"When I don't show up for breakfast, lunch, dinner and nap time in your office?" His stomach churned a little. The sniper fighting the nauseated feeling that washed over him. Getting sick wasn't something he necessarily wanted to deal with before smiling a little. "I work for SHIELD. My space is already infringed. I don't think you'd be stepping over any boundaries that I have." He paused for a moment. He didn't think he had any boundaries. He did like when he could sneak away undetected sometimes. By anyone who wasn't Phil that was. Apparently if he was gone for twenty-four hours he put out a personal-issued amber alert with himself.
"Actually please don't do that, Phil."
Clint ignored the throbbing in his head, but if he had known that Maria had made sure Phil at least ate he'd have to give her a gift basket or something. Or not do anything to bother her for a while as he took in a deep breath. "Well, you beat the crap out of me. So I'm guessing you didn't starve. Good on you, boss." He started to laugh as his stomach took the shaking almost to a level up as he leaned forward, lifting his knees up and pressing his forehead against the top of them. "Just kill me the next time it happens, Phil."
Phil rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to kill you." His hand slid over Clint's back to rest on his other shoulder. "I've see you beaten harder. Belarus comes to mind. You pulled through that and you'll pull through this just fine." It was more head trauma than anything now, anyway, and while he probably was sporting a concussion, Phil was pretty confident that Clint hadn't suffered any permanent damage at his hands.
"You can't stop by my office every day and then suddenly stop and expect me not to notice. Noticing things like that is what I do. It's how I keep you alive and if it carries over outside of the field, I'm not going to apologize for it, because you really were missing. I was right. If I hadn't noticed, you would have just walked out of here today and I don't know when I would have found you."
He sighed. "And I won't put a GPS chip in you, but only because someone else could find out the frequency and track you and that's my job." Clint was just lucky that Phil was so paranoid or the chip would be going in yesterday.
"Would you believe me if I said you were doing me a favor if I do?" He scowled, lifting his head up a bit and looking towards Coulson. He didn't want to think about past missions where he got his ass handed to him. At least he had one thing going for him...it was Phil who had done it to him. Clint used one hand to reach into his pocket, feeling a part of his mind feel like he was doing a disservice to something. He ran his finger along the storage disk before pulling his hand back. Leaving the storage device still in his pocket.
Clint grew silent for a brief moment. "You woulda probably found me when I blew up another SHIELD facility. If history likes repeating itself so much." He tried to crack a smile at that but really couldn't manage. He felt like he had doubly been injured. Both with whatever Phil had done and what Loki he had done. The archer almost wanted to lean into Phil, but if he got sick? He didn't want Coulson's impeccably clean suit to become the hapless victim.
"Then I'm going to be selfish and not do you that favor." Phil was never selfish, especially not when it came to work. He was allowed a few selfish things and if one of them was keeping Clint alive, Clint could just deal with that. Besides, he wasn't entirely sure that he could kill Clint, even if he was in horrible pain and dying. It was Clint. Phil tried not to think about it, but the idea of Clint not being around left a sinking, cold feeling in his stomach. He'd had to face that feeling head-on the last few days. It wasn't as if Clint's life was never in danger, but every scare felt a little worse.
He tightened his arm around Clint's shoulders. He really didn't care if Clint got sick on him. Dry cleaning existed for a reason. "I'm glad I found you before anyone got hurt, including you." Sure, Clint was a little hurt, but he wasn't shot or stabbed or dean. He was just banged up. It was a much better option than any of the others and now Phil had him back.
"Guess I should be glad that you're being selfish for once then, sir." Clint didn't want to die.
He just didn't want to be something used against the only people he knew, maybe even loved. A sentiment he didn't exactly express unless you looked into the undertones of his interactions. The fact that he didn't hide away in his "nest" away from the other Avengers. Or Phil for that matter. Coulson had initially been the first person in the entire world to ever recruit him for anything (that Clint accepted that was). It was the same for Clint in some matter. He'd be selfish in Coulson's shoes, but he had other tools if Coulson were ever the one to become a mind puppet for anyone. He wouldn't be able to shoot to kill, however. Phil...he had been the first person that Clint Barton had called friend and sincerely meant it.
He didn't want to dwell too much on the fact he would ask Phil, out of everyone even Tasha, to be the one to kill him. Even if he knew the other man would never do such a deed. Maybe that was why he would even consider asking him at all as he drew in a deep breath.
That seemed to be the tipping point his body. His breath shook off as the nausea finally got to him before he could really say anything else. He did make the attempt to make sure most of Phil wasn't left with an awesome story to tell Hill or Fury as he vomited to the side of the other man, dirtying Coulson's pants leg which was really the only victim in all of this right now as his body trembled from it. There was no relief from it. The only thing it did was slightly make his headache even worse then it already was. Concussions. Clint had to love them...not so much. Not really. "Fuck, Phil. Sorry..." It just made Clint kick himself a little more. After all, Coulson put up with a lot from the man. He had heard people joke around that Coulson was just a glorified babysitter and this was not helping the point Clint usually tried to argue against.
The sudden need to go to sleep was also something he was fighting but short of turning into a narcoleptic; Clint didn't see that happening in the foreseeable future as he slowly started to reason that perhaps the original destination of medical was something the pair of them should really look into.
