He really shouldn't have been surprised to find Coulsen at his table when he walked into the kitchen, but somehow he still was. "You're going to get shot sneaking around in this house," he growled.
Phil arched a brow. "Thats not loaded," he said, nodding toward the gun at Bartons hip.
He pulled it from the holster. "The hell its-" The clip was empty. "What the hell," he snapped, "Don't touch my toys! I hate to share!"
Looking pointedly down the hall, Phil said, "I've noticed."
Clint scowled. "Don't do that," he said, "She has nothing to do with this."
"She has everything to do with it," Coulsen said, "You're going to get yourself killed."
"She would never hurt me."
"On the contrary, shes the only one who ever could," Phil said.
Barton glared at him for a moment before walking to the coffee pot and pouring a cup. "Fury send you?" he asked finally.
"No. I came on my own," he said, "I've known you a long time, Clint. I've never known you to disobey a direct order."
Barton met his friends eyes. "I've never had a reason before."
"Do you know what you're doing?"
"Nope."
"Do you want my advice?"
"Nope."
Phil stood to leave. "Don't get killed, Barton," he said over his shoulder, "I hate paperwork." He slipped quietly out the door, leaving Clint to his thoughts and the girl sleeping in the other room.
