She tells Fury she wants a vacation.

He is obviously included in this request, although she doesn’t voice it. Fury gives them both two weeks, which Clint thinks is fair because he can’t remember ever taking use of the vacation days he should have been piling up over the past few years.

She’s packed and ready to go in twenty minutes. He takes considerably longer, probably due to the fact that he actually owns enough clothes that he has to pick out which ones to bring, rather than just empty the contents of his dresser into a bag, which is most likely what she did.

She tells him they’re going to France on the drive to the airport, and he can’t find it in him to complain. He knows she has a safe house outside of Paris, and honestly he doesn’t care where they go. He’s just as eager to get out from SHIELD’s thumb as she is. They might have all banded together for the fight in Manhattan, but he knows there are still far too many kinks to be worked out before the Avengers ever happen again.

And then there’s the whole matter of how he blew up the helicarrier and killed half a dozen agents while under the influence of one crazy ass God, but he’d rather not talk about that one.

The rest at my journal for party times (http://mrs-nerimon.livejournal.com/19625.html#cutid1)