.
.
Another week passed uneasily. Clint Barton's crazy attack on the rich, "popular" Richard Green soon spread around the Helicarrier , but not exactly as Green had planned. Apparently there were some other people who despised him, as the talk was more about Green's epic defeat than Clint being a violent maniac. For the time being, Green and his friends left Clint alone. When the two of them passed in the corridors, Clint steadily ignored the holder man whist Green stared at the floor, trying to stay unnoticed. Maybe of the other recruits also stayed at a distance, with even more fear than before.
Clint hated it. He spent far too much time fearing people stronger and better than him, and would never want someone to be put in the same situation, even if they were someone as despicable as Richard Green.
Phil thought that the guilt was a heavier in Clint's eyes. Part of him regretted comparing Clint to his father, but at the same time it had stopped the teenager running a crazy riot around the base. But on the other hand, Phil knew about how Clint felt about Green's reaction, and knew that his words had only made it worse. Phil hadn't actually seen a lot of his younger charge, but when he did, Clint wasn't just quiet- he nearly was silent. More often than not he didn't reply at all to Phil's questions, and although he didn't seem quite as angry- Phil supposed the fight had enabled him to let off some steam- he never met Phil's eye anymore, and as insignificant as though it seemed, it worried Phil.
Clint's education progressed and his faultless performance didn't differ. However, neither did his silence, and lack of contribution. He remained quietly wary of the rest of the class, the teacher included. But this meant that it was only the more traditional part of his training that Clint was lacking- the skills actually needed for being a spy such as weaponry, hacking and of course combat. Although Phil was wary about taking Clint's training to the next level, the days after the fight did show a more positive change in Clint's behaviour- he seemed a lot less angry, and it was his growing anger that had got him in the mess in the first place. Phil knew that it was better to keep Clint busy, but if Clint only spent his days doing four hours of studying, he wasn't being kept very busy at all. Therefore, against his heart of hearts and Jane's warnings, Phil decided to spar with Clint.
Three days after the fight Phil met Clint in the canteen, not dressed in his usual suit and tie but cargo pants and a t-shirt. Clint glanced at him briefly before returning his concentration to his breakfast.
Phil was glad to say that today Clint only eyed him with slight apprehension instead of open wariness. However, the boy still very rarely looked him in the eye, and even more rarely responded to his comments in more than a few words. Instead, he looked at Phil as if he didn't quite make sense.
"So," Phil said, digging into his porridge (quite literally digging- SHIELD's catering hadn't quite mastered the art of making porridge that wasn,t classed as adequate building material). "I've talked to Eric, and he says that you're fit enough to start training, if you want."
Clint eyed Phil with an unreadable expression before looking down again. "What sort of training?"
"Well we need to train you in lots of different aspects such as agility, strength, stamina and so on. But if you want, today we can start combat training."
Clint looked wary. "What will I do?"
Phil glanced at the porridge, and clearly decided that he had enough of its cement like viscosity. "Come down to training room two, and I'll show you."
Phil left, throwing his breakfast into the trash. It hit the bottom with an ominous clang, and Clint stared at his handlers retreating back with growing apprehension.
.
Clint entered the training room five minutes later wearing navy athletic shorts and a gray SHIELD issue t-shirt. He looked apprehensive. Phil was already waiting on the mat.
Training room two was large and airy, with a climbing wall on the wall to the left of the door. The opposite wall was made entirely of glass, and showed a fantastic view of the sea. To the right were the changing rooms and the armoury.
"Ok, firstly I want to know what you can and can't do, so I figured we'd start sparing first." Phil explained once Clint had approached.
After a quick warm up, Phil and Clint put on sparing gloves and stepped onto the mat.
To say that Clint was nervous would be an understatement. On one hand, he was fairly confident in his own abilities. However, Clint didn't exactly like getting beaten up. Not only was it painful, but baring in mind his debatable mental stability of late, he was worried about triggering some form of panic attack. He was also far warier around Phil than before- the man had duck taped him to a table, trapped him in a room and took out a knife in front of him. Clint certainly didn't want to add being beaten up to the list. But at the same time, he didn't even consider refusing- he wasn't allowed to look like a coward.
