Pass It On, 1/1 (Avengers)
Jan. 26th, 2012 04:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveTitle: Pass It On
Author: james
Pairing: Barton/Coulson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3200
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit made
Notes: thanks to jenna_thorn for the beta!
Summary: The lines of communication are always open.
Havana was always lovely, especially fashionably late into the evening. Clint was hidden in the rafters, dressed in clothes the exact same shade as the lofted ceiling. Motionless, half-hidden behind an air duct and obscured by the potted trees, he knew he wouldn't be seen by anyone who didn't already know he was there, and possibly not even by those who did.
One exception, of course. Natasha got up from her table and walked -- seemingly casually -- towards the general direction of the ladies' room. The fact her not-so-direct route took her just below Clint's position just meant that she'd spotted him the second she'd walked in.
Clint knew it was partially because she would have cased the joint for hiding places as well, though afterwards she'd only tell him that she would never have picked this one. He let himself smile, briefly, but kept his head down over the dart gun. They still didn't know if Natasha's contact was a double, triple, or quadruple agent. Clint was a safety net, not for Natasha, but for the contact's liaison sitting halfway across the restaurant who might turn out to be the real target. Clint mostly ignored Natasha as she walked below him, and didn't move when she said, quietly, "He says to bring him back some bialys."
Clint blinked and risked a quick glance down. Natasha stretched, bending her head back just for a second and gave him a look. Clint shrugged and waved as best he could without revealing himself or losing his grip on the ceiling, because it wasn't like it was the strangest thing to happen to them during a mission. Natasha rolled her eyes and walked away and Clint returned to his watch.
The next night he left a bag of fresh bialys on Phil's desk, eating a third one as he walked away. Who was to know exactly how many had been in the bag when he'd first bought them, anyhow?
~~~
Phil was sitting at his desk, neck-deep in overdue reports. His excuse this time was having spent three weeks on a small boat on the Amazon river with only two native guides and a bowie knife. He didn't bother to say so, of course, as he filled out his extension request. It seemed that whenever he was about to get caught up with his paperwork, he was sent someplace completely out of touch for just long enough to get red-flagged for failure to comply. Phil had asked that the notification system be reprogrammed to keep track when an agent was in the field, but Fury had just pointed out that none of the agents would ever come home, if they had that built-in excuse to avoid their reports.
Phil had pointed out that in some cases that would be to their advantage. But the system remained the same, and as soon as Phil had sat down at his desk upon his return, he'd discovered half a dozen urgent files that had to be finished by last week. Nothing for it but to dive in, and so he had until a knock came at the door and he looked up at the interruption.
The door opened and Steve Rogers stuck his head in. "Am I disturbing you?" he asked, looking slightly confused.
Coulson frowned, because he wasn't aware of having done anything to confuse anybody. "No, come in. How can I help you?"
Steve walked in, still frowning slightly, and held out a white envelope. Phil looked at it, started to ask what it was, then he simply took it. It hadn't been opened, and Phil knew that Steve was probably only one of two people in the entire organisation that wouldn't have found a way to read the contents before handing it over.
"Thank you," he said, and sliced it open, shaking out a folded piece of white paper. On it was written, 'Milk, bread, coffee, creamer, vanilla (real, not that imitation crap), paper towels, matches.'
"Is...everything okay?" Steve asked, hesitantly. "Clint didn't say anything-- they got called out this morning and he said he wouldn't get a chance to see you before--" He stopped and looked momentarily guilty. "I don't think I'm supposed to say why they left or where they are. I don't think Fury realised I could hear them."
Phil just waved a hand. "It's fine, Steve. Thank you." He gave the other man a reassuring smile.
Steve didn't look convinced. "Tony said it was probably a 'smoking hot love letter' and he wanted to open it. I wouldn't let him, but... you don't look like that's what it was." He paused, and Phil had only a moment's dawning horror before Steve asked, "Are you two having...problems?"
