Coulson continues being tricky. Christmas.

Clint loved learning about the Quinjets. He couldn't figure out why, exactly, but it was fun to sit up front in the co-pilot's seat and actually be able to see more than the sky. The taste of actually taking the stick for a few minutes was even better. Unfortunately, Coulson didn't let him focus just on flying, but made him split his time between everything else that he said that he'd work on.

Also unfortunately, Coulson made good on his threat to not let Clint out of his sight, with few exceptions. Clint couldn't understand how he did it, but Coulson just knew when he was at the range, or in the mess hall, or at the gym, and just showed up if he thought that Clint was taking too long. Clint still hadn't figured out how Coulson could show up at the range at 3 AM, looking like it was the middle of the afternoon.

"Sir, you're not letting me get any practice in." Clint finally had gotten fed up after a week and a half. "And that's just not cool, because what if, after you not letting me practice, I miss a shot?" He tried to not let his frustration show; he'd actually managed 40 minutes today.

"This from the man who tells me that he never misses?" Coulson nodded to himself; he'd given Clint five days to hit this point; the fact that Clint had lasted this long was a good sign. He ignored Clint's scowl.

"Yeah, but I can't be as good as I need to be if I don't get at least an hour in on the range each day, and no matter when I go, you always seem to drag me off after thirty minutes. Same with the gym. Thirty minutes and there you are. I've been trying to act like you want me to, but it's a little hard when you're dragging me around by my ear." Clint thought about how he was presenting himself, and came up with an idea. "Compromise?"

"Oh?" Coulson stopped and turned to face Clint, leaning against the wall. "Compromise how?"

Clint thought quickly. "You let me have...four hours each day to get to the range and the gym, and I'll start on the Russian."

"Hour and a half, and you actually work and don't just waste your time."

"I have been working. I've realized that the computer stuff is a hell of a lot harder than I thought it would be, so I want to know what really is important and what is a load of crap that can wait a bit longer or be skipped. Flying is totally awesome, and the trainer said that I can start in the simulator in a couple days. Three hours."

"Counteroffer." Coulson let a small smile out. "Nine to five, you're working, in my office. Rest of the time is yours. Only exception is when you're doing flight training." He wondered if Clint would realize that the hours he'd offered meant that Clint would be spending more time studying...

"Half hour for lunch, then deal." Clint nodded, then realized how he'd been played. "Oh, not cool."

"I'll even let you have one day totally off, how about that?" Coulson turned and kept walking. He wasn't able to hear what Clint was muttering. "What was that?"

"I was an idiot, sir." Clint gave Coulson a cheerful grin. "And you're so totally devious."

Coulson looked around, not seeing anybody, then stopped again, turning to face Clint. "Thank you, I think. And on that note, three things, Clint. One, I've got some treats, have them in my office. Since you've showed that you're making progress, they're yours. Two. You work with me on a couple other things, I'll get you a few days to go spend at another base as security. Not total downtime, but it's easy enough; outside of your assigned hours, the rest of the time is your own. Three. You're doing a good job."

Clint looked hopeful. "Presents? Getting cool again, boss."

"Perish the thought that I am not 'cool,' Barton. Let's go, you've got a date with the Russian language, and I need to tell some people that they can stop calling me whenever you show up. Being woken up in the middle of the night is not my idea of a good time."

Coulson allowed a week of the new schedule before he decided to switch things up. "Clint," he watched as the archer looked up from his book from his spot on the floor. "Ever thought about what you'll need to go undercover?"

"Blending. Playing to my strengths." Clint moved to a chair, leaning forward and resting his arms on the desk. "That sort of thing?"

Coulson held out a box. "Have a cookie." He waited until Clint had taken one. "Now, what if somebody asks you about where you went to school?"

"School? I'd say I didn't?" Clint was starting to feel a little confused. "That what you mean?"

"Yes, but what if you don't want people to know that?"

Clint thought for a second, half-eaten cookie loosely held in one hand. "You mean making stuff up."

Coulson shoved a piece of paper under Clint's hand. "Yes. And stop dropping crumbs all over my desk." Sitting back, he thought about how he wanted to word the rest. "Going undercover is no different than the acting you do; the next step is taking it further, and creating a background that you can remember and is actually believable."

"So nothing like being Tony Stark's long-lost brother?" Clint sighed theatrically. "There goes that idea."

"No, being rich is usually not a good thing, unless you're the type of rich person who doesn't flash it except to get into things."

"That's so...something. Don't know what." Clint shifted. "But yeah, I see what you mean. How do you keep it all straight?"

"Practice." Coulson pulled out a file. "This might help, as well; it's what somebody has used in the past when they've had to create a background. Good enough for, say, some Army training, not good enough for anything long-term."

"Is that a hint?"

