|Reviews for The Hunter of Waverly Iowa|
| Nessie-san chapter 9 . 7/11/2015
Reading your fics always leaves me feeling the same - vaguely content, but SUUUUUPER wanting more story XD Guess now I'll have to go watch Agents of SHIELD so that I can read your fics about Coulson XD (I don't think I saw any other Marvel stuff in there that I hadn't already read XD) ANYWAY! Brilliant job on this fic - it's seriously gorgeous *w*
| Asha chapter 9 . 10/11/2014
Loved the Pinky and the Brain routine! HILARIOUS!
| Asha chapter 3 . 10/11/2014
Loved your smartass Clint! Hilarious!
| Jazzysauce chapter 9 . 7/14/2014
This is great! Don't leave me hanging, I'm loving it. And if by some chance you've had extreme writer's block for 2 years... Wow... I hope you're still alive :) I love how you portray Clint in this too, it's great!
| lunarweather chapter 5 . 10/15/2012
'hummed the Mission Impossible theme into the com during ops (or worse, the theme from the Pink Panther.'- Barton's great!
bird seed. You go Phil.
| lunarweather chapter 3 . 10/14/2012
"to Clint's great disappointment, turned out to be an anti -sexual harassment seminar." Seriously, your hilarious. This whole chapter was great. Love Barton's responses.
| lunarweather chapter 1 . 10/14/2012
'subject you enough brainwashing that you spend the rest of your days pining for a squirrel you met once on Mars.'..._...bwahahahaha! Where on earth did you come up with this sentence?! It's awesome!
| Crystal M. Key chapter 9 . 9/5/2012
This story was excellent. I did enjoy the Phil and Clint interactions better than Clint's childhood, but you've summed up the latter so well that (since I haven't read his real backstory) I'm probably going to remember your backstory at the real one. Phil, *squee*! I adore him. And his "blandest, most aggravating smile" bit. Pure Coulson. And the Pinky and the Brain gag was beautiful. The froggy yum yum song makes me cackle every time; just, just, her facial expression- BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Thanks! Favorite quotes:
"And what exactly is 'inappropriate materials ordinance'? I've never seen that one before."
"Yeah," the CO snorted again, sounding annoyed. "We had to make up a new category for him."
"He's been written up for it over a dozen times."
"Yeah, that sounds about right. It's the weirdest damn thing. The guy thinks he's Robin Hood or something. You take your eyes off of him for two damn minutes, he puts his rifle away and takes out a bow and arrow. Command's a little mixed on how to deal with it, because he's just as accurate with the thing as he is with a gun, but…"
"If you go anywhere that isn't green without specific orders from your superior, you are liable to be shot, tazed, tackled, handcuffed, interrogated, and detained for an indefinite period which may in fact exceed your natural life."
"I don't want you practicing bad habits."
"Oh, I don't need any practice," interrupted Clint. "I've got all my bad habits down pat." He wore his best shit-eating grin.
Clint still hummed the Mission Impossible theme into the com during ops (or worse, the theme from the Pink Panther).
Phil allowed Barton to take stupid risks, as long as they only endangered himself, not the others or the mission. By 'allowed', Phil meant that he didn't suspend or ground Barton for chasing an armed, aggressive target up the slope of an active volcano (god, Phil hoped he would never have to write those words in that order again), but he did berate him at reasonable intervals for doing so.
And instead of prohibiting Barton's idea of humor, which was immature at best, Phil just played along. After Barton missed a briefing, Coulson ensured he attended the next one by leaving a trail of bird seed from Barton's quarters to the meeting room.
A West Wing fad swept through SHIELD. Clint hadn't really liked the show as it was lacking in both explosions and toplessness, but he had been loathe to give up his usual spot in the lounge and had thus inevitably caught a few episodes, which were then immediately translated into mocking parody.
This took the form of Clint walking through the SHIELD corridors as quickly as possible and shouting out random names, alternating between those of real agents and characters from the show.
"CJ! Parker? Josh. Josh! Wu. Leo?"
He particularly liked to follow Phil around, handing him papers and taking them back while continuing his litany of greetings.
"Coulson! Coulson, Charlie. Charlie, Coulson. Did you see the report report? It was very report-y. Johannson! Sam?"
"Clint," sighed Phil. "I'm-"
"Clint! Frank! CJ! Leo. Josh?"
Barton scowled and rummaged in his pack before tossing Coulson a small plastic jar of petroleum jelly. "Merry Christmas, Coulson," he said. "Now it won't hurt so much when you pull that stick out of your ass."
Coulson smiled, just a little.
They went back to their routines: calisthenics, scanning local radio frequencies, forcing down MREs, idly singing the entire discography of The B-52s (Barton only), and reviewing briefings for other missions (Coulson only).
"Pinky," said Coulson, "are you pondering what I'm pondering?"
Barton smirked. "I think so, Brain, but how will we teach the reindeer to tango?"
Coulson smirked back.
Barton was lying upside-down on the sofa in Coulson's office, juggling a ball of paper back and forth with his feet. He was waiting for Coulson to finish their mission notes so he could sign off and go to bed.
"Gee Brain," said Barton, "what are we going to do tonight?"
"The same thing we do every night," said Coulson, "try to take over the world."
Hill shook her head. "Tactical says the terrain and the cloud cover make an aerial landing impossible."
"You don't have to land," said Barton. "Take a helicopter, get inside the cloud layer. I can shoot from there."
Hill looked skeptical. "How are you going to aim?"
Barton scoffed. "Infrared imaging and awesomeness."
