Phil watches the outpost collapse and feels his heart collapse along with it. He knows Clint was in there and so far there's been no word from either him or Fury. Hill had made it up top with the last of the men she could find right before they took off, but Phil knows there are many more still unaccounted for. Now she sits next to him in the copter, watching the compound sink into the ground with a bleak look on her normally impassive face.
Phil lifts his radio to call Fury, hoping his old friend had made it out alive. "Director. Director Fury, do you copy?" Hill glances at him nervously. He doesn't envy her her position. Fury had actually offered the Assistant Directorship to Phil first, but it would have meant leaving the field, and no longer being allowed to be Clint or Natasha's handler, and Phil doesn't trust any other agent with them.
The radio crackles to life and he hears Fury's voice, "The tesseract is with a hostile force," he says, and Phil watches Hill put her head in her hands. "I have men down," the Director continues, "Barton? Barton, do you copy?" Phil holds his breath.
There's silence on the line. For several heartbeats there there is no sound but the whipping of the rotors. Hill puts a hand on Phil's shoulder, but he shrugs it off. This isn't the time.
"Hill?" Fury finally says, making no comment about Clint.
"A lot of men still under," Hill replies, "Don't know how many survivors."
"Sound a general call," Fury orders, "I want every living soul not working rescue looking for that briefcase."
"Roger that," Hill confirms.
"Coulson, get back to base," Fury tells him, and something in him clenches at the thought of leaving Clint behind. "This is a level seven," Fury tells them, and Hill stiffens. "As of right now, we are at war."
The pronouncement hangs over them like a heavy cloud. Phil feels lost - the enemy has the tesseract, they've lost too many good agents, SHIELD is at war, and Clint is . . . missing. The unflappable Agent Coulson has officially been flapped.
Normally when missions go to hell Phil's head is awhirl with various scenarios, plans on top of plans to salvage as much as possible. But right now, Phil can't think of a damn thing. "What do we do?" he asks Fury
Fury is quiet for a moment. "Assemble the Avengers," he finally orders, and it's the moment Phil has been waiting for ever since he started on the Initiative with Fury, but all he can think is that one of the Avengers is still down there, somewhere, buried under a ton of rubble, status unknown.
The chaos back at base is a welcome distraction. Hill radios ahead for a copter to pick up Fury from where his crashed. He gets back to base shortly after Phil does, and is barking orders from the moment he charges through the doors. Phil is organising the rescue teams, arranging for medical transport, and checking off each identified person, dead or alive, against the roster of agents still unaccounted for. He tries very hard not to think about the one name he both longs and dreads to hear.
Phil has just finished marking off the most recent list of names against the roster when one of the communication techs comes jogging over to him.
"Sir? It's Barton," he says, and Phil's breath freezes in his lungs, his body feeling like he'd just been dumped into a freezing lake. He deliberately takes a deep breath, trying for some semblance of professionalism, trying desperately not to have a breakdown here in the middle of the operations center.
"Dead or alive?" Phil finally manages to ask.
The tech looks confused. "Uh . . . alive? He's on the radio for you, sir," the man says, holding out a comm link. Phil grabs the device from the man's hand so fast that he jumps back, startled. Phil ignores him, placing the comm in his ear.
"Barton?" Phil asks, knowing the fear and hope are showing in his voice and not caring.
There's the slightest of pauses and then, "Hey." Clint's voice is raw and broken but it's the most beautiful sound Phil's heard all day. All the tension runs out of Phil's frame in an instant and he nearly collapses into his chair. Instead, he pulls one of the other agents aside and gestures for him to take over the station Phil had been working as he moves swiftly into the hallway, searching for an empty conference room.
When the door is closed behind him, he drops all attempt at professionalism. "God, Clint," he says, worry and relief colouring his words as his brain wraps its head around the fact that Clint is alive. "Are you ok? Where are you?" Just because Clint's alive doesn't mean he's safe. Phil had once gotten a call from Clint after the archer had missed check-in by three hours. He'd thought everything was ok until he heard the pain and regret in his husband's voice and managed to drag out of him the fact that he was trapped in the enemies' headquarters and bleeding out from a stomach wound. He'd only called because he'd wanted to hear Phil's voice one last time.
Standing there, helpless, listening to Clint dying on the other end of the phone line and able to do nothing but pray that Natasha would get there in time was one of the worst experiences of Phil's life, and although that incident eventually worked out (Tasha did get there on time and Clint's wound healed well) he'd learned not to relax until he had all the information.
The reassurance is swift. "I'm fine, Phil," Clint tells him quickly. "I got a little banged up when the tunnel collapsed on me but no broken bones, no head wounds, just scrapes and bruises, I promise. My radio got busted in the crash and I had to dig my way out, that's why it took me so long to check in," he explains, and the last of the tension melts from Phil's shoulders. "I'm sorry," Clint adds, and Phil can tell he's not talking about anything he's done - taking risks is part of the job and Phil knows that if Clint had it all to do over again he wouldn't change a thing - but he is sorry for the worry he caused.
"Ok," Phil says, and with his anxiety finally soothed he can start thinking logistics again. "Where are you?"
"I'm at the downed helicopter right outside the tunnel," Clint responds, "Luckily the cockpit radio still works or I would have had to hike into town to call in." Phil shudders at the thought of having to wait even longer to find out Clint is ok.
"Ok," Phil says again, slipping back into Agent Coulson mode, "I'm going to get someone out there to pick you up as soon as possible. We're scrambling to the helicarrier so I'll meet you there."
"Yes, sir," Clint replies, and Phil smiles at the almost-but-not-quite insolent tone.
"I've got to go," Phil says, because he really does, there's work to be done, and he's abandoned his duties too long already. "I'll see you soon," he tells Clint, more reassurance for himself than for his husband.
"Yeah, see you soon," Clint says and the radio goes dead. Phil takes the comm set out of his ear and closes his eyes, taking several deep breaths. Clint is alive. Clint is fine. Phil will see him soon.
Phil repeats these three facts to himself like a mantra as he turns to go back to the operations center.