He had to stifle a laugh, and shook his head. "No, thank you. Everything is fine." He flipped the paper over and showed it to Steve, who read it, then looked even more confused. Steve opened his mouth to ask, then stopped and shook his head. Phil looked back down at his reports, which weren't growing any fewer, and said, "Feel free to not tell Tony what the note says, if you need to torment him."
"I...think I will." Steve just tilted his head, though, looking at Phil thoughtfully. "If you're sure everything's all right?"
"I appreciate the concern, but no, everything is fine." Phil gave the other man a reassuring smile, then turned his attention fully back to his reports. He heard Steve leaving a moment later.
That night after he finally dragged himself free of S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, Phil stopped at the store on the way home. He didn't buy any of the items on Clint's list except the coffee and vanilla.
~~~
At the Avengers mansion, Tony looked over to see Dummy rolling down the hallway holding a silver covered dish. He had no idea what the robot was doing -- Tony hadn't given him anything to do for awhile, and normally that meant Dummy was in a corner, switched off. It wasn't unheard of for JARVIS to use for him this or that, so Tony gave it no thought.
He gave it no thought when Dummy rolled down the hallway in the other direction, still holding the covered dish. When he came back, Tony watched him go, frowning. Five minutes later Dummy was headed back the other way again. Tony got up and walked over, standing by the doorway as Dummy rolled past. Dummy gave him a short wave, but didn't stop.
"JARVIS, what are you having Dummy do?" Tony asked.
"I am not the one who has given him instructions," JARVIS said, his voice bland and calm as though he knew what was up and wasn't about to give Tony a hint.
Tony frowned and waited, and sure enough a few minutes later Dummy came rolling back. Tony stepped out into the hallway and Dummy rolled up to him and stopped. "What are you doing?" he asked.
Dummy held up the covered dish and Tony pulled the cover off. Inside was a small travel chess set. The pieces were in play, and Tony could see that the game had only started a few moves ago. He could also see that both players were either extremely good, or were extremely used to playing one another. Tony looked at Dummy, who simply sat there, waiting.
Tony set the cover back over the game and stepped out of the way. After a moment, Dummy continued down the hall, turning a corner and disappearing from view. Tony waited. Four minutes later, he came back. Tony stopped him again and lifted the cover. Whoever was at that end was playing white, and was doing rather well. Tony replaced the cover again and let Dummy continue by. He repeated the interruption three more times, watching the game slowly progress. Once, he saw black playing a very poor move, so he adjusted a pawn back and moved another one instead.
The next time he lifted the cover, there was a note. "Tony, buzz off. Love, Clint."
Tony took the note and replaced the cover, then stepped out of Dummy's way. "JARVIS, is there a reason they're not playing in the same room?"
"I am not privy to that information," JARVIS replied. "However, out of fifty-nine games of chess they have played at the mansion, forty-two of them have been played in this manner. One might conclude...any manner of things," JARVIS finished, though Tony thought maybe that whatever things might be concluded, JARVIS didn't actually have a clue.
Tony didn't have a clue, either. "They know they could play online? If they don't want to be in the same room?"
"I believe they are aware of that fact, yes," JARVIS replied.
Tony stood there and thought about it for another moment, then shook his head. "Well, it's not the weirdest thing to happen in this house."
~~~
Bruce was sitting in the helicopter, feeling a bit squished as nearly the entire Avengers team was crammed into the small space. He didn't mind, really, because no one was shooting at them and they weren't headed anyplace with bombs or terrorists or anything more hazardous than inter-agency meetings.
Steve was sitting in the co-pilot's seat, apparently talking with the pilot. Bruce couldn't hear anything over the rotors, but Steve and the pilot were wearing headsets and Steve kept glancing around and pointing at things. Near the back of the helicopter Natasha had folded herself into a tiny ball and was apparently sleeping. Beside her, Thor was reading something -- it looked like a comic book. Bruce didn't look too closely at the cover. Across the way Tony was sitting, scowling as he typed on his PDA or phone or whatever it was that looked like a small calculator and apparently controlled every computer Stark could get into.
