The weeks passed quickly after Clint joined the cheerleading squad. Between that, homework, and tutoring, he'd been busy enough that Nick had managed to convince him not to get a job. Instead, he received an allowance of a hundred dollars a month. He almost hadn't believed it at first, but he had a nice amount of cash building up in his hiding spot (rolled up, rubber-banded, and stuck in a large ibuprofen bottle) that proved Nick was as good as his word.
He spent his days going to school, going to practice, and doing homework. Nick had found a local archery range, and Clint spent a lot of freetime there as well, though not as much as he would have liked.
At the circus, archery was what kept him fed, but in Midgard it was just a pastime that he happened to be very, very good at, even if the range owners were constantly getting on him about his form. He could outshoot both of them blindfolded, though, so he wasn't too bothered by it.
He'd settled in at school pretty well. Once he started learning the basics in tutoring, his classes got much easier and his grades were actually pretty good. He'd discovered that he was actually really good at math, and he picked it up quicker than anything else. His teacher had suggested that he sign up for the accelerated course next year, and Clint thought he might do it. It was nice to be good at something useful for once.
He'd also settled into a group of friends. Even though he ate lunch with them every day, he'd still been kind of surprised when he'd realized that he was part of the group, and that they had all taken for granted that he would be a part of their out-of-school plans.
He really liked having friends. It was nice to have people who wanted to talk to him for no reason other than they that liked him. They thought he was funny, and besides Phil Coulson, Clint felt totally comfortable around them.
Even after a month and half of hanging out in the same friend group, biology tutoring every Monday, and joint cheerleader/basketball team IHOP runs after games, Phil still hadn't warmed up to Clint. He was polite enough, but he was very obviously distant from Clint. He always made sure to keep space between them, like maybe he thought he might catch a disease, and they never talked about anything but school work, if they talked at all.
It was depressing, especially because Phil was such a nice guy to most everyone else. He was very open and welcoming, and always helped people if they needed it. Clint had a hopeless crush on him, and it was absolutely the worst because he knew he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell. Phil didn't even like him.
The others had noticed Phil's indifference and had tried to force them together and make them get along. It only made things even more awkward, and Clint lived in constant fear that one day Phil might make them choose between him and Clint. He knew who they would choose, after all, and his life would really suck if he had to go back to being alone.
"Hey, where are you, bird brain?"
Clint snapped out of his thoughts and looked across the table at Kate, who was staring at him with her eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Uh, what?" he asked dumbly, and she snorted at him.
"I just asked you to conjugate conocer," she said, and continued to stare at him, waiting.
Kate was great at Spanish, and she was a good teacher, but she easily got impatient when his mind wandered, which was often. It was a problem he had in class because he hated being idle. All of his notebooks had tons of doodles in the margins, which he used as a method to distract his brain while still listening to the lecture.
"Conozco, conoce, conoces, conocemos, conocen," he said, the language coming to him easily.
He was pretty good with languages, and Russian and Spanish could be weirdly similar sometimes, so it was easier to pick up. Still he kind of felt like the class was a waste of his time since he was already fluent in three other languages.
When he'd brought that up to Nick, he'd discovered that he couldn't test out for the credits because he didn't know how to write in cyrillic. He'd been taught both Russian and Ukrainian since he was eight, and had gone for days without speaking a word of English while with Carson's, but apparently that wasn't good enough for the New York State Board of Education. So he was stuck with Spanish, and even though it wasn't hard, it was excruciating to learn basic grammar bit by bit.
"You're getting pretty good at this," Kate said. "You remembered that it was irregular that time." She reached into her purse, pulled out a large bag of Skittles and shook some out onto the edge of his paper. She often brought along snacks to their study sessions, insisting that she believed in positive reinforcement. It kind of made Clint feel like a good dog, but he wasn't going to turn down free food.
"What can I say, conjugating verbs is my life," Clint responded dryly.
Kate frowned at him and tucked a piece of her long black hair behind her ear. The thing about Kate was that she could read him like an open book. She was a fellow cheerleader even though she was only a freshman, and she also went to the same archery range that Clint went to, so they saw a lot of each other.
"What's up with you?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes at him. Clint picked out the purple Skittles, popped them into his mouth, chewed slowly, and tried to decide if he was going to tell Kate the truth or not.
"Don't lie to me, Clint Barton."
He scowled at her, but decided it was in his best interest to answer. "Jeez, you're so bossy. I was just thinking about Phil Coulson."
"About your giant crush on him or the fact that he ignores your existence?" Kate asked drily, and Clint glared at her.
"I don't have a giant crush on him," he denied. "It's a little crush at most."
"Yeah, right," Kate snorted. "You look at him like he hung the moon. Which I totally don't get because he's not very nice to you."
"He's not mean to me," Clint insisted. "I just...think he doesn't like me very much."
"Then he's not worth your time," Kate shrugged. "I don't see why you don't date someone else. Bobbi is pretty in to you."
Clint raised his eyebrows in surprise at that. "Really?"
"Oh yeah. She thinks you're cute. She'd definitely say yes, if you asked her out." Clint thought about that for a moment. He certainly liked Bobbi. She was funny and fun and beautiful. But it just didn't seem right.
"I don't think so," he told Kate. "I like her, but I don't think I want to date her."
Kate shrugged at that, popping a handful of Skittles in her mouth. "So what, are you going to try and convince Phil Coulson to go out with you?"
"No," Clint sighed. "I think I'm just gonna try and get him to be my friend. It seems kind of shitty to only make an effort if he'll date me."
"So, what, your plan is to make friends and then hit on him?" Kate did not look impressed.
"No!" Clint exclaimed, sticking his tongue out at her. "My plan is to make friends with him, and that's it. My crush isn't his problem, but I do want to get along with him, and I think it'll be easier to get over him if I can consider him my friend and not just that really cute guy that actively ignores me."
Kate gave him more Skittles and an approving look. "That sounds like a decent idea, Clint. And how are you going to make friends with him when he ignores you?"
"I don't know," Clint groaned dropping his forehead to the table. "I mean, maybe he just thinks I'm really annoying? Maybe I should just act different?" Kate met his eyes in a hard stare and then pointedly reached out and took away the rest of the Skittles she had given him.
"Or...not?" he offered.
"Yeah, or not. Don't go changing yourself to try and please people."
"It worked in Grease," Clint muttered, looking forlornly at the bag of Skittles.
"Why don't you just try being nice?" Kate asked. "Like, I don't know, ask him about his life or offer to help him with something or bring him something that made you think of him. Not anything extravagant, but just like a peace offering or something?"
