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owned_by_a_catSeries: Sane Safe Alive
Pt.2: A Consummate Professional
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Summary: Slow-burn Clint / Coulson - or what handlers and assets get up to when they're dancing around each other.
Clint only just stopped himself from swearing. He and Coulson were using a private channel, and Coulson never minded, but still... The identity of the agents they were there to rescue wasn’t Coulson’s fault.
What are you talking about?
Coulson sounded a little out of breath, but Clint supposed that was because the man didn’t have Clint’s experience climbing up every tall structure that presented itself. Right now he was scaling the side of an old factory building, strapped into a harness and forty feet off the ground. For someone not used to doing that – and wearing a suit and dress shoes – the man was damn good at it. Quiet, too.
Last December. I was freezing my balls off on a roof after the rookies had scared off my targets. And Agent Cooper had the gall to call me an arrogant little shit. On comms!
Yes, he did, Coulson admitted with a just tiny chuckle in his voice. But I dealt with him.
The factory was Victorian. To Clint’s discerning eye that meant rock solid construction with convenient steel girders and cross-braces, fitted together to last. Victorian buildings made his job easier. Most of the time.
Clint settled himself comfortably on a broad beam. He leaned his back against the rough brick and fixed another line, ready to anchor Coulson when he reached the top. Below him, in a cavernous space that might once have been a workshop, three SHIELD agents were tied to the pillars that divided the room. All three were conscious, but they’d been beaten and even from this distance, Clint could see bloodied wrists, rubbed raw by the shackles, and battered faces. He could imagine the sea of bruises hidden under clothes and hoped with all his might that bruises would be all he needed to worry about.
You knocking him out is not adequate punishment, sir.
Clint thought it lucky that Hill had scrambled Coulson the moment Cooper’s team missed their check-in. They’d been on the way home from a mission of their own and closest to the factory Cooper was supposed to be observing. With Coulson and Hill coordinating, the rescue team had already been on the way by the time the second check-in lapsed and only an hour out when one of the three managed to activate the emergency extraction signal.
They had no idea who had captured Cooper and the two junior agents assigned to him, which was the main reason the rescue team was standing by and Coulson was joining Clint on high ground.
Clint leaned forward when Coulson’s head appeared over the edge of the skylight, offering a hand in support. He needn’t have bothered, but Coulson didn’t complain. He took Clint’s hand and pulled himself over the window ledge and onto the beam that Clint had picked as having the best view.
“Not something I want to make a habit of,” Coulson said quietly as he settled beside the archer.
“Yeah, that suit’s ruined,” Clint replied, then pointed down. “They’re damaged but conscious. Can’t see any evidence of guards.”
Which was worrisome all by itself, as they hadn’t been able to find any sign of guards outside the building either.
“Maybe they left them here to die.”
“Or they got what they came for.” And wasn’t that a cheerful thought. “Does Cooper know anything worthwhile?”
“Just because you don’t like him, Barton...”
“Yeah, fine. I get it.” Sometimes, bitching worked to relieve tension. And then sometimes it didn’t. Clint made a face when he realised that it worked best when Nat was with them. Unfortunately, she was off on a solo mission infiltrating a drugs lab and had been gone far too long.
“She’ll be fine,” Coulson said quietly from beside him and Clint felt a wash of gratitude so strong, he almost hugged the other man. That he’d been granted two people who understood him even when he made no sense to himself was a boon he had no intention to examine too closely. Or give up.
“Four exits,” he said instead, voice calm and professional. “Have the team stand by to back me up?”
“I don’t like the lack of guards, so be careful.”
“Yes, sir,” Clint acknowledged before he switched back to comms, slipped off the beam and climbed silently down the brick wall. I maintain that just knocking him out was nowhere near adequate punishment for that comment.
But hanging him out to dry is?
Oh yeah.
You’re shit out of luck on that one, Barton. I wrote him up for not taking proper care of a shield asset. I really don’t wanna do the same to you.
