CHAPTER 1 –
'ALL THE FAULTS YOU'VE LEFT BEHIND'
Disclaimer - I do not own the avengers or any of the characters within it. Unfortunately.
"In the beginning there was faith - which is childish; trust - which is vain; and illusion - which is dangerous."
― Elie Wiesel, Night
Thunk.
Clint was beginning to believe that there was no sound quite as hollow as a baseball hitting plaster.
Thunk.
Again.
Thunk.
Again.
Thunk.
And again.
"I swear to god Clint, if you throw that ball one more time-"
"SIX MONTHS!" Clint moaned throwing the ball again despite his handler's clenched teeth, letting it bounce off all four walls in the room, and flinging his head back against his chair. "Six whole months of nothing Phil! Nothing! Not one assignment, hell not even a surveillance gig! I haven't been allowed to leave this base in six damn months-"
"-I told you, I can get you on an assignment with a tac-team if-"
"-I don't want to work with a tac-team!" Clint groaned, slouching down further into his chair across from Phil. He'd been sat in his handlers office for over three hours now, having been practically thrown from the firing range after just making one too many trick shots with his bow. What had started as an early morning practice session quickly had become a show of acrobatic integrity when one of the junior agents had challenged him to an almost impossible shot. Almost. The fact that said agent was a fiercely intelligent and attractive female probably had something to do with the situation getting out of hand, but at that point Clint would have challenged an inanimate object to a shooting match if it meant escaping the dullness of everyday life on base.
From across the desk Phil finally looked up from his pile of paperwork to throw Clint one of his more impressive glares, apparently even his handlers patience was running thin.
"Well it's that or nothing Cli-"
"Argh!" Clint groaned over him. He threw his baseball again, letting it rebound of each wall and Phil's desk that sat between them before catching it effortlessly. "You know I can't work with them! I'm a solo show Phil. Teams just get in the way." Clint argued, flinging the baseball at the roof of the office and letting it hit the desk between him and the handler once more before catching it in one swift scoop and continuing. "Besides, they all hate me." He grumbled. "They'd probably gun me down for the fun of it."
He threw the ball again, letting it hit the wall beside him before it bounced to the desk, but this time Phil swiped it out of the air before Clint had even reached for it.
"Really?" His handler forced through his clenched teeth as he pelted the ball into the trashcan at the door. "I can't possibly imagine why."
"Jesus, it's final!" Clint wailed, throwing his limbs out wildly. He was now so slouched in the chair that he looked like some kind of dilapidated starfish with its limbs hanging off all sides of the wooden chair frame. "Even your old man reflexes are faster than mine. This is it. My life is over. I can feel the icy winds of death. I might as well retire, buy a golf set and sit around telling everyone about 'ma' good ol' days'."
"Is that not what you've been doing for the last three hours?" Phil retorted, not even sparing a glance from his paperwork, which he had returned to now that it was no longer in danger of a rebounding baseball. "Minus the golf set." He added, before considering the words more deeply and continuing. "And golf isn't just for retired people, lots of younger-"
"SIX GOD-DAMN MONTHS PHIL!"
With one final groan of frustration Phil finally threw away his pen and sat back in his chair to stare at Clint stonily.
"What did you expect Clint?" He asked, clearly trying to keep his temper in check but failing miserably. Clint could see the vein in his neck throbbing, as it always did when he ran out of patience. "You not only went against direct orders and refused to eliminate a threat to global security, you brought that threat home with you. You really thought that people here were just going to accept that?" He shook his head exhaustedly and, not for the first time in the last six months, Clint felt a twinge of regret at how much stress his handler was clearly under. "Trust me, suspension was better than you deserved." Phil said.
Clint's head snapped up.
"You really think that?" He asked solemnly, voice hardening and all remnants of playfulness seeping from him. In the months since the disastrous mission in Berlin there had been something between himself and Phil, something that no matter what the two did they couldn't get passed. Couldn't get back to where they had been before.
Romanov.
She had been released from holding only two weeks after being delivered to the base by Clint, and was now well into S.H.I.E.L.D introductory training – and killing it.
The organisation had never seen test scores like hers before. Though her marksmanship skills weren't quite up to Clint's she had risen to second place on the scoreboard in the range in only one session. Her long distance accuracy was pretty damn good, and her close-range accuracy even better, but it was clear from day one that she hadn't earned her title with guns alone.
