Thank you to Kylen for the ideas, to everybody at the Beta Branch for catching my errors, and to everybody who read and enjoyed.

Fury waved Clint and Coulson to spots outside of the range of the cameras in his office. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me." He nodded at the screens showing the shadowed faces of the Council. "I have some…information that you may find interesting."

"About?"

"One Agent Barton, better known as Hawkeye." Fury clasped his hands behind his back and started pacing. "Also known as a man that was almost killed on your orders." Reaching over to his computer, he tapped a couple keys. "Proof is now being sent."

"This is not proof, Director Fury. You would be well advised to watch what you are saying."

Fury showed his teeth in a mockery of a grin. "The Council would be well advised to watch what they are saying. Is that not correct, Senator Jones?" He paused, looking surprised. "Oh wait, Senator Jones isn't here today! It turns out that people tend to frown on things like harassment and murder. Or attempted murder, really." He nodded. "Barton's alive, no thanks to you."

"Director Fury, you do not understa-"

"Do not tell me that I do not understand." Fury slammed his hand down on his desk. "This is what I understand. One of my top agents was subject to nearly a year of escalating harassment and surveillance, culminating in death threats and SHIELD security forces breaking into his home, twice, and destroying it. When he did the only think he could think of, the idiot, he was followed and ended up shot. In a dark alley, in the rain! Like a damned dog."

"Agent Barton's hands are not the cleanest, Director Fury."

"So he blew up a SUV. He's offered to pay for it." Fury shrugged. "And seeing as how he's going to be unable to do his damn job for months now? I really don't care as to how 'clean' Barton's hands are."

Clint slid down to sit on the floor with a whisper of sound. Coulson joined him a second later. "Still haven't found out why," he murmured under his breath.

"So the only thing that I do not understand," Fury snapped, "is why." He spun and stared at a screen. "Lady Barnes, maybe you would like to explain why?"

"We do not have to explain ourselves to the likes of-" the voice suddenly cut off.

"No, you don't. But you may find it a bit…advantageous if you do so. I dare say that the agents I have sent to your locations would help encourage that. Lady Barnes, I'm sure that you know Agent Romanoff?" Fury grinned coldly. "After all, I believe that the request that she be sent on that particular undercover mission that resulted in massive property damage came through your government. And that happened to be a mission in which she almost did not make it out alive."

Clint turned to Coulson. "What?" he mouthed.

Coulson shook his head. "Ask her later," he whispered. "Fury's making it out to be bigger than it was."

"New York." The voice was brusque and slightly tinged with fear. "Stark, Rogers, Banner, the demi-god Thor are unable to pay for their part. Romanoff and Barton, therefore, would."

Only Coulson's hand on his shoulder kept Clint still and quiet at the announcement. Fury didn't have such a restriction, and he laughed. "The Asgardian Loki – I'm sure that you remember him – and his army of Chitauri were the cause. Barton, Romanoff, and the others were the ones that saved the Earth. And," his tone turned thoughtful, "Stark also happened to prevent Midtown Manhattan from becoming a nuclear wasteland for the next several centuries." He pointed at a screen. "That was your order, Counselor, to override my decisions, attempt to relieve me of command, and use a nuclear strike."

"Director Fury." The new voice had Fury taking a deep breath. "You have not looked at the larger picture."

"Enlighten me." Fury's glance flickered over to where Clint and Coulson were sitting when Clint couldn't suppress his yawn. "Quickly. I happen to have agents to brief."

"They will wait. Thanks to the actions of your senior agents, SHIELD was exposed to the world. Several billion dollars of damage was done to Manhattan, and that does not even begin to approach the loss of life and catastrophic injuries that were a result of the fighting, nor the ongoing situations as a direct result of the invasion. While the rest of us do not…condone the tactics taken against Agents Barton and Romanoff, we are in agreement that there need to have been repercussions."

"Repercussions." Fury's head reared back and he took a deep breath. "For saving the damned world," he said softly. "For doing the right thing. Frankly, if it was up to me all six of them would be getting medals. But you want repercussions? Fine. The Barton-Romanoff pairing was broken up shortly after Manhattan, with Barton being assigned to desk duty and Romanoff being handed some serious scut work. There were official reprimands placed in their files, and a portion of their pay for two years has been earmarked as anonymous donations to survivor funds. I believe that they each agreed to a third. Additionally, Barton had volunteered to do some form of community service as well as assisting in tracking down the remaining men and women that he had recruited while under control of the Asgardian Loki. Those are repercussions. Not attempted murder."

He hit a button and the screens abruptly flickered off. "Idiots." Looking over at where Clint had dropped his head back against the wall, Fury snorted. "Agent Coulson, wake him up and both of you get the hell out of my sight. I don't want to hear anything from either of you for at least a week, and that includes having your names said in my hearing. Barton, I want you back in the field with Romanoff yesterday. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. Come on, Barton. Fury's kicking us out." Coulson gently shook Clint's shoulder.

"Fucking Council," Clint muttered as he slowly stood up and leaned heavily on Coulson's supporting arm. "Thank you, Director."

"Don't thank me," Fury snapped. "Thank Romanoff. She was the one who realized you were gone. I was just going to let you wallow on desk duty, even though now you're going to be stuck there for God knows how long. Now get the hell out and don't think about showing up until I tell you to."

Clint cautiously entered his apartment. At the sight, he turned at looked at Coulson. "You?"