Bruce liked not knowing exactly what Tony was up to, so he could claim no responsibility for stopping him. The scowl on Tony's face, Bruce knew, was from the fact he'd been dragged onto the helicopter by Steve and not allowed to arrange his own transportation -- or even be his own transportation. For some reason Fury wanted them all arriving in their civilian personas, on an ordinary helicopter. Whether it was to remain unobtrusive or some other, more convoluted reason, Bruce didn't know. He didn't care, because he preferred being Bruce, anyhow, especially when he and his teammates were this high in the air.
He tried not to think about having jinxed them to crash or be shot down and was startled when Clint, sitting on his left, poked him on the arm. Bruce turned. "What?" he mouthed, because he knew Clint wouldn't be able to hear him. Clint shook his head and nodded to Bruce's right, where Agent Coulson was sitting.
Bruce nodded, confused, but turned and nudged Coulson. Coulson looked at him and Bruce nodded towards Clint. Coulson looked over, then turned his attention back to his own phone. Bruce blinked at him, still confused. He glanced back at Clint, intending to ask him what he wanted, when he felt Coulson poke him on the arm.
He turned, waited for him to say -- or mouth -- something, and Coulson just nodded his head towards Clint. Bruce turned to Clint, who was looking away. Bruce poked him to get his attention and Clint looked at him briefly, then poked him back and just smiled at him.
Bruce frowned and leaned over, shouting, "Do you want to change seats?"
Clint just shook his head and mouthed that he was fine. He sat there, said nothing else, and finally Bruce settled back into his seat.
Then Clint poked him on the arm. Bruce turned and Clint nodded towards Coulson. Bruce looked, not surprised at all when Coulson was focused on his phone. He looked back at Clint, who gave him an encouraging smile and poked Bruce on the arm again as if demonstrating some complicated technique of-- Bruce dropped his head, then shuffled himself out of the seat and across the way to sit down beside Stark.
Tony glanced at him and smirked, and Bruce could see Natasha laughing, despite apparently having slept through the entire exchange. Bruce just shook his head and wondered if Clint and Coulson had any idea of what it meant to irritate him.
As he watched, neither Clint nor Coulson shifted to sit closer to one another. Bruce shook his head and went back to staring out of the window; a few moments later he glanced back and saw that Clint had leaned back, sticking one foot over and resting it against Coulson's own.
Stark held out his phone to Bruce, and Bruce glanced down and read, "Could you poke Steve for me please?"
Bruce glared at him and thought about going to sit beside Natasha. Really, did nobody have any sense of preservation?
~~~
"Thor, tell Phil that I'm not doing it." Clint crossed his arms and stared across the crater.
Thor turned to the man standing on his left. "Son of Coul, Hawkeye says that he will not do as you have asked."
"Will you please tell Hawkeye that he has his orders." He didn't look at Thor, only stared across the huge crater, in much the same way as Hawkeye was doing. Even their stances were nearly the same, Thor observed.
He looked over at Clint, and repeated the words he had been given. Hawkeye gave a nod, indicating he'd heard, then said, "Will you please tell Phil that I'm not doing it. Again."
Thor looked back. "Hawkeye says he will not do as he is ordered. Again." He cleared his throat, then leaned closer to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. "I am unaware of the mechanism which has rendered you and Hawkeye unable to hear one another. Perhaps we should address this first, before we send the archer across the way to do battle with the...what have you called them?"
"Prairie dogs," Coulson said, turning his head incrementally towards Thor. "From space."
Thor nodded. "Indeed. They do appear most unlike those in the documentaries I have seen. And yet, I fail to see understand how their presence has affected the hearing of yourself and Hawkeye. As a God, I am clearly unaffected. But there may be more mischief in their behavior, than this. We must be careful."