"Yeah," Clint said slowly. His mind raced with possibilities of nice things he might be able to do for Phil. "I can do that."
Kate approvingly gave him some more Skittles, and Clint scooped them up into his hand to prevent her from taking them back again. The bell signaling the end of the period rang, and Kate sighed loudly, closing her Spanish book and tucking it away into her bag.
"I really don't feel like going to practice today," she sighed. Clint tossed his own things into his backpack and shouldered it. "Do you think Nat would kill me if I skipped?"
"Almost definitely," Clint told her.
Natasha was a great cheerleader and gymnast and she had an eye for really good routines, but she could be a ruthless drill sergeant when she got into the right sort of mood for it.
Nationals was in mid-May, just under two months away, and Natasha was determined to be ready for it. Add in the fact that the basketball semi-finals were taking place at Shield Academy that year and that they would be expected to run the half-time show, and Natasha was just past the far side of crazy.
Their practices were becoming twice as long as normal, and twice as hard. She kept bringing them back to the fundamentals, which was fine for Clint, who was still pretty new to cheerleading, but there was only so many times he could do the same thing over and over again.
"We're doing lifts and flying today," Natasha announced after they had all assembled in the gym and stretched out.
They were on the main floor today, because it would be very ill-advised to do basket-tosses on the suspended track. This meant that they were sharing the floor with the basketball team on the other side, who were playing a scrimmage game. It would take extra special effort for him to not watch Phil when he was right there.
Distracted by the idea of Phil Coulson, it took him a moment to process what Natasha said. When he did, he almost groaned out loud. Tossing someone up in the air and catching her again over and over and over for a straight hour was really going to take it out of him, and he had wanted to go to the range later. He knew better than to let Natasha hear him complaining, though.
For a long second he wished that he'd been paired with Jan, because she was the smallest of their fliers and therefore relatively easy to get up in the air. To be fair, though, Jan was paired up with Darcy and Skye, probably to make it easier for them to get her up.
Also, Natasha was his flier, and she was easily the most skilled of them all. She was pretty easy to catch because she was extremely controlled, so even though she was a bit more solid than Jan, she was probably, in all reality, the easiest flier to base for.
"Okay, I want to see some scorpions," Natasha called, making Kate groan loudly. "You have been working on locking your leg out, haven't you?"
"Yeah, yeah," Kate grumbled, and then demonstrated. She leaned forward a bit, squaring her hips, and lifted her leg up behind her. She grabbed the front of her foot and pulled it all the way up, and surely enough she managed an almost full extension.
"Almost," Natasha allowed, and Kate rolled her eyes.
The others paired off into their groups and started getting ready for the lift, but Natasha looked thoughtful as she approached them. Clint could tell she was sizing him and Danny, his base partner, up and finally her eyes settled on him.
"Clint, I want to try something."
"Okay," Clint said, drawing the word out. "It's not going to hurt me, is it?"
"Not if you do it right," Natasha shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. Clint knew, though, that if he got hurt she'd be pissed because she'd have to rearrange all the sets and cheers (again). And she'd blame him, whether it was his fault or not.
"Okay, what are we doing?" he asked.
"A single-base cupie into a scorpion," she said. "We'll see if we can even get me up with you as the base, and then we'll see if we can manage it one-handed."
Clint wasn't so sure how he felt about trying to hold Natasha above his head with one hand, but if she thought they might be able to pull it off, they probably could. She was smart about those kinds of things.
"Okay, so how are we doing this? Walk me through it."
"It's pretty simple," Natasha said, but Clint doubted that it was. "I'm gonna stand in front of you, and you're gonna put your hands on my waist, and I'll have my hands on your arms. You're going to crouch and lift with your legs, and I'm going to jump up at the same time for the toss. You're gonna catch me just like you would for a regular scorpion, except it'll just be you. Lock your damn arms at the elbow, if you drop me, I will hurt you."
"Got it," Clint said, praying internally to some force of the universe that he wouldn't drop her.
She took her position in front of him, and he placed his hands on her waist, getting a good grip, but not holding too tight. She grabbed his forearms, just above the wrists, and they both crouched for the toss. Clint could tell as soon as her feet left the ground that there wasn't enough power to gain the height they'd need for him to catch her properly. He caught her around the waist instead so she wouldn't hit the ground too hard.
"Let me try that again," he said quickly. He was used to lifting with two bases, and he hadn't really accounted for the lack of Danny's strength, but now that he'd gotten a feel for it he was pretty sure he could get her up there. "Danny come over here, just in case she falls."
"Bobbi, go join one of the other groups," Natasha instructed. "I think we're going to be doing this for a while, and you should get some work done, too."
Bobbi wandered off to go join another group without a complaint, and Clint got back in position. It would look really cool, if they managed to pull it off. He was determined to get it right.
"Ready?" Natasha asked, and he nodded.
They got back into position again, and this time, Clint put enough thrust in his toss to get her up high enough for him to grab the bottoms of her feet and extend her properly. Natasha held herself tight and controlled until Clint found his balance and locked his arms tight, keeping her securely up in the air.
Once she was sure of his balance, Natasha carefully switched her weight to her right foot and pulled the left one up behind her. She only got her leg halfway up before their balances got off and she fell, but she recovered well and landed neatly in his and Danny's arms.
"Well, better than I thought we'd do on our second try anyway," Natasha said, eyeing him critically.
He knew it hadn't been his fault, since once she was up he was just supposed to stay still until she came down again, but he didn't say anything. The lift had worked, but it hadn't been particularly pretty, and that part was on him.
"Again?" he asked.
"Yeah. Watch closely, Danny. Once we figure this out, you'll be learning to do it too."
They tried another three times before they managed to get it right. When Natasha's leg locked out, Clint felt more powerful than he ever had, holding her up there all by himself. She was depending on him to help keep her up there, and he was doing it.
They kept it up for longer than was necessary, and Clint suspected it was because she felt just as awesome about it as he did, even though she probably wouldn't admit it. After a full minute or so, his arms were beaded with sweat and had started to shake a little with the exertion, and he was just about to start taking her down when there was a loud shout of,
"Holy shit, watch out!"
and before he knew it, Natasha was hit in the knee with a basketball and falling fast and uncontrolled. He and Danny caught her hard, and Clint winced at the bruises she would definitely have on her back.
Thankfully, Danny had the foresight to let Clint take the brunt of her weight and had cradled her head to keep her neck from snapping back. While she would hurt for a few days, it wasn't anything serious, though it easily could have been.
