Beyond Belief (3/?)
Title: Beyond Belief
Rating:NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: Avengers movieverse/His Dark Materials fusion; Clint/Coulson, eventually with a side of Steve/Tony
Warnings: implied torture, alcohol, language, sex
Word Count: 4,822
Summary: Clint and his king cobra daemon, Maj, came to SHIELD after a life that took them from the circus to assassins to the clutches of a villain they didn't yet know. It's been a hard road and they've never met anyone they could trust, not until they meet Phil Coulson and Ilsae.
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Before he can have time to stop himself, Coulson flings the file down on Fury’s desk. It slaps down across the mess of papers, sending a couple sheets of what look like medical reports wafting off the desk to brush across Raina’s ears. Even sprawled on the floor at Fury’s feet she’s a magnificent, imposing thing, a truly massive timber wolf with fur like light smoke and deep brown eyes. Ilsae’s not scared of her, not the way the daemons of the young agents usually are, but even though he’s known her for quite a while now she tends to keep her distance. She eases herself into a crouch next to Phil’s ankles, eyes still absently tracking the movement of the paper as Raina gives a soft growl and shakes her head, knocking it fully to the floor.
She’s fazed by little, currently just barely short of openly disinterested, and the look Fury’s giving Coulson isn’t too many shades better.
“I don’t recall hearing about any new activity to warrant this.”
“There hasn’t been any. I’ve been compiling this recommendation for you for some time now.” If he doesn’t talk faster, doesn’t make himself keep going, even with his nerves he’s never going to make it through this conversation. “I realize on the surface he may seem an unconventional choice, but if you’ll look at all the information in the file you’ll see he’s a perfect fit. His skills are unique and unsurpassed, and his creativity in continuing to better his chosen weapons is impressive. As a member of the initiative with more R&D budget at his disposal, I’m sure he’ll have some impressive ideas. While there is the matter of questionable kills in his past, in the opinion of myself and every agent he’s worked with that’s ever filed their paperwork on joint missions that he is trustworthy. More importantly,-“
While he talked Fury had flipped the file open, and he break Coulson’s stride by dropping it back to the desk with the same force, open this time to show a picture of Clint with Maj wrapped around his shoulders, collecting an arrow from a fallen mark. There’s blood already coating his fingers, and his eyes are dark and blank in a way that’s cold enough to make most people shiver. It tears at Coulson’s chest the way that picture always does because it came from his earlier days, days when he went to the highest bidder and he’s young, can’t be more than seventeen. There’s kills that haunt him, Coulson knows, he’s glimpsed it, and everything he knows about Clint and Maj both tells him that with the way they look in that picture, that was probably one of them.
Still, Coulson’s risen to his position for good reason, and he doesn’t flinch. He can’t help but feel a little satisfaction at that, enough to help steady him a little more. On the floor, Ilsae shuffles just a little closer, the warm press of her against Coulson’s leg a grounding influence.
“You do realize what you’re asking me, here? You’re asking me to put Agent Barton-“
“With all due respect, sir, I’d like to remind you that I’ve never shown favoritism to Barton,” Almost totally true. Almost. He worked a little harder to get him into medical, but that was half his own desires and half extra work he’d have had as Barton’s handler anyway. He did the best he could to keep his heart separate, because he knew the consequence of failure. If he couldn’t do this, someone else would, and regardless of competency there wasn’t a single other person in the building besides Natasha that he’d trust with Clint’s life. “-on the contrary I give him the missions he’s best suited for regardless of the level of threat, and-“
“Agent, you misunderstand me. I’m not suggesting Barton’s unqualified or that his only way into this program is his connection to you.” Fury leans forward on his desk, his good eye studying Coulson with such intensity he has to take a breath. “I’m asking how well you’ve thought this through, if you’ve considered whether this is a question you honestly want to come to me and ask. There is no question about his qualifications; he clearly has the skills and the drive the initiative requires, but if I approve this appointment, he will no longer be our secret weapon. He will be front and center, known worldwide, and putting aside for a moment the likelihood of shortened life expectancy for any given member of this team, do you really think that the people he escaped from wouldn’t still be interested in taking him back? By all accounts Barton survived that encounter because he never gave them what they wanted, and I highly doubt they’ve ceased to want it.”
All true, all absolutely true, and all why Phil wanted to get this over as fast as he possibly could. He’s given this a hell of a lot of thought, and it always comes back down to the same things. He does the job he does for one very simple reason, and it’s got nothing to do with pay or secrets or a desire to climb the ladder. He worked to get to where he is because he’s not a hero and he knows it, even if it’s all he grew up wanting to be. There’s nothing special about him, not like that at least, but this job of looking out for them and making sure the world always has them, this he can do. It might not be quite the same, but he’s shielding people in the only way he can- by making sure those that can save them are there to do it.
Clint Barton is damaged, so selfless when he works with a team or a partner that it tends to go far past reckless, ready to kill when he needs to be and eager to save those in danger every chance he gets. He’s exactly the kind of hero the world deserves, and Phil can’t let himself be selfish. Sure, he could’ve kept his mouth shut, kept Clint as a field agent forever and maybe, maybe kept him a little safer, but it would’ve been wrong and he’d know it. The world deserves Clint, and just as important, Clint deserves the chance at redemption Coulson can see that he thinks he’ll never earn.
He can’t be selfish, even though Fury’s giving him the perfect chance.
“The world needs him, sir.” Saying the words bolsters him, and his voice rises just a little from the hush he hadn’t quite realized it was slipping to. “It’s my recommendation that Agent Barton be offered a place in the Avengers Initiative.”
Fury stares him down for a full minute, fingers steepled. Finally, finally he nods, flipping the file shut with a finality that should make Coulson feel less lightheaded. The nod he gives is companionable but separated somehow, like he’s already half talking to himself though Coulson’s still there.
