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Marvel NaNoFic: Assess & Acquire- Chapter 7
In which things start to... heat up?
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.
Chapter 7
The sound of the buzzer of the front door intercom was nothing like his phone’s buzzing, but Coulson wished that for just one loop, both buzzing systems would suffer a horrible, painful death—certainly something worse than exploding or getting shot. He felt so drained, he almost considered not getting up and out of bed to let Clint in. He could just lie there, pretending to sleep straight through every buzzer he came across in life from now on. But he knew Clint wasn’t feeling well, and he knew how this played out if he refused to go to the museum. The city—and perhaps the country or even the world, he had no way of knowing for certain—deserved better than an exhausted and annoyed Agent Phil Coulson. He was a better protector than that, not to mention he was sympathetic to Clint’s situation.
So up he got, again, and headed for the door in his bathrobe and slippers, because even exhaustion from a seemingly never-ending time loop was not enough to give up on the people he cared about. He pressed the button on the intercom. “Good morning, Clint.”
There was silence, then there was confusion. “How did you know it’s me? Sniff!”
“I knew it was you because it’s always you. I’m stuck in a time loop,” Coulson replied, pressing the button to unlock the building’s main door. “Come on up to the penthouse and don’t mind the cats in the elevator.” Coulson opened his apartment door, waiting, ready, with the tissues in hand. The elevator doors opened and Clint looked over at Coulson before giving Coulson’s neighbor a smile and a polite nod.
As he walked toward Coulson, Coulson noticed his pink nostrils twitch with a sudden breath; of course he knew Clint was going to sneeze, but even if he didn’t know, he’d seen the man sneeze so many times now, he was beginning to noticed the subtle signs that the sneezes were about to strike. Maybe some of Hawkeye’s keen observational skills were rubbing off on him.
Coulson raised the tissues, holding them in front of him just as Clint stumbled forward. “Hahh-Ktshhhhh!” Clint only had time for a quick breath in to facilitate the second, sudden sneeze. “Huh huh-KIHtchhh!” Clint snuffled into the tissues, sliding his hands up over Coulson’s to take charge of the tissues. He gave a small cough from congestion and cleared his throat. “You’re in a time loop?”
Coulson nodded. “Bless you. Again. Come inside. We’ll talk. You’ll sneeze. It’ll be great.”
Laughing a little, Clint followed behind. Coulson’s first thought was to get dressed. He didn’t mind Clint seeing him in his navy boxers and gray sleeveless, tank undershirt. But he couldn’t deny he was a little chilly. He assumed that Clint would once again crash on the couch while Coulson got dressed. But Coulson had changed the formula enough that Clint apparently felt comfortable enough to follow Coulson right to the bedroom. Clint sat down on the end of the bed, the chevron tissue box on his lap. Coulson went for his usual outfit, strategically angling the closet door to block him when he bent to pull on his pants.
“I think you promised an explanation,” Clint said, snuffling into a fresh tissue.
“There’s an 0-8-4 device at the museum a few blocks away. First time around, some energy from it went into my chest. When that day ended, I woke up this morning again as if the day before had never happened. But every morning I wake up to you needing someone to look after you because you’re not feeling well. Every day Agent Maria Hill calls me about retrieving the 0-8-4. And every day I die.”
“Heh… hehh-Ketchhhhh!” Clint coughed again in surprise. “Wait, what?”
“I die. Every day so far. And I wake right back up here in bed.” Coulson stepped out from the closet, straightening his usual tie and then gesturing toward the bed. He’d only had his back turned a couple minutes, expecting to see the bed just as he’d left it that morning when he had jumped out of it. But he was surprised to find Clint had pulled the comforter to the bottom of the bed, sitting on the end of it but folding it up over his shoulders, hugging it around himself for warmth. A handful of balled-up tissues surrounded Clint’s tennis shoe-clad feet on the rug. “Well, make yourself at home,” he said, eyebrows raised.
Clint blushed again, and Coulson realized he’d never noticed the man blushing so easily before. Sometimes they teased each other over the comm while on operations—typically it was Clint teasing Coulson and Coulson reminding Clint to be professional. But if their teasing resulted in Clint blushing, that wasn’t something Coulson could ever tell through the earbuds. You could know someone for years, trusting each other with your lives, but sometimes it still took getting stuck in a time loop to learn something new.
“I’b sorry,” Clint said, taking a deep breath and blowing his nose heartily into a tissue. He started to throw off the comforter, but Coulson held a hand out, palm up, gesturing for him to stop and be still.
A second later, Coulson’s phone buzzed. He answered it on speaker phone, though with his finger to his lips to indicate Clint should just listen. “Good morning, Agent Hill.”
Her voice sounded further away and with more of an echo this time. “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?”
“Just a few blocks away.”
“Huh!” Clint was going to sneeze. Despite the fact that he was scrubbing furiously at his nose with the back of his hand, the sneeze was going to come. And there wasn’t time to take the phone off speaker. “Huhhh-Ihschhhhh!” Clint sniffled and shivered, pulling the comforter tighter around himself while he pulled a fresh tissue from the box.
