"NOBODY MOVE!" I shout as I lead SHIELD Agents through the crumbling field area with half-loaded circus trucks and tents.

[Sir, Sword and Arrow are missing. Sector 2 clear.]

[No sign of Sword or Arrow. Sector 5 clear.]

[Sector 1 clear. No Sword or Arrow sir.]

[Sector 4 empty sir.]

[Sector 3 cleared sir. No sign.]

Dammit! Barton and Duquesne are gone. At least we've got the rest of the bastards.

"Phil?" I change channels to James' private channel from my liaison office at the Tower.

"Gone. They're not here. Keep Clint in sight, we don't know what they'll want."

"We'll get'em, Phil. You'll get'em."

"Just not soon enough. I've got to go. I'll be home in three hours. Over and out."

"See you soon babe. Pretty Soldier out." I feel James' hope and his grin through my comm. It has the deft ability to warm me up in this wet, sunken field amongst criminals and subordinates.

"Clear the area of any persons and throw them in lock-up. I'll want any and all reports on my desk by 10am. Goodnight and thank you." I walk away from the scene in my mucked tactical suit, stewing in anger over the still-present threat to Clint and my family but the thought of getting home to them keeps my insecurities at bay.

"Hey, babe. There's some lasagne left over from dinner in the frid-" James starts speaking quietly as soon as I open the door from his position on the couch, only to stop all of a sudden.

"What?" I look at myself in the mirror to see the stains of dirt on my brow and my less than neat appearance. "Uhhh. I'm a mes-"

James obviously disagrees with me regarding my attire as he is single-handedly trying to swallow my tongue.

I moan into his mouth as he walks me back into the wall next to the mirror. His hands seem to be everywhere; in my hair, on my hips, grasping at my biceps through the tac-suit.

"Hey..." James says in his sexy, broken voice with his kiss-bruised lips.

"Hey, honey." I smile at him with a slither of space between our mouths which I instantly close and walk him into our bedroom.

Most nights, we get to around 2am before Clint has a nightmare and we have to get up. It's already 12:45am.

"Food?" James mumbles as I shove him onto our bed, stripping my boots and shirt.

"...Can wait. You started this. You - Uhhh... End it." I groan as he bites and licks at my stomach; sending glorious shivers through me with his cool metal hand.

"You're so fuckin' hot 'n s'tac'suit" James continues to mumble as we land unceremoniously on top of each other naked. I grin.

"Why don't you show me how hot I am?" I ask lewdly, laying on my back, arm behind my head, hand stroking my member lazily.

"Oh fuck. /Phil/." James growls as he kisses me dirtily, moving down my neck.

I pass him the lube from the dresser on his way down.

He covers me in soft kisses as he works me open thoroughly with his flesh hand.

"Ohh, /Bucky/." I keen as he hits my prostate.

"You're so gorgeous baby. I can't believe anyone can be- ah- professional with you in that suit. Any suit. Ahh. Oh god. Phil."

He whispers into my ear, nibbling on my lobe as he fills me up.

"Move, Buck. Please, honey." I hadn't noticed, but James told me that I only ever call him Bucky during times of extreme emotion e.g. Sex.

"Anything for you babe." He grins as he slowly rocks into me and then sets a punishing rhythm, relentlessly nudging my prostate at every stroke. James then proceeds to fondle my untouched dick between our stomachs in the shocking contrast of cold metal on steamed skin.

Everything seems to come to a building stand-still as my vision flashes white and James falters in his rhythm, coming in sync.

Once my breath returns, I check the alarm clock. It's 1:30am. I've got time for a quick shower and some lasagne before Clint arrives for some comfort from the terrors.

"Shower n' food n' Clint?" James mumbles from his place atop of me into my neck.

"Yeah... Thanks. I needed that."

"Phil. We'll get'em. No one is gonna take him away from us." James reassures me and takes hold of my face in his palms, kissing me with every ounce of hope and- love? - He has.

We still haven't had a first date, so we can't exactly be mannerly and wait for the third so we decided to move on at our own pace. Because, have you /met/ James Barnes?

"Oh, tac-suit, no." Clint frowns at the huge stains of green paint on the back of my suit from last night.