Barton edged away from the window. "Canada smells funny," he decreed.
"I'm pretty sure that's just you."
"It smells like moose balls."
"You've never been close enough to a moose to smell it. No moose in the circus."
Barton glared. "I could have been to a zoo."
"I know you didn't."
"You know everything."
"Medical says that if they have to chase you down again to make you complete your rabies vaccination series, they're going to lock you in a crate with a funny-looking raccoon and let nature take its course."
"Are we talking funny like ha-ha or the other kind?"
Barton looked pointedly to the side. "Would the court stenographer please read back the part where I apparently give a damn about SHIELD policy?" He cocked a hand to his ear. "Not in the transcript? Yeah, that's what I thought."
Coulson exhaled slowly, which for him was practically a sigh.
Besides, there was paperwork. There was always paperwork.
Coulson made more coffee.
Coulson sat through a briefing on instability in biomechanical engineering and found that he had developed a phantom Clint. Like a phantom limb, a phantom Clint existed only in the perceiver's mind, as a series of reflexive sensations and reactions. The phantom Clint kicked Coulson's chair and slouched in his own. The phantom Clint made unhelpful comments about the presenter's admittedly ridiculous mustache. The phantom Clint could be managed with a nod or a raised eyebrow, because he trusted Coulson not to hold him back unless it was actually, truly necessary. Because he trusted Coulson.
Coulson felt a little relieved – just a little. Would be a pain to break in a new sniper.
Most of the nearby rooms were empty; it was Christmas Eve and they were down to essential staff only. Perhaps because the hallway was deserted (or maybe Barton never gave a damn), Coulson could hear strains of Winnie-the-Pooh's Heffalumps and Woozles coming from Barton's room, along with Barton's voice, singing along off-key.
"You were right," said Coulson. "I thought it over, and came to the conclusion that you were right. Frankly, it was a strange sensation and I'd rather it not happen to frequently, so try to make some errors in the near future."
"Barton, I've met homeless schizophrenics with better fashion sense than you."
"Crazy Mike doesn't count. He used to be a model."
The both laughed.
"I think we should make some changes to op procedure," said Barton.
Coulson jiggled the air vents back and forth before concluding that they weren't working at all. "Since when do you care about op procedure?"
"I think instead of killing the mark, we should not kill the mark."
Coulson rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't have expected you to be swayed by a pretty face, at least not one with ovaries."
"Okay, first of all," said Barton, "I don't think anybody would like to see a face with ovaries attached. Aren't they all squishy and gooey?"
"Barton, I think this is a terrible idea. I think you're going to die without having accomplished the mission or any variation thereof and I'm going to have to break in a new sniper, likely one without your sparkling wit. But I'm not going to stand in your way."
"Ha, I knew you loved me."
"What I love most is your humility."
"And my biceps."
"And your biceps," acknowledged Coulson. It was just a joke, but he normally wouldn't say something like that about a co-worker. It didn't really matter so much now.
The safehouse was not really deserving of the name 'house'. It could conceivably be called a safeshack, if in fact it were safe. Looking at the foundation, Phil had his doubts about safety, but they had stayed in worse.
The next few days are all the same. She is mostly stubbornly silent, but he chats with her when she wants to talk. He spends most of his time singing and throwing playing cards at targets across the room.
"Three green and speckled frogs / sitting on some speckled logs / eating the most delicious bugs." He pauses and points to her.
"I am not saying it."
"Don't say it, sing it."
She glares, but after a moment, she mutters, "Yum, yum," with a look of abject disdain on her face.
"One jumped in to the pool / where it was nice and cool / then there were two speckled frogs."
"And I can't fix him, but I'm going to fix you."
"Maybe I am not wanting fix."
"Yeah, he'd say the same thing. Well, not exactly the same because he can speak English right, but the same idea."
ge brain what do you want to do toniht? the same thing we do evry night pinky meet parking lot behind rizzos at 11pm come alone
The number was unknown, but the Pinky and the Brain reference was only known within SHIELD, and the spelling was pure Barton.
Coulson looked at the clock. 10:37. He stood and grabbed his jacket.
| BonitaBreezy chapter 9 . 8/22/2012
Hey man, don't knock John Henry. I learned a bajillion folk songs in fifth grade, and ten years later it's the only one I remember. XD
Good one, liked it a lot. :D
| WickedBlue chapter 9 . 8/18/2012
Awwwe, already over? I could have kept reading forever. Great fic.
| Azamiko chapter 9 . 8/7/2012
Love this fic; read it on AO3. However, since I don't have an account there, I was happy to be able to save it to my favorites here.
| MurderSheWrote chapter 9 . 7/16/2012
Sequel? Please? I love the Clint/Coulson interaction and want to see more of it. I would also love to see how SHIELD would react to Clint reappearing with Natasha and acting like nothing is wrong. I could also see Clint teaching Nat English and her teaching Russian. All BFFs should have a secret language- like a mix of russian and English, whatever that would be called. I would also love to see a Fury explosion, Clint seems like somebody who could seriously raise his blood pressure. Anyway, loved the story, will be checking in on your profile periodically for a sequel or even another Avengers fic.
| BoundLight chapter 9 . 7/15/2012
I thought this was all very well written, I loved all of it, and I'm very sad it is over. It was a great ride though!
| Guest chapter 9 . 7/15/2012
Great chapter! Very good work, thank you for updating! Looking forward to more.
| vampgirl1902 chapter 8 . 7/11/2012
Awesome job on the chapter, please update soon