“He’ll be an asset to the team, as will the rapport he’s been building with the Black Widow. I’ll speak to him when he gets back from the Philippines.”
“Thank you, sir.”
With Coulson’s hand on the door, Ilsae already slipping out between the crack, Fury’s voice chases after him.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Coulson.”
At the moment, he’s going to his office and locking the door.
It’s not far, just a level down and two hallways over, and at this hour of night there’s hardly anyone stirring down there. A good thing, because if anyone had stopped him, he’s not sure he’s in the mood to politely tell them he doesn’t have the time, and strictly speaking, he should’ve been home at least about six hours ago. He shuts the door behind him so quick it’s just short of slamming, finally lets his shoulders sag as he leans his back against it on his way down to the floor. Everything from the dark to the sudden silence feels oppressive, and the first few breaths he takes with his face in his hands are a struggle.
Ilsae sidles up between his bent knees, cheek knocking lightly against his forehead in a way that’s usually comforting, though the yowl that follows is anything but. He can feel her anxiety, their fear mingling together into a greater whole. Her second yowl is a little louder, more insistent and frightened, and the dig of her claws into his chest as she raises up to tug on him actually helps stabilize his breath.
“I had to do it, Ilsae, you know that. It’s the right thing; he deserves this.” Even if it kills him. Even if I’ve just killed him.
She draws away from him, claws snagging on the fabric of his shirt before she starts to pace.
“How will we protect him now, Phil? We promised we’d watch their backs, how do we-“
“Don’t ask me that, you know I can’t promise-“
“Fury’s right you know, what if they find him again, we’ve seen what they did to both of them, it’s a miracle they lived, what if-“
“So you’re done telling me to keep my nose out of his past, then? Is that it? What do you suggest, that I read through everything for the thousandth time, that I-“
“He’s been through enough, he’s happy now, and-“
“Don’t you think I know that?” He spits the words out loud and harsh, enough to finally silence her. Her frantic pacing ceases immediately, one paw rising close to her chest as she flinches away from him with a sharp hiss. “It’s always you that reminds me, Ilsae. If I want his trust, I have to trust him first. This choice has to be his. I’d have been doing him a disservice if I didn’t ask.” He’s quieter then, softer, soothing like he used to be when they were young and her quick temper burned out and left her frazzled. When he holds his hand out to her she takes the invitation, comes back to nestle against his chest and let his fingers rake through her fur as he holds her close. “You know I’m right.”
“I know.” The silence is still so heavy, and he waits it out, counts the slightly rapid rise and fall of her ribs as he waits for her to tell him the rest, to get it all out now, while it’s fresh. He can still feel the tension in her frame, muscles taunt with fear and worry and the certainty that this has to be at least a little out of their hands, that this is one time they absolutely can’t put Clint first, not in the way she usually wants.
Whatever she might be ready to say, it’s cut off by the vibration of Phil’s phone in his pocket. With the angle he’s sitting at it shuffles out of his pocket, tumbling to the carpet to rattle around against the door. Phil blinks at the intruding light of the screen as he picks it up, barely has time to feel the jolt as he sees the ten digit number in place of a name on the caller ID before answering. Typically an employee ID number could mean anyone of the agents he’s handled, but this one he memorized what seems now like a lifetime ago.
As soon as it connects, Clint’s already talking before he can say hello.
“Do you know what I never realized?”
Phil shuffles to sit more comfortably against the door, Ilsae still cradled close with his left arm and the phone in his right. Despite everything, already he can feel the smile tugging at his lips. “Enlighten me, Barton.”
“Exactly how many-how should I say this? Would ‘houses of ill repute’ be the appropriate term?” He can hear the sounds of the islands going on around him, the calls of a market place and the murmurs of tourists, and he closes his eyes and doesn’t take the bait yet, lets him talk a little longer because even talking about prostitutes, his voice is more soothing than he’ll probably ever know. “I mean, this place is crawling with ladies of the night…and morning, and afternoon, and seriously, I haven’t been propositioned this many times since-“
“This sentence had better end with how you’ve turned down each and every one of them.” He knows Clint has to hear the smile in the tone of threat he tries for but can’t quite manage, and really, that only makes the smile spread easier. Even if he didn’t know Barton was baiting him, he’d have found it hard to worry. For the past month Clint’s come home with him every night he possibly could, and while he doesn’t have words outright, doesn’t even really have any kind of verbal commitment, he’s got enough. He knows the way Clint kisses him good morning, every morning, knows the shift of his weight in close and the look in his eyes that’s just a little more open before he’s had a chance to fully wake up.
No matter how many others he’s been with, no matter where he goes, no matter how or where he looks, Clint cheating isn’t something that worries him at this point.
“Well, I mean, I hate to be rude.”
“You do realize SHIELD is a government agency and therefore you’re expected to conduct yourself with certain standards of behavior on missions? Do you want to hear all the ways I could find to write you up?”
“Hey, hey, not fair. I wasn’t calling for Agent Coulson. Just thought I’d give my boyfriend a call, but if-“
“And talk to him about prostitutes when you’re halfway around the globe? Smooth.”
“Nah, that was just a fun fact. The point was-hang on.” He could hear the phone shuffle against his shoulder, caught bits of a conversation between Clint and a woman with very poor English, though it sounded like he was trying to order dinner. A minute or so later the phone jostled again, and Clint gave an exaggerated moan. “Fried banana on a stick. God, this shit is amazing. We need to have these for dinner when I get home.”
“That’s a dessert.”
“Dinner.” He moaned softly around another bite, an utterly deliberate tease, and Coulson tipped his head back against the door, letting out a slow breath. The sound made him feel buzzed, a sharp tingle chasing over his skin. It was too like the sound he’d made last Friday with Coulson inside him, spine arching tight as his hands scrabbled at the sheets like the pleasure was just too much, like no matter how he held on he’d still be spinning.
