No Map Uncertain

Phil raised a hand to his brow to shade his eyes from the bright light. It was early morning, but with the First Sun already high and the Second Sun well over the horizon, the temperature was rising fast. It was going to be another hot day, but that was nothing new: City Of A Thousand Shields was a desert city and used to the blistering heat. 

Phil, on the other hand, was not Desert-Born but a Southerner from Sethorp, and even though he had slowly  learned to love the wide expanse of shimmering sands, there were days when he longed for cooler times and lusher vegetation.

He wouldn’t say no to a little water every now and then, either.

A drop of sweat traveled along his spine as he climbed the stairway to the wall surrounding Shields. This early in the day he still sweated, but the higher the Suns climbed, the quicker the moisture dried straight off his body — before it had even made it to sweat. After all these years, he still hadn’t quite gotten used to it, and he was always somewhat surprised when his clothes weren’t drenched by noon. It was something Jasper cackled at him on almost daily basis.

The wall was quiet as Shields was slowly waking up to a new day. Phil’s position as the Captain of the Guard meant he didn’t actually have to make rounds first thing in the morning, but he was a man set in his ways. Besides, he frankly enjoyed the relative peace and quiet of the early hours before Shields truly woke up and the cacophony of travelers, vendors, and townspeople filled the air.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he took a cursory glance around, automatically checking his surroundings and called out, ”Everything alright here?” to a Guard leaning on the wall. 

Lance, Phil’s Second in Command, was on the early shift and had been stationed on the wall since before the rise of the First Sun. Everyone knew he hated early mornings with passion, which meant he had lost in cards to Mack (again), forcing him to trade his later shift so that Mack would have a lazy morning with Leo. Phil wondered if Lance was just slow to learn or if this was his way to support Mack through his spouse’s slow recovery from a rogue drake accident.

”Yep, boss,” Lance answered with a yawn and a lazy salute. 

He seemed to be barely awake, but Phil knew how deceiving his appearance could be and how sharp his eyes were as he scanned the area behind Shields’ walls.

”Day one of the Grand Market,” Phil reminded and walked up to stand beside Lance. ”It’s going to be a busy couple of weeks.”

Lance nodded. The bi-annual Grand Market was one of the high events of the season, lasting for two whole weeks and providing Shields and her citizens with extra business and entertainment. It attracted all kinds of people — including the ones Phil would rather keep out of his city. 

”Anything special going down? Anything we need to know about?” Lance asked after a moment.

Phil gave him a faint smile. ”So far, nothing out of the ordinary. I’ll let you know if—”

”—If I need to know,” Lance finished. 

”Exactly.”

Lance rolled his eyes. ”Go get something to eat, boss. Nothing to see here.”

Phil clapped Lance once on the shoulder and turned to head to the mess hall.

His breakfast was made of a couple of slices of hard bread, dried meat, fruits and nuts, and a small carafe of caf, the same selection he had every morning regardless of the day or season. Jasper had thrown a fit and almost choked in his meal when he had learned about it, trying to wrap his mind around something as scandalous as a man who didn’t indulge.

There were lots of things Jasper found funny about him.

Thinking about his companion, Phil reached towards the bond he shared with the drake and, unsurprisingly, found it still dormant. Jasper was a creature of comfort, and as formidable as he was in a fight, he usually lazed around as much as possible. He called it ’preserving his energy,’ Phil called him a slug.

Years ago, when Phil had arrived to Shields and to his new position, he and Jasper had been introduced. Everyone had been surprised that they connected so well. Phil was a seasoned soldier, reserved and calm, a stickler for the rules who preferred routines over spontaneity, whereas Jasper was a hedonist to the core. What people failed to see, however, was that Phil preferred efficiency over posturing and Jasper was ruthlessly efficient when he was properly motivated. 

Phil was very good in motivating others when needed. Sometimes it required elaborate pep-talk, sometimes brute force, but in Jasper’s case, Phil had won him over by simply out-stubborning him. Also, Phil’s ability to eat a full jar of pickled, fiery peppers had helped Jasper gain a whole new level of respect for him.

Over the years, Phil and Jasper had developed a well-functioning comradeship: Phil took care of things while Jasper mainly concentrated on spoiling himself rotten. However, when his abilities were needed, Jasper donned his harness on and acted on Phil’s orders with single-minded devotion. 

In short: they were a good team.

Sparing a small smile for Jasper, Phil finished his breakfast with precise moves and offered short nods and mild smiles at people on his way out. Nowadays, he received much less eyeballing in the mess hall than in his early years, but there were always some newcomers who couldn’t wrap their minds around the fact that the Captain ate among his staff instead of demanding to be served in his quarters. Phil had never seen much point in the rigid class hierarchy and, fortunately for him, his employer agreed. 

Then again, the rigid class hierarchy would’ve hindered said employer himself on his recurring nightly activities, about which Phil didn’t want to know anything. Knowing about and trying to rein in his daily activities was more than enough, thank you very much.

Phil was halfway across the training field and on his way to finally wake Jasper up when he heard the distinctive sound of a flier from above him. He squinted up to see a drake in the Air Guard harness and frowned. The Air Guards were on their rounds and weren’t scheduled to return yet. As the drake started circling and swooping down, Phil recognized the gray, red, and white pattern of his flight harness, and stepped aside to give Commander Wilson room to land.

The young flier had a magnificent wingspan already, and Phil didn’t think it would fit to land inside Shields after it was fully mature. He landed gracefully, folded his wings, and trained his eyes on Phil, letting out a challenging hiss. It was both a warning and a claim, a clear sign of how young and insecure the drake still was. 

Used to dealing with young, recently bonded companions, Phil didn’t bother commenting, just stood his ground, held the eye contact, and waited. A tense moment passed before the flier averted his eyes in recognition of Phil’s rank and superiority, but his neck held a belligerent pose. 

Phil’s lips twitched as he suppressed a smile.

”Redwing, behave,” Sam Wilson snapped as he jumped from the harness, flicking the flier on the beak with his flight glove. ”You know perfectly well who my ranking officer is— Yes, he just happens to be your ranking officer too.” Pressing his lips together in a thin line, he crossed his arms over his chest and gave his flier a flat stare. 

Curious, Phil observed the interaction between them. As a person, Sam wasn’t very intimidating, but he had a presence the drakes responded well to and combined with his innate ability to steer drakes he wasn’t connected with, it had made Sam the Commander of the Air Guards. His old drake had retired a while ago due to old age, and his new companion was a young male drake who was still only partially trained. 

Satisfied with whatever explanation Redwing had offered him, Sam turned around and grinned sheepishly. ”Sorry about that,” he said. 

Phil waved his apologies away. ”He saw me as a challenge and acted accordingly,” he said calmly. ”Nothing to apologize for. He’s got spirit.” 

He turned towards Redwing who had kept an eye on them and nodded a formal greeting. The drake blinked, narrowed his eyes, and started to fuss with his wings with the air of feigned nonchalance. He reminded Phil vividly of a teenager who didn’t think being pleased about compliments was ’cool.’

Sobering, he said to Sam, ”I assume you have something to tell me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have landed inside the city walls.”

Sam nodded. ”You have an Incoming,” he said bluntly.

Phil raised a brow. ”Yes, I know. It’s the Grand Market, there’s always incoming.”

Sam shook his head. ”No, I mean ’an Incoming’ as in ’trouble.’ There’s a Black Widow heading this way.”

”Is she’s alone?” Phil asked sharply. Black Widows were loners by nature, but there had been recordings of them occasionally pairing up or forming temporary packs. Having one near Shields was a risk, more would be a catastrophe.

”Yes, but here’s the thing: she has a rider.”

Phil blinked. ”She has a what now?” 

”My thoughts exactly,” Sam echoed, disbelief coloring his words. ”She has a harness and everything. She seems to be properly tamed — as unbelievable as it sounds.”

”And you said she’s heading this way?”

Sam nodded. ”Yeah. They’re not very far, but she seems to be traveling a slow but steady pace. It’ll take them at least an hour to get here.”

Phil thought for a moment. He’d need to alert his people without raising too much panic and talk to Stark before the Black Widow and her rider arrived.

”I guess you want me back in the air?” Sam asked, already turning back towards Redwing.

Phil took a couple of steps back, moving away from the wings the drake flapped open. ”Yes. Stay close, but don’t engage. Let’s see if we can play this out without bloodshed.”

Sam nodded once, donned his flight gloves back on, and climbed on the harness. ”I’ll be seeing you,” he hollered as Redwing started beating his massive wings and launched into the air with a hoarse scream. 

Frowning, Phil watched them rise up before he took a deep breath and started towards the stables in a brisk walk. He tugged sharply at the bond he shared with Jasper to wake him up, ignoring the flare of irritation he felt back. 

He had no time for Jasper’s moods right now.

”Get up,” he called as he entered Jasper’s stall, expertly sidestepping the tail flung his way. ”Stop with the drama, we have a Black Widow coming in.”

Jasper was up and facing him in a flash, eyes narrowed. 

//A Black Widow? Are you sure?//

”Sam saw it. Apparently, she has a rider.”

Phil could feel Jasper’s blatant disbelief through their connection. As unbelievable as a tamed Black Widow with a rider sounded to a human, it was even more ludicrous to drakes. The few reference that even mentioned Black Widows told in no uncertain terms that they were a rare, extremely violent, and highly intelligent breed of drakes. They were usually left alone and they left humans alone, as long as nobody bothered them. And since they managed to radiate an unspecified aura of dread around them, humans didn’t normally even try approaching them.

To this day, Phil had never heard of a Black Widow accepting a bond with a human, and those foolish enough to try had usually ended up dead or missing. To meet one with a rider was unheard-of.

//I better suit up, right?// Jasper mused. 

Phil didn’t say anything, just lifted Jasper’s armor from the stand in the antechamber and helped him don it. ”Do you want to come with me to tell Stark the news?”

//How about no,// Jasper snorted. He didn’t like Stark and vice versa, but Phil always made sure to ask. It never hurt to be polite. //I’ll head up to the wall and meet you there. Good luck with our magnificent Lord.//

”Thanks,” Phil said dryly and fastened the last buckle of Jasper’s armor with slightly more force than necessary.

Nobody stopped Phil or even raised a brow when he made his way to Stark’s private chambers. It was a widely known truth that Stark listened to only a few people and liked even fewer, and Phil had the questionable honor to belong to both groups. He knew that to outsiders, their relationship was probably baffling, but neither of them really cared. Phil knew that Stark trusted him and Stark knew Phil saw right through him and bought none of his bullshit, which left them on even ground to deal with things and run Shields. 

Of course, the fact that Phil had killed the man who had tried to assassinate Stark meant something as well, but neither of them brought up willingly. That particular story was ugly and best left alone.

When Phil knocked his signature knock on the door and waited for a moment before entering, he found Stark lounging on his bed with Miss Virginia snuggled to his side. Seemed like Phil hadn’t interrupted anything of importance — this time. 

”Please, come in,” Stark mocked. ”Don’t be shy.”

”Morning, My Lord, Miss Virginia,” Phil answered calmly, ignoring Stark’s sarcastic tone. ”My apologies for interrupting, but we have a situation.”

”Oh, we do?” Stark asked and cocked his head.

Phil narrowed his eyes at Stark’s blithe tone. ”Sam stopped by. There’s a Black Widow heading towards Shield, and she has a rider.”

Stark looked at his nails and said, airily, ”Oh, that situation.”

