Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you for your patience! I'm a little behind schedule due to getting sidelined by the stupid flu last weekend. And I struggled a bit with this chapter, just trying to figure out how to bridge to the next part. It was wandering aimlessly after this initial scene for a while, but I THINK I've brought it all together in the end. And just so no one gets lost, this first scene picks up just after where we left off in the last chapter, and then after the break we make another big time jump. Also worth noting, I'm VERY excited to get to the next part! So, stick with me, because things are about to start picking up!

Shout outs to those who reviewed Chapter 10! Arie'Lizbeth; Onlyinitforthestories2; ELOSHAZZY; IceDragoness1; Hatter5151; XYZArtemis; TheRedScreech; Guest; and EmotionallyConstipatedOops! You guys are the best! And with nine reviews, it's officially my most reviewed chapter! Woot woot!

Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanza, Happy Hanukkah, Merry Winter Solstice and Happy Anything Else You Celebrate to everyone currently reading this! I very much appreciate all of you and hope you have happy and safe holidays!


Chapter Eleven

Despite the fact that it was approaching midnight by the time he got back to base, Phil wasn't really surprised to find that the light in Jac's office was still on. Even though the door was open, he knocked lightly, drawing Jac's gaze from the paperwork she'd been sorting.

"I just wanted to thank you for helping out with Barton tonight," Phil said, hovering in the doorway. "He didn't give you too much trouble, did he?"

Jac shook her head. "Minimal snarking and only a few eye rolls. I was actually pretty impressed. He's more chatty than he was when he first came here."

Phil nodded. "He's come a long way in just two months. There's still setbacks now and again, but overall he's adjusting better than I thought he would."

Almost like he belongs here already. He didn't voice that thought though.

They had finally seemed to have reached a balance in the last two weeks. There had been no more panic attacks, with Phil mindful of giving Barton breaks up on the roof at least every couple days. It was considered an unwinding time, one that was left unstructured. Outward resentment from other recruits has fizzled, with only a few still holding on to grudges... although there was still a fair amount of the staff and other agents that would give the pair suspicious glances. Still, Phil was counting any progress as a win for now. Barton had relaxed somewhat and overall, they seemed to have settled into a nice rhythm.

"I agree," Jac said, fixing him with a knowing gaze. "I was even a little impressed by how much first aid he already knew. Although that's a bit disheartening at the same time, since it probably means he's used to patching himself up." She paused and leaned back in her chair. "Now, do you want to come in and tell me what you were really up to tonight?"

"Was I that obvious?" Phil asked with a slight frown as he walked further into the office, dropping heavily into a nearby chair.

"You haven't left Barton's side for two months," Jac said. "Then, out of nowhere, suddenly you need an entire evening for some vague SHIELD business. It doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together."

"Do you think Barton put that together?" Phil asked. It wasn't something he was ready to spring on the kid just yet.

"Barton's not stupid," Jac pointed out what Phil already knew. "He knows there's more to this evening than what you were letting on. But I didn't get the sense that he was dying to know where you really were, so I doubt he'll dwell too much on it. You might be able to get away with it if you don't bring it up yourself." She tilted her head slightly, studying him with concern. "It looks like you didn't get good news."

"I'm still…" Phil had to pause and search for the right word, "processing."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jac asked.

"The more I find out about this kid… the more tragedy I uncover," Phil said, leaning to one side and rubbing a hand over his forehead. "He's only seventeen years old and I can't even wrap my head around what he's been through. Lost his parents at six and very likely had an alcoholic father. Got bounced around to four different homes in the foster system, at least two of which he was physically abused in and the only good one he seemed to have he lost after the mother died. And then… he finally found a good place with this traveling carnival. For five years he had what seemed to be a safe, happy place. And then, that is violently taken away from him when he is attached and almost killed by his mentor." Phil took in a shuddering breath. "The fact that this kid is at all functional is nothing short of miraculous."

Jac was quiet as she seemed to grimly absorb this onslaught on information. Most of it she had already known – somewhere along the way she had become Phil's confidant with this whole situation. It was something Phil was extremely grateful for, because he wasn't sure how he would handle this overwhelming situation if he had to keep everything bottled up. She hadn't known about the horrific betrayal from Barton's former mentor though, and Phil wasn't in any state of mind to soften the blow. She looked a bit ill as she leaned forward and braced her elbows on the desk in front of her, lost in thought for several long minutes.

