Author's Note: Annnnddd I'm back! Thank you to those who have favorited and followed this story so far! I'm so glad so many seem to be enjoying this, because I'm seriously obsessed with writing it! And, of course, shout outs to those who took the time to leave a review, you guys are unapologetically my favorites! Jokerdino10; LisaG16; theflyingpenguin; XYZArtemis and TheRedScreech, you all are the best!
And without further ado… onward and upward!
Chapter Three
"You know that I could open this door, tuck and roll, and get the hell out of here, right?"
Phil shot Barton an annoyed look. "You're not going to do that," he informed him calmly, returning his eyes to the road as the light turned green.
In the end, Phil only had to make two phone calls before he was able to transfer Barton into SHIELD custody directly from the visitor's room of the Detroit Detention Center. The resources at their disposal certainly made things a lot easier. He was still under arrest, so handcuffs during transport had been an unavoidable necessity. When Phil had switched him from the prison's handcuffs to his own, he had been disturbed to find dark bruises circling both wrists of this seventeen-year-old kid. Not only did that speak of how tight the cuffs had been, but how long they had been on. There was no way those bruises had appeared during their short conversation. At the very least, Phil figured the cuffs had to have been on for the couple hours Barton had spent in isolation.
Barton leaned back in the passenger's seat of the car, his cuffed hands resting in his lap.
"Why not?" he inquired.
"Because, I am trying to help you," Phil said.
"Really?" Barton said skeptically, lifting his hands and letting the cuffs rattle. "Because it sure feels a lot like I'm just trading one prison for another."
"This is only temporary," Phil assured him. "Just until I can prove what actually happened in Chicago."
There was a short pause.
"Why?" Barton suddenly demanded. "Why do you care what actually happened? Why does the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division care about some street kid being sent up for something he didn't do?"
Phil slowed to a stop at another red light and then turned his head in order to blink at the kid in surprise. SHIELD's full and proper name was a mouthful, no one in the organization had any illusions about that. He had told Barton the full name of the organization exactly one time, and he had said it quickly to get through the lengthy name. And yet, this kid had just rattled the name back to him as if he had been staying it in casual conversation for years. There hadn't even been the slightest hesitation when he had said it, as if he hadn't even had to think about it.
"We call the division SHIELD for short," Phil told him. "But that's impressive you remembered all that." Barton simply shrugged. When he didn't seem inclined to comment, Phil went on. "Just think of it as a favor. You saved two of my agents. This is what I'm doing for you in return."
It wasn't really true. He still couldn't put in to words why exactly he was doing all this for some random kid. But he figured the simplified explanation would satisfy Barton for now and help him to accept the situation for the time being. And it seemed to work. Barton leaned back in his seat and propped one foot up on the dashboard, seemingly contented by the black and white logic.
Considering how exhausted the kid looked, Phil had expected him to nod off on the drive from the prison out to the secluded airstrip outside the city. But he didn't. Though his posture appeared relaxed, every time he glanced over at him he saw that Barton's eyes were in constant motion, always taking in the changing surroundings.
He was starting to get the sense that there was more to this kid than met the eye.
They pulled up by the airstrip where Phil had left the Quinjet. As they came to a stop, Barton reached out and opened his own door. Phil kept a close eye on him as they both climbed out. He didn't get the feeling that Barton was looking for an out, but still if he lost this kid he knew that there would be hell to pay.
"Fancy," Barton commented as he observed the jet.
"Exactly what we were going for," Phil said dryly as he moved to the back of the car. He popped the trunk in order to grab not only his bag, but the bag of Barton's belongings – which consisted of only the clothes that he had been wearing at the time of his arrest. "Hold these, please."
"Dude, I'm handcuffed," Barton said, glancing at the two outstretched bags and arching an eyebrow. "Now, if you want to take the cuffs off…" A small smirk quirked his lips as he lifted both wrists slightly in offering.
Phil rolled his eyes. "I think you can figure it out, tough guy."
Barton was turning away again as Phil tossed the first bag across the space between them, fully expecting it to hit the kid and then fall to the ground. But, at the last possible second, Barton's hands shot out together, snatching the bag out of the air without pausing in his turn. He didn't even seem to look at the bag as it came at him.
