Okay, I'm sorry. I said I was gonna post the sequel to Les Mis, but I lied. This idea came to me, and I just ran with it. So here.
Phil's 21. A week after the funeral and a little over a month since he had to drop Shield to take care of Clint.
Phillip hated seeing how little his father had. He hated how most things that he did keep were probably important to him.
Maybe it was just because cleaning out your dead father's things from your old house tends to be a terrible necessity.
It was easy to clean out the clothes in Clint's closet, he didn't have too much and he wasn't the sort of man who had a favorite treasured shirt anyway. Phil put those in the charity pile. The rest were mostly books. Clint did love to read, he used to read aloud to Phillip and Amelia. That's probably what got the girl hooked on fandoms. Clint had old versions of everything, Tolkien, Rowling, Green, Hugo, Stevenson, Carroll, King. Phil knew Amy loved them as much as the archer did. He put those in the pile he was sending to her.
Phillip came across a neat little box along the back wall of Clint's closet. The red head was hesitant to open it, Clint rarely put anything away in an actual box, and these must mean something to him. Eventually Phil ended up find the little latch to open it. Inside were only three things.
A picture, an old picture. Clint must have only been twelve, at most. It was him and a bunch if other people, weird looking people, that'd you see in a carnival or something. That may be what it was, they were all in from of a tent. Clint was in the middle of these adults with a bow in his hand, leaning on it like it was a cane and a smile on his face. Something clicked in Phillip's mind. Something like 'wow, all those stories about him running off and joining a circus were true'. He put the photo back in the box, it was definitely to the 'keep' pile.
Another thing was a deck of cards. Not even a deck, maybe seven, eight...trading cards? These were old too, bent with a dried stain of red something, it looked like someone tried to clean it off. Faded images of 'holy shit Steve's Captain America trading cards' were printed on both sides, Steve's sloppy signature across every one of them. Phillip made out a little message on one of the cards, something like 'sorry you didn't see me sign these in person, Coulson'.
"Huh," Phillip let out a small huff of amazement. These were the cards, the ones Clint told him the story about. Not necessarily the story about the cards, more like the story of this great man who owned them. A great man who died to help stall the invasion that the Avengers would've been ready for if he hadn't. A great man named Phil Coulson, Phillip Barton's namesake. These were definitely being kept.
The twenty one year old didn't even hesitate to toss the dog tags with 'Agent Natasha Romanoff' neatly engraved along the plate into the same pile.
Phil was flipping through some old files. Nothing important, old cases, old reports. Most of them were throwaways. The little black leather bound book with everything written in sloppy Russian caught his attention. The red head was deciphering the first three words when he noticed the silent man step into the room.
"Director." Phillip immediately stood to attention, linking his fingers behind his back and spreading his feet apart.
Fury nodded a greeting and stepped further into his old agent's room. "Cut the formalities kid. The day you call me by my title in your own home is the day I should be very worried." He lightly placed a hand on the wood post on Clint's old bed and faced away from the operative."Do you remember the first time we met, Agent Barton?" Fury asked quietly.
Phil normally would not let Fury see the hint of surprise in his expression, but lately he hasn't cared who saw what of him. "Yes, sir." He responded, not even attempting to push his buttons and purposely leave out the 'sir'.
"How old were you back then? Nine? Ten?" Fury turned slightly to let the other man see his raised eyebrow.
"Eight years old, sir."
The older man nodded at the confirmation. He paused for a few seconds before smirking. Remembering a small boy not-so-quietly sitting on a bench in the training room.
Fury leaned over the railing and pointed his eye to watch Clint, who sighed and pointed to a bench, ignoring the 'really?' look he was getting from his son. "Just sit here okay? Don't talk to anyone, don't let anyone touch you, and don't move, alright? I'll be back in ten minutes minutes."
Phillip huffed and sat on the bench, watching Clint walk into an office at the side of the training room. The agents in the room ignored him, at least they knew better than to mess with the mysterious 'hawkeye's son.
The small boy looked around, watching some agents spar on a mat near him. Even at eight he knew they were doing almost everything wrong. The man on the left, Nick knew it was Carson, couldn't even keep his hands up, practically letting Collins land hit after hit. The other agent was predictable, his eyes looking right where he was going to strike. Not to mention left guy had the reflexes of a turtle. Eventually agent on the right pinned his sparring partner, leaving the man to grumble a quiet 'son of a bitch' while passing Phillip on the bench.
"Maybe you would win next time if you grew a pair and landed a hit." Fury couldn't help but smirk when the boy started calling out Agent Carson's mistakes.
Carson, apparently, didn't appreciate it. He took a threatening step towards Phil and spat at him. "What'd you say kid?"
"I said something that might save your ass in the field." Phillip sassed right back to him, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.
