Two months passed and Coulson was still pleased with Barton's performance.

The young man was an exceptional agent, smart, quick and not at all cold as ice behind his pain in the ass act.

There was something between them that made their relationship different but Phil couldn't put his finger on it.

He suspected it had something to do with the way he treated the archer, the young man was probably not used to have a say in anything.

"What are you thinking about?" Clint let his gaze stray to Coulson for a moment.

"Just waiting for the foe to show up," he should have known the archer was watching him.

Phil often felt Clint's eyes on him, even when he couldn't see the archer.

"Getting bored, sir?"

"Yes." There was no use in lying to the archer.

"We could play something."

"What's ghosting through your mind?", he could hear the amusement in the archer's voice, mixed with a hint of insecurity.

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with ... H."

"Hill," Phil played along, he had noticed her presence fifteen minutes ago.

Why she was here was a riddle to him but she must have her reason "S."

"Sitwell." Clint smirked, they weren't good at hiding.

They continued the game until they identified every agent close by.

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with B." Clint let his arrow fly.

"Blood." Phil answered before the arrow even hit its target.

"You're good, sir."

"I know. Get your stuff and meet me in ten." Phil started his car and headed for the back of a mall to pick Clint up.

"Thanks for the ride, handsome." Clint hurried into the car, giving Phil a cheeky grin.

"Next time I let you walk."

"No you don't." One of the things Clint learned the past two months was that Phil Coulson never left a man behind.

A smirk tugged on the older agent's lips at the trust in his assets voice.

"Do you know why they're following us?" Clint asked after he soaked in the image of Coulson's barely visible smirk.

"I have no idea." Phil confessed.

"Probably making sure I don't get you killed."

"Stop that." Phil's tone was harsher than he intended.

Clint winced slightly at the tone, "Yes, sir."

"Stop talking about yourself that way." Phil was sure Clint didn't even know what he was talking about.

"What way?"

"Disregarding yourself, you're a great agent and I'm pretty sure you don't get me killed anytime soon," that was the truth.

"Why?" where did Coulson's trust in him come from?

"I read your mission reports and we worked seven ops together," they were working together for two months after all.

"That's a lot of trust, sir."

"I'm the one who sends you into dangerous situations with the knowledge that it could be your last. I have no right to judge you," he felt sick at the thought. Getting Clint killed was something he wanted to avoid at all cost.

"You send me in with the intention to get me out alive, that's much more than I'm used to." Clint stated, hiding the hurt from his voice but Phil picked up on it anyway.

"What have they done to you?", a little frown appeared on his stoic handler's face.

Clint rested his head against the passenger window and studied the world outside the car.

Phil was sure he wouldn't get an answer as Clint finally replied.

"See that kid?"

"The street kid?" he just stole a wallet and it was painfully obvious that the kid was a hustler.

The way he threw himself at an older man in a suit was not the way a minor greeted an adult.

Such a shame, he didn't look older than 15.

Clint remained silent.

"Is that you?", an icy feeling spread through his chest.

"Yes."

Coulson kept his thoughts to himself.

He wanted to kill these men and everyone who might have caused the way Clint had to live in any way.

The silence between them grew heavier with each passing minute.

Phil decided to end it, "I'm not telling anyone and I'm not judging you." He saw Clint relax next to him, it seemed it was the right thing to say.

"Can we get something to eat before we meet Nick for the briefing?" He wasn't ready yet.

"What would you like?" the older man never decreased to amaze him.

"The doughnut shop you like so much," it was Phil's turn to be surprised that the archer memorized his favorite shop.

"I treat you to dinner, after the briefing. Pizza and beer at my place."

"Deal." Clint's eyes lit up and Phil almost choked on his own breath that got stuck in his throat.

:::::::::::::

Meeting for food and beer grew into a habit and they met twice a week to spend the evening together.

They never spoke about personal stuff or serious work related topics.

