tarotgal

In which Clint feels like he's dying and Coulson might actually be...

Title: Assess & Acquire
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: Marvel CMU (Avengers & Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pre-Clint/Coulson
Spoilers: For the first Avengers movie and the first episode of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Warning: Character death. A lot of character death.
Summary: When Clint Barton shows up unannounced on Phil Coulson’s doorstep, Coulson is forced to change his vacation plans. So when a simple mission to assess and acquire an object of unknown origin comes up, he figures there’s no reason he should turn that down. Naturally, things are never as simple as they seem.
Author’s Notes: Written for NaNoWriMo 2014 all in one month (a first for me!). This story is finished but will be posted in pieces. Total word count: 73,274.



Chapter 3

The sound of the buzzer made Coulson open his eyes. His room. The same light gray walls. The same navy satin sheets on the bed. The same phone and lamp on the bedside table. No crazy bolts of energy tearing through anything in their paths. No gunshot wound. Not even a sneezing agent of S.H.I.E.L.D…. at least not yet.

But he wasn’t dead. Again. And that was something. That meant this wasn’t a fluke or a one-time thing. This was something bigger, and he was right in the middle of it. As far as he knew, he was the only person who knew about it. All he had to do was figure out what it was and how to make it stop. What could be easier? He’d already been through this day twice before; he had the advantage of knowing what was going to happen. Or, at least, what he thought was going to happen. The museum hadn’t exploded the first time around.

Coulson jumped from bed and grabbed a crisp white shirt off the hanger. Almost on instinct, he grabbed the same jacket, pair of slacks, and tie. He was only as far as draping the tie around his neck when the buzzer went off again. His hand was already at the panel beside his door. “Good morning. Come on up, Agent Barton.”

By the time the elevator stopped on the top floor, Coulson’s suit jacket was buttoned, his tie was tied in a neat Windsor knot, and he had ignored how damn tired he felt. He smiled, knowingly, as the elevator doors rolled open and Clint said a few words to Mrs. Sampson (that Coulson still couldn’t hear) then walked toward him. Suddenly, the man was thrown forward. “Hahh-Ktshhhhh!”

Coulson closed his eyes. He should have remembered. And now Clint had sneezed on his suit. Fantastic.

And Clint wasn’t done yet. “Huh huh-KIHtchhh!”

“How did I not remember that?”

“Sniff! What? Sniff!” When Clint lifted his hand and rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, the end of his nose moved right then left then right again.

“Never mind. Bless you.”

“Thanks. Sniff!”

“So you need a place to crash? What about your apartment?”

Clint was quiet for a moment. “I think my neighbors are sick of hearing me sneezing. The walls aren’t so thick. Plus it’s lonely.”

“You need a girlfriend. Or a dog.”

“I need something,” Clint muttered, and he rubbed his nose again. “Look, I’d go see Tasha, but she’s on an op in Bulgaria; I don’t even know how to reach her. And I need someone looking after me.”

“I understand,” Coulson sighed, stepping aside and inviting Clint in for a third time. “Just try not to make a mess this time.”

“This time?” Clint collapsed face-down onto the couch. He pulled a cushion to his chest, nuzzling his face into it and hugging it tightly. “Hahh… hahh h’Ikshhh!”

Coulson was already on his way to the linen closet for the box of tissues, wondering why he hadn’t thought to grab them on the way to the door, except that he’d been pulling on his pants at that point. It was less of a shock to see the same tissue box on the shelf this time, but he still paused, marveling at the black, white, and gray chevron pattern on it. Everything had reset. Clint had forgotten everything he had found out about the time loop. The museum—and the rest of the city—hadn’t blown up. And Agent Maria Hill had yet to call him about the mysterious 0-8-4.

He still didn’t know exactly what was going on, what it all meant, what was causing it, or what it was going to take to stop it. But the one thing he did know was that if he didn’t go to the museum to see the object again, they were all going to die again, and that was worse than just his getting shot. Between the two, he’d take the version where the fewest people died. Though maybe—just maybe—he’d be able to get through the day alive as well.

It was worth a shot.

“Haah-IHHKShhhh! Heh-Ktchuhhh!” Coulson heard the man sneeze from down the hall and seized the tissue box immediately. But he grabbed the pillow and blankets as well while he was there. He might be inexplicably stuck in a time loop, but he was still Agent Clint Barton’s handler… and perhaps his friend as well. Kiss by the docks notwithstanding.

“Shoes off my couch,” Coulson said, tossing the tissue box onto the couch beside Clint. “Being sick’s no excuse for messing up my furniture. Kick your shoes off and I’ll cover you up.”