"What the hell?" Natasha spat, getting her feet on the ground and marching angrily towards the basketball team. She didn't get far, because Phil was rushing towards her with a pale face.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry!" he said, his hands fluttering awkwardly in front of her like he wanted to grab her and make sure she wasn't broken, but was afraid she would hurt him if he tried. Clint understood that feeling. "Are you okay?"
"I'm going to have bruises the size of Texas," Natasha grumbled, rubbing at her back.
"Coulson!" the basketball coach yelled, approaching as well. "You see what happens when you don't pay attention? You lose track of the ball, people get hurt! Get your head out of the damn clouds and into the game!"
"Yes Coach," Phil said quickly. "Sorry sir."
"Are you okay, Romanov?" the coach asked, and Natasha shrugged.
"I'll live."
"Well, good. Coulson, you're a disgrace. Go run laps until the end of practice." Phil winced, but nodded.
"Yes, Coach."
Clint felt kind of bad for him as he watched him trudge off towards the stairs to the suspended track. Yeah, he should have been more careful, but Natasha would be okay, and it wasn't like no one else had ever lapsed in attention for a minute or two. Calling him a disgrace was a bit much.
"Sorry about the rough catch," he told Natasha, who shrugged off his apology.
"It's fine, it couldn't be helped. But I'm feeling pretty sore now, so I think we'll stop for today. We only have ten minutes left anyway."
Clint waited to leave until she'd addressed the whole squad about it and reminded them to practice various areas where they were weak. He was quite suddenly exhausted, and all he wanted to do was wash off the sweat and go home for a nap. Unfortunately, he had homework to do and he also had to figure out how he was going to get Phil to be his friend, so a nap was probably not in his immediate future.
It would probably be worth it.
"You're blocking my locker." Clint snapped to attention, looking away from the garish orange and green mini-skirt the girl standing across the hall was wearing to Phil Coulson, who looked tired.
He was wearing thick-framed glasses today, and Clint was kind of dumbstruck. He hadn't even known that Phil wore glasses, but they looked amazing on him. Kind of geeky-adorable, and Clint wanted to stare at him for hours.
"So, are you going to move?" Phil asked, sounding testy, and Clint remembered that he had his back pressed up against Phil's locker door.
"Oh right, sorry." Clint pushed away from the row of lockers, letting Phil slip past him to start working at the lock. "I didn't know you wore glasses."
He hoped Phil didn't think it was stupid, how desperate Clint was to talk to him about anything.
"Yeah, well," Phil said, adjusting the frames on his nose. "I don't wear them very often."
"You should," Clint said quickly, happy that Phil was responding to his fumbled attempt at conversation. It was more than he usually got. "They look really good."
"Yeah, okay," Phil scoffed like he didn't believe him. "Is there something you wanted?"
"Oh!" Clint dug into his bag at the reminder. The gas-station donuts that he'd picked up on the way to school were slightly squashed from his math book, but not so badly that he was embarrassed to hand them over. "I um, I know you like these, and I saw them at the gas station this morning so I just...here."
He awkwardly shoved the package at Phil until Phil took it from him, his eyebrows hiked high on his forehead. "You got me donuts?"
"Uh, yeah," Clint said, suddenly feeling kind of stupid. "I just thought you'd like them." Clint hoped that Phil wouldn't ask him why. He didn't know that he had the words to explain it without sounding like a creep.
"Okay," Phil said, drawing out the word a bit, like he thought Clint was crazy. "Thanks, I guess."
"You're welcome," Clint said, beaming at him. "So I was thinking…"
"Listen, Barton, I've got to get to class. I have to ask my teacher about an assignment," Phil interrupted, and Clint felt his smile dim at the use of his last name.
"Oh, uh, yeah, no problem. I'll see you at lunch?"
"Most likely," Phil confirmed, before slamming his locker shut and heading off down the hall. Clint tried not to feel too hurt. They'd had a whole conversation, and Phil had taken his gift, so that had to be a good sign.
"Okay, so what was that about?"
Clint almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of Bucky's voice. He and Natasha approached, his arm over her shoulders, and they both fixed him with identical suspicious stares.
"Nothing," Clint said defensively, recoiling a bit from the power of their combined gaze. "I was just being nice."
"Are you seriously trying to get into Phil's pants with gas station donuts?" Natasha asked. She didn't look impressed, and Clint was kind of insulted.
"I'm not trying to get into his pants," he huffed at her.
"Good," Bucky snorted. "Because you just crashed and burned. I've never seen him look so freaked, and I saw him break his ankle during a game once."
Clint frowned down at the white toes of the new Chucks Nick had bought him a few weeks before, resisting the urge to scuff them against the floor and ruin the smooth surface. Instead, he tangled his fingers in the strap of his bag and tugged at it.
"You think I make him uncomfortable?" he asked.
He felt so stupid. The donuts had seemed like such a good idea that morning when he saw them. Phil's love for them was legendary, and it wasn't like he'd gotten something big and expensive that might make Phil feel obligated to be nice to him. But instead of seeming like a nice gesture, maybe it just came off as the weird carnie kid offering a cheap gift out of nowhere.
Natasha elbowed Bucky sharply in the side, making him hiss and pull away from her with a glare. He rubbed at his injured side with his good hand and swung his prosthetic one back at her. She neatly sidestepped his swing and then addressed Clint as if none of it had happened.
"I don't think you make him uncomfortable. I think a random gift out of nowhere confused him." She ignored the way Bucky poked her in the side and focused her eyes on Clint's.
"I'm just trying to be his friend," Clint sighed. "I don't know why he doesn't like me, I don't know what I did. But I know it makes group outings awkward, and I know that everyone likes Phil and Phil likes everyone except me. I'm just trying to fix it."
"Maybe you should just leave him alone," Natasha said with a frown. "He's not required to be your friend if he doesn't want to be."
"I know," Clint sighed. "I just thought I'd try."
"Look, Clint," Bucky spoke up. "I like you, you're a good guy. But things are already awkward enough when we all hang and Phil gives you the cold shoulder. I'm not saying that we'd choose him over you or anything, but maybe it's just better if you don't poke the bear. I mean, we already tried to get you two to be friendly and it didn't work, right?"
"Yeah," Clint sighed, "I just don't know what I did."
"Maybe you didn't do anything at all," Bucky shrugged. "Maybe Phil's just decided to be an asshole for no reason. But I just think you pushing him won't help anything."
"I don't want to push him," Clint assured him, unable to ignore the feeling that something was wrong with him. "I'll give it a few tries, and if he doesn't warm up to me, I'll leave him alone. He can go back to ignoring me and I'll try to get over it."