"And a few others." Coulson nodded. "I did make sure you had some food in there, although you'll have to go to the grocery store for more."

Clint felt the tension start to leave his shoulders as he looked around. "New paint?"

"Ward is still complaining," Coulson said dryly. "It seems that FitzSimmons' little paint wars ended up with him in the middle more often than not, and Skye didn't help matters much either."

"Well, thanks. For everything," Clint hesitantly said. "You didn't have to."

"It's what friends are for. And after what this place looked like?" Coulson shook his head. "I know I wasn't being the friend that you needed. I had to apologize somehow."

"Circles, Phil." Clint glanced around the front room. Satisfied that nothing was going to suddenly jump out at him, he slowly moved to the bedroom and pushed the door open. "You're talking in circles. Use straight lines."

"Anything that looked like a decoration was boxed up and it's all at headquarters for you to go through." Coulson sighed at how reluctantly Clint was moving around the apartment. "And as for me using straight lines…I didn't, don't, want you to vanish again. Natasha doesn't want you to vanish again."

"Oh. Okay," Clint murmured as he dropped his bag on his bed while walking to the closet. Opening it, he sighed in relief. "They didn't destroy my clothes when they came back." He toed his shoes off and pulled on a sweatshirt before turning around. "Now what?"

Coulson felt a sinking in his chest at the defeated look Clint was giving him. "There's at least one baseball game on? I don't know who's playing, though."

"If I still have TV." Clint shrugged. "Good thing that I pay my rent for a year at a time."

"Clint," Coulson firmly stared at Clint, "I would think that part of making sure that your home was safe to come home to would include dealing with the utilities and your landlord."

"Oh." Clint had drifted back to the living room and was staring at the blank walls. "Pizza?"

Coulson held up his phone. "An hour. Hope you felt like extra everything."

"Need the protein." Sitting down on the couch, Clint stared at the coffee table. "This isn't my remote."

"You offended a couple people with some of your choices. Channels should all be the same, though. Price is lower for the next couple years."

"Oh." Clint stared at the television. Coulson frowned to see how pale and tired the other man was looking. "Yankees or Mets? Looks like they're both playing tonight."

"Dealer's choice." Coulson relaxed at the other end of the couch. "Who are they playing?"

"Red Sox and Phillies. Mets it is." Clint changed the channel and twisted to stare at Coulson. "How long are you and Natasha going to be monitoring my phone and e-mail? I know you two are."

"Until we know for sure that everybody's been found and that you aren't going to vanish again. And that you're mostly back to normal." Coulson carefully chose his words. "Have I said that I'm-"

"You say you're sorry one more time, Phil, and I'll make you eat those words." Clint pointed a finger at Coulson. "I promised to not drink the Kool-Aid again and now that I know my apartment isn't destroyed I'm good; isn't that enough?"

A pillow flying at his face interrupted Coulson's response. He batted it away and glared at Clint.

The corner of Clint's mouth twitched. "You guys dump all my booze?"

"Of course." Coulson jerked his head at the kitchen. "But we restocked that, too."

As Clint stood up and moved into the kitchen, Coulson waited for the reaction. "You're a total bastard, Phil! Cake?"

"Fury and Hill, because neither of them realized you'd vanished." Coulson smirked, waiting.

He got his response when a ball of paper came flying out of the kitchen and smacked the back of his head. "You guys did too much." Clint dangled a bottle in front of Coulson's face. "Let me pay you back."

"Nope," Coulson said. "It was a gift. And besides, what are friends for?" He glanced up at a knock on the door. "You going to get that, or should I?"

"You." Clint looked suspiciously at the door when the knock repeated.

With a shrug, Coulson stood up and accepted a box. Returning to the couch, he held it up to Clint. "Present from the others." Opening the box, he held out a kitten.

"A kitten?" Clint asked incredulously.

"Natasha pointed out how much you liked the animal therapy, and Skye said a puppy, but May pointed out that you probably wouldn't have the time. Simmons said a kitten, since cats are usually a little more self-sufficient. Fitz named him Lola; don't laugh." Coulson shifted the kitten to one hand and gently scratched behind its ears. The kitten twisted around and batted at his fingers.

"Him." Clint eyed the kitten suspiciously. "Lola?"

"FitzSimmons went to the shelter. Nobody knew that he was mislabeled until the vet went to spay him. Ward wouldn't let anybody change his name." Coulson dropped the kitten into Clint's lap. "He said that you were crazy enough to like a black, male, kitten named Lola."

Clint lightly scratched Lola's head with a faint smile. The kitten twisted around and sniffed at his hand before giving it a small lick. "Lola's your car. Not a cat. And I don't have the time for a pet, Phil. You know that. I can't even keep a plant around." Giving the kitten's tail a gentle tug, he looked up. "Remember? I killed that spider plant that Nat decided I needed to have. Those things are supposed to be damn near indestructible."

"I think that you won't have an option. He seems to like you. And May mentioned that there are a few kids in this building that might be willing to take care of him when you're gone for more than a day or two. His things are in the bathroom." Coulson shrugged. "At least his fur will blend into most of your stuff."

Clint grinned as the kitten climbed up to his shoulder and started purring. "I don't get to say no, do I?"

"Nope." Coulson settled back down. "Phillies by three."

"Mets by…five," Clint said after a minute as he quietly reached up and gently rubbed the kitten's side. "Phillies suck this season."