xp_logs | SSA Phil Coulson & Clint | Monday Evening; Gabriel & Clint

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Clint's SHIELD debriefing.

Clint clicked the end of the pen he'd been writing with, retracting the nib before putting the pen itself aside and closing the folder on his official statement. "And done," he said, looking up toward SSA Coulson with a slight smile. "Sorry, again, for calling you when I did this morning. I forgot the time difference. Again."

Phil Coulson waved a hand negligently. "It's not the first time someone has rolled me out of bed at oh-dark-thirty, and it certainly won't be the last." He pulled the folder toward him, and picked it up, tapping it against his other hand. "This is the version that goes to Agent Brand, correct?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Correct," Clint said. He gestured toward the other folder on the table. "That's the one for you and Fury. Brand's is... heavily abridged. Basically, anything that might indicate there's something more to my observational skills than a trained agent's is missing from it." That being said, he'd left out the fact that he knew the person doing the breaking and entering at the facility from both statements.

Coulson fixed a silent look at Barton, as if he suspected there was something else that the agent wasn't saying. But it wasn't anything he could prove, and the footage matched the report. "You were very lucky that the Alaska facility's status as an 0-8-4 storage location meant that Fury could shuffle this my way, rather than leave you to deal with Brand directly."

"I've been very lucky a lot lately," Clint said, his tone rueful. "That reminds me, though - the boxes were damaged, but their contents remained secure, so far as I could tell. That's true, correct? I did a lot of reading while I was up there and some of the things in those containers..." Let's just say that SHIELD's initial reports about the missions where the 0-8-4's had been obtained... had been very descriptive. And a lot of the descriptions involved agents dying.

"If they hadn't, we would be having a very different conversation, Agent Barton." For all that Phil Coulson cultivated a sort of milquetoast presence that tended to make people underestimate him, there were times when the steel that made him Nick Fury's 'one good eye' came out.

"Right, you'd be speaking with SHIELD's forensic pathologist or medical examiner instead of me," Clint said, nudging the second file toward Coulson. "I guess now all that's left are the nondisclosure agreements," he said, looking at the other stacks of paper on the table.

Coulson set the folders down and folded his hands as he leaned forward onto the table. "Allow me to emphasize the 'non' portion of 'nondisclosure', Agent Barton. Whatever your difficulties with Agent Brand, you do still have certain responsibilities to SWORD and SHIELD." He paused. "It always sounds so dramatic when I say them back to back like that."

Clint smiled despite himself. "Yeah, it does. But don't worry, I wasn't planning on cutting and running to CNN. And I wanted both you and Fury to know that, even if I'm not working for SHIELD or SWORD directly... I don't have any plans at the moment for future employment, but... after SHIELD, after SWORD..." How to say that after the things he'd seen and done, the scientific breakthroughs he'd witnessed, going back to a purely civilian life just didn't seem like an option? He shook his head as he signed and initialed his way through the end of the NDA. "Vigilantism isn't my jam, sir. But if I come across anything in my future research or activities that the agency should know about, I'll be in touch."

"I appreciate that, Clint." The shift to first names was significant - Coulson was very exact in modes of address. "In fact, I've already sold the Director on your discretion and willingness to be a team player in the future. It's why he's bought off on all this."

The steel in his voice and posture came back. "Don't make me a liar, Barton."

"No, sir," Clint said, shoulders straightening unconsciously for a moment as he stiffened his spine. Then he caught himself and offered Couslon a small smile. "I definitely wouldn't do that. Thank you." He pushed his chair back and prepared to stand, only then he paused. "Oh. And... I'll let my friend, the one I met on the banks of the Danube, know about this."

"I'm sure she'll be glad to know." Coulson looked tired for a moment, the weight of navigating the halls of power showing briefly, and then gone again. "Watch your back, Barton."

After his debriefing, Clint walks into a bar - any bar - for a drink. It just so happens to be Gabriel's bar.

Dead.

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.

Gabriel was sitting - sitting - behind a near-empty bar. Even for 9 p.m. - early by his standards - the crowd was thin. Two regulars, both stingy tippers, sat at stools on opposite ends, and he'd just served both of them. Now he was perched in the middle, flipping idly through a magazine in the hopes of passing the time.

Clint nudged open the door to the bar, exhaustion weighing him down, and then stepped inside. It was still a bit chilly out, despite the weather warming with Spring's arrival, and he hadn't worn a hoodie or jacket to his meeting with Coulson at the Triskelion. Copies of his statements as well as his NDA had been emailed to him, so he'd transferred the files to a thumb drive, tucked it into his pocket, and left SHIELD's HQ with only a few lingering backward glances.