Phil didn't want Clint to die, either. He cared about all of his agents, but few got under his skin the way Clint did. Really, no one got that far under his skin. Natasha came close, but it was different. Or maybe it was Clint that was different. Clint had always been different to him, even if he tried to ignore it, it always came back to that. Clint was different. He was special. Phil didn't know why. He just was. It was a fact of life, the same as any other.
You didn't always get to choose who you worked with, but when it came to Clint, he would't even dream of letting another handler take him. It wasn't just that Clint listened to Phil more consistently than anyone, either. It was that Phil knew how well they worked together, how easily they could plug into each other and play off of each other. He couldn't remember ever having a better working relationship with anyone, purple crayon and all.
And then he felt Clint shaking. He started to rub Clint's back just as Clint's stomach emptied itself on his pant leg. It wasn't exactly surprising and while he'd generally prefer to not be covered in vomit, right now it was definitely preferable over being covered in Clint's blood. It wasn't as if he hadn't been covered in worse, anyway. "It's fine. They're just pants. Just focus on yourself right now. You're going to be fine in a little while. I promise."
He really did need to get Clint to medical, but he wasn't even sure if Clint could stand on his own, let alone walk. Phil could only assess so much. He'd feel a lot better if someone from medical looked Clint over and gave him the okay to take Clint back to his room. He would stay with Clint as long as he needed to to be sure that he was going to be fine.
They both seemed cut from similar cloth when it came to things. It was honestly no surprise to most people in SHIELD that Clint was loyal to Coulson. When he had first began working there, most of the time Clint ended up following after Phil. Even when he was supposed to be training with other junior agents. Back then, to him, he was above training with the other junior agents. Now it was the same, but now he could harass them all he wanted too. The one person he harassed with a light-hearted thing in his mind was Phil. Even on his worst days. Clint considered Coulson more like a friend then his boss. More like someone that would affected him profoundly. He didn't have many mentors in his life. He didn't have many people in his life. Clint had been one of those children who were tossed into the system and forgotten. Comically, he'd joined the circus.
Sometimes he wasn't all too happy he had done that. But most of the time he was.
Only because he wouldn't have been recruited by SHIELD if he had just stayed at the orphanage. If he hadn't joined the circus, trained to become the World's Greatest Marksman (and achieved such a goal). If he hadn't gone through the tragedies in his life, the almost one good thing would never have happened. The saying "once you hit rock bottom you can only go up" sprang slightly to mind when he thought about it a lot. He had at some point. When he had first been officially assigned to Phil as his agent. After their first mission that ended with a slight bickering match over the comms and a pat on the back when he achieved the goal he was set out to do. There was a look on Phil's face that day, something that brought it all together. Clint just never pointed it out to him. Out of fear...mostly.
He tried. He was currently trying to keep it all together, trying to force his body from shaking after emptying the contents of his stomach over his friend (by accident). He hadn't honestly meant it. The archer pressed his forehead against Phil's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'll pay for the dry-cleaning. I will, I promise." He said under his breath as he stayed close to Phil. It was a small comfort really. But a small comfort was better than none at all. "If you wanna help me back to my room I can just pass out for a while...should be okay then." Clint always tried to dodge the infirmary the best he could. Even when he knew he needed to go. Even when he should go.
From the moment Clint was recruited, Phil had regarded him as trouble. He had problems with authority and discipline and generally just seemed to do whatever he wanted. That was far from what Phil expected from a field agent. Then there was the fact that Clint skipped training and seemed to revel in following Phil around and annoying him. Slowly, but surely, the annoying started to become endearing. Clint had grown on him in a way he didn't want to admit. Still, he was dubious about how all of it would translate out in the field.
Clint didn't disappoint. For all his joking and refusals over some things, out in the field he really was the best. He could do things that no other man could come close to and he did them well. Phil almost felt pride in that right away. Dubious as he'd felt, he really had wanted Clint to succeed. Right away, they seemed to work well together and Phil allowed himself to give Clint the positive reinforcement that he'd clearly been lacking for so long. He didn't favor him too much or give him obvious extra treatment. He just told Clint when he was doing well, went a little easy on the regulations that probably shouldn't have mattered anyway. Clint did best without a lot of rules weighing him down. He wouldn't follow half of them, anyway, so why not just focus in on the important ones? Sure, they bickered and sometimes Phil wanted to punch Clint's stupid grin right off of his face, but they worked and Phil was happy with it working.
"I'd feel better if medical took a look at you, but I guess I can do it." He sighed. He really wasn't a medical professional, but he was better than nothing. "Come on. I'll stay with you." He didn't care about the dry-cleaning. It didn't matter. That wasn't what he was worried about right now. Right now, he was worried about Clint and only Clint. Everything else could wait.
It was all a level respect when it came to Clint. He respected Phil...he just showed it through all the crap he put him through. At the beginning, at the middle, and presently. The archer didn't respect (or like) a lot of people. When he was younger he had always felt as though the world had given up on him, so he had just given up on the world. It was mostly Phil who had instilled that there was still a little hope out there in the world. It was just his job to make sure that it didn't fade into the darkness. Their jobs to make sure it didn't do that. Clint had felt though his hope in the world had been sucked out the moment someone mentioned that Phil Coulson had been killed in action during the Loki fight.
