Prompt "I'm not even sorry"
“I’m not even sorry.”
Phil sighed and slowly dropped down to sit next to Clint on the hard metal cot of his cell in the brig.
“I didn’t think you would be,” Phil replied as he eyed the double set of flexicuffs keeping Clint’s wrists tethered. Whoever had arrested him had apparently been smart enough to know regular cuffs were a waste of time.
Without another word, Phil reached for the folding knife he kept in his boot and cut the cuffs off.
Clint flexed his wrists and gave him a sideways grin.
“I could have done that,” he said with a grin. “But I didn’t want to push my luck quite yet.”
“I thought they searched you,” Phil replied, folding his knife and putting it away.
Clint scoffed.
“Phil, you think some flunky security guard, SHIELD trained or not, would be able to find all my weapons?”
Phil rolled his eyes.
“Do I even want to know how many you still have on you?”
Clint just grinned.
“So you’re still in here because? What? You thought you could use the down time?” Phil asked, motioning around the low security cell. Clint, by all rights, could have been out of here on his own hours ago.
Clint shrugged a shoulder and rubbed at his wrists.
“I distracted from the search enough already. I didn’t want them wasting resources tracking me down when they should be looking for her.”
Phil nodded but didn’t quite buy it.
“McGuire is okay, by the way. The concussion you gave him was a minor one.”
“I must be losing my touch.”
“Why did you hit him, Clint?” Phil asked quietly. “He’s the base director here. Fury is going to be...”
“Furious?” Clint interrupted with a smirk.
Phil narrowed his eyes. Clint was up to something. There was no way he was this calm. Natasha was missing for God’s sake. There was no way Clint was content to just sit in this cell and not look for her.
“What are you planning?” Phil asked suspiciously.
Clint gave him an innocent glance.
“Clint...”
“Plausible deniability, Phil, it’s a wonderful thing.”
Phil sighed.
“Is anyone else going to end up in the infirmary?”
“No,” Clint assured, but then added in a steely voice, “As long as they stay out of my way.”
A sharp knock came at the cell door and Phil stood. His time was up. He paused at the door and glanced back at his agent who was still sitting entirely too casually on the metal cot.
“When do you need the guard monitoring the cameras distracted?” Phil asked.
Clint glanced down at his watch then back up.
“In 7 minutes.”
Phil nodded.
“Done.”










