Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.

Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"

Hey there everybody! I'm baaaa-aaack! I know it's been forever, but my new little kiddo requires most of my time these days. He's cute though, so don't hold it against him ;) This is the second installment in the new one-shot series that celebrates Clint's birthdays at SHIELD. So enjoy! If your interested in my universe, click on over to my profile page and take a look. The Vantage Point family welcomes all new members with open arms!

As always, much thanks to my betas Kylen and JRBarton. Any remaining mistakes are my own!

I'll get on with it now! Let's wish Clint a happy birthday!

In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years.
Abraham Lincoln

"Jesus." Clint breathed as his eyes scanned Boomer's battered body. Four bullet wounds, all an hour or more old, and blood…so much blood. "We need to get him out of here."

"Clint…" Phil's voice was firm, but also something close to gentle. Clint rejected the tone. People were only gentle when the worst had happened. Gentle only existed to soften blows. The doctor that had told him his parents were dead had said it gently. When he'd woken up in the hospital after Barney had stabbed him, everyone – even the nurses he didn't know – spoke to him gently. Clint hated 'gentle.'

"No, Phil." He snapped. "We have to move him, get him to help." Clint reached for Boomer's arm. He'd pull him up and carry him out himself if he had to.

"Clint, stop!" Phil snapped. Clint's eyes flashed up angrily when Phil's hands gently pushed his away. He opened his mouth to snap back at Phil, to tell him he wouldn't stop, that he couldn't.

And he froze.

Phil wasn't there. No one was. The room was empty save for him, the dead men across the room, and the man dying in his arms.

Clint frowned deeply. Phil had been here. He'd been sure of it. He'd felt the man's hand on his, he'd heard his voice. He'd been here.

But now he wasn't…maybe never had been. Maybe Clint's exhausted battered mind had just imagined him, had hoped for him so fervently that he'd conjured him out of thin air. He needed Phil, had needed Phil for days now.

But Phil wasn't here.

Phil wouldn't be coming either because Clint was dead. And soon, Boomer would be too and it wouldn't matter if Phil was here or not.

"I'm gonna get you help. I'm getting you out of here." Clint promised as he returned his attention to Boomer and prepared again to hoist the larger man up from the ground.

"He won't make it out." Clint's head snapped around, looking for the source of the whispered words. There was no one. The voice was familiar though, so familiar. It was a voice he could never and would never forget. But it wasn't real, it couldn't be.

Boomer's hand tightened around his forearm, a moan of pain pushing past the injured man's lips and drawing Clint's attention back to him once again.

"Go…" Boomer weakly pushed at him, trying to make him move.

Clint shook his head sharply, ignoring the stars that burst across his vision as a result and the nausea that followed swiftly after. Concussions were a bitch.

"I'm not leaving you, not again."

"Y's you are." Boomer's voice was weak, breathy, and barely audible. "I's over f'r me, H'wk." Boomer drew in a shuddering breath. "N't f'r you."

"No," Clint refuted firmly, "it's not over. I'm not leaving you here."

Boomer smiled then, a pale, weak, tragic smile.

"Knew it."

Clint frowned, confused. Boomer had to draw in a rickety breath before he could explain.

"Knew you w're differ'nt."

Clint shook his head, throat tightening painfully.

"I'm not different, man. I'm not."

Boomer's eyes took on a knowing gleam and he just weakly shook his head, like he knew something Clint didn't. He drew in a shallow, shaky breath, and abruptly, before Clint even realized what was happening, sighed it back out.

And didn't draw another.

"No…" Clint tightened his hand into a fist on Boomer's shirt. Shaking the other man roughly. "Boomer!" But his friend remained still, still didn't draw breath.

Clint looked up then, searching the room frantically for someone to help him, for someone to do something.

But the room was still empty. He was still alone. He was always alone.

Clint closed his eyes and doubled, pressing his forehead against the fist he had clenched in Boomer's shirt. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't just leave. Where would he go if he did? Clint Barton was dead, no one had even cared enough to come and look for him, to search for confirmation. Phil hadn't even come.

