Chapter Text
Apartment 401, Regent’s Court, London, September 13th, 1934
Phil Coulson, the famous detective, paused in the doorway to his bedroom. As his eyes traced over the figure sprawled across his bed, Phil’s lips curved up into a small smile. Morning sunlight crept through the curtains, painting the muscles of Clint Barton’s back in golden light. Naked but for a sheet, Clint had his face pressed into the pillow, one of his strong arms curled underneath. A lock of dark blond hair tumbled over his forehead, making Clint seem almost like a fallen angel. Despite everything he should be doing, Phil wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed and join him.
“I feel like you’re about to interrogate me,” Clint said softly, proving he hadn’t been quite as asleep as Phil had thought.
“Is that a confession that you’ve been getting up to trouble again?” Phil replied, his smile growing as he watched Clint’s lips curve in amusement.
Clint blinked open his eyes and watched as Phil walked over to the bed. As had become his habit over the last three weeks, Phil carried a small tray with a silver pot of coffee to share and the morning’s post. He set it carefully down on the bedside table as Clint pushed himself up, the sheet pooling even lower on his hips. “I think you know exactly what I’ve been getting up to recently, Detective,” he said, smirking.
Phil’s gaze followed the sheet, and he blushed when Clint caught him looking. Huffing, Phil sat down in the space Clint had left him on the bed and poured the coffee. He passed one of the cups to Clint, who accepted it gratefully. Before Phil could turn back to pick up his own, Clint’s free hand curved around Phil’s neck and pulled him in for a lingering kiss. Phil leaned into it, resting a hand on Clint’s chest over his heart. When Clint finally pulled back, Phil sucked in a deep breath. He reminded himself he didn’t have the luxury of ignoring the entire day to tumble Clint back into the sheets. From his smirk, Clint knew exactly what Phil was thinking and wouldn’t resist in the slightest. Phil promised himself -- again -- that he would arrange a trip to the Continent soon. He and Clint could hide themselves away in a little cottage and forget about the world for a few weeks. But for now, Phil clung to the remains of his professionalism. “Are you going to get up at all this morning?” he asked Clint, reaching for his coffee cup.
“If I must,” Clint said with an exaggerated sigh, his eyes laughing. “Although, I’d much rather tempt you back to bed.”
“I’m sure you would,” Phil agreed, “but some of us have work to do.”
Clint smiled. “Yes, I know,” he said. “I’m the one that has to slave away over a hot kettle to keep your tea supply fresh.”
Phil huffed out a laugh, before pressing close to steal another, brief kiss. “I do appreciate it, you know,” he said quietly.
“I know,” Clint replied softly, a crooked smile curving his lips. Then he gestured towards the tray with his cup. “Is there anything interesting in the post today?”
Humming in reply, Phil picked up a dark blue envelope and passed it to Clint. “Stark has sent us a letter,” he said. He’d already read it while he’d waited for the coffee to brew.
Clint arched an eyebrow and slipped the letter out of the envelope. Phil waited patiently as he read, smiling slightly when Clint’s face morphed into a scowl. “I see Stark is being even more cryptic than usual,” Clint muttered, looking up. “I assume from this that Stark wants to hire us?”
“It appears so,” Phil agreed.
“Why am I suddenly envisioning scenes of chaos?” Clint quipped.
Phil smiled as he sipped his coffee. “I imagine because Stark is very good at creating chaos,” he replied dryly. “Just like a certain scoundrel I know.”
Over the rim of his coffee cup, Clint flashed him a smirk. “Do you want to take the case?” he asked, his expression sobering.
“If nothing else, he can definitely afford to pay us well,” Phil replied mildly. “What about you? Do you want to take the case?”
Clint considered it for a moment. “I doubt Stark would ask unless it was important,” he said.
Phil nodded. Then he let out an exaggerated sigh that made Clint smile. “It looks like we’re off to the country then,” he said.
