A/N: Characters and situations belong to Marvel Studios.


"Barton." Nick Fury wore his patented, I-can't-deal with this right now. expression. "What part of take her out don't you understand? Did I stop speaking English, or did you detonate one of those exploding arrows too close to your ears? You disappear for so long, everybody but Coulson is telling me you're dead, and then you walk a rogue assassin into S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house, and you don't see anything wrong with this picture?"

Clint adjusted his bow on his shoulder and met Fury's glare with a unperturbed shrug. "I took her out of the equation. And I didn't walk a rogue assassin into a safe house. Give me some credit. I brought in a defector. We did some talking."

"That's what you were doing for three weeks off the grid?" Fury demanded. "Talking?"

"And eating pancakes," said Clint. "I introduced her to the cook at my favorite diner."

He'd had a faint hope of that eliciting at least a look of surprise. Nick Fury was one of the very few who had been privileged to enjoy Laura Barton's pancakes, and having been the one to effectively erase the Barton farm from existence, knew how rare it was for Clint to introduce anyone to his new wife. At least a raised eyebrow would have been nice. Unfortunately, Fury had a very good poker face. "Someday, I'm going to succeed in hiring that woman," he said. "She called me three times to ask if I'd heard from you."

Clint rubbed the back of his neck. "In fairness, the first two were probably legitimate. You going to let her speak for herself now?" he asked nodding at the door.