Chapter Text
The room felt too big, looking bare even with all his stuff scattered around. For a moment, Clint regretted the decision to move out the SHIELD base and into his very first, own apartment. But he knew his promotion to full-fledged field agent – finally allowing him to live off-base – had come at the exact time, because while he was prepared to give his life on the job, he really didn’t want them to dictate what to do with it any longer.
Clint pulled himself out of his reverie and walked towards the kitchen. The kitchen that had only been his for a day and therefore not yet stocked. Great. He turned back around, through the bare living room and out his apartment. Looked like his first day in his own place would be celebrated with some take-out.
He ignored the elevator in favour of the stairs, surprised when he passed a guy in a business suit at the bottom. Clint glanced at him, unsure if he was supposed to acknowledge him in some way. His indecision was solved when the other guy simply nodded once and moved on.
The neighbourhood he now lived in had plenty of little dinners that would do take-out, but until he had the time to scope them all out, he’d be walking to his usual place a few blocks away from HQ.
---
“Barton!”
Clint’s shoulders tensed, but he turned around with a smirk. “What?”
His handler stepped close into his personal space, trying to intimidate him. “You’re a good agent. Great sniper, too. But if you pull a stunt like that one more time, you’re out of here.”
“Y’know,” Clint said, leaning even closer, “I don’t think you have that authority. And if I hadn’t caused that distraction, two junior agents would be dead. But I’ll be sure to follow your advice when you’re in trouble.”
His handler didn’t reply, just kept staring him down. Clint grinned and started walking away, calling out over his shoulder, “And I’m touched to know you actually care about me and not just the amount of paperwork a dead asset would involve.”
The sound of angry footsteps stomping away felt like bliss to Clint. He knew he was right, if he hadn’t broken cover during the mission their target would have executed the two junior agents trailing him. Clint had just slightly sped up the timetables by shooting the guy, but the only difference it eventually made was saving two lives. His handler was an idiot who cared more about how his track record looked than anything else.
It might not matter soon anyway. Clint was likely to be handed off to someone else before long, gaining another write-up for insubordination. It didn’t really matter. As long as Clint knew what he was doing was the right thing, they could point him to someone new every day.
The cold outside air suddenly hit him as he left the building, and he briefly regretted the loss of his jacket earlier that day. He’d handed it off to one of the junior agents who’d been in shock from coming so close to death. He felt for the young guy, but Clint had a feeling he wouldn’t be with SHIELD for much longer.
Walking at a brisk pace to shorten the usual half-hour walk to his place, he remembered his keys had been in his jacket. He came to a stop, debating whether or not to turn back. He decided it would be futile – the junior agent would have gone home already, and he could pick his lock anyway.
Arriving at his building, he was grateful he didn’t live somewhere that had a locked main door. He sprinted up the stairs, made sure no one was around in his hallway, and fell to his knees before his door. It’d been a while since he’d done this without a proper lock pick, but he always kept some variations on him that should do the trick.
Focusing completely at the lock, listening intently for the little tell-tale clicks, Clint heard the door to the stairs open too late. He looked up to see the business guy he’d met the first day walking towards him.
“Uh… It’s not what you think it is?”
That got him an amused look.
“So you didn’t somehow lock yourself out and are now trying to break in?”
Clint grinned and shrugged. “Lost my keys.”
Business guy stood watching Clint struggle with the lock for a moment before stepping closer. “Why don’t you just call the janitor and ask for the master key?”
Clint paused and turned to him with an incredulous look. “There’s a janitor?”
This time Clint was on the receiving end of an unbelieving look. “How long have you been living here again?” The suit shook his head. “Here, I’ll call him for you.”
Clint was sure he almost had the lock open, but he didn’t want to alienate the first neighbour he’d talked to in the two months he lived here. He pulled back his tools and stood up, listening to the suit explain the situation.
“Thanks for doing that,” Clint said when the phone call ended.
“No problem. He said it could take a while before he got here since he’s fixing someone’s piping. Do you want to wait in my apartment until he gets here?”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you.”
This earned Clint another small, amused smile. “I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t sure.”
“Yeah, alright. Hey, I’m Clint, by the way.”
“Phil. Nice meeting you, Clint.” Clint grasped Phil’s extended hand. “I live just one door down.”
Clint hid away his tools and followed Phil into his place, taking stock of the lay-out. It looked exactly like his, except that Phil had the corner apartment and therefore more windows. The main difference was that it looked warm and welcoming, something Clint had been trying to accomplish by buying more decorations to fill the empty space. He had yet to succeed, but seeing this place, he got the idea he might just simply need a bit more time to actually live there and make it completely his own.
Phil threw his keys in a little bowl on his coffee table. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Just some soda, thanks.”
Clint stood around awkwardly while Phil went over to the fridge and pulled out two cans. Phil handed one to Clint and gestured to the sofa. “Make yourself at home. I have to write some reports for work, so don’t mind me.”
Settling into the sofa, Clint asked, “What job do you have?”
Phil paused from where he was unearthing a laptop from under a pile of magazines and looked up. “Detective.”
“I’ll count myself lucky you didn’t arrest me.”
Phil stood up with the laptop and just smirked. Clint watched how he installed himself at the dining table, setting up the laptop complete with a tiny mouse. When Phil started typing and didn’t look up anymore, Clint grabbed the remote and turned on the television, flicking through the channels.
After going through every channel at least twice and finding nothing to his taste, Clint took a look through the recorded programmes. “I’d never have pegged you for the type to watch trashy reality TV.”
“To me, it looks like fiction anyway. It’s amusing.”
Clint snorted and continued browsing.
They sat like that until someone knocked on the door, disturbing the peace. It turned out to be the janitor, who’d unlocked Clint’s apartment.