"Thor, will you leave them alone?" Iron Man called down. "I want to get out of here, and we can't do that until Barton shoots these things between the eyeballs. He's the only one who can see 'em moving in the dust and since we can't just blow the whole ship up -- I am joking, Natasha! Do not blow that ship up until I get aboard to take a look!" Iron Man flew away, but called back down to them. "Get on with it!"
There was a pause, then Thor turned to Hawkeye. "Were you able to hear Iron Man?"
Clint frowned. "I heard him. And I'm still not shooting those things. They're cute, dammit, and one of them looks like a pup."
Thor was about to offer sympathy, when, on his other side, Son of Coul said, "Thor, will you remind Clint that the 'pup' has already set fire to an army tank?"
Thor narrowed his eyes, suspiciously. "I do not think you are unable to hear one another," he said slowly.
Down in the crater, however, Tony and Natasha had gotten tired of waiting, and they were discovering how ineffective repulser fire and guns were against nearly-invisible, fire-breathing, alien prairie dogs.
~~~
Clint propped his head up on one hand, grabbing the pillow with the other and doubling it, bending one corner under until it was properly wadded up. Then he moved his hand and let his chin sink into the pillow. A moment later he felt the bed dip down, then a hand rested on his back, briefly. Clint let his head fall to one side, and watched as Phil climbed into bed.
Yesterday Phil had returned from Shreveport -- though Clint didn't think he was supposed to know that. Tomorrow Clint was flying out to the Sudan, although he had a feeling that the flight was going to 'mysteriously' land in Prague, instead. He didn't know who Fury was trying to hide the mission parameters from, but if it was himself, then Fury needed to stop letting Natasha talk to Clint before mission briefings. How she got all the good gossip, Clint didn't know, but he benefited from it, so he didn't really care.
He waited until Phil rolled onto his side, facing him. He looked tired, but not worn down, not aching and sore and exhausted. Clint knew he didn't need to ask -- they didn't ask a lot of the time anyhow, because neither of them liked talking about it and usually it didn't make a difference. But this had clearly not been a bad one, and Clint didn't have any warning bells going off for his own upcoming mission -- the fact they had two days' warning meant it wasn't a crisis, yet, and that meant absolutely nothing when S.H.I.E.L.D. agents got sent somewhere. At least the Avengers weren't being called in, Clint thought, then he scrubbed the thought hastily from his mind in case Fate was listening in.
Phil raised an eyebrow at him. Clint just grinned. Then he slid one leg over, slipped neatly between Phil's knees. Phil brushed his hand down Clint's spine, coming to rest at the small of his back. At that, Clint scooted over, pressing himself underneath, tugging Phil on top of him like a blanket. He felt Phil's rumble of laughter and he grinned even wider.
Then he closed his eyes and felt Phil wrap his arm around Clint's waist, squeezing once tightly. Tomorrow he was leaving early, but when they landed at Lajes Field he knew a guy -- it wouldn't take much bribery to get a small package shipped back, arriving back here at almost the same time as Clint got to where-ever it was he was going. Maybe a box of pastries, or a jersey for a local fútbol team. Clint had learned how much Phil loved soccer when he'd made the mistake of making plans during the last World Cup.
He fell asleep with Phil's hand on his back and his breath on Clint's cheek, and he dreamt about playing a game of tag on the playground, with Natasha shooting arrows at them and Bruce not sharing the swing. Tony and Steve were building a set of monkey bars that reached to the moon, and he and Phil were running around and round in circles until they fell together, arms and legs entangled and laughing until their sides ached.
~~~
The Avengers sat around the conference table, Fury at the head, pointing at the screen behind him. Red dots covered a huge expanse of Greenland. Clint was at Fury's left hand side because he'd been the last to arrive, and directly across the way Phil had a huge dossier spread out in front of him.
Clint leaned over and nudged Fury. When Fury looked at him, Clint pushed a folded up piece of paper across the top of the table towards him. Fury looked down at it, then gave Clint a look that said somebody was going to be washing toilets with a toothbrush in every military base in the world.
