October, 1999

Los Angeles

First thing in the morning, before the sun was even fully up, was one of Spencer's favorite times of day. It was the time where most of the base had gone quiet-it was never truly silent here, someone was always up and doing something no matter the time of day-and it was the time where most people were either asleep, not here, or focused quietly on their own work.

Spencer looked forward to that time more than anything. It was his reprieve from the thoughts and emotions that never seemed to go fully away no matter how tightly he shielded. Usually he could relax his shields just a little and not have to fight for such immense control all the time. He could rest.

Not today. Not this morning.

For the past week Spencer had been with a team in Germany to watch someone who they suspected of selling secrets. It was the first mission that Spencer had gone on that was this long, and it was also the first he'd gone on without Clint there. The archer had been off on a mission of his own for almost a month now. It'd been surprising when Jason brought Spencer a mission. He hadn't refused, though. Just because he didn't have Clint to go with him didn't mean that he couldn't do anything. He was starting to rely on the man far too much for his own comfort. The fact that he found himself wishing now that he had turned it down only made him feel worse.

The mission itself hadn't been all that bad. A lot of hanging out in a crappy hotel, a lot of following people around, and a whole lot of playing tourist to try and blend in enough to find out what was going on. It was the kind of job that Spencer usually liked; mostly because it meant he hopefully wouldn't have to kill anyone. However, it was also the kind of job that was hell on his shields. He was around so many people, constantly on alert, and trying to find out information also meant reading people's emotions and skimming surface thoughts and just all around exposing himself to a lot. Add in being in closed quarters with the rest of the team, none of whom really trusted him all that much, and it meant Spencer was stuck taking in an almost constant supply of negative thoughts and emotions that he had no way of burning out.

By the time they wrapped the mission up Spencer was more than ready to go back to base. He suffered through the after mission debrief, too focused on his shields and such to worry about how he sounded as he delivered his report to Jason. He didn't even really care about the surprise that the others showed for just how much detail he remembered and gave. All Spencer cared about was the moment that Jason dismissed them and the young genius could rush off to his room.

Not even the walls of his room were enough of a barrier between him and the world, though. Spencer could feel others nearby, too close, and the only thing he could do was curl up in a ball in his bed and hold on to himself as tightly as possible. This wasn't the first time this had happened, but it never got any easier.

The downside to empathy was what The Facility had referred to as 'overload'. Too many emotions were drawn in and not expelled somehow. Usually, in a day to day life, Spencer picked up on other people's emotions, only absorbing some of them. The stronger ones, generally. All it took to get rid of those was a bit of meditation that helped him process them, or some exercise or sleep to either burn it off or let it slowly drain away.

It was when he left his shields too open that he ended up taking in too many, absorbing them like some sort of psionic sponge, that it became a problem. Because he couldn't just let go and let those ones wash away, not without someone he trusted to anchor himself on so he wouldn't lose himself amongst the thoughts and feelings of other people. The longer it went on, the worse it got, until it got to the point where not even anchoring on someone would make this easier. If he tried, he ran the risk of letting those emotions out on that person. Making them hurt instead of him. Sure, it would help him, let him burn it through faster, but he wasn't going to hurt someone he trusted, and he could only anchor on someone he trusted not to make things worse.

The only thing Spencer could do when it got like this was to shut himself away and let the emotions batter at him until they lost their power. It could take hours-days, even. In the meantime he'd be locked in misery, fighting to keep the emotions from pushing out of him and hurting anyone around him, while all the while forced to bear the agony of it all inside.

That was Spencer's plan. It was working, too. Slowly, yes, and painfully, but it was working. At least, right up until he felt a familiar presence starting to make its way towards his room.

The sound of a knock against his front door had Spencer only curling in tighter. His head was pounding, a migraine of epic proportions there that no medication would take away. Maybe if he was lucky Clint would knock a few times, realize he wasn't answering, and leave. Spencer didn't want the man to see him like this. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. It was too ingrained not to show anyone any kind of weakness.

