Clint sighed as he dropped into the seat across from Kate Turner, letting his body sink into the stiff cushion with a weariness that wasn’t entirely physical. He tilted his head back for a moment, eyes flicking up to the bland ceiling before landing squarely on the woman across from him. She was already there, sitting with her usual crisp posture, tablet in hand, eyes sharp and unreadable.
Kate Turner, SHIELD analyst—one of the brightest in the building, and also one of the most visibly unimpressed with him.
Clint had never gotten the warm-and-fuzzies from her. She barely looked his way in the halls and usually spoke to him like she was reading from a script: efficient, dry, and just this side of polite. Which is exactly why he found it strange that the two of them were sitting in the same room for a pre-mission debriefing. Analysts didn’t normally get dragged into the field unless something was off the charts unusual.
Still, he gave her a respectful nod—more out of habit than anything—just as the door swung open and in walked Fury, all authority and tension wrapped in a leather coat, with Coulson close behind him, his presence like a cool breeze in comparison.
“Welcome,” Fury said, his voice smooth but commanding. “Thanks for coming.”
Clint snorted, not bothering to hide it. He’d known Fury long enough to recognize sarcasm dressed up as courtesy. That phrase had never once meant “thanks” in the genuine sense.
Fury shot him a look but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he moved to the front of the room and activated the holographic projector embedded in the table between them. A grainy image flickered to life—desert sand, stone ruins, and the blurred outline of what looked like a sarcophagus.
“We’ve got reports coming in from a dig site in Iraq,” Fury said, folding his arms. “Seems someone unearthed something old—older than dirt, practically—and now no one can figure out how to get it out. Whatever it is, it’s sealed tight. Rumors are already flying. Some say it’s cursed. Others say it's mystical.” He paused, eyeing them both. “If you catch my fucking drift.”
Clint raised an eyebrow, attention sharpening.
Coulson stepped in smoothly. “You’re being sent to evaluate the artifact. Confirm if it’s a potential threat or just a dusty piece of history that got too much hype. Turner, you’ll be going in as an archaeologist attached to the dig. Barton, you’re her hired protection. That kind of thing is pretty standard in those regions. Armed guards don’t raise many eyebrows.”
Clint leaned back in his chair, processing. “So basically, we’re going in blind, pretending to be a couple of desert tourists, and hoping no one notices we don’t belong.”
Fury gave him a tight smile. “You’ve had worse cover stories.”
“Yeah,” Clint muttered, glancing at Turner again, who was still all calm and unreadable. “But usually my partner doesn’t look like they’d rather be assigned to a desk in Antarctica than spend a week in the sand with me.”
Kate didn’t blink. “If it makes you feel better, Barton, I’d prefer the Arctic. Less heat. Fewer snakes.”
Fury ignored the dry exchange, continuing. “This isn’t just about the artifact. It’s about who might already know it’s there. We’re not the only ones interested in ancient power, and we’ve got reason to believe someone else is looking for it too. Someone who doesn’t care about consequences.”
Clint’s expression darkened slightly. He had a bad feeling already curling in his gut.
Ancient power. Mystical artifact. Strange dig site in the middle of a conflict zone.
Yeah. This wasn’t just another job.