Clint whispered, "Pass it on."
the end
Author: james
Pairing: Barton/Coulson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3200
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit made
Notes: thanks to jenna_thorn for the beta!
Summary: The lines of communication are always open.
Havana was always lovely, especially fashionably late into the evening. Clint was hidden in the rafters, dressed in clothes the exact same shade as the lofted ceiling. Motionless, half-hidden behind an air duct and obscured by the potted trees, he knew he wouldn't be seen by anyone who didn't already know he was there, and possibly not even by those who did.
One exception, of course. Natasha got up from her table and walked -- seemingly casually -- towards the general direction of the ladies' room. The fact her not-so-direct route took her just below Clint's position just meant that she'd spotted him the second she'd walked in.
Clint knew it was partially because she would have cased the joint for hiding places as well, though afterwards she'd only tell him that she would never have picked this one. He let himself smile, briefly, but kept his head down over the dart gun. They still didn't know if Natasha's contact was a double, triple, or quadruple agent. Clint was a safety net, not for Natasha, but for the contact's liaison sitting halfway across the restaurant who might turn out to be the real target. Clint mostly ignored Natasha as she walked below him, and didn't move when she said, quietly, "He says to bring him back some bialys."
Clint blinked and risked a quick glance down. Natasha stretched, bending her head back just for a second and gave him a look. Clint shrugged and waved as best he could without revealing himself or losing his grip on the ceiling, because it wasn't like it was the strangest thing to happen to them during a mission. Natasha rolled her eyes and walked away and Clint returned to his watch.
The next night he left a bag of fresh bialys on Phil's desk, eating a third one as he walked away. Who was to know exactly how many had been in the bag when he'd first bought them, anyhow?
~~~
Phil was sitting at his desk, neck-deep in overdue reports. His excuse this time was having spent three weeks on a small boat on the Amazon river with only two native guides and a bowie knife. He didn't bother to say so, of course, as he filled out his extension request. It seemed that whenever he was about to get caught up with his paperwork, he was sent someplace completely out of touch for just long enough to get red-flagged for failure to comply. Phil had asked that the notification system be reprogrammed to keep track when an agent was in the field, but Fury had just pointed out that none of the agents would ever come home, if they had that built-in excuse to avoid their reports.
Phil had pointed out that in some cases that would be to their advantage. But the system remained the same, and as soon as Phil had sat down at his desk upon his return, he'd discovered half a dozen urgent files that had to be finished by last week. Nothing for it but to dive in, and so he had until a knock came at the door and he looked up at the interruption.
The door opened and Steve Rogers stuck his head in. "Am I disturbing you?" he asked, looking slightly confused.
Coulson frowned, because he wasn't aware of having done anything to confuse anybody. "No, come in. How can I help you?"
Steve walked in, still frowning slightly, and held out a white envelope. Phil looked at it, started to ask what it was, then he simply took it. It hadn't been opened, and Phil knew that Steve was probably only one of two people in the entire organisation that wouldn't have found a way to read the contents before handing it over.
"Thank you," he said, and sliced it open, shaking out a folded piece of white paper. On it was written, 'Milk, bread, coffee, creamer, vanilla (real, not that imitation crap), paper towels, matches.'
"Is...everything okay?" Steve asked, hesitantly. "Clint didn't say anything-- they got called out this morning and he said he wouldn't get a chance to see you before--" He stopped and looked momentarily guilty. "I don't think I'm supposed to say why they left or where they are. I don't think Fury realised I could hear them."
Phil just waved a hand. "It's fine, Steve. Thank you." He gave the other man a reassuring smile.
Steve didn't look convinced. "Tony said it was probably a 'smoking hot love letter' and he wanted to open it. I wouldn't let him, but... you don't look like that's what it was." He paused, and Phil had only a moment's dawning horror before Steve asked, "Are you two having...problems?"
