Don't startle Clint, bad things will happen.


Clint groaned at the pounding in his head when he woke up the next morning. "Ow," he muttered, sitting up. He realized that he was still in his clothing from last night, coat draped over the chair and boots on the floor. "Not doing that again." He noticed a pile of books on his desk, but ignored it in favor of the glass of water and bottle of aspirin that was sitting there. He took three, paused, took three more, then stumbled to the bathroom, splashing some water on his face. That helped, some, so he decided to take a shower, before hunting Coulson down and killing him, very, very slowly. He knew how to, now, after all.

He stepped out of the shower feeling slightly more charitable towards the other man, but he still hoped that Coulson had just as bad of a hangover as he did. Clint refilled the glass from the sink, then wandered over and looked at the books. On the very top was a note, in unfamiliar handwriting; he set it aside in favor of looking at the stack. The bottom of the pile were more GED study guides, but the rest...he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The books he'd been wanting for the longest time, and some that he didn't recognize. Hardy Boys, Black Stallion, even some picture books that he remembered fondly from the orphanage. One hand, shaking, reached out for the note.

"Clint," he read, "Phil told me what was going on, and asked for my help. Thank him for the books when you next see him. Now, for the rest of the news. I have organized tutors to come in and work with you; our goal is to not only get you to pass the GED, but to obtain scores high enough to allow you entry into any college you desire. Don't put in the effort and/or sneak off, there will be consequences; quite a few of the staff need help with their fighting skills. Today is a free day, although I would recommend that you spend it with your nose in a book; tomorrow I will meet you at 0800 in meeting room 3. Agent D. Smith. PS. Clean your room, it's a pigsty." The last was written in pencil, obviously added after she had put the books in his room.

Clint didn't know what to think. Coulson had gone to somebody else...but he had asked for help. And Agent Smith wasn't half bad, but he wasn't so sure about the others that she had written that she'd gotten to help. His interactions with the scientists hadn't gotten any better; he'd just learned to roll with the punches more after Coulson had asked him to "show a level of maturity that the other guys weren't." Almost without realizing it, he reached out and grabbed the top book from the stack, stretching out in bed. The Little Prince...he hadn't heard of that one, but the cover art looked fun. He fell asleep, reading.

He was almost done reading it when he walked into the mess hall for dinner. Grabbing whatever was closest, he wandered over to an empty table and mechanically ate. He liked the bit about the fox; that whole "you tame it, you keep it" thing made him think of himself and SHIELD, or maybe Coulson. He looked up as Coulson sat down across from him, cup of jello in hand, eating it without a single word or look at Clint.

"I meant every word last night, Clint." Coulson said, putting down the empty cup and spoon, finally looking up. "You get your GED at your retest, which is scheduled for six months after your listed hire date, I'll buy you a new bow. Your recurve is looking its age, and it might even be too light for you now that you've had a few months of real food and a chance to fill out some. Reward for a job well done, that's how my family works. You have any problems, need any other help, you let me know. I do not want a repeat of yesterday afternoon in my office, understand?"

Clint nodded, one hand reaching out to touch the book resting on the table between the two men. "Thanks for the books."

Coulson smiled, then. "You asked, and I had it pointed out to me that just reading is a good experience. I never was a fan, much, but since you seem to like the more...cerebral...relaxation activities, which is a bit of a shock I will admit, it can only help." He glanced at Clint's tray in shock. "You ate the chicken?"

"I did what?" Clint made a face. "Ew. In my defense, it's a really good book." A memory struck him. "You weren't nearly as drunk as you were acting last night, were you. That was cold, if you didn't get to suffer today like I had to."

Coulson had a small smile on his face. "Doubt, Clint, is always a good thing. Maybe one day I'll tell you my secrets of a night of drinking followed by a good day's work."

"One other thing." Clint needed an answer. "Why did you go to Agent Smith?"

"I asked to help, Phil didn't come to me," the agent in question sat down next to Coulson. "Clint, you don't mind if I call you that, do you?" At Clint's shrug, she continued, "I've got more experience with the stuff that you need to learn and I've done a lot of teaching in my life. I'm also bringing in folks from the Helicarrier; they're looking forward to helping you out."

