Come Undone (2/?, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, PG-13)
Title: Come Undone
Fandom/Pairing: The Avengers, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Spoilers/Warnings: Is there anyone who hasn't seen the movie yet? Well, if not, this is a fix it. Eventually.
Rating: PG-13 (maybe going up to R later)
A/N: I just realized I hadn't been posting this up on my journals. Doh! But it's also up on AO3.
Summary: It was supposed to get easier, afterwards.
Loki's been handed off to security, who promise to do a better job this time, before Stark drags them down to the first undamaged block for shawarma.
Clint's not an idiot, and he knows Natasha better than anyone here, which is why he knows that Phil's hurt. She would've told him if it was serious. She's got reasons not to talk about it. Some of them are probably direct orders, others are merely indirect.
Most likely, she's dreading the prospects of putting up with Phil when they get back, because the dust is settling, now, which means cleanup operations have already started, which means Phil's going to be half-mad with meetings and memos and determined to drag everyone else down with him.
New Mexico was bad enough. Harlem was a nightmare. Clint doesn't even know what this is, yet.
Rogers holds the door open, following him into the restaurant, where Stark and Banner are already pushing two tables together. Natasha seems to be briefing Thor about the menu and... manners, apparently- given New Mexico, it's probably wise.
There's a tap on his shoulder. Rogers looks apprehensive. "So what is shawarma, anyhow? Never heard of it."
"I have no idea. Probably won't kill us, though." Apparently it's the right thing to say, because he smiles, and then it's Clint's turn to be relieved because Rogers is turning his back to him as he heads for the table, like he's not even worried that Clint would attack.
Granted, he probably wouldn't manage a whole lot of harm, and Rogers has a massive amount of backup, should he need it, and he's not seriously considering it, honestly, he just can't not be aware of the fact that he could.
Clint doesn't really need the vote of confidence. He doesn't. But it's nice.
The food's out within minutes. Thor and Stark are trying to upstage each other as they run through the details of the fight. Even Banner's laughing, and honestly, Phil's going to be scandalized when he realizes how sarcastic Captain America can be. Natasha's nodding along, eating determinedly, which is probably a wise course of action, given the speed that Thor and Rogers manage to put away food, and Clint follows suit.
Right now's not the time for worrying.
---
Hill catches them in the entrance of Stark Tower, orders Clint to report to Fury immediately, and there it is, what he's been waiting for. The nervous glances from everyone when they look at him.
It's a lot easier to ignore the fact that your brain's been broken when everyone else in the room doesn't know it, too.
What's harder to ignore is the fact that Coulson's not sitting in the office Fury's appropriated when he arrives, or that it hadn't even occurred to him that he'd been expecting it until now. He's seen Phil gut-shot and cranky and still sitting there, waiting, ready to go over every last detail of an operation in mind-numbing detail.
Clint hasn't missed him this much in, fuck, weeks. Granted, he hadn't been able to when he'd...
"Where's Phil?" he asks, wishing immediately that he'd waited until Fury had closed the door, because the sound of it is ominous, behind him, and he's suddenly aware of how much he really doesn't need that right now.
"I wanted to tell you first," Fury says, and fuck, Clint really doesn't need this right now. He closes his eyes and doesn't turn around, but he's listening. "Coulson's going to be okay."
Clint lets out the breath he'd been holding, feeling like an idiot until it sinks in. "Which means he wasn't, doesn't it?"
"That's correct."
Clint crosses his arms to stop himself from rubbing his face. "And you're just telling me now? I am his medical proxy."
"Leaving aside the fact that you weren't yourself at the time, no decisions needed to be made. And I'm sorry, but at the moment, we needed him more dead than alive."
"He died?"
"He was revived almost immediately, but was in critical condition. I just got the call that he stabilized twenty minutes ago."
Deep breaths. In and out three times. Find the words.
"Two questions. When can I see him, and what the hell do you mean, you needed him dead?"
"I saw an opportunity and I took it. The others, out there, they don't have any ties to us or each other, and Phil was what they had in common. It brought the reality of the situation home to them."
Clint can't help the bitterness in his voice. "And yet nobody told me."
"You were compromised, Barton. And afterwards, we needed your head in the game."
