[Avengers: Drabble] "Pointing Home" [Clint/Coulson, G]
Title: Pointing Home
Prompt: writerverse challenge #03 phase table of doom, prompt #14 ‘carrion’
Word Count: 672
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Avengers (MCU/movie ‘verse, post-Avengers, pre-Age of Ultron, slightly-Agents of SHIELD where everyone lives happily together in Stark Avengers Tower)
Pairings: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Summary: Clint was missing, and there wasn’t much Phil could do.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Pointing Home
“Director,” said Steve, shifting awkwardly in the doorway, then corrected, “Phil. You should get some sleep.”
Phil looked up from the bank of monitors in front of him, each showing a different section of the Earth’s surface. Technically speaking, they didn’t require anyone to keep watch- JARVIS was going through each new satellite image with much greater scrutiny than any human could manage, but Steve understood the need to do something when there was nothing to be done.
“Stark’s new satellite is going online in a few minutes,” Phil replied. “I should make sure the telemetry is synching up correctly.”
“Phil,” said Steve again, more softly. “There was nothing you could have done.”
“I know,” he replied, more breath than words.
That had been the trade-off, when he’d let Nick make him the new director. Phil could rebuild SHIELD, erase the last traces of Hydra’s influence and make it the peace-keeping force Peggy Carter had always envisioned. But it meant that he was more and more out of the field, that he could no longer be the voice in Clint’s ear, guiding him back home.
And now Clint was missing.
His entire strike team had been found dead, their equipment destroyed, but there had been no sign of the archer, alive or dead. All security cameras in the area had been disabled, and given the extreme secrecy of the mission, of course there were no witnesses. All of the signals from Clint’s own equipment- his comm. unit, and the trackers on his bow and himself- were also either destroyed or jammed, well enough not to register on anything SHIELD had.
As Clint’s husband, Phil wanted to throw every resource into the search, to focus on nothing else until the archer had been found again, but as Director of SHIELD, he couldn’t let allow himself to do any more than for any other missing agent. Tony Stark, of course, had no such problem- and the spare parts lying around to immediate launch a dozen satellites under JARVIS’s control.
So far, they’d picked up nothing.
Steve shifted again, coming a few steps closer and raising one hand like he was going to pat Phil’s shoulder, before deciding against it. “He… Clint’s tough,” he offered, after a moment. “The way you two talk, he’s survived all kinds of dangerous missions, before.”
“I was always with him, before,” said Phil. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “He’s not dead, Steve. I know that he’s-”
“Director Agent, you still there?” said Tony’s voice.
Steve hit the radio button, “We’re both here, Tony.”
“Capsicle! Good, because I was going to tell you, too. I’ve just gotten the last satellite into orbit, so the network resolution should-”
“Turn them on, Stark,” Phil interrupted.
Tony, to his credit, didn’t call him on his impatience. “Coming online now.”
The bank of monitors flickered as their images changed, now showing swaths of Earth in various wavelengths as JARVIS analyzed and dismissed each section.
“Wait,” said Steve, suddenly. “JARVIS, monitor three, go back.”
The image on the screen stopped, showing an aerial view in standard video of an island, a tiny expanse of golden sand in a blue ocean, on the edge of a terminus turning to dusk. And there, on the beach, was a line of stones that formed a very, very accurate arrow.
“That’s Clint,” Phil breathed. “Steve-”
“Natasha’s got the quinjet ready,” the captain answered. “And Tony’s already on his way.”
“Damn right I am,” said Tony.
The quinjet ride was a blur, until Phil found himself standing on the beach in the last rays of twilight, feet from the stone arrow, facing a too-still figure lying in the sand.
“Clint…?” he breathed.
The figure moved, standing up to reveal a very alive, very naked archer. “Knew you’d find me, Phil,” he said, voice hoarse.
Phil laughed, and tugged him into a rough hug. “Where are your pants, Barton?”
“Wanted to greet you in style, sir,” Clint said, and Phil had to kiss him for that.