"Thanks for the warning about the paint!?" I whisper-shouted at James as we sat up in bed watching Clint poke at the paint stains.

"Sorry! You came in looking all edible and I forgot Clint and I'd just finished painting the living room!" James whisper-shouted back. We had been working as a team to choose furniture and decorations for some rooms in the apartment. Including repainting.

"I made a sign 'bout the paint, Phil. M'sorry..." Clint sniffed as he put the clothes in our bedroom hamper.

"Hey, Clint. It was not your fault ace. It was mine; I was very silly and did not read your sign. And James was very silly about letting me lean on the wall. It was not your fault and it will wash out. Okay?" I reassured Clint as I crouched beside the bed next to him. Sometimes he just needs a little encouragement to keep on track of learning to trust and to understand not everything is his fault. In those times Bruce made it clear to talk to him calmly and clearly, for no misunderstandings. I opened my arms for a hug and he immediately launched onto my torso.

"'Kay."

"Hey, Clint. 'Member what day it is?" James nudged at him from the foot of the bed, hoping to alleviate the atmosphere. Clint had a rough night, he couldn't get to sleep for a longer time than usual last night. I feared it was because it was my first time leaving him for most of the day.

"No..."

"Come on! Yes ya do. It's Sunday!" Clint immediately perked up at the realisation.

"WORK DAY! We goin' t'work Phil!?" Clint jumped up and down with excitement.

"Yep. I've got 47 reports to examine, 3 agents to reprimand and 1 furious Fury... You up for it Agent Barton?"

"Yes! Work day!" Clint shouted as he bolted down the corridor to his room to get his 'Phil suit'.

Ever since I returned to work, every Sunday I'd take Clint with me for a half day because the Avengers had 'Team Building' and I didn't trust anyone else with Clint yet. He was so excited to get to be a 'secret agent' in his 'Phil suit' and sunglasses and badge to boot.

Clint has since perfected his Agent Coulson face and loves to walk around deck with Marcus. Marcus loves it, and he even admits it.

"Agent Mitchell, do we need to discuss Galaga again or do you want to keep every penny you've ever owned in the bank?!" Fury barked from his position at the front of the Helicarrier.

Clint and I raise twin eyebrows at him in intrigue or disdain or pride (not many could tell).

"Nobody plays /my/ game on /my/ ship." Marcus informs us as he steps aside towards the two of us.

"Of course, sir."

"Yessir." Clint agrees.

"Coulson. Barton." Marcus greets us and proceeds to grin at Clint before hefting him onto his shoulders.

Clint tries his damnedest not to laugh but his giggles overcome him before he resorts back to Agent mode with...

"I di'not activily 'gree t'this course f'action."

"You're my hands, boy. You don't have to agree with me. Like Phil's my good eye; I tell him were t'look an'he'll look."

"Yessir." We simultaneously answer as Clint smiles radiantly from his new view.

"Can I be Agen' Coulson some day?"

"No-"

"Absolutely!"

"Sir!"

"Phil!"

"Phil?" Clint breaks our stern looks with his sorrow filled question.

"Hmmph... I always said for you to do what you want. If you want to be ... 'Agent Barton of SHIELD', that's up to you." I huffed in displeasure.

"I don'wanna be Agen' Barton. Can't I be Coulson?" Clint questioned thoughtfully.

Marcus and I shared a look. James wasn't here. I couldn't just say 'sure'. James was Clint's... Guardian too. He's never brought this up before. Marcus just shrugged. Very helpful, sir.

"I don't know, ace. What about Barnes? Why don't we think about it and talk to James and we'll all decide as a team. Huh?"

"'Kay." Clint agreed and hurried the conversation along, back to his precocious self.

"What's in there?" He asked while pointing at a triple locked door.

"That's the records room. And our main control area for all the computers." Marcus answered, walking past the door.

"Only Level sevens get in there." I added.

"R'you Lev'l sev'n, Phil?"

"I am." I smiled at Clint's awe.

"Cool!"

"He's /very/ cool. Phil here is in charge of everything after me." Marcus boasted to Clint. Even after everything, I'm so glad he still trusts me and helps me with the important things.