The quinjet lands at midnight, and Coulson is waiting for it. He doesn't so much as raise an eyebrow when Natasha appears by his side, because he's known her for a very long time — long enough to know that the Black Widow always knows more than she should.

They wait in silence as the first agents start spilling out of the plane. No one who sees them looks surprised, and that's either because they're highly trained operatives who never give anything away, or because the only time Barton was in trouble and Coulson failed to appear was when he was officially (and actually) dead. Acker, who's worked with Coulson before, throws a sympathetic look his way as she walks past them.

Victoria Hand, when she finally appears, is the least surprised of all.

"Phil," she says by way of greeting. Clint walks out behind her, flanked by two heavily-armed STRIKE agents. Going by the state of his face, Quincy did manage to get at least one good punch in.

"Victoria," Coulson says pleasantly. "Could I have a word?" He doesn't so much as glance at Clint, who's trying and failing to project the air of unconcerned nonchalance of a man not currently being escorted out of a plane in handcuffs.

"If I knew I'd have a welcoming committee," he says, his smirk too forced, his levity too practised, "I'd have brought back souvenirs." It's one of the many reasons Clint always made for a better sniper than a spy — he's far too easy to read.

"Shut it, Barton," Hand says, gesturing for the two men to take him away before turning to Coulson. "No, Phil, you could not possibly have a word. I don't have the time, and what's more, I don't want to hear it. Come find me tomorrow, and we'll maybe discuss it then."

"I'm afraid it cannot wait until tomorrow."

"Is that a fact? And why is that?"

"Agent Hand." The voice makes them all turn, and Natasha can feel Coulson tense up next to her at the sight of the Avengers. Steve isn't wearing his uniform, but everything about him screams Captain America, from his long, purposeful strides across the room to his commanding, tightly controlled tone. "What is this about Clint getting arrest?"

They're all there except Rhodey, who's in Afghanistan, and Bruce who has too much sense to bring the Hulk anywhere near this, and Natasha could not have timed it better if she tried. They're none of them in uniform, none of them armed as far as Natasha can tell, but there's tension in the air that hadn't been there a second ago, and she isn't the only one picking up on it. There's SHIELD personnel all around them — agents and maintenance staff and the odd intern — and they're suddenly paying attention, suddenly inching just a little bit closer.

"Captain, this is a SHIELD matter."

"So he was arrested?"

"Agent Barton disobeyed a direct order and assaulted another agent. There are protocols in place."

"Hawkeye would not have done so without a strong motive," Thor says.

"Why he did it is irrelevant," Hand says, and Steve visibly stiffens. "It's that he did it at all that is a problem."

"All due respect, ma'am," Steve says, "but if a man refuses to follow an order contrary to what he thinks is right, that is commendable."

"Not in our line of work, it isn't."

Sam rolls his eyes, and Tony scoffs, and the scorching look Steve gives Hand is full of censure and disapproval, but Victoria Hand has spent years dealing with disapproving men — in the army, in the CIA, in SHIELD — and she doesn't scare easily. She bears the full weight of his displeasure with all the ease of someone who knows herself to be right, whatever Captain America may think to the contrary.

"Perhaps we might take this conversation somewhere more private," Coulson suggests, because he's the king of de-escalation.

"This conversation has run its course," Hand says, because she'd rather be right than be smart. Without breaking eye contact with Steve, she adds, "This is a SHIELD matter, gentlemen, to be handled by SHIELD, and I'd thank you all to go home."

"Agent Hand," Steve starts again in a patient, measured tone, but Tony is done with niceties.

"Agent Hand, what Cap here is trying to say, is that you can either hand Jailbird over, or the next time you have this conversation will be with Bruce, and he's not nearly as patient as us, simple folk."

Coulson looks like he's getting a headache. Hand looks like she's getting one too.

"Threats will get you nowhere, Stark. Agent Barton is a SHIELD agent—"

"He's an Avenger," Sam says.

"He's a SHIELD agent," Hand repeats, stressing every word. "And this is a SHIELD matter, and you will stay out of it."

"And who will make us?" Wanda asks, soft and sweet and dangerous, and Natasha can see the exact moment Steve realises how quickly this can get away from him.

Wanda is the most powerful person in a room with a god in it, but it's Barnes suddenly taking a step forward that has all the agents around them suddenly reaching for their guns. The Scarlet Witch might be impressive, but in a room full of spies, the Winter Soldier is practically a legend. He's the story told during late-night stake-outs, the monster hiding under the bed. It makes agents nervous who aren't nervous about much else.

"Alright, that's quite enough," Coulson says, glancing around him.

