2. Seven Years Later

The new guy wasn't Russian, although his girl was. She was a red-head and hot tempered, and did not like waiting around the garage while Clint's boys did a quick oil change (and tire swap, with no questions asked about the streaks of blood on the sidewalls). She yelled at the new guy then went outside to smoke about a dozen cigarettes like all the Russian girls did.

The guy stood around and carefully watched what Clint's crew did, both for his sedan and everything else. He had sharp, cold eyes and moved like a man who knew how to kill, his body lean but not thin and his muscles firm without being bulky under his crisp, tailored dark suit. He was attractive in a way that Clint had shoved aside a long time ago, because the Russians put up with a lot--violence, drugs, tattoos, adultery--but not homosexuality, and Clint liked his balls attached to his body.

"Your girl just get in?" Clint asked the guy.

He looked Clint over with a quick, assessing gaze and then nodded. "She's still...adjusting."

"I hear you, man. Don't worry, she'll figure things out quickly. They always do." Clint had seen enough women brought over from the "Motherland" to know; after a few months they settled in to their arranged marriages and started popping out kids and shopping at the mall every afternoon. A few tried to run; they never got far. He stood next to the guy, who seemed to have some kind of military bearing. Clint's guess was that he was a former special-ops merc that the Russians had hired overseas and brought home for a job well done. The girl had probably been part of the deal.

"Clint Barton. I own the place." Clint shoved his hand at the guy.

"Phil McPherson." Phil shook his hand, and Clint noted the very, very slight Irish lilt to his voice then. Clint held back a grin, figuring Phil had probably asked for a red-head to remind him of his homeland.

"You're new yourself."

"Around here, yes."

Clint nodded, appreciating a man who could say a lot with so few words. His attention was grabbed when Barney's flashy maroon Caddie Escalade pulled up to the bay doors, blocking two of them. Clint groaned.

"Fuck's sake, Barney, don't block the doors!" Clint yelled as his brother eeled out of the SUV.

"Shut it, birdie. I'm here for Phil."

Phil straightened up, the light bulb in his mind going off almost visibly. "Barton. You're brothers?" He glanced at Clint, who nodded.

"Don't judge me by the company I keep, my friend."

"You're a god-damn mechanic, birdie, don't get high and mighty on my ass." Barney shoved Clint, who didn't move an inch. Barney was still taller than Clint, but it was Clint who had filled out with muscles while Barney turned lean, lanky, and soft in the middle. Beating people up and whoring around had not done Barney's physique many favors. "Phil, Grigory wants to see you, pronto."

"My car is still up high." Phil pointed at where the tire change was ongoing. "But I can ride with you, if necessary."

"Nah, man, wait until your wheels are done. Just head straight there from here. He wants--" Barney's eyes flicked over at Clint, then back to Phil. "He wants an update."

Phil nodded thoughtfully. "Can you take Natasha back to my place, then? I'd rather not have her tagging along on...business."

Clint rolled his eyes. It wasn't as if he didn't know what business they were in. However, letting any hot girl ride in Barney's Escalade was a bad idea, whether Phil knew it or not, so Clint spoke up before Barney could even react.

"That's what the company transportation van is for. I'll have Teddy drive her home for you, safe and sound. All part of the service." Clint bowed theatrically while Barney glared at him and Phil looked between them with dawning comprehension. Clint had to admire the guy, he didn't miss a damn thing. Flicking Clint off, Barney loped back to his car and peeled rubber driving away. Phil looked after him speculatively, but did not ask, which was another point in his favor.

Teddy, a sweet tempered dedushka, charmed Natasha with kind words in her native Russian that had her both rolling her eyes and smiling coyly. Phil gave Clint his own eyeroll while Natasha's back was turned, which proved just how smart he was (those Russian girls had claws, Clint knew that from personal and up close experience).

Clint was called off to mediate a fight between Sammy and a timing belt, and by the time he was done Phil had already taken off. Clint tried not to be too disappointed in that; those kinds of feelings were dangerous to humor, and if nothing else Clint's sense of self-preservation was very well developed.