“That’d be the day,” Clint mumbled under his breath. Coulson didn’t hesitate to write him up for any number of misdeeds if he saw the need. Never for anything as serious as jeopardising another asset, though. Cooper must hate having a blot like that in his ledger. He’d be even more insufferable as a result. Oh, joy!
Clint settled his feet carefully on the russet bricks that lined the floor, not surprised to find them damp and slippery. Hidden in the shadows, he took stock of the room once more. The large rectangular space divided by a row of pillars could have been used for a number of things, though the drain in the centre of the floor gave Clint the creeps and he said so.
Too many horror movies.
Which are clearly rooted in reality.
Focus, Barton. Nobody is harvesting body parts.
That we know of, Clint muttered into the comm – and then he ducked quickly to save himself a serious head injury.
Barton?!
Clint leaned out of the way of a flying fist. He stepped to the side and his leg shot out, catching his opponent behind the knee and pulling him off balance. Two quick jabs and a straight punch ended the surprise attack.
Found the missing guards, sir, he reported quietly. Well, one of them.
Status?
Undamaged. Checking perimeter.
I’ll send in the team.
That damn drain had him twitchy, but Clint had no idea how to explain that without sounding like a complete nutcase. The familiar frustration leaked through his focus until he remembered that he had Phil Coulson at his back. The one handler who trusted him, even if he sounded insane.
Negative. Something doesn’t feel right.
Coulson was quiet for a moment and Clint stayed where he was, plastered to a rough brick wall with an unconscious guard at his feet. Having someone’s trust like this was still strange to Clint. Heady and frightening at once, and Clint didn’t realise he was holding his breath until Coulson’s quiet voice came over the comm.
Your call, Barton.
Thank you, sir, Clint replied softly before he started to move. First, the guard’s keys went into one of Clint’s pockets. Then he expertly trussed the man, drew a knife and made his way along the wall. He found air vents where no air vents needed to be, sets of shackles attached to each pillar and one extra door he hadn’t been able to see from his perch.
Clean, he reported when he stood over the guard’s still form once more. Have the team stand by the doors. I’m going to release Cooper and co.
“Agent Barton,” sarcasm was thick in Cooper’s tone as Clint stepped up holding the keys to release the shackles. “I should have known, seeing how long you kept us waiting.”
Tell him to shut it or he can stay right where he is, Coulson’s usually so calm voice all but snarled in Clint’s ear.
What?
You heard me.
“That’ll be the day, boss,” he chuckled. “Tasha’s the one who carries duct tape.”
Maybe you should make that a habit.
The following words were so muffled, Clint wasn’t sure he heard aright, but it sounded like don’t want to hear idiots badmouthing you. Clint’s breath caught and for just a moment his mind took him somewhere he couldn’t yet follow. That small sign of indignation on his behalf was all kinds of sweet. And interesting. And damn surprising. A smile curled the corners of Clint’s mouth as he released Cooper’s bonds and handed him a knife while he moved to the young woman shackled to the next pillar.
Agent Cecily Avent was known throughout SHIELD for her glorious hair. Unbound it hung like a black silk curtain well below her waist. Through training assignment after training assignment and handler after handler she had refused to cut the long strands, but this mission had been one too far. Handfuls of black silk covered the ground at her feet and what was left surrounded her battered face in ragged shards.
Clint ignored the rage in his stomach in favour of freeing her hands from the shackles, worried when she couldn’t hide a wince as he jostled her.
“They got anything serious?”
“Ribs,” she gasped and slumped against him. “Boot.”
Clint wrapped an arm around her shoulders and waved the bunch of keys in Cooper’s face. He took them reluctantly, but finally went to work on Agent Franks’ shackles, grumbling to himself the whole time.
Cooper’s whining almost drowned the soft hiss. Almost, but not quite. Situational awareness was a hard skill to unlearn, and the strange position of that drain had bothered Clint ever since he’d seen it. He let go of Cecily Avent, reached into one of his thigh pockets and tossed a handful of chalk into the centre of the room. It rose like a column of smoke, leaning gently towards the open skylight.
Coulson. Floor level. Now!
Rescue teams: Gas being released. Open the doors. Now!