"He was wrong, you know?"

Clint's eyes snapped open and he jerked his head up so fast his vision faded out for a moment before blurrily coming back into focus.

It was that voice again. A voice from years ago. One that he'd never thought he'd hear again, one that he was afraid to hear again.

"Hey there, baby bro."

Barney.

Clint could only blink in mute shock, staring at his older brother as he leaned casually against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

"People always though I was the problem child, but they just didn't really know you, did they? They didn't know that between the two of us," Barney gestured his hand casually back and forth between them, "you're the one with darkness inside."

Clint couldn't even muster the conviction to deny it. Why would he? It was true.

"They thought I was the black sheep. But you, you're not a sheep at all are you? You're a goddamned wolf and you kill everything and everyone around you."

Clint couldn't meet his brother's gaze anymore, but when he lowered his own all he saw was Boomer. He clenched his eyes closed instead.

"You know I'm right." Barney's voice was right next to his ear now, low and vicious. "And now that he's dead because of you, I bet he'd agree with me."

Clint clenched his jaw so tightly it ached and kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to look at Barney, didn't want to see the hate in his eyes. He didn't want to look at Boomer either, didn't want to see the evidence that proved the truth of Barney's words.

"So," Barney sighed, "what should I do about you, huh? You're poison, Clint…you have to see that. This," a hand locked around his jaw, startling him into opening his eyes and forcing him to look at Boomer, to meet the unseeing gaze. "This is what you bring to the people stupid enough to give a shit about you."

Clint tried to shake his head – maybe to deny it, maybe to list the names that would disprove Barney's bitter accusation – but the iron grip on his jaw held him immobile.

"There's only one way to keep you from hurting anyone else, Clint."

That had him tensing, trying to pull himself free of Barney's restraining hand. The grip on his jaw tightened, bruising his skin and preventing escape. He saw the glint of the blade out of the corner of his eye.

"You deserve this, baby bro."

He didn't have time to react before the blade was arching through the air. It slammed home, burying itself in his chest to the hilt.

Clint arched off his bed, hands clawing at the blade, fumbling for the hilt so he could pull it free. His hands slid across the sweat slickened skin on his chest, fingers grazing an old scar. It wasn't there. There was no knife, nothing to pull out, nothing to do to ease the fiery pain in his chest.

He couldn't breathe.

He reached for the knife again, desperate to ease the burning agony that was trying to consume him.

"I'm sorry, baby bro…but I've got to look out for myself now."

"Barney…" Clint breathed his brother's name like a plea, forcing clenched eyes open and searching for him in the darkness. He was there…standing over him with an emotionless expression and a bloody knife in his hands.

Memory bled together with nightmare and twisted with reality. Clint couldn't separate them, not now, not in the place between awake and asleep where even the worst dreams were made real.

He saw his brother before him, felt the rain beating down on both of them. He felt the cold wet mud beneath him and the warmth of his own blood coating his chest. He looked into his brother's eyes and saw nothing but cold darkness where once there had been nothing but warmth and love.

"Barney…" Clint reached out before he could stop himself – reached for the brother he remembered from before his parents died, from before Phillip Jacobs and before Carson's – but Barney backed away.

A throb of pain wrenched through his chest, stealing his breath and bringing the reaching hand back to press against the old rough scar. In that moment of distraction, Barney was gone. And with him went the last remnants of the dream…and the memory.

He drew in a ragged, half-choked breath, eyes roaming the room around him wildly. He wasn't amongst the tents at Carson's. He was in his room at SHIELD. There was no one bearing down on him with a knife and no bloody bodies on the floor.

He was alone.

He sat up slowly, one hand braced on the bed and the other still covering the old scar that still seemed to echo with the pain of the wound that had caused it. The sheets were knotted and twisted around his legs, a testament to the nightmare he'd been trapped in. His skin was sticky with cooling sweat that sent a chill down his spine, but at the same time he felt hot and flushed.

