”Your ride is on its way, Agent Barton,” Agent Javier-Tornarez said, voice tinny and annoyed through the earpiece. ”Please try to stay in position this time.”
”Yeah, whatever,” Clint grunted.
This operation had been a bust since the moment it started, complete with shit intel, even worse planning, and a supervising agent who was a total jerk. Javier-Tornarez was a paper-pusher and a stick-in-the-mud, and more interested in enforcing the rules than making sure no one died. Admittedly, no one had died (this time) and that was mostly because Clint went against orders and changed his position. So, instead of being dead, he now sported just a concussion, a sprained elbow, and a fractured shin.
Joy.
”Agent Barton, your attitude—”
He gritted his teeth. ”If the cracking of the earpiece is anything to go by, you’re probably talking to me but because this tech isn’t what I requested, it’s shit and it’s not working. What a surprise. Yell me when I get to the base. Barton out.” He turned the earpieces off and stuffed them into his vest. It left him practically deaf but he didn’t bother to care. Deaf was better than the subpar tech SHIELD R&D gave him.
He missed Stark’s tech.
He missed—
Fuck.
He missed a lot of things but he knew better than to think about them. Instead, he leaned his head back against the corrugated iron wall and let out a controlled breath. His head was throbbing and his shin wasn’t much better, and if he didn’t get to ice his elbow soon, it would be fucking annoying to fix later. But hey, at least his bow was in one piece. Thank fuck for small mercies.
A low vibration running through the wall alerted him to his ride but when he opened his eyes, he didn’t see anything. The thrumming meant that his ride was big but—wait. No—there! Above the abandoned lot that was his rendezvous, the air rippled and shimmered as something pretty damn big slowly descended.
Huh. He hadn’t known SHIELD had cloaking technology that effective.
Then again, there were a lot of things he wasn’t privy to anymore. Not since Loki.
The ground shuddered slightly as his ride landed and with a groan, Clint pushed himself up. Cradling his right arm close, he picked up his collapsed bow and quiver and started slowly toward the strange displacement of air in front of him.
A ripple, and the shield gradually retracted from around the transport and—
”The Bus?” He muttered, incredulous. ”They reactivated the fucking Bus?”
He paused when the ramp started to lower from the Bus’s belly, gradually revealing a pair of legs in an achingly familiar suit.
Clint swayed.
No.
No…
No—
Phil Coulson walked down the ramp with measured steps and stopped when he reached the cracked concrete. He opened his mouth and—
No.
”No,” Clint snarled and marched forward, looking straight ahead instead of Phil— Agent Coulson.
No. Just. No.
As Clint drew parallel to him, Phi—Agent Coulson reached out to touch his arm and Clint whirled, fuelled by rage and grief, and punched him as hard as he could. Pain burst along his arm, radiating from the sprained elbow in a blinding flash that made his whole right arm numb but it was distant, almost like a sense manifestation of the roaring noise in his ears.
He ignored both the pain and the noise, turned around, and started walking away.
He felt his tail almost immediately which, yeah, made sense. But since he was injured and not actually trying to run, a toddler could catch up with him. The only thing he didn’t know was whether he’d come out of the confrontation alive or not.
Clint wasn’t sure he cared.
Phil was alive.
Phil was alive and running a new team.
Phil was alive, running a new team, and it was a thing Clint hadn’t been privy to.
He leaned against a half-rotten fence and slid to sit down on the rubble. What a joke. All of it.
When he opened his eyes after some while, May was standing in front of him, looking at him with a raised brow.
”So. They sent the Cavalry?” He asked with a huff.
May shook her head. ”Not the Cavalry,” she signed. ”Friend.”
”Must be nice to have friends,” he said. ”They get to know you’re alive and shit.”
May gave him an unreadable look. ”You were never—”
Clint closed his eyes. He really, really didn’t want to see the confirmation that he never meant anything.
Not a friend, yeah, thanks.