He had to stifle a laugh, and shook his head. "No, thank you. Everything is fine." He flipped the paper over and showed it to Steve, who read it, then looked even more confused. Steve opened his mouth to ask, then stopped and shook his head. Phil looked back down at his reports, which weren't growing any fewer, and said, "Feel free to not tell Tony what the note says, if you need to torment him."
"I...think I will." Steve just tilted his head, though, looking at Phil thoughtfully. "If you're sure everything's all right?"
"I appreciate the concern, but no, everything is fine." Phil gave the other man a reassuring smile, then turned his attention fully back to his reports. He heard Steve leaving a moment later.
That night after he finally dragged himself free of S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, Phil stopped at the store on the way home. He didn't buy any of the items on Clint's list except the coffee and vanilla.
~~~
At the Avengers mansion, Tony looked over to see Dummy rolling down the hallway holding a silver covered dish. He had no idea what the robot was doing -- Tony hadn't given him anything to do for awhile, and normally that meant Dummy was in a corner, switched off. It wasn't unheard of for JARVIS to use for him this or that, so Tony gave it no thought.
He gave it no thought when Dummy rolled down the hallway in the other direction, still holding the covered dish. When he came back, Tony watched him go, frowning. Five minutes later Dummy was headed back the other way again. Tony got up and walked over, standing by the doorway as Dummy rolled past. Dummy gave him a short wave, but didn't stop.
"JARVIS, what are you having Dummy do?" Tony asked.
"I am not the one who has given him instructions," JARVIS said, his voice bland and calm as though he knew what was up and wasn't about to give Tony a hint.
Tony frowned and waited, and sure enough a few minutes later Dummy came rolling back. Tony stepped out into the hallway and Dummy rolled up to him and stopped. "What are you doing?" he asked.
Dummy held up the covered dish and Tony pulled the cover off. Inside was a small travel chess set. The pieces were in play, and Tony could see that the game had only started a few moves ago. He could also see that both players were either extremely good, or were extremely used to playing one another. Tony looked at Dummy, who simply sat there, waiting.
Tony set the cover back over the game and stepped out of the way. After a moment, Dummy continued down the hall, turning a corner and disappearing from view. Tony waited. Four minutes later, he came back. Tony stopped him again and lifted the cover. Whoever was at that end was playing white, and was doing rather well. Tony replaced the cover again and let Dummy continue by. He repeated the interruption three more times, watching the game slowly progress. Once, he saw black playing a very poor move, so he adjusted a pawn back and moved another one instead.
The next time he lifted the cover, there was a note. "Tony, buzz off. Love, Clint."
Tony took the note and replaced the cover, then stepped out of Dummy's way. "JARVIS, is there a reason they're not playing in the same room?"
"I am not privy to that information," JARVIS replied. "However, out of fifty-nine games of chess they have played at the mansion, forty-two of them have been played in this manner. One might conclude...any manner of things," JARVIS finished, though Tony thought maybe that whatever things might be concluded, JARVIS didn't actually have a clue.
Tony didn't have a clue, either. "They know they could play online? If they don't want to be in the same room?"
"I believe they are aware of that fact, yes," JARVIS replied.
Tony stood there and thought about it for another moment, then shook his head. "Well, it's not the weirdest thing to happen in this house."
~~~
Bruce was sitting in the helicopter, feeling a bit squished as nearly the entire Avengers team was crammed into the small space. He didn't mind, really, because no one was shooting at them and they weren't headed anyplace with bombs or terrorists or anything more hazardous than inter-agency meetings.
Steve was sitting in the co-pilot's seat, apparently talking with the pilot. Bruce couldn't hear anything over the rotors, but Steve and the pilot were wearing headsets and Steve kept glancing around and pointing at things. Near the back of the helicopter Natasha had folded herself into a tiny ball and was apparently sleeping. Beside her, Thor was reading something -- it looked like a comic book. Bruce didn't look too closely at the cover. Across the way Tony was sitting, scowling as he typed on his PDA or phone or whatever it was that looked like a small calculator and apparently controlled every computer Stark could get into.
