Warning for this one guys, it has a little bit of language. It is also rather angry. But hey. It's Clint we're dealing with, right?

"You have got to be kidding me, Romanoff."

"I'm not joking Phil. He's in the room, asleep."

"Oh I know that; I checked on you again this morning, but why does he need to see me?"

"Really? You're going to ask that after everything we've been through?"

Coulson sighed, and rubbed his eyes. It was already ten o'clock, but he felt as weary as if he had been up all night. Then again, he had technically gotten drunk last night. He and Natasha were in the lab, while FitzSimmons, Skye, and May were downstairs eating breakfast.

"Why is he even here?"

Natasha scoffed. "You're not the only one who cares about me you know."

Coulson looked up at Natasha, who was wearing a grin, letting him know that she was messing with him, but there was a truthfulness in her eyes that told him otherwise. Coulson glared at her, but shrugged it off.

"Do you know what this is going to do to him? He can't know."

"But you'll risk me falling to pieces by telling me that you're alive? I'm starting to think that you don't care about me."

"Oh stop the dramatics Natasha. I know that you have enough common sense to not completely break down. Clint, on the other hand, blames himself for my death, and don't try to tell me differently. I read the psych report. He was so screwed up he didn't even know where he was. You know what he can be like."

Coulson glanced up at Natasha, and was surprised by what he saw. She was wearing a dark expression, and gripping onto the counter she was leaning on. She turned, and kept her back to him.

"I was there."

Coulson paused. What was she talking about?

"What?"

"I was there."

"Where?"

"At the psych hospital with Clint. I was with him the whole time. Damn you, Coulson!" Natasha yelled suddenly.

Coulson heard her gasping breaths, and took a step towards her; wrong idea. She slammed her hand down onto the counter, then turned around and gripped the front of Coulson's shirt, and pulled him into her face.

"Do you even know what kind of trauma your death caused us? The psychologist wanted to declare us insane with grief! And yet here you are, alive, so all of our therapy was for nothing! So if you think by keeping yourself dead to him will help him all, then you are seriously mistaken. The Phil I knew wouldn't have held out on us. He would have told us from the start that he was alive, to hell with the protocols! Now you listen to me, and you listen hard, Philip, he will find out that you're alive, and you will be the one to tell him, понять?"

Coulson looked outraged, but shook his head and sighed.

"You don't understand Natasha. It'll kill him. It'll kill me. He'll explode with every emotion that it's possible to feel. I can't do that to him."

"Not doing it would be worse," sighed Natasha as she released Coulson and turned around to grab a hidden bottle of Vodka. She didn't care if it wasn't even noon. She hadn't realized that when Clint actually showed up how complicated things would be. She thought that Coulson would be happy to see him again, but apparently she was wrong. She poured herself a shot and offered one to Coulson, but he turned slightly green and shook his head. Natasha grinned and downed the alcohol.

"How do you want to do this Phil?" she asked, scanning her old keeper for any signs of dangerous emotions.

"Do what? Who's Phil?" came a voice from behind her. She froze, and dropped her glass, which fell and shattered on the floor.

She hadn't heard him walk in. By the look on Coulson's face, he hadn't heard him either.

"Shit," Coulson whispered, before he ducked down behind the counter. Natasha didn't know why, until an object came flying by exactly where Coulson had been standing. Oh Clint was beyond pissed.

"WHAT THE HELL?" Clint screamed as he took up another object and threw it at Coulson's cowering body. Coulson jumped out of the way just in time, and the metal instrument made a horrible screeching sound as it hit the counter. Natasha just sighed, grabbed another glass out her hiding spot, and poured another shot.

"WHO ARE YOU? WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" Clint yelled, chasing Coulson around the room, continually throwing objects with dead accuracy. Clint was aiming to kill, but unfortunately for him, Coulson really didn't feel like dying. Again.

"It's me, Clint! It's me! It's Phil!"

"PHIL'S DEAD! HE DIED! I KILLED HIM!"

"No, Clint! Shut the hell up and listen! You didn't kill me! I mean, yeah, I died, but it wasn't your fault!"

This pulled Clint up short, but he blinked, shook his head, then grabbed another object suitable for throwing. Coulson kept dodging the incoming improvised weapons, but he was getting tired.

"Natasha? A little help?"

