"Agent Coulson?" Fury said. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Yes, sir," Agent Coulson replied, stepping into the director's office. He'd been on his way to the gym to check on his two charges, Hawkeye and the Black Widow, to make sure they didn't kill each other. They were still getting used to each other and testing the limits of the other.

"How is Agent Romanoff fitting in so far?" Fury asked, sitting behind his desk. He gestured for Coulson to take a seat as well, which he did before answering.

"She is adjusting fairly well, I think. The other agents fear and hate her, and I think maybe it will get to her eventually, but right now, I think she is doing well. I know she's healthier; the crap they called food that they were giving her at the Red Room was doing absolutely nothing for her."

"And Agent Barton? How does he feel about their little arrangement?" the director asked.

"Sir, if I may be so frank, it's hard to tell. I'm usually able to read him better than this, but I just can't for some reason. I would assume he's okay with it – he's the one who brought her in after all."

"Sir!" Agent Hill said, banging on the door.

"Enter," the director said, glancing up. Agent Hill hurried in, her eyes wide.

"Sir, I believe we have a situation in Gym 3, with Agents –"

"Barton and Romanoff," Coulson finished for her. "I'm on my way. Not to worry, Director. I've got it." He walked quickly from the office after receiving Fury's nod and made his way down to the gyms to make sure his charges hadn't seriously hurt each other. Or any other agents.

"Was that all, Agent Hill?" Fury asked when they were alone.

"Sir, do you really think having the Black Widow around is such a good idea?"

"If you have something you want to say, Agent, spit it out," the director replied. He didn't have time for dillydallying. He had mountains of paperwork to do. Something these agents didn't seem to appreciate at all…

"It's just that, I've heard the rumors and the talk in the mess hall, and she makes the other agents nervous. They think she's a ticking time bomb, that she'll turn on us."

"Do you believe that, Agent?"

"I don't know what to believe, sir. All I know is that she's dangerous, whether she uses that for us or for the Red Room or even some other group."

"Well then, it's best she use her skills for us, is it not?"

"Yes, sir," Agent Hill replied, fidgeting a little. The director made her nervous still, even though she'd been working with him directly for the last seven months.

"Then if you have nothing further to report, please leave and tell Agent Henderson I need his report yesterday." The director's tone held a final note of dismissal, which wasn't lost on Hill, who quickly left him to his paperwork.

"Clint!" Coulson yelled, swiping the gym door open with his ID card. "What the hell is going on in here?" The gym was trashed. Coulson hadn't thought that was even possible. His charges were in a mass of arms and legs in the middle of the room.

"Oh, hey, Phil," Clint said, then grunted. "That hurt!" he said over his shoulder, presumably to Natasha, who was underneath him and sort of around him and bent some way –

"Please don't make me get the duct tape and separate you two," Coulson. "Stand down, both of you. Now."

"Oh, not the duct tape!" Clint said dramatically. He had made his living in a circus for some years. He was theatrical by nature. "Natasha, he means business. If you would be so kind as to stop trying to bite me, we will both survive this…"

It took them a few seconds to unravel from each other. When they finally were two distinct bodies again, Clint lying on his back breathing heavily, Natasha sitting facing Coulson, knees drawn up, eyes predatory and watching Coulson, he cleared his throat.

"What, exactly, is going on in here?" Coulson asked, folding his arms across his chest. Hawkeye groaned and pulled his torso up to mimic Natasha's posture, a playful grin on his face.

"Wrestling. What's it look like?" he replied. Coulson frowned at him sternly.

"We weren't really going to hurt each other," Natasha supplied, a trace of a Russian accent slipping into her voice. Clint had started noticing it did that when she was extremely tired. He smiled wider, thinking he had been the one to wear her out to the point she started speaking in an accent.

"And what about the gym, hm?" Coulson said. He gestured to the general destruction around them. "Agent Hill interrupted my private conversation with Director Fury to report a problem in here. Care to explain that?"

"It is not my fault she doesn't know what real fighting looks like," Natasha said archly. Clint suspected she and Agent Hill had some sort of feud going on, but he had no idea why.

