanov on an urgent matter.”
“She’s undercover.”
“Without a phone?”
Agent Hill sighed. “Fine. I’ll do my best to get you through, but if it interferes with the operation, it’s on your head. Agent Fury won’t be happy.”
“Forget Agent Fury. Agent Romanov will kill me.” He heard Clint sneeze again from inside the bathroom. “But I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t desperate.”
He hung up and stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Thanks to these time loops, Coulson was starting to get used to waking up to this sight every day instead of his room on the bus. Thinking of his team, he gave Ward a call. “Did Fitz-Simmons get the museum research about the 0-8-4 from S.H.I.E.L.D.?”
“They’re analyzing it right now, but they say it would be easier if they had the object in front of them.”
Coulson listened to the shower still running and the sneezes still coming from inside the bathroom. And he thought about the way his desperation to figure this out had made him order Clint to his death in the previous loop. It still didn’t sit well with him. It wasn’t as though taking care of the man today would help him atone, especially as Clint didn’t realize anything had happened. But it did ease his conscience just a little. Not to mention that it felt good to be doing something, to make some difference. And it felt good to be with Clint as well, in a situation where they weren’t facing life or death or he wasn’t barking orders through the comms. “I know it would, but I can’t get it to you just now.”
“Something else has come up? Do you need assistance, Sir?” He sounded eager, and Coulson knew it must be killing him to be waiting around while the scientists did their thing. Ward would rather be in there doing what he did best: kicking butt.
But he couldn’t kick Clint’s cold’s butt, so Coulson was forced to decline the offer. “Thanks, but no. I’ll let you know if I need you—” His phone buzzed. It had to be Agent Romanov. “Hang on a second, would you, Agent Ward? I have another call coming through.”
Ward waited as Coulson answered. “Yes, hello?”
Natasha spoke softly but sharply, “This had better be important, Agent Coulson. I’m deep undercover and taking a risk just using this phone. What are you calling about?”
All of a sudden, Coulson wasn’t sure how to answer. He knew how it would sound if he said ‘Clint’s gone all sneezy on me and I need you advice’ or ‘How fast can you be on a plane back to the states with some tissues?’ But he also knew that Clint’s constant demands were beginning to drive him crazy. He’d gone to all this trouble to talk with Natasha, and Ward was still on hold on the other line, so he had to say something. “It’s about Clint.”
She went so quiet Coulson had to lower his phone and look to make sure the line hadn’t gone dead. “When?” she finally said, softly. And then, with a little more feeling, “Who?”
“No!” Coulson exclaimed at once. “No, he’s fine! Well, he’s not fine of course. That’s why I’m calling. But he’s not dead.” At least, not unless he spilled any more soup on Coulson’s couch. Or not unless he touched the 0-8-4, but Coulson was going to do his damnedest to make sure that never happened again. “He, ah, he’s come down with a cold—” Coulson stopped short because, at that, Natasha let out a loud, unrestrained laugh.
He tried to think back, but he couldn’t remember ever hearing her laugh before when she wasn’t undercover on a mission, laughing on purpose. Natasha Romanov, Black Widow and member of the Avengers, simply did not laugh.
“Oh, Agent Coulson, you’ve suddenly made me happy to be in Bulgaria.”
He hadn’t been expecting that. “I thought you usually took care of him.”
“Only because once we were undercover as a married couple when he caught a cold. He was so demanding that it was all I could do to keep from killing him and blowing both our covers. But I guess he considered it an act of friendship that I cared that much about him and now whenever he feels so much as a sniffle coming on, he shows up on my doorstep, expecting me to look after him. He’s okay on his own the first couple days, but after that he gets lonely and starts feeling worse, probably because he sucks at taking medicine on time without someone there to shove it down his throat.” She paused and, when she resumed, her tone was much more sympathetic. “Oh, Agent Coulson. I’m so sorry. Clint with a cold is not a good combination. Where is he now?”
“My bathroom. I made him take a shower. He couldn’t stop sneezing.”
“That happens when he doesn’t take his medicine. Whatever you do, don’t get him NyQuil or DayQuil. He won’t take those.” Clint closed his eyes, wishing he had thought to call her before. She knew Clint in ways Coulson couldn’t even imagine. “And keep him warm. I still don’t know why he insists on going around sleeveless all the time, but when he has a cold, he gets the chills, whether he’ll admit it or not.”
“The bigger problem is that he’s admitting too much. And making demands. I’m thinking of bringing in an FBI negotiator at this point.”
“It won’t help, I guarantee it,” she said, laughing again. It was the strangest, most unnatural sound Coulson had heard all day and it put him on edge. If this were bad enough to make Natasha Romanov laugh, Coulson wanted no part of it, that was for sure. Except that… he felt for the guy. And, yes, Clint was getting annoying and demanding, but Coulson still wanted to be with him and look after him. He’d even chosen Clint over his team this time around. His team. Ward was still on the other line.
“I called to find out how I should handle Clint,” Coulson said, quickly. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
She was quiet again, maybe thinking or maybe hesitating to answer.
“Natasha, please. This shower of his isn’t going to last much longer.”
Finally, she replied, “He likes being touched.”
Once again, Coulson had not been expecting that. “I’m sorry? Our connection might be bad. Could you repeat that?”
“Touched. He likes being touched. He likes being looked after, which you know already because, obviously, he came to you. He likes knowing someone is there and likes feeling it. Usually he’s happy if I just pretend to feel his forehead every half an hour, but sometimes he needs more.”
“More?”
“How are you at hugging, Agent Coulson?”
“I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Just let him know you’re there for him and not going anywhere, and the clinginess and neediness will subside. He’s only demanding when he’s worried about being left alone feeling miserable. He grew up in a circus with everyone around all the time. Sometimes he needs his quiet time, but when he’s sick, he needs anything he can get from people he trusts.”
“Got it. You’ve been a big help. Thank you. I hope I didn’t pull you out of anything important.”
“Nah, just trying to seduce a diplomat and steal a blood sample. Same old, same old.”
“Good work, Agent. Carry on.”
