Phil wasn't sure how much time had passed before there was a knock at his office door. Enough time for him to down what was left of the bottle of scotch he kept buried in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. He didn't bother moving from his spot, wedged between said filing cabinet and a bookshelf, to try and answer the door. There was only one person it could possibly be and they would be barging in here with or without his permission.

Sure enough the door swung open a few moments later, quietly shutting again the moment a shadow had slunk through. Natasha's eyes scoured the room and the moment her eyes landed on Phil her face contorted in rage. "What the hell was that?!"

Phil didn't respond, instead tipping up the empty scotch bottle attempting to get out the last few drops of alcohol. His mind was a buzz of white noise but it still wasn't enough. Half a bottle of scotch and he felt like the world was spinning and tipping around him and that his stomach was spinning with it, but the guilt and shame and self-loathing were all still there, just as strong as ever.

Natasha crossed the room and squatted down in front of him, trying to meet his eye. "Coulson, Clint has a mild concussion. Banner wanted to run tests to look for further damage but Clint won't let him. And he won't tell them how he was hurt. He won't tell me either but that doesn't mean that I don't know."

"Cause you were spying on us." Phil muttered, trying desperately again to drain the scotch bottle and wishing that more would magically appear.

"Damn lucky for you that I was! Who knows how long Clint would have been lying there otherwise. Seeing as you just left him there."

"I knew you were spying. You had him." Phil mumbled.

"It doesn't change the fact that you are hurting him. Even if it is on accident, you keep hurting him more an-"

"You think I don't know that?!" Phil finally looked up to meet her eyes. "You think I don't realize that every time I try and help him all I end up doing is hurting him more? You think I don't realize that I'm the one who drove him to this? It's my fault any of this happened in the first place. I was the one who sent him into that building. I knew Loki was the one behind that smoke and I knew Clint's history with his magic but I sent him in anyway. Because that was what the team needed. Because it was the logical and unbiased move and because I was trying so hard not to let my emotions change anything. That's all I ever do anymore. I just keep trying to fight against what I want and it keeps pushing those things further and further out of my reach. Which is what I'm fighting for, sure, but it doesn't make it any easier to watch those things leave. To watch them find their own lives outside of you."

Phil was rambling and he knew it, but he couldn't seem to stop the words that were pouring out of his mouth. "And it just keeps getting harder. Because sometimes I see this look on his face, like maybe he's wanting something more out of life. Like maybe being an Avenger isn't the end all be all for him. And I start to hope. That maybe he wants someone to share it with. Maybe that's the reason he gets this small little crease between his eyes whenever Thor is talking about Jane. But I can't let myself think that because that leads to me making decisions that could harm the rest of you. And as much as I can't stand to hurt him, it would kill me to know that one of you got hurt or worse simply because I couldn't keep my emotions in check. And-"

"Phil, breathe." Natasha finally cut him off and he took a deep breath in, noting how it shook as he let it back out. "Better?"

He shook his head. "Not really."

"Okay, look." She shifted so that she was sitting cross-legged in front of him, their knees touching. "I'm not good with emotions. You and Clint know that more than anyone else." Phil's lips twitched up in a smile because, yeah, Natasha and emotions were a volatile combination. "But just because I'm not in tune with my own doesn't mean that I can't recognize them in others. It was one of the things I was trained for. Spot the enemy's weaknesses. Find the thing they love the most so that you can use it against them. So, while I cannot say what Clint's feelings are entirely, I can tell you this: he cares about you more than anyone else in the world. Except maybe me. But I don't really count."

Phil scoffed. "Maybe he used to. But kinda hard to care about the man who puts you under house arrest only so he can punch you into a fridge."

"Something which Clint would have explained outright to the others if he was upset over it. He could have told them and they would have been right here with me busting your balls. But he didn't. He kept silent and simply told Bruce that it had been an accident."

"I can't, Natasha. I know what you're trying to hint at and I just can't." Phil curled up and buried his head in his hands. "I will talk to him and apologize for what I did and explain the 15 minutes to him. I'll do it all with a straight face and won't expect anything more, just like I've done every day since I've met him. Because I can't do anything else."

