#scarredbookworm

@scarredbookworm

Jim moved through the back garden quietly, avoiding being directly in main sight. This wasn’t the first time he had done this, but hopefully it would be the last.

His face throbbed from the beating he had taken earlier from the cadets, but he felt like a fire had finally ignited beneath him. Starfleet had much to offer, no matter how much he hated them.

And Kate hated them too.

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.

Alexandre Romanov found solace in the quiet corridors of the museum, the familiar marble columns and towering portraits of ancestors gazing down at him with knowing eyes. The exhibit today was a tour of his own palace—a hollow echo of a past he barely knew but was destined to inherit. He often came here, wandering incognito among the public, blending in with the crowds who marveled at what was once his family’s domain.

As he moved through the hall, the soft murmur of voices filled the air, visitors captivated by relics of a time long gone. Alexandre let his fingertips brush the cool banister of the grand staircase, feeling the weight of history beneath his touch. His steps slowed as he neared a room filled with delicate heirlooms encased in glass. It was then that he noticed her—standing just beyond the edge of the crowd, studying a painting with an intensity that piqued his curiosity.

She was not like the other visitors, who glanced quickly at each piece before moving on. No, there was a stillness about her, a quiet reverence in the way she observed the canvas, as though she understood something about the palace—and its tragic history—that others did not.

For a moment, Alexandre found himself rooted in place, watching her, the rest of the world fading into the background. The gentle light streaming in through the high windows cast a soft glow around her, illuminating the edges of her profile. He had seen hundreds of people walk these halls, but never had anyone caught his attention like this.

Without thinking, he stepped closer, drawn by an invisible thread of curiosity. His heart beat a little faster, an unfamiliar sense of anticipation building in his chest. He had always been alone, even when surrounded by people—guardians, advisers, servants—but there was something about this woman that stirred something deep within him. Something new.

It was enough of a lovely afternoon. 

Lucius found himself however, spending some time in the master bathroom making sure his appearance was A+ for the new visitor to come to the Estate. He combed out his hair once more, going down to its full length before feeling satisfied finally, placing down the brush. He smirked. Gone were the days he couldn’t take care of his appearance-- 

Oh, how he enjoyed being able to show off. 

Now, he was ready to go downstairs and answer the door---

So in a flourish, he picked up his cane he had been leaning against the sink’s edge,  and he adjusted his collar as well as his cuffs as he walked. 

The door to the mansion finally cracked open, and he smiled, his eyes not giving away any particular emotion as he stared at Katelyn. 

“Ah see i’m not just devilishly good looks-” Bill shrugged his fellow cursebreaker praising him for how he handled not getting trapped in the tomb earlier and salvaging the treasure as well.  “I’m taking my lunch break early seeing as we almost got trapped in there. Bollocks to Josh from transportation and his report. I’m rattled and when I’m stressed I need cake”

“Are you coming?”