I had wanted to post this on Friday, but wasn't sending me my e-mails saying when someone posted a new chapter, or reviewed, or anything else and so I panicked. I didn't want anyone to miss a chapter, so Friday I did post chapter 5. Make sure you read that before reading this.

Anyways, I know a lot of you were waiting for this chapter. I hope you all enjoy the ending of it! ^_^

It took about another half hour of each and every Avenger making their arguments as to why Clint needed to go to the Helicarrier. In the end, a video feed phone call from Fury was what ended the whole fight. Fury ordered the sick agent to be dropped off on the Helicarrier as the others headed off to the fight. So, begrudgingly, Clint allowed himself to be dropped off. Course when he was told to go to Medical. Well, he was told and not ordered. So, Clint began wandering around the carrier.

Now normally, Clint would take to the vents and go to certain areas of the carrier. But, everyone's arguments about him passing out or other such nonsense did make him worry. God forbid he was locked away in a tight corner of the vents, where no one normally traveled, and he passed out. So, he took to the halls and kept on getting strange looks from other agents. Many were just curious as to why he was in the hall but a few still gave him a wary or angry gaze. Though it had been over a year and a half, there were a lot of agents that remembered that Clint started on Loki's side. Even if it wasn't his choice.

And with a year and a half gone, Clint was slowly mostly over the idea that many of his friends and fellow agents either died by his hand or because he had attacked the Helicarrier. Nearly all of the funerals were over. But there was one that Director Fury was delaying as long as possible. He claimed that it was because he wanted that funeral to be last. But whenever it got scheduled, Fury would send either Natasha or Clint away. Both of whom had already demanded to be there for this funeral and Fury had agreed. So, Clint suffered. He had no where to say goodbye to his friend, mentor, handler and almost brother. Phil Coulson was not yet buried.

"Barton? What are you doing here?" a familiar voice called. Clint looked up to the person. It was Maria Hill. Giving her a light smile, Clint tilted his head with a mock play tone.

"I am an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Even if I am on medical leave," Clint retorted. Hill snorted.

"Not what I mean. Bruce warned that you may have meningitis. That is contagious. He also mentioned a possibility of strep throat," Hill muttered. Clint nodded, having heard the diagnosis before. He ignored it then and will ignore it now.

"Well then," Clint began before leaning forward and doing an exaggerated cough. Hill grimaced and leaned away from the sick archer. All Clint could do was smile at her. Finally, rolling her eyes, Hill shook her head and turned to walk away. Clint's smile dropped as he watched her begin to leave. "Really? Not going to argue that I need to be in Medical?"

"I could use some time off," Hill responded as she continued down the hall, not a care in the world. Clint snorted, now more pleases with himself then before. It was then, that Hill gave him an idea. He was normally always a practical joker, so why not do that? Why not go around the carrier acting more like the diseased 'dead' man?

So, off he went to go find some props to use. His first stop was Medical. There he grabbed some bandages, a patient gown, an IV needle, some tape and surprisingly, some tissues. Once done there, he headed toward his old room which Fury left active as a just in case. Hidden away, Clint began to wrap the bandages around his head, his right arm and left leg. Then he added the IV needle to the back of his left hand and taped it down like so many nurses had done to him before. Following that, he dressed in the gown. Looking in the mirror of his room, he felt like it wasn't enough. Turning about, Clint remembered his make-up kit.

One of the perks of being a spy is that you get make-up kits that are filled with all sorts of tools. Another perk of being Clint is that not only is he a spy, but he was a carny (or circus performer depending on how you want to look at it). That meant he had done day after day of make-up application to not only himself but to a few others as well. Which, made him rather a professional now-a-days. Hell, Natasha had been known to ask him for help when she needed to apply make-up. So, Clint got to work.

By the time he was done, he looked like a dying zombie like man. His face was flushed from not only a heavy blush but also from his fever, which he could feel was rising. The bandages on his head was wrapped in such a way that it looked like he was missing his right ear and his hair was stuck up in multiple directions. His right arm was wrapped from his wrist to his elbow and there was a painted scar running up the rest of his arm. He also increased the redness around the IV insertion point, as though he was either infected or allergic to what Medical had given him. And lastly, his left leg was bandaged up from the ankle to midway up the thigh.

Pleased with his work, Clint limped over toward his door and headed out into the hall. Not a second later, an intern ran screaming in the opposite direction. Happier then he had been all week, Clint went to work scaring as many people as he could. If they didn't notice him right away, he'd moan and groan until they turned. After that, it was normally a similar pattern. Some panicked and ran off. Others froze. A few, mostly women, passed out. But many, who were used to Clint's pranks, paused before laughing at him.

"Really man? Is that supposed to scare me?" one brazen agent asked. Clint, not knowing the agent's name, smirked.

"Haven't you heard? I'm contagious," he threatened and was satisfied with the agent's paling face. Laughing, Clint continued on and missed what happened next.

"Agent Sanchez?" a once familiar voice called to the frozen, pale agent. Sanchez turned to look at who was calling him. Seeing the person, he quickly stood straighter and glanced back down the hall to make sure Clint was indeed gone. Noticing that the archer has moved on, Sanchez replied.

"Agent Coulson. Agent Barton is wandering around acting like a zombie," the younger agent answered even though he hadn't been fully asked. Coulson smiled lightly, having missed the familiar antics of his once asset. Nodding, Coulson went to turn back down the hall he came from, but Sanchez wasn't done yet. "Sir, he looks really bad besides."