Clint peered anxiously into the gloom, thoughts for his own safety momentarily forgotten. The gas was drifting right towards Phil’s hiding place beside the open skylight. If he didn’t understand Clint’s warning, didn’t believe it, didn’t make it down in time...
“Let’s get out of here, Barton.”
Coulson stepped up beside Clint and the brief touch on his arm reassured Clint more than he was ready to admit. He turned and pulled Agent Franks’ arm over his shoulder, helping the young man towards one of the open doors.
“The rescue team is right outside,” he said as they moved, low and fast. “Get as far from the building as possible.”
“Cecily is hurt.”
“I know. Coulson's got her. Don’t worry about anything but yourself right now. You did a great job triggering the extract signal. Where did you hide it?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Franks was beginning to wheeze, whether from the gas or the effects of the beating he had taken, Clint didn’t know. He didn’t have the time to worry about it either. He handed the man off to the rescue team, took a deep breath and ducked back inside the factory. Coulson was coming towards him, carrying Cecily Avent, a still grumbling Cooper on his heels.
“We’re ok,” Coulson called as soon as he caught sight of Clint.
“The guard.”
“Let him rot,” Cooper snarled and Clint couldn’t even be bothered with a reply.
He covered his mouth and nose as best he could and sprinted towards the far wall where he’d left the guard. The man would die if they left him. He might have a story to tell if they didn’t. Clint hauled the man upright, hoisted him over his shoulder and started back the way he’d come.
He was within sight of the open door when Coulson was there, ready to give aid if it was needed. And that was such a common occurrence, that Clint finally relaxed. He felt light-headed and faintly sick, and when one of the medics held out an oxygen mask he took it without complaint. Cooper was already driving the men crazy with his demands and Clint – though he had a reputation with the medical staff – didn’t want to have his name mentioned in the same breath.
He ended up stretched out in the plane’s lounge with Coulson in the seat beside him for the trip home, each nursing a large mug of coffee. Clint appreciated the peace, Coulson’s quiet questions as they went through the mission debrief and the soft tap of Coulson’s fingers on the keyboard of his laptop. He still couldn’t explain what had felt wrong about the drain and Coulson didn’t push. They’d left a surveillance crew and AD Hill was organising a larger force to get to the bottom of that factory’s activities. The matter would be taken care of, giving Clint a chance to relax for a while.
Coulson didn’t even demand that Clint get himself checked out in medical, accepting the EMT’s assurance that Clint had suffered no harm from the gas. In fact, Clint’s handler was his quiet unflappable self right until the plane set down. Then, suddenly, he was all snarling efficiency, gone in an instant with his face like a mask.
Clint had only ever seen Coulson look like this once before – when he’d gone head to head with Director Fury over Clint’s decision to bring in Natasha Romanoff. Seeing his placid handler almost spitting sparks for no discernible reason was intriguing enough for Clint to follow the man, and when he realised where Coulson was headed, Clint detoured into the safest place for eavesdropping he knew: the ventilation system.
Coulson debriefed Cooper right there in medical, as soon as the medics had finished patching him up. Clint had been through that drill many times, but he’d never seen his handler so fierce, or so unforgiving. Clint heard the tightness in Coulson’s voice, listened to the rapid-fire questions, the sarcastic comments pointing out inadequacies in Cooper’s planning and leadership in a way clearly intended to make the other man squirm, and Clint almost dropped from his hiding place to rescue... well, he wasn’t quite sure who needed it more.
Clint Barton almost... almost felt sorry for Agent Cooper.
If such thing was possible.
“You’re lucky that the arrogant little shit is such a consummate professional, Cooper,” Coulson commented finally as he gathered up his papers and passed out of the medical bay. “I would have left your sorry ass out there to rot.”
Safely hidden in the vents above Cooper’s bed, Clint allowed himself a huge, goofy smile. He knew that he could trust Coulson to have his back. That had always been a comforting thought for someone who was used to operate without a safety net. That Coulson would fight for Clint was... unexpected. And unexpectedly sweet. But to think that Agent Philip J. Coulson would leave another agent in danger, that... was a load of bullshit.