Bruce liked not knowing exactly what Tony was up to, so he could claim no responsibility for stopping him. The scowl on Tony's face, Bruce knew, was from the fact he'd been dragged onto the helicopter by Steve and not allowed to arrange his own transportation -- or even be his own transportation. For some reason Fury wanted them all arriving in their civilian personas, on an ordinary helicopter. Whether it was to remain unobtrusive or some other, more convoluted reason, Bruce didn't know. He didn't care, because he preferred being Bruce, anyhow, especially when he and his teammates were this high in the air.
He tried not to think about having jinxed them to crash or be shot down and was startled when Clint, sitting on his left, poked him on the arm. Bruce turned. "What?" he mouthed, because he knew Clint wouldn't be able to hear him. Clint shook his head and nodded to Bruce's right, where Agent Coulson was sitting.
Bruce nodded, confused, but turned and nudged Coulson. Coulson looked at him and Bruce nodded towards Clint. Coulson looked over, then turned his attention back to his own phone. Bruce blinked at him, still confused. He glanced back at Clint, intending to ask him what he wanted, when he felt Coulson poke him on the arm.
He turned, waited for him to say -- or mouth -- something, and Coulson just nodded his head towards Clint. Bruce turned to Clint, who was looking away. Bruce poked him to get his attention and Clint looked at him briefly, then poked him back and just smiled at him.
Bruce frowned and leaned over, shouting, "Do you want to change seats?"
Clint just shook his head and mouthed that he was fine. He sat there, said nothing else, and finally Bruce settled back into his seat.
Then Clint poked him on the arm. Bruce turned and Clint nodded towards Coulson. Bruce looked, not surprised at all when Coulson was focused on his phone. He looked back at Clint, who gave him an encouraging smile and poked Bruce on the arm again as if demonstrating some complicated technique of-- Bruce dropped his head, then shuffled himself out of the seat and across the way to sit down beside Stark.
Tony glanced at him and smirked, and Bruce could see Natasha laughing, despite apparently having slept through the entire exchange. Bruce just shook his head and wondered if Clint and Coulson had any idea of what it meant to irritate him.
As he watched, neither Clint nor Coulson shifted to sit closer to one another. Bruce shook his head and went back to staring out of the window; a few moments later he glanced back and saw that Clint had leaned back, sticking one foot over and resting it against Coulson's own.
Stark held out his phone to Bruce, and Bruce glanced down and read, "Could you poke Steve for me please?"
Bruce glared at him and thought about going to sit beside Natasha. Really, did nobody have any sense of preservation?
~~~
"Thor, tell Phil that I'm not doing it." Clint crossed his arms and stared across the crater.
Thor turned to the man standing on his left. "Son of Coul, Hawkeye says that he will not do as you have asked."
"Will you please tell Hawkeye that he has his orders." He didn't look at Thor, only stared across the huge crater, in much the same way as Hawkeye was doing. Even their stances were nearly the same, Thor observed.
He looked over at Clint, and repeated the words he had been given. Hawkeye gave a nod, indicating he'd heard, then said, "Will you please tell Phil that I'm not doing it. Again."
Thor looked back. "Hawkeye says he will not do as he is ordered. Again." He cleared his throat, then leaned closer to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. "I am unaware of the mechanism which has rendered you and Hawkeye unable to hear one another. Perhaps we should address this first, before we send the archer across the way to do battle with the...what have you called them?"
"Prairie dogs," Coulson said, turning his head incrementally towards Thor. "From space."
Thor nodded. "Indeed. They do appear most unlike those in the documentaries I have seen. And yet, I fail to see understand how their presence has affected the hearing of yourself and Hawkeye. As a God, I am clearly unaffected. But there may be more mischief in their behavior, than this. We must be careful."