"What do you mean?" Coulson questioned, turning back around to face the young man. Sanchez gulped, feeling rather nervous now that he had the older agent's full attention. He looked back toward the hall that Clint had walked down. Almost as if he wished the other agent would return. Noting that Sanchez was stalling, Coulson cleared his throat.

"Has no one told you?" Coulson tilted his head to the side, waiting to see if Sanchez would add to the statement. But still, the young agent stalled. Sighing, Coulson spoke.

"Told me what?"

"Uh. Barton has been sick for the past week or so. Medical and Banner have no idea what he has," Sanchez reported. Coulson frowned and looked down the path that Sanchez had glanced down so many times. Now he was worried. Clint is well known for not relaxing even if he was ill. Hell, there were times that Clint would arrive at a rendezvous point after a mission and he'd either be injured or looking rather ill.

"Is he getting better?" Sanchez shifted in nervousness. He really didn't want to be the one telling the older agent about his previous asset's health.

"Uh. Well, not that I have heard. Banner actually just reported that Barton may have a mixed illness. There was mention of not only the flu but also strep throat and meningitis," Sanchez explained. Coulson's eyes narrowed before he nodded and headed down the hall that Clint had vanished down. Even though the archer had a huge head start, Coulson figured he'd catch up sooner rather then later. "Sir!"

"Hmm?"

"Well, uh. The Avengers don't know you survived. Fury hasn't informed them," Sanchez reminded the older agent. Coulson groaned, having had that been mentioned to him so many times since he had woken. Fury was the first one to inform him that the Avengers believed him dead. Hill was the main focus for reminding him. And Sitwell, the Avenger's handler, had to keep him calm during times when the Avengers got injured or captured. It was just so hard for Coulson to leave the group alone.

"I remember," he retorted before continuing after Clint. Sanchez sighed deeply. Not knowing what else to do, the young agent headed off toward the control room. He could only pray that Hill was there and he could report what was going on.

Meanwhile, Clint had been off scaring more and more agents, interns and other S.H.I.E.L.D personal. He had been having so much fun that he wasn't paying attention to how he was feeling. The pain meds that Bruce had given him that morning were wearing off. His head was pounding so bad, his throat was dry and on fire, and he was having a hard time moving his neck. Not only was all that bad but he was feeling dizzy and his legs felt like he had run at least three marathons.

Pausing to take a break, Clint leaned up against a wall. Resting there, Clint felt slightly better. But his stomach was beginning to cramp and it almost felt like he was going to vomit. Moaning, Clint pushed away from the wall and almost face planted against the other wall across the hall. But someone caught him. Groaning, Clint looked up.

"Whoa there. Calm down. It's okay," a once familiar voice told the archer. Clint frowned and focused more on the person holding him. Through slightly blurred vision, he noticed him. Jerking back, Clint crashed into the wall he had been leaning against. His breathing came fast and hard now as he stared at the man before him. A smile spread across the other man's face. "And here I thought that I should be scared of you. All zombie-fied."

"Coul... Coulson?" Clint slurred out. The man's smile softened before he reached for Clint again.

"Come on, let's get you to medical," he answered. Clint jerked away again but lost his balance and promptly fell down onto his butt. His face was more flushed then before and he felt like he was freezing. But his head was hurting so bad and he was so dizzy. His breathing still had yet to calm down.

"Coulson? You... You can't be..." Clint gasped as he began trying to move away from the once dead agent before him. At this, Coulson frowned.

"Listen, Clint. You need to calm down," Coulson began but stopped when he noticed that speaking made Clint even worse. The archer's eyes widened in fear and his breathing became more rapid to the point that he was almost hyperventilating. Worried about his previous asset, Coulson took a step forward, hoping that skin contact would help calm the archer. Sadly, when he stepped forward, Clint reached out to attack. The older agent was able to quickly catch Clint's hands and held them tight. But as he held them, Coulson realized they were freezing cold. A huge contradiction to the archer's fevered face.

"You're dead!" Clint screeched. Coulson groaned before pulling the archer to his feet. Clint stumbled as he tried to back away but Coulson still had a tight grip on his hands.

"CLINTON FRANCIS BARTON!" Coulson snapped as Clint vainly struggled against the older agent's hold. Clint froze. Now he was certain that it was Coulson standing before him but his body wouldn't calm down. Feeling dizzier then before, Clint tried to shift to lean against a wall again, but Coulson held him still. "You need to calm down."

"Coul-" Clint began before his stomach finally decided that it was dizzy enough and full enough. Everything went all over Coulson's front. At first the older agent was shocked at the spray but when Clint doubled over and continued on the floor, Coulson knew something was wrong.

"Clint?" Coulson worriedly called but Clint couldn't respond. He was still busy vomiting on the floor. It was mostly bile now but still. At least something was coming out. Clint hated dry heaving. But a moment later, both Clint and Coulson feared for the worse. Clint began vomiting up blood. Thankfully Coulson had a radio. "I have a medical emergency outside of room 345 B! Assistance needed now!"

Clint glanced up at Coulson in the middle of his vomiting and groaned. He could only hope that when this was over, the older agent would be by his side. Coulson looked down at Clint's watering eyes. He could see the fear that he wouldn't be there during the time in Medical. All Coulson could so was pray along with Clint. But it didn't last long. Clint did one last vomiting addition of blood before his eyes rolled back into his head and he promptly passed out against his old handler.

Haha! Finally we have Coulson in the story! ^_^ Sorry it had taken so long. I wanted to make Clint suffer as long as I could before he came. Anyways, don't forget to review, favorite or follow. My e-mail is working again and my husband would really enjoy double response seeing as last chapter we can't tell what happened. ^_^ Thanks!