“Need the spare keys, before I leave?”
Clint shook his head, “Nah. Should have mine back tomorrow.”
The janitor nodded and left. Clint turned to Phil, who was still sitting at the table. “Thanks for this. Do you want to go get a drink sometime so I can pay you back?”
“Alright,” Phil said, coming over to Clint.
“So, thanks again and I’ll see you?”
“You will,” Phil replied with another small smile. “Bye.”
Clint nearly ran the thirty feet to his own apartment, giddy with childish excitement. Here he’d successfully created a possibility for the developing of a friendship, entirely on his own. Most people he knew he’d met at work, forced together by circumstances without any further relationship. Clint was looking forward to their night out.
---
It’d been days since Clint last saw his own bed – or any bed, really. The mission had been a complete clusterfuck and Clint was even slightly regretting not going to Medical to get an upgrade of his field-applied bandages. Especially now that he was standing in front of his door, unable to reach his keys because of his stiffly wrapped-together fingers. He gave up with a sigh and rested his forehead against his door, pondering the pros and cons of smashing his head repeatedly against it. A hand fell on his shoulder and Clint very carefully didn’t jump, like the professional he was.
“Did you lose your keys again?”
Clint turned around and ignored the instinct to squirm away from the touch. “Nah, just can’t reach them.” He held up his thickly bandaged hands in explanation.
Phil inhaled loudly through his lips to show his pity. “Do you want me to grab them?”
“Sure,” Clint nodded after a moment. “They’re in my right pocket.”
Despite the obvious opportunity, Phil kept his touch quick and clinical, which Clint was grateful for. He didn’t like people touching him unless he was entirely comfortable with them.
Phil opened the door for him, and made to give his keys back. “Can you put them back in my pocket?” Phil could, and did so.
“Thanks. So, I know I promised to take you out for a drink but if you’re free tonight, how does a beer from my fridge sound?” Clint asked, bringing one hand up to the back of his head only to be painfully reminded of the bandages.
“That sounds fine. Give me half an hour to get changed?”
Clint beamed. “Don’t get lost.”
Half an hour later, and Clint had already come to the conclusion all the foodstuff in his fridge had gone bad while he’d been having the time of his life getting all the skin stripped off his hands. Hopefully Phil wasn’t too much of a health-nut to mind take-out.
A knock sounded through the room. Clint opened the door and spared a moment to be grateful he didn’t have circular doorknobs.
“Hey Phil. Looking good,” Clint said. It was a different look from the usual suit, now replaced by a soft-looking gray sweater and worn jeans.
“Thanks.” He held out an array of colourful folders. “I brought some take-out menus, since I doubt you’re able to cook at the moment.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” Clint said as he ushered Phil in. “How about you order something for the both of us while I get you a beer?”
Phil took out his phone as he sat down in the sofa. Clint went to kitchen, grabbing a carrying tray to place the beer on because he wasn’t prepared to fully humiliate himself yet by trying to carry the beer between his bandaged hands. It was still a bit of a juggle, but at least he had it completely under control when he stepped back into the living room.
He placed the tray down and glanced up at Phil, daring him to say something. Phil just smiled sweetly and opened two cans, handing one to Clint.
“Cheers. I’m afraid I don’t have any reality shows to watch. I’ve got some dvd’s lying around, or I recorded the entire first season of Dog Cops.”
“Definitely Dog Cops, if you don’t mind,” Phil said with enthusiasm. “I heard the finale was heartbreaking.”
Clint handed the remote to Phil, who set up the first episode. Just as the end credits were running, they were startled by another knock. Clint got up with a groan and opened the door, trying to get it over with quickly but once again being hindered by his hands. He was this close to just throwing his wallet at the smirking delivery boy when Phil appeared and took the bags, handing the waiting guy enough money to cover the food and waved him off.
“No, Phil, this was meant to be me repaying you. Here,“ Clint turned over his wallet and tried to wave the notes fluttering out over to Phil, “at least take this.”
Phil did no such thing and sat back down. “It’s okay, Clint. That’s what friends do.”
That left Clint feeling unsettled, unsure if he was being a terrible friend already. He just didn’t want a debt to anyone, and resolved to make up for it somehow.
Clint grabbed some utensils and two plates, eating while continuing their marathon of Dog Cops.
Halfway through the marathon, he felt his body relaxing, finally catching up to the fact his mission was over and he was safely back home, only a room away from his bed. He didn’t really want to kick Phil out, since that would be rude and they were having a great time, bonding over how quickly Sgt. Whiskers had become their favourite. Clint soldiered on, keeping himself awake through the episode.
Phil seemed to noticed despite Clint’s best efforts, and turned off the DVR after the episode ended.
“It’s pretty late, I should get going.”
“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.” Clint pulled up his shoulders.
“You don’t need an excuse for being tired,” Phil smiled. “I had a great time tonight. Is it okay with you if we continue this another night?”
“Weeeeell…” Clint said, “I’m not sure. Are you gonna keep paying?”
“Only if you want me to,” Phil replied gravely.
“Fine, you can come. Just don’t bring any money next time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Clint shook his head, trying to keep the smile of his face. He followed Phil to the door, leaning back against it after he closed it behind Phil. The night had gone a lot better than he’d expected, considering his impromptu invitation and empty fridge. But Phil had turned out to be just as straight-up as he’d seemed to be those few moment during their meeting, displaying a sense of dry humour and a healthy amount of common sense, unearthed by his comments made during the show.
He pushed himself off the door and made his way over to his bed, quickly stripping out of his clothes and crawling under the sheets. He’d take care of his personal hygiene when he wasn’t dead on his feet.