They left him behind for weeks, he knew they worried about him and their decision had nothing to do with his lack of motivation. Nick on the other hand had tons of work for him. Clint was barely at the Tower but no one asked questions. They thought he was pouting, hiding from them like a stubborn child. No one noticed the way he moved after two weeks of absence, no one noticed the wince every time he turned his upper body a certain way after one week of absence, no one noticed the pain in his eyes after three days of absence.
Clint felt lonely but it was better that way. Natasha avoided him, Phil pretended he didn't exist and the rest of the team had no clue how to behave around him. They didn't dare to ask; when they finally did, they got no answer. Clint knew he didn't make it easy for them to show that they try to care but there was no reason for him to open up. When he was honest with himself he was scared to let them in. Breaking up with Phil was the hardest thing he ever did, he regretted his choice deeply. He had asked himself if there had been another way. A way he overlooked but he came to the same conclusion over and over again; leaving Phil was the best choice.
What Clint didn't know was that Phil started keeping tabs on him after his second away mission. The older agent could see the pain the archer was in and wondered what his ex-asset was doing while they weren't looking. He didn't get much information, for some reason his missions were even for him too secret. His first destination three days after Clint's nightmare had been medical where he looked for a doctor who was ready to help him with a 'case'. He asked the doctor about three medications he found in the house of a missing agent. The first was an antidepressant and the second were antipsychotic agents. Phil was surprised about the strange combination of these medicaments but S.H.I.E.L.D. was famous for mixing their own stuff so it was probably okay to take these meds together; with sleeping pills on top of that. To Phil's surprise the sleeping pills weren't real sleeping pills. The medication was used to treat nightmares. The doctor assured him that it wasn't rare to combine them, the shrinks had tested them and their pharmacists took care of the rest. Phil wasn't reassured, not in the least but he had to accept what the shrinks thought was best for Clint. He wanted to know why he got them but he lost his right to ask for this kind of information the day their ways parted, the only way he had to get information was tricking medical.
Phil tried to get his hands on Clint's medical file but the file was incomplete. Two and a half years were missing. He couldn't deny anymore that he worried about his ex-boyfriend, something was not alright but he had no idea what exactly. Phil was sure Clint was not part of black ops anymore but the missions he took had an even higher classification. Barton was in trouble and there was nothing Phil could do about it. He still loved Clint, no matter how angry he was at him.
Phil tried to approach Fury and the director told him about Clint's trouble with Loki and Coulson's alleged death. Phil got the impression that his 'death' had hit the archer very hard, even though he said otherwise. It seemed Clint was not as unaffected as he wanted Phil to believe. The question was what caused Barton to turn his back on them. Was it possible that Clint loved him after all?
"Barton," Phil caught Clint on his way to the Quinjet.
"Yes sir?" Clint was not in the mood to deal with Phil.
"New mission?" Phil tried to sound monotone.
"Yes sir."
"Where are you going?"
"Classified sir. Don't take the trouble to give me the impression that you care, it's not necessary,"
"I don't care, agent. I'm suspicious," Coulson crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"I don't do something illegal. Not more than usual," Clint shrugged. "See you around sir."
"How long?" Phil couldn't stop himself from asking, he got used to Clint's presence again and it was hard to let him go again. Coulson hated it when Clint was around him but at the same time he loved it in a sick and twisted way. It proved that he was far away from letting the archer and their lost relationship go.
"I don't know sir." Clint was honest; he had no idea how long the mission would take. "I have no say in this."
"What do you mean?" Phil frowned and a small smile tugged on the corner of Clint's lip. He loved Phil's little frown when he was confused.
"I'm a toy, nothing more nothing less."
"Throwing my words back at me agent?" Phil unsuccessfully tried to keep his anger out of his voice.
"No, you were right."
The honesty in Clint's voice took Phil by surprise, "Is that what you think about yourself?"
"What else could I be?" Clint looked briefly at the pilot of the Quinjet who called out for him to hurry up. "I have to go sir. Take care of yourself."
Phil was speechless and Clint had left before he remembered how to use his vocal chords. What happened to you? Who or what is wearing you out?
