He must have dozed off for a moment, back resting against the wall that his bed ran along. It couldn't have been for long as his head thumped in time with the feet now running up his stairway. Two distinct sets by the sounds of it, which meant that a shit storm was probably coming his way in the form of Melinda May. She was going to be pissed when she saw this place and more pissed still that he hadn't told her about it. Worst still was that she was likely to chew him out in front of Clint and make him feel like a five year old instead of her boss and and on top of all that, he had a fucking headache!

In the end she didn't do any of that. She did storm in but then she'd just stared at him, and Phil had broken like a twig within seconds and mumbled 'sorry.' It made Phil think back decades to when he had been seven years old and William Page had tried to force Phil's head down the john. His arms had flailed wildly trying to defend himself and accidentally caught the bully on the nose making it bleed just as a teacher had walked into the bathroom. It was the first time Phil had ever laid a hand on anyone, and whether it was by poor chance or not, he had hurt someone and the apology had bubbled up out of him in contrition.

May inspected his head, turning it one way then the next and then somewhat begrudged faced Clint and said stonily, "Good job."

Clint looked a shade paler than normal, and Phil suspected he had already been subject to an earful when he told May that Phil had been living up here under her nose all this time. Which wasn't fair on Clint, so he'd have to apologise to him later after Melinda left.

"This place smells," was the comment she chose to make when she decided to acknowledge her surroundings.

"It's the damp in the walls," Clint returned, earning him another death glare from the woman, which he held bravely until May turned away. Phil sent a slight smirk in Barton's direction, who in return lifted his brow.

"You're a ..." She sat back from her examination of the walls to concentrate on Phil again, "I don't have words."

"Pigheaded?" Clint interjected.

Phil glared at Clint this time and Melinda's lips twitched, "I like him."

"I'm so pleased," Phil remarked sarcastically.

"Was it the two from the other day?" She asked seriously.

Phil nodded and immediately wished he hadn't when it spiked a pain behind his eyes.

"The other day? Has this happened before?" Clint asked worriedly turning towards Phil.

"I was warned."

"Shit. How much money are we talking about?" Clint grimaced at Phil, embarrassed, "if you don't mind me asking?"

Phil smiled sadly and shook his head in the negative. "No, I don't mind but I don't know."

Clint frowned, "Those guys said something about you being sent the demands?"

Phil stared straight ahead in puzzlement for a few seconds. He hadn't had any written threats; it was bizarre. Then he thought back to the attack, and something dawned on him, "No, they didn't say that, they said they'd sent Fury warnings." He looked across at the plastic box table, "Melinda the post on… can you bring it here, it's all Nick's redirected post, I started opening it and then I... I forgot to finish," he grimaced.

May looked down sympathetically at him, "I think you should leave it till tomorrow. Wait 'til your head is a bit clearer."

"No, no I'm fine," he impeached with a wave of his hand, "please."

She sighed and went over to the table and picked up the pile of post, "I need to get back to the restaurant. I'm sorry."

"That's okay," he smiled up at her as she handed over the post, "thanks for coming, I appreciate it. Is everything alright over there?"

"Yes, don't worry, but the place won't run without both of us," She smiled as gently as Melinda May ever did, which wasn't saying much, and finished with, "especially as I'm the cook!"

He nodded, and then repeated, "Thanks, Melinda."

She gave a curt nod back and started for the door. Phil noticed Clint following but just as she exited she turned and addressed Phil again, "Don't think we won't be having words about this place when your head isn't swimming."

Clint and Melinda exchanged a few words out of Phil's hearing and then she was gone.

"Didn't think I'd get away with that," Phil said almost to himself with a groan. He closed his eyes, and leaning his head back against the wall, Nick's post still clutched in his hand.

"I'm going to make us a hot drink, okay," Clint inquired, moving away from the door.

Phil opened his eyes, "Sure, I'm a little limited on equipment."

"What you got," Clint asked looking over to the plastic box that held his supplies.

"Coffee or tea, about sums it up."

"Tea for you I think," Clint said not giving Phil any choice and started to make a coffee for himself.

"You don't have to stay you know I'm okay," Phil mumbled.

Clint looked back over his shoulder, "I told Melinda that I'd keep an eye on you."

"Seriously I'm fine..."

"Phil, I'm staying," Clint interrupted, "I want to," he added gently handing off the tea to Phil and sitting next to him on the bed body pressing into Phil's. "This okay?" Clint asked.

"Hmm," Phil muttered taking a sip from his mug. His eyes drifting shut with appreciation as the hot liquid sank through his body warming him from inside out.