On the other end, Clint tries to pull them back on track. “Where was I? Right, the point was, I was calling to say it is three o’clock in the fucking morning, and your ass better be in bed, because if you’re still at the office, I will hurt you.”
“I’m not sitting at the desk. That should count for something.” Not that sitting on rough office carpet was particularly restful. Then again, it wasn’t as if he was going to be getting more done tonight. It really would be better all around if he could scrape himself off the floor and go home, but that would involve first scraping himself off the floor. Bolstering himself a little more with Clint’s voice sounded like a good idea first.
“Hey, Phil.”
“Hm?”
“You ok?” Maybe he’d heard it in the bit about not being at the desk, the first serious thing he’d said since he answered the phone. Maybe he heard it there or he’d heard it all along or he’d called knowing like some kind of sixth sense, whatever the truth, it warmed him to the core, but he absolutely didn’t want to answer.
“I’m fine, Clint.”
“Mmhm.” Clearly, another bite of banana. “Tell me another one. Bad day at the office, huh? Fury riding your ass?”
“No, everything’s fine.”
“Good; I prefer he stays the fuck away from your ass.” He pauses for a bit just long enough to hear Coulson’s soft laugh. “Is he all over my ass? Cause he needs to understand, when I’m told I have permission to shoot-“
“No, no you’re fine, everything’s fine, I’m just tired, Clint. Long day.” Sort of vaguely true.
“Will you just go home already? I promise you, that place will not fall down without you. I mean, some days it might, but enough’s enough, and I am not there to bodily drag you. Well, not today. Think I only need a couple more here before I can wrap this up.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, pretty sure.” Even on the phone, with them, most of the time silence is comfortable, an easy, familiar thing. Coulson can picture him, probably finishing his banana, maybe his eyes catching on some action in the market or a solitary cloud or maybe even his mark. He drops his chin on Ilsae’s shoulder where she’s still clinging to him, resting his eyes while he waits for Clint to come back to him.
“…you sure you’re ok?”
No, no he isn’t. He’s something just short of mortally terrified, and even if it is the right thing there’s so much of him that still feels what he’s done is just short of throwing Clint out for slaughter, a solitary man among a world in which he will always be the least, physically anyway. He knows it isn’t true, knows there’s Natasha and Clint’s not helpless and a dozen other rational thoughts, but they’re not always easy to come by. The urge to have Clint in his arms is painful.
“Just come home safe.”
“Always.” So lighthearted, like he’s never done anything less, like he never could. “Now go home.”
“I give the orders, Barton.”
“What happened to that conversation we had about boundaries? I told you, I didn’t call to talk to my boss, I called-“
“I’m going, I’m going.” In a minute, once he gets his feet under him. “Call me tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
“Goodnight, Clint.”
“I better not come back and have Tasha tell me you slept on the floor. She will tell on you, you know. I have powers of persuasion.” With that, he hangs up, the screen lighting so bright again that Phil has to squint, his eyes already having readjusted to the dark. He swipes his thumb across the screen, wiping it just a little clearer to watch Clint’s ID number fade from the screen.
He swallows, the goodbye he’d like to have said still hovering in his throat until Ilsae turns, bumping her head up under the hand still holding his phone.
“You should tell him.”
“It wasn’t the right time; not over the phone.” Granted, he’s used the excuse that it wasn’t the right time a dozen times already, but this time, at least it’s legitimate. When he tells him he loves him, he wants to be able to watch his eyes, to see for himself what it does to him, if what it pulls to the surface is joy or fear. That first time he just needs to say it to his face, to touch him and kiss him and pull his courage just a little tighter together because of how right it all feels. Not like this, not on the spur of the moment because he’s scared, not with thousands of miles between them. Clint has to know he means it, means it like he’s never, ever imagined he could.
“Come on.” Standing up makes his back hurt, reminds him that he’s a ridiculous amount of hours past his last hot shower. Home really, really does sound like a good idea. “Let’s go home.”
When he leaves, he doesn’t even bother to take his briefcase home with him, just locks it in his office and stuffs his keys in his pocket.
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“Did you have something to do with this?”
From her perch clinging to the bits of the climbing wall that trailed all the way onto the ceiling, Natasha doesn’t even bother to look at him. All her concentration’s on her fingers and the placement of her feet, and it shows in the slack rope that she honestly doesn’t need. She wears it for Coulson; it’s the only way to shut legal and medical up and make his life a little easier.
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.” Her next handhold is precariously far, and as she kicks off to reach it the silvery black fox on the floor below her skitters across the floor to keep even with her, scrambling backwards as he watches her with unblinking intensity. They’re not standing too close, but still Maj inches up just a little higher on Clint’s chest, pulling her tail up around his waist and out of reach. She’s cordial enough with Nicolai and it’s been months since she flared at his presence, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to get close enough to let the little fox sniff her. Like she’s told Clint before, he’s sharp and point and too crafty to be trusted. Usually, Clint follows that with a gentle knock to the back of her head and a murmur of ‘Yet. You don’t trust him yet.’
Clint waves the papers in the air in her general direction, not that she’s ever, ever going to look.
“The Avengers initiative. Heard of it?”
That’s enough. She barely pauses a heartbeat before she lets her feet drop, swinging forward to orient herself before she lets go and finally makes use of the rope to rappel down to the floor. She unclips herself, dusts her hands and then she’s coming to his side to yank the papers from his grip. Her eyes are narrowed as she scans it, and Clint watches for any hint of recognition, of triumph, anything that’ll tell him her part in all of this.
Like it often is, her poker face is up and there’s no way he’s gonna catch a damn thing.
“Fury’s asking you to join the team?”
“See, I get the feeling you know a hell of a lot more about this than me. I’ve heard of it in theory; I know they wanted Stark, but as for all this talk of a ‘team’, I’m not really sure who we’re talking about.”
