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tarotgalMy second favorite chapter to write. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did!
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 13
Clint woke up coughing so hard he had to roll over. He fell off the couch onto his hands and knees, and struggled to breathe. Both his nostrils were completely stuffed up, so when he tried drawing a breath through them, all he got was a weak “snxtt!” and a whole shitload of sinus pressure that made his head throb. Freezing, he grabbed the blanket off the couch and drew it around his shoulders as he sat back on his legs on his living room floor. His head swam dizzily for a moment, the congestion moving about and settling back in his nose, only with fierce tickles this time. His breath caught and made his head jerk back for a second before his whole body pitched forward. “Huh-IHShuhhh! Huh… hahChshhhhhhhh!” He reached for the box of Kleenex on the couch and realized there wasn’t one there. He checked the floor around the couch and finally located it sticking out from under a couch cushion. There were only a handful of tissues left, so he took just one and used it conservatively, wiping his nose with one end, then the other, then blowing into the middle, folding it, and blowing again. Pressing the slightly damp tissue to his tender nose hurt each time, but by the time he crumpled the soggy thing up, his nose felt clearer. Almost like he could breathe normally. “snrgttt!” went his nose when he tried again, and he shook his head with disappointment. He pitched the balled-up tissue across the room in disgust.
His apartment was an overwhelming mess; he hadn’t had the energy to clean for days, and everything was piling up. He needed Natasha to come tidy up for him and sit with him and look after him. But he knew he couldn’t get Natasha. And, deep down, he had to admit that he didn’t really want Natasha.
He wanted Phil Coulson. Ever since he’d found out Phil wasn’t dead, he’d wanted to go to him, to tell him all the things he’d realized after the man’s supposed death. Sometimes you didn’t realize how much you wanted something until you couldn’t have it any more. But in this case, sometimes you didn’t realize how completely in love you were with a thing until it was gone. Clint had found himself wandering streets sometimes, ending up outside the man’s apartment building, staring up at the top floor longingly. Phil was hardly ever in, and it was too many floors up to be able to actually look in the windows to see if the lights were even on inside, but Clint felt better just standing there, knowing Phil was alive somewhere.
He had heard S.H.I.E.L.D. chatter yesterday that Phil was back in New York on a well-earned albeit partially forced vacation leave for a week. It was early yet; maybe Phil was still at home. Maybe, even without a grand declaration of love, Phil would take one look at Clint and sweep him into his arms. Or maybe Phil would just feel sorry for him and take him in. All he really wanted was to be near the guy and have someone around who could bring him food and tissues and make sure he actually took his meds on time. If anyone knew how to stick to a schedule, it was Phil.
Medicine. Now that was a lovely thought. Clint hauled himself up and over to the kitchenette. He shuffled through piles of dirty dishes and balled-up napkins he’d blown his nose into until he found the box of cold pills that had been his saving grace over the past few days. He slid out the blister packs and stared at it. Every single section had been punched out. He turned them over, just to be sure. “Aw, meds, no.” He rubbed his palm back and forth across his forehead. When had he finished them off? He’d thought that there’s be enough to get him through the worst of this cold, but maybe his symptoms were hanging on longer than expected. Or maybe he’d taken too much during some desperate, middle-of-the-night stumble into the kitchen for relief. Whatever the reason, he was out of medicine. And almost out of tissues. And definitely out of food.
His instincts, even more than his heart, told him to seek out help. Which was why he got dressed in a hurry and left his apartment.
About halfway down the stairs, he stopped to sit down on a stair. His nose had been running since he’d left his apartment, but rather than go back for what little Kleenex he had left, he had settled for rubbing his nose with the backs or sides of his hands, which sometimes necessitated wiping his hand on his pants leg, and other times necessitated sniffing as hard as he cool to try to keep it from running anymore. But now he felt like sneezing again, which was going to be loud here in the stairwell, and that was definitely going to suck. “Huhhhhhhhhhh…” Shit. He gritted his teeth and tried to will the sneeze away. “Huhhhh!” The technique sucked. He tried holding his breath. “Hehhh!” That didn’t work any better. So he rubbed hard at his nose, pushing the end of his nose around, dragging his hand and forearm hard against his flaring, tickling nostrils. “Hih! IHHHHHH!” Resignedly, Clint prepared himself for the inevitable. “Huhhh-UHSchuhhhhh!”
It was louder than he had guessed it would be, and he cringed at the sound. A few seconds later, Aimee opened the door to her apartment and peered out into the hallway. Clint hadn’t realized which floor he was on, though he wasn’t actually even sure he knew which apartment was Aimee’s. Her pink hair and multiple facial piercings were unmistakable, as was her expression of annoyance. “I was trying to practice here.” She slightly raised the guitar she had in hand. “You wanna take that somewhere else?”
Clint nodded and hauled himself up off the stair, hoping to make it out of the building this time without another sneeze and knowing the possibility was just about as likely as The Hulk showing up on his door wanting tightrope walking lessons, especially considering he already felt like sneezing again. “Sorry,” he said, giving her a wave of greeting meets apology, then rubbing again at his nose to try to keep it in check.
“You’re not going to talk to Ivan, are you?”
Clint shook his head. Their landlord was a bastard. He’d raised fees on them twice this year under bogus pretenses and he had it out for Clint, who had stood up to him the last time, not that it had done any good.
“Well, he’s looking for you. Maybe you should… I don’t know… be armed?”
He gave her a weak smile. “Thanks for the warning, Aimee.” Then, with a sigh, he trudged back up the stairs to his apartment. He collected a handful of arrows, swung his quiver onto his back, and grabbed his bow. Then he stood in the middle of his living room, fully armed, blowing his nose through three tissues. He pocketed the remaining two before heading back down the stairs.
This time, he only made it down one flight. “Huhhh… huhh-UHGschhhhhhhh!” Though no one came out of their doors, Clint was sure everyone who was in had to have heard that. He dug a tissue out, massaged his nose with it, and then held it to his nose as he descended the rest of the stairs. He coughed a few times and sniffled and snuffled into the tissue almost the whole way down, but luckily he didn’t sneeze again until he was out on the street about half a block from the building with Ivan and his witless goons nowhere in sight.
Steeling himself against the cold of autumn, Clint walked to the subway. While waiting for the train, he paced in front of the newsstand, knowing he should be hungry but not wanting to eat anything. He ended up putting down a buck for a cup of hot water he just held for the warmth of it. He dumped it in the trash when the train arrived and it had gone lukewarm. Navigating the maze of subway stations was usually second nature to him, but he sneezed his way through the transfer stop and had to backtrack, then he went the wrong direction in a tunnel, walking from one station to another. By the time he emerged back onto the streets of New York, he was ready to collapse with nowhere guaranteed to do it.
Phil’s apartment wasn’t far, and he had planned on heading right there, asking to be let in, and somehow talking his way onto Phil’s couch. But Clint ended up standing outside the building, staring up at it, afraid of what it could mean if he showed up like this. Should he call? Should he just go back home?
“Huh… huhhUHschhhhh!” Clint was down to his last Kleenex, and that was only good for maybe one more wipe at best. “Huhhh! HuhhUHSchhhhh!” But the sneezes weren’t letting up.
A woman passed by, walking her dolled-up yorkie. “Bless you,” she said, hopping from foot to foot to stay warm thanks to a skirt that only made it halfway down her thighs.
“Can I pet your dog?” Clint asked, watching the pup sniff around on the patch of grass.
She shrugged. “Go ahead.”
He rubbed at his nose then squatted down. He ran his hand over the dog’s head, feeling the silky fur and the plastic barrettes stuck in there to make it look “cute.” Poor thing. But he nuzzled his hand and he stroked it again. Clint preferred big dogs, but little dogs like this had their own charm, especially when they weren’t barking their heads off. “Thah… th-thanks,” he said, standing up and turning. He bent his arm and folded the elbow over the lower half of his face. “Huhh-NGxxttt! HehhGsttttt! Uhhhh!”
“You should go inside,” the woman said, hugging her arms over her chest and the lime green pea coat she wore, except for the retractable leash still in her hand. “You’re going to catch your death out here, if you haven’t already.”
He gave her a weak smile, thanked her again—without sneezing this time—and tried to look like he wasn’t some crazy stalker staring up at people’s apartments. He made his way straight for the door to Phil’s building and pretended to press the button and wait until the woman had rounded the block with her terrier. His finger hovered over Coulson’s name beside the door. He wanted to press it, but he knew he couldn’t. Phil Coulson was his handler. Phil Coulson was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Phil Phil Coulson wasn’t his lover or even really his friend. Phil Coulson hadn’t even told him he was still alive after the Battle of New York.
On the street behind him, a taxi cab honked. A street cleaning truck passed by. A metal gate in front of a shop rolled up. And, on the sidewalk, Clint Barton sneezed. He snapped forward so suddenly and unexpectedly, that he didn’t realize he’d actually fallen into the buzzer until he was pulling his thumb off it. “Damn it.” He thought about fleeing right now. Phil didn’t need to know he was there. He hadn’t even meant to press the button.
But then came a buzzing sound on the panel, followed by Phil’s voice, slightly mechanical. “Come on up, Agent Barton.”
Clint froze. How had he known? Was there a hidden camera? Clint almost forgot to grab for the door handle before the unlocked door locked again. He shuffled reluctantly though the lobby and leaned into the elevator button to call it. What was he going to say to Phil about why he was there? And how was he could to convince Phil to let him stay? This could only end badly. Phil was going to be angry with him.
The elevator dinged as it arrived, and Clint headed in. He punched the top floor button hard, taking out his aggression on it. He was stupid for doing this. He was stupid for being here. He was stupid for even getting up off the couch this morning. “Hold the door!” a woman shouted and raced over to the elevator just before the doors closed, but Clint pushed the button to open the doors. “Thank you,” the woman panted, joining him there with a cat carrier in each hand.
It didn’t take realized he had to sneeze again. He hated sneezing in front of strangers—or anyone, actually. But he still had too many floors to go and the elevator was going too slowly. So he pinched his nose shut with his thumb and forefinger. “Hehhhh…” It didn’t help, though. “Huhh-Ngxxxt!”
“Oh dear! God bless you.” the woman said again. “You aren’t allergic to cats are you? I was just taking my new kittens to the vet. Just got them yesterday.”
“No, I’m not allergic.” Clint squatted down and peered into the cases, seeing a gray ball of fluff that might have been a giant dust bunny in one, and seeing a spunky little tuxedo cat blinking out at him in another. “They’re cute. Your first time having kittens?”
“Yes. So far they’ve been a handful.”
“Have you kitten-proofed your apartment?”
She looked at him dumbly. “What?”
“Kittens get into everything. They could get into something and hurt themselves. They…” Shit. Not another sneeze. He just hated sneezing in front of people like this. He pinched his nose again and tried to hold his breath. But his cold was too strong to get tricked into backing down now. “Hehhh… Hkxxttt!”
