Not 5 by 5
Chapter 4 - Indygodusk
Looking in every direction but the one where his torturers were disappearing, Clint asked, "Did you guys find the baby Guide from ATF I was showing around? I tried to keep them distracted so they'd leave him alone, but we got separated. I was afraid that if they tortured him like they planned to torture me, he might lose control of his shields and go dormant, losing his gifts permanently. I hear that can happen to Guides sometimes."
"We got him out," Steve reassured him. "Physically he seemed fine, just drugged. Bucky's not too worried about his shields anymore either, so I think he's going to be okay."
Clint pursed his lips, "But would your metal-armed boyfriend really be that worried about a stranger?"
"He's not my boyfriend," Steve said with a strange stutter in her voice.
Ignoring Cap, Nat addressed Clint, "They are both Online Guides." She was trying to calm down now that Clint was safe and mostly fine. Banter was a good distraction. "Isn't there supposed to be some sort of built-in Guide brotherhood because of the empathy thing? A forced friendship? Sentinels can be territorial jerks and no one looks at you twice, but Guides are supposed to be diplomatic peacemakers."
Supposed to be left a lot of wiggle room.
Beneath her helmet, Steve gave a fond little smile. "I don't think Bucky lets his Guide gifts force him to do anything. From what I've seen, he uses his empathy more to tell who's a liar or a jerk so he doesn't have to bother with his manners. That and to charm people he can't intimidate, which is few and far between."
"See? Probably not worried means nothing," Clint said, nudging Nat with his elbow. She sent him a scowl, but it was weak and they both knew it. On a normal day, she'd meet a nudge with an armbar or a trip.
"No, no," Steve added earnestly. "Bucky's a good man."
"Whatever you say," Clint said teasingly, turning up his nose. Surreptitiously he rubbed the small of his back with one hand. Hopefully the goons hadn't bruised up his kidneys too much or he'd be peeing blood for a few days.
They used a normal back door instead of the hole in the wall to enter the main warehouse on their way to the exit. Now that the danger was neutralized and the captured men rescued, the authorities had quickly moved in for cleanup. A few of them sent Clint curious or concerned looks, but no one tried to stop them and talk. Hopefully Coulson could work his magic and get him out of testifying at any trial.
Tanks of exotic freshwater fish filled row upon row of plastic shelving in the main room of the warehouse. Air stones bubbled into the water and heaters blinked on and off, sending up a low-level hum throughout the room that made the bones behind Nat's ears itch. In some of the tanks the fish swam freely, fins of red, yellow, and green flashing iridescent beneath thin beams of sunlight sneaking in through the dirty skylights overhead. Greenish black algae grew along the walls of the tanks.
One tank held a narrow-bodied fish species so translucent that you could see the internal organs pulsing through the skin. Another held long black and brown fish sporting pale yellow stripes running both around the tips of their long narrow tails and down their backs, with long, undulating ribbon fins along the underside of their bodies. Many of the fish hid in plastic plants and cut off pvc pipes, only their noses and tails peeking out.
On a rack near the front of the warehouse, knotted plastic bags filled with both water and fish floated in tanks of warm water, ready to be grabbed and tossed on top of the waiting coolers lined with waterproof bags of drugs before shipping. Some bags held a single fish and others whole schools. Floating the bags of fish in water served to keep the water temperature stable and the fish healthy for transport.
"Oh, yeah," Clint snapped his fingers. Moving forward at something Nat might charitably call a trot if he was an arthritic dog and not a man, Clint peered into the tanks of floating bags until he found what he wanted, scooping up a dripping bag holding a single fish and returning to the group.
The fish he'd grabbed was as black as midnight and shaped like a throwing dagger, with an undulating ribbon fin along the base of its body. The long taper of its tail was interrupted by two white rings near the tip, several inches after the ribbon fin had terminated. A thin stripe of ivory also ran up its blunt nose, terminating on the top of its head in the middle of a bright orangish-red blotch that looked surprisingly similar to Black Widow's hourglass symbol. Grinning boyishly, Clint tossed the floppy bag to Natasha.
"What's this?" she asked, easily catching the ungainly object and holding the bagged fish up to eye level with confusion and slight disdain. The dripping bag didn't smell very good.
"A gift! It's a Black Ghost Knifefish. It reminded me of you." Looking up at her through his pale lashes with a hopeful smile, the puffiness of his face somehow not detracting from his cuteness, Clint added, "Also, it's an apology. Sorry for getting captured and worrying you, but thanks for the rescue."
