wednesday_whimsy: (avengers_phil is made of awesome)
[personal profile] wednesday_whimsy
Title: Untitled
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Gen, Clint/Coulson pre-slash, shades of Clint/Natasha, BFFs all round
Warnings: Spoilers for the Season 4 finale of The West Wing. Bad-language. Non-graphic representations of kidnapping.
Summary: Phil Coulson is working undercover at the FBI. Everything goes to hell. Enter Natasha and Clint.

"I'd really rather not," Phil said, as he took a sip of his, now lukewarm, soy-latte and neatly avoided Fury's gaze.
"Well, luckily for me it's not about what you want," Nick said and his smile widened to shark-like proportions. "I need you to do this."
Phil gave a nod. He'd do it. He didn't have to like it. "For how long?"
"As long as necessary."
"Sometimes I really hate you," Phil said, his tone as even as if he were commenting on the weather. "Why did I take this job again?"
Nick laughed and gestured to the barista for another cup of coffee for each of them. "Hell if I know."
Phil left the Oval Office to the sound of McNally and Fitzwallace once again arguing over semantics. Frankly, he didn't give a damn who'd killed Molly and taken Zoey. Someone had, and it was his job to catch them. They could argue the political bullshit all they wanted.
He reached into his jacket for his cell-phone. Not the FBI issued phone Mike Casper carried in his trouser pocket, but the one Fury had given him, along with the name and cover, when he'd been handed the assignment five years ago.
"It's for emergencies," Nick had said, as though it needed saying. "Keep it on you."
Phil hadn't once had reason to use it, but he suspected that if anything counted as an emergency, the kidnapping of the President's daughter would be it.
There was a voicemail message waiting for him and he stepped outside to listen to it in private.
"There are resources available if you need them."
There were times, like five years ago in that Starbucks on Washington Square, when Phil thought Nick Fury had been sent into his life as punishment for past sins. Then there were times like these, when he remembered why he'd walk through fire for him.
He pushed the speed-dial and entered his pass-phrase. There was a click and then, 