”You knew,” Phil said flatly, glancing at Jarvis perched on the window sill. The drake fluttered his purple-and-gold wings and stared unblinkingly at Phil. 

Phil let out a long-suffering sigh. ”I wish you bothered telling me these things, you know.”

Stark shrugged and closed his eyes. ”I knew you’d handle it anyway. Well, I assume you’ve taken the necessary steps for the first meeting?” 

For a moment, Phil just looked at the Steward of Shields. Stark seemed unusually unconcerned about the situation, even to Phil’s trained eye. It was almost as if he had been waiting for something like this to happen, which was surprising. Phil didn’t like being surprised.

”Yes,” he finally answered. ”Jasper is heading to the wall as we speak, and I’ll inform the Guard shortly. I wanted to let you know first, even though I probably should’ve known better.”

”You wound me,” Stark said pressing a hand on his chest.

”No, I don’t,” Phil said flatly.

Stark sat up and gave Phil a worried once-over. ”You are too tense again. When was the last time you got laid, Phil? Last year? The year before? Pepper, we need to do something about that,” Stark said, turning pleading eyes at his consort.

”Leave Phil alone,” Miss Virginia chided before giving Phil an apologetic smile. ”I’m sorry, just ignore him.”

”I’m trying,” Phil said, shook his head, and turned to go.

”We need to figure this out!” he heard Stark calling out behind him. ”Perhaps some nice girl? Or a lad, I forgot you prefer men. Do you like bears or do you fancy your boys clean-shaven? Phil?”

As he firmly shut the door behind him, Phil wondered why he had accepted this job again.

//Are you sure this is wise?// 

Clint sighed and rubbed his face. His hood protected his head from the sun, but the sand and heat had chapped his lips bloody. ”We don’t have a choice, and you know it,” he said quietly.

Natasha grumbled something Clint didn’t catch, annoyed at his deflection. 

It was an old argument, a question she had repeated from the day they had begun their journey hundreds of miles away. It had started as a worry about their companionship, about Clint’s trustworthiness and honor and whether he would turn coats and kill her anyway. It had taken several heated arguments and Clint almost dying to make her understand Clint genuinely cared about her, and he wasn’t just after a notch in his belt.

Over time, Natasha’s worry had morphed into her contemplating the general sanity of Clint’s decisions. He wasn’t sure if it was an exactly positive development, but now, staring at City of A Thousand Shields looming ahead, Clint started to wonder if Natasha was right after all. 

Ever since he had saved Natasha’s life, they had been more or less on the move. Traveling around as a bow-wielding jack-of-all-trades had hardly kept Clint forgettable, but traveling with a Black Widow as a companion tended to make him famous — and a target.

Even though Shields wasn’t among the most sought-after cities, what with it being in the middle of a desert, it was lively enough with ties to other, bigger cities. Bigger cities meant more attention, and now that Clint would’ve liked to go without too much recognition, he was guaranteed to get that. 

They didn’t have a choice, though. 

They were both starved — Natasha even more than Clint — and tired to the bone. Even with her enhanced healing abilities, the wounds in her stomach were still bothering her and Clint knew her splintered hind leg wasn’t fit to carry her full weight yet, let alone the added weight of a rider. Clint himself was pushing himself as much as he could. He hadn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in, like, forever, and he was sure he still hadn’t grown back the skin he had shed from his hands when he had dragged Natasha’s bulk on a tarp for those couple of awful days in the beginning. Thank fuck she was back on her feet now, splintered and everything, because otherwise, Clint would’ve left her behind.

As if. He would’ve most likely dragged her for as long as he could and then died right there beside her like the stubborn, sentimental fool he was.

He had never met anyone like Natasha before, neither human nor drake. Clint had been enamored with her the moment he had laid his eyes on her bleeding body, and when he got to know her better, he learned that she was an interesting combination of barely suppressed violence, biting humor, and slicing intellect. She had been exceptionally expressive before they had finally formed a proper bond, and after they connected, she blew his mind away. Sometimes almost literally.

She was like the big sister he never knew he had missed, and she definitely treated him like an annoying little brother who was constantly in trouble.

Natasha interrupted his thoughts with a tense, //What do you think will happen?//

Even though she tried to act relaxed, Clint could feel her body thrumming and twitching with nervous energy. She was good at hiding her feelings, but after everything they’d been through, Clint could read her like a book. Sometimes it was a book with pictures he didn’t get at all, but he could always look and guess, right?

”I have no idea,” he muttered. ”Perhaps we’ll actually get some rest before we’re out of their hair.”

As they drew closer to the city, they gained in on some of the other travelers. Out of wariness, Natasha had kept away from them without Clint asking. Of course, the drakes around them weren’t fooled even if the humans somehow managed to ignore the sense of danger Natasha’s presence caused, and the closer they got to the city, the more they received narrowed stares and nervous prancing.

Had they been in a different situation, Clint could’ve found it amusing: Natasha was terrible if she wanted to be, but ever since Clint had learned to know her, he had found out there was a fiercely loyal heart under her tough-as-nails exterior and the simmering layer of violence that thrummed through her body. She might summon nightmares with her claws and teeth, but to Clint, she was a kitten.

Well, a kitten prone to maim and kill, but a kitten anyway.

Sighing, Clint gazed at the city in front of them and hoped the one in charge would also see her for who she was and not what she was, and let them in.

By the time Phil made it back to the wall, both Suns were high and the temperature close to stifling. On the horizon, the air shimmered and through it, he saw the billow of dust the column of travelers raised. Because of the Grand Market, there had been a steady trickle of people coming in since the previous night, but the main crowd of vendors, entertainers, and tourists always arrived around midday. So far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and if he hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought everything was normal.

Except it wasn’t.

He glanced up and saw Sam’s Redwing hovering above the travelers, indicating that the Black Widow was still present. Near Redwing, he spied smaller fliers and sighed as he realized they were Stark’s flock of unconnected fliers — the ones he called Jarvis’s minions. They were most likely why Stark had known about the Black Widow situation even before Phil.

For a Steward, Stark was annoyingly active. Sometimes, Phil wished Stark was like the Stewards of the other cities he’d passed through in his day: lazy and uninterested in the businesses of his underlings or just too caught up with the politics of the higher-ups to care about inventions and parlor tricks on shady alleys. Then again, Stark being more… normal would’ve also made Phil’s life significantly less interesting, and he absolutely hated boredom.

The travelers were still far enough from the city that Phil had enough time to round up his most experienced troops, explain the situation, and ask them to stay focused. All his men and their drakes were seasoned enough to keep calm, but a Black Widow was something they had never come across. For example, they had no idea how far out she could extend her glamor of impending doom. In close quarters, that could be catastrophic. 

Never taking his eyes from the slowly approaching crowd, Lance asked, ”Are you just going to let them in?”  

Phil sighed and absentmindedly scratched Jasper’s neck. He knew Lance was merely voicing out the suspicion of the rest of the Guard. ”Do I have a reason to keep them out?”

Lance’s head snapped up and he gave Phil a narrow-eyed look, opening his mouth to protest. 

Phil interrupted him. ”Feral drakes have no business inside any city walls, but if that Black Widow is properly harnessed and tame—ish, I have no legal grounds to keep them out. You know this as well as I do.” He shook his head and continued, ”If I’m denying them access purely on grounds of the steed being a Black Widow, I’d be speciest.” 

//I wouldn’t have pegged you for political correctness,// Jasper muttered sourly.

Phil ignored him and blew out a long breath. ”But I’m not going to say I’m not terrified to let them in,” he said quietly. ”It’s extremely dangerous, I know.”

Lance didn’t comment, but from the corner of his eye, Phil saw the tense line of his shoulders and the gritting of his jaw. His posture mirrored the mood of everyone on the wall, and Phil didn’t blame any of them.

As the crowd drew closer, it was easy to see the wide berth around one particular drake, human and drake instinctively shying away from the apex predator. Feeling Lance’s eyes boring to his neck, Phil turned around and beckoned for Jasper to follow him down from the wall. 

Facing the threat by himself was yet another quirk that made Phil different from the previous Captains of the Guard Shields had had before. Most of his predecessors would’ve put together an emissary group and remained safely behind Shields’ walls, but Phil never even considered it.  

He went through the routine of checking Jasper’s harness and let the familiar moves calm them both into the mindset of the oncoming confrontation. After sharing a solemn look, Phil nodded at Jasper, climbed on his back, and squared his shoulders.

His city, his duty, simple as that, Phil mused, signaled Mack to open the gates and nudged Jasper forward. 

They stopped in about 40 feet from the gates, far enough to meet the Black Widow and her rider on a more neutral ground, but still close enough to Shields to be safe. The rider of the Black Widow would recognize Phil was there for them. 

Hopefully.

They waited calmly, ignoring the heat of the two Suns. The incoming crowd grew steadily thicker and parted around them like a wave, offering polite greetings and an occasional gift. Having a Guard outside the walls wasn’t an oddity, and the people were used to giving out small treats to the individual appointed to stand guard. Phil graciously accepted everything given to him and put them on the pouch hanging from Jasper’s harness, never taking his eyes off the Black Widow. 

After a while, Jasper let out a thoughtful hum. //They’re stalling.//

”I noticed,” Phil said, nodding to himself. 

He decided it was a good sign: either the Black Widow was exceptionally peaceful or her rider had enough control over her to let the people inside Shields’ walls before confronting Phil. It was also confusing because Phil had no idea what to expect.

When they were about 30 feet from Phil and Jasper, the Black Widow stopped altogether and drew herself to her full height — which, surprisingly, wasn’t much. Phil couldn’t be sure, but she seemed smaller than Jasper. How she managed to carry a rider, he had no idea. 

What she lacked in size, she made up in presence, however: she was lithe and deceptively slender, thrummed with power, and her eyes were burning red, shining with intelligence. She was truly a magnificent sight, and Phil didn’t doubt for a moment that she was able to wreak havoc if she wanted, troops be damned. 

Slowly, the Black Widow took a couple of steps forward, then stopped again, waiting for Phil’s reaction. Her rider was clad in a deep green cape, the hood pulled down to shadow the face, and what seemed to be a bow flung in his back. By the pose and build, Phil deduced the rider to be a man.

”Good morning,” Phil greeted calmly, loudly enough to be heard up on the wall where he knew Lance and several other of his best were watching them, ready to jump into action at the slightest provocation. ”Please state your name and the reason why you wish to enter City of A Thousand Shields.”

The Black Widow cocked her head and turned to look at her rider. It was an odd gesture, something not often seen — almost too human for a drake. 

Slowly, the rider raised his hands and pushed the hood back to reveal a face framed by a mess of sand-colored hair and a goatee, but his eyes stole Phil’s attention. They were piercing, and even though he was too far to see their color, the intensity of his gaze was like a punch in the gut.

”My name is Clint,” the man answered. His voice was low and rough and there was a lilting note Phil couldn’t place. ”This is my companion, Natasha. We come in peace and seek admittance to City of A Thousand Shields to rest and recuperate before we continue our journey.”

//Companion? Really?// Jasper almost squealed. //Like, a properly bonded companion? A Black Widow? Am I hallucinating?// His tone held a tightly controlled edge of hysteria, something Phil had never heard before.

”No, unless it’s a shared hallucination,” Phil said, never taking his eyes from Clint and his steed. ”And please, don’t tell me if there is such thing.”

