A/N: So, new fic, completely new fandom! Hey everyone! As a massive, long time lover and obsessive follower of Avengers fic - more specifically, Clint/Coulson - I knew it wouldn't be long before I got bitten by the bug. This entire fic is already written (53,000+ words in the space of 13 days!), so I'll be posting regular updates every few days. Fingers crossed, this won't be the last time I'll be writing in this amazing fandom :D

Any reviews, critiques, criticisms? Feel free to let me know! Anything and everything that can help me to grow as a writer is always appreciated :)

Insert standard non-ownership disclaimer here :(

WARNINGS: Whilst this chapter is reasonably tame other than some violence, this fic will contain some heavy stuff. Implied non-con, off screen torture, angst, and an explosion of the pheels (followed by a gratuitous amount of sex). Enter at your own risk!

Enjoy guys! :)

"You alright down there, sir? Looks like you might need a bit of warming up."

The slight drawl at the end of Clint's words made Phil smile briefly. "One of these days Barton, you might actually learn the meaning of radio silence."

Phil instinctively knew that somewhere, from up one of the vast expanse of trees in the mountains they were hiding in, that he was getting flipped the bird, and that little bit of knowledge made him feel more normal than he had in months.

"Yeah, but like you'd want to deny yourself the pleasure of hearing my voice whispering your name."

The low, breathy tone that coloured Clint's voice was one that made Phil blush with exasperation and embarrassment, but he couldn't help himself as he let a soft, teasing grin curl his lips, knowing that the archer would be able to see him.

"Of course, Barton, didn't anyone ever work out that all those personal debriefs were so that I wouldn't have to share you with anyone else?"

A deep laugh rumbled down the comm line, and Phil felt a warmth flood through him; very few people could understand how Phil had managed to put up with Clint, or the weird quirks they developed between them.

Like the flirting.

It was nothing more than a game, one that helped to settle them both during missions; the cheeky winks, double entendres, the shared looks and touches that set the rumour mills running wild whenever some new recruit saw them together, it was nothing more than the way they worked. Clint, after all, was a naturally charming, flirtatious guy; playing him in his own games was the easiest way that Phil had found to bond with him, to show him that he actually listened and paid attention.

"So, about that warming up…"

Clint's tone dropped a few octaves, his voice taking on a seductive, suave edge, and Phil's smile grew as he leaned back against the tree behind him; he could've picked somewhere more sheltered as his base for the mission, but that went against his own philosophy of actually being out as a field agent.

"Maybe later, over some hot coffee," Phil breathed out huskily, trying to balance out the laughter that he knew would be lacing his words with the authority that being the lead field Agent meant he had to maintain. "If you stop talking and pay attention."

Phil smiled at the mumbled curses that suddenly filled his ear. "Ah, come on, boss," Clint whined down the radio, and Phil could fully imagine the pout that would be forming on his face. "The target isn't scheduled to arrive for another 20 minutes, and I'm fucking bored."

"The last time you said those words, I believe you bought me nearly an extra two weeks of paperwork Barton."

"And I thought we agreed never to discuss Madagascar again."

Phil knew that was a lie. He had agreed never to discuss Madagascar again; Clint seemed to enjoy bringing it up as often as he could. At least the highest thing Clint could fling himself off of here was a tree, and there was more than enough snow to make sure that his Asset wouldn't really cause much damage to himself this time.

Phil let out a slight huff, one that bordered the line between amusement and exasperation and that he only ever seemed to use on these sorts of missions with Barton. "Just focus on the mission, Agent."

He could've sworn he almost heard Clint's smile down the comm. "Yes Sir, Sir!" And just like that, silence descended around them.

He knew Barton was only humouring him, but he couldn't deny the warmth that spread through him at the thought. It had been nearly 4 months since New York and the Loki incident that had left him laid up for nearly just as long. It had only been for the last two months that he'd technically been back amongst the land of the living and confined to his office with the obscene mountain of paperwork that being the new Avengers Liaison – or just being within a ten mile radius of Tony Stark – seemed to spontaneously produce.