"Barton is resilient, you have to give him that," Jac finally said quietly. "I mean, despite the well-earned trust and abandonment issues, you're right, he's amazingly functional."

"But…?" Phil prompted, sensing there was more that she wanted to say.

"It's not necessarily a 'but,'" Jac hedged. "More of a however." She took a deep breath, pushing off her elbow and sitting up again. "On the one hand, you have the opportunity to give this kid stability. There's no question at this point that he'd make an excellent SHIELD operative and this could certainly be exactly what he needs to get his life on track. However… you have to be all in with Barton, Phil. It's going to go beyond just getting him through the next couple months until he turns eighteen and then sending him off into the training program and moving on with your life. You know as well as I do that SHIELD is run by human beings, who can be fickle and flawed. If you dump him in the program and leave, eventually he will fail."

She met his gaze. "His sense of stability is not going to come from the organization as a whole. It will have to come from one specific person. You have to decide if you can commit to sticking with Barton for as long as he needs you to. Because if you can't do that, then you need to start backing away now before he gets more attached."

Phil quietly contemplated that. She was right, of course. It wasn't something he had really allowed himself to think about until this point, having been too focused on just getting Barton to his eighteenth birthday. He had been too busy just focusing on the present, he had neglected to put much thought into the future.

It was a fair question. Could he really commit to Barton like that? Could he put his entire career at SHIELD on hold for this kid that he had only known for a few months?

But the truth was, looking at the situation from his perspective, Barton had done that very thing for him. He was trusting him, despite all his instincts probably screaming at him not to. That trust was paper thin some days, but against all the odds it was there all the same. If Barton could find it in him to do that, after everything he's been through, couldn't Phil do the same?

"It's not a question you have to answer tonight," Jac assured him. "Sleep on it. But just know, the longer you're with this kid, the worse it's going to be if you decide you have to bow out."

Phil nodded. "Thanks, Jac. I appreciate it."

"Hey, if I'm not here for blunt honestly, then I have no idea why I'm here," she said with a smile. "Now go get some sleep, Phil. You look like shit."

Phil snorted a laugh. He couldn't appreciate Jac enough. She had become a close friend and confidant over the last couple months, to the point where Phil could hardly remember a time before she had arrived. She had such a strange mix of blunt honestly and true compassion, but it was exactly what he needed in this situation.

And it was all because of Barton. If not for him, Phil probably wouldn't have stepped foot in the infirmary in all these months. The kid had knocked him out of his routine and comfort zone. But maybe that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"You get some sleep too," Phil said heavily pushed himself to his feet. "Don't let them bury you alive with paperwork… I'm sure I'm going to mess up with Barton again soon and I'll need you around to fix it."

"If you think I'm up this late because of paperwork, then you are more unobservant than I thought," Jac said as she began to pack up the paperwork that littered her desk.

Phil smiled. Of course. She had been deliberately waiting up to hear what Phil had found out.

"I'm a bit off my game tonight," Phil admitted, suppressing a yawn as he turned and headed out of the office.

Phil returned to his quarters, immediately collapsing in bed as the exhaustion from the day overtook him. He didn't sleep well though. He was woken several times throughout the night by dreams of screaming and blood… by dreams of a small boy that he couldn't protect from demons who wanted to hurt him.


"Look alive, Anderson, or I'm gonna let him knock your ass out!" Reynolds barked.

Phil smirked as the recruit – Anderson – went to dodge out of the way of Barton's feigned punch, and instead went right where Barton had wanted him to: tripping over a strategically placed foot and stumbling to the ground. Hank Reynolds, the head trainer in charge of the recruits, rolled his eyes as Anderson struggled to scramble back to his feet, but it was clear that he was also impressed by Barton.

It had been a tense process trying to incorporate Barton into sparring with other recruits. Despite his initial eagerness, Phil had seen a lot of Barton's control deteriorating when he was placed in the ring for the first time, his fight or flight instinct taking over as he faced off against a stranger. It seemed that in the heat of the moment it was hard for Barton to remember that this was just practice, and not a do or die situation. For Barton, this was not an exercise to build on skill – he had already passed these new recruits with his natural skill alone – but an exercise in focus.

