His chest explodes. Or that's what it feels like. Every nerve in his body is on fire. The pain working through the thick darkness enveloping him. He feels his lungs stretch, taking in air, feels the burn of smoke. Then he sinks back into nothingness.

;;;

The first thing he's aware of is the warmth. An all-over heaviness and heat. Not overly hot, just, perfectly warm. Heaven. It has to be. The last thing he remembered was dying; Hass plunging a knife into his heart. So this had to be heaven. If it was, then maybe the nuns at the orphanage hadn't been lying about how amazing it would be. Because this all-encompassing warmth, Clint had never felt anything quite so wonderful.

Then the smell hit him. It was clean. Too clean. He knew it instantly. A hospital. So, not heaven. But damn, whatever it was that was creating the warm cloud around him, he'd be stealing it to keep at home. He'd be using it non-stop from now on, unless he was on a mission, and he wouldn't be sharing it with anyone. Not even Phil.

Phil…

Phil….

There was something there. A shadowed memory. Something important that he couldn't quite remember.

It came back as Hass's smile filled his mind. Phil! Hass was going after Phil!

Clint bolted upright, eyes snapping open to take in the stark white room around him. Machines beeping loudly around him as his heart raced. Tubes were sticking out of his body. IV and a catheter, and god that was uncomfortable. But it was nothing compared to the pain that shot through his chest. He clutched at the bandages as the cold air bit at his exposed skin. He spared a second to look down at what had been creating the warmth. It looked like some sort of blanket that was being pumped full of hot air.

He pushed past the pain and regretfully flung the blanket off of him. He had swung his legs out of bed and was halfway to his feet when the door opened and Natasha walked in. Her face twisted into a scowl as she spotted him. "What are you –"

That was as far as she got before Clint was stumbling towards her, getting tangled in tubes and cords and still in a haze of painkillers. "Phil. He's going for Phil." Natasha shifted, taking a few steps forward to catch Clint before he tripped over a chair. Clint tried to push away from her. She needed to understand. "Hass. He knows. Please."

"Calm down." Natasha used all of her strength to force Clint to stop pushing against her, trying to get to the door. "You're going to rip your stitches if you're not careful."

"Don't care! Have to get to Phil!" He tried to push past her but his muscles weren't cooperating. The panic in his veins couldn't overpower the pain that tore through his chest. His vision blacked for a second and he would have collapsed to the floor if Nat hadn't caught him. Clint could feel the warmth of blood spilling across his chest. He called up his last reserves of energy to get his feet under him again. "Need to stop him." His words were starting to slur as his body slipped into unconsciousness.

;;;

When Clint next awoke, the cloud of warmth was back but overshadowed by the searing pain that felt like it was splitting his chest in two. He gasped against it, wincing as the movement of his ribs exacerbated it.

"Shhh" An achingly familiar voice accompanied a gentle hand intertwining with Clint's. His eyes snapped open. Phil was there. Sitting in a chair pulled up tight against the side of Clint's bed. Looking as put-together as normal, minus the fine layer of stubble.

"Phil." Clint squeezed his fingers tighter around Phil's, reassuring himself he was real. When the man didn't disappear in a puff of smoke, Clint relaxed, easing himself back against his pillow with an audible sigh.

"You going to tell me what happened?" Clint shook his head. Not yet. He couldn't talk about it yet. The memories of Hass still to fresh. "Nat said you mentioned Hass?" Phil's voice tightened worryingly. Clint just nodded and let his eyes close, to keep back the tears biting at the back of his eyes. "He did this?"

The question didn't make sense to Clint. Shouldn't they know? They saved him, didn't they? He was alive and that meant someone had saved him. If they'd gotten him out of Hass's hideout in time to save his life, then they must have run across Hass. How did they not know that? He opened his eyes to stare at Phil.

Phil must have read the confusion in Clint's face. "Sitwell managed to track your path through the jungle. His team infiltrated the house and found you but a single man was seen disappearing down a tunnel. He locked the door behind him. It took too long to blast it open and the helipad it led to was empty when they got there."

"They must have been damn close, to get to me in time." Clint noted the way Phil's mouth readjusted into a thin line and his whole body seemed to stiffen.