Clint turned his head and looked up at Coulson. “Huh?”

“You look cold. I brought blankets. You’re a smart guy; put it together. Now lift your feet so I can get your shoes off.” Clint wore black Timberlands with thick soles, laced all the way up to the top, so Coulson had to slip it hand an inch or so up under Clint’s pants in order to get to the bows. The boots clunked to the floor. Then Coulson turned onto his side, curling up for warmth. That made it easier to cover Clint with the blankets. “Got the tissues?” Coulson asked, tucking the blanket around him.

Clint nodded, sniffled, and got a tissue out just in case, balling it up in his palm.

“Good. Then you’re all set for when I need to leave.”

“Leave? Leave why?”

Coulson’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Because of this.” He took his phone out and answered without having to look at the caller ID. “Agent Coulson here.”

“There’s a situation at the New York City Science Museum. An employee has reported a new 0-8-4. I hate to ask, but our resources are stretched at the moment and you’re close, aren’t you?”

Coulson had to admit she did sound genuinely sorry about pulling him away from his vacation. Little did she know this was not the vacation he had had in mind anyway. “I’ll be there in fifteen. Agent Barton just showed up at my door suffering from a bad head cold. I’ll make sure he’s set then I’ll head right over.”

“Thank you, Sir. Should I take Agent Barton off the active duty list?”

Thinking of the op Fury was going to call them to later that night, Coulson didn’t hesitate. “Please. He’s in no condition to work, and I’m going to have my hands full with this 0-8-4.”

“It’s just a standard assess and acquire mission.”

Coulson smiled. “Something tells me there’s nothing standard about this. I’ll contact you when I’ve got it in hand.” Coulson hung up and looked down at Clint, who was wearing an amused expression on his face.

“I’m in no condition to work?”

“No, you’re not. Believe me.” Coulson draped another blanket over Clint and tucked it tight around to keep him warm. “You’re sick and sneezy and need to stay right here while I go to the museum to get an 0-8-4. On the way back, I’ll pick up you some medicine and orange juice sans pulp.”

Clint’s brow furrowed. “How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess. Try to get some sleep, Agent. I won’t be long.” He found himself patting Clint’s arm through the blankets, not realizing why he was doing it, but noticing that it made the corners of Clint’s mouth twitch into a smile. “I think there might be a Dog Cops marathon on today if you find you can’t fall asleep.”

This time, Clint smiled fully. “You’re the best, Sir.”

Coulson left, not actually knowing how long he was going to be, because he planned on doing more than just grabbing the 0-8-4.

The whatever-it-was at the science museum had to be the key to all of whatever this was. It couldn’t be a coincidence that it had struck him with energy and he was the one who was aware of the day repeating. And when he hadn’t been there to see the object, it had begun to self destruct. Or had its energy gone out looking for him? He had to find out more about it, which meant getting back to the museum.

It was just as busy as he remembered. And the little girl with pigtails and an inability to watch where she was going collided with him, just like before. “Sorry,” he apologized as she gasped, surprised and out of breath. “Are you going to be all right?” She nodded nervously and ran after her father. He stood for a moment, watching her go. “Let’s hope you will be.”

He found the lab faster this time around, pushing past some of the other researchers flocking to it. The 0-8-4 looked exactly like Coulson remembered: a tall, silver bullet with electricity visibly dancing around it. As far as 0-8-4s went, this one seemed relatively innocuous. And this time it didn’t even come in contact with him.

Everyone turned to look at him. He held up his badge. “Agent Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D. And you’re…” His gaze fell upon the researcher he’d met on the first day, but he couldn’t remember the guy’s name. Damn it.

“Dr. Daniels.” The man stuck out his hand and Coulson shook it. “I’ve been studying this device for months and today was the first time it seemed to be more than a paperweight. Care to tell me what it actually is?”

“Wish I knew. How about you start by telling me everything you know about it.”

“Not much to tell, I’m afraid. A construction crew discovered it in the rubble of a building they were trying to put back together after that battle with the, ah, space aliens.” The Battle of New York. So this thing’s origins had something to do with the first time Coulson died; he should have guessed. Dr. Daniels went on, “The construction worker who found it actually mistook it for a thermos at first. But, as you can see, there’s no cap, no opening, no visible markings of any kind on its surface, actually. There was nothing to indicate its origin or purpose.” The man gestured to the item, regarding it with something akin to admiration. “Of course, it was reported it to S.H.I.E.L.D. at once, but they had their hands full. As it seemed harmless, it was sent here to the museum laboratory for further testing. That’s where I came in.”

Coulson caught a note of pride in the man’s voice. He supposed not even scientists at city-funded museums were devoid of egotism. “And what did you find out about it?”