The intercom next to his door buzzed and startled him so badly his whole body flinched. A hand had shifted under his pillow and drawn the gun he'd hidden there before he'd even consciously processed the sound and what it meant. He blinked down the sights of his Desert Eagle and stared at his door, willing his still-frazzled mind to catch up.

The intercom buzzed again.

Clint forced himself to blow out a slow breath and lower the gun. He dropped the weapon to sit harmlessly on the bed and then could only stare at his shaking hand.

"Goddammit." He hissed under his breath, clenching the offending appendage to hide the tremble. He had to get himself under control.

The intercom buzzed a third time and a knock followed a breath later.

Clint finally spurred himself to move, to leave the bed and move to the door and whoever so incessantly demanded his attention. He glanced at his bedside clock as he moved, frowning at the time.

4:45 a.m.

Only one person would be bothering him at this hour. Hell, only one person would be bothering him at all.

He paused at the door with his hand on the handle. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep, slow breath and then blew it out, doing his best to cleanse himself of the dream and restore some semblance of his game-face.

He took a moment longer to try and compose himself and then opened his eyes. With one more deep breath he pulled the door open and glared at Phil.

Phil smiled in relief when he heard the door knob turn and brought his hand away from the intercom he'd been preparing to buzz again. It wasn't like Clint to ignore his intercom and even in his deepest sleep, the kid still came awake at the slightest noise. That it had taken three attempts to get a response, had started to become concerning. But that concern faded quickly as the door started to open. Clint had gotten in late last night and had more than likely been hoping that if he ignored the intercom long enough, Phil would go away.

Not likely, especially not with what he had planned for the day. They needed to get an early start.

But then the door opened and the face glaring at him wasn't one of exasperated, but slightly affectionate, annoyance that he was expecting. No, Clint's expression was a mixture of exhaustion mingled with pain and something else, something darker.

Phil knew what that expression meant and his smile faded quickly. Before he could say anything though, Clint spoke in a tone that was hard and sharp.

"Phil, I just got back three hours ago. What is so Goddamned important that it can't wait until we meet at 6?"

Phil stayed quiet for a moment, watching Clint absently rub his slightly trembling hand across the old knife scar on his upper chest. He didn't seem aware he was doing it and it only confirmed Phil's suspicions.

"Phil!" Clint snapped impatiently. Then his eyes tracked Phil's gaze and the hand on his scar dropped abruptly.

Phil shifted his gaze to meet Clint's, gauging the archer's mood the best he could. The look in the assassin's blue-gray eyes warned him not to ask. So Phil didn't, not today. Instead he forced himself to smile again and ignored the incredulous eyebrow arch the expression elicited from his protégé.

"Get dressed, you can sleep in the car." He issued the instructions in a light, casual tone, hoping to avoid explaining any further.

Clint blinked silently at him and for a long moment didn't move. He opened his mouth, as if to ask something, and then sighed, shaking his head in exasperation as he moved back into his room. Phil followed him in and let the door close behind him.

He watched Clint wearily rub his face and casually retrieve a gun from his bed, checking the safety and then moving it to his nightstand. Then he sat on his bed, rubbed his face again and looked up at Phil.

"Where are we going?" He asked with a resigned sigh, though he made no move to add any more clothes to the athletic shorts he was currently wearing.

"You'll find out." Phil replied vaguely as he glanced around the room.

It was a mess – as it usually was – with clothes and belongings strewn about in a seemingly chaotic fashion. Though Phil was sure that, if asked, Clint could find any specific item with ease.

"Phil…it's too damn early for cryptic bullshit." Another weary sigh from his agent had Phil settling his gaze on Clint once again. He studied the archer for a long moment, trying to be sure before he spoke.

"You really don't remember what today is?" Phil finally asked.

He got an honestly blank look and Clint shrugged helplessly.

