"Why is he leaving?" Tony watched Clint enter the Quinjet Fury had sent to pick up the archer.
"I don't know," Steve frowned. "He said Fury had a mission that acquired his skills."
"I thought he's one of us," Tony felt his stomach churn at the thought that Clint might not come back from this one. As a team they fought side by side, taking care of each other. The thought of Clint god knows where with people he didn't know did not agree with him.
"He is," Steve watched the Quinjet sped away. "He'll come back. Right, Phil?"
Coulson hid his troubled gaze behind his shades, for the first time in months he felt something close to worry for Clint. Putting them on the same team had not been Fury's brightest idea. At first Phil thought it was because the Avengers trusted him but he wasn't so sure anymore about Nick's intention. "Depends on Fury," and the outcome of the mission.
"But he's an avenger now," Tony pouted.
"He's an agent and will always be. Fury does not let go of good agents, especially Barton." There was a time I would have fought teeth and nail to keep him where he belongs.
"Can't he be both?" Steve looked at Phil. "I mean an agent within the Avengers, and not … doing missions for Fury and us, separated."
"We need people with his skill set," Phil argued. "He's valuable for both sides."
Steve nodded while Tony pouted. Coulson looked at the bright blue sky, "Do you truly need him?"
"Not again," Tony's groaned.
"It's not about me and Barton. I've got the impression that you don't value him very much."
"He's our friend," Steve was faster than Tony who intended to say the same.
"Your friend, yes. But your teammate? I don't know."
"He's a member of my team," Steve sounded slightly angry at Phil's accusation.
"You don't listen to him when he has something to say. You don't ask for his opinion. You leave him high up in his nest to keep him away from the battle itself. You don't grant him his freedom in the field. I know he's a sniper, he can lie still for days but he isn't useless when it comes to hand to hand combat. I mean you don't let him near you; always keeping him at arm's length. Be it in the field or in private."
"He doesn't want to bond," Tony shrugged. This was not entirely true; the archer did try to bond but on his own pace.
"Have you any idea how long I needed to gain his trust?"
They shook their heads, no.
"Four years," thanks Natasha for reminding me. "He's like a scared toddler in this regard."
"Four years?" Tony's brows rose. "I don't want to wait four years."
"I can see that he likes you, and I'm surprised how fast you became friends but his heart does not trust you enough to make you family."
"Have you been his family?" Steve asked, all anger forgotten.
"Yes," the admission burned a hole into his heart. Clint had been his everything. Phil planned to propose but Clint ended their relationship before he got the chance. He still owned the ring he bought back then. Phil tried to throw it away many times but he couldn't. His hand had hovered over the trash bin, ring in his fist. But he couldn't open his hand. He couldn't let go. The necklace Clint gave him for their first anniversary was still around his neck, hidden by his dress shirt. Phil had locked the necklace away but the dresser he hid the tags in pulled him closer like a magnet, every time he passed it. So he gave up the struggle and decided to get rid of the ring and tags when he was finally able to let go. It didn't work the way he hoped it would.
"It's his own fault," Steve shook his head in disappointment. "He threw away the best friend a man can wish for." Rogers was glad he could call Coulson his friend. The agent was honest and his beliefs were more than pure.
"He never learned to be around the same people for more than a few years," why am I protecting him? Stupid.
"Wait and see," Tony grinned. "He will not leave us. I'll steal your agent away."
"Good luck with that," Phil gave him a wicked grin before he turned around and left the roof. He had an appointment with agent thirteen.
"I think Coulson misses him," Steve said more to himself than Tony.
"Clint must have ripped his heart out. It's not easy to lose your girl and friend at the same time."
Steve sighed, remembering Barney; and his soon to be wife, "It's hell."
Tony put a hand on Steve's broad shoulder and guided him inside the Tower.
::::::::::::
Clint returned one month and three weeks later. He sneaked into the Tower in the middle of the night and asked Jarvis not to inform the team. Clint needed time to himself; he wasn't ready to face his friends. The mission had been torture. He infiltrated a special group of the CIA, who worked against the law. Selling information to the highest bidder, killing fellow agents to keep their existence a secret. It wasn't easy but did not take as much time as he thought. Clint's unconventional behavior and fake reputation as an effective troublemaker gained their trust in no time.
Clint crawled into his bed, not bothering to undress. His side ached a little where a knife had graced his skin. It wasn't deep enough to require stitches but large enough to burn. In addition to that he spotted a nice shiner where the elbow of a CIA agent had hit him.
Barton took one of his pills just to make sure. He felt like he could sleep ages without medication but he feared the dreams and hoped the pill would keep them at bay until his body got enough time to rest.
"We should visit Fury again," Tony decided. "He's gone for almost two months. Something is not right."
"We could," Bruce began as Jarvis interrupted him.
"Master Barton returned last night," Clint asked him not to tell them but Jarvis decided that enough time had passed.
"He's here?" Coulson heard himself say. He walked into the communal floor the moment Jarvis informed them that Clint had returned.