“Um, bless you?” Agent Hill sounded more amused than confused.
“I’ve got Agent Barton with me here. But he’s not feeling too well. I’d like to officially request that you remove him from the active roster of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, with the exception of this retrieval operation, of course.”
“Sure. But it’s not going to take two of you to retrieve the object,” she said.
“You never know. I’d like to bring him along for backup, just in case.”
“Fine, if you think that’s necessary. Report in when you have the object in hand.”
Coulson promised he would and then retrieved the S.H.I.E.L.D. case he knew would be large enough for this particular object. It was fortunate he kept a few of these at his apartment, just to be prepared. Taking the time to get the materials he needed for the easy tasks in this day would start getting old pretty quickly. Though, speaking of which, Clint was going to need some cold medicine and tissues pretty soon. He wondered if he should be varying his routine a little to account for the shopping trip before going to the museum, but he remembered the way the 0-8-4’s energy had found him later that morning in the grocery store because he hadn’t gone to get it first. Besides, he didn’t like the idea of the key to all of this being anywhere but in his hands or with his team. One thing was certain: he was not going to let Clint touch the object this time. But it had been all right being in the same apartment with him as long as it stayed in its case, if Coulson remembered correctly regarding what had happened back on the first day. All the days were going to start blurring together in his mind pretty soon if he didn’t pay more attention to things.
But there was so much he needed to remember. There was the information Fitz-Simmons had given him about the object and their findings. There were the poker hands he’d memorized so he could better prove the time loop to his team. And there were the two sneezes Coulson needed to catch in tissues first thing in the morning so he didn’t get sprayed with Clint’s germs. Not to mention a whole host of details: when Agent Hill would call, the name of the chief researcher at the museum, the fact that Clint didn’t like pulp him his orange juice, and so much more. There were some things he couldn’t avoid remembering, but the rest he would have to work on.
Unless this was his final loop. Unless this tie he figured it all out, solved the problem, and kept from dying. Then he could just spend a leisurely day resting and taking good care of a sick and needy and Clint Barton.
“hihhhh... hihh-ihhhh…” A sick and needy and sneezy Clint Barton. Clint swayed on the end of the bed, tip of his tongue resting on his bottom lip, nostrils flaring wildly with each breath. “Huhhh-Kitchhhhh!” He sniffed hard and then looked up at Coulson. “When do we leave?”
“Now. But you don’t have to come, Agent. I can handle this on my own, and I know you really don’t feel well. If you need to stay here and sleep this off, go ahead. I’ll pick up some medicine for you on the way home; I know you ran out.”
Clint rubbed at his nose with a tissue. “I want to have your back. Sniff! Sniff-sniff! Don’t I usually go with you?”
“Not usually. But I welcome the help, if you really do feel up to it. Last time you went, you ended up going through quite a lot of tissues.”
Clint peered into the box. “Seems to be a good number left. I’ll risk it.” He abandoned the comforter, shivering at the cool bedroom air. “Besides, tagging along with you on this retrieval assignment is better than being home, miserable and alone.” He tucked the tissue box under his arm, crunching it a little. “Let’s heh… l-let’s… heyhhhh… heh-lehhh… let’s g-g-go heh-KEHTChhhh! Hehhh… heh… h’Ktchhh!”
If this had been his first time through this day, he knew without a doubt he would not let Clint come along after that. The poor guy looked sick and sounded twice as bad. But he knew Clint could handle himself at the museum, because he’d already seen it happen. Of course, he’d also seen Clint make the museum explode, but Coulson took full responsibility for that particular death. This time around, he wasn’t going to let Clint touch the object. This time, they were going to bring it back here where it was safe and where they could get a good look at it.
They headed to the museum, taking the same route Coulson had always used: two blocks up and two to the right. Clint had had a bit of a sneezing fit halfway across the street the last time, but today he made it further than that before he reached out to Coulson. “W-wait.” His hand waved at Coulson’s suit jacket, and Coulson barely felt the touch.
But when he turned and saw the look in Clint’s eyes, he knew something was very wrong. Clint rocked dizzily, his eyes rolling back. Coulson grabbed hold of him, gripping his arm tightly and keeping him upright. “Are you dizzy, Agent Barton?” Clint nodded, closing his eyes. He stepped closer and pressed himself to Coulson’s chest. One of Coulson’s arms wrapped around, holding Clint there. “Take all the time you need.”
Clint nuzzled his face into Coulson’s shoulder and then sneezed. “huhhGIHShhhhhh!”
Coulson winced. He’d been doing such a good job lately of anticipating Clint’s sneezes and not getting sneezed on. So much for that. He reached up and rubbed Clint’s back. The vest was thick; Clint probably couldn’t even feel it. So he slid his hand up and rubbed the back of Clint’s head, stroking comfortingly. “Bless you.”