"This isn't for real! This is practice! As in, you establish a safe word and don't try to kill each other!" Coulson fumed.

"We weren't trying to kill each other," Clint argued. "We were getting used to each other's fighting styles. As memory serves, that's what you told us to do!"

"Clint, just don't," Coulson said. What had he done to deserve this? He rubbed his hands over his face. "Please, go back to your quarters and shower. We'll discuss conduct protocols after."

"Conduct protocols?" Natasha asked, frowning. She glanced at Clint.

"I'll explain on the way. Come on. I think we're in trouble," Clint said. He got up and pulled Natasha to her feet as well. The two agents edged around Coulson, who stood just inside the door, and returned to their quarters, which were next door to each other.

"Damn right you're in trouble…" Coulson mumbled. He heard Clint's laugh disappear down the corridor. Coulson turned and cast the destroyed gym a pitying look. "My apologies to the repair crew…"

"Agent Coulson!" Coulson looked up from the papers on his desk.

"Yes? Come in."

"Agent," another suited agent said, breathing heavily from running to the office. "I think you better come with me."

"What is it?" Coulson asked, immediately all business as he jumped up to run back with the other agent. His name might have been Aarons.

"Agent Barton is missing and Agent Romanoff is going on a rampage, tearing the place apart looking for him – "

"Say no more. Where is she?"

"When I left to get you, she was tearing the mess hall apart."

"Thanks. I'll handle it from here," Agent Coulson said. He turned down the hallway that led to the mess hall. Sure enough, as he got closer, the sounds of chaos got louder. When he burst in the double doors, the scene before him looked right out of an exaggerated food fight scene of a movie.

"Romanoff!" he yelled. He caught a flash of red hair between two other agents who were throwing spaghetti at each other. He ran over to her, pushing his way through the crowd and narrowly managing to dodge a pudding cup and bowl of carrots.

"Phil! Where is he?" Natasha asked. Her eyes were wild with panic, yet also cold and calculating, thinking, the wheels in her head turning frantically. Phil was surprised he couldn't see steam coming out of her ears.

"Natasha, calm down. Come with me," Coulson said. He grabbed her arm so as not to lose her in the crowd and escorted her into the hallway, where it was much quieter and there was no danger of bodily harm by projectile food.

"I cannot find him anywhere," Natasha said, her accent thick. That was what tipped Coulson off that she was genuinely scared and worried. That also made her ten times more dangerous than she usually was.

"He's around somewhere. Fury wouldn't send him on a mission without letting me know no matter what," he said, trying to reassure her. Her fear brought out his protective side. He wanted to make it go away so that she was once again the Black Widow, fearless, deadly, and sexy as sin.

"I have checked his room, the gyms, the mess hall, and I cannot find him anywhere." Coulson looked at his watch and noticed the date.

"Come on, I think I might know where he is," Coulson said. It was September 29th, the anniversary of the fight that killed Hawkeye's brother. The anniversary of Hawkeye killing his brother.

Coulson brought them to a door marked "Roof Access" and pushed it open. There, on the edge of the roof, sat Clint Barton. He made a rather sad and lonely silhouette, Coulson thought.

"Clint!" Natasha said and ran to him.

Clint turned and barely had time to scramble away from the edge and catch Natasha without sending both of them off the roof. Natasha held him tight around the waist and buried her face in his chest. Clint, after a confused moment, put his arms around her as well and gave Phil a confused frown.

"Why don't we all go into my office and talk, shall we?" Coulson said. After a moment, Natasha released Clint from her death grip and stepped back.

On their way back to Coulson's office, they ran into Director Fury.

"Agent Coulson," the director said, glaring at the handler. "I expect you in my office at 1600 hours. You too, Agent Romanoff." He swept away toward the cafeteria without waiting for a reply.

"Come on," Coulson said, resuming their hasty walk to his office. They managed to avoid other stops on their way and he closed the door behind the three of them. He locked the door, breathed deeply for a moment, then went to sit in his desk chair.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Clint asked, taking a seat across from him.

"It would seem you forgot to mention something quite important to your partner here," Coulson said calmly, fixing Clint with a steady, significant stare.