He smirked as she hung up. He wasn’t so sure about hugs, but this explained a lot about why exactly Clint showed up when and how he did this morning. And to show up and then be made to stay behind while Coulson headed off to the museum must have been a miserable, lonely time for Clint. Though it sounded like the man might be better off just going to the tower and letting the other Avengers look after him. He had a feeling Pepper Potts wouldn’t make the mistake of bringing back NyQuil.
His phone buzzed at him and a small jolt of panic rushed through him as he remembered Ward had been waiting during that entire conversation. Coulson quickly resumed the call. “Hello?”
“Sir,” Ward said at once, “Fitz-Simmons figured something out. They’re right here. I’ll put you on speaker.”
“Yes,” Simmons said, sounding far away but otherwise clear. She spoke with a definitive air, confident and helpful. “Sir, the object gives out energy, enough energy that we can track it from here.”
“But I know where it is already. It’s here, in my apartment.”
“Aye,” Fitz inserted himself into the conversation with what sounded like haste. “But it’s not the only thing giving off that energy signature.”
Coulson went cold, feeling chills even though he didn’t have a fever or even a head cold like Clint’s. “What?”
“There’s something else with an almost identical reading showing up in our scans… and it’s not very far from your present location. We only have a general location, though. We’re working on honing in on it exactly.”
Coulson heard the water in the bathroom turn off, and he heard a loud “huhh-CHISHHHHhhh!” sneeze now that the water wasn’t drowning out the sound of that.
“Call me immediately if you do.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Coulson hung up and went toward the bathroom, sliding his phone into his pocket as he went. “Clint?” he called. “I’ve got some warm clothes for you to change into if you want something clean.
The door to the bathroom opened and steam poured out around Clint, who stood there with only a towel wrapped around his waist and the side of his hand pressed under his nose Coulson got him a clean change of clothing, which was also the warmest and most comfortable thing he owned, guessing that Clint was not eager to try to fit himself into one of Coulson’s suits. Shivering, Clint put on the thick winter socks, gray sweat pants, white undershirt, and black hooded sweatshirt with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on the upper right hand side. Since his time at the academy, this had been Coulson’s workout outfit on days when it was cold out. He liked it big and baggy around him, so there was more than enough room for Clint, who was broader in places like the shoulders and arms. It didn’t take Clint more than ten seconds to sneeze into the sweatshirt’s sleeve, though, which made Coulson cringe, though he tried not to let Clint see his expression.
“Huhhhh… HIHSchhhhh!” right into the sleeve, though at least he covered his nose.
Sighing, Coulson moved behind him, put two hands on his shoulders. “All right. You’re going back to the couch and your tissues.”
“Yeah… I ab.” He let Coulson urge him out of the bedroom and direct him back down the hallway to the couch where he curled up under the blankets instantly. Coulson forced tissues on him, then, hesitantly, sat down on the edge of the couhc and felt his forehead for a fever he knew Clint didn’t have.
A smile came to Clint’s face, albeit a brief one. “Ihhh… huhhh-Huhschhhh! Hershhhhhh!” He snuffled into his tissues.
“Did the shower help at all?”
“Little bit. I can breathe a little freer now. Sniff! Sniff! It was a good suggestion… even if I still feel sn… snee… sneezy huh huh-HEHSchhhhh! Hehschhhh! Huhchhhh!”
“Bless—” Coulson was cut off by the phone buzzing in his pocket. Clint eyed the phone and retreated further under the blankets. Coulson put a hand on Clint’s arm through the blankets before answering the phone. “Coulson here.”
It was Fitz. “Sir, we’ve been able to narrow down the energy signature. There’s one coming from your apartment, and there is another one about six blocks away.”
Coulson looked down at Clint, snuffling and hiding under the blankets, and he glanced over at the 0-8-4 in its case. He remembered what Natasha had said about Clint not wanting to be alone. But if this day was ever to end, he had to figure out what the object was, and this might be his only chance. He took a deep breath and straightened his tie. “Give me the coordinates, Fitz.” He thanked her and hung up.
One of Clint’s eyes poked out from under the blankets. “You’re going?”
Coulson nodded. “I have to. My team’s got a lead on this 0-8-4.”
“Can’t it huh… huh Uhshhhhh! Sniff! Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“It really can’t.” He rubbed his hand up and down Clint’s arm through the blankets. “You can come with me if you want, but I figured you weren’t feeling up to it.”
Sniffling, Clint sat up. “I’ve sniff, sniff got your back.”
Coulson hadn’t counted on Clint coming along, especially once he remembered how much Clint had sneezed on their way to the docks that first day. “Then let’s go.”
There was something essentially wrong with Clint wearing his quiver over Coulson’s sweatshirt. He’d considered changing, but he had shivered so much they both decided that wasn’t a good idea. So there was Hawkeye, equipped with a bow and arrows, wearing Agent Coulson’s worn sweats and pulling tissues out of the front pocket of the hoodie. Coulson did his best to not laugh and also not thinking about dying as he led them out into the cold city streets.
He tried to hail a cab, but not a single one came near them; Coulson had no doubt the large weapon was probably a key factor in that. So they headed down to the subway. They had to walk a block out of their way to catch it, but Clint knew all about catching things by now, and soon they were sitting on a subway car, speeding toward their destination. Clint sat hunched over with his forearms on his knees, though every so often he raised a hand and took a swipe or two at his nose. Coulson stood in front of him, holding onto a pole I the subway car, essentially blocking view of Clint from as many people as he could. “H’NGttt!” Clint sneezed into a hand tightly cupped to his face, thumb and forefinger pinching his nose. Coulson knew it wasn’t appropriate to bless him in public like this.
“Your wallet and jewelry!” shouted the man in a black ski mask who had just slid the door to the car open and now stood there, brandishing a gun.
Everything happened all at once. The man moved toward an older woman with her grocery shopping in a cart, waving his hand impatiently toward her purse until she handed it over. Clint pulled an arrow out of the quiver and nocked it back in the bow. Coulson started for the man in order to take him out. But whether the mugger meant it to or not, the gun went off.
Coulson felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by a sentinel. There was a searing, blinding heat that traveled all over his body. Clint had his arm around Coulson at once, guiding him down onto the dirty floor of the subway train. “Coulson,” he choked, before he slumped forward. Coulson closed his eyes, wishing he had just followed Natasha’s advice and kept Clint tucked in under the blankets back at the apartment.