"I couldn't agree more." Nick Fury marches towards them, followed by Maria Hill. "Captain, I'd appreciate it if you could all refrain from intimidating my people. It's bad for morale."

"Director, we just want to take Clint home with us."

"And I want the Director of the CIA not to call me about one of my agents undermining a six-month operation. We all have to learn to live with disappointment."

"Fury, how secret do you think your secret organisation is gonna be after I set SI's legal department loose on it?"

"Stark, much as I'd enjoy going a few rounds of you and I trying to out-threaten each other, I have an agency to run and a powerful need not to put up with you. If I wanted a headache, I'd take the WSC's calls. Coulson, care to jump in at any point?"

Coulson sighs. "This is an internal SHIELD matter," he says, because he's first and foremost a company man. And then, because he's a company man who understands there's no profit in trying to out-stubborn Steve Rogers, he adds in a softer tone, "It's being handled."

Steve stares at him for a few seconds, and whatever he sees in Coulson's face must satisfy him, because he nods and says, "Alright then. But if Clint is still in a cell come morning, the Director and I will have words."

Which as threats go might lack Wanda's subtlety or Tony's panache, but is just as effective if not more.

They watch them leave in silence, and then Fury levels a glare at the SHIELD agents who had gathered around them. "Do none of you have things you should be doing?" he asks, and they all hasten to look busy and perfectly uninterested in the little drama that just played out in front of them. "Hand, Coulson, Romanov, with me."

He marches towards the door and they follow him in silence all the way to the top floor of the building. Fury's office is much like Hill's, but grander, more high-tech, with more places to hide the bodies of agents who've displeased him.

The Director does not invite Hand and Coulson to sit, so they stand as he takes his place on the other side of the desk, flanked by Hill, who probably knows all the ways to kill someone in this room and make it look like an accident, who probably used some of those ways on unsuspecting agents who pushed their luck too far.

Natasha jumps on the desk and sits, because if Hill hasn't murdered her by now, she probably isn't going to.

"Agent Hand," Fury says, "much as I understand the impulse to lock Barton up, you need to understand that there are politics involved in this job."

"All due respect, sir," Hand says, just this side of mutinous, "politics is how we ended up with an agent who not only flat out refused to obey a direct order, but who actively sabotaged a mission."

"And he'll be reprimanded for it, but we need to look at the big picture here."

It's a testament to how tired and aggravated Hand is that she replies to that with, "I'm sure the big picture will be of great comfort to the next person who falls prey to Amon Garcia."

Fury glares at her, and Victoria holds his gaze, back straight, head held high. Her duty is to SHIELD, not to Nick Fury, and if it is her job to follow his orders, it is also her job to speak her mind when the occasion calls for it.

"Agent Hand," Fury finally says, "I trust you have debriefs to oversee?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then kindly get on with it. You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir."

Fury waits until Hand is out of the room and then turns his attention to Natasha.

"Romanov, what the devil is this clusterfuck?"

You told me to handle it.

"Well, next time kindly handle it a little less. Three weeks infiltrating Colombian drug cartels didn't give me half the headache I'm getting right now."

It's not her fault that Colombian drug cartels are full of under-achievers.

"Coulson, effective immediately you're back in charge of the Avengers Initiative and if I hear another word about you wanting to go play house with May, I'll bury you under so much paperwork it will make the Chitauri invasion seem like a holiday. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," Coulson says. Next to Cap's demands and Tony's snark, and Victoria Hand's naked disapproval, it's easy to miss the fact that Coulson's easy acquiescence is almost as insolent as Clint's sarcasm — if less overt — but there is little Fury misses, and he's known Coulson a very long time.

"Glad it meets with your approval," he says. "Agent Hand is getting a promotion and a raise out of this, because no self-respecting handler should have to put up with the collection of spoilt, pampered, self-indulgent divas you call a team."

"Of course, sir."

"Agent Barton will be released to your custody and you will make it perfectly clear to him that next time he disobeys a direct order, I will demote his ass so fast the lunch ladies will have higher security clearance than him."

"Yes, sir."

"And I swear to god, Phil, if I have to keep dealing with this nonsense because you and Barton are too chicken shit to use your goddamn words, I'll transfer you both to fucking Siberia and leave you there to rot. If I wanted to put up with juvenile crap, I'd have stayed a high-school principal. Do I make myself clear?"

Coulson's carefully neutral mask slips for a split second and something like anger flickers across his expression. When he says, "Perfectly clear, sir," his tone is so polite and correct that it is just this side of insubordinate.

"Wonderful. Now get out of my office." Fury turns his attention to her. "And that, Romanov," he says, "is how you fucking handle it."

