A/N: Thanks to everyone who has commented and followed this story! I really appreciate the support this one is getting! Thanks again to dysprositos, beta-extraordinaire.

Fury would let him back in the field, Clint thought to himself. Fury would let him back in. He grinned at Phil after he read the note and he saw his own relief reflected in Phil's eyes.

The doctor held up another note, explaining that the aids would be tested only for a few minutes tonight, and they couldn't be worn while he was sleeping and they might not be the right fit for him right now, that hearing aids were things that required adjustments and tweaking. Clint nodded, and the doctor leaned in, positioning the aids.

It felt funny to Clint, and if he thought about it too hard it was just absurd to him that he was being fitted for hearing aids; he had only turned thirty-eight a few months ago. But he held his breath while the doctor fiddled with them, and then the doctor leaned back and showed Clint how to turn them on. He did it, and was startled at the sound of monitors beeping and Phil's voice. They weren't terribly comfortable, but he was hearing noises in the room. That was good.

"What do you think, Clint?" he said.

Clint turned his head from side to side and said, "I think I'd rather hear Fury yell at me than not."

They spoke for a while and Clint managed to eat some food and get cleaned up a bit, and Natasha said goodnight, promising to be back in the morning before Clint headed into surgery.

Phil looked at him with a small grin after Natasha left. "You're feeling better," he said.

Clint nodded and fiddled with the aids. "I can hear. There's a plan for the leg. Fury isn't ruling me out. Things are better than they were a couple hours ago." It was so true.

He felt like he might be able to face the things that weren't fixable at this point. Barney was going to die. Barney probably deserved to die. God, how could he even add the probably in after seeing everything his brother had done? But he still didn't know what to make of his feelings about Barney right now, or of Trick Shot's death.

"What was that look about?" Phil asked, after a moment.

"Just assessing," Clint said. "Weighing everything out in my head, I guess."

Phil nodded. "Any balance?"

Clint smiled. "Almost."

"The hearing thing is strange, huh?" Phil asked, settling into a chair near Clint's bed.

"Yeah. Very. Never saw that coming. Don't like it."

"I know. How are the hearing aids?"

"They're uncomfortable, but I can hear you and you sound normal. So good," Clint said with a smile.

Phil leaned over and kissed Clint, long and slow. It felt so damned good to Clint that he figured he could face anything at this point. When Phil pulled back, Clint grinned. "We're at headquarters."

Phil nodded. "Yeah. Tonight I don't care." He rubbed a hand across his face and Clint knew that he was exhausted, too. He'd stuck by him the whole time and Fury had even had a bed sent in, and Clint was well versed in how tiring sitting and watching someone in pain could be.

"We should sleep," Clint said.

"Probably."

Clint pulled Phil back in for another kiss, and then shoved him toward the bed.

Phil laughed and said, "Okay. Okay. Sleep."

Clint watched as Phil lay down on the bed, and he watched as Phil drifted off to sleep, enjoying the feeling in his chest that rose as he watched. He fell asleep shortly after, only waking a couple of times in the night as the nurses checked on him.

The next morning, Natasha came by to see him before surgery and sat with him while Phil actually went home long enough to shower and get a meal at his own table. Clint insisted.

He and Nat sat in comfortable silence for a while, and then talked a bit about SHIELD business. Phil came back and the staff came in to prep Clint for surgery. He waited patiently while they changed his IV bags, explained what they were going to do – muscle repair sounded just gross to him, but whatever.

They left him with Phil and Natasha for a moment before giving him the first level of anesthesia.

"See you on the other side," he said lightly to both of them. Natasha smiled and leaned over and kissed him on the forehead before giving a small wave and leaving the room. Phil brushed Clint's hair out of his eyes and kissed him, long and slow, and then he just winked and left the room. Clint knew he'd be waiting.

As Phil worked on back paperwork for a couple of hours while Clint was in surgery, he tried to anticipate what to expect over the next few days. He made a list of things he had to get done for SHIELD – this FBI case had derailed almost a month for him, something he was very surprised that Fury let slide. He needed to get back on top of things around here.