Title: Assess & Acquire
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: Marvel CMU (Avengers & Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pre-Clint/Coulson
Spoilers: For the first Avengers movie and the first episode of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Warning: Character death. A lot of character death.
Summary: When Clint Barton shows up unannounced on Phil Coulson’s doorstep, Coulson is forced to change his vacation plans. So when a simple mission to assess and acquire an object of unknown origin comes up, he figures there’s no reason he should turn that down. Naturally, things are never as simple as they seem.
Author’s Notes: Written for NaNoWriMo 2014 all in one month (a first for me!). This story is finished but will be posted in pieces. Total word count: 73,274.
Chapter6
The buzzing woke Coulson out of sleep, making him sit up in a cold panic, gasping for breath, but he couldn’t just leap right into the day as if nothing had happened to him. What had happened was almost too terrible to believe. He had just sacrificed Agent Clint Barton—Hawkeye, one of the Avengers—for a chance to prove a theory. The fact that the theory had held up didn’t entirely justify his actions, but it did give him something new to go on. He needed time to figure out what that truly meant. It couldn’t be a great sign that someone in a time loop was desperate for more time. Coulson wondered how many more of these he was going to have to go through—how many more deaths, how much more there was going to be to this mystery.
With a sigh, Coulson climbed out of bed, skipping the bathrobe and slippers this time but remembering the tissue box; that was going to be essential every day. Double sneezes. Every day was starting with Clint Barton and his double sneezes. The other elements around him seemed less important at the moment. He pressed the intercom button and said, in sync with Clint over the speaker, “Agent Coulson, it’s me.” Though he had known it would be Clint, of course, it was still a relief to know the man was not actually dead. The guilt over what he had done to Clint lingered in his mind, and he vowed that today he would put it right. Today he would try to figure out what the device was about, but he would also do everything he could for Clint. And, today, everything began with a whole handful of tissues to catch Clint’s double sneezes.
He opened his door to find Clint standing there, hand raised as if about to knock. But instead of knocking, he snapped forward. “Hahh-Ktshhhhh!” It almost seemed for a moment that he would stop there this time, but Coulson wasn’t fooled. He kept the tissues up and ready when Clint sneezed into them again. “Huh huh-KIHtchhh!”
Coulson waited until after the second sneeze to say, “Bless you,” followed by, “Coming down with a cold, are you?”
Clint snuffled into the tissues before pulling back and shaking his head. “I’ve had it for a few days now. Can’t seem to get rid of it.”
“Have you tried cold medicine?” He’d meant it in fun, because of course he knew Clint had.
Somehow, Clint got the joke and chuckled. “Ran out. Sniff! Sniff!”
“Of course you did.” He reached out and put a hand on Clint’s shoulder, drawing him inside the apartment so that Coulson could shut and lock the door behind them just to be safe. His hand slipped down to Clint’s upper arm and he pulled Clint across the living room, depositing on the man on the couch. He went down to his knees at once and pulled Clint’s sneakers off for him, one at a time. Then, with a hand on Clint’s chest, he gave the man a little push so Clint lay back against the couch cushions. Clint coughed in surprise but he did not protest. “I don’t have any cold medicine here, but I can make a quick trip to the grocery store later this morning to pick up anything you want. And I have a feeling you want a lot.”
Clint took the tissue box from him, helped himself to a tissue, and then plated his face into it. “Huh… uhhhh huhSchhhhhh!” He gave his nose a cursory rub with the tissue. “This is a good start,” he told Coulson.
Coulson’s phone buzzed. Every time he tried to get things under his control, something else happened that threw another unexpected variable into the equation that was today. Knowing it was pointless to ignore the call, he settled on the floor beside the couch and answered. “Agent Coulson here. Go ahead, Agent Hill.”
On the other end, Hill said exactly what Coulson expected her to say. “There’s a situation at the New York City Science Museum, an employee has reported a new 0-8-4. I hate to ask, but our resources are stretched at the moment and you’re close, aren’t you?”
For one brief moment, Coulson considered telling her no. No, he couldn’t do it. Have someone else retrieve the unknown object and bring it to him so that it could babysit both the 0-8-4 and the oh-so-sneezy Agent Barton. But, of course, he knew he couldn’t do that. What would happen if someone else tried to pick up the object? Probably nothing good. It was a close call between Clint and all of New York City… but in the end, he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and was always going to make the choice that saved the world. “I’m only a few blocks away. I can be there in no time. But this has got to be the last thing I get called back for while on vacation. And that means telling Fury that his favorite trusty marksman is not available this afternoon either. Agent Barton currently holed up on my couch with a big box of tissues and a bad head cold.”
Clint’s timing could not have been any better if he had planned it. He launched forward in his seat with a strong, “hiht-KETChuhhhhh! HehhSshhhihh!”
“I see. I mean, I hear.”
“Glad that you do, Agent Hill. I’ll go after that 0-8-4 now. I’ve got a protective case right here with its name on it.” When he hung up, he could have sworn Clint was pouting. But Avengers did not pout. Okay, maybe Tony Stark did from time to time, but the others didn’t. Coulson gave him a reassuring smile. “I have a mission, but it’s a quick one—just a simple retrieval job. I’ll be back before noon. And before I go, I’ll make sure you’re set up here and comfortable. Give me two minutes.” He headed to the bedroom, got dressed in his usual suit with his usual tie, but made sure to slip a handkerchief into his pocket as well. His next stop was the linen closet. With his arms full of blankets and pillows, he headed back to the living room.
Clint lay curled on his side, shivering and hugging the tissue box to his chest. “Hehhh… hahh-Uhshuhhh! Sniff!” Despite the tissue box at hand, he didn’t even make a move toward it when he sneezed. Maybe his nose was too sore or maybe he was too cold to uncurl. Whatever the reason, Coulson pretended he didn’t have a problem with a man spraying germs all over his apartment. He slipped the two pillows into pillowcases and set them on the arm of the couch closest to Clint’s head. Then he covered Clint with one, two, and three blankets. He tucked the blankets tightly around the man’s body then rubbed his hand up and down Clint’s upper arm through the blankets.
“A little better?”
