Red Room is just a little scared of Hawkeye. Fury appears again.

Clint had stopped by the next morning, nodded at her request, and took the list of things that she felt that anybody could provide. Everything on her list appeared with her lunch, and she spent most of the afternoon putting things away and watching one of the videos that she'd been given.

By the time Tuesday came, Natasha had watched all the videos, read both books that Clint had lent her, and was quite ready to get out. Time had been marked by what was on the television, and the three meals that were delivered to her each day by a pair of heavily-armed guards. There was enough space for her to do some exercises, and she did what she could. So when the door opened late that afternoon, she jumped up from the bed in anticipation.

Clint stuck his head in, bruise on his jaw. "So, want to go for a walk?" was all that he said, with a small smile. She swung in next to him as he started to limp down the hall, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Are you okay?" the question surprised her, and from the look that Clint gave her, it surprised him too.

He shrugged. "Anger management issues on the part of one of your old friends. Hardest part is explaining it to my classmates." He opened a door. "Agent Barton, reporting in because Coulson is a mother-hen nanny who doesn't believe me when I say that I'm okay and just want a really long hot shower and a chance to study, maybe even some ice cream, which he won't let me have unless I came here." Clint grinned down at Natasha, "welcome to Medical. One of my favorite places on this entire boat, tied only with Psych." He winced slightly as one of the medical staff poked at his shoulder. "What?"

"Room three, Agent Barton." the man glanced at Natasha, then started to smile as he looked between her and Clint.

"Hey, eyes on me," Clint's voice was low and dangerous. "And that's an order. You saw nothing, heard nothing, remember the e-mail that was sent out? I promised to be good, but promises can always be broken. Understand?" He glanced at Natasha. "Let's go."

She followed him, head held high, into an exam room, where he jumped up on the table and pointed at a chair. "Sit." She sat, watching as he carefully unlaced one of his boots, dropping it to the ground. A couple pieces of paper fell out, and she leaned forward to pick them up. "Leave it."

A brief knock was the only warning they got before the door swung open and a man in scrubs entered. "Agent Barton. What, no Agent Coulson?"

"Nah. Miss Romanoff is getting time off for good behavior, and you don't want to know what Coulson said." Clint's voice was mild. "Incidentally, doctor, remind the staff here that they are to read all e-mails, memos, and smoke signals sent out from their superiors, and follow the instructions and orders contained therein. I will not hesitate to subject any of them to your tender mercies after they've had a chance to experience mine, and that is an order from me to you. Now, if you can just sign my note for Coulson, saying that I do not have anything broken or requiring stitches, and am in fact alive and well, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Doesn't work that way, and you know it, Agent Barton." The doctor just gave Natasha a glance, before turning back to Clint. "And since you already have a boot off, I'm guessing that you are having some trouble with that foot? Can you move it?"

"If I think about it, I can even walk without limping!" Clint sounded proud, childlike, Natasha decided, as she obediently sat and watched everything. When the doctor made Clint take off his shirt, she thought that she realized what the whole "no lookee, no touchee" line he'd given her the other day was about. So he had scars, she sniffed to herself, keeping her face blank. Of course he would, even if she couldn't figure out why some of them were so extreme; even in the KGB and Red Room, surgeons were careful to try to not leave any scars. So why the doctors here weren't as careful, she couldn't understand. She absentmindedly nodded when she was told to stay there while Clint got x-rays taken.

"Hey, ready?" Clint's voice interrupted her contemplation, and she realized that he was fully dressed again and back in control, leading her out into the main room. "Maybe one day I'll tell you about what you're thinking so hard about. But no more looking." He paused, thinking. "Damn." Knocking on a door, Clint opened it and leaned in. "Hi doc. Went on a mission Sunday and just got back. Killed a guy who done needed killing because he pissed me off. Used drugs to do the dirty deed, they aren't letting me use my bow nearly enough these days and it's making me twitchy. Got beat up by dead guy's friend. Killed dead guy's friend with my most favoritist knife in the world. Cleaned said knife. Cleaned some of me. Came back. Put on a clean uniform because Coulson said that even though I didn't care about the blood on my uniform, most folks here don't like seeing bloody people wandering around and I'm still not allowed to scare the tourists. Saw Medical who said that I'm cleared today if only because I threatened to start breaking things since restriction means no gym time even though my ankle is hurting like a bitch right now and they want me on crutches. I may or may not have switched out x-rays on them, and I'll deny ever saying that if anybody asks. No nightmares, problems eating or sleeping, post-killing shakes, or desires to go on a rampage unless somebody starts talking about something that is very much not mission related and that has been dealt with already. Have a super-hot lady who just defines serious sexual tension standing right next to me because she can't be left alone outside her room for now. Please let Coulson know that I did come to talk to you, bye!" He shut the door on a faint "dammit, Barton!" and nodded at Natasha, a satisfied look on his face. "There, all done. Food for Clint and Natasha time."