Despite appearances, he'd been itching to get back out in the field; he didn't care what rumours the junior Agents believed, he wasn't married to his desk, and he most definitely wasn't some superhuman form filling machine.

He also definitely did not secretly have multiple drawers and cabinets in his office that defined regulations on how to be the scariest senior Agent to walk the face of the earth, or how he'd manage to take down a whole drug consortium with nothing more than a tie, a pen lid and the remainder of his lunch; he most definitely blamed Barton for those ones.

His Asset seemed to be behind almost every improbable fact and feat of skill that the junior Agents discussed over a Canteen coffee in awe and fear, but he couldn't be bothered to stop it. Some of the more creative ones that made their way back to him through Hill and Sitwell were entertaining after all. However, two months of paperwork and operative assessments were too much even for him.

The moment he'd been cautiously cleared by the SHIELD medics to return to active duty on the grounds that he was not to get physically involved with any missions and would be present purely as the eyes, ears and intel behind his team, he'd knocked straight on Fury's door and asked for anything that could get him off base for more than 5 minutes. Fury had been skeptical, but Phil was a man on a mission, and Fury knew better than to cross him.

When the assignment had fallen on his desk, he didn't think he'd ever been more ready in his life for what was essentially little more than a milk run. It was a straight forward assignment, one that Phil would've almost been insulted at if given to him more than 6 months ago, but he was grateful nonetheless. A simple take-down of a major arms dealer who'd been proving more than a thorn in SHIELD's side for weeks.

The photo of him in the file looked inconspicuous enough; short brown hair, above average build, a snazzy Rolex around his wrist that made Phil instantly think of sleazy film gangsters, but Phil knew from previous reports that he was trouble. The dealer, Vince Cooper, had been responsible for supplying arms to HYDRA operatives; he worked in nuclear weapons with the capacity to rival Stark Industries in its heyday, and he'd been indirectly behind the assassinations and murders of three other major ammunition tycoons, two FBI agents, and a SHIELD operative. He needed taking out, fast, and the easiest way to do that was a bullet or an arrow through the head when he least expected it.

The fact that Fury wanted this dealt with as immediately as possible, and that they were dealing with a known killer, meant that the only real options they had for the actual takedown were Clint and himself, but Phil didn't overly mind that.

The fact that it was just him and Clint seemed to balance out Phil's initial disappointment at the apparent routineness of the mission.

Okay, so sometimes Phil wanted to strangle his wise-cracking, frankly irritating Asset who didn't know the definition of personal space, appropriate topic subjects or radio silence unless Phil spelt it out for him, but Phil couldn't deny his almost indulgent pleasure at being able to see Clint truly relax and be himself.

Despite the closeness that existed between Clint and Natasha, Clint seemed to revel in Phil's presence; he became more confident in himself, less unsure or nervous. He willingly engaged in conversation where he would've otherwise been mute with other Agents, he didn't flinch whenever Phil snuck up on him, or touched him, and the way he reacted to Phil's approval with a shy smile and an almost embarrassingly gleeful glance emphatically made Phil believe that every other handler Clint had been bounced between had never really taken the chance to see behind the numerous insubordination raps and disciplinary strikes that marred the archers record.

Through his earpiece, he could hear Clint quietly narrating on the scarce action going on around him, "Goddamn, crazy ass fucking squirrels in this neck of the…" and Phil let a smile curl his numbed lips as he mentally went over the current standing of the mission.

All the intelligence and heavy work had been done the previous week, and all that was left was to take out the head before he reached an agreement with HYDRA over some nuclear weapons they'd been manufacturing.

Alright, so he didn't approve of the fact that it was near freezing conditions in the middle of a mountain forest in rural Canada with some abandoned warehouses as the only things ensuring they were in the right place, or of the fact that the low-risk rating of the assignment meant that any Evac team would take nearly 48 hours to reach them up on the perch they had chosen in the best case scenario, but he was happy all the same.