Clint relaxed with a gentle sigh. He stopped shivering a few seconds later. “Better,” he agreed sleepily.
“Good. Now get some rest while I’m gone. I’ll be back with more tissues, cold medicine, and orange juice.”
“I like the kind without pulp.”
Coulson knew this of course, but he pretended he was learning it for the first tine. “So noted. Try to get some sleep while I’m gone. And if you think of anything else you need, send me a text. Got it, Agent?”
Snffling as he closed his eyes, Clint nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
Coulson wasn’t even across the room when his phone buzzed. He took it out and looked at the text message: Thank you Coulson. Chuckling, Coulson put his phone back in his pocket. “You’re welcome. Just rest and feel better.”
Heading out of the apartment building was harder than it usually was. He kept wanting to go back up and make sure Clint was all right. He stood outside his apartment building and looked up toward his apartment, thinking about Clint. He even took his phone out, considering calling the man to make sure he was all right, maybe by asking some stupid question about what kind of tissues he liked best. But before he could make the call, his phone buzzed. Of course it was Clint: Get going. I am fine.
Coulson smiled and went. He hit walk signs as he crossed the street at each block, as if that were a sign he could trust that this was the right thing to be doing. He paused once at a drug store, wondering if he should just pop in and buy some medicine, but then he remembered that text Clint had sent him and continued on to the museum. As he walked through the busy entrance hall, however, he got a text that he paused to read: Peppermint tea.
Coulson cocked his head. Peppermint tea? That was his first request? Well, at least it was easy enough.
Still smirking about it, Coulson headed into the AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY section of the museum by way of the security guard stationed there. He followed the crowd swarming toward the research laboratory where the 0-8-4 was being held. The moment he set eyes on the object again, he wondered if its great display of blue and purple threads of dancing energy would ever get less impressive. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled that it was making him live this day over and over again, but he had to admit that without it, he would have been dead at the docks from a gunshot wound and Clint would be out both a handler and a caretaker.
His phone buzzed again, and Coulson chuckled to himself. Nice timing, Clint. He checked it: cough drops.
Then, a few seconds later: honey or herbal ones.
Though he already knew this, he couldn’t tell Clint that. Instead, he texted back: You should be trying to sleep.
He didn’t expect a reply, but he got one: I tried. The sneezes keep coming. Come back with tissues.
Before Coulson could send a reply, one more text came through: Lots and lots of tissues.
As he put his phone away, Coulson realized he had been smiling like an idiot this whole time. Some of the researchers were staring at him, but not as many as when he walked over to the 0-8-4 and picked it up. The anticipated gasps came from all around. “Agent Coulson from S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he said, as he put the object into its case. “I believe someone called us this morning?”
Dr. Daniels stepped forward. “I did.” He stuck his hand out for Coulson to shake.
“Thank you notifying us about the object. We’ll take it from here. Could you make sure your research notes get sent to me and my team?” Coulson said all of this while shaking the doctor’s hand.
Dr. Daniels looked stunned. “Oh, all right.”
And Coulson took off. Not until he was crossing the entrance hall again did he remember about the little girl who had bumped into him. He just so happened to spot her across the hall. She was sitting on her father’s shoulders, delighting at looking at a display of metal birds dangling from the second story balcony above her head. She raised her arms up, trying to touch one, but they were up far too high. Her fingers flexed and wiggled hopefully. Coulson hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed when she realized she would never be able reach. Still, her father patted her ankles reassuringly.
Once outside on the city streets again, Coulson found his phone buzzing again. He wished he were more surprised. He checked his texts and saw: Did I mention orange juice?
Coulson rolled his eyes. He reached the city supermarket and took an escalator down into it while texting back: You did. No pulp. It’s practically in the cart now.
He was certain Clint was going to get no sleep at all this morning, which probably should have been obvious that first day when he’d seen the way Clint had sneezed his way through the whole box of tissues. Clint would definitely need more of those. So Coulson rounded up all the usual suspects in the grocery store, filling his cart quickly with item after item. Once again the cold medicine threw him. There were too many choices. Obviously what he’d bought before hadn’t cleared Clint up the way he’d hoped. Maybe it was time to try something stronger.
“Got a cold?”
“What?” Coulson turned and found an older woman with dusty gray hair standing there, a heavy basket of vegetables clutched in her hands.
The woman nodded toward his cart. “Tissues, orange juice—looks like everything you need to fight a bad cold. Do you have one?”
He shook his head. “No, my…” How did one describe Clint Barton? The Avenger who just showed up on my doorstep this morning has a cold? Or the excellent marksman who is probably making a mess of my apartment right now has one? Or maybe the man I’ve known for years but have only recently just discovered I might have feelings for because he kissed me as I was dying has a cold? “My friend has a cold. I’m picking up some things for him.”
“That’s so nice of you,” she said. “If you’re feeling indecisive about what to get, I can recommend the NyQuil.”
Coulson located that on the shelf and immediately made it part of his cart. “Thank you.”
He checked out and left, glad that the building and the city had not exploded yet, and glad that he was heading home. His hands were so full of bags he almost couldn’t manage the lock for the building’s door. He hit the wrong button in the elevator and had to wait through an extra floor before getting to the penthouse. And then he had to put down a few of the bags to get the key in the lock of his door and put his finger on the thumb panel at the same time. The retina scan was easier to manage, requiring him to just lean forward and not blink for a second. S.H.I.E.L.D. security measures had always made him feel safe before. But that was before he had brought an 0-8-4 home.
“Huhhh… huhhh-IHShuhhhhh! Uhhh… Hehshhhhhh!”
“Is that your way of saying welcome home?” Coulson asked, hauling all of the bags inside and dropping them on the kitchen counter.
Clint sat up on the couch, rubbing the back of his hand at his nose. “Sniff! Sniff! Did you… sniff! Did you get tissues?”
Realizing he had forgotten the trash can from the bathroom and a stern reminder about not leaving tissues all over the floor, Coulson looked over to see Clint on the couch, an island amid a thick sea of tissues. Realizing he didn’t really care that much, Coulson brought a box of tissues out of one bag and threw it over the counter and across the living room to Clint, who actually caught it. The man wasn’t an Avenger and former circus performer for nothing.