“God bless you.”
“Thanks.”
“You were saying?”
“Right… kittens are curious and dive into anything they can get their paws on. You need to—”
“Oh no!” she exclaimed, looking up at the numbers lighting up above the door. “I forgot to press the button.” She shook her head. “I guess I’ll just ride it up and then down again.”
He nodded, the urge to sneeze prickling at him again already. “H’Nghttt! Kgstxxx!”
“God bless you.”
When they reached the top floor, Clint was filled with relief just to escape the tiny metal box where he was being stared at as he was sneezing. He rubbed at his nose, not daring to take out the soggy tissue. He sniffled, only remotely glad that the sneezes had freed the congestion in his head enough to make him be able to sniffle. As the doors rolled open, Clint tied up the conversation. “Just watch them around anything long and dangling like cords or curtains. And be sure to put away anything hazardous they could knock over.” Clint looked over to see Phil’s door opening, so he made a hasty retreat out of the elevator.
His only thought was getting to Phil’s apartment. He heard the elevator doors slide closed behind him as he walked to the door. And he tried to smile at Phil as he approached. But he suddenly found himself stumbling forward again with a strong sneeze that took him completely off guard. “Hahh-Ktshhhhh!” He would have been sneezing freely, uncovered, but somehow Phil had tissues up where he could fall right into it. Clint was about to apologize and ask how Phil knew he was in need of tissues, but his breath caught again and, again, he snapped forward. “Huh huh-KIHtchhh!” It felt so good to have the dry, soft tissues against his wet nose, he rubbed his nose into them before opening his eyes. “How sniff, sniff how did you know?”
Smiling at him, Phil stepped forward and wrapped an arm around him in a close, tight hug. “Because, unfortunately, I’m stuck in a time loop. I’m living this day over and over again.”
Clint pulled back, trying to determine if Phil was joking about this. But the man’s dire expression reminded him that this was not how Phil joked. Not to mention, how else would he have known Clint was there and going to sneeze? Stranger things had happened.
“Come in, and I’ll tell you about it. There’s still a few minutes before Agent Hill calls me away to pick up an 0-8-4 at the museum a few blocks away.” Clint found himself being ushered inside, door locked behind, just like that. He hadn’t needed to explain himself, hadn’t needed to turn on the charm or promise anything. He hadn’t even needed to put on a little puppy dog pout of patheticness and beg for cold medicine. Instead, he was whisked away to Phil’s bed. His sneakers were pulled off, his weapons were laid down carefully between the bed and the nightstand, and he was put right to bed, covered with the softest sheet and the thickest, heaviest comforter he’d ever touched. The only thing that would have made it any better was if Phil had been under there with him to keep him warm.
Phil sat down on the bed and immediately had his hand on Clint’s forehead. It was cool at first, then warmed against his skin. It felt even better when Phil began petting, stroking comfortingly to soothe him. And Clint probably would have fallen right to sleep just like that, overwhelmed in comfort in none other than Agent Phil Coulson’s bed, if not for two things. The first was Phil needing to explain what was happening. And the second was, of course, sneezes. “Hahhh-Hehschhhhhh! Hehschhhhhhh! Huh… huh… HERSchhuhhh!” Under the covers, Clint pulled several tissues out of the box and rubbed and blew his nose as quietly as he could in order to still catch the thread of Phil’s explanation.
“The first time around, I went to retrieve the item at the museum and it struck me with some sort of weird energy. The object is called a Shandari bullet and, whether it was meant to do this or not, it’s making time loop this day over and over for me. Every morning I wake up to find you at my door, sneezing. By the end of every day, I die and have to start all over again from the beginning. But I’m getting closer. This last time, I was poisoned.”
“Poisoned!” Clint tried to sit up, startled, but Phil put a hand on his shoulder and eased him back down. Then he went back to petting Clint. And Clint found his body relaxing almost immediately.
“Before I died, my team figured out when and how I was poisoned.”
“Who did it?”
“I’m not…” Phil shook his head. “I’m not exactly sure yet. Probably the same person who kidnapped us a few loops back. I can see his face in my mind, but I can’t quite place it. But that’s why I need your help. I know you’re sick, but I can’t do this without you, Hawkeye.”
Clint looked up at him, his head sunken deep into Phil’s pillow. It meant he probably didn’t look too convincing, but he sure as heck meant it when he replied, “Just tell me how I can help you, Sir. I may have a bad cold, but I’ll do whatever you need me to.” And that was how Clint found himself sitting up in bed instead of napping under the immensely satisfying comforter.
Phil’s phone buzzed, startling Clint, even though Phil had told him there would be a phone call. “I’ll get dressed while you talk to Agent Hill,” Phil ordered Clint as he handed the phone over. “Tell her I just stepped out of the room and ask her what she’s calling about. Got it?”
Clint nodded, feeling overwhelmed again and trying to focus on the task. Moreover, he tried to focus on completing the task without sneezing his head off where Agent Hill could hear. So he cleared his throat ans answered as professionally as he could, “This is Agent Phil Coulson’s phone, Agent Barton speaking. Go ahead.” He watched Phil head to his closet. He’d seen Phil change before or during missions plenty of times before. And he had pretended, during those times, that he wasn’t interested in watching. But he had to admit, it was nice seeing the man in nothing but boxers and a white wifebeater.
“Oh, Agent Barton. I was calling for Agent Coulson, obviously. Are the two of you working a case I don’t know about, or is he available for something?”
Or are the two of you sleeping together and that’s why you’re at his apartment in the morning, answering his cell phone for him? She didn’t ask that of course, but she didn’t have to. Clint replied, “I’m sure he’s available, yes. He’s just looking after me this morning. I’m not feeling so hot. Sniff!” His nose was running again, badly. He pulled a tissue out of the box that now sat in his lap and he held it to his nose. He didn’t want to blow it, because she would hear that. She could probably hear the tissue rubbing against the phone as well or masking his voice a little, but he didn’t care as long as he kept from having another sneezing fit in front of another woman today. He had had his daily quota of those, thank you very much.
“I need him to do a quick assessment and retrieval job for S.H.I.E.L.D. We’re understaffed at the moment and he’s nearby. I’m sorry if that eats into his vacation time, but do you think he would be able to do a quick job for me?” Quick job? Obviously she had no idea about him getting hit by energy and being part of a time loop. Clint clearly didn’t have all the details, but that part of it didn’t sound so quick to him.
“I will tell him. But I guess he could.” Just then, Phil reentered the room, apparently waiting for a good time in the conversation to take his phone back.
“There’s an 0-8-4 over at a museum. We need him to retrieve it. Understand?”
Of course he understood. This wasn’t the first he was hearing about it. He moved the tissue in place to get a dry section to his nose. The urge to sneeze was rising again, and if he didn’t concentrate, he was going to sneeze right now. “Yes. That’s just a few blocks away, I understand.” Once again, Clint looked up at Phil and smiled. “You’re in luck. He just walked in. Here you are, Agent Hill.” Urgently, he handed the phone over, then pressed another tissue to his face.
“Good morning, Agent Hill,” Phil said, as if he had no idea what she was calling about. But his whole story had matched up. Even if this was some elaborate trick devised by Fury that both Phil and Maria were on together, there’s no way Phil could have known about Clint sneezing exactly when he did unless this was a time loop or Phil was somehow psychic now. And it seemed that the most important piece of that puzzle—other than Phil himself—was waiting for them at that museum.
Phil paced around his bedroom as he spoke on the phone, which gave Clint enough opportunity to muffle his sneezes into whole handfuls of tissues as they came. “Hhh… huhhh-Chmphhhhhh! Hehschffffff!” He looked up over the tissues to see that Phil wasn’t even looking at him now, but Clint couldn’t take his eyes off the man.
Phil seemed absorbed in his conversation with Agent Hill. “I’m available to cut my vacation short and go on a mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. on two conditions.” There was a brief pause, presumably while Hill asked what those two conditions might be. “First, you take Agent Barton off active duty; he will be assisting me on this mission.” There was a brief smile on his face as he got his answer, which seemed to satisfy him. He turned in place and looked over at Clint for a brief moment. Then he went on. “I’m going to have the head researcher at the museum send his research to you. I need it sent immediately to my team to analyze. And I need you to read Tony Stark in on this one. I have a feeling we’re going to need his help. I’ve seen him recently and something he’s been working on may in fact help us.”
Clint didn’t hear the very end of the conversation, because another sneeze sprang up. He felt it tickling the inside of his nose so badly he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to muffle the sound any. Through tissues already plastered to his face in expectation, he gasped for breath. “Huh! Heh! Hehhh! Huhhh! Uh!” Then he paused, the sneeze intensifying for one miserable, teasing second before finally striking. “Hehhhhh-Umphschhhhh!” But it didn’t stop just there. “Hehhh-Ihshphhhh! Hehchummfff! Heh… huhhHushufffff!” He blew his nose in an attempt to drive the tickle out. An attempt that did not work. “Hah-ah-Hahschumphhh! Hushufffffff! Uhhhhh…” He moaned, wanting to collapse, exhausted back on the bed.
But then Phil was there, settling down next to him and petting his head again. “Bless you,” he said softly. “I feel awful about this, because I’ve seen how sick you are, but I need you to watch out for me at the museum this time around. If someone is going to poison me, you need to find out who and stop them. I can’t die again, not when I’m so close to figuring this thing out.”
“Of—” he paused. His nose was so stuffed and runny the word was almost unintelligible. He turned his head and blew his nose a couple times, dropping the tissues over the side of the bed as he did so. Then he tried again. “Of course, Sir. Whatever you need. ”
Phil smiled at him. “The same applies to you. Except, I’m sorry to say I’m out of cold medicine. But we can pick some up on the way to the museum.”
Clint considered, then shook his head. “On the way back would be fine. I can last until then.”
“You’re sure?”
He climbed out of bed and picked up his bow. “Let’s go get that… what did you call it?”
“A Shandari bullet.”
“Yeah, that. Let’s go get ourselves a that.”
“Just a few things before we go.” He dialed another number on his cell phone and waited for the other party to pick up. “Ward, I’m going to have some files sent to the bus from a museum. I need Fitz-Simmons to focus on the energy portions of the research. That’s the key to everything.” Phil listened to the reply. “I’ll be in contact as soon as possible. I’d like for May to pick us up with the object, but I’ll contact you when we’re ready.”
Phil hung up the phone and led Clint to the living room, where he went through the closet there. He called out to Clint from there. “Next, you need to promise to not touch the object.”
“Why’s that?”
“The one time you did, the object exploded and probably took the whole city with it, possibly the whole world. It’s hard to know as we were dead by that point.”
That wasn’t exactly what Clint wanted to hear early in the morning. “All right. I don’t want to do that again. No touching the Shandari bullet. Anything else?”
From the closet, Phil took out a S.H.I.E.L.D. case and a small black box. “A few things. When we get to the museum, I want you up on the second floor so you can watch me from above. Whoever poisoned me the last time did so by injecting something into the back of my neck. It took hours to finally kick in and kill me.”