::::::::::::::::::::
Phil argued with himself for hours, waiting for Clint on the roof of HQ or pretending not to care? He walked a few times in direction of the roof just to turn around to walk back to his office. A few agents gave him questioning looks while he walked around like a headless chicken. What made him finally decide was Fury's call to inform him that Clint's Quinjet would land in seven minutes. The urge to make sure the archer was alright was stronger than his anger.
Clint looked like hell, tired and worn out. Barton stopped as he caught sight of Phil, he was glad his shades hid the surprise in his eyes. What is he doing here?
"How was the mission agent?"
"Tiring," Clint slung his bag over his shoulder. "What are you doing here sir?"
"I'm here to accompany you to the Avenger tower. In case you forgot you're still one of us."
"I remember," Clint deadpanned. He wasn't too happy about it though, he wanted to be independent. Clint felt trapped but had no idea what to do about it. Running was not an option but his problem was that this was his only option, so he stayed and did what they expected him to do. Follow their orders.
"Do you intend to stand there all day?" Phil let his annoyance into his voice.
"No, sir," Clint readjusted the weight of his bag and followed his former handler to the parking lot. The archer wasn't surprised that Coulson chose his SUV instead of Lola. Clint knew he lost the privilege to touch her the day he left.
The drive was silent and for both men uncomfortable. The silence was awkward but they had no idea how to break the silence. There was a time they would have talked about the mission, the future and their plans for the day.
"Get yourself cleaned up and meet us in an hour. The communal floor will do," Phil got out of the car and headed for the elevator, not waiting for Clint.
The archer did as he was told and took his time. He didn't want to meet with them. He could imagine their accusing glares, disappointed looks and their awkward attempt to offer help.
Clint looked at his watch, two minutes left; he sighed heavily and walked down to the communal floor, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. The walls were closing in and there was nothing he could do about it. It was all too much. Phil, his guilt, all the missions for both sides he had to take, the attention he got from his friends.
"Nice to see you again," Tony greeted in a rather cool tone of voice. "Where have you been?"
"Working," Clint said, avoiding Tony's eyes.
"Working?" Steve narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you had no time to come home."
"Actually, it's the truth," Phil entered with Natasha in tow. "Fury used the chance to hand him around while we grounded him."
"Don't make him sound like a prostitute," Bruce sipped his coffee.
"I am what they need me to be," Clint shrugged. He had to use his body to get a job done a few times, he hated it. "Haven't done it for a while now," he added as Bruce stared at him with wide eyes.
"You're a whore?" Tony blurted out in disbelieve.
"Sometimes."
"He's not a whore," Phil's protective streak kicked in, surprising them with the determination in his voice. "He's a talented agent."
"He's a whore," Steve glared at Phil. "Selling your body to get a job done is not alright."
"I know that," Phil said monotone. "But sometimes it's necessary for the benefit of mankind."
"And what's with Clint's?" Steve pushed.
"Pawn sacrifice."
Steve looked like he wanted to hit Phil. Clint felt honored to have Steve's sympathy but Phil's words made him feel sick, drowning out anything else. Here we go again. Barton the toy soldier. Deep inside he knew Phil just said the truth, agents and assets were just pawns on the play-board of life. When Fury said jump they jumped asking how high, if he said die they died. It wasn't that simple but that was the basic principle.
Clint remembered how one of these missions almost broke Natasha. She felt dirty and shied away from his touches for weeks. It was a hard piece of work to put her back together.
Phil had sold himself for Clint's sake once too. A few years back Coulson seduced an arms dealer to free Barton. Clint had been angry at Phil for doing something so stupid. He was thankful that Coulson got him out of the mess he maneuvered himself into but the price was too high. Phil was an agent, a handler; not a simple field agent. His kidnappers had no chance once Coulson got the information he needed. The arms dealer didn't see another day and his minions had to face Coulson's back up team. The rescue mission had been fast and dirty.
+++Flashback+++
Clint made it his mission to find his handler after medical released him. He had seen Phil once in a drug induced haze and that was rather odd because Coulson always made sure he was alright and kept him company as often as he could. Clint's first destination was Coulson's office; to his surprise the older man was not there. He looked everywhere but there was no trace of his friend. His last hope was Phil's apartment so he leaped onto his bike and drove off. The ride was due to his injuries not comfortable and soothing like it used to be but he was faster. He didn't like cabs and walking was not an option, Coulson's flat was too far away to walk over there.