"Before we start, if you want to stop at any point for any reason, just say, ok? I'm not going to hit you hard, and I won't hold you to the ground. Ready?"
Clint had a feeling that Phil had been following his wary train of thought. He nodded.
Clint sank into a defensive position, hands in front of his face, one foot in front of the other. And then Phil attacked.
Phil had seen Clint fight before, but this was something entirely different. He seemed to use multiple different martial arts, switching from one to the other smoothly, blending them all together, one move to the next without fault. He used his circus training also, his amazing feats of agility, springing and flipping out of the way, somersaulting and rolling. His fantastic sense of balance kept him upright for around eight minutes, as he rocked back into his heels whenever Phil made a particularly powerful hit.
But at the same time, there was a frantic, messy street-fighter air about him. Clint seemed oblivious to the hits Phil was getting in, wanting to get the fight over with and make a run for it. Phil supposed that this was related to his childhood- when whoever was attacking Clint as a child, the boy hadn't wanted to beat the man into oblivion. All he'd wanted was to get him down and make a run for it, to get out of the situation as quickly as possible. And this then reflected on his currant fighting style. Clint had no desire to make the fight longer than it had to be. He only fought for the moment, instead of thinking ahead and planning a number of moves that would bring him out on top. Instead he used whatever he had at the time, putting himself at increasingly greater risks to simply get out and get away. He was terribly impulsive. Phil knew that he would have to change this to develop Clint into a better fighter, though at the moment, he wasn't sure how.
Phil caught Clint's forearm, hooked his foot behind the archer's knee and twisted. The boy hit the mat with a thud. He winced, and then looked up at Phil warily for a reason that the older man couldn't quite decipher.
Phil held out his hand to help Clint get up, but the boy rolled lithely to his feet on his own. "Do you want to go again?" Phil asked.
Clint nodded, his expression now unreadable.
And so it began again. Although Phil saw countless places where he could have brought Clint down, in order to prolong the fight he didn't take them. Therefore this bout was longer, and although Phil could feel himself beginning to tire, Clint looked even more energized that before. The transaction from one move to the other became even slicker, so that they didn't even look like separate hits, just one long one, almost like a martial arts pattern. It was almost beginning to look graceful, which had never been a word Phil thought he would use to describe someone's fighting style. And yet it was- Clint was strong, but despite his prowess in archery, there were many men stronger. Therefore he had learnt to use his agility, speed and extensive circus training to his advantage. On one hand this was fantastic, and would make Clint's training far easier as he was already a brilliant fighter. But Phil couldn't help wondering how much Clint had endured to become so good.
At this, Phil brought Clint to the ground again with a kick to his solar plexus. Clint rolled onto his shoulders and then sprang back up to his feet, a new, alarming edge to his expression. Phil noticed that his time, Clint was careful to hide his pain despite the fact that the kick would have hurt more than how Phil had brought him down previously.
"Again?" Phil asked warily, almost hoping that the boy would decline. But he didn't.
And it began again. But Phil could see a different edge to the fight this time. Clint's moves became messy, more frantic and rushed. The style became more like a street fighter, strong and viscous, a style meant to take the opponent down as fast as possible with no thought for the fighter. Phil began to get in more and more hits, and Clint turned from a mix of offence and defence to just pure attacking. It was now that Phil could see the eight year old at the orphanage, getting into fights and becoming an angry shadow of his previous self. Phil could see the franticness in Clint's eyes, the voice inside his head screaming get out get out!
Knowing that he had to end the fight fast, Phil swept his leg under Clint's feet, pushing the boy to the mat by his shoulders.
Too late, he realised his mistake. Phil was on top of Clint for just a moment too long. Fear broke out over Clint's features, and he kicked Phil in the stomach, sending the older man flying off him.
They both stumbled to their feet at the same time, Phil with his arms raised to show he meant no harm, and Clint with his fists clenched, body language closed off and a moment away from bolting to the door.
Phil took a step further away from Clint. "Clint," He said quietly. "Clint, it's ok." Phil had been all too aware that sparing may freak Clint out due to his father, but he had entirely forgotten about Peter Moore.
