9. Chapter 9

Following Clint's lead after they landed was pretty easy, because Clint acted genuinely happy to see the tech and the medical crews. He seemed to know everyone by name and talked to them in a variety of languages. Phil kind of wondered why Clint had such trouble remembering his name for so long, but pushed that thought aside for the time being. There was a tense moment as the tech team got the crate open, but nothing exploded and the Black Widow staggered out, looking wild-eyed and furious. Figueroa and Sitwell were not as well off, puking as soon as they were moved. Figueroa's whole face was black and blue, and the medical team was just stating the obvious when they said he had a concussion. Sitwell tried to stand but ended up falling down, although his creative use of bi-lingual cursing in French and Portuguese at least meant his brain was working just fine.

Clint waved away the ambulance crew when they tried to swarm. He kept Phil close to the remnants of their team, herding him around a little, and Phil lost the thread of what was going on right up until he turned to find himself face to face with the business end of a pistol.

"Nobody do anything stupid, okay?" Clint said, his good humor gone. The gun aimed at Phil's head was rock steady in his hands. Phil's entire body clinched up, and he focused on keeping his breaths even despite his panic. The possibility that Clint was the mole had never once, not once, entered his mind and he cursed himself for being a newbie idiot. He hoped he lived long enough for Fury to laugh his ass off about it.

"Hawkeye." The Black Widow's voice was sharp, but she was still wavering a little and even Phil could see that she wasn't much of a threat.

"Sorry, Widow. Sick of all this shit, and got a better offer." He started pulling Phil away from the cluster of people gathered around the crate. Sitwell, shakily braced on one elbow as he tried to sit up on his gurney, looked nauseous and furious and completely helpless to do anything to save Phil. Clint pushed Phil towards the ambulance. "Hey, Salzmann, get the keys."

One of the tech team, a nebbish guy with long, stringy blond hair, grinned. "Wondered what the plan was," he said, his twangy American accent a shock among the international voices that had been surrounding them since they landed. He pulled the keys from the hands of a very angry, stocky woman that Phil suspected could best any three of them in a fight, but she glanced at Clint and with a frown gave up the keys. She spit something out in Austrian, but Clint smiled back at her, all teeth and brutal intention.

Phil looked at Clint and didn't even see Hawkeye there. His eyes were dark and angry, his body tense and his hand on the pistol he had aimed at Phil didn't waver.

"We takin' him back? Just shoot him." Salzmann tossed the keys in his hands.

"We're still outnumbered, idiot, and the boss wants to know exactly what he saw. Shut up and go start the ambulance."

Salzmann obviously didn't like being called an idiot and glared at Clint, not moving. "At least let's grab the Widow, she's worth more."

Clint's grin turned mercenary. "Yeah, that's good." He pushed the pistol into Phil's head, shoving him forward, and Phil's bad feeling about the whole thing got exponentially worse. "She's still drugged but strap her down, trust me, you don't want her lose."

The Widow, off balance and barely lucid, got into an honest-to-God comedic slap fight with Salzmann. One of the other tech team members must have thought he saw an opening and stepped forward. Clint barked out "Stop!" as he yanked Phil down, and Phil yelled in pain as his knees hit the pavement. Everyone froze. "Tie her up or drug her, let's get moving!"

Salzmann was quick after that, using some of the tech supplies they had brought with them to bind the Widow's hands behind her. She stumbled but straightened up, cursing in Russian and making very pointed comments about Clint's parents.

Clint laughed. "Keep trying, you've used all those before." When Salzmann had her strapped down to a bed in the ambulance, Clint pulled Phil back up and started walking towards it. "You all be sure and tell that asshole Fury that Hawkeye's flown the coop, okay? And maybe I won't come after any of you."

The entire medical team took a step backwards.

"You checked in?" Clint asked as Salzmann went to close the back of the ambulance behind him.

"Yeah yeah. I just texted that we're in transit. With the Widow, too -- man, we'll get a bonus for this!"

"Fuck yeah." Clint shoved Phil towards the front passenger side. "Climb in and across. You're driving."

"And if I don't?" Phil stalled, suddenly unsure of what was going on, looking back at the people crowded around the crate who were wearing expressions of horror and anger and helplessness.

Clint dropped the gun to rest the muzzle against Phil's leg. "Better to keep you alive, but hell, you don't need the kneecap, right?" Behind them one of the people still standing near the crate gasped.

Phil took a deep breath and rubbed the jacket pocket holding his inhaler. Clint stared at him, his eyes dead like a shark's. Phil nodded, because in that moment, for no good reason he could name, he knew everything was okay. He had promised Clint that he would trust him, that he would follow the specialist's lead, and while he made a note that in the future he should ask for more details, Phil decided that he would go to his grave a fool if that's where trusting Clint took him. He crawled over the passenger seat, glancing towards the back as he did. The Black Widow was kicking and cursing but strapped down, and Salzmann was busy pretending to check the restraints in order to feel her up. Phil slid into the driver's seat and used the keys Clint passed to him to start the ambulance, and no sooner had he pulled away than he saw in the side-view mirror the group they had left behind breaking out in pandemonium.

