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As his elevator plunged down a hundred floors rather faster than an elevator should, Phil made a mental note to contact building maintenance about checking the emergency brakes on the other ones. He was aware that this wasn’t the reaction most people had to their elevator suddenly going into free-fall, but it wasn't as though panicking would help and it was something that should probably be looked into if he survived.
An alarm started sounding the evacuation alert somewhere and Phil couldn't quite decide whether it was the pattern for an intruder or a nuclear strike. He hoped for intruder. It wasn't as radioactive.
The floor indicator was rapidly nearing the bottom level and Phil was bracing for the probably very ugly end to his life when the elevator stopped as abruptly as it had begun falling. The sudden deceleration knocked him off his feet.
He lay there for a long moment catching his breath and cataloguing bruises, feeling vaguely surprised to be alive and deciding that things couldn't really get much worse. The lights choosing to go out at that moment was just the universe demonstrating how sadistic its sense of humour was. Thankfully - or perhaps not, depending on how you looked at it - the alarm also went silent.
This was definitely turning out to be one of those Mondays.
There wasn't even any emergency lighting. Phil had a small flashlight in his pocket that provided just enough illumination to see the button panel, not that hitting the emergency button was going to do much good but it never hurt to follow protocol.
It wouldn't do much good unless, of course, Clint Barton was still in the building and had somehow managed to patch into the elevator's emergency comm line.
The speaker crackled as Phil was examining the escape hatch over his head.
"Hello?" Clint's voice floated out. "Anyone out there?"
Phil sighed, because of course it would be Clint that broke regulations and stayed in the building despite an evacuation order.
"What the hell are you doing, Barton?" Phil asked. "You're supposed to be getting out of here."
"Nice to hear from you too, sir." The line was crackly but there was a mixture of relief and humour in Clint's voice. "Where are you?"
"Elevator four," Phil said.
"Huh."
"What?"
There was a long pause. "Is elevator four OK? Not...damaged?"
"Why?"
Another long pause. "No reason."
Phil sat down beside the panel and rubbed his forehead. "Barton, should I be worried?"
"Do I have to answer that honestly?"
"What happened?"
"Looks like there's something hacking our systems," Clint said quickly. "And maybe eating wiring and cables, the science guys aren't completely sure. We've got a lot of people trapped around the building right now and everything's acting funky."
"In what way?"
"A lot of failures, a lot of equipment malfunctioning in weird ways, that kind of thing."
"Does that include the elevators?" Phil asked because sometimes, even when you knew that a question wasn't going to have an answer you liked, it had to be asked.
"Yes?" Clint said in that tone of voice people used when they were trying but failing to sound confident about something terrible.
"How, exactly, are they malfunctioning?"
"Sir, you wouldn't by any chance know why yours isn't moving, would you?" There was the sound of a small explosion. "Ow."
Phil sighed because small explosions and Clint Barton never meant anything good. "Barton, where are you and what's going on?"
There was a long pause and then a sound like metal screeching. "I'm at the elevator shaft. Three of them fell when the systems went weird. Yours was the only one that was occupied and the emergency brakes haven't activated. The other two are in a thousand pieces on one of the sub-basement levels."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Sir, given that you're currently twelve floors from the bottom and we have no idea what stopped your fall or why you're suspended where you are, it might be a very good idea if you stayed really, really still right now."
Phil swallowed. "What's your plan?"
"I'll tell you later?"
"Barton-"
"You know, this is getting to be a habit." Clint said conversationally. "You hanging in mid-air somewhere, me coming to the rescue."
"It's happened twice."
"See? Habit."
"And I'm not exactly hanging in mid-air this time."
"I bet you're not shirtless and tied up, either," Clint said and his tone was oddly regretful. "It's a real pity, sir."
Phil was definitely not going to flirt with Clint. That kind of thing led to strange and confusing post-acid vat almost something moments that never got mentioned again. No, flirting with Clint over the comm was not going to happen today. Or any other day, for that matter.
Apparently his subconscious had other ideas because instead of reprimanding Clint for being inappropriate, Phil found himself saying, "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm wearing a suit today."
There was a brief pause and then Clint said, "I'm very disappointed. You're probably wearing shoes, too."
"They are generally a requirement on SHIELD premises."
"I suppose they're useful sometimes."
"They would have been useful that time in San Diego."
"You're still bitter about having to carry me out of there, aren't you?" Clint sounded amused. "It wasn't like I asked the bad guys to steal my shoes and scatter broken glass everywhere."
"I don't-"
Phil broke off when he heard a something on the elevator roof that sounded suspiciously like someone dropping a small metal tool.
"Barton," he said, carefully, "what exactly are you doing?"
"Little busy here right now," Clint said. "I'll get back to you."
Which meant that Clint was doing something dangerous that he didn't want Phil ordering him not to do. The suspicion was confirmed when there was a quiet clang from above and then a bright light shone down into the compartment. Phil put up a hand to shield his eyes from the flashlight and was just able to make out the outline of the access panel that Clint had opened.
"You were right, sir," Clint said and this time his warm voice wasn't coming through a panel near Phil's ear. "You're disappointingly well dressed."