"Just...don't push him too hard," Natasha warned, her face troubled. "I don't know what his deal is, but he must have a reason. And don't get your hopes up, Clint. I don't want you to feel like it's your fault if it doesn't work out." Clint couldn't see who else's fault it could be, but he just nodded.
"Yeah, okay. So...did either of you guys have any ideas for me? I've never tried to convince someone to be my friend before."
At this, Natasha smirked. "Sorry, you're on your own for that one. We've got to get to class."
As if the universe was on her side, the class warning bell rang overhead and she and Bucky went off down the hall the same way Phil had gone. Clint realized that he still had to go to his locker, cursed, and started to run so he wouldn't be late for class.
Practice that night was more single-base stunts, except that Danny was acting as Natasha's base instead of Clint. Since Clint was only there to help catch Natasha when she came down, he had a lot of time to watch Phil play.
Clint didn't know a ton about basketball, but he could tell that Phil was good and that he worked well with his team. They were like a well-oiled unit, barely even having to shout to each other because they were all where they were supposed to be. It was nice to watch, and Clint found himself having a hard time making himself pay attention to Tasha.
"So are you going to the party at Tony's tonight?" Natasha asked as she and Danny found their balance together. Danny had taken a couple uneven steps after he caught her feet in order to balance them back out, but now they were both standing strong and confident.
"I wasn't invited." Clint hoped he didn't sound as hurt as he felt. He'd thought he and Tony were friends, but he hadn't even known Tony was having a party.
"No one gets invited to Tony's parties," she said, lifting her foot up behind her. "He announces that he's having one to a group at some random time and people talk and then everyone shows up at his house. Tony thinks he's too cool to just act like a normal person."
As if to prove her point, Tony let out a victorious yell across the gym and sank down to his knees before ripping his shirt off and raising his fists towards the ceiling.
"Stark, you drama queen, get up!" the Coach Blake snapped, but Clint could see that the rest of Tony's teammates were grinning in amusement. Even Steve was smiling, though he was trying to hide it.
"That was a three point swish, coach!" Tony called. "Something like that deserves a Brandi Chastain moment."
"Not when you're supposed to be working on passing to your team mates! Barnes and Cap were wide open! Coulson could have made that shot too, but he passed to you because he knows how to support his team instead of being a glory hound! No points for that, Stark."
Tony let out a string of cuss words and scowled at the coach before getting back into the game.
"So, you see my point," Natasha said dryly. "Now are you gonna keep staring at Phil or are you going to help catch me?"
Clint guiltily tore his eyes away from Phil and framed Danny's arms with his own, so when Natasha jumped and spun off her perch she landed neatly in the cradle of their arms.
"That's gonna look so amazing when it all comes together," she said, and Clint could see the crazy glint in her eyes that meant she was getting ready to add a new routine. "And you, are you going to Tony's party or not?"
"Going, I guess," Clint shrugged. "If Nick lets me."
"Well, ask him. If he says yes I'll pick you up in front of your house at eight. If he says no, I'll pick you up a block down from your house at eight." She said this without a trace of humor, like she was totally serious that he was going whether he was allowed or not.
"You know he doesn't have to keep me if I fuck up, right?" Clint asked dryly, even though he was now pretty thoroughly convinced that Nick wouldn't send him away. "I can be put back into the system at the drop of a hat."
She didn't seem impressed by his protest. He didn't suppose someone who'd lived in the same house with the same people her whole life would.
"Oh please. I've known Fury my whole life, there's no way he'll kick you out for sneaking out. It's practically a rite of passage for teenagers, isn't it?"
"Well, I wouldn't know. For a long time my curfew was 'be back before the caravan moves out or you'll be left behind'. So I wasn't exactly pressing my luck when it came to punctuality."
"Yeah, yeah, Clint grew up with the circus, you're so impressive. You're going to Tony's party."
"Nat…"
"Phil will be there." She smiled sweetly at him as she added that last part, like she didn't know she had him by the balls with that one.
"God damn it," he grumbled. "Okay, fine, I'll go to Tony's party. But if I get kicked out of my foster home, I'm never speaking to you again."
"I'll try to recover."
"You'd miss me," Clint accused her, and he found confirmation in the tiny smile that spread across her lips for only a moment.
"If I were you, I'd worry more about what I'm going to do to you if you don't go to the party," she warned. "Danny, let's go again."
Clint heaved a heavy sigh and got back into place to provide assistance if Danny needed it.
By the time the end of practice rolled around, Danny and Natasha were pretty smoothly executing different tricks with a single base, and it was pretty amazing to watch. Clint was a great gymnast, but Danny had been a cheerleader a lot longer than Clint had and therefore just picked up on some things faster.
Clint chose to view it as a friendly competition to push himself to be better. He didn't think Danny put much thought into it.
When Natasha finally called for them to head on home, the basketball team had all cleared out except for Phil, who was standing at the foul line with a mostly-empty rack of basketballs practicing his jump shot. Natasha cast him a knowing look as he hung around conspicuously while everyone else filed out, but she didn't say anything.
Clint continued to watch Phil take shots. He made most of them, but still seemed frustrated. Clint wasn't sure if that was because of his misses or because he was trying to work something out.
Every time he took a shot he let the ball bounce away from the net and just grabbed a new one from the rack. When he was down to the last ball, Clint retrieved one from where it had rolled under the bottom step of the bleachers and whistled sharply. Phil snapped out of his daze and looked over at him.
His face was wary, and Clint changed his mind about trying to stumble through another awkward conversation. Instead, he just tossed the ball in his hand to Phil and went to retrieve another one while Phil shot it.
They did this for about twenty minutes before Phil stopped and just stared at Clint with a perplexed look on his face. Clint just tossed him the ball he had in his hands instead of saying anything, and Phil placed it on the rack. Clint grabbed another one and threw that to him as well, and after this happened five times, Phil made a frustrated noise.
"Did you want something?" he demanded, setting the current ball in the rack a little harder than was strictly necessary.
"Just being helpful," Clint shrugged, throwing over another ball.
"But why?" Phil demanded.
"I'm a helpful guy," Clint said.
"Well, I don't need help."
For a minute, Clint wanted to get angry. He wanted to take the ball in his hand and hurl it at Phil as hard as he could and demand to know why he wasn't good enough, and what he'd done wrong.
But only for a moment.
Instead, he took a breath and tossed the ball gently, underhand, to Phil, said, "Okay then," and turned and left the gym.
He'd promised Natasha and Bucky he wouldn't push, so he wouldn't. But he still felt a small thrill of victory in the fact that Phil had allowed him to hang around for nearly half hour before shutting him down. It wasn't much, but it was progress, and Clint would take it.
