Her fingers tenderly rake against his scalp, soothing the hammering pulse behind his eyes, as her lips softly brush against his. She smells and tastes of salt; a mix of blood and sweat that conceals her natural scent, but he can still taste her underneath, on her lips, on her tongue, still smell her on her skin, on her hair.

He cannot seem to stop cupping her face with his soiled, callused hands, his coarse thumbs stroking her jaw, fingers disappearing into her hair. She lightly scrapes the nape of his neck with her nails, pulling his bottom lip in between hers, and he sighs against her. She kisses him unhurriedly, carefully, thoroughly, centering him; drawing him out of his memories and into this present moment. The room is quiet and her cheeks are warm against his thumbs and her pulse thrums against his palms and his chest aches and he hurts. All he knows right now is her. He sighs into her again.

She breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against his, her hands still combing his hair as his thumbs rest against her cheeks, forest green meeting gray blue. "Here?"

Clint tilts her head up and kisses her chastely, "here."

They go back to picking glass out of his arms, except now Natasha is standing between his legs and his hands are resting on her hips.

She drops another shard into the mug. "How'd you get these, anyway?"

"Breached a window."

She turns to him and raises an eyebrow. "Without sleeves?"

He shrugs, winces at the knot in his shoulders, "not my best idea."

"Not your worst." He cannot argue that.

There is pounding at the door, followed by Tony's voice: "SHIELD just picked up Loki and Selvig, you two done banging yet?"

Clint rolls his eyes, squeezing her hip before grabbing another piece of gauze and swiping at a trickle of blood on his bicep, "You and Coulson weren't over exaggerating."

Natasha ignores Tony's jibe and inventories the remaining shards, "five more minutes!"

"Well hurry up! Shawarma!"

She leans toward Clint's shoulder to better see a cut and he kisses her temple. "I thought he was kidding."

"He's hard to read at first, but you'll get used to it."

"Huh."

She pauses and looks at him. "What?"

"It just occurred to me that working with these guys isn't going to be a onetime deal." Neither agent is sure how they feel about that.

The air is thick with dust and the restaurant owners look confused and tired when their group walks in chatting amicably, bell chiming overhead. The scent of roasting lamb and beef assaults his senses and for a moment Clint is back in Qatar following half a dozen tired kids in uniform into a worn, cheerless diner. But Thor's deep, full laugh snaps him back to attention and the memory is gone. Thor and Steve are already sitting at a table, Tony waves a waitress over while Bruce uprights two chairs. Natasha is at his side, silently waiting for him.

"Shawarma and coffee. Lots of both, preferably."

Clint shakes his head, "no. No coffee." He looks to the waitress, "do you have Gatorade?" She shakes her head, tired and in shock over the attack and confused as to why these people are here, now, and if he had the energy left he might feel something; guilt, pity, shame, for her, but he does not. Life always goes on too quickly after battle. "Then water."

Tony pouts. "No coffee?"

Natasha takes the seat next to Steve, pointedly ignoring Bruce's sheepish glances, and Clint carefully lowers himself into his own seat, suppressing a groan of discomfort. "We're dehydrated, low on carbs, sugars," he winces as Natasha helps him lift his leg onto the back of her seat, gives her a small smile, "we need water, food, sleep. Maybe a shower in there somewhere."

"So… no coffee?"

Bruce accepts his glass of water from the waitress with an appreciative smile before turning to Tony. "Agent Barton's right. Although tomorrow's going to be hell no matter what we do. So," he lifts his glass with a shrug, "cheers."

Clint, Natasha, Thor, and Steve all promptly down their glasses, Thor waving for a refill, and Clint cannot help but feel a sense of comradery with the captain and the demigod; they are both intimate with this post battle exhaustion and comfortable with sitting in silence. Tony has experienced it, too, but only a few times, and, if the reports are accurate, Bruce always spent this time alone. Both look a little uncomfortable.