"What are you doing, Barton?"
"I'm rescuing you." A hand and a well-muscled arm reached down. "See? It seemed like a good idea to get you out of here before you could resume the plunge to your messy and painful death. Sir."
Phil sighed because reprimanding Clint for rescuing him seemed ungrateful despite the number of rules that Clint had ignored to be here. He stood up quickly and froze when there was an ominous creak.
"Might want to hurry up, sir," Clint said. "Hurry up carefully, I mean. There's no telling how long this thing will stay up." There was a long pause and then Clint made an odd, strangled sound. "Permission to pretend I phrased that differently?"
"Permission denied," Phil said absently, concentrating hard on moving to Clint's hand as smoothly as he could, no excess vibrations or sudden weight shifts. Something metallic groaned outside the elevator and he could feel a cold sweat break out on his back. "Barton, get out of here."
"Fuck that."
Phil reached as high as he could to clasp Clint's forearm just below the elbow and felt Clint's hand grip his arm tightly. "What's the next stage of your plan?"
The only reply was a grunt as Clint pulled and lifted Phil off his feet. There was another worrying creaking sound and Phil heard Clint swear softly but he continued to lift Phil smoothly until Phil was high enough to grab the edge of the opening with his free hand. Clint didn't stop pulling up but it seemed to be easier now that Phil could assist a little. Trying to keep their movements as steady as possible, they worked together and soon Phil's head and shoulders emerged from the hatch. Somehow Clint managed to get Phil's arm around his neck so that he could grab Phil around the waist and continue dragging him out until they were lying side by side on the elevator roof.
The surface below them shuddered and Phil heard something below break free and rattle down the shaft.
Clint swore again. There was a miner's light strapped to his forehead and he shone it in the direction of the ladder built into the wall of the shaft. Phil nodded his understanding and they rolled to their feet and jumped for the ladder just as whatever had been holding the elevator up finally crumpled gave in. The tiny compartment hit the ground with a deafening crash as gravity had its inevitable victory.
Phil was too busy holding onto the ladder with one hand, scrabbling to find a foothold, to really notice it happening. Clint had somehow jumped a couple of feet higher and he had both hands on a rung, looking perfectly comfortable.
"Need a hand, sir?" Clint asked.
Despite his screaming muscles, Phil pulled himself slightly higher and got both hands and a foot secured.
"I'm fine," he said.
He was actually trying very hard to ignore how close they were and the way that Clint's chest rested just by his ear because it was very distracting, but in the wider context Phil was fine. After all, when the other option involved being squashed flat by two tons of metal pretty much anything that included 'alive' was good.
"Better start climbing, then," Clint said.
"How many floors?"
"Less than twenty. I think."
"I shouldn't ask how you climbed down to me so fast, should I?"
"It's probably for the best."
After climbing past ten floors, Clint called a brief halt. "This might not have been one of my better plans."
"Was there any actual planning involved?" Phil asked, trying to shake out some of the burning in his arms.
"Sure there was," Clint said. "Get to you, get you out. That's a plan."
"We're going to need to discuss your planning skills later," Phil said.
There was a brief pause and then Clint said, "Sounds good to me."
More climbing took them up another ten floors, an eleventh and then, finally, Phil heard Clint stop and he looked up to see a dark opening yawning just above and to his right.
"This was a lot easier on the way down," he heard Clint mutter.
"Problem?" Phil asked.
"Only if you don't mind a three foot jump to the doors," Clint said. "Fucking stupid design, who puts the emergency ladder that far away?"
There was a clang and a scrabble and Phil saw Clint swing out and jump, just catching the edge of the door with his hand and a foot. The momentum carried him along, though, and Phil heard a dull thud and then some vicious swearing.
"Are you alright?" Phil asked, trying not to sound too worried.
"Sure, fine, I didn't need that knee anyway," Clint shouted.
A moment later he was back at the door, holding out a hand and beckoning.
Phil climbed up, took a deep breath and repeated Clint's jump and swing motion. Clint caught him, pulled him in and they landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs, Phil on top with the breath knocked out of him. It was eerily familiar.
Clint's miner's lamp had been knocked away and Phil couldn't see much of his face in the dim lighting. He was aware of the tight grip that Clint had around his waist, though.
"So, about my planning skills," Clint said quietly.
"Yes?" Phil said, equally softly.
Before Clint could whatever he had been leading, Phil heard the familiar whine of repulsors behind him. He looked around in time to see Stark in his Iron Man suit gently floating down the elevator shaft.
"Huh," Stark said. "I was sent to rescue you. Looks like you don't need it."
"Yeah, Stark, I've got this," Clint said and there was a hint of irritation in his voice.
"Good news, excellent news," Stark said. "Well, what are you lying around there for? We've got little metal bug things to kill before they damage anything important."
There was suddenly static in the air and then Thor floated down to join Stark. "Friends! You are alive! Now we may re-join the battle on the forty-eighth floor. These metal creatures provide great sport."
"Fuck, this is never going to work," Clint said irritably and Phil completely agreed.