Ignoring Jasper’s snort, Phil beckoned Clint closer, keeping an eye on possible sudden moves. It didn’t take him long to realize they were in a bad shape: the Black Widow was limping slightly, her skin was dulled and sagging, and Clint himself had worn lines on his face. They were exhausted and, from the look of it, almost starving. It didn’t mean they were any less dangerous, though.

”I’m Captain Phil Coulson, the Commander-in-Chief of the Guard,” Phil said, ignoring Clint’s surprise about his rank. ”I trust you understand our… surprise regarding the species of your companion. A Black Widow isn’t a common sight around here.”

Clint shook his head and offered him a tight smile. ”Oh, she isn’t common anywhere,” he muttered, placing his hand on her neck. 

Phil blinked at the gentle gesture, but covered his surprise with a slight cough. ”I’m afraid I cannot allow her a free pass throughout Shields,” he said. ”I hope you understand it’s as much for her safety as it is for everyone else’s.”

Clint pressed his lips together in a tight line and nodded sharply. He gave Phil an assessing once-over, and his eyes nailed him into place. From up close, they were a kaleidoscope of blue, turquoise, green, and gray, and even more intense than from a distance. Phil wondered how bright they were when they weren’t dulled by fatigue and stress.

Almost by their own volition, Phil’s eyes traced the lines on Clint’s face, dipped into the arch of his lips, and followed the jawline into his neck—

Jasper’s snort shook him from his thoughts, and he gave himself a mental slap. Now was not the time to get lost in a pair of beautiful eyes, no matter how attractive they were.

Slightly flustered, Phil turned Jasper around and said, over his shoulder, ”I hope our official visitors' area would prove sufficient for her. You, on the other hand, are free to go as you please.”

Clint raised a brow at him, but merely nodded in agreement. 

//Lost in a pair of pretty eyes,// Jasper chortled.

Deciding he didn’t need to hear more of Jasper cackling, Phil nudged him with his knee perhaps with slightly more force than absolutely necessary and, followed by Clint, they entered through Shields’ gate.

The Suns were barely over the horizon, but the streets were already bustling with people. After weeks of just the two of them in the desert, the number of people felt almost disconcerting, but Clint forced himself to stay calm and relaxed. It was bad enough that Natasha was so tense that Captain Coulson would soon see it, and Clint had a feeling that he didn’t miss much.

”It’s the first day of the Grand Market,” Captain Coulson explained when he noticed Clint frowning at the milling people. ”It’s held twice a year, and it’s always a highlight of the season.”

Well, not the only highlight now, Clint thought wryly. From the corner of his eye, he saw people pointing at them and whispering amongst themselves, and to their left, he caught an elderly lady staring at them openly. When she realized Clint had spotted her, she averted her gaze with a jerk of her head and hurried past them, glancing over her shoulder like she expected Natasha to jump her.

The small, amused huff from Captain Coulson took Clint by surprise.

Curious about their host, Clint let himself really look. The Captain had a coloring of someone not Desert-Born, and the note of his voice placed him somewhere south. He seemed almost nondescript and bland, what with his pleasant voice and a mild, non-threatening smile on his face, but Clint had a feeling that underneath, he was something completely different. One didn’t get the position as the head of the city Guard by being pleasant and nice.

Clint wondered what his story was — what had made him settle here and end up as the Captain of the Guard? Why was he here? Was he alone? Did he have a family? Did he like men?

Shit.

Clint grimaced inwardly. As pleasant a sight for sore eyes as the man was, theirs wasn’t a situation where Clint could indulge his need for human touch. First, they were on a quest and second, he didn’t know Phil’s preferences — and even if he did, seducing the highest ranking officer of the Guard probably wasn’t the wisest of moves, regardless Shields’ general consensus about same-sex relations.

It wouldn’t do to stray from the course just because Clint’s dick liked the effortless way Phil moved in the saddle. And when had he started calling him Phil, anyway?

Clint let his eyes take one last, lingering sweep over Phil’s undulating hips and broad back. When he raised his gaze, Phil was looking back at him, amused. Clint decided to play it cool, cocked a brow, and shrugged, receiving a small huff of laughter in return.

//You’re incorrigible,// Natasha groaned, but she didn’t sound as tense as before. Clint making a fool of himself tended to relax her.

Besides, Phil didn’t seem offended. Clint decided it was a good thing.

”The visitors’ area is this way,” Phil said as he steered his drake from the main avenue towards wrought iron gates. ”Most of our visitors leave their drakes in the stalls here because we have more room. There are a couple of inns that provide drake rooms, but they aren’t very popular.”

Clint wasn’t surprised. Depending on the drake, they could be anything from a knee-high pet to towering drakes used to pull a cart or help with the construction work. Very often those who traveled with drakes needed more room than an inn could offer. Besides, their prices tended to be high, which made the common stalls even more appealing.

As they passed through the gates to the visitors’ area, Clint took a sweeping look around, checking for exits and blind spots. It was a habit he had mastered years ago, and since it had proven useful, it was automatic by now. The area was larger than he had pictured from outside the gates, with brick barracks of different height surrounding a large courtyard with a spacious sand bath and a giant tiled pool partially shaded by a canopy. 

There were no Guards on the gates and after they entered, they were left wide open for anyone to walk in. Clint frowned a little, baffled about the lax security. One would’ve thought a city of this size would be more interested in keeping possible threats contained — especially now that he and Natasha were present. No matter how at ease Phil seemed to be, Clint knew that by normal standards, he and Natasha were dangerous.

”If you’re wondering about the open gates, don’t,” Phil interrupted his thoughts and pointed upwards. ”City of A Thousand Shields is many things, but unprotected isn’t one of them. We have an unusually large population of unconnected fliers who answer to our Steward’s drake. There isn’t much that happens without him knowing about it.”

”Huh,” Clint said, impressed. 

//Sounds like Stark,// Natasha huffed. //He’s always liked to do things his way.// 

In the silence of his mind, Clint agreed. From what little he had learned about Stark, having a horde of independent surveillance fliers sounded like something he would do. 

He wondered whether or not he would end up meeting the notorious Steward during their stay. When Clint had asked Natasha about it, she had been her usual close-mouthed self. All Clint knew that she had some weird connection to the genius who had been voted as the Steward several times in a row.

//Is that… a water bath?// Natasha interrupted his thoughts in what sounded suspiciously like a squeal.

Clint jerked his head to look at Natasha and then at the tiled pool. He wasn’t sure how his face looked like, but if the amused grin on Phil’s face was anything to go by, he probably looked as stupefied as he felt.

”Yes, that’s a water bath,” Phil answered, nodding at the pool. ”Stark gets visitors from all over Siriande and this was something he wanted to build. The water comes from one of the underground lakes underneath the city, and it’s used to water the gardens afterward.” 

He paused and motioned a nearby Guard to fill the pool and turned to face Natasha directly. ”Our drakes are used to sand baths so they don’t use it that much, but I guess you would like a water bath.” 

Clint felt her approval through their bond. //I like him,// she almost purred.

Clint stifled a groan. Natasha was many things, including an unabashed hedonist whenever she had the chance. Clint suspected he wouldn’t get her out of the pool anytime soon.

After a beat, Phil asked, carefully neutral, ”Would you like a room of your own or do you wish to stay with your drake?” 

Clint didn’t even bother pretending he didn’t know what Phil was really asking. None of Phil’s men would volunteer to care for a Black Widow, no matter how placid she seemed at the moment. Clint staying with Natasha would just make everything easier. Besides, he wasn’t too eager leaving her alone either.

”We always bunk together,” Clint said. ”I wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

Phil gave him a warm, pleased smile. Clint told himself it didn’t make him slightly weak in the knees. 

After being escorted to their quarters — a spacious stall with a balcony built overhead — Phil gave them a thorough rundown of Shields’ rules, told where to buy meat for Natasha, and asked Clint to let him know if there was anything they needed. The unsaid ”I’ll know if you leave and I’ll have you watched,” was softened by the way Phil’s face heated when Clint noticed his eyes lingering on his ass when he bent to unharness Natasha.

//Oh for goodness sake, just go for it,// Natasha huffed. //I know you want to, and from the way he drooled when you bent over, I figure he wouldn’t mind getting some either.//

Clint rolled his eyes but decided to try his luck anyway.

”Actually… I’m starving. Do you know any decent dining places around here?” 

Phil raised a brow and gave him a slow smile. ”In fact, I know several.” He paused for a split moment, and his gaze dropped to Clint’s lips before snapping back to his eyes. ”Would you mind company?”

Clint let his mouth draw into a smirk. ”Not even a bit.”

Phil pursed his lips and nodded. ”I’ll see you at the gates when the First Sun goes down.”

When Clint and Natasha finally made it into the water bath, they had gathered quite an audience. Some of the guards were openly staring, others pretended to tend to their duties, but they didn’t fool anyone. Apparently, the news of their arrival had spread like wildfire because there were even some kids peeking through the gate. Clint shook his head and ignored them as best as he could.

With practiced ease, he unbuckled her harness and lifted it off. He made a quick work of looking it over and cleaning it up with oil, deciding to oil it thoroughly later when he didn’t have one impatient drake to scrub.

Even when recovering from her injury, Natasha was a magnificent sight: her movements were different from the more common drakes, and at times it looked like she almost danced. When her harness was off, her wildness seemed to increase, even though Clint knew from the first-hand experience that her being harnessed did nothing to diminish her savagery. To others, the harness seemed to give a false sense of a tamed beast.

Clint snorted. As if Natasha could ever be tamed.

The pool was big enough for a working drake, and the steps on the other end meant Natasha didn’t actually need Clint’s help getting in, but Clint wanted to play it safe. Besides, the looks on the faces of the guardsmen who pretended they didn’t ogle either Natasha or him when he stripped were priceless. 

Clint wondered if Phil was watching and automatically straightened his pose.

//Stop preening and get in here,// Natasha sighed, flicking water at him with her tail. //I want you to wash my back.//

He grumbled under his breath something about insolent drakes, but Natasha hummed tunelessly something inane and ignored him, splashing carefully forward to soak herself fully. 

The water was pleasantly cool, and even though Natasha was even more bossy than usual, Clint found he actually enjoyed giving her a good scrub and getting himself clean in the process too. He couldn’t remember when he had last taken a proper bath.

He pretended not to hear Natasha’s comment about getting every nook and cranny spotless, but still made sure he was squeaky clean. He hoped hadn’t misinterpreted the heated look in Phil’s eyes earlier, and he was so going to do his everything to get laid tonight. 

After he was done scrubbing Natasha for the third time, he left her purring in the pool while he got out and walked nude and unhurried across the yard to their appointed stall. He wasn’t ashamed of his body, and if his bare ass gave a moment of enjoyment to someone, he was glad. 

Also, the possibility of Phil watching. 

While he was on the supply run, he made inquiries about Barney and expressed his wish for info sharing with the right people. To avoid any trouble from the guards, he made sure to be seen shopping for necessities, like a new water skin and shirts, and getting Natasha a generous serving of meat. It made a cut in their budget, but she would need to eat a lot in the coming days to restore her health. If it meant Clint would go with less, so be it; Natasha needed her strength more than Clint needed his.

When he returned to the visitors' area, Natasha was no longer in the pool, but lying lazily in the shadow of a large canopy. 

She wolfed down half of the meat Clint brought her and then poked at a jar by her feet.

//Rub that on me.//

Clint blinked. ”You want me to do what?”