"Thor, will you leave them alone?" Iron Man called down. "I want to get out of here, and we can't do that until Barton shoots these things between the eyeballs. He's the only one who can see 'em moving in the dust and since we can't just blow the whole ship up -- I am joking, Natasha! Do not blow that ship up until I get aboard to take a look!" Iron Man flew away, but called back down to them. "Get on with it!"
There was a pause, then Thor turned to Hawkeye. "Were you able to hear Iron Man?"
Clint frowned. "I heard him. And I'm still not shooting those things. They're cute, dammit, and one of them looks like a pup."
Thor was about to offer sympathy, when, on his other side, Son of Coul said, "Thor, will you remind Clint that the 'pup' has already set fire to an army tank?"
Thor narrowed his eyes, suspiciously. "I do not think you are unable to hear one another," he said slowly.
Down in the crater, however, Tony and Natasha had gotten tired of waiting, and they were discovering how ineffective repulser fire and guns were against nearly-invisible, fire-breathing, alien prairie dogs.
~~~
Clint propped his head up on one hand, grabbing the pillow with the other and doubling it, bending one corner under until it was properly wadded up. Then he moved his hand and let his chin sink into the pillow. A moment later he felt the bed dip down, then a hand rested on his back, briefly. Clint let his head fall to one side, and watched as Phil climbed into bed.
Yesterday Phil had returned from Shreveport -- though Clint didn't think he was supposed to know that. Tomorrow Clint was flying out to the Sudan, although he had a feeling that the flight was going to 'mysteriously' land in Prague, instead. He didn't know who Fury was trying to hide the mission parameters from, but if it was himself, then Fury needed to stop letting Natasha talk to Clint before mission briefings. How she got all the good gossip, Clint didn't know, but he benefited from it, so he didn't really care.
He waited until Phil rolled onto his side, facing him. He looked tired, but not worn down, not aching and sore and exhausted. Clint knew he didn't need to ask -- they didn't ask a lot of the time anyhow, because neither of them liked talking about it and usually it didn't make a difference. But this had clearly not been a bad one, and Clint didn't have any warning bells going off for his own upcoming mission -- the fact they had two days' warning meant it wasn't a crisis, yet, and that meant absolutely nothing when S.H.I.E.L.D. agents got sent somewhere. At least the Avengers weren't being called in, Clint thought, then he scrubbed the thought hastily from his mind in case Fate was listening in.
Phil raised an eyebrow at him. Clint just grinned. Then he slid one leg over, slipped neatly between Phil's knees. Phil brushed his hand down Clint's spine, coming to rest at the small of his back. At that, Clint scooted over, pressing himself underneath, tugging Phil on top of him like a blanket. He felt Phil's rumble of laughter and he grinned even wider.
Then he closed his eyes and felt Phil wrap his arm around Clint's waist, squeezing once tightly. Tomorrow he was leaving early, but when they landed at Lajes Field he knew a guy -- it wouldn't take much bribery to get a small package shipped back, arriving back here at almost the same time as Clint got to where-ever it was he was going. Maybe a box of pastries, or a jersey for a local fútbol team. Clint had learned how much Phil loved soccer when he'd made the mistake of making plans during the last World Cup.
He fell asleep with Phil's hand on his back and his breath on Clint's cheek, and he dreamt about playing a game of tag on the playground, with Natasha shooting arrows at them and Bruce not sharing the swing. Tony and Steve were building a set of monkey bars that reached to the moon, and he and Phil were running around and round in circles until they fell together, arms and legs entangled and laughing until their sides ached.
~~~
The Avengers sat around the conference table, Fury at the head, pointing at the screen behind him. Red dots covered a huge expanse of Greenland. Clint was at Fury's left hand side because he'd been the last to arrive, and directly across the way Phil had a huge dossier spread out in front of him.
Clint leaned over and nudged Fury. When Fury looked at him, Clint pushed a folded up piece of paper across the top of the table towards him. Fury looked down at it, then gave Clint a look that said somebody was going to be washing toilets with a toothbrush in every military base in the world.
Clint whispered, "Pass it on."
the end