He rubbed his hands together, a dull ache emanating from his chest as a shiver rolled down his spine. He really wasn't a fan of cold weather missions. Okay, so most of the time, they didn't go any better or worse than the warm weather ones (during his months of office bound hell, he had briefly considered making a spread sheet to compare the impact of the weather and atmosphere conditions on mission success ratios, but he didn't think that even he was that bored), but at least if things fucked up in the Mediterranean, he didn't fear dying of hypothermia or losing vital body parts because of frostbite.

The temperature was constantly dropping as night set in, and he couldn't imagine how Barton was feeling. Clint tended to react to the cold about as well as Natasha did to cheap black market vodka. He didn't complain, Clint never really truthfully complained about anything, but he could whine and pout until Fury or some other poor lead senior Agent took the hint.

Phil, to the sheer astonishment and confusion of the other seniors back at SHIELD Headquarters, had somehow become immune to Clint's protests; sure, he might end up with an arrow or Nerf gun dart in his office door occasionally, or have Clint sulk away in the vents above his office and do his take on running commentaries of Phil's paperwork that day, but that was just normal Clint behaviour. Very few people could understand his Asset – after New York, even fewer people wanted to – but Phil felt more than honoured at the privilege of having Clint on his side.

He couldn't go so far as to say Clint trusted him, because Clint didn't trust anybody, but it was as close to Clint's version of trust as anyone else had ever managed, and that was good enough for him.

When they had arrived on site, ready to begin setting up for the assignment, Phil had told Clint with an easy smile that he could decide his side of the operation – the perch, the position, the signals, the choice of ammunition. The grin that lit up Clint's face, the depth of gratitude and almost profound affection that he openly displayed in his eyes as Phil's faith and trust in him, spoke volumes to Phil, and Phil had to suppress the chuckle he wanted to give when he watched Clint dart off into the forest like an excited child given the keys to a toy shop.

Of course Clint had chosen to inhabit the most exposed tree in the area, citing a clearer shot as more important than a few hours of discomfort; as it was, Clint had already been perched on his branch for nearly 4 hours, his entire body taut and ready for the moment that their target came into view. Clint probably wouldn't be wearing his gloves either; not even Stark had managed to come up with a thin enough material that wouldn't supposedly impede on Clint's ability to take the shot, but Phil wasn't sure if Clint was actually telling the truth or just doing it to wind Tony up and be difficult.

He didn't think either way would be too far a stretch of the imagination for his Specialist, but he put his money on the latter.

Hell, he'd seen Clint put an arrow in a target's eye from 500 yards, hanging by his ankles from a fire escape ladder after the building he'd been standing on had exploded; he wasn't called the 'World's Greatest Marksmen' for nothing, and there definitely was a sense of friction between Clint and Tony.

It wasn't a nasty sort of friction, just the type that appeared when you placed two exceptionally hyperactive and intelligent superheroes in a room with each other who both insisted that their particular skill set was better; the last time they'd gotten into that argument, Tony had hidden all of Clint's bows, and Clint had somehow convinced JARVIS to overload the main fuses into Stark's lab anytime he tried to power something up.

That hadn't been a fun week for anyone.

The minutes seemed to drag on for hours as they waited, and Phil could hear the soft rasping of Clint's clothing as he tried to hold his position, the Agent occasionally muttering something under his breath as he attempted to keep focused on the task at hand. Phil frowned slightly when he heard what sounded like a quiet grunt of pain come down into his earpiece, and he opened the line.

"Everything alright up there, Agent?"

It took Clint nearly a minute to respond, during which time Phil nearly considered hunting down his Asset to personally check on him. Phil pointedly ignored the fact that if it was anyone else on the other end of the line, he probably would've been patient and waited for an answer; it wasn't his fault if Clint managed to provoke such a sense of protectiveness and concern in him. A rumble of static exploded in his ear.

"Yeah," Clint breathed back, "just checking that I still had functioning lower limbs, boss. I feel like a fucking ice statue," and Phil couldn't deny the small bubble of relief that seemed to burst at the gravelly tone of Clint's voice.