It was a small thing. But all these seemingly trivial things seemed to be adding up to form a picture that Phil hadn't been expecting. Rattling off a long, complicated name after only hearing it one time a few hours ago. Putting on the front of looking relaxed even though he seemed to be cataloguing every aspect of his surroundings. Showing impressive reflexes even while handcuffed.
Shooting a bow and arrow with absolute deadly accuracy.
He watched the kid carefully as he tossed the second bag at him. Barton turned only his upper body, holding the first bag in one hand and reaching out with his empty hand as much as he was able to with the restricting handcuffs. As he did so, his eyes were still on the jet… and yet he still managed to flawlessly make the catch before turning fully away again.
This kid was something else entirely.
"You're sure that's all you have?" Phil asked, not for the first time. The bag of the kid's personal effects consisted only of the clothes that had been on his back at the time of his arrest. "You know we could go get anything else you might need."
Barton shrugged, unconcerned and not even sparing him a glance. "What more would I need?"
"Well, most human beings have things like a change of clothes, wallet and ID, that sort of thing," Phil pointed out. He waited for a response. When he didn't get one, he went on. "So, no ID? Driver's license? Library card?"
"Nope," Barton said shortly.
That seemed unlikely. At the very least Phil figured the kid would have to have a fake ID. It was difficult to function in society without one. But he decided not to press the issue for now.
"So, why a bow and arrow?" Phil asked conversationally as he turned and grabbed those items out of his trunk. Barton had been adamant about not leaving those particular items behind, even more so than he had been about his clothes. He had even insisted on watching Phil put both in the trunk of the car to be sure they wouldn't get left behind.
Barton shrugged one shoulder, still not bothering to turn. "I like it."
"Believe it or not, I deduced that much," Phil said dryly as he approached.
"Need me to carry those too?" Barton asked casually with a sly smile.
"Tell you what, I'll handle the weapons since I'm not the one currently under arrest."
"Kill joy."
"Shall we?" Phil prompted, motioning toward the jet.
"Like I have much of a choice," Clint mumbled with a sigh.
Phil decided not to respond to that as he led the way to the jet. As the two of them headed up the ramp, Phil took notice of the way that while Clint kept his head still and pointed carefully straight ahead, his eyes were still moving, cataloguing his surroundings.
"You can drop those there," Phil instructed, motioning to one side of the jet. He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes as Barton took the term 'drop' quite literally, unceremoniously dropping the bags on the floor with barely a glance. "I need you to sit here." He pointed at a bench that ran the length of one side of the jet.
Barton eyed the spot skeptically and then sent a look up toward where the cockpit was.
"Why can't I sit up there?" he asked, inclining his head.
"The location of our compound is confidential," Phil told him. "I can't have you seeing even which direction we're going in."
A ripple of tension flowed through the kid's muscles, so much so that Phil felt his senses sharpening, unsure if Barton was about to go on the aggressive. Though it seemed like a strange reaction considering Barton had been so compliant with everything up to this point.
"So, you don't have a blindfold or something?" Barton asserted.
"Barton, officially you are still under arrest here and are still considered a hostile until I can prove otherwise," Phil reminded him. "I'm on your side, but I need you secured so that I can focus on taking off."
Barton snorted at that. "Yeah, everyone on my side always treats me as guilty until proven innocent," he muttered sarcastically, mostly to himself.
"This is a deal breaker, kid," Phil said, starting to lose his patience. "You can ride back here back to headquarters and let me work on clearing your name. Or, I can load you back into the car and take you right back to lock up and you can take your chances in the system with a public defender. Decision is all yours."
Phil watched the kid subtly eye the ramp, knowing full well that he was contemplating running. But then his gaze was drawn back to Phil, and more specifically the bow and quiver that he still held. Phil could almost see the thought process working through Barton's head. He clearly wasn't leaving the bow behind, so he was trying to figure out if he could take Phil while he was handcuffed.
"Word to the wise," Phil said with a smirk. "I'm scrappier than I look."
"I'm sure the gun in your shoulder harness and the knife strapped to your back help with that," Barton said.
Phil had to work not to show his surprise. He had been careful not to show either of those items to this kid, not wanting him to know that while he was trying to help him he was also armed… just in case. His jacket should have easily hidden both of those items.