SHIELD didn’t have a fraternization policy. As Fury liked to say, he didn’t give a flying fuck who stick it up to whom or into which hole and how many people attended the fucking party, as long as it didn’t affect the work. Clint had used the opportunity a couple of times, with male and female colleagues alike, and it was kind of fun. It made hooking up a hell of a lot easier when you knew you didn’t have to hide parts of yourself or explain the scars and bruises. But after he fell for Ph—Coulson, he didn’t really feel like it anymore.
Truth be told, he never thought he had a chance with Phi—Coulson. The office gossip mill speculated about Coulson’s sexuality and relationship status with a disturbing fervor (he was pretty sure Sitwell was one of the head honchos) and there were at least three betting polls running. Clint mostly ignored them. He told himself he was content with working with the best supervisor he’d ever had, doing his job side by side with the two people he trusted the most in the world.
And then, by some fucking miracle, he ended up in bed with Phil. Once. Back before they were summoned to New Mexico to check out the magic hammer that fell from the sky.
He thought they had something, more than just mutual, pretty damn good orgasms.
But after that one night, Coulson didn’t even look him in the eye.
So. Yeah. It was Clint’s own fucking fault he wished they were something more—more than friends, more than a handler and an agent.
May gently kicked his not-fractured leg and jolted him from his thoughts. He opened his eyes and glared at her.
”Look at me when I’m talking to you,” she signed, visibly annoyed.
”The only thing I want to know is how fast you can get me home and if you have painkillers on board,” Clint said, letting his head tilt to the side.
”Hawkeye—” May signed sharply.
”Don’t bother,” he interrupted. ”I don’t care.”
The pain from his elbow throbbed in tune with his headache and he had a feeling he’d be one, giant, pulsing bruise in no time. If he was lucky, the Bus would carry the good stuff and he’d be out for the whole journey home. Yeah. That would be nice.
He ignored May’s hand and hauled himself up, turned his back to her, and started limping back to the Bus.
So, apparently Ph—Coulson’s new team was a bunch of kids, May, and fucking Grant Ward. If Clint had the energy, he’d feel insulted. Instead, he just felt numb.
The baby-faced Agents who manned the combined medical-slash-tech-lab babbled something so fast he didn’t even bother lip reading. ”I’m deaf and my aids are out,” he grunted. ”Just give me painkillers and I’m good.”
”Actually, I’d really like to check that you’re alright,” the girl signed haltingly. ”And, sorry, I’m fluent in BSL, not ASL.”
Clint blinked, then sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. ”Yeah, whatever. Look, I know I have a concussion, sprained right elbow, and my left shin is fractured. The painkillers will be enough. Anything goes, I’m not allergic.”
She gave him a narrow-eyed look and pinched her lips together but nodded before turning around and rummaging through the drawers.
He leaned against the sleek steel table and closed his eyes.
He really, really didn’t want to be here.
Two sharp knocks reverberated from the table and he opened his eyes. The girl was standing in front of him, holding out a couple of single-use cold packs and a small prescription bottle of oxycodone.
”Yeah, thanks. These’ll do. Where can I clean up and crash?”
The girl pointed at something behind him and he clenched his jaw and slowly turned around. Luckily, it was just May.
”We have a shower,” she signed. ”Follow me.”
After a blessedly short walk to the elevator (the fucking plane had a fucking elevator), she pointed him towards the head and nodded to the side. ”Shower in the back. The last cubicle is for you. The door locks.” Her signs were short and angular, somehow just as flat as May herself.
”Thanks,” he called after her.
He didn’t bother thinking more closely about the exact right size SHIELD pajamas in the head or the perfect omelet and his preferred soda waiting for him in the sleeping cubicle when he limped out of the shower. He wolfed the food down, flushed two oxycodone down with some Dr. Pepper before putting the empty plate on the floor outside the cubicle and locking the door behind him. Before he activated the ice pack and tried to catch some shut-eye, he sent Tasha a message from his burner.