“Thah… huh… ihhhhhh… uhh-HuhhShhhh! HehShuhhhh!” Clint ripped open the box far too late to catch those sneezes, but he buried his face in tissues by the third. “Huh huhfshhhh!” He coughed and blew his nose until Coulson joined him in the living room. Coulson sat on the edge of the couch with the bottle of NyQuil. He carefully poured a capful and handed it over to Clint, who just stared at it.
“Did you or did you not want cold medicine?”
Clint melted back against his pillows and lay down again. “Is that the only thing you bought?”
Coulson had to admit the bright green wasn’t particularly comforting, and this stuff never tasted very good, but medicine wasn’t supposed to taste delicious; that’s how you knew it was working. “I’ve got some nasal spray and cough drops in the bags somewhere.”
Clint looked longingly over at the bags. “I guess I’ll sniff make those work. I can’t take NyQuil, Sir.”
Coulson looked down at the cup of green in his hand. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Hehhh… hehhh-KITChhhhh!” Clint sneezed freely, as if he didn’t have a tissue box right there in his hands.
“Because, I’ve got to say, you look and sound like you need some cold medicine. And, coincidentally, I’ve got some right here in my hand…” He held the cap out toward Clint again.
But Clint shook his head, sniffling. “Coulsod… there’s alcohol id that. Huhh… huhh-KIHShhhhh!” Finally, with his nose dripping, he helped himself to tissues to blow and wipe his nose repeatedly.
“There’s a small amount, yes, but I’ve taken you off active duty with S.H.I.E.L.D. and unless you’re planning on driving a car just now, which I wouldn’t recommend with you sneezing like this, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Clint turned his head toward the pillow and sniffled a few more times, not meeting Coulson’s eyes.
So, of course, Coulson felt as though he had missed something important here he should have known. “Clint?”
“My dad was an alcoholic. You know my file backwards and forwards. Sniff! Sniff! I thought you knew that.”
Damn it. He had known. “You don’t—”
“I don’t. Sniff! Sniff!”
“I’ve seen you drink on operations.”
Clint gave him a weak smile. “Looks like my act was too sniff convincing. Hehhh… hah HUHShuhhh!”
“Bless you.” Coulson poured the bright green liquid back into the bottle and set the whole thing aside, out of sight where it wouldn’t bother Clint. “I’ll go get you some other brand.”
“No.” With the quickest reflexes Coulson had ever seen, Clint reached out and put a hand on Coulson’s shoulder. “No, you just got home. Stay.” He sniffed hard. “I can make-do with sniff with whatever else you got for me. Hehhh… hehhh-Uhschhhhhh!”
Coulson patted the back of Clint’s hand. “As long as you’re sure.”
Clint nodded, though he didn’t seem to have convinced himself, let alone Coulson. So Coulson got up and brought the bags over. He handed things to Clint, one item at a time, until Clint was buried under everything and trying to hold back his laughter. He looked out from between two boxes of tissues. “I’m sure. But maybe not everything all at once?” Coulson helped to un-bury him.
“Did you get anything for lunch?”
“You’re hungry!” Coulson stood up. “That’s a great sign. Classic chicken soup coming right up.” Coulson donned a blue and off-white striped apron he kept on a hook in the kitchen by the pantry. He tied it on with a bow in the back then got out the can of Campbell’s chicken noodle. He poured it into a pot, filled the can with water, and poured that into the pot as well. As it simmered on the stove, he got out a tray, big bowl, and soup spoon. He found a sleeve of Saltine crackers and added that to the tray. “Soup’s on.”
“Ihhh.. Huhh… huhhUhtchhhh!”
“Blow your nose!” Coulson called back toward the living room.
Clint obeyed the order. And he sounded miserable doing it, poor guy.
There was no hurrying the watched pot on the stove, so Coulson stood there, forearms resting on the counter, head bowed. The warmth of the stove was a comfort, as was the promise of food and some normalcy on a day that was anything but normal. He wasn’t even that hungry. But the smell of the soup cooking made his mouth water. There would be enough in the pot for them both to have some. Coulson got out a second spoon and a mug for himself. He tidied up around the kitchen while waiting. And he took the useless bottle of NyQuil to the bathroom medicine cabinet, returning with the mini trash can, which he plopped on the floor right next to the couch. Better late than never, even in a time loop.
When the soup was finally ready, Coulson poured it into the cup and the bowl and carried the tray over to Clint. “Sit up,” he told Clint, who was buried under blankets again.
“Don’t want to. Cold. Shivery.” Clint slipped down further beneath the blankets with a pathetic sniffle.
Coulson countered with, “Do it anyway. Hot. Soup.”
Peaking out from under the blankets, Clint still looked reluctant. “I don’t want soup. Can we order a pizza?”
“You’re sick, so you’re getting soup. I slaved over a hot stove for something like fifteen minutes to make this, so you’re going to eat it. Unless you’re actually a vegetarian and I never noticed because of your superb acting skills?”
Reluctantly, Clint took the chicken soup. He crumbled up some crackers into it before taking his first taste. And once he did, he went back for a second spoonful and a third directly afterward.
“I take it that means you like it?” Coulson asked, settling into the armchair with his steaming mug of soup and a spoon.
“Don’t get your pretty… hah… heh-Huhshhhhh! Don’t get your pretty apron in a bunch. It’s good. It’s no pizza, but it’s good.” He had another spoonful. “Pizza for dinner?”
“We’ll see.”
“Heh… good… hahhh… huh-HShhhhhh! Huhhhh… huhh-KTSSchhhh! Oh… crap. I can’t… huhhh…” Clint made a grab for the tissues and buried his nose in a whole bunch of them. “Hehhhh huh-Uhtchhh! Huhshhhhh! Huh-huh… huhh-Uhshhhh! Huh… huhhh…” he wavered, lifting his head up from the tissues for a second. His tongue poked at his bottom lip. His nostrils quivered. Then he fell forward, nose meeting the handful of tissues again. “Huhh… huf… huhhhh-Kehshhhhh!” Coulson remained there, nose in the tissues, taking sniffly, deep breaths, until he was apparently sure he wasn’t going to sneeze again. He gave his nose a hard wipe then lifted his head. He looked relieved for about a second before snapping forward. ”Scuse… huh-huh-UHShhhhhh!”