"Oh." Clint looked down at the table, only to have a hand reach out and grab his chin, forcing his head up.

"All that they know is that we've got a mouthy, punk-ass kid with an intense hatred or fear of learning, we don't know which, who happens to be one of the best things to walk through the door in a while who has a month to learn everything for the GED. They've been a bit bored, to be honest, and see this as a mini-vacation, one that they get paid to be on and will be on solid ground. And a challenge, which they love." Agent Smith shook Clint's chin slightly, before releasing him.

"I don't hate learning; it's just kinda boring and hard and nothing ever seems to stick." Clint corrected. "I just hate school." He stood up, tucking his book into a pocket, before grabbing Coulson's trash and his tray, nodding at the two on the other side of the table. "I'll see you in the morning, Agent Smith." He wandered off.

"Well!"

"I liked that, Delores. He was pretty respectful. Let me put it this way. He was so involved in reading that book? He ate the chicken."

"Oh, disgusting. But promising. And I like how he separates learning from school, but we're going to have to make it all fun for him."

Coulson nodded, standing up. "I'm trusting you Delores, I don't want him to fail again."

Clint started to go down to the range, like he normally did after dinner each night, then paused in the hallway, thinking. Heading back to his room instead, he dug around under his bed and found where he had shoved the cassette player and box of GED tapes, then headed for the gym. He could listen while running on the treadmill, no problem, and maybe something would stick better than trying to read it all. In the locker room, he flipped through the tapes, before pulling one out on science. Sticking the headphones on, he headed out into the gym, programming the treadmill for an easy run.

He was about halfway done when he sensed that there were people heading towards him. Looking around, he mentally started cursing. That bunch again. It was too late to avoid them, so Clint started preparing a few comebacks that he knew would work, if his initial deflection didn't, as he turned off the tape and shoved the headphones to rest around his neck.

"So, Barton, heard you got reamed by Coulson yesterday." Jones leaned on the edge of the treadmill. "Heading back to your little hole anytime soon?"

"Busy," Clint grunted, increasing his speed. "Go away." This was probably the number one thing he hated about being here, most of the other people.

Jones reached out and picked up the Walkman. "What's this?" He opened it, glancing at the tape, then started laughing. "Jocks," he grinned. "can't even finish high school."

Clint set the treadmill to stopping, taking a couple deep breaths. As he stepped down, he reached out and grabbed the cassette back from Jones. "Couldn't go at all." Shoving his way through the gathering crowd, he headed for the door. He had his keys and his badge in his pocket, everything else could wait until tomorrow; as much as he wanted to get his book, he didn't want to possibly be cornered in the locker room. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he let his training take over, flipping the person over to the ground, landing with a knee on their back, their arm twisted up and across their shoulders, and Clint's free hand reaching for a knife that luckily wasn't there. "Dammit, Jones, you don't do that!" He released the scientist, if a bit roughly, and stood up, breathing heavily.

"Agents Barton and Jones!" The voice rang out like a whip. "Get over here, the rest of you, clear out!"

Clint followed the sound of the order to a man standing in one corner. He looked familiar, and Clint ran through names and faces to try and make a firm identification. "Yeah, Agent Santos?"

A raised eyebrow was his only response. Clint shrugged. "I remember you from Coney Island."

Santos turned to stare at both men. "Want to tell me just what is going on here? Or even why one of our operatives is getting into it with one of our scientists?"

"Operative?" Jones questioned. "I thought he was security! Everybody said he was security! He says he's security!"

"I am security," Clint shrugged. "Sorry, sir, we just had a bit of a disagreement."

"Didn't look like one," Santos pointed out. "Barton, you're restricted to quarters. Jones, sit there."

"Sir," Clint nodded, turning to leave the gym, only to be followed by Santos.

"He's an idiot, Barton, we all know that." Santos said quietly. "Stay in your room tonight, tomorrow stay with Coulson. Simple as that. I've been looking into this the past few days once reports started working their way up the ladder, I know it's mostly not you, and you're not in trouble with me."

