Clint grimaced as the cold coffee hit his tongue. He'd been nursing the same cup for over an hour, sitting by the window with a perfect view of the Fang family's store across the street. The morning rush had died down so the shop was a bit empty.
A whole week. He'd been watching the Fang house since last Sunday.
His mind drifted back to Friday, 13th of May. What a joke, getting called in on Friday the 13th. He'd actually been home for once, helping Laura put together Lila's new crib when his secure phone buzzed.
"Barton." He'd answered without looking at the caller ID.
"I need you here right away," Coulson's tone meant business.
Clint glanced at Laura, who was holding the crib instruction manual upside down. "How right away are we talking?"
"Pack a bag. This could take a while."
The line went dead. Clint stared at his phone for a second, then looked at the half-assembled crib before sighed.
He kissed Laura goodbye, promising he'd be back soon. She just smiled and told him to be careful. After three years of marriage, she knew the drill.
The drive to New York was brutal. Eight hours of highway cutting through the darkness with container trucks as his only company. Clint's mind kept turning over Coulson's call. No details. No briefing. It was quite weird.
Usually, that meant something big was going down. A dangerous target needed tracking. Maybe some high-tech weapons that needed stealing from some criminal. The kind of jobs that required his particular skill set.
But something felt different this time. Coulson's voice had been tense, sure, but its also filled with... confusion? Uncertainty?
Clint stopped at a truck stop around 2 AM, grabbed some coffee that tasted like motor oil, and caught three hours of sleep in his car. When he woke up, his neck was stiff and his back ached, but his mind was clearer. He checked the secure phone then look up at the newest message he had.
Simply put, this time was not the usual mission he got.
(What the hell does SHIELD want with me that requires this kind of urgency but doesn't involve shooting anyone?)
He made it to HQ by 7 AM, looking rough but alert. Saturday morning at headquarters was always weird. The hall was half empty with only quarter of it personnel working.
Clint walked straight to Coulson's office like he'd been told only to find that his superior wasn't alone. Agent Hill and Director Fury were there too. Unusual, but he kept his cool and sat at the far end of the table.
Coulson drummed his fingers on a manila folder, then slid it across the table. "This folder has your target and some people around him. Take a look."
"'Target' seems a bit much for surveillance, doesn't it?" Clint opened the folder, already knowing this wasn't going to be his usual assignment.
"We prefer 'person of interest,'" Maria said, tapping her tablet.
The wall screen lit up, showing a picture of a young Asian boy. Nothing special about him. Just a teenager, probably middle school age, wearing torn clothes and looking lost. The next photo showed the same kid, cleaned up in fresh clothes, walking behind three people. One adult and two kids in high school uniforms. The folder had more details about the middle-aged man's wife too.
"That's the Fang family," Maria explained. "They own Fang Square, the supermarket in Midtown Manhattan."
Clint studied the photos. "So what's the deal? Kid shoplifting? Seems below our pay grade."
"He appeared out of nowhere," Coulson said. "Right when we detected an energy signature we've been tracking since May 9th."
Clint leaned back. So this was why he'd driven through the night. His first assignment that didn't involve chasing dangerous criminals, stealing tech, or blowing up some illegal arms dealer bases was a surveillance job. On a kid.
(Eight hours of driving for this?)
Fury drummed his fingers on the desk, fixing Clint with that intense stare.
"One more thing, Barton," Fury said, his voice dropping. "Take the girl with you."
Clint knew exactly who "the girl" was. The young woman he'd brought back after that mess in Budapest six months ago.
"Sir, you sure that's wise? She's still adjusting to—"
"She needs field experience that doesn't involve killing people," Fury cut him off. "This is observation only. I want both of you watching, not engaging. Clear?"
Clint sighed internally but still nodded "Crystal". He was already thinking about how complicated this would be. Natasha was still dealing with what happened in Budapest. After they'd bombed that hotel, she'd become even more withdrawn. Only spoke when necessary, and usually only to him.