"Coulson-"

"No. Natahsa. Just, no." Phil pulled himself to his feet, using the bookshelf to balance when the world started tipping under his feet. "I'll fix what I broke. I'll get Clint back and that's it. But right now," He pushed himself forward, stumbling across the room and landing heavily against the door, yanking it open. "I need some more to drink."

;;;

It was into the early hours of the morning when Phil found himself on one of the dozens of balconies. This one had always been his favorite simply for the view. It looked out over Central Park and the view at night of buildings glittering around the expanse of trees never failed to be an intoxicating sight. Nature living in harmony with technology. Modern butting right up against wilderness. Well, as much of a wilderness as you could find in New York.

He was sitting in the corner where the balcony railing met the wall with his legs stretched out, almost touching the far edge of the fairly small space. He dropped his head to the side, against the cool glass barrier, wishing that wishing hard enough could make a hangover go away. His head was throbbing with each heartbeat and his stomach hadn't stopped spinning in circles since he'd finished the original bottle of scotch. But he'd taken some tylenol already and at least the fresh air was helping, if only a tiny bit. And he needed all of the help he could get knowing the sort of conversations his day would hold.

A groan of pain escaped him just as there was a small whoosh through the balcony door, which he'd left propped open just a crack. (To keep from accidentally being locked out. Jarvis had gone into extreme lock-down mode with the balconies since learning of Loki's visit.) He glanced over, trying not to move his head because that caused it to throb in pain, and saw the last thing on earth that he wanted to see right now.

Hawkeye settled down on the edge of the railing across from him, looking out over the Park. He was holding himself awkwardly, balancing more on one foot than the other, and too-stiff. Signs that A) Phil had done more damage than just the concussion Barton had fessed up to & B) Barton knew perfectly well that Coulson was there, even if he was doing his best to ignore him.

They sat together in silence. Phil was determined not to say anything, at least not yet. He was still too off-center from the alcohol. And booze had always had a way of making him spit out all of the secrets he wanted to keep hidden. Which, right now, was the absolute last thing he wanted to happen.

So he waited, staring out at the Park without really seeing it while being all too aware of each of Barton's tiniest movements.

And then he waited some more. Noting how Barton sighed and shifted in obvious signs of discomfort and unhappiness, but still said nothing.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the edges of the far-off skyscrapers when Phil finally hit the perfect tipping point between wanting to stay silent and needing to say something.

"Natasha said you have a concussion."

It was small. Just a simple comment. Not even a question so that Barton could ignore it if he wanted to. For a moment Phil thought he would. But then he spun, using his wings to flip around in midair before settling back on the railing and glaring at Phil. Phil shrunk down, trying to make himself disappear under the blame and anger he felt burning out from those eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look at Barton, instead staring at the joint where one of the railing beams met the cement floor.

Another long second passed. So long that Phil was beginning to wonder if it would be best if he left. Not just the balcony, but his position as the Avengers liaison. If maybe Barton would never forgive him for this or trust him again, which he couldn't blame him for. Because despite everything they had been through over the years, never once had Coulson directly caused Barton any sort of harm. Never by his own hand. That was the sort of thing Barton had had far too much of in the past.

"I'm still not willing to let this drop." Barton said finally. And that... that didn't make sense. Because when had Phil asked him to drop the subject of Phil slamming him into the fridge? Phil's eyes snapped up momentarily, meeting Barton's for half a second before dropping back down. "About you being part of this team." Barton clarified.

Phil felt the anger instantly bubbling up. He buried his head in his hands, grinding the palms into his eyes and focusing on the pressure rather than the urge to flee. "Barton." It came out much more like a plea than he had intended.

"I'm not saying that we have to get into it again right now, just..." He paused and Phil glanced out from between his fingers. "I know how I feel and how all of the rest of us feel. And I just can't quite understand how you see things so differently."

"Because that's what it's my job to do."

Barton nodded once; his only response.