Of course, that wasn't how it went. He should've known better. When did Clint ever give up that easy on anything? No sooner had the knocking stopped than Spencer heard the sound of his doorknob twisting and the door opening. "Spencer?" Clint's voice echoed in towards the bedroom area, making the pounding in his head worse. "Hey, Spencer? You in here?"

It took effort to hold in the groan that wanted to slip free. Go away, Spencer wanted to say. Go away. Please, just go away.

The sound of footsteps proved his prayers were going unanswered. He couldn't bring himself to move, not even to peek out when he heard Clint pass through the living room area and towards the bedroom. They paused right outside his room. Spencer knew the instant that Clint caught sight of him. His emotions spiked with worry that felt like little needles prickling over Spencer's skin. Then there was a soft "Shit" followed by the rush of footsteps towards the bed.

He couldn't hold back a whimper as the bed jostled when Clint sat himself down on it. Without any hesitation, the older man climbed right into bed with him, moving up until he was right in front of Spencer. One hand came down to rest on Spencer's shoulder. "Spencer?" This time Clint's voice was softer, with that gentle edge that only seemed to come out when they were alone together. The one that reminded Spencer of how his mother would sound sometimes when she was worried about him. "Hey, peanut, what's going on?"

Spencer curled himself in even tighter than before. His knees were up to his chest and his hands were fisted in his hair. Clint's emotions felt… softer, now. Warm. They were so damn tempting. Spencer wanted nothing more than to reach out to them and let them wrap around him to ease the pain that he was feeling inside. He wanted to anchor on Clint and let go of the iron control he had over himself. But he couldn't. He couldn't hurt Clint by making him feel these emotions, and he couldn't let himself be that vulnerable. That weak. You're stronger than this, he told himself. You've done this before, back at the Facility. You could do it then and you can do it now. You don't have to hurt him. Only, he had no idea how to make Clint leave. Because with him right there, it was just too tempting, too hard to keep up the control that had gotten him through this so many times before.

It got harder to resist when Clint started to rub his hand over Spencer's bicep. "You're worrying me here, Spencer. You gotta say something, man. Anything. Otherwise I'm gonna have to go call medical in here."

Oh, please, no. The last thing he wanted was some idiotic medical staff in here poking and prodding at him and adding to the emotions around him.

He was going to have to say or do something. Something to convince Clint that he was fine and he could just leave. Before Spencer broke all his rules and just threw himself at the only person he thought he could honestly call friend. Spencer struggled to gather up as much control as he possibly could. Even so, the only word he could manage to grit out was a low, husky "Fine."

Clint snorted almost immediately. "Yeah, you're fine. I can totally see that. Curled up in your bed shaking from head to toe. You're in top form here."

The sarcasm rolled right over Spencer and made him shiver. It also made him aware of just how much he really was shaking. Shit. Spencer tightened his hands in his hair and wished he had the power to teleport or something like that. Anything that would get him out of here. "G-Go." He managed to get out past gritted teeth. "I'll… be fine. Just go."

"I'm not going anywhere." Clint said immediately. The weight on the bed shifted around until Spencer could feel it as the man actually climbed right over top of him. The bed shook a little as Clint dropped down behind him. A second later the warmth of his body was pressing up against the back of Spencer's. It was like being wrapped up in some giant bear hug. One arm wiggled until it got underneath Spencer's pillow, under his head, and the other wrapped around him and pulled him back until they were pressed tightly together.

Spencer, who usually avoided touch if at all possible, pressed back into him. His body took what his mind was still trying to tell him it didn't need. Comfort. Connection. Safety, a small part of him whispered.

"Talk to me, Spencer." Clint murmured against his hair. He squeezed Spencer a little tighter and pressed his face in until his forehead was pressed against the back of Spencer's head. "C'mon, kid. What's happened? Who do I gotta go hurt?"

Of course that was what he would think of this. Of course he'd think someone had hurt Spencer. Overprotective fool. If Spencer didn't give him something, he was going to think that this was caused by someone, and it wasn't. Not by any one person, at least. "It w-wasn't…" One of the emotions stuck inside of him pushed forward and it felt like acid chasing along the inside of his skin. Spencer grit his teeth even harder until he swore he could hear them grinding together. He might've pulled out hair—he didn't know, didn't care. Just barely did he manage to continue to force out words. What he could say was narrowed down to just single words now, not even full sentences. "Empathy. Overload. You…" Another wave of pain, burning him, tearing him apart. "G-Go. You need… to go."

