well crap.
I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.
I;M NOT PUTTING THIS ON AO3 BECAUSE I’M HAVING A BABY IN THE NEXT FEW DAYS AND PROBABLY WON’T TAKE IT ANYWHERE ELSE.
HOWEVER.
HERE.
HAVE SOME HOOKER!DEREK.
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‘Dr. Watson Speaks Out’, A.A. Milne, 1929
The fact that some of the most respected pieces of writing about Sherlock Holmes are, essentially, fan fiction by AA Milne gives me hope for every single writer out there.
Fan fiction is not a waste of time or energy, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
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So I’ve watched the first disc of Supernatural Season 1 and I can understand the love. Therefore, will be watching another disc tomorrow.
However.
For the moment, I’m watching back-to-back Futurama episodes because I can.
And writing. For some reason the muses have descended and I’m getting some actual work done!
New chapter of the MIGP fic is up and I actually have some good ideas about the direction I’m taking it in. Yay!
So Kerry, honey, go take a read!
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AU - The Avengers recruit Sherlock and John.
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okay then.
Three and Ten have to pretend to be a couple and it gets increasingly awkward.
—-
Will is, to say the least, fuming.
“I know that I said ‘next time I get to seduce the rich guy’… but I wasn’t being serious!” He mutters, and Benji grins.
“This isn’t seduction of the rich guy, this is assisting our good friends at the FBI with a complex undercover operation.”
“Remind me why someone who actually knows this guy can’t do it?”
“Well he’s kind of rogue at the moment, on what they’ve called a ‘temporary suspension’, basically his CI took off and is a wanted fugitive, so the only cases he’s on at the moment are the ones he’s closing up before his suspension actually kicks in.”
“And he needs someone to pose as his boyfriend?”
“Well, his CI was going to do it but then he fled the country. You’ve got blue eyes, you’re about the same height and we’ve even managed to get you into a fedora. Seeing as the only details that Agent Burke gave about his… boyfriend… were the blue eyes and the fondness for the fifties, I’d say we’re safe.”
“Benji, you better hack into every server we have and delete every single detail of this case once it’s over.”
“Yeah, I’m not going to do that. I need something for blackmail material.”
“I hate you!” Brandt muttered, but stopped talking to his techie when an older man, in his early forties, perhaps, walked into the room, running a hand through his thinning hair.“You must be Will.”
“Yes, and you’re Peter. Nice to meet you.” Will held out a hand to shake Peter’s and was pleasantly surprised that there was no hesitation from the Fed, though his expression was a little guarded.
“So, do you want to tell me how I got roped into this, or is that need-to-know?” Will asked, dropping Peter’s hand and shoving his own into the pocket of his pants.
“I have no idea what your clearance level is, Will, but if you’ve been informed of the circumstances, well… I’ll guess that you know why I chose to incorporate Neal into my cover story.”
“…you mean we are actually dealing with people who are, essentially, the gay mafia?” To say that Will is incredulous is probably an understatement, but he didn’t get to be an IMF agent by showing everything that he was thinking on his face.
“Much as I hate to phrase it like that, yes. It does appear so.”
“Well, then, we better get this show on the road. Good thing I’m in a Devore… and you’re in, what, Hugo Boss?”
“2011 Collection, and thank god the FBI is picking up the tab, this thing cost more than my first car.”—
“So how long have you two been together?”
“Five… no, six years now. But we’ve known each other for almost a decade.” Will was glad that they’d been able to come up with a cover story that was easy to remember - that and they’d discovered quite a few parallels in their personal and professional lives. By ageing Peter down a couple of years and Will up a few they put themselves into the same age bracket, and were able to build a story of them meeting when they were both working for the same accounting firm - well, Peter was working for them, Will was bought in as an external analyst and they hit it off.They were also very fortunate that they did in fact have a lot in common, not the least their affinity for sports, so they were able to create a solid cover with little time to prepare.
The touching thing, however, was a little more problematic.
Peter was unaccustomed to anyone besides Elizabeth and, on occasion, Neal, touching him in any way more familiar than a handshake. And Will’s years of honed instincts meant that unexpected physical contact had him tensing up like a coiled spring.