"There's a sniper training course starting up in January. It's five weeks long; it'd be nice if you could make that one." Coulson nodded. "We can probably swing stashing somebody else there with you if you really want a security blanket, but try to think of it as a good test."

"Huh." Clint read the top page in the file. "It'd be nice, yeah, but I think I really can do it on my own." He shot an amused glance at Coulson. "Not like, yanno, I wasn't on my own for a while. Only difference here is that I'm not doing the circus thing, I'm doing the pretend Army thing." He shrugged.

"Good point." Coulson nodded.

Clint looked back in the file. "Hey..." he slowly started. "This was you?"

"I have no idea what," Coulson automatically started to say, then saw that Clint was holding up a picture. He sighed. "Yes." He knew that he'd taken all the pictures out, which could only mean that somebody was playing games. He suspected Fury.

"Bad. Ass." Clint nodded, firmly. "Agent Phil Coulson, super spy. Awesome."

"I was not a," Coulson started. "I had to," he tried to figure out what he wanted to say.

"Relax, boss," Clint snorted, amused at how flustered Coulson was getting. "Like you expect me to go swinging from the rafters or something, shouting it all out. You don't want people to know, I get that. Totally. Now stop looking like I actually said something smart and tell me what I need to do."

It would have been hard for Clint to not have noticed some decorations going up around the Helicarrier; they were all over the mess hall, and there was even a paper tree on the wall in the armory. Somebody had drawn menorahs on it to go with the lights and reindeer. He spent a couple days letting ideas float through his head, realizing that he really couldn't make most of them work, then visited stores.

"Clint," Coulson handed a plastic bag to Clint one morning. "Merry Christmas. Delores sent some things from her family, as well."

"Whoops." Clint started looking through the bag. "Forgot that I'd need time to send something to them." He pulled a few cards out of his pocket, and flipped through them. "Here, sir. Merry Christmas to you, too." He thought for a second. "Does that mean that I still have to do stuff today?"

"You can have a half-day, how about that." Coulson opened the card, reading what Clint had written. "And if you can manage to pull this off, Clint, I'll be very surprised."

"I haven't been acting adult enough for you?" Clint was very carefully opening the things he'd pulled out, holding up the drawings. "Uncle Clint?" He didn't bother trying to hide his shock. "That's...freaky. Are you an uncle, too?"

"It's a way for June and Dave to force you to stay in touch; don't want to disappoint the kids, after all. And no, I'm not." Coulson visibly relaxed. "Have you looked at what June wrote you?"

"Yeah. She got on me about eating right. And not staying in touch, not that I know how." Clint nodded, trying to open the tape on a box. "Wow." He held up a knife. Pulling it out of its sheath, he lightly ran a finger down an edge, then tested its balance. "Thank you. It's awesome."

Coulson nodded. "You're welcome. Incidentally, adults tend to sit in chairs properly, they don't require bribes, and they tend not to read while lying upside down. And if they don't know how to get in touch with somebody, they'll ask somebody who either knows or knows how to find out."

"Adult equals boring, right." Clint nodded. "Guess that means that I'll never be what you consider an adult, then." He looked at Coulson in shock as his handler actually laughed. He could count on one hand the number of times that he'd heard Coulson laugh. Not even on their regular movie nights did Coulson laugh.

"Adult means responsible. Who were all those cards for?" Coulson was still smiling, slightly. He didn't bother trying to hide it.

"June 'n her family, Delores, Paul, and the guys on his team. Also figured I'd give medical a blanket apology, 'cause I've finally stopped being pissed off at them and feel up to saying that I'm sorry. Can just bring that by today." Clint shrugged.

"Think you'd be willing to drop something off for me?" Coulson pulled an envelope from his desk, holding it out.

"Sure." Clint glanced at the name. "Meg? Gotta date, boss? If I knew you were checking out the med staff, I'd've tried harder to be good."

"She decided that because she's of the opinion that I haven't taught you to take care of yourself and the fact that she feels that you're going to be a pain in the ass in the future as well, I owed her dinner. I'm still trying to decide if I'm going to make you pay me back for the gift certificate; steak houses aren't cheap."

"Still not answering my question, boss, but yeah, I'll drop it off for you, since you're obviously too chicken to do it yourself." Clint tucked the envelope into his pocket.

"I'm just using the resources available to me. However. Take a look at the last thing in there, Clint, then we've got work to do." Coulson wouldn't admit it, even under torture, but he was having fun, now that he didn't have to constantly worry about if Clint was actually working or not. It was a refreshing change.

It was an envelope, and Clint ripped it open. An ID card fell out into his lap, and he looked at it. "I have one of these. I even remember to wear it. Sometimes."