"Saturday?"

Phil frowned.

"It's actually Monday, but that's not what I was going for, no."

Clint still looked lost and Phil rolled his eyes.

"I can't believe you forgot your own birthday." Phil scolded in affectionate exasperation. "I thought we went over this last year."

Clint's eyebrows rose in disbelief and he immediately looked down at his watch, checking the date.

"Well, shit." Clint scoffed in mild surprise.

"What, did you think I was lying to you?" Phil teased as he leaned over and grabbed one of Clint's boots from the floor. "Get dressed." He tossed the boot at the archer and didn't wait to see if he caught it before turning towards the door. "Meet me in the garage ASAP."

He was out the door before Clint had a chance to argue.

Clint stared at the closed door in shock, holding his boot against his chest where he'd caught it.

His birthday.

He'd forgotten his own birthday.

Though to be fair, he'd also apparently forgotten what day of the week it was. That's just what happened when you went on a three day mission and got little to no sleep. He'd been hoping to crash when he'd gotten back, and to be fair, he had. He'd fallen asleep almost before his head had hit the pillow.

But then he'd been dreaming and then waking without having felt like he'd slept at all.

He stood from his bed, moving to his bathroom.

He flipped on the faucet in the sink without looking in the mirror. Without giving the water time to warm, he leaned over, filled his cupped palm and splashed it over his face. Keeping one hand braced on the edge of the sink, he rubbed his wet hand down his face and then up again. The cold water brought even more awareness to his tired mind.

Finally he raised his gaze, meeting his own eyes in the mirror.

On the edge of his vision, he saw the reflection of his brother staring back at him. He didn't flinch, didn't spin to check the bathroom for other occupants. He just lowered his eyes and reached for his tooth brush.

His brother wasn't here, not physically at least. But the memory of him, the memory of that last horrible night, was always there. Clint had learned to live with being haunted by it. And on nights when he dreamed of Barney – though it hadn't started with him tonight, it had certainly ended with him – he'd grown used to seeing his brother in the time right after. It was usually out of the corner of his eye and any time he turned, of course Barney wasn't there. It would only take a few minutes, certainly no more than an hour, to fade completely and he'd stopped letting it startle him long ago.

But as he brushed his teeth and washed his face, he didn't look in the mirror again.

Phil was twirling the keys on his finger while he waited. He was the picture of calm patience as he leaned casually against the black SUV he'd signed out and hummed softly under his breath.

Clint was in a sour mood this morning, which meant Phil would have to be cheerful enough for both of them until Clint came around and the rain cloud dissipated. And Phil had every confidence that it would. There was nothing like a relaxing day away from the stresses and demands of his job to help Clint get his head on straight. Distraction was what he needed now, especially if dreams of his brother had haunted him tonight as Phil suspected.

Phil could distract with the best of them and he would be damned if he wasn't going to get Clint to enjoy his own damned birthday.

The door to the SHIELD's massive motor pool opened and Clint appeared a moment later. He wore his old gray ARMY hoodie with the hood pulled low over his eyes and his hands hidden away in the front pocket. He'd exchanged the athletic shorts for an old, comfortable looking pair of jeans and had his scuffed and worn combat boots strapped on beneath them.

Even with the boots – which told their own story of the long and hard life Clint had already led – he looked every bit his mere twenty years and younger.

Clint walked past him without a word and climbed into the passenger seat, all but slamming the door closed.

"This is gonna be fun." Phil stated with false cheer and a wide sarcastic smile as he rounded the SUV and climbed in.

It wasn't until they were well away from the base and a small note of tension had faded from Clint's posture that Phil spoke. He kept his tone purposefully casual and non-caustic, hoping to avoid blackening Clint's mood any further.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

They both knew he meant the dream that had left Clint's hands shaking and pressing against an old wound. But Clint feigned ignorance anyway.

"About what?" He muttered without removing his gaze from the window and the passing scenery beyond it.