Clint clenched his jaw, eyes fixated on Phil's face. This was the first proper time he had looked Phil in the eye. His expression was a mixture of fear, desperation and anger, though the fear was most prominent. His breathe was coming out on short and shallow gasps.
"Clint, I'm not going to hurt you." Phil stopped three feet away from his younger charge, watching as the mixed emotions in Clint's eyes descended into simple, pure panic. "Clint, I promise I won't hurt you. I'm not going to hurt you Clint."
Clint took another hesitant step towards the door, and Phil was all too worried that the boy would run.
"Clint I know what Peter Moore did to you, but please understand that I would never, ever do that. Do you understand?" Wary that Clint was either going to hyperventilate or run- or both, Phil took a step closer. "It's ok Clint. It's all gonna be ok."
Clint took another step back.
"Clint, you're ok. Breathe, you're safe."
Clint shuddered, flinching as Phil took another step towards him.
"Clint, it's ok. No one can hurt you here, you're safe."
Gradually, the panic began to lesson in his eyes.
"I'm not going to hurt you Clint." Phil said quietly.
Clint shuddered again, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes almost as if he could force the fear out.
"Come and sit down." Phil said softly. He walked past Clint and sat down at a bench at the side of the room. Clint didn't move. He stared at Phil, trying to work out whether he was lying, whether the man would hurt him. But there was nothing but honesty. Once more, Clint wondered how on earth Phil Coulson worked. He really did make no sense.
Clint sat a good two feet away, but accepted the water bottle Phil offered him. Phil saw his hands shaking as the boy took a drink. Once more, he was hit with a pang of sympathy and anger. Peter Moore should be thankful that he was dead- otherwise he might have run into Phil Coulson, who had a few things to say.
"You're a very good fighter." Phil said, trying to take both his and Clint's minds of Moore.
Clint glanced across at Phil. He hadn't yet managed to put up his mental walls, and Phil could clearly see the fear and vulnerability.
"Who taught you?" Phil asked, pushing away his anger.
Clint looked away from Phil, unable, once again, to keep eye contact for too long. He ran his thumb over the ridge around the centre of the water bottle, frowning. "Life." He said simply and without bitterness. "And one time in China instead of taking money for the hit I got the guy to speak to another guy who got me a couple of Kung Fu lessons. I was fed up of being beaten up so bad."
"Did you get beaten a lot?" Phil asked. Clint was unscrewing then screwing up the bottle lid repeatedly. He didn't reply, but then again Phil didn't need him to.
"Didn't you need more than a few lessons?" Phil asked, changing the subject slightly.
Clint was silent for a moment, and then shook his head slowly. "I already knew how to fight ok; I just built what the guy taught me on top of what I already knew."
"How old were you?" Phil asked cautiously.
Clint was quite for a very long time- so long that Phil was sure he wouldn't answer. "Fifteen." He said emotionlessly.
Phil took a moment to get his own emotions under control, and knew better than to comment on this. "Was he a good teacher?"
Clint nodded slowly. "He was a nice guy. Spoke no English but had a good sense of humour. He taught me some Chinese too, even though that wasn't part of the deal. He was a better teacher than the Swordsman."
"Was Jacques a bad teacher?" Phil asked, surprised when Clint flinched slightly at the name. The boy just nodded.
"Why?" Phil asked slowly.
Clint clenched his hands into fists, his shoulder hunched slightly. "He didn't like it when I missed. So I learnt not to miss."
"Did he get angry like you dad?"
Clint frowned, and his expression intensified. "Yeah, but I could take it."
Phil sat up straighter. "Yes, but that doesn't mean you had to take it."
Clint looked perplexed. "What?"
"Just because your father and whoever else beat you doesn't mean you deserved it." Phil said firmly.
Clint looked absolutely bewildered. "Well of course I deserved it. Why would they do it if I didn't deserve it?"
Phil stared at Clint for a moment. "Clint… basically all these people did what they did because they were not nice people. They were angry and bad- it wasn't because you did anything wrong."
Clint stared at Phil like he was speaking ancient Greek.
"Clint, if there's one thing out of all the things that I tell you that you take to heart, remember this- you never deserved what you got. OK?"
