Disclaimer: The Avengers characters are not mine, just borrowed for this story.

Reviews are always welcome and appreciated

**This story follows Uneasy Lies the Head that Wears the Crown, taking place during Clint's early years with SHIELD.

A Forgone Conclusion

Chapter 1: Every Sunday's Getting More Bleak

Seattle: SHIELD Northwestern Headquarters

Watching through the window of the observation deck as the Quinjet made its way towards the tarmac, Phil Coulson stood in his impeccably tailored suit. It lacked its usual grace, resembling a wobbling giraffe on new legs as it reached its final resting position, having returned from the majestic wilderness of the BC Rocky Mountains. Every inch of scenery up there was a scene worthy of a postcard, that Coulson might enjoy if he ever got the chance to travel without any object to complete. Unfortunately, his own experience of the area was tainted with bad weather, aching muscles, and his training officer grading his survival techniques; he wasn't sorry he missed this particular adventure. He glanced at his watch, on time, before abandoning the observation window and making his way down the stairs for the door.

Crewe hadn't been particularly thrilled about taking Barton alone on his weeklong excursion to test the recruit's survival skills, but the hands on training was something their charge could benefit from. Since Coulson had been bogged down with reports regarding his main mission, it was an added benefit to get the young archer out of his hair, off base, and into some fresh air for a couple of days. Theoretical studies and mission plan reviews had proven too difficult for all involved, Barton showing more of an interest and aptitude to a more hands on approach. Phil chalked it up to Clint's lack of formal education and baptism by fire existence more so than any real intellectual shortcomings. Still, babysitter and classroom teacher weren't his forte to begin with; having an unruly pupil was just adding frustration for all.

"Do the shutdown sequence, your post flight checks and then store your gear," yelled Crewe stepping out the back hatch of the jet. He hefted his gear bag over his shoulder, looking a little worn from the experience. Leaving the archer to finish dealing with the jet, he sauntered over to Coulson, nodding in greeting.

Sensing the other man's unenthusiastic mood, Phil hesitantly asked, "How'd it go?" Crewe glared in response. "Well, at least you didn't leave him out there. You didn't leave him there did you?" Coulson glanced back towards the jet for any glimpse of the man in question to verify it was actually Barton that had flown back.

"No. Even if I tried, the kid's like some weird ninja, he'd find his way back. For the record, if the kid can't drive, I'm not the one teaching him."

"Pilot lessons not going well?"

"Oh he's picking it up, but like everything else, a rock has better self-preservation skills than him. A rock! I mean if you want someone for the next kamikaze mission, he's your guy, but the whole come back from the mission concept seems to be lost on him."

"He does seem to have a chip on his shoulder compounded by a fluctuation between trying to test the boundaries with superiors and proving himself worthy. I'll talk with him, again." It seemed to be a recurring conversation. Despite Phil's reassurances, the archer held fast to his belief that the second his value to the agency waned, his place would disappear.

"Wouldn't it be easier for everyone just to toss Barton's ass at the academy and let them straighten him out instead of forcing babysitting duty on us?" grumbled Crewe. Regular agent duties didn't fall into his wheelhouse, train definitely wasn't in his job description. Sometimes Fury had funny ideas on how to get things done.

"Special agents require special handling. Besides, they don't need Barton organizing a frat house." Coulson had been blessed with a vivid imagination and had come to some scary conclusions about what the archer would come up with if left to his own devices.

"I sent him to go study for tomorrow, but I'm sure he's made origami animals out of his textbook by now." Alternative uses for SHIELD sanctioned learning materials would have been Damian's first move if someone had forced him to sit in a classroom and learn all the things he's picked up first hand too. He suspected his training had been a little more thorough and a little less conventional that even Barton's. He also suspected that this exercise in training was also a test to how Coulson adapted to the new role.

Phil clammed down on the small amused chuckle that threatened to break his hard outer shell. "What's your informal assessment of his potential? Others seem to think we're wasting our time; even Fury is indifferent to his future as a Specialist."

"The Director's indifferent to everyone until he's not. As long as he's not actively trying to terminate you, he probably sees potential. As for Barton, he got his GED, is practically working on University level courses, almost made up everything he would have learned at the Academy, had he gone and can work within and understand protocols. Whether he chooses to apply protocols and respect them, is another thing entirely." Crewe gave a half-hearted shrug. "I can only throw him to the mat so many times; it's up to him the make the corrections. I think the only thing that's going to instil those survival lessons is real life experience, which he has more of than most of our senior agents. In short, camping's not going to do it anymore, which is good cause I hate camping."