"My head's fine."
Fury turns towards the window. "If you're really telling me that hearing that your partner had just been killed wouldn't have affected your performance in the field, more power to you." Fury turns towards the window; the wreckage in the street outside is all the punctuation he needs. "I'm sorry if you don't like it, but I had to make the call. As to your other question, you can see him as soon as the doctors clear him. I'll keep you informed."
Clint nods; he doesn't know what to do with his hands. There are no useful pockets in his uniform, and he's got nothing to hold onto, here. He's not so out of it that reaching over his shoulder for his bow seems like a good move, and right now, disappointment feels like the only thing he really owns.
He manages to meet Fury's eye, though. He can do that much. "Is that all?"
"We've still got Loki and the Tesseract, and we've still got a lot of very interested parties looking to make some unwise decisions regarding their handling."
"Well, we've done a bang-up job of it so far."
"Which is why we're not giving a bunch of complete idiots the chance to try their hand," Fury sits down on the corner of the desk. "Now. Given your recent experiences, protocol states that you go in for a psych eval before I let you out in the field again."
"I'm fine, sir."
"I never said otherwise," Fury points out, quickly enough that Clint wonders if he's just being kind. "And if I'd thought you weren't, you wouldn't have made it out of holding in the first place. You and I both know that what happened is all on Loki's head. Everyone else knows it as well, but the fact remains that you scared the hell out of a lot of people, Clint, and the last thing we need is a building full of twitchy agents."
Killing dozens of coworkers will have that effect, Clint doesn't say.
"Look. I'd appreciate it if you made an appointment to talk to Dr. Westmore, but I'm not going to make it an order. And anyway, it's been a rough few days. Westmore's got her hands full with several dozen other cases. In the meantime, I'm going to need you on something else. I'll have orders for you first thing tomorrow morning. In the meantime, you can head on up to floor 22. Ms. Potts is arranging lodging for everyone for the duration."
"Yes sir."
"Get some rest," Fury stands, and their conversation's over. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
And maybe it is, Clint thinks, as he's dodging everyone's glances as he heads for the elevator, but it's the night that's stretching out before him that's seeming endless.
Chapter 3
Fandom/Pairing: The Avengers, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Spoilers/Warnings: Is there anyone who hasn't seen the movie yet? Well, if not, this is a fix it. Eventually.
Rating: PG-13 (maybe going up to R later)
A/N: I just realized I hadn't been posting this up on my journals. Doh! But it's also up on AO3.
Summary: It was supposed to get easier, afterwards.
Loki's been handed off to security, who promise to do a better job this time, before Stark drags them down to the first undamaged block for shawarma.
Clint's not an idiot, and he knows Natasha better than anyone here, which is why he knows that Phil's hurt. She would've told him if it was serious. She's got reasons not to talk about it. Some of them are probably direct orders, others are merely indirect.
Most likely, she's dreading the prospects of putting up with Phil when they get back, because the dust is settling, now, which means cleanup operations have already started, which means Phil's going to be half-mad with meetings and memos and determined to drag everyone else down with him.
New Mexico was bad enough. Harlem was a nightmare. Clint doesn't even know what this is, yet.
Rogers holds the door open, following him into the restaurant, where Stark and Banner are already pushing two tables together. Natasha seems to be briefing Thor about the menu and... manners, apparently- given New Mexico, it's probably wise.
There's a tap on his shoulder. Rogers looks apprehensive. "So what is shawarma, anyhow? Never heard of it."
"I have no idea. Probably won't kill us, though." Apparently it's the right thing to say, because he smiles, and then it's Clint's turn to be relieved because Rogers is turning his back to him as he heads for the table, like he's not even worried that Clint would attack.
Granted, he probably wouldn't manage a whole lot of harm, and Rogers has a massive amount of backup, should he need it, and he's not seriously considering it, honestly, he just can't not be aware of the fact that he could.
Clint doesn't really need the vote of confidence. He doesn't. But it's nice.
The food's out within minutes. Thor and Stark are trying to upstage each other as they run through the details of the fight. Even Banner's laughing, and honestly, Phil's going to be scandalized when he realizes how sarcastic Captain America can be. Natasha's nodding along, eating determinedly, which is probably a wise course of action, given the speed that Thor and Rogers manage to put away food, and Clint follows suit.