“Not much,” he said, sighing with regret. “It’s made with some metal we haven’t been able to identify. It shares many properties with vibranium, but seems resistant to our measuring equipment—X-rays, every scan we could come up with—nothing seems able to penetrate it. It’s held up to every strength test, heat, cold, you name it.”

“It sounds like you were trying to destroy it.”

“As far as we knew, it was just a giant column of metal. But a few hours ago, it started doing this.” He gestured toward the object, shaking his head. “We had no idea. It doesn’t seem dangerous, but we thought we should call you guys anyway.”

“It is dangerous,” Coulson said, remembering the shower of sparks and roar of flames as it ate away at the grocery store. Something bothered him about what the scientist had said, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. The idea that he might actually have unlimited time to figure it out occurred to him, but he didn’t want to think about being stuck in this time loop forever. Waking up every morning to a sick Hawkeye sneezing on him, ending each day with a violent death—he couldn’t do this forever. He had to figure out how to stop this. And this 0-8-4 had to be at the center of it all.

Curious, Coulson took a step toward it. The purple and teal arcs of energy dancing around the top of the object grew smaller. Coulson stepped back. The energy lashed out angrily, reaching toward him.

It was then Coulson realized there was silence in the room. Everyone was watching him, seeing just what he saw. And while S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t always operate so out in the open, if a room full of scientists and researchers could produce some intelligence about what was going on, then he wasn’t going to hold back. Short of explaining the time loop, that is. Clint might not have trouble believing in this time loop, but Clint was an Avenger; he’d seen things that would make these guys’ heads explode… and not the sort of explosion that had happened yesterday.

Coulson stepped closer again and, with a deep breath, wrapped his fingers around the neck of the object. At once, the energy died down to nothing. It didn’t shoot him in the chest the way it had the last time. It seemed satisfied just to be in his hand. But it didn’t feel any different—the metal was still cool to the touch, the size around still too wide for him to completely encircle it with his hand. Someone exclaimed, someone else jumped back in surprise. Coulson picked up the object. It looked so innocent, so innocuous. It was hard to believe this little thing had leveled half a city in a matter of minutes. It was even harder to believe this thing was the cause of the time loops. But if it were to blame, why had it done it? What did it want? And what would it take to make all of this end?

He set it back down, half-expecting to see the energy return. But nothing happened. He picked it up and put it back down again. Nothing happened then either.

Finally, Dr. Daniels spoke up again. “Either that was the most incredible coincidence, or this object’s been waiting for you.”

“Waiting for what?”

“I think you’d better tell us.”

“I can’t,” Coulson said, shaking his head. “But I might know some people who can.” He reached into his pocket and made a call. “May? Are you guys still in the area?”

“We can be there within the hour, Sir. Are you in trouble?”

Coulson stared at the object on the table, almost not wanting to take his eyes from it now. “I think you could classify this as trouble, yes. There’s something I need Fitz-Simmons to take a look at immediately.”

“They’ll be thrilled. We’ll call you when we’re in range.”

“Thanks.”

The sense of relief he felt after contacting his team was incredible. They’d only been together for a few months, but he had the same trust and faith in them that he felt for agents he’d worked with for years. Just as long as none of them wanted to crash on his couch right now, things would be fine.

“My team and I will be taking over,” Coulson announced. After what they’d witnessed with the object responding to him, none of the researchers there raised an objection to this. “Dr. Daniels, I’ll require copies of all of your tests and notes related to this. Everyone else, I ask for you to keep this matter confidential.” With that, Coulson picked the item up and popped it into the case he’d brought along.

It felt strange walking away with it this time, like he was carrying a time bomb at his side. It felt even stranger to be taking it home, to where Clint happened to be. And this time he kept it in hand as he shopped instead of leaving it in the cart when he reached to the back of a shelf for the right can of chicken soup.

This time, Clint didn’t text him with requests, and Coulson hoped that meant the man had managed to fall asleep after all. The poor guy had looked like he needed it. Hell, he had looked like he needed to sleep for a week. At this point, sleep didn’t sound like such a bad idea to Coulson either. He wondered how much sleep he was actually getting each night, what with the sudden, unexpected, violent deaths that kept happening. With resolve, Coulson decided that sleep could wait.

Save the world today. Sleep tomorrow. That sounded like a plan.

“Your total is eighty-seven dollars and fifty-three cents,” said the line attendant at the cashier station who Coulson had seen die the day before. Despite the high price for over the counter cold remedies, Coulson handed over his credit card.