If anything, the arm around him got tighter. "Like hell."

Stupid, overprotective idiot! Spencer didn't realize that thought had projected out until he heard Clint chuckle lowly. "Yeah, you get used to it. I'm not going anywhere, Spencer. Just tell me what I can do to help."

Speaking was too much now. So was fighting him. Spencer just didn't have the strength. Not if he wanted to keep from spilling out the emotions and hurting him. Instead, he just opened up his thoughts, let them project a little to Clint. They weren't the usual concise sentences of regular speech. This was broken, disjointed, little clips of thoughts and things that he hoped Clint would be able to understand. The pain, how much it hurt, how much it would hurt Clint if Spencer anchored on him, how Spencer had to hold on and suffer through it until it burned away, how there was nothing he could do because Spencer wouldn't risk him.

"God." Clint breathed out. He sounded pained. "Shit, Spencer. Will it go faster if you anchor on me?"

/I won't hurt you/

That wasn't an answer and they both knew it. Clint tightened his hold on Spencer's hand. But, instead of reaching out with words the way Spencer had expected, he reached out with something else entirely—emotions. Warm, positive emotions pressed against Spencer. It was like Clint was purposely thinking of everything positive that he could. Happiness, joy, love, protectiveness, all of those tinged his thoughts, his whole mind, and Spencer couldn't help the whimper that slipped free. He'd been strong so far, holding himself in tightly, keeping control of that part of him that was screaming to latch on to someone he was really starting to believe was safe for him. In the face of all those emotions, holding on to control became almost impossible. Spencer reached out before he could stop himself, drawing in those warm emotions, and that one little moment of weakness was all it took.

Spencer could feel it the instant his empathy latched on to Clint as an anchor. He felt the way his shields rippled, encompassing the both of them now, and there was no way he could miss how every single inch of Clint's body went tense. The archer let out a low hiss and his hand clamped almost painfully over Spencer's. There was a barely breathed out curse and the happy emotions faltered briefly. "Jesus Christ, Spencer. That's what you've been feeling?"

There was no way Spencer could form words. The ability for that was gone. Anchored tightly to Clint, he couldn't fight his instincts anymore, either. The empath in him always craved good, positive emotions and physical contact. Most of the time he managed to suppress that. He'd learned at a young age not to trust the touch of most. But in that moment, Spencer wasn't thinking logically or clearly. He ran off instincts. Instincts that had him twisting and rolling in the bed until he was facing Clint, not away from him. He reached out to the man and was rewarded when Clint didn't even hesitate to draw Spencer right into the circle of his arms. "Okay, okay." Clint murmured, drawing him in. He pulled Spencer close until the young genius had his face tucked right up against Clint's neck. One hand came up and stroked through Spencer's hair. "That's it, kiddo. I've got you. I'm right here."

It had to be hurting Clint just as much as it was hurting SPencer to feel all these negative emotions. Yet he showed very little of it. His voice was tight, his body a bit tense, but it didn't stop him from continuing to stroke a hand through Spencer's hair, or pet his back, or murmur more of those gentle reassurances that things were going to be okay and he wasn't going to be alone.

There was no telling how long they stayed there together. Spencer didn't have it in him to even bother trying to figure out the time. He lost track of everything except the feel of the emotions slowly giving way inside of him, pushed out by the positive ones that Clint kept projecting. He didn't even realize that he'd started crying at one point. Not until he felt just how wet he was getting Clint's shirt.

Eventually, the emotions started to lessen, the pain of it decreasing bit by bit. It got low enough that Clint was finally able to move them around, though Spencer whimpered when he tried to move too far away. Immediately Clint was back, stroking a hand over his hair. "Shh. I just need to use the bathroom real fast, that's all. I'll be right back."