“Neither is Fury.” She flips through again, thumb fast on the corners like she’s looking for something that just isn’t there. “Stark’s a potential piece, and no matter how much Fury says his attitude’s going to keep him out don’t believe a word of it. If you ask me, Tony’ll be brought in whether he wants to be or not. SHIELD has eyes on other possibles, a couple I know of and probably more that I don’t but I’d never heard your name mentioned and considering I got these same papers a few weeks ago, that might be something they’d have thought to mention. So point being, Clint-“ She presses the papers back into his hand, all the way to his chest. “-I didn’t tell them to take you.”
Considering she was the only partner they’d ever had him work with and she’d just recently come back from spending time half babysitting Stark, she’d basically been his first and only guess. Their methods were different, everything about them from their range to their tactics, but they’d fit together right from the beginning and he’d come to love working by her side, even when they drove each other a little crazy. Hell, in the meeting Fury’d even brought her up directly, said it hadn’t escaped their notice that when he was with her, he had more of a tendency to break protocol, to go off script and do something crazy. It wasn’t her influence, and half the time it had more to do with the kind of missions they sent them on than even Natasha herself, but when it came right down to it, his instincts for protecting those he cared about were so much more highly developed than those that had anything to do with survival. In his experience, people that gave a damn about him were few and far between. That was sure as hell worth a lot more trouble than worrying about his own hide.
“What did you tell him?”
“Hm?” He’d been caught up in his own thoughts, too distracted by nagging memories of Fury at his desk spelling out all the reasons why they were prepared to make this offer. He’d pointed out that as far as superheroes went, he was pretty sure he didn’t fit the qualifications. Fury’d told him it wasn’t up to him to decide whether or not he fit, just whether or not he’d accept. Just then, he’d been split. He’d almost answered right off, said yes for the same reason he’d gotten himself in the card game, the same reason he’d spent six months getting tossed around in a concrete cell. He’d made more bad choices in his youth than most people make their whole lives. If he could use everything he’d trained for to save a few lives now…how could he have the offer to do something right laid out in front of him and not take it?
He folded the papers twice, shoved them hard down in the pocket of his cargo pants. Coulson might cringe if he actually ended up filing that shit, but it’d flatten. Eventually.
“I don’t know, Nat. Need to talk to Coulson.” There was too much he didn’t know here. He knew at one time Coulson’s name had been tossed around for handler of this group of trained monkeys but he wasn’t positive that was the case, and if this detail would have him being shipped off to some other underground base God knows where, well…
Heroism and all, it just might not be worth it. The thought made him feel a little sick, more than a little guilty because if that was his reason to say no and he said no, it’d be nothing but selfish, selfish and proving everything at the back of his mind right that said that clearly Fury was crazy because he wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t a goddamn hero he was a killer and those two things could never, ever coincide.
For just a second, just a second, she raised her eyebrows at him.
“You think he’ll disagree?”
“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure joining a secret organization inside a secret organization is something I should, oh I don’t know, mention? What, you think he knows about this?”
“I…think it’s none of my business.” Nicolai circled her feet like a moon in orbit, and when she stepped away to chalk her hands again, Clint could hear her muttering down to him under her breath in Russian. He couldn’t catch a damn word, but then again, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had. Russian. If he was going to spending even more time around her, it just might be worth the time investment to learn it. Very, very quietly.
“Nat. Nat.” He half followed Nicolai’s orbit, all the way to the rock wall so he could lean and dip his head to forcefully catch her line of sight even though she tried to keep her eyes down. “You do realize I will stay here and pester you until you tell me what you know, don’t you? Granted, I feel like watching your back for the past few months has kind of earned me-“
“Oh please, keep your tally straight. You owe me.”
Entirely possibly, but he pushed on anyway. “You forgetting Chile last month?”
“No, but you’re forgetting Alberta.”
Damn, she was right. Canada. Not his favorite recent mission. Nice people, mostly, but the crazed scientist had kind of ruined the trip for him.
“Natasha, please?”
“Despite what you may think that voice achieves, you’re not actually a four year old.”
“C’mon, have a heart, I just-“
Exasperated, Nicolai yipped with a fury that somehow always managed to sound menacing despite its pitch, and her eyes finally snapped back up to fully meet his.
“Look, all I know is that Fury had you on a short list-“
“Oh so when you said my name wasn’t on the list, you actually meant-“
“I actually meant exactly what I said; pay attention.” With her, no threat was idle. Unless he shut up, she wasn’t about to finish. “You were on a short list. He cut you, said it had more to do with conflict of interest than qualifications, and now he’s asking you anyway. That’s it, that’s all I know, but I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to assume Coulson had his hands in this, do you?”
No. No, it didn’t sound like too much of a stretch at all.
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So, someone’s question in a comment over on AO3 got me thinking, maybe in end notes I should make a few comments on daemons when they’re introduced, just to…ramble and describe and show just why these choices ended up being what they are.
Fury’s Raina is big smoky white timber wolf girl, embodying fierce love of pack as well as the fact that when challenged from inside or out, he’s dangerous. The bonds he builds are strong and legitimate, but he’d break one for the sake of the whole, if he needed to. He’s a defender, a ready and willing force.
Natasha’s boy Nicolai is what’s usually called a silver fox, but they’re not really silver and they’re actually just a melanistic red fox, like a panther’s just a melanistic leopard. So he’s striking, jet black with the dusting of silver across his back that gives them their common name, and the characteristic white tip to his tail, but his beauty is really just a bonus. Foxes are brilliant, sneaky, vicious fighters and capable of great loyalty to family.
