Chapter Text
”When I put in for vacation time, I expected more than 5 days, you know.”
Phil Coulson only raised an eyebrow at the complaint, standing in the hallway of the Triskelion with crossed arms as he waited for Clint Barton to catch up to him.
“This takes precedence,” Phil answered with unaffected nonchalance. “I’m sure Laura will understand.”
The two men fell into step with each other. The soles of their shoes echoed against the white tiles in the hall that led to Nick Fury’s office.
Mission briefings with the SHIELD Director himself were a rare occurrence. If they ever happened, it would mostly involve mission handlers who would later relay the appropriate information to the assets. For both himself and Clint to show up at Nick’s office left a deep worrying feeling in the pit of Phil’s stomach. He had no inkling what they would be told in there. He suspected the agent walking beside him to be just as anxious. It was just hidden underneath his casual mask of confident indifference.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s just my luck. I had just begun tearing down the staircase railing for renovations.”
They rounded a corner and found themselves in front of the glass door to Fury’s office.
“You’ll finish it when you get back,” Phil assured while he grabbed the doorhandle and pushed the heavy slab of glass open.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Clint argued as he waltzed in.
Fury was waiting for them with his arms crossed behind his desk, eyeing the both of them. He did so without any of the old amusement that Phil could normally discern in his eye. His whole body was to tense, Phil feared he might just pop at any moment. Even the air around him screamed anxiety. He had never seen his friend so absolutely wired. It was unnerving; he had no idea what could have brought this state on.
"Nice of the two of you to show up," Fury said. His voice was cool and collected. Anything his body wasn't. "Sit."
Clint had already taken one of the chairs standing in front of the desk and leaned all the way back while he rested his elbows on the armrests. As Phil walked across the large office space, he mused that the man at least had the decency not to prop his feet up on the wooden table like he did during most of their briefings. Perhaps it was because he had already figured out that Fury would shoot him in both feet without blinking should he do so.
Fury hit a small button and the curtains slid down to cover the windows, disrupting the view over Washington while the clear glass of his office walls frosted over. It encased them in darkness. The only light came from the screen that lit up on the wall next to them. Along with a few notes to the side, it showed a large surveillance picture of an older man. His grey hair was held back from his forehead and his dark suit was slightly crumbled.
“This is Ferenc Kovács.”
“The politician?” Phil clarified and turned questioningly towards Fury. From what he could remember, Kovács was a Hungarian politician in the European parliament. He seemed a simple, straight forward man with no activity that would land him on their watch list.
“What did he do?” Clint asked next to him.
“He is not our concern. The person sent after him, however, is a whole other story,” Fury quickly clarified. He clicked a new button on the small remote that controlled the screen and another picture appeared next to Kovács. This one was blurry and fuzzy, clearly taken in a rush. The only thing discernible was the stature of a young woman. A young woman with striking red hair. “The Black Widow.”
Phil felt his stomach drop. Next to him, Clint straightened up in his chair, his sharp eyes never leaving the screen.
“A lot of people had to sacrifice their lives to secure this intel. It sticks. This time, we have not only her location but also her target.”
Fury leaned across the desk and zeroed in on Clint. “For years, she has been a thorn in the side of every peace-seeking intelligence agency across the globe. I want her eliminated, Barton. She’s to be erased from the map, permanently and silently. Understood?”
Clint held the one-eyed gaze steadily and without flinching. A feat not easily done. “Yes, sir.”
At the confident response, Fury eased back into a standing position. The screen went dark and the curtains began rising up, slowly letting the sunlight return into the room. It seemed very bright all of the sudden.
“Good. The full mission folder will be waiting for you on the plane. You leave for Budapest immediately. You’re dismissed.”
His mind still reeling, Phil rose and held open the door for Clint to exit through. Clint didn’t make it across the threshold before Fury’s voice halted him in his tracks.
“Barton! I believe I don’t have to remind you of how extremely dangerous she is.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Clint allowed a self-assured smirk to dance over his lips, “So am I.”
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They were scheduled to leave only a few hours later.
Sitting the back of the SHIELD jet that would fly them to Budapest, they waited for the pilots to get the plane operational for departure. Phil watched Clint in the seat across from him go over the manila folder that relayed the mission information and all there was to know about the Black Widow. It was way too thin.
Intelligence had been sparse throughout the years, and any information on the Black Widow or the Red Room operation she originated from was limited to say the least. Truthfully, most of their facts were based on rumors and hearsay from the criminal underworld. How much of that was reliable was impossible to determine. Phil wasn’t exactly comfortable sending any asset into such a situation, not even Clint Barton. But it was the first real step towards dismantling that cursed Red Room and all of its agents. They had to take it. And Clint was their best bet towards achieving that goal.
None of that settled Phil’s frizzling nerves the slightest bit. And judging by the rapid way Clint’s leg was bouncing up and down, he wasn’t the only one feeling it.
“What do you know of her?” Phil asked curiously. With a figure as notorious as the Black Widow, he suspected Clint must have heard something during his freelance days. Before Fury recruited him into SHIELD.
“Nothing,” Clint honestly replied with a light shrug of his shoulder. He tossed the folder onto the small table between them. “No one does. She was a phantom in the mercenary circles. A legend.”
“And here I assumed that was you,” Phil taunted with a light smile.
Clint didn’t rise to the bait. “I was a freelancer with a stick and a string, who got the job done. She was barely starting out then. But she made her name real’ quick.”
As if he could sense Phil’s rising trepidation, Clint relaxed in his seat with a calm, casual smile. “If it makes you feel any better, just know she’ll probably elude us this time too.”
“Somehow, it doesn’t.”