Clint lifted his head, sniffling, and looked at Coulson. “Sorry. Sniff!”
“It’s all right. I know a good dry cleaner.”
He tried to look amused, but his nostrils kept twitching and he kept rubbing at them, which made them look even redder, if possible. “I take it this is the first time this has happened?”
Coulson nodded. “Maybe we were walking too quickly. I should not have pushed you. I probably shouldn’t have brought you. If you’d prefer to go back to my place… I could even call you a cab if you don’t feel up to walking on your own.”
Shaking his head, “No, I’m fine now. I… I-huhhh! Huh-KShhhh!” He scrubbed at his nose with one of the many tissues he’d brought along. “Well, not fine, but I will be okay in the museum. Sniff! Sniff! I’ve got your back, Agent Coulson.”
“I know you do,” Coulson reassured him. Coulson remembered the feeling of that bullet hitting his chest, though, and he knew he couldn’t completely rely on Clint in this state. He needed to look after Clint and get him feeling better so that Clint really could have his back—maybe not down by the docks, but on their next mission, definitely. “Let’s go on in.”
When they got inside, Coulson scanned the room for her as they slowly made their way through the thick crowd, but the little girl was nowhere in sight. As they made their way to the research lab, Coulson felt Clint’s hand on his shoulder again, staying close, which made him smile. Some things changed, some things surprised him, but he was glad this detail was back again, even if it meant listening to Clint sniffle the whole time.
“I should tell you,” Coulson said, as they made their way through the security checkpoint and down the hall for special, authorized persons only. “You can’t get too near the object.”
“I can’t?”
“That’s right.”
“What will happen if I do?”
Coulson didn’t see the harm in telling him. “The last time around, when you touched it, the entire museum exploded and we all died.”
Clint was quiet. For a moment, Coulson wondered if he were perhaps on the verge of sneezing again. Instead, there came a soft, “Really?”
Coulson stopped, and Clint ran into his back. Coulson turned, trying for some sort of mix of sympathy and commanding to hide the guilt he still felt about the incident. “You did it because I told you to, and you followed orders because you trusted me. It was reacting strangely to you, and I had to know definitively what that meant. And then I woke up in bed, hearing you buzzing to get into my apartment. No harm done, Agent.”
“I…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I won’t go near the object again,” he promised, shoving his hands into pockets.
“Good man,” Coulson nodded approvingly. But, as they turned into the lab, he started questioning again the idea of bringing Clint along this time. Next time he’d insist Clint stay back at the apartment… and maybe sleep in bed instead of the couch. Clint had looked so comfortable and warm wrapped up in Coulson’s comforter and so miserable now, gazing at the alien object with its teal and purple threads of energy waving around.
“I’ve seen this before.” There was something like reverence in his voice. “It was during the Battle of New York, Sir.”
“I know,” Coulson said, wishing he’d done a little more ahead of time to prepare Clint—not that the walk had been very long to facilitate such an in-depth discussion. “It was discovered in the rubble of a building after the battle. Try to think—what did you see it doing? Do you think it could take down a building?”
Clint met his eyes, and Coulson knew he was thinking about how it had supposedly taken out the museum in a previous loop. Coulson had seen it destroy a museum, a supermarket, a jet, and the entire town. Of course it was a weapon; that much was obvious now. But what sort of a weapon reacted differently to chosen people? What kind even chose specific people like this? And what sort of a weapon had a time loop component to it?
This sort. Obviously, this sort.
“Sorry, are you from S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Dr. Daniels came over to introduce himself again.
Coulson stuck his hand out. “Yes. I’m Agent Coulson, and this is Agent Barton.” Coulson saw Clint’s nose twitch again and tried to draw attention away from Clint “We’re here to retrieve the object.”
Dr. Daniels’ eyes widened slightly. “I’m not sure touching it is such a good idea. This morning it started doing, well, this. The energy is off the charts. And we’ve never seen anything like it. All our instruments are stumped.”
Clint pinched his nose desperately, trying to hold his breath. But his sore nostrils flared anyway and his head bobbed forward. “Hehhh-Nkkxxx! Uhhhh….”
“It will be fine,” Coulson said, striding forward with a certainty that only came from having done this multiple times before. He took hold of the object and watched as the energy strands retracted and disappeared altogether. He placed the 0-8-4 in its case and secured it with the clasp. “Dr. Daniels, could you send all your research on this to my team? I’d like to get their take on it, and you’ve done such extensive studies already. That will be incredibly helpful.”
“Of course,” Dr. Daniels’ gaze had not left the closed case.
“Thank you. Agent Barton? Shall we go?”
Clint was more than ready to go. He followed behind, not sneezing until they were back out in the entrance hall again. And then his restrained “h’ngtxxxx!” echoed slightly in the large space.
“I would like to visit the grocery store,” Coulson told him once they were outside again. “But if you’re not feeling up to the trip, you can go back to my place. I can give you the key.”