…I’ll do my best to keep these kinds of bits short, because I can animal ramble for a long time if I let myself, lmao Soon, either tonight or tomorrow, I’ll go back and add a bit about cobras and bobcats, ^^
Rating:NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: Avengers movieverse/His Dark Materials fusion; Clint/Coulson, eventually with a side of Steve/Tony
Warnings: implied torture, alcohol, language, sex
Word Count: 4,822
Summary: Clint and his king cobra daemon, Maj, came to SHIELD after a life that took them from the circus to assassins to the clutches of a villain they didn't yet know. It's been a hard road and they've never met anyone they could trust, not until they meet Phil Coulson and Ilsae.
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Before he can have time to stop himself, Coulson flings the file down on Fury’s desk. It slaps down across the mess of papers, sending a couple sheets of what look like medical reports wafting off the desk to brush across Raina’s ears. Even sprawled on the floor at Fury’s feet she’s a magnificent, imposing thing, a truly massive timber wolf with fur like light smoke and deep brown eyes. Ilsae’s not scared of her, not the way the daemons of the young agents usually are, but even though he’s known her for quite a while now she tends to keep her distance. She eases herself into a crouch next to Phil’s ankles, eyes still absently tracking the movement of the paper as Raina gives a soft growl and shakes her head, knocking it fully to the floor.
She’s fazed by little, currently just barely short of openly disinterested, and the look Fury’s giving Coulson isn’t too many shades better.
“I don’t recall hearing about any new activity to warrant this.”
“There hasn’t been any. I’ve been compiling this recommendation for you for some time now.” If he doesn’t talk faster, doesn’t make himself keep going, even with his nerves he’s never going to make it through this conversation. “I realize on the surface he may seem an unconventional choice, but if you’ll look at all the information in the file you’ll see he’s a perfect fit. His skills are unique and unsurpassed, and his creativity in continuing to better his chosen weapons is impressive. As a member of the initiative with more R&D budget at his disposal, I’m sure he’ll have some impressive ideas. While there is the matter of questionable kills in his past, in the opinion of myself and every agent he’s worked with that’s ever filed their paperwork on joint missions that he is trustworthy. More importantly,-“
While he talked Fury had flipped the file open, and he break Coulson’s stride by dropping it back to the desk with the same force, open this time to show a picture of Clint with Maj wrapped around his shoulders, collecting an arrow from a fallen mark. There’s blood already coating his fingers, and his eyes are dark and blank in a way that’s cold enough to make most people shiver. It tears at Coulson’s chest the way that picture always does because it came from his earlier days, days when he went to the highest bidder and he’s young, can’t be more than seventeen. There’s kills that haunt him, Coulson knows, he’s glimpsed it, and everything he knows about Clint and Maj both tells him that with the way they look in that picture, that was probably one of them.
Still, Coulson’s risen to his position for good reason, and he doesn’t flinch. He can’t help but feel a little satisfaction at that, enough to help steady him a little more. On the floor, Ilsae shuffles just a little closer, the warm press of her against Coulson’s leg a grounding influence.
“You do realize what you’re asking me, here? You’re asking me to put Agent Barton-“
“With all due respect, sir, I’d like to remind you that I’ve never shown favoritism to Barton,” Almost totally true. Almost. He worked a little harder to get him into medical, but that was half his own desires and half extra work he’d have had as Barton’s handler anyway. He did the best he could to keep his heart separate, because he knew the consequence of failure. If he couldn’t do this, someone else would, and regardless of competency there wasn’t a single other person in the building besides Natasha that he’d trust with Clint’s life. “-on the contrary I give him the missions he’s best suited for regardless of the level of threat, and-“
“Agent, you misunderstand me. I’m not suggesting Barton’s unqualified or that his only way into this program is his connection to you.” Fury leans forward on his desk, his good eye studying Coulson with such intensity he has to take a breath. “I’m asking how well you’ve thought this through, if you’ve considered whether this is a question you honestly want to come to me and ask. There is no question about his qualifications; he clearly has the skills and the drive the initiative requires, but if I approve this appointment, he will no longer be our secret weapon. He will be front and center, known worldwide, and putting aside for a moment the likelihood of shortened life expectancy for any given member of this team, do you really think that the people he escaped from wouldn’t still be interested in taking him back? By all accounts Barton survived that encounter because he never gave them what they wanted, and I highly doubt they’ve ceased to want it.”
All true, all absolutely true, and all why Phil wanted to get this over as fast as he possibly could. He’s given this a hell of a lot of thought, and it always comes back down to the same things. He does the job he does for one very simple reason, and it’s got nothing to do with pay or secrets or a desire to climb the ladder. He worked to get to where he is because he’s not a hero and he knows it, even if it’s all he grew up wanting to be. There’s nothing special about him, not like that at least, but this job of looking out for them and making sure the world always has them, this he can do. It might not be quite the same, but he’s shielding people in the only way he can- by making sure those that can save them are there to do it.
Clint Barton is damaged, so selfless when he works with a team or a partner that it tends to go far past reckless, ready to kill when he needs to be and eager to save those in danger every chance he gets. He’s exactly the kind of hero the world deserves, and Phil can’t let himself be selfish. Sure, he could’ve kept his mouth shut, kept Clint as a field agent forever and maybe, maybe kept him a little safer, but it would’ve been wrong and he’d know it. The world deserves Clint, and just as important, Clint deserves the chance at redemption Coulson can see that he thinks he’ll never earn.
He can’t be selfish, even though Fury’s giving him the perfect chance.
“The world needs him, sir.” Saying the words bolsters him, and his voice rises just a little from the hush he hadn’t quite realized it was slipping to. “It’s my recommendation that Agent Barton be offered a place in the Avengers Initiative.”
Fury stares him down for a full minute, fingers steepled. Finally, finally he nods, flipping the file shut with a finality that should make Coulson feel less lightheaded. The nod he gives is companionable but separated somehow, like he’s already half talking to himself though Coulson’s still there.