Phil must have waited around until Clint left the locker room so he wouldn't have to talk to him, because he never came in in all the time it took Clint to shower and change back into his street clothes. They didn't even pass each other in the hallway, and Clint determinedly did not look into the gym to see if he was still there, watching and waiting for Clint to leave.
"So, are you going to Tony Stark's party tonight?" Nick asked a few hours later as they ate dinner.
Clint had just stuck a rather large piece of broccoli in his mouth when Nick asked, and he almost choked on it in surprise. After a few quick chews, Clint swallowed and took a drink of his gatorade before answering.
"How did you…"
"Oh please," Nick rolled his good eye. "I'm the principal, I know everything. And no one ever called Tony Stark discreet. So are you going?"
"Um, well…" Clint suddenly felt trapped. "Nat wanted me to. Can I?"
"Yeah," Nick sighed. "Why the hell not? But if you come back to this house drunk you're never leaving it again. I'm not stupid enough to believe that there won't be alcohol there or that you won't have any. I'd prefer that you didn't, but I'm also aware that you're a teenager. If you drink, just stay at Tony's for the night, okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Clint agreed. He probably wouldn't drink anyway. Alcohol made people mean, and he didn't want to be like that. "Thanks, I guess."
"Yeah, yeah. And don't let any of your friends drive drunk, you hear me?"
"Yessir," Clint answered, shoveling a forkful of noodles and chicken into his mouth so he wouldn't have to say any more than that.
Nick looked satisfied that his threat was understood. He nodded and turned back to his food, and the rest of dinner was accompanied only by the sound of forks scraping against plates.
Just as they were finishing up, Clint's phone chimed in his pocket. A quick glance downward that definitely wasn't fooling Nick at all (he had a strict no-cell-phones-at-the-dinner-table rule) revealed that the message was from Natasha.
"Can I be excused?" he asked and then practically jumped out of his chair to clear his place when Nick waved him off. He didn't get a chance to check the message before Natasha was calling him, apparently unwilling to wait any longer.
"Am I picking you up in front of your house or down the block?" she asked, not wasting time with a greeting.
"In front." Clint tried to hide his amused smile, as if she was there to see it.
He stuck his dishes in the dishwasher and then headed up the stairs to his bedroom. After the first month, he'd finally given in to the idea that maybe he would be around for a while and had done some decorating. Nick had let him paint the walls a rich purple color called "summer plum" and he'd hung some posters and pictures on the wall.
One was large advertisement for Carson's Carnival of Travelling Wonders, inviting audiences to come view the "daring and original acrobatic displays of the Fantastic Zelinskis!" The picture on it was from two summers ago and featured Alyosha balancing on a tightrope with Olena flipped upside down above him, balancing all her weight on one hand that was resting on top of Alyosha's head.
He'd received it in the mail, along with a picture of the whole circus, performers and crew alike, crowded into the center ring of the big top, a smaller "Amazing Hawkeye" poster that made him grin with equal delight and embarrassment, and a long, handwritten letter from Olena, detailing all the things he'd missed since he'd been gone, and assuring him that they'd received no less than a hundred inquiries from guests about what had happened to the amazing marksman. Even if the last part wasn't true, the thought that he was missed had made Clint smile.
He also had a few music posters around the place, and the wall above his desk was covered with photographs of him and his friends that he'd printed from facebook, and also the one the Zelinskis had sent him. The place truly felt like Clint had carved out his own place in the world, that he belonged there, and he thought he might do anything to get to stay until he was 18.
"So did Fury make a big deal about the party?" Natasha asked. Clint collapsed heavily onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling.
"No. He brought it up, actually. He told me just to stay at Tony's for the night if I was gonna drink, but I probably won't anyway."
"Boo, you whore," Natasha retorted, and Clint couldn't hide his grin that time.
"I'm not big on alcohol," he offered as an explanation, and Natasha didn't push.
"So what are you gonna wear?" she asked him. Clint glanced down at what he'd worn to school that day. The clothes were still pretty new and nice-looking, since he'd gotten them a few weeks after he'd moved in, when Nick had seemed to realize that Clint literally owned four t-shirts and a two pairs of jeans. He'd spent a weekend taking Clint shopping for more clothes than he necessarily needed. Living with a generous rich guy was kind of awesome.
"I'm guessing 'what I wore to school today' is not the answer you're looking for," he offered, and he could practically hear the disgusted face he was sure Tasha had made.
"You mean the t-shirt that says 'I do my own stunts'? Yeah, that's not the answer I'm looking for."
"What does it matter?" Clint grumbled. "Everyone sees me every day, they know what I wear. I'm not trying to impress anyone."
"You are such a guy," Natasha groaned. "It's not about impressing anyone, it's about having the opportunity to look really hot."
"Nat," he said warily, but she cut him off.
"You know what? I don't trust you to do this. Go get in the shower, I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"This is just an elaborate set up so that you can treat me like a barbie, isn't it?" he grumbled, but he was already getting out of bed so that he could kick off his jeans.
"Twenty minutes, Barton."
She hung up before he could offer up anymore protests, and Clint left the rest of his clothes on the floor and headed towards his bathroom. He spent a few minutes enjoying the feel of hot water on his skin, but by the time he'd actually washed and dried off, Natasha still hadn't arrived. Rather than wait around awkwardly in a towel for her to show up, he pulled on the sweatpants he'd received along with his cheerleading uniform.
They were black and said "Shield Cheerleading" down the right leg in big purple letters. His first name was embroidered high on the left thigh, which he supposed would come in handy if he ever lost his memory. If he paired it with the cheerleading hoodie that he'd been given that had his last name spelled out down the right arm, he'd be all set for an amnesiac episode.
He spent the last few minutes until Natasha arrived checking facebook on his phone. Everyone on his wall was talking about Tony's party. Apparently it was a Very Big Deal.
When Natasha arrived, she let herself in without knocking, and Clint didn't even protest. He'd spent a lot of time in shared quarters, so he was used to having people in his space. She was dressed in sweatpants like he was, but she had a bag slung over her shoulder. He really hoped the bag was for her and not him.
Again, without asking, Natasha started digging through his closet, making annoying tutting sounds as she flicked through the hangers. After a few minutes a pair of medium-wash jeans came flying out to land on his bed, followed by a high-collared, twill, military-style jacket so dark gray it was almost black.
So far, Clint was relieved. Natasha had chosen comfortable things, even if he did think he'd get pretty hot if she expected him to wear that jacket all night. At least she wasn't trying to wrestle him into leather pants or something.
"Do you have any shirts that actually fit properly?" Natasha demanded after another few minutes of rustling.
