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There was a pale green backpack, fully packed, sitting inside the front door to Clint’s apartment. There was a pair of brand new, clearly unworn, nondescript utility boots sitting next to it, unlaced. Phil noticed them as he shut the door behind him and kept one hand on Clint’s elbow.
Clint overbalanced a little and stopped moving to suck in a deep breath and close his eyes for a second.
“It’s okay. Take your time,” Phil said. He took the moment while Clint regained his balance to look around the room some more. He’d never been in Clint’s quarters. Months of building a small team together had still not given Phil a reason to visit. He’d had Clint, Frazer and May to his place for cards a few times, Frazer had dragged everyone to his place for a video game competition a month ago, and May had ordered really fancy pizza as a joke one time and everyone ended up smooshed on her couch watching The Shining together.
Clint had never said a word about anyone visiting his place.
Sparse is the first word that popped into Phil’s mind as he led Clint to his standard-issue couch. None of the cookie cutter, standard-issue SHIELD furniture had been replaced. There was a couch, one end table, a small television, and a waist-high metal bookshelf in the living area. The end table and the bookshelf sat dust-free and empty. The kitchen had the standard round, silver two-person dinette table and two small metal chairs, and there was nothing on the table nor the small counter next to the microwave.
Phil helped Clint sit down on his couch and knelt down next to him. Clint was pale and breathing a little too hard, and his eyes were clenched shut. Phil put a hand on his thigh and Clint opened his eyes. “Hey,” Phil said. “Do you have any tea or anything that might be a little soothing until that pain med kicks in? Your ribs are probably making it pretty tough, huh?”
Clint opened his eyes slowly and stared at Phil a beat too long, then shook his head. “There’s some water in the fridge. That’ll be fine. I’m just glad the docs said I could get the hell out of medical,” he said, and his voice was laced with exhaustion.
His blue t-shirt looked especially dark against his pale skin, and Phil thought of the mission that forced team to spend the last two days sitting with him in medical. Ten missions in and Fury had given the whole team a promotion in rank for their flawless success, and Phil was happier with his job than he'd been in a very long time. This had been the eleventh mission, and a superstitious person might suggest that a promotion was a jinx.
"Oh, shit," Barton yelled after taking the shot that should've closed the mission and sent them home.
May had a better sightline on him than anyone, and she let out a frantic, "Clint, get the fuck out of there!"
"Sitrep. Now," Phil barked over the comm.
May called, "The mark was wired. Four flashes in the wareh-"
An explosion rocked the whole block including the van where Phil was monitoring the mission. Clint was positioned on the north roof of the warehouse, and Phil's screen in front of him showed that the whole warehouse was now a pile of rubble. Phil bit down on the thread of fear that suddenly washed through his chest and called out to the others. "Frazer, get rid of the bodyguard and get the drive from the mark. May, start looking for Barton. I'm on my way."
He grabbed a first-aid kit as part of him whispered, 'that's not going to help,' and he took off at a run to the warehouse. May was frantically digging through the rubble and calling Clint's name, but there was no answer. Phil started to dig, too, and then a thought crossed his mind, bringing a sliver of hope with it. He turned and walked a few steps away. He pressed his comm again. "Barton, Barton are you on comms? Can you hear me, Clint?"
May stood up and wiped the sweat off her face and cocked her head. "Sir, he was on the roof when it blew."
Phil nodded, but didn’t answer. He scanned the area and saw a large, old oak tree in what he would call the general vicinity of the roof and Barton just might call close. He walked toward it and when he saw a crumpled form at the base, he ran. May followed.
Clint was in a crumpled heap and unconscious, but in one piece.
Phil looked at May and said, "He jumped," and then knelt down, carefully pushed him so he was on his back, held his breath, and pressed two fingers to Clint's neck. "He's alive," he breathed out, and May wiped her face again before she knelt down next to him.
"He's a crazy sonofabitch, that's for damned sure," she said. She took off the black glove she had on and pressed her hand to Clint's scraped and bleeding cheek. "Barton," she said, but Clint was out.
An hour later they were back at SHIELD and Phil and the team were waiting nervously in the waiting room. They were quiet until the doctor finally emerged and assured them Clint was going to be sore, but fine once the concussion heals.
Now Phil opened the refrigerator and stared blankly for a moment. There was nothing in there. Well, there was a six-pack of red Gatorade, two or three bottles of water, a box of protein shakes, a small bottle of milk, and a block of cheese. But there was nothing with which to fix a meal, no snacks, fruit, or anything that could count as comfort food. Everything was on the main shelf, and the whole thing gleamed a spotless, shiny white.
He pulled out a bottle of water and called out to Clint, “Do you want some crackers or toast or anything? How’s your stomach?”
“No, thanks. I’m just thirsty,” Clint replied.
Phil took a second to open the biggest cupboard just to confirm a growing suspicion. It was empty except for a single box of cereal.
Phil took the water out to Clint, who took it with a limp hand and unscrewed it slowly before taking a few sips.
“Doc said you could sleep four or five hours before I need to check on you,” Phil said. “How about you come to the bedroom and lie down and I’ll come back with breakfast food when it’s time to wake up?”