"Clint…" Phil sighed. "Pretending it didn't happen won't –"

"Fine," Clint interrupted sharply, turning his head to grant Phil a hard glare. "No. I don't want to tell you about it." Then he turned back to the window and fell silent.

Phil nodded and let it drop. He hoped one day that Clint would confide in him about his brother and the hurt he still carried over his betrayal. But until that day came, Phil would do the only thing he could – offer silent support and not push.

If it had been anything else, he might have kept nudging, kept asking until he wore Clint down. But not this, never this. He could never bring himself to poke at the still bleeding wound his brother's betrayal had left on Clint's heart. He couldn't bring himself to force a conversation that brought such tangible pain to the one person he would do anything to protect.

So instead he reached for the radio, fiddling with it until he found a classic rock station and then focused on the road. He'd denied Clint the space he usually needed to cope after a dream like that, so he'd give him space in the only way he could – in silence.

It spoke to Clint's exhaustion that it took less than twenty minutes for his head to lull against the window and his body to relax. Phil turned down the radio to a comforting, low hum and took care to avoid whatever potholes he could.

When Clint woke later, he nearly gave Phil a heart attack.

One moment he was breathing evenly and the next he was flinching awake so abruptly that he smacked his temple on the window.

"Son of a bitch!" the archer hissed as one hand went to his head even as the other disappeared to find the knife Phil knew would be strapped to his back.

"Hey, hey, hey, relax. You're fine."

Rapidly sharpening blue-gray eyes snapped around to glare at him.

"You're fine." He assured again, this time in a softer, more calming tone. When the knife didn't appear, he knew he'd gotten through. "Jesus, kid, you can't catch a break today."

Clint scrubbed a hand across his face and then up into his hair, knocking his hood away. When he didn't say anything, Phil stole another glance at him. Some of the shadows had faded and whatever dream had haunted him now seemed to already be on its way to being forgotten.

Clint yawned and blinked out the front window into the rising sun.

"Where are we?" His tone lacked the fire and brimstone it had carried when they left the base so Phil was immediately hopeful that the majority of the day could be salvaged.

"That's for me to know and you to –"

"Is that Lake Placid?"

Phil shot Clint a disbelieving glance not for the interruption itself, but for the accuracy of it.

"You know, you take all the fun out of surprises." He muttered as he pulled into a parking lot then into an open spot. He switched off the ignition and turned to glare at Clint properly. "Literally all the fun…GONE."

Clint's lips quirked into a small smirk and he shrugged.

"Maybe you should try harder." He teased before climbing out of the SUV and closing the door behind him.

Phil smiled widely, pleased to see Clint starting to act a little more like himself, and slid out of the SUV himself. He rounded the car to see Clint in the midst of a full body stretch that ended with a contented sigh.

"So," Clint glanced around, and then back at Phil, "where are we?"

"I thought you already knew." Phil mocked as pocketed the keys and habitually checked his phone for missed calls or messages.

Clint rolled his eyes and shot Phil a one fingered hand gesture.

Phil ignored the gesture with practiced ease and nodded towards a small building to their left.

"This happens to be a restaurant and we're here to have breakfast."

Clint's eyes lit up at the mention of food and he followed Phil into the diner without protest.

Once they were seated in a nice corner booth – Clint with his back to the wall and his eyes already scanning the room – Phil began silently perusing the menu. He waited until Clint relaxed a little in his seat, the restaurant's other occupants having been deemed 'non-threats', before speaking.

"So…" he waited until Clint's gaze met his, "you seem to be in a better mood."

Clint immediately lowered his eyes and started playing with the frayed corner of his menu. He knew he'd been in a dark mood earlier and Phil had taken the brunt of that fall out. Knowing Phil, he'd desperately wanted to make it better, but had known that there was little he could do.

Clint sighed.

He hated for Phil to see him like that, hated that the man willingly put himself in the line of fire just so Clint wouldn't have to deal with any of it alone.