They were silent again for another long few minutes. Only now, rather than wanting to run, Phil was trying to find a way to tell Barton everything. Or mostly everything. All of the things Barton really did need to know and that Phil should never have kept from him in the first place. It should have been easy, getting the words out when the alternative was never getting his archer back, but they stuck in his throat.

"I'm headed in to HQ tomorrow." He blurted out finally. Not quite the words he meant to say, but enough to break the awkward silence.

"Thanks for the update." Barton grumbled.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come with me?"

Barton's eyes snapped onto Phil, looking him over carefully as if weighing every word. "Banner already ran a full work-up. I don't need to go to Medical too." Barton spoke slowly and carefully and Phil chose to keep on topic rather than calling him out on the obvious lie. Given how much Barton was favoring his left foot there was at least something sprained there.

"I don't mean for that. I mean-" he sighed, eyes dropping to where his hands were twisting in his lap. He focused on stilling them before continuing. "I have something I need to explain to you, but I need you to let me finish before you say anything."

Barton nodded while straightening his back in what Phil recognized as him bracing himself for bad news.

"You know full well that our jobs often entail putting ourselves in the line of fire. Just as it entails putting our teammates there and trusting them to get the job done without getting themselves killed."

"What does this -" Barton started. Phil held up a hand to silence him.

"Please let me finish. It's taken me weeks to try and build up the courage to have this conversation and if you interrupt then I'm not sure I'll be able to go through with it.

Anyway, as I was saying, our jobs are dangerous. My very first mission as a handler I was forced to choose between the life of one of my operatives or the success of the mission. To this day I still remember the sound of his screams as I let him die. I had no choice. It was his life or that of hundreds of innocent people. I kept reassuring myself that we've all been trained for this. That we all know that each mission could be our last and that the odds are high that we'll die in the line of duty. I thought I had come to terms with that."

Phil swallowed back the memories that were trying to force their way up. The static of the comms in the warzone, still not enough to completely hide his agent's terrified screams as the soldiers had let loose a barrage of bullets. He shook his head to clear it and nearly fell over, having momentarily forgotten his lingering hangover in the wave of memories..

"I've never once lost an agent unless it was absolutely necessary for the safety of civilians. And I would have gladly switched places with every single one of them. I still go over the old reports occasionally, looking for where I could have done things differently or made a better call and brought them home alive. It's not a healthy process, I know, plenty of shrinks have told me that, but I can't stop myself from doing it. Because I always find something that I can use in the future.

It's why I manage to stay so level-headed in the field, and... and it's why I sometimes overreact if there is a chance that I may lose an agent to something trivial or easily avoidable. It's reached the point that I often temper information to ensure that none of my agents are even tempted to do anything immeasurably stupid.

And then there's you. The man who jumps from roofs for fun. Who uses the lip of HQ's roof as a balance beam. Who never backs down from any sort of dare or challenge, no matter the risks to your safety. I've lost count of the number of times I've gotten a call from Medical about you and I worried that you had finally managed to get yourself killed.

That's to say nothing of your recklessness on missions. The op in Cairo, where you went silent for three minutes after that explosion... I thought we'd lost you."

Phil wasn't sure when his voice had dropped to a whisper. Or when Barton had moved to perch gently on Phil's knee. "I'm still here, Coulson." Barton croaked, his emotions undreadable through the scratch of the translator. "I'm alive and I'm safe. Cairo wasn't even the worst thing we've been through together."

"What did I say about interrupting?" Phil attempted to laugh but it faltered, coming out as a huff.

"I'm just saying, Belize was definitely worse than Cairo."

Phil shook his head, regretting it as soon as he did for having again forgotten the effects of his binge drinking the night before. "Belize was easy."

"You nearly died. You were stabbed three times in the gut and nearly bled out before I could get there with back-up. Which involved having to fight through a hoard of henchmen, by the way. Belize was far from easy."

"Still not as bad as Cairo, though. At least, not for me. In Belize it was me dying, not you. I can handle me dying, I'm prepared for that. But I'm not prepared to lose you." His words were followed by a ringing silence broken only by the sounds of their breathing and the occasional car horn from the streets far below. For a second Phil was scared that maybe he'd revealed too much and that Barton would fly off before Phil got a chance to try and explain away the words.