Natasha couldn't help it, she giggled. "Is this normal for here?"

"Nope. I'm special." He nodded again, then leaned down to whisper into her ear. "As you well know, right? Just like you, Natasha Romanoff." He rolled the r in her last name slightly, and the feeling of his breath on her ear made Natasha shiver. Straightening, he continued down the hall. "Don't know about you, but I really would like something to eat that doesn't come in a bag."

The mess hall was mostly empty, and Clint led Natasha through a serving line. Sitting at a table, he looked at her levelly. "So, this is how it's going to work from here on out, as long as you're good. If you're willing to keep on playing a cover, you can follow me around at school. If you want to come tomorrow, we can even go to a mall when I'm done for the day, I've gotten permission. There are some folks here who want to talk with you, pick your brains. Not literally, we save the brain probes for people who resist our diabolical plots." He tapped his fingertips together and cackled like a mad scientist, then sobered up again. "So, I've talked with Coulson, and he's talking with Fury, and right now we're thinking that you might like a bit of a paycheck as a consultant for cooperating with us, and not killing our guys in suits slowly and painfully with their ties because they can be idiots and usually are. Lemme know what you think."

"Are you always like this?" Natasha blurted out. "With the doctors, and Agent Coulson, you are one thing and then another, and then with that man you were another, and you confuse me."

"This is the real Barton, yes. I'm actually quite surprised that he's acting like this." Coulson sat down at the table. "Clint, do I have to start giving you drug tests? I never got a chance to ask you about this earlier."

"Fox, Coulson," Clint was busy eating. "Fox. And not in front of the help, please. And I think I had told you that it's damn tiring, keeping everything straight these days. If I didn't tell you that, I'm tired of trying to keep everything straight. One is no problem, but bouncing between normal and two or three is tricky and might drive me even more nuts and again, you told me to break Natasha out of her funk, which I quite obviously did, one hell of a lot faster than Psych would have. Besides, you give me cookies from who knows where, so if I'm on anything illegal, they're coming from you."

"Incidentally, psych called me. You do need to have an actual mission follow-up with them, what you pulled doesn't cover it."

"Curses, foiled again. When?"

"Right now. I'll stay with Miss Romanoff."

Clint nodded and frowned, standing up. "Just for that, you get to take care of my dishes." He limped off, still frowning.

"I swear," Coulson was muttering. "Six years. After six years you'd think that he'd start to grow up." He looked at Natasha. "Miss Romanoff, let's head over to my office, where we can have a talk. We have probably an hour before Clint comes barging in. Thirty minutes, guaranteed, unless he pulls something again."

Natasha sat down in Coulson's office, watching as he held out a box. "Cookie?" He offered. "I promise you, regardless of Barton's smart-ass comment, they are not drugged."

She looked between the box and Coulson. "Thank you," she said, delicately taking one. "I did not think that they would be."

"So, since I knew that Clint gave you the offer, do you have any questions that I might be able to answer?" Coulson was giving her a look, prompting her to be honest.

"First, why cookies?"

"I've been Clint's handler since he walked through the door. It's habit now, more than anything: bribe, reward, threat, punishment. Obviously you know a little bit about him, but what he is in the field is not what he is here."

"Ah. Might I have a second?" Natasha nodded her thanks as Coulson passed her the box. "I did not expect...this. It is confusing. And please, call me Natasha."

"Natasha. You chose to come with us of your own free will; not only that, you asked to come. By doing so, you gave SHIELD an incredible opportunity. Two, actually. First, your defection means that the Red Room lost one of their best operatives, if not their very best. Secondly, you are in a position to help SHIELD learn more about the Red Room, because you have been there for quite some time. You are able to tell us about how they operate at the levels that we haven't been able to get to, you have information locked up tight in your head that everybody would love to learn." Coulson leaned back in his chair. "So what purpose would it serve, keeping you in a detention cell and having you in interrogation eight, twelve hours a day? You have the potential to become a good friend to SHIELD, and friends don't treat friends like criminals."