“They won’t get to you a second time,” Clint promised. “But… what… sniff! What were they trying to accomplish by poisoning you like that?”
Phil took two earpieces out of the box and turned each on. “I’ve been thinking about it, and the best I can come up with is he meant to inject me with more and then steal the Shandari bullet from me. But he wasn’t able to inject me with enough so I was already on the bus with my team by that time. Here…” He handed over an ear piece. “Test this with me.” They both put one in and tested them out to be sure they worked.
“Ready?” Clint asked.
“Do you have enough tissues?”
He hadn’t even thought of that, but Clint now loaded his pockets down with tissues. “How long have you been going through this day?” Clint asked.
“About two weeks now,” Phil told him. “Long enough to know you’re going to need tissues.”
What if he lost sight of Phil? What if he sneezed at the wrong time and missed getting the bad guy? “Maybe you should call huh… huhh-URshhhh! Sniff! Maybe you should call a member of your team to cover you instead?”
Phil shook his head. “I have exactly who I want. We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we? I know you can do this.” He squeezed Clint’s shoulder. “Now let’s go.”
Clint followed Phil out to the elevator and leaned against one of the walls inside. He coughed a little and rubbed at his nose. He couldn’t help but notice how Phil kept looking at him like he knew a lot more than he was saying. “Sir, did something happen during one of the time loops?”
With a sigh, “A lot of things happened during the time loops.”
“Yes, but did something happen… between us?”
Phil didn’t reply right away. He wouldn’t even make eye contact as he thought about what to say. Finally, he looked back at Clint. “If we make it through this loop, I’ll tell you.”
That was good enough for Clint for now. As they walked out of the apartment building, Clint let the senior agent lead the way. If Phil had been through this before, he probably knew everything from the time the street lights were going to change to who was passing them on the sidewalk. Or maybe it took more than a couple weeks of loops to learn that sort of thing. But Phil also looked tired. He didn’t want Phil to go through any more loops than he had to. Ideally, they’d stop the bad guy, figure out how the device worked, stop the time loop, and free Agent Phil Coulson up to take care of him.
“Huh… hehhhh!” He needed someone to take care of him. Clint pinched his nose again, preparing to hold back the sneeze as much as he could. There were too many people around, too many people who would see him sneezing. This was a nightmare. But then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Come here…” Phil said directing Clint over to the side of a store, out of the way on the sidewalk. Then he pulled Clint close and wrapped his arms around the man. “Sneeze all you need to. I’ve got you.”
Clint bent his head down and nuzzled his face into Phil’s suit jacket. “I… I have to… hehhh… hehKTschhuhhhhh! Heh heh hehKtchhhffffff! Huhhh huhKehshhhh! Huh… hehhh-Uhhshuhhhh! Sniff!”
“Bless you.” Phil rubbed his back where the quiver of arrows wasn’t. “Better?”
Clint raised his head. He didn’t feel any better, but the urge to sneeze had passed for now. So he nodded anyway. And on they went to the the museum. They walked up the front stone steps and headed in through the tall double doors.
The museum was swamped with people, which surprised Clint. So many people… so many possible culprits. And then Clint gave a start when he saw the security checkpoint just inside the entrance, but Coulson didn’t seem concerned. “The guard is a bit obsessed with superheroes and the Avengers. You’ll have no problem getting in with your bow and arrows.”
With a slight smirk, “Obsessed with superheros? I bet you don’t know what that’s like, Mr. Mint Captain America Cards.”
Phil frowned. “Fury still owes me for those ones he damaged.”
Clint turned away so Phil wouldn’t see him laugh about that. But it turned out the man was right about the security guard. “You’re Hawkeye, aren’t you?” the security guard exclaimed the moment he spotted Clint, even when Clint was a few people back. He rushed those museum patrons through quickly and then marveled at the sight of Clint. “Hawkeye in my museum… wow… could I get your autograph—for my daughter, Melanie, of course.” Of course. Clint signed the back of a museum map the man thrust at him. “And one more… for me?” Once again, Clint did his best not to laugh. He signed another one for the man whose name was right there on his name tag. “Bruce. It’s Bruce.”
Clint had already written it, so he smiled obligingly then handed it over. He knew he couldn’t look back at Phil or he would absolutely crack up. Instead, he turned on his charm. “Hey, I know weapons aren’t allowed, but I’m escorting this S.H.I.E.L.D. agent on official business…”
“Go right through!” the guard said, almost pushing Clint through the metal detector. Even went it went off, he didn’t bat an eyelash. He did, however, turn toward the next person in line: Phil. “Anything metal goes in the tray,” he said, narrowing his eyes. Clint waited for Phil to make it through then collect his personal items and cell phone from the tray that had been through the x-ray machine. Phil looked amused, not irritated, though. Then he motioned to Clint to take the stairs up to the second floor.
“I’ll keep my eye on you, Sir,” Clint promised before racing up the grand, marble stairs. The layout of the museum was easy enough to figure out, even at first glance. The entrance hall was a large circle with a fountain in the center. There were exhibit halls branching off from the circle like rays of the sun. These exhibit halls stretched off in all directions except on the side where the main entrance doors were. Clint felt far more comfortable up here, looking down at the chaos below. He was in his element up high like this with his bow at the ready in case someone tried something with Agent Coulson. “I’m with you, Sir,” he said through the comm channel.
Phil replied, “I’ll be cutting across here and—oof!” A little girl suddenly ran into Phil.
“Sir!” Clint had a trick arrow nocked in his bow, ready to fire. His fingers were about to let loose the wire when Phil stopped him.
“Stand down, Agent. It’s just a little girl who loses her father. She runs into me all the time. No need to overreact.”
“You could have warned me about that…”
“Sorry. She’s the only exception. If anyone else approaches me, especially from behind, don’t hesitate to fire.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’re going to lose me in a minute when I head to the employee area. But we’ll keep the comm live so you can follow what I’m doing. I promise I’ll be fine until I get back to the entrance hall. I’m certain that’s where it happened before.”
Clint didn’t like the idea of not being able to watch Phil the whole time. He couldn’t protect the agent if he couldn’t see the agent. But he did trust Phil. “Be careful, Sir.”
Faced with some time to kill, Clint put it to good use studying the people in the entrance hall, looking for suspicious characters. He saw a few people just standing around, surveying the other people in the hall. But each of them, without exception, ended up finding friends or family and heading to an exhibit or up the stairs. No one sent red warning flags up for Clint. In addition to watching everyone, Clint tried to follow Phil’s progress. He listened to the introductions with the researchers and the way Phil took charge of the situation, swooping in and snatching up the 0-8-4. It was impressive—and pretty hot, actually.
Clint also spent some time sneezing. He couldn’t help it. And at least it was happening now and not later when Phil was back in sight and needed him. Not even a sneeze would distract him then, he resolved. So, for now, he wouldn’t berate himself for needing to sneeze. He did, however, keep pinching his nose so his sneezes weren’t loud, attention-getters. He might be on the second floor, but plenty of museum-goers still passed by. “Hehh… hehhh! HEH! Hurxxxnttt! Hengxxxt!” Sometimes when he sneezed while Phil was speaking, he heard the man falter or pause in speaking. Sometimes Clint muttered an apology, knowing Phil wasn’t able to answer him.
“Agent Barton,” Phil’s voice said through their comm at last.
“Right here, Sir.”
“I’m approaching the entrance hall.”
Tense, unblinking, Clint’s eyes did not move from where he had seen Phil disappear from sight earlier. Something inside him jumped with Phil appeared. “Eyes on you, Sir.”
“Thanks, Agent,” came the reply, though Clint didn’t take it personally when Phil did not look up at him. He knew they wouldn’t want to let anyone know Clint was there.
Clint sniffled a little and got an arrow set in his bow so he could react immediately this time. Closely, he watched Phil walk across the entrance hall, carrying the S.H.I.E.L.D. case. And he scanned the crowd, looking for someone who might be looking at him. He didn’t see anyone watching Phil, but that just meant whoever it was wasn’t being obvious about it. A warning flared up in Clint when someone asked Phil to take a photo of a group of Japanese tourists. Clint watched carefully as the man handed his camera over, but the man didn’t go anywhere near Phil’s neck or even actually touch him.
Just then, he felt someone bump him. He almost loosed the arrow, but managed to keep hold of it and relax his posture just a little as he looked down. A little girl had bumped into him. No, not just any little girl, but the exact same little girl who had bumped into Phil earlier. That seemed like a strange coincidence. Or, rather, it seemed that way until he started feeling woozy a few seconds later. He lowered his bow so he wouldn’t shoot the arrow by mistake. And then the world went dark around him.
When he opened his eyes, his head was pounding. It took him a few seconds for his head to right itself. The moment he pushed past the dizziness, the congestion got to him. It stabbed and prickled at his sinuses and then he snapped forward. “Huhh-UHKSchhhhhhhhhh!” Sneezing hurt, and not just because the sneeze was stronger and more powerful than usual. He tried to rub his nose but found that he was tied to something. He was sitting upright, but his middle was held against something. He looked down to see ropes wrapped around his chest. His arms were pulled back behind him and tied with something at the wrists. He could move his fingers, but the bindings were so tight there was no room for him to pull free easily, so wiping his nose was out… as was the more important concept: escape. Clint’s legs wouldn’t move either, as they seemed to be spread apart but tied at the ankles to what Clint now identified as a hard wooden chair. But wood wasn’t bad. Wood could break. Escape wasn’t completely impossible, but it would take some time and some strength.
First, though, was finding Phil. Clint was tied to a chair in the middle of what seemed to be a very large room, like a warehouse. There was a bare, gray concrete floor; a bare, dim lightbulb hanging directly overhead; and a bare, almost non-existent hope of being rescued. Apart from Clint in his chair, it seemed empty and deserted—in short, it was the perfect place to detain and torture someone. It stood to reason that if he were here, Phil was somewhere similar… or even somewhere there. “Sir?” he whispered. He received no reply but, as he strained to listen, he heard something he hadn’t noticed before: breathing. The breaths were soft, slow, and even. They were the breaths of someone who was asleep, not someone waiting in the wings to jump out with a weapon and a million and a half questions Clint wouldn’t have any idea how to answer. Clint had spent years working with Phil, but he was kidding himself if he believed he could identify Phil’s breathing from anyone else’s.
Yet… the most he listened to it, the more he was certain. It was coming from right behind him, not even that far behind him either. Maybe a foot, maybe two. He was just far enough back that he couldn’t reach him no matter how he twisted his wrists and stretched out his fingers, but also too close for Clint to catch a glimpse of him no matter how he turned his head or moved his shoulders. The ropes were too tight. The chair too strong. “Sir?” he tried again, a little louder. Then, “Phil?” Nothing. Definitely asleep then. And while Clint desperately wanted Phil to wake up and help him find a way out of this, he also knew there was probably no escape from this situation and Phil might as well sleep while he could and save himself the distress a for a few extra minutes.