Barton's talons tightened slightly and Phil panicked, worried that Barton was leaving. "I've been lying to you for the last month." He blurted out, trying to get him to stay. Barton's talons squeezed harder, biting at Phil's skin through the fabric of the suit pants he'd never bothered changing out of.

"Lied about what?" Barton asked hesitantly.

"When Rogers changed back to human, there was a fifteen minute grace period between the first sign and the actual transformation."

Phil glanced up to see Barton's jaw hanging open in shock. "Fifteen minutes?" He whispered the words, repeating them almost like a reverent prayer. "Fifteen minutes. Fifteen. I have fifteen minutes."

"I'm sorry." Phil said finally. His words seemed to snap Barton out of whatever daydream he was in, his eyes narrowing onto Phil.

"You've kept me in the Tower under the 10 foot rule for a month when you knew I had enough time that I would be safe no matter where I flew?" Barton growled. "You... You knew how much... how I've always wanted... How could you?"

"There was no guarantee that just because Steve had such a large warning that you would too. And I know you, Barton. If you thought you had fifteen minutes then there would be no possible way to keep you grounded for more than a few seconds at a time."

"So you lied to me? And Steve! You got Steve to lie to me too."

"I ordered him to not tell you. They were all furious when they found out."

Barton's talon tightened again on Phil's knee. "They all? They all knew?"

Phil nodded. "Natasha overheard Steve and I discussing it. It spread from there. You know how it is with them and secrets."

"Yet they managed to keep it from me. They willingly chose to let me keep thinking that... that I... Not even Natasha told me." Barton dropped off into a whisper. "Do they not even..."

Barton fell silent and still, seeming to sink into himself. Phil knew he should probably do or say something to explain. Natasha was Barton's everything; the solid rock he trusted more than anything. He could only imagine just how thrown off Barton was by the fact that she kept something like this from him.

He opened his mouth to speak but Barton beat him to it. "Does the your earlier offer still stand? About me going with you to HQ tomorrow?"

Phil's mind took a second to catch up to the change of topic. "Yes. Of course."

"Am I still expected to keep under ten feet?"

And now Phil had to consciously stop his jaw from dropping. Barton asking about rules rather than just breaking them whenever he felt like it, that was unheard of. "Given the fact that you now understand the warning time you might get before switching back, I don't think the ten foot rule is applicable any longer. However," Phil added the last word quickly as Barton spread out his wings.

Barton paused with his wings outstretched. "New rules?"

"Recommendations." Barton relaxed at the word, folding his wings back in. "A few precautions I would appreciate if you took." Phil paused, waiting for Barton to freak out again or do a backwards dive off the balcony. Something that showed a hint of Barton's usual snark, but the fight seemed to have gone out of him the moment Phil had mentioned Natasha lying to him.

When Phil waited too long, Clint finally spoke. "I assume there is still a height limit?"

Phil nodded. "Keeping it to a few hundred feet would be preferable. I'd also feel better if you took one of us with you when you do go out." Phil instinctively paused for the argument from Barton. But, again, none came. He sighed before continuing. "Having someone there would be useful for when you do turn back. Just in case something goes wrong. Or if you happen to land in the middle of the street, you'll need someone to keep the press at bay until you get somewhere safe."

"I'll try and keep that in mind. Is that all?"

He sounded so small and lost and dejected. Phil had never heard him sound like that. Not even when they'd first found him on the streets, alone and always one edge. Even then there had been some spark of attitude. It's what had drawn Phil to him.

"Yes, that's all. Just please try to be careful. Falling isn't the only danger out there. You're small now; easier to kill. Try and remember that."

Barton nodded and quickly took to the air. Phil's heart stuttered as he cleared the edge of the balcony, speeding out over the city. So much for Phil's recommended precautions. All he could do was hope that he'd done the right thing in finally telling Barton. Well, that, and he could go and find more tylenol to make his head finally stop throbbing.