"I don't have all day, Barton," Phil said, meeting the kid's gaze with a steely look of his own. "What's it gonna be?"
"Fine," Barton finally agreed flatly as he moved over to the bench. "But, for the record, I'm still not convinced this isn't some kind of elaborate kidnapping stunt."
"Noted," Phil said.
He was careful to place the bow and quiver far out of reach before he crossed over to where Barton sat. He pulled another pair of handcuffs from his pocket. He snapped one side closed over the middle of the handcuffs Barton was wearing. Then he moved the other side to a bar that ran behind the bench and closed it. Barton would have room to move side to side, but that was it.
"Really?" Barton muttered, jerking his head toward the awkward positioning of his hands and glaring.
"There should be room on the other side of the bench for your leg, so you can sit sideways," Phil told him as he turned and crossed back to where the bow and quiver sat. He hit a button on the wall to close the ramp before picking up the weapons. "Sit tight. I'll be back as soon as we're in the air and I can engage the auto-pilot."
Without waiting for a response, Phil headed into the cockpit with the weapons, closing the door firmly behind him. It was only when the door closed behind him that he allowed himself a relieved breath. He leaned back against the door for a moment, closing his eyes and just allowing the weight of the situation to fall on him for just a moment.
There was every chance that he was completely wrong about this kid. There was every chance that this entire situation was going to blow up in his face. If he brought this kid in and it turned out that all the charges against him are true…
He shook his head as if he could forcibly shake away those thoughts as he refocused on the task at hand.
He stored away the kid's bow and quiver in the weapons locker behind the pilot's seat and locked it before finally climbing into the seat and starting up the jet. He let the takeoff process take over his brain. He couldn't dwell on what might happen, all he could do was deal with the situation as it was. And what he had to do right now was get Barton to the SHIELD base and then they could go from there.
Phil was so used to flying the Quinjet that the time seemed to pass all too quickly. It seemed to take no time at all to get the jet in the air and then he was setting the path for the auto-pilot. He actually ended up seting the auto-pilot twice. The first time was a direct path back to base, but then on a whim he decided to change it to a more roundabout path that would change the direction they approached the SHIELD base from. He figured there was no harm in being cautious.
Finally, there was nothing left to do but check on the cargo.
In retrospect, he realized that he really shouldn't have been surprised as he headed back into the back of the jet to find Clint Barton standing on the opposite side of the jet than where he had left him. A glance back at the bench showed that the handcuffs were still hanging from the bar where Phil had locked them. He supposed it was reasonable to assume that since he had been able to pick the lock on that cell back in the jail in Virginia, he could slip a standard set of handcuffs.
He was starting to think that he probably should have brought backup to help handle this kid…
He eyed the bins that Barton was standing in front of, visually making sure they were all still locked. There were extra weapons and ammo in there in case of emergency. Thankfully, they all appeared undisturbed, and when Barton followed his gaze to the bins, the curious look told Phil that he hadn't given them any thought before that moment.
Which begged the question… what he had been doing back here all this time?
Before he had a chance to say anything, the jet jerked suddenly as it hit a patch of turbulence. Phil was so used to this kind of thing, he might not have really registered it if it hadn't been to Barton's reaction. The kid wildly threw out a hand to stabilize himself, his gaze darting around as if looking for some kind of threat.
"It's just a little turbulence," Phil tried to assure the kid, noting the way that his gaze snapped back to him just as he finished the statement, just a brief glimpse of panic in his eyes before it melted away to a look that seemed a little too indifferent to be natural. Something about that bugged at the back of his mind. Something about this was very… off. Suddenly, a thought occurred to Phil. "Kid… you ever been on a plane before?"
There was a pause, as if Barton was considering something carefully.
"No," he said finally said shortly.
"Sorry," Phil said, a note of sincerity in his voice. Flying was such a normal part of his own life that he often forgot that it wasn't for everyone. "I didn't realize."
Barton merely shrugged in response.
"We're still a couple hours out," Phil went on, unmoving from the doorway to the cockpit. "Care to sit down at least?"
"I'd rather stand," Barton said stiffly.
