"Clint?" Natasha called into the dark room, "you in here?" Everything was in disarray and the blinds were drawn.
"Yes. I… don't really want anyone else to be…" he said. She then saw him, his hair messy, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, sitting on a crate in the shadows. Tasha tried her best not to step on any of his things. There were marks on the wall opposite the bed; damaged trinkets lined the floor. He must have been throwing them in anger. He still could not get over what he had done while under Loki's control. Natasha had been trying to help him realize it wasn't his fault, but Clint refused to believe that.
A week had passed since the attack on New York. The day after they won the battle, a deep sadness set in for Clint as he fully realized that his mentor, Phil Coulson, had died. Killed by Loki. How would he go on, now that his SO, his mentor, his friend was gone?
"I just… wanted to check on you. Clint, you know I miss him too," she said to him.
"I know. I just… wish I could have been there to prevent it. I just…"
"Don't blame yourself. You and I both know this isn't any bit your fault. It was Loki."
"Don't talk about that bastard," Clint snapped suddenly. Tasha stood there, taken aback. "Sorry," he said in a softer voice.
"It's alright," Natasha replied. Just then, there was a soft knock at the door.
"Who is it?" Clint asked.
"Agent Hill," the person at the door replied.
"Let her in," Clint ordered. Natasha got up and opened the door. She and Maria walked over to Clint's corner.
"I'm surprised you're in here, Barton," Maria began, "I thought you'd be in your nest. Wherever that is."
"I don't know why…" Clint replied, "It just… feels better in here, I guess. I don't understand these feelings anymore. Everything's different. And overcast."
"Can I let in some light?" Maria asked, tugging on the blinds chord. He nodded, and she opened it, letting sunlight pour in. She then sat in front of Clint, holding a small grey box with the SHIELD insignia on it.
"Coulson doesn't really have any family, so he put you down as his next of kin," she said to him, "so here it is. To you from SHIELD. A memorial eagle medal." Clint opened the box and saw a shiny, silver, round military medal, emblazoned with the familiar eagle emblem. Written on the inside of the box were the words "Our deepest condolences," along with Coulson's name, and birth and death years.
"I thought they only gave things like these out in the military," he said, tears forming in his eyes, "and… I didn't even know he wrote me as his next of kin… I'm… very touched…"
"You meant a lot to him," Maria said, getting a little emotional herself.
"He meant a lot to me," he said as he examined the medal, feeling its smooth, shiny surface. This was something he would keep forever. To forever remind him of his fallen mentor, the man who was the greatest father figure to him.
"We are holding a funeral in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, his hometown, tomorrow. I've booked a flight for a bunch of SHIELD agents to Milwaukee, and then we'll drive up from there. Here you go," she said, handing Natasha the plane tickets. She then reached out her hands. "Hug, Clint? I know you don't like hugs… but I would like one…"
Clint suddenly felt like he also really needed a hug, something he didn't feel often. He embraced Maria and felt a warmness in his heart that he hadn't felt since he fell out of Loki's control and was comforted by Tasha. It felt amazing. He wanted to hold on to that feeling forever.
"Clint… Clint… you gotta let go…" Maria said softly, smiling. It took him a lot to leave the warmth of Maria's hug and go back into the gloom. She left the room, leaving Clint longing for more cuddling. He suddenly felt very clingy.
"Hug?" He asked Natasha.
"I don't like hugs," she replied.
"But you need one." Clint stood up from the crate and embraced Nat. She squeezed him hard, just the way he liked it. Many times on their missions together, she realized that though he might object to it, a cool down hug always made him feel more collected and calm, the tighter the better.
Early the following morning, Natasha woke Clint up early. It took effort to get him to make himself look nice, as his state of grief made him apathetic toward doing basic things. Sometimes he had no desire to eat or groom himself. He would take a shower, but Tasha had to do his hair for him, shave his face, pack his suit for the funeral, and make sure he wasn't going to the airport in his pyjamas.
"Arm in the hole," she said as she dressed him in a purple zip-up hoodie. When she zipped it, he winced as she accidentally got it caught on his neck. "Sorry, Clint!" She said apologetically. She then put his shoes on his feet and tied them up. She noticed his favourite blanket- a purple one decorated with targets and arrows- sitting on his bed. Draping it over his shoulders, she said, "that's nice to take on the plane, isn't it?" Clint just nodded.
"Hug?" She asked.
"Hug." He replied. She squeezed him hard, but Clint struggled to feel the warmth he would usually get from hugs. The looming funeral took up too much of his mind. Coulson's death took up too much room that even the tightest hug couldn't melt it away. If his subconscious had weather, it would be a hurricane-level downpour. Nothing could dry it up. He felt tired, sad, and thirsty from crying himself to sleep over the memorial eagle and how touched he was by it. It was so special that Coulson wanted him to have it. His heart broke into a million pieces when he received the cross, because even though at that point it really set in how much Clint meant to Coulson, but the fact that he was no longer with Clint hurt his soul like a cut from a white-hot knife.
Natasha basically had to guide Clint through security, pull him to the gate, and remind him to buckle his seatbelt five times before just buckling him in herself. Clint just felt like doing nothing. It took a lot of willpower just to eat the airplane pretzels.
In the case of the funeral, it was really all a blur. His family members said a few words, Nick Fury did something, there was a closed casket with an American flag draped over it. He was sobbing uncontrollably, Tasha held him all the way to the cemetery. The blur only lifted when Coulson was lowered into his grave. The reality hit him: his mentor was gone. Dead and buried, 6 feet under. He flinched as seven agents gave a 21-gun salute, followed by Maria Hill playing taps on the trumpet.
When they got back to the helicarrier, Clint couldn't eat, sleep, or even cry. All he did was sit in his nest and hold the memorial eagle in his hands. People tried to comfort him, but there was no comfort to be found. The grief was too much.
He only was able to feel joy again two months later. It took a lot of therapy sessions, which oddly was the only time he was able to cry; a lot of walks by himself in Central Park, and a lot of time at the archery range. The first time he felt joy was a cruise across the New York bay with Maria and Natasha. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. He had a wonderful time. They even got ice cream together.
"Clint, you're smiling! I haven't seen you this happy in forever!" Natasha said to him.
"I guess I've found a way to feel happy again. I just had to let it in! Coulson would want me to be happy. So I am," he said to her.
"I'm happy too," Nat said, "you're right. I'm sure, wherever he is now, he's happy that we are."
"You guys are going to make me cry!" Maria said to the both of them, "group hug!" The group hug felt wonderful. Clint pulled the memorial eagle out of his pocket and looked at it. He realized he could go on without Coulson. He would always be watching, from wherever he was. That's what Coulson told him once. He wasn't gone. Clint would always remember him.