Waiting for him to come back was agonizing. The further away he was, the harder it was to feel him, and Spencer ended up curling up once more. This time at least he was sitting up as he did it. He was still in a ball when Clint came back out of the bathroom.

While in the bathroom it looked like Clint had washed his face as well. His hair was a bit wet by his forehead and his skin was a bit pinker. He'd removed his shoes as well and he tossed them down to the ground now as he came forward. When he got close he squatted down by the bedside and smiled, one hand coming up to curl around Spencer's ankle. "Why don't we get you into the bathroom for a bit, too, peanut? You've been sitting here for a while now."

Moving didn't sound at all pleasant. Spencer shook his head no; he'd much rather stay where he was. Even if he did kind of need to go.

Clint chuckled and shook his head. "Stubborn kid. Good thing I know a thing or two about those."

Without much more warning than that, Spencer found himself being pulled up from the bed by hands that made it very clear they weren't going to let go. There was no fighting against it as Clint pulled him up to his feet and started to move him towards the bathroom. The low "Clint" came out as a whine that sounded a whole lot more pathetic than he really wanted it to, and it had no effect whatsoever. Spencer found himself being steered into the bathroom and unable to gather himself enough to use his strength enough to break free.

He finally did put some effort into it when it looked like Clint was actually going to take him right up to the toilet. Spencer could feel the heat filling his face and he jerked against Clint's hold. "I can do this."

"Then get to it."

When Spencer just glared at him, Clint chuckled and held his hands up in a peaceful gesture. Then he stepped away.

It made Spencer feel a bit worse to realize just how desperately he wanted to call Clint back in. Being separated from him felt so wrong. His movements were quicker than normal as he took care of business. It was when he was washing his hand that he realized just how quickly he was moving, how badly he was shaking, all because he wanted to get back out there to the man he'd anchored on, a man he never should've put through this.

Clint had stepped up to the plate in a way no one else ever had before with this. He hadn't asked too many questions, hadn't made Spencer feel like it was weird or strange. He hadn't even protested the rather aggressive cuddling Spencer had put him through. He was just… taking care of him in a way Spencer didn't understand.

It's not fair to him. Spencer stared at his reflection, taking in the bags under his eyes, the tightness to his features. Then he looked down at the way his hands trembled. In the back of his mind echoed the words he'd heard plenty of times before when he got like this. Pathetic. Weak. He shouldn't need to cling to Clint so tightly. It really was pathetic! Could he honestly expect the man to stick around with him through all this? Sure, he'd offered to help, but he'd had no idea what he was getting into. This was Spencer's mess. It wasn't fair to ask Clint to deal with it. Nor could Spencer expect him to stick through it all. Why would he? No one wanted to deal with this. With him.

He'll leave. Now that he's realized just how pathetic you really are, he's going to find an excuse to leave. That is, if he hasn't already slipped out while you're in here. No one wants to deal with this. No one wants to deal with you. A freak. A monster. A killer. You deserve these negative emotions. You deserve how much it hurts. Think of all the people you've hurt over the years - all the ones you've killed. Imagine the pain you put them and their families through. Their loved ones. It's right that you feel this. It's right you suffer for it.

Whimpers slipped past Spencer's lips. He hated himself for it, yet couldn't stop it. What did it matter? He was alone again; he was always going to be alone. It was what he deserved. Why would now be any different? Clint may have seemed like a friend before but Spencer should've known better. Things like him didn't get to have friends. Why had he even bothered trying?

Spencer was so convinced of it, he practically jumped out of his skin when a pair of arms slid around him. Instinct had him trying to lash out with a half-hearted blow, only for his wrists to get caught in a strong grip. Firm arms tightened around him and pulled him back against a chest he recognized-he'd spent the last however long curled up against it. Spencer's eyes shot up to the mirror. There, he could see Clint behind him, see his head over Spencer's shoulder, the way he'd turned it in to whisper to him in a voice Spencer couldn't hear over the pounding of his heart, and the way his arms were curling now to wrap around Spencer's waist while still holding his wrists.

"Come on." Clint pulled at him, pulling him away from the sink.

