One: Kananaskis, Alberta

When Coulson sees the dead grizzly he is less than amused.

“What do you expect me to do with that, Barton??” he shouts over the whirr of the helicopter blades.

Clint shrugs.

“I’m sure the chopper has a winch and some wire. We can strap it on and just… I dunno. Dangle it? Like they do in war movies?”

“This isn’t a movie, and a G-8 Summit is not a war,” Coulson says firmly. “No matter how many wannabe assassins might be trying to stalk global leaders through the Canadian wilderness. How many did you pick up, anyway? Your report wasn’t clear.”

Clint shrugs again.

“I lost count. Six? Seven? The bear got two more, I think. At least that’s how many it looked like, after he was done with them.”

Coulson nods, with a satisfied Aha! Look on his face.

“And I don’t see you trying to bring any of those along for the ride home for your trophy collection, do I?”

Clint frowns.

“Why would I? They don’t have any fur to put in front of a fireplace.” He hesitates. “Except maybe that dude they called Boris? He had that hat… The bear didn’t like it, though. Took it personally, I think.”

Coulson looks at the grizzly again. A clean kill, right through the eye as expected; very little blood and no holes in its lush, end-of-winter pelt. He can almost see Barton’s point – but SHIELD almost certainly will not, given the paperwork the Canadians will insist on if they find out. Shooting a bear without a license, and with a bow and arrow, yet?

Clint can see the calculation in Coulson’s eyes.

“Straight up self-defense,” he says. “Came after me while I was waiting for extraction, right here. Otherwise, you think I’d have lugged it all the way up here? That thing must weigh 500 pounds, easy.”

Coulson considers the last several extractions he'd carried out for Agent Barton and shudders. One had involved a swarm of hornets, half of which had followed them into the chopper; another, a half-starved, dirty toddler apparently in need of better parents; and the last, that lethal Russian Barton had been supposed to kill, not bring home for expensive reprogramming.

Coulson comes to a conclusion.

“Fine, we’ll take the thing, Barton. But you can’t expect SHIELD to keep helping you bring the local wildlife home. You want that bear? Fine. But you walk out of here, because otherwise Accounting is going to interrogate me about excess fuel consumption. And from now on, you’re on your own for extraction - you and any unfortunate future partner Director Fury might decide to saddle with you. Deal?”

Barton casts a loving look at the heap of future warm, furry goodness at his feet.

“Deal,” he says and shoulders his bow. “Extraction is for wusses, anyway.”

Read the rest on AO3



Edited 2023-02-27 05:19 am (UTC)