A/N: Thank you to everyone who's read, or added me/the story to their respective lists, and special thanks to everyone who's reviewed. I love reviews, they give me incentive to keep going. So thanks again, and I hope you enjoy!

The next morning, Phil was at the door at 0755. He knocked softly, and after a moment, the door opened, showing Clint wearing the same clothes as the day before, a pair of ratty jeans, and a black t-shirt.

"Good morning, Clint. How're you feeling?"

Clint shrugged. "Fine. Let's get this over with, huh?"

Phil smiled. "Of course. If you'll follow me." As they started down the hallway, Phil commented, "By the way, if you give me your sizes, I'll get you some more clothes while you're in the exam."

Clint's eyes widened for a moment, but he quickly caught himself. "I uh… I kind of assumed you'd… You'd be doing the exam, right?"

Phil chuckled. "No. I'm not a doctor. I can stay with you if you like. We've got plenty of paper-pushers who can grab your clothes."

Clint shrugged. "That'd uh… that'd work I guess. Large t-shirts, 38x38 jeans."

"Any color preferences?"

"Blue jeans, dark shirts. Don't really care more than that."

Phil nodded as he opened the door to the exam room. "Alright… I'll go get your doctor, if you want to get undressed and jump on the table?" He handed him a small medical sheet. "Cover up with that when you're done."

Clint nodded unsurely, and Phil could see the lump in his throat as the young man swallowed.

"Uh… yeah. Yeah that works."

Phil nodded, and gave him a reassuring smile. "Alright. We'll be back in a few minutes."

As he walked into the small attached room where the doctor was waiting, Phil sighed. While logically he knew that healthy, well-adjusted people with happy backgrounds didn't typically become secret agents, it didn't stop him from hating the human beings who could do that sort of thing to other people.

"Agent Coulson. I hear you finally got another field agent," Doctor Lee said pleasantly.

"Yup. And uh… take it easy. He's skittish."

Lee smiled sadly. "I know. The Director made sure I had the file."

"Good. He should probably be set. Shall we?"

"Oh, you're staying for the exam?"

"Yeah. He… sort of asked me to."

"Fair enough. Let's go."

Phil followed behind as they made their way back into the room. Clint was sitting awkwardly on the exam table, the sheet covering from his thighs halfway up to his belly.

And he'd been right. The scars Phil had seen on his arm did extend all the way over his body. The shame was written all over the young man's face, as his face turned red at the sight of the female doctor.

"Hello there, Agent Barton. My name is Doctor Lee, and I'll be doing your exam today if that's alright with you?" Dr. Lee said with a large smile.

"Uh… Yeah. That's fine."

"Alright. So we're going to start with a visual inspection and exam. After that, we'll get you in for an x-ray, an MRI, and a PET scan. After that, we'll get you set for your hearing aids. So, can you hold your arms out for me please?"

Clint obeyed slowly, and said, "Uh… I've got quite a few metal pins… Probably not a good idea with the MRI."

"Ah. Fair enough," Dr. Lee said idly, running her hands across his arms. "How's your vision?"

"Better than yours."

"Alright. Mind if I ask what caused these?"

Clint looked at Phil desperately. "Do I have to answer that?"

"I'm sorry, Clint, but yes."

He sighed, but nodded. "Um… Most of 'em are uh… Knife wounds. Razor blades. Cigarettes. Cigars. A few are from compound fractures."

Dr. Lee looked up, her face gentle. "Are any of these from self-harm?" She asked softly.

Clint chuckled deprecatingly. "No. Got enough of it handed to me, never felt the need to add any of my own."

"Any pain or tenderness when I press down?" Dr. Lee asked, continuing on, moving her hands down his rib cage.

"No."

"Any physical deformities we should be aware of?"

"No."

"Allergies?"

"No."

"Alright then, we'll get you in for your x-ray, and go from there, okay? Agent Coulson and I will give you a minute to dress. Come on out whenever you're ready."

With that, Dr. Lee left the room, Phil close on her heels.

"What do you think, Doc?" Phil asked as soon as the door was closed.

The smile slowly melted away, revealing a face that said she'd seen far too many things like this before. "Worse than some of I've seen. Better than others, although not many. I suppose we'll see a fair number of broken bones on the x-ray."

"No doubt. Who'd Fury assign for the psych evals?"

Dr. Lee glanced over the medical file for a moment. "Looks like Dr. Halani. He's pretty good. As a backup, we have… Dr. Balcom. She's fairly competent, although… She can be a little rough at times. Ah, Clint. If you wanna follow me this way, we'll get the x-ray out of the way."

It was getting late, Phil noticed idly, as he continued building the new file on Clint Barton. The first of what would be many psych evaluations had arrived by email, about ten minutes before he'd been prepared to leave the office.

So he'd decided to start the building of the file. He'd put in the little bit of information he'd been able to pull together during the day, including the police records on his father.

Reading between the lines, Phil could get a pretty grim picture of early life in the Barton household. The man had averaged a disorderly conduct every few weeks, along with repeated domestic calls to the Barton home at least once a month. Repeated hospital visits for both Edith and Bernard Barton, although Phil had to admire whoever Clint had hack his records; there literally was no mention of Clinton Francis Barton anywhere in official records, although he'd put in a request to Waverly Elementary School, and St. Agnes Regional Hospital to see if they had any hard copies of reports.

The x-rays had confirmed what both Phil and Dr. Lee had expected: at least a dozen old fractures. The PET scan had shown severe damage to both ears, as well as old skull fractures.

With a sigh, he finally glanced down at the psych evaluation. It was amazingly brief; a mere two pages. But upon further inspection, he realized that –boiled down to its essentials –that Dr. Halani had sat talking to a blank slate for two hours. Clint had said absolutely nothing, staring out the window behind the doctor for the entire time.