"I'm sorry," he offered sincerely, raising his eyes to Phil's once again.

"I wasn't looking for an apology, kid."

"I know," Clint couldn't help the small, warm smile that turned up the corners of his mouth, "but that doesn't mean you don't deserve one. I was an ass and I'm sorry."

Phil dipped his head, graciously accepting the words for what they were. Then he hesitated, seeming to weigh his words before starting to speak.

"It was about…him…wasn't it?" Phil spoke carefully and hesitated again before clarifying, "about B…about your brother?"

He must have seen the flinch Clint had tried to hide. It was the only reason Clint could think of that would force Phil to check himself on saying Barney's name. Clint wasn't ready to talk about that – to put words to everything that had happened between him and his brother – so he did what he did best, he deflected.

"It was about Boomer." He stated bluntly. "At least that's how it started."

Phil nodded knowingly. Clint knew he didn't have to explain further. In the four months since the end of that ill-fated Cairo mission, Boomer had been a fairly consistent character in his nightmares. One day he might forgive himself for not saving his friend, but that day was still very far off…if it ever came at all.

"You okay?" His handler asked quietly.

"I'm fine." Clint responded immediately, instinctively. Phil's eyebrow arched doubtfully and Clint shrugged one shoulder. "I'm getting to fine at least." And he was. He always did…eventually.

His handler nodded slowly, eyes searching Clint's for any sign of deception.

"Besides," Clint forced a grin, "it's my birthday. That means you're buying me breakfast and I'm ordering a shit load of food." With that he opened his menu and started scanning it.

Nightmares or not, Phil had gone out of his way to try and make today something special. It was his goddamned birthday and he was going to fucking enjoy it.

"I honestly didn't know one person could put away that much food." Phil commented as he and Clint walked along the edge of the lake. The morning was clear and cool, the sun shining unimpeded and warming their faces with its rays.

Clint smirked next to him and put a fist to his mouth in a lame attempt to cover the deep burp that escaped him a moment later.

"Well Phil, I like to do my best to defy expectations."

He saw Phil's mouth quirk into a small, genuine smile but his handler didn't reply.

"So now what? I know you didn't wake me up before the ass crack of dawn to drive all the way to Lake Placid just for breakfast."

He watched Phil closely out of the corner of his eye, hoping to learn something from the man's reaction. He should have known Phil was as cool as they came and would give nothing away.

"So what if we did?" His handler shot him a sarcastic little smirk, like he knew Clint was trying to read him and was taking extreme satisfaction in being unreadable.

Clint narrowed his eyes and then thought of the glorious breakfast he'd just consumed. He hadn't had food that good in a while. Clint found himself smiling.

"Then it was a damn good breakfast." Even if that's all they'd come for, it was worth it.

Phil smiled in return and pointed at the building they were heading towards.

"It's not the only reason we came."

Clint narrowed his eyes, trying to read the sign on the front of the building. When he was finally able to make it out, he smiled.

"I'm so gonna smoke your ass, Phil." Clint taunted as he climbed onto a blue and white jet ski.

Phil scoffed.

"I've jet skied before," he reminded as he climbed onto his own red and yellow ski. "That gives me the advantage."

"Yeah maybe…but you're forgetting one thing." Clint adjusted the sleeve of his wetsuit and slid a pair of sunglasses onto his face. Then he reached for the handle bars.

"What's that?" Phil asked as he adjusted his position and reached for his own handles.

"I'm a quick study." With that Clint twisted the throttle and rocketed away from the dock.

Phil shook his head in amusement and smiled widely. Trust Clint to be instantly at home on anything that moved with any sort of speed. Phil carefully turned his throttle and eased himself away from the dock, mindful of the 'no wake zone' that Clint had ignored. As soon as he was clear of the zone, though, he twisted the throttle and took off after his agent. He smiled in response to the whooping cheers and laughter he could faintly hear over the sounds of the waves and the engines as Clint pushed his machine to its limits, cutting into hard turns and jumping waves fearlessly.