"Okay," Phil said slowly, trying to figure out if this was considered an aggressive demand. But for all the world he didn't seem like he was taking an offensive stance. If anything, he just seemed too on edge to sit down. "I'll make you a deal. We'll forget about the cuffs for now if you go back over there." He tilted his head, indicating the side of the jet that Barton had started out on, away from the weapons bins. "You can even stay standing as long as you don't wander. Deal?"
Barton seemed honestly taken aback by the offer for a solid minute, as if he couldn't figure out how to even respond. Phil supposed that the offer probably seemed odd after he had been so vehement about retraining him before takeoff.
"Fine," Barton finally said.
A beat after the agreement, he carefully moved back across the jet, seeming to watch Phil the whole time. Phil couldn't help but wonder how he had lost so much ground so quickly, so much so that Barton suddenly felt like he couldn't look away from him even for a moment. He didn't comment though, just quietly watched him move back across the jet. Barton reached the bench he had started off on and turned to square his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Happy?" he asked, shortly.
"Overjoyed," Phil deadpanned as he too crossed his arms over his chest and then leaned one shoulder up against the doorway to the cockpit.
Barton narrowed his eyes, suddenly inexplicably angry at Phil's response.
"So, you just gonna stare at me for the next couple hours?" Barton snapped with a glare.
Phil merely looking at him coolly, outwardly unaffected by the sudden change.
"I'm not leaving you by yourself back here," he said calmly. "So, unless you want to talk…" He shrugged, letting the kid infer on his own.
"Talk about what?" Barton asked, still angry but also seeming a bit perplexed.
Phil paused, thinking that over for a moment. He did have a burning question… now seemed as good a time as any.
"I was looking over your history," Phil started. He could see the way that Barton immediately tensed at that. He hesitated ever so slightly before going on. "There was quite a bit of unaccounted for time in your records. Looks like you pretty much dropped off the map for a good six years while you were a kid." Phil paused, waiting for some kind of response or at least a reaction to the statement. Barton gave neither. "Any chance you could enlighten me as to where you were all that time?" he finally prompted without much hope that he actually would.
Barton shrugged one shoulder. "We were around," he said vaguely.
"We?" Phil said, raising an eyebrow.
Barton hesitated, clearly regretting his choice of words.
"I'm not the first kid to run from the foster care system," he pointed out quickly.
"Like you and your brother," Phil said evenly.
This gained another hard glare from the teen.
"Yeah, and I guess you had a nice, normal childhood with two loving parents and a white picket fence, huh," Barton sneered. "And you just couldn't imagine why anyone would want to run away from home."
"I never said that," Phil pointed out calmly.
"You didn't have to," Barton shot back. "You've got that 'no childhood emotional damage' look to you."
"So, you consider your childhood emotionally damaging?" Phil asked.
"Well, it wasn't warm and fuzzy, I'll tell you that," Barton muttered almost as if he were talking to himself, his eyes darkening at the thought.
"Why do you say that?" Phil asked patiently, daring for just a moment to hope that maybe the kid was about to open up to him.
No such luck.
"Why bother, you know everything there is to know about Clinton Francis Barton, don't you, Phillip," Barton spat.
Phil heaved a sigh. Clearly the amount of information that he knew about Barton was still a sore spot.
"Well, you don't want me to just stand and stare at you," Phil said, "you don't want to talk… so, what do you propose for the next couple hours?"
Barton seemed to consider this carefully for a moment. Then he sighed heavily, allowing his shoulders to sag as he abruptly but carefully lowered himself to sit on the floor of the jet.
"I'm gonna take a nap," he announced flatly as he leaned his head back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. "If you're planning on killing me, just do me a favor and wake me up first. I'd like to at least see the bullet coming."
"If I were planning on killing you, I would have done it by now," Phil pointed out.
Barton didn't respond, his eyes remaining closed. It was only a few minutes later when Phil saw the kid's muscles finally relax and his head lull to one side as he finally drifted off to sleep.
He couldn't deny that he felt a little relieved. The kid had looked exhausted. And judging by how tense he had been during their conversation, Phil figured that the exhaustion had to run deep in order to take him so quickly.
Phil carefully perched himself on the small step up to the cockpit and settled himself in for what was hopefully going to be a quiet flight.
"Barton?"
Still no movement, not even a twitch. It was the fourth time Phil had called his name, getting progressively closer to the sleeping teen each time. He was now standing right next to the kid.