“I will be fine,” Clint said, and Coulson saw that he was eying the case as well. “But the object…”
“Safe in its case,” Coulson said, patting the outside of the case somewhat affectionately. He led the way to the grocery store, taking the elevator down from the sidewalk level into it. He couldn’t help but remember what had happened the last time he’d been there with Clint. The way the store had exploded around the two of them. It was surreal to be walking around with the object of his destruction… or at least torture… while shopping for the right brand of tissues for his agent, who was sniffling beside him.
With a firm grip on the case, Coulson led them down aisles while Clint piled everything in their cart. When the small cart was overflowing and they had come dangerously close to cleaning the shelves out, they headed to the checkout. Clint fished out his credit card, but Coulson was already offering his over. “My idea to stop at the store, so it’s my treat.”
“Yeah, but it’s my cold,” Clint replied, sniffling and rubbing his nose.
“Too late.” The woman at the cash register prompted Coulson to swipe his card as she bagged up his items, completely alive by the end of the transaction.
Today was going well, all things considered. Everything had gone as well as it could. When they got back to the apartment, he would contact his team and explain the situation. Then he would get Clint medicated and tucked in before heading to the lab on board the jet with the 0-8-4. If this was the last time he was to go through this day, at least he’d done all right this time around. And if he had to live this day over again, now he had a good model to work from. All he would have to do was the same thing again and again, changing whatever was to come later enough to get some answers. It seemed like a good enough plan.
“Huhhh… huhh… huh-ihhhh! Ihhhhhh-huhshuhhh!” Clint sniffled and rubbed hard at his nose, shivering violently all the while. Clint needed to get back to the apartment. Now.
“Bless you, Agent Barton.” He pressed a hand to Clint’s back and guided him toward the elevator to leave the grocery store.
“Thank you, Sir.”
Clint stood in the corner of the elevator on his way up, sniffling into his sleeve and dragging the back of his hand back and forth under his nose. Coulson watched the end of that nose move back and forth, reflected in the metal walls of the elevator so it looked like there were dozens of other sniffly Clints riding up to the penthouse with him.
Then Clint began coughing. Coulson had seen him cough a little bit before, but nothing like this. It started with just a few coughs, like a tickle in his throat he was trying to fight. But then it kept going, a rumbling, wet, painfully thick cough. It seemed to pull at him, taking over his whole body the way one of his strong sneezes did but lasting longer and not stopping. He gasped for breath when he could. And, because he was talented, he managed to choke out a few words. “Something’s wrong.”
Coulson sensed it too now—not only sensed it, but felt it. The air was thick with something which could have been poison gas as easily as smoke, though he couldn’t work out how either one would be present now. But everything around him was growing warm—warmer than it should have been. And, above the sound of the elevator’s whirring controls, was a roar and screams. Something was very wrong. He hit the emergency stop button and the elevator came to a stop at the eighth floor. The doors started to open and failed. But through the crack, the danger came into view for both men.
The hallway in front of them was engulfed in flames. What hadn’t been visible from the outside was now an unavoidable danger consuming everything in its path. All the S.H.I.E.L.D. security measures Coulson had made sure were part of the building, and it turned out the whole place was just going to go up in a burst of fire. And it was going to take Clint and Coulson with it.
Clint surveyed the elevator and the access hatch in the ceiling. “There isn’t enough time for us both to get out. Huh… huh-IHTchhhh! Sniff! I’m sick. I’ll never make it. You should go, Sir.”
Coulson shook his head and sat down. “Even if we were to get out, there’s nowhere to go. Besides, the day will just reset for me.”
Clint glanced nervously at the hatch then at the fire through the opening between the doors. “How sure about that are you, Sir?” Coulson tugging at the leg of his pants made him crumple to the floor, coughing more from the smoke.
Rubbing a hand up and down Clint’s back as if that would soothe him against the thick smoke now filling the elevator, Coulson replied as reassuringly as he could. “As sure as I’ve been about anything in my life.” If he couldn’t save Clint this time around, the least he could do was keep the man calm. No one wanted to face one’s death in a panicked, disoriented, terrified state. He leaned close to Clint and put an arm around the man. His sea green eyes looked into Clint’s bloodshot ones, and he knew what had to come next. With a soft smile, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Clint’s.
Clint gave a start, initially more surprised than anything else. But he did not pull away, did not disengage, did not break it off. He accepted the kiss and, after a few moments, deepened it. His mouth opened, his tongue lapping cautiously at Coulson’s lips until they parted. Clint sniffled as he tilted his head, lunging forward with a hand on the back of Coulson’s head.
Coulson felt the touch. He felt the kiss. And he felt the burn of heat against his skin. He tried to keep his eyes locked on Clint’s, but the fire broke into the elevator, eating up the last of the oxygen inside and burning with a fiery, concentrated burst of flame that had no escape. Coulson screamed despite himself as pain filled him, washing over his skin, eating him alive. In agony, he did his best to cling to Clint, waiting for the end to come but never doubting that it would.