When he had seen him again. Wounded, yes. But alive. His hope in the world had ignitated once again. Then again with everything that had happened since then, Clint's optimism was fading as he buried his face against Phil's finely pressed suit. He really wanted to just whine about how much his head hurt. But Clint Barton didn't whine. Unless it was to Phil because he found that socially acceptable for him. Phil was a lot of things to him. When Phil sounded like he was ready to get up and go, Clint was slowly moving to his feet. His balance was a little better but it was all affected by his concussed head and the fact...he just thought if he spent a little time with Coulson everything would be better for him. He held out his hand to help Phil to his feet, leaning against the wall just in case his balance gave way again.
"I'll try not to cuddle you this time. But I make no promises whatsoever." He forced a smile to his face as he looked down at his handler.
Phil couldn't remember ever not being an optimist, even if he was an overly-cautious one. He saw the best in things, even when there wasn't much to see. He had to. With all the horrible things they saw in their line of work, it was what kept him sane. It was why he'd always loved the idea of Captain America so much. He was a testament to the idea that everyone could make a difference if they wanted to. Yes, he saw the best in everyone, but especially Clint, who was impossible to completely control but so good at what he did and so ready to take risks for others. Clint was an enigma from the start, but Phil had seen something in him. He'd known there was something about Clint that was special and it wasn't just his ability to shoot.
He knew that Clint tried to hold a lot in. He didn't like to be vulnerable and he held back his feelings and when he was in pain. Phil had some skill when it came to seeing through this, but he wished that he didn't have to, especially because he knew that Clint was more open with him than most others. If something happened to Phil--and it almost had--who was going to make sure that Clint took care of himself?
He stood right after Clint, hovering close. Clint still looked uneasy on his feet and Phil was going to catch him if he fell. That was just a fact. He wrapped an arm around Clint's waist, pulling the man's weight against his side. "I'll let you blame in on the concussion this time."
It was a personality of aspect that Clint loved about Phil. His optimism. Even if he didn't enjoy the sparse conversations about his hero Captain America -- Clint listened because it was fun to listen to the stories. He probably knew just as much about Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos as Coulson did because he had spent time listening to what his handler had to say about him. Asked questions when he was bored enough to want to listen to Coulson drone on about the super soldier. Of course, he made fun of Coulson's vintage card collection. He didn't really laugh that much after he had seen the card collection ruined, covered in Phil's blood. Clint had spent the next week or so hunting down the exact same collection. It was more crisp then before. He made sure they looked exactly the same as they had before.
Down to boxing the edges around the Captain America card.
Not that he had shown Phil that collection just yet. He just hid it under his bed. His life didn't exactly make it so he believe that expressing his emotions was a good thing. Not making himself vulnerable. His occupation was just an extension of himself in that way. Snipers were never the most social people in the world. Holding back emotions and guilt were all part of the grand scheme of things because of the guilt that could come with it. It also helped him not get emotionally connected all that much. Even if the Avengers were trying. Trying to worm their ways into his world. Clint honestly didn't know how he felt about it. All he truly knew was that only one person was capable of that so far. And that was Coulson.
The fact of the matter is that Clint knew he would get by in life without Coulson, if the conversation ever struck up. But he just wouldn't...feel as much. It wasn't exactly the best thing to admit too. Clint leaned into his friend, wrapping his arm around his shoulder. "Or just say I just like it. I sleep better when you're around." Because Clint did. The sniper hadn't really thought about what he had said because, even if he was usually straight-forward with most things? This was not one of them. "You work better than sleeping pills." He figured he should add some kind of joke in there as he started walking alongside Phil.
"I'll let you take me to medical later, does that sound okay?" It was more like offering something to just give Phil something to ease up a little bit. A concussion really wasn't something to brush off. But Clint didn't really want to admit to people that, yes. Once again, he had been taken over by Loki. He didn't want to tell Phil that Loki hadn't honestly ordered him back to the SHIELD offices. He had told him to do what he wished. To work independently in his name and he did so with the intent to bring down SHIELD.
He could have been a really good bad guy if he was given the chance.
More than talking about Captain America, Phil had just liked talking to Clint. He liked that Clint would ask him questions and want to hear what Phil had to say. Not that his excitement for the Captain wasn't strong. He was a huge fan and he loved any excuse to talk about him. Clint just tended to give him the most excuses. Most of the other agents would try to change the subject or make it into a joke. Clint listened. Clint asked questions and even listened with a straight face sometimes. It was like he wanted to hear Phil talk about it. It was nice.
The cards had been a big blow for him. Yes, they were worth money, but it was the sentimentality that hurt. It was what they represented. Fury had taken that sentimentality and used it to manipulate the Avengers and while he was glad that they had come together, he wasn't so sure that sacrificing the cards had been necessary. He could have at least left out the really rare ones. Truthfully, he'd felt a little down since he'd found out about the cards. They represented something personal to him that he couldn't recapture, even with the real Captain America being around. It just wasn't the same thing, even if Steve was just about every bit as amazing as Phil had hoped he would be. He still inspired Phil, though. Nothing could change that. He was an inspiring man.
