Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, except the story idea used in the fic.
Rating: T, to make sure.
Pairing: Clint/Phil, what else.
Warning: mention of past child abuse, mentioning of past prostitution, violence, swearing.
Summary: It's the prequel to Everlasting bond. I decided to write about how they met, how their relationship developed and how the bond came into the mix.
A./N.: I intended to finish the story before I publish it but I have to work a lot and it could take while so I decided to publish it the way it is. I work on it every day (sometimes I write one page, sometimes four or six), so don't worry. But It could take one or two more weeks and I could use some morally support :) Poor overworked youth care worker, sniff. Got hurt last week, bruised knee and deep grazes, my ego is a little low at the moment but the kid had nothing to laugh after that. Sigh.
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This particular mission was again one of S.H.I.E.L.D's bigger cluster-fucks .
The target got warned and waited for the agents to come, including heavy weapons and more than a dozen mercenaries as a special greeting.
Coulson hated these's days, unnecessary losses of agents, a huge amount of paperwork and the feeling that he failed his men.
Phil tried to get one of his agents behind the SUV as a mercenary decided they would be an easy target.
A young man grabbed the gun of a dead enemy and shot the mercenary before he even knew what was happening.
What the hell are civilians doing here? The area should be clear! Coulson raged inwardly while he continued to drag his hurt agent along.
A cry of pain caught Phil's attention, it seemed the civilian got shot "Wait here, Carol. EMT's are on their way," he hurried to the fallen man.
The fight was pretty much over and just occasional shots rang out, "Don't move," Phil said calmly while he looked for the wound.
A bullet to the gut, "I have to put pressure on it." Phil shrugged off his jacket and pressed it against the wound. He could feel the young man tense beneath his hand and the pitiful whimper sent a pang of guilt through his heart.
The man was young, maybe early twenty, he had the most beautiful blue eyes Phil had ever seen.
The kid was looking at him with big surprised eyes, as if he didn't understand why Coulson bothered with helping him.
Phil shifted a little and lifted the kid's head up to place it against his knees, "Help is on the way." His voice still smooth and calm but he gave in the urge to run his thumb over the young man's temple while his hand rested against his cheek to offer comfort.
There was something close to resignation in the man's eyes and it was painfully obvious that he was scared of dying.
"You're not alone. And thank you for saving my life." Phil was surprised by the shock in the man's eyes. Has no one ever thanked you before? Are you living on the streets?
The kid clenched the sleeve of Phil's dress-shirt in his fist and held on for dear life, wincing as a wave of pain racked through his body.
He closed his eyes and just listened to the soothing voice of the older S.H.I.E.L.D agent.
"Hold on." There was a hint of fear in it, strange no one ever cared for me so why should a stranger?
The medics arrived shortly after the young man lost consciousness.
Phil knew they would bring him to a regular hospital and talk him into not suing them.
Hopefully the young man would survive.
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Weeks passed and Coulson couldn't find the kid, he had tried every trick to gain information but failed.
The pretty young man who saved his life was most probably dead and that tore on Phil's heart.
"Listen Hawkeye, on the second floor in Room 234, is an air duct that leads straight to the roof. The third building from your position, on the north-east, has a convention going. No one will notice one more unfamiliar face between many." It was the first time he had to work with S.H.I.E.L.D's infamous menace and that only because Hawkeye's new handler was fed up and refused to rescue his asset.
He heard a lot about the man and he saw a few of the handlers he broke.
It wasn't pretty.
"Copy that." Clint tried to keep the surprise out of his voice. It was the smooth and calming voice of the Agent who cared for him a few weeks back.
He didn't figure out who the guy was but he knew that he deserved some trust.
"Hawkeye, talk to me." Phil ordered after an explosion in the hotel Hawkeye had been last seen.
"Enemy threw a grenade, I'm on my way to the roof, sir." He was as polite as he could.
"Don't get your ass blown up before Wilson can do the paperwork, in case of your death during my watch I have to put up with it, and I hate paperwork."
There was a soft chuckled on the other line, "Copy that, sir."
The chuckle sounded truly amused and Hawkeye's voice in general was nice, a little raspy and not too deep, or too high. Just perfect.