"Um yeah, all of them."
"Not. These are all too big for you. You should be wearing at least a size smaller." Natasha leaned out of the closet for a moment to fix him with a judgmental look.
Clint just rolled his eyes and took the opportunity to change into the jeans Natasha had chosen. They were his favorite pair, comfortable and soft in all the right places in the way that only really expensive or really old jeans could be.
"Ooh!" Natasha said happily, and Clint wondered what she could have possibly found in there. He was relieved when she came out with a gray t-shirt that still had the tags on. He had grabbed the wrong size and never gotten around to returning it.
"That shirt doesn't fit," Clint told her, and she rolled her eyes.
"You don't know what 'fit' means. Put it on."
Clint knew by now that it was better to just do as he was told when Natasha was the one giving the orders. He pulled it over his head obediently, and was surprised to find that it wasn't as tight as he thought it would be. The shirt clung to his biceps and chest, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
"Go look," Natasha demanded, and Clint dutifully trudged into the bathroom. He was surprised by what he saw. He'd thought that he would look a bit like a stuffed sausage, but he actually looked really good.
"See?" Natasha said, like she could read his mind. "You look hot. Maybe now you'll buy clothes that fit."
"Yeah, maybe," Clint answered noncommittally.
"Okay, now get out. I have to get ready."
She ushered him out of the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Clint heaved a sigh and decided to get some homework done while he waited.
Natasha had to park her fancy car (with the built-in GPS and automatic parallel parking) three blocks away from Tony's house because there was not a single parking space to be found any closer than that.
There were plenty of people parking further down the street, and others walking in the direction that Clint assumed Tony's house was in. He'd had the idea that the party was going to be huge, but suddenly he wasn't sure he understood the definition of huge.
"I should have told James to rope me off a place," Natasha sighed. "These shoes were not made for a lot of walking."
"Why would you ever buy shoes that aren't made for walking?" Clint demanded, looking down at her strappy black spike heels accusingly.
"They're for aesthetic, Barton." Natasha rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. The point is to show up looking great, get everyone to stare at me and make James a bit jealous, and then kick them off and crush Tony and Steve at beer pong."
"That's the point?" Clint asked doubtfully, double stepping to keep up. Even in her very high heels, Natasha was walking quickly and with purpose. "And I suppose that's also the point of this shirt with no back?"
"Yes." Her tone left no room for argument.
He couldn't really argue with her logic when they got to the party and Bucky was almost immediately next to her and sliding his arm around her back. Clint wasn't sure if it was to show possession or to try and cover up the large expanse of bare skin revealed by Natasha's shirt, which was actually more like a black piece of cloth tied on with some strings.
"Okay, I'm impressed," he told Natasha. She grinned, but Bucky scowled at him with narrowed eyes like he thought Clint might suddenly be interested in his girlfriend. He ducked down and captured Natasha's mouth with his, making her laugh and grab onto him.
Clint considered leaving them to their macking, but when he looked around Tony's humongous house (which was, in all reality, a mansion) all he saw was bodies pressed close, and suddenly he was intimidated. He had zero desire to plunge into the crowd by himself and potentially get lost, so he decided to wait them out.
Luckily, Bobbi appeared out of the crowd less than a minute later and snagged him by the elbow, dragging him away from Bucky and Natasha, who were getting progressively more awkward to be around.
"Hey!" she yelled over the loud dubstep that was blasting through the house. "Come get a drink with me!" He agreed quickly, but then, he thought he might have agreed to jumping off the roof if it meant he would escape the hormone twins.
"Any chance there will be something without alcohol?" he asked as they pushed through a few doors and into the kitchen, which was a bit quieter than the other rooms had been. There probably weren't any wireless speakers in the kitchen.
"I don't know," Bobbi frowned. "You can check the fridge. Tony won't mind." Clint scooted past a pair of guys who were slamming back a row of shots and towards the gigantic stainless steel refrigerator set in the wall on the opposite side of the kitchen. It was stocked with wine coolers in every flavor, but towards the bottom Clint found a couple cases of soda. He grabbed a Dr. Pepper and made his way back to Bobbi who was pouring orange juice into a red solo cup.
"Are you DD?" she asked when he was close enough for them to not have to yell across the kitchen at each other. She picked up a large bottle of Grey Goose and tipped a very liberal amount into her cup.
"Nah, I just don't drink," Clint shrugged. He popped the tab on his Dr. Pepper and took a sip.
"Oh," Bobbi looked at him like she thought that was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard, but thankfully she didn't press him for a reason. Instead, she chugged her drink down in less than a minute and went to pour another one.
"Wow," Clint said, raising his eyebrows at her. "Are you looking to get totally plastered?" Bobbi wasn't exactly a small girl, but she wasn't large either, and if she kept drinking like that she would be very drunk very fast.
"A little bit," she grinned. "It's nice to lose control once in a while."
Clint fought off a grimace at the idea and instead sent her a weak smile and nodded. She took another long drink from her cup and then started bouncing excitedly when the song changed to something upbeat and pop-y.
"Oh, I love this song! Come dance with me!"
Clint didn't really have time to protest before she was grabbing him by the arm again and pulling him out of the room. The next room over was large with a huge flatscreen TV mounted on the wall and all the furniture pushed out of the way to make room for the plethora of thrashing bodies. Bobbi dragged him right into the middle of it and then whooped and threw her hands in the air. Clint awkwardly clutched at his soda as he was buffeted by bodies on every side.
"Come on, Clint, I know you can move! It's just like cheerleading, but a little less routine!" she shouted in his ear.
She grabbed his wrists and started twisting their bodies side to side in an awkward sway, and Clint started laughing. She grinned brightly at him and he grinned back and relaxed some more. It didn't take too long to really get into the music then, moving with the crush of bodies instead of awkwardly against it. There wasn't really room for anything more than swaying or grinding, but it was still fun, if not hot and sweaty.
The jacket was killing him, and after about an hour he needed to stop or risk passing out from heat stroke. Bobbi was very pleasantly drunk by that point. Her two drinks had clearly been much more vodka than orange juice. Despite this, she mimed drinking at him and then pointed toward the kitchen with a raised eyebrow. His soda can had long since randomly disappeared from his hand, and his throat was kinda dry, so he nodded and let her lead the way back into the kitchen.
Clint's ears almost rang with the relative silence of the kitchen. A few people were crowded around laughing and drinking, but the difference was definitely striking. He grabbed a cup and filled it up in the sink, downing the whole thing in about three seconds before refilling it again.
