"Phil, could you please explain to me why I had to put an arrow through my handler's eye?" The voice was one Coulson hadn't heard in months, but the very sarcastic and dry tone immediately made him smile.

"How did you – "

"Know you weren't dead? Duplicity is Fury's game, his modus operandi. Come on Phil, I'm not an Avenger because of my rugged good looks," he said. Coulson pictured the man on the other end of the connection, imagining the smirk that would accompany the words.

Coulson allowed the first rusty attempt at a chuckle to escape his lips since Fury had passed the burden of authority to him.

"Bet that's the best laugh you've had in a long while," Barton sassed.

"How did you – "

"Get this phone number? Phil, don't make me sound like a broken record. Just tell me why my handler tried to kill me and what I can do to make sure there is no repeat attempt."

Coulson slumped back into the chair, fingering the limited edition Hawkeye pen that sat in his Captain American pencil cup. The pen was worth a mint, having been made in such a small quantity and for such a short time that it was almost a one-off.

"HYDRA," Coulson finally said. "They infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. and tore it apart from the inside."

"So, it's true then." In the background, Coulson could hear traffic noises and a whistle of wind. "I heard on the news that we were a terrorist organization now, but I'd thought that was some sort of ploy on Fury's part."

"No," Coulson said and rubbed his forehead. "I wish it had been. Fury…"

"Don't feed me a bullshit line about him being dead, Phil. I know that's a lie. Tasha was with Steve when that whole Winter Solider thing went down."

"Have you heard from Tasha?"

"You doubt her ability to survive?"

"Never," Phil defended, "but even the best of agents can be hurt."

"What about Fury?" Barton asked. The reticence in Barton's voice was so thick, Coulson felt surrounded in the feelings of betrayal. Barton had been hurt badly, along with Coulson, and the entirety of the Avengers. The fact that he'd initiated the contact, however, gave Coulson a glimmer of hope.

"Fury left the restructuring of S.H.I.E.L.D. to me, so it's Director Phil now. Will you come in? Where are you?" he said, sitting forward.

There was a long, pregnant pause. Coulson waited, knowing that trust didn't come easy to his finest agent.

"The Crimea," Barton answered. "I finished up a job in the Crimea. What's your play, Phil?" Barton's question held heavy implications and a wrong answer would end the conversation forever.

"Will you come in if I ask? I'm going to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D."

"So, I'm a free agent now?" Barton asked, evading the question for a second time.

"Yes, retroactively, I regret to inform you that your employment as an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. has been terminated. Your IRA and retirement has been seized by the United States Government."

"Men like me don't live until retirement age, Phil," Barton chuckled, a dry and unused sound. In those many months since the invasion of New York, Coulson had followed Barton and Romanoff's assignments, seeing the trials S.H.I.E.L.D. had put them through. He didn't doubt that every tired syllable had been earned with hard work and suffering. "Besides, S.H.I.E.L.D. demoted me three security clearances levels after I was compromised. They lost their trust in me; I lost mine in them."

Coulson closed his eyes and wondered if there was anything he could say to sway Barton.

"I…"

"Don't, Phil. Begging is undignified. I won't come in and help you rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D., but if you want me, I'll return and guard your back. That's the best I can do."

Coulson's laughter shook his whole body and Barton allowed him the full thirty seconds he needed to exorcise those particular feelings.

"And Tasha?"

"I'll talk to her," he said, promising nothing for the woman.

A/N: Thanks to MissScorp, nightgigjo, and bkwrmnlvnit for beta reading this new adventure.