They remained silent for a long time before Hawkeye broke radio silence, "I'm sound and safe, sir. Heading back to HQ. And sir?"
"Yes, specialist?" Phil asked monotone.
"Thank you for saving my sorry ass, sir." The line went dead before Phil could reply.
"Agent Coulson," Carl put his hands on his hips and yelled, "Care to explain why the hell Hawkeye listens to you?"
"My charm," he deadpanned, hiding the fact that he was just as baffled, "get the cleaning crew ready. I have an appointment."
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"You," Fury stormed into Phil's office, pointing his finger at him, "I assign Hawkeye to you."
Phil caught the file Nick threw at him, "You have until tomorrow morning to look into the file before I come back with the kid."
Coulson had no chance to say anything at all.
He opened the thick file.
No pictures but many complaints and classified missions, he'd have loved to see a face to the voice.
The paper work wasn't in order and it seemed no one cared for the completeness of the file.
The man was an orphan. Circus artist. Three months in jail.
That was all they had about his past, that wasn't much at all.
His two former handler described him as coldhearted, sassy, sarcastic and calculating.
"Funny, that's what they say about me, except from sassy." Phil mumbled to himself, but in addition to that people associate with him fairness and conviction.
Psych evaluation seemed to be more than a sore spot for the archer and the doctors.
They described him as uncooperative and calculating.
They were sure he tells them what they wanted to hear but can't prove it.
He's playing with them for years, only on rare occasions he talked about a mission and what went wrong.
It seemed he had issues with his own personality.
He blamed himself for most things even though it was obvious that he was absolutely not at fault.
Three things S.H.I.E.L.D's psych department knew for sure about Hawkeye.
He had trust issues, commitment issues and a serious case of low self-esteem.
"And he's just 25." How many issues will he have after a decade, or two, with S.H.I.E.L.D?
Nick recruited Hawkeye when he was 20.
Nine different handlers during five years, not to mention all the handlers who borrowed him for a while. They shoved him back and forth between each other like a tool.
That was a bad sign and Phil hoped he wouldn't be one of them, the thought of pushing the kid around like a thing let his stomach churn.
But on the other hand he had enough to do without a sassy asset on his heel.
But he didn't sound that way when they communicated via earpiece.
Maybe he just waited for an opportunity to strike?
Phil closed the file and decided to go home, a headache was approaching and he absolutely didn't want to deal with Hawkeye on his team.
Hopefully he could give him back too after a few weeks, without too much remorse.
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"Coulson," Fury entered without knocking. "Kid, get your ass in here," the director wasn't a patient man.
Phil looked from Nick to the door, the movement of a shadow caught his eye.
"Clint, now," Fury sighed. "He hates meeting strangers," the director shrugged.
Hawkeye strolled into the room with a blank face and cold eyes but that changed the moment he set eyes on the man behind the desk.
Phil was sure he wore the same expression of surprise and disbelief as his eyes locked with the beautiful ones that haunted his dreams. "Agent Barton," he greeted in his usual tone.
"Sir." Clint got a grip on himself.
So the famous Phillip Coulson was the man he was looking for all along.
"Phil, don't let him push you. Clint leave him in one piece, I like him." Nick looked from Phil to Clint before he left with a satisfied smile.
That could work this time, he whistled an old song on his way to his office.
"Sit down." Phil gestured at the chair in front of his desk.
Clint eyed the chair for a moment before he made a beeline for the couch in the corner of the room.
"Or take the couch," Phil deadpanned, "I'm your tenth handler, is that correct?"
Clint enjoyed Coulson's smooth voice.
"Yes, sir and the 21st I work with," give or take.
"Why?"
That surprised Clint "Why what?"
"Why is it impossible for you to work with one of us?"
"I worked okay with Brice," the archer shrugged.
"Early retirement, drinking problem." He alone had filed three of Barton's many complaints.
Clint only shrugged and remained silent, never taking his eyes off of the agent.
The archer loved Coulson's blue eyes and the way his voice sounded.
Just sitting here on the couch in the other man's office gave him an unfamiliar feeling of safety.
It was confusing but it gave him hope.
"How is your side?" the silence was uncomfortable so Phil asked the question that was burning on his soul for weeks.