The Black Ghost Knifefish twisted sinuously in the water, fin rippling hypnotically, reminding her of an underwater ballet dancer. Natasha nodded regally and tucked the bag into the crook of her arm. It was a good gift.
"What, no gifts for the rest of us?" Tony asked as he joined them outside with a once more human Bruce. Iron Man's faceplate was open now that the battle was done. Looking Clint up and down, something in Tony's face relaxed. Bruce sent Clint a relieved smile.
"You're rich, Stark. If you want a fish, go out and buy one," Clint said with a wink from puffy, bloodshot eyes. He was trying too hard to act like everything was fine, but being captured and helpless was always difficult to come back from, no matter how often you'd been there. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, everyone on the team had been there.
"Or you could steal your own," Steve added wryly. "There's hundreds of fish just inside those doors."
Putting a hand to his chest, Tony gave a fake gasp. "Did Captain Virtue just suggest stealing? Be still my glowing arc reactor. What is the world coming to?"
Falling into step next to Nat, Tony peered at the fish in her arms. "Oh well. I'm not allowed to keep pets since I can't keep anything alive but robots. I'll have to settle for being the fish's uncle."
"More like a fishy uncle," Natasha mocked.
"No, I'm Uncle Moneybags," Tony rebutted, striking a pose.
"What a quack, McDuck," Steve drawled.
Tony pointed sharply, "No pop-culture references from the geriatric soldier. Not allowed unless you can quote something that's not G-rated!"
Despite Clint's initial claims of good health, his pace slowed considerably once they reached the open street. The team almost left him behind as they picked up the pace. Trying to hide a pained grimace, Clint's eyes dropped to focus on his feet as he hobbled forward. No one remarked on it. They simply slowed down and closed ranks, placing Clint back into the center of their formation.
Looking concerned when Clint almost tripped turning the corner, Steve tried to reach out a supporting arm. Shying away from the hand, Clint scowled at her mulishly and tried to shuffle forward at a quicker pace. Pressing her lips tight, Nat barely bit back a sharp comment.
"So what kind of fish is that anyway?" Tony asked, filling the silence.
"A Black Ghost Knifefish," Nat answered, "the perfect pet for spies and assassins everywhere."
Tony hummed. "I'm surprised Rogers didn't get her psycho boyfriend one. It sounds like his kind of thing."
Sending Tony a longsuffering look, Steve sighed. "He's not a psycho… or my boyfriend."
Throwing out his hands, Tony looked at the sky. "Why do you always protest that? You bonded Barnes, Sentinel to Guide. You live together. I assume you do more behind locked doors than the kissy-face you regularly perform in public, assume since Jarvis insists on respecting your privacy and won't let me access any video. That sounds like a boyfriend to me, unless there's trouble in paradise? Or is this is a semantics thing? Is there period slang we're missing out on? Should I call him your main squeeze? The polish on your shoes? The clip on your suspenders?"
Snorting, Steve shook her head. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"
Barnes grumpy voice sounded over the com. "I'm gonna clip you if you don't lay off, Stark. Stevie's an idiot but she's my idiot." His voice turned pointed, "I just hope she wises up soon."
"Bucky," Steve said in a warning tone of voice.
Natasha wondered just what the couple were arguing about now. With Steve, it could be anything from seemingly simple to deadly serious. Natasha was very fond of the Captain, but still hadn't completely figured Steve out, much to her consternation. Most people didn't give her much trouble, but Steve was deceptively honorable and straightforward 98% of the time and startling and illogical the other 2%.
She suspected that Phil knew the details of the argument, but there was no getting a secret out of him unless he allowed it. He wouldn't even confirm that there was a secret. Too many years as a SHIELD agent had made him practically inscrutable.
Clearing his throat, Bruce gave the slowly limping Clint a sympathetic look and then turned to Natasha. "Where are you going to keep your new pet? Most fish need a certain temperature and water pH to stay healthy, not to mention food."
Nodding in acknowledgement, Nat looked down at her new pet. "I'll have to contact a pet store when we get back, figure that out."
"Or we could ask Jarvis," Tony said pointedly. "The genius hooked up to almost every database in the world."