Phil could feel heat rising on the back of his neck at Clint's words and he tightened his grip. He didn't mean it like that. He couldn't. It was just that they were friends. They trusted each other in a way that was hard-won and rare and that was just how they were. Of course Clint could relax and sleep with him around. Clint knew that Phil would protect him. It was his job. He had to know that. "It's my boring voice, right? I can tell you more about Captain Rogers than he can."
He smiled. "I'll have to wake you up every few hours, but we can wait until you've rested to go to medical as long as you promise to let me know if it gets worse." He paused. "And lend me pants." Because he was not about to sit around in pants covered in vomit and he was pretty sure that Clint wouldn't want him to, anyway.
Once they got back to Clint's emptied room, he'd have to give him the set he had collected for him. It wouldn't be the same as it had been before. The lack of sentimental value might be associated with it. After all, Fury had ruined the entire first collection to bring the Avengers together. There was a good cause to it all, but it just wasn't executed as well as it could have been in Clint's eyes. Before he had found out that Coulson was still alive. He raised Hell about the trading cards and took them back to his room. He still had those until Phil came back, then he figured that it would be more plausible for Fury or Hill to explain how they got in the condition they did otherwise Clint would have just hovered over them. He had tried to clean them off anyway that he knew how. But it didn't really work as well as he had hoped they would. Hence why he had bought an entirely new set in hopes of replicating it for his friend.
There was a lot Clint wanted to talk to Coulson about. About how Captain America really was everything he described him to be in his stories. That Clint could see why Phil had looked up to him, and sometimes caught himself fanboying over the Star Spangled Man with a Plan. Quietly, but he still did. When the sparred. When the fought side by side. When Clint was listening to Tony trying to get Steve caught up in the media part of the world. But he didn't really think it mattered to Phil, he still wanted his cards. Clint had gotten the Captain America one signed by Steve, hiding the smile on his face because he sort of imagined the happy glint in Coulson's eyes when he saw it. There was nothing really he wouldn't do for him. That was also why they worked so well together. Over the years, Clint liked hearing the feint hint of pride in Phil's voice. The subtle dry humor in his body language. The look in his eyes whenever he was pleased with something. Or displeased. Clint knew Coulson; better then a lot of people thought he actually did.
Clint being one for details wasn't usually something he was famous for. But it was one of Clint's little talents. Noticing the little things about people. He just didn't acknowledge them as much as he acknowledged the things about Phil. He knew his favorite dry-cleaner. How he liked his coffee every morning. How he had to remind him to have something to eat with his coffee every morning otherwise he wouldn't have eaten. He liked being present in fights rather than commanding from HQ. He wore Captain America boxers. Clint had seen the pair when he was being a snoop early on in his career.
He almost considered getting Steve to sign them instead.
He did mean it like that. But Phil was an fairly intelligent man. Clint figured he could come up to the conclusion himself. Clint usually wasn't so brash when it came to things like that. When it was just him and Nat, things just fell together because they both were caught up enough. It didn't seal together a relationship with them. It just sealed together their bond as partners. Phil was different. Clint never admitted his feelings for the man until he thought the man was gone forever. He still hadn't said anything about them. There was a slight fear of ruining the relationship they had built over the years. "Yeah, you're boring voice. Droning on and on." Clint chuckled, wrinkling his nose when he offered to tell him more about Steve. "Or you can tell me more about someone else. Not yourself. I know you like you know Rogers, boss." He didn't feel like it was awkward to admit that. He figured it was the same way when it came to Coulson as well. Coulson, who could tell after a couple missing sessions of Clint harassing him in his office -- that something was horribly wrong.
Clint wrinkled his nose at the aspect of being woken up every couple of hours. He felt like he hadn't slept in days. He was sure he hadn't slept in days. The good thing about being under Loki's control was sleep was not a necessity. The first round he couldn't even remember if he had ever slept. He just knew he had worked through it all for the sake of completing the mission. "Or just check if I'm breathing and not wake me up? Just tossing that idea around, sir."
Phil was well-aware that Rogers had, surprisingly, really lived up to Phil's idea of him. He was a great man, a great American hero, but he wasn't the only one. As far as Phil was concerned, every single one of the Avengers had lived up to that ideal. He wasn't surprised about Clint or Natasha or Rogers. He hadn't even been all that surprised about Stark. He'd known that there was a good man hiding under all of that alcohol and ego. Just because he wasn't surprised didn't mean he wasn't proud, though. He was proud of all of them, but he was most proud of Clint. Clint had come so far. He had been through so much. Phil had always known that he could do great things, but to see that happen? It filled him with an indescribable amount of pride. He was so damn proud of Clint, of the fact that that was someone that he'd had a hand in recruiting and training.
A normal person might think that Clint knowing that much about them was weird, but Phil wasn't normal and he thought that putting a GPS chip in his friends was a possible way to protect them. He knew just as much about Clint as Clint knew about him. Maybe more. He knew when Clint wasn't getting enough sleep or when he was having regular sex. He knew what toppings he preferred on his pizza and what deodorant he wore and that he would unfailingly put himself in the most dangerous situations, but that he could always get out of most of them (and Phil would get him out of the rest. He would always get Clint out.)
