[fic] The Egg Thief
Title: The Egg Thief
Rating: G
Prompt: Fluff
Fandom: Avengers
Pairings: Clint/Natasha in the background
Warnings: None
Summary: The first time candy goes missing, Coulson ignores it. But then he begins to detect a pattern...
Word Count: 889
Author’s Notes: Thanks to crazy4orcas for the prompt! My first Coulson fic. YES.
The first time, he assumed it was a candy thief on a one-time job. And he was right, he learned later (much later), but when two of his prized Kinder Eggs went missing, Phil assumed one of the usual candy thieves had let a sweet tooth get the better of good sense.
The culprit was never found for that robbery.
By the third time, he finally figured out it was a serial thief. The only chocolates that ever went missing were Kinder Eggs and to add insult to injury, the toys inside would show up on his desk approximately forty-eight hours later, neatly assembled. Phil got the feeling they were either the candy thief mocking him or a gesture of gratitude. Possibly both.
Over time, the army of toys grew, the tiny race cars crowding for space next to the toy robots and little paper people. Phil kept them neatly lined up by his keyboard as a reminder-and when he was sure others weren’t paying attention, took pains to secure his office, leaving a bit of tape on the door jamb, a hair on the drawer containing his prized stash (which he had hidden behind a copy of Paine’s Common Sense), an extra camera hidden in a Yankees bear his nephew had given him on one of his trips home.
The next day, three Kinder Eggs were missing, and one of the toys sat waiting for him in the bear’s paw. The hair and the tape were untouched. Phil diligently sent a memo to Director Fury that somebody within the organization was clearly deserving of a raise, set the toy-a tiny T-Rex-next to the ballerina from the month before, and went about his day. By this point, it had become a game: Phil found a new place to hide the Kinder Eggs and the thief found a new place to leave them, every time, no matter where he was or what he was doing.
Because Barton was in charge of getting the drinks, Phil took a moment to step out and check in at the base. Operation Pegasus, despite its somewhat rocky start, had just been granted full base outside of Puente Antiguo. As gratifying as it was to head the project, it did mean a lot of time spent with his cell phone glued to his ear and putting out possibly nuclear fires all through the state of New Mexico and in the clean energy community. True to form, it took him nearly fifteen minutes of arguing in Cantonese before he was able to return to his drink. By then, most of the rest of the agents had abandoned him for darts. Only Barton remained (the others wouldn’t let him near the dartboard until he was at least two and a half sheets to the wind, not that it would do them any good).
Sitting in front of Phil’s beer was a tiny unicorn.
“Huh,” he said, picking it up.
Barton looked up from his phone. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Kid’s toy. Comes out of a Kinder Egg.” Phil looked at the agents in the corner very carefully. None of them, he figured, was skilled enough to be his thief.
“Kinder Egg,” Barton repeated, his forehead scrunching as he thought it over. The man hated sweets. “Those come in little red and white wrappers? From Germany?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Nat likes those.” Barton turned his attention back to the cell phone.
Phil set the unicorn down on the table, giving the matter some thought. Unlike the rookies in the corner, Natasha Romanoff was more than capable of bypassing every security measure he threw at her and more. She wasn’t assigned anywhere near New Mexico, but that didn’t mean a thing, as far as Phil Coulson was concerned.
“She does?” was all he asked Barton.
“Yeah. Says they used to have them wherever she was in Russia, growing up, but she wasn’t allowed candy.” Barton gave a laconic shrug and stretched, popping what sounded like every joint in his upper body.
“When’s the last time you heard from her?” Phil asked.
Having been trained by the best, Barton didn’t give any response. SHIELD had taken the official policy of looking the other way from any of its agents disregarding frat reqs. “She had a job in Georgia, last I heard. Country, not state.”
“Uh-huh.” He was telling the truth, Phil discerned. Barton had a tell that nobody in the upper echelons had bothered to tell him about, as he was sent in to be a sniper and not the honey-trap like his partner. So that was that. Phil didn’t look in the corners of the bar to see if she might be watching them. Natasha was a professional. She would have dropped her token off and left without anybody being the wiser. He pocketed the unicorn, thinking of cold, sterile childhoods spent in Russia and a love for candy and games.
The next chance he got, he doubled the number of Kinder Eggs in his drawer and walked away, whistling.
Another ballerina was waiting for him on his desk when he returned. This one was tiny, hand-carved, and definitely not from any Kinder Egg. Phil placed it next to the Yankees Bear and got back to work.
