andrea_deer (andrea_deer) wrote in thenorthwing,

bday gift for megan_moonlight! (will be cleaned up a bit later, now it's a last minute mess :P)

Happy birthday, megan_moonlight. :D (It’s painfully unbeta-ed, but it’s 3am and I just wanted for once give you the gift on your actual birthday :* I will probably clean it up a bit later on :*)

Phil/Clint, first meeting AU, prompt chosen and written by me.

The problem was not how his new owners bosses were cryptic, little, self-assured fuckers, who loved having power and got boners for rules and orders. The problem was that Clint needed them. He dug himself in so deep that by now walking away after flipping the whole bunch of agents off, was simply not an option. Or at least not a good option, since it would most probably end with a bullet to his head sooner rather than later.

He was offered a slightly safer option. Agency he could join to get more of direction to his actions and a team that would provide a necessary back up. It would be an even better opportunity, if he actually was a team player. At all. Instead the whole structure of rules and people to order him around just made his stomach roil and he forced back every instinct in himself that told him to bolt.

He arrived at the appointed place just to find himself in a hotel room with a note about how his meeting with a representative of Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division will take place tomorrow at 9 am. He hadn't stayed in the room for more than a minute after dead, hating how the closed space only made him feel more trapped. Luckily, the hotel also had a bar, which seemed much more welcoming at the moment.

It seemed someone was celebrating birthday or an anniversary, maybe a wedding or a very lucky divorce, either way the room connected to the main bar was filled with music and half-drunk people dancing awkwardly, but with much enthusiasm. The main hall was less crowded, but people constantly mingled, making their ways from and to the party. It was the perfect kind of crowd to get lost in, everyone was able to fit in without trying too hard.

A man in a suit slid off a bar stool, squeezing his neighbor’s arm in a friendly goodbye, and Clint took the opportunity to claim a place by the crowded bar. He nodded at the guy next to him, catching his eye, and turned his head to the bartender, ordering whisky.

She was clearly good at her job and multi-tasking, even between the crowds coming up for a drink from the party all the time, she quickly dealt with anything and barely paid attention to the guy at the other end of the bar, who was clearly pissed and shouting names at her for supposedly charging him too much.

"Jerk," muttered Clint vaguely as the girl was pouring him his whiskey and she gave him a weak smile, before moving on.

He noticed the guy seated next to him nodded slightly and looked back at him, accidentally catching his gaze again. He grimaced awkwardly and the guy smiled, barely moving his mouth.

"You're here for Jane's bachelorette’s party?" he asked with mild interest and Clint shook his head with a wry smile.

"I have no idea who Jane is," he admitted and the man smiled slightly brighter, giving him a curious look.

"I don't think many of those people do. She's very welcoming, though."

"You a friend then?"

"I have yet to determine which one of the celebrating ladies it is," the man admitted with a smile that managed to be both perfectly bland and somewhat mocking. As if they were sharing an inside joke.

Clint snorted, but his reply was interrupted as a drunk, sweaty man pushed between them, smacking the bar with an open hand and shouting at the bartender. Clearly he was not going to put up with being ignored and now demanded his money being returned closer to where the woman was serving drinks.

"Can't you hear me, you stupid bitch? I want my money, I-uh-" he stopped suddenly, breath knocked out of him with Clint's elbow connecting fast with his solar plexus.

"I'm so sorry, my bad."

Clint's companion held the man's arm and for a moment it looked as if he was holding him up, until one paid attention and noticed the way he was twisting the arm, 'causing maximum pain with minimal movement.

"However it's very impolite and I believe you should stop," he commented, releasing the man suddenly and letting him fall back with a few gurgled complains.

Clint was steading himself on his feet, ready for a fight, but the man must have seen it and decide he already ahd enough. He just shook his head at them with an angry grimace and stumbled away.

"Nice one, suit man," commented Clint with a smile, when he settled back down.

The man nodded at him in thanks.

"Phil," he said simply.


They looked at each other with small smiles until fresh drinks hadn't appeared before them and they both looked up surprised at the bartender.

"On the house," she said with a wink and a smile they easily returned.

Clint downed his whiskey and glanced back at Phil, once again catching him looking with a thoughtful look in his eyes. He licked his lips. He still felt the excitement flowing through him from barely avoided fight. It felt good and no longer like being caged at all. He smiled slowly at Phil. Perhaps the fight was not his only option.

"Do you want to get out of here, Phil?"

The man seemed to consider this, finishing his drink slowly. Finally he nodded, more as if to himself.

"I share a room with my co-worker."

"I don't," said Clint easily and led the way back to the room he tried so hard to escape less than an hour earlier.


When nine am was approaching Clint stood in the room with coffee in his hand, watching the city from a tall window. It looked much better from ninth floor.

Phil stepped out of the bathroom, disconnecting the call as he did and hiding the phone back in his pocket. His suit was back on, tie tied neatly, there weren't even many wrinkles. Clint wondered briefly if the man purposefully chose his suits while considering how difficult they're to wrinkle.

"Not to kick you out, but I have a meeting soon," said Clint evenly. He actually rather enjoyed their time, both the sex and the actual conversation they had in the morning.

The guy was surprisingly interesting and his dry sense of humor didn't hurt either.

"I know," he said and Clint frowned. He shook his head after a silent moment.

"You have some interesting interviewing techniques in this SHIELD of yours."

Phil smiled.

"It's Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division," he said and Clint rolled his eyes. "And that was not exactly a plan."

"Good," he said coldly, wondering why he wasn't running yet. This went way beyond what he was willing to put up with his new employers, no matter how good of a shag they were.

"I was sure a formal meeting would be wiser, especially under the circumstances, however a situation emerged and your skills would actually be required sooner than expected."

Clint rose his eyebrows, incredulous.

"So, I guess I'm hired?"

Phil gave him one of his plain, barely there, smiles.

"Agent Barton you were hired the moment you arrived at this hotel. Everything else would just be a formality. Somehow I don't you'd mind skipping it."

Well wasn't that true enough. He considered the man before him carefully. And the fact that even as the reveal came he didn't consider running for more than a second. Perhaps it would somehow work out. He shrugged inwardly, only one way to find out.

"What's the job, then?"

Tags: backstory fic, fandom:the avengers, pairing:clint/phil, rating:pg13, status:complete, type:gift, type:prompt fill, words:1001-5000

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