Pt.2: A Consummate Professional
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Summary: Slow-burn Clint / Coulson - or what handlers and assets get up to when they're dancing around each other.
Part 2: A Consummate Professional
He called me an arrogant little shit!Clint only just stopped himself from swearing. He and Coulson were using a private channel, and Coulson never minded, but still... The identity of the agents they were there to rescue wasn’t Coulson’s fault.
What are you talking about?
Coulson sounded a little out of breath, but Clint supposed that was because the man didn’t have Clint’s experience climbing up every tall structure that presented itself. Right now he was scaling the side of an old factory building, strapped into a harness and forty feet off the ground. For someone not used to doing that – and wearing a suit and dress shoes – the man was damn good at it. Quiet, too.
Last December. I was freezing my balls off on a roof after the rookies had scared off my targets. And Agent Cooper had the gall to call me an arrogant little shit. On comms!
Yes, he did, Coulson admitted with a just tiny chuckle in his voice. But I dealt with him.
The factory was Victorian. To Clint’s discerning eye that meant rock solid construction with convenient steel girders and cross-braces, fitted together to last. Victorian buildings made his job easier. Most of the time.
Clint settled himself comfortably on a broad beam. He leaned his back against the rough brick and fixed another line, ready to anchor Coulson when he reached the top. Below him, in a cavernous space that might once have been a workshop, three SHIELD agents were tied to the pillars that divided the room. All three were conscious, but they’d been beaten and even from this distance, Clint could see bloodied wrists, rubbed raw by the shackles, and battered faces. He could imagine the sea of bruises hidden under clothes and hoped with all his might that bruises would be all he needed to worry about.
You knocking him out is not adequate punishment, sir.
Clint thought it lucky that Hill had scrambled Coulson the moment Cooper’s team missed their check-in. They’d been on the way home from a mission of their own and closest to the factory Cooper was supposed to be observing. With Coulson and Hill coordinating, the rescue team had already been on the way by the time the second check-in lapsed and only an hour out when one of the three managed to activate the emergency extraction signal.
They had no idea who had captured Cooper and the two junior agents assigned to him, which was the main reason the rescue team was standing by and Coulson was joining Clint on high ground.
Clint leaned forward when Coulson’s head appeared over the edge of the skylight, offering a hand in support. He needn’t have bothered, but Coulson didn’t complain. He took Clint’s hand and pulled himself over the window ledge and onto the beam that Clint had picked as having the best view.
“Not something I want to make a habit of,” Coulson said quietly as he settled beside the archer.
“Yeah, that suit’s ruined,” Clint replied, then pointed down. “They’re damaged but conscious. Can’t see any evidence of guards.”
Which was worrisome all by itself, as they hadn’t been able to find any sign of guards outside the building either.
“Maybe they left them here to die.”
“Or they got what they came for.” And wasn’t that a cheerful thought. “Does Cooper know anything worthwhile?”
“Just because you don’t like him, Barton...”
“Yeah, fine. I get it.” Sometimes, bitching worked to relieve tension. And then sometimes it didn’t. Clint made a face when he realised that it worked best when Nat was with them. Unfortunately, she was off on a solo mission infiltrating a drugs lab and had been gone far too long.
“She’ll be fine,” Coulson said quietly from beside him and Clint felt a wash of gratitude so strong, he almost hugged the other man. That he’d been granted two people who understood him even when he made no sense to himself was a boon he had no intention to examine too closely. Or give up.
“Four exits,” he said instead, voice calm and professional. “Have the team stand by to back me up?”
“I don’t like the lack of guards, so be careful.”
“Yes, sir,” Clint acknowledged before he switched back to comms, slipped off the beam and climbed silently down the brick wall. I maintain that just knocking him out was nowhere near adequate punishment for that comment.
But hanging him out to dry is?
Oh yeah.
You’re shit out of luck on that one, Barton. I wrote him up for not taking proper care of a shield asset. I really don’t wanna do the same to you.