Apparently, he was a heavy sleeper.
It was about time for Phil to start the landing procedures, but he was weary of leaving Barton back here unattended and unrestrained. If the kid had really never been on any kind of aircraft before, then him waking to the sensation of the jet bumping into the ground might be a bit startling. And he really wasn't sure how the kid would react.
He had to keep reminding himself that he really didn't know much about this kid at all.
Knowing that he really needed to get going on the landing procedure, Phil reached out with his foot and gently tapped the bottom of the kid's sneaker.
The reaction was instantaneous.
Barton's eyes flew open as he gasped, whipping his head up and to one side. Unfortunately, the movement brought his head in solid contact with the edge of the metal bench he had been sleeping next to with a sharp, metallic CRACK.
"Ah, shit!" Barton spat, his hand immediately going to put pressure on the side of his forehead as he sat up, his eyes looking around wildly. "What the fuck?"
"Sorry about that," Phil said, feeling a pang of guilt but choosing not to show it. He had tried several times to wake the kid after all. "But it's almost time to land." He paused, cocking his head, unable to help himself. "You're not bleeding, are you?"
Suddenly, Barton's darting eyes focused in on Phil. He had a strange look on his face, one that Phil couldn't quite identify. Anger? Confusion? Surprise?
"What?" he finally said, still sounding a bit breathless.
Phil raised his eyebrows, assuming that the kid hadn't been paying attention in the moment. "I said, you're not bleeding, are you?" He pointed to his own head to help Barton get what he was asking. Clearly the kid was still a little disoriented. Is wasn't possible he had just given himself a concussion… was it?
Barton pulled his hand away from his head, scowling down at it even as it was revealed there was no blood.
"You'll have a nasty bump, but no real harm done," Phil informed him, eyeing where he could already see a painful looking welt forming. He took a step back, drawing Barton's eyes back to him. "It's time to land. I need you secured."
Barton's scowl deepened. "You're not seriously gonna leave me locked back here again."
Phil paused to consider that for a moment. After all, the kid had already gotten out of the handcuffs once. He suspected that unless he took more drastic measures with his restraints, it wouldn't do much good.
"How about a compromise," Phil said suddenly, coming to a decision in the moment. "If you let me put the cuffs back on, I'll let you sit up front for the landing." There wasn't much that he would see at this point that wouldn't tell him something that he wouldn't figure out when they landed and unloaded him, not to mention the flight plan Phil had set earlier to bring them in from a less direct direction.
Barton seemed honestly perplexed for a moment at the offer.
"You were very against that idea before," Barton pointed out slowly, almost suspiciously.
"Well, there's not much to see at this point," Phil said, shrugging one shoulder. There was a pause. "Yes or no, Barton, because I've got to land this thing and if it's a 'no' then I have to get more creative."
"Yes, fine," Barton snapped as he started to pull himself up using the bench next to him.
Phil moved automatically, putting out a hand with the intention of helping the struggling kid up to his feet. The gesture did not go over well though as Barton glared and waved him off.
"Dude, give me some space here," Barton growled.
"Just trying to help," Phil muttered as he backed up, holding his hands up in a mockingly defensive manner.
As Barton worked on balancing himself out, Phil went to where the handcuffs still hung from the pipe behind the bench. He grabbed the key out of his pocket and unlocked them. As he turned to Barton he was relieved that despite him glaring daggers at him, the kid held out his hands without complaint. Though Phil still winced inwardly as he saw that the bruises around the kid's wrists were darker than they had been before.
He was mindful of not notching the cuffs too tight. It went against all his instincts… not only did he spring this kid from prison, but he was going to have him in loose handcuffs and sitting up in the copilot's seat while he piloted the Quinjet in for a landing at the top-secret SHIELD base. Phil could almost hear Fury's voice in his head… Do you have a damn death wish, Phil?
"Alright, let's go," Phil said shortly as he turned and lead the way back into the cockpit. "You sit there," he pointed at the copilot's seat as he took the pilot's seat. "You touch anything and I'm gonna put you down, no questions, no second chances. Understand?"
Barton didn't even look at him as he maneuvered himself into his seat, eyeballing the equipment in front of him with a hungry look that made Phil uneasy.
"You hear me, Barton?" Phil said sharply.