So now it was time to drink. He was footloose and fancy free. Or, y'know, unemployed. Snorting to himself, he headed to the bar, taking in the patrons - rather, the lack of patrons - and the man behind the bar. Clint wasn't sure if it was providence or just fate attempting to play a joke on him, but he recognized the bartender. "Hey," he said, quirking an eyebrow at the younger man.

"Hey yourself." Gabriel barely glanced up from the magazine as he turned the page. And then his eyes caught sight of the man who had just strode in, and they got bigger. "Oh! Hey!" He hopped off the stool, tossing the magazine on the floor. "It's you. I know you." There was a statement that contained multitudes.

Still quirking that half-smile, Clint said, "Yeah, you do." Sliding onto a stool opposite the other man, Clint crossed his forearms on the bar, then leaned forward to rest his chin on them as he said, "Can I get a drink? A strong one? It's been that kind of day."

"Oh? Sure." Gabriel tilted his head and considered the man in front of him. "Tell me more." He turned and grabbed a bottle of rye off the top-shelf, then spun back around in search of a shaker and a rocks glass.

"I quit my job at SWORD. Debriefings suck. And I get to talk to a friend of yours in Westchester tomorrow. So another debriefing. Which I don't expect to be any more enjoyable than the one today." Clint paused to consider that for a long moment, then said, "Honestly, I feel like something called a 'debriefing' should be enjoyable. And yet."

"Every debriefing I've been involved with has been," Gabriel shrugged, the bar banter coming much easier than expected given who he was talking to. "Guess you don't know the right people." He started pouring liquor into the tin, glancing up mid-pour. "Which friend?"

"Summers," Clint specified. "You missed all the drama of me turning up with a mysterious someone. An unconscious mysterious someone." Gesturing to the bruise on his cheek, he finished, "An unconscious mysterious someone who was very, very angry. And apparently doesn't speak English. The unconscious part came after the whole 'beat up Clint' part."

"Ah." Gabriel put the whiskey down and grabbed a tiny bottle of bitters. "Yeah, that looks pretty nasty." He shook two dashes out. "But, what? You think he'll be mad? I don't think Scott gets mad. He's really... calm. Outside of being a huge nerd." He reached under the bar, grabbing a bottle of simple syrup and a scoop of ice in the other. "Definitely not gonna chew you out."

"Dunno, people can be weird debriefing former government agents." Quirking a brow, Clint straightened and said, "Especially in the current climate."

"Yeah." Gabriel grabbed a spoon and started stirring. After a bit, he put a few ice cubes in the rocks glass, grabbed a strainer and poured. "Sure you'll land on your feet. Government's got to be good on a resume." He grabbed an orange slice and cherry to garnish, then placed the drink in front of Clint. "Here."

"I'd've done with straight liquor, but this is better," Clint said after taking a sip. He let out a sigh. "You'd be surprised how many people don't like government work on your resume. Which reminds me, I need to have somebody do an MRI on me - check and see if SHIELD's got a tracking device in me."

"Oh come on, Jason Bourne." Gabriel gave Clint, who was apparently nowhere near as guileless as the other Clint, a skeptical look. "Really?"

"Hand to God," Clint said, taking another drink. "I've had my suspicions. Got some shrapnel in my side during a mission in an undisclosed location. Wondered why they couldn't take it out - nowhere near anything important." Shifting to the side a little, he lifted his shirt so the younger man could see the scars. "Makes it hell flying commercial, man."

Oh good. Now he was partially removing his shirt. Charles would be in for an entertaining hour this week. "Dude." Gabriel propped up against the bar and leaned in so as to not be rude. At one end of the bar, one of Gabriel's regulars cleared his throat. "Fuck. What's that even from, and how do you explain it to airport security?"

"I have a nice letter signed by the governor," Clint said. "I hand it to the TSA people. They read it. They squint at me a bit. They let me through and do seriously the most invasive pat-down ever. I'd had less thorough foreplay, I'm not even lying." Letting his shirt drop, he exhaled and then shrugged. "Explosions generally have some pretty impressive debris that gets thrown around. I think there's some rebar in there, maybe."

"Christ." Gabriel leaned back. Another throat clear drew his attention, and he turned his head toward it. "Duty calls." He grabbed a bottle of rail vodka. "Keep drinking, James Bond. I'll be right back." He moved to the other end of the bar. The way his head was spinning, he was grateful for the distraction, however momentary.

Clint gave Gabriel a small salute and finished about half of his remaining drink in one go before pausing to stretch his arms up over his head. He had bruises all over his back from where he'd hit the wall and he'd forgotten to take the over the counter pain killers Matt had reminded him to buy.

After a few minutes longer than expected, Gabriel returned. "Sorry about that." He shrugged and smiled. "When things are this slow, can't afford to ignore anyone." He glanced around the bar again, his face falling slightly when he couldn't spot any new customers. "Guess we're not as compelling as the drag tour."