"Alright, I'll see about bringing him on to the next mission after his evaluations."

"Who'd you'd find that was willing to trek it out here to evaluate Barton? He ran off the last three instructors you used."

"I found someone special that's used to dealing with unique people." Coulson pulled open the door to the facility allowing Crewe to juggle his things through the door. "We have a briefing today regarding other matters. Can you be ready in two hours?"

Crewe glanced at his watch and gave a small nod of consent. "See you at sixteen hundred hours."

Phil returned his curt nod before taking the opposite hall as Crewe. He'd been responsible for missions and teams before, but never the entire training of one individual. Barton's success or failure was riding on his shoulders, and damn it, he was going to make sure any agent he took into the field was ready for that responsibility. He had been the one to make the call to recruit the young man, a boy really. It was a decision that SHIELD seemed to take advantage of, pressing Clint into action in one of its army regiments, circumventing any actual academy training in favour of his perfect aim and suitableness as a sniper. While Barton had proved he could roll with the big dogs, it hadn't exactly worked out to anyone's satisfaction. In fact, Clint had been a gut feeling away from getting a bullet in the head. Phil had planned to rectify that situation, and Fury was all too happy to dump it all in Coulson's lap.

He swung by the cafeteria grabbing a sandwich and bottle of water, while pocketing a package of doughnuts for himself. Opting to take the long way to the dorm section after stopping by his office to retrieve his briefing packet, he figured Barton had enough time to find his way back to his room. Gently he knocked at the door, only to find it hadn't been securely closed to begin with. It moved open a crack, offering a tiny sliver of view into the room.

"Yeah?" called Barton, pulling the door fully open before flopping back on his bunk.

Phil glanced around the small and sparsely filled room before stepping inside. The furniture was all SHIELD issued and standard dorm setup. A couple of books were piled haphazardly on the desk that seemed to be used more for eating than any kind of real studying based on the pile of paper plates stacked in the corner. The books themselves were probably the only thing that belonged to Barton himself besides his clothes which had the misfortune of also mostly being SHIELD issued. One of the larger actual textbooks was wedged in the window, keeping the glass up and allowing a soft breeze to freshen the room.

"That book actually has other uses," offered Coulson.

Clint casually glanced towards the window. "But that's the one I like the most."

"If you don't pass tomorrow, you'll be put on stand down which means none of the missions that you love so much," pressed Phil.

"You mean the busy work that anyone can do, that you call missions so your recruits feel special?" corrected the archer, with a cock sure grin. He hadn't made it a secret that while Coulson saw the value in doing things properly, covering the basics before moving on, Barton saw it as a giant step down, hovering in the territory of punishment.

"Those are the ones." He tossed the sandwich and bottle of water at the young man, who caught them without trouble. "I've brought in a special evaluator for you, who will see you after you finish your written. Please try not to embarrass yourself. And short of that lofty goal, try not to make me regret this."

The promise of a new victim perked Clint up. "Someone special? Who? Agent Johnson didn't like being shown up?" Clint threw in with a cocksure smirk. It wasn't that he was trying to make his evaluator's lives miserable, well okay, he was, but when people made it so simple it was hard to bite down on the urge to go along with it. Besides, if he bit first, it hurt less when they bit back. Not to mention the fact that some of them were asking for it in a major way.

Coulson rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Your ability to run metaphorical circles around a weapons evaluator doesn't mean you should."

"He told me to shove the Robin Hood shtick and use a real weapon," protested Clint, his voice rising slightly. "I simply showed him how good that hunk of junk worked." He didn't bother to hide his triumphant smile. Coulson had allowed some extra wiggle room for his penchant for non-conventional weapons based on his skill, but that courtesy didn't seem to resonate from anyone else. Barton's whole life people seemed to take one look and write him off, see his many failings and inability to measure up. Any chance to smash the doubt was embraced with both hands.