His list was pretty long, and when he added 'support Clint in recovery' to the list, he knew he'd be busy. Clint was a pain in the ass when he was bored, and recovery tended to bore him, even when he wasn't stuck in medical to do it, so part of Phil's job in the next few days would be to take Clint's mind of the pain and boredom – to entertain him.

After a while, Natasha stopped by his office and told him Clint was finished and that they expected him to be back in his room in about forty minutes. He thanked her and wrapped up what he was doing.

He was right about Clint being bored. He couldn't use crutches right away because of the location of the injury; he couldn't hold up his bad leg at all, so anything but a wheelchair was out. After a day of recovery in medical he was bitching at the nurses, bitching at Phil, and trying very hard not to bitch at Natasha. Phil tried to run interference as much as possible, but Fury did have him back in meetings and he wasn't around as much that day as he wanted to be. Finally, the second day, they let him take Clint home.

He took him back to his own place, gave him the remote for the TV and his bow case and cleaning supplies for it, and left him alone to clean his bow so he could go get some groceries.

When he got back home Clint was asleep with his bow across his chest. Phil moved it back to its case and then unloaded the groceries and set to making a meal for them. He made Clint's favorite thing that he could, a stir-fry with tons of different veggies and chicken. Clint woke up as he was finishing.

"You are the best," he said, stretching and then wincing.

Phil carried a plate over to him. "Don't stretch your leg, moron."

Clint glared at him. "Work on your bedside manner much?"

"Not what you need from me, Barton."

"What I need from you I can't have tonight, so what good are you?" Clint said with a wicked grin.

"Sparkling company. What are we watching?" Phil said.

They chose a movie, ate their dinner, and Phil chuckled when Clint fell back asleep with his plate still on his lap. He moved it, cleaned up the kitchen, and then managed to shuffle Clint back to the bedroom for the night.

The next couple of days were a routine of helping Clint get cleaned up, down to SHIELD for physical therapy while Phil worked, and back to the apartment to crash. They were just getting ready to leave for SHIELD one morning later that week when Natasha showed up at Phil's door looking grave. Phil ushered her in and said, "What's wrong?"

Clint had graduated to crutches and was just coming down the hall from the bathroom. He stopped when he saw her face. Natasha looked up at him and said, "Barney Barton killed himself. I'm sorry, Clint."

Clint stood still for a moment and then moved to the table and sat down heavily in a chair, letting his crutches fall to the floor. Phil looked to Natasha. "What happened?" he asked.

Natasha sat down next to Clint. "We don't know much. The FBI called Fury and I said I'd come tell you. They found him early this morning in his cell. He hung himself, apparently." She reached across to grasp Clint's hand, but he pulled away and wrapped his arms around himself protectively.

Phil moved patiently to the kitchen where he filled a glass with ice water and carried it to the table, setting it down near Clint.

He didn't look up. He was just staring down at his knees.

Clint was quiet for a few minutes. Phil smiled inwardly as Natasha simply fixed herself a cup of hot tea and one for Phil, and then sat down at the table, waiting. She and Phil both knew that words weren't going to help Clint right now, unless he spoke them.

He did, after about ten minutes of silence.

"When I was seventeen, I'd been with Carson's circus for seven years. It was Barney's idea to join, and anything was better than the foster system we were in, so we went. He was looking out for me then. I mean, he beat me up when I screwed up - it's all he knew to do about it, but he looked out for me. Carson even told him, when we asked to join, he'd take Barney but not me, and Barney talked him into it. Said I was little enough to train for an act, and he was right. We worked roustabout jobs for a couple of years, and when I was twelve Trick Shot caught me messing around with his bow. He told me he wouldn't beat the shit out of me if I proved I could use it. I did."

Clint paused and looked up at Phil, "Someone said it was a gift." Phil nodded and smiled, remembering the conversation early in Clint's career when he was uncertain that archery was enough to make him a good agent.