“Bless you!” Coulson said, whistling. “I’ve seen you sneeze a lot, but that was damn impressive.”
Clint looked down at his lunch and made a face. He helped himself to another couple tissues and blew his nose. Then he looked up at Coulson, sniffling. “You’re sure you don’t sniff, sniff, have any cold medicine lying about in a suitcase somewhere or something?”
“I’m absolutely sure.”
“Want to go check?”
Coulson gritted his teeth and tried to stay positive, though Clint was starting to not make that so easy. “Want to try some nasal spray?”
Clint shrugged in a noncommittal way. “Guess so.” He reached over to the coffee table for it and the tray on his lap tilted just a little too much. Coulson made a dive for it but wasn’t fast enough to keep it from spilling. “Damn it!” The whole thing wasn’t lost, but it was enough to soak a blanket, a bit of the couch, and the carpet.
Coulson set his mug down on a coaster on the coffee table and then went for his dish towel. “Didn’t burn yourself, did you?”
Clint shrugged again. Squatting down next to the couch, Coulson took a look at Clint’s hands. He looked all right, though the backs of two fingers were a little red. “I’ll get some cream for those.” He cleaned up the mess and went back to his bathroom. His medicine cabinet was just as bare as his pantry and fridge, but he did have an emergency first aid kit. He had to wait for Clint to finish blowing his nose again before he could apply the cream to the slightly burned area. “I take it you don’t want any more soup?”
Clint sniffled and shook his head. “I’m not too hungry anyway.”
This statement earned Clint an eye roll, though Coulson bent his head so Clint couldn’t see it. With the spill cleaned up and the burn treated, Coulson plucked the nasal spray off the table and put it in Clint’s hands. “There you go.”
Clint tore open the box, broke off the plastic safety seal, and shoved the tip up his right nostril. But he pulled it out a second later, face screwing up. “Huhhh… huhhUshhhh! HuhSchhhhh!” He blew his nose, then he tried again, inserting the end. This time, he managed to push the end down once to release a squirt into his nose. He tried to inhale at the same time, but his nose was far too stuffed up with cold. He coughed and pulled the bottle of nasal spray out immediately. Between the coughs there were sniffles and between sniffles there were “h’TSHHHH!” short, urgent sneezes. He thrust the nasal spray back at Coulson. “Dod’t wadt this either,” Clint told him.
“How about cough drops?”
Clint shook his head. “Throat doesn’t hurt right now. But I… I… huhhh…. Huhhh huh-Ihkschhhh!”
Of course it didn’t. He’d asked for cough drops and now he said he didn’t need them. Glorious. And Coulson knew the one thing he needed, Coulson hadn’t managed to get. It was no wonder Clint was miserable, but he wasn’t making it easy for Coulson to help him. “All right. But you’re still feeling sneezy?”
This time, Clint nodded. And sniffed hard three times. And nodded again.
Without cold medicine, Coulson didn’t have too many options to offer. “Would you like to take a shower?” Clint narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Hot steam will help clear you up a little.”
Clint was either easy to persuade or desperate, because he headed to the bathroom, stripping off items of clothing as he walked there. Coulson watched him go, shaking his head. He stripped off the top, soiled blanket. He was out of blankets, but he could give Clint the comforter off his own bed.
“Coulson?” Clint called from the bathroom. “How does your shower work?”
Coulson’s eyes narrowed as he walked back to the bathroom. “Turn on the water, then switch it to shower mode in the up position.” Pretty much like every other shower on the planet.
“Which way is the hot water?”
In addition to the muffled voice, Coulson could hear sniffling through the bathroom door. “Turn it to the left, Clint.” He heard the water streaming from the faucet. Then he heard the spray of water coming down as a shower. He stood outside the door, arms crossed over his chest, waiting and listening, just wanting to be sure Clint was doing all right. One strong sneeze and he could slip and fall and kill himself. Coulson had been through a handful of deaths now, none of them great. But slipping in the shower because of a sneeze had to be close to the bottom of the list of preferable deaths.
Coulson headed to his bedroom for the comforter and ended up sitting down on the end of the bed. He listened to the faint sound of Clint sneezing and the water running and no shriek and thump as the man fell. Certain Clint had made it through that sneeze safely, Coulson fell back on the bed. The mission at the docks. The trip to the museum. The investigation into the 0-8-4. Coulson had been through a lot lately, but today was more exhausting than everything so far.
He took out his trusty cell phone and made a call to Agent Hill. “I successfully took possession of the 0-8-4,” he told her.
“Good work, Sir. We received the research and tests from the museum and sent it to your team, as requested.”
“I have another request.” This was met by such an uncomfortable pause Coulson worried the call might have dropped.
“Go ahead, Agent Coulson.”
“Bulgaria. I need you to connect me to our team in Bulgaria.”
“I can’t just—”
He cut her off, “It’s important. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have a reason. I have to contact Agent Romanov on an urgent matter.”
“She’s undercover.”
“Without a phone?”
Agent Hill sighed. “Fine. I’ll do my best to get you through, but if it interferes with the operation, it’s on your head. Agent Fury won’t be happy.”
“Forget Agent Fury. Agent Romanov will kill me.” He heard Clint sneeze again from inside the bathroom. “But I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t desperate.”
He hung up and stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Thanks to these time loops, Coulson was starting to get used to waking up to this sight every day instead of his room on the bus. Thinking of his team, he gave Ward a call. “Did Fitz-Simmons get the museum research about the 0-8-4 from S.H.I.E.L.D.?”
“They’re analyzing it right now, but they say it would be easier if they had the object in front of them.”
Coulson listened to the shower still running and the sneezes still coming from inside the bathroom. And he thought about the way his desperation to figure this out had made him order Clint to his death in the previous loop. It still didn’t sit well with him. It wasn’t as though taking care of the man today would help him atone, especially as Clint didn’t realize anything had happened. But it did ease his conscience just a little. Not to mention that it felt good to be doing something, to make some difference. And it felt good to be with Clint as well, in a situation where they weren’t facing life or death or he wasn’t barking orders through the comms. “I know it would, but I can’t get it to you just now.”