She rolled her eyes like Clint was more than a little slow. //That’s oil. Rub it on me, especially on the leg.//

”Do you want me to do your nails too?”

She grinned at him, showing all her magnificent teeth. //Thank you for the offer, but that’s not necessary. This time.//

Clint shook his head but didn’t argue further. After a moment, he asked curiously, ”Where did you get the oil anyway? It wasn’t in our stuff.”

Natasha craned her neck and stretched her bad leg. //It was a gift,// she said airily.

Recognizing her tone, Clint didn’t bother asking because he already knew she wouldn’t answer. They hadn’t been together for long, but he had already learned that if she didn’t want him to know something, she wouldn’t tell. And one just didn’t force a Black Widow to do anything she didn’t want.

//Are you planning on getting laid tonight?//

Clint shrugged. ”If he’s amenable, I’m not gonna say no.”

She gave him a look from the corner of her eye. //We can’t stay, remember?//

”Yeah, I know,” he said, rolling his eyes. ”But since we’re gonna be here for a couple of days to rest anyway, I can at least have some fun. And you get to soak your bones in that pool.”

//Hmm… you’re right about that.//

Amused, Clint shook his head at her delighted tone and turned to go. The First Sun was low, but he still had a little time to prepare. 

He had barely taken three steps when Natasha said, //Take the rest of the oil. You’re going to need it anyway.//

Groaning, Clint turned back, snatched the jar, and beat a hasty retreat from her smug smirk. As handy as the oil would be, he was not going to lug it around. Despite what Natasha insinuated, he wasn’t quite that desperate.

Phil took them into a small tavern not far from the visitor’s area. It was a dimly-lit, cozy place with mismatched chairs around slightly uneven tables covered with spotless tablecloths. It was half full and looked more like someone’s home than a tavern. Clint felt his shoulders sag as he took in the relaxed atmosphere and inhaled the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen. 

”There’s no menu available,” Phil explained as he nodded at a man standing behind the counter. ”Never has been, for as long as this place has been standing. Steve and Maria go to the market every morning to get fresh groceries and haul back whatever strikes their fancy, and that’s what they serve.”

”Sounds… different,” Clint said slowly as they sat down.

Phil grinned. ”The food is always excellent so it’s a pleasant surprise, whatever they serve.”

”Thanks for that, Phil,” the bartender said as he brought them both a pint. ”I’m Steve,” he said to Clint with an easy smile. ”Your food will be here shortly.”

As they waited for their food, Phil told Clint that the owners, Steve and Maria, manned the tavern together with Steve’s childhood friend James. Steve’s aunt Peggy had founded the place with her husband Jason, and they had turned it over to Steve when he had come back from cleaning up the mess in  Argond and had needed something else to do than stare at the walls. Steve had dragged his friend with him, and when he had ended up together with Maria, they had managed to secure a solid customer pool.

”Steve is a… kind of a celebrity in Shields,” Phil said and sipped his beer.

”Oh?”

The corner of Phil’s mouth drew into a smirk. ”He left Stark for Maria.”

Clint blinked. ”Really?” 

”Yeah. So far, he’s the only one who has stood our Steward up. But we’re all better off like this anyway: they were always quite volatile together.”

”Huh,” Clint mused. Siriande as a whole was quite tolerant to same-gender relations, but there were places where it was still frowned upon. Seemed like City of A Thousand Shields was good with it all, what with their Steward as an example.

He glanced at Steve from the corner of his eye. The man was built like a brick house, but there was something immensely gentle about him. Somehow, Clint was having a hard time imagining him with the Stark he knew about. He made a mental note ask Natasha about it later. 

”Here you go, boys,” a beautiful brown-haired woman said with a smile and put down big bowls of steaming stew with thick slices of nutty bread on the side in front of Phil and Clint both. She raised a brow and shot an appraising glance at Clint as she placed a small basket filled with small cakes in the middle of their table. Her eyes were sharp and missed little as she glanced at Clint, who automatically straightened his spine. 

”Thank you, Maria,” Phil said warmly but with a pointed smile that politely told her to leave them alone. 

Maria’s lips twitched and she said, amused, ”Enjoy,” before she turned and went back to man the bar. From the corner of his eye, Clint saw her lean to whisper something to Steve. He wasn’t sure what to think about that.

They dug into their food and Clint let out an appreciative hum at the taste. The stew was nothing fancy, but it was rich and tasty, and clearly made with love. They made a quick work of their portions and the bread, leaving the small talk for later.

They were nibbling at the last cakes when Phil asked, ”How long are you staying?”

Clint looked up. ”A couple of days,” he said slowly. ”We’re following a… person of interest, and only stopping for rest and resources.”

”Someone I know?” Phil asked calmly but Clint wasn’t fooled. This was the Captain of the Guard he was talking to. His gut told him that honesty was the only way to deal with Phil if he wanted to get laid. 

Clint shook his head. ”Actually, it’s my brother, and I highly doubt you know about him. In any case, we’ll be on our way in a couple of days.”

Phil nodded and let out an agreeing sound, but didn’t otherwise comment.

After they were done and Steve had waved Phil’s money away, they walked back towards the visitors’ area. The air had cooled down and the streets were well lit by the light of all three moons. It was… nice. Clint couldn’t remember when he had last had something nice.

At the gates, Clint hesitated and stopped to look at Phil. ”Thanks for the company,” he said.

”Pleasure was all mine,” Phil answered with a ghost of a smile.  

They stood for a moment in awkward silence, and then Clint thought fuck it, and stepped right into Phil’s space.  ”Unless I grossly misunderstood,” he said, reaching out his hand to cup Phil’s face, ”in which case you’re free to punch me in the face, I’m going to kiss you now.”

Phil raised a brow but didn’t otherwise react, which Clint took as a positive sign. He leaned closer and kissed Phil slowly, letting his lips press against the other man’s. It started out as tentative, but then Phil tilted his head slightly to the side, opened his mouth and took control, and the kiss turned from almost chaste to dirty faster than Clint’s brain could process.

”Okay, wow,” Clint said eloquently as he pulled back a bit to draw breath. 

”Yeah,” Phil agreed and dove into another kiss.

Clint was all for more kissing, but he figured this wasn’t the best place possible. Well, he didn’t care, but Phil might not want to hear shit from his staff later on. Besides, if Stark really had eyes and ears everywhere, Clint wasn’t so sure he’d want the Steward of Shields witnessing Clint molest the Captain of his Guard in public.

He managed to detach himself from Phil’s lips to murmur, ”Should we… ah… perhaps relocate?”

Phil dropped his head against Clint’s shoulder and let out a small huff of laughter. ”Yes, I believe so,” he grunted after a moment. ”Otherwise, Stark will never let me live it down.”

As Phil turned to tug him along, Clint took a glance around him, spotting at least four fliers gliding around, which confirmed his suspicion of Stark’s voyeuristic tendencies. He grinned, saluted at the fliers, and turned to follow Phil. 

Doing that, he missed a purple-and-gold flier circling his and Natasha’s stall before flying in.

Once in Phil’s quarters, Clint took a curious look around. It was like a small apartment with a bathroom, kitchen area, and a large living room with a separate sleeping nook. It was clean, decluttered, and sparsely furnished with a table, sitting area, and a large bed. It was almost bare with no visible signs of the person who inhabited it. Clint couldn’t help but wonder why.

Phil walked to the kitchen area and raised a pitcher half with amber liquid.

”Drink?”

”Sure,” Clint said, walking right into Phil’s personal space. He accepted the glass and downed his drink slowly, never averting his eyes from Phil’s. As he licked his lips, Phil’s eyes followed the movement. When Phil’s glance snapped back into his, his pupils were wide.

Without looking, Clint placed the glass on the counter and raised his hand to Phil’s chest and felt his heartbeat picked up a bit. Combined with Phil’s intense gaze, it prompted Clint to slip the button on Phil’s jacket open. 

Neither of them spoke when he slowly revealed Phil’s chest, covered in scars and salt-and-pepper hair. Clint let his hands wander and map the skin, slip under the jacket to push it down Phil’s shoulders and onto the floor. Feather-light, he traced a thin scar along Phil’s side up to his shoulder where it ended in a star-shaped, puckered scar.

”That’s from Argond, where I saved Stark’s life,” Phil said in a low voice.

Clint leaned forward to press a kiss right on the scar and Phil twitched and let out a sharp breath, and it was like something in him had been switched on. His hands attacked Clint’s clothes, opening his buttons with more force than skill, tugged his shirt off, and shoved his pants down. They stumbled across the room and to the bed, cursing at their shoes and kicking them off on the way. 

When the back of Clint’s knees hit the bed, he fell on it with a small, breathless laugh. Phil removed Clint’s pants in one impatient tug, and while Clint scooted back, Phil removed rest of his clothes before climbing in after him. 

Clint let his legs fall open on their own accord, enjoying the hungry look on Phil’s face as he traced his eyes along Clint’s body. Leaning on his elbows, he reached up to meet Phil in a kiss as he hovered above him and let his head fall back as Phil trailed a series of biting kisses along his jaw and neck and treated his nipples with kitten licks and some teeth.

”How do you want this to go?” Phil asked, raising his head from where he had been nuzzling Clint’s groin.

Clint let out an appreciative groan when Phil sucked a mark over his hipbone. ”I want you inside me,” he said hoarsely. ”Otherwise, I’m open to suggestions.”

Phil cocked his head and nodded. He reached to his side and produced a small jar, and Clint hurried to turn on his stomach. He let himself go boneless and pliant under Phil’s clever hands, rutting shamelessly into the bed covers, and let out a breathy groan when Phil pushed in. Closing his eyes, Clint canted his hips back to meet him, and together, they set up a fast pace that had them tumbling into their orgasms in no time. 

Clint came with a strangled groan and collapsed right into the wet spot, and after a couple of jerky moves, Phil followed him.

A while later, when they had caught their breath and lay side by side, Clint said quietly, ”I’m not staying.”

”I know,” Phil said and trailed his finger along his spine, managing a one-shoulder shrug. ”But we can have a good time while you’re here, right?”

Groaning, Clint leaned his forehead against Phil’s chest. ”Gimme a moment here. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Huffing an amused laugh, Phil yanked him flush against his chest, and with Phil’s hand around his midriff, Clint drifted off to sleep.

The following few days went by in a blur. Taking care of the security detail of the Grand Market kept Phil busy during the day, but when the First Sun went down, he met Clint and they had dinner at Steve and Maria’s place before wearing each other out in bed and falling asleep. 

In the morning, Phil always woke up alone.

It didn’t mean Phil would’ve minded waking up beside Clint. Sure, the sex was amazing — and not only because it was the first time in a long, long time when Phil had let himself be intimate with anyone — but because Clint was an enthusiastic and generous lover. Each night they went through several rounds of ridiculously athletic coupling that left them both in an exhausted and thoroughly sated mess.

But it wasn’t just about sex. Clint was genuinely funny, sarcastic, and a lot more intelligent than his cocky appearance let on. During their dinners (and in between making out, if they were up to it), they had lengthy discussions about everything and anything that crossed their minds. Phil was delighted to realize Clint didn’t shy away from what most people considered difficult topics and his blatant refusal to be politically correct often ended in new and refreshing ideas.

It had been a long time since Phil had felt so at ease with anyone. Clint and him — they just fit.

Of course, he made sure not to mention anything about his feelings to anyone. First of all, he knew Clint wasn’t going to stay, and, secondly, Phil could do without Jasper’s choice words about connecting and fitting. 