“That’d be the day,” Clint mumbled under his breath. Coulson didn’t hesitate to write him up for any number of misdeeds if he saw the need. Never for anything as serious as jeopardising another asset, though. Cooper must hate having a blot like that in his ledger. He’d be even more insufferable as a result. Oh, joy!
Clint settled his feet carefully on the russet bricks that lined the floor, not surprised to find them damp and slippery. Hidden in the shadows, he took stock of the room once more. The large rectangular space divided by a row of pillars could have been used for a number of things, though the drain in the centre of the floor gave Clint the creeps and he said so.
Too many horror movies.
Which are clearly rooted in reality.
Focus, Barton. Nobody is harvesting body parts.
That we know of, Clint muttered into the comm – and then he ducked quickly to save himself a serious head injury.
Barton?!
Clint leaned out of the way of a flying fist. He stepped to the side and his leg shot out, catching his opponent behind the knee and pulling him off balance. Two quick jabs and a straight punch ended the surprise attack.
Found the missing guards, sir, he reported quietly. Well, one of them.
Status?
Undamaged. Checking perimeter.
I’ll send in the team.
That damn drain had him twitchy, but Clint had no idea how to explain that without sounding like a complete nutcase. The familiar frustration leaked through his focus until he remembered that he had Phil Coulson at his back. The one handler who trusted him, even if he sounded insane.
Negative. Something doesn’t feel right.
Coulson was quiet for a moment and Clint stayed where he was, plastered to a rough brick wall with an unconscious guard at his feet. Having someone’s trust like this was still strange to Clint. Heady and frightening at once, and Clint didn’t realise he was holding his breath until Coulson’s quiet voice came over the comm.
Your call, Barton.
Thank you, sir, Clint replied softly before he started to move. First, the guard’s keys went into one of Clint’s pockets. Then he expertly trussed the man, drew a knife and made his way along the wall. He found air vents where no air vents needed to be, sets of shackles attached to each pillar and one extra door he hadn’t been able to see from his perch.
Clean, he reported when he stood over the guard’s still form once more. Have the team stand by the doors. I’m going to release Cooper and co.
“Agent Barton,” sarcasm was thick in Cooper’s tone as Clint stepped up holding the keys to release the shackles. “I should have known, seeing how long you kept us waiting.”
Tell him to shut it or he can stay right where he is, Coulson’s usually so calm voice all but snarled in Clint’s ear.
What?
You heard me.
“That’ll be the day, boss,” he chuckled. “Tasha’s the one who carries duct tape.”
Maybe you should make that a habit.
The following words were so muffled, Clint wasn’t sure he heard aright, but it sounded like don’t want to hear idiots badmouthing you. Clint’s breath caught and for just a moment his mind took him somewhere he couldn’t yet follow. That small sign of indignation on his behalf was all kinds of sweet. And interesting. And damn surprising. A smile curled the corners of Clint’s mouth as he released Cooper’s bonds and handed him a knife while he moved to the young woman shackled to the next pillar.
Agent Cecily Avent was known throughout SHIELD for her glorious hair. Unbound it hung like a black silk curtain well below her waist. Through training assignment after training assignment and handler after handler she had refused to cut the long strands, but this mission had been one too far. Handfuls of black silk covered the ground at her feet and what was left surrounded her battered face in ragged shards.
Clint ignored the rage in his stomach in favour of freeing her hands from the shackles, worried when she couldn’t hide a wince as he jostled her.
“They got anything serious?”
“Ribs,” she gasped and slumped against him. “Boot.”
Clint wrapped an arm around her shoulders and waved the bunch of keys in Cooper’s face. He took them reluctantly, but finally went to work on Agent Franks’ shackles, grumbling to himself the whole time.
Cooper’s whining almost drowned the soft hiss. Almost, but not quite. Situational awareness was a hard skill to unlearn, and the strange position of that drain had bothered Clint ever since he’d seen it. He let go of Cecily Avent, reached into one of his thigh pockets and tossed a handful of chalk into the centre of the room. It rose like a column of smoke, leaning gently towards the open skylight.
Coulson. Floor level. Now!
Rescue teams: Gas being released. Open the doors. Now!