"It's kinda hard on a night like this to be as compelling as the drag tour," Clint pointed out, finishing off his drink and nudging it toward Gabriel. "Can I have another?"

"Sure." Gabriel nodded and grabbed the whiskey. He wanted to make a crack about being compelling, but he couldn't think of anything clever to say. "You want another one of these, or just neat?"

"Another of those is good," Clint said, letting himself slump against the bar a little again. "You, sir, are a gentleman and a scholar, I don't care what anyone else says. Just so long as you keep giving me alcohol that tastes delicious."

Gabriel snorted. "You might be drunk, because I am definitely neither of those things." He smirked, his eyes on the bottle and the cocktail tin. "But I am a bartender who works for tips at an empty bar, which makes me pretty damn dutiful and attentive."

"Sh," Clint whispered. "Don't disrupt the illusion, just keep giving me liquor. Oh, and a cherry, can I have a cherry?"

"Obviously you got started before this," Gabriel said, amused. "You've only had one. Am I gonna have to cut you off after two?" He plopped two cherries in the drink and slid it toward Clint. Then he grabbed a napkin and put a few cherries on that too. "Here you go."

Clint dug his wallet out of his back pocket and just handed the entire thing to Gabriel. "You're amazing, thank you. No, please don't cut me off after two."

"Of course not." Gabriel glanced inside his wallet and laughed. "You don't carry cash? Secret agent man, spending all that time in east bumblefuck Alaska, and you've got..." He grabbed bills out of it and spread them out. "9 dollars, a coffee coupon and..." He raised an eyebrow. "A receipt for pizza."

Humming contentedly as he popped a cherry into his mouth, Clint chewed for a moment before sifting through the receipts laid on the counter. "All my cash is in my secret agent wallet. That's in my secret agent pants. I had to return them when I got debriefed."

"Better get another secret agent job, then." Gabriel stuck the cash back in the wallet and tossed it back at Clint. "And new pants." He watched Clint take another sip of the drink and crossed his arms. "You eat yet? Or are you just drinking dinner?"

"You gave me lots of cherries," Clint pointed out. "I'm eating them. They count as dinner." Then he took another sip of his drink. "But I think being a secret agent is overrated. Unnecessary. I'm sure I can find some scientist pants or... researcher pants. Hm..."

"Assuming you didn't leave any of those on the sidewalk the first time we met."

"Oh, good point," Clint said, nodding along with that. "Maybe I'll get... another degree. It's been a while since I wore my poor student pants."

"Another degree?" Gabriel grabbed a glass, filled it with a scoop of ice and took hold of the soda gun. "How many you got?" He poured himself a club soda.

"Mm..." Clint considered that for a moment, then ate another cherry before counting off on his fingers. "A BS in Nuclear Science & Engineering, a BS in Physics, an MS in Nuclear Science & Engineering with a focus in applied plasma physics, and a PhD in Computational & Systems Biology. So four at the moment." He frowned a little, toying with his last two cherries. "I should totally be able to find a job that doesn't involve people blowing things up in my general vicinity."

"Uh, yeah." Gabriel stared at Clint in disbelief. He placed a straw in his glass and took a sip. "Somehow I think you'll be fine."

"You'd think," Clint said, making a face. He took a sip of his drink. "Eh, I'll figure it out." He fiddled with his wallet for a moment, then opened it and pulled out a credit card. "I should probably start a tab. Is there actual food available here? I could murder some chili cheese fries."

"No kitchen here," Gabriel shook his head as he took Clint's card. "But there's a place next door. Normally we don't let people bring food in, but, like..." He waved a hand around the bar. "You know. Not working with much here. I can call them and have someone bring the food over."

"Yes, please, that would be amazing. Whatever keeps me from moving right now is the best thing." Clint offered Gabriel another smile, an all-the-way-to-his-eyes type of smile, before continuing, "I dunno if you're allowed to have food when it's not your break or whatever, but if you want, feel free to get something for yourself, too. My treat."

"Oh, uh... I dunno." That smile. He knew that smile. That smile made Gabriel want to just melt. "Might be kind of weird." Gabriel smiled back a little awkwardly, then turned around. He was glad to have the credit card in his hand so that he had excuse to look somewhere else for a second.

He punched in Clint's drinks and reminded himself to breathe. Then he turned around with a smile that was a little more genuine and a little bigger. "Yeah," he said. "Okay. Might as well. Been a while since anyone bought me dinner."

"Cool," Clint said. "This way, I'm not just that weird dude sitting all alone at the bar eating food from next door."

"Nah, just the weird dude who bribed the cute bartender so he could pig out." Gabriel grabbed his phone. "So much better."

Grinning now, Clint said, "I'll take what I can get."