When he returned to the apartment, he realized he’d forgotten to grab Clint the trash can from the bathroom this time around. Tissues—and pieces of the tissue box—were scattered across the entire living room floor… again. “Out of tissues?” Coulson asked, pushing the door closed behind him with this shoulder.

Under the blankets there was a Clint-shaped bulge, the top of which moved in something resembling a nod. Out popped the top of a head, two tired and blinking eyes, and a bright red nose. “You brought more?”

“The softest ones they had in the store.”

“So glad you’re back, Sir.”

Coulson sat down on the edge of the couch and went through the bags, unpacking them onto the coffee table. The second he pulled out a tissue box, Clint grabbed it. He blew his nose into the tissues and relaxed back into the cushions as he launched the used tissue over the side of the couch. “I’ll clean these up later,” he said, sounding so weak and exhausted that Coulson could not have believed him, even if he knew from previous time loops that that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon.

“Take some pills,” Coulson said, getting the medicine out. “I’ve got some work to get done with my team this afternoon—”

“I thought you were… huhh… hehh-Uhhh… huh-Ehkshhhh! Sniff! I thought you were on vacation this week.”

“I thought so too.” As if he were the president and this were the case carrying nuclear codes, the case containing the 0-8-4 had not left his hand since the museum. He rested it on his lap and ran his fingers over the case. He thought about explaining it all to Clint again; the idea was easier to entertain, knowing for sure that Clint would believe him this time around. But Clint looked so exhausted, so sick. Clint didn’t need to know everything. If Coulson managed to break the loop, there would be time to tell Clint later, when the man was feeling better. And, if not, Clint wouldn’t remember about this anyway the next time the time loop began again.

If it began again.

Fitz-Simmons would probably be the first to point out that twice did not a pattern make. They would probably already tell him he should have come straight to them the moment he realized what was happening. Well, he was going to them now. That was a start.

His phone buzzed. Checking first to make sure it wasn’t Fury calling about the operation by the docks, and wondering who was going to take down the smugglers if not the two of them, Coulson answered his phone. “Are you here?” They were. “I’ll be right there. Thanks again.”

“You’re leaving again?”

Coulson looked down at Clint, looking up at him with big eyes filled with hurt. “I thought you were going to look after me.”

Admittedly, Coulson’s heart broke a little at the sound of these words. He reached out and petted Clint’s arm through the blanket again. “I know. I’m sorry. But this is big.”

“How big?”

He hesitated a moment before answering. “Not sure yet, but it might be end of the world big.” Clint did not protest, but he didn’t look happy about this either. “You have my cell phone number. If you need me, you can text me or call me.”

“You’re staying around here though, right? You’re not leaving the area?”

Coulson’s first instinct regarding the 0-8-4 was to figure out what it was and how to use it to stop the time loops. The second instinct was to take the object straight to the sandbox so that it wouldn’t destroy the city again. Failing that, he just wanted it as far away from Clint Barton as possible. Yet, he still answered, “I’m not leaving the area.” He fingered the cell phone in his pocket with his other hand. “You have my number. If you need me, you call me. Got it?”

Clint wasted no time in nodding. Then he closed his eyes and nuzzled his face into the pillow. “Hhhhhhhh…” He drew a long, shaky breath. Then another. “Hehhhhhhhh…” They gave him enough time to get a tissue to his face. “Huhh-Chihhhhh!”

“Bless you. Feel better, Agent Barton.”

“Is… huh… huh-IKSchhhhh! Sniff! Is that a direct order, Sir?”

“Absolutely.” It hurt, walking away from Clint this time. Clint had come to him not because he needed a place to sleep, but because he needed someone to look after him. And Coulson had welcomed him in, only to repeatedly disappear on him. But he didn’t want Coulson on the bus. For one thing, introducing Clint to his team would be best done when Clint felt significantly better. For another, if things went south again, he didn’t want Clint getting caught in the cross hairs this time.

Of course, he didn’t want his team to get hurt either, but he stood a much better chance of figuring this out with their help than without it. So he took the elevator down to the parking garage under the building, slid into Lola’s driver’s seat, and started the car up. He met them where they’d dropped him off, a park near his house. He drove the car up and into the hold without any trouble. Once inside, he headed straight for the lab.

“Welcome back, Sir. I thought you were going to be out all week?” Simmons asked, looking up from the tablet device in her hand where equations danced, merrily waiting their turns for her attention.

“That’s what I thought, too.” With care, Coulson set the case down on the table in front of her. He opened it slowly, cautiously. But contents had not shifted during flight. The 0-8-4 sat gleaming, teasing, taunting just by being there.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice full of awe.

