Hey guys, sorry I didn't update last week. RL got...hectic. So, double update this week to make up for it! Also, if you haven't checked out the new OCD verse side story 'Five times Clint curled up in his blanket and one time he wished he could', you might want to check it out. :)
Warnings, you know the drill.

For the first time since he'd been rescued, Clint awoke slowly and without shock. He just surfaced calmly, completely at ease, which surprised him considering his crying fit the day before. But he didn't feel uneasy or nervous, he felt comfortable, warm, safe. He opened his eyes.

"Hey," Phil said, quietly. He was in the other bed, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. Clint loved all the versions of Phil, but sleepy and relaxed Phil would always be his favourite. When Phil was just falling asleep or just waking up, every emotion showed right on his face. The rest of the time Clint had to work a little harder to figure out what he was thinking and feeling.

"Hey." Clint streteched, then winced. "How long was I alsleep?"

"Um," Phil glanced at the clock and Clint realised with a shock he hadn't felt the need to check it as soon as he'd woken up. He let his eyes follow Phil's. 6:35. "About eighteen hours. You woke up a couple of times in the night, but you went straight back to sleep again."

"I don't remember waking up," Clint frowned and shifted, raising the head of the bed. As he moved upright, a weight slid down his chest to pool in his lap. He looked down. "Oh," he said, and reached out to stroke his fingers against the blanket.

"Natasha picked up some things for us."

"Thanks." Clint didn't look up; he just let his hands move against the softness of the blanket.

"Are you okay?"

"Hmm? I... I think I'm better. Better than I was yesterday, anyway. I think I needed to get rid of the nerves and everything." He shrugged sheepishly.

"Getting a good night sleep probably didn't hurt either."

"Yeah." Clint lifted the blanket and spread it evenly over him, pulling it up so it was tucked under his chin. He remembered doing something similar with the towel in his cage. But the towel wasn't this warm or soft; the towel wasn't familiar, it wasn't laid over him by someone who loved him.

Steve looked at the clock worriedly. He had been expecting Tony earlier than this. Bruce was fiddling with his fork.

"He did say he was coming?"

"Yeah. I... think so?"

"What do you mean, you think so? The only reason I didn't go down there myself was because you said you had it under control and Tony had promised to meet us for breakfast."

"He did. I'm sure he's coming." Steve darted a nervous glance at the door.

"Guys, he's probably just hung over." Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Why do we not ask the spirit of the house where he is?" Thor looked up at the ceiling expectantly.

"Sir is currently in the shower, trying to wake himself up. I project his arrival in ten to fifteen minutes." Jarvis' tone was caught between amusement and something that sounded a lot like worry.

"Is he okay?" Steve asked. He'd spent most of the night second guessing himself and worrying that he had made the wrong move with Tony.

"He is..." the AI hesitated. "I believe Sir is going to be fine. His mood is much better than it usually is following these episodes."

"He has flashbacks regularly?" Bruce asked, his grip tightening on the fork.

"No. Not anymore. But they were a common occurrence shortly after Sir's return from Afghanistan." Jarvis hesitated again. "He has been doing so much better." This time the computer sounded wistful. None of the others knew how to respond to that.

The pancakes were getting cold.

Tony leaned heavily against the wall of the shower. He didn't like water very much sometimes. When he'd first woke up at the US base, he'd dragged himself out of the bed and went and turned on the shower. Rhodey had tried to force him back into bed, but when Tony made it clear that he wasn't going along with that, he held him up. Tony had just wanted to get clean. To wash the blood and sand away. The second the water had hit his skin he'd panicked, thinking he was choking.

They'd held him down and he couldn't breathe and filthy, rotten, metallic taste in his mouth, up his nose, his eyes...

He'd punched Rhodey and scrambled for solid ground.

After his setback last night, the thought of showering had been daunting. It was his test of himself. If he could stand in the shower long enough to scrub his skin and wash his hair, then he was okay. It was his own private measuring stick.

This morning? He was okay. Not brilliant (when he'd accidentally breathed in some water, he'd flailed around, trying to fight off attackers who weren't there) but okay. He needed to calm the fuck down, get dressed and get to breakfast. For once, the drama wasn't about him. He needed to focus on Clint. They all did.

He dried and dressed and tried on a smile. Then he went out to face the world.

"Hey kids, what's the plan for today?" He swept into the kitchen, grinning, and made a beeline for the coffee pot.