"You awake?" Phil asked as he walked across the little grassy knoll Clint had claimed and rejoined his agent. A call from Fury about one of the teams in the field had briefly pulled him away. Since he'd left Clint had gone from sitting on the grass sipping a Gatorade to being sprawled out on his back, one arm tucked behind his head as a pillow. His sunglasses hid his eyes and made it hard to tell without looking closely if he was awake.

He got a lazy hum of affirmation in response to his query and that was all. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Clint be purposefully lazy or seen him appear so relaxed…not in months, not since before Cairo. It was a nice change from the moody tension that seemed to have become the norm.

"So I was thinking," Phil stated as he dropped down to sit next to Clint and pulled a small thin object out of his pocket, "we've got a little bit of a drive to get to lunch. And I don't know if you've noticed, but you complain every time a commercial comes on the radio…"

The corners of Clint's mouth turned down.

"I do not."

"You do." Phil disagreed bluntly.

Clint huffed then and shifted, switching his arms so the other was now behind his head.

"Well they're pointless…" he muttered mostly under his breath.

Phil smiled and offered the object, wrapped in simple blue paper, to Clint.

The archer looked at the gift but didn't take it and slowly sat up. He slid off his sunglasses and turned his gaze to Phil.

"What birthday is complete without a present?" Phil added quietly, holding the gift out a little farther, silently urging Clint to take it.

The archer, predictably, shook his head.

"You didn't have to –"

"I know I didn't, but I'm choosing to celebrate, so let me celebrate and take the damn present." He said it with a mildly scolding tone that was laced with all the affection he had for the young man next to him. He knew Clint sensed that affection because his eyes shot up briefly to meet Phil's before dropping away again.

He never could seem to accept or understand that Phil cared about him.

"Clint if I have to tell you to take it again, I'm going to keep it for myself." He finally threatened with an exasperated laugh.

Clint's mouth quirked into a shyly excited smile and he reached to take the small gift from him.

Clint weighed the object in his hand for a moment, trying to guess what it might be. Then he gave up and pulled at the paper, ripping it away to reveal a shiny black iPod.

"Whoa…" was all he could manage as he stared at the small device.

"I already downloaded a lot of your favorite songs and added some more that I think you might like. With as much as you like music, I figured you should be able to take it with you on missions, on your motorcycle…whatever."

Clint shook his head in awe. It was too much, Phil was always doing too much for him. But he couldn't deny the thrill he felt at knowing he could bring his music with him everywhere now.

"I used to have a Walkman when I was a kid," he revealed abruptly, still staring down at the iPod. "Somebody gave it to me along with a bunch of old classic rock cassettes. God, I loved that thing…" Clint turned the iPod on and scrolled through the list of songs. He couldn't help but smile as he saw his favorites and couldn't help but think of Kara as he did. The Walkman had been hers first and she'd caught him listening to it once not long after he'd arrived at Carson's. Inexplicably, it was sitting on his cot the next day with a small bow and a note that said 'Welcome to the family.' Next to it had been a stack of tapes ranging from Led Zeppelin to The Eagles.

"What happened to it?" Phil asked quietly, breaking Clint from his reverie.

He cleared his throat and slid his sunglasses back on.

"I left it behind." He explained simply. He'd left it and anything else that would remind him of Carson's and the people there. The only thing he hadn't been able to part with was his bow, though he'd even forsaken that while he was in the Army.

He could tell Phil wanted to ask for more details, but he didn't. Clint was grateful. He didn't want to think about Carson's or the people he'd left behind when he fled because inevitably that would lead to thinking about his brother and the betrayal that had nearly killed him in so many ways.

He'd already been down that road once today and that was more than enough.

"Well, don't leave this behind, okay?" Phil said instead, drawing Clint's gaze back to his.

The words felt loaded, like they meant more than they seemed to. And maybe they did. Maybe Phil was asking him not to leave him like he'd left Carson's.