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.
Chapter 7
The sound of the buzzer of the front door intercom was nothing like his phone’s buzzing, but Coulson wished that for just one loop, both buzzing systems would suffer a horrible, painful death—certainly something worse than exploding or getting shot. He felt so drained, he almost considered not getting up and out of bed to let Clint in. He could just lie there, pretending to sleep straight through every buzzer he came across in life from now on. But he knew Clint wasn’t feeling well, and he knew how this played out if he refused to go to the museum. The city—and perhaps the country or even the world, he had no way of knowing for certain—deserved better than an exhausted and annoyed Agent Phil Coulson. He was a better protector than that, not to mention he was sympathetic to Clint’s situation.
So up he got, again, and headed for the door in his bathrobe and slippers, because even exhaustion from a seemingly never-ending time loop was not enough to give up on the people he cared about. He pressed the button on the intercom. “Good morning, Clint.”
There was silence, then there was confusion. “How did you know it’s me? Sniff!”
“I knew it was you because it’s always you. I’m stuck in a time loop,” Coulson replied, pressing the button to unlock the building’s main door. “Come on up to the penthouse and don’t mind the cats in the elevator.” Coulson opened his apartment door, waiting, ready, with the tissues in hand. The elevator doors opened and Clint looked over at Coulson before giving Coulson’s neighbor a smile and a polite nod.
As he walked toward Coulson, Coulson noticed his pink nostrils twitch with a sudden breath; of course he knew Clint was going to sneeze, but even if he didn’t know, he’d seen the man sneeze so many times now, he was beginning to noticed the subtle signs that the sneezes were about to strike. Maybe some of Hawkeye’s keen observational skills were rubbing off on him.
Coulson raised the tissues, holding them in front of him just as Clint stumbled forward. “Hahh-Ktshhhhh!” Clint only had time for a quick breath in to facilitate the second, sudden sneeze. “Huh huh-KIHtchhh!” Clint snuffled into the tissues, sliding his hands up over Coulson’s to take charge of the tissues. He gave a small cough from congestion and cleared his throat. “You’re in a time loop?”
Coulson nodded. “Bless you. Again. Come inside. We’ll talk. You’ll sneeze. It’ll be great.”
Laughing a little, Clint followed behind. Coulson’s first thought was to get dressed. He didn’t mind Clint seeing him in his navy boxers and gray sleeveless, tank undershirt. But he couldn’t deny he was a little chilly. He assumed that Clint would once again crash on the couch while Coulson got dressed. But Coulson had changed the formula enough that Clint apparently felt comfortable enough to follow Coulson right to the bedroom. Clint sat down on the end of the bed, the chevron tissue box on his lap. Coulson went for his usual outfit, strategically angling the closet door to block him when he bent to pull on his pants.
“I think you promised an explanation,” Clint said, snuffling into a fresh tissue.
“There’s an 0-8-4 device at the museum a few blocks away. First time around, some energy from it went into my chest. When that day ended, I woke up this morning again as if the day before had never happened. But every morning I wake up to you needing someone to look after you because you’re not feeling well. Every day Agent Maria Hill calls me about retrieving the 0-8-4. And every day I die.”
“Heh… hehh-Ketchhhhh!” Clint coughed again in surprise. “Wait, what?”
“I die. Every day so far. And I wake right back up here in bed.” Coulson stepped out from the closet, straightening his usual tie and then gesturing toward the bed. He’d only had his back turned a couple minutes, expecting to see the bed just as he’d left it that morning when he had jumped out of it. But he was surprised to find Clint had pulled the comforter to the bottom of the bed, sitting on the end of it but folding it up over his shoulders, hugging it around himself for warmth. A handful of balled-up tissues surrounded Clint’s tennis shoe-clad feet on the rug. “Well, make yourself at home,” he said, eyebrows raised.
Clint blushed again, and Coulson realized he’d never noticed the man blushing so easily before. Sometimes they teased each other over the comm while on operations—typically it was Clint teasing Coulson and Coulson reminding Clint to be professional. But if their teasing resulted in Clint blushing, that wasn’t something Coulson could ever tell through the earbuds. You could know someone for years, trusting each other with your lives, but sometimes it still took getting stuck in a time loop to learn something new.
“I’b sorry,” Clint said, taking a deep breath and blowing his nose heartily into a tissue. He started to throw off the comforter, but Coulson held a hand out, palm up, gesturing for him to stop and be still.
A second later, Coulson’s phone buzzed. He answered it on speaker phone, though with his finger to his lips to indicate Clint should just listen. “Good morning, Agent Hill.”
Her voice sounded further away and with more of an echo this time. “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?”
“Just a few blocks away.”
“Huh!” Clint was going to sneeze. Despite the fact that he was scrubbing furiously at his nose with the back of his hand, the sneeze was going to come. And there wasn’t time to take the phone off speaker. “Huhhh-Ihschhhhh!” Clint sniffled and shivered, pulling the comforter tighter around himself while he pulled a fresh tissue from the box.