Coulson smiled. “That’s what I hope you and Fitz would tell me. As far as I’ve been able to tell, it gives off a unique energy display, it seems to react to my presence, and it’s one stunning paperweight. That’s all I’ve got. But Dr. Daniels at the museum should have sent over the results of tests they’ve been running on this thing for the past few months.”

“Got ‘em,” Fitz said, entering the room. His eyes were fixed on his own tablet, his thumb slowly scrolling through whatever was on the screen. “Some of these tests, though… why were they even bothering to measure this stuff?”

“Dr. Daniels made it sound like they ran out of options and just started trying anything they could think of.”

“Yeah, but submerging it in a container of ice water? Were they entering this into a grade school science fair by any chance?”

Coulson chuckled. “Okay, I get it. They’re not exactly at your level, but who is? Think you can figure this thing out?”

“Absolutely,” Simmons reassured him.

Fitz nodded as well. “We’ll just need to run a few preliminary tests…”

Coulson knew that look in Fitz-Simmons’ eyes; they were kids and this was their candy. “Let me know when you find something.” As the phone in Coulson’s pocket buzzed, he thought he knew exactly who it had to be. So he wasn’t surprised to see Clint’s name attached to the text message: HELP.

That was only one step beneath a 9-1-1 message. Coulson excused himself and left the lab, though his people were so deep into their job they barely noticed him leave. He got to the privacy his room and called Clint back immediately. “Clint? What’s wrong?”

“Coulsod! Hehh-KITChh! Helb be! Heh-Chshhhh!”

“I repeat: what’s wrong?”

“Hehhhhhh… hehhhh… hahhh-Kihshh! Krshhhhh!”

“Bless you. Clint—”

“Heh… heh-CHhshhh!”

“Clint?”

“Hahhh-eh… ehhh-KITChh! Hehh-Kahshh! Ahh k’shhhh!”

“Clint!”

“Sniff! Coulsod… I’b dying.”

Coulson scrubbed his hand back and forth over his eyes. “You’re not dying. You’ve just got a bad head cold.” Clint had been exactly this bad exactly at this time during the first loop. Once he’d been on the mission, he’d been able to control himself. But Coulson couldn’t explain that. “Relax. Just relax. Relax and blow your nose.”

“Heh-Kshhh! Kehtchuhhh!” A second later, Coulson heard a cough and then a monstrous amount of nose-blowing on the other end of the line. He waited. And listened. And winced a few times. The uncontrollable, strong sneezes were almost preferable to the wet, full, rumbling sounds of Clint blowing his nose; Clint’s nose had to be hurting, and he had to be feeling lightheaded from all of this.

Patiently, Coulson sat down on his bed and waited for it to be over. He wished he were back in his apartment, able to reassure the man with a touch, with his presence. It might be overstepping his bounds a little as a handler, but Clint obviously needed it, or else he wouldn’t have called in his moment of distress. “That’s it,” Coulson said, as the blowing started to sound a little less miserable and a little dryer. “Feeling better?”

There was a weak cough. When Clint spoke, Coulson thought he could hear a smile in his voice. “Much. Thank you. Sniff! When are you coming back?”

“Soon. I’ve got my team here looking at the object. It’s going to take them some time, but as soon as they’ve got something for me, I’ll be back.”

“Maybe we can have dinner? Or watch something together? Or both?”

“Maybe.”

His phone buzzed again. Maybe not. He checked the text message. “Clint, sorry, I have to go. My team’s got something for me already.”

“All right. Thank you. Sniff!”

“Any time.”

Coulson hurried back to the lab, surprised and pleased that Fitz-Simmons had come up with something already. He knew they were brilliant; that’s why he’d wanted them on his team to begin with. He just hadn’t known how brilliant they were. “What do you have?” he asked, walking through the door.

“A problem!” Fitz replied, just as alarm began to sound. “We couldn’t have known…”

“Known what?”

Simmons bounced around from screen to screen and circling the table where the 0-8-4 sat in a transparent container. “Gamma radiation.”

“You exposed it to gamma radiation?”

“These readings are off the charts,” she said, by way of an explanation. “We thought we were getting somewhere. But the radiation seems to have woken something up. Its core temperature is rising. It’s not just hot to the touch, it’s dangerous. And we don’t see a way to bring it down.”

“It’s going to explode,” Fitz said. “And it’s going to take us with it.”

The container shattered around the object, and Coulson heard a soft humming sound coming from the object. “Okay. Options?”

Fitz winced, panic filling his words. “Die a terrible, painful death?”

Coulson closed his eyes and braced himself. “Been there, done that,” he said out loud. Then, to himself alone, he added a whispered, “Let’s hope I live to have it happen again.”

Searing pain shot through his whole body, exploding like a firework.