Phil had to physically pull the kid from that first match after he broke a recruit's nose and almost broke his arm immediately taking him down. It didn't do him any favors in smoothing things over with the recruits, but it had been a necessary process to get through. After a few more tries though, and with Phil hovering close by under the guise of coaching, Barton had finally relaxed into the activity.

Just about three months in and Barton was finally starting to seem like a normal recruit. In another month and a half when he turned eighteen, Phil could certainly see Barton taking to the program like a fish to water.

Barton stepped back to allow Anderson a moment to regain his footing – a courtesy he had to learn to grant – his arms still hovering in a loosely defensive position, ready for Anderson's somewhat sloppy attempt at an offensive. The recruit was rattled by Barton, clearly angered by having his ass handed to him so easily in front of his training class by a kid who was a solid four years younger than him.

Phil pushed up from his crouched position at the edge of the mat, standing up to full height. Barton's eyes flicked to him knowingly even as he blocked an admittedly powerful roundhouse kick with both arms, pushing back to throw his opponent off balance. It was Phil's signal that Barton's sparring partner was about to lose his cool and that he should wrap it up.

This wasn't the first time they had run into this problem. As it turned out, when a seventeen-year-old without any real formal training kicks the asses of guys who had been working and training their whole lives for an opportunity like this, egos were easily bruised. And after that first match that had ended so disastrously, even though there was no permeant damage to that recruit, Barton had a bit of a target on his back.

Pressing his advantage while Anderson was off balance, Barton slid in closer and delivered two hard jabs to the chest, sending the recruit stumbling backward. He pursued, his eyes flashing dangerously… but the look was gone by the time that Phil tensed, before he could even think of intervening. That was a huge improvement on Barton's part, to be able to control the instinct to take things too far in a sparring ring.

This is just practice, Phil reminded Barton lowly before every sparring match. You're not looking to seriously hurt anyone. Just take it nice and easy.

The takedown was clean, if a little hard as Anderson let out a pained grunt as he hit the mat. Barton dug his knee into his opponent's back, twisting his arm back behind him in order to solidly pin him to the floor. Then he calmly leveled his gaze on Reynolds, waiting for him to call the match while Anderson squirmed to no avail.

"Alright, alright, this is pathetic," Reynolds finally said with a sigh. "Match to Barton. Let him up, kid."

Barton was already letting go of the recruit, quickly backing away toward Phil as Anderson was angrily pushing himself to his feet, sputtering indignantly.

"Nice job, Barton," Phil complimented lowly as Barton approached. He jerked his head toward the bench behind him. "Get some water."

Barton shot an uneasy look at the group of recruits on the other side of the mat, but then he turned and headed over to the bench, reaching for the water bottle.

There was some controlled chaos after that, as Reynolds organized the next match and the recruits were all shifting around, a few of them heading for the nearby locker room as they were finished for the day. Phil admittedly was slightly distracted by who Reynolds was pitting against each other next… but glanced over just in time to see an angry Anderson breaking away from a group heading for the locker room.

"Incoming," Phil warned lowly as he carefully slid between Barton – his back still to the rest of the room – and the approaching recruit. Barton stiffened and out of instinct more than anything, Phil balled his hand in the back of Barton's shirt to keep him from turning toward the intended confrontation.

"He shouldn't even be here," Anderson snapped, his hands balled into fists but left down by his sides. He wasn't looking for a rematch, the recruits all knew by now that they couldn't get near Barton with Phil there, he was just looking to let off some steam. But Phil knew that letting the guy near Barton wasn't going to end in simply an exchange of words. Barton didn't do words. "He shouldn't be allowed to participate in training when he's not even a recruit here."

"That's not for you to decide, recruit," Phil snapped. "Now back up."

But Anderson continued to advance. "What, is he scared? Scared of what he would do if you let go of the leash? The guy is dangerous Coulson, when you have to stand between him and anyone with a problem with him, that's a red flag. He's gonna snap and really hurt somebody again, and that's gonna be on you."

Phil now had a hand firmly planted on Anderson's chest to keep him from advancing further, his other hand still balled in the back of Barton's shirt. Barton, to his credit, didn't try to turn, keeping his back to the scene and out of the confrontation.