"I couldn't find you," Natasha said simply, as if those four little words explained the entire mess.

"First off, Natasha, if you can't find Clint and he's not on a mission, you come find me," Coulson said. "Secondly, Clint, you two are partners now. You have to communicate. I don't mean a passing 'Hey, I'm going to the gym, wanna join me?' I mean the personal stuff. In order for the two of you to become a team, you have to know where the other is coming from."

"Sorry, Phil, I wasn't even thinking. You know what day it is," Clint said, understanding beginning to dawn on him.

"Yes, well, as the person in charge of you both, I now have to explain this thing to Director Fury. I would appreciate it if, in future, you didn't get yourselves, and me, in so much trouble. Now, Natasha, you come with me. Clint, wait for us in your quarters. No, you may not leave them. You're grounded."

It took Coulson a good deal of nerve and patience, but he was able to explain the situation to Director Fury. For his part, Fury understood, and let them off the hook – this time. The next time something like this happened, someone was going to get latrine duty and run laps til they barfed. Coulson paled, but agreed. There was nothing else for it. Natasha got a firm talking-to and was released.

"Now, go talk to Clint. You're both grounded until I'm not mad at you anymore. Got it?"

"I'll let Clint know," Natasha replied, chastised, and made a hasty retreat. Now that Clint was back and she could think and see clearly, she was embarrassed by her earlier behavior. She had never, ever, not once in her life, lost her cool so thoroughly. She and Clint definitely had things they needed to talk over together…

A month after "the Incident," as Coulson liked to refer to it, he was happy to report that Clint and Natasha were getting along much better. They still fought like cats and dogs, but it was part of their relationship – the witty banter, the subtle stabs at each other's abilities, the one-upping.

In fact, they were getting along so well, Coulson decided to take the night off. After all, it was just one night. Clint and Natasha had just returned from a somewhat complicated mission and were tired, he was mostly caught up on his paperwork, and he hadn't had a night off in at least three months. He was going to treat himself, dammit.

"Now, children. You two are old enough that I shouldn't have to babysit you every minute of the day. Please don't prove me wrong," Coulson said. He had caught them having an early dinner in the cafeteria together.

"Are you leaving us?" Clint asked, making dramatic puppy dog eyes.

"I'm taking the night off for personal time," Coulson said. "You may not come with me and you may not spy on me."

"Ooh, are you going out somewhere?" Clint asked, sudden interest sparking in his gray eyes.

"It's none of your business," Coulson said, realizing he'd given away too much information. Frankly, any information was too much information when it came to these two.

"It's a woman," Natasha said casually. "Shut up, Clint. Phil's allowed to go out on dates." She elbowed Clint to get him to stop laughing.

"I don't even want to know how you know," Coulson said, shaking his head wearily. "Just, please, behave yourselves? For me?"

"Of course! We won't be any trouble, will we, Nat?"

"No, of course not," Natasha said, her features unreadable.

"I'll see you in the morning, then. Good night," Coulson said.

"Good night, Phil," Clint called after him. Somehow, he added a suggestive lilt to his voice. Coulson vaguely heard Natasha slap him upside the head and his muttered "Ow!" but kept walking. He prayed for a miracle.

Coulson was having a lovely time on his date. The woman's name was Karen. They had gone to dinner at a steakhouse on the river and were now at a concert by the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. Karen played cello in an orchestra in New Jersey.

During the intermission, Coulson checked his phone for messages. There were six, the most recent from just five minutes ago. This was not good. He only had to listen to three of them to know that Clint and Natasha had gotten into some trouble or other. The messages had gotten progressively more tense and panicked as he listened.

"Is something wrong?" Karen asked when he found her again in the lobby.

"I'm afraid I have to go back to the office," Coulson said. Looking into Karen's concerned brown eyes, he thought he could really hate his job sometimes.

"Can't someone else handle whatever it is?"

"I'm afraid not. It's a… a private project I'm working on. They need me to handle something that's come up."

Karen sighed. "I was having a really great time," she said.

"I was, too," Coulson replied. "Hey, it may have been cut short this time, but I promise I'll make it up to you next time."