Clint frowned slightly, fists clenching again, looking confused and as if someone had just pulled the world from under his feet. He also looked somewhat overwhelmed. Phil was all too aware that he was bombarding Clint with too many new things. But at the same time, not even once had he thought that Clint believed he deserved what he got- what could a child ever do to deserve that much abuse?
Phil glanced across the room, trying to sort out his own emotions. Suddenly he grinned as an idea struck him. He glanced across at Clint, who frowned. "Hey you like climbing, right?"
.
"Put your left leg in that loop there…" Phil smirked. "No Clint, the other left."
Clint glared at him half-heartedly as he struggled to pull up the climbing harness. When Phil had suggested that they used the climbing wall, Clint had looked wary, but agreed readily. Phil had seen many benefits to this activity. Firstly, he knew Clint would enjoy it, and it would take his mind off previous incidents. Secondly, Phil would be holding the rope from the bottom, pulling in the slack as Clint climbed. The wall was tall, so Clint's safety would be in Phil's hands- he hoped that this would encourage a certain amount of trust in the younger agent. But at the end of the day, Clint had only turned 17 a month ago- he was still a child, and Phil was desperate to let him muck around a bit, especially as he had now embarked on the basic training aimed at 22-25 year olds.
Clint had tightened his harness, and was craning his neck to stare up at the wall, rocking back into his heels.
"Ready?" Phil asked.
Clint turned to face him, nodding.
"Ok, so I've got hold of your rope. As you climb I'll pull in the slack, and when you come back down again I'll let some back out. Understand?"
Clint looked troubled. "What happens if you let go of the rope?"
Phil glanced up at the wall. "You'd fall. But you don't need to worry about that because I won't let go."
Clint frowned, looking at Phil with apprehension and then the climbing wall with something almost akin to longing. How long had it been since he'd been up high? More to the point, how long had it been since he'd been up high without getting ready to shoot someone? He'd been stuck in among other people for too long, and the claustrophobia was slowly beginning to build. And once again, Phil was radiating honestly.
Quickly, he nodded and turned back to the wall. Behind his back, Phil grinned.
Clint began to climb; ascending so fast Phil found it hard to keep up. He realised suddenly that when he had thought Clint had been idly day dreaming whist putting on the harness he had in fact been planning the fastest route up the wall. Was there any time where Clint wasn't planning an escape route?
He was pulled back to earth by a sudden tug at the rope- Clint had already reached the top, and was leaning away from the wall almost nonchalantly. Phil reflected that the boy had probably broken one of SHIELD's records, and regretted not bringing a stopwatch.
"How do I get down?" Clint yelled. Honestly, he wanted to stay where he was, but he wasn't at all comfortable Phil having this much responsibility over him.
"I'm going to loosen the rope. I need you to lean back so that your legs are straight, at right angles to the wall. Then you can literally walk back down- or jump, if you want."
Clint shot Phil a doubtful look as the rope began to loosen.
"Let go of the wall and hand onto your rope." Phil called.
Clint shook his head, and held tightly to the rock face. "Hell no!"
Slowly, Phil was beginning to see a fault in his plan. If he had let go of the rope whist Clint was climbing, the boy simply could have held on to the wall. However, if he was going to abseil down there was only a miniscule chance of Clint being able to catch himself, and Clint had realised this too.
"I won't let you go!" Phil said, but Clint adamantly held on.
"Well how are you going to get down?" Phil asked.
"I don't need the harness!"
"Clint, if you take off that harness I will crush you in paperwork."
Clint glanced down at the older man, looking fearful.
"Metaphorically." Phil added hurriedly. "Metaphorically crush."
Clint raised an eyebrow in something that may have been amusement. Phil realised that although Clint was hanging a hundred feet off the ground, refusing to get down because he wasn't prepared to let Phil lower him, he was still enjoying himself.
"Look," Phil called up. "Slowly let go of the wall so you're just hanging by the rope."
"No."
"Clint-"
"No."
"I won't-"
"Nope."
There was a pause in the argument. Clint stared down at Phil with an intensity that Phil had never seen before, let alone in someone of his age. Too late, Phil realised what a massive thing he was asking Clint to do.
