A week later, Selvig was successfully moved to the base and given unfettered access to the Tesseract. Clint was already tired of looking at the thing. He'd read everything there was to read on how HYDRA had tried to harness the power in the thing. The Nazis hadn't figured it completely, and neither had anyone sense. And Fury thought this strange Norwegian guy was going to crack the code? Clint wasn't optimistic.

The Dark Energy Base was just about the most boring place Clint Barton had ever been stationed. He missed Natasha like hell and he had nothing to do in this concrete bunker full of scientists. Phil had gone back to New York to help clean up the Stark Expo mess. Nat was still stuck with Fury on the helicarrier. Why, why had he and Natasha been put on a short leash? It didn't seem like punishment, exactly, just like he and Nat were being held close to home for some reason. A reason Clint couldn't quite figure out yet.

Clint wandered into what passed for bar in the town – if it could really be called that- closest to the base, a place called Silver City. A few people from base were there, but they weren't exactly a talkative crowd. There was pool table and an old dart board on the wall. Well, at least the darts might be fun. But neither Nat nor Phil were here to play with him.

Clint bought a beer from the bar and wandered over to a table. He noticed a base guy in the corner, reading a tablet, looking like he was just passing time too. Clint hadn't bothered to get to know any names here, but this guy looked familiar. Oh, wait - this was the egghead from the briefing. Fury let him off base after all…

Clint walked up to him, the guy recognizing him as well. What was his name again? Wilson.

"Agent Barton, nice to see you again. Please, have a seat." He motioned.

Clint took the chair simply because he didn't have anything better to do.

Clint nodded, "you get the stuff you needed ok, doc?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You stationed here permanently?"

"I divide my time between my lab at Stanford and my other assignments."

"Sure, right." Mumbled Clint.

Wilson put the tablet down and looked at Clint directly, "I'm sorry Agent Barton, I don't mean to be anti-social. I just don't have too many people around here that I can converse with."

Clint caught his meaning, "You mean anyone with high enough security clearance that you're allowed to talk them?"

"Something like that."

"Must get boring"

"My work keeps me busy."

"Know the feeling."

"Been with SHIELD long?" Wilson ventured.

"10 years in tactical ops. You?"

"Longer than I can remember."

"You get recruited right out of college?"

Wilson took a deep breath and tried to hide the fact that he wasn't sure how to answer that question. "Yes, SHIELD funded my doctoral research."

Clint was glad this guy wasn't too chatty, but he was still bored.

"You play pool, doc?"

"Of course, I may a biologist, but I do know my around a bar."

Clint popped up and headed for the table, raising his hand to bartender, who waved him on as if he couldn't be bothered to collect money right then.

Clint racked the balls, and motioned for Wilson to break. The biologist did so with some degree of skill. The game progressed. Wilson still eyed Clint a little warily; sure his Barton guy could kill someone with a pool stick with one hand tied behind his back and blindfolded. But at least there was someone on base whom with he was actually allowed to have a conversation with. Hadn't had that in years.

"First name is Clint, by the way. You got one?"

"Sure, Elliot, my first name is Elliot."

Clint nodded and continued to clear the table.