Considering she just achieved almost everything she set out to do and didn't even have to shoot anyone, she thinks she handled it just fine.

Natasha follows Coulson out of Fury's office, and trails behind him as he walks towards the elevators. He doesn't speak as they walk down the corridor, does not say a word as the elevator doors close behind them. They're half way down to the lower levels when he finally says, in the pleasant tone of someone who'd dearly like to strangle her, "There's so much paperwork in your future, you better hope we never find a way to turn you back."

Sticks and stones. If people were less predictable, she might be less effective. As it is, she can hardly be blamed for everyone else's shortcomings, and no one who knows her — certainly no one who knows her as well as Coulson does — should be surprised at finding themselves tangled in one of her webs. It's their own damn fault, really. If they were better at solving their own mess, she wouldn't have to solve it for them.

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open to a room filled with consoles and security feeds. Isabelle Hartley, the senior agent on site, looks their way as soon as they step into the room.

"Agent Coulson, Agent Romanov," she says, "what a shocking and unexpected surprise. Phil, did you know Jasper had a bet going on who'd get Victoria to finally snap? My money was on Stark. Hell, most everyone's money was on Stark. Should've listened to Morse when she said only a fool would bet on Stark over Barton."

"Agent Hartley, I'm here to pick up Agent Barton." Coulson likes gossip as much as the next spy, but never on duty and never where anyone will notice.

"Yes," Hartley says with a knowing smirk. "Hill sent word. Agent Rahim, please take Agents Coulson and Romanov to Agent Barton's cell."

"Yes, ma'am."

She leads them down a narrow corridor until they come to a door no different from any of the other doors they've passed. Rahim presses her hand to the display on the wall, and after a second a disembodied voice says, "Agent Sarah Rahim. Access authorised," and the door slides open.

Clint, who's sitting on the bed across from the entrance with his hands still cuffed in front of him, looks up as them.

"If I knew I'd have guests," he says, "I'd have straightened up the place some." The corner of his lips curl up slightly, but the smile does not reach his eyes.

Coulson ignores the quip and gestures at the handcuffs. "Remove those," he says, and Agent Rahim reaches into her pocket for the keys.

"Are you sure, sir?" Clint asks with a hint of his usual smirk. "I'm told it's a good look on me."

Coulson says nothing, but simply raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Clint, who looks away after a second and lets Rahim remove the handcuffs without further comment. He rubs his wrists as soon as they're free, the skin red and chafed where it wasn't protected by fabric. It's a long flight from Prague.

"Let's go," Coulson says, and turns on his heels without stopping to see if they'll follow.

Clint pushes himself off the bed and stoops down in passing to pick up Natasha, who lets him without protest. He's tense and exhausted, and if Natasha is not who most people would turn to for comfort, that never once stopped him, and it never stopped her from being just who he needed her to be at any given moment. Just now she's soft and warm and a friend, and that's enough.

Coulson is waiting for them by the elevators, and it's a tense, silent ride up to the twenty-seventh floor. Coulson doesn't say a word, and for once Clint is all out of jokes.

"Romanov, take a walk," Coulson says when they reach their floor.

He thinks he can keep things from her. That's precious.

She jumps down from Clint's arms and watches them walk away for a moment, and then takes off in the opposite direction. The ventilation system that runs across most of the floors is sorely lacking in security, and in a building full of spies, someone should really look into that.

The vent that opens into Coulson's office is up by the ceiling in a corner of the room, and it gives her an almost unobstructed view of the floor below. Coulson's sitting at his desk and Clint is slouching on the chair across from him. Neither of them is speaking.

"Well?" Coulson finally says.

"Well what?"

"What happened?"

Clint doesn't reply for a moment, does not meet Coulson's gaze. When he finally does, his tone is even and his expression almost as neutral as Coulson's.

"Agent Hand gave an order," he says, sitting up straighter and looking back at the man sitting across from him. "I thought it was a bad one."

"Was that your call to make?"

"Considering it was my finger on the trigger? Yeah."

Coulson stares at him for a few seconds, distinctly unimpressed. "Try again, Barton."

Clint rolls his eyes. "No, sir. Not my call to make. Specialists don't have opinions. You point and we shoot, like good little assassins. Then we get a treat and a pat on the head."

Bobbi was right. Only a fool would have bet on Tony over Clint.

"This isn't a democracy, Clint," Coulson says, and calling him Clint is a cheap shot, but Coulson was never above using cheap shots when necessary. "It can't be. Assets don't pick what orders they follow. Even assets that happen to be Avengers."

"That's not— There were two kids in the fucking room."

"And Agent Hand was aware of that, because you told her. Don't you think she might have weighed that against all the other information she had?"

