A/N: Just something I cooked up whilst avoiding my math homework. They're probably about 14 here, and SHIELD trainees to boot. Enjoy!

Clint, Natasha, and Phil are not mine.

Clint stared a hole into his ceiling as he waited for the package to arrive. He lay flat on his back on his bed with his arms folded on his stomach, resisting the urge to bust out Pokemon—he never could find a good way to keep the light from the game from leaking under the doorway, and there was no way he'd nearly suffocate himself by pulling the covers over his head. He'd gotten caught every time.

Of course, he'd probably get caught with this too, with at least a two-week base confinement, but it would be so worth it.

Pretty soon, he heard a sort of slight ruffling sound from the ceiling, and he couldn't help but smile. Soon. Soon they would be all his.

Within moments, he heard a knock from the grate above his bed—a secret code they had made a while back. Grabbing his mini screwdriver from his bedside stand, he quickly removed the grate and came face-to-face with Natasha.

"You're late," he whispered in false exasperation. "Did you get 'em?"

"Shut up, or we'll both get caught!" she hissed back. Nonetheless, she handed him a newspaper-wrapped package. "Yeah, I've got them. Took me forever, too. Almost tripped the alarm three times. Coulson's office is like Fort Knox, Clint. One of these days you're going to have to figure out how to bypass the laser system yourself."

Clint whistled in appreciation as he took the package and placed it gently on his mattress. "Tasha, you're a life saver!"

"Don't mention it. I have a reputation to uphold around here."

"Are you sure you don't want any?" he asked quietly. "You're more than earned your share."

"That's okay," she replied. "I'd rather not ruin my body with that crap."

He chuckled. "Thanks anyway. I owe you one."

"Like I said, don't mention it." And with that, she crept through the vents towards her own room.

Clint reattached the grate to the ceiling and eagerly unwrapped the package. This was going to be so great. A dozen Hershey's chocolate bars straight from Coulson's secret stash, absolutely forbidden by the SHIELD trainee handbook. And, yeah, he was going to have to work twice as hard in the weight room tomorrow, but that was a small price to pay.

He finally tore open the box to reveal his prize—except, his prize wasn't there. In its place was Coulson's entire collection of extremely rare Captain America trading cards, the one that were to stay unopened forever to preserve their condition. But now, each one was bare and unpackaged, each with a little fold here or tear there or unidentifiable stain in the corner. Each one now totally worthless.

And there, stuck to the lid, was a small tracking device that bleeped with a small red light; that is, to say, a working, running tracking device.

He gulped and began to sweat. Coulson was going to kill him.

Clint quickly reopened the grate and stuck his head in the vent.

"Natasha Romanoff, you are so gonna get it!" he half-yelled, half hissed as Coulson stepped into his room.

"Clint, what are you doing up this la—" he asked with a tracking device remote in his hand, his voice trailing off as he saw his beloved cards in a ruined heap.

Clint could practically see the vein bulging on Coulson's head as he gulped and prayed that the agent would kill him painlessly. Somehow, he doubted it.

All the while, Natasha's mocking laughter could be heard from down the ventilation system.