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“Agent Coulson, they're both in there.” The SHIELD guard stood at attention as Phil walked up to the old commercial garage.
“Alive?”
“The Widow is, sir. We're not sure of Agent Barton.”
"Why is that?"
"She won't let us near him."
Coulson raised his eyebrows but asked nothing more. He nodded to the guards and entered the hallway, figuring it best to go to the source.
Seven dead bodies laid strewn about the corridor, all men, some SHIELD, some not. Blood splatter reached to the ceiling and the floor was littered with empty .45 casings.
Two sets of bloody footprints trailed down the hall, the larger looking as if dragged away. They continued to the garage bay. He followed them.
“Take another step and it'll be your last.” A female voice growled from a dark corner.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the 9 mm aimed at his head.
“I'm here to retrieve my agent.” He held his hands up, taking stock of what he could see of Hawkeye, half shadowed behind the Black Widow, and it wasn't good.
“And you are?”
“Phil Coulson.”
The redhead turned her face slightly and whispered something in Russian. Phil did not let on he understood. She asked ‘kill?’. Clint answered back ‘no’ in Russian.
“Barton, are you okay?” Phil asked.
“Been better, sir.”
“What is the threat level?” Coulson asked in Manx, having made Clint learn the dead language when he joined SHIELD.
“Depends on what you have planned for me.” The Widow answered, in Manx.
He should have known.
“Zero, Phil,” Barton said in English, “she is no threat.”
“Then why is she still holding a gun to my head?”
“Natalia.” Clint put a hand on her arm, making her lower the gun.
“How do we know he is not compromised?” She kept a sharp eye on Phil.
Coulson crouched down, hands still up.
“Why would a Russian spy be concerned?”
She indicated to Barton and whispered, “there are snakes in the Garden of Eden.”
Coulson put his hands down, not wanting to believe what she just told him. There were rumors, but there were always rumors. He didn't want to believe it, not his organization.
“Are you willing to elaborate in exchange for safe extraction?”
“If I stay with him.”
That was a surprise, but considering the situation, it shouldn't have been.
“There will be procedures.”
“Phil.” Barton barked, making himself more visible.
He had blood smeared on the side of his face and soaking through his shirt. Part of the Widow's uniform was wrapped around his bicep and shoulder, blood soaked as well. She'd ripped off both arms to tie off his injuries.
“I will make sure that happens.” He looked them both in the eyes.
Natalia and Hawkeye exchanged a couple of hand gestures Coulson recognized to be sign language, but not ASL.
“You've helped him before.” Phil played a hunch.
“He helped me when he wasn't supposed to.”
“Yeah, he tends to do that.” Coulson smiled.
He swore he saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
“When you two are done becoming best friends. Can one of you help me up, please?”
Natalia slung one of Barton's arms around her shoulders, Phil took the other side.
“What do we tell Fury?”
“I'll handle Director Fury. Let's get you on the jet and make sure you don't bleed out.”
On the plane, they got Barton patched up. Coulson observed the two assassins as they slept sitting next to each other, the Widow's head resting on Clint's shoulder.
She opened her eyes and sat straight. Clint stirred, but she put a hand on his thigh and he quieted.
“He is reckless, he needs a partner.”
Phil acknowledged that insight with a slight raise of his chin.
“He can be stubborn.”
“As can I.”
“That I believe.”
Her lips pursed.
“Did you believe me earlier?”
“Yes.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
We.
They were a team now, whether he liked it or not.
“Whatever it takes.”