Thanks for all the support so far, I especially appreciate your reviews. This snippet was the basis for rule #2, but not all of these will be in order. Please let me know if you like these enough for me to keep going.

Snippet #2:

Agent Rick Parsons fired until his weapon clicked empty. He cleared the weapon expertly before moving in for a closer inspection of his grouping. He frowned angrily at the two holes stubbornly residing a half centimeter outside the bullseye. It took more than two hands to count the number of times he'd qualified expert, but he'd yet to reach that ultimate goal of putting a full clip into the bullseye. With a frustrated growl he grabbed for another target, freezing as he realized it was the last one.

EVERYONE knew that you didn't take the last target; even the maintenance staff knew to leave at least one- not that they were an ordinary maintenance crew.

Quickly dropping the target, Parsons jogged down the hall to the supply cabinet, hoping against hope that there were extras someone had just forgotten to put in the range. He gave up after ransacking the entire closet for a full five minutes. No doubt about it, there was only one firearm target left on the entire helicarrier; now he just had to decide if it was worth his life.

He was so close to his goal that he could taste it.

Seriously, what were that chances that Agent Romanoff was going to come down for practice in the twenty-four hours it would take him to get more targets up here.

With that in mind, he hung up the last target and mentally prepared himself to achieve his goal. Releasing a slow breath, Rick began putting bullets in the center of the target in quick succession. Half way through the clip he refused to let his mind focus on the fact that he hadn't missed yet-

"Ah-hmm"

Parsons jerked in surprise at the sudden sound, his last round embedding itself in the outer most ring of the target.

"Is that the last target?"

Rick didn't need to turn around to identify the anger-tinged voice. This was so not his day. "Uh yeah, sorry Agent Romanoff, I'd thought I'd be able to restock before you got here." He tried to give her a sheepish smile to soften the blow.

It didn't work.

Natasha's glare intensified, "You knew this was the last target before you started?"

What he wouldn't give for an alien invasion or a summons to Fury's office right now. Unfortunately, neither happened in the four minutes that Agent Romanoff continued to stare at him without blinking.

"Ah, yeah," He winced as Romanoff casually un-holstered one of her pistols, "which is why I'm headed to the mainland right now to get some more."

Natasha smothered a smirk as the other agent practically sprinted from the range. While she was pissed, the majority of her reputation around base was simply a result of the enjoyment she gained from messing with people. Still she had planned on getting some practice in today… which left her the options of waiting for Agent Parsons to return or confiscating some of Clint's targets.

And she really didn't want to wait the twelve hours it would take Parsons to return with more firearm targets.

She knew Clint was going to laugh at her no matter what so she might as well see if she could at least make him jump a little.

"BARTON!"

She was three feet away when the ball of flames and debris erupted from the open door. Instinctively, Natasha dropped to the floor and covered her head with her arms. She lay like that for several minutes trying to process what in the hell had just happened. While explosions weren't unheard of in the helicarrier, they weren't exactly commonplace. And surprisingly enough, the armory was one of the rarest locations. Fear gripped her heart when she thought of her partner, her best friend, trapped in the still smoking room. Wary of anymore immanent explosions, Romanoff slowly inched toward the burnt out shell of the doorway; she breathed a sigh of relief upon recognizing the timber of the quite voice emanating from the ruined armory.

"Clint?"

"Over here Tasha. We're fine-" his voice was interrupted by the sound of quiet retching "- for the most part anyway."

Natasha moved slowly into the room, following the sound of his voice. She found him sitting against the wall next to a younger agent who was still dry heaving in the corner. She raised a questioning eyebrow.

Clint just shook his head, dislodging some ash in the process. "You mind calling medical? I think Agent Adams here just might have a concussion." He winked as the unlucky man in question threw up again.

Ten minutes later Adams was being helped to the infirmary with a spot diagnosis of a mild concussion and bruised shoulder while Barton was sifting through his arrowheads trying to determine if any were salvageable. "So you going to tell me what prompted you to bellow so loudly that Adams accidently activated one of my explosive tips?"

Natasha had the decency to look sheepish; "some wanna-be Hawkeye used the last firearm target… so I was going to borrow some of your archery ones."

She flashed him another sheepish smile even as she pulled open the relatively undamaged cabinet that held the targets she'd been hunting and disappeared from the room. "Have fun cleaning up," she called over her shoulder.

The clean up of his beloved armory took several hours, but it only took Clint all of five minutes to hack into the security footage from the firearm range and find out who was responsible for Natasha's sour mood and the resulting property damage. Therefore he was waiting when Agent Parsons stepped off the mainland transport carrying half a dozen boxes of targets.

Rick was exhausted. He'd been finishing up his "day" with a little target practice then tacked on a ten-hour trip to the mainland; all he wanted right now was a hot shower and his bed. That's why his heart sank when he saw Barton leaning against the wall of the hanger. There was no question the sniper was there for him; Barton and Romanoff had each other's backs in every sense of the word, and he had pissed off Romanoff, which meant that by extension, he'd pissed off Barton too.

"Parsons, with me."

The other agent didn't bother to argue, it would just make things harder for him in the long run. He dejectedly followed Barton to the largest of the three shooting ranges where he was finally allowed to drop the targets he'd been hauling around. Rick took a brief second to scan the range; a dozen life-sized targets sat on rails running the width of the room; he gulped audibly as his apprehension suddenly skyrocketed. This was not going to end well for him.

Clint crossed his well-muscled arms across his chest, studying his pray; the other man already looked defeated. "You are responsible, albeit indirectly, for costing me half of my stock of new explosive tips. Therefore, I no longer have enough tips to run both a stationary and moving target tests and as you can imagine I'm significantly more interested in how these do against a moving target." He smirked as Parsons's eyes widened in comprehension. He couldn't resist a final jab, "your mission, should you choose to accept it- and I highly suggest you do, is to keep those targets moving. You stop before I'm finished and you don't want to know what mission Fury and Hill will assign you next."

Rick's head snapped up with a look of sheer panic.

"Yes, I have that much power," although he was snickering on the inside he managed to keep a complete flat affect on the outside. "Oh, by the way, since I haven't run a stationary test, I have no idea how these tips will fly. So watch yourself," he advised stoically.

On the opposite end of the helicarrier, Tony Stark caught a handful of popcorn in his mouth. "Genius! Who knew our little Legolas could be so devious."

"Indeed," rumbled Thor, snagging his own handful of popcorn.

Steve wrung his hands nervously before turning to Natasha, "he was just kidding about not knowing how'd they fly… right?

"No," the remaining Avengers answered together as they watched Parsons sprint around the range dodging minor explosions.

He He, these guys are way too much fun to write.