Clint took a deep breath. "Fast forward seven years. Barney never did get into an act, but he was into everything else. He'd officially left the circus, but he still seemed to be around a lot. I knew he was working odd jobs trying to scrape more money together than Carson could offer. I didn't see him much. One night I was trying to hide out from Trick Shot and Duquesne and I picked the wrong place. I overheard Barney and Trick Shot leading a meeting about stealing from old man Carson."

Phil didn't miss the idea that a seventeen year old Clint was trying to hide out from two men, nor did he miss the wrath in Clint's voice as he mentioned the theft from his boss. He loved Clint for his loyalty sometimes.

"I thought I'd hid well enough, but when I climbed down later they were waiting, Trick Shot and the rest of them. Barney, too." He took a deep breath. "Trick Shot caught me, and a bunch of them held me down. He said I could join them, but I refused. So Trick Shot started in on me." He closed his eyes, remembering.

"It was like something snapped that night. Like every time he'd gotten mad before was only the tip. He just kept hitting me. Broke my wrist, broke my hand, generally beat the shit out of me. And then, after all of that, he pulled out a knife and handed it to Duquesne, ordering him to finish me off. Told him to enjoy it, that he deserved the honor since he'd had to put up with me in his act all those years."

'Put up with him.' Phil thought back to Clint's early days with SHIELD, when other agents complained about him – too cocky, bad at following orders, didn't trust his team. Well, this explained a lot. Seven years as a main attraction in a circus, the only orders he ever got as a kid ended up with him getting beat up, and the only people he ever had the opportunity to trust tried very hard to kill him over money. Phil "put up with him" and would willingly do so as long as he could.

Clint's voice got very quiet. "Barney stood and watched the whole time. I was in and out of consciousness after Buck broke my hand, but I could see him standing there. I called out to him, but he ignored me. After Duquesne stabbed me, they left me for dead, every last one of them, including Barney. I didn't hear from him for a year, until the letter."

Phil was staring. He knew he was, and so he moved to Clint's side and crouched down in front of him, putting his hands on Clint's knees. Clint looked up at him and met his gaze. His voice, when he spoke again, was rough.

"I hated him. But I hated Trick Shot more. He was petty and jealous and dirty and mean. But mostly? Mostly I hated him because he took my brother and showed him the wrong things. Barney wasn't good to me all that often – he had seen too much and done too much for that – but he used to look out for me. Before. . . Once he started hanging around Trick Shot he stopped looking out for me. And then he left me for dead with the rest of them. It was dumb luck that one of the roustabouts found me a few minutes after they left. Barney just left me to die." The last words were choked, and he dropped his head to his chest again.

He raised his head and looked at Phil and tears were streaming down his face. Phil reached up and put his hand against Clint's cheek for a moment and Clint leaned into it. After a moment, he stood, and motioned to Natasha to help, and they pulled Clint out of the chair and guided him to the couch, where he sat heavily and leaned forward into his hands.

Phil knew that nothing was clear right now. Clint had killed the man who was responsible for years of abuse, and that had thrown him off. He had lost his hearing, and that had thrown him off. Now he lost his brother, who was as big a rollercoaster of emotion as possible, and that sent him into a tailspin.

Phil sat on one side of Clint and Natasha sat on the other, and they waited for the storm of grief to pass.

Everything probably would have worked out better if Phil and Natasha hadn't been called away for a three day mission that very afternoon.

Phil was livid, but there was nothing Fury could do about it and even through his haze of anger Phil knew that.

"We didn't plan it, Phil," Fury said, pacing his own office. "I know the timing is horrible, but he's a big kid, he can last a few days without you guys. If he can't, well, then maybe-"

"Don't," Phil said, stepping close to his boss and coming as close to insubordination as he ever had in his career."You know this isn't normal and that he's not weak."

Fury nodded and folded his arms across his chest. "I know. You should remember that, too. He'll be okay. PT will keep him busy and I'll order him to stay here on base so someone can keep an eye on him. You two will be back in three days. I wouldn't send you if you weren't absolutely needed, you know."

Phil sighed and ran his hand over his face. "I know. Sorry, sir. When should we report to the landing pad?"

