As Phil directed his staff around the busy restaurant, his thoughts turned back to Clint from this morning. A smile sneaked through as he mused. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to see anything obvious that could be done after looking through the paperwork that Clint had received. He was no expert, but he did have a grasp of the law. It seemed with Clint's lease being up in a couple of months, he was pretty powerless in the face of the new rates. He'd left feeling incredibly disappointed that he couldn't solve the man's problems.

For all that disappointment, he had still left with an undoubted spring in his step at what had transpired between them. Clint's quiet understanding and willingness to wait for him had greatly moved Phil and he had been filled with a confidence he had been sadly missing lately.

Now he needed to rein his undercurrent of happiness in because May kept giving him odd looks. He was starting to suspect that he was unconsciously grinning or humming and at any second she was going to grill him for more. After inspecting the soup bowls for quality and consistency, he picked them up and turned away from Melinda May's silent interrogation stare. That stare would have you giving up your own grandmother for rolling her own, she never had to even ask a question. He often thought she should have gone into law enforcement.

He kept his eye on May for a little too long though and before he could register what was happening the tomato and basil soup was sliding elegantly to the edge of the bowl. It teetering on the rim for a second and then unable to hold the swell cascaded over in a rush of red/orange, clothes staining tidal wave. Phil could do little but watch as the front of his white shirt became a volcanic red. He grabbed quickly at the shirt keeping the hot liquid away from his sensitive stomach skin, thankful he had put on a undershirt this morning, giving him some protection from the scalding liquid..

Skye's grasp of, "Oh my god," about summed it up as he looked up at the girl that had bounded into him, looking guiltily from him back to the shirt, and then the soup covered floor, her hand covering her mouth.

"I guess we need two more soups then," May stated dryly without a flicker of emotion.

It only took a few seconds before everyone was back into action. May was already pouring out two more soups into bowls, and Skye was furiously rubbing at the floor with a mop, Phil dabbed and then rubbed at the rapidly cooling liquid on his shirt, grimacing as the cooling wetness reached his skin.

"You need to change, and put that into soak before it stains," Melinda helpfully said as she slid the replacement soups across the pass.

"Yeah, I'll just be a second. Skye, can you take these?" He indicates to the soups.

"Of course," she said and glanced up at the table orders, "table three?" She double checked before he could disappear out the door and into the staff area.

"Yeah, can you take over the pass 'til I'm back?"

"Okay boss! sorry about..."

"My fault, I wasn't paying attention, don't worry."

He didn't miss Melinda saying something under her breath at the words, but they were too faint to pick up.

The staff room was not much more than a broom cupboard in size; it barely contained everyone coats and bag, a small coffee making area and a couple of not particularly comfortable seats, but frankly no one used it anyway, so there were no complaints. He rummaged around the bag he had hung with spare clothes and cursed silently to find everything, even boxers, but no spare shirt. He thought furiously as he made his way back into the kitchen; he couldn't stay like this, so as he spotted May he found more lies slipping from his lips, history would suggest they would come back to bite him.

So when she looked at his still stained shirt he gave her a quick grin and fished out his car keys from his pocket dangling them in front of him obviously.

"I've run out of shirts, but I have got some dry cleaning in the car so I'll nip out and grab one from there, okay?" He waited for a nod before heading out, pocketing the car keys and pulling out his apartment key instead.

As he stepped out onto the now dark street, he was greeted by the unhappy sight of the two men from the casino bearing down on his place, he contemplated going back but he needed to change the shirt that was starting to crust onto his skin.

He estimated that he was slightly closer to his door, and he could maybe get in before they got there. He picked up his pace, key in hand; it sounded over dramatic in his mind as he thought it out, after all it was only a matter of a few meters between each door. He fumbled with the key as he reached his entrance in his haste and groaned as he heard a slightly out of breath voice behind him.

"Mr. Coulson."

Bastards must have run to catch up with him.

A hand came to rest heavily on his shoulder, whether it was meant to be or not it felt threatening. Phil still tried to ignore them, the key thankfully slotted into the hole. Then, he found himself being forcefully pulled around, and the other man knocked into Phil's hand knocking the key back out of the door and sending it clattering to the floor.

Phil turned out of the pulling hand angrily, "Hey!"

"Mr. Reese is fed up of waiting for his money." The one that had knocked the key from his hand said menacingly.

"And I told you already I don't give a shit about Mr. Reese or his money; it has nothing to do with me," Phil said standing his ground, beyond pissed as the two men looked between themselves and him. He was past caring about all of Nick's shit; he bent down and retrieved the key when the two thugs didn't say anything and turned back to the door.