Clint was more familiar with the edges of Vienna than Budapest, giving Phil terse commands to turn and turn again until they were headed into the city proper.

"Hey!"

Phil flinched at Salzmann's yell then flinched again when he heard a body thudding against something hard. In the next moment, the Black Widow popped up between the front seats.

"How did you get out of those restraints?" Phil yelped.

"Oh please," she said, rolling her eyes before glaring at Clint -- who had become Hawkeye again as soon as he pulled the gun away and holstered it.

"Knew you were acting. The stumbling was a bit overkill." Hawkeye slid back in the seat, his body loose and relaxed.

"He fell for it," she answered, nodding towards the back.

"As long as he got that last text off. His phone give anything up?"

She passed it over. "Nope. A number, no names. We can put a trace on it once we call this in."

"No, we're not calling anything in." Phil tapped the steering wheel.

His skin prickled as she stared at him for a long, silent moment before she turned back to Hawkeye.

"He got us this far, Tasha. I trust him."

"Right now Fury and Hill are scrambling our entire European branch and aiming them at you." She poked at Hawkeye's arm. "And you trust the suit?"

"Yep."

She spoke slowly. "Fill me in."

Phil waited for bit before he realized that both specialists were looking at him. "Oh, you want me to fill you in?"

"Yes." Her tone was brusque and brooked no argument.

"Okay." Phil took a deep breath and channeled his inner committee meeting secretary, then gave the Black Widow a complete run down on what had happened and his analysis of why, up to and including the fact that he had been sent after the mole in secret by Fury himself. He felt he was missing a lot by not having a PowerPoint presentation because visual aids were his comfort zone, not that bar charts would explain much in his current situation.

The Widow's disapproval radiated over him. "Why the ruse, then? Once you knew Salzmann had turned, why all of this? Grab him and turn him in."

"What? No, that wasn't me. The ruse was Clint's idea."

"Clint." She repeated the name like she had never said it before, and turned to look at Hawkeye. Phil wasn't sure, but he thought Hawkeye was squirming. Slowly she turned back toward Phil again. "You trusted Clint to make that call?"

"Yes, of course."

"Huh."

"C'mon, Tasha. Give me a break," Hawkeye groaned, covering his face.

Phil did his best not to flinch again when the Black Widow smiled. She was beautiful and scary and he did not know what that smile meant for him. Then she sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "We need to go underground so Coulson can analyze the data in peace. Our mole is pretty high up, to have two turncoats on call to assist at different stages, one of them being a team member." She growled the last part.

"Not sure I left Culbreath alive for you," Hawkeye said, rubbing his hands together and speaking quietly for a change.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "You did the right thing. He was dead, sooner or later."

"We shared boots, for fucks sake." Hawkeye kicked his booted foot against the upper part of the foot well. They were quiet, and Phil kind of wished he could fade into the background or something, as it was obviously a private moment of mourning -- not for the man, clearly, but for the betrayal of a teammate.

Unfortunately, Phil really didn't have a clue where he was going. "Might need some directions, here."

"None of our safe houses can be trusted," Clint sighed.

"Don't you have some secret back up identity you can use? Rent us a hotel room under an assumed credit card?"

"Phil, man, this isn't a Bond movie." Clint laughed.

Phil breathed out slowly through his nose and wondered how many times he could loop the city before their gas ran out. He eyeballed a passing gas station just off the highway, which was busy in the (very) early morning rush. "Can either of you pick pockets?"

"Hey now, no need to be insulting." Clint put a hand over his heart in mock affront. "Of course we can."

"Okay, here's what we're doing. The ambulance is an eyesore, and easy to track. I'm going to pull over at the next busy gas station, and one of you is going to get us a wallet full of credit cards we can use. Then Clint will steal a car and we'll head for a coffee house or a hotel or something. Widow, you drive the ambulance around for a few of hours, doesn't matter where. Give our mole, and SHIELD, something to chase. When the time is right pull over and radio in, making like you subdued Salzmann and Clint, and I'm injured--"

"And I'm confused, don't know where I am, possibly still drugged up. They will put everything into locating me, buying you more time."

Phil nodded. "I should have a good idea who the mole is long before then, honestly, but I'd like a buffer. If nothing else, he'll panic as soon as SHIELD hears from you. If I can't put a name on our traitor by that time, this whole thing was a bust anyway."

"You're that good?" The Widow's voice was flat, the question toneless.

"I'm that damn good," Phil said sharply. He glanced over at her to find her staring at him with a more open expression than he was expecting.

"Yeah, I think maybe you are."

"Oh god, Tasha, shut up," Clint groaned and palmed his face again, although Phil could not understand why. He was just happy the Black Widow wasn't pushing him out of the cab into traffic.