A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack. Here's part of chapter 3 for AI-because it's so freakishly short right now-I'm going to try to work on this as much as I can, but it's not at the top of my list. So just expect me to update in little snippets.

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don't own Avengers and Mission Impossible. I only own my ideas.

Clint paces back and forth, anxiety written all over his face as he waits for Fury to invite them in.

Everything has been a mess—a total disaster. Jane and Natasha got into a big argument on the ride to a private jet that had a direct flight to HQ and then Benji almost brought out the Hulk because he couldn't keep his curiosity under control. Steve was on a verge of a break down half-way through the flight because Ethan Hunt and Tony Stark were arguing about something idiotic.

He was so close to pulling out his bow and arrows to shoot someone…erm something. Fury would be furious if he suddenly shot someone because he couldn't control his emotions.

He really doesn't want to play parent because the two groups are acting like stupid little six and seven year olds—hell! Even six and seven year olds act better than this. With an exasperated sigh, he goes to the front of the door, fist poised to knock, only for it to open and reveal an annoyed man.

Times like these are when he's thankful that the man only has one eye. The look he's being given could almost suck out his soul and throw it to hell…hint: almost.

"Come in," Fury says, his voice serious and rough.

The IMF visibly flinch at his voice, and the authoritative power carried by the way he stands and walks. An uncomfortable silence engulfs the room as everyone takes a seat.

"Is that Fergi?" Ethan whispers to Barton, his eyes not leaving the stony man.

Clint chokes at the name, his eyes flickering to Fury in slight fear as Tony's body shakes in laughter at the question.

"Fury," the man answers, his voice slightly taut.

Ethan laughs nervously. "I already know your expression, now, really, what's your name?"

Fury sends Clint a cold look.

Oh Fuck, Clint thinks, I'm dead. If I don't die right now, I'll personally kill Hunt for being an idiot.

A cough from Clint tells him that he shouldn't have spoken out of turn. Across from him, Tony snickers. Steve is ashen white. He decides that this might be the right moment to shut his mouth.

"As you all know, the Syndicate has threaten the American government. IMF was sent undercover to go on a reconnaissance in order to gather information about the inner workings of the organization. The Avengers, under my orders, were to carry out the same mission, tailing your team. However beneficial it seemed at the time, it still didn't prevent the inability to capture suspect Flamant. Now the Syndicate is suspicious of our appearances and actions, so in order to get the upperhand, we must band together"—Clint opens his mouth in objection, but Fury continues—"And because of the inconvenience in the fact that Agent Barton did not capture and bring suspect Flamant into custody, he'll become responsible for the rest of the mission. Any questions?"

"Yes," Tony says, an annoyed expression on his face, "How come he," he jerks his head to Clint, "gets to be in charge of the mission."

"Were you even listening?" Natasha asks, her voice filled with irritation.

"I was busy."

"With what? Looking at a playboy magazine?"

"Stocks…and a new playboy magazine." He smiles innocently, enjoying the chance to rile her up. Natasha glares at him and turns away, her hands strangling her water bottle.

Fury rubs his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "He's the only one who can keep you all in place…it seems."

"Wait…who is Agent Barton," Hunt asks, his expression filled with confusion and bewilderment.

Clint clears his throat for a moment, catching everyone's undivided attention. "Clint Barton, under the alias of William Brandt. Agent of both Avengers and IMF."

The room is silent, and the only thing that can be heard is one ding from Tony's Iphone.

Only one person seems to have the guts to interrupt the choking silence."Holy fuck. You're a superhero," Benji asks in awe.

"Unfortunately," Clint mutters, glaring down at the table in annoyance.