Phil shook his head. "For someone with exceptional eyesight, you seem unable to see what's in front of your face." Training Barton was an uphill battle, not from any lack of skill or physical impediment from the work but a complete lack of trust on the young man's part. Phil couldn't really blame him, the world proving time and again that trust is what let pain and suffering into one's life, but he was at a loss to find ways to prove that he could be trusted by the archer. He parted with, "Make sure you're on time tomorrow and prepared, please. Study. I promise you won't be disappointed with that comes next," leaving Clint alone in his room.

Clint sighed heavily as the door clicked shut. He glanced back at the book wedged in the window for a brief moment before choosing the sandwich over studying. It didn't matter how well he did on the written, it meant nothing without an official sign off from his final evaluators. While he figured Coulson would give it to him, if just to get him out of the agent's hair, that left him three short. Crewe was a crap shoot, always watching and mentally cataloguing everything the archer did. Barton respected the man's style, but realistically Clint wasn't a team player or even a rule follower. Coulson was the epitome of perfect agent, in fact if cloning technology became available, Clint was certain Fury would disband SHIELD in favour of an army of Coulsons. Crewe, on the other hand, seemed less conformed, operating on the fringes of SHIELD and rules. Out of everyone, Crewe seemed like he had a back-story Barton could probably relate to, if he could ever get anything other than mild indifference out of the man.

Fury would go along with the majority, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility to kibosh the whole thing. Clint secretly hoped saving the man's life might sway him into his corner, but the Director was practical. A useless weapon wasn't worth keeping around eating up valuable resources that could be spent on people that enjoyed saluting and blindly walking into bullets because they were told to. The last signature would belong to whoever Coulson had convinced to show up tomorrow and based on those that came before, probably had already decided against the archer before ever setting foot on the base. No matter what he did, that was already one strike against him and the first step to SHIELD throwing him out on his ass, which meant that he was presently on borrowed time; no point in wasting it burying his nose in a book.

Coulson shifted from foot to foot as he watched the flight crew escort their guest inside. Among intelligence organizations, SHIELD was the stuff of legends, so it was only expected that its membership included some of the greats. He had had the honor of meeting some of those individuals, however there was still a thrill attached to meeting a giant of his organization. At times, despite the stress, being Fury's right hand man had advantages.

"Agent Carter, I hope your flight was pleasant," he greeted, extending his hand to take her briefcase for her.

"Please, Phil, I'm practically retired; Peggy will be fine."

She fell into step beside him, saying nothing of the boyish grin that went from ear to ear. "Yes, ma'am." He had promised Nick to keep his fan-boying to a minimum, and in most cases he succeeded, but never in the honoured presence of Peggy Carter, a woman worthy of praise on her own right who had once stood side by side with the greatest hero of them all. Phil's enthusiasm made up for the lack of interest the other agents and recruits in the hall; the youth of today no longer enchanted by the pillars and founders of their great organization.

"So, tell me more about your candidate. Nick seemed very interested in my opinion of him."

"Clint Barton: already completed a year of actual field experience within a military division. That played out rather... interestingly," summarized Phil.

Peggy smiled fondly. "It's the interesting ones that are usually worthwhile." Her own personal recruitment list over the decades was filled with interesting candidates that her peers had sloughed off as unworthy. It was always the special ones that made up the heart of SHIELD, kept it from becoming a cold and calculating war machine. Steve might not have been there to see it, but Peggy had personally vowed to make sure the home team kept people around to remind everyone of the virtues they should aspire too, even if there were situations that required the dark cloaked hand of mendaciousness to see results.

"That's what I'm hoping." He passed over a copy of Barton's history with SHIELD, a far thicker file than any other recruit. "Far from a glamorous childhood with a string of questionable adolescent choices..."

"That's putting it mildly," injected Peggy as she flipped through the papers.

"Regrettable career choices aside, he has skills and a natural instinct that I think would be of value to this organization."

She smiled. "Well, we'll just have to see how he fairs when I put him through his paces." Her days of being called upon for actual fieldwork had diminished long ago, stolen by age rather than nerve. It left her to fade into the background like the old relics in which SHIELD had been founded, but every once in awhile there was need for the wisdom and experience of 'old' things. It was enough to keep her from pulling the trigger on retirement. The days of playing hero and guardian with Howard had drawn to a close; the torch needed to be passed down. Few were so lucky to pick the future representatives of their dream.

Peggy bid Phil goodnight and retired to her assigned quarters to study the Clint Barton manual that had been complied so far. Tomorrow was going to bring many interesting things.