Thing was, Phil had been alone for a long time. Ever since Rosalind had betrayed him and then gone and died in Argond before explaining why, Phil had had a hard time letting anyone near him again. He had had a couple of casual relationships with men and women just to relieve stress, but it had never been anything serious.

Just like Stark, he liked few and trusted even fewer. Perhaps that was the reason they got along so well.

He directed his need for human touch and closeness to his troops: Phil was known for being a hands-on Captain of the Guard who never shied away from helping out his men, whether they needed a sparring partner or help with their posture. In short: he considered his troops his family. 

However, something about Clint made him yearn, no matter how futile he knew it was. Perhaps he had finally gotten over Rosalind or healed from the wounds she had cut. 

Or perhaps he was just getting old and was afraid to be alone. Who knew.

Natasha was hiding something. It wasn’t the first time, and certainly not the last, but it still annoyed Clint to no end. He tried to ask about it, but Natasha either pretended to be asleep, refused to answer, or plain snapped her teeth at him. Even though Clint wanted to know what the hell was going on, he wasn’t suicidal enough to harass an irritated Black Widow. 

//I’m telling you exactly what you need to know, which is nothing,// she hissed and stomped back to the water bath once more. She had spent hours there every day, and Clint was growing weary of the daily scrubbing and oiling. 

Clint threw his hands up. ”Fine, keep your nefarious plans! Just don’t get me into trouble.”

Natasha snorted so hard she inhaled water and spent a good while sneezing and coughing before reminding, thoroughly amused that Clint was perfectly capable of getting into trouble all by himself and didn’t need her help in that.

She didn’t seem particularly worried about the threats he muttered under his breath as he stomped off to the visitors’ area.

Walking around the Grand Market distracted him enough to forget about Natasha and her secretive nature, and Clint soon realized he enjoyed the bustling, the people, and the merchandise. He bought candied apples, beef jerky, and spiced almonds, and was delighted to find a bargain price of the saddle oil. On top of his purchases, he also collected bits and pieces of information — nothing much, but enough to get the picture of Barney entering Shields and leaving a week later with a caravan of pottery makers heading East to Kidwy. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him and Natasha to head out again.

After wandering around for a couple of hours, Clint decided to take a scenic route back to the stalls. It was probably by a stroke of luck that he got a small pebble in his shoe and, as he crouched down to remove it, he saw a familiar figure sneaking off from an alley to his left. 

What the hell was Natasha doing in the city? And how? What if someone saw her?

He knew better than try and follow her. Even in this unfamiliar environment, Clint knew she’d know if someone followed her. Troubled, he made his way to the stalls and settled down to wait.

He didn’t have to wait for long before Natasha slipped into the stall. If she was surprised seeing him, she didn’t show it. Instead, she said, //Start packing. We need to leave.//

For a moment, Clint didn’t react but sat still and contemplated the drake in front of him. 

He didn’t really know much about her. They had met when Clint had stumbled upon a group of drunken men torturing a badly injured Black Widow, and Clint had done the only thing he could come up with: he had shot the men and dragged Natasha to safety. Later, when she had asked him why, he had shrugged and said, ”I know how it feels to be tortured.”

She hadn’t asked him again, and he hadn’t asked about her history or affiliations.

But now, he wondered. 

”Why?”

She gave him a long look from the corner of her eye and said, //You saw me, didn’t you?//

Clint nodded.

She hung her head for some time, deep in thought. Something rippled across her face as she seemed to come to some kind of decision.

//You have your mission, finding Barney. I have mine. That’s why we’re leaving.//

”Are we in danger? Are you in danger?”

She gave him a completely unamused look. //Neither. Now, move.//

It wasn’t until they were out of Shields that Clint realized he had stood Phil up. And even though he had made sure he hadn’t promised anything, it still bothered him.

On the third day after Clint and Natasha’s arrival, Phil sought out Stark to get his advice on a quarrel that had broken out between two rivaling merchants. They both sold elaborated astronomical devices that were almost identical, and they both accused the other of being a cheater. Phil knew a lot about many things, but inventions of mechanical and mathematical type weren’t his forte. He needed Stark both to confirm which device was the original and which was the copycat, and he needed the Steward of Shields to make an appearance to put the quarrel to rest before it could retaliate into something more serious.

He was about to knock on Stark’s door when he heard muffled voices. It sounded like a conversation but with only one participant, which meant Stark was talking to his drake. For a moment, Phil hesitated. He didn’t like barging in in the middle of a conversation, but he also needed to get things done, so he gave his signature knock and grabbed the doorknob.

To his surprise, the door was locked. 

Stark never locked his door, not after the assassination attempt years back. Phil frowned and rattled the doorknob again.

”Just a moment!” Stark hollered, followed by something that sounded like ”Keep me posted,” and then the lock clicked.

Annoyed, Phil opened the door and stepped in. He swept his eyes around the room, noticed Jarvis perching on the windowsill as per usual, and the curtain hiding the secret door he wasn’t supposed to know anything about rippling slightly. 

He sighed and asked, ”What are you up to now?”

Stark gave him an innocent look that had never fooled anyone. ”Nothing, why?”

”You know that I know when you’re lying, so why do you even try? I don’t like when you keep secrets from me,” Phil said tightly. ”They’re the reason you almost got killed, remember?”

Stark rolled his eyes. ”Gee, why so grumpy?” Stark huffed. ”I thought getting properly laid would make you more mellow, but I guess I was wrong.”

Phil didn’t bother asking how Stark knew he was getting laid, just pressed his lips together in a tight line and gave Stark a flat look before telling him what he needed to do and why. 

After a lengthy discussion, some mild coercing, and several flat-out threats he finally managed to get Stark out of his mansion and to the Grand Market to hold court and entertain his people while he dealt with the merchants and settled their issue. 

In the end, Phil had almost as many difficulties getting Stark out of the Market as he had had getting him there in the first place. Sometimes Phil wondered why Stark went through the charade of hating public appearances as much as he did when he actually loved interacting with his people and enjoyed immensely when he come across some new gadgets he hadn’t seen before. 

It didn’t erase the fact that pleased or not, Stark was a handful.

The hassle with Stark took way longer than he had originally thought, which was the reason Phil was late from his appointment with Clint. He arrived at the gates when the First Sun was long gone and the Second was on its way down, which was why he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see Clint waiting for him. However, when he walked in and to the stall appointed to Natasha and Clint and found it empty, Phil couldn’t help feeling disappointed. 

He wasn’t surprised as such because Clint had said they’d stay only for a couple of days,  but he couldn’t deny he was a bit hurt that Clint hadn’t even bothered saying they were leaving. He tried to tell himself Clint didn’t owe him anything and they’d never made any promises, and no matter how much Phil had enjoyed Clint’s… everything, they really meant nothing to each other.

Despite feeling sorry for himself, Phil decided to get something to eat. On their own volition, his feet carried him to Steve and Maria’s place, and because he had no real reason not to, he went in. He ended up regretting his decision soon, seeing Steve and Maria’s sympathetic smiles and understanding pats on the shoulder.

He still ate his meal, though. It was a good pie, after all.

When Clint had been gone for almost two weeks, Phil had had enough of being on the receiving end of endless pitying looks. He had tried to be patient and explain he and Clint had never been an item, but for some reason, the people around him seemed to know his emotional state better than he did. So when Mack gave him a pat on the shoulder and said he was sorry, Phil gritted his teeth so hard he was sure he had splintered something and stormed out of the mess hall. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he was quite sure it involved him, loneliness, and alcohol.

He had barely made it inside his quarters when someone slammed him against the wall. Instinct made him fight back, until he saw two flaming red eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth, and surprise made him flop weakly on the floor.

”Natasha?” 

He felt a peculiar pressure behind his eyes, and then — impossibly! — her voice rang inside his head.

//Get up! Clint’s been kidnapped. He needs you//

Clint woke up in a dingy, damp room with a splitting headache and no idea where he was. He had only fragmented memories from the day (or night?) before, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what had happened.

He took a careful look around, but the dim room didn’t reveal much. He was laying on a thin blanket spotted with stains he hoped weren’t blood. He was stripped naked, and when he tried to reach out for Natasha, he found their connection mute.

For a moment, Clint panicked. Despite their bickering and her tendency to keep things from him, Natasha was his only true friend, and the thought of losing her made him cold all over. If she was dead, his chances of a) getting out and b) finding Barney dropped to almost naught. 

Assuming Barney was even alive, that was.

Taking a deep breath, Clint closed his eyes, forced himself to calm down, and tried to organize his thoughts.

He and Natasha had been traveling East for over a week, following the pottery caravan and Barney’s trail. When the caravan had stopped at Huygate, Natasha had stayed hiding outside the city walls and Clint had gone in by himself, only to find out that Barney’s trail had vanished. No-one seemed to know anything about him, and the people Clint had talked to, had sworn the pottery caravan had arrived and left with three massive drakes and seven people, still headed to Kidwy. Because the caravan seemed to be the only reliable source of any kind of information about Barney, Clint had decided that the wisest move would be to keep following it. Hopefully, they would catch it and he could ask the people himself what the fuck had happened to his brother.

When he had been buying supplies, a pretty lady had approached him, offering him a night of pleasure with her or her companion, and, after politely declining, she had practically shoved a young man into his arms. Had it been before Shields, Clint might’ve said yes, but after spending three glorious nights with Phil, Clint just didn’t feel like it. He had declined again, and when he had turned to leave, someone had pressed a sweet-smelling cloth on his mouth and nose, and he had passed out after that.

Well, shit. He had been drugged.

Swallowing bile, Clint made a hasty mental check-up on himself. He was stripped, yes, but what he could feel and see in the dim light of the room, he had no cuts or bruises, and he didn’t feel violated. That, at least, was a relief.

His relief was short-lived when the lock on the door rattled and a huge, bearded, bald man stepped in. He closed the door behind him and gave Clint a look from under his brow. It was cold and calculating and held a promise of unpleasant things in the near future.

”Well… this is interesting,” the man said, stretching the first word.

”Yeah, you could say that,” Clint agreed, forcing himself to stay sitting cross-legged on the disgusting mattress. ”Care to share where we are?”

The man didn’t say anything.

”Can I at least have some clothes? Or, you know, a loincloth?”

Silence.

After a while, Clint blew out a breath. ”Where is my brother?”

The man blinked slowly and shrugged. ”For all I know, dead in a ditch somewhere outside Huygate. He was annoying.”

Well, that answered that question. 

Clint bowed his head and gritted his teeth to prevent himself from saying anything. Barney had always been a prick, but despite his shortcomings, he had also been the only family Clint had ever known. Their parents had died when Clint had been little, and he barely remembered either of them. Barney had taken care of him until Clint had been big enough to steal his own food, and then he had fucked off to who knows where. 

For years, Clint had thought his brother was dead. He had survived on charity and pity when he was smaller and pure stubbornness and attitude when he was bigger, learning to steal, turn tricks, and kill for a living before he learned to read. His path had crossed with Barney by accident when Clint had been seventeen, and he had fallen asleep in a barn that belonged to a blacksmith. Imagine Clint’s surprise when he had learned that Barney had landed a job as said blacksmith’s apprentice. 

The blacksmith, Carson, had been a mean bastard, but he had offered Clint a roof over his head and one warm meal a day in exchange for work. In truth, Clint had been like a slave, but for a couple of years, he’d had a family again, and he had been… happy of a sort.