Clint shoved any emotion down, nodding again. "I've been dealing with it, sir, this was the first time it got physical. Agent Coulson told me what is probably going on, and how to deal." He shrugged, looking at his cassette player and tape, both of which were cracked. "Just upset that my stuff was broke. I need it." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his badge and clipped it to his sleeve.

"We'll replace it, if needed." Santos nodded. "But also let Coulson know what happened so he's not blindsided by any of this tomorrow."

"Sir," Clint nodded and left the gym. He kept a firm grip on his instinctual reaction, which was to go down to the range or find someplace to annoy the scientists, and headed straight for his room. He'd see if everything still worked before getting too upset.

When he got back to his room, he picked up his phone, dialing Coulson's office number. "Hey, Coulson? Might be in trouble. Yeah, I'm in my room."

When he heard the knock on the door, he opened it, and before Coulson could say anything, jumped right in. "It wasn't my fault, he started it, I tried to walk away, I'm not done with my book that's still in my gym locker, and what the hell is wrong?" Turning, he stalked back to his bed, sitting on the edge.

Coulson shut the door, looking confused. "Tell me what happened, first?"

Clint scowled. "I was in the gym, Jones came over, started his shit as usual. I tried to deal with it as usual, walk away like you told me. He took my Walkman, saw what I was listening too, started laughing, said something about how jocks couldn't even finish high school. I told him I couldn't even go. I was leaving, he grabbed my shoulder. I reacted and put him on the floor, hard. Agent Santos was there and saw everything, restricted me to quarters and told me to call you."

"Ah." Coulson leaned against the door. "The only thing that I can see you getting in trouble for, barely, is for putting Jones down like you did, but you were reacting to what you perceived as a threat, which is what you're being trained to do, good job on showing restraint. Not your fault that he sees security here as the same thing as those old men at the museum." He walked over to the desk, looking at the Walkman and tape. "Sure, it's cracked, but it'll still work. Tape should still work, too. If you're worried, stick some duct tape or riggers tape on it."

"Still doesn't say why." Clint glanced out of the corner of his eye at Coulson. "He said that I wasn't in trouble with him, but I still broke the rules I was told about fighting where it wasn't allowed."

Coulson sighed, sitting down in the desk chair. "Real shitty couple of days, huh?" Seeing Clint's nod, he continued. "And believe it or not, you didn't break the rules. Jones did, by starting it. Santos did you a favor, because this gets you out of the way of the witnesses and the gossip for the rest of the night. Around here, restriction to quarters is just a way to give people a chance to cool off, and the folks who matter know that. Now you know it, too."

"Oh." Clint lay down, flinging an arm over his eyes. "He also said to stick close to you tomorrow, what about that?"

"Because you're a punk, Clint, who is showing a surprising amount of maturity right now compared to what you've been like in the past. Your attitude is fast becoming legendary, and he probably wants to avoid any repeats of this evening where you'd end up being the one getting punished."

"Yeah. Oh. Huh."

"The monosyllabic teenager phase has struck, praise the lord. May it fully replace the hyper-five-year-old and surly teenager phases once and for all."

"Now you're just being sarcastic." Clint flipped Coulson off. "Change not, I shall. Punk forever, will I be."

"Alright, Yoda. You cool now? I'll swing by here tomorrow morning and grab you before breakfast and your meeting with Delores."

"She said I need to clean my room."

Coulson looked around. "You do. I'm surprised the housekeeping staff even comes in here anymore. I'm afraid of being exposed to something whenever I come in here. How about this. You have this place cleaned up by tomorrow morning and keep it clean, we'll do take-out once a week."

"Deal." Clint held out his hand in Coulson's direction. Coulson played along and shook it. "See ya."

Coulson headed for the door, then paused. "One question, though. Why do you keep twenty bucks in your shoe?"

"Just in case."

"Ah." With that, Coulson left, closing the door behind him as Clint rolled off the bed to start cleaning up, turning the TV on for some background noise. MTV had another episode of the Real World on, that was pretty enjoyable.