Phil wasn't sure quite when he'd started thinking of Clint as more than a friend. Somewhere between feeling like he was babysitting an unruly college student and dragging Clint out of a burning building in Kandahar, he'd just started to notice things and by Kandahar, it was too late. He'd fallen for the idiot. He never let it affect the way they worked in the field. He didn't even plan to ever tell Clint. He didn't need to know. Phil knew that Clint wouldn't be interested in him for a myriad of reasons and he accepted that. He just wanted to keep being Clint's friend, to work with him. The rest would pass.
He took on as much of Clint's weight as Clint would allow him to, grip tight and strong. "Who do you want to hear about, then? No one too exciting or you won't sleep." He offered a small smile. He'd gladly let Clint sleep, but if he had a concussion, Phil really did need to at least do that. "And I do have to wake you up, but I'll make sure you get back to sleep every time."
The problem with Phil being proud of him for being the hero that he was; both to the public and to SHIELD, was that Clint didn't see himself as a hero. He hardly envisioned himself someone who fought in the name of truth, justice, and that bullshit about the American Way. The Avengers were still the mismatched group of heroes, but they all seemed to accept their role as Earth's defenders. Clint hardly felt like he belonged amongst any of them, not because of the things he did under Loki's control (though that was a contribution to his insecurity). It was the fact that when he compared himself to the others (except Tasha) they all had better lives leading up to their heroic debut. Clint had been that kid who dropped out of school, he never even finished elementary school. He knew the basics to get him by but his only strength was the fact that he was quick to think on his feet and he would always make the shot when they needed him too. When it compared to Stark's wealth and fame. Rogers' strength and integrity. Banners's intelligence and resources. Tasha even had things that compared to Clint, he fell short of no matter what. They all seemed to have some strength when Clint fell short.
His insecurity about being part of the team made him look at Phil's pride like he was coming from a place Clint didn't know existed. But he decided somewhere along the way that when Phil was actually proud; he should really just roll with it. Clint appreciated the faith Coulson had in him more than anyone else. If Fury had said he was proud of him, it would have never be the same if Phil had come out and said it to his face.
The fact that they knew each other much more than they would let themselves say was almost eerie. Clint could remember on more than one occasion when he would answer a question in similar fashion to how Phil would. Whenever some stupid junior agent would go to Coulson's office door to say something, Clint would stand resilient by his door to scare them off. Sure, he knew it was Phil's job to mentor. But Clint felt as though it was his job to lighten his load a little. Help him anyway he could even if it meant walking in every morning, afternoon, and evening with things as easy as food. Or even going so far (fairly recently) to do some paperwork for him. Even paperwork that didn't honestly involve him.
Even if he came off as a rather smooth operator. He flirted with plenty of his women co-workers and junior agents. When it came to thinking of talking to Phil about how he felt. He always choked on the words and came up with something else to say. He often wished he would. Just to know instead of just stare like a dumbass.
Clint started walking with Coulson, trying to relieve a little of his weight on the other man. "I dunno. You can make shit up about Stark or Thor." He didn't find either as exciting as Coulson was, to be honest. "Or you can just talk about yourself...I could go for that now that I think about it." Clint could say he was usually bored if Phil ever spoke of himself, which happened rarely; but he was always listening to whatever the man had to say that it was a little embarrassing for him. The archer's brow arched a bit when he mentioned that he wasn't going to get out of being woken up every couple of hours.
"I'm sure you'd succeed, sir." He noted quietly. "Like I said, I sleep better when you're around. I won't talk to my doctor about it. They might just put in an order for me to move in with you...and I'm, pretty sure I snore." He teased briefly, knowing that it might actually be something his psychologist would do if she knew Clint had spent a couple nights in the past couple weeks (before he went missing) -- sleeping fairly regularly and restful. He was actually looking forward a little to pressing against Coulson's side and drifting off to sleep.
"Actually please don't do that, Phil."
Clint ignored the throbbing in his head, but if he had known that Maria had made sure Phil at least ate he'd have to give her a gift basket or something. Or not do anything to bother her for a while as he took in a deep breath. "Well, you beat the crap out of me. So I'm guessing you didn't starve. Good on you, boss." He started to laugh as his stomach took the shaking almost to a level up as he leaned forward, lifting his knees up and pressing his forehead against the top of them. "Just kill me the next time it happens, Phil."
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"You can't stop by my office every day and then suddenly stop and expect me not to notice. Noticing things like that is what I do. It's how I keep you alive and if it carries over outside of the field, I'm not going to apologize for it, because you really were missing. I was right. If I hadn't noticed, you would have just walked out of here today and I don't know when I would have found you."
He sighed. "And I won't put a GPS chip in you, but only because someone else could find out the frequency and track you and that's my job." Clint was just lucky that Phil was so paranoid or the chip would be going in yesterday.
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Clint grew silent for a brief moment. "You woulda probably found me when I blew up another SHIELD facility. If history likes repeating itself so much." He tried to crack a smile at that but really couldn't manage. He felt like he had doubly been injured. Both with whatever Phil had done and what Loki he had done. The archer almost wanted to lean into Phil, but if he got sick? He didn't want Coulson's impeccably clean suit to become the hapless victim.