It was hard to stay quiet, however, when you had a horrible head cold and hadn’t had medicine in at least a day. His nose tickled madly, and his throat tickled as well, as the congestion traveled downward. He coughed and sniffled and tried his best not to sneeze by straining his neck and scrubbing his nose on his shoulder. But the material of his uniform was not the most receptive and mostly only irritated his sore nostrils rather than soothed the tickle in them. “Hahhhh hahh-KETSCHHHHHHH!” he sprayed freely, unrestrainedly. It was loud enough to wake a city block, but Phil slept on. Maybe Clint was tougher, more resistant to whatever they’d injected him with. Or maybe Clint had been given a smaller dosage. Or maybe they had only brought enough for one, expecting just Phil, and had split it between them at the last minute, unevenly. Whatever the reason, Clint was at least relieved to find out that it wasn’t poison and they hadn’t been killed. Clint focused on that breathing. In the lonely darkness, that breathing was the only thing that kept him present, kept him sane. He needed that breathing… almost as much as he needed a damn tissue. “Huhhhh… hahhh-HIHKTSChhhhhhhhh! Hehktchhhhhhhh!”
Clint gasped for breath and tried to will the tickles away, but he failed miserably. “Hahh-KTSchuhhhhh! HAH-EHHKFSChhhhhhh! Sniff! Sniff!” Oh god, his nose was running. He rubbed it at his shoulder now, trying to wipe it dry. But the more he rubbed it, the more it tickled. “Hahhh… hahh… hahhhhhhhh… hahh-HIHSchhhhhh! Hehktshooo! HehKshhhhhh!” His head swam again, dizzy from so much rapid fire sneezing. “Hahhh-Kshhhh! HuhhhKshooo! Huh…. Ahh-hahhh…” And then, the worst thing happened: the sneeze stuck. He felt it tickling madly inside his nose. He felt it tickle the back of his throat. But it just wouldn’t get bigger and wouldn’t come out. “Aw, sneeze, no…” Clint said, his nose too full now. He tried sniffling, but got the same annoying “Snxxt!” as when he’d woken up that morning, like time was repeating on him as well. “Dab it!”
Clint coughed and tried to relax. He tried to match his breathing to Phil’s. In and out. In and out. “Hahhh-HAHHHSHUSHHHHHHH!” Great relief coupled with great misery. “Snffffff!” But at least he could sniffle a little now. “Phil? Snffffff! Phil, I know that’s you. Snffff! Snifff! If you’re there, just… breathe id add thed out agaid.” He listened closely to the breathing behind him. In and out. “I dew it.” He smiled. “Hi, Sir. I’ll just sit here add wait for you thed. All right?” In and out. In and out. Clint gave a laugh. “Dod’t worry, Sir. I’ve got your back.”
Clint wished that by slowing his breathing he could fall asleep. He felt sick and exhausted and could probably use the extra rest. But every time he got close to drifting off, he had to sneeze again. And so he had to go through the routine of trying to hold it back, screwing up his face, wrinkling his nose, gritting his teeth, pursing his lips, only to have his every attempt thwarted. “Hahhh-Uhshhhhhh! HahhhKshuhhhhhhh! Hah… hahh-ahschhhhhhhhh! Sniff! Sniff! Hahhh-Huhhshhhhhh!” He tried laughing again, though that mostly came out as coughing. “How was that, Sir? Dot eved worthy of a bless you? Huh… huhhhhHuhshhhhhh! Sniff! You’re bissig sub good sdeezes frub be here. Hahhh… hahhh-Huhshoo! Sniff!”
After about half an hour, Clint started shivering. Maybe it was getting colder in the warehouse. Or maybe it was that his legs were getting damp from being caught in so many of his sneezes. Or maybe his fever was coming back. Whatever the reason, he was shivering and wishing more than ever to be back in Phil’s bed, under that impossibly heavy comforter. A warm cup of tea. A hot water bottle at his feet. A warm arm draped around him from behind in bed. There was so much he wanted right now, though he would settle for a tissue. Right now, he would just about sell his soul for a tissue. “Huhhhh-UH-Hihtschuhhhhhh! HuhSchuhhhhhh! Sniff! Sniff! Snifffffff! Huh… oh… huhhh-Hihshhhhhhhhh! Ugh… Sir? Sniff! Are you awake yet?”
Phil wasn’t. Clint couldn’t tell how much time had passed. He hadn’t been counting seconds or minutes or even sneezes. But it seemed like an eternity had passed already. “Hahh… Hehh-Huhshooo!” And he was absolutely no closer to stopping sneezing. “Huhhh-huh-huh-HUH!” He paused, sure that the sneeze would mess with him again and go away. But then it didn’t. “Huhhh-KETCHushhhhhhhh! Sniiiiiiiffffffffffff!”
Groaning miserably, Clint rubbed his nose on his right shoulder, then his left, then the right again. It really only made things worse, but it was all he could do. “Huhhh-Huhshchhhhhh! Hehkshuhhhhhhh! Sniff! Sniff! Sniff! Huhh… huhShuhhhhh! Sniff! Sir?” he tried again. “Are you sure you’re dot awake yet and just blayig a joke od be? Heh… Is Stark goig to jubb out of the darkdess add yell boo?” Phil did not answer. And Tony Stark did not jump out from anywhere. All that happened was that Clint sneezed again. “Huh-IHShuhhhhh! Huhshuhhhh! Heh heh-IHSchuhhhhhhh! Sniiff! Sniff-sniff!”
Between sneezes, Clint spent some time thinking about his kidnapper. That little girl had definitely been the one Phil had told Clint wasn’t a threat. She couldn’t have moved both of them on her own; she had to have had help. Phil had said she had lost her father? Clint was willing to bet that man was in on this. But he’d dismissed it at the time. And there she had been, looking not at all innocent. Her eyes had been filled with… what had they been filled with, exactly? Rage? Hatred? Malicious intent? Or… anger-filled excitement, maybe. She had known exactly what she was doing when she had jabbed him with that syringe. He had only taken his eyes off Phil for a second, but in that second he’d broken his promise. Some S.H.I.E.L.D. agent he’d turned out to be. Agent Hill should remove him from active duty permanently if he ever got out of this mess. “I’b sorry, Sir,” Clint whispered, wishing above all that Phil had been awake to hear that. “This is by… by… by fault hahhh-Ihschuhhhhh! Ehshihhhh! Heh heh… hah-UHChooo!”
But as Phil continued to sit behind him, unconscious, Clint’s mind continued to wander. What if they’d hurt him, and that was why he wasn’t waking up? What if they’d injected Clint with some stuff and they hadn’t had enough for Phil, so they’d had to clock him over the head or hit him and knock him out? What if it were some complication with the Shandari bullet? What if he never woke? Would the time loop reset if Phil wasn’t awake? Or was he already dead? “Sir? Phil?” Clint knew that calling out to him wasn’t going to work by now. His sneezes were twice as loud as his words, and none of them had done anything except make the situation worse. But it made him feel better. “Ha… hahh-Hahschhhhhh! Sniff!” And right now he needed whatever he could get that would make him feel better.
Minutes passed. Hours. Days. Decades. And just when Clint was about to give up any hope, he heard a different sound behind him. It was the sound of something moving. It could have been their kidnapper finally making an appearance, but somehow Clint just knew that it was Phil finally coming to.
“Hello?” Phil called out, his voice echoing in the large room the way each and every one of Clint’s sneezes and sniffles had.
“Hey,” Clint replied. His voice was tired, congested, but he tried to sound as relieved as he felt. “Glad you woge ub at last. Sniff! I’ve beed callig for you for albost ad hour.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He knew? He was sorry? That wasn’t right. Not at all. “Doe, it was by fault. I was subbosed to have beed watch… watch… huhhh hold od… hehhhh-HihKTSHHHhhhhhhh!”
“There was nothing you could have done. And this isn’t the first time I’ve had this happen.”
Clint rolled his eyes. “You could have warded be. Sniff! Sniffffff!”
“Sorry,” he repeated. “Your poor nose. You’ve been sneezing nonstop since you woke up, haven’t you? Bless you, Clint.”
A distinct chill ran up Clint at the sound of Agent Phil Coulson saying his first name like that, full of so much kindness and sympathy. Clit laughed, “Dod’t bother with that, Sir. I’b too far gode add I c-cah… hah… huh-KITSCHHHH! Snuffffffff! I cad’t s-stob sdeh… ehhh… hehhhh-EHPTISHHHHH!”
“Now that I’m awake, our kidnappers should be showing themselves any moment now. Though they needn’t bother. I know who they are now.”
“You can’t know!” came a shout from the darkness, and Clint wondered if their kidnappers had been listening in on them this whole damn time. That was inarguably creepy. He hoped they’d enjoyed watching him sneeze his head off for an hour. The sound of footsteps filled the silence, coming closer and closer. And out of the darkness came the person Clint had expected.
“You’re that little girl’s father,” Phil said.
A dart flew to him, embedded itself in his chest, and facilitated an electric current. It sounded to Clint as if Phil were being hit by a taser, and Clint shout out, “Stop!” as if simply being given that command had ever stopped any super villain in the history of ever.
“Not a father, a loyal servant of her majesty.”
Clint cleared his throat. “That little girl is a queed?”
There was a pause. “A princess, actually.”
“A bridcess? Dot the bridcess?”
“She is Princess Runella, twelfth in line for the throne of the territory of Yamala on the world of—”
“Let be guess,” Clint interrupted. “Shaddari?”
So shocked, the man took a step back.
Phil had recovered somewhat from being hit with the energy, because he managed to eek out, “Told you we knew who you were. And I know about the bullet.”
The man took a step forward, making up the difference he’d just lost. “You will tell me how you activated it. You will tell me how to use it.”
Clint thought that was about as likely as the Black Widow knitting baby booties for kittens. “Sure,” Phil agreed, and Clint groaned inside. “I’ll tell you just as soon as Tony Stark goes to an AA meeting and the Hulk teaches a ballet class.”
The man roared with anger—an inhuman, blood-curdling kind of roar. He fired his taser at Coulson once again for longer this time, and Clint got the sense that Phil was doing this specifically to keep the man from targeting Clint. That didn’t seem fair, but he was grateful just the same. Phil was a damn good agent.
Just then, there was a buzzing sound. It took Clint a few moments to recognize it as Phil’s phone. The idiot space aliens had forgotten to relieve him of his phone. Phil wouldn’t be able to answer it, of course, but if it was buzzing, that meant it was still on. And if it was still on, that meant S.H.I.E.L.D. could be tracking them. And if S.H.I.E.L.D. were tracking them, that meant help might be on its way.