~*~
Chesterfield Market Place railway station, Derbyshire, September 14th, 1934
Clint squinted a little in the late afternoon sunlight as he and Phil left the railway station. Behind him, he could hear the hiss of the train getting ready to depart. For a moment, Clint felt the urge to turn around and head back to London. This was hardly the first time he’d ever been in the English countryside, but it still set an itch under his skin. Rolling green hills spread out in front of him, the village of Chesterfield a little further in the distance. The amount of fresh air and sunshine was almost sickening. “You know, I’ve never understood why people periodically retire to the country,” he said. “I’d had enough of fields before I left Iowa.”
Beside him, Phil laughed softly. “Yes, but where else would you ride horses and trap all your friends in a drafty house in the name of entertainment?” he replied.
If they hadn’t been in public, Clint would have kissed that playful smile right off Phil’s face. As it was, a man in a dark chauffeur’s uniform had already spotted them. Sobering, Clint turned to face the man as he walked towards them. “Mr Coulson and Mr Barton?” the man asked.
“That’s us,” Clint agreed and watched the chauffeur hide his own smile.
“My name is Happy Hogan. I’m Mr Stark’s chauffeur,” the man introduced. “Mr Stark sent me to take you both up to the house, sir.”
Arching an eyebrow, Clint shared a look with Phil as they followed Happy. A few yards away, a Bentley 8 Litre was waiting at the curb and Clint felt his eyebrows rise. As Happy seamlessly transferred their luggage into the motorcar, Clint couldn’t help but run his eyes appreciatively down its sleek lines. He’d never been especially interested in motorcars -- he left that particular passion to Natasha -- but he had raced enough to know an impressive one when he saw it. “Maybe if you ask nicely, Stark will let you drive it later,” Phil said quietly in his ear. The warm brush of Phil’s breath on his neck distracted him from the motorcar for a moment.
Clint blinked out of his daze in time to catch Phil’s smirk as he slid into the backseat. Once again, he cursed their public setting and the rules of propriety he had to obey. The last three months had been some of the happiest of Clint’s life. He would have been content to stay in Phil’s small apartment forever, because there at least, he could try to tempt Phil back into bed in the middle of the afternoon. Phil had proved to be immensely temptable. Unfortunately, Phil was also a detective to his bones, and Clint had accepted that. And, with any luck, Stark’s country house would have a lot of dark, shadowy corners. They might have to play to the expectations of society in the daylight, but Clint was not a scoundrel for nothing. He was already planning his attempts to take advantage of a certain detective.
Shaking off his thoughts, Clint slid into the car beside Phil. Despite the room in the backseat, Clint made sure to press his thigh against Phil’s, if only to feel Phil’s reassuring warmth. His lips quirking into a small smile, Phil pressed back.
The drive to Hardwick Hall was surprisingly short. Before long, they were driving up the long driveway of Stark’s country estate. The manor house itself was as grand as Clint had expected. Even from the car, he could see that the sprawling building had at least two wings and several of what could only be described as turrets. “Stark never does things by halves, does he?” he said dryly.
“No, sir, he does not,” Happy answered from the front of the car.
By the time the motorcar pulled up to the large front door, two men were already walking down the front steps. It wasn’t hard to recognise Anthony Stark, even in a wrinkled shirt and no jacket. From the impeccable suit of the tall blond man behind Stark, Clint guessed he had to be Stark’s butler. Phil hummed thoughtfully beside Clint when he too caught sight of Stark. “Something’s happened,” Phil said in a low voice. Clint nodded in agreement.
Stark didn’t wait for Happy to come around and open the door of the motorcar, but instead opened it himself. “Detective Coulson,” he greeted brightly, but his eyes were a little wild. “Barton! Thanks for coming.”
“Mr Stark,” Phil returned the greeting calmly after he and Clint had gotten out of the motorcar. “What’s happened?”
