10. Chapter 10

It was tragically, laughably easy to pull the job off. The rich Bahrainian competition who owned the car kept it on his private island off Miami. Getting the car off the island was impossible, but getting the parts off after stripping them in the dead of night once the massive garage's security system was disabled was a piece of cake. All the security was mainly to keep the wives and kids from being kidnapped, so no one bothered to inspect the small service craft hauling trash off the island as it always did every morning at seven a.m.

Clint showed up in Stark's garage five days later, every item tagged by his Sotheby's contact with a label validating its authenticity and current estimated value. Clint had kept the job close to his chest, ignoring his usual list of contacts, going out of his way to keep his fingerprints off the deal and doing everything but the appraisal himself.

"I'll be damned," Stark said wonderingly, looking through the shipping crates. "You're good."

"Am I really the one who is going to explain to you that you get what you pay for?"

"No, my dad took care of that. Just…you don't look like much."

"Fuck you, Stark."

"Feel the love, honey, I just transferred the funds to your account." Tony punched at his phone with a flourish. "And one Clinton Francis Barton just disappeared." Tony smiled at him, his smug pleasure infectious. "Mind you, his file showed up in some interesting places."

FBI and InterPol were on the short list that Clint guessed, and kind of felt bad at giving Stark only 15% off the deal. "Thanks, man, I—"

"TONY!" A tall, gorgeous red head stomped into the garage. "What is this? Did you buy another car? In pieces?" She was all but shrieking. Clint shuffled backwards a little, but she had her sight set on Stark and ignored him. "I can't believe you!"

"Pepper, love of my life! What brings you to the garage, which you hate?"

"You, Tony Stark. I knew you were up to something. And!" She waved her phone at him. "You just transferred over seven hundred thousand dollars to a Swiss bank account!"

Tony actually paled a little, but held his ground, opening his mouth to answer.

"Yes, I'd like to know what exactly is going on with those funds, and what they might have to do with a certain Bahrainian businessman insisting that the FBI investigate the theft of car parts from his private island," Phil McPherson said, stepping out from an elevator that Clint had not even known existed.

Clint cringed, trying to make himself smaller, but it didn't work. Phil's eyes shot right to him, and then widened in shock. "Clint?"

"He's Frank, actually. There is no Clint," Tony said, speaking like a school teacher. "And Frank is just a friend. A fellow car enthusiast. So whatever you are thinking, Agent, you can just—"

"Agent?" Clint straightened up. "What?"

"Phil?" Pepper turned to Phil, but he ignored her to keep staring at Clint.

"We looked for you," Phil said simply, and Clint's world tumbled apart on the slightly hurt tone of voice of the man he had tried desperately to forget.

"I couldn't stay. You know that." Clint folded his arms and looked away.

"I told you to trust me."

"Trust the fucking enforcer for AIM?"

"AIM? What the hell?" Tony stepped into the conversation physically, glaring at Phil. "No really: what the hell?"

Clint smirked. "Oh sorry, did I blow your cover, agent?"

He pulled out a gun and aimed it at Clint. "I guess I knew we were never going to resolve this the easy way."

"What the fuck? Coulson, what the hell are you doing?" Tony looked between them in shock.

"Hey!" Pepper's voice shot up, freezing all three men in place. She turned to Phil. "You are not shooting anyone in our garage! If I have to call the biohazard cleanup team in then I will take it out of your wardrobe budget!"

"What's it with you and redheads?" Clint shook his head.

"She's mine, just so we're clear," Stark said, then stepped backwards at the look she threw him.

"I'm taking you in, Clint Barton. For questioning. You argue with me, you even twitch, and I will shoot out the elbow in your right arm." Phil's expression was blank. Clint reflexively tucked his shooting arm closer to his body.

"Wait, you’re a fed?" Clint shouted. "I thought you worked for AIM!"

Phil didn't waver. "Natasha made a mistake, letting you believe that." He shrugged. "She doesn't make mistakes very often," he added with a sad smile.

"Fuck you, Phil. I did what I had to do. Now it's your turn." Clint turned to walk out, furious and betrayed and relieved. Whatever happened, his money was waiting for him and chances were good that Phil wasn't going to be sent to kill him. It wasn't much to rest his hat on but Clint was willing to take what he could get, and he had always known that he would never get Phil.

"Have it your way, Barton," Phil said, and a chill of disbelief ran down Clint's spine but he wasn't fast enough; he knew there was no way to outrun what was coming.

The blast from the gun nearly blew out Clint's ears, but he fell over because of the brand new hole in his leg. He passed out listening to Stark's girlfriend yelling about blood stains on concrete.