So they sat next to each other at the long dining table and Will kept one hand below the level of the tablecloth, resting on the edge of Peter’s chair, the side of his pinkie finger barely brushing against the older agent’s leg, and they let the rest of the men gathered think that his hand was on Peter’s knee.
They’d stuck to real names, it was easier than remembering aliases, but it was when dessert was served things got a little awkward, because the men in charge decided that it was time for small glasses of very sweet wine and a little show of affection.
“Let us raise our glasses to the men who make us happy.” the man at the head of the table announced, winking at Peter even as Will tried to turn his eye-roll into something less rude, attempting to make it look as if it were a private joke between himself and Peter.
Then, before either of them could really gather their thoughts, each couple at the table was toasting the other and then a silence fell, because every man at the table… except Peter and Will… was kissing his partner.
Of course, this drew attention.
Not the kind of attention they were after, but it did draw attention.
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restless
Clint barely managed eight days with Sitwell as his handler before he found himself sitting in his quarters with both knees jiggling, his fists clenching and unclenching as he itched for something to shoot at.
He’d broken some kind of obscure regulation by saying something (he had no fucking idea exactly what, because as far as he knew he’d said exactly the same things as he would have to Coulson; what was the problem?) over the comms while on a routine reconnaissance mission and had been restricted to quarters for the next week.
Yeah, like that had ever worked before.
He’d actually managed 48 whole hours obeying that order, and now he was about to crack.
He tugged his cell phone out of his pocket and dialled the third number down - he’d never changed Phil’s label, he was always ‘Coulson’ - waiting for the response.
Two rings.
“Clint, you’re not supposed to be calling me.”
“You answered, you’re just as culpable.”
“Don’t use big words.”
“You love it when I’m erudite don’t deny it.”
“What do you want, Specialist?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“You know, I don’t out-rank Sitwell in any way, I can’t reverse Fury’s decision.”
“You can appeal to his better side.”
Phil just let that hang in the air for a moment, until Clint thought through what he’d just said.
“Okay, maybe not.” Clint admitted.
“It’s only two weeks, Barton.”
“You’ve called me three different names in the course of this conversation.”
“And you haven’t even referred to me by name at all.”
“I never do.”
“Valid point. You’re counting down the days, aren’t you?”
“Hours.”
“Right. “
Clint sighed. “This is what you warned me about, isn’t it? We’re going to have to make a decision.”
“Yep. In six days time.”
“Phil.”
“Clint.”
“My legs won’t stop moving.”
Now it was Phil’s turn to sigh.
“My door isn’t locked.”
“It never is.”
“Not to you. Come on up; we’ll worry about the consequences tomorrow.” -
30 days of writing challenge.
Day 2.
Accusation
»
»
»“I don’t care what Sitwell says!”
“Well, Agent Sitwell has submitted a formal complaint, so I have to follow it through.”
A deep breath is drawn in through the nose and the voice asking the next question is forced out from between gritted teeth.
“What are the consequences likely to be?”
“You’ll be taken off the active duty roster and put on paperwork detail.”
“What about-“
“That’s already been taken care of.”Phil glared at Director Fury even as the man refused to meet his gaze.
“So, Sitwell gets to accuse me of… what, exactly? And with no proof, no evidence and no checking of the actual facts, I get taken out of the field and Barton gets assigned a new handler? Just like that?”
“No, Coulson. This goes deeper than that. There have been several… comments… about the nature of the relationship between yourself and Agent Barton. The fact that you’ve refused to work with other Specialists has become a topic of some discussion among the more senior agents.”
“Do you think anyone else can handle him?”
“That’s not the issue here, Coulson, the issue is that every other handler has at least five agents answering to them and you’ve refused to take on anyone other than Barton for six straight months.”
“And before that I hadn’t had anyone under me for a year and a half. I’d happily take on another Specialist, if you can find someone who will work with Barton.”
“There’s always the Russian-“
“No, don’t even go there, Nick. Their history makes it harder for them to be on the same team, they still need some space.”