"Lucky for me you're paranoid, huh?"
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He tightened his arm around Clint's shoulders. He really didn't care if Clint got sick on him. Dry cleaning existed for a reason. "I'm glad I found you before anyone got hurt, including you." Sure, Clint was a little hurt, but he wasn't shot or stabbed or dean. He was just banged up. It was a much better option than any of the others and now Phil had him back.
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He just didn't want to be something used against the only people he knew, maybe even loved. A sentiment he didn't exactly express unless you looked into the undertones of his interactions. The fact that he didn't hide away in his "nest" away from the other Avengers. Or Phil for that matter. Coulson had initially been the first person in the entire world to ever recruit him for anything (that Clint accepted that was). It was the same for Clint in some matter. He'd be selfish in Coulson's shoes, but he had other tools if Coulson were ever the one to become a mind puppet for anyone. He wouldn't be able to shoot to kill, however. Phil...he had been the first person that Clint Barton had called friend and sincerely meant it.
He didn't want to dwell too much on the fact he would ask Phil, out of everyone even Tasha, to be the one to kill him. Even if he knew the other man would never do such a deed. Maybe that was why he would even consider asking him at all as he drew in a deep breath.
That seemed to be the tipping point his body. His breath shook off as the nausea finally got to him before he could really say anything else. He did make the attempt to make sure most of Phil wasn't left with an awesome story to tell Hill or Fury as he vomited to the side of the other man, dirtying Coulson's pants leg which was really the only victim in all of this right now as his body trembled from it. There was no relief from it. The only thing it did was slightly make his headache even worse then it already was. Concussions. Clint had to love them...not so much. Not really. "Fuck, Phil. Sorry..." It just made Clint kick himself a little more. After all, Coulson put up with a lot from the man. He had heard people joke around that Coulson was just a glorified babysitter and this was not helping the point Clint usually tried to argue against.
The sudden need to go to sleep was also something he was fighting but short of turning into a narcoleptic; Clint didn't see that happening in the foreseeable future as he slowly started to reason that perhaps the original destination of medical was something the pair of them should really look into.
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You didn't always get to choose who you worked with, but when it came to Clint, he would't even dream of letting another handler take him. It wasn't just that Clint listened to Phil more consistently than anyone, either. It was that Phil knew how well they worked together, how easily they could plug into each other and play off of each other. He couldn't remember ever having a better working relationship with anyone, purple crayon and all.
And then he felt Clint shaking. He started to rub Clint's back just as Clint's stomach emptied itself on his pant leg. It wasn't exactly surprising and while he'd generally prefer to not be covered in vomit, right now it was definitely preferable over being covered in Clint's blood. It wasn't as if he hadn't been covered in worse, anyway. "It's fine. They're just pants. Just focus on yourself right now. You're going to be fine in a little while. I promise."
He really did need to get Clint to medical, but he wasn't even sure if Clint could stand on his own, let alone walk. Phil could only assess so much. He'd feel a lot better if someone from medical looked Clint over and gave him the okay to take Clint back to his room. He would stay with Clint as long as he needed to to be sure that he was going to be fine.
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Sometimes he wasn't all too happy he had done that. But most of the time he was.
Only because he wouldn't have been recruited by SHIELD if he had just stayed at the orphanage. If he hadn't joined the circus, trained to become the World's Greatest Marksman (and achieved such a goal). If he hadn't gone through the tragedies in his life, the almost one good thing would never have happened. The saying "once you hit rock bottom you can only go up" sprang slightly to mind when he thought about it a lot. He had at some point. When he had first been officially assigned to Phil as his agent. After their first mission that ended with a slight bickering match over the comms and a pat on the back when he achieved the goal he was set out to do. There was a look on Phil's face that day, something that brought it all together. Clint just never pointed it out to him. Out of fear...mostly.
He tried. He was currently trying to keep it all together, trying to force his body from shaking after emptying the contents of his stomach over his friend (by accident). He hadn't honestly meant it. The archer pressed his forehead against Phil's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'll pay for the dry-cleaning. I will, I promise." He said under his breath as he stayed close to Phil. It was a small comfort really. But a small comfort was better than none at all. "If you wanna help me back to my room I can just pass out for a while...should be okay then." Clint always tried to dodge the infirmary the best he could. Even when he knew he needed to go. Even when he should go.
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Clint didn't disappoint. For all his joking and refusals over some things, out in the field he really was the best. He could do things that no other man could come close to and he did them well. Phil almost felt pride in that right away. Dubious as he'd felt, he really had wanted Clint to succeed. Right away, they seemed to work well together and Phil allowed himself to give Clint the positive reinforcement that he'd clearly been lacking for so long. He didn't favor him too much or give him obvious extra treatment. He just told Clint when he was doing well, went a little easy on the regulations that probably shouldn't have mattered anyway. Clint did best without a lot of rules weighing him down. He wouldn't follow half of them, anyway, so why not just focus in on the important ones? Sure, they bickered and sometimes Phil wanted to punch Clint's stupid grin right off of his face, but they worked and Phil was happy with it working.