Clint noticed with interest that Stark seemed to almost deflate at Phil’s words. “It’s a long story. I’ll have Pepper explain, I swear, but let’s just say I have surprise guests this weekend,” Stark said. “Just, please, if anyone asks, you’re here for the house party.”
“Of course,” Phil agreed.
“Thank you,” Stark said in a low voice as the front door opened again and a third man joined them. Clint didn’t need the sudden tension in Stark’s shoulders to know he was one of the unwanted guests.
The man wore a tailored suit, but even so, he had a distinctly unpleasant air. His reddish brown hair was slicked back from his face, emphasising his pinched features. Something about the bearing of his shoulders had Clint thinking he was more used to wearing a military uniform than a suit. The man’s cold eyes flickered briefly over Clint and Phil, before he turned to Stark, dismissing Clint and Phil entirely. “Stark, the General wants to see you,” the man said.
Stark ignored him. “Coulson, Barton, this is Captain Emil Blonsky,” he introduced.
“Here for the party, too?” Clint asked with a charming, if feigned, smile.
Blonsky sent Clint a grimace that he guessed was supposed to be a smile. Ignoring Blonsky’s clear reluctance, Clint walked over and offered his hand. “Clint Barton,” he introduced.
With a glare, Blonsky turned away from Clint’s outstretched hand without shaking it. “Now, Stark,” he said, before he walked back into the house.
“Well, isn’t he charming,” Clint drawled, turning back to face Phil and Stark.
Phil didn’t even try to hide his amusement. Even so, Clint noted the way his words had seemed to lift a weight of Stark’s shoulders. “I’d better go and deal with that before the General gets really impatient,” Stark said. This time, he sounded more like his usual self. He gestured to the butler waiting patiently off to the side. “Jarvis will show you to your rooms.”
As Stark hurried off, the butler stepped forward. “If you would follow me, sirs?” he said.
“Come on,” Phil said. He stepped up beside Clint, his hand gently pressing against Clint’s lower back for a moment. “Let’s go see if you can make any more new friends.”
“You’re hilarious,” Clint shot back as he followed.
~*~
Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 14th, 1934
The inside of Hardwick Hall was just as grand as the outside. Phil took in the dark wood and impressive staircases as his eyes adjusted. As expected of a manor house, oil paintings hung on the walls and a large chandelier dangled from the ceiling. Jarvis headed for the stairs, Happy trailing behind carrying the luggage. Before Phil and Clint could follow, a cheerful voice distracted them.
“Detective Coulson!”
Phil turned to see Pepper Potts walking towards them. She looked just as elegant as ever, a warm smile on her face. Her strawberry blonde hair was pinned back from her face, and she looked sleekly elegant in a grey skirt and jacket. Phil couldn’t help but smile back at her. “Miss Potts,” he replied, surprised when she pulled him into a brief hug. “You remember Clint Barton?”
“Of course,” Miss Potts said, greeting Clint with a brief hug as well. “Mr Barton.”
“Please,” Clint said with one of his charming smiles. “I always insist that beautiful women should call me Clint.”
Miss Potts laughed and blushed faintly, before curling her arm around Phil’s. “I’ll walk with you to your rooms,” she said.
They all followed Jarvis and Happy up the stairs. “What exactly is going on, Miss Potts?” Phil asked, and even with Clint a few steps behind, he didn’t doubt Clint would hear his soft question.
“Please, under the circumstances, you should call me Pepper,” she said. Her blue eyes were warm, but her body was undeniably tense. She paused, her expression uncharacteristically grim. “Perhaps it would be best if we discussed this in your rooms.”
Phil nodded, glancing towards Jarvis and Happy. He wondered if it was the staff Pepper worried about overhearing them. Pepper caught his gaze and shook her head. “Jarvis has been with us since Tony was young. And Happy has been around for almost as long,” she said quietly. “It is not them I don’t trust. This weekend, I fear the walls have ears.”