"The doctors estimate that you were dead for less than 30 seconds when Sitwell found you. You're lucky he didn't write you off instantly. I'm told the amount of blood was… significant."

"Tell him I say thanks."

"You can tell him yourself when he gets back." Phil's shoulders didn't relax but he placed his other hand over Clint's, rubbing his thumb in a gentle circle over the skin. "I'm sure that by now someone's informed him that you're awake."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Since when is Sitwell concerned about my well-being? Geez. Go on one op with a guy and he gets all clingy." Clint's smirk falls flat at the way Phil swallows shifts awkwardly. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Clint." Phil hesitated and it made Clint's heart hammer painfully against his chest.

"What is it?"

"It's March." Phil whispered the words. It took a moment for their significance to sink in. Clint's blood turned to ice.

"But… the mission… it was…" He swallowed hard. "It was November."

"Yes. You were in a coma for four months."

"But – I – how?" Pieces weren't fitting together in Clint's head. He reached up for the bandage that covered his chest. The skin underneath aching at even that slight contact. "Why hasn't it healed?"

"It has. Three times already." Phil took a deep steadying breath. "There have been a series of… attacks. One week after you were brought in, a nurse slipped in and stabbed you. She disappeared before anyone knew what had happened. Three weeks later, there was a monster attack on the city. Medical was in chaos. A junior agent with a shoulder injury stabbed you during the confusion. He also managed to escape." Phil's voice was growing thinner, angrier. "After that, I had motion sensors installed in the room. Any time someone moved, I knew. Four weeks in, I started relaxing. A technician disabled the system and stabbed you. We caught up to him, but he put a bullet in his brain before we could get any answers."

Clint didn't respond. Working the information over in his mind. "I knew I was an asshole, but I didn't realize so many agents wanted me dead." He laughed once. The movement hurt his chest.

"They all used the same knife. We think they were sent by whoever tried to kill you in Columbia." He hesitated. "You told Natasha it was Hass?"

Clint gave a small nod. Just enough for Phil to understand. But Clint's mind was elsewhere. Why was Hass sending people to try and kill him? How was he getting to so many agents? How was he getting past SHIELD defenses? Why hadn't Hass gone after Phil? If Clint had been in a coma for four months, Hass could have done anything. So why keep coming after him?

"I was hoping that we'd seen the last of him in Budapest." Phil continued. "We've been trying to track his movements since, but the ma-"

"Phil."

"n's good. We couldn't find a tra-"

"Phil."

"il anywhere. It's like he was a gho-"

"Phil!" Phil finally fell silent. "Can we not? Just for a bit." Phil smiled softly. The gesture was tiny but transformed his whole face. Suddenly Clint needed to feel him closer. More than just a hand on his. "Come here." Clint shifted so that there was space on the bed next to him. Phil sat down next to him, pulling Clint's hand into his lap. Clint shook his head. "Closer." Phil raised an eyebrow as Clint reached up and pulled Phil down until he was lying on his side beside him. The length of his body pressed against Clint's side through the blanket.

Clint huffed. He pushed Phil away, until he neatly rolled off the bed. He ignored the wounded look on Phil's face and pulled back part of the blanket. Phil laughed. "Seriously?"

"Just get in the damn bed."

Phil shrugged off his jacket and shoes before sliding under the blanket and resuming his spot next to Clint. "Better?" he asked as Clint hummed softly.

"Perfect."

Clint closed his eyes and sank back into the bed. They lay together in silence for a while. He felt Phil's hand trace along the edge of the bandage lightly. The touch with only the smallest hint of pressure, that rose and fell with Clint's breathing. The gesture was so small and sweet. Clint remembered Hass's taunt. The words that neither of them had said. That neither of them had ever needed to say. But now, Clint wasn't so sure.

After a while, Clint felt the words burning at the back of his throat. He wanted to say them. Needed to. But he didn't know how to broach the subject. He bit at his lip and took a deep breath, trying to work up his nerve.

"What's wrong?" Of course Phil would notice Clint's internal struggle. Well, better to just say it. Like ripping off a band-aid. Straight to the point.

"I love you."

Phil's fingers faltered for a second before continuing their path along Clint's skin. "I love you, too."