"Next time?" Karen asked.

"I'd like to have a next time," Coulson said, mentally slapping himself for being so presumptuous and trying to do damage control.

Karen smiled. "I'd like that."

"I'm glad you understand," Coulson said, smiling at her and holding her hand.

"I know what it means to be dedicated to your work," she said. "I understand. Go. We'll go out another night."

"I'll call you tomorrow," Coulson promised. Before he lost his nerve, he kissed her cheek and left to give his agents hell.

He drove like crazy through the New York traffic to get back to the SHIELD base, then strode purposefully to the shooting range. That was as much as he'd been able to glean from the messages, was Clint, Natasha, and the shooting range. He walked faster.

"What the hell – " he said, coming upon the scene on the range. There were bullet casings everywhere, all of the targets had clusters of bullet holes or an arrow sticking out of them, and Clint and Natasha were standing about a hundred feet apart, aiming projectile weapons at each other.

"Oh, hey, Phil," Clint said, not taking his eyes off of Natasha. "How'd the date go?"

"It was going great til I received six messages saying to get down here ASAP! Care to tell me why you have the whole base freaking bad enough that I had to leave my date at the theater?"

"I hope you got her number before that, because she definitely will not appreciate being abandoned," Clint said lightly, teasingly. Coulson was about ready to explode in anger.

"Natasha. You're reasonable. Tell me what is going on here, exactly."

"We couldn't sleep, so we came in here to work off some steam from the mission," she said calmly, keeping her Glock trained on Clint.

"And why is the base worried about this?"

"The targets weren't doing it, so we started shooting at each other," Clint explained. "I have no idea why the base is flipping out, though."

Coulson closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his right hand. He would be assigned to handle two agents with awesome chemistry who tried to kill each other every other day. It was just his luck.

"I'm going to count to three. On three, I want each of you to lower the weapons. Got it?" He waited for each of them to nod. "I mean it now. One. Two. Three. Weapons down."

Clint and Natasha lowered their weapons as he had said. He moved forward so that he was standing directly between them. He gestured them closer to him. When they were within reach, he took the Glock and the bow and arrow from them at the same time, so neither would feel slighted.

"Good. Now, go to your rooms. I'm writing an incident report and will do damage control, but expect to run a whole lot of laps tomorrow. Dismissed."

Clint and Natasha left the range. Coulson counted to ten, then did it again when he didn't feel any better. He put the weapons in the agents' respective lockers and went to get started on the incident report. He just couldn't catch a break with these two…

"Hey, Phil? Can I talk to you?" Clint asked, knocking on the door that Phil had left ajar.

"Sure, have a seat," Coulson gestured to the chairs across from him. Clint closed the door securely behind him and sat down. He was glad that Phil had forgiven him and Natasha for the shooting range incident. He'd purposely waited a few weeks to give him time to cool down and forgive them, which might have helped.

"What did you want to talk about?" Phil asked, leaning back in his desk chair. He studied his agent. He didn't think he'd ever seen Hawkeye nervous before.

"I, um," Clint started, then stopped, seeming to search for words. "I wanted to ask about SHIELD's, um, policy, regarding, uh, Agent Romanoff…"

"What?" Coulson said, thoroughly lost.

"And me…"

Coulson thought about what Clint had said. "Oh."

"I don't want to kill her," Clint said helpfully.

"I got that. Are you asking if you're allowed to start seeing Agent Romanoff in a, shall we say, non-SHIELD way?"

"Yes, yes, that's a good way of putting it," Clint agreed, glad that Phil had caught on to what he was trying to say. Normally, he was not nervous about women. But Natasha wasn't just another woman to woo into his bed. She was his partner in crime, so to speak, and his partner in justice, and his best friend, and, well, he hoped, more than friend.

"Technically? It's not allowed," Coulson said, trying to be gentle. He saw Clint's face fall. "But, because you have done the mature thing and come to me first, I will cover for you."

"Really?" Clint said, perking up, his expression full of hope.

"I'm your friend, too, Clint. Of course I will. I can't promise that I'll be able to keep Director Fury from finding out, but I'll do my damnedest."