“And how, exactly, would you know that? As far as I was aware, Barton and Romanov’s history is classified at a higher clearance level than you are currently enjoying.”Phil stopped short at that, hands clenched into tight enough fists that he could feel his clipped-short nails digging into his palms.
Fury raised one eyebrow at the ongoing silence.
“This - this right here is what Sitwell is talking about, Coulson. You’ve lost your objectivity when it comes to Barton, you need some distance.”
“Look, whatever he’s accusing me of, there is nothing inappropriate going on between me and Cl- Specialist Barton.”
“And if that’s the case then you shouldn’t have a problem with him being assigned to Sitwell for two weeks while you catch up on some paperwork.”Phil sucked in a deep breath through his nose before nodding just once.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good, now get the hell out of my office.” -
I have two hours until today is over so I’m going to put a playlist on and write a Clint/Coulson drabble until I run out of inspiration.
I’m really not doing so good with the whole 30 days of writing thing and it’s only the first day.
I need a kick in the ass.
»
»>
»»“Beginning”
Clint shouted across the lobby. ”HOLD THE ELEVATOR!” and Phil looked up at him, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. A man in black skinny jeans and a blue t-shirt, a ragged-cuffed jacket clinging to his broad shoulders was running across the marble floor, combat boots leaving tiny black scuff marks on the white-and-grey surface.
He held the ‘open doors’ button down with his thumb and stepped to one side, allowing the blonde man to skid to a halt in the centre of the elevator.
“Thanks, man. Uh, thirty-eighth floor.” He told Phil, hiking the right sleeve of his jacket up to read something scrawled in purple sharpie on his forearm.
“Sure.” Phil told him, and pressed the button to close the doors, stepping back a little so that his hip brushed the wall of the elevator, assessing the man sharing the space with him.
“Oh you’re heading for 38, too?” the blonde comments, noticing that only one of the chrome buttons on the panel is backlit-blue.
“Yes.”
“Do you know who Nick Fury is?”
“Yes.”
The blonde seemed taken aback by the bluntness of Phil’s answer, but ploughed on regardless.
“I’ve got a meeting with him, something about SHIELD? Any idea what that is?”
“I’m sorry, that’s classified.”
One eyebrow went up and then the guy in the combat boots laughed, holding out a hand to shake.
“Sorry, I should probably tell you my name before I ask if you know anything about a top-secret organisation. Clint Barton.”
“Coulson.” Phil shook his hand, firmly, before releasing it and shifting slightly so that his weight was evenly distributed again rather than all on his back foot, on the defense.“Do you have a first name, Agent Coulson?” Clint asked, adding the honorific without even asking, something that almost made Phil smile.
“I do.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is?”
“Not right now. Do you want directions to Fury’s office?” he asked as the doors opened, revealing a single bored-looking receptionist, filing her nails and wearing a slightly-askew headset. She looked up and snapped her gum at Phil, then raised an eyebrow at Clint.“He’s with me.” Phil told her, pressing his thumb to the print-reader embedded in the door handle to the right, holding it open for Clint to step through ahead of him.
The receptionist returned her attention to her nails, but Phil wasn’t fooled, even if Barton apparently had been. The blonde ‘receptionist’ was actually one of the higher-level field agents, on medical leave and acting as gatekeeper to the main offices of SHIELD. She could have killed both of them with the nail file before the elevator doors had closed.
Phil led Clint through the maze of corridors to a plain dark wooden door and knocked twice on the doorjamb rather than the door itself, a habit he’d developed after the second time an electrified bulletproof-plating had floored him, and handed Clint Barton over to the Director.
“See you around, Agent Coulson!” Clint called after him even as Fury rolled his eye, and if Phil’s mouth quirked in a smirk for the barest hint of a moment then it certainly wasn’t because he’d then heard Barton greet the Director with “So, Nick, what did you invite me into this hell-hole of suits and G-Men for, this time?”
Strangely enough, Phil found himself almost hoping that he would see Barton around the place - who knew, he might have some skills that SHIELD could use, and it had been a while since he’d had an active field agent under his wing.
