“He’s not telling us everything,” Fury reached out and shut the projection off, “I’m not comfortable with this.” Coulson didn’t respond, didn’t need to. “Let Rogers know I want Barton watched; he doesn’t go anywhere alone until we understand exactly what’s going on. I’m not losing him to some egotistical mind-f***ing blade-dancer who has mentor issues and wants to take it out on our asset.” Phil nodded efficiently. He couldn’t agree more.

Phil looked at Clint, lowering his weapon, devastation clear on his face for a fraction of a second. Devastation for what Clint had done, or devastation for what he’d suffered Clint wasn’t sure. He squared his shoulders regardless. “People like to say that blood smells like iron, but it doesn’t. Blood smells like blood, and sometimes there’s no way around it and no room to regret it.”