Clint didn't trust anyone. At all. Literally no one out of all 7 billion people on the planet. But he didn't trust them even for little things such as buying him the right sandwich or lending him a reliable pencil. So if he didn't trust anyone for such mundane, insignificant things like that, how on earth was he suddenly going to trust someone to hold him nearly a hundred feet off the ground with a thin piece of rope? He realised Clint had only agreed so readily to use the climbing wall because he trusted himself not to fall. But he certainly didn't trust Phil to not let him fall. Phil swore under his breath, and then moved away from the wall.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Clint asked, a trace of apprehension lining his voice.
"I'm tying your rope down, and them I'm coming up." Phil said, securing the rope on the ring on the floor, and then pulling on his own harness.
"Wait, why?" The apprehension was growing.
"I'm going to climb up with you, and then I'm going to give you control over my rope." Phil said as he began to climb, tightening his own rope as he ascended.
"Why?" There was slightly less fear this time, more just bewilderment.
"Because I'm going to prove that I trust you, so you can trust me."
"No I can't."
"Why not?" Phil asked, continuing to climb.
"It just doesn't work like that."
"Yes it does- trust if earned. I'm earning it, that's how it works."
"Maybe for normal people." Clint mumbled. If Phil had been any further away, he wouldn't have heard.
"It's going to be pretty hard for you to learn to trust anyone Clint- we both know why. But I'm not asking you to trust everyone you meet. At the moment, I just want you to trust Jane and I. And if you let it, it'll come."
Clint stared at the man below again, before pulling himself up onto the top of the climbing wall, where Phil joined him shortly after. There was a metre ledge at the very top of the wall, and from it Phil could see the training room from almost a hundred feet above. Clint was sat with his back against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He looked tired, almost weary.
Phil sat beside him, and was pleased that although he sat only a foot away, the kid didn't move.
Clint rested an elbow on his knee and rubbed his hand through his hair. "Nothing makes sense." He muttered.
Phil crossed his legs, rested his elbows on his knees and looked across at the boy beside him. "In what way?"
Clint was silent for a moment, scrunching his eyes shut. "People spend their time yelling at me or beating me up- that makes sense. But here none of that has happened- well aside from Green. But why? Why don't you just act like everyone is supposed to act?"
Phil stared. "Supposed to act?" But realistically, Phil understood what Clint meant. The abuse had become the norm- other than a few, unreliable exceptions, Clint had never known kindness. So when Phil and Jane come along, doing nothing to harm him, in Clint's mind it makes sense that they weren't doing what they were supposed to be doing.
Clint didn't reply, he just leant his head back until it touched the wall with a thud.
"Clint… Ok. At first I was told to find you, to bring you in or take you out-"
Clint straightened, staring at Phil in shock. "You were ordered to take me out?"
Phil silently cursed himself. "Yes, but-"
"Well why didn't you?" Clint demanded, fear edging itself between his shattered mental walls.
"I didn't even consider taking the shot, Clint. Because all these people told me about the child inside you, not the assassin, and then I realised that you were only really a 16 year old who made the wrong choices- or even who didn't make any choices at all, but was forced into doing what he was doing simply to survive. And they told me about all the horrible things that people had done to you, and I realised that I needed to help you, Clint, not just "bring you in"."
"But why do you want to help me?" Clint asked with trace of desperation as his voice rose.
Phil paused, frowning. "Because… because what happened to you wasn't fair. I wanted to give you a chance to be happy, to be a kid, to be calm and to feel safe. I wanted to help you because it was the right thing to do."
Clint stared at Phil with almost complete uncomprehending, but maybe, just maybe there was a trace of something else in the back of his eyes. Understanding at last. But then he lowered his eyes again. "I don't think I'll ever feel safe, Phil." He mumbled.
Phil jumped to his feet. "Yes you will. And I'm going to prove it right now. You've going to lower me off this wall, and then I'll lower you. I'm showing you that you're safe because I've got your back. You don't have to always look over your shoulder, you don't have to look after yourself anymore, understand?"
Clint stared up at Phil with a sense of disbelief, and maybe a slight amount of awe. "You are seriously into this, aren't you?"
Phil smirked, raising one eyebrow. "You've only just realised?"
Clint smiled slightly back.