Then Barney, led by his dick, had gotten Carson’s daughter pregnant, and instead of doing his duty and marrying her, he had fled, leaving Clint to deal with Carson’s wrath. Clint had stayed behind to help Laura and played house until she had kicked him out, fed up with his continuous flings with men and the gossip she was forced to deal with.

So, yeah, Barney had always been an idiot and Clint hadn’t been much better, but he’d wanted to find his brother anyway. For years, Barney had been a presence somewhere on the edge of his mind; away, but not really gone.

Until now. 

While Clint had been occupied by his own thoughts, Baldy had stalked closer. ”I have a question for you,” he said and crouched right in front of Clint, still managing to loom over him. ”Where is your companion?”

Clint blinked, confused. ”What?”

Baldy leaned closer. ”I said: Where. Is. Your. Companion?”

The relief that washed over him when he understood what Baldy meant was almost palpable. They didn’t have Natasha! Calmly, he tipped his head back a bit, looked Baldy straight in the eyes, and said, ”I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The man cocked his head and pursed his lips. ”Pity. I guess you’re useless then.” He stood up and left the room, leaving Clint alone with his thoughts whirring in his head.

Clint wasn’t stupid: he knew he was going to either die or at least get the shit beaten out of him. He was… surprisingly okay with that. After all, his brother was dead, and his niece was better off without him, like Laura had made explicitly clear. Natasha, on the other hand… Clint sighed. He knew her well enough to know she would miss him. Probably. But the thing was, she’d manage just fine without him. 

Okay, so, he didn’t have a direct death wish, but he was a realist to understand he was pretty much done here. With no help and no resources, there was no way he’d make it out alive. It sucked, but that seemed to be the recurring theme of his life.

On the other hand, he had gotten thoroughly laid. At least he could die happy.

Natasha didn’t give Phil much time to prepare before practically herding him out of his quarters. She nudged and snapped her teeth, and her presence in his head was a constant throbbing ache, completely unlike the bond he shared with Jasper. Phil sincerely hoped it wouldn’t cause any permanent damage to his brain.

//What are you waiting for? We need to move!// she growled, while Phil gritted his teeth at the jarring feeling in his head.

”As much as I’d love to dash out to save him, I need to make sure things are clear before I leave. As you might be aware, I just happen to be the Commander-in-Chief of the damn Guard,” Phil growled back.

Natasha’s nostrils flared and she bared her teeth with a menacing hiss. Phil, however, didn’t have time for her posturing. He marched out towards the barracks to wake Lance up to debrief him and shoved at his bond with Jasper to alert him, while making plans at the same time.

”Who, where, and why,” he snapped as he walked. ”Those are the things I need to know.”

The Black Widow made an annoyed move with her head before pinning him with a flat look. //A week’s journey to East towards Kidwy. He was snatched in Huygen. I followed them for a while, but couldn’t get close enough to get him out myself.// She fell silent for a moment, contemplating. Then she sighed, tired, and said, //Obadiah Stane.//

Phil almost stumbled, and instinctively, his hand rose to his shoulder to touch the scar. 

Years ago, Stane’s criminal band had staged an environmental emergency in Argond and lured Stark in with pleas of help. Never one to step away from a challenge, Stark had arrived in Argond with elaborate plans to stabilize the wall structure only to step into a trap. The whole thing had been an attempt to clear Stark out of the way for Stane to replace him as the Steward of Shields and, consequently, the manager of Shields’ natural resources. Unfortunately, it had been Stane’s inability to keep quiet of promises of wealth and influence that had revealed him.

Phil had stumbled upon a scheme of collapsing part of the new structure on Stark, stepped in, and effectively saved Stark’s life. Stane’s Second in Command, Reza, had skewered Phil and almost killed him, which had evolved into a short but ugly fight between Stane’s and Stark’s troops. Stane himself had managed to escape.

The incident had hit Stark hard. Stane had been his mentor and a fellow engineer, and Stark had honestly believed they were friends. 

”But why he’s interested in Clint?” Phil asked as he banged Lance’s door.

//I… haven’t been exactly honest with Clint,// Natasha said, managing to sound almost sheepish. 

The door opened to reveal a bewildered Lance, who blanched and took a step back at the sight of Natasha. Phil stepped in, leaving the drake outside to watch, and briefed Lance about the things he needed to know, mainly that Stane was back and Phil was going after him, and, as Phil’s Second in Command, Lance was in charge until further notice. 

When Phil stepped out, he saw Jarvis waiting by Natasha’s side.

”Why am I not surprised?” Phil muttered at himself. He had already guessed that even though Natasha had come to him first, this wasn’t Phil’s show. He just hoped that, at some point, she’d tell him what was really going on.

He followed Jarvis and Natasha, wryly noticing how familiar she seemed to be with the twists and turns of Shields’ narrow alleyways. They ended up at a nondescript door in the less known area behind Stark’s residence, and before Phil had the chance to knock, the door opened to reveal Stark obviously waiting impatiently.

”You know, one day all this scheming will bite you in the ankle,” Phil said sourly. 

Stark waved his comment away. ”Probably, but not today. You need to take Steve with you.”

”Why?”

Stark huffed out a frustrated breath and raked his hand through his hair. ”Natasha has been tracking Stane for several years, and one of the reasons she and Clint were here was to debrief. We knew they were gaining on him, but seems like Stane knew they were coming. He’s mainly after Natasha and through her, me. Clint’s just unfortunate collateral damage.” He stopped and blinked, and seemed to rewind what he had just said. ”Not— I don’t mean I’m okay with that. Because I’m not. Collateral damage is not okay.”

Phil was silent for a moment and narrowed his eyes. ”So, if he knew someone was after him, he’s prepared,” he said slowly, looking at Stark. 

The almost inconspicuous nod confirmed his suspicion. We have a mole.’ 

Shit, Phil thought. 

Out loud, he said, ”You want Steve as an additional muscle.”

Stark rubbed his face. ”Yeah. Steve already knows. Jarvis saw Natasha entering and went to alert Dugan. Most likely, they are already waiting for you.” He glanced at Jarvis who nodded. ”Dummy and Butterfinger will accompany you.”

”Fine,” Phil said. ”Seems like we’re going to war, then.”

”Oh no,” Stark said with a wolfish grin. ”This isn’t war. This is revenge.”

Phil was in no way surprised to see Jasper, accompanied by not only Steve and his drake, Dugan, but also James waiting for them at the narrow side alley close to main gates. 

”Steve, Dugan,” Phil greeted with a nod, and after a pause, ”James.”

”Don’t you start with that tone, Phil,” James snorted. ”Did you really think I’d let Steve go by himself?”

”Hey,” Steve protested weakly, but James ignored him.

”He’d get into trouble and get himself killed in no time if I’m not there to watch out for him.” He leveled Steve a flat look and said, ”Maria’s orders.”

Steve closed his mouth with a snap and swung himself on Dugan’s saddle.

Dugan was sturdier than Jasper, but neither drake was fit carrying two grown men. Before Phil had time to wonder how James was supposed to ride, Natasha bared her teeth in annoyance and poked Phil on the butt. 

//You’ll ride with me,// she announced, jerking her head at James who obediently mounted Jasper who looked at Phil with a resigned expression of ’What can you do?’ 

Phil didn’t have time to think about either Jasper or James’s borderline suspicious meekness when Natasha continued, airily, //Besides, this way I can compare notes with Clint.//

Phil really, really didn’t want to know what she meant. ”What about the tavern?” he asked Steve instead. ”We don’t know how long this will take.”

”Maria can handle it,” Steve said. ”Sharon’s coming in tomorrow to help out.”

James flashed a grin. ”I’ve been teaching her,” he said, waggling his brows.

”Yes, thank you, that’s enough,” Phil said and pinched the base of his nose. 

Sharon was Steve’s cousin and well versed in Steve and James’ banter due to her working in the tavern on several occasions. James had been crushing on her for some time now and was prone to compose morally questionable odes to her female wiles whenever he was inebriated. Phil fervently hoped he’d be able to look the girl in the eye when this was all over.

On their way to Huygen, Natasha explained her role more thoroughly to Phil, which still wasn’t much. Years ago, when she had been in a ’tight spot,’ she had literally stumbled into Jarvis, who had helped her out. Jarvis had told Stark about her and Stark had been immediately fascinated by her rare species and cutting intelligence. She didn’t go into details, but somehow Stark had managed to lure her to his side and working for him. Phil suspected that it had something to do with the promise of violent revenge on those who had wronged her.

She had worked alone for a good while until she had been double-crossed. Someone, who both Stark and Natasha suspected was Stane, had hinted a group of bloodthirsty hunters about her whereabouts and promised ammunition, fame, and money for her head. She would’ve been tortured to death if it hadn’t been for Clint.

Natasha’s tone took a softer note when she told Phil about Clint, about his stubbornness and flat-out stupidity that had prevented him from abandoning her in the middle of the woods. 

//He literally dragged me out of that hellhole. I owe him my life.//

Phil couldn’t help but ask, ”Why did you come to me? You don’t even know me.”

//I know about you through Stark. On top of that, Clint chose you.//

”Wha— we just had sex!” Phil spluttered, earning wide-eyed glances from the others. ”Admittedly, several rounds of extremely good sex, but that was it. Nothing more!”

Natasha slowed down and turned her head to give him an incredulous look over her shoulder. //You can’t be that stupid, can you?// she huffed. //Humans… you like to believe you’re so smart when you are about as smart as a pile of rocks.//

Phil looked over at Steve and James who merely shook their heads. ”Don’t look at me,” James said. ”I’m not putting myself in between you and your lover boy’s drake.”

//Do you really think he would’ve come to your bed, repeatedly, if he didn’t choose you?//

”I was convenient,” Phil muttered.

Natasha sighed. //Oh, for fuck’s sake.//

Somewhere in between the third and twelfth beating, Clint lost his sense of time. 

He didn’t understand why Baldy kept him alive. He never told them anything about Natasha, and there was little he could tell them about anything else. He had no value as himself, unless acting as a living punch bag counted. 

Every now and then, he was offered small cups of tepid water and stale bread. They were small portions, enough to keep him alive, but not nearly enough to restore his strength. He was hungry, he had a continuous headache, his ears rang and pulsed pain throughout his skull, and he had at least three cracked ribs.

A week or perhaps five months later, Clint swam into consciousness hearing shouts and explosions. Gingerly, he pushed himself to sit up, ignoring the flashes of pain from his midriff. If he was going to die, he could try to die with dignity. Or at least sitting up.

The commotion drew closer, and when someone was slammed against the door, Clint jumped, stifling a shout when the movement jolted his ribs. He tried to listen to what was going on, but the constant ringing in his ears muffled the sounds and made it hard to hear what was happening, let alone figure out how many people there were behind his cell door.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door banged open and Phil stalked in. He was covered in blood, he had a dark look in his eyes, and a wicked-looking dagger in both hands. He looked gorgeous. Clint was sure he was going insane.

”Clint!” Phil stage-whispered and hurried to his side, slipping the daggers into their hidden sheaths before he kneeling down. ”Can you walk?”

Clint shook his head, trying to  get rid of the ringing and focus on the fact that Phil was really there. He realized his mistake when he almost fainted and puked at the same time. ”Dunno,” he rasped out. ”But I’ll try.”