Her hand-to-hand was incredible. For someone so small every hit she landed felt like he was being smacked with a concrete block. He had sparred with agents who were close to seven foot, with hundreds of pounds on her, and most of them hadn't been able to land a punch quite like her. It was not strength that made the hits so forceful – though she certainly had plenty of that – it was that she knew exactly where to land them. Every hit was so perfectly aimed that without fault each hit sensitive areas that Clint hadn't even known existed. And some he did.
God he was sore.
Romanov had been removed from general training on her first day after landing the trainer in the infirmary, so with a lack of other options Phil had volunteered Clint to spar with her. Twice a day. Everyday.
It had been a long six months.
"I don't know Clint." Phil sighed after a few moments of silence. "That's what I'm afraid of. That we wont know until it's too late to do anything about it."
"You still think she's faking it?" Clint asked, suddenly feeling just as exhausted as Phil looked. They had had this discussion dozens of times now. "That she's just lying in wait to kill us all?"
"I think that we can't be sure." He said, running his fingers through his hair and starting to gather the papers strewn across his desk. "And that doesn't sit well with me." Clint nodded slowly but said nothing. There was no point. Neither of them had any proof that the other was wrong – all they could do was wait.
Phil stopped his filing when Clint remained silent, an uncommon reaction from the archer.
"I want to believe you," He said earnestly, and Clint believed him. He could see the internal war within Phil, the part of him that could never put even the slightest trust in someone like Romanov, and the other part that trusted Clint completely. "I do, it's just – it's not just her life that's on the line with this one."
Phil's voice lost its typical force by the time he fell silent. Instead he sounded nothing short of exhausted and terrified. Clint had known that the thought of what might happen to him, should Romanov turn out to be nothing more than a murderous sky, had kept Phil up at night. Kept his handler forever preparing to protect him as best as possible should the day come, but Clint hadn't seen just how terrified Phil was that none of that would be enough.
That Clint would be executed with her.
"I know Overwatch," Clint said, wanting to reassure him but coming up with nothing. He was going on faith and he knew it.
Any further discussion of Romanov was cut short when a senior agent appeared at Phil's office and knocked quickly despite the door being wide open from Clint's flamboyant entrance hours earlier.
"Come in." Phil said, beckoning the agent with a quick flick of his fingers.
"Agent Coulson," The man nodded in greeting, his shoulders pulled back and arms clasped behind his back as if he got points for good posture. His lips morphed into a scowl when Clint threw him a girly wave from the seat across from Phil, but other than that he completely ignored him. Most agents did.
"Barkley." Phil nodded in return before getting straight down to business. "You have something for me?"
"Somewhat, sir." Barkley answered, his scowl deepening.
"It's a yes or no question Agent." Phil answered briskly, rising from this chair to file the last of his paperwork in the meticulously ordered draws against the far wall of his office. If there was one thing Phil Coulson didn't stand for, it was people who came to his office just to waste time.
It was a wonder in itself that Clint hadn't been thrown out the minute he arrived.
"Then yes, sir, I-" The agent threw a frustrated look towards the door and Clint swivelled a little in his chair to follow his gaze.
At first he saw nothing until the smallest of movements just beside the doorframe caught his quick eyes and he could make out the form of another man standing just out of sight.
The man was so skinny that Clint almost looked right passed him.
He stood just behind the doorway, shifting into view every few seconds as he risked a glance into the office only to pull away instantly when he saw Clint looking his way. His oversized sweater, large glasses and complete lack of any visible muscle mass marked him as an analyst more clearly than the lanyard that Clint could just make out dangling around his neck.
As he pulled away from the door, clearly aware that he had been caught peaking in on his superiors and that Agent Barkley wasn't going to be happy about it, Clint caught the quickest flash of silver. His belt. Clint recognised it immediately.
It was the limited edition ACDC belt Clint had been drooling over the last time he was in the city. A belt that Clint knew to be 'inappropriate for the workplace' after he showed it to Phil, claiming that he was going to wear it with every pair of pants he owned. He hadn't had a chance to sneak back into the city and buy it before the shit with Romanov had gone down and he'd been sentenced to the base.
Hmm. A little rebel then.
Clint liked him already.
"You what?" Phil broke Clint from his attempts to spot the analyst again, turning back to see a still frustrated Agent Barkley facing an irritated Phil Coulson.
"I have something that may interest you, sir." The agent finally barked out, standing up a little straighter as he said it and holding out a large file, although clearly begrudgingly.