Phil got Clint to bolt himself to a ring on the wall behind him, pointing out that as he was much lighter, he would be pulled over the edge. He quickly taught him how to use the belay, and began to lover himself over the edge.
"See, I hold the rope, not the wall." Phi demonstrated. "And keep my legs straight- it's easy."
Clint lent over the edge to watch Phil's decent, letting the rope through as he did so. Phil landed on his feet, spreading his arms wide. "See! It's fine. Now it's your turn."
Slowly, Clint swapped his harness with Phil's so that the agent had the belay. He then began to lover himself over the edge so that he was clinging to the top of the wall by his finger tips. His hands were shaking and sweating, and his breathing had escalated even though he hadn't done anything yet. Why was he so scared? Clint wasn't entirely sure. He wasn't scared of heights- he loved heights. Nor was he especially scared of falling. But he couldn't physically let someone else be that responsible over his own safety. It wasn't that he didn't trust anyone else- it was far, far beyond a lack of trust. He just couldn't do it. Not even once had someone been reliable to Clint- his mother had never been around, Stan never stopped his father, no one ever stopped Peter Moore- and there had been other adults at the orphanage who had known precisely what was going on. But they had done nothing. Teachers, "friends", family, all of the people who knew what had been happening never, ever properly helped . Moral support was never enough.
Clint groaned, tightening his grip on the wall and letting his forehead drop onto his forearm. "I can't do it." His voice was quite and shaky, but Phil heard.
"Yes you can. You can trust me Clint. Hell, this is probably the hardest thing you'll ever do- and the most difficult bit will be letting go of the wall. But just let go Clint. You can do it." Phil's voice was also quite, but calm, and soothing.
Clint shakily took a couple of deep breathes. Slowly, he leaned back as far as he could without letting go with his hands.
"Come on Clint." Phil said quietly. "You can do it."
Slowly, so slowly, Clint let go. He gripped the rope as tightly as he possibly could, hands shaking, slipping, teeth chattering, his breath coming out on short gasps. Phil gave him more rope until he was vertical from the wall. If Phil let go, Clint wouldn't be able to catch himself.
"Well done." Clint could hear the smile in Phil's voice. "Now just walk yourself down. You've done the hard bit, Clint."
Clint trembled, put one foot behind the other, hesitating. And then he moved. Once again, a snail's pace- a strange comparison to his accent up the wall where he had been so fearless and free. But he kept moving, one foot and then the other. His hands loosened on the rope fractionally.
And then suddenly the ground was there, jarring him to a stop. His legs trembled and he swayed, shaking and white. He pushed his hands into his hair, hiding his eyes.
Phil approached steadily, and then, ignoring his internal warning, he slung an arm over Clint's shoulders, grinning. "Clint, that was fantastic. Well done." Although he didn't speak loudly, Clint could hear the sincerity in his voice. He took one shuddering breath, and then another. "That was the hardest thing I've ever done." He said quietly.
"I know." Phil replied. Sensing Clint's growing discomfort, he pulled away. "Well done."
Clint shot him a shaky grin, and Phil grinned back, clapping him on the shoulder. "Come one," He said, "Let's get something to eat."
.
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THE INTERNET STOPPED WORKING! I kid you not, I've restarted my laptop twice and rebooted the WIFI about 9 times and now it's nearly midnight. Still, that's dedication folks!
Ok there was more angst here. But there is a happy chapter coming up next! Yes you heard me right! And actual chapter with happy things and considerably less angst! It will be a bit shorter than the other chapters but I think it's time for a bit of recreational fun- and in the next chapter Clint And Phil Go Out (dramatic capital letters- not dating, just to do fun things) So yes, they will be going out to do something fun and not related to killing people- wow.
So I'm sorry for the late update! (Well actually it's an early late update- a day early at a late hour). But I really want to do some posting before I go away on wednesday. So I'll be posting tomorrow at a more normal hour as the next chapter is basically completely ready.
So thank you for reading again! Thanks for all the reviews, favorites and follows, please review again because reviews are like my writing oxygen, and they spur me on to type faster. So thanks! Also review! And the worst of the angst is over! There will be occasional sad bits and one massively sad bit but I'm cracking into the more major story line now. Exciting times. Thanks!