He didn't say anything as he pulled Spencer out of the bathroom. Instead of going back to bed, he took him out into the living room and over towards the couch. Spencer saw the blankets there, as well as a tray of food and drinks, and a remote. It wasn't hard to guess Clint's plan. Spencer didn't really care, though. He didn't care about much of any of it. He let Clint pull him down onto the couch and then tried to turn himself away from it. He didn't deserve this. He deserved to hurt.

In a better frame of mind, he would've recognized just how badly the negative emotions from the overload were amplifying his own emotions.

Clint sat down beside him and tried to gather him back up, pull him in again, and Spencer made himself fight against it. He shoved away with his hands, though his feet pushed forward to tuck under Clint's leg like his body couldn't quite make itself fully let go. "Don't." The word was pulled out of him in a voice gone slightly hoarse. Spencer tightened his arms around himself and tried to lean back more. "Don't… I'm not…."

"Not what, kiddo?"

Bending low, Spencer pressed his forehead against his knees. The feelings of unworthiness grew stronger. He started projecting again without meaning to; half formed thoughts of how worthless he was, how he deserved this, how it was only right he suffer after the type of pain he'd caused.

A fierce wave of protectiveness washed over Spencer, strong enough to make him gasp.

This time there was no way to fight the hands that grabbed hold of him. Clint yanked him in until Spencer was drawn right up into his lap. Then arms were wrapping him up just as tightly as the bright warmth of Clint's emotions were. "Don't you dare." Clint said fiercely, holding on even tighter. "Don't you dare think that. You don't deserve this, do you hear me? I don't care what you did. You don't deserve to feel like this."

/You don't know what I've done/

"I know enough. And I know that it doesn't matter now. You've been doing good since you got with us, Spencer. You help people now. What those bastards made you, that was on them, not on you, and you're working past it. You're using the stuff they taught you to do good. That's what counts. That's what matters." Clint paused and Spencer could hear him sigh. His face pressed against the top of Spencer's head. "I'm not good with words. All my exes can tell you that. But I'm guessing your empathy lets you feel what I mean, right? So feel that, Spencer. Just focus on all that. The rest of it… we'll figure it out later."

It couldn't be that simple. Things… they just weren't that simple. Yet, Clint acted like it was. He kept Spencer wrapped up with him, pulling blankets up around them, and then he held Spencer just like he was a child while he did something that had the sounds of a movie starting in the background. All the while the warmth of his emotions were right there, chasing away the chill that was inside Spencer.

Spencer closed his eyes, laid his head against Clint's shoulder, and just let himself feel.

Most of the day passed with the two of them curled up there on the couch. Spencer had no idea how Clint kept people away, or how he got the food that was there each time Spencer surfaced a bit. Mostly the young genius drifted in and out of sleep. But each time he woke, he felt a little better, a little more even. By the time evening rolled around, Spencer opened his eyes once more and felt almost normal again. There were still a few leftover stragglers of emotions inside of him that weren't his. But they were easy to deal with, easier to breathe around.

Unfortunately, clearing his head meant there was plenty of room for the embarrassment to start to kick in. Spencer found himself drawing back a little from Clint now that he was awake and clear headed enough to realize just how much he'd been clinging. He looked up as he pulled away and found Clint watching him with half open eyes, looking still just a bit asleep himself. "Hey. Feeling better?"

"Yeah." Spencer said softly. He pulled back a bit more, keeping the blanket around himself as he settled down into the middle cushion. Finally off Clint's lap though not too far away. Spencer opened his mouth to speak, stalled, closed his mouth, and then huffed out a breath. Stop being an idiot, he scolded himself. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Spencer's eyebrows went up with surprise. For what? "I doubt this was something you wanted to deal with. I didn't mean to, well, throw myself all over you."

He watched nervously as Clint let out a gusty sigh. The archer lifted one hand, wiping it over his face, and then he sat up a little straighter. "Listen, Spencer… this wasn't a big deal for me, okay? I don't mind. If it's something you need once in a while, it's no hardship to sit with you and watch a few movies. I don't mind, okay?"