They watched bad T.V. series and old movies while they shared a pizza and talked about how shitty the show was or what the rumor mill at work was spreading.

Coulson and Barton had become topic number one by now and it was kind of fun that way.

The agents got out of their way whenever they walked through the corridor or entered a room.

Why? They didn't know but it made their life a lot easier.

"God, I'm tired." Clint put a foot on top of the coffee table in Phil's living room.

"No wonder after 36 hours on the roof of a ten story building, while it rained and stormed," he was worried that Clint would get sick.

"Yeah, the thought of joining you in the car crossed my mind a few times," Clint sipped his beer.

"Remind me to get you better rain equipment, your jacket was drenched within the first hour." He had told them to provide their best gear for Barton but when that was the best they had to offer he had to file a few complaints against their scientists, or preferably get the losers fired.

"Not only the jacket," he was wet to the bone and needed a very long, hot shower to get the feeling in his limbs back.

The most embarrassing thing about it was that Coulson had dragged him under the shower, getting his precious suit wet in the process.

Holding him close and more importantly upright.

The older agent was friendly enough to strip everything but Clint's boxers.

The archer was sure he would have died of shame had Coulson seen him completely naked.

He was still happy he was so out of it that his traitorous body wasn't able to provide a boner.

"I considered to drag you to medical for a moment, in case you developed hypothermia."

"I would have escaped anyway." Clint huffed in amusement.

"I know." Phil sat down next to his archer.

Yes, somewhere along the way Barton became his archer.

He couldn't believe that they were working together for one year already.

"Oh." Clint got up from the couch startling Phil a little with his sudden movement.

The archer rummaged through his duffle bag, "Got it," he slumped down on the couch, "here."

Phil took the book out of Clint's hand. "Stress management for dummies," he smirked.

"No matter how calm you want us to think you are, you are not," the archer sniffed, "you don't have much to laugh."

"I don't know, I like your sarcasm." Phil returned his attention to the book, Barton was pretty damn funny.

"Nice to know," the archer's eyes lit up again. Phil loved that, being the cause for the happy twinkle felt great.

"Thank you," Phil placed the book on his left leg, holding it in place with one hand, "To tell the truth I feared being your handler would turn out much worse. I just have to put up with stupid comments from my colleagues."

"You saved me, even though you didn't know who I was," Clint got a faraway look, "You cared for me, I appreciate that." He took a huge swig from his bottle.

"I thought you were a civilian, and don't forget you saved my ass first." Phil tried to analyze his friend.

"Would you have done the same if you'd known I was Hawkeye?" lying on the ground with Phil's kind face hovering over him while his thumb stroke his temple was one of the fondest memories he had.

"Of course," Phil said offended, "Why shouldn't I?"

"Because I'm a bother."

"Explain." Phil demanded an answer.

"I'm... ah hell, you know I'm not easy to handle. I give you your fair share of grey hair once in a while. They prefer easier assets." The underlying message was I have no idea why you put up with me anyway.

"I prefer assets with a mind of their own." Phil let his shoulder brush against Clint's.

"It's the reason I try not to turn your life into a living hell. You respect me, therefore I respect you." It was as simple as that.

And I think I love you, that made it less simple.

"I like working with you," that was an understatement. Phil loved having the archer around.

He wasn't sure when exactly that happened but somewhere along the past months the archer stole his heart.

"Thank you Phil," for everything.

::::::::::::

Phil looked at his phone for the third time in three minutes.

Clint was late, the archer was never late except he was angry at him but Phil was sure they parted on best terms the night before.

After two more restless minutes Phil decided to look for his friend.

He wasn't in the mess hall nor at the firing range.

Phil tried Clint's bunk next and here he was "Clint," he sounded worried.

Something was not right he could feel it.

"Barton." Phil sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket aside.

Clint's skin was clammy and flushed, the archer looked with glassy eyes at his handler, "'m I late?", his voice sounded hoarse.

"Yes," he replied, not expecting Clint to sit up like a flash, "Take it easy, you're sick."