Phil took it promptly and sat back down at his desk, opening the file and scanning it quickly.
"What am I looking at Barkley?" He asked without looking up, spreading the pages out and flipping through them expertly.
"A bombing, sir." The Agent replied.
"I can see that," Phil said, looking up from the file to give Barkley one of his more frustrated stares. "Why exactly am I looking at it?"
"It's from a bombing in suburban Houston just a few days ago." The Agent explained, getting more and more agitated as he remained under Phil's stare.
"Yes. I can see that too." Phil huffed, "What I'm asking is, why have you brought it to me? If it has relevant information then take it to the Homeland Department-"
"It may have connections to the bombing in Berlin." The Agent said all at once before throwing another glare towards the door and the now clearly peaking analyst. Clint could just make out the edges of his glasses from beside the doorway nodding along with the Barkley's words.
Now that got Phil's attention.
He immediately looked back down at the file in his hands, shifting through the pages of data more extensively. "What makes you think that the bombing of a middle school teacher and his wife in Houston has anything to do with my case?" Phil asked, reading each page carefully.
"Ugh, well, there may be some similarities-" Barkley began, shifting uncomfortably.
"This your work Agent?" Phil asked, staring at each page with more and more interest, as he got further into the file. Clint sat up a little straighter in his seat to try and steal a glance but all he could see were various, upside-down, chemical diagrams.
"Ugh-" Barkley began again only to be cut off this time by Clint.
"Nope."
Phil looked up at the archer and raised an eyebrow.
"Pretty sure it belongs to the analyst at the door." Clint said, jabbing his thumb towards where the analyst was still half visible despite his attempts to hide behind the doorframe.
Phil, finally catching sight of the analyst hiding behind his door, turned his raised eyebrow to Barkley. "That true Agent?"
"Technically yes sir," Barkley said quickly. "He's a junior analyst, and I know there are regulations – that anything he finds has to go through a senior analyst and a senior agent before it comes to you – but he was insistent and threatened to bring it to you himself if I didn't give it to you. I tried to tell him that we have procedure for a reason and-"
"Bring him in." Phil said over the Agents ramblings.
Barkley nodded immediately before looking back towards the door. "Nolan! Get in here. Now." He called.
Clint had to give the analyst credit. He didn't hesitate for even a second. He was right beside Barkley the moment that his name was called.
"Yes sir?" He said, nodding politely at Phil while ignoring Barkley completely, much to the Agent's clear distain.
Yep. Clint definitely liked this one.
"This your work?" Phil tapped the file but didn't look away from the analyst.
"It is sir." He replied at once.
"And what about it is so important that you decided it was worth skipping all procedure to get it to my desk." Phil asked plainly.
"The fact that it should have been on your desk as soon as it arrived four days ago." The Analyst replied fearlessly and without even a pause.
"Why?" Phil asked, leaning back and pushing the file forwards so that the analyst could explain it more to him.
The analyst's small, relieved sigh gave away his unwarranted fear that he would be turned away before given the chance to explain himself.
Phil had never, and probably would never, turn away anyone with possible information away before giving them a chance to prove it to him – no matter who they were. It wasn't in his nature. That precise nature was why Clint was so taken aback that Phil wasn't more on board when it came to the Romanov situation. Perhaps the handler had finally found a situation where he believed the risk of trusting the redheaded assassin outweighed any possible intelligence.
"The explosive residue sir," The analyst began at once with a practised calm, as if he had rehearsed this explanation before coming to the office. He pulled the file apart expertly before placing two different chemical diagrams in front of Phil for the older man to see, one clearly marked as from Berlin and the other from the more recent Houston bombing.
"These look completely different? How are they connected?" Phil asked, staring down at the pages, and Clint had to agree. He may not have a degree in biochemistry, but he didn't need one to see that the squiggly lines didn't match up at all.
"They are completely different sir," The analyst answered. "But only on paper. I've been researching the bomb from Berlin for months now and it's fascinating. No one has ever seen anything quite like it – or so they assumed because no one has been able to link it to any other bombings."
"And you have?" Phil prompted, clearing wanting to get to the point.
"Yes sir." The analysed nodded profusely. "I've been working on a theory that I got from examining fragments of the Berlin explosion." He said earnestly. "Samples were first taken and tested only hours after the bomb was detonated, but the strange thing is when more samples were taken later on to be stored and tested, they didn't match. Each fragment appeared to be made of completely different materials, so the original report was thrown away – labelled as a lab error."