Putting the papers into the folder, and closing it gently, he rubbed his temples for a few moments, before heading out of the office, and heading towards the dormitories.

He nodded at the few friendly faces he saw as he walked. S.H.I.E.L.D. numbers had been on the rise lately, and there were many new faces that he didn't recognize. The further he went , the fewer and fewer faces he seen that he recognized.

When he arrived at Clint's room –C223 –he entered a code into the keypad that would cause the lights in the room to flicker a few times. After a few seconds, the door opened up, and Clint's face peered around the door. After he seen Phil, he gave him a small smile, and opened the door further.

"Figured you wouldda went home already," Clint said, ushering Phil into the room.

"Paperwork," Phil said with a smile, shoving his hands into his pockets. "How're you settling in?" He asked pointedly, glancing at the pillow and the sheet on the floor inside the small closet.

Clint shrugged, an awkward smile on his face. "I uh… Guess I'm not used to sleeping on soft beds."

"We can get you a harder mattress if you want. Maybe a hammock or something," Phil said helpfully, motioning towards a chair. When Clint nodded, Phil sat, setting his elbows on his knees. "So how was your first day? Tired?"

Clint chuckled a little, running one hand over the back of his head as he settled himself on the floor Indian-style. "Yeah. Little bit. Not as bad as I thought it would be, I guess."

Phil nodded sagely. "Usually isn't. Our minds have ways of… making things look a lot worse than they actually are. Like… speaking to a therapist, for instance?"

Clint ducked his head, picking absently at threads in the carpet. "I uh… I didn't like him. Guy kept… Kept asking me how I felt 'bout whoever'd gotten me into 'this'," He said disdainfully, making air quotes with his fingers. "How I felt 'bout the people I killed. Hell, guy only took about three minutes to tell me his name, ask me mine, and then he started right in. Didn't even buy me dinner first," He added with a lame attempt at a grin.

Phil nodded. "Alright. We'll switch you over to another doctor. I think it was… Dr. Balcom next on the list. She's a… bit more rough. Or so I hear. She tells you what she thinks, and what she thinks you should think, and doesn't take any lip about it." Phil pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. "Come to think of it… Lot of our agents seem to like her." He smiled as Clint laughed a little at that. "This is good, though."

"What?"

"You talking to me. Letting me know what's going on. We keep this up, and we've got the makings of a good team here, Clint. I think we can work with this."

Clint looked up at him, and for the first time, he had a real smile on his face. For that split second, Phil could see a different man; a different person entirely. The change that came over Clint's face with just a simple smile, made him look… well, almost… happy. Innocent.

But almost as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared, and a look of awkwardness came over Clint's face, embarrassed that it had been seen, almost.

"I uh… Honestly thought this would be a lot worse," Clint said quietly, ducking his head. "It's actually kinda nice. Not having to worry 'bout people kicking in my door… Three squares a day –good food too –place to call my own… Haven't had that… long time. Hell, even got a pair of hearing aids outta the mess."

"Yeah, I meant to ask how they were working for you."

"Uh, pretty good, actually. Maybe even better than the ones I had. Fit good… Hearing's amazing. It's a little much to take in, you know?"

Phil settled back in the chair. "No, I'm afraid I don't. Are they not right? We can take them back, get them adjusted if you want."

"Huh? Oh, no, that's uh, not what I meant. It's just… After four months of… Muffled whispers… knowing they were saying something I should probably be listening to but… It was just quiet. So damn quiet. All of the sudden, with the hearing aids back in it's like… almost like an overload. You ever been blindfolded, sir?"

Phil nodded slowly. "Yeah. I've had that misfortune a few times."

"You know how… after staring at black cloth for hours, and… and they would rip it off, and it was just like… sensory overload. All the colors, and lights, and everything all at once? It's a lot like that but… it's more, because… Well, there's so many different sounds. When I went to the mess for dinner after they were put in, it was… So many voices, so many different… sounds. Spoons against dishes, forks against knives, pots banging in the kitchen, boots scraping against the floor, chairs on tile, things clanking against the tables. All of that on top of the voices. A hundred different voices… after four months it's like… it seemed like everyone was yelling, like everyone was being as noisy as they could. I dunno, I'm probably not making any sense but…"

"No, no, I understand… I think. I mean, I don't think I could fully comprehend it, but I understand what you're saying. But here… Where there's no so much noise… they working alright?"

"Yeah. I didn't mean to sound like… I appreciate it all. All of this, I mean."

Phil smiled back. "Our pleasure, Clint. So. Tomorrow… We'll get you in with Dr. Balcom, take you back for your physical results, and a few more tests –including your eyesight –and then if the range is open, we'll do some shooting. See how your test scores come back. After that, we'll do some scholastic tests. Sound okay to you?"

"I uh… I haven't been to school since eighth grade. So… I hope that's not a qualifier."

"Eh… qualifier no, mandatory, yes," Phil said with a laugh. "We'll figure out where you excel, and where you're behind, and we'll give you a crash course. Get you up to speed. I saw the scores from the IQ test the prison gave you. 142?"

"Yeah, I uh… They told me that, sir, but… Didn't really mean anything. I remember back in uh… kindergarten? Maybe first grade. But I had a test. The school told my parents I was… 'brilliant, but lacks motivation'. Never went any further than that."

Phil smiled softly. "Well, Clint, it means that you're into the superior range. Basically, anything below 85 is below average, or mentally slow. 85 to 115 is average. 115 to 140 is above average, and everything above that is superior. Which is where you fall. Means you are in the top fifteen percent of the nation's intelligence bracket."