"What sort of restrictions do I have?" Natasha glanced at the box, thought, and took a third. They were good cookies.

"We ask that you don't go anywhere without an escort, we'll probably lock you in your room at night for a bit longer, and we also ask that you don't try to have your nefarious ways with Clint in public."

Natasha felt heat rising in her face. Ducking her head, she mumbled, "He is...frustrating."

"Yes, he is. Around here, Natasha, we do things a little bit differently than how most places do things; relationships aren't encouraged, but they're not completely forbidden. If you want to, fine, have fun, don't keep people up at night, and keep it professional in public areas. If you don't, tell him now, or else he'll keep on doing what he's doing until one or both of us will want to toss him overboard. If you do start having problems, please let me know. If you think you're going to need to hurt him in any way, again, please let me know." Coulson opened a drawer in his desk, and started looking through it. Natasha heard him muttering about "giving relationship talks to adults, at my age. Ridiculous." He looked at her again. "Hold out your hand."

"Why?" she held out one hand, only to have him put a bracelet on it. A faint click suggested that there was a lock involved. A business card was also placed in her hand.

"Tracking bracelet, one of our own design. We made sure to have a woman on the design team, so hopefully it doesn't offend your sense of style too much, and hopefully it goes with what you like to wear. It's waterproof. Just in case there is some deep programming in you that nobody knows about and you try to take off or get into places where you're not supposed to be. Sadly enough, we'd be able to deal with you attempting to kill any number of SHIELD personnel. With few notable exceptions, we do try to avoid microchipping people. Also a list of phone numbers that you might find useful. If you would prefer, we can give you an ankle tracker, but you're to wear one or the other until we say otherwise. If you do start feeling any urges, please let us know."

Natasha smiled, suspecting that he was referring to Agent Barton, again, with the microchipping comment. Most of Coulson's commentary always seemed to return to the archer. "Agent Barton mentioned a fox to you. What was that?"

"He gave you a copy of the Little Prince, did he not? Did you read it?" At Natasha's nod, Coulson continued, "What do you remember about the chapter with the fox?"

"One cannot see properly with the eyes?" She asked. Coulson nodded.

"Clint calls it the 'you tame it, you keep it' chapter. He made the call to bring you in, he was assigned to get you back to being you, and he is responsible for you until told otherwise. Do not look at me like that, Natasha. Which is also probably why Clint is being so relaxed with you; he's got something running in his head that he hasn't shared with anybody yet. Tell me, what does the Red Room say about him?"

Natasha sat up straight. "Code name Hawkeye, assassin, sniper, spy, has been with SHIELD for a minimum of four years, actual length of service unknown. Real name and personal history unknown. Preferred weapons bow and arrows, followed by knives, then guns. Bow has multiple purposes, multiple functions, arrows are of a wide variety. Able to go undercover in a wide variety of environments. To be considered extremely dangerous, do not approach or attempt to compromise, eliminate with extreme prejudice, heavy accent on extreme. The general thought was that to truly ensure that he was dead would require dismemberment and burning the body parts at least 50 kilometers away from each other, then treating the ashes with lye and salt." She paused, thinking. "He has many more scars than would be expected."

"Interesting. They know more and less than what we thought. Good. If rather disturbing. And he's rather sensitive about some of those scars." Coulson glanced at his watch. "So. Agent Clint Barton, nickname, not full name. SHIELD operative, specializing in assassinations, spying, sniper, works solo unless otherwise told, been here six years. Smart ass, slow to trust, bit of a joker, introvert, keeps everybody on their toes. He has rank enough so that if people give you problems, you let him know and he will deal with it, keep it off my desk unless absolutely necessary. Far more observant than you might think, he was the only one that caught some of the signals that you were sending out, including some that you may not have even realized that you were giving off. Never knocks before entering my office, hopefully that will stop once the new locks are installed. All done, Clint?"