"Thanks, Phil, thank you so much," Clint said, pumping Phil's hand up and down enthusiastically.

"Just remember, if you hurt her, I will murder you. Slowly," Coulson threatened. He was in charge of Natasha's well-being, too, and he had come to see her as sort of a daughter. Well, what did you expect after being someone's handler for so long?

"Of course, of course," Clint said. "I'll see you later!" He was out the door in a flash.

Phil smiled to himself. He knew he wouldn't have to follow through on his threat. Those two were already like an old married couple. He was actually surprised to find out they weren't already sleeping together. Which reminded him to call Karen. They had gone on more dates, all during the day when Clint and Natasha would be securely, safely occupied for a few hours.

More weeks went by. Clint and Natasha were closer than ever. You rarely saw one without the other, in fact. Natasha came to Phil about a month after Clint had.

"Phil?" she asked, tapping on his office door and walking right in, not waiting for permission.

"Have a seat. What's up?" he asked.

"I assume Clint told you that we are together now?" Natasha asked.

"Yes, he came and asked permission. Why?"

"I didn't have time, with the Red Room, for romance," Natasha started. She got up and started pacing. Phil sat back and waited for her to make her point. "I was taught seduction, to use my assets to gain information from targets or to get close to them. But with Clint – everything is different." She stopped and faced him, leaning forward on the desk. "I don't know… how to be close."

Well, that certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting. He supposed it made sense, though. Natasha was, well, extremely skilled at using her "assets," as she called them, for her own benefit. She hadn't had a normal childhood or teenage-hood, and so it only made sense she didn't know how to navigate a normal romantic relationship. Well, maybe not normal, but –

"Natasha. I'm going to tell you this," Coulson began. "When Clint came to me, he was nervous. I've never seen him nervous. Not even when he was assigned to bring in the mighty Black Widow. Which tells me that he wants to do everything right. For you. All you can do is be yourself, and trust what you and Clint have. I've never seen a bond between two people closer than yours."

"I don't know how."

"You'll figure it out. Nat, this isn't something where I can just give you a file where you can read the information you need to know. This is life and love and real and you have to trust your instincts."

Natasha sat down in the chair again and stared at Phil, mulling over his words. Coulson tried not to let her stare get to him.

"Thank you, Phil. I have to think more about what you have said," Natasha said, standing up.

"Glad I could help," Phil replied. "Go get em."

Coulson was on another date with Karen. It was going extremely well. They were at a fancy dinner party, complete with black ties and evening gowns and champagne in fluted glasses. Coulson felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. From the look Karen turned on him, she felt it too. She stepped out of his embrace and waited for him to answer it, only a little bit put out by the interruption. She knew how important his job was, she just didn't know what exactly it was that he did.

"Coulson," he hissed into the phone.

"Agent Coulson, you had better get back here before I kill them," Agent Hill said.

"Mine again?" Coulson asked.

"You'd better come quickly," she replied then the line went dead. Coulson shoved his phone back in his pocket angrily. They were so going to run laps. They would run laps until he puked.

"Karen," he said, turning to her with an apologetic expression, "I'm so sorry. They need me – "

"In the office. It's okay, Phil. I was getting tired here anyway. Can you drop me off on your way?" she said.

Coulson drove her to her apartment, waited just long enough to see that she got inside okay, then took off for the SHIELD base, where two agents were going to be in very big trouble.

"Ah, Coulson, there you are," Director Fury said when Phil ran in the door.

"Sir. I'm so sorry for… what are they doing, exactly?"

"I'll let you see for yourself. They were in the dormitory wing last I checked." Coulson followed the Director through the maze of corridors that was the base HQ. They were walking quickly, so he couldn't be sure, but there appeared to be, at random intervals, great splatters of paint on the walls, floor, and ceiling.

They came to the dormitory wing occupied by the special task force soldiers. There was an unnatural silence, a complete absence of people that was not right.

"Director?" Coulson asked.

"At the far end. I trust you'll handle this, Agent." Director Fury took one last, surveying look around and left, back the way they had come.