"Merry Christmas from even more people; your clearance level has been increased, you're getting a raise, and you get to start helping me work on some things that are actually important. Those lovely two weeks you spent bitching is a result of an inside job, and that needs to be dealt with. It also doubles quite nicely for more training, analyzing data and forming your own conclusions. And then defending those conclusions to others."

"How do you do that, find a leak?"

"Variety of ways, but it's hard. Different pieces of information might be given to different areas; see what gets out. Somebody may say that they've seen somebody else acting odd. Pure dumb luck. Try not to read mail, but if it's important, then nothing's sacred, as bad as that may seem. I doubt that you actually read all your new hire paperwork, but you did sign a paper that stated that you were okay with the fact that there is a good chance that your communications will be monitored. The intel guys get bored sometimes." Coulson shrugged. "Problem?"

"Yeah, know that. Don't care, not like there's anything for folks to see. Only talk to you about anything important, anyways." Clint shot Coulson an amused look, tilting his chair back. "Read all the orientation materials. I was getting bored."

"You read it all," Coulson just looked at Clint, "because you were getting bored."

"Delores said almost the same thing." Clint nodded, letting the chair hit the floor with a thump. "Aren't people supposed to?"

"It's nearly 1000 pages put together by the legal department; people usually skim the first few pages and call it good."

"I didn't say that I understood everything that's in it, just that I read it. Do people really get sent off to Siberia if they screw up?"

"Siberia, no, there was that little thing called the Cold War going on until just recently and there are still a few tensions with what was the USSR and the fact that yes, we regularly sent people there to create havoc with the KGB and various HYDRA spin-offs, and they did the same to us. Greenland, Canada, Alaska, yes." Coulson realized that he was letting Clint distract him. "Enough distraction, get to work. You'll also probably want to call June once you're done for the day, it's only polite. Feel free to give her a mailing address; use the one on your driver's license."

"Cool," Clint nodded, picking up a book. A quick glance showed Coulson that it was an Army manual. "Best Christmas, ever."

"Have to say, sir, whoever gets Private Smith is going to be the luckiest bastard in the entire US Army. Also will end up going through the most aspirin; his writing is terrible."

"Interesting?" The Captain leaned back in his chair, staring at the Lieutenant. "Why do you say that?"

"He hasn't been spotted once unless there's somebody with him, and I'm about ready to pull out those new goggles, the ones that let us see body heat, to see if he's even on the course or off getting a beer. Although that may change once we move from the woods to the urban environment."

"Ever thought about asking him?" The Captain raised his eyebrows.

"What, and ruin my reputation? Nah, I bribed one of the other guys there to figure it out. I think that the bribe's finally reached the rest of the trainees."

"Dammit, Smith, how're you doing it?"

"Doing what?" Clint looked up from the manual he was reading. "Reading?" He held up the book. "See, there are these things called letters, they form things called words, and words are combined in things that like to be called sentences. You just have to learn what letters go into what words, and what those words mean, and yay! Reading!" He pointed to a sentence. "See, this one says 'the sni-per,' that's two syllables, mind, 'is re-spons-a-ble,' oooh, four syllables, 'for,'" he cut off as a hand reached out and smacked the back of his head.

"You know what I mean. How're you not getting spotted? It's like, trying to find you out on the range, not seeing shit, then hear a shot, and half an hour later you're walking up like you were at the damn bar."

"Ah." Clint quirked an eyebrow. "I use the Force, my fellow Padawan." He grinned at the look he was getting. "Patience. That's all it is. I know that I've got the time to get in, take a shot, and get out. And seriously, Johnson, sit down. You're too damn tall at this angle."

Johnson sat at the other end of the couch. "Patience? Shit, Smith, I've been trying everything that I can, and all you say is patience?"

"Yeah." Clint nodded. "I use the time I get. You guys are just trying to rush. Not like we get done any earlier in the day, we just get more time in the classroom. I hate the classroom, so if I use the full time we're given, then hey, less time inside, more time outside. See where I'm coming from?" He shrugged. "Besides, had it trickle down from somebody who's gonna remain totally anonymous that this training? Mostly about staying cool under pressure and taking the time to do shit right. The shooting's the easy part, yeah?"

"Yeah. And that's the other thing. You're too damn good, Smith. Where'd you learn to shoot, 'cause basic sure as hell doesn't go for that much accuracy. At least, my training didn't. And they're not after us to have perfect accuracy here, either."

Giving on on trying to read, Clint just snapped the manual shut and sat up straight. "Going hunting with my dad." He hadn't been surprised how easy it was to lie; he had been surprised at how easy he found it to remember his cover story. "Started shooting when I was little, and get more for a pelt if there aren't any bullet holes in it. So, set up a good spot, climb a tree, and just...wait. See where I'm coming from?"

