Author's note: Yes, it has been a rather long while since I last did anything with a story, but life has a way of throwing things into your face and making you pick which battle to give your attention to. As is, this is my newest creation and the one that has most of my focus. I already have at least five arcs written - hand written, mind you - and will upload as I have time and reacquaint myself with the process of uploading chapters.
Disclaimer: If you can google it and find at least 20 pages of it, or recognize it, then quite obviously, I do not own it.
Bitter Coffee Chapter One
It was an old, somewhat established pattern by now that everyone had gotten used to.
Every time Clint Barton showed up, on the ground, to talk to one person or another, or even to get a cup of coffee, Fury's personal recruit, Serena, would watch the archer. So far nothing had happened.
So far. But one could only take being watching like an albino mouse in a scorched field only for so long before something would give.
If there was anyone that could be trusted to get information - by force, discreetly, etc. - then no one was better than Natasha Romanoff. When the red headed woman took a seat next to him, Clint didn't look up from the newspaper article that he was reading. He was used to the former Red Room operative suddenly appearing near him by now. "How'd it go?" A generic question that could apply to anything. Considering the woman's skill set and the people they both worked for, it could apply to anything.
"Surprisingly well." Too easy. It translated quickly in Clint's mind. Someone wanted to keep something hidden.
"That's good though. Less to worry about later." One less path to follow, at least we have a starting point.
Natasha gave him an amused look over the rim of her coffee cup. "You're so optimistic, Barton." Was that just a statement or was that supposed to have another meaning? With the Black Widow it could, possibly, be both. "One would think you wouldn't be after all this time." Clint had to scowl at her.
"There's nothing wrong with being optimistic."
"I didn't say there was."
Definitely code phrases, new ones too. Clint's mind worked as he watched Natasha take an almost dainty sip from her coffee… or maybe it was a latte today. Lifting his own beverage, Clint winced slightly when lukewarm, almost bitter coffee slid over his tongue.
Despite everything that they had been through together after she had joined SHIELD, Clint was still - rather often - left wondering just what she meant when she spoke. Considering their current conversation and the favor he had asked of her, they were probably still talking about the same subject matter.
Then, like a gunshot, it clicked in his head.
Someone's hiding something important. That was the first meaning. Watch your back. The second meaning. Could be witness protection or a deal like mine.
A slight flicker in the assassin's eyes told him that he had guessed correctly. Damn, he would need to work on his poker face more.
"If you don't like the coffee, Barton, you should have gotten something else." Just in case, don't be predictable with your food. That one translated easily enough.
"Nah, it's cold now. Makes it taste different. Besides, I needed something to wake me up this morning." Nothing to worry about, but had a long night. With someone watching him this intently, he wasn't surprised about her concern. To be honest though, it worried him as well.
Why was this woman paying so much attention to him? He doubted Fury would recruit someone that was going to kill off one of his agents and probably be so damn obvious about it to! Then again, perhaps that was exactly what the ploy was. Make him drop his guard and then kill him when he wasn't expecting a dagger in the back.
Seeing the look that was suddenly levelled at him, Clint had to smile. Yeah, there were days when it paid to have the Black Widow as a friend and sometimes partner.
"Why do you need a wakeup call? Thought birds rose with the sun." Prep for a mission or a woman? It always amazed him at just how well she knew him after a short amount of time. To answer the question, he only chuckled and sipped at his coffee again. The tone of his chuckled earned him a narrowed, but amused look.
No genius or code was necessary to translate that.
But a genius was necessary to figure out the woman that suddenly strolled across the room, grabbed something small, and then disappeared.
"Talk about stealth." Who taught her? Clint stated blandly, trying to spot his stalker. He'd give credit where it was due, and that woman had great stealth.
But no one got passed Natasha, and it had been the Black Widow that had told him about this Serena.
"No one's confessed to training a red head." Not my circles, former or current. That could easily be taken two ways. One, that she wasn't a former Hydra or Red Room agent - God knows that small groups of sympathizers would have survived to this day and age - or two, that she was and no one was talking because she had a mission. Either way it wasn't looking all that good for the recruit.
"Time to ask Fury." The man wouldn't have personally recruited someone without having done some extensive research on said person beforehand.
The look Natasha gave him spoke volumes about his idea and he only shrugged at her, his lips twitching slightly. If you got a better idea, then share, was his silent rebuttal.
They both knew it'd be easier to stick a pissed off cat into a bag than it would be getting a straight answer out of one Nicholas Fury, Director of SHIELD. The only real difference between the cat and Fury was that one would result in less physical injuries than the other, but both would be a headache and a hassle.
Finishing off his coffee - now a cold, bitter beverage - Clint grabbed the newspaper he was reading and tossed both into the nearest trashcan. The archer didn't need to look in order to know that a certain red head was watching him leave, or that his red head was watching the other red head.
There was something about his watcher that rang little, tiny bells in his head, but Clint just couldn't figure out what or why that was. Red hair and blue eyes weren't common features, nor the long, thin body. If he were honest, it wasn't her physical form that made him think he should know her, but… Clint had to scowl at his own thoughts.
The woman knew him, that much he was certain of, but how did he know her? The only bit of information he had on the woman was her first name, and it might not even be her real name, and a last initial… maybe. His own mission records might show some sort of connection, but he wouldn't hold much hope.
It was why he had Natasha digging into the files and records. She would be able to figure out the connection quicker and easier than he could. Hopefully.