"You're the only hot head in this situation, Anderson," Phil growled. "Now back the hell up before I have you running laps until lights out."

Anderson glared. "Yeah, whatever. Keep treating Barton with kid gloves. See how that works out when you throw him into the deep end." Then he stormed away.

It was only when he disappeared into the locker room that Phil let go of Barton's shirt. And it was only as he did so that he realized grabbing the kid's shirt was probably not appreciated by Barton, who tended to avoid any kind of physical contact outside of the sparring mat.

"Sorry," Phil apologized as Barton turned, not missing the way the kid took a small step away from him in the process. "I didn't mean to grab you like that. It was just instinct."

"S'ok," Barton mumbled, not quite looking at him. "Can we get outta here?"

"Yeah, let's go," Phil agreed.

He allowed Barton to lead the way out of the training room, noticing the way the kid threw open the door to the hallway with more force than was necessary, sending it slamming into the wall. He didn't comment until they were a good distance away from the training gym.

"You want to talk about it?" he suggested.

"Can I get some fresh air?" Barton countered.

"Sure," Phil agreed. They were due for some outside time anyway and he knew Barton to be more forthcoming without four walls and a roof making him feel penned in.

In just the past week, Fury had given permission to give Barton more liberal time outside of the building. It was a testament to Barton's improvement with working within the system, but it was also a testament to Fury's desire to have him stay. He was clearly impressed by Barton's skills – though still tight-lipped about admitting it out loud – and it was his way of extending his own form of trust and respect toward the kid. And with this new freedom, Phil was hoping to get Barton more involved with the training programs.

However, he was still hesitant to take that step, given the tension that still existed between Barton and many of the recruits.

Phil waved Barton on to lead the way and fell in half a step behind him. He was making more of an effort these days to let Barton lead, mindful of how it not only gave the kid a sense of freedom, but also a sense of confidence. He walked a little taller with a steadier set to his shoulders than he did when he had first arrived here, physical proof that Barton's mindset had improved drastically since he had been here.

This place was good for Barton. Phil was damned sure of that. And he was committed to doing whatever was necessary to helping him be successful here.

He had to scan his own badge in order to unlock the door to the roof, but again Barton led the way outside. It was a warm day, summer in New York now in full swing. The sun was shining brightly, but a rainstorm from the night before gave the area a slight musty smell from where shadows had kept the water from drying up completely.

As Barton inhaled the fresh air, Phil could almost see a physical weight lifting off of the kid's shoulders.

As had become their routine, Phil didn't press Barton to talk to him while they were up here. The roof was Barton's time to do what he wanted. Sometimes he would talk to him and sometimes he would remain comfortably silent. Sometimes he would sit on the ledge, looking out to the woods beyond the perimeter fence, and sometimes he would simply wander around the maze that was the rooftop of the extensive SHIELD base. There was a section of the roof that dropped down two stories, and Barton often liked to find new and creative ways to ascend and descend the space.

Today, Barton wandered a little aimlessly through the space, though not straying too far from the access door. He kicked at some of the rocks on the ground, and Phil wondered if he wanted to have some target practice. They still had a few bottles laying around up here that Barton often liked to set up in various places and take out with well thrown rocks. But he didn't stoop to pick up any of the rocks. Instead he shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced over at Phil.

"Why do they get so mad?" Barton asked, seemingly honestly confused. "I did everything right, didn't I? I played by their rules. And they still get mad at me."

It was a fair question. Phil suspected that Barton saw the world mostly in terms of black and white. He didn't really understand that the majority of the world operated in shades of grey. He weighed his words carefully before he spoke.

"Generally, when recruits come into this program, they are all around the same skillset. We get the best of the best and build them up from there. But having the best of the best tends to come with abnormally large egos. We get a lot of alpha males that need to learn to share the spotlight… which doesn't come easily to a lot of them. And the nature of competition doesn't tend to help matters. Not all recruits will get the jobs that they want within this organization. So, some see it as in their best interest to tear others down in order to put themselves ahead." He paused. "Then you walk in here, years younger than the youngest of the recruits, and start showing them up… I'm actually surprised that there's only a few who are outwardly showing their frustrations."

Barton was quiet as he considered that.

"Seems counter-productive," Barton observed. "Considering we're all supposed to be on the same side."