"And what would some little prick's failed abortion know anything about-"
"That will be all, Agent Carson." Fury suddenly was behind the agent, who quickly turned around to face a glare that do the term 'if looks could kill' some justice. The agent stumbled over his own feet to stand at attention at the director. "If you wish to spend your time insulting children I believe you should leave before a certain operative sees, and I am suddenly facing the other way."
Carson pursed his lips and stomped off. Phillip smirked triumphantly while Fury spoke again.
"You're Barton's child?" He asked nonchalantly.
"Yep." Phil answered, popping the P.
"And where, exactly, is he now?" Fury raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know." Phillip shrugged and looked up to the director. "He wanted to talk to a hill."
"A hill?" The older man questioned.
"Yep."
Fury crossed his arms and scuffed his heel on the floor. "Did he by any chance say Agent Hill?"
"Maybe." The boy mimicked his position and sat up straight. "Why do you wanna know?" He challenged.
"Because he works for me." Fury leaned down to face Phillip and sent him a mild glare. He had to admit that it surprised him when the kid sent one right back to him.
"Well he needs a new job. If he has to put up with a boss who can't keep his nose out of things."
"Phillip." A stern voice called from the side. The two turned to face Clint, striding towards them with an apology half out of his mouth. Fury cut him off before he had the chance.
"I'll look past this as long as you never leave other child on this base again, Barton."
Clint nodded once. "Yes, sir." He flicked his fingers towards the door as a sign for Phillip to follow him. The boy silently slipped down from the bench and followed the archer. But not, however, before whipping his head around to stick his tongue out at the director.
Fury smirked to himself. "Yeah, you were a smartass back then too."
Phillip nodded and opened his mouth hesitantly. "Can I ask why you're here, sir?"
The Director paused before clearing his throat and turning to face his agent. "I thought I should come by to personally, officially invite you back to your unit at Shield."When Phillip didn't immediately respond, Fury continued. "It's been almost a month, Barton. Your unit's down a field agent. Times almost up before I have to issue a replacement."
Phil looked down and bit his lip. "Ah, yes sir. I'll be back, officially in the system again by monday."
"Good." The older man nodded and promptly left the room.
Phil didn't notice the spare glance Nick shot towards the bedroom, taking a second to take a last look at the place his best agent used to call home.
"Knock, knock, therapist." Mark smirked from his dorm room bed before answering the door. He was greeted to Phil, smirking while leaning against his doorframe with a duffel over his shoulder. "Hey, baby brother." He greeted smugly.
"Hello, Phillip." Mark sighed before gesturing him to come into the tiny bedroom. Phil strutted in smoothly and threw the bag on the desk chair. "You going back to the base?"
"Ah, yes. Yeah, tonight." Phil admitted. He leaned against the wall and nudged his duffle with his foot. "Just thought I'd drop by before I left. Time to get back to life, you know?"
Mark hummed and sat back down on his bed. "You know it's only been a week, right? You don't really have to rush back into it yet." He looked up at the redhead.
Phil twisted his face and shrugged. "I don't know, man. Amy's gone back to school, you're...here, it would just be me and awkward checkups from your mom." He huffed a laugh. "But uh, how's Claire? I haven't seen her in a while."
"Claire's good, Claire's, great." Mark nodded awkwardly and linked his fingers together. "David's good, too. He's met someone." The other man spared a glance at his brother's expression.
"Good. Good. Good for David. He should be, doing that." Phil cleared his throat and rubbed the nape of neck. He rolled his eyes when Mark shot him a sorry glance and picked up his duffel bag. "Well, I'm gonna head out."
"No, c'mon Phil." Mark stood up a put his arm in front of the door. "I'm sorry, we'll hang out before you leave."
"Nah, it's fine. I came here, I said hi, I told you I was leaving again. So, I'm good. We're good, don't worry about it." Phillip pushed his arm away. "But, next weekend, or when I'm here, we'll do something, bring your friends."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "Why? You hate most of your peers."
"Because...you actually have friends now and I'd like to meet them?" Phil shrugged and started walking down the hallway. Mark scoffed before calling out to him.
"Be safe, mom." He muttered the last mocking word.
"Have a good time, honey bear."
SHIELD was different, Phillip liked that.
People back at high school were only worried about typical high school things. Do I look okay? Do people think I'm a slut? Are my grades bad? Who likes me? That's type of shit. Phil never liked that.
Agents didn't care about that stuff.
They were realistic. The other members in the unit, or partnership, could walk out the door and never come back. They were only a bullet away from dying and a finger twitch from causing death.
Usually agents have five people in a unit. A field issued medic, a tech, and two regular combat field agents. They bunk together, train together, and eat together. Their breaks are scheduled at the same time. Have they same handler. Are forced to get along or someone ends up dead.
Phillip actually liked his unit.
