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Clint sat at the far end of the canteen, his back braced up against the wall. From this position he could see the main entrance, the side door, the windows and through into the kitchens. He knew exactly how many people were in the room and where they were positioned. So when Agent Coulson walked in and stood in front of him, he wasn't surprised.
"Barton, you're becoming predictable. You've sat at the same table every day since you got here," stated Coulson. "You've even backed yourself into a corner, furthest away from all the exits."
Coulson was genuinely surprised by all of this. Barton's actions since he had arrived at SHIELD a mere two weeks ago showed that he had an uncanny awareness of everything around him. Not to mention an unhealthy sense of paranoia. He never stuck to taking the same route when he walked through the base. He never left his quarters or returned to them at the same time. He disliked being around large amounts of people, never let anyone stand behind him and he always made sure that he had the exit in sight.
Coulson knew that teaching Barton how to trust people again would be a slow process. God knows the kid had more reasons than most to hate the world and everybody in it. But they were working on it. Which was why seeing this one instance of predictable behavior was so unsettling for the senior agent.
Clint arched an eyebrow at Coulson. "I thought you said I was safe here?"
"You are," agreed Coulson as he sat down on the opposite side of the table. "You've only been here two weeks though. Old habits don't die that quickly. What's your angle?"
"No angle," shrugged Clint.
"Try again."
Clint stared at Coulson for nearly a whole minute before he decided to answer.
"You, like everybody else have seen me sit at the same table since I came here. But did you ever think that maybe that was the point?" asked Clint.
Coulson didn't say anything in return only continued to look at the younger man. Barton would get to his point, eventually.
"If I asked you how many exits there were in this room, what would you say?"
"Four," answered Coulson without hesitation. "If you're willing to try going out of a bullet proof glass window and drop two stories onto uneven ground."
"I am," shrugged Clint. Glass was never really 'bullet proof' more like bullet resistant. The right caliber could shatter the window pane to smithereens and he would be able to pass through relatively unharmed. "What if I told you that there were five exits."
"Unless you now possess the ability to teleport or pass through walls, I don't see how that is possible," groaned Coulson. Where was the kid going with this?
"No, but I knew I guy who could teleport. Though guy is a questionable term," smirked Clint. "That's how I learned German by the way. Probably why it's the only language I don't know how to swear in. I swear, this guy was a saint. Or a candidate for one. How do you become a saint anyway?"
"I'll add it to the list," said Coulson ignoring the saint comment. For a guy that had no formal education this was now the fourth language Barton could apparently speak. "Exit number five?"
"Nobody ever looks up," smirked Clint as he looked up at the ceiling to a square metal grill.
"The vents?"
"They go through the entire building. I mean it's a tight fit. Hell, I wouldn't want to spend too much time up there. But I get in, go left, take the second right and drop down in the main corridor right beside the main exit door."
"You've been in the vents?"
"Yes. Not that I'm complaining but why do all government buildings have such large vents? It's almost like they're inviting people like me with a really big welcome sign."
"It's to do with... wait, what other government building have you been in?" asked Coulson in concern.
"A few," smirked Clint. I've gotta say the Hoover building have the filthiest vents out of all of them." Clint stood up grabbing his empty tray as he went. "Now Langley, they are squeaky clean."
Coulson sat there at a loss for words. He couldn't quiet decide if Barton was being serious or not. The kid wove a lie into almost everything he said. Call it a game or just a habit, Coulson wasn't even sure Barton knew anymore, or why he did it.
"Barton?" Coulson called as he stood up and chased after the younger man.
"Yes sir?" asked Clint innocently turning around to face Coulson.
"Hoover and Langley?"
"What about them sir?"
"Have you really been there?"
"No."
"Now I know you're lying to me," sighed Coulson. "I need to know exactly what you were doing there Clint. I don't want this coming back to bite us on the ass sometime in the future."
Clint sighed as he rolled his eyes. "Nothing more than a retrieval. In and out. Nobody got hurt."
"When?"
"Really Coulson?"
"My office. Now." Coulson walked off without a backwards glance.
.
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"Talk," ordered Coulson as he closed the door behind Barton once the younger man had crossed the threshold.
"I took some files, I've no idea what they were," shrugged Clint as he slumped down in the chair in front of Coulson's desk. He didn't understand what the big deal was.
"When?"
"I was twelve when I walked through the front doors of the Hoover building."
"Twelve?" Coulson asked in surprise as he sat down behind his desk and started to boot up his computer. This could develop into a logistical nightmare. Barton was already on half the world's most wanted lists.
"Yeah, I was real small for my age. Good thing too, those vents were tiny," laughed Clint remembering the job with fondness.
Coulson continued to frown at the younger man, he really wasn't helping to put his worries at ease. "Explain."
"I was escorted to the department of missing children, like I requested at the front desk. Before I spoke to any agents I asked to use the bathroom. There I was able to slip into the vents. I climbed up three floors to the secure records department. I found the file I needed, stuffed it up my jumper and got out the way I came. I exited the bathroom and gave my statement that I believed my cousin was missing to the agent in charge. Which meant that I actually made up a load of crap, adding some tears for good measure. Then I left." Barton explained succinctly.
"How come your picture didn't come up in the facial recognition? You would have been caught on the security videos when you entered the building. Not to mention that the missing children's department would have documented a lone child coming in to speak to them. "
"Make up, hair dye, some props," shrugged Clint. "Wasn't really all that hard."
"And you don't know what was in the file?" asked Coulson not convinced that Barton didn't look. The kid had a natural curiosity about him. He wanted to know everything about everything. He was like a sponge, absorbing information and knowledge at an alarming rate.
"Nah, I mean I looked. Didn't understand it though," shrugged Clint. "It had something to do with a brother of one of the acrobats who had paid for my first bow. No more second hand rejects that had been discarded to the corner of the prop tent," explained Clint. "I owed him."
Coulson nodded as he jotted down a few notes. He was going to have to dig into any case files that were created because of Barton's little excursion and delete them. "And Langley?"
"I was seventeen," smirked Clint. "I went in through the AC vent on the roof, went straight to some guys office, used an electromagnet to corrupt his computer and then left."
"Who hired you for that one?"
"The guy whose computer it was," laughed Clint.
"Say again?" Coulson couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Why would an agent hire an outside party to corrupt his own computer?
"I didn't ask why," shrugged Clint. "I didn't care, I just got paid."
"Name of the agent?"
"Roger Armstrong. I'll always remember him. He was so weedy but he wasn't an agent. He was a store clerk," chuckled Clint. "Something to do with a wrong order and that he was petrified of his boss." Clint was laughing so hard now that had tears in his eyes as he remembered the job. At the time he couldn't quite believe someone would pay him an absurd amount of money to destroy one computer. It had sounded like a set up. In the end he'd done it purely because he'd been bored. It had been the middle of winter and the circus wasn't putting on any shows at the time. If it really was a set up then the job would be a challenge. But it wasn't. Easiest ten grand he'd ever earned.
"Really?" asked Coulson not believing him. This had to be one of Barton's creative truths.
"Trust me Coulson, I wouldn't lie about that job. The truth is just so much better than any lie I could possibly come up with."
Coulson leaned back in his chair, Barton was full out laughing now, tears streaming down his face. It was a nice sight to see. The kid was too serious for his own good. Too paranoid. It was good to see him behave like a normal twenty-two year old. But god dammit this kid was going to bury him in paperwork before they even got close to running their first Op.
AN: Thanks for reading people. Reviews most welcome. Your thoughts are always appreciated.