"Yeah." The man in question sat down next to Natasha, holding out a badge. "Here, present for you. Swung by security, got you a visitor's badge." He leaned forward, grabbing the box of cookies. "Mmmm, drugged cookies. Yummy. All cleared by Psych, went and looked longingly at my bow, came here to find you slandering my good name, and I've good reason to be slow to trust, thank you very much. And to ask if I can take Natasha to the range. Your door wasn't locked in the first place."

"Not yet. Slandering your good name would imply that you had a good name in the first place, and I'm going to wait to hear from Psych to find out if you really were cleared or just blew them a bunch of smoke as usual. Now get going, I want your mission report tomorrow morning, and thank you for getting Natasha a visitor's badge. I understand that you're taking her with you tomorrow? What's her cover?"

"Yeah, and long-distance girlfriend. She can also drive me around, if you can fake her a driver's license by tomorrow morning, I can and will drive on this ankle if I have to, but Medical is being a pain about some stuff. Cleared it with professors, as long as we don't have a test, she's welcome to sit in as much as she wants. Hitting up the mall on the way back. Can I expense that?"

"Maybe. Keep receipts. Again, scram."

Clint stood up, taking the box of cookies. Natasha followed him out of the room. "So, Natasha, where to?" He glanced at his watch. "Have thirty minutes, maximum, then I need to be doing some stuff."

"Can you show me around some, then?"

"Sure, I can give you a fast tour on the way back. So, we just left Coulson's current office. Down the hall that way is lots of cool stuff, I'll show it to you another time." Clint kept talking as the two walked.

Stopping in front of her door, Clint stared down at Natasha. "Well. Option time. I've got some stuff to do, namely that mission report and some studying. What would you like to do?"

Natasha thought for a second. "May I stay with you for now? I can watch television."

"Sure." Clint opened the door to his quarters. "I've even got movies, if that sounds like more fun."

As the door shut behind them, Natasha went and sat on the bed, watching Clint. Opening a drawer on his desk, he tossed a remote control at her, then went over to the wardrobe. "Here," he said, pulling a box out and setting it on the floor. "If you want a movie." He reached back in, and pulled out some clothing. "And now for my one greatest wish." He entered the bathroom, and Natasha heard the door lock behind him.

"Damn," she muttered in disappointment, before standing up and going to see what movies he had. Choosing one, she stretched out on the bed, closing her eyes and just listening to the movie and the sound of the shower running.

A finger, ghosting over her jaw and down her neck, made her crack her eyes open, to see Clint standing over her, hair wet, head tilted to one side with a curious expression on his face, as if he couldn't figure out just why there was a woman in his room, let alone his bed. It was almost childlike, Natasha thought. She opened her eyes fully, making him jump. "Different," was all he said, before moving to sit at the desk. Opening his laptop, he glanced over at her. "And here's my mission report secret. Have templates all saved, and then it takes less time because you just have to fix the details. So...death and destruction, enter password because some people are nosy bastards and I'm professionally paranoid, Red Room, leadership, and boom." He started typing rapidly, then paused, opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a cold pack. He adjusted his chair so that he could put his foot up on the bed, carelessly tossing the ice pack on top of it, then returned to typing.

Natasha noticed that the ice pack was only partially on his ankle, and adjusted it so that it was fully on top. "Do you have another?" A second was tossed at her face. "Thank you." She sat up, and picked his foot up, placing the new ice pack on top of a pillow underneath his ankle. She looked up, catching his puzzled glance. "I have found this method works better." She lay back down, looking at the TV, giving his foot a gentle pat.

"Thanks," was all that he said, and Natasha wondered if she heard an undercurrent of nervousness in his tone. It was either that or fear, and she didn't think that the man would be afraid of anything.

She was half asleep when the phone rang and Clint cursed, slamming something onto his desk. "Really? Thought the do not disturb button was supposed to keep this thing from ringing. Barton. Yeah. Look, doc, you want me on crutches, send somebody to my quarters with them, and I'll think about it. It's up, icing. Send a brace along too, then, no way in hell am I letting you put a cast on it for as long as you did last time, especially if I can walk on it and it's not broken. Yessir. Yessir. Nope, not going to apologize about switching x-rays, or even telling you how I did it." He laughed as he hung up the phone. "Well, that fixes that little issue of explaining stuff tomorrow. And somebody has some explaining to do."

"What fixes what, Agent Barton?" Natasha sat up.