He was the youngest, only eighteen when he was recruited, put in combat field along with Alex Garrack. He was a good ten years older than Phillip, and one of the best. Garrack was all serious-game-plan guy almost all the time, only a select few could crack a smile out of him. Black hair, a bit of Italian mixed in him. Jessica West (Jessica A. West, actually. Or Jaws, as she is referred to by Alex. And only Alex, they were foster-siblings as teenagers. Went their separate ways and ended up back side by side) was their medic, a total no bullshit stick it to the man kinda girl with dirty blonde hair. But she was a prodigy in medicine, graduated med school at twenty two and joined SHIELD immediately after they found her in military prison for punching the lieutenant colonel in the face, only six years ago. The tech was Aaron Rice, yes, Rice. He was not Asian of any decent, nor has he ever owned/worked on a rice farm. He pointed this out very quickly to Phil when they were introduced. Dark skinned, short, black hair, not totally a nerd, but not the most intimidating guy.
There trainer was Payton McCoy. Black hair, tall, she'll work you like a slave. McCoy had Phil doing combat at five in the morning 'till breakfast at eight, then West and Rice joined them for more combat 'till eleven. Two hour break for lunch and relaxing. Then Garrack and Phil had basic training with Agent Brant that ended at six while West and Rice had specialized training for their fields. Dinner. Weapons/anything else she thought they could work on training until eleven. Everyone had Sundays off unless a situations calls for them not to. Every schedule can be rearranged to fit a mission briefing and recovery if needed.
Like summer camp all over again.
But they were good people. Not dicks, and not pansies. But there wasn't exactly a warm welcome when Phil first joined.
Fury put Phillip on that squad after the standard issue eight months of basic training, because one, they were the best beside operatives, and two, they had an open spot thanks to the death of their old fourth. Benjamin Dinato. Gunned down in Guinea, one second he was there and the next he wasn't. West and Rice weren't too cold to him, warmed up in a week's time. Garrack wasn't about to let Phil replace Dinato so easily. Made that clear to him the first day, and Phil wasn't too jovial about Dinato either. It took a mission gone to hell in Dubai ending up with Phillip nearly getting himself killed for them to have the older man stop hating him.
From there on in it was like four peas in a pod.
"Welcome back, ginger. Sorry about your dad, glad you're back." West greeted quickly as soon as he walked into their bunker. Then she sent him a wave and out she went. Phil gave a small wave a nod back to her.
The bunker had a bunk bed and a single bed, West had a connecting room. Phil had top bunk, Rice had bottom, Garrack got the single. They switch it up every two years or so. There were two dressers at the back wall, under the window, a coffee machine on top of it. A TV Aaron built himself hooked up to the wall and a bathroom next to it. A wall where they kept all their weapons slid open by the dresser. Everyone had their own respective space to put mostly whatever they wanted wherever the wanted.
Rice built himself a dork's paradise. Small TV hooked up to the wall on the foot of the bed, He said he rigged the XBox connected to it to accept every disc game for any device, but Phil rarely sees him play anything on it. So he'd never really got the chance to actually test it. The bunk was high enough so you could sit up in the bottom bed, so Aaron got himself a shelf so his feet could fit right under it. Three computer screen, not counting the TV were spread across that shelf. A flexible keyboard with several odd looking keys that Phillip didn't know what they were, were included on the board. Headphones displayed from hooks on the wall. Garrack complained that Rice's crap shined too much light when the man was sleeping, so a curtain was on the top bunk's framework so Aaron could block Alex from seeing any light.
Alex's single bed and wall was plain. A few books on the nightstand, and knife under the pillow with a gun in the drawer. A picture of West and him when they were teenagers was folded and tucked in the drawer. Clothes were in one corner of the dresser.
Phil has yet to see what West's room looked like.
Phil only had a few pictures hanging up. One of him and Amelia, her right beside him at Tony's malibu home almost ten years ago. They were falling from the high dive, a pose of the two holding each other's hands above their heads as they fell towards the water. Him and Mark at Bruce and Darcy's wedding when they were little, both with uncomfortable suits on and cake all over them. Mark was pointing to Phil as if to say "He did it!". A more recent one of the boys, when Mark was graduating, he had his cap and gown a piece of paper on and Phil just stood next to him, without anything like that. Mark held a sign that said "Graduated", Phil had one that said "Didn't" with a smug smirk. Another one of all the kids and parents from last Christmas. A real boring picture, but Phil kept it. The last one was one of him and Natasha, he was only four and they were having a picnic during some day in July. Amelia was just born, you could barely see the top of Phil's face because Clint decided he could aim and arrow, but not a camera. So it was mostly Natasha, the sky, and tuffs of Phil's red hair.
The redhead sighed and dropped his duffle on the dresser to be unpacked later. He took out the old box that had Clint's stuff that was worth keeping in it, and placed it under the dresser. He couldn't leave it at the apartment, he didn't think he could go back there again anyway. Phil cleaned it out, there was almost nothing left, besides Amelia's stuff that she hadn't taken with her to school. But the agent still couldn't go back there, not to an empty place with only memories. He was back at Shield, this was more home than the Tower to him now.
He had to move on.
So...That.
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