"I'd feel better if medical took a look at you, but I guess I can do it." He sighed. He really wasn't a medical professional, but he was better than nothing. "Come on. I'll stay with you." He didn't care about the dry-cleaning. It didn't matter. That wasn't what he was worried about right now. Right now, he was worried about Clint and only Clint. Everything else could wait.
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When he had seen him again. Wounded, yes. But alive. His hope in the world had ignitated once again. Then again with everything that had happened since then, Clint's optimism was fading as he buried his face against Phil's finely pressed suit. He really wanted to just whine about how much his head hurt. But Clint Barton didn't whine. Unless it was to Phil because he found that socially acceptable for him. Phil was a lot of things to him. When Phil sounded like he was ready to get up and go, Clint was slowly moving to his feet. His balance was a little better but it was all affected by his concussed head and the fact...he just thought if he spent a little time with Coulson everything would be better for him. He held out his hand to help Phil to his feet, leaning against the wall just in case his balance gave way again.
"I'll try not to cuddle you this time. But I make no promises whatsoever." He forced a smile to his face as he looked down at his handler.
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He knew that Clint tried to hold a lot in. He didn't like to be vulnerable and he held back his feelings and when he was in pain. Phil had some skill when it came to seeing through this, but he wished that he didn't have to, especially because he knew that Clint was more open with him than most others. If something happened to Phil--and it almost had--who was going to make sure that Clint took care of himself?
He stood right after Clint, hovering close. Clint still looked uneasy on his feet and Phil was going to catch him if he fell. That was just a fact. He wrapped an arm around Clint's waist, pulling the man's weight against his side. "I'll let you blame in on the concussion this time."
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Down to boxing the edges around the Captain America card.
Not that he had shown Phil that collection just yet. He just hid it under his bed. His life didn't exactly make it so he believe that expressing his emotions was a good thing. Not making himself vulnerable. His occupation was just an extension of himself in that way. Snipers were never the most social people in the world. Holding back emotions and guilt were all part of the grand scheme of things because of the guilt that could come with it. It also helped him not get emotionally connected all that much. Even if the Avengers were trying. Trying to worm their ways into his world. Clint honestly didn't know how he felt about it. All he truly knew was that only one person was capable of that so far. And that was Coulson.
The fact of the matter is that Clint knew he would get by in life without Coulson, if the conversation ever struck up. But he just wouldn't...feel as much. It wasn't exactly the best thing to admit too. Clint leaned into his friend, wrapping his arm around his shoulder. "Or just say I just like it. I sleep better when you're around." Because Clint did. The sniper hadn't really thought about what he had said because, even if he was usually straight-forward with most things? This was not one of them. "You work better than sleeping pills." He figured he should add some kind of joke in there as he started walking alongside Phil.
"I'll let you take me to medical later, does that sound okay?" It was more like offering something to just give Phil something to ease up a little bit. A concussion really wasn't something to brush off. But Clint didn't really want to admit to people that, yes. Once again, he had been taken over by Loki. He didn't want to tell Phil that Loki hadn't honestly ordered him back to the SHIELD offices. He had told him to do what he wished. To work independently in his name and he did so with the intent to bring down SHIELD.
He could have been a really good bad guy if he was given the chance.
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The cards had been a big blow for him. Yes, they were worth money, but it was the sentimentality that hurt. It was what they represented. Fury had taken that sentimentality and used it to manipulate the Avengers and while he was glad that they had come together, he wasn't so sure that sacrificing the cards had been necessary. He could have at least left out the really rare ones. Truthfully, he'd felt a little down since he'd found out about the cards. They represented something personal to him that he couldn't recapture, even with the real Captain America being around. It just wasn't the same thing, even if Steve was just about every bit as amazing as Phil had hoped he would be. He still inspired Phil, though. Nothing could change that. He was an inspiring man.
Phil could feel heat rising on the back of his neck at Clint's words and he tightened his grip. He didn't mean it like that. He couldn't. It was just that they were friends. They trusted each other in a way that was hard-won and rare and that was just how they were. Of course Clint could relax and sleep with him around. Clint knew that Phil would protect him. It was his job. He had to know that. "It's my boring voice, right? I can tell you more about Captain Rogers than he can."
He smiled. "I'll have to wake you up every few hours, but we can wait until you've rested to go to medical as long as you promise to let me know if it gets worse." He paused. "And lend me pants." Because he was not about to sit around in pants covered in vomit and he was pretty sure that Clint wouldn't want him to, anyway.
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There was a lot Clint wanted to talk to Coulson about. About how Captain America really was everything he described him to be in his stories. That Clint could see why Phil had looked up to him, and sometimes caught himself fanboying over the Star Spangled Man with a Plan. Quietly, but he still did. When the sparred. When the fought side by side. When Clint was listening to Tony trying to get Steve caught up in the media part of the world. But he didn't really think it mattered to Phil, he still wanted his cards. Clint had gotten the Captain America one signed by Steve, hiding the smile on his face because he sort of imagined the happy glint in Coulson's eyes when he saw it. There was nothing really he wouldn't do for him. That was also why they worked so well together. Over the years, Clint liked hearing the feint hint of pride in Phil's voice. The subtle dry humor in his body language. The look in his eyes whenever he was pleased with something. Or displeased. Clint knew Coulson; better then a lot of people thought he actually did.