"Tony?" Bruce blinked and dropped his fork with a clatter. "Are you...?"

"Yep." He busied himself with the pouring of coffee and the adding of sugar, his shoulders tight. "Seriously, what's the plan? Did Jarvis say something about gifts, or did I imagine that?"

"No..." Steve looked around at the others and saw confusion and caution on their faces. He shrugged and so did they. "No, you didn't imagine it. We were talking about getting some things for Clint. Just a few small things to make him feel better."

"That's a great idea," Tony smiled and turned around. "Why didn't I think of it?" he sat down at the table and pulled a face at the congealed eggs and cold pancakes. "I'm not hungry," he said.

"You don't have to eat," Bruce replied. "We should be getting ready to go anyway." He stood up, and Steve and Thor followed suit (Steve frowning slightly as he did so.)

"You guys go ahead. I need to talk to Tony," Natasha said and then took a sip from her orange juice, calm as you like. Bruce narrowed his eyes, but smiled and nodded, leading the others away.

"What?" Tony had a million thoughts racing through his head. Was she going to tell him off for getting drunk the way Pepper always did? Was she going to say something stupid like 'I understand'? Was she going to have a go at him for upsetting Clint?

"Clint isn't eating," she said. "He trusts you, so I need your help."

"What do you need?"

"Do they make portable kitchens?"

"Uh..." Tony frowned, and then nodded slowly. "If they don't, I'll be able to sort one out. There's an unused storeroom down the hall from his room, we can keep it in there when he's not using it so it's out of the doctors' way." He paused. "How is he?"

"I went to see him last night, brought some things from their floor." She shook her head. "He slept the whole time I was there. He kept almost waking up, talking in his sleep, moving around, but then Phil would say something, and he'd just drift back off."

"Oh." Tony fiddled with his mug and Natasha rolled her eyes. She wasn't good at this. She didn't do the whole 'comforting motherly' thing.

"He's going to be fine. He's been tortured before. He's been hurt before. His whole life has been one mess after another. There's no way that he will let this stop him."

"I know." Tony smiled a little. She hoped he was applying the statement to himself as well.

"Good." She smiled, but he didn't see it. He was still staring into his cup like it held all the answers. "Come on. We need to get going."

"Come on, Clint. You need to pick one."

"I don't want to."

"I know. I get that, believe me, I do. But you need to. You need a doctor to check on you, to refer you to a physiotherapist, to make sure you're getting the right medication. What if you had a bad reaction to the antibiotics? It wouldn't be the first time. Or what if something else happens? You need a doctor here. Please. I can't... if something happened..."

"Phil, don't. Please don't." Clint rubbed a hand through his hair. It hurt the burn on his hand, but he didn't care. "I can't... I can't do this. I can't put myself in someone else's hands. I can't just give myself to them."

Phil sighed. Clint had always had issues with authority and especially with doctors. Phil knew it came from the way Clint had grown up, and usually it made him feel privileged. He'd been in a position of power over Clint for years and yet Clint trusted him completely. But right now, it just made him tired.

"How about this? We put Jarvis on watch. You trust him, I know you do, and I trust him too. We get him to keep an eye on everything that happens here. If anyone tries to do anything without your permission, then he has security systems in place to protect you. I'm going to be here too. Whoever we pick, I'm going to make sure that nothing bad happens to you." Phil smiled slightly. "Let me take care of you."

Clint looked at him for a long moment. Then let out a long sigh, all the air went out of him, and with it, the fight.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. I trust you. you won't let them hurt me. Okay."

"Okay." Phil was sitting on the edge of his bed and he reached across the gap to stroke a hand down Clint's arm. His usual method of reassurance was to stroke Clint's cheek or hair, but the last time he'd tried that, he'd got a pretty bad reaction. He'd filed it away and tried not to think about it. "Which one do you like the look of?"

"I..." He looked around at the holographic files floating around his bed. "That one." He stuck his hand through one of the blue tinted images. "That one looks good."

"Okay. Jarvis, that all sound good to you?"

"Yes, Agent Coulson. I would be honoured to do what I can to make Agent Barton comfortable. I will get in touch with Dr Ramirez post haste."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, thanks Jarvis."

"It's my pleasure, sirs."

"Okay?" Phil asked, just to be sure.

"No," Clint replied, then smirked and it was so much like the real Clint that Phil smiled back. "But this is good. This is okay."

"Good," Phil smiled, all proud, and Clint smiled back.

Warnings: PTSD, mental health issues.