He stripped off his jacket and threw it over one of the stools at the breakfast bar, hoping it would still be there when he came back for it later. Bobbi had gotten herself another vodka and orange juice, but she seemed to be nursing this one rather than chugging it.
"Come on, let's go look for the others," she urged. Clint wanted to protest and stay in the kitchen for a few minutes and revel in his own personal space, but Bobbi wasn't actually asking.
She towed him off again by the arm, in the opposite direction of the dancing. She picked a door just outside the kitchen, which revealed a set of carpeted stairs leading to a basement. Clint followed her down and was surprised to find how empty it was down there.
The whole room smelled like weed, beer, and burning coal, but no one else seemed to notice or mind. There was an epic game of beer pong going on in the corner between a team of Natasha and Bucky and two guys that Clint didn't know. Tony and Steve were watching, obviously having lost the last round by the way Tony was bitching.
There was a group of people piled onto a tan leather couch in the corner, passing around a joint or smoking shisha from an elaborate hookah that looked like a dragon. Another group of people, including Phil Coulson, were sitting in a circle and appeared to be playing spin the bottle. Phil didn't look particularly happy about it, but his friend, a perky cheerleader named Skye, was sitting next to him and had her arm looped through his, so he was clearly there under duress.
"Oh, let's go play!" Bobbi grinned, and again Clint was just dragged along for the ride. She pushed him down to sit on the floor right next to Phil before going to wiggle her way in between Jess and Jan on the other side of the circle, a little to the left of being directly in front of Clint.
"Hey!" some drunk guy was yelling, brandishing a can of beer out in front of him. "Someone shotgun this! I dare someone to shotgun this!" A few people glanced at him, but no one jumped up to take his challenge.
"Okay, Clint, you go!" Jan encouraged from across the circle, grinning at him.
"I'll do it!" Phil said quickly, suddenly enough to startle Clint.
He glanced at Phil and then realized that he was talking about the beer, not spinning the bottle. Everyone was suddenly more interested in Phil pressing his thumb hard into the aluminum towards the base of the can. Clint was actually kind of impressed by how quickly and easily he punctured it, and he tried not to be too obvious about staring at the way Phil's mouth sealed around the hole he'd made. He popped the tab on the can and the guy who had called for the shotgun in the first place cheered loudly, which made several other people cheer.
Phil had the beer down in less than fifteen seconds, and then the room really went crazy, and the people closest to him slapped him on the back. Clint did not. He knew it wouldn't be welcome, and he didn't want to risk anything that would get rid of the slightly embarrassed grin that Phil was sporting.
"Another one, man!" the guy said, offering another can. Clint had no idea where he was getting them from.
"No," Phil said, shaking his head, and immediately the whole group started to protest.
It got the attention of Steve and Tony, which meant that Phil had no chance at all. Tony's grin went shark-like, and yelled,
"Shotgun it, Coulson! My house, my rules, and I say you've gotta do it!"
Phil rolled his eyes but held out his hand for the next can. "Fine, but just this one more. I do have to drive home tonight, you know."
He drove his thumb through the aluminum and downed the beer in another few seconds before chucking the can at Tony. It wasn't actually heavy enough to make it across the room, but Clint thought it made it's point just fine.
"You're awesome, Coulson!" the random guy crowed, and then headed off upstairs, presumably to get more people to shotgun.
"Well, that was an interesting interlude. Coulson could probably beat us all in a drinking contest. But now it's time for Clint to spin the bottle!"
Jan seemed really invested in Clint being the one to spin, so he shrugged and gave the bottle a twirl. It didn't spin very well on the beige carpet, but it did enough and landed, very awkwardly, on Bobbi.
She grinned at him and winked saucily, and he barked out a laugh, glad that she was a good friend and not a complete stranger. It would be weird, but not too bad. She crawled across the circle towards him and almost launched herself at him when she got there.
The movement knocked him over onto his back and their faces bumped a bit painfully but Bobbi didn't seem to care. Her hair fell in a curtain around them and she kissed him like she meant it. She was a good kisser, though a little sloppy due to her being drunk.
Clint wasn't really feeling it, though, and after the required minute he pushed her away from him gently. She sat back, looking confused and disappointed, and Clint felt a sinking in his gut. Kate had said that she liked him, but he hadn't actually believed it. Now he felt like the worst kind of asshole.
The rest of the group was quiet and staring at them awkwardly.
"What?" Clint demanded, willing himself not to blush.
"Man, Phil just flew out of here like he was on fire," Luke said, nodding towards the doorway. "I think someone has a crush on Bobbi."
That hurt like a physical blow, but suddenly Phil's dislike for him made more sense. If Bobbi had what was apparently an obvious crush on him, and Phil liked Bobbi, it was no wonder that Phil didn't even want to be in the same room with him.
"Can I talk to you?" Bobbi asked him, looking suddenly more sober. "Alone?" She was still half sprawled in his lap, and Clint could do nothing else but nod.
"Yeah," he said. "Sure." They got up and walked out to a chorus of wolf whistles and "yeah, get it!"s but Clint knew that was the exact opposite of the conversation they were about to have.
He followed her all the way up to the second floor and into an empty bedroom that was very clearly a guest room. Bobbi closed the door behind them and then, much to Clint's surprise, pushed him against the wall and kissed him. She pulled away again before he could decide what to do.
"Did that do anything for you at all?" she asked, looking at him imploringly. Clint prayed for the floor to swallow him, but it didn't.
"I...jeez, Bobbi. You're awesome, and you're a good kisser, but. I don't know. I don't feel anything. I wish I could. You're beautiful and fun...but I just don't." He fumbled with his answer, hoping he wasn't about to get slapped or lose a friend.
Bobbi didn't try to hit him, though. She looked disappointed, but she stepped out of his space and nodded.
"You really do have a huge crush on Phil, don't you?" she asked. "Natasha said so, but I thought maybe she was wrong. But she wasn't, was she?"
"No," Clint said, hating the way he blushed. "No, she wasn't wrong. I'm really sorry, Bobbi."
Bobbi sighed and then smiled at him, though she still looked sad. "Don't be. It's not your fault. You're a good guy, Clint. I hope Phil will see that one day."
Clint shrugged it off, his blush growing in intensity. "I'm still sorry. But I mean...apparently Phil has a crush on you. You could try asking him out, if you're interested."
Bobbi wrinkled her nose and shrugged, looking down at the carpet.
"I don't think so. Phil's nice, but it would be too weird. We've known each other for way too long, and I've never thought of him as more than a friend." Despite Clint's jealousy, he felt a pang of sadness on Phil's behalf. It was hard to like someone who didn't like you in the same way. Or at all.