Fury told him he had two hours, and after cursing his way down the hall outside Fury's office, he texted Natasha and headed down to PT to tell Clint.

Clint had insisted on coming into the office and keeping their normal routine for the day after he settled down from the news about Barney, and he was sweating his way through a workout with the therapist when Phil entered the gym. Phil approached and told the therapist to give them ten minutes.

Clint wiped his face with a towel and sat down with a bottle of water on the bench near the wall. Phil sat down next to him.

"You feeling all right?" Phil asked. Clint just shrugged. Phil sighed and clenched his hands together before looking over at Clint again.

"What's wrong, Phil?" Clint said.

"Natasha and I have to go out on a three-day mission in two hours," he said, bluntly.

Clint just stared at him for a moment, and then he slammed his water bottle down on the floor in front of him. A few people stared and then looked away as Phil glared at them.

"It's three days and Fury said we're the only ones who can do it. I looked over the files and I think he's right. Not that it makes a difference. We have to go. I'm sorry."

Clint shook his head. "It's okay," he finally said, and Phil thought his voice sounded tight and strained. "I don't need a babysitter."

"I wasn't going to babysit you, Barton," Phil said, suddenly angry at Clint's attitude.

Clint looked over at him sharply. "I know. I'm sorry."

Phil sighed, his anger leaving as quickly as it came. "It's okay. It's a crap week."

"You're leaving in two hours?" Clint said.

"Yeah. There's more, okay?" Phil said, and Clint nodded. "I'm asking you to stay here on base while we're gone. I don't want you alone in your apartment and Fury said someone from medical would help you when you need it here."

Clint groaned, and Phil said, "Come on. It'll make me feel better. You know that."

"Okay, okay. Fine."

Phil watched as Clint leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "Hey," he said, and Clint looked up. "Go get cleaned up and tell medical you got called away for a quick meeting. Then come by my office, okay?" He wasn't going to walk away from Clint for a three day mission without a proper goodbye.

Twenty minutes later after he'd packed a bag and sat down on the couch in his office to wait, Clint came in on his crutches. His t-shirt wasn't tucked into his jeans, his hair was tousled, and he was pale and obviously worn out; he just stood inside the door after he closed it behind him.

"I'll be okay while you're gone, you know," he said, quietly.

Phil nodded. "Come, sit."

Clint shuffled over to the couch, leaned his crutches down to the floor and sat down next to Phil, leaning in on his shoulder with a sigh. Phil reached around his shoulder and drew him into his chest, tightly. He saw Clint fiddle with the hearing aid on his right ear and asked, "Are they working all right?"

"This one bugs the shit out of me, actually," he replied, taking it out, messing with a setting, and putting it back on. "And yes, I told them about it. I have an appointment tomorrow."

Phil nodded and then looked over and put his hands on Clint's cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss. He watched Clint close his eyes and then felt him sag into the kiss, and felt Clint wrap his arms around his back and cling, desperately. Clint's tongue pressed into Phil's mouth and felt so good, Clint's hands on his back steadied his own breathing, and he let Clint explore and caress, and he breathed deeply, savoring the smell of Clint's aftershave and soap.

Finally, Clint pulled back, running his hand over Phil's jaw line, pressing his other hand into Phil's chest and looking steadily into Phil's eyes before taking a deep, shuddering breath and closing his own eyes, shutting Phil out.

"Clint-" he said, and the Clint cut him off with another deep kiss, his hands raking through Phil's hair and running down Phil's side.

"I don't – I don't know what to do," Clint said, shakily after he pulled away from the kiss.

Phil pressed his forehead against Clint's. "Go to therapy, do what they tell you, eat, sleep, and do whatever you have to do to get through. We'll be back soon, okay?"

Clint nodded. "Okay." He paused. "I hate this."

"Me, too," Phil said. And he did. When Clint was feeling insecure he tended to spin out of control, and this week brought all of his insecurities raging forward. Phil knew how to ground him, how to let routine and physical comfort soothe him, but now he couldn't give it. Now Clint would just spin for three days, and Phil just hoped he didn't break himself or anyone else while Phil was gone.