"What?" Barton said as his eyes snapped over to look at him.
"Don't touch anything," Phil repeated, a hard look in his eye.
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Barton said, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in his seat.
Phil eyed him wearily before grabbing his headset. There was no turning back now. As he went through getting clearance to land and starting the procedure, he kept glancing at the kid out of the corner of his eye. Barton was still leaning back, but everything else about him was tense, there was a sharp focus to him that was taking in everything that was going on around him. He seemed especially interested in the controls that Phil was working with, his eyes darting to him every time he reached for a new one.
As Phil eased the Quinjet into the hanger, he took note of the number of people milling about. In fact, what really drew his attention was the number of armed agents that were gathered near where he was meant to park the jet.
He supposed he should have expected it. Fury was protective of what he had built here.
As he shut down the jet, he saw Barton leaning forward, clearly taking notice of the agents who were dropping into formation around the jet. He looked over at Phil, cocking a curious eyebrow.
"It's standard protocol for bringing in a hostile force," Phil hedged.
Both eyebrows went straight up at that. "Hostile force?" he echoed, more surprised than anything. "You feel threatened by me, Mr. Coulson?" There was a bit of a smirk in his tone.
"Nope," Phil said as he stood. "But I did pick you up in prison. Not to mention, I think you hurt the Director's feelings when you beat the shit out of his highly trained agents a few weeks ago." Barton simply rolled his eyes at that. "C'mon, let's go."
"What about my bow?" Barton said, his eyes darting around the cockpit.
"I have it locked up," Phil said, shifting his head toward the weapons locker that was behind the pilot's seat. "I'll come back for it later." Barton looked about ready to argue that when Phil continued. "It'll be simpler if there aren't any extra weapons around for this next part."
Barton pressed his lips together, as if he had to physically restrain himself from pressing the issue. Finally, he nodded curtly, though he looked reluctant.
It took Barton an extra minute to struggle out of the copilot's seat with his hands cuffed, swaying unsteadily a few times before he managed to properly balance himself. Phil knew better than to offer help again, but at the same time he couldn't help but worry about a possible concussion, either from hitting his head earlier or the beatings he clearly had taken before Phil got to him. He resolved to get him checked out in the infirmary just to be on the safe side, but knew he would have to deal with Fury first.
He led the way back into the cargo hold, but paused at the controls for the ramp as something dawned on him. He turned back to Barton.
"I need to fix your cuffs," he said.
Barton glanced down at his cuffed hands in front of him then looked back at him, confused. "What's wrong with them?"
"I need to cuff you behind your back," Phil explained.
Barton let out an exasperated sigh that sounded more tired than anything else. "Really?"
"If I don't, then they will," Phil said, jerking his head toward the ramp and the armed agents that were undoubtedly gathered just beyond, waiting for them. "And I'm gonna be nicer about it."
Barton rolled his eyes but after a pause he held out his wrists. Phil fished the key out of his pocket so that he could unlock one cuff. Barton obediently turned and put both hands behind him so that Phil could lock them in place. Grudgingly, he locked them to the property tightness over Barton's already bruised wrists. To his credit, the kid didn't even flinch.
"Remind me how this is helping me again?" Barton said sarcastically as he turned back to face the ramp.
"At this point, you just have to trust me," Phil said, as he moved back over to the ramp controls.
"I don't trust anybody."
It was said softly just as the gears for the ramp groaned to life, almost lost to the noise. Phil gave him a strange look. The statement wasn't said with arrogance… but rather said almost as a quiet reminder to himself and not for anyone else's benefit.
There was no time to dwell on that though. Barton's eyes were steely as he watched the ramp lower down into the hanger. Phil saw the way that his back stiffened and his shoulders squared at the sight of the half a dozen SHIELD agents, all with guns held loosely in front of them, that were waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp.
Taking a deep breath, Phil reached out and took Barton's arm – noticing the way that he tensed under his grasp – and led the kid down into the hanger.
"This seems a bit excessive," Phil commented casually as they approached the agents.
"Fury wanted to be cautious, given the charges against him," the man in the lead said stiffly. "If you hand him over, we will escort him down to the detention wing. Fury is waiting for you in his office."
