"Sir, those cards were in Phil Coulson's locker, not his pocket." Agent Hill stated.

"They needed a push in the right direction… They got it."

Agent Hill couldn't help but note the ambiguity of those words. After all, misdirection was the oldest trick in the book; answering a question by changing the subject and then hoping the person asking wouldn't notice.

But Hill had noticed.

Of course, she remained silent and allowed the Director to think he was in the clear, but she'd noticed and for the first time that day Maria Hill allowed herself to hope. To hope that maybe, against all odds, Phil Coulson had survived.

After the Chitauri invasion was over and the chaos and confusion on the helecarrier had died down, Nick Fury finally left the bridge. He parted with a glance over at Agent Hill, whom he noted with a tinge of pride, seemed to have everything under control and made his way back to his office.

She was suspicious.

She had caught him in a lie and now that brain of hers, trained to see the lies anywhere and everywhere, would be working in overdrive. Her S.H.I.E.L.D training in combination with her natural instincts had turned her into a human lie detector. Under normal circumstances this skill was an invaluable asset to the Agency, but today, today, she had become a problem. A problem that could expose how desperate Fury had really become.

He made his way back to his desk, replacing pieces of furniture that had been knocked down or damaged during the earlier invasion. Another thing he would have to explain to the Council in a few hours, right after he started a verbal smack down that would start with something like: "you think you have the f**king authority to nuke Manhattan? And then when I say no, to go over my f**king head?"

Yeah, he was definitely still pissed about that.

And, the Council were certainly going to regret getting on his bad side. After all, he had two of the world's best assassins working for him, neither of whom would have appreciated having a nuke fired at them on the Council's orders any more than he did.

But then, Barton and Romanoff wouldn't appreciate some of his actions today either.

No, in fact, Fury was certain that they were going to be more pissed at what he'd done than at the Council-ordered nuke, which had been headed at them only a few hours previously. And, if Romanoff had got around to breaking the news to Barton…

Shit. They were going to go rogue and kill him when they found out.

Not that Fury didn't have a healthy amount of pride in his own ability in a fight, but taking on Barton and Romanoff together… Well, Fury knew damn well that anyone who had attempted such a thing was no longer alive to tell the tale.

He sat down behind his desk and picked up the relevant file from the bottom drawer (everything marked Clearance Level 15 was only printed on paper, one of the many annoying consequences of working with Tony Stark). Fury went through Agent Coulson's file and added the most recent medical report, one that he hoped, wouldn't be the last.

Desperation made even a normal man do crazy things. And he had been desperate… Very desperate. The Avengers initiative had been his last hope and he had done everything necessary to ensure that it would work… that they would win.

So, Fury blamed desperation… after all if a normal man could do something dreadful in a desperate situation, wasn't the Director of a semi-covert government agency allowed to do the same?

It was after two rounds of Schwarma and a seemingly endless journey back to Stark tower, that Natasha finally found herself alone with Clint and able to tell him the news that she had been holding back since she'd 'recalibrated' him.

"Clint…" she said looking over to her partner and for the first time in many years she found herself unable to find the words to say to him.

"Hmm…?" Was Clint's eloquent response from where he was perched on the sofa. They had made it to Stark's somewhat decimated living room, where Natasha had just finished pulling the remaining glass out of his back. They were both now passively studying the large Loki-shaped dent in the middle of the room.

"Clint… Phil is…" She sighed and ran her hand through her hair, "Phil…. Phil died during the raid on the helecarrier."

That was all it took, eight words uttered in a few seconds, to reduce S.H.I.E.L.D's best marksman to a stunned and broken silence.

"Was it me Tasha?" Clint finally asked, after what felt to Natasha like an eternity of silence.

"No Clint, it was Loki." She said firmly and then added; "When could you ever get the drop on Coulson?"

She had hoped it might cheer him up and for a few seconds it seemed to work, however a few words from Clint quickly shattered that illusion.

"But it was because of me."

