avengers/firely fusion, clint/coulson
Clint had Vera in hand, an arrow pointed straight at the doc's chest. "You want I should shoot him, Cap?" he asked, not taking his eyes off his target.
Cap and the crew of the American Shield had picked up the doc--Philip Coulson, he said--on Persephone, just two days gone, for a quick milk run to Whitefall. The man was right nice to look at, and Clint had wasted no time tryin' to flirt his way into the passenger bunk with him. Things had been movin' along Clint's way, until Phil had found out that Cap and Maria had fought in the battle of Hydra Valley with General Fury in the great civil war 'tween the Browncoats and the Alliance. Apparently, the doc was a student of military history, and he decided to take every opportunity to ask Steve about it, leaving Clint nursin' a crush and a set of blue balls. His hand was helpful with the latter, but weren't much could make kill the crush.
When he went to ask Tony's advice, their mechanic had laughed at him, asking what kind of use a Core-bred doc would have for a Rim-born merc who was only good for his skill with a bow and gun. Clint had socked him hard in the arm and stalked out, running into Maria on the way. She was more pragmatic. "Ain't much use gettin' involved with passengers, Clint," she'd said. "They just move on and take your heart with 'em."
Rhodey had nodded and wrapped his arm around his wife's waist. "Best find yourself a willing crewmember like I did. Tony's single." Maria had rolled her eyes but dropped a fond kiss to Rhodey's cheek.
"Tony's a dick," Clint retorted and went down to the cargo bay with Vera to shoot arrows at targets until his fingers went numb.
That was where he was when Cap marched down, Phil's shirt collar held tight in his hand, and wearing a furious expression Clint had never seen on Steve's face, not even when Tony had snuck that pretty boy whore into Cap's quarters as a birthday present. Clint swiveled around, taking aim at Phil without a second thought, waiting for his Captain's orders. Maria was high up on the catwalk, her shotgun trained on Phil as well.
"If he moves, Clint, you can shoot him, but hit him in the leg so he can patch himself up," Steve answered. "Now you care to explain why I got Alliance on my tail, Doc? What are you smugglin' so precious they followed us out this far into the black?"
Instead of waiting for an answer, Steve marched over to the doc's luggage, eyeing the large silver cryo-container. Phil stretched out his arm, but at a sharp look from Clint, he shrunk back on himself. "Please," he begged, "don't open it. She--" Phil cut himself off and bit his bottom lip.
"She?" Steve said, his voice low and dangerous. "You bringin' a slave girl on my boat?" He stomped on the cryo-container's lock, the hiss of the broken seal and the screech of metal-on-metal echoing loudly in the cargo bay. Steve kicked lid off and waved away the fog, leaning down to peer into the container. "Huh," he said.
Suddenly, something exploded out of the container with a primal scream. Clint couldn't tell what it was, only that by the time the smoke cleared, Phil was on the floor, arms cradling a naked girl, and Steve was across the cargo bay on his back. Phil murmured soothing words in English, Mandarin, and what sounded like Russian, until the girl stopped screaming. He looked up, meeting Steve's eyes. "She's my sister," he said, voice strong and even. "Her name is Natasha, and she is my sister."