"Barton! Barton! Calm down!" Clint threw a punch in the direction of whoever was speaking. Theoretically, he knew that he was safe and sound in SHIELD, but he didn't care. He didn't recognize the speaker and he refused to take any chances. Jumping to his feet, he backed up until he reached a wall, holding his fists out, using his ears. He heard at least three people walking around and a door just opened, allowing someone else in.

"Barton! That's enough! Clint!" he relaxed, stumbling in that direction. He slammed into Coulson, he could tell from the smell of coffee and sandalwood. Coulson wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leading him back to the bed. He shivered as Coulson moved away, grabbing his arm in a silent plea to stay put. He felt the bed dip as Coulson sat next to him.

"Okay Agent Barton. My name is Dr. Marcus Bose. You're at SHIELD medical facilities in New York City, and you are safe. The exhaust from the grenade that went off mere feet from you temporarily blinded you. It is a miracle that your ears weren't affected as well." Clint didn't feel miraculous.

"Well, how long will it take for it to come back?" Clint questioned.

"Well, it depends. It could be anywhere from a week to a year." A year.

A year.

Clint started shaking, not a lot, but enough for Coulson on the bed next to him to feel it.

"If you can excuse us." Coulson spoke, and Clint heard them leaving. He breathed out roughly when the door shut behind them. He dropped his head in his hands.

"I can't." he managed to speak, breathes coming out harshly. "My eyesight…my eyes…Coulson." He squeaked, shaking his head.

"You can Barton. I'll help you, but you got to help yourself first."

"You sound like a bad motivational speaker." Clint murmured, but couldn't help the smile that quirked his lips. And when it did, he couldn't help but think that Coulson purposefully opened himself up for the sarcasm.

"Come on Barton. You're coming with me to your apartment." Coulson stood, grabbing Clint's arm and forcing him to his feet. Clint shook his head.

"Don't you have another mission right now?" Clint questioned. He was almost certain he had heard Coulson do that almost complaint thing where he mentioned a mission and then waited for Clint to make disparaging comments about it.

"No." Clint hummed. Huh, he must have been wrong. Clint followed the way that Coulson led him, arm around his soldier making it seem much less obvious that he was doing anything for Clint. He must have known how much Clint hated seeming weak. He probably did by now, being his handler for so long.

"Oh! Agent Barton! Agent Coulson! Agent Barton isn't off hospital leave yet. We want to keep him here until his vision returns." Clint opened his mouth to argue, and threaten escape later. He didn't need his eyes to navigate out of the hospital wing; he's done it enough times by now.

"No. I'm officially signing him out as his handler."

"Agent Coulson-"

"Goodbye Dr. Bose."

Clint couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as Coulson led him away.

Cint was set up on his bed. Coulson had monitored his food intake, and after realizing that the only thing he held in his apartment consisted of chips and beer, had gone to the supermarket and come back with things. Clint said things, because the only thing he could smell was fifty billion different types of spices.

When Coulson had finished cooking, he had plopped the plate into Clint's hands. Clint, who had been staring at gray for the past half hour, had sniffed the object.

"Open your mouth." Coulson demanded. Clint raised an eyebrow.

"Coulson, I don't know. It might ruin our business relationship if we move things to the bedroom." He could almost see Coulson's semi-amused frown.

"Barton."

Clint warily opened his mouth, and accepted the fork.

And immediately grinned.

"Coulson! You made me a calzone!" Clint couldn't decide whether to tease him or thank him.

"I made myself a calzone, and figured that you would need something to eat as well." Coulson corrected. Clint snorted.

"Yeah, and what a coincidence that it happened right after I said I wanted Italian." Clint pointed out. Coulson huffed.

"Whatever, eat. You don't need a fork, they are mini calzones." Clint was filled with gratitude.

"Thank you." He said quietly. Coulson guided his hand, leading him to the plate. Clint managed it from there. They ate in silence.

"Phil…what am I going to do? My eyes…I can't…my name is Hawkeye!" Clint leaned back in his chair. He heard him shifting.

"Clint. It's temporary."

"It could be for a year Coulson!" Clint jumped to his feet, and heard Coulson get up also. "Right now! I want to walk away, but I can't!" Clint deflated, running his hands through his hair. "Phil…I…."

He felt the hand on his shoulder and the breath near his neck.

"Listen to me. You are going to be fine. I am going to take care of you. I'm not going to leave your side, okay?" He had never heard Phil's voice that soft before and he wished he could see his face, but a warm feeling rose in his body. He ignored that.

"Thank you…" Clint squeezed the hand on his shoulder. They separated.

"Come on. You look tired." Clint followed his footsteps, falling peacefully onto his bed. "I'll be here when you wake up. Sleep." Clint reached out, managing to grab some part of Phil's arm.

"Stay. Please." He felt Phil's hesitation and wondered why he had asked to begin with, but tugged Phil down next to him on the bed. Rolling over, he didn't face him, but he felt Phil's heat radiating towards him.

Clint didn't want to think about why that was so comforting.

A little bit longer, huh? R & R.