Chapter Text
Clint will always say that his first meeting with the Coulsons is Phil’s fault.
Clint has just returned from a week-long, barely successful op. He’s tired and battered and just wants to crawl into his room to sleep for a few days. Considering that he was recruited into SHIELD for his sniper skills, Clint has spent surprisingly little of the past year and a half up high with a gun. The reason for this is less surprising - Coulson.
There’s a note taped to Clint’s door, as if the man himself had anticipated where his asset’s thoughts would be upon returning to HQ. Clint knows without opening the folded piece of paper that it’s a summons to Coulson’s office. He sighs and turns away from his door. Leave it to Coulson to be working on Christmas Eve.
Clint makes his way slowly to his handler's office, resigning himself to a trip down to Medical afterward. He'll be reluctant to admit it, but like everything Coulson has insisted on since Clint joined SHIELD, it will be for his own good. It was Coulson who insisted Fury give Clint a contract instead of a jail cell, who pushed for the sniper to undergo full agent training, including flight school, and Coulson who continues to push his capabilities with more complex missions. Clint had been able to fool Sanders on their way back to HQ - the lead agent on the op distracted by being unexpectedly alive and his eagerness to spend the holiday with his family - but there is no way Coulson won’t notice Clint’s severely bruised, hopefully unbroken, ribs.
Clint stares at Coulson’s closed door for a second before squaring his shoulders and swaggering in without knocking. “You wanted to see me, sir? Oh, sorry.”
Coulson waves him inside and makes a motion for Clint to close the door, so he complies and stands at casual attention in front of his handler’s desk. With Coulson’s attention on the phone call and a little luck, Clint may just manage to get out of a trip to Medical if he limits his movements under Coulson’s watchful gaze.
“What? Yes, that’s one of my agents,” Coulson says into his personal cell phone. “Yes, it’s Barton. Yes, I know it’s Christmas Eve. No, Ma, I don’t think he has other...I can ask. I wouldn’t do that. Well you can ask him yourself if you don’t trust me to.”
Clint has been fighting a grin throughout Coulson’s side of the conversation and outright gapes when the senior agent pulls the phone away from his ear and holds it out to Clint. Coulson just smiles at Clint’s expression and waits until he takes the phone.
"Hello?" Clint says tentatively into the phone.
"Hello, dear! Clint, isn't it?" Coulson's mother responds warmly.
"Yes, ma'am," Clint replies automatically and turns incredulous eyes toward Coulson - why would Mrs. Coulson know his name?
Coulson only shrugs as his mother continues to talk. “Phillip says you may not have plans for the holiday. Is that right?”
“Uh...no, ma’am, I don’t have plans.” Clint winces once he realizes what he’s said - he’s a trained assassin, damn it. He looks up at a noise and glares at Coulson, who looks like he is barely holding back his laughter.
“That’s perfect then. Tell Phillip not to drive too fast and we’ll see you both in a few hours.”
The line cuts out before Clint can say anything else. He looks down at the phone in his hand in utter confusion. “I have no idea what just happened.”
“It’s called my mother,” Coulson explains. “We’ve found it easier to just go along with it. I only plan on being there overnight, but pack a bag for a few days in case the snow is heavier than predicted. Meet me down at the garage in fifteen.”
Clint is wise enough to know when he’s beat and is waiting at Phil’s car with a small duffel at his feet after the appointed amount of time.
“Wise man,” Coulson compliments as he throws both of their bags into the trunk of the car. Clint uses the open trunk as a shield to keep Coulson from seeing his grimace of pain as he gingerly lowers himself into the car.
It’s not until they’re on the road and well out of the city that Clint asks where they’re going.
“My parents live in Hartford,” Coulson replies. “At least another hour and a half drive.”
“You told your mom I was one of your agents. What exactly do they think you do?” Clint asks. He doesn’t want to blow whatever Coulson’s cover story happens to be.
“They think I work for the FBI.”
Clint nods. “Easier to maintain a lie that’s close to the truth,” he recites from training. This is the first time he’s ever needed a cover story. His string of one-night hookups rarely care enough to ask.
“That and I actually did work for the FBI before joining SHIELD,” Coulson says. “I just never mentioned switching divisions.”
A few minutes of comfortable silence passes before Clint finally asks, “Why does your mother know my name?”
“Because sticking close to the truth is always a good policy,” Coulson responds, “and you’re the reason I missed Christmas last year.”
“Oh,” Clint says dumbly. Coulson smiles at Clint’s apparent surprise.
Even though Coulson is Clint’s main handler, they actually end up on very few ops together. Clint’s clearance level isn’t high enough for many of the ops Coulson leads and Coulson’s time is too valuable to waste on lower-level missions.