Barton shot him a look. It was a fast look, one that Phil almost missed. But even without the look, Phil was already resolving not to surrender Barton over to these guys. He had asked this kid to trust him and he was determined to prove to him that he was a man of his word.
And he knew that despite everything, people were flawed. SHIELD agents weren't exempt from that law of nature. And Barton had seriously injured three SHIELD agents just a few weeks ago. He couldn't be sure that none of these guys had connections to those other agents and would be looking for their own form of retribution. And Phil wasn't going to risk that when he had just pulled the kid out of a similar situation.
"I'll be escorting Barton down to the detention wing myself," he said firmly, already beginning to lead Barton away. "If you gentlemen feel the need to follow us, that's up to you."
It took all his will power not to roll his eyes as half a dozen armed men fell into step behind him.
It was a tense and quiet walk down to the detention wing of the SHIELD base. Barton, to his credit, kept his gaze stoically straight ahead of him, never glancing back at the processional behind them. As they finally made it down to the holding cells, the guards were ready for them. After scanning him into the hall that contained the cells, Phil was allowed to escort Barton himself. As instructed by the guards, he took him to the end of the secured hall, where they were remotely buzzed into the last cell in the row.
Barton entered the cell immediately. Phil stood in the doorway and watched him as he surveyed the room, seeming mostly interested in studying the blank walls, turning in a slow circle as he did so.
"Here, let me get those," Phil finally said stepping more fully into the cell.
Barton shot him a confused look before Phil held up the key and motioned to his handcuffs. He seemed vaguely surprised, but turned so that Phil could take the cuffs. It was all the confirmation that Phil needed that he had been left in handcuffs when the guards at the Detroit Detention Center had put him in isolation.
"I've got a meeting with Director Fury," Phil told him as he pocketed the handcuffs. "I'll be back afterward and we can go over what next steps will be. Try to get some rest in the meantime." Barton made no effort to respond, the look on his face hard and unreadable. Phil turned to leave before something dawned on him. He turned halfway back, glancing at Barton over his shoulder. "When was the last time you ate?" he asked.
Barton looked taken aback by the question, almost as if he had just been asked something deeply personal.
"Huh?" he finally said.
"When was the last time you had something to eat," Phil repeated calmly.
"Um…" Barton hedged, seeming to strain to figure out the answer. That told Phil exactly what he needed to know.
"I'll have someone bring you some breakfast," Phil said conversationally. Then he glanced down at his watch. "Or lunch, rather. Do you have any preference?"
Barton looked suddenly dumbfounded. After a moment, he slowly shook his head.
Phil paused, taking a real good look at the kid before he turned walked out of the cell, closing the door behind him and listening to automatic lock click into place. As he walked back down the hall, he couldn't help but keep thinking back to look on the kid's face. And he couldn't help but wonder if Barton had ever been offered the kindness of someone asking him what he wanted for lunch.
He shook that off though, knowing that he needed to focus on the next task at hand. He had a feeling that this wasn't going to be a pleasant meeting with Fury. Especially given what he was just now realizing he actually wanted to ask of the Director. It had all come together without him really thinking much of it. But everything he had observed from Barton so far – his hyper observation skills, escape skills with the handcuffs and the jail cell in Virginia, reflexes, the aim he had displayed that night in New York, and most importantly the desire to help people – had brought him to this unavoidable conclusion.
He wanted to recruit Clint Barton into SHIELD
Author's Note: Okay, collective gasp from the audience. Whaaaat? Phil Coulson wants to recruit Clint Barton into SHIELD? Who would have ever seen that coming!? Haha, please bear with me, we've got some stuff to get through before we can get to the really good stuff. But it's coming… I promise! Pretty please leave me a review and let me know what you think so far!
Chapter Four Sneak Peak
"Phil… what is it about this kid?"
"I… I can't put it into words," Phil admitted, frowning. And that was the truth. He had made the decision to bring him in before he had all the facts needed to make the decision about recruitment. There was just something about this kid…
"That's not like you," Fury said, sounding puzzled.
"I know," Phil sighed, feeling frustrated. He ran a hand through his hair before he took a deep breath and then continued. "But that's irrelevant for the moment. The fact of the matter is that the kid is here now and I'm officially invested. Just give me a couple days to work out what really happened in Chicago. I can get this kid off my conscious and we can go from there."