Coulson looked down the seemingly empty corridor and started walking, slowly, cautiously. He didn't think it necessary to draw his weapon, exactly, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to be careful. Knowing his agents, this could be anything, although he had a pretty good idea…

"Eat paint!" Clint yelled, then appeared around a doorway a second later, firing from a gun. Coulson ducked, but he needn't have bothered. Hawkeye's prey was the Black Widow, who popped up when he yelled from behind some gear stacked in the hallway thirty feet ahead of Coulson's position. Natasha returned fire and then ducked down again, barely missing a gob of fuchsia paint.

"Barton! Romanoff!" Coulson yelled. He waited for them to respond.

"Nice try, Nat, but I know that's a recording," Hawkeye said loudly.

"Barton, Romanoff, I'm standing right here," Coulson said, rubbing his forehead. He so did not get paid enough for this. "I'm supposed to be on a date with Karen but got called back to control you two. Okay? I'm here. Now, I'm going to count to three. Then I want you both to stand up, come forward, and put your weapons on the ground and then hands in the air. Got it?"

"I swear to God, Nat, if you're cheating… okay," Clint said, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"Got it," Natasha said, always to the point.

"Okay. Ready? One… two… three. Weapons on the ground and hands in the air."

His two charges stood up from their concealed positions, hands up, and set the weapons on the ground at Coulson's feet. They didn't take their eyes off each other. They straightened, keeping their hands visible, and stepped away, waiting for Coulson to speak.

Phil bent and picked up the two paint guns. They were both close to being empty.

"Put the extra ammo on the ground. On three," he demanded. He counted again. Slowly, Clint and Natasha each lowered a hand to unfasten their extra ammunition and set those on the ground as well, returning their hands to their up position. Coulson took the ammo, too, then let them lower their hands to their sides, where he could still see them.

"I'd ask what's going on but I think that much is obvious," Coulson said. "Care to explain why?"

"We're on a date," Natasha said, the slightest hint of blush coloring her pale features.

"A date," Coulson repeated. He looked down, tapped his foot, looked back up at his two charges. His expression was somewhere between furious and frustrated with a hint of amusement, but that might have been hysteria. Natasha would have to watch further to be sure which.

"Clint," she growled, glaring daggers at her… partner. If looks could kill, she wouldn't have a partner anymore, Phil thought.

"I was just trying to give Natasha a normal American experience," he explained, his voice rising in desperation. "And it was time to spend, you know, together?" he ended up asking instead of explaining. His eyes pleaded with Coulson to understand.

"You two realize that I was called off of my date with my girlfriend to come in and diffuse a situation – you two playing being the situation, right?"

Nods from the two agents.

"And you realize that there is now paint all over SHIELD that needs cleaning up?"

Again, the two nodded simultaneously, heads hanging. Coulson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't really be mad at them. They were young and in love, and had hands down the most stressful jobs on the planet. He wanted to cut them slack. At the same time, there were shooting ranges that would have suited their purposes rather than the hallways of SHIELD…

"What was wrong with the shooting range?" Coulson asked.

"It was boring. No real obstacles, no real-life buzz to the situation. We thought this could double as training – you know, infiltrating an enemy's military base and take out the other – "

"Stop. Just stop," Coulson cut Clint off from trying to explain. "You two are going to clean up all the paint and give apologies to Director Fury. And, you're grounded."

"What? Come on, Phil, we're not teenagers!" Clint argued. "You can't ground us!"

"Watch me," Coulson said. "No missions. Ten days. No exceptions."

"But what if SHIELD needs us for a mission no one else can handle?" Clint said.

"I'll be putting your punishments in my report to Director Fury. I'm sure he'll be most understanding. Now go to bed, both of you. If you behave yourselves I might be persuaded to shorten your grounding."

"This is bullshit," Clint muttered.

"Good night, agents. And maybe next time, Clint, you'll think twice before interrupting one of my dates," Coulson said. Then he left his agents standing in the hall. He returned the equipment to the shooting range lockers they belonged in and went to his own quarters. He only had the energy to sketch a few notes. He'd write the full report in the morning. He really wasn't paid enough…