Rating: G
Prompt: Fluff
Fandom: Avengers
Pairings: Clint/Natasha in the background
Warnings: None
Summary: The first time candy goes missing, Coulson ignores it. But then he begins to detect a pattern...
Word Count: 889
Author’s Notes: Thanks to crazy4orcas for the prompt! My first Coulson fic. YES.
The first time, he assumed it was a candy thief on a one-time job. And he was right, he learned later (much later), but when two of his prized Kinder Eggs went missing, Phil assumed one of the usual candy thieves had let a sweet tooth get the better of good sense.
The culprit was never found for that robbery.
By the third time, he finally figured out it was a serial thief. The only chocolates that ever went missing were Kinder Eggs and to add insult to injury, the toys inside would show up on his desk approximately forty-eight hours later, neatly assembled. Phil got the feeling they were either the candy thief mocking him or a gesture of gratitude. Possibly both.
Over time, the army of toys grew, the tiny race cars crowding for space next to the toy robots and little paper people. Phil kept them neatly lined up by his keyboard as a reminder-and when he was sure others weren’t paying attention, took pains to secure his office, leaving a bit of tape on the door jamb, a hair on the drawer containing his prized stash (which he had hidden behind a copy of Paine’s Common Sense), an extra camera hidden in a Yankees bear his nephew had given him on one of his trips home.
The next day, three Kinder Eggs were missing, and one of the toys sat waiting for him in the bear’s paw. The hair and the tape were untouched. Phil diligently sent a memo to Director Fury that somebody within the organization was clearly deserving of a raise, set the toy-a tiny T-Rex-next to the ballerina from the month before, and went about his day. By this point, it had become a game: Phil found a new place to hide the Kinder Eggs and the thief found a new place to leave them, every time, no matter where he was or what he was doing.
Because Barton was in charge of getting the drinks, Phil took a moment to step out and check in at the base. Operation Pegasus, despite its somewhat rocky start, had just been granted full base outside of Puente Antiguo. As gratifying as it was to head the project, it did mean a lot of time spent with his cell phone glued to his ear and putting out possibly nuclear fires all through the state of New Mexico and in the clean energy community. True to form, it took him nearly fifteen minutes of arguing in Cantonese before he was able to return to his drink. By then, most of the rest of the agents had abandoned him for darts. Only Barton remained (the others wouldn’t let him near the dartboard until he was at least two and a half sheets to the wind, not that it would do them any good).
Sitting in front of Phil’s beer was a tiny unicorn.
“Huh,” he said, picking it up.
Barton looked up from his phone. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Kid’s toy. Comes out of a Kinder Egg.” Phil looked at the agents in the corner very carefully. None of them, he figured, was skilled enough to be his thief.
“Kinder Egg,” Barton repeated, his forehead scrunching as he thought it over. The man hated sweets. “Those come in little red and white wrappers? From Germany?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Nat likes those.” Barton turned his attention back to the cell phone.
Phil set the unicorn down on the table, giving the matter some thought. Unlike the rookies in the corner, Natasha Romanoff was more than capable of bypassing every security measure he threw at her and more. She wasn’t assigned anywhere near New Mexico, but that didn’t mean a thing, as far as Phil Coulson was concerned.
“She does?” was all he asked Barton.
“Yeah. Says they used to have them wherever she was in Russia, growing up, but she wasn’t allowed candy.” Barton gave a laconic shrug and stretched, popping what sounded like every joint in his upper body.
“When’s the last time you heard from her?” Phil asked.
Having been trained by the best, Barton didn’t give any response. SHIELD had taken the official policy of looking the other way from any of its agents disregarding frat reqs. “She had a job in Georgia, last I heard. Country, not state.”
“Uh-huh.” He was telling the truth, Phil discerned. Barton had a tell that nobody in the upper echelons had bothered to tell him about, as he was sent in to be a sniper and not the honey-trap like his partner. So that was that. Phil didn’t look in the corners of the bar to see if she might be watching them. Natasha was a professional. She would have dropped her token off and left without anybody being the wiser. He pocketed the unicorn, thinking of cold, sterile childhoods spent in Russia and a love for candy and games.
The next chance he got, he doubled the number of Kinder Eggs in his drawer and walked away, whistling.
Another ballerina was waiting for him on his desk when he returned. This one was tiny, hand-carved, and definitely not from any Kinder Egg. Phil placed it next to the Yankees Bear and got back to work.