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"Bored bored bored bored bored," a voice in Phil's ear suddenly said. "Bored bored bored bored goddamn bored."

Phil lifted his fingers to his earpiece. "Barton?"

"Afternoon, sir," Clint responded, and even through the link Phil could hear him grinning, pleased to have been distracting.

"What do you need?" Phil asked, sitting back in his desk chair.

Clint sighed audibly. "I need something to do."

Phil frowned. "You're a specialist. Kick someone off the range."

"They put me in the Igloo," Clint complained.

Phil shook his head. "How did I know?"

"Because I'm just that damn hot, sir," Clint replied.

"Yes, Barton, that's it," Phil said, deadpan. "My lust for you is so strong that a hundred-thousand-dollar scentproof chamber barely puts a dent in it."

There was a pause; Phil could hear a thud, one that almost certainly resulted from a bored agent kicking the wall of a hundred-thousand-dollar scentproof chamber. "Did this really cost that much?"

"Tony Stark built the Omega Containment Chamber with the knowledge that there was a possibility he'd have to use it," Phil pointed out. "The fact that it doesn't have gold-titanium fixtures and a full bar is frankly shocking."

"He could have at least put a magazine rack in here," Clint grumbled.

"I keep telling you to bring a book," Phil told him.

"They said I wasn't supposed to have one when they frogmarched me in here," he replied.

"You're not supposed to have a radio, either," Phil pointed out.

"Radio's smaller, and just as entertaining," Clint said.

"I'm glad you're amusing yourself," Phil said.

"Oh, I am," Clint said, in a voice he probably thought was seductive. "Do I have a sexy heat voice, sir?"

Phil put his fingers to his forehead. "Goddammit, Barton."

"It's just a question," Clint said innocently.

"You can ask all the questions you want when you get out," Phil said, flicking to the next screen on his tablet. "Right now I'm trying to work."

"You're no fun anymore," Clint sighed.

"I was never fun to start with," he countered.

"Don't sell yourself short," Clint said. "You can be very entertaining when you feel like it."

"Thank you, I think," Phil said.

There was a long silence; Phil waited, knowing better than to let himself be lulled into a false sense of security.

Sure enough, Clint spoke again. "Do you think we could get a skeeball machine in here?"

"Why skeeball?" Phil asked, frowning.

"Because I suck at skeeball," Clint told him.

"How can you suck at skeeball?" Phil said, incredulous.

"Weird, right? But I was just never good at it," Clint said. "I'm surprised you didn't ask why I want it when I suck at it."

"Why would you want to be stuck in there with something you were perfect at?" Phil said. "All you could do is run up incredibly high scores and save them under A-S-S, which grows tedious very, very quickly."

"You sound like you know this from experience," Clint said suspiciously.

"I used up a lot of tokens in my day," Phil said. "Now is there anything you actually need before I cut you off? Because I have other things to do."

"When are you going to come down here and spring me?" Clint asked.

"I can't, and I'm not," Phil said firmly. "The only people with the unlock codes are the omegas on the medical staff. You know that."

"Come the fuck on," Clint said. "I will pay you enough to build another one of these damn things if Fury doesn't have a remote release. And I'll pay you double if you don't have the codes."

"Even if I had the codes, which I don't," Phil lied, "the Containment Chamber is for your protection. I can't just let you go."

"You're not going to seriously sit there and suggest that I couldn't hold my own against any alpha on this base, are you?" Clint said.

"The point is that you shouldn't have to," Phil told him. "If you come out of there, someone is going to attack you."

"And that's my problem as an omega," Clint said. "Because alphas just can't keep their shit together and act like human beings. Perish the thought."

"Barton, it's a biological imperative," Phil said, resisting the urge to sigh. "Alphas can't be expected-"

"That's bullshit, sir," Clint said fiercely. "You're an alpha. I could be standing bare-ass naked in your office right now with 'Fuck me' written on my ass, and you wouldn't even try to do anything I didn't want, because you're a better person than that. I'm stuck in this thing because some damn alpha might find out that they're not a better person. I don't appreciate being locked in here just to keep somebody from an uncomfortable personal revelation." He sighed angrily. "Now fucking get down here and let me out."

"You shouldn't trust me to do that," Phil said.

"I'm a historically trusting person," Clint told him. "If you're afraid you're going to be unable to resist the urge to throw me up against the wall of a hundred-thousand-dollar scentproof chamber, pick up condoms on your way, because honestly I'd been wondering if I really did have to get bare-ass naked in your office and write 'Fuck me' on my ass."

"Didn't you just say that wouldn't work?" Phil asked.

"That's why I hadn't done it yet," Clint told him.

Phil sighed. "I'm not fucking you in the Containment Chamber."

"Is that meant to imply that you'd fuck me outside it?" Clint asked.

"Play your cards right," Phil said.

"I knew I had a sexy heat voice," Clint said triumphantly.

"Get off the comm, Barton," Phil told him. "Take a nap or something. I'll retrieve you when I'm done with my work."

"Serious about the condoms, sir," Clint told him. "You have another three hours before I'm legally in full heat. You're here before then, or I can't consent. Clock's ticking."

"I'll take that under advisement, specialist," Phil said, tabbing out of his program and prioritizing his to-do list. Surely all of this didn't have to be done this afternoon.