"This isn't a strike mission," Fury continued, leaning forward. "The target is a person of interest only. No action unless he's a clear and immediate danger. You're there to watch and report back. Nothing more."
Clint nodded again, accepting the assignment despite his doubts. He was the one who brought Natasha in after all. Because of that, he was now become her chaperone.
______________________________
Now back to present he was confused. He'd been pretending to be a regular customer at this coffee shop near the Fang house for a week. But the target hadn't shown up once.
Honestly, this was the easiest mission he'd ever gotten. He should be grateful, but it was getting boring.
He sighed and looked at the young woman sitting across from him.
Natasha sat with her long red hair in a ponytail, staring back with those unreadable green eyes. She'd ordered the same coffee as him and a peanut butter sandwich, which she was taking apart piece by piece.
"Anything?" Clint asked, keeping his voice low.
She shook her head. "Nothing. The parents leave for the store at eight. The twins usually leave for school at seven but since it Saturday, they go with their parent. Perhaps they helped in the store again like last Sunday. Still no sign of our person of interest."
Clint drummed his fingers on the table. This wasn't like usual mission for Natasha. Sitting out in the open, even with her disguise. She usually preferred shadows, high places, spots where she could watch without being seen. But Fury insisted they maintain visible covers.
"Maybe he's not staying with them after all," Clint muttered, taking another sip of cold coffee.
Natasha's eyes flicked toward the Fang house. "No. He's there."
Clint raised an eyebrow. "You sound pretty sure for someone who hasn't seen him either."
"The mother buys extra groceries," Natasha said as matter-of-factly. "The father brings home more takeout than a family of four needs. Yesterday, the twins also came home with a third set of textbooks."
Clint had to admit she had a point. The details were there if you knew how to look for them.
"So why haven't we seen him?"
Natasha's fingers stopped picking at her sandwich. "He's inside. Either by choice or..." She left it hanging.
Clint frowned. The thought that the boy might be held against his will had crossed his mind, but the Fang family didn't seem like the type. They were normal from the reports. But it was true that since they'd sheltered the boy, they'd been more withdrawn too.
"We need to get closer," he decided, checking his watch.
Natasha nodded, finally taking a bite of her deconstructed sandwich.
"You know," Clint said casually, "normal people just eat those whole."
The corner of her mouth almost twitched. Not quite a smile, but the closest he'd seen in weeks.
"Normal is inefficient," she replied, examining another piece of bread. "This way I get perfect peanut butter distribution."
Clint watched her calculated dismantling with mixed amusement and concern. Her methodical approach to something as simple as eating reminded him how differently she saw the world.
"Why do you glare at everyone like that?" he asked, trying to keep it light.
Natasha looked up. "This is how I look at people."
"That's not how you should look at people," Clint said, leaning forward. "You should try to seem more casual, maybe even friendly. Blend in better." The words slipped out before he could stop them. "Didn't they train you for that too?"
The temperature dropped instantly. Natasha's face went blank and ice-cold. Clint realized he'd stepped directly onto a landmine.
"Shit," he muttered, slapping his forehead. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up."
Natasha gave a short nod, acknowledging his apology without accepting it.
After a moment, she picked up what was left of her sandwich and ate with small bite.
Inside, Clint was getting frustrated. This wasn't like his usual assignments. Normally after a week of surveillance, he'd have gathered some critical intel or at least confirmed his target's presence. But this time, he had nothing solid to report except for the coffee bill that was getting bigger. Well, SHIELD was paying, but still. He'd never gone this long without getting concrete information.
He glanced at Natasha. Maybe he was looking at this all wrong.
(Might as well treat this like a vacation and enjoy it,) he thought. The weather was decent, the coffee wasn't terrible but a little pricey. Most importantly, nobody was shooting at them.
By SHIELD standards, this practically was a holiday.