Gently, Phil helped him up and supported him as they shuffled to the door. Hearing more muffled fighting from… somewhere, Clint turned to face Phil and frowned.

”Steve, James, and the drakes,” Phil explained, adding something Clint couldn’t make out. He decided it couldn’t be too important.

They met surprisingly little resistance as they slowly crept forward, and the few goons that tried coming at them, met their fate at Phil’s sword. Clint almost swooned like a girl and blamed it on his concussion.

They were out of the building and almost at the gates when Baldy stepped in front of them.

”You!” Baldy growled while Phil shoved Clint behind him. 

Phil didn’t answer as they started circling each other.

”What a surprise, Coulson,” Baldy said. ”I thought you were dead already. Please tell me you have that drake with you?”

”Which one do you mean, Stane?” Phil asked mildly. ”I have three.”

Clint didn’t see the blow coming, but fortunately, Phil did. He blocked Stane’s sword in time and proceeded to deliver hits of his own in rapid succession, driving Stane on the defensive. 

Clint watched the fight with focusing and unfocusing eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. Stane was massive and strong, but Phil was just better. He fought dirty, with ruthless precision and deadly accuracy. It was a dance that courted death, and even though Clint had seen Phil naked, seen his scars, he couldn’t believe Phil-the-Captain and Phil-the-killer were the same man.

When Phil stumbled, Clint’s heart seemed to stop with Stane’s victorious cry. But Phil feinted, slipped through Stane’s legs, and swirled around so fast he seemed to blur. The next thing Clint realized was Stane’s head arching through the air in the wake of Phil’s swing. 

As Stane’s body fell, Clint saw Phil standing still, leaning on his sword, and breathing hard. He raised his head slowly and met Clint’s eyes across the yard, and— 

Clint swallowed. Hello, hard-on, so not the time.

”Good riddance,” Steve said, nudging Stane’s body with his foot. ”But we have a problem. He managed to send out messengers and Butterfinger and Dummy didn’t catch them all.”

”Wait, who the hell names their drakes Butterfinger and Dummy?” Clint asked, wondering where Steve had appeared.

A lanky, long-haired man Clint hadn’t seen before snorted. ”Who do you think?”

//You stink,// Natasha said from his side and nuzzled her nose in the crook of Clint’s neck.

”I missed you too,” Clint slurred as his vision started to gray out. ”I think I’m going to sleep now.”

He lost his consciousness somewhere in between Natasha’s fake growling and wondering what was wrong with him thinking that Phil had looked so hot when he had killed Stane.

Clint came back to laying on a thin, but clean mattress. Apparently, it was night and they weren’t yet back to Shields. While he had been out like a light, someone had cleaned his wounds and bandaged his torso, but his head still hurt and his ears were ringing. Otherwise, he felt almost okay. 

He tried looking around but abandoned the idea when the world started spinning. He let out a hiss of pain and momentarily felt sad for himself. From the corner of his eye, he saw someone moving and then Phil’s worried face swam into focus.

”How are you feeling?” Phil asked.

”Head hurts and my ears keep ringing. I feel like I was beaten for days. No, wait — I was!” 

Phil didn’t say anything, and Clint sighed. ”Too soon?”

”A bit, yeah. You scared Natasha.”

Clint blinked. ”Really?”

Phil let out a long breath and moved closer. ”She cares about you. A lot,” he said as he carefully helped Clint to sit up and drink a small cup of water. ”She tore through Stane’s men like death incarnate.”

”That’s my girl,” Clint wheezed and nearly choked on his water.

As heavenly as the cool liquid tasted when it didn’t try to go down his windpipe, he felt lightheaded sitting up. He was about to ask Phil help him to lie back down when Phil moved to sit behind him and gently cradled Clint in his arms.

”Oh, yeah, this works too,” Clint mumbled as he relaxed against Phil’s chest. ”So… what’s all this about?”

Phil was silent for a moment. Then he asked, quietly, ”What do you know about Natasha’s background?”

Clint thought for a moment. ”Not much. I know she has some ties to Stark from before we even met, but she’s always refused to talk about any of it. Why?” 

”Okay,” Phil said. ”Long story short: the man who kidnapped you was Obadiah Stane. He’s the man behind the catastrophe in Argond that was actually an attempt on Stark’s life. You might have heard of it — the clean-up took months to finish. Anyway, Stane was also the one responsible for torturing Natasha.”

Clint blinked, trying and failing to connect the dots. He decided to ask Natasha later when his brain wasn’t trying to worm its way out through his ears. ”But… why me?” he finally asked. ”And why kill Barney?”

Phil shrugged, a tiny movement to not jostle Clint too much. ”Well, you did snatch Natasha away from him. But I think he targeted you mainly because you were annoying and you were there. Or he might have thought he’d get to Natasha or even Stark through you.”

”That’s stupid.”

”His level of intellect is still under debate,” Phil said dryly. ”And when it comes to Barney… I honestly don’t know. The drakes didn’t leave anyone alive to be questioned and the documents we found mentioned nothing about your brother,” Phil apologized. ”I’m sorry.”

Clint was silent for a moment, mulling over what Phil had said. ”So, what happens now?”

”We’re trying to get back to Shields as quickly as possible,” Phil said and sighed. ”Stane staged your kidnapping, and we suspect we have a mole at Shields. Someone close enough to Stark to know about Natasha and you and tip him off. Butterfinger flew ahead to warn Stark, but the worst case scenario is that we return into the middle of bloodshed.”

”And we have no idea to whom those messages were sent,” Clint concluded.

”Exactly.”

Clint was still tired from his ordeal and talking made him even more exhausted, and his eyes started to droop on their own accord. ”Sounds lovely,” he mumbled.

Gently, Phil moved away from behind his back and helped him to lay down. ”Get some rest,” he said softly and pressed a dry kiss on Clint’s forehead. ”We need to pick up speed tomorrow.”

”I don’t like this,” Steve said darkly, staring at Shields. 

The city was still asleep, with both Suns yet to rise. After four days of grueling pace, they had finally reached the city perimeter, stopping behind a small sand mound the night before to rest and recuperate. 

And to plot.

”I don’t like it either, but I don’t think we have much of a choice,” Phil said. ”Whoever the recipient of Stane’s messages is, they know about us and they know we’re coming. Our only advantage is to get inside as fast as possible.”

”And you think Dummy can help with that?” James asked, directing his question to Natasha.

//No, I know he can help. He just needs the chance, so, you know, perhaps you could let him go?// Natasha griped out. She was tired just like the rest of the group, and she wanted was for it all to be over. 

Phil opened his mouth to relay her words to James, but he shook his head. ”I heard her just fine,” he said.

For a moment, Phil was taken aback. ”How many humans are you actually capable of connecting to?” he asked Natasha. ”You’re already connected to Clint and me, and now James?” He raised a brow at Steve. ”Did you hear her too?”

Steve winced and shrugged, which was enough of an answer.

Natasha bared her teeth in a formidable display. //Wouldn’t you want to know?// she said smugly.

Phil closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, deciding to ignore her for the time being. ”Three drakes got away,” he said. ”There was bound to be more than one recipient. And heaven knows Stark has enemies right and left. It wouldn’t be too hard to find out people who’d be ready for a rebellion.”

//Ross and Justin, at least,// Jasper said. //And their drakes agree.//

Phil nodded. ”Councilmen Ross and Hammer have both challenged Stark more than once, and they’ve expressed their willingness to run for the office of the Steward of Shields on several occasions,” he said aloud for the benefit of others. So far, neither had succeeded, mostly because of Stark’s massive charisma and personal wealth. 

”It doesn’t mean that neither they or their drakes wouldn’t be willing to remove Stark from his position by brute force,” Steve pointed out. ”And fueled by Stane’s aggression, they might even think it’s worth it.”

”Didn’t you say Shields is monitored all the time?” 

Phil whirled around to see Clint crouching beside Natasha, leaning on her side. He frowned. ”Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Clint shrugged. ”Maybe. But considering that I’m either going to be fighting or dead soon, I figured I’d like to at least know what’s going on.”

”You’re not—” Phil started, but Clint interrupted him.

”Yeah, I am. I’ve fought in worse shape than this. Besides, I’m pissed. I wanna hit something.”

”You should hit on Phil, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” James murmured and then grunted as Steve poked him on the side.

Natasha rolled her eyes. //Humans. Concentrate, please?//

”So, what’s the plan?” Clint asked, all business.

Plan was… there was no real plan.

”Dummy can alert Jasper and let Lance know to let us in without others knowing,” Phil said.

//Can you trust him?// Natasha asked.

Phil pursed his lips and thought hard. ”Yes,” he finally said.

Natasha gave him a long look and nodded. //Fine.//

”It’s possible Stark already knows we are here, even though I haven’t seen any fliers above us,” Phil said. ”We need to get to Stark and get him to safety, which can be tricky because we have no idea who the mole is and what their mission was.”

”Stark has Melinda by his side, but depending on their plans, even she might not be enough,” Steve pointed out.

Phil nodded. ”Miss Virginia is most likely with Stark, and her drake is never far from her.” 

Happy wasn’t the most intelligent or fastest of drakes, but he was fiercely loyal and would lay his life on behalf of his mistress.

//I don’t like this plan of yours,// Jasper muttered. 

”Well, neither do I, but that’s the only one we have,” Phil sighed. ”We just have to improvise.”

They crept to the small side gate and waited. When the door on the gate opened, they saw a bewildered Lance peeking out.

”Boss? What the hell is going on?” he hissed, motioning them inside.

”Mutiny,” Phil whispered back. ”And possibly assassination.”

Lance gaped. ”What? Who?”

//Close your mouth or you’ll get flies,// Natasha snapped. By the way Lance reeled back, eyes wide, he had heard her loud and clear.

Phil shook his head and decided to stop wondering about Natasha’s abilities. It would only give him a migraine.

They saw no-one as they silently made their way towards the Stark residence. It was almost too convenient which made them all hyperaware of their surroundings. Dummy had flown away already, hurrying to Jarvis.

”Where the hell is everyone?” James muttered under his breath, sweeping his gaze back and forth. He was leading them with Natasha by his side, followed by Phil, Lance, and Jasper with Clint perched on his back with his bow at the ready. Steve and Dugan came last.

They were inside Stark’s mansion and about to cross the yard when someone jumped them, kicked Jasper over and headed straight to Natasha. It was Vanko, Phil realized, Councilman Hammer’s deranged drake. 

Phil felt almost sorry they were in a hurry because he would’ve loved to stop and watch Natasha fighting. Vanko was out for blood and he clearly knew who he was against with, but even his speed and bulk didn’t help when faced with Natasha.

//Go! I’ll deal with this,// Natasha snapped, never taking her eyes from her opponent.

”Dugan will stay with you,” Steve said with a voice that brooked no argument. ”He won’t fit much further anyway.”

//Fine,// Natasha growled and lashed out at Vanko again. 

They left the drakes to fight each other and hurried forward. 

In the corridor leading to Stark’s chambers, they nearly tripped over Happy, lying on his side and panting weakly. When Phil knelt beside him to check his pulse, he opened his eyes. They were unfocused and glazed with pain, but when he recognized Phil, he let out a relieved breath.

”Happy? What’s wrong? Where’s Stark?” Phil asked in a low voice.

Happy raised his head a bit, shared a long look with Jasper and nodded before his eyes rolled over and he slumped back on the floor.

”Happy!” Phil whispered urgently.