“Um, bless you?” Agent Hill sounded more amused than confused.
“I’ve got Agent Barton with me here. But he’s not feeling too well. I’d like to officially request that you remove him from the active roster of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, with the exception of this retrieval operation, of course.”
“Sure. But it’s not going to take two of you to retrieve the object,” she said.
“You never know. I’d like to bring him along for backup, just in case.”
“Fine, if you think that’s necessary. Report in when you have the object in hand.”
Coulson promised he would and then retrieved the S.H.I.E.L.D. case he knew would be large enough for this particular object. It was fortunate he kept a few of these at his apartment, just to be prepared. Taking the time to get the materials he needed for the easy tasks in this day would start getting old pretty quickly. Though, speaking of which, Clint was going to need some cold medicine and tissues pretty soon. He wondered if he should be varying his routine a little to account for the shopping trip before going to the museum, but he remembered the way the 0-8-4’s energy had found him later that morning in the grocery store because he hadn’t gone to get it first. Besides, he didn’t like the idea of the key to all of this being anywhere but in his hands or with his team. One thing was certain: he was not going to let Clint touch the object this time. But it had been all right being in the same apartment with him as long as it stayed in its case, if Coulson remembered correctly regarding what had happened back on the first day. All the days were going to start blurring together in his mind pretty soon if he didn’t pay more attention to things.
But there was so much he needed to remember. There was the information Fitz-Simmons had given him about the object and their findings. There were the poker hands he’d memorized so he could better prove the time loop to his team. And there were the two sneezes Coulson needed to catch in tissues first thing in the morning so he didn’t get sprayed with Clint’s germs. Not to mention a whole host of details: when Agent Hill would call, the name of the chief researcher at the museum, the fact that Clint didn’t like pulp him his orange juice, and so much more. There were some things he couldn’t avoid remembering, but the rest he would have to work on.
Unless this was his final loop. Unless this tie he figured it all out, solved the problem, and kept from dying. Then he could just spend a leisurely day resting and taking good care of a sick and needy and Clint Barton.
“hihhhh... hihh-ihhhh…” A sick and needy and sneezy Clint Barton. Clint swayed on the end of the bed, tip of his tongue resting on his bottom lip, nostrils flaring wildly with each breath. “Huhhh-Kitchhhhh!” He sniffed hard and then looked up at Coulson. “When do we leave?”
“Now. But you don’t have to come, Agent. I can handle this on my own, and I know you really don’t feel well. If you need to stay here and sleep this off, go ahead. I’ll pick up some medicine for you on the way home; I know you ran out.”
Clint rubbed at his nose with a tissue. “I want to have your back. Sniff! Sniff-sniff! Don’t I usually go with you?”
“Not usually. But I welcome the help, if you really do feel up to it. Last time you went, you ended up going through quite a lot of tissues.”
Clint peered into the box. “Seems to be a good number left. I’ll risk it.” He abandoned the comforter, shivering at the cool bedroom air. “Besides, tagging along with you on this retrieval assignment is better than being home, miserable and alone.” He tucked the tissue box under his arm, crunching it a little. “Let’s heh… l-let’s… heyhhhh… heh-lehhh… let’s g-g-go heh-KEHTChhhh! Hehhh… heh… h’Ktchhh!”
If this had been his first time through this day, he knew without a doubt he would not let Clint come along after that. The poor guy looked sick and sounded twice as bad. But he knew Clint could handle himself at the museum, because he’d already seen it happen. Of course, he’d also seen Clint make the museum explode, but Coulson took full responsibility for that particular death. This time around, he wasn’t going to let Clint touch the object. This time, they were going to bring it back here where it was safe and where they could get a good look at it.
They headed to the museum, taking the same route Coulson had always used: two blocks up and two to the right. Clint had had a bit of a sneezing fit halfway across the street the last time, but today he made it further than that before he reached out to Coulson. “W-wait.” His hand waved at Coulson’s suit jacket, and Coulson barely felt the touch.
But when he turned and saw the look in Clint’s eyes, he knew something was very wrong. Clint rocked dizzily, his eyes rolling back. Coulson grabbed hold of him, gripping his arm tightly and keeping him upright. “Are you dizzy, Agent Barton?” Clint nodded, closing his eyes. He stepped closer and pressed himself to Coulson’s chest. One of Coulson’s arms wrapped around, holding Clint there. “Take all the time you need.”
Clint nuzzled his face into Coulson’s shoulder and then sneezed. “huhhGIHShhhhhh!”
Coulson winced. He’d been doing such a good job lately of anticipating Clint’s sneezes and not getting sneezed on. So much for that. He reached up and rubbed Clint’s back. The vest was thick; Clint probably couldn’t even feel it. So he slid his hand up and rubbed the back of Clint’s head, stroking comfortingly. “Bless you.”