Wordlessly, Phil arched an eyebrow. He remained silent until Jarvis had shown both him and Clint to their neighbouring rooms. “I’ve taken the liberty of ensuring both Mr Coulson and Mr Barton are well away from General Ross and his companions,” Jarvis said.
Phil’s room was large and richly decorated in a way that suggested Pepper’s subtle hand. The walls were cream, and the furniture was all dark wood. The windows were large enough to let in the afternoon light, and showed a lovely view of the extensive manor grounds. There was a large fireplace at one end of the room, with two comfortable looking leather chairs placed on the rug in front of it.
“Thank you, Jarvis,” Pepper replied as Happy and Jarvis left.
She sat down one of the armchairs by the fireplace, twisting her fingers slightly in her lap. Phil settled in the second chair, Clint perching on the arm beside him. “So what exactly is going on?” Phil asked.
Pepper looked grim again for a moment, before she sighed. “It’s a rather long and complicated story, but I’ll explain as best as I can,” she said. “I’m not sure if you’ve seen Tony yet, but some rather unexpected guests arrived this morning. So far, they’ve managed to turn everything upside down.”
Phil nodded. “Yes, we did see Mr Stark briefly,” he said. “He mentioned these guests weren’t exactly… invited?”
Shooting him a glance, Pepper smiled wryly. “Knowing Tony, he didn’t use those words, but essentially, yes,” she said. “To put it simply, Stark Industries has a contract with the War Office and the British Army for technological development. Most of it was set by Tony’s father before the War, but we still honour what we can. Occasionally, the Army sends along someone to see what Stark Industries is up to and…”
“This is where things get complicated?” Phil finished when Pepper trailed off.
“Yes,” she agreed. “To say the least.”
“Sounds like we’re in for quite the weekend,” Clint said dryly.
“I am sorry about that,” Pepper said. “You’ll probably meet everyone at dinner, but I feel like I should warn you that it’s a rather… eclectic group. Tony is deep in his research at the moment, which is why we’re at Hardwick Hall. Tony only ever really uses it when he needs his large-scale workshop. Bruce, uh, Dr Banner is here as well, helping him with it.”
Phil nodded. “I remember Dr Banner from the last time we met,” he said softly.
Pepper nodded before she cleared her throat. “Another old school friend of Tony’s is here too to help them. His name is Aldrich Killian,” she continued. Her warm smile faded into something far more distant at the mention of Killian, and Phil made a note of her reaction. “Aldrich brought his aide with him and he’s staying with us as well. His name is Eric Savin. And then there’s Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, another old school friend of Tony’s. He’s an officer in the RAF.”
“And the unexpected guests?” Clint asked when Pepper paused for a moment.
Taking a deep breath, Pepper glanced at both of them. “General Thaddeus Ross from the British Army and his daughter Betty. And Ross’ aide, Emil Blonsky, who I believe is a Captain of the Royal Marines,” she said. “The General is here to check on the progress of Tony’s latest project, under the conditions of the contract with the War Office.”
Clint glanced over, and the look on his face suggested he was both irritated and intrigued by the situation. Phil couldn’t disagree. As always, Tony Stark seemed to attract complications by merely existing.
Smiling wryly, Pepper rose gracefully to her feet, Phil and Clint rising politely with her. “I should let you both settle in,” she said. “Besides, I fear by now Tony is probably looking for me.”
“Then, please, do not let us keep you,” Phil said with a warm smile. “Thank you for telling us what you have.”
Pepper smiled back as she made her farewells. Phil stared at the door after she left, lost in his thoughts. A moment later, he felt Clint walk up next to him. “Is it just me,” Clint said quietly, “or is there a lot more going on here than Stark sent for us to figure out?”
“It’s not just you,” Phil said, turning to face him. “Something is definitely going on. I suspect dinner will be quite illuminating.”
Clint smirked. “That’s one way of describing it,” he said dryly.
“You’re a detective now, Clint,” Phil said as he felt his mouth curve into a teasing smile. “Think of it as a way to hone your investigative skills.”
~*~