“Something else has come up? Do you need assistance, Sir?” He sounded eager, and Coulson knew it must be killing him to be waiting around while the scientists did their thing. Ward would rather be in there doing what he did best: kicking butt.
But he couldn’t kick Clint’s cold’s butt, so Coulson was forced to decline the offer. “Thanks, but no. I’ll let you know if I need you—” His phone buzzed. It had to be Agent Romanov. “Hang on a second, would you, Agent Ward? I have another call coming through.”
Ward waited as Coulson answered. “Yes, hello?”
Natasha spoke softly but sharply, “This had better be important, Agent Coulson. I’m deep undercover and taking a risk just using this phone. What are you calling about?”
All of a sudden, Coulson wasn’t sure how to answer. He knew how it would sound if he said ‘Clint’s gone all sneezy on me and I need you advice’ or ‘How fast can you be on a plane back to the states with some tissues?’ But he also knew that Clint’s constant demands were beginning to drive him crazy. He’d gone to all this trouble to talk with Natasha, and Ward was still on hold on the other line, so he had to say something. “It’s about Clint.”
She went so quiet Coulson had to lower his phone and look to make sure the line hadn’t gone dead. “When?” she finally said, softly. And then, with a little more feeling, “Who?”
“No!” Coulson exclaimed at once. “No, he’s fine! Well, he’s not fine of course. That’s why I’m calling. But he’s not dead.” At least, not unless he spilled any more soup on Coulson’s couch. Or not unless he touched the 0-8-4, but Coulson was going to do his damnedest to make sure that never happened again. “He, ah, he’s come down with a cold—” Coulson stopped short because, at that, Natasha let out a loud, unrestrained laugh.
He tried to think back, but he couldn’t remember ever hearing her laugh before when she wasn’t undercover on a mission, laughing on purpose. Natasha Romanov, Black Widow and member of the Avengers, simply did not laugh.
“Oh, Agent Coulson, you’ve suddenly made me happy to be in Bulgaria.”
He hadn’t been expecting that. “I thought you usually took care of him.”
“Only because once we were undercover as a married couple when he caught a cold. He was so demanding that it was all I could do to keep from killing him and blowing both our covers. But I guess he considered it an act of friendship that I cared that much about him and now whenever he feels so much as a sniffle coming on, he shows up on my doorstep, expecting me to look after him. He’s okay on his own the first couple days, but after that he gets lonely and starts feeling worse, probably because he sucks at taking medicine on time without someone there to shove it down his throat.” She paused and, when she resumed, her tone was much more sympathetic. “Oh, Agent Coulson. I’m so sorry. Clint with a cold is not a good combination. Where is he now?”
“My bathroom. I made him take a shower. He couldn’t stop sneezing.”
“That happens when he doesn’t take his medicine. Whatever you do, don’t get him NyQuil or DayQuil. He won’t take those.” Clint closed his eyes, wishing he had thought to call her before. She knew Clint in ways Coulson couldn’t even imagine. “And keep him warm. I still don’t know why he insists on going around sleeveless all the time, but when he has a cold, he gets the chills, whether he’ll admit it or not.”
“The bigger problem is that he’s admitting too much. And making demands. I’m thinking of bringing in an FBI negotiator at this point.”
“It won’t help, I guarantee it,” she said, laughing again. It was the strangest, most unnatural sound Coulson had heard all day and it put him on edge. If this were bad enough to make Natasha Romanov laugh, Coulson wanted no part of it, that was for sure. Except that… he felt for the guy. And, yes, Clint was getting annoying and demanding, but Coulson still wanted to be with him and look after him. He’d even chosen Clint over his team this time around. His team. Ward was still on the other line.
“I called to find out how I should handle Clint,” Coulson said, quickly. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
She was quiet again, maybe thinking or maybe hesitating to answer.
“Natasha, please. This shower of his isn’t going to last much longer.”
Finally, she replied, “He likes being touched.”
Once again, Coulson had not been expecting that. “I’m sorry? Our connection might be bad. Could you repeat that?”
“Touched. He likes being touched. He likes being looked after, which you know already because, obviously, he came to you. He likes knowing someone is there and likes feeling it. Usually he’s happy if I just pretend to feel his forehead every half an hour, but sometimes he needs more.”
“More?”
“How are you at hugging, Agent Coulson?”
“I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Just let him know you’re there for him and not going anywhere, and the clinginess and neediness will subside. He’s only demanding when he’s worried about being left alone feeling miserable. He grew up in a circus with everyone around all the time. Sometimes he needs his quiet time, but when he’s sick, he needs anything he can get from people he trusts.”
“Got it. You’ve been a big help. Thank you. I hope I didn’t pull you out of anything important.”
“Nah, just trying to seduce a diplomat and steal a blood sample. Same old, same old.”
“Good work, Agent. Carry on.”
He smirked as she hung up. He wasn’t so sure about hugs, but this explained a lot about why exactly Clint showed up when and how he did this morning. And to show up and then be made to stay behind while Coulson headed off to the museum must have been a miserable, lonely time for Clint. Though it sounded like the man might be better off just going to the tower and letting the other Avengers look after him. He had a feeling Pepper Potts wouldn’t make the mistake of bringing back NyQuil.
His phone buzzed at him and a small jolt of panic rushed through him as he remembered Ward had been waiting during that entire conversation. Coulson quickly resumed the call. “Hello?”
“Sir,” Ward said at once, “Fitz-Simmons figured something out. They’re right here. I’ll put you on speaker.”
“Yes,” Simmons said, sounding far away but otherwise clear. She spoke with a definitive air, confident and helpful. “Sir, the object gives out energy, enough energy that we can track it from here.”
“But I know where it is already. It’s here, in my apartment.”
“Aye,” Fitz inserted himself into the conversation with what sounded like haste. “But it’s not the only thing giving off that energy signature.”
Coulson went cold, feeling chills even though he didn’t have a fever or even a head cold like Clint’s. “What?”
“There’s something else with an almost identical reading showing up in our scans… and it’s not very far from your present location. We only have a general location, though. We’re working on honing in on it exactly.”
Coulson heard the water in the bathroom turn off, and he heard a loud “huhh-CHISHHHHhhh!” sneeze now that the water wasn’t drowning out the sound of that.