"Besides," she said, looking up at him with a small smile. "I don't think Phil really has a crush on me. We've never been like that."
"He could," Clint shrugged. "You don't know."
"I don't," she agreed. "But I'm still pretty confident that he doesn't. Anyway. I'm sorry for coming on to you. I hope it doesn't make anything awkward, and that we can still be friends."
"Jeez, Bobbi, of course we can still be friends." Clint ran his hands through his hair because he didn't know what else to do with them. "I'm sorry I can't give you what you want."
"It's okay," she said. "But I'm gonna go drink some more. Seems fitting, after being rejected."
Clint laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, okay. Be careful, though."
"I will. Are you coming?"
Clint glanced around the quiet room, mostly empty except for a chest of drawers and a large four poster bed made up with cream-colored bedding. It was quiet and dark in here, and that combination seemed very appealing suddenly.
"I think I'm gonna stay here for a few minutes," he said, going to sit on the edge of the bed. "Take a few minutes away from the billions of people down there."
"Yeah, it is a little over the top," Bobbi agreed. "I'll see you later?"
"Yeah." Clint smiled at her in what he hoped was an assuring manner, and she smiled back at him before leaving the room, closing the door behind her. Clint let out a sigh and fell onto his back on the soft mattress.
He'd finally figured out why Phil didn't like him, and he wasn't interested in Bobbi, so it should all work out. He should be able to convince Phil he wasn't trying to get in between him and Bobbi, and maybe they could be friends. The thought should have been a relief, but Clint still felt shitty about it, and he couldn't even pretend that he didn't know why.
He liked Phil. Apparently, that wasn't much of a secret. He'd told himself that he was trying to befriend Phil to make both of their lives easier, and because he could handle just being Phil's friend, but he knew that was kind of bullshit. In the back of his mind, he'd held on hope that maybe, if they were friends, one day Phil would realize that he wanted to date Clint.
Was it fucked up and awful? Yeah, probably. But he'd still thought, in his fantasies where everything worked out the way he wanted it to all the time, that maybe it could happen one day. That maybe his stupid crush wasn't completely hopeless. But it very clearly was, and he was just going to have to live with it.
If he couldn't date Phil, he still wanted to try to be his friend, even if it would be awkward and painful. He was going to have to get over his crush and move along with his life. But that was a lot easier said than done.
Clint was interrupted from his thoughts by the door opening and the object of his thoughts stopping short in the doorway. Clint sat up quickly, looking at him uncertainly. What could have possibly brought him up to the exact room that Clint was in, out of all the rooms in the house?
"Oh," Phil said when he saw Clint, and Clint tried not flinch at his tone. "Bobbi asked me to grab her jacket. She said it was in here."
"Um, I don't think so," Clint said, looking around the painfully empty room. "I mean, I can help you look…"
"No," Phil said, stepping into the room and glancing around the floor as if he thought the jacket might appear. "I can do it. Go back to...whatever you were doing."
He took another few steps, and then there was a flash of long blonde hair in the hall and the door was slamming shut. Phil spun around, startled, and then approached the door to try the handle. The handle turned, but the door didn't budge, and Clint could only assume that it had been pinned shut by something like a chair on the other side.
"Damn it, Bobbi," Phil grumbled, kicking the door in frustration. He turned his glare on Clint, who raised his hands in the air in front of him.
"Hey, man, don't look at me. I did not plan this." Phil seemed to believe him, but he still looked pissed off. "But um. Since we're apparently stuck here until Bobbi gets sick of whatever game she's playing, I think we should talk."
"I'm really not in the mood, Barton." Phil rubbed the palm of his hand over his face and then slid down the door to sit on the carpet in front of it. He looked tired and seven kinds of annoyed.
"Just one thing real quick, okay? I just want you to know that I'm not interested in Bobbi like that. We're just friends."
Phil stared at him for a long moment, his eyebrows raising slowly, and then tilted his head as if to say, 'okay, and?'
"Well. I mean. I just wanted you to know that. Bobbi and I aren't dating, and we're not going to date. Okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Phil said, leaning his head back against the door. "Good to know, I guess."
"I just wanted you to know…"
"Barton, I am really not in the mood for whatever weird game you're playing right now," Phil cut him off. "I'm exhausted and I've got a huge headache and I just want to go home and go to sleep, except I'm locked in a room with you."
"Oh," Clint said, wishing Phil's words didn't hurt as much as they did. He had every right to not be in a good mood, after all. Still, he had been hoping that clearing up this thing about Bobbi would make Phil a little more amenable to him. "Well...I mean, you could lay down on the bed. I'll be quiet, and you can sleep. I mean, we could try texting someone, but I don't know if anyone will come to our rescue. They might be in on it."
Phil looked at him suspiciously, and Clint stood up, distancing himself from the bed. He chose instead to sink into a corner of the room, the plush carpet surprisingly comfortable underneath him.
He wanted nothing more than to take the opportunity that Bobbi had given him and try to get through to Phil, but forcing the issue wouldn't help. He had to play by Phil's rules or he would never get anywhere.
"Go ahead, get some sleep," Clint encouraged instead. "I'll text Tasha, and hopefully she'll check her phone at some point and come let us out. But if your head hurts, you might as well take advantage of the bed and the quiet."
Phil looked, for a moment, like he was going to stubbornly argue. He even got as far as opening his mouth, but after a moment he glanced at the bed, and his shoulders slumped.
"Yeah, okay," he agreed. "Might as well. Bobbi's probably so drunk that she's going to forget about us anyway, so we'll probably be stuck here for a while. Thanks."
"You're welcome," Clint said, trying not to look too pleased with himself. "I'll wake you up if anyone comes."
Phil nodded to show that he'd heard, but he didn't speak at all. He must have been more tired than he looked. He kicked off his shoes and climbed into the big bed, curling up under the thick comforter on his side. He looked small in the bed, and Clint desperately wanted to climb in next to him, wrap around him, and kiss him in the dark. But that wasn't going to happen, and imagining it in vivid detail wasn't going to change that. He forced himself to pay attention to his phone instead and sent Tasha an SOS text.
Phil started snoring quietly after a few minutes, and Clint knew he was gone when he just thought that it was cute instead of off-putting. After another hour of losing horribly at 2048 and listening for someone approaching in the hall, his phone battery died and he was left sitting in the dark by himself.
He leaned his head against the wall and looked at the bed where he hadn't dared to before. There was barely enough light filtering in from the window for Clint to see the lump of Phil's form on the bed, and he was thankful for that. Seeing Phil sleeping and peaceful probably would have been too much for him.
He barely lasted another twenty minutes before he fell asleep too.