"I agree," Phil said. "But it's the process we all have to get through. The ones who let their egos get the best of them won't get far in this organization. And the ones who learn how to work with those that they don't necessarily like or get along with are the ones who will be successful. It's an overall exercise in dealing with situations and people out of our comfort zones."

He was careful to catch Barton's eye before he went on. "I want you to know that I'm proud of how you handled that particular situation. The fact that you were able to let go and let me handle it was a huge improvement on your part. It most definitely does not mean that you're scared. Quite the opposite in your situation. You were brave enough to leave your back exposed, trusting that I wouldn't put you in a situation where you were going to get hurt. So, don't for one second let that nobody who has no idea how far you have come get into your head. Okay?"

Barton swallowed, then nodded, looking quietly relieved at the assurance.

Phil watched as Barton wandered over to the edge of the roof, hopping up on top of the raised ledge. Despite the fact that the ledge was a good foot wide, Barton tended to walk right along the far edge, a mere breath away from empty air as he put one foot right in front of the other. Phil had given up trying to encourage Barton to at least walk more toward the center of the ledge. The activity clearly calmed him, and save for a couple exaggerated wobbles that were clearly only meant to raise Phil's blood pressure, Barton had never come close to falling. And at least he wasn't practicing his handstands on the ledge today.

Barton walked steadily along the ledge, every so often dipping one foot over the edge as if testing the temperature of a body of water… but there was nothing but open air. They watched the sun steadily setting over the horizon.

"What do you think, Barton?" Phil finally prompted as the sun finally disappear, leaving the evening stars hanging over them.

"Study time?" Barton guessed flatly, not looking at him.

"Well done," Phil praised with a smile. "Shall we?"

There was low grumbling, but Barton hopped down off the ledge all the same, trudging in the direction of the access door. He waited while Phil scanned his ID to open the door and Phil waved him in ahead of him.

"We're almost done, you know," Phil had taken to reminding him. "You're just a few weeks away from taking your GED. Then we can cease the study sessions." There was something scratching at the back of his mind though, and had been for a while. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask," Barton said with a shrug as they headed back into the base, making no promises for an answer to the question.

"Why do you hate studying so much?" he asked. "It's not like it's a lot of effort on your part, everything comes to you pretty easily. So, why is a battle every evening to get you to do it?"

It had been something that had come up when he had met with Carson as well – something he still hadn't divulged to Barton. Apparently, Barton studying for his GED had been a battle between him and his older brother while they had been living at the carnival. And Phil wondered if it had caused the rift that had apparently happened between the two, one that was so severe that Barton hadn't once mentioned his older brother in the months he had been here.

Barton was quiet for a minute as they descended the stairs, and Phil suspected that he wasn't going to get an answer.

"I've just never seen a future for myself where studying was going to be helpful," he finally said diplomatically, taking Phil by surprise. "It's always felt like a waste of time to me. I've always just learned things as I needed them, and not much of it has been contained within a textbook."

"Well, now you'll be ahead of the game," Phil pointed out.

Barton shrugged a shoulder, unimpressed by the logic. "I guess."

They got to the briefing room that they had commandeered to be Barton's classroom. Barton dropped into a chair and picked up the small, rubber ball from exactly where he had left it the night before. Phil had figured out that Barton tended to be more compliant when he had something to fidget with. While they worked through the subjects, Barton would toss the ball around, bouncing it off of the walls, ceiling and floor, amusing himself as he indulged Phil with the activity.

But as they settled in, even that activity seemed more muted. There was something about Barton that just seemed especially heavy that evening.

"You feeling okay?" Phil finally ventured about an hour into the study session.

Barton was rolling the ball between his palm and the table absently. "Just… tired," he mumbled.

Phil studied him. The kid had deflated quite quickly that evening. And now that Phil thought about it, he had been losing steam quicker than usual during their nightly study sessions for the past couple evenings now.

"Have you been sleeping okay?" he asked carefully, knowing full well that Barton wasn't likely to admit it if he wasn't.

"Yeah, fine," Barton said automatically, his gaze falling down to the textbook in front of him.

"Uh-huh," Phil hummed, unconvinced. It was times like this that Phil remembered that Barton's trust was still a fragile thing and they still had work to do.

Luckily, he was willing to put in the effort.