After Thor's fourth refill the waitress gives up and brings them two pitchers. The shawarma arrives minutes after, not quite warm enough and a little sloppy, but Clint almost melts with contentment at the first bite. Natasha rests her hand on his leg, above his ankle, and he thinks that she must sense it, too; the familiarity. Post mission shawarma, how many times have they been here before?

Steve looks around the table, chewing thoughtfully, and Clint watches him, waiting for him to speak. The captain settles his eyes back on his sandwich. "The food, the company, kind of reminds me of East Prussia." He looks out at the tattered, broken street. "Outside, too."

Natasha pours herself another glass of water from a pitcher. "Prussia's gone."

Steve blinks. "You're kidding. I spent a month there."

No one seems sure what to say to that, and Steve is undoubtedly, obviously going over memories, so they settle into a comfortable silence again. Although if the way Stark keeps twitching his lips is any indication, Clint knows the quiet will not last for long.

Seconds later Tony scratches his chin and opens his mouth. "I can't believe Rhodey didn't show up. Asshole still has my suit."

Bruce mumbles a "who?"

Natasha puts her sandwich down. "Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes of the United States Air Force. A friend of Tony's."

Bruce looks to Tony. "You gave him one of your suits?"

Natasha raises an eyebrow, and Clint can see the smirk in the corner of her lip. "He stole it. After kicking Tony's ass."

Tony glares at her. "It was an even fight."

"Not if you consider the learning curve."

"But I was drunk. And dying. And where were you during that little brawl, by the way?"

Natasha levels a stare at him and Tony gives it right back. "Evacuating your guests. And Pepper."

"Fair enough. As to my original question…"

Clint shrugs. "Fury probably told him not to."

Tony waits for Clint to continue for almost ten seconds before losing patience and motioning at the archer, "care to elaborate, agent Barton?"

"Fury likes to make statements, get people's attention, leave a strong impression. He wanted you four to win. And he wanted the world to see it. Lt. Colonel Rhodes would've taken away from that."

"That why you use a bow?"

Clint nods. "Arrow's a little more… memorable than a bullet. Let's the right people know SHIELD was there without me having to get close."

Bruce pauses mid chew. "That's a little macabre."

Thor shakes his head, "we have a similar tradition in my realm, I knew a warrior who cut off the left hands of his fallen opponents and placed it over their faces, so whoever was collecting the dead had to remove the hand to identify the fighter."

Bruce sets his partially finished sandwich in his basket and flexes his left hand. "That's worse."

Tony nods, "that's a little messed up."

Thor shrugs, "I sometimes thought it was unwarranted, but he was a good warrior."

"Hydra didn't even leave bodies to send home. Got shot by one of them and you just… vanished."

Clint has no idea what to say to that, and apparently neither does anyone else; the group abruptly falling into an awkward, morbid silence that lasts for several minutes.

The bell over the door chimes and Clint turns to see four military police at the door, three New York police officers waiting just outside. He can feel the blood drain from his face. A young, extremely nervous Corporal steps forward and clears his throat awkwardly, eyes darting around the room as if unsure where to look. They finally settle on Clint, but another minute passes before the soldier finds his voice. "Agent Clinton Barton of SHIELD, I am here to place you into custody as ordered by the Council."

Steve stands up and slams his hands on the table, "on what charges?"

All four MPs immediately have their hands over their side arms, eyeing each member of the group warily. A Private slowly reaches into his uniform and pulls out a stack of papers, cautiously handing them to his superior, who begins to read: "Espionage, conspiring with the war criminal Loki, stealing a government vehicle, hijacking a government aircraft, incapacitating a …hellicarrier? Deserting your post, infiltrating a military base-"

Natasha rips the list from the Corporal's hands, Clint can tell from the multiple pages that the man barely made a dent in it, and shreds it into pieces. All four MPs have their pistols cocked and pointed at her face, Thor and Bruce are standing, and Tony is making his way around the table.

"I'll go." Everyone turns to look at him and Clint stands, a hand supporting his weight on the table. "I'll go."

The Corporal clears his throat, 9mm now pointed at Bruce. "We're here for Bruce Banner, too."