“Call me immediately if you do.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Coulson hung up and went toward the bathroom, sliding his phone into his pocket as he went. “Clint?” he called. “I’ve got some warm clothes for you to change into if you want something clean.
The door to the bathroom opened and steam poured out around Clint, who stood there with only a towel wrapped around his waist and the side of his hand pressed under his nose Coulson got him a clean change of clothing, which was also the warmest and most comfortable thing he owned, guessing that Clint was not eager to try to fit himself into one of Coulson’s suits. Shivering, Clint put on the thick winter socks, gray sweat pants, white undershirt, and black hooded sweatshirt with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on the upper right hand side. Since his time at the academy, this had been Coulson’s workout outfit on days when it was cold out. He liked it big and baggy around him, so there was more than enough room for Clint, who was broader in places like the shoulders and arms. It didn’t take Clint more than ten seconds to sneeze into the sweatshirt’s sleeve, though, which made Coulson cringe, though he tried not to let Clint see his expression.
“Huhhhh… HIHSchhhhh!” right into the sleeve, though at least he covered his nose.
Sighing, Coulson moved behind him, put two hands on his shoulders. “All right. You’re going back to the couch and your tissues.”
“Yeah… I ab.” He let Coulson urge him out of the bedroom and direct him back down the hallway to the couch where he curled up under the blankets instantly. Coulson forced tissues on him, then, hesitantly, sat down on the edge of the couhc and felt his forehead for a fever he knew Clint didn’t have.
A smile came to Clint’s face, albeit a brief one. “Ihhh… huhhh-Huhschhhh! Hershhhhhh!” He snuffled into his tissues.
“Did the shower help at all?”
“Little bit. I can breathe a little freer now. Sniff! Sniff! It was a good suggestion… even if I still feel sn… snee… sneezy huh huh-HEHSchhhhh! Hehschhhh! Huhchhhh!”
“Bless—” Coulson was cut off by the phone buzzing in his pocket. Clint eyed the phone and retreated further under the blankets. Coulson put a hand on Clint’s arm through the blankets before answering the phone. “Coulson here.”
It was Fitz. “Sir, we’ve been able to narrow down the energy signature. There’s one coming from your apartment, and there is another one about six blocks away.”
Coulson looked down at Clint, snuffling and hiding under the blankets, and he glanced over at the 0-8-4 in its case. He remembered what Natasha had said about Clint not wanting to be alone. But if this day was ever to end, he had to figure out what the object was, and this might be his only chance. He took a deep breath and straightened his tie. “Give me the coordinates, Fitz.” He thanked her and hung up.
One of Clint’s eyes poked out from under the blankets. “You’re going?”
Coulson nodded. “I have to. My team’s got a lead on this 0-8-4.”
“Can’t it huh… huh Uhshhhhh! Sniff! Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“It really can’t.” He rubbed his hand up and down Clint’s arm through the blankets. “You can come with me if you want, but I figured you weren’t feeling up to it.”
Sniffling, Clint sat up. “I’ve sniff, sniff got your back.”
Coulson hadn’t counted on Clint coming along, especially once he remembered how much Clint had sneezed on their way to the docks that first day. “Then let’s go.”
There was something essentially wrong with Clint wearing his quiver over Coulson’s sweatshirt. He’d considered changing, but he had shivered so much they both decided that wasn’t a good idea. So there was Hawkeye, equipped with a bow and arrows, wearing Agent Coulson’s worn sweats and pulling tissues out of the front pocket of the hoodie. Coulson did his best to not laugh and also not thinking about dying as he led them out into the cold city streets.
He tried to hail a cab, but not a single one came near them; Coulson had no doubt the large weapon was probably a key factor in that. So they headed down to the subway. They had to walk a block out of their way to catch it, but Clint knew all about catching things by now, and soon they were sitting on a subway car, speeding toward their destination. Clint sat hunched over with his forearms on his knees, though every so often he raised a hand and took a swipe or two at his nose. Coulson stood in front of him, holding onto a pole I the subway car, essentially blocking view of Clint from as many people as he could. “H’NGttt!” Clint sneezed into a hand tightly cupped to his face, thumb and forefinger pinching his nose. Coulson knew it wasn’t appropriate to bless him in public like this.
“Your wallet and jewelry!” shouted the man in a black ski mask who had just slid the door to the car open and now stood there, brandishing a gun.
Everything happened all at once. The man moved toward an older woman with her grocery shopping in a cart, waving his hand impatiently toward her purse until she handed it over. Clint pulled an arrow out of the quiver and nocked it back in the bow. Coulson started for the man in order to take him out. But whether the mugger meant it to or not, the gun went off.
Coulson felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by a sentinel. There was a searing, blinding heat that traveled all over his body. Clint had his arm around Coulson at once, guiding him down onto the dirty floor of the subway train. “Coulson,” he choked, before he slumped forward. Coulson closed his eyes, wishing he had just followed Natasha’s advice and kept Clint tucked in under the blankets back at the apartment.
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Date: 2015-03-17 07:29 am (UTC)Besides that, Clint being even more stubborn and whiny it seems. I thought it was interesting why you made Clint refuse the medicine with alcohol in it. Baby. And then he decides he doesn't want soup but he wants pizza. If only Lucky was around he would want pizza, too. (I'm working on a fic with Lucky in it so I've been thinking about him lately.)
What a mundane way for poor Coulson to die this time. What happened to Clint after he had to watch Coulson die? And what happened to the object afterwards?
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Date: 2015-03-18 10:48 pm (UTC)I love the idea of Natasha knowing Clint so well and Coulson calling her for help. My favorite bit of that was writing her reaction when she thinks it's a call to tell her that Clint is dead.
Non-drinking!Clint is my favorite headcanon, so I had to throw that wrinkle in there and give him a non-medicated day of suffering/sneeziness. And of course he wants pizza! heehee
I LOVE Lucky! Can't wait to see the pizzadog in a fic. I wish I could have included him in this one, but the timing didn't work out that way.
As these chapters are from Coulson's POV, there's no way to know what happens after Coulson dies. You are welcome to imagine whatever you like. Maybe the device reacts/goes off and the whole world explodes and resets? Maybe the day plays out longer? It's up to you!