"He's still asleep," Jarvis added.
"How is he?" Tony asked with worry in his tone.
"Life signs are stable; his heartbeat is a little too fast."
"He has a nightmare," Phil took a cup of coffee, pretending not to care. "Don't wake him if you want to walk away unharmed."
"But we can't just stand by and watch while he suffers," Bruce chimed up. It felt not right to let Barton sleep under such conditions.
"Let agent Coulson handle him," Natasha strolled into the living room dressed in one of Bruce's large shirts and shorts.
Phil shot her a glare that would have made other people cry, but Natasha was Natasha and immune against such glares. "I don't think that's a wise idea."
"I agree with him on this one," Tony imagined how Clint broke Coulson's nose or how Coulson throttled Clint before he could land a hit.
"Phil," her tone softened. She was angry at Clint; that was out of question, but they were both unhappy with the situation and she hoped they could, somehow, reconnect.
He rolled his eyes, "Okay." Phil walked to Clint's room and hesitated a moment before he opened the door. Clint made himself as small as possible, Phil could see a sheen of sweat on his skin as the light from the corridor illuminated the archer. Whatever he was dreaming of it was terrible. Phil moved closer but stopped as a soft, "Phil", escaped Clint's lips.
Coulson waited, not sure if Clint was awake or still asleep. After two more minutes and three, "Phil," and one, "sorry," he came to the conclusion that Clint was talking in his sleep.
"Agent Barton." he placed a hand on Clint's cheek. He used to do this while they were together. "Wake up, agent."
Clint didn't stir but continued to whimper and mumble incomprehensibly.
"Barton," Phil put more pressure on the cheek. "Clint?" He frowned, switching on the light. Clint's black eye stood out from his pale face. That must have been a strong perp, he winced inwardly in sympathy. There was an orange vial on the nightstand and Phil picked it up. "Oh," he put the vial back on the nightstand and decided to take the risk and shake Clint. His hand wandered to Clint's shoulder and he braced himself for the possibility of violence that could follow. Phil shook him rather gentle at first, then more forcefully. Clint opened his eyes faster than Phil had ever seen and shied away from the touch. Curling up on himself on the other side of the bed, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Clinton?" Phil approached him again, waiting for a reaction. He hates medications?! "Are you awake?"
"Don't know…," Clint breathed heavily. Was Phil real? Was he one of his hallucinations? The ghost he feared most? "Don't know…"
"You are awake, agent," Phil sat down on the bed, unsure what to do next. "Want to talk about it?"
Clint shook his head, he wasn't ready. His demons were his and his alone. It was the punishment he had to endure for taking their lives.
"Okay," Phil's voice returned to his usual cool tone. "See you later, agent." He stared at Clint's back, waiting for a reply. You're still in uniform. Must have been one hell of a mission. Phil took a deep breath before he reached out for the doorknob, "Do you need anything?"
"Salvation," he whispered, taking Coulson by surprise.
"I will listen to you this once," the older agent offered. What happened?
"I don't want to talk," Clint sounded more coherent. Why is Phil here?
Phil wanted to leave but something kept him inside Clint's room, his legs refused to work. "Get up, shower and we meet in thirty." He waited for Clint to move but the archer remained unmoving. He sighed with annoyance and pulled Clint forcefully into a sitting position. Phil got rid of Clint's vest and undershirt. It was a hard task, old memories about Clint and his beautiful body flooded his mind. Clint was still too high from his pill and exhaustion that he didn't even try to resist. "Get up," Phil ordered, frowning as he caught sight of the large cut on Clint's side. "Knife?"
Clint nodded barely visible. After a hard stare from his ex-handler he got out of his pants. The towel Phil threw at him hit him in the face, his reflexes were slow and he wasn't fast enough the catch it in time. "Shower," Phil pointed at the bathroom door. Clint obeyed.
Phil sat down on the bed waiting for Clint to finish his shower. To see Clint this way hurt; and it shouldn't. Not after such a long time. The look in Clint's normally expressive eyes was scary. His eyes looked haunted. I don't care, Phil chided himself, I don't care. Heck, … I do. Why do I care? I don't want to. He doesn't deserve it… Old habits die hard, that's it.
Clint emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later; he didn't take a change of clothes with him so he had no choice but wrap the large towel around his hips, and a smaller one around his shoulders, and pray that Phil was gone. No such luck. His ex-handler sat on the bed and picked him apart with his eyes. Clint felt uncomfortable, please go, he grabbed a few clothes and hissed as the wound on his elbow stung.
"Barton?" Phil's voice was alert. There were droplets of blood on Clint's arm.
"I slipped and hit my elbow on the tile," the archer shrugged while he hurried back into the bathroom.
Slipped? You? You do not 'slip' in the shower, not… his medication. Phil reached out and took the orange bottle with Clint's pills. That's probably the good stuff. The name sounds familiar. Phil looked from the bottle to the nightstand, should I? He battled with himself for a second before he opened the drawer. Two more bottles lay in there. Phil took pictures of them with his Smartphone before he placed them back where they belonged.