Clint let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Feeling a tension that had been in him since his meeting with Hass finally slip away. He'd known. But it was nice to be sure. To hear the words out loud. Clint made a decision. He grabbed Phil's hand from his chest, spreading it out, palm up. "Close your eyes." He opened his own just long enough to make sure Phil obeyed the order before shutting them again. Then Clint used his index finger to start writing letters on Phil's palm.

They had done this before. Whenever they were in a long debriefing and couldn't say anything out loud. Their hands intertwined below the conference table as they held whole conversations. Or if they were out in the field and needed to remain silent. Or when they were at home together. Alone. It was something Phil had started, much to Clint's amusement. He had often teased him about it feeling like they were high-schoolers.

Clint's finger wrote out the letters. W – I – L – L . He placed his closed fist into Phil's hand, their sign for the end of a word. U. Another closed fist. "Clint, did you really just – " Clint smiled at Phil's protest and kept going. M – A – R – R – Clint felt Phil's body tense next to him as he realized what Clint was writing. What Clint was asking. Clint kept writing. –Y – a closed fist. M – E – He drew a question mark then laid his hand out flat over Phil's. Their sign for the end of a sentence. A signal that it was the other's turn.

Phil's hand shifted and his fingers interlaced with Clint's, squeezing slightly. Clint's heart hammered painfully against his chest as he waited for an answer. He counted out the seconds, waiting for Phil to respond. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. At Sixty he started to feel long forgotten walls slipping into place. Walls that he hadn't felt around Phil since that day when he thought Phil, still just Coulson then, had rejected him. Clint shifted, meaning to turn onto his side, away from Phil, but Phil grabbed his hand to stop him.

Slowly, he felt as Phil guided Clint's hand with his own, moving it up to his lips. Clint felt Phil's lips press carefully against his palm before his tongue touched it, warm and moist. Phil's tongue moved, tracing out letters. Y – E – S and ended it with a kiss against Clint's palm.

;;;

Clint jerked awake as a hand pressed gently against his shoulder. His eyes snapped open to see Nat leaning over him, looking worried. "What part of limited time window didn't you understand." She helped pull him to his feet and threw him his gun as soon as he'd changed his clothes. She led him out of the room and down the hall to the elevator.

"What about Jarvis?" Clint eyed the corners where he knew the AI's cameras were hidden.

"He and I have an agreement." Clint was fairly certain he didn't want to know. But Nat and Jarvis had known each other since before the Avengers. Back when she was undercover and working for Stark. So maybe they were already friends. Clint tried to wrap his mind around the idea of befriending a computer. It felt as ridiculous as when people named their phones.

Once they were buckled into Nat's SHIELD issue black SUV, she turned to him. She seemed hesitant, which felt odd to Clint. Nat was always so sure of herself. "What was the dream?" Clint jerked his head to look at her. She instantly started to back-pedal. "Sorry. You don't have to answer. I was just – "

"You miss him too." Nat nodded once. "It was Columbia. And the hospital after." He saw her lips twitch up into a smile.

"I remember that. Four months of Coulson so on edge that I thought he had finally snapped. Then you wake up and propose." She laughed quietly. "He had me picking out rings with him the moment you fell back asleep. I'd never seen him so excited."

"It was the first time I told him I loved him."

"Yeah, like anyone could have missed that." Nat rolled her eyes. "I mean, the way you two just happened to sit next to each other in every debriefing. Did you really think no one noticed you writing on each other's hands? I'm pretty sure Fury only ignored it because he couldn't think of a way to discuss it without embarrassing himself."

"You're all just jealous."

"Not really. Been there, done that. Nothing to write home about."

Clint laughed. "Bitch."

"You know you love me."

"Doesn't mean you're not a bitch."

"Hey, who's the one helping you talk to Loki." And just like that the air seemed to vanish from the car. The light-hearted mood replaced with the now-familiar ache in Clint's chest. "Sorry."

"No. It's fine. You're right." Clint let his head drop against the window as Nat pulled out onto the nearly empty street. "Do you know what they did with the ring?"

"No."

Clint nodded. He pulled on the chair that hung around his neck. The gold band on the end glinted in the passing street lights. He twisted it, reading the words etched inside. Phil's had the same phrase inside. Three words Clint had chosen. "words are unnecessary"