Clint regains consciousness in the trunk of a moving car. This is not, unfortunately, the first time he's been in that particular situation. What is surprising, is the feel of Coulson's body spooned up behind him, his arm curled around Clint's middle.
"Is that a gun in your pocket or are you happy to see me?" Clint asks as he shifts around in the narrow confines. He can feel Coulson's huff of laughter against his neck, it's not an unpleasant sensation.
"Nice of you to finally join the party Barton." Coulson's voice is as monotone as usual, but Clint likes to believe that there's real relief in there somewhere.
"What happened?" He remembers both of them being tapped to infiltrate a suspected weapons smuggling ring and he remembers the meeting on the dock, but everything after that is a blur.
"Our cover was compromised. They clocked you in the back of the head and tossed us in the trunk."
Clint's brow furrows, "Why didn't you get away?"
"No man left behind, remember?"
"And they didn't knock you out?"
"I guess I appeared suitably non-threatening."
"They obviously haven't seen you fight Sitwell for the last cherry danish."
They're both quiet for a few minutes, but a harsh bump has Coulson's arm tightening around Clint's waist.
"You know," Clint says, stretching out his legs as much as possible, "I'm starting to feel a little like Jennifer Lopez."
"Excuse me?" Coulson asks, understandably confused by the topic change.
"Out of Sight? Where she's the marshal and they're trapped in the trunk of a car?"
Coulson pauses for a second, and Clint can almost feel the wheels turning in the other man's head.
"Wouldn't that make me George Clooney?"
"I don't know, you're not too horrible-looking. You might be able to pull it off."
"Stop, I'm blushing." Coulson deadpans. Clint grins, this is already way more fun than the last time and the conversation is doing a decent job of distracting him from the dull ache in the back of his skull.
"So, Super Agent Man, when you gonna think of a way to get us out of here?"
"What makes you think I haven't already?"
Clint waves his hand around, "We're still here, aren't we?"
"Yes, remind me to toss your unconscious body out of the moving vehicle next time."
Clint wiggles his eyebrows, even though Coulson can't see.
"Does that mean there's going to be a next time?"
"This isn't a date Barton."
"So you're not gonna put out?"
"I understand it's probably been a while, but my dates don't usually involve concussions and kidnapping."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Yes, I have a plan. No, I'm not putting out."
"You're a third date kind-of-guy? I can work with that."
Coulson doesn't answer, but he doesn't remove his arm either. Clint decides to take that as a yes.
"Alright, tell me the plan."
"We wait until the car stops and then you stay completely still and I take out the bad guys."
"That's not much of a plan."
"They're not much of a threat."
"I love it when you go all alpha male on me. It's a big turn-on."
The car comes to an abrupt stop, jostling them both until Coulson's body is covering almost half of Clint's. Seconds later, the trunk pops open and Coulson springs into action. There are only three guys, and Clint knows Coulson could probably take them out blindfolded, put he grabs the tire iron anyway and scrambles out of the car to knock-out the guy sneaking up behind Coulson. The fight's over in a matter of minutes, the bad guys lying unconscious on the ground, and Coulson smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit. Clint takes a second to look him up and down and wonders how someone who just spent time in a fight and in the trunk of a car, can still look immaculately put-together.
"So," Clint says, twirling the tire iron from one hand to another, "what are we going to do on our second date?"