Clint got on top of the building opposite Phil's and he watched the apartment for a while. There was the light on in the living room and once in a while he could see a shadow move around. Barton decided to avoid the concierge and knocked on the window.
He knocked a few times before he broke into Phil's apartment. The older agent didn't seem surprised to see him. He probably knew who was the one knocking.
"Sir?" Clint sat down on the ground in front of Phil's couch, looking up at his handler who sat on the sofa. Coulson's eyes looked haunted and there was something else he couldn't figure out. "How are you?" The silence was unsettling.
"Fine," Phil said emotionless.
"Don't lie to me sir. I know what you did for me," the archer's voice was full of sorrow. "Not doing anything would have been okay too."
"They would have killed you," he finally looked Clint in the eye. He loved Barton's expressive eyes.
"He tainted you," Clint wished he could resurrect the guy and kill him slowly.
"We didn't have sex."
"Doesn't matter. It's bothering you… You're hurting. That tells me that the price you paid was far too high." Clint reached out for Phil's hand, waiting for a sign that his touch would be accepted. Phil moved his hand a few inches in Clint's direction that was all the archer needed to take Phil's hand into his own. "I'm thankful sir, but I feel guilty for what you have to endure. You're not a whore; it's not your job to use your body this way."
Phil let out a snort, "You make me sound like I'm better than you."
"Because you are."
Phil was shocked to see that Clint truly meant what he said, there was just honesty in his eyes and a childlike vulnerability on his handsome face, "I'm not, Barton." Clint's expression didn't change but a hint of disbelief appeared for a second in his eyes.
"You are a precious person," Phil tried to make his point clear.
"I'm not here to get moral support," the archer smiled gently. "I'm here to offer you my help."
"But…"
"No but, sir." Clint squeezed Phil's hand, "I'm here to listen and to help as best I can."
Phil's eyes mirrored the sadness he felt. He felt sorry for himself and he felt bad for his archer. Clint's self-esteem was never healthy but Phil had no idea how bad it truly was. "I feel dirty," Coulson confessed.
"Come with me," Clint got up and guided his handler to the bathroom. "Give me a few minutes." Phil watched how Clint went into the living room and vanished through the window. Phil looked through his dressers for clothes he felt comfortable in. He chose his favorite shirt; it was a gift from his old team in the military, and his favorite sweatpants.
"Good choice," Clint's voice startled him. "Sorry, sir," Clint felt bad for scaring his handler.
Phil gave him a brief smile, avoiding Clint's gaze.
"Come," Clint put his hand on Phil's shoulder and pushed him gently into the bathroom. "I got you a few toiletries," Clint went to the drugstore nearby. "They do nothing against what happened and they don't erase the memories but I … they make me feel relaxed and kind of comfortable… and I hope they might help you too."
Phil knew Clint had a lot to endure in his life, and it was a huge gesture for Clint to share his coping strategies with him. "Do you mean smells I consider pleasant ease the filthy feeling?"
"Yes," Clint nodded. "It helps me; and time of course, so I don't know it's useful for you but I hope it offers at least some comfort."
"Thank you," Phil took the plastic bag Clint held out. The archer nodded once and left the bathroom to grant Phil his space.
Coulson got undressed and turned on the shower; it wasn't the first time he showered that day. He watched how the steam fogged the mirror and knew the temperature was too hot but he didn't care. Before he stepped into the shower he emptied the bag. Shampoo with melissa, shower gel with cedar wood, body lotion with bergamot, deodorant with lemongrass and patchouli scented oil. Phil chuckled softly; it seemed Clint couldn't decide which smells Phil preferred. To be honest Phil wasn't sure himself so he sniffed on anything and to his surprise he used all of them. It didn't wash the feeling of the marks touches away but his soul calmed down a little. After his shower he slipped into his favorite clothes and for the first time in many days he felt safe. He felt slightly guilty for behaving that way it wasn't as if he was raped. They had just touched and kissed, and touched some more. Now he had a vague idea how the poor women felt who fell prey to a pervert. Crucial for his sense of safety was Barton next door. The archer would keep him safe, help him cope whatever it takes.
