Chapter 1
Ronald Slater knows his hatred of Clint Barton is irrational, but that doesn’t stop him from poisoning Barton on the operation in Amsterdam. It’s not a deadly dose. Simply a few drops of a specialized liquid guaranteed to induce gastrointestinal distress. Colorless, odorless, untraceable. Slater used it a month ago during a mission to Barcelona and quite effectively sent a Spanish oligarch to his porcelain throne for several hours. Barton deserves the same.
It’s just the four of them on this op: Slater, Barton, a British comm expert named Lucy Heckles (known as Lucy Freckles, but never to her face) and Anders, a surly weapons tech. The safe house is the top floor of a building near the Van Gogh museum, a tourist-filled area choked with bicycles and pedestrians. They’re waiting for extract thirty-six hours from now. The quarters are modern but small. Two bedrooms, each with bunkbeds but no room for other furniture. One tiny bathroom and a bright kitchen with windows looking down at the street. Because Slater has bad luck, it’s raining today. It always rains when he’s in Amsterdam.
“I was guaranteed Lucy’s famous pancakes if I made that impossible shot,” Barton complains when he wanders into the kitchen mid-morning. He’s still sleep-mussed and yawning and huddled into the depths of a ridiculously purple hoodie. “I smell no pancakes.”
“The refrigerator’s empty,” Lucy Freckles says from behind the pages of a mildewy science fiction paperback left behind by some other agent. “I can’t make pancakes without milk or eggs.”
Anders is sprawled on the living room couch, smoking a cigarette and clicking a remote at the TV. “And the cable sucks.”
“I’ll be sure your complaints are duly noted,” Slater says drily. He learned long ago to ignore petty whining, especially at the tale end of an op when everyone just wants to go home. He hands Barton the coffee he’s already drugged. “At least we’ve got caffeine. And there’s some granola bars in that cupboard, along with plenty of soup and crackers. We won’t starve.”
Barton sips the coffee, eats a cherry granola bar, and watches the rain slant hard against the windows. He and Lucy Freckles find a crossword puzzle book and work on those for awhile. Lucy isn’t the kind of woman to flirt much but Slater thinks she has a fondness for Barton, which he finds perplexing. So what if he’s the best shot in SHIELD. The guy's an egotist and a jerk. Being an Avenger and getting to hang out with Captain America should be based on moral characteristics as well as technical prowess.
Slater tries not to think about the Avengers and how he should be part of that team. How his whole career he’s been overlooked and taken for granted. He washes the dishes, plays the part of genial team leader, watches some boring television with Anders, and observes with satisfaction when Barton grimaces and heads for the bathroom.
By mid-afternoon Barton’s clearly miserable and so are the rest of them, because Slater didn't really think about how they all have to share the one toilet in an apartment that doesn't have great air circulation. Anders makes muttered comments about the smell and hazardous material. Lucy Freckles checks the medicine cabinet and comes up with some anti-diarrhea pills that Slater knows will do no good. Barton retreats to his narrow bed to curl up and shiver. It sucks to be sick during an operation far from home. The rain hardens against the windows.
“If you think you need a doctor, I’ll try to arrange for a house call,” Slater tells him. “Your decision, Barton.”
Barton shakes his head. “Just ate something bad.”
“We’ve all been eating the same things for days now,” Lucy Freckles says. “If it’s a flu bug, we’re all going to get it. Can we get an earlier extraction?”
Slater pretends to consider the idea. “I can ask.”
“It’s just food poisoning,” Barton insists, because he’s a stupid hero with a massive ego and like his friends doesn’t want to admit weakness. Slater knows the type.
“Keep pushing the fluids and electrolytes,” Slater says. “We’ll soon be out of here.”
Sometime around midnight, when Barton’s lurching to the bathroom again, it occurs to Slater that maybe he put too much of the bad mojo in his coffee. He wishes he wasn't interrupting his own sleep with the ongoing drama. Anders decides to move to the sofa and Lucy makes noises about calling in the emergency code for field agent in distress. Slater talks her down. He doesn’t want the kind of attention that call would bring, and they don’t want to blow this safe house’s cover. There’s a good chance that the Russian mobsters they took out have friends combing through Amsterdam for foreigners matching their description. Better to stick to the current plan.
“Get some sleep,” Slater says to Lucy. “I’ll stay up with him.”
“I don’t need anyone ‘staying up with me,’” Barton says testily, crawling back under his covers. In the weak light of the overhead light he looks green-gray and sweaty, eyes ringed with dark circles. “Fuck off and let me sleep.”
“Once you drink this water,” Slater says. “You know you need it.”
Barton drinks the water, flops back down, and turns over to face the wall. Slater doesn’t mind. He takes the upper bunk and reads Frank Herbert for a while, grimly happy with himself.
By morning Barton’s better, though still haggard and exhausted. He sleeps most of the day and then uses all of the hot water in the shower. At eighteen hundred hours, they leave the safe house under cover of dusk and are met by a canal boat that takes them to a van that brings them to Rotterdam. Barton is slow on his feet, but steady enough to get through airport lines to a civilian Lufthansa flight. The team is scattered through the coach cabin and Slater made sure that Barton's non-reclining seat was right in front of the lavatory. Not because he’ll need the toilet often, but because it’s one of the nosiest, smelliest seats to be stuck in for the long haul back to the United States.
But after takeoff a pretty flight attendant flirting with Barton moves him up to first class, which ruins Slater’s day. He spends all of the flight stuck in his tiny seat in coach, imagining new ways to get his revenge.
end of part one