Clint looks away and does not reply. The problem wasn't the order. The problem wasn't even the kids. There are ways for assets to disagree with their handlers, ways for a different call to be made — Natasha is living proof of that. The problem was that Clint was too busy being difficult to be smart about it.

"You're off the field until further notice," Coulson continues, because the question is rhetorical and Clint wouldn't have answered it even if it weren't. "From this moment on and until such time as I decide you've learnt the value of listening to your SOs, your time will be spent on paperwork and on training junior agents." Clint rolls his eyes and then groans when Coulson adds, "At Langley. I'm sure our colleagues at the CIA will appreciate having someone of your expertise helping out with their new recruits. And you should count your blessings, Barton, because if it were up to Agent Hand, you'd spend the next month in lock-up."

"Why isn't it?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why isn't it up to Agent Hand?"

"Agent Hand is no longer in charge of the Avengers Initiative. The Director feels it's unfair to punish a good agent by inflicting you lot on her, so I have that pleasure once again."

Clint smiles, but only a little and only for a second. "I'm sorry," he says.

Coulson shrugs. "Don't be. There are worse things in life than being the guy who gets to tell Captain America what to do."

"Sir," Clint starts, and Natasha knows what he's about to say even before he says it. "I think it would be better— I would like to step down from the Avengers Initiative." And there they are again. "I'm not on their level anyway, and my skills might be better employed elsewhere."

Coulson does not reply for several seconds, does not so much as move a muscle. And then he pushes himself up from his chair and moves to the other side of the desk, leaning back against it, next to Clint.

"No," he says, putting his hands in his pockets. "You and I are going to stop walking on eggshells around each other, and we're going to find a way to work together. And we're going to start by talking about what happened in Beijing."

Clint makes a face. "Can't I go back into lock-up instead?"

"No," Coulson says, his smile a little amused, a little fond. "We get shot at for a living; we can manage a conversation."

"I don't know about that. Words are hard."

"Yeah, well, life is hard. We can pretend to be well-adjusted adults for five minutes."

"Maybe you can, sir, but I have it on good authority that I can't do well-adjusted."

Coulson snorts and kicks his chair. "Stop deflecting."

Clint smiles back at him, open and genuine, and then tilts his head back, looking up at the ceiling. "Fine," he says. "So, Beijing…"

"Yeah…" is all that Coulson says, and they're quiet for long enough that Natasha starts to think that Coulson might have overestimated the degree to which either one of them can do well-adjusted. "I'm sorry," Coulson finally says. "I shouldn't have kissed you." Clint's gone so quiet he barely seems to be breathing. "I'm your boss. It was inappropriate and unprofessional, and it crossed a line, and I'm sorry. I never meant to make you uncomfortable."

The look Clint gives Coulson is so genuinely puzzled that Natasha wishes there were cameras in the room to capture that expression.

"Natasha must be laughing her ass off," he says after a second.

Yes. Yes, she is.

"We can't both be dumb-asses, Phil," he continues, getting up. "And I got dibs." He's standing right in front of Coulson now, who doesn't move away despite how close Clint is. "You didn't kiss me. I kissed you." He takes another step forward, right into Coulson's personal space. "Did you want to? To kiss me?"

Coulson's gaze darts down to Clint's lips. "Clint…" he says, soft and low, almost like a warning.

"Hey." Clint ducks his head slightly, catching his eye. "We're using our words here, sir."

A smile tugs at the corners of Coulson's mouth as he looks back at Clint. "Yes," he says. "Yes, I did."

And that's as much encouragement as Clint needs, because even he can't fail to connect those dots. He closes the space between them, tugging Phil closer and kissing him, one hand on the back of his neck, another buried in his jacket.

"I'm still your boss," Coulson says, pulling slightly back, his words undermined by the fact he's still clinging to Clint.

"Yeah, well," he says, nudging Coulson's nose with his. "I always found that really hot." And then they're kissing again, and if somehow they find a way to misunderstand each other after this, Natasha might just have to murder them because they'll be beyond hope.

Without stopping what he's doing, Clint reaches blindly behind Coulson for a loose paper clip and throws it across the room without looking, hitting the grille straight on, because of course he knows she's there, and that's her cue to get lost. Natasha snorts softly and turns away, silently making her way to an exit point.

And that, Nick, is how you handle it.


AN:We're almost at the end; there should only be one more chapter to go. Unfortunately, this fic is going on hiatus for a few weeks, because I have a deadline coming up on another story I have barely started on. Deadlines are the devil... The plan was to have this one finished by now, but the best-laid plans of mice and men...

In the meantime, I hope you're enjoying the story up to here :)