Clint lifted his head, sniffling, and looked at Coulson. “Sorry. Sniff!”
“It’s all right. I know a good dry cleaner.”
He tried to look amused, but his nostrils kept twitching and he kept rubbing at them, which made them look even redder, if possible. “I take it this is the first time this has happened?”
Coulson nodded. “Maybe we were walking too quickly. I should not have pushed you. I probably shouldn’t have brought you. If you’d prefer to go back to my place… I could even call you a cab if you don’t feel up to walking on your own.”
Shaking his head, “No, I’m fine now. I… I-huhhh! Huh-KShhhh!” He scrubbed at his nose with one of the many tissues he’d brought along. “Well, not fine, but I will be okay in the museum. Sniff! Sniff! I’ve got your back, Agent Coulson.”
“I know you do,” Coulson reassured him. Coulson remembered the feeling of that bullet hitting his chest, though, and he knew he couldn’t completely rely on Clint in this state. He needed to look after Clint and get him feeling better so that Clint really could have his back—maybe not down by the docks, but on their next mission, definitely. “Let’s go on in.”
When they got inside, Coulson scanned the room for her as they slowly made their way through the thick crowd, but the little girl was nowhere in sight. As they made their way to the research lab, Coulson felt Clint’s hand on his shoulder again, staying close, which made him smile. Some things changed, some things surprised him, but he was glad this detail was back again, even if it meant listening to Clint sniffle the whole time.
“I should tell you,” Coulson said, as they made their way through the security checkpoint and down the hall for special, authorized persons only. “You can’t get too near the object.”
“I can’t?”
“That’s right.”
“What will happen if I do?”
Coulson didn’t see the harm in telling him. “The last time around, when you touched it, the entire museum exploded and we all died.”
Clint was quiet. For a moment, Coulson wondered if he were perhaps on the verge of sneezing again. Instead, there came a soft, “Really?”
Coulson stopped, and Clint ran into his back. Coulson turned, trying for some sort of mix of sympathy and commanding to hide the guilt he still felt about the incident. “You did it because I told you to, and you followed orders because you trusted me. It was reacting strangely to you, and I had to know definitively what that meant. And then I woke up in bed, hearing you buzzing to get into my apartment. No harm done, Agent.”
“I…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I won’t go near the object again,” he promised, shoving his hands into pockets.
“Good man,” Coulson nodded approvingly. But, as they turned into the lab, he started questioning again the idea of bringing Clint along this time. Next time he’d insist Clint stay back at the apartment… and maybe sleep in bed instead of the couch. Clint had looked so comfortable and warm wrapped up in Coulson’s comforter and so miserable now, gazing at the alien object with its teal and purple threads of energy waving around.
“I’ve seen this before.” There was something like reverence in his voice. “It was during the Battle of New York, Sir.”
“I know,” Coulson said, wishing he’d done a little more ahead of time to prepare Clint—not that the walk had been very long to facilitate such an in-depth discussion. “It was discovered in the rubble of a building after the battle. Try to think—what did you see it doing? Do you think it could take down a building?”
Clint met his eyes, and Coulson knew he was thinking about how it had supposedly taken out the museum in a previous loop. Coulson had seen it destroy a museum, a supermarket, a jet, and the entire town. Of course it was a weapon; that much was obvious now. But what sort of a weapon reacted differently to chosen people? What kind even chose specific people like this? And what sort of a weapon had a time loop component to it?
This sort. Obviously, this sort.
“Sorry, are you from S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Dr. Daniels came over to introduce himself again.
Coulson stuck his hand out. “Yes. I’m Agent Coulson, and this is Agent Barton.” Coulson saw Clint’s nose twitch again and tried to draw attention away from Clint “We’re here to retrieve the object.”
Dr. Daniels’ eyes widened slightly. “I’m not sure touching it is such a good idea. This morning it started doing, well, this. The energy is off the charts. And we’ve never seen anything like it. All our instruments are stumped.”
Clint pinched his nose desperately, trying to hold his breath. But his sore nostrils flared anyway and his head bobbed forward. “Hehhh-Nkkxxx! Uhhhh….”
“It will be fine,” Coulson said, striding forward with a certainty that only came from having done this multiple times before. He took hold of the object and watched as the energy strands retracted and disappeared altogether. He placed the 0-8-4 in its case and secured it with the clasp. “Dr. Daniels, could you send all your research on this to my team? I’d like to get their take on it, and you’ve done such extensive studies already. That will be incredibly helpful.”
“Of course,” Dr. Daniels’ gaze had not left the closed case.
“Thank you. Agent Barton? Shall we go?”
Clint was more than ready to go. He followed behind, not sneezing until they were back out in the entrance hall again. And then his restrained “h’ngtxxxx!” echoed slightly in the large space.
“I would like to visit the grocery store,” Coulson told him once they were outside again. “But if you’re not feeling up to the trip, you can go back to my place. I can give you the key.”