“He’ll be an asset to the team, as will the rapport he’s been building with the Black Widow. I’ll speak to him when he gets back from the Philippines.”
“Thank you, sir.”
With Coulson’s hand on the door, Ilsae already slipping out between the crack, Fury’s voice chases after him.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Coulson.”
At the moment, he’s going to his office and locking the door.
It’s not far, just a level down and two hallways over, and at this hour of night there’s hardly anyone stirring down there. A good thing, because if anyone had stopped him, he’s not sure he’s in the mood to politely tell them he doesn’t have the time, and strictly speaking, he should’ve been home at least about six hours ago. He shuts the door behind him so quick it’s just short of slamming, finally lets his shoulders sag as he leans his back against it on his way down to the floor. Everything from the dark to the sudden silence feels oppressive, and the first few breaths he takes with his face in his hands are a struggle.
Ilsae sidles up between his bent knees, cheek knocking lightly against his forehead in a way that’s usually comforting, though the yowl that follows is anything but. He can feel her anxiety, their fear mingling together into a greater whole. Her second yowl is a little louder, more insistent and frightened, and the dig of her claws into his chest as she raises up to tug on him actually helps stabilize his breath.
“I had to do it, Ilsae, you know that. It’s the right thing; he deserves this.” Even if it kills him. Even if I’ve just killed him.
She draws away from him, claws snagging on the fabric of his shirt before she starts to pace.
“How will we protect him now, Phil? We promised we’d watch their backs, how do we-“
“Don’t ask me that, you know I can’t promise-“
“Fury’s right you know, what if they find him again, we’ve seen what they did to both of them, it’s a miracle they lived, what if-“
“So you’re done telling me to keep my nose out of his past, then? Is that it? What do you suggest, that I read through everything for the thousandth time, that I-“
“He’s been through enough, he’s happy now, and-“
“Don’t you think I know that?” He spits the words out loud and harsh, enough to finally silence her. Her frantic pacing ceases immediately, one paw rising close to her chest as she flinches away from him with a sharp hiss. “It’s always you that reminds me, Ilsae. If I want his trust, I have to trust him first. This choice has to be his. I’d have been doing him a disservice if I didn’t ask.” He’s quieter then, softer, soothing like he used to be when they were young and her quick temper burned out and left her frazzled. When he holds his hand out to her she takes the invitation, comes back to nestle against his chest and let his fingers rake through her fur as he holds her close. “You know I’m right.”
“I know.” The silence is still so heavy, and he waits it out, counts the slightly rapid rise and fall of her ribs as he waits for her to tell him the rest, to get it all out now, while it’s fresh. He can still feel the tension in her frame, muscles taunt with fear and worry and the certainty that this has to be at least a little out of their hands, that this is one time they absolutely can’t put Clint first, not in the way she usually wants.
Whatever she might be ready to say, it’s cut off by the vibration of Phil’s phone in his pocket. With the angle he’s sitting at it shuffles out of his pocket, tumbling to the carpet to rattle around against the door. Phil blinks at the intruding light of the screen as he picks it up, barely has time to feel the jolt as he sees the ten digit number in place of a name on the caller ID before answering. Typically an employee ID number could mean anyone of the agents he’s handled, but this one he memorized what seems now like a lifetime ago.
As soon as it connects, Clint’s already talking before he can say hello.
“Do you know what I never realized?”
Phil shuffles to sit more comfortably against the door, Ilsae still cradled close with his left arm and the phone in his right. Despite everything, already he can feel the smile tugging at his lips. “Enlighten me, Barton.”
“Exactly how many-how should I say this? Would ‘houses of ill repute’ be the appropriate term?” He can hear the sounds of the islands going on around him, the calls of a market place and the murmurs of tourists, and he closes his eyes and doesn’t take the bait yet, lets him talk a little longer because even talking about prostitutes, his voice is more soothing than he’ll probably ever know. “I mean, this place is crawling with ladies of the night…and morning, and afternoon, and seriously, I haven’t been propositioned this many times since-“
“This sentence had better end with how you’ve turned down each and every one of them.” He knows Clint has to hear the smile in the tone of threat he tries for but can’t quite manage, and really, that only makes the smile spread easier. Even if he didn’t know Barton was baiting him, he’d have found it hard to worry. For the past month Clint’s come home with him every night he possibly could, and while he doesn’t have words outright, doesn’t even really have any kind of verbal commitment, he’s got enough. He knows the way Clint kisses him good morning, every morning, knows the shift of his weight in close and the look in his eyes that’s just a little more open before he’s had a chance to fully wake up.
No matter how many others he’s been with, no matter where he goes, no matter how or where he looks, Clint cheating isn’t something that worries him at this point.
“Well, I mean, I hate to be rude.”
“You do realize SHIELD is a government agency and therefore you’re expected to conduct yourself with certain standards of behavior on missions? Do you want to hear all the ways I could find to write you up?”
“Hey, hey, not fair. I wasn’t calling for Agent Coulson. Just thought I’d give my boyfriend a call, but if-“
“And talk to him about prostitutes when you’re halfway around the globe? Smooth.”
“Nah, that was just a fun fact. The point was-hang on.” He could hear the phone shuffle against his shoulder, caught bits of a conversation between Clint and a woman with very poor English, though it sounded like he was trying to order dinner. A minute or so later the phone jostled again, and Clint gave an exaggerated moan. “Fried banana on a stick. God, this shit is amazing. We need to have these for dinner when I get home.”
“That’s a dessert.”
“Dinner.” He moaned softly around another bite, an utterly deliberate tease, and Coulson tipped his head back against the door, letting out a slow breath. The sound made him feel buzzed, a sharp tingle chasing over his skin. It was too like the sound he’d made last Friday with Coulson inside him, spine arching tight as his hands scrabbled at the sheets like the pleasure was just too much, like no matter how he held on he’d still be spinning.