"Two agents. St John's Episcopal Church. Fifteen minutes."
"I think it's going to take more than two agents, sir," Phil said. He checked his watch. Getting through security and across the park would be hell, but he could make it in ten.
"Not these two," Nick said. "Call me again when it's done."
The bastard hung up.
The church was busier than Phil had expected, though he told himself he shouldn't be surprised. Dozens of people sat or knelt, heads bowed and hands joined, offering their prayers for Zoey.
A young couple who could only have been Zoey's age, stood near the altar. The girl was lighting a candle, her boyfriend was pressed close to her side as he sombrely looked around the room.
Phil blinked.
He wasn't looking around the room. He was checking the room. Doors, windows. How many people there were. It was subtle, Phil thought, but he could do better.
There was a moment where he considered turning around and heading back to his office to get a team together that he knew. Maybe not SHIELD standard, but FBI standard was pretty damn high and they'd already lost Molly today. He didn't want any more young lives lost before they'd even begun.
Phil must have hesitated a moment too long, because the man - boy, really - had spotted him and knew exactly why he was there. He murmured something to the girl and she turned to look with all the ease of an agent who'd been doing it for ten years. She looked twenty. Phil suppressed a shiver.
He stayed close to the wall as he walked down towards the altar and joined them to light a candle.
"Casper?" the young man said, mouth curled slightly at one corner. "Nice name for a spook."
Phil rolled his eyes and adjusted his jacket to let whoever this was know that yes, he was packing, and no, he would not hesitate to unload the whole clip in his direction. He was having a really bad day after all.
"Sagittarius,"  the young woman said, offering the codeword before Phil had even said the agreed phrase. Either Fury had shown them his photo, or they were really bad at this. "Colonel Fury sent us, sir."
"Come," Phil said, and walked past them out of the side door without stopping to see if they'd follow.
"Zoey Bartlet was kidnapped four hours ago," Phil said, once the car doors had slammed closed behind the woman, now seated next to him, and the man seated behind them, leaning forward between the seats. "Our job is to locate her and return her safely."
"Sir," the woman said, though Phil wasn't sure if she was agreeing or acknowledging, or something else entirely.
"Names?" Phil asked, sparing a glance behind him.
"Romanov," said the woman. "Natasha Romanov."
"Clint Barton," said the man. "Can we have the pleasure of your first name, Agent Casper?"
"It's Mike," Phil said. "You can call me sir."
"Yes, sir," Romanov said, throwing at warning look at Barton, who held up his hands.
"Look I don't have time for games," Phil said, staring them both down. "Fury must have sent you here for a reason and I trust him. Prove him right."
"Yes, sir," Romanov said again, her voice just a shade more brittle than before.
Phil glanced back at Barton who gave a fake smile and drawled "Yes, sir."
"Kids," Phil muttered as he started the car. "I assume you have clearance? ID?"
They both held up FBI badges and Phil nodded. "There's a command centre at OEOB. Don't talk to anyone. Don't touch anything. Just follow me."
Phil was surrounded as soon as they'd passed through security.
"I can only read five or six things at a time," he said, pushing through the crowd. "Could someone summarise?"
Wesley appeared at his elbow and ran through where they were. He pushed open a door and let Phil go ahead into the office, then closed it on Romanov and Barton.
"Who are they?" Wesley asked.
"They're with me," Phil said, looking pointedly at the doorknob. "Let them in, Wes."
"Mike, whatever it is you're doing," Wesley said, taking a step towards the desk. "Let me in."
Phil considered. "No."
"They killed Molly," Wes snapped. "And you brought in outsiders."
"Specialists," Phil countered. "Let them in."
"I can go over your head."
Phil opened the first file he'd been given and tried not to wince. "I can't stop you. Do what you need to do. But let my agents in now."
Wesley threw open the door and waved Barton and Romanov inside. "You didn't see her," he said to Phil. "I need to do something."
"I need satellite photos," Phil said and Wesley took it as the dismissal it was. The door slammed closed in time with the files Phil held landing in two piles on the desk. "Read those. You have ten minutes."
Barton gave Romanov a look.
"Shut up," she said, and picked up a file.
"Problem, Barton?" Phil said, without looking up from the pile of papers and laptop in front of him.
"We could do this without you," Clint said and Phil did look up then. "Sir."
"Oh," Phil said, in a bland tone that had fooled many junior agents over the years. Barton was no different. "Do you know where she is?"
Romanov grabbed a file and slapped it against Barton's chest. "Read that. We'll be home in time for breakfast. You're buying."
Barton took the file and gave it a cursory once over. "It's your turn," he muttered. "And if these things provided any useful information you'd already know where she..." He trailed off and frowned at one of the photos. Beside him Romanov lifted one sheets of paper, letting the rest of the file fall to the floor. They traded their finds.
Phil watched them, taking in their body language which was suddenly screaming success. He wondered how many times they'd done this before. He wondered how long they'd been working for SHIELD. Less than five years, certainly, but long enough to trust each other. They still looked so young. Phil was starting to feel old.
"Do you have something?" he asked.

Romanov drove like the devil was chasing them.

Phil didn't bat an eye. He suspected, from looks Barton was giving him, that this was some kind of test. He fished two earpieces out of his jacket pocket and handed one to each of them.

"I'll assume you've done this before," he said.

"Extraction is our speciality," Barton said. "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"You'll see," Barton said and winked.

Actually winked.

Phil felt dangerously close to smiling.

They parked half a mile from the target. Barton was first out of the car, quickly opening the trunk. Romanov jumped out a second before Phil and grabbed whatever Barton was holding out to her. Phil checked his gun and two extra clips, taking note of each of the weapons Romanov now held on the belt around her waist. Barton strapped what looked like a quiver of arrows to his back and pulled out a bow.

"What the hell is that?" Phil said, before he could stop himself.

Barton's grin was more real then Phil had seen all night. "Is there a problem, sir?"

Phil shook his head and said, dryly, "Of course not. I'm taking two teenagers to save the President's daughter, armed with one gun, a utility belt and a bow and arrow. Why would there there be a problem?"

If anything, Barton's grin only widened. "Arrows. Plural."

"And we're not teenagers," Romanov said. "What are our orders?"

"Get in. Locate and extract Zoey Bartlet. Get out."

Romanov and Barton shared an indecipherable look.

"That's it?" Barton said. He sounded confused.

"Don't get killed," Phil said flatly.

"Agent Casper," Romanov said, but Phil cut her off.

"Coulson. Phil Coulson."

To her credit, Romanov didn't even blink. "Agent Coulson…"

"Tasha," Barton interrupted as he shouldered his bow. "You heard the man. In. Out. No dying." He winked at Phil again. "Best orders I've ever received. Let's go."


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November 2012

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