He pushed Barton a little father through their study session, but as the kid's eyelids started to sag he decided to call it an early night.

"What would you say if I told you that you could skip going back to your cell tonight?" Phil asked conversationally as they organized his study materials for the next day.

"What?" Barton asked, more confused than anything.

"I think you've earned a break," Phil said. "If you want to try out a different floor tonight, you can crash on the floor in my room."

Barton blinked at him blankly for a moment. "Wouldn't that screw up your paperwork?"

Phil shrugged a shoulder. "I haven't been terribly busy lately anyway," he said. "I could use a challenge." He paused, and when Barton didn't respond he went on. "One night won't cause too much of a fuss at this point. Director Fury trusts you and I know the guards who are working tonight wouldn't mind a night off, since you're the only detainee at the moment. It's up to you, though."

Barton considered that for another long moment.

"You got a window?" he finally asked.

"I do have a window," Phil confirmed.

"Fancy," Barton said dryly. He paused again before he finally shrugged. "Yeah, I guess that'd be okay."

Phil was actually a little surprised that he had gone for it. It was dangerously close to admitting that he wasn't sleeping well by himself in his cell. But he wasn't about to push his luck by pointing that out.

"Alright," Phil said with a smile. "Let's go then."

As they walked, Phil used his phone to send a memo to the guards, saying that he was keeping Barton for an "overnight training exercise." In a way, it wasn't a complete lie. This kid could clearly use some pointers about the benefits of sleeping through the night.

Phil scanned his palm on the reader in order to open the door to his quarters. It was a standard room, not terribly large with a bed, nightstand, dresser, closet and a small, private bathroom attached. Barton looked around the space with a vague amount of curiosity.

"It's a pretty standard set up for most SHIELD employees," Phil told him.

Barton didn't appear to hear him as he moved through the space. He paused at the dresser, on which sat one framed photograph.

"Parents?" he guessed, looking at the two people that stood on either side of a ten-year-old Phil Coulson.

"Yes," Phil confirmed, moving to look at the photograph as well. He answered the unasked question. "They passed away several years ago. My dad was a construction worker and died after an accident at work when I was a teenager. My mom passed from cancer several years later while I was in college."

Barton nodded. Then, after a longer pause than was normally customary, he said, "I'm sorry."

"Me too," Phil said with a sad smile. "They were good people."

"Must have been nice," Barton said quietly to himself.

Suddenly, Barton's words from when Phil had first brought him here on the Quinjet echoed through his head: "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."

"We didn't have a white picket fence," Phil said suddenly, before he had even realized that he was going to speak. "And while my parents were good people, that didn't go for my entire family." He paused. "My dad's brother, my uncle… he was in to some shady stuff. I didn't understand much of it when I was growing up. I just knew that Uncle Jerry would come around at all kinds of crazy hours, usually acting kind of funny. It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized that he was a drug addict."

Barton wasn't looking at him, but by the stiff set to his shoulders, Phil could tell he was paying rapt attention. So, he went on.

"I never did get the full story, but I do know that he came around one night more rowdy than usual. My dad told me to stay in my room. There was a lot of arguing and loud noises that came from downstairs. Then there were sirens outside. I looked out my window and watched as the police took away my Uncle Jerry in handcuffs. When I went downstairs, my mom was crying and had a black eye. My dad told me that everything was going to be okay now, that Uncle Jerry wasn't going to be coming around anymore." He paused, took a deep breath, and with an effort finished the story that he had only told a handful of people over the years. "The next day was when he had his 'accident' at work. No one could really tell how it had happened, the safety measures in place should have prevented it. It took me years to really connect the two events."

There was a heavy silence.

"So… his brother…?" Barton said, glancing over at him.

"No," Phil said, shaking his head. "He was in jail at the time, he had no way to set up the conveniently timed accident. But I think his dealer did. He didn't like his customers getting sent to prison… cut down on business."

Barton turned back to look at the photo. "Why are you telling me this?" There was a suspicious note in his voice. He wanted to know if Phil was expecting something in return.

"I just thought it'd put us on a more even playing field," Phil said with a shrug. "I know about your past from your file. It's only fair that you know something about me too. Don't you think?" Barton didn't answer, and Phil didn't expect him to.

The whole truth was that Phil hoped that this would help smooth things over down the line when Barton inevitably found out just how much Phil had pried into his past.