Right now's not the time for worrying.
---
Hill catches them in the entrance of Stark Tower, orders Clint to report to Fury immediately, and there it is, what he's been waiting for. The nervous glances from everyone when they look at him.
It's a lot easier to ignore the fact that your brain's been broken when everyone else in the room doesn't know it, too.
What's harder to ignore is the fact that Coulson's not sitting in the office Fury's appropriated when he arrives, or that it hadn't even occurred to him that he'd been expecting it until now. He's seen Phil gut-shot and cranky and still sitting there, waiting, ready to go over every last detail of an operation in mind-numbing detail.
Clint hasn't missed him this much in, fuck, weeks. Granted, he hadn't been able to when he'd...
"Where's Phil?" he asks, wishing immediately that he'd waited until Fury had closed the door, because the sound of it is ominous, behind him, and he's suddenly aware of how much he really doesn't need that right now.
"I wanted to tell you first," Fury says, and fuck, Clint really doesn't need this right now. He closes his eyes and doesn't turn around, but he's listening. "Coulson's going to be okay."
Clint lets out the breath he'd been holding, feeling like an idiot until it sinks in. "Which means he wasn't, doesn't it?"
"That's correct."
Clint crosses his arms to stop himself from rubbing his face. "And you're just telling me now? I am his medical proxy."
"Leaving aside the fact that you weren't yourself at the time, no decisions needed to be made. And I'm sorry, but at the moment, we needed him more dead than alive."
"He died?"
"He was revived almost immediately, but was in critical condition. I just got the call that he stabilized twenty minutes ago."
Deep breaths. In and out three times. Find the words.
"Two questions. When can I see him, and what the hell do you mean, you needed him dead?"
"I saw an opportunity and I took it. The others, out there, they don't have any ties to us or each other, and Phil was what they had in common. It brought the reality of the situation home to them."
Clint can't help the bitterness in his voice. "And yet nobody told me."
"You were compromised, Barton. And afterwards, we needed your head in the game."
"My head's fine."
Fury turns towards the window. "If you're really telling me that hearing that your partner had just been killed wouldn't have affected your performance in the field, more power to you." Fury turns towards the window; the wreckage in the street outside is all the punctuation he needs. "I'm sorry if you don't like it, but I had to make the call. As to your other question, you can see him as soon as the doctors clear him. I'll keep you informed."
Clint nods; he doesn't know what to do with his hands. There are no useful pockets in his uniform, and he's got nothing to hold onto, here. He's not so out of it that reaching over his shoulder for his bow seems like a good move, and right now, disappointment feels like the only thing he really owns.
He manages to meet Fury's eye, though. He can do that much. "Is that all?"
"We've still got Loki and the Tesseract, and we've still got a lot of very interested parties looking to make some unwise decisions regarding their handling."
"Well, we've done a bang-up job of it so far."
"Which is why we're not giving a bunch of complete idiots the chance to try their hand," Fury sits down on the corner of the desk. "Now. Given your recent experiences, protocol states that you go in for a psych eval before I let you out in the field again."
"I'm fine, sir."
"I never said otherwise," Fury points out, quickly enough that Clint wonders if he's just being kind. "And if I'd thought you weren't, you wouldn't have made it out of holding in the first place. You and I both know that what happened is all on Loki's head. Everyone else knows it as well, but the fact remains that you scared the hell out of a lot of people, Clint, and the last thing we need is a building full of twitchy agents."
Killing dozens of coworkers will have that effect, Clint doesn't say.
"Look. I'd appreciate it if you made an appointment to talk to Dr. Westmore, but I'm not going to make it an order. And anyway, it's been a rough few days. Westmore's got her hands full with several dozen other cases. In the meantime, I'm going to need you on something else. I'll have orders for you first thing tomorrow morning. In the meantime, you can head on up to floor 22. Ms. Potts is arranging lodging for everyone for the duration."
"Yes sir."
"Get some rest," Fury stands, and their conversation's over. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
And maybe it is, Clint thinks, as he's dodging everyone's glances as he heads for the elevator, but it's the night that's stretching out before him that's seeming endless.
Chapter 3