On the other end, Clint tries to pull them back on track. “Where was I? Right, the point was, I was calling to say it is three o’clock in the fucking morning, and your ass better be in bed, because if you’re still at the office, I will hurt you.”
“I’m not sitting at the desk. That should count for something.” Not that sitting on rough office carpet was particularly restful. Then again, it wasn’t as if he was going to be getting more done tonight. It really would be better all around if he could scrape himself off the floor and go home, but that would involve first scraping himself off the floor. Bolstering himself a little more with Clint’s voice sounded like a good idea first.
“Hey, Phil.”
“Hm?”
“You ok?” Maybe he’d heard it in the bit about not being at the desk, the first serious thing he’d said since he answered the phone. Maybe he heard it there or he’d heard it all along or he’d called knowing like some kind of sixth sense, whatever the truth, it warmed him to the core, but he absolutely didn’t want to answer.
“I’m fine, Clint.”
“Mmhm.” Clearly, another bite of banana. “Tell me another one. Bad day at the office, huh? Fury riding your ass?”
“No, everything’s fine.”
“Good; I prefer he stays the fuck away from your ass.” He pauses for a bit just long enough to hear Coulson’s soft laugh. “Is he all over my ass? Cause he needs to understand, when I’m told I have permission to shoot-“
“No, no you’re fine, everything’s fine, I’m just tired, Clint. Long day.” Sort of vaguely true.
“Will you just go home already? I promise you, that place will not fall down without you. I mean, some days it might, but enough’s enough, and I am not there to bodily drag you. Well, not today. Think I only need a couple more here before I can wrap this up.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, pretty sure.” Even on the phone, with them, most of the time silence is comfortable, an easy, familiar thing. Coulson can picture him, probably finishing his banana, maybe his eyes catching on some action in the market or a solitary cloud or maybe even his mark. He drops his chin on Ilsae’s shoulder where she’s still clinging to him, resting his eyes while he waits for Clint to come back to him.
“…you sure you’re ok?”
No, no he isn’t. He’s something just short of mortally terrified, and even if it is the right thing there’s so much of him that still feels what he’s done is just short of throwing Clint out for slaughter, a solitary man among a world in which he will always be the least, physically anyway. He knows it isn’t true, knows there’s Natasha and Clint’s not helpless and a dozen other rational thoughts, but they’re not always easy to come by. The urge to have Clint in his arms is painful.
“Just come home safe.”
“Always.” So lighthearted, like he’s never done anything less, like he never could. “Now go home.”
“I give the orders, Barton.”
“What happened to that conversation we had about boundaries? I told you, I didn’t call to talk to my boss, I called-“
“I’m going, I’m going.” In a minute, once he gets his feet under him. “Call me tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
“Goodnight, Clint.”
“I better not come back and have Tasha tell me you slept on the floor. She will tell on you, you know. I have powers of persuasion.” With that, he hangs up, the screen lighting so bright again that Phil has to squint, his eyes already having readjusted to the dark. He swipes his thumb across the screen, wiping it just a little clearer to watch Clint’s ID number fade from the screen.
He swallows, the goodbye he’d like to have said still hovering in his throat until Ilsae turns, bumping her head up under the hand still holding his phone.
“You should tell him.”
“It wasn’t the right time; not over the phone.” Granted, he’s used the excuse that it wasn’t the right time a dozen times already, but this time, at least it’s legitimate. When he tells him he loves him, he wants to be able to watch his eyes, to see for himself what it does to him, if what it pulls to the surface is joy or fear. That first time he just needs to say it to his face, to touch him and kiss him and pull his courage just a little tighter together because of how right it all feels. Not like this, not on the spur of the moment because he’s scared, not with thousands of miles between them. Clint has to know he means it, means it like he’s never, ever imagined he could.
“Come on.” Standing up makes his back hurt, reminds him that he’s a ridiculous amount of hours past his last hot shower. Home really, really does sound like a good idea. “Let’s go home.”
When he leaves, he doesn’t even bother to take his briefcase home with him, just locks it in his office and stuffs his keys in his pocket.
-------------------------------
“Did you have something to do with this?”
From her perch clinging to the bits of the climbing wall that trailed all the way onto the ceiling, Natasha doesn’t even bother to look at him. All her concentration’s on her fingers and the placement of her feet, and it shows in the slack rope that she honestly doesn’t need. She wears it for Coulson; it’s the only way to shut legal and medical up and make his life a little easier.
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.” Her next handhold is precariously far, and as she kicks off to reach it the silvery black fox on the floor below her skitters across the floor to keep even with her, scrambling backwards as he watches her with unblinking intensity. They’re not standing too close, but still Maj inches up just a little higher on Clint’s chest, pulling her tail up around his waist and out of reach. She’s cordial enough with Nicolai and it’s been months since she flared at his presence, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to get close enough to let the little fox sniff her. Like she’s told Clint before, he’s sharp and point and too crafty to be trusted. Usually, Clint follows that with a gentle knock to the back of her head and a murmur of ‘Yet. You don’t trust him yet.’
Clint waves the papers in the air in her general direction, not that she’s ever, ever going to look.
“The Avengers initiative. Heard of it?”
That’s enough. She barely pauses a heartbeat before she lets her feet drop, swinging forward to orient herself before she lets go and finally makes use of the rope to rappel down to the floor. She unclips herself, dusts her hands and then she’s coming to his side to yank the papers from his grip. Her eyes are narrowed as she scans it, and Clint watches for any hint of recognition, of triumph, anything that’ll tell him her part in all of this.
Like it often is, her poker face is up and there’s no way he’s gonna catch a damn thing.
“Fury’s asking you to join the team?”
“See, I get the feeling you know a hell of a lot more about this than me. I’ve heard of it in theory; I know they wanted Stark, but as for all this talk of a ‘team’, I’m not really sure who we’re talking about.”