//He’s been poisoned,// Jasper told him. //He didn’t see who it was, but there was a woman he didn’t recognize. She’s after Stark.//

Phil nodded grimly and relayed the news and closed Happy’s eyes, relieved that the drake was still breathing. Hopefully, whatever he had been given, wouldn’t kill him. As much as he’d want to, they had no time to stop — they would get him help as soon as they were able. 

”A woman?” Lance asked. ”But who? Certainly Councilwoman Hawley isn’t still carrying a grudge about the water supply skirmish from years back?”

”No, it’s not her,” Phil said as he stood up. ”First of all, Hawley is a politician, and as much as she might loathe Stark’s parlor tricks, she believes in a fair game. This is someone else.”

Clint hummed under his breath as they started forward. ”A woman who wants revenge and knows her way around drugs…” he mused.

Phil frowned. ”What do you mean, revenge?”

Clint shrugged stiffly. ”It must be someone who knows about his past. If she’s taken care of Happy, it means she’s not only after Stark, he’s also after his consort. Didn’t you say Happy’s never far from her?”

//Fuck,// Jasper said with a feeling and stopped. //Maya Hansen.//

”What? Are you sure?” Phil asked, doubtful. He glanced around to see raised eyebrows and Lance making an impatient ’Go on!’ motion with his hand. ”Jasper thinks it’s Maya Hansen,” Phil explained slowly, mulling the idea over. 

”Who’s she?” Clint asked.

Phil rubbed a hand over his face. ”Maya is a brilliant botanist, one of the leading people behind the gardening system here at Shields. She also has a hobby of collecting rare, poisonous plants from all over Siriande.” Phil shook his head. ”I don’t understand why she’d go after Stark.”

They started forward again, careful, and talking in hushed voices.

”Slighted lover?” Clint suggested, and James added, ”Or an illegitimate child?”

”No,” Steve said. ”Tony used to sleep around before we were together, but he never cheated on me. Maya’s much younger than him… she would’ve been but a child then.”

”And after you walked away, he’s been with Miss Virginia,” Phil concluded. ”Stark is many things, but he’s not suicidal to either fool around behind her back or keep something like a child from her.”

//And Jarvis would know about a child. Stark would never abandon a child of his own,// Jasper pointed out.

Phil was about to argue against his logic when they heard sounds of fighting in front of them. When the turned the corner, they saw Melinda fighting with a small, but extremely fast drake.

”Who’s that?” Clint asked.

”Melinda, Stark’s personal bodyguard,” Steve said. ”Is that—”

”Killian, Maya’s drake,” Phil said and sighed. It seemed like Jasper had been right.

”Watch out!” Melinda shouted, ”His tail is poisoned! Don’t let it touch you!” She whirled around and parried a wicked slash of said tail with her staff.

//Well, that explains what happened to Happy,// Jasper said.

”Maya’s got Virginia and Stark,” Melinda barked. ”I managed to slash her leg before she threw her rabid drake at me. They are alone, hurry!”

Phil nodded once and led them forward at a swift pace, following the blood drops on the floor. 

They heard them before they saw them, and even with his still ringing ears, Clint had no difficulty making out the words the woman was screaming.

”—Believe you! Posturing and taking credit for everything!”

”It’s not my fault your father was a maniac willing to kill a whole town full of people,” Stark yelled back.

Clint blinked and shared a look with the others. ’Father?’ he mouthed. Phil glanced at Steve, and after a silent conversation, Phil shook his head and sighed. ’Stane,’ he mouthed back.

Shit, that was bad. If the screaming lady was Baldy’s daughter, she might just want to avenge her father’s death. And if her screaming was anything to go by, she’d most definitely be unwilling to listen to reason.

They didn’t actually need to keep silent because Maya and Stark were still screaming at each other at full volume. It probably made them slightly careless which was why Clint was too slow to react when he saw something glittering faintly in the air. Next thing he knew, Lance and James let out harsh cries of pain, jerked their heads back as if burned, and dropped onto the floor, cupping their faces.

Maya stopped mid-yell and said, smugly, ”Oh, we have company. Come in, come in, whoever you are.”

Instinctively, Clint retreated to a shadowy corner, wishing to go unnoticed and hoping that Phil would understand his move. As Steve, Phil, and Jasper stepped through the door, Phil cocked his head ever so slightly and gave an almost imperceptible nod. 

Thank fuck, Clint thought.

He swallowed and tightened his grip on his bow, and carefully crept after them a short moment later. He kept his bow slightly raised in front of him in case there was more of whatever had dropped Lance and James, but it seemed they had caught all of it.

”Hogsbane is such a handy plant,” Clint heard Maya say conversationally. ”Their sap can cause painful burns with lightest of touches.”

”Why all this, Maya?” Phil asked. His voice sounded genuinely concerned. ”Why did you poison Happy and stab Miss Virginia? What are you trying to achieve, standing here in the middle of Stark’s bedroom, holding a knife to his throat?”

Clint grinned. Phil was describing him the room, telling him where Maya was in relation to Stark. He was providing Clint with enough info to take the lady out. 

”Why? Because he hurt my father!”

”Did he?” Phil asked mildly. ”Then you should know that I killed him.”

Clint bolted. 

In a flash he was at the door, arrow nocked and ready to fly. From the corner of his eye, he saw a bundle of purple and gold beside a blonde woman slumped in a pool of blood, and Steve by her side with Jasper standing protectively over them. He didn’t pay them any attention, concentrating on the three people right in front of him. 

A young, brown-haired woman had a knife poised in her hand, ready to slice the throat of the man kneeling in front of him. Phil was lunging towards her, in the obvious attempt to push the man away from harm’s way. There was no need, however, because the woman froze mid-strike with a surprised expression on her face, Clint’s arrow buried in her throat.

”Stark? Tony! Are you alright?” Phil snapped, holding said man by the shoulders.

Stark’s eyes were wide with shock. ”Yeah, yeah…” he stammered. ”I’m fine— Pepper?”

”She needs a doctor,” Steve said grimly, lifting the blonde woman in his arms. ”She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Phil nodded. ”Steve, take Jasper and Stark and head to the hospice. We’ll take care of things here.” He helped the shaken Stark up and into Jasper’s harness, and Steve carefully placed Pepper in Stark’s arms.

”Lance, James?” Steve asked, taking Jasper’s reins. ”Can you walk?”

”Just go,” Lance griped through his teeth. ”We’ll take care of ourselves.”

Steve gave him a sharp nod and left, jogging along the corridor with Jasper in tow.

Soon after Steve was gone, Melinda limped to the room. She was bloody and battered but her eyes were sharp. ”Killian is dead, Happy is alive, I’m fine,” she said brusquely. 

”What about Natasha?” Clint asked, anxious. ”Did you see her?”

Melinda raised a brow at Phil, who explained, ”Clint’s Black Widow. She stayed behind to fight Vanko.”

”I don’t know,” Melinda said. ”I didn’t go back that far.”

Before Clint even opened his mouth to ask permission to go and find her, Phil already nodded in the direction where they’d come from. 

”Go on, go check she’s alright,” he said.

Relieved, Clint nodded his thanks and started back to where they’d come from. He picked his way around and over what was left of Killian, barely glancing at the walls painted in blood. 

Not far from the dead drake, he found Natasha slumped on the floor at the end of a blood trail. Her bad hind leg was torn open and bloody, his other side was bleeding sluggishly, and her forelegs didn’t look right. 

Clint felt like air had been punched from his lungs. Natasha had always been so vibrant and full of life and he refused to believe this bloody carcass was all that was left of her. He hurried to her side and cradled her head on his lap, wiping blood from her face and gripping the base of her skull with enough force to make his hand cramp.

”You stupid, stubborn drake. You’re not allowed to die on me, understand?” he muttered, blinking furiously.

Natasha drew a shuddering breath and coughed up bloody foam. //Stop ordering me around,// she scoffed.

Clint let out a watery snort that came out as a sob and dropped his forehead against her temple. ”Make me,” he whispered on her scales and didn’t give a damn about the blood.

The aftermath went by in a blur. 

Clint didn’t pay much attention to things, firstly because he wasn’t tuned into Shields’ internal politics, and secondly because he was worried sick about Natasha. He spent the rest of the day and the following night beside her pallet, pestering Shields’ drake expert, Dr. Banner with his questions until Natasha kicked him out with a promise not to come back before he had taken a bath, eaten something, and slept for at least a day.

When Clint stumbled out, squinting at the bright light of two Suns, Phil was waiting for him. They didn’t talk when Phil led him back to his quarters, washed him from head to toe, forced him to chug down a mug of something that tasted like a hangover remedy, and tucked him up. 

Clint fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Later, when Phil had fed him two bowls of thick soup and he had slept a bit more, Phil explained to him what the whole thing had been all about.

Like they had suspected, Maya Hansen was Obadiah Stane’s bastard daughter. She had known about his father’s plans about Stark from the start and when the assassination attempt had failed, she had made her way to Shields with every intention of avenging her father’s disgrace.

”She had excellent credentials when she arrived,” Phil said, tracing circles on Clint’s shoulder. They were laying in bed, with Clint’s head pillowed on Phil’s chest. ”She had really been one of the engineers behind Argond’s algae-based water purification structure, and all her later plotting aside, it was truly work of a genius.”

Turned out that Maya had known all along where Stane was hiding, and she had been the true mole in Shields. The other messages Stane had sent before his death had been to several Council members, including Hammer, Ross, and Hawley. The first two were plotting against Stark, but Hawley and several other people had been a plant meant to throw the suspicions away from Maya.

”She had lost what she had loved, and she had wanted Stark to lose what he loved in return,” Phil said.

”Hey, talking about that, how’s Miss Virginia?” Clint asked. ”And the others?”

”Weak, but getting stronger,” Phil said. ”Maya stabbed her with a non-poisoned blade, probably because she wanted her to suffer and Stark to see her suffering. James and Lance will probably have scars on their faces for the rest of their lives, but at least they didn’t lose their eyes. Happy is embarrassed, but mobile. Jarvis on the other hand…” Phil sighed. ”Maya cut his wing open and tore through enough joints to destroy it for good. He’ll never fly again.”

”Well, shit,” Clint said, somber.

”Yeah,” Phil said softly.

They shared a long moment of silence, both lost in their thoughts. 

”What happens next?” Clint asked quietly.

Phil sighed. ”What always happens after a catastrophe: we mourn, we build, we move on. Shields is a strong community, we’ll be fine. It’ll take time, but we’ll get there, eventually.”

Clint mulled it over. It sounded nice, but it wasn’t what he had meant. He was pretty sure that Phil knew it too. He bit his lip and gathered his courage before asking, ”What about us? I mean, obviously I’m staying at least until Natasha is back on her feet again, but after…”

Phil’s hand on his shoulder hesitated before continuing its slow movement. ”My place is here,” Phil said carefully. ”What happens from now on is up to you. I’m not going anywhere."

Clint nodded, a small move that scraped his stubble against Phil’s chest. ”Okay,” he said, tentatively. ”I guess I could stay for awhile.” 

He could almost hear Natasha’s dry voice in his head, snorting, //About time.//

”Okay,” Phil echoed back softly. 

Clint snuggled closer and closed his eyes. He didn’t know what would happen, but for now, he didn’t particularly care. He was safe, Natasha was safe, and he was in a bed where he’d like to wake up on a regular basis.

With Phil’s soft kiss on his hair and a smile on his lips, Clint drifted off to sleep.