The British accent of Stark's AI sounded over the coms. "Why thank you, Sir. I can have a tank and supplies set up and waiting for the Apteronotus albifrons by the time you arrive. Black Ghost Knifefish are a weakly electric Amazonian fish that are nocturnal and eat either live blood worms or tubifex worms preferentially. I'll make sure to add them to your weekly grocery order and keep them in the fridge, as that induces torpor."
"Oh yum," Tony said with a grimace.
"Those worms aren't going to be stored in our food fridge, are they?" Bruce asked unhappily. "I've heard stories of them wiggling out of their containers and climbing throughout all the rest of the fridge compartments."
"I'll keep them contained and isolated, not to worry, Dr. Banner," Jarvis said confidently. "Shall I have them set up the tank in your rooms, Ms. Romanov?"
"No," she said, distracted as Clint stumbled going down a curb. Nat almost grabbed his arm despite the ding to his pride. However, she saw the quinjet just ahead. Phil waited outside with his arms crossed. Barnes sat on edge of the open door with his foot swinging and his arm and goggles gleaming in the sun.
Nat decided that Clint would either make it that far by himself or learn a lesson by falling on his face. To be honest, a hard lesson in humility might do him good. He needed to take better care of himself.
"Jarvis, why don't you have them put the tank on the public floor so the fish won't starve when I'm not around. Plus, that way everyone can enjoy it." And her rooms wouldn't start smelling like fish and bloodworms. Yum indeed.
On reaching the quinjet, Clint looked at the open door four feet off the ground with consternation, but didn't say anything. No one had let down the stairs and he was too proud to ask for help. His joints were swelling up, either from the beating or one of the chemical compounds in the chair. He was going to have trouble climbing up inside. Being stupid and stubborn, he was trying not to admit it even though it was obvious to everyone.
Shaking his head sympathetically, Bruce left Clint to his pride and climbed past Barnes and Coulson into the quinjet.
Phil ran his eyes over Clint with laser-like focus, cataloguing all of his injuries.
However, once done his focus turned to Nat herself, giving her the same thorough examination despite there being no reason to. She thought about being offended at the ding to her pride, but the warmth of his caring smothered that idea. It felt too nice.
Clint rocked back and forth on his feet, staring at the ramp. The tips of Nat's fingers tingled, half with the need to ruffle his hair and half with the urge to thwack him on the back of the head.
A gesture from Phil had her looking over. He tilted his head and flicked his eyes to Clint, offering to take responsibility. She nodded and relaxed. Freed from worry, she climbed up into the quinjet, using Phil's shoulder to push herself up.
She didn't really need the help, but was indulging in her desire to touch him while she still could. If, no, when he and Clint bonded, she'd have to stop touching Phil. Bonded Sentinels could get territorial about the scent of another Sentinel on their Guide and she didn't want to cause either of them distress.
The rest of the team followed her into the jet, with Captain America going last, as was her preference. Barnes rose lithely to his feet and padded deeper into the jet once Steve was aboard, unsnapping his mask and removing his goggles. Natasha lingered near the doorway to watch and listen without being seen by those outside. She made a show of taking off her arsenal one by one and checking them over to provide an excuse in case anyone asked, but really her attention was glued on what was happening outside the quinjet.
Reaching out one hand slowly, telegraphing his every move, Phil touched Clint's chin with delicate fingers and tipped his head up to examine his face. Clint submitted with easy grace, something he'd never done for anyone else, not even Nat. She'd be jealous if it was anyone else, but this was Phil Coulson. If Phil asked, she'd submit to his careful touch too.
"I bet you have a killer headache," Phil murmured. "Any signs of a concussion or broken bones?"
Clint made a negative sound, but didn't move his head away from the fingers cupping his jaw. She could see the flick of his eyes as he ran them slowly over Phil's face, using his Sentinel eyesight to explore the textures and contours in that special way he had. When Clint adored someone, it was always so obvious… to Natasha, at least. Coulson didn't seem to notice. That, or he just didn't know how to act upon it. Frustrating, silly men.
Finally Clint stirred himself to speak. "No, it was just a superficial beating. They wanted to try out their new Sentinel Interrogation Chair, so they went light with the physical stuff."
Phil sucked in his breath and leaned forward to gaze more carefully into Clint's eyes, sliding his hand around to cup the back of Clint's neck, his fingers burrowing into the short hair on the back of Clint's head. "They had a SIC? How are your levels? Do you need help finding your baseline?" Phil thumb rubbed along Clint's jaw, rasping in the short stubble.
