Carson watched the birthday celebration from afar. He still didn't move to join them and be nice to the little kid, Clint, even after seeing Eddie near the opposite entrance with a chocolate frosted cake from the local bakery.

The businessman knew he should, kinda as an apology. Carson hadn't been that nice recently, to Clint especially. He'd just been so preoccupied with Barney and showbusiness and money. But who could blame him, right?

The only thing about that particular September afternoon that struck his interests in pure gold, was Clint effortlessly climbing a trapeze ladder. Not many could do that, or weren't brave enough to do it. Carson had to admit-- Barton had balls, and he was at least a decade younger than most trapeze artists currently with their circus.

Trapeze, Clint Barton, show, and money were the only thoughts on Carson's mind as he paced in front of his temporary office. By that, he meant the small corner inside the Exchange tent with curtains strung up. A wooden desk, if you could call it that, sat in the middle of the 'room'; it'd been a lucky find outside some bloke's home in Oklahoma, and Carson had snatched it up in an instant.

It wasn't theft as they'd purposely put it out there, and being resourceful was one of the best things a person could have.

A sudden knock on one of the metal poles holding up the tent alerted Carson to the presence of another person nearby. He didn't exactly want anyone's company, with being too deep in thought and consideration, but Carson didn't want to turn anybody away.

"Come in," He said, loud enough for the other person to hear him.

The curtains swung open on a single side, revealing Annie. Her hair was up in a loose ponytail, and sweat glistened on her forehead. Carson thought about what time it was-- hours after the celebrating-- so she had probably just finished a training session. However, Annie had already changed into regular clothes from her usual workout gear.

"Annie," Carson raised an eyebrow, wondering what she was doing at the office at this time in the evening, "You should be asleep."

She shrugged and tiredly plopped down in the folding chair across from the businessman's desk. Annie motioned for Carson to sit, and he obliged.

Both stared at each other for a minute, unsure where to start, and what the other was about to bring up. But somehow, a voice in the back of both of their heads knew that it'd be about the youngest member in Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders-- Clint.

Annie's nerves grew as she finally realized what she was doing-- Carson did have a temper, and if things got outta hand...

He broke the silence. "What brings ya here at this time o' night?"

Annie's usually soft expression grew tense, anticipating where their conversation would lead. "Only you can tell me the answer to that."

Seeing his confusion, she continued, "Somethings been on your mind all day. The question is...what?"

Carson twiddled his thumbs and bit his lips.  "Well..."

"Well what?" Annie demanded.

He leaned over the desk, close enough to Annie that she could smell the lingering taste of alcohol in his mouth. He'd been drinking again, a lot. Then, Carson whispered, "You an' I have both seen it, sweetheart. We just want a second opinion, that's all."

Annie remained silent.

Carson chuckled and reached into a drawer. Pulling out a half bottle of whiskey, he poured into a glass and passed it over to the trapeze artist.

"He's still a kid, Carson," Annie sighed, "You have to accept that about him." Neither of the pair had to think twice to know who 'him' was.

"I'm just saying--" He started.

"No," Annie cut Carson off, not caring whether it was rude or not, "You're insisting, okay? There's a big difference between the two!"

Carson took a long sip, and glared at her. "I'm offering you a job!"

"Yeah, a job where I'm supposed to train a 9 year old kid to perform dangerous acts above a large crowd!" Annie raised her voice slightly. "Listen to yourself and get it through that thick head of yours: I won't do it, nor allow you to do this to Clint!"

Carson slammed his fists down on the desk, hard, making Annie jump back a little. He reached forward and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"BARTON COULD BE OUT THERE, RIGHT NOW, PERFORMING TO HIS HEART'S CONTENT," Carson roared. "BUT INSTEAD, YOUR MAKING ALL HIS CHOICES FOR HIM. LET BARTON DECIDE, FOR FUCKS SAKE!

"HE IS PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF IT. HE CAN FIGHT HIS OWN BATTLES!" Carson finished, and remembered his firm grip on her. He let go; Annie immediately rubbed her shoulders.

Tears pooled in her eyes. "I- is that what you want for him?"

The look in Carson's eyes told her all she needed to know. The intense glare of hatred, and set stare at Annie.

"I knew it," She said, barely audible, "You don't care about any of us. The only thing you have any thoughts about is your money and your alcohol. If it weren't for Clint, I'd walk out on this circus right now."

Annie picked up his bottle of whiskey and threw it against the ground. The glass shattered and pieces flew into every direction. It was stupidly dangerous, but she didn't care with being blinded by her own rage.

"And don't call me 'sweetheart'."

On her way out, Carson tried one last time to make a reasonable argument, "Annie--"

But she'd already run away, tears running down her face and glistening in the stream of moonlight shining down upon the circus grounds, seeking comfort in the exact person they'd just been talking about.

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