"And you disagree." Phil assumed, one again looking at the two chemical reports.
"I do sir." The analyst said with absolute surety. "I believe that these bombs are built to degrade over time. That as hours and days pass each chemical fades and alters so that-"
"So that they can never be linked to one another." Phil finished, staring at the chemical diagrams with a frown.
"Yes sir," The analyst replied once again, clearly relieved that Phil saw the importance of the file.
"Can you prove this?" Phil asked, motioning towards the file.
"Yes. I've run extensive testing – that's how I was able to link this attack to the Berlin case. Although the chemicals are very different, following the time line of estimated decomposition from the Berlin explosion and how long the samples were taken after the Houston explosion occurred, they are a perfect match."
"It was the same bomb." Phil summarised and the analyst nodded profusely.
"Phil," Clint began slowly, staring at the chemical diagrams as something occurred to him. "If no one else has picked up on this there could have been dozens of these things and no one would have linked them."
Phil's eyes snapped back towards the analyst.
"Is that possible?"
The analyst nodded again, though this time a little more hesitantly. "Theoretically, yes sir." He said. "There could have been hundreds for all we know. I, ugh," He threw a glance back towards Barkley for the first time, but continued despite his discomfort, "I tried to compare my findings to other cases but I didn't have the security clearance to examine any that remain unsolved."
Clint barked out a laugh.
"That's analyst speak for 'I didn't have clearance so I hacked in anyway cause I knew I was right'." Clint chuckled and the analyst went pale.
Phil looked back towards the analyst who, despite his obvious tension, met the older man's gaze none the less.
"Did you find any other open cases?" Phil asked evenly.
"Ugh, no sir." The analyst answered, though not quite as quickly as before and with much more hesitance. "Not yet, sir. I only started a few days ago."
"Which database did you search?" Phil responded immediately.
"The FBI sir."
Phil nodded, glancing down at the documents in front of him one more time before answering. "Good."
The analyst's obvious double take was almost comical.
"Good, sir?" He questioned slowly as Barkley's expression became slowly more outraged.
"Yes." Phil nodded, looking up at the more than a little confused analyst. "You got the easy one out of the way. The CIA's next, then Homeland, Interpol, Mossad and anyone else you can think of. I want to have a full list on my desk as soon as possible."
After a couple of quick blinks and the sight of Phil's serious eyes the analyst nodded profusely, "Yes sir. Absolutely."
"Agent Coulson?" Barkley spluttered, his eyes filled with indignation as he stared down the calm, older man. Phil's clear dismissal of the analyst's breaches of protocall seemed to offend him on a personal level. "He broke protocol, let alone federal laws, what should I do with him?"
Phil glanced at the analyst who stood stock-still, clearly nervous, but also visibly sure of himself. There was not a hint of regret about the young tech.
"Promote him." Phil said and the analyst's eyes widened, though not nearly as much as Barkley's. His eyes seemed to grow wider and more outraged by Phil's every syllable.
Before Barkley could comment Phil stood from his chair and nodded towards the analyst. "What's your name?" He asked.
"Nolan sir, Julian Nolan." The analyst said, still somewhat dazed as if his brain couldn't quite wrap itself around what was happening. Clint couldn't blame him.
"Well Nolan head down to O'Connell on the fourth floor and ask him for a level six clearance badge, get him to call me for authorisation. You work for me now." Phil ordered, sorting through the documents on his desk until they were all once again secured in the folder. "Once you're done, meet me in records and we'll start going over all of this. I want a full debrief on everything in this file before we get started on finding other incidences. There is no room for error on this one."
"Yes sir. Thank-you sir." Nolan nodded so quickly that Clint was surprised he didn't stumble as he backed out of the room and started quickly towards the elevator.
Barkley gaped after him but didn't move a muscle.
"This isn't a casino Barkley," Phil said as he moved the last of the paperwork on his desk into the cabinets behind him. "You don't get free drinks just for hanging around. You got something to say, say it. If not, door's that way." He nodded towards the still open door and waited for a moment while the Agent just stared at him.
"No sir." Barkley said finally, though clearly with great effort. Clint guessed that he had quite a lot to say to Phil about protocall and what he thought was the correct way to discipline out of line personal, but he stayed silent. Just.
Without another word he stormed from the office.
For a moment there was silence as both men watched him thunder down the hall.
"That," Clint said, pointing towards where Barkley had disappeared around the corner, "Was the most action I've seen in the last month. This is what I've been reduced to, relying on 'hall-monitor-Barkley' for excitement." He groaned.