Correction: help was definitely on its way. Clint heard gunfire. And he heard Phil’s warnings. But he heard both of them too late to do anything about it. As his chair fell to the side, Clint felt something strike his shoulder, something else strike his thigh, and then…
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 13
Clint woke up coughing so hard he had to roll over. He fell off the couch onto his hands and knees, and struggled to breathe. Both his nostrils were completely stuffed up, so when he tried drawing a breath through them, all he got was a weak “snxtt!” and a whole shitload of sinus pressure that made his head throb. Freezing, he grabbed the blanket off the couch and drew it around his shoulders as he sat back on his legs on his living room floor. His head swam dizzily for a moment, the congestion moving about and settling back in his nose, only with fierce tickles this time. His breath caught and made his head jerk back for a second before his whole body pitched forward. “Huh-IHShuhhh! Huh… hahChshhhhhhhh!” He reached for the box of Kleenex on the couch and realized there wasn’t one there. He checked the floor around the couch and finally located it sticking out from under a couch cushion. There were only a handful of tissues left, so he took just one and used it conservatively, wiping his nose with one end, then the other, then blowing into the middle, folding it, and blowing again. Pressing the slightly damp tissue to his tender nose hurt each time, but by the time he crumpled the soggy thing up, his nose felt clearer. Almost like he could breathe normally. “snrgttt!” went his nose when he tried again, and he shook his head with disappointment. He pitched the balled-up tissue across the room in disgust.
His apartment was an overwhelming mess; he hadn’t had the energy to clean for days, and everything was piling up. He needed Natasha to come tidy up for him and sit with him and look after him. But he knew he couldn’t get Natasha. And, deep down, he had to admit that he didn’t really want Natasha.
He wanted Phil Coulson. Ever since he’d found out Phil wasn’t dead, he’d wanted to go to him, to tell him all the things he’d realized after the man’s supposed death. Sometimes you didn’t realize how much you wanted something until you couldn’t have it any more. But in this case, sometimes you didn’t realize how completely in love you were with a thing until it was gone. Clint had found himself wandering streets sometimes, ending up outside the man’s apartment building, staring up at the top floor longingly. Phil was hardly ever in, and it was too many floors up to be able to actually look in the windows to see if the lights were even on inside, but Clint felt better just standing there, knowing Phil was alive somewhere.
He had heard S.H.I.E.L.D. chatter yesterday that Phil was back in New York on a well-earned albeit partially forced vacation leave for a week. It was early yet; maybe Phil was still at home. Maybe, even without a grand declaration of love, Phil would take one look at Clint and sweep him into his arms. Or maybe Phil would just feel sorry for him and take him in. All he really wanted was to be near the guy and have someone around who could bring him food and tissues and make sure he actually took his meds on time. If anyone knew how to stick to a schedule, it was Phil.
Medicine. Now that was a lovely thought. Clint hauled himself up and over to the kitchenette. He shuffled through piles of dirty dishes and balled-up napkins he’d blown his nose into until he found the box of cold pills that had been his saving grace over the past few days. He slid out the blister packs and stared at it. Every single section had been punched out. He turned them over, just to be sure. “Aw, meds, no.” He rubbed his palm back and forth across his forehead. When had he finished them off? He’d thought that there’s be enough to get him through the worst of this cold, but maybe his symptoms were hanging on longer than expected. Or maybe he’d taken too much during some desperate, middle-of-the-night stumble into the kitchen for relief. Whatever the reason, he was out of medicine. And almost out of tissues. And definitely out of food.
His instincts, even more than his heart, told him to seek out help. Which was why he got dressed in a hurry and left his apartment.
About halfway down the stairs, he stopped to sit down on a stair. His nose had been running since he’d left his apartment, but rather than go back for what little Kleenex he had left, he had settled for rubbing his nose with the backs or sides of his hands, which sometimes necessitated wiping his hand on his pants leg, and other times necessitated sniffing as hard as he cool to try to keep it from running anymore. But now he felt like sneezing again, which was going to be loud here in the stairwell, and that was definitely going to suck. “Huhhhhhhhhhh…” Shit. He gritted his teeth and tried to will the sneeze away. “Huhhhh!” The technique sucked. He tried holding his breath. “Hehhh!” That didn’t work any better. So he rubbed hard at his nose, pushing the end of his nose around, dragging his hand and forearm hard against his flaring, tickling nostrils. “Hih! IHHHHHH!” Resignedly, Clint prepared himself for the inevitable. “Huhhh-UHSchuhhhhh!”
It was louder than he had guessed it would be, and he cringed at the sound. A few seconds later, Aimee opened the door to her apartment and peered out into the hallway. Clint hadn’t realized which floor he was on, though he wasn’t actually even sure he knew which apartment was Aimee’s. Her pink hair and multiple facial piercings were unmistakable, as was her expression of annoyance. “I was trying to practice here.” She slightly raised the guitar she had in hand. “You wanna take that somewhere else?”
Clint nodded and hauled himself up off the stair, hoping to make it out of the building this time without another sneeze and knowing the possibility was just about as likely as The Hulk showing up on his door wanting tightrope walking lessons, especially considering he already felt like sneezing again. “Sorry,” he said, giving her a wave of greeting meets apology, then rubbing again at his nose to try to keep it in check.
“You’re not going to talk to Ivan, are you?”
Clint shook his head. Their landlord was a bastard. He’d raised fees on them twice this year under bogus pretenses and he had it out for Clint, who had stood up to him the last time, not that it had done any good.
“Well, he’s looking for you. Maybe you should… I don’t know… be armed?”
He gave her a weak smile. “Thanks for the warning, Aimee.” Then, with a sigh, he trudged back up the stairs to his apartment. He collected a handful of arrows, swung his quiver onto his back, and grabbed his bow. Then he stood in the middle of his living room, fully armed, blowing his nose through three tissues. He pocketed the remaining two before heading back down the stairs.
This time, he only made it down one flight. “Huhhh… huhh-UHGschhhhhhhh!” Though no one came out of their doors, Clint was sure everyone who was in had to have heard that. He dug a tissue out, massaged his nose with it, and then held it to his nose as he descended the rest of the stairs. He coughed a few times and sniffled and snuffled into the tissue almost the whole way down, but luckily he didn’t sneeze again until he was out on the street about half a block from the building with Ivan and his witless goons nowhere in sight.
Steeling himself against the cold of autumn, Clint walked to the subway. While waiting for the train, he paced in front of the newsstand, knowing he should be hungry but not wanting to eat anything. He ended up putting down a buck for a cup of hot water he just held for the warmth of it. He dumped it in the trash when the train arrived and it had gone lukewarm. Navigating the maze of subway stations was usually second nature to him, but he sneezed his way through the transfer stop and had to backtrack, then he went the wrong direction in a tunnel, walking from one station to another. By the time he emerged back onto the streets of New York, he was ready to collapse with nowhere guaranteed to do it.
Phil’s apartment wasn’t far, and he had planned on heading right there, asking to be let in, and somehow talking his way onto Phil’s couch. But Clint ended up standing outside the building, staring up at it, afraid of what it could mean if he showed up like this. Should he call? Should he just go back home?
“Huh… huhhUHschhhhh!” Clint was down to his last Kleenex, and that was only good for maybe one more wipe at best. “Huhhh! HuhhUHSchhhhh!” But the sneezes weren’t letting up.
A woman passed by, walking her dolled-up yorkie. “Bless you,” she said, hopping from foot to foot to stay warm thanks to a skirt that only made it halfway down her thighs.
“Can I pet your dog?” Clint asked, watching the pup sniff around on the patch of grass.
She shrugged. “Go ahead.”
He rubbed at his nose then squatted down. He ran his hand over the dog’s head, feeling the silky fur and the plastic barrettes stuck in there to make it look “cute.” Poor thing. But he nuzzled his hand and he stroked it again. Clint preferred big dogs, but little dogs like this had their own charm, especially when they weren’t barking their heads off. “Thah… th-thanks,” he said, standing up and turning. He bent his arm and folded the elbow over the lower half of his face. “Huhh-NGxxttt! HehhGsttttt! Uhhhh!”
“You should go inside,” the woman said, hugging her arms over her chest and the lime green pea coat she wore, except for the retractable leash still in her hand. “You’re going to catch your death out here, if you haven’t already.”
He gave her a weak smile, thanked her again—without sneezing this time—and tried to look like he wasn’t some crazy stalker staring up at people’s apartments. He made his way straight for the door to Phil’s building and pretended to press the button and wait until the woman had rounded the block with her terrier. His finger hovered over Coulson’s name beside the door. He wanted to press it, but he knew he couldn’t. Phil Coulson was his handler. Phil Coulson was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Phil Phil Coulson wasn’t his lover or even really his friend. Phil Coulson hadn’t even told him he was still alive after the Battle of New York.
On the street behind him, a taxi cab honked. A street cleaning truck passed by. A metal gate in front of a shop rolled up. And, on the sidewalk, Clint Barton sneezed. He snapped forward so suddenly and unexpectedly, that he didn’t realize he’d actually fallen into the buzzer until he was pulling his thumb off it. “Damn it.” He thought about fleeing right now. Phil didn’t need to know he was there. He hadn’t even meant to press the button.
But then came a buzzing sound on the panel, followed by Phil’s voice, slightly mechanical. “Come on up, Agent Barton.”
Clint froze. How had he known? Was there a hidden camera? Clint almost forgot to grab for the door handle before the unlocked door locked again. He shuffled reluctantly though the lobby and leaned into the elevator button to call it. What was he going to say to Phil about why he was there? And how was he could to convince Phil to let him stay? This could only end badly. Phil was going to be angry with him.
The elevator dinged as it arrived, and Clint headed in. He punched the top floor button hard, taking out his aggression on it. He was stupid for doing this. He was stupid for being here. He was stupid for even getting up off the couch this morning. “Hold the door!” a woman shouted and raced over to the elevator just before the doors closed, but Clint pushed the button to open the doors. “Thank you,” the woman panted, joining him there with a cat carrier in each hand.
It didn’t take realized he had to sneeze again. He hated sneezing in front of strangers—or anyone, actually. But he still had too many floors to go and the elevator was going too slowly. So he pinched his nose shut with his thumb and forefinger. “Hehhhh…” It didn’t help, though. “Huhh-Ngxxxt!”
“Oh dear! God bless you.” the woman said again. “You aren’t allergic to cats are you? I was just taking my new kittens to the vet. Just got them yesterday.”
“No, I’m not allergic.” Clint squatted down and peered into the cases, seeing a gray ball of fluff that might have been a giant dust bunny in one, and seeing a spunky little tuxedo cat blinking out at him in another. “They’re cute. Your first time having kittens?”
“Yes. So far they’ve been a handful.”
“Have you kitten-proofed your apartment?”
She looked at him dumbly. “What?”
“Kittens get into everything. They could get into something and hurt themselves. They…” Shit. Not another sneeze. He just hated sneezing in front of people like this. He pinched his nose again and tried to hold his breath. But his cold was too strong to get tricked into backing down now. “Hehhh… Hkxxttt!”
“God bless you.”
“Thanks.”
