WitW: With all the Christmas fics lying around I thought I'd write a (belated) Boxing Day fic. Mixed with my own Christmas spirit. Be warned.

It was an accident that Clint found them together at all. They'd just gotten a new base of operations and Clint's Christmas present to himself – besides being damn good with a bow – was a chance to explore the vents while everyone was sleeping of Christmas Day. What he didn't count on was getting lost.

Also; stumbling onto the remains of the senior staff party.

That head office was trashed.

Sitwell was lounging in the sink, Blake was wearing a turban made of what appeared to be his suit jacket and tie – Garret was overseas because he preferred to spend Christmas kicking doors instead of kicking back. And Maria Hill, Assistant Director of SHIELD; all-round tough military stock with a frosty temper to match her eyes, was spread-eagled underneath a glass coffee table in a slip of sparkly fabric Clint was sure was supposed to be a festive dress when it was properly extended. Even Fury – Fury – was there, somehow in full Matrix position (to go with his coat) over the back of the sofa. Completely balanced.

Scary mother fucker.

The only one who seemed completely normal in his state of unconsciousness was Coulson. Stretched out on his back with a blanket covering him, he would've looked perfectly comfortable and cosy if it weren't for Fury hovering over him like a demented, disfigured bat.

Seriously. How did they do that?

Clint was silently sniggering and reaching for his phone (not to take shots of Coulson, what? Where'd you get that idea? Just 'cause he's unguarded and kind of cute...) when he noticed the discarded blanket on the armchair. Who...?

"Barton."

As an agent of SHIELD he would like it on the record that he did not jump and hit his head on the vent ceiling. Just like he didn't shriek like a girl beforehand or let anyone get the drop on him. He was a damn fine agent of SHIELD. Only Natasha could make him do these things. Because it was okay if Natasha. She's like 'Because reasons' but better. And Russian.

Clint would like to state that what happened after that interlude where those other things did not happen was true, though it didn't seem like it at the time. It went like this;

Coulson bolted upright and sang;

"FIVE! COCK! RINGS!"

Fury startled awake, overbalanced backward, and smoothly belly-flopped onto the table;

BANG

Which didn't break. Huh. SHIELD Holocaust Proof TM

That (second) bang obviously woke Hill, seeing as she was underneath the thing;

BANG

Definitely SHIELD Holocaust Proof TM

So that bang(third) woke Sitwell, who managed not to bang anything but still groaned like he did, but when he tried to get out it seemed he was wedged in (Blake seemed to be protected from the noise by his turban. He might be dead. It was a real possibility at SHIELD parties). Suffice to say a LOT of quiet, multi-lingual swearing came from the kitchen corner.

But all this rapid-fire slapstick had nothing on Coulson, slowly snuggling back into his original position;

"Four body swaps, three threesomes, two strap-ons, and a 'verse in Rule 63!" He yawned, "on the sixth day of Bingo...beta...gave..." Coulson let out a snore.

Sitwell seemed to be trying smother himself, "Come on Phil! What've we said about sleep-singing!"

Fury, who hadn't even shown a hint of pain, glared in Clint's direction from where he'd crouched down after-fall and not moved(Huh. Maybe some hint of pain.) "I supposed you think this is funny?"

(Shit shit shit shi-)

"A little sir." Melinda May strode out from underneath Clint's vent to check on the A.D. Apparently she knocked herself out again on that table.

SHIELD Holocaust Proof TM

"Boxing Day unconsciousness is meant to be sacred woman-" Sitwell started to rant(quietly because he was apparently suffering) but Clint tuned him out fast.

Coulson had managed to roll on top of his blanket and Clint caught a glimpse muscled yards of skin and tight black boxers.

Me-rry Christmas!

Coulson was then covered in a blanket and Clint looked up into Melinda May's knowing eyes.

Merry Christmas...

Natasha would never believe a word of this.

WitW: Someone prompt me for this sometime.