THE END
Current Mood:
busy
Prompt: writerverse challenge #03 phase table of doom, prompt #14 ‘carrion’
Word Count: 672
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Avengers (MCU/movie ‘verse, post-Avengers, pre-Age of Ultron, slightly-Agents of SHIELD where everyone lives happily together in Stark Avengers Tower)
Pairings: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Summary: Clint was missing, and there wasn’t much Phil could do.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Pointing Home
“Director,” said Steve, shifting awkwardly in the doorway, then corrected, “Phil. You should get some sleep.”
Phil looked up from the bank of monitors in front of him, each showing a different section of the Earth’s surface. Technically speaking, they didn’t require anyone to keep watch- JARVIS was going through each new satellite image with much greater scrutiny than any human could manage, but Steve understood the need to do something when there was nothing to be done.
“Stark’s new satellite is going online in a few minutes,” Phil replied. “I should make sure the telemetry is synching up correctly.”
“Phil,” said Steve again, more softly. “There was nothing you could have done.”
“I know,” he replied, more breath than words.
That had been the trade-off, when he’d let Nick make him the new director. Phil could rebuild SHIELD, erase the last traces of Hydra’s influence and make it the peace-keeping force Peggy Carter had always envisioned. But it meant that he was more and more out of the field, that he could no longer be the voice in Clint’s ear, guiding him back home.
And now Clint was missing.
His entire strike team had been found dead, their equipment destroyed, but there had been no sign of the archer, alive or dead. All security cameras in the area had been disabled, and given the extreme secrecy of the mission, of course there were no witnesses. All of the signals from Clint’s own equipment- his comm. unit, and the trackers on his bow and himself- were also either destroyed or jammed, well enough not to register on anything SHIELD had.
As Clint’s husband, Phil wanted to throw every resource into the search, to focus on nothing else until the archer had been found again, but as Director of SHIELD, he couldn’t let allow himself to do any more than for any other missing agent. Tony Stark, of course, had no such problem- and the spare parts lying around to immediate launch a dozen satellites under JARVIS’s control.
So far, they’d picked up nothing.
Steve shifted again, coming a few steps closer and raising one hand like he was going to pat Phil’s shoulder, before deciding against it. “He… Clint’s tough,” he offered, after a moment. “The way you two talk, he’s survived all kinds of dangerous missions, before.”
“I was always with him, before,” said Phil. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “He’s not dead, Steve. I know that he’s-”
“Director Agent, you still there?” said Tony’s voice.
Steve hit the radio button, “We’re both here, Tony.”
“Capsicle! Good, because I was going to tell you, too. I’ve just gotten the last satellite into orbit, so the network resolution should-”
“Turn them on, Stark,” Phil interrupted.
Tony, to his credit, didn’t call him on his impatience. “Coming online now.”
The bank of monitors flickered as their images changed, now showing swaths of Earth in various wavelengths as JARVIS analyzed and dismissed each section.
“Wait,” said Steve, suddenly. “JARVIS, monitor three, go back.”
The image on the screen stopped, showing an aerial view in standard video of an island, a tiny expanse of golden sand in a blue ocean, on the edge of a terminus turning to dusk. And there, on the beach, was a line of stones that formed a very, very accurate arrow.
“That’s Clint,” Phil breathed. “Steve-”
“Natasha’s got the quinjet ready,” the captain answered. “And Tony’s already on his way.”
“Damn right I am,” said Tony.
The quinjet ride was a blur, until Phil found himself standing on the beach in the last rays of twilight, feet from the stone arrow, facing a too-still figure lying in the sand.
“Clint…?” he breathed.
The figure moved, standing up to reveal a very alive, very naked archer. “Knew you’d find me, Phil,” he said, voice hoarse.
Phil laughed, and tugged him into a rough hug. “Where are your pants, Barton?”
“Wanted to greet you in style, sir,” Clint said, and Phil had to kiss him for that.
THE END
Current Mood:
busy