Just as Phil was about to reply, he could make out the faint sound of a car engine breaking through the otherwise silent hills. "Target's car has been sighted, coming in from about half a mile on your left."

Clint's voice was suddenly strong and authoritative, the slight breathlessness from previously gone, and Phil knew that it was show time. For all that Clint was annoying as hell and inappropriately reckless at the best of time when off duty and terrorising the other Avengers, Phil really did admire the sense of professionalism and stubborn desire to successfully complete his mission at any and every cost that Clint had thrumming through him.

He could heard the crunching of the snow under tyres as the vehicle got closer, and his right hand instinctively raised to sit lightly on his waist where his holster was.

"Sir, something's not right."

The tension in Clint's voice suddenly put Phil on guard. "We have a second vehicle coming in from your right, and the first one is carrying way more than one guy."

Phil frowned heavily. "Have you got any visuals on the target?"

"Negative, Sir. He is not in the car. Don't look like any recognised HYDRA personnel either."

"Keep constant visual on the individuals and report any suspicious behaviour immediately. Someone here definitely doesn't add up."

Clint didn't respond, but Phil could hear the Agent's breathing level out, getting ready to react to anything. This most definitely wasn't the outcome that he was expecting. He tried to think for a couple of minutes, mentally combing over every detail of the intel mission for any inaccuracies or conflicting information.

"Sir," Clint's voice was sharp now. "Sir, there are 6 suspects, all male and heavily armed."

"What are we looking at?" Phil could almost hear the faint waver of humour and amusement beneath the concern in Clint's voice.

"Mainly pump action, looks like a couple of standard single mag hand guns, possibly a few sawn off; nothing that we don't teach the baby Agents to deal with, but more than enough to cause some damage either way. Group's split; I've got three branching out in your direction. Still no sign of our target though."

Phil ducked down behind the tree that he had positioned himself against, mentally cursing anyone he could think of for the direction this mission was taking. Taking a deep breath, he could hear the cracking of twigs coming from Clint's area, the sudden eerie hush that had fallen over the section of forest they were both in, and something felt wrong.

Either they had received dodgy intel off of the mission last week, or…

A rustling in the leaves of the tree just left of his line of vision, way too pronounced and unsubtle to be an animal, caught his attention.

Phil held his breath, feeling the rapid fluttering of his pulse in his throat as the pain in the front of his chest became even more uncomfortable. Just when he was certain that it was his imagination and Clint's reports getting the better of him, a distinctive click hit his ears.

Phil frowned for a moment, trying to work out where it was that he had heard that noise in the near past, before realisation dawned on him and his eyes went wide. That wasn't just any click. That was the sound of a loaded gun being cocked and ready to fire.

Clint wasn't using a gun.

Frantically hoping that Clint had heard the disturbance as well, Phil pressed his fingers to his earpiece, swallowing down the lump that had suddenly appeared in his airways as he tried to remain calm.

"Hawkeye, get out now, your position's been compromised. They've got someone up on your level, it's not safe."

Clint's reply was instantaneous. "Sir, I can't move. I have three males in my immediate vicinity and closing in fast. If my position has been compromised, I've just got to hope that they're a fucking lousy shot. I've lost the other suspects, but they were moving pretty damn quick into your area."

Phil went silent, trying to resist the urge to throw a major scale fit over the circumstances. If there were potential threats heading his way, then he couldn't stay there, but the thick layer of snow meant that wherever he went, he'd effectively be running with a bright neon sign above his head.

Taking a deep breath as he tried to logically work out the best solution to their rapidly growing problem, Phil whispered heatedly into their comm line.

"This whole thing has been a set-up from the start. The target's not here because they know we are."

"Well, glad to know I'm fucking freezing to death for nothing then, and that my only consolation prize is possibly a bullet in the head. I better get a good commendation for all this," Clint retorted indignantly, but Phil was well versed in every mask and persona that Clint possessed to hear the faint tremor of fear lacing his words.