Phil left the kid there, grabbing his pajamas from where they were folded on the bed and heading for the bathroom. After he had changed and went through his nighty bathroom routine, he reemerged to see that Barton had moved to the window on the far side of the room and was looking out it. He made a mental note, when Barton got his own room – if he got his own room, Phil had to keep reminding himself that Barton's recruitment wasn't a given, that the kid still had the opportunity to turn down the offer – he would need a good view.

"I've got a change of clothes if you want it," Phil offered.

Barton shook his head, his eyes still on the window. "That's okay."

"Bathroom's yours then," Phil said.

After another moment's pause, Barton turned and headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind him. On a whim, Phil walked over to the window and opened it a generous amount. It was a warm night, the cool breeze actually felt pretty nice.

As Barton reemerged, his eyes immediately went to the now open window. There wasn't an obvious reaction… but Phil could have sworn he saw some of the tension release from the kid's shoulders.

"You sure you don't want the bed?" Phil couldn't help but offer. It went against all his instincts to let this kid sleep on the floor. "I don't mind the floor for a night."

"No, I like the floor better," Barton said as he moved over toward the window. "Beds are… too soft. It feels like I'm going to sink down through it. Like a marshmallow."

Well, that was something Phil could at least understand. He had heard former soldiers who were used to sleeping on the ground in Afghanistan for months at a time describe their beds in similar ways when they returned home. But it didn't make it any easier to hear the similar sentiment coming from a seventeen-year-old kid.

Still… Phil felt like he was missing something. He felt like years of sleeping on the ground while at the carnival wouldn't have caused such a strong aversion. But perhaps he was always going to be missing when it came to Clint Barton.

"How about a blanket, at least," Phil tried, not phrasing it as a question as he was already heading for his dresser. He kept a couple extra blankets in the bottom drawer.

Barton rolled his eyes, sending Phil an exasperated look. "Would that make you feel better?"

"Yes, it would," Phil said matter-of-factly as he tossed a blanket to Barton.

Barton easily caught the blanket with one hand and then settled himself propped up in the corner of the room under the open window, placing the folded blanket down on the floor next to him. Phil forced himself not to say anything. He had to pick his battles. Instead, he silently hit the lights and then crawled into bed.

He heard Barton shifting around a little in the dark. Glancing over, he saw in the light from the moon outside that Barton had propped his head up on the wall, angled up toward the open window.

Despite the fact that he had done this for Barton's benefit, Phil found himself relaxing with Barton's close proximity. He had been having anxiety at night ever since that phone call he got while Barton was having his panic attack. It had become routine for Phil to check, recheck and triple check to make sure his phone was charged, and the ringer was nice and loud before he could even try and go to sleep. Being able to glance over and see Barton peacefully drifting off to sleep did wonders for Phil's own peace of mind.

It appeared that Barton wasn't the only one getting attached.

The thing about having the window open though, Phil was up with the sun the next morning. As he rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, he glanced over at Barton and smiled. At some point in the night, the kid had pulled the blanket over his legs, looking marginally more comfortable curled up in the corner of the room.

Baby steps, he reminded himself lightly as he headed into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Baby steps.


Author's Note: So, I took some liberties with Phil's backstory, because I don't think there's much of one in canon? I could be wrong about that, but hopefully it works! The next chapter is already pretty far along so I'm hopeful that I'll get it posted next weekend before the New Year! Fingers crossed!


Chapter Twelve Sneak Peak

"Really?" Barton said with a mischievous smirk. "You're gonna let me have my bow out there?"

"Just do me a favor and don't shoot anybody," Phil said dryly as he handed over the weapon.

"I'll do my best," Barton said, the smirk growing to just shy of a full-blown smile.

Phil chuckled at that. "Alright, I'll meet you back here when the training exercise is finished."

That caused Barton to pause, looking at Phil carefully. "You're not staying?" he asked, his tone decidedly neutral.

"Nope," Phil said easily. "You don't need me to hold your hand, kid. You'll be fine."

"Well, I know that," Barton said, seeming to try just a little too hard to be matter-of-fact. "I just wasn't sure that you knew how to do anything without me anymore."

Phil snorted. "Yeah sure. Now get out of here." He waved the kid away toward the gathering group of recruits.