“You were saying?”
“Right… kittens are curious and dive into anything they can get their paws on. You need to—”
“Oh no!” she exclaimed, looking up at the numbers lighting up above the door. “I forgot to press the button.” She shook her head. “I guess I’ll just ride it up and then down again.”
He nodded, the urge to sneeze prickling at him again already. “H’Nghttt! Kgstxxx!”
“God bless you.”
When they reached the top floor, Clint was filled with relief just to escape the tiny metal box where he was being stared at as he was sneezing. He rubbed at his nose, not daring to take out the soggy tissue. He sniffled, only remotely glad that the sneezes had freed the congestion in his head enough to make him be able to sniffle. As the doors rolled open, Clint tied up the conversation. “Just watch them around anything long and dangling like cords or curtains. And be sure to put away anything hazardous they could knock over.” Clint looked over to see Phil’s door opening, so he made a hasty retreat out of the elevator.
His only thought was getting to Phil’s apartment. He heard the elevator doors slide closed behind him as he walked to the door. And he tried to smile at Phil as he approached. But he suddenly found himself stumbling forward again with a strong sneeze that took him completely off guard. “Hahh-Ktshhhhh!” He would have been sneezing freely, uncovered, but somehow Phil had tissues up where he could fall right into it. Clint was about to apologize and ask how Phil knew he was in need of tissues, but his breath caught again and, again, he snapped forward. “Huh huh-KIHtchhh!” It felt so good to have the dry, soft tissues against his wet nose, he rubbed his nose into them before opening his eyes. “How sniff, sniff how did you know?”
Smiling at him, Phil stepped forward and wrapped an arm around him in a close, tight hug. “Because, unfortunately, I’m stuck in a time loop. I’m living this day over and over again.”
Clint pulled back, trying to determine if Phil was joking about this. But the man’s dire expression reminded him that this was not how Phil joked. Not to mention, how else would he have known Clint was there and going to sneeze? Stranger things had happened.
“Come in, and I’ll tell you about it. There’s still a few minutes before Agent Hill calls me away to pick up an 0-8-4 at the museum a few blocks away.” Clint found himself being ushered inside, door locked behind, just like that. He hadn’t needed to explain himself, hadn’t needed to turn on the charm or promise anything. He hadn’t even needed to put on a little puppy dog pout of patheticness and beg for cold medicine. Instead, he was whisked away to Phil’s bed. His sneakers were pulled off, his weapons were laid down carefully between the bed and the nightstand, and he was put right to bed, covered with the softest sheet and the thickest, heaviest comforter he’d ever touched. The only thing that would have made it any better was if Phil had been under there with him to keep him warm.
Phil sat down on the bed and immediately had his hand on Clint’s forehead. It was cool at first, then warmed against his skin. It felt even better when Phil began petting, stroking comfortingly to soothe him. And Clint probably would have fallen right to sleep just like that, overwhelmed in comfort in none other than Agent Phil Coulson’s bed, if not for two things. The first was Phil needing to explain what was happening. And the second was, of course, sneezes. “Hahhh-Hehschhhhhh! Hehschhhhhhh! Huh… huh… HERSchhuhhh!” Under the covers, Clint pulled several tissues out of the box and rubbed and blew his nose as quietly as he could in order to still catch the thread of Phil’s explanation.
“The first time around, I went to retrieve the item at the museum and it struck me with some sort of weird energy. The object is called a Shandari bullet and, whether it was meant to do this or not, it’s making time loop this day over and over for me. Every morning I wake up to find you at my door, sneezing. By the end of every day, I die and have to start all over again from the beginning. But I’m getting closer. This last time, I was poisoned.”
“Poisoned!” Clint tried to sit up, startled, but Phil put a hand on his shoulder and eased him back down. Then he went back to petting Clint. And Clint found his body relaxing almost immediately.
“Before I died, my team figured out when and how I was poisoned.”
“Who did it?”
“I’m not…” Phil shook his head. “I’m not exactly sure yet. Probably the same person who kidnapped us a few loops back. I can see his face in my mind, but I can’t quite place it. But that’s why I need your help. I know you’re sick, but I can’t do this without you, Hawkeye.”
Clint looked up at him, his head sunken deep into Phil’s pillow. It meant he probably didn’t look too convincing, but he sure as heck meant it when he replied, “Just tell me how I can help you, Sir. I may have a bad cold, but I’ll do whatever you need me to.” And that was how Clint found himself sitting up in bed instead of napping under the immensely satisfying comforter.
Phil’s phone buzzed, startling Clint, even though Phil had told him there would be a phone call. “I’ll get dressed while you talk to Agent Hill,” Phil ordered Clint as he handed the phone over. “Tell her I just stepped out of the room and ask her what she’s calling about. Got it?”
Clint nodded, feeling overwhelmed again and trying to focus on the task. Moreover, he tried to focus on completing the task without sneezing his head off where Agent Hill could hear. So he cleared his throat ans answered as professionally as he could, “This is Agent Phil Coulson’s phone, Agent Barton speaking. Go ahead.” He watched Phil head to his closet. He’d seen Phil change before or during missions plenty of times before. And he had pretended, during those times, that he wasn’t interested in watching. But he had to admit, it was nice seeing the man in nothing but boxers and a white wifebeater.
“Oh, Agent Barton. I was calling for Agent Coulson, obviously. Are the two of you working a case I don’t know about, or is he available for something?”
Or are the two of you sleeping together and that’s why you’re at his apartment in the morning, answering his cell phone for him? She didn’t ask that of course, but she didn’t have to. Clint replied, “I’m sure he’s available, yes. He’s just looking after me this morning. I’m not feeling so hot. Sniff!” His nose was running again, badly. He pulled a tissue out of the box that now sat in his lap and he held it to his nose. He didn’t want to blow it, because she would hear that. She could probably hear the tissue rubbing against the phone as well or masking his voice a little, but he didn’t care as long as he kept from having another sneezing fit in front of another woman today. He had had his daily quota of those, thank you very much.
“I need him to do a quick assessment and retrieval job for S.H.I.E.L.D. We’re understaffed at the moment and he’s nearby. I’m sorry if that eats into his vacation time, but do you think he would be able to do a quick job for me?” Quick job? Obviously she had no idea about him getting hit by energy and being part of a time loop. Clint clearly didn’t have all the details, but that part of it didn’t sound so quick to him.
“I will tell him. But I guess he could.” Just then, Phil reentered the room, apparently waiting for a good time in the conversation to take his phone back.
“There’s an 0-8-4 over at a museum. We need him to retrieve it. Understand?”
Of course he understood. This wasn’t the first he was hearing about it. He moved the tissue in place to get a dry section to his nose. The urge to sneeze was rising again, and if he didn’t concentrate, he was going to sneeze right now. “Yes. That’s just a few blocks away, I understand.” Once again, Clint looked up at Phil and smiled. “You’re in luck. He just walked in. Here you are, Agent Hill.” Urgently, he handed the phone over, then pressed another tissue to his face.
“Good morning, Agent Hill,” Phil said, as if he had no idea what she was calling about. But his whole story had matched up. Even if this was some elaborate trick devised by Fury that both Phil and Maria were on together, there’s no way Phil could have known about Clint sneezing exactly when he did unless this was a time loop or Phil was somehow psychic now. And it seemed that the most important piece of that puzzle—other than Phil himself—was waiting for them at that museum.
Phil paced around his bedroom as he spoke on the phone, which gave Clint enough opportunity to muffle his sneezes into whole handfuls of tissues as they came. “Hhh… huhhh-Chmphhhhhh! Hehschffffff!” He looked up over the tissues to see that Phil wasn’t even looking at him now, but Clint couldn’t take his eyes off the man.
Phil seemed absorbed in his conversation with Agent Hill. “I’m available to cut my vacation short and go on a mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. on two conditions.” There was a brief pause, presumably while Hill asked what those two conditions might be. “First, you take Agent Barton off active duty; he will be assisting me on this mission.” There was a brief smile on his face as he got his answer, which seemed to satisfy him. He turned in place and looked over at Clint for a brief moment. Then he went on. “I’m going to have the head researcher at the museum send his research to you. I need it sent immediately to my team to analyze. And I need you to read Tony Stark in on this one. I have a feeling we’re going to need his help. I’ve seen him recently and something he’s been working on may in fact help us.”
Clint didn’t hear the very end of the conversation, because another sneeze sprang up. He felt it tickling the inside of his nose so badly he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to muffle the sound any. Through tissues already plastered to his face in expectation, he gasped for breath. “Huh! Heh! Hehhh! Huhhh! Uh!” Then he paused, the sneeze intensifying for one miserable, teasing second before finally striking. “Hehhhhh-Umphschhhhh!” But it didn’t stop just there. “Hehhh-Ihshphhhh! Hehchummfff! Heh… huhhHushufffff!” He blew his nose in an attempt to drive the tickle out. An attempt that did not work. “Hah-ah-Hahschumphhh! Hushufffffff! Uhhhhh…” He moaned, wanting to collapse, exhausted back on the bed.
But then Phil was there, settling down next to him and petting his head again. “Bless you,” he said softly. “I feel awful about this, because I’ve seen how sick you are, but I need you to watch out for me at the museum this time around. If someone is going to poison me, you need to find out who and stop them. I can’t die again, not when I’m so close to figuring this thing out.”
“Of—” he paused. His nose was so stuffed and runny the word was almost unintelligible. He turned his head and blew his nose a couple times, dropping the tissues over the side of the bed as he did so. Then he tried again. “Of course, Sir. Whatever you need. ”
Phil smiled at him. “The same applies to you. Except, I’m sorry to say I’m out of cold medicine. But we can pick some up on the way to the museum.”
Clint considered, then shook his head. “On the way back would be fine. I can last until then.”
“You’re sure?”
He climbed out of bed and picked up his bow. “Let’s go get that… what did you call it?”
“A Shandari bullet.”
“Yeah, that. Let’s go get ourselves a that.”
“Just a few things before we go.” He dialed another number on his cell phone and waited for the other party to pick up. “Ward, I’m going to have some files sent to the bus from a museum. I need Fitz-Simmons to focus on the energy portions of the research. That’s the key to everything.” Phil listened to the reply. “I’ll be in contact as soon as possible. I’d like for May to pick us up with the object, but I’ll contact you when we’re ready.”
Phil hung up the phone and led Clint to the living room, where he went through the closet there. He called out to Clint from there. “Next, you need to promise to not touch the object.”
“Why’s that?”
“The one time you did, the object exploded and probably took the whole city with it, possibly the whole world. It’s hard to know as we were dead by that point.”
That wasn’t exactly what Clint wanted to hear early in the morning. “All right. I don’t want to do that again. No touching the Shandari bullet. Anything else?”
From the closet, Phil took out a S.H.I.E.L.D. case and a small black box. “A few things. When we get to the museum, I want you up on the second floor so you can watch me from above. Whoever poisoned me the last time did so by injecting something into the back of my neck. It took hours to finally kick in and kill me.”