Clint nodded and tried to stand, but his cracked ribs protested and Phil caught him before he fell back to the couch.
“Shit, thanks boss,” Clint muttered as Phil walked him back to his room.
“Next time, don’t fall out of the tree,” Phil chided. Clint just huffed as Phil leaned around him to pull the plain covers back and guide Clint down. “Do you need anything?”
“A new head,” Clint answered, and threw his arm over his eyes.
Phil watched him for a moment and then looked around the room. The grey bedspread was the one that came with the place. The dresser and nightstand had nothing on them. The whole apartment looked empty and spotless, like no one lived there at all.
He thought about getting Clint onto his team.
"Tell me about Agent Barton," Fury said, steepling his fingers at his chin.
It was their last file and Hill looked like she just bit into a lemon. Whether it was because they'd been reporting on the latest recruiting class for the last two hours or because Fury said Barton's name, Phil didn’t know, but she replied, "He was ranked third in his recruiting class and has had two successful training missions where he demonstrated the sniper skills you hoped for, sir."
Phil cut in. "He was third overall, but ranked first in arms and ammunition, first in physical aptitude, and first in strategic skills." He had been watching Barton for months and to say he wanted Barton assigned to him for active missions was an understatement. He was counting on it. He needed a sniper and Barton was the best he'd ever seen.
"If he got those firsts, then he must've done poorly in the academic aptitude and team aptitude," Fury said with a frown. He looked at Hill.
"Yes, sir. We expected him to have trouble with the academic ap, because of his unique background, but - "
"They wouldn't let him do oral exams," Phil interrupted again. Fury and Hill both raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged. He was going to make sure Fury had all the pertinent information. "He filed for permission to do oral exams in addition to the written tests and was denied. I signed off on his petition. He did okay on the written, but nothing close to what he could've done to put him first there. He hadn't taken a written test in sixteen years." He paused, "He got first in strategy because those are oral exams as a general rule."
"You seem impressed with him, Phil," Fury said, and he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
"I am. I want him on my team."
"His team scores were almost at the bottom and he's a hot-head," Hill said, leaning forward.
"He bucks orders he can't see the logic of. I'll make sure he sees my logic," Phil answered.
"You shot him when we were trying to recruit him," Hill said, clearly enjoying playing devil's advocate here. She'd joked that Phil was starting a fan club when she'd seen the heavily annotated file Phil was keeping on Barton's training.
"And then I didn't see him again until he was looking for someone to sign off on his exams a month ago. I've just been keeping tabs." He looked at Fury and tried to pour the intensity he was feeling into his voice. "I want him on my team, sir."
He got him, and it was everything he thought it could be.
They have a three-man team that Phil's built from Barton and two seasoned agents. They worked seamlessly. Barton did buck orders and got in exactly two shouting matches a week with his fellow teammates, including Phil, but he also bought everyone a round of beer the first time they went out together after a mission, nursed his over the whole evening, and named himself responsible for getting Agent Frazer back to his room in one piece at the end of the night. They were all on a first-name basis by the end of the first month.
A few weeks after their second mission Barton got in a knock-down, drag-out fistfight because someone was giving Agent May hell about something she didn't even do. Phil had to write him up for that, but Barton gave him a wink and said it was worth it for the team.
Barton knew teamwork, and Phil knew from his file that he'd probably learned it as a performer. The bravado he usually wore around base was probably a remnant of his circus days as well, but the confidence, mission intelligence, and willingness to do anything it took to get the job done were all straight from his personality. SHIELD didn't normally drag mercenaries in off the black market, but it certainly panned out in terms of Clint Barton.
Except now it looked like Clint was staying very prepared to run from SHIELD.
Phil went to the bathroom and found an empty medicine cabinet and a navy blue toiletries bag on the back of the sink, jammed against the white wall and open. It held Clint’s toothbrush, hanging out of the top, toothpaste, hairbrush, travel shampoo, and other typical road trip supplies. He opened the cupboard under the sink and there was a can of sanitizing wipes and a toilet brush, but nothing else.
The odd feeling in Phil’s stomach was growing into full-on worry and fear. This looked more like a bolt-hole than a place to live. He found a washcloth hanging in the shower and wet it down before heading back to the bedroom. Clint wasn’t sleeping, so Phil stepped close and said, “Hey. This might help,” and Clint opened his eyes and stared at the washcloth a moment before taking it from Phil and wiping his face.
“Thanks, it feels good,” Clint said.
“I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?” Phil said, ignoring the desire to stay and watch over his teammate and friend who suddenly seemed very, very vulnerable to Phil.
He went back to his office and sat on his couch and stared at the stone fountain on the table before he laid down, set his alarm, and slept. When he woke, he thought of Clint living in that space, staying ready to run. He’d been with SHIELD for more than a year now, had made friends in his small team and around SHIELD, had been promoted, and clearly had the potential to get promoted quickly through the ranks and make a serious career here. Yet he had packed bags, new shoes ready to step into, and empty shelves throughout his space. Phil didn’t know if he should feel betrayed or worried, and found that he felt a little bit of both.