"So," Clint asked carefully, "which casino is after you?"

"Huh, I..." He looked puzzled, "I have no idea, uh, Chuckles, downstairs mentioned a Mr. Reece, not that it means anything to me," Phil placed the post down on his lap.

"Oh," Clint said warily, which had Phil turning sharply with worry at the tone.

"What?"

"Uh, I know of a friend of a friend that had some trouble and that name rings a bell."

"And?"

Clint looked down, "I'm sorry, it wasn't good, they're a heavy lot. It didn't end well. You can't mess with them, Phil."

Phil sighed and roused himself a little and looked down at the letters, "Let's see if there's some information in this lot then." He started opening the envelopes, one at time, smiling tightly at Clint when he leaned in a bit closer and slung his arm around Phil.

They were several letters in before Phil got to an envelope he had already opened but not looked at the contents, he pulled out a letter and started to unfold it with a sharp breath. He had caught sight of a roulette logo at the top and glance over at Clint, "Here we go," he paused before opening it up completely.

He was silent so long that Clint had to enquire, "Phil? What is it."

He remained silent, passing the letter over to Clint whose eyes widened in horror, "Fuck, how did he manage to build up that much debt?"

Clint turned as Phil remained quiet, shell-shocked. Clint grabbed his hand, "Hey, we can go to the police, they can't hound you like this, maybe work out a repayment plan, keep everybody happy, something like that?" Clint said hopefully.

Phil shook his head, "Look around you. There is nothing to spare; every single penny goes back to the bank as repayments on the debts that Nick ran up with them if I default on those I lose the restaurant."

Phil sighed, "I'll have to sell Lola."

"Lola?"

"The car."

"You named your car Lola?"

"No."

Clint looked puzzled for a second until Phil explained, "My father named her Lola, it was his car. He... He died when I was quite young; my mother kept the car for me."

"Hell, I'm sorry."

Phil nodded, "It should cover the debt."

"Fuck, Phil, this is shit."

Phil leant over and covered Clint's mouth with a furious assault. Clint groaned, but hungrily kissed back as Phil's hands groped at Clint's back fisting the fabric of his shirt before searching out another spot with frenzy. Fingers furrowed through the back of Phil's hair and then ran lightly down the fine hair of his neck, Phil gasped as the sensation sent shivers across his skin. He pushed harder into Clint's strong body. His hands heading downwards, fingers slipping under Clint's trouser at the waist, his kisses becoming more and more demanding and Clint pulled back.

"Woah, slow down Phil."

" 's fine," Phil mumbled leaning in again.

"No, Phil," he gently pushed him away, "as much as I'm enjoying it, you only said the other day that you needed some time. You've had a crappy day; you're probably in shock, and you're sporting a head injury. I'm not going there, not tonight."

Phil sighed but nodded, the man, oh such gorgeous man beside him was right, this type of thing wasn't like him, and it smacked of desperation and Clint deserved so much more than that. He sat back against the wall and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, no, come on, it's okay, let's watch some TV instead okay?"

Phil turned his head still resting it back against the wall and opened one eye using it to stare at Clint, "I don't have a TV."

"Oh," Clint pursed his lips and looked round, "radio?"

Phil shook his head.

"What... What do you do with yourself then?" Clint smirked as he realised how that sounded, "ah… for entertainment," and winced when that sentence didn't help.

Phil laughed, "I'm mostly at work in the evenings, and I..." Phil had to think for a second, "I read."

"Okay, that's... intellectual."

Phil's eyebrow shot up, "Reading is intellectual?"

"It is for someone that mostly watches cooking and reality shows in their downtime."

Phil smiled, "You don't know what genre I read."

Clint pulled a face, "Not sure I need to ask when you use words like 'genre'."

"Funny."

"Let me guess, is it poetry, I bet it's poetry, we could both sling on a couple of Arran sweaters and read to each other."

"Yeah and talk about the wild Scottish Moors and heather," Phil grinned.

Clint smiled teeth shining through before cheekily saying, "I knew a Heather once she had the biggest..."

"The books under the pillow," Phil interrupted with a sigh.

Clint laughed and delved under the pile of pillows, pulling out Phil's latest read and staring down incredulously at it, "You're reading a comic?" He commented with surprise.

"It's a graphic novel."

"Right," Clint smirked, "with a comic inside."

Phil gave him a glare, "How long are you staying..."

Clint giggled, "Is Desperate Dan in here?"

"Bastard."