It was only then that Phil realised that he had underestimated the problem as his head slammed into the door frame. He didn't see stars but bizarrely he was pretty sure he heard shouts. He was sure he could feel blood, and he must have been dazed because one of the thugs grabbed hold of his arm and jerked it back and behind him. It took too long for him to respond, and his arm was already jammed up towards his shoulder blade sending shooting pains down the wrist as the hand that gripped it twisted.

"You will pay up or there will be more of this."

"Fuck you," Phil wheezed out, he kicked out with his foot managing to connect to the man's shin. He followed it up knowing that this would most likely force the man's head forward, so he shot his still swimming head back till it made a decent contact and the man behind him grunted. A steely fist hit into his kidneys, the other man Phil guessed, his legs wobbled. His head was smashed into the door again, and Phil knew for sure that there was blood from the first hit now because of the rather muffled wet sound as his head impacted against the paintwork again. The voices had started again, perhaps his bruised brain was making it up, but the voice sounded a hell of a lot closer this time and familiar.

"I've called the cops, you guys better back off, I'm warning you. I can use this."

It seemed to do the trick though because with one last push into the door and another threat to pay up, the two backed away and Phil could sink into the door rather than being pinned to it. He stayed that way cataloguing his injuries, cut head, but it wasn't pouring with blood so it might just be more of a graze, it felt like it was just above his right eye, so no way of hiding that! The kidney punch had hurt but was fading; it was likely not to cause too much damage although peeing blood was likely in his experience. His arm muscles screamed out a bit where they had been stretched, but all in all he was fine. Well, sort of, he felt sick every time he moved his head, and his knees were definitely wobbly and he hadn't managed to pull away from the door as yet.

His guardian angel had arrived, pounding heavy feet suggested he had ran to his rescue although it was entirely plausible that he had arrived on a prancing white stallion, mane rippling in the breeze, nostrils flaring with power. Phil should attempt to open his eyes to see if his saviour were standing there in chain mail and a full suit of armour.

"Fuck, Phil" the voice said without a trace of muffling from a face plate.

Phil's brain wasn't so far gone that he didn't recognise the voice, and that forced his eyes open.

Clint was standing next to him with a worried frown on his face and the coffee shop owner was standing next to him with an honest to god bow and fucking bow and arrow. Phil's eyes widened and tracked around, but there wasn't a horse in sight, thank god. Otherwise, he would be questioning how hard he had hit his head.

Clint reached out to take a hold of Phil's arm, and he realised he was wavering a little from side to side.

"Are you alright?"

"Hmm, yeah, sure," Phil mumbled still looking at the weapon in Clint's hands.

The man obviously noticed and explained, "I was on the way to practice at the range on my way home. Talking of which, are you okay for a second if I go pick up my case? I just unpacked it quickly and left it down the street when I saw what was happening."

Phil nodded numbly, his blurry eyes not able to focus on the man's ass as he sprinted quickly away, which was a shame.

When Clint picked it up and turned back towards him, Phil felt his cheeks colour up, and he swiftly started to look around for the key to the door. He located it and bent down to pick it up but overestimated his balance and probably would toppled over if Clint's hands hadn't wrapped round Phil from the back and started to pull him upright, his fingers made a final effort and snagged the keys as he was pulled up. He grinned ridiculously, punch drunk, holding the keys up triumphantly.

It was infectious, as Clint started to grin back at him and said, "You're an idiot."

"I know, but I got the key."

Clint's eyes narrowed, and Phil wasn't sure if he was slurring his words because his 'have a go' hero was giving him the once over. The beautiful dreamy eyes widened, and he looked back up at Phil in panic, his grip tightening on the older man's waist.

"Fuck, we need to get you to the hospital." His face calmed reassuringly, "I think you've been stabbed, Phil, okay, but I'm gonna look after you okay?" Phil felt a hand press into his stomach as Clint fiddled around in his jacket pocket with his other one pulling a phone from its depths.

Phil looked down dazed at his front, vaguely wondering why that was one of the few areas on his body that didn't hurt. His addled brain kicked in, and he laughed until he had to lean forward into Clint to get a breath and maybe just maybe he had gone a little hysterical.

"Phil? Shit, I need to phone for help?" Clint tried to manoeuvre the hugging man away to get his phone near to his face to dial and speak.

Phil heard the panic in Clint's voice and pulled himself together, "No, it's okay, Clint," he reached out with his hands and cupped his face, "it's soup, tomato soup. I was on my way to getting changed; I'm fine, okay?"

Clint closed his eyes briefly and sighed in relief and then grabbed Phil furiously and pulled him back into the hug. Phil couldn't help the squeal as Clint pulled hard on Phil's bruised ribs.