A year ago, Clint had been loaned out as backup on what should have been a simple mission. The agent in charge had been too arrogant and inexperienced to see the ambush coming despite Clint’s warnings, resulting in his own death and Clint needing to put his life on the line to save the rest of the team. Clint had stopped counting the number of hits he’d taken by the time he dragged himself to the extraction site, amazed to find that they’d waited for him at the team’s insistence. Clint had, several days into the new year, woken from a medically induced coma believing he’d imagined Coulson’s hand firmly gripping his own and the sound of his handler’s soothing voice calming him through the haze of pain.
“Thank you,” Clint says softly, his face turned away and gaze focused firmly out the window, meaning so much more than Coulson sitting vigil at his bedside and knowing how inadequate it sounds.
Coulson’s hand settles on Clint’s shoulder for a moment and squeezes. “Let’s just keep the comas to a minimum, okay?”
Clint knows he’s not expected to respond and they spend the rest of the drive in silence.
Coulson eventually pulls up to a large, picturesque house in the suburbs. The front yard is well-kept and covered in a light layer of snow. The house looks like it belongs in a fifties television show and, although he knows nothing about the area or real estate, Clint can tell that the Coulsons are definitely not hurting for money.
Clint doesn’t know what he should have expected from Coulson’s family, but it’s definitely not for a small, Asian girl to come bursting out of the house as soon as they emerge from the car. She runs at Coulson and jumps happily into his waiting arms. Coulson laughs and spins her in a circle while Clint manages to grab their bags out of the trunk with only a small grunt of pain.
Coulson has put the girl back on her feet and slung an arm around her shoulders by the time Clint walks back to the side of the car. She smiles at Clint as Coulson makes introductions.
“Clint, this is my sister, Elizabeth. Lizzie, this is Clint Barton.”
“Nice to meet you,” Clint says with a nod since his hands are full.
“Nice to meet you too,” Lizzie replies with a grin. “We should get in out of the cold before Mama starts to worry about hypothermia.”
They walk through the front door to find the rest of the Coulsons in the entryway. Clint is introduced to Coulson’s father, David, and his mother, Jenny, who pulls Clint into a hug and completely ignores how the archer stiffens in her arms. They then turn to a younger, blonde boy.
“And this is Nathan,” Jenny says, wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders with an affectionate squeeze. “He prefers to be called Nate.”
Clint is the only one who catches the slight tightening of Nate’s eyes at the introduction, recognition sharpening his gaze. Jenny hadn’t used the words brother or son or anything else related to family and it doesn’t take much to put the pieces together - Nate is a foster kid.
“Pleasure to meet you, Nate,” Clint greets the boy, making a point to look him in the eye.
“Yeah, whatever,” is Nate’s sullen response before he shrugs out of Jenny’s grip and walks deeper into the house.
Jenny looks after him with a sad frown, clearly unfamiliar with how to deal with a slightly rebellious pre-teen. It gives Clint a good idea of what Phil must have been like as a kid.
“He probably just wants to finish playing Halo,” Lizzie says quickly, following Nate into the house and that gives Clint a good indication of what the Coulsons are like as parents.
“Give him time,” David says to his wife reassuringly before turning to Coulson and Clint. “Phil, why don’t you put your things upstairs?”
Clint follows Coulson upstairs and hands him his bag when they stop in the hallway between two rooms.
“How long has Nate been fostered with your folks?” Clint asks after they’ve thrown their bags into their respective rooms and are headed back downstairs.
“About three months,” Coulson answers. “The most difficult thing was actually their settling on just one kid, but Dad insisted that it was better to focus on one at a time. I don’t think either of them was prepared for all the attitude.”
“It’s hard when all the older siblings are perfect,” Clint says jokingly.
Coulson spins to face him at the bottom of the stairs. “I was far from perfect.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Coulson.” Clint pats him on the shoulder and moves past him into the living room, plopping down next to the kids and figuring he probably has more in common with them than the elder Coulsons.
Christmas Eve dinner turns out to be personal pizzas and everyone crowds around the kitchen counter to pile on their chosen toppings. He watches as Coulson and Lizzie rib Nate good naturedly about the amount of cheese he’s put on his pizza and Clint can’t help wondering how different his life would have turned out if any of his foster families had been anything like the Coulsons. He looks back down to refocus on his own pizza and misses Coulson looking up at him with a sad, fond smile.
Clint really isn’t surprised when Jenny volunteers him to help with the dishes after dinner. He braces himself for a string of probing questions, but Jenny only hums to herself as she hands the dishes to Clint to dry. She shuts off the water as Clint wipes at the last dish and wraps an arm around his back, making Clint bite his lip to keep from letting out a hiss of pain at her gentle squeeze.
“I’m very glad you’re here, Clint,” Jenny says. “It’s always nice to meet one of Philly’s friends.”
“Philly?” Clint asks with a raised eyebrow.
Jenny grins and pats Clint’s hand. “It wouldn’t be a family visit if you didn’t at least get some blackmail material. If you get up early enough tomorrow, I’ll show you the Halloween pictures. You would not believe how adorable little Philly was in his Captain America costume.”