“They won’t get to you a second time,” Clint promised. “But… what… sniff! What were they trying to accomplish by poisoning you like that?”
Phil took two earpieces out of the box and turned each on. “I’ve been thinking about it, and the best I can come up with is he meant to inject me with more and then steal the Shandari bullet from me. But he wasn’t able to inject me with enough so I was already on the bus with my team by that time. Here…” He handed over an ear piece. “Test this with me.” They both put one in and tested them out to be sure they worked.
“Ready?” Clint asked.
“Do you have enough tissues?”
He hadn’t even thought of that, but Clint now loaded his pockets down with tissues. “How long have you been going through this day?” Clint asked.
“About two weeks now,” Phil told him. “Long enough to know you’re going to need tissues.”
What if he lost sight of Phil? What if he sneezed at the wrong time and missed getting the bad guy? “Maybe you should call huh… huhh-URshhhh! Sniff! Maybe you should call a member of your team to cover you instead?”
Phil shook his head. “I have exactly who I want. We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we? I know you can do this.” He squeezed Clint’s shoulder. “Now let’s go.”
Clint followed Phil out to the elevator and leaned against one of the walls inside. He coughed a little and rubbed at his nose. He couldn’t help but notice how Phil kept looking at him like he knew a lot more than he was saying. “Sir, did something happen during one of the time loops?”
With a sigh, “A lot of things happened during the time loops.”
“Yes, but did something happen… between us?”
Phil didn’t reply right away. He wouldn’t even make eye contact as he thought about what to say. Finally, he looked back at Clint. “If we make it through this loop, I’ll tell you.”
That was good enough for Clint for now. As they walked out of the apartment building, Clint let the senior agent lead the way. If Phil had been through this before, he probably knew everything from the time the street lights were going to change to who was passing them on the sidewalk. Or maybe it took more than a couple weeks of loops to learn that sort of thing. But Phil also looked tired. He didn’t want Phil to go through any more loops than he had to. Ideally, they’d stop the bad guy, figure out how the device worked, stop the time loop, and free Agent Phil Coulson up to take care of him.
“Huh… hehhhh!” He needed someone to take care of him. Clint pinched his nose again, preparing to hold back the sneeze as much as he could. There were too many people around, too many people who would see him sneezing. This was a nightmare. But then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Come here…” Phil said directing Clint over to the side of a store, out of the way on the sidewalk. Then he pulled Clint close and wrapped his arms around the man. “Sneeze all you need to. I’ve got you.”
Clint bent his head down and nuzzled his face into Phil’s suit jacket. “I… I have to… hehhh… hehKTschhuhhhhh! Heh heh hehKtchhhffffff! Huhhh huhKehshhhh! Huh… hehhh-Uhhshuhhhh! Sniff!”
“Bless you.” Phil rubbed his back where the quiver of arrows wasn’t. “Better?”
Clint raised his head. He didn’t feel any better, but the urge to sneeze had passed for now. So he nodded anyway. And on they went to the the museum. They walked up the front stone steps and headed in through the tall double doors.
The museum was swamped with people, which surprised Clint. So many people… so many possible culprits. And then Clint gave a start when he saw the security checkpoint just inside the entrance, but Coulson didn’t seem concerned. “The guard is a bit obsessed with superheroes and the Avengers. You’ll have no problem getting in with your bow and arrows.”
With a slight smirk, “Obsessed with superheros? I bet you don’t know what that’s like, Mr. Mint Captain America Cards.”
Phil frowned. “Fury still owes me for those ones he damaged.”
Clint turned away so Phil wouldn’t see him laugh about that. But it turned out the man was right about the security guard. “You’re Hawkeye, aren’t you?” the security guard exclaimed the moment he spotted Clint, even when Clint was a few people back. He rushed those museum patrons through quickly and then marveled at the sight of Clint. “Hawkeye in my museum… wow… could I get your autograph—for my daughter, Melanie, of course.” Of course. Clint signed the back of a museum map the man thrust at him. “And one more… for me?” Once again, Clint did his best not to laugh. He signed another one for the man whose name was right there on his name tag. “Bruce. It’s Bruce.”
Clint had already written it, so he smiled obligingly then handed it over. He knew he couldn’t look back at Phil or he would absolutely crack up. Instead, he turned on his charm. “Hey, I know weapons aren’t allowed, but I’m escorting this S.H.I.E.L.D. agent on official business…”
“Go right through!” the guard said, almost pushing Clint through the metal detector. Even went it went off, he didn’t bat an eyelash. He did, however, turn toward the next person in line: Phil. “Anything metal goes in the tray,” he said, narrowing his eyes. Clint waited for Phil to make it through then collect his personal items and cell phone from the tray that had been through the x-ray machine. Phil looked amused, not irritated, though. Then he motioned to Clint to take the stairs up to the second floor.
“I’ll keep my eye on you, Sir,” Clint promised before racing up the grand, marble stairs. The layout of the museum was easy enough to figure out, even at first glance. The entrance hall was a large circle with a fountain in the center. There were exhibit halls branching off from the circle like rays of the sun. These exhibit halls stretched off in all directions except on the side where the main entrance doors were. Clint felt far more comfortable up here, looking down at the chaos below. He was in his element up high like this with his bow at the ready in case someone tried something with Agent Coulson. “I’m with you, Sir,” he said through the comm channel.
Phil replied, “I’ll be cutting across here and—oof!” A little girl suddenly ran into Phil.
“Sir!” Clint had a trick arrow nocked in his bow, ready to fire. His fingers were about to let loose the wire when Phil stopped him.
“Stand down, Agent. It’s just a little girl who loses her father. She runs into me all the time. No need to overreact.”
“You could have warned me about that…”
“Sorry. She’s the only exception. If anyone else approaches me, especially from behind, don’t hesitate to fire.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’re going to lose me in a minute when I head to the employee area. But we’ll keep the comm live so you can follow what I’m doing. I promise I’ll be fine until I get back to the entrance hall. I’m certain that’s where it happened before.”
Clint didn’t like the idea of not being able to watch Phil the whole time. He couldn’t protect the agent if he couldn’t see the agent. But he did trust Phil. “Be careful, Sir.”
Faced with some time to kill, Clint put it to good use studying the people in the entrance hall, looking for suspicious characters. He saw a few people just standing around, surveying the other people in the hall. But each of them, without exception, ended up finding friends or family and heading to an exhibit or up the stairs. No one sent red warning flags up for Clint. In addition to watching everyone, Clint tried to follow Phil’s progress. He listened to the introductions with the researchers and the way Phil took charge of the situation, swooping in and snatching up the 0-8-4. It was impressive—and pretty hot, actually.
Clint also spent some time sneezing. He couldn’t help it. And at least it was happening now and not later when Phil was back in sight and needed him. Not even a sneeze would distract him then, he resolved. So, for now, he wouldn’t berate himself for needing to sneeze. He did, however, keep pinching his nose so his sneezes weren’t loud, attention-getters. He might be on the second floor, but plenty of museum-goers still passed by. “Hehh… hehhh! HEH! Hurxxxnttt! Hengxxxt!” Sometimes when he sneezed while Phil was speaking, he heard the man falter or pause in speaking. Sometimes Clint muttered an apology, knowing Phil wasn’t able to answer him.
“Agent Barton,” Phil’s voice said through their comm at last.
“Right here, Sir.”
“I’m approaching the entrance hall.”
Tense, unblinking, Clint’s eyes did not move from where he had seen Phil disappear from sight earlier. Something inside him jumped with Phil appeared. “Eyes on you, Sir.”
“Thanks, Agent,” came the reply, though Clint didn’t take it personally when Phil did not look up at him. He knew they wouldn’t want to let anyone know Clint was there.
Clint sniffled a little and got an arrow set in his bow so he could react immediately this time. Closely, he watched Phil walk across the entrance hall, carrying the S.H.I.E.L.D. case. And he scanned the crowd, looking for someone who might be looking at him. He didn’t see anyone watching Phil, but that just meant whoever it was wasn’t being obvious about it. A warning flared up in Clint when someone asked Phil to take a photo of a group of Japanese tourists. Clint watched carefully as the man handed his camera over, but the man didn’t go anywhere near Phil’s neck or even actually touch him.
Just then, he felt someone bump him. He almost loosed the arrow, but managed to keep hold of it and relax his posture just a little as he looked down. A little girl had bumped into him. No, not just any little girl, but the exact same little girl who had bumped into Phil earlier. That seemed like a strange coincidence. Or, rather, it seemed that way until he started feeling woozy a few seconds later. He lowered his bow so he wouldn’t shoot the arrow by mistake. And then the world went dark around him.
When he opened his eyes, his head was pounding. It took him a few seconds for his head to right itself. The moment he pushed past the dizziness, the congestion got to him. It stabbed and prickled at his sinuses and then he snapped forward. “Huhh-UHKSchhhhhhhhhh!” Sneezing hurt, and not just because the sneeze was stronger and more powerful than usual. He tried to rub his nose but found that he was tied to something. He was sitting upright, but his middle was held against something. He looked down to see ropes wrapped around his chest. His arms were pulled back behind him and tied with something at the wrists. He could move his fingers, but the bindings were so tight there was no room for him to pull free easily, so wiping his nose was out… as was the more important concept: escape. Clint’s legs wouldn’t move either, as they seemed to be spread apart but tied at the ankles to what Clint now identified as a hard wooden chair. But wood wasn’t bad. Wood could break. Escape wasn’t completely impossible, but it would take some time and some strength.
First, though, was finding Phil. Clint was tied to a chair in the middle of what seemed to be a very large room, like a warehouse. There was a bare, gray concrete floor; a bare, dim lightbulb hanging directly overhead; and a bare, almost non-existent hope of being rescued. Apart from Clint in his chair, it seemed empty and deserted—in short, it was the perfect place to detain and torture someone. It stood to reason that if he were here, Phil was somewhere similar… or even somewhere there. “Sir?” he whispered. He received no reply but, as he strained to listen, he heard something he hadn’t noticed before: breathing. The breaths were soft, slow, and even. They were the breaths of someone who was asleep, not someone waiting in the wings to jump out with a weapon and a million and a half questions Clint wouldn’t have any idea how to answer. Clint had spent years working with Phil, but he was kidding himself if he believed he could identify Phil’s breathing from anyone else’s.
Yet… the most he listened to it, the more he was certain. It was coming from right behind him, not even that far behind him either. Maybe a foot, maybe two. He was just far enough back that he couldn’t reach him no matter how he twisted his wrists and stretched out his fingers, but also too close for Clint to catch a glimpse of him no matter how he turned his head or moved his shoulders. The ropes were too tight. The chair too strong. “Sir?” he tried again, a little louder. Then, “Phil?” Nothing. Definitely asleep then. And while Clint desperately wanted Phil to wake up and help him find a way out of this, he also knew there was probably no escape from this situation and Phil might as well sleep while he could and save himself the distress a for a few extra minutes.