"Hey," Clint wore a comforting smile. "I thought you might be hungry," Clint stirred the sauce for the pasta he made. There wasn't much food around but Clint was used to improvise with what little he had.
"Smells delicious," Phil looked over Clint's shoulder. "How do you feel?"
"Better," that was the truth. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Clint winced as he turned his head too much to the right.
"Still in pain?" Phil placed his hand on Clint's cheek studying the look in his eyes.
Clint leaned into the touch, "Sore."
"Be honest with me," Phil's hand wandered down, probing the wounds he knew Clint had. The archer winced at almost every touch, "You're not fine."
"It's just my body, the wounds will heal. I'm more worried about your wounds," Clint caressed Phil's cheekbone with his knuckles. The touch sent a shiver down Phil's spine, he loved his asset by far more than he should and he knew Clint was attracted to him too. They danced around each other for years.
"I will be fine as long as you're around," Phil rested his forehead against Clint's chest. It wasn't his intention to put so much meaning behind his words but what's done is done.
He got the answer he hoped for when Clint put his arms around him, holding him close and whispering comforting words.
+++End flashback+++
"I'm tired," Clint felt emotionally drained. "Can I leave now?"
"We just started," Phil snarled still irritated from his discussion with Steve. "Sit down."
"Yes sir." Clint slumped down on the couch, drawing up his knees and putting his arms around them.
Natasha sat down next to him, questioning him with her gaze but Barton ignored her. He wasn't ready to say anything.
"Are you alright?" Steve asked, Clint's posture reminded him of a lost child. "Are you hurt?"
"No sir." Not this time, well, not much anyway.
"I can see that you're not okay," Steve pushed further.
"I'm tired."
"You don't look tired," Tony crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You look like someone drove over your puppy."
"I'm just overworked," Clint decided to stick with his story.
"Tell us," Natasha changed her tactic. "What do they make you do?"
"Classified."
"Don't tell me it's classified. We are your team, you always told us about your missions, so open your fucking mouth and spill it," she raged. They stared at Clint waiting for an answer.
Their gazes made him feel uncomfortable. He could feel the tears burning in his eyes but he couldn't let them fall. His tears would cause questions and that was something he tried to avoid at all cost.
"Clint?" Phil's voice broke through his raging thoughts. His voice was unusually concerned.
"Yes sir?"
"Do you want to talk? Just you and me?" The more time he spent with the archer, observing him, the more it troubled him to keep his negative feelings upright. His anger faded sometimes and turned into sadness. He felt like they just broke up.
YES, "No sir. I have nothing to say."
"Barton," Natasha warned but the buzzing of Clint's phone interrupted her speech.
"Yes sir?" Clint answered his phone, his posture stiffened. "Yes sir. I'm on my way sir." Clint put his phone away with a heavy sigh.
"Who was that?" Steve narrowed his eyes.
"Johnson," Clint winced as he let the name slip. He cursed himself for opening his mouth, maybe it was a subliminal cry for help; his soul's way to beg for someone to figure it out.
"Johnson?" Phil frowned, "World security council?"
"Yes," Clint nodded. "He asked for a favor."
"Why should he ask you for a favor?" Phil sounded meaner than he intended to be.
"We met during a meeting way back when I was still with black ops," Clint hoped they wouldn't ask more questions.
"How often does he ask for favors?" Steve didn't like to share the archer.
"Not often," that was a lie and Clint wasn't sure he was convincing. "I have to go."
"For how long this time? You just returned from a mission," Bruce asked, looking at Natasha. He knew how hard it was for his girlfriend to lose the archer more and more.
"I don't know," Clint hoped it was a short mission.
Phil pursed his lips, "You can't be part of this team when you're never around. You have to decide who you want to be; an Agent or a hero."
Clint looked at his friends and was shocked as he realized that they seemed to agree with Coulson on this one. He felt his tears return and rubbed his eyes to get rid of them, "I have to go." He could hear people calling his name but he didn't listen. He had to get away.