"I'm here," Clint said nonchalantly.
The image of the young man bleeding out in his arms flashed in front of his eyes, "What have you done there?"
"Undercover op, mostly classified. Should be in there somewhere," he pointed sluggishly at the file that lay in front of Coulson.
Phil frowned the op wasn't in there and neither was his medical report, "Is there a second file of you somewhere out there?"
"Fury has one." Clint surprised himself by answering, the words just came out.
It wasn't like him to answer without thinking his answer through, no matter what people said every word was well chosen whether to keep people at distance or cooperate.
"And why do I get the incomplete one?" he was rather talking to himself than Barton.
"So you have to get to know me?"
Phil got up, "Let's start with getting to know each other then."
They walked to the firing range.
Phil's fellow colleagues gave him pitying glances, "So he's yours now?!" Hill asked while Clint vanished to get his bow.
"Seems so." Phil crossed his arms in front of his chest, resting his hip against a table.
"Don't let him get to you," she warned, "he will let you down faster than you can blink"
"I heard he does his job without risking his comrades lives."
"That might be true but I wouldn't get my hopes up, or you'll end like Brice."
"Barton turned him in?" that was a surprise.
"Yes." She nodded, Fury had Brice removed from his post before they even knew what was happening.
"He had his reasons," if Brice was truly a drunk then Barton had every right to turn him in.
Phil looked at Hill, raising a brow as Barton dropped from the ceiling and crouched behind her.
"Permission to show off, sir?" he finally said after he got up, startling Maria a little.
"Permission granted, agent." Phil gestured with one fluid motion at the targets.
Clint fired arrow after arrow, not missing once. No matter if the training target stood still or moved very fast.
Hell, the kid even hit without looking at it.
"I'm impressed." Coulson praised after Clint shot his last arrow.
There it was again, the surprised look in Barton's eyes as if no one ever bothered to tell him how good he was.
"Coffee?" Coulson offered, he noticed how the archer's back tensed for a moment.
"Sure, why not." Clint picked up his arrows and placed them carefully on a nearby table, checking each one for fissures.
After his routine he followed Coulson to the break room.
"You have no right to be here Barton." Agent Malone had been his fourth handler.
"Agent Coulson invited me for coffee," he stated matter of factly. Back straight, eyes cold.
Phil watched the young man closely, every move, every twinkle in his eye and weighing every word he speaks.
Something had happened between Barton and Malone, "Care to explain your issues with my asset?"
"He erodes my authority every time I have to work with him."
Ah, that's the problem "Are his accusations justified?"
"What? Of course not. I know what I'm doing." Malone gasped, he wasn't prepared for Coulson's harsh words.
"Barton?" he wanted to know what his asset was thinking.
"Sending two relatively new agents into a situation without proper backup is not wise, sir." No one ever cared for his opinion, except Nick.
"I'm with Barton on this one," the hint of pride on Barton's face sent a soft shiver down his spine.
"Ganging up with the enemy Phil?" Shannon smirked at him.
The glare Barton sent her was interesting but Phil pushed that thought to the back of his mind. "I'm ganging up with no one but I respect the opinion of my men, and when their arguments are reasonable and convincing I take their sides." Phil explained, more for Barton than his fellow handlers.
Respect that was a concept Clint wasn't familiar with. Respect wasn't a feeling he woke in people, rage and disgust was more likely.
Clint decided to keep his mouth shut for Coulson's sake, the man was kind of nice and didn't deserve to be embarrassed in front of his comrades.
"How do you drink your coffee?" Phil stood suddenly pretty close to him, it was hard not to jump.
"Black, sir."
"Black it is," there was a strange feeling of loss in his chest after Coulson left his comfort zone to get his coffee.
Normally it was Clint who had to get his handler's coffee.
Barton watched the older man preparing his coffee, memorizing how Coulson liked his own coffee.
"Thank you, sir." Stunned silence washed through the break room
Coulson frowned at the deafening silence the comment precipitated, "Follow me, agent. We have some paperwork to do concerning your transfer."
Clint was thankful for the way out of the situation and followed Coulson like a watch dog, just one step behind at his left side.
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