He walked away then, heading straight for the roof. He needed peace, he needed quiet and he needed the distance. All of this Natasha understood, so she let him go. He needed time to grieve.

They all needed time to grieve.

Clint had been on the roof for about forty minutes before he realised what he needed to do. He needed to see it for himself. He needed to see with his own eyes that Phil had really died before his mind could even begin comprehending what Tasha had told him.

It was these thoughts that had led him down to the basement, to 'borrow' one of Stark's cars. JARVIS had told him that Stark had given each Avenger full privileges in the tower, so much the better, Clint noted, as he would have borrowed the car either way.

What he had not counted onwas the AI telling Tasha what he was up to. So, he was surprised to say the least when the angry redhead confronted him as he was about to drive away.

"Where are you going?" She asked, glaring into his eyes, and admonishing herself the moment she realised she was checking them. She was looking into her partner's eyes and checking their colour, because for a moment, for one brief moment of panic, she'd thought they'd been blue.

"Back to base."

"Why?"

"To watch the footage."

She understood then. He needed to see. This she could cope with. Clint needing proof, she could cope with that. Clint leaving… well that didn't bear thinking about. She realised then how compromised she had become. If nothing else, Loki's invasion had shown her that much.

"I'm coming with you." It was a statement of fact; one that Clint knew would broker no argument.

"Ok" he said, as she climbed into the seat next to him.

It took them about an hour to get to the S.H.I.E.L.D base, an hour that they had spent in comfortable silence. Neither of them was chatty by nature and their partnership had been strengthened by their shared appreciation of silence.

When they finally reached the base, had gone through the relevant security protocols and had parked the car, they headed straight for the surveillance suite. They made their way through the beige S.H.I.E.L.D hallways at their usual brisk pace, ignoring the passing glances of other agents.

What they found when they got there; neither of them were prepared for. Stood amid the myriad of computer screens, surveillance equipment and S.H.I.E.L.D agents monitoring the base was Director Fury.

"Director." Was all Clint said, uncomfortable meeting him so soon after he'd shot him.

"Barton." Fury said with a nod, "Thanks for saving New York… and for not taking a head shot." He added slowly, figuring that was enough said on the matter. As far as he was concerned Barton was himself again, and pending the usual medical and psych evals, he would have his best asset back in the field as soon as he was able.

"I'm not sure thanking me is the way to go, Sir." Clint muttered. Tasha just glared at him in response.

"Pa ja ne, samo mi nije spasiti svijet." ("Well I do, we did just save the world.") She said to Clint in Croatian, knowing it was a language that Fury didn't speak.

"Nevertheless Barton, you shot me and I'm still here to tell the tale, we both know that's a feat very few can claim." Fury said, ignoring Romanoff's comment, he probably deserved a snide remark or two.

"I need to see the footage, Sir." Clint said, brushing aside the Director's thanks. He wasn't ready to moderate his guilt. He didn't think he would ever be able to moderate it.

"Of the attack on the helecarrier?" Fury asked, assuming that Clint wanted to count the dead, to be able to write down the names in his infamous ledger.

"No." Natasha said answering for Clint. "Just of Coulson." She would let Clint watch the footage of the helecarrier attack over her dead body. And Clint had never matched her in hand-to-hand combat, so she was confident it was a threat she would be able to pull off.

"Fine" Fury said simply, signalling the surveillance tech to pull up the relevant footage on one of the many large screens encircling the room.

They watched. They watched as Coulson spoke his final piece and the medics started their work. They watched as Fury announced over the comms that Coulson was down. And they watched in silent rage, as the medics revived Coulson and carried him out of the frame.

It took a few moments for the initial shock to wear off. It was then that Clint realised his hand had gone straight for the knife hidden against his thigh. Natasha, however, had already drawn her gun and was quietly contemplating shooting Fury in the kneecaps.

In the end it was the look of guilt in Fury's eyes that made them reconsider.

"Why?" Clint asked, through gritted teeth.

"Desperation."