“I will be fine,” Clint said, and Coulson saw that he was eying the case as well. “But the object…”
“Safe in its case,” Coulson said, patting the outside of the case somewhat affectionately. He led the way to the grocery store, taking the elevator down from the sidewalk level into it. He couldn’t help but remember what had happened the last time he’d been there with Clint. The way the store had exploded around the two of them. It was surreal to be walking around with the object of his destruction… or at least torture… while shopping for the right brand of tissues for his agent, who was sniffling beside him.
With a firm grip on the case, Coulson led them down aisles while Clint piled everything in their cart. When the small cart was overflowing and they had come dangerously close to cleaning the shelves out, they headed to the checkout. Clint fished out his credit card, but Coulson was already offering his over. “My idea to stop at the store, so it’s my treat.”
“Yeah, but it’s my cold,” Clint replied, sniffling and rubbing his nose.
“Too late.” The woman at the cash register prompted Coulson to swipe his card as she bagged up his items, completely alive by the end of the transaction.
Today was going well, all things considered. Everything had gone as well as it could. When they got back to the apartment, he would contact his team and explain the situation. Then he would get Clint medicated and tucked in before heading to the lab on board the jet with the 0-8-4. If this was the last time he was to go through this day, at least he’d done all right this time around. And if he had to live this day over again, now he had a good model to work from. All he would have to do was the same thing again and again, changing whatever was to come later enough to get some answers. It seemed like a good enough plan.
“Huhhh… huhh… huh-ihhhh! Ihhhhhh-huhshuhhh!” Clint sniffled and rubbed hard at his nose, shivering violently all the while. Clint needed to get back to the apartment. Now.
“Bless you, Agent Barton.” He pressed a hand to Clint’s back and guided him toward the elevator to leave the grocery store.
“Thank you, Sir.”
Clint stood in the corner of the elevator on his way up, sniffling into his sleeve and dragging the back of his hand back and forth under his nose. Coulson watched the end of that nose move back and forth, reflected in the metal walls of the elevator so it looked like there were dozens of other sniffly Clints riding up to the penthouse with him.
Then Clint began coughing. Coulson had seen him cough a little bit before, but nothing like this. It started with just a few coughs, like a tickle in his throat he was trying to fight. But then it kept going, a rumbling, wet, painfully thick cough. It seemed to pull at him, taking over his whole body the way one of his strong sneezes did but lasting longer and not stopping. He gasped for breath when he could. And, because he was talented, he managed to choke out a few words. “Something’s wrong.”
Coulson sensed it too now—not only sensed it, but felt it. The air was thick with something which could have been poison gas as easily as smoke, though he couldn’t work out how either one would be present now. But everything around him was growing warm—warmer than it should have been. And, above the sound of the elevator’s whirring controls, was a roar and screams. Something was very wrong. He hit the emergency stop button and the elevator came to a stop at the eighth floor. The doors started to open and failed. But through the crack, the danger came into view for both men.
The hallway in front of them was engulfed in flames. What hadn’t been visible from the outside was now an unavoidable danger consuming everything in its path. All the S.H.I.E.L.D. security measures Coulson had made sure were part of the building, and it turned out the whole place was just going to go up in a burst of fire. And it was going to take Clint and Coulson with it.
Clint surveyed the elevator and the access hatch in the ceiling. “There isn’t enough time for us both to get out. Huh… huh-IHTchhhh! Sniff! I’m sick. I’ll never make it. You should go, Sir.”
Coulson shook his head and sat down. “Even if we were to get out, there’s nowhere to go. Besides, the day will just reset for me.”
Clint glanced nervously at the hatch then at the fire through the opening between the doors. “How sure about that are you, Sir?” Coulson tugging at the leg of his pants made him crumple to the floor, coughing more from the smoke.
Rubbing a hand up and down Clint’s back as if that would soothe him against the thick smoke now filling the elevator, Coulson replied as reassuringly as he could. “As sure as I’ve been about anything in my life.” If he couldn’t save Clint this time around, the least he could do was keep the man calm. No one wanted to face one’s death in a panicked, disoriented, terrified state. He leaned close to Clint and put an arm around the man. His sea green eyes looked into Clint’s bloodshot ones, and he knew what had to come next. With a soft smile, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Clint’s.
Clint gave a start, initially more surprised than anything else. But he did not pull away, did not disengage, did not break it off. He accepted the kiss and, after a few moments, deepened it. His mouth opened, his tongue lapping cautiously at Coulson’s lips until they parted. Clint sniffled as he tilted his head, lunging forward with a hand on the back of Coulson’s head.
Coulson felt the touch. He felt the kiss. And he felt the burn of heat against his skin. He tried to keep his eyes locked on Clint’s, but the fire broke into the elevator, eating up the last of the oxygen inside and burning with a fiery, concentrated burst of flame that had no escape. Coulson screamed despite himself as pain filled him, washing over his skin, eating him alive. In agony, he did his best to cling to Clint, waiting for the end to come but never doubting that it would.