Clint's whole world was spinning.

"Go back to sleep," Phil placed a hand on Clint's bare chest and pushed him gently back onto his back "I get you something against the fever." He rubbed with his hand a few times over Clint's chest.

"I'll sue,... your precious scientists and everyone, ... who has a hand in providing our equipment,... just so you know." Clint mumbled halfheartedly.

"Okay." Coulson agreed.

"Good," the archer closed his eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Phil walked down to medical and ordered the first doctor he saw to check on Barton.

The doctor wasn't happy but followed suit, a sick Barton sucked big time an angry Coulson was literally torture.

The last doctor who dared to look at Barton the wrong way got a ticket for a field trip to Siberia.

"Your dear archer caught the flu. I send a nurse with his meds, make sure he takes them. I know he hates them but they're necessary. He should be fine in a few days. Make sure someone stays with him, I know it's not easy to find a person to watch him but he has to come with me to med bay and stay there otherwise."

"I stay with him." Phil said without thinking. The doctor wasn't surprised at all.

"Good, I inform the director. Call me if you need me," the doctor fled before Coulson could ask more questions.

Phil dragged the chair over to the bed and made himself comfortable.

The archer was still asleep, his breath was labored and Phil was sure he had nightmares.

"I'm here," Phil stroke through Clint's sweaty hair "You're not alone"

Clint relaxed after a while, leaning unconsciously into the soothing touch.

"Good, see, you're safe." Phil couldn't take his eyes off of his friend.

He looked so young and vulnerable that Phil couldn't suppress the urge to place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"Phil." Clint mumbled, he loved the dream that Phil was touching him, that he had kissed him.

But it was just a dream, no one ever stayed with him when he was sick.

Being sick meant being alone.

"What are you dreaming about?", the gentle smile on Clint's face after the kiss had changed into a concerned frown, "I'll take care of you, do you hear me?", you're no longer alone.

Phil fell asleep on the uncomfortable chair and Clint used the chance to watch his handler.

He looked younger in his sleep and more at ease, not much but it was enough to erase the almost constant lines of worry around his eyes.

The older agent was beautiful in his own unique way. His smile and the twinkle in his eyes were absolutely breathtaking and Clint made it his goal to coax these reactions out of his friend.

Phil shifted a little and was obviously in pain, "Sir." Clint placed a hand on Phil's knee, shaking him gently, "Sir."

"Hm?", Phil opened his eyes and hissed as he tried to sit straight.

"Neck pain?"

"Yes," he rubbed his neck and tilted his head to stretch his sore muscles. "How are you?", Phil reached out to touch Clint's forehead.

Clint's heart fluttered, "Better."

"Good," a smile lit up Phil's face and he quirked a brow, "Why does the medical staff hate your guts? I had to drag your doc up here by the collar of his shirt." He pretty sure he knew the answer, he had seen Barton interact with the medical staff more than once.

"Not my fault they offer so many escape routes," Clint shrugged, "and I get a little cranky when I'm sick."

But not around me, Phil thought fondly, "Go back to sleep, you need more rest."

"You can sit on the bed with me, better for your neck." Clint was glad he had a fever and Phil couldn't see the blush that crept onto his cheeks.

Phil eyed the bed it wasn't big but it could work, he crawled onto the bed between Clint and the wall and leaned against the cold grey wall.

"You need an apartment," he blurted out.

"Why?", Clint asked sleepily.

"Your room is frustrating," grey, cold and impersonal.

"Just the way I'm used to." The archer's breath evened out and he snuggled closer against Phil's hip. The agent was so warm.

Phil placed a hand on Clint's head and returned his attention to his book, without much success. The archer's warm body against his was distracting and the warm feeling in his belly more than inappropriate but the lovely feeling in his heart was worth some of the pain pining for the archer's love caused.

"Sleep well." Phil's hand wandered from Clint's head to his shoulder and he held his archer close to his body, offering all the protection in the world.