There is no way for Clint to hold back his laughter at the image that conjures up. Coulson pokes his head back into the kitchen and narrows his eyes at his mother accusingly. Clint has seen seasoned SHIELD agents spill their entire life’s history after being on the receiving end of that look from Coulson, but Jenny only blinks back with utter innocence. Clint laughs again.
~*~*~*~*~
“Can I give you some advice from one foster kid to another?” Clint asks before Nate can bolt.
Nate’s eyes go impossibly wide and Clint sends up a silent wish that this kid’s life take a much smoother path than his own. “You were in the system?”
“Yeah,” Clint answers. “How many homes have you been in?”
“This is my third.” Nate curls into himself a little and Clint doesn’t have to ask to know that the other homes were not good ones. Clint’s hands clench into fists, but he forces his voice to remain level.
“So you know that you can do much worse than the Coulsons,” Clint reminds him.
Nate nods and looks wistfully down the stairs. “I know...it’s just...”
“Hard not to keep thinking it will all get taken away again?” Clint finishes for him. Nate nods again and Clint risks putting a hand on the kid’s shoulder, a little surprised when Nate leans into the archer’s touch. “Look...I know it’s hard to imagine, but sometimes, it is possible for luck to tip your way. The Coulsons are good people. I can’t promise you that they’ll keep you, but I also don’t think they’ll send you away without good reason and without making sure you’ll be okay. It’s good to be wary - that’s not a bad trait to hold onto. Just don’t let it stop you from enjoying what happiness comes your way.”
“I really like them,” Nate whispers.
“I do too,” Clint confesses. “I think you can trust them, but don’t go with what I say, what does your gut tell you?”
“I...I think they really do care about me,” Nate says with the start of a smile.
“Then go with that,” Clint suggests. “I bet they have a pile of presents waiting for you down there.”
“Yeah!” Nate agrees with a grin and starts to walk down the stairs before turning to look back at Clint. “Do you think we could...um...talk more later? I mean...Lizzie tries, but she’s been here since she was a baby, so it’s not really the same.”
“Sure, kid,” Clint nods. “I think we’re leaving late tonight, but I can give you my cell number if the Coulsons say it’s okay.”
Nate beams up at him before taking the stairs two at a time, thoughts already on the tree and the presents underneath. Clint waits a beat before speaking.
“I know you’re lurking. I can smell your aftershave.”
“If you meant for the conversation to be private, you shouldn’t have it on the only stairs in the house,” Phil fires back before squeezing himself next to Clint. “Didn’t realize you went into the system.”
“A few homes before and after the orphanage,” Clint explains. “Barney took me out of the last one before we found the circus.” Clint doesn’t add that Barney had also torched the family’s car in retaliation for the black eye and cast Clint had been sporting at the time. He stands up, determined not to dwell on bad memories, and looks down at Coulson who’s giving him a disappointed frown. “Just not today, okay?”
Coulson sighs, but doesn’t press Clint further. “I smell coffee,” Coulson comments as he stands, waving down the stairs. “After you.”
Christmas Day at the Coulson’s is just as joyful and boisterous as Clint had expected. He lets himself bask in the feeling of family and acceptance that surrounds him, happy that Nate seems to be doing the same.
He’s half forgotten about his injured ribs in the chaos of the day, but they make themselves known when Clint carelessly tries to lift his duffel with the wrong arm. He drops the bag with a grunt, doubling over a little in pain.
“God damn it, Clint!” Coulson says angrily from the doorway, walking up to Clint and yanking up his sweater without asking for permission. Clint’s side is now a mottled black, blue, and yellow. “Sanders said you weren’t hurt. What were you thinking? These could be broken.”
“Nah,” Clint responds, trying not to shiver as Coulson gently probes Clint’s side with his fingertips. “Doesn’t hurt when I breathe.”
Coulson gives him a particularly vicious poke and Clint jumps back with a yelp. “What the fuck, Coulson?”
“You’re lucky I haven’t punched you for being stupid,” Coulson retorts. “When are you going to learn that you are worth more to me and to SHIELD than just your aim?”
Clint turns away from Coulson’s glare. “It’s not that. It’s just...I don’t...I hate Medical.”
“You mean you don’t trust Medical,” Coulson corrects and continues when Clint only shrugs. “You trust me though, right?”
Clint looks over and is surprised when he sees the doubt in his handler’s expression. “What? Yeah, of course I do. You know I trust you.”
“Then can you trust me to look out for you? Trust that I’ll only send you down to Medical if it’s absolutely necessary?” Coulson asks. “You’re not in this alone anymore, Clint.”
Clint sucks in a breath when he realizes the true meaning behind Coulson’s words. He’s telling Clint that he cares - more than just as his handler, but as his friend. Possibly more than just friends too, but Clint really isn’t ready to handle more than one epiphany at a time.
“Yeah,” Clint says. “Yeah, okay, Phil.”