And maybe this was good for Natasha. This was also probably the first time in her twenty one years of her life to visit a café. Maybe she'd remember what it felt like to be human instead of a walking weapon.
He watched as she wiped her lips with a napkin, her eyes never stopping their constant scan of everything around them.
(Baby steps, I guess.)
Still, Clint couldn't sighed as he missing home. He and Laura could've playing with Lila as they laughed together, watching their daughter try to take her first steps.
______________________________
Sean shifted on the park bench, keeping one eye on the morning joggers. He'd claimed this spot that was about three hundred meters from the Fang house. Close enough for his enhanced hearing to pick up conversations inside, far enough to avoid suspicion.
The two SHIELD agents had positioned themselves much closer, setting up in a coffee shop only a hundred meters from the target house. They could watch windows all day, but they were missing the real intel. Sean had a crucial advantage they didn't. Superhuman hearing that could catch whispers from blocks away.
(Ah, but they don't know what they're missing, do they?) Sean thought. (Sitting there sipping their coffee while the real story's happening right under their noses.)
Six days of surveillance had passed since he'd taken this assignment. His mind drifted back to the previous Friday, when the X-Men team had gathered in Charles's study to discuss their next move. The usual crew was there. Hank, Warren, Moira, plus Storm.
"We need to approach this carefully," Charles had said with his fingers pressed together under his chin. "SHIELD's involvement complicates things."
"Why not just go in and introduce ourselves?" Warren had suggested. "We're not exactly criminals."
Hank adjusted his glasses. "Because even government agents tend to shoot first and ask questions later with anyone. Not to mention us. Now think how a normal family will react."
"Especially when they think we're interfering with their operations," Moira added.
They'd gone back and forth like usual before Charles told them about another Cerebro session he'd done on Wednesday, two days after he first noticed the blip. He'd managed to track the boy who now lived with the Fang family.
"The signature remains unusual," Charles had explained with his brow furrowed. "Not mutant, yet... different somehow. I can sense him, but I cannot read his thoughts clearly."
Storm asked. "Could he be shielded somehow?"
"Possible," Charles nodded. "Which is why we need eyes and ears on the ground."
"I can handle this," Sean offered. "My hearing's better than any surveillance equipment SHIELD might have."
Charles turned to him. "Are you certain, Sean? This would require quite a time away from your family."
Sean nodded firmly. "Maeve understands the work we do here. Besides," he added with a half-smile, "Theresa's been driving her mad with those vocal exercises. The house could use some quiet time."
The room chuckled, but Sean's expression grew serious. "If this lad's in trouble, I want to help. And if SHIELD's involved, we need to know why."
"Just observe for now, Sean," Charles had cautioned. "We need to understand who this boy is before making any moves."
______________________________
A twig snapped nearby, pulling Sean back to the present. He casually turned a page in his newspaper, maintaining his cover as a man enjoying the morning air while reading the newspapers.
"Seven bloody days," he muttered under his breath. "And still no sight of the lad."
(Fair play to him though,) Sean thought, scanning the quiet street with practiced eyes. (Knows how to stay hidden.)
Sean's fingers drummed against the newspaper as he watched a young mother pushing a stroller along the park path. His mind went through the details of the past week's surveillance, building a clearer picture of their mysterious target.
The timeline was becoming clearer with each passing day. Arvin had appeared on May 9th. Exactly when Charles detected that strange Cerebro reading. The family called him by his first name, and from scattered conversations Sean had overheard, the young man was Indonesian and could speak Chinese.
(Indonesian, eh? Long way from home.)
That first night of his surveillance, Saturday evening, had provided crucial intel. Sean had positioned himself on this same park bench after dinnertime, testing the range of his enhanced hearing. Fang Chou had been speaking Chinese with their guest. Words Sean couldn't understand, but his following English conversation with Christina revealed plenty.
"Leo says he should disappear for at least for two years. Or eighteen months, at the earliest." Fang Chou had told his wife. "Until then, he had to stay hidden."