Natasha snorted, and took down another shot. "You should be lucky that I'm not helping him, Phil."

Coulson growled, and kept sprinting around the room, trying to figure out how to calm his insane agent down.

"Maybe you two needed to stay in therapy!" Coulson shouted, aimed more towards Natasha. She laughed.

"Who said we left voluntarily?"

Even as he was trying to keep himself alive, Coulson shot a glare at Natasha.

"I know you two too well to think otherwise. You dropped therapy on your own and you know it."

Natasha just shrugged, while Coulson lunged out of the way because a glass vile went whizzing past his face and shattered against the wall behind him. This was getting ridiculous.

"CLINTON FRANCIS BARTON CALM THE HECK DOWN RIGHT NOW!" Coulson yelled, still crouching on the floor.

He heard a sigh, then someone struggling, and peeked over the counter. Natasha had finally taken pity on Coulson, and restrained her deranged partner. She was standing behind him, and had his arms pinned behind his back, forcing him to look at Coulson.

"Look, LOOK! Look at him Clint! Look at him and tell me that's not Phil. Look!"

Clint breathed heavily through his nose, trying to calm himself down. His eyes were stormy, his face was flushed, and he was twitching with rage, but he turned and looked Coulson dead in the eyes. Natasha slowly released him, thinking it was safe, but kept a comforting hand on her partner's shoulder. Clint took a few more deep breaths, and stepped forward to Coulson, who was watching him with pleading eyes. Clint looked the man up and down, then punched him hard in the jaw.

Coulson fell to the ground, cupping his injured jaw, gasping slightly. He spit out a mouthful of blood, then looked up at Clint, who was torn between feeling sorry, and wanting to punch his handler again.

"I deserved that," Coulson mumbled, pulling himself up to a sitting position.

"You sure as hell did, Phil. You've got some explaining to do, but honestly, I'm not sure that I want to hear what you've got to say."

"Clint, you need to listen to him. He didn't want what happened to him-"

"Natasha, sweetheart, I love you, but stay out of this."

Next thing Clint knew, he was down on the ground next to Coulson, rubbing the back of his head.

"Damn, woman! What was that for!?"

"Don't act like you don't know!" Natasha sneered darkly as she stalked back to her bottle of Vodka. Clint raised an eyebrow at her, which caused her to narrow her eyes.

"Don't call me sweetheart, and don't tell me you love me!" Natasha spat, forgetting her shot glass and just drinking from the bottle. Clint sniggered, Coulson grinned, and then they locked eyes. It was just like old times. Clint sighed, then looked down at his hands, ashamed. Coulson put a reassuring arm around Clint's shoulder.

"Phil, I'm-"

"Don't mention it, Clint. I know you're sorry. But I have to say, I think you're getting a little rusty. Usually you hit me every time."

"Maybe I'm just getting old like you," replied Clint, smiling. He and Coulson laughed, then he stopped, and looked at his handler.

"What happened, Phil?"

Coulson sighed, and looked over at his broken agent.

"Hell happened, Clint."

Clint arched an eyebrow, and Coulson was about to explain, but the lab door was thrown open, and in rushed four armed and ready people.

Skye was aiming a gun, Simmons had an Icer, May had her fists, and Fitz had a rather large book. Coulson raised a quizzical eyebrow at the engineer.

"What?" Fitz said. "We didn't have another gun."

Coulson rolled his eyes, and watched as the tension broke in the room. Simmons dropped the Icer on a nearby table, looking glad to have relieved herself from the weapon. May just relaxed her arms, and blinked her eyes in recognition. Skye lowered her gun, but held onto it, her eyes scanning over their newest visitor.

"Who are you?" she asked rather rudely. Based on what she had just walked in on, Clint didn't blame her; it was a mess everywhere, with some instruments sticking into the wall, glass all over the floor, and Coulson on the floor with blood coming from his mouth, and a nasty bruise on his jaw.

"Uh," said Clint, pulling himself to his feet while helping Coulson up.

"I'm Clint Barton, a.k.a. Hawkeye."

Skye's eyes magnified to twice their normal size as she looked over at Simmons and Fitz for confirmation. They smiled and nodded, and Skye turned her eyes back to Clint, the second Avenger she had met in just a few days.

Let me know what you think! I've got an idea for something kind of funny that involves Clintasha and hair dye. Hehehe.