"Clint. It's Clint." Again with the nervousness. It intrigued Natasha. "But yeah, vanishing for days at a time and returning injured? Most people there think I'm in an underground fighting ring or am being abused, the rest haven't said anything in my hearing." He laughed, softly, bitterly, reaching for a book on his desk. "I don't try to discourage their assumptions. This time I can just say that I took a tumble down the stairs at the hospital or something." A knock on the door had him shaking his head quickly. "Could you get that?"

Natasha nodded, moving over to open the door, accepting the crutches and brace with a quiet thank you. "Where would you like these?"

"Eh, wherever." Clint had gone back to reading a book spread across his lap, pen in hand. "And your movie is over."

"Do you mind if I watch a second? It is nice, not being in a room all by myself." Natasha placed the brace on the desk, leaning the crutches against the wall by the door.

Clint shrugged. "Sure." He paused, then started to stand up. "Wait one, I should probably clear the bed first, or else Coulson'll get mad. Again." Balancing on his good leg, he leaned over the bed, quickly grabbing several knives and slipping them into a desk drawer. "Okay. All good now." He glanced at her, glint in his eyes. "Be good, mmkay? Would hate to have to...do things."

Natasha didn't respond to the dig and just nodded, stretching out on the bed. For all that she had sat around so much recently, she was tired, and ended up falling asleep. She was woken up by a ringing phone, and Clint's quiet cursing. "Barton. Dammit, Coulson, don't you know what time it is? Aw, shit. Yeah. Yeah, forgot to set the alarm. No, she fell asleep here. Of course. Sure. Thanks." She sat up, realizing that at some point in time Clint had flipped a blanket over her, and glanced over, seeing him rubbing his face. "Running late. Go get dressed, if you want a book or something, help yourself." He stood up, picking up the ankle brace and frowning at it, then headed for the wardrobe. "Seriously, I don't think you want to go two days in a row wearing the same thing, your hair is a total mess, and Coulson is on his way over with breakfast and a few things for you. Door'll be unlocked."

Natasha hurried through her shower and paused before returning to Clint's room, grabbing his books and backpack. She stopped in the doorway to his room, seeing Agent Coulson sitting in the desk chair, a bag at his feet, and Clint cross-legged on the bed, quickly eating. A second plate sat on the desk. "Here," she said, holding out the books and bag. "Thank you for letting me borrow the books."

"Natasha." Coulson stood up, gesturing at the desk and picking up the bag at his feet. "Brought you some breakfast. Also have some other things for you; US driver's license, some cash, wallet, purse, and we think these might be the shades of make up you prefer, if you even want to wear any." He spoke quickly, pulling things out of the bag as he went. "You and Clint need to work on your cover story, so start thinking of that. You aren't in any computer systems outside of SHIELD, so please don't do anything that will require us to cover for you."

"He means, don't get us pulled over, don't shoplift and get caught, don't get arrested." Clint had finished eating and grabbed his backpack, putting things into it. "Eat up, finish getting ready. We need to leave."

Natasha obeyed, eating with one hand and poking through what Coulson had brought her with the other. "Thank you." She finished, and followed the men through the halls to the flight deck. A man that she had only read about was standing by the door.

"Director Fury," Coulson nodded. "Natasha Romanoff. Barton, she'll be right behind you."

"Miss Romanoff," the tall man nodded. "Welcome." he paused, watching as Clint slowly made his way to the Quinjet. Holding one hand in front of her, he looked down at her. "We're watching you, understand? Set one foot out of line, Agent Barton has his orders and this time he will follow them. He also has some things for you to work on, a list of questions that you can possibly help us out with." He smiled. "And thank you, for allowing me to knock his ego down some. I owed him."

Natasha nodded. "Yes, sir. I will attempt to answer all the questions you have." She stored the ego comment away for later. "Thank you for allowing me these freedoms."

Fury nodded. "SHIELD can be a very, very good friend, Miss Romanoff, or a very, very bad enemy. You are making decisions that will affect just what SHIELD will be to you." He lowered his hand. "Have an...educational day."

Coulson and Fury stood and watched as the Quinjet took off. "You know, Director, that wasn't very nice of you to leak those videos. They figure out just what you were referring to, you'll have Clint after you, and potentially Miss Romanoff as well."

"It was very, very satisfying, however."