"Fuck!" The word rang out around the training room, bouncing off the concrete walls. It came at the same time as a loud thump and a sharp crack. Phil's eyes darted over to where Romanov had Barton pinned to the mat, one arm twisted up behind his back. "That's cheating, you bitch." Barton growled. Romanov's smirk was wicked enough that Phil had to suppress the urge to reach for his gun. "Get off!"
"Not till you say the magic words." Romanov taunted.
Barton groaned, "No… please." He yelped as Romanov put pressure on his arm. "Ow! Fine! I'm your bitch."
"And?..."
"And I'm not worthy to lick the ground you walk on."
"Damn straight." Romanov ground Barton's head into the mat with one of her fists before finally releasing him.
Phil dropped his eyes back to the screen in front of the treadmill he was on. It was turned to a local news channel and was spouting forth the same stream of babble about the housing market as every other channel. At least it was on mute, which made it easy for him to zone out and ignore the text scrolling at the bottom. He pretended to be focused though, because he was still all too aware of Barton's exact position in the gym.
It'd been over three months since Barton had come back but it still wasn't any easier seeing him every day. Phil didn't get how Barton did it, pretending like nothing had happened. Every time Phil turned around, it was to find Baron and Romanov together, laughing and joking or training and sparring. Their relationship worked on Phil's nerves and he had started avoiding them to keep himself from doing something stupid. Like tearing Clint away and pressing him up against the nearest wall and kissing him until they were both out of air.
Phil sensed more than heard Romanov's presence approaching behind him, but he didn't turn around. Phil kept running, his steady pace and even breaths the only sound in the now empty room. When it became obvious that she wasn't going to leave, Phil pushed the button to stop the treadmill and rode it to the end. He dropped softly to the floor and spun to face Romanov who was staring at him, her face a bland mask that Phil would never admit to being jealous of.
"Can I help you with something, Agent Romanov?" Phil crossed his arms as her gaze bore into him.
"If I am to be a part of this team, sir, then I need to be aware of anything that may cause issues in the field."
Phil nodded and squeezed his arms tighter around himself. The question felt personal and invasive despite not actually being a question. But that was one of the reasons SHIELD had hired her. She saw everything and could slice through the fluff and get right to the heart of a matter. Phil should have known better than to hope that she wouldn't notice the awkwardness between him and Barton. That didn't mean he had to give in to her interrogation so easily though. "I can assure you that if there were anything that I felt threatened your safety; I would discuss it with you immediately."
Phil moved to take a step towards the locker room but Romanov blocked his path. Her eyes narrowed slightly, the minute movement enough to scream that she wasn't in the mood for games. "Then you and I disagree on what constitutes a threat to my safety. Discord between my handler and my partner is a threat, in my opinion."
Phil sighed. "Is there something you are trying not to ask?"
Romanov's lips curled up into a smile that made the hairs on the back of Phil's neck stand on end. "What exactly is your relationship with Agent Barton?"
"He is my asset, I am his handler. Nothing more." It was the truth and Phil had said the phrase hundreds of times over the last few months. Yet it never lost its sting. It never stopped feeling like the words were shards of glass tearing at his throat. Painful reminders of the happiness he'd had ripped away from him and how hard it was to get it back. "Now, if that's all."
Romanov laid a gentle hand on his chest, holding him in place. "Is that all you have ever been?"
Phil sighed and gritted his teeth. "I have told you everything you need to know. If you still have questions, you should ask Agent Barton." Phil took a step forward and Romanov's nails dug into his chest, her arm an unmoving force.
"I have tried." She whispered. "Whenever I broach the topic he changes the subject and then spends the next six hours on the range. So now I am asking you. Were you and Clint ever more than what you are now?"
"Yes." The word was so soft he wasn't sure if he'd actually spoken it.
"You were dating." She asked, her voice as soft as his; not really a question, just her stating what she knew from her observations.
"Yes."
"You lived together."
"Yes."
"You broke it off."
"No!" Romanov's eyes widened a fraction at Phil's sudden anger. "The relationship ended on his terms, not mine. It did, however, stay ended on my terms. But that's what tends to happen when someone is dead for 7 months."
Romanov's hand fell, finally releasing Phil, but he didn't move. "You still love him?" It was the first time he'd ever heard her sound uncertain in one of her conclusions.