"You'll live." Phil said dryly, locking his filing cabinets and tucking his keys away in his pocket.
"I will," Clint grumbled, slouching down further in his chair. "Can't guarantee the same for everyone else on the base if this keeps going much longer-" He cut off suddenly as Phil dawned his suit jacket and straightened his tie.
"Where are you going?" Clint asked, sitting up straight for the first time in hours.
"To see if I can get some more intel on this while Nolan's being cleared." Phil replied switching off the office lights and moving towards the door.
Clint jumped up from his seat and followed just inches behind.
"I can help. I'm an excellent-" He began, practically desperate for something real to do.
"-While I'm sure that whatever you were going to say was going to be both tasteful and humble," Phil cut him off, locking his office door and before to face Clint with a stern look that meant nothing good. "You have a medical appointment that you can not miss again."
"Ugh, come on." Clint rolled his eyes. "Clearly a bombing takes precedence."
"Not for you. You're on probation. You shouldn't even be hearing about this." Phil argued with a shrug, not nearly as apologetic as Clint thought he should be.
"Aww, come on Phil-" Clint began, but he knew it was a lost cause.
"Nope. Out." The handler gave him a small shove towards the elevator. "I better hear from Mohinder that you were there or there's going to be hell to pay."
"Fine." Clint's temper finally snapped. "But you can't keep punishing me forever. One day you're going to have to admit that I was right." He fumed at his handler, who seemed more than a little taken aback by the sudden change of temperature in the conversation. "That not only does she want to be here, she deserves to be. We both do."
With that Clint stormed away, perfectly aware that while the outburst may have been a little harsh on his part – he had broken his contract with S.H.I.E.L.D in almost every way by sparing Romanov – that didn't change the fact that he was right.
He just needed to find a way to show Phil that.
Phil was still going over Clint's words an hour later as he wound his way through the base's halls to Fury's office. He really shouldn't have been so surprised that Clint finally lost his temper with the situation. If anything he should have been surprised that it didn't happen sooner. Though, knowing the kid as Phil did, he was sure that Clint had been silently stewing for days.
That was Clint through and through. You didn't know he was angry until he's tearing you a new one.
Phil couldn't deny that he felt slightly bad about the situation. He could see how hard Clint was trying to earn his way back in. To prove that he was worthy of his place, and even more so that Romanov was worthy of hers. Phil saw them everyday, twice a day, just as he had ordered, down in the sparing ring until neither of them can take another hit.
If it had been any other case Phil would have let him along. Anything else and Phil would probably have put him in the field, even if it was just a milk run of an opp. He wasn't trying to be cruel. He missed having the kid in the field. God knows things got done when he did.
More than that, he had grown accustom to it as well. He missed going out in the field with Clint. Solving the hardest puzzles. Eliminating the worst criminals. Hell, he even missed pulling his hair out in worry as Clint pulled the most ridiculous of stunts to get the job done.
Phil missed all of it.
But he couldn't bring the archer along for this one. There was too much at stake and, as much as he wished it weren't true, Clint was compromised at the moment. His career, and life, was on the line enough already.
And Phil couldn't put it any more at risk.
As soon as the analyst had connected the dots Phil had known exactly where he had to go for answers, where all answers seemed to lie lately, and that was somewhere Clint could not follow objectively.
Or, more accurately, someone the kid could not follow objectively.
He reached Fury's office but didn't bother to knock. Instead he let himself inside with pause and moved to the centre of the room where Fury stood already, staring down with his one good eye at another figure who was seated in the just behind the director's desk.
Even from the doorway Phil spotted her red hair at once.
"Romanov," Phil began as he fell in line with Fury, staring down at the woman impassively. "We have some questions for you."
Ta da!
Finally! I know, I know! I'm a cruel bastard having made you wait this long for a sequel, but in my defence the last year has been quite hectic for me. I had double subjects at University so that I could take the last three months off and travel to America! It was awesome! So sorry for the wait but fear not, it's over!
I will be updating once a week until the stories finished so keep an eye out and I hope you like where I'm heading.
I know Phil's being a bit of a hard-ass when it comes to Natasha but (and will continue to be so for a while) but don't worry its just him having a freak out that she's going to murder them all! He'll come around eventually!
Hope you liked this chapter, if so drop me a line so I know how I should continue. All comments help me keep the story and my muses rolling, so please let me know what you think!