"I won't." He promised quietly. He wouldn't leave, couldn't. He owed Phil too much to ever walk away from him. But more than that…he didn't want to leave. He liked the life he was building, with Phil as some mixture of the brother he'd wished he had and the father he'd never really known.

Phil's smile of response told Clint that he understood.

His handler reached out then and warmly squeezed his shoulder.

"Happy Birthday."

Clint offered him a warm, genuine smile in return.

"Now let's get going," Phil pushed himself up and offered Clint a hand, "lunch awaits."

Phil glanced away from the setting sun at his passenger as he drove back towards the base.

Clint was asleep, brand new headphones in place and iPod softly playing.

Usually when Clint slept, there was tension still there. Though a casual observer may miss it, Phil knew where to look. He carried it in his shoulders, and how they never really relaxed, even when he was sleeping. And he showed it in his face, and the shadows that were always there, always looming and never letting him rest. It made him seem older, even in sleep, than he really was. He'd seen too much, done too much, and had too much done to him.

But right now, that was all washed away. His posture and expression were relaxed in a way Phil had never seen before. It was almost…peaceful. It added, or maybe just revealed, a youthfulness that was usually hidden beneath the shadows of the past and the weight of the present.

It had to be the music.

Phil smiled warmly at that thought, at the possibility that he'd somehow helped bring some semblance of peace to Clint's normally turbulent rest. Even if it was only now, while the iPod was new, that it worked, he would take it. Especially if it meant Clint got some uninterrupted sleep, free of all the memories that haunted him.

Phil sighed out a contended breath and navigated expertly around a pothole without slowing.

For a day that had started out with nightmares and black moods, this one had turned out to be pretty damn good. The ride to their lunch spot had been filled with blasted classic rock songs after Clint had discovered the iPod transmitter Phil had bought so the device could be played through the car's speakers. Phil's ears were still ringing a little from that. It was also why he'd not so subtly suggested that Clint try out his headphones for the ride home.

Then after lunch – where Clint again ate an inordinate amount of food – Phil had taken him to an outdoor adventure center, specifically to a rock climbing wall. He'd climbed with Clint at first, indulging in a juvenile race to the top that he'd known he had no hope of winning. But after a while, he'd just sat back and watched as Clint climbed the damn thing every way imaginable. Even the manager had been impressed, idly commenting that he'd never seen anyone take a few of the routes Clint had mapped out.

Then, just when Phil was sure Clint's arms had to have been ready to give out in fatigue, he'd asked to be timed.

The record he had set scaling the wall had sent the manager into slack jawed awe. Even as they'd left, the man had been watching Clint like he was a god. The self-satisfied smirk Clint had let settle on his expression told Phil the adventure center had been a good call.

After that it had been dinner – Phil really didn't know where Clint put all the food he ate – and then they'd headed home. The conversation for the first part of the drive had been easy and familiar and stayed far away from any topics that would strip away the relaxing effects of the day.

Then, Clint had casually slipped one of his earbuds in and turned on his iPod, the volume low enough that Phil couldn't hear it through the earbud that hung loosely against Clint's chest. Before long, the combination of the music and Phil's voice had sent Clint's head tipping back against his headrest. Then during one of Phil's stories about his college frat days, Clint's head had rolled towards the window and his breathing had evened out in sleep.

He'd been that way ever since.

Phil smiled and tossed his charge one more warm look.

"Happy Birthday, kid."

Happy 20th birthday to Clint!

This fic has at least one - possibly two companion pieces that I'm working on right now! So the iPod will be back again! I know many of you are anxious for "The Untold Stories" and I promise it is still coming! I do have a 4 almost 5 month old though and he takes up most of my time these days lol. It will get done though! Promise :)

That being said, thanks for sticking with me! More one-shots will be headed your way to ease the pain of waiting for the next multi-chapter fic :)

All Clint wants for his birthday is for you to leave a review! So don't let him down ;)