“Neither is Fury.” She flips through again, thumb fast on the corners like she’s looking for something that just isn’t there. “Stark’s a potential piece, and no matter how much Fury says his attitude’s going to keep him out don’t believe a word of it. If you ask me, Tony’ll be brought in whether he wants to be or not. SHIELD has eyes on other possibles, a couple I know of and probably more that I don’t but I’d never heard your name mentioned and considering I got these same papers a few weeks ago, that might be something they’d have thought to mention. So point being, Clint-“ She presses the papers back into his hand, all the way to his chest. “-I didn’t tell them to take you.”
Considering she was the only partner they’d ever had him work with and she’d just recently come back from spending time half babysitting Stark, she’d basically been his first and only guess. Their methods were different, everything about them from their range to their tactics, but they’d fit together right from the beginning and he’d come to love working by her side, even when they drove each other a little crazy. Hell, in the meeting Fury’d even brought her up directly, said it hadn’t escaped their notice that when he was with her, he had more of a tendency to break protocol, to go off script and do something crazy. It wasn’t her influence, and half the time it had more to do with the kind of missions they sent them on than even Natasha herself, but when it came right down to it, his instincts for protecting those he cared about were so much more highly developed than those that had anything to do with survival. In his experience, people that gave a damn about him were few and far between. That was sure as hell worth a lot more trouble than worrying about his own hide.
“What did you tell him?”
“Hm?” He’d been caught up in his own thoughts, too distracted by nagging memories of Fury at his desk spelling out all the reasons why they were prepared to make this offer. He’d pointed out that as far as superheroes went, he was pretty sure he didn’t fit the qualifications. Fury’d told him it wasn’t up to him to decide whether or not he fit, just whether or not he’d accept. Just then, he’d been split. He’d almost answered right off, said yes for the same reason he’d gotten himself in the card game, the same reason he’d spent six months getting tossed around in a concrete cell. He’d made more bad choices in his youth than most people make their whole lives. If he could use everything he’d trained for to save a few lives now…how could he have the offer to do something right laid out in front of him and not take it?
He folded the papers twice, shoved them hard down in the pocket of his cargo pants. Coulson might cringe if he actually ended up filing that shit, but it’d flatten. Eventually.
“I don’t know, Nat. Need to talk to Coulson.” There was too much he didn’t know here. He knew at one time Coulson’s name had been tossed around for handler of this group of trained monkeys but he wasn’t positive that was the case, and if this detail would have him being shipped off to some other underground base God knows where, well…
Heroism and all, it just might not be worth it. The thought made him feel a little sick, more than a little guilty because if that was his reason to say no and he said no, it’d be nothing but selfish, selfish and proving everything at the back of his mind right that said that clearly Fury was crazy because he wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t a goddamn hero he was a killer and those two things could never, ever coincide.
For just a second, just a second, she raised her eyebrows at him.
“You think he’ll disagree?”
“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure joining a secret organization inside a secret organization is something I should, oh I don’t know, mention? What, you think he knows about this?”
“I…think it’s none of my business.” Nicolai circled her feet like a moon in orbit, and when she stepped away to chalk her hands again, Clint could hear her muttering down to him under her breath in Russian. He couldn’t catch a damn word, but then again, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had. Russian. If he was going to spending even more time around her, it just might be worth the time investment to learn it. Very, very quietly.
“Nat. Nat.” He half followed Nicolai’s orbit, all the way to the rock wall so he could lean and dip his head to forcefully catch her line of sight even though she tried to keep her eyes down. “You do realize I will stay here and pester you until you tell me what you know, don’t you? Granted, I feel like watching your back for the past few months has kind of earned me-“
“Oh please, keep your tally straight. You owe me.”
Entirely possibly, but he pushed on anyway. “You forgetting Chile last month?”
“No, but you’re forgetting Alberta.”
Damn, she was right. Canada. Not his favorite recent mission. Nice people, mostly, but the crazed scientist had kind of ruined the trip for him.
“Natasha, please?”
“Despite what you may think that voice achieves, you’re not actually a four year old.”
“C’mon, have a heart, I just-“
Exasperated, Nicolai yipped with a fury that somehow always managed to sound menacing despite its pitch, and her eyes finally snapped back up to fully meet his.
“Look, all I know is that Fury had you on a short list-“
“Oh so when you said my name wasn’t on the list, you actually meant-“
“I actually meant exactly what I said; pay attention.” With her, no threat was idle. Unless he shut up, she wasn’t about to finish. “You were on a short list. He cut you, said it had more to do with conflict of interest than qualifications, and now he’s asking you anyway. That’s it, that’s all I know, but I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to assume Coulson had his hands in this, do you?”
No. No, it didn’t sound like too much of a stretch at all.
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So, someone’s question in a comment over on AO3 got me thinking, maybe in end notes I should make a few comments on daemons when they’re introduced, just to…ramble and describe and show just why these choices ended up being what they are.
Fury’s Raina is big smoky white timber wolf girl, embodying fierce love of pack as well as the fact that when challenged from inside or out, he’s dangerous. The bonds he builds are strong and legitimate, but he’d break one for the sake of the whole, if he needed to. He’s a defender, a ready and willing force.
Natasha’s boy Nicolai is what’s usually called a silver fox, but they’re not really silver and they’re actually just a melanistic red fox, like a panther’s just a melanistic leopard. So he’s striking, jet black with the dusting of silver across his back that gives them their common name, and the characteristic white tip to his tail, but his beauty is really just a bonus. Foxes are brilliant, sneaky, vicious fighters and capable of great loyalty to family.
…I’ll do my best to keep these kinds of bits short, because I can animal ramble for a long time if I let myself, lmao Soon, either tonight or tomorrow, I’ll go back and add a bit about cobras and bobcats, ^^