Christina's worried response had been equally revealing. "Just like when you found me," she'd whispered. "Shipped here against his will..."
(Trafficked, they think,) Sean mused, adjusting his position. (Can't blame them for thinking it, given what the missus went through. But something doesn't sit right about that.)
The family believed Arvin had been trafficked. A reasonable assumption given Christina's apparent history, but something about it didn't quite fit the evidence Sean was gathering.
Sunday evening had brought more revelations as Arvin cooked for the family. Nasi goreng and cap cay, according to Fang Chou's enthusiastic description to his children. The family's reactions painted a picture of someone serious culinary skills.
(That's lad who knows his way around a kitchen. Takes years to learn cooking like that.)
Sean adjusted his newspaper as a jogger passed by. His enhanced hearing stayed locked on the Fang house. Arvin moved with naturally quiet footsteps, likely developed during whatever training he'd received from his great-grandfather in the mountains. Sean tracked him mainly through his heartbeat which was much more faster and stronger than the other family member.
(Light on his feet, this one. Someone taught him well. Wonder what else he learned besides cooking.)
The household had settled into a predictable routine. Each morning, Christina and Fang Chou would leave for their supermarket. The twins walked to school together, Jeremy chattering while Cynthia listened patiently. Throughout it all, Arvin remained inside, his elevated heartbeat the only evidence of his presence.
(Patient one, he is. Most lads his age would've gone mad by now.)
Wednesday evening had broken the pattern of silence. Arvin had prepared the same dishes again but with a spicier variation that had the family practically singing with delight. Jeremy launched into what appeared to be Captain America stories while Cynthia translated like usual.
(Getting comfortable with them, finally. Good sign.)
Sean's encrypted phone buzzed against his leg. Storm's daily check-in. He sent a brief update: Target remains in residence. Continuing to follow family's advice to stay hidden. Still using Chinese as usual. Relies on Fang Chou or Cynthia for communication.
Storm's response came quickly: Continue monitoring.
Sean pocketed the phone and stretched. Across the street, he could see the two SHIELD agents through the coffee shop window. The male agent sipping his coffee while the redheaded woman maintained her awareness. They were watching empty windows as usual.
(Amateurs,) Sean thought with mild amusement. (All that fancy tech they have and they're missing the story that's right in front of them. Should've brought some with them.)
After six days of observation, Sean was forming clearer conclusions about their target. Definitely human, not mutant. Charles had been clear about that. The lad was flying from China back to his country. Skilled cook and trained with some methods by his family. Currently following the Fangs' advice to remain hidden for his own protection.
But the big questions remained. The family believed Arvin had been trafficked, yet Sean detected inconsistencies in that story. The subject was clearly holding back information about his true circumstances. That was the missing piece shrouding his situation. The only explanation that made sense was Hank's theory, far-fetched as it was, but conventional explanations failed to account for his sudden appearance detected by Cerebro.
(What're you hiding, lad?) Sean wondered. (Whatever brought you here, whoever you're running from... there's more to this story than meets the eye.)
Sean turned another page of his newspaper, maintaining his cover while his enhanced hearing stayed focused on the Fang household. The mystery deepened each day, but Sean had patience. Whatever had brought Arvin here, whatever secrets he was keeping, the truth would come out eventually.
(Time's on me side,) he thought. (Truth has a way of coming out eventually.)
∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘
Hey guys!
Back again with another weekly chapter!
Thankfully I managed to write it on time.
I've been trying to back to the groove step by step.
The issues I had said last time still there, but I tried to balance it with other thing that more positive.
So, yeah, I hope I can write like this again and not late like last week, but I will not make any promise that I can't hold. I just hope I could at least write a chapter a week like usual.
Anyway, that's the message that I want to say.
Hope you'll enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it!
As always, thanks for sticking with me on this journey. Let's keep enjoying the story together!