"I'm ready sir." Clint stood in the doorway, dressed in sweatpants and a ratty shirt. Phil wasn't sure if Clint wasn't coherent enough to know where the shirt came from or if the archer intended to taunt him. It was Phil's old shirt, with the Rangers label and his name on the back. It was a gift from his teammates when he left the army. Phil had searched for his shirt many times and to see Clint wear it made his hurt jump with an unreasonable sense of joy. I don't want to care, he reminded himself but his weak attempts to convince himself failed more and more.
"Come," Phil hurried out of the room. Clint grabbed his sweatshirt and followed him in silence with lowered head. The archer stumbled when they left the elevator. Phil acted on instinct and steadied the archer; the contact sent a shiver down his spine. Clint looked so vulnerable and out of it that it tore on Phil's heart. Clint had broken his heart in the worst way possible but he didn't deserve that. No matter what he tried to make himself believe.
"Phil?" Steve looked up from his book and frowned. Tony stopped the movie he was watching together with Natasha. Bruce hid in his lab and Thor was off world to visit his brother.
Natasha narrowed her eyes, "What happened?" It must be something terrible the way Coulson behaves, she thought. Coulson's hand was still around Clint's upper arm and Phil didn't look like he intended to break said arm. The touch wasn't intimate either but kind of promising.
"I'd like to know that too." Phil let go of Clint and sat down next to Natasha, "He's not in the condition to work for a while."
"I agree," Steve studied his young friend. The black eye made him angry at whoever hit the archer and he was angry at Clint for keeping so many secrets.
Clint's eyes widened, "No work?"
"You're high as a kite," Phil deadpanned. His gaze wandered to Clint's elbow. The cut was small and clean but it would sting for a while. He could have broken his neck; with me next door.
Clint lowered his gaze again he wasn't feeling strong enough to play the tough guy. He just wanted to crawl back into his bed and sleep, preferably forever.
"Give us one good reason not to ground you for a while," Steve's gaze reminded Clint of his father when he realized that Clint had done something he shouldn't have. The only difference was that Steve wouldn't hit him until he bled.
Clint remained silent.
"Has it something to do with your mission?" Natasha pushed.
Clint did not reply.
"Is it related to Loki's attack?" Tony tried his luck.
Barton's eyes flickered for a brief moment but his mouth was sealed.
"So it has something to do with Loki," Phil mused out loud. "It wasn't your fault he used you like a toy."
Clint felt sick, a toy that was exactly what he was. A toy. He was Loki's toy, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s toy, Steve's toy soldier and …, stop thinking. "I killed people I wasn't supposed to kill," he finally answered. "I wasn't supposed to kill Coulson, Clements, Evaristo, Lee and all the others. I failed them and I have to live with that,"
"Can you live with it?" Steve's gaze softened.
"Yes," they believed him; he could see it in their eyes. Only Phil and Natasha looked unconvinced. I can't live with what I've done. They were innocent, my friends, and comrades.
"You didn't kill him," Natasha reminded. "He's right here."
"Is he?" Clint's voice was so soft they almost missed that he said anything. "I'm glad Agent Coulson survived the attack I organized," his voice was stronger.
"Barely," the words left Phil's mouth before he could stop himself. It wasn't the right time for his private vendetta against Barton.
"I am sorry, sir." Clint said honest, "It wasn't my intention to get anyone killed. All I ever wanted was to protect people I care for."
"Sure," Phil felt anger bubble under the surface. "You don't care Barton. You never cared. All you care for is your own pitying self. You're not made to be a family's man, or long time friend. You're always on the run. Running from yourself, running from people who could like you back. Do you know what the saddest thing is?"
Clint shook his head, he didn't know.
Tony tried to stop Coulson but the agent was unimpressed, "One day you will die alone. No one will care, no one will cry. You'll be gone and no one remembers." It was one of the things Phil had thought about at the hospital and he came to the conclusion that even though he was a workaholic he had people who would mourn him. Nick, Jasper, Maria, Natasha and many more.
"I don't care," he didn't want to die alone.
"When did you stop caring?" Natasha glared, "I remember a time you where scared of dying and being forgotten."
"Death is death. We all die, sooner or later," he said nonchalantly; gathering all his strength to sound strong and uncaring.
"You're so jaded," she gritted her teeth. She couldn't read Clint like she used to. Natasha had no idea if he was lying or not. "I don't know you anymore."
"You never knew me in the first place," he shot back; hitting her hard. "I'm going back to bed," he announced as the silence grew too heavy for him to bear. With a sloppy wave he turned around and left.
"Clint," Tony called out but he ignored his friend. He was too tired for this shit. He was too tired to think, to breathe and even to live. Clint wanted his nightmare to end but he couldn't; he had something to fight for and he would not go before he was sure his loved ones were safe.