"Oh shit," Clint moved back quickly, "I'm sorry."

Phil tried unsuccessfully not to flinch, smiling to try and lessen the effect. "It's fine, don't worry."

"Don't worry. Fuck. Look. at you," Clint said, tracing his finger across the damage on Phil's face, "let's get you inside so I can clean you up, maybe I won't worry so much once I can see exactly what the damage is?"

Phil nodded and held up the keys once again with a smirk on his face. It wasn't till he was about three-quarters up that he realised the mistake he had made and with the realisation came a bout of nausea, and he slowed down.

"You okay?" The man behind him asked in concern.

"Dizzy," he said truthfully as he came to a stop and leaned into the wall.

Clint came up to stand next to him and put a supporting arm around him, "Come on, nice and easy, we can do it."

Phil swallowed; he found himself standing outside the pit from the dark lagoon that he had the misfortune to call home with Clint, the guy that Phil was pinning a whole load of hope on in the future, waiting for entry into what would be Phil's fuck up of a life. "Uh, I need to explain..." He turned shamefully towards Clint, hand on the handle, "I've had some problems."

"I kinda guessed that from the mafia types outside."

Phil took a deep breath and walked in feeling every bit the failure this place screamed. He walked to the middle of the room, not able to even look in Clint's direction to see his reaction. Clint made no comment, but Phil had picked up the hesitation in step as he crossed the threshold.

"Do you have a first aid box?" Clint asked quietly, too quietly; it made Phil wince.

"I'll get it," Phil responded despondently.

"No, no, I'll get it you sit yourself down," he looked around before pointing to the only thing to sit on, the bed.

"Bathroom," Phil pointed in the direction, "under the sink." He didn't add, just below the mould that is creeping up the wall no matter how much scrapping and cleaning he did.

Clint was only a second and calmly walked back to Phil, who hadn't moved despite the instruction to sit down.

"Come on," Clint took him by the arm like a child and lead him to the bed; his put up bed that came roughly to mid shin. With a battered head and ribs that felt every bit like the punch bag they had been used for, it seem a ridiculously long way down and racked up everything embarrassing about his life. Phil wanted nothing more than to hide his head in the pillows and stay that way till someone told him it was a dream.

Clint knelt down next to him, easily enough empathised their age difference; ten years ago Phil could kneel down without bones cracking too. As Phil looked at him, he opened the first aid box and pulled out what he needed. The silence was deafening. Phil wanted just to scream, okay you found me out, I'm worthless move on down the bus please, nothing to see here. Please don't stop or slow down to watch the car crash of my life.

When Clint finally spoke he said gently, "It's okay, you know, I've been in this situation myself." He looked up at Phil, eyes full of compassion, and when Phil didn't speak he continued, "look you own a restaurant that from the looks of it does pretty well, you drive a beautiful car, wear tailors suits, I'm guessing this is all new, something has happened to get you here?"

Phil nodded morosely.

Clint dabbed at the cut above his eye, "I'm here, if you want, I'd like to help if I can?"

The two men stared at each other, and Phil felt utterly safe for the first time since he came up here. He mind flashed to the things he still had. The suits hanging in there plastic covers; Lola, bless her safely parked out back. Hopefully, in the future this man kneeling in front of him who seemed to be unfazed by the hovel he lived in and the restaurant; the restaurant and the staff, who were all friends and life didn't seem quite so hard.

"Fuck!"

Clint looked up startled.

"Fuck, May," he made a half-hearted attempt to get up, but his legs and ribs wouldn't allow for much of a speedy get away, and Clint's hand on his shoulder didn't have to have much pressure to keep him there.

"Phil?"

"May will be sending out a search party, I only said I was getting a shirt from the car!"

"The car?"

"I... Uh, haven't told her about this place," he looked down unable to meet Clint's eyes again.

"Okay, I'll go tell her what's happened but she needs to know about this, you don't have to bear this all on your own."

"She knows about the money; I'm kinda of penniless," he grimaced, "long and short of it is that Nick gambled it away, well that's what I presume, hence the heavy mob outside trying to get more out of me. It's just I never told her about this place, she would try and get me to stay with her, and it's not fair to drag Melinda into all this, she's a good friend I don't want to put that burden upon her."

Clint nodded in understanding and patted his hand. "Do you feel okay? That was quite a wack your head took."

"Mmn, feel a bit sick but I'll live."

"Right I'll just run down and tell Melinda and comeback, you should maybe lay back, don't get up." He warned hesitating as if worried about leaving him and then hurried out the door.