Clint peered anxiously into the gloom, thoughts for his own safety momentarily forgotten. The gas was drifting right towards Phil’s hiding place beside the open skylight. If he didn’t understand Clint’s warning, didn’t believe it, didn’t make it down in time...
“Let’s get out of here, Barton.”
Coulson stepped up beside Clint and the brief touch on his arm reassured Clint more than he was ready to admit. He turned and pulled Agent Franks’ arm over his shoulder, helping the young man towards one of the open doors.
“The rescue team is right outside,” he said as they moved, low and fast. “Get as far from the building as possible.”
“Cecily is hurt.”
“I know. Coulson's got her. Don’t worry about anything but yourself right now. You did a great job triggering the extract signal. Where did you hide it?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Franks was beginning to wheeze, whether from the gas or the effects of the beating he had taken, Clint didn’t know. He didn’t have the time to worry about it either. He handed the man off to the rescue team, took a deep breath and ducked back inside the factory. Coulson was coming towards him, carrying Cecily Avent, a still grumbling Cooper on his heels.
“We’re ok,” Coulson called as soon as he caught sight of Clint.
“The guard.”
“Let him rot,” Cooper snarled and Clint couldn’t even be bothered with a reply.
He covered his mouth and nose as best he could and sprinted towards the far wall where he’d left the guard. The man would die if they left him. He might have a story to tell if they didn’t. Clint hauled the man upright, hoisted him over his shoulder and started back the way he’d come.
He was within sight of the open door when Coulson was there, ready to give aid if it was needed. And that was such a common occurrence, that Clint finally relaxed. He felt light-headed and faintly sick, and when one of the medics held out an oxygen mask he took it without complaint. Cooper was already driving the men crazy with his demands and Clint – though he had a reputation with the medical staff – didn’t want to have his name mentioned in the same breath.
He ended up stretched out in the plane’s lounge with Coulson in the seat beside him for the trip home, each nursing a large mug of coffee. Clint appreciated the peace, Coulson’s quiet questions as they went through the mission debrief and the soft tap of Coulson’s fingers on the keyboard of his laptop. He still couldn’t explain what had felt wrong about the drain and Coulson didn’t push. They’d left a surveillance crew and AD Hill was organising a larger force to get to the bottom of that factory’s activities. The matter would be taken care of, giving Clint a chance to relax for a while.
Coulson didn’t even demand that Clint get himself checked out in medical, accepting the EMT’s assurance that Clint had suffered no harm from the gas. In fact, Clint’s handler was his quiet unflappable self right until the plane set down. Then, suddenly, he was all snarling efficiency, gone in an instant with his face like a mask.
Clint had only ever seen Coulson look like this once before – when he’d gone head to head with Director Fury over Clint’s decision to bring in Natasha Romanoff. Seeing his placid handler almost spitting sparks for no discernible reason was intriguing enough for Clint to follow the man, and when he realised where Coulson was headed, Clint detoured into the safest place for eavesdropping he knew: the ventilation system.
Coulson debriefed Cooper right there in medical, as soon as the medics had finished patching him up. Clint had been through that drill many times, but he’d never seen his handler so fierce, or so unforgiving. Clint heard the tightness in Coulson’s voice, listened to the rapid-fire questions, the sarcastic comments pointing out inadequacies in Cooper’s planning and leadership in a way clearly intended to make the other man squirm, and Clint almost dropped from his hiding place to rescue... well, he wasn’t quite sure who needed it more.
Clint Barton almost... almost felt sorry for Agent Cooper.
If such thing was possible.
“You’re lucky that the arrogant little shit is such a consummate professional, Cooper,” Coulson commented finally as he gathered up his papers and passed out of the medical bay. “I would have left your sorry ass out there to rot.”
Safely hidden in the vents above Cooper’s bed, Clint allowed himself a huge, goofy smile. He knew that he could trust Coulson to have his back. That had always been a comforting thought for someone who was used to operate without a safety net. That Coulson would fight for Clint was... unexpected. And unexpectedly sweet. But to think that Agent Philip J. Coulson would leave another agent in danger, that... was a load of bullshit.