Clint being one for details wasn't usually something he was famous for. But it was one of Clint's little talents. Noticing the little things about people. He just didn't acknowledge them as much as he acknowledged the things about Phil. He knew his favorite dry-cleaner. How he liked his coffee every morning. How he had to remind him to have something to eat with his coffee every morning otherwise he wouldn't have eaten. He liked being present in fights rather than commanding from HQ. He wore Captain America boxers. Clint had seen the pair when he was being a snoop early on in his career.
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He almost considered getting Steve to sign them instead.
He did mean it like that. But Phil was an fairly intelligent man. Clint figured he could come up to the conclusion himself. Clint usually wasn't so brash when it came to things like that. When it was just him and Nat, things just fell together because they both were caught up enough. It didn't seal together a relationship with them. It just sealed together their bond as partners. Phil was different. Clint never admitted his feelings for the man until he thought the man was gone forever. He still hadn't said anything about them. There was a slight fear of ruining the relationship they had built over the years. "Yeah, you're boring voice. Droning on and on." Clint chuckled, wrinkling his nose when he offered to tell him more about Steve. "Or you can tell me more about someone else. Not yourself. I know you like you know Rogers, boss." He didn't feel like it was awkward to admit that. He figured it was the same way when it came to Coulson as well. Coulson, who could tell after a couple missing sessions of Clint harassing him in his office -- that something was horribly wrong.
Clint wrinkled his nose at the aspect of being woken up every couple of hours. He felt like he hadn't slept in days. He was sure he hadn't slept in days. The good thing about being under Loki's control was sleep was not a necessity. The first round he couldn't even remember if he had ever slept. He just knew he had worked through it all for the sake of completing the mission. "Or just check if I'm breathing and not wake me up? Just tossing that idea around, sir."
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A normal person might think that Clint knowing that much about them was weird, but Phil wasn't normal and he thought that putting a GPS chip in his friends was a possible way to protect them. He knew just as much about Clint as Clint knew about him. Maybe more. He knew when Clint wasn't getting enough sleep or when he was having regular sex. He knew what toppings he preferred on his pizza and what deodorant he wore and that he would unfailingly put himself in the most dangerous situations, but that he could always get out of most of them (and Phil would get him out of the rest. He would always get Clint out.)
Phil wasn't sure quite when he'd started thinking of Clint as more than a friend. Somewhere between feeling like he was babysitting an unruly college student and dragging Clint out of a burning building in Kandahar, he'd just started to notice things and by Kandahar, it was too late. He'd fallen for the idiot. He never let it affect the way they worked in the field. He didn't even plan to ever tell Clint. He didn't need to know. Phil knew that Clint wouldn't be interested in him for a myriad of reasons and he accepted that. He just wanted to keep being Clint's friend, to work with him. The rest would pass.
He took on as much of Clint's weight as Clint would allow him to, grip tight and strong. "Who do you want to hear about, then? No one too exciting or you won't sleep." He offered a small smile. He'd gladly let Clint sleep, but if he had a concussion, Phil really did need to at least do that. "And I do have to wake you up, but I'll make sure you get back to sleep every time."
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His insecurity about being part of the team made him look at Phil's pride like he was coming from a place Clint didn't know existed. But he decided somewhere along the way that when Phil was actually proud; he should really just roll with it. Clint appreciated the faith Coulson had in him more than anyone else. If Fury had said he was proud of him, it would have never be the same if Phil had come out and said it to his face.
The fact that they knew each other much more than they would let themselves say was almost eerie. Clint could remember on more than one occasion when he would answer a question in similar fashion to how Phil would. Whenever some stupid junior agent would go to Coulson's office door to say something, Clint would stand resilient by his door to scare them off. Sure, he knew it was Phil's job to mentor. But Clint felt as though it was his job to lighten his load a little. Help him anyway he could even if it meant walking in every morning, afternoon, and evening with things as easy as food. Or even going so far (fairly recently) to do some paperwork for him. Even paperwork that didn't honestly involve him.
Even if he came off as a rather smooth operator. He flirted with plenty of his women co-workers and junior agents. When it came to thinking of talking to Phil about how he felt. He always choked on the words and came up with something else to say. He often wished he would. Just to know instead of just stare like a dumbass.
Clint started walking with Coulson, trying to relieve a little of his weight on the other man. "I dunno. You can make shit up about Stark or Thor." He didn't find either as exciting as Coulson was, to be honest. "Or you can just talk about yourself...I could go for that now that I think about it." Clint could say he was usually bored if Phil ever spoke of himself, which happened rarely; but he was always listening to whatever the man had to say that it was a little embarrassing for him. The archer's brow arched a bit when he mentioned that he wasn't going to get out of being woken up every couple of hours.
"I'm sure you'd succeed, sir." He noted quietly. "Like I said, I sleep better when you're around. I won't talk to my doctor about it. They might just put in an order for me to move in with you...and I'm, pretty sure I snore." He teased briefly, knowing that it might actually be something his psychologist would do if she knew Clint had spent a couple nights in the past couple weeks (before he went missing) -- sleeping fairly regularly and restful. He was actually looking forward a little to pressing against Coulson's side and drifting off to sleep.
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