"Yes."
"Do you realize that he still loves you?" She tipped her head, like she was trying to make sense of the situation.
"Yes."
"So – "
"No." Phil cut her off; turning his sternest gaze on her and relishing in the walls he saw go up behind her eyes. It was nice to know he could affect the infamous Black Widow. "He is my asset. I am his handler. Nothing. More."
-;-
The warm water ran over Clint's sore muscles, washing away some of the stiffness. He groaned as the pressure landed on one of the bruises forming on his skin. Nat was learning all of his weak spots and showed no hesitancy in exploiting them. Pretty soon he'd have to resort to using cheap tricks like hair pulling if he wanted to last more than five minutes against her.
The door to the locker room clicked open and shut, followed by the steady beat of familiar footsteps. All of the tension flooded back into Clint's body, his muscles taut in an instant.
Speaking of his weak spots.
Clint had promised to give Phil as much time and space as he needed. Only, he hadn't expected it to take this long. Over three months and Phil had yet to meet Clint's eye or crack a smile or give any sign that it was getting better. Nothing to show that he was any closer to forgiving Clint; to trusting him again.
That was the hardest part, standing there, listening to Phil moving around just 20 feet away and remembering everything they used to be and knowing that he may never have it again. All of the lazy Sunday mornings together, the hours spent watching crappy reality tv, the smiles over morning coffee, he'd traded them all for this: this emptiness that gnawed at his soul. The lack of trust still brought Clint to his knees whenever he let his mind linger on it. So few people had ever trusted Clint, wholly and truly. He hadn't even realized how much he loved having that from Phil until it was gone.
Phil had told him, one night at their apartment, that he had a sixth sense about those things. He could size up a person or situation with a single glance, his subconscious making connections at lightning speed. The first time he'd seen Clint, he had trusted him implicitly. And now Clint had thrown it all away like a spoiled child.
The door slammed shut and the silence only amplified the ache in Clint's chest. He let out a guttural scream and lashed out, punching the tile wall.
;;;
A few hours later, Clint found himself in a briefing room, staring at the image of the Pope that filled the far screen. "Oh, please tell me the Pope is an alien that I get to kill." Clint smirked up at Fury, who glared back at him. "Or maim. I'm not picky." He shrugged, kicking his feet up onto the conference table. He didn't back down from Fury's gaze, keeping his fake cocky grin plastered onto his face, a task he'd perfected over the last few months.
"The Pope is not our target, sorry." Fury growled. "You'll have to take out your problems with the Church some other way."
"Hey! I ain't got nothing – " Clint wavered as every head in the room turned to give him a skeptical look. They all knew about his time at St. Mary's Orphanage. "Fine, whatever." He sank lower into his chair.
"Intelligence has reported an assassin that has worked his way up through the higher ranks of the Church." Fury continued the briefing and almost everyone turned their attention back to him. Clint tried to focus on what Fury was saying, rather than the weight of Coulson's eyes on him. When the image behind Fury switched to the face of another man, Clint risked a glance towards Coulson. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments and in that one second Clint felt his world slip away entirely until it was just them. Until none of the last year had happened and this was just any other briefing. Until he could imagine, just for a moment, that Phil still wanted him.
"This is our target." Hill's words broke through the moment and Coulson's eyes flicked towards the screen. Clint sighed and dropped his head back against the chair. Nat elbowed him in the ribs and he let his head flop to the side to glare at her. She rolled her eyes and nodded towards the screen, indicating for him to pay attention. "Cardinal Bottego." Hill continued, and Clint finally looked at the screen. "We have reason to believe that he means to assassinate the Pope during the next consistory."
"There are easier methods than impersonating a Cardinal." Nat observed, her tone a mix of disgust and awe. "He's been playing the long game."
"But why?" Clint asked. "Does he want to get himself elected Pope or something?"
"Not that we can tell." Fury said. "Our best guess is that he's going to pin the murder on another one of the Cardinals to start problems among the College."
"So what do you want us to do? Kill him?" Clint smirked. Missions weren't nearly as much fun if he didn't get to shoot someone.
"No. You and Romanov will be going in separately undercover. You are to gather as much intel as you can and prevent the assassination by any means necessary. However, we'd prefer if you could bring Bottego back alive."
Clint pouted. "Fine. But I'm not making any promises."