It was more than that and they both knew it. Spencer knew it had to have hurt Clint to do it. He would've felt what Spencer was feeling, just on a slightly lesser scale. But he also had the feeling that arguing that part with Clint would get him nowhere. Spencer sank down into his blankets and used the corner of it to wipe at his face a bit. If Clint was so willing to sit here and suffer through this with Spencer, he at least deserved some kind of explanation. Something better than the disjointed thoughts that Spencer had given him before. That didn't mean that spencer could look at him as he said it, though. "It's not… this isn't something that I really need that often. Usually I can control things better. I just… I pushed myself too hard on this mission, I guess. I should've taken more time to meditate at night." He just hadn't wanted ot in front of the team he'd been working with.

"Meditation helps?"

How best to explain this? Spencer chose his words carefully, wanting to make this make as much sense as possible. "For the most part, my empathy just lets me feel the emotions around me. I can pick up on what people are feeling, even sometimes things that they don't realize they're feeling. My shields keep me from being swept away by someone else's emotions most of the time. If I didn't have them up, I'd be like a… a psychic sponge, I guess, just soaking up everything around me. Good and bad. My shields generally keep that from happening."

"Generally?" Clint repeated.

Spencer nodded, eyes still on the blankets in front of him. "The more people, the harder it can be to hold on to my shields. Little things leak through. Sometimes, if an emotion is particularly strong, it can leak through even if my shields are at their best. Normally it's not a big deal. I meditate a bit at night, center myself and let the rest of it just drift away from me. If I don't…"

He heard a low sound, a sort of 'ahh' kind of sound, and then Clint was saying "This happens."

"Yeah." Spencer bit his lip, ducking his head a bit. This was his own fault and he knew it. That didn't make admitting it any easier. "I should've taken the time to meditate on the mission, but I was a bit too cocky. By the time I realized that, it was too late, I had too much in me. When it gets like that, I can't just meditate and let it out. It…. well, you felt it. It's a physical pain. If I'd tried to meditate it away, that pain would've echoed to pretty much everyone in the I either have to curl up and just ride it out for as long as it takes, or anchor on someone and use their emotions as a buffer and an anchor both, keeping me steady and sane so the rest can work out even faster. If I'm anchored, I spend less time fighting to keep myself at the center of it, meaning it works out faster, and the pain is… it's shared." For this part, Spencer made himself look up, made himself meet Clint's eyes. "I'm sorry about that."

"I can handle a little bit of pain, Spencer." Clint shrugged and gave him a sort of devil-may-care, reckless grin. "Besides, it wasn't that bad. I've felt worse. An if it helped, it was worth it."

He meant that. He actually meant that. Spencer stared at him, unable to keep the awe off his face. Words slipped past his lips before he could stop them. "I've never met anyone like you before."

Clint flashed him a bright smile. "That's cause I'm awesome."

Laughter bubbled up from Spencer. Whatever little shields he'd still had against this man and his friendship, whatever reservations he'd held, they fell away in the face of such honest compassion. This was the first time that Spencer could ever remember someone caring for him like this. Someone who wasn't his mother. He couldn't convince himself anymore that it wasn't real-not while still slightly anchored on Clint and able to feel his emotions. He could feel just how real that affection actually was. Spencer sent back his own emotions, his stunned joy, his awe, his own growing affection for this insane man.

The way it made Clint light up was more than worth the risk Spencer took in revealing that he cared for someone. The Facility had taught him that caring was weakness; that it only opened up people who could be used against you. Spencer had lived by that for years. Now… now he opened himself up, let himself leave those teachings behind. They'd been wrong about so much else. Maybe they were wrong about this, too.

It warmed him up to see the relaxed, easy way that Clint sat there, the way he looked actually happy as he held his arm out for Spencer to come and join him once more. "Come on, peanut. Let's finish our movie."

There was no hesitation on Spencer's part. He pushed forward and let himself get tucked in against Clint's side. For the first time in far, far too long, Spencer felt a sense of peace as he curled against a man who had taken him in, taken care of him, and seemingly adopted him. Maybe, just maybe, life really was starting to turn around for him.