He went to the cafeteria, loaded a tray full of food and coffee, headed back to Clint’s quarters and let himself in. It was quiet, and Clint was still sleeping soundly. Phil watched him for a moment and it seemed like Clint’s color was better and he was breathing more easily. This settled something in Phil’s chest, and he took a moment to look around again. A kind of sadness washed over him.
He woke Clint gently and went out to the kitchen to wait. A few minutes later and Clint, with his hair comically sticking up at odd angles, slumped into a chair across from Phil. “Vertigo’s gone,” Clint said, rubbing his face. He looked at the food and added, “And the food actually looks good. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Phil replied, and they both dug in and ate. “Can I ask you something?” Phil said between bites.
Clint looked up and shrugged. “Sure.”
Phil leaned forward a little and caught Clint’s eye and held his gaze. “You know you have a permanent position with SHIELD, don’t you?” He paused and Clint didn’t say anything, just stared. “I mean, we want you to stay with us. For a full career. You know that, right?”
Clint swallowed thickly and looked down at his plate.
Phil thought he suddenly looked younger, like a boy expecting punishment. When Clint didn’t reply, Phil put his fork down and leaned back in his chair. “Clint, why are you living here like you’re going to have to run any day now?”
There was a long pause, and Clint still stared at his plate when he finally answered. “You said I could get thrown in jail,” he said.
Phil blinked. “What?”
Clint crossed his arms and stared down at his lap. “You said if I didn’t work for SHIELD that you all would throw me in jail. I figure if I screw up Fury will follow through on the threat.” He looked up and jutted his chin at Phil. “I’m not going to let that happen.”
Phil’s mind was buzzing. He was running the recruitment process through his head like a video, trying to remember when Clint might’ve gotten that idea. Phil was only part of the orientation opening presentation, though, not in the actual training of the recruits. But he knew the process and there should never be any threats during that time. “Clint, I don’t know who said that to you, but – “
“You said it. You said you could throw me in jail if I didn’t come with you that day.” Clint’s voice was steel and he sounded like he was reciting something.
Phil felt his jaw drop. “You mean,” he said, and then he had to stop. He cleared his throat and tried to swallow a wave of nausea and guilt. “You mean the day we actually caught you? When I shot you in that alley?”
Clint gritted his teeth and nodded.
Phil blew out a breath and shook his head. This was crazy and wrong and seriously fucked up, and given Clint’s life, should’ve been something Phil knew to address. “Clint, we were chasing you after you made a hit. We were trying to get you to listen to us, and all I said was if you didn’t come with us you’d end up in jail. That wasn’t –“ he stopped again and closed his eyes for a moment before looking back at Clint.
He tried to pour all of his compassion into his voice. “That wasn’t a threat of coercion. It wasn’t intended as such, I promise. We wiped your record clean when we hired you. If you walk out that door now, or if we ask you to leave SHIELD, you’re a free man. We’re not going to put you in jail. Jesus, Clint.”
Clint stared at him and swallowed.
The silence stretched too long, and Phil stood up and paced the small apartment. “You thought we’d put you in prison if you fucked up?”
Clint didn’t answer, just leaned forward and put his head in his hands.
Phil stopped pacing and knelt down next to Clint. He took a deep breath and put his hand on Clint’s thigh. “Please look at me,” he asked gently.
Clint ignored him.
“What I said that day was an adrenaline fueled sales pitch. We could have thrown you in jail that afternoon, sure, but it wasn’t a condition of working for us. God dammit, Clint,” he said, and his voice broke enough that Clint looked down sharply at him. “I begged to get you on my team. I need you to have our backs and I trust you more than I’ve trusted any agent before. You’re going to have an incredible career here, and I can’t wait to see it happen.”
Phil stood and walked to the door and opened it before looking back at Clint. “But I promise you that if you ever want to leave, no one is going to chase you. This is your place,” he added nodding at the room. “Settle in, make it yours, okay? And remember, I’ll help you pack boxes up if you end up moving out.” He held Clint’s gaze for a moment, and then closed the door behind him. He wanted to give Clint time, and he needed to do something with the guilt and anger swirling in his stomach.
He headed for the range and shot until his hand was shaking, and the images of Clint sitting in his empty quarters wondering if he’d have to run after the next mission had finally settled into a dull background hum in his head.
When Clint showed up in his office two days later, stared at the floor shyly, and asked if Phil would give him a ride to IKEA, the world settled back into place for Phil. He got May and Frazer to decorate Clint’s place with streamers and a few gifts while they were out shopping, and he surprised Clint with a housewarming party when they got back. Clint had everyone over for a poker night a week later, and he got himself promoted again within two months, setting a SHIELD record.
Phil overheard Hill say to Clint, “Well, two promotions within six months. Looks like you’re definitely SHIELD now.”
Clint replied with a cocky grin, “Hell, yeah. You’re stuck with me.”
Phil couldn’t help the smile that stole over his own face at the sentiment. He was fine with being stuck with Clint Barton.