He most certainly wasn't ashamed to admit that he was feeling somewhat afraid now himself, his reputation and position be damned. There was nothing worse than fighting a near invisible enemy that outnumbered you and could out manoeuvre your most highly skilled marksman.

His eyes fixed to the area the sound of the gun cock had come from, Phil wrapped his fingers around his own gun, slowly withdrawing it from his belt. It would only come into play as the last resort for the risk of giving away his own position, but Phil would willingly make himself vulnerable if it meant that his Asset was safe. Sometimes, getting caught up in the crossfire was the only way of handling a situation.

After what seemed like a millennium, and no further movement, Phil leaned back against the tree behind him, loosely holstering his gun, but by no means fully putting it away; he had to be prepared for anything.

"Threat seems to have passed. Keep visuals on the suspects, take any shots you feel necessary."

Phil almost felt like he could visibly see the smirk that he knew would be on Clint's face. "I knew they wouldn't have the balls t-"

An explosion.

The ripple of energy that followed the crackle of a bullet leaving its chamber.

The thundering boom of gunfire ricocheted across the mountain, tearing through the air, and a sudden burst of static was all that remained of Barton's response.

Phil felt like his heart had stopped.

"Hawkeye, report."

Nothing. A sharp pain started to pound in his chest.

"Hawkeye, status report now."

Silence still, then finally an answer that made Phil want to be sick.

"I'm sorry, but your little bird can't answer right now. It's just too bad…"

A dark, low growl echoed down the line, and Phil could hear the faintly distant and visceral sound of someone's foot connecting with bare flesh. The snap of branches breaking – at least, Phil fervently hoped those were branches – was followed by the ominous thud that snow makes when something hits it hard, and he prayed to every deity in existence that he wasn't listening to his Specialist falling into the lion's den of hostiles he'd seen before.

A bitter, skin crawling laugh reverberated into his ear.

"See you soon, Sir…"

His chest heaving with the alarm bells piercing his skull, Phil barely paid attention to his surroundings anymore; he certainly didn't hear the footsteps getting closer and closer with each passing second as he thought of the fate Clint had fallen into.

Tearing his earpiece out to avoid hearing the voice that was burrowing further and further into his mind, Phil flipped open the emergency comm line, but before he could utter a word, he was on the floor, his vision foggy and pain exploding from the side of his head.

He felt like he was drunk, and very sluggishly realised that the warmth he could feel sliding down his cheek was blood from a deep wound just above his temple. He could make out shadows surrounding him, two sets of arms grabbing his own and roughly hauling him to his feet as a hand appeared at his waist and shoulder, ripping off his holsters and negligently throwing them aside.

He swallowed down the nausea that was beginning to roil in his stomach from the pressure inside his skull and the fear of what had happened to his Agent, before belatedly realising he was staring down the barrel of a rifle.

"I've got him," Phil's disorientated mind could just about make out over the howling of the blasting icy wind that had started to pick up again.

It took him a moment to realise it was the same, insidious tone that had crawled down Clint's earpiece, and Phil briefly struggled against the person holding him. It was brief though; the sheer force of the dizziness that weighted his brain like lead, combined with the gun that was drawn up higher, closing the inches between the metal and Phil's face, meant that he soon gave up on the idea of escape at that moment in time.

"Don't worry, we won't." The beep of a phone call being disconnected seemed to resonate inordinately loud in Phil's head considering the worsening weather.

A few moments later, he felt his head being righted from its slumped position, the noxious presence of sticky hands and sour breath coming within inches of his face.

"Don't worry, you'll see your Hawk again real soon," the oily voice mocked, and Phil had no time to react as one of the men behind him brought the butt of their gun down heavy and hard across his jaw.

He hit the ground with a disgustingly loud thump, dead weight, before two sets of hands tightly wrapped around his ankles and forcefully started dragging his dead weight through the snow back in the direction of the warehouse.

"Oh, little man, we're gonna have some fun with the two of you," the same voice crooned from somewhere above him, and the last thing that went through his mind was Clint…Get help… before he succumbed to the darkness waiting for him.