[He can see the change in the way that Coulson looks at him, the way he sits, even in the look in his eyes. It's Agent Coulson right now, his handler, his superior. The man who'd brought him into SHIELD.

Clint would have sat a little straighter if he hadn't already been sitting bolt upright, spine straight.

And it's worse, this kind of rebuke because it's so goddam reasonable. If it had been violent or angry then he could have got angry in return, could have lashed out and felt justified in doing it.

As it is, he knows Coulson is right.

Even so, he doesn't let his gaze drop away from Coulson's. He deserves that much from Clint.]

I'm sorry, Sir. I'll submit to whatever discipline you deem appropriate.

My arms are fine. Pepper and Billy and Sue, they came for me. Found a healer. There's not even a scar.