Johnson snorted, standing up. "Yeah. C'mon, we were heading over to hustle some pool. You in?"

"Sure." Clint grinned. "Five bucks says you make that intel puke cry in an hour."

"Thirty minutes."

"Look, dude, you gotta leave the poor guy's mother outta it. That's just not in the rulebook."

It took getting to the SHIELD house in Atlanta for Clint to start relaxing. Ignoring the people sitting around the kitchen table, Clint grabbed the phone and perched on the counter, relaxing even more as he dialed a number from memory. "Heya, boss. Here. Yeah, don't think so, but Private Smith's XO or CO or whatever is probably gonna get a letter saying that they're either super lucky or have a lifetime supply of booze coming their way; listened into a few conversations here and there. There was a bribe being passed around to figure me out, too. Managed to stick to the script." He laughed. "Whatever. See ya when you get here." He looked over at the group sitting around the table. "Hey. Is there anything like a phone book here?"

"Yeah," one of the men said. "Drawer under your leg."

"Sweet. Thanks." Clint shifted, pulling it out. "Lessee...archery, archery...there." Digging in his pocket, he scribbled down an address. "Later." He started to leave the kitchen, then turned around. "Oh yeah. Agent Coulson shows up anytime in the next six hours, tell him I'm off getting reacquainted with my bow." He ignored the whispers that sprang up behind him with a grin.

"Report, Barton."

"The only reason, sir, for me to have just done all that was to practice going undercover or for you to get me out of your hair. The things that they were teaching I already knew, or you taught me." Clint didn't turn around. "And if it was the second, then I'm not quite sure what to think."

"I can quite assure you, it was incredibly boring with you not around." Coulson sat down at the table, grabbing at a bottle of beer. "Although I got far more work finished than I otherwise would have, your running commentary was indeed missed. Have fun?"

Clint shrugged. "Enough. Few challenging bits, but not too bad. It's all an act, after all. Remember your lines, remember your character, go with the flow."

"Do you think that you'll be able to actually write descriptive reports now?" Coulson tossed a file folder in front of Clint. "And I want your thoughts on this."

"Probably not. It all comes down to the same stuff. I see target, I shoot, arrow goes where I tell it to. Sometimes arrows. Or bullet, now." Clint shook his head as he started reading. "Think somebody'll need to dig into the teams, based on this. And security."

"Why?" Coulson agreed with Clint.

"Because lookit the amount of information that's been shown to have been released." Clint spun the file around, pointing at a few spots. "Different science stuff, can't tell how specific it all is or if it's just something that somebody walking by could grab. The locations of research bases and what's going on. So it's either a single person who has access to all this information, or a bunch of 'em. And, sir?" His finger rested next to two lines. "What the fuck, sir." Very clearly written was his name, along with his circus title. Below it was Coulson's name.

"I know." Coulson's voice was grim. "Although I'm not surprised. You really don't have a code name yet, but your circus name was making the rounds a couple weeks ago. Nobody's very happy about that, but what can you do."

"Find out who's talking." Clint was feeling anger build, that people were spreading things around that concerned him. "And let me have a go at them in the gym."

"Relax, Clint." Coulson pulled the file back. "So far, that's all that was found to have been leaked about you. And really, is using Hawkeye so bad for out in the field? There are worse things that you could be called. Once knew a guy called Missus. He looked like a linebacker."

"Nah." Clint shook his head. "It's just...I don't know."

"Privacy, maybe?"

"Yeah." Clint nodded. "I know I've said it before, but I like it here, and really don't want to screw anything up that'll end up with you kicking me to the curb. Really wouldn't be able to deal with that. I just want some stuff to be on my own terms, and my terms don't include people talking about shit that doesn't concern them because otherwise I might get too annoyed and start breaking the rules."

"There are some things that you won't be able to hide, Clint. You'll just have to choose what, exactly, you're willing to share out of the rest of it." Coulson didn't look at the archer. "You're starting to sound a little on edge. Care to tell me why?"

"Ugh." Clint shook his head. "Not really, but whatever. Promised I'd be honest with you. Trying to figure out who I am. Just me, Clint. Not Agent Barton or 'dammit Barton!' or whatever else people are calling me these days."

"Welcome to being human, Clint, although I suspect that this is less an existential crisis and more the fact that you just spent five weeks undercover, with no real time to unwind and step out of character until today, along with a healthy dose of homesickness." Coulson stood up. "On that note, I happen to have some things to do that will take about a week, and the flight instructors are looking forward to getting you back on the Helicarrier. Go find a bed, you can fly back with the mail tomorrow." He waited until Clint was almost out of the room, before adding, "and don't forget the Russian, either!" He smirked at Clint's response. The archer's accent was terrible, but he'd obviously picked up the basics quickly.