Not waiting for an answer, Phil shared his Guide gift with Clint, a Sentinel in distress. Phil's spirit animal, a German Shepherd named Captain (after Phil's hero Captain America), appeared as a translucent presence by Phil's side. He was beautiful. All three of them were.
At this distance and with her limited access to the astral plane because of her partial status, it should be impossible to notice anything. Nevertheless, Nat clearly felt the moment Phil thinned his mental shields and released a wave of psychic strength. She'd never felt anything quite like it. Most Guides had focused bursts of empathy, not this. It felt like standing next to a spray of sunshine. Captain looked over his shoulder, met her eyes knowingly, and gave a doggy smile. As the power continued to build, the dog turned transparent and faded from her sight back into the astral plane.
Soothing and strengthening emotions flowed from Phil like warm rain. Tension fell from Clint's shoulders and the lines of his face like water sliding off a duck's back. It should have stopped there, but eddies of power lapped across the distance to splash across Natasha's mind too, a touch she couldn't help but open and respond to. Muscles unknotted and her senses felt more centered. Eyestrain she hadn't even noticed until now disappeared.
The two men made a very enticing picture, standing so close and staring into each other's eyes, their metaphysical energies curving around one another, mental shields intersecting, with the merest gap where someone else might slot into place if she dared to try. Clint wet his bottom lip and Phil's eyes flicked down to trace the sheen. Fierce desire and longing shot through Natasha's body, reverberating through her soul like the strike of a gong.
She turned away.
It was too dangerous. Too impossible. That moment wasn't meant for someone like her. If she tried, she'd only ruin it. Besides, Phil didn't want her that way. She was only his friend. Locking down her senses and the expression trying to creep across her face, she turned and walked with measured treads to a seat on the far side of the plane.
Much sooner than expected, Clint appeared in the cabin and limped over to collapse in the seat next to Natasha.
Mirrored shades once more hiding his eyes, Phil secured the door with a slam. What she could see of his expression looked remote. Not looking around at the team, he moved directly into the cockpit to fly them home. He didn't look like a man who'd just been kissed. In fact, he looked more resigned than blissful. The idling engines quickly revved up. Within a few moments, they'd taken off.
Unable to control her frown, Nat turned to hiss quietly at Clint. "You had the perfect moment. What happened?"
Shoulders bunching up around his ears guiltily, Clint gave her a sideways look. "I wouldn't do that to you. Besides, he was just trying to help. I'm not perfect for him, you are. We all know that."
Flabbergasted by this insanity, Nat stared at Clint in silence.
Misinterpreting it, Clint softly reassured her, "Don't worry. I'm not going to stand in your way with my stupid little crush. I'm just his friend while the two of you love each other. You even have more enhanced senses than I do, which probably means you're a better Sentinel and better to bond with for a Guide. You have a chance of finally making it work with him, unlike us, two partial Sentinels with screwed up pasts." Clint gestured sadly between them. "Not only is Coulson a Guide now, he's still that good man who's trustworthy, honorable, and never looks down on us for being partials or our pasts. You're the strength and belonging he needs in his life. You can be happy together. There's nothing I want more for the two of you."
It didn't matter what she wanted. Nat didn't get what she wanted, but Clint could. "You're mixing up your signals." Nat tried to catch and hold his gaze, but he wouldn't let her.
Giving her a sweet smile, eyes lowered, Clint stood up at Bruce's call and went over to let his wounds be treated at the medical station in the back.
Blinking rapidly, Nat turned to look out the window and think. Clint had always been awful at relationships, but this was a new level of blindness. He thought he only had a crush on Phil? Ha! As if she was that stupid.
And Coulson! Over the years the man had given Clint more time and attention than even his idol, Captain America. Her jealousy had long ago turned into acceptance and indulgence. Even if Clint was somehow miraculously right and Phil actually loved her, there was no way he could ever love her more than he did Clint. Those two were perfect for each other. There'd been active betting pools that Coulson and Barton were banging even during the height of Nat's on-again off-again relationship with Clint. The buy-in on the bet had barely dipped even when fake rumors had swirled around HQ for a week about Clint and Nat's engagement and Coulson himself had believed it and openly congratulated them in the dining hall, asking them if they'd set a date.
Natasha was going to have to think about this and change her strategy for getting the two of them together. Love was for children, she often told herself, but Clint could be both childish and full of childlike wonder, so he deserved the best. Phil was looking for love too. They'd be happy together, she just knew it, and her two favorite people being happy would make her happy.