It was hard to stay quiet, however, when you had a horrible head cold and hadn’t had medicine in at least a day. His nose tickled madly, and his throat tickled as well, as the congestion traveled downward. He coughed and sniffled and tried his best not to sneeze by straining his neck and scrubbing his nose on his shoulder. But the material of his uniform was not the most receptive and mostly only irritated his sore nostrils rather than soothed the tickle in them. “Hahhhh hahh-KETSCHHHHHHH!” he sprayed freely, unrestrainedly. It was loud enough to wake a city block, but Phil slept on. Maybe Clint was tougher, more resistant to whatever they’d injected him with. Or maybe Clint had been given a smaller dosage. Or maybe they had only brought enough for one, expecting just Phil, and had split it between them at the last minute, unevenly. Whatever the reason, Clint was at least relieved to find out that it wasn’t poison and they hadn’t been killed. Clint focused on that breathing. In the lonely darkness, that breathing was the only thing that kept him present, kept him sane. He needed that breathing… almost as much as he needed a damn tissue. “Huhhhh… hahhh-HIHKTSChhhhhhhhh! Hehktchhhhhhhh!”
Clint gasped for breath and tried to will the tickles away, but he failed miserably. “Hahh-KTSchuhhhhh! HAH-EHHKFSChhhhhhh! Sniff! Sniff!” Oh god, his nose was running. He rubbed it at his shoulder now, trying to wipe it dry. But the more he rubbed it, the more it tickled. “Hahhh… hahh… hahhhhhhhh… hahh-HIHSchhhhhh! Hehktshooo! HehKshhhhhh!” His head swam again, dizzy from so much rapid fire sneezing. “Hahhh-Kshhhh! HuhhhKshooo! Huh…. Ahh-hahhh…” And then, the worst thing happened: the sneeze stuck. He felt it tickling madly inside his nose. He felt it tickle the back of his throat. But it just wouldn’t get bigger and wouldn’t come out. “Aw, sneeze, no…” Clint said, his nose too full now. He tried sniffling, but got the same annoying “Snxxt!” as when he’d woken up that morning, like time was repeating on him as well. “Dab it!”
Clint coughed and tried to relax. He tried to match his breathing to Phil’s. In and out. In and out. “Hahhh-HAHHHSHUSHHHHHHH!” Great relief coupled with great misery. “Snffffff!” But at least he could sniffle a little now. “Phil? Snffffff! Phil, I know that’s you. Snffff! Snifff! If you’re there, just… breathe id add thed out agaid.” He listened closely to the breathing behind him. In and out. “I dew it.” He smiled. “Hi, Sir. I’ll just sit here add wait for you thed. All right?” In and out. In and out. Clint gave a laugh. “Dod’t worry, Sir. I’ve got your back.”
Clint wished that by slowing his breathing he could fall asleep. He felt sick and exhausted and could probably use the extra rest. But every time he got close to drifting off, he had to sneeze again. And so he had to go through the routine of trying to hold it back, screwing up his face, wrinkling his nose, gritting his teeth, pursing his lips, only to have his every attempt thwarted. “Hahhh-Uhshhhhhh! HahhhKshuhhhhhhh! Hah… hahh-ahschhhhhhhhh! Sniff! Sniff! Hahhh-Huhhshhhhhh!” He tried laughing again, though that mostly came out as coughing. “How was that, Sir? Dot eved worthy of a bless you? Huh… huhhhhHuhshhhhhh! Sniff! You’re bissig sub good sdeezes frub be here. Hahhh… hahhh-Huhshoo! Sniff!”
After about half an hour, Clint started shivering. Maybe it was getting colder in the warehouse. Or maybe it was that his legs were getting damp from being caught in so many of his sneezes. Or maybe his fever was coming back. Whatever the reason, he was shivering and wishing more than ever to be back in Phil’s bed, under that impossibly heavy comforter. A warm cup of tea. A hot water bottle at his feet. A warm arm draped around him from behind in bed. There was so much he wanted right now, though he would settle for a tissue. Right now, he would just about sell his soul for a tissue. “Huhhhh-UH-Hihtschuhhhhhh! HuhSchuhhhhhh! Sniff! Sniff! Snifffffff! Huh… oh… huhhh-Hihshhhhhhhhh! Ugh… Sir? Sniff! Are you awake yet?”
Phil wasn’t. Clint couldn’t tell how much time had passed. He hadn’t been counting seconds or minutes or even sneezes. But it seemed like an eternity had passed already. “Hahh… Hehh-Huhshooo!” And he was absolutely no closer to stopping sneezing. “Huhhh-huh-huh-HUH!” He paused, sure that the sneeze would mess with him again and go away. But then it didn’t. “Huhhh-KETCHushhhhhhhh! Sniiiiiiiffffffffffff!”
Groaning miserably, Clint rubbed his nose on his right shoulder, then his left, then the right again. It really only made things worse, but it was all he could do. “Huhhh-Huhshchhhhhh! Hehkshuhhhhhhh! Sniff! Sniff! Sniff! Huhh… huhShuhhhhh! Sniff! Sir?” he tried again. “Are you sure you’re dot awake yet and just blayig a joke od be? Heh… Is Stark goig to jubb out of the darkdess add yell boo?” Phil did not answer. And Tony Stark did not jump out from anywhere. All that happened was that Clint sneezed again. “Huh-IHShuhhhhh! Huhshuhhhh! Heh heh-IHSchuhhhhhhh! Sniiff! Sniff-sniff!”
Between sneezes, Clint spent some time thinking about his kidnapper. That little girl had definitely been the one Phil had told Clint wasn’t a threat. She couldn’t have moved both of them on her own; she had to have had help. Phil had said she had lost her father? Clint was willing to bet that man was in on this. But he’d dismissed it at the time. And there she had been, looking not at all innocent. Her eyes had been filled with… what had they been filled with, exactly? Rage? Hatred? Malicious intent? Or… anger-filled excitement, maybe. She had known exactly what she was doing when she had jabbed him with that syringe. He had only taken his eyes off Phil for a second, but in that second he’d broken his promise. Some S.H.I.E.L.D. agent he’d turned out to be. Agent Hill should remove him from active duty permanently if he ever got out of this mess. “I’b sorry, Sir,” Clint whispered, wishing above all that Phil had been awake to hear that. “This is by… by… by fault hahhh-Ihschuhhhhh! Ehshihhhh! Heh heh… hah-UHChooo!”
But as Phil continued to sit behind him, unconscious, Clint’s mind continued to wander. What if they’d hurt him, and that was why he wasn’t waking up? What if they’d injected Clint with some stuff and they hadn’t had enough for Phil, so they’d had to clock him over the head or hit him and knock him out? What if it were some complication with the Shandari bullet? What if he never woke? Would the time loop reset if Phil wasn’t awake? Or was he already dead? “Sir? Phil?” Clint knew that calling out to him wasn’t going to work by now. His sneezes were twice as loud as his words, and none of them had done anything except make the situation worse. But it made him feel better. “Ha… hahh-Hahschhhhhh! Sniff!” And right now he needed whatever he could get that would make him feel better.
Minutes passed. Hours. Days. Decades. And just when Clint was about to give up any hope, he heard a different sound behind him. It was the sound of something moving. It could have been their kidnapper finally making an appearance, but somehow Clint just knew that it was Phil finally coming to.
“Hello?” Phil called out, his voice echoing in the large room the way each and every one of Clint’s sneezes and sniffles had.
“Hey,” Clint replied. His voice was tired, congested, but he tried to sound as relieved as he felt. “Glad you woge ub at last. Sniff! I’ve beed callig for you for albost ad hour.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He knew? He was sorry? That wasn’t right. Not at all. “Doe, it was by fault. I was subbosed to have beed watch… watch… huhhh hold od… hehhhh-HihKTSHHHhhhhhhh!”
“There was nothing you could have done. And this isn’t the first time I’ve had this happen.”
Clint rolled his eyes. “You could have warded be. Sniff! Sniffffff!”
“Sorry,” he repeated. “Your poor nose. You’ve been sneezing nonstop since you woke up, haven’t you? Bless you, Clint.”
A distinct chill ran up Clint at the sound of Agent Phil Coulson saying his first name like that, full of so much kindness and sympathy. Clit laughed, “Dod’t bother with that, Sir. I’b too far gode add I c-cah… hah… huh-KITSCHHHH! Snuffffffff! I cad’t s-stob sdeh… ehhh… hehhhh-EHPTISHHHHH!”
“Now that I’m awake, our kidnappers should be showing themselves any moment now. Though they needn’t bother. I know who they are now.”
“You can’t know!” came a shout from the darkness, and Clint wondered if their kidnappers had been listening in on them this whole damn time. That was inarguably creepy. He hoped they’d enjoyed watching him sneeze his head off for an hour. The sound of footsteps filled the silence, coming closer and closer. And out of the darkness came the person Clint had expected.
“You’re that little girl’s father,” Phil said.
A dart flew to him, embedded itself in his chest, and facilitated an electric current. It sounded to Clint as if Phil were being hit by a taser, and Clint shout out, “Stop!” as if simply being given that command had ever stopped any super villain in the history of ever.
“Not a father, a loyal servant of her majesty.”
Clint cleared his throat. “That little girl is a queed?”
There was a pause. “A princess, actually.”
“A bridcess? Dot the bridcess?”
“She is Princess Runella, twelfth in line for the throne of the territory of Yamala on the world of—”
“Let be guess,” Clint interrupted. “Shaddari?”
So shocked, the man took a step back.
Phil had recovered somewhat from being hit with the energy, because he managed to eek out, “Told you we knew who you were. And I know about the bullet.”
The man took a step forward, making up the difference he’d just lost. “You will tell me how you activated it. You will tell me how to use it.”
Clint thought that was about as likely as the Black Widow knitting baby booties for kittens. “Sure,” Phil agreed, and Clint groaned inside. “I’ll tell you just as soon as Tony Stark goes to an AA meeting and the Hulk teaches a ballet class.”
The man roared with anger—an inhuman, blood-curdling kind of roar. He fired his taser at Coulson once again for longer this time, and Clint got the sense that Phil was doing this specifically to keep the man from targeting Clint. That didn’t seem fair, but he was grateful just the same. Phil was a damn good agent.
Just then, there was a buzzing sound. It took Clint a few moments to recognize it as Phil’s phone. The idiot space aliens had forgotten to relieve him of his phone. Phil wouldn’t be able to answer it, of course, but if it was buzzing, that meant it was still on. And if it was still on, that meant S.H.I.E.L.D. could be tracking them. And if S.H.I.E.L.D. were tracking them, that meant help might be on its way.
Correction: help was definitely on its way. Clint heard gunfire. And he heard Phil’s warnings. But he heard both of them too late to do anything about it. As his chair fell to the side, Clint felt something strike his shoulder, something else strike his thigh, and then…