>> So…Did you know Coulson is alive?
There was one, succinct Russian swear word waiting for him on his phone screen when he woke up to the back wall of the cubicle flashing the words ”LANDING IN” and a countdown clock in eye-watering neon blue. He ached only moderately but he took a painkiller anyway, figuring the cushion wouldn’t hurt. (Ha.)
The other girl from earlier was curled up on the couch, reading something on a tablet with giant headphones over her ears. She was kinda cute in a hipster college girl way with long brown hair and big, expressive eyes. Tasha would probably like her.
She looked up as Clint gingerly made his way out of the cubicle and toward the elevator in the back. From the corner of his eye, he saw her mouth move but he ignored her with, ”Still deaf,” and kept on walking.
She darted in front of him and shoved the pad to his face.
SIMMONS HAS NEW AIDS FOR YOU
”And who’s Simmons?”
SHE’S THE ONE WHO GAVE YOU THE COLD PACK AND PAINKILLERS. SHE AND FITZ RUN THE LAB.
He blinked. ”Wait. Simmons and Fitz? As in FitzSimmons? The genius twins?”
The girl grinned and tapped on the tablet. I’M SKYE.
”Great. Is Simmons in the lab?”
Skye nodded and then turned to walk in front of him to the elevator.
The new aids fit pretty well and while the sound quality wasn’t quite what Clint was used to with Stark’s tech, it was way better than the standard crap SHIELD R&D handed him.
”If they don’t fit properly, we can still make some final adjustments!” Simmons said. She was really perky which didn’t really help with the lingering headache.
”They’re fine,” Clint said without meeting her eyes.
”So, you’re the Amazing Hawkeye,” Skye said, cocking her head.
”So they say.”
”Huh.”
Clint didn’t know what her deal was so he ignored her. He honestly couldn’t care less what Ph—Coulson’s new team thought.
The Bus thrummed and rocked slightly as May set her down and after a short moment, the ramp started to open. Clint didn’t wait but headed out immediately, impatiently waiting for the ramp to go fully down so that he could get the fuck out of there.
”Don’t hesitate to let us know how the aids work!” Simmons chirped after him.
Clint had absolutely no intention whatsoever to contact any of them.
The ramp opened to what seemed like an abandoned country road in the middle of a field. A short distance away was a parked Jeep and waiting right in front of the ramp was Tasha. Clint didn’t need to say anything, he knew Tasha saw it all on his face. Her nostrils flared as she tilted her head slightly, her fury visible to those who knew how to read her.
”Clint—”
Coulson’s voice cut off as, at the same moment, Tasha hissed and her hand moved in a blur. Even without looking, Clint knew that one of Tasha’s special knives was now embedded into the ramp to the hilt right in front of Coulson’s expensive loafers. It was both a warning and a statement.
He didn’t look back as they walked to the Jeep and drove away.
The positive side of being injured was that he didn’t have to go to the SHIELD HQ. He knew he could get away with punching Coulson but punching Fury might get him shot in the spot.
The negative side of being injured was that he had way too much time to think.
”He lied,” Tasha hissed. ”To all of us.”
”He made Pepper cry,” Stark said darkly.
The baffling side of being injured and lied to was that, for some reason, Stark had decided to adopt him, claiming he wanted to try out some fancy new tissue regenerator on him. Tasha and Clint now lived in the Stark Tower, except that it was named the Avengers Tower and Stark had renovated a fucking floor for each of them. And now they were piled in the biggest common room with beer and coffee and ice cream because—apparently—this was a team bonding time.
Clint didn’t understand but with free ice cream and a shower with water pressure from heaven and several massaging functions to choose from, he wasn’t going to complain.
”Do you want me to find out what happened?”
For some reason, Stark was looking at Clint.
”What?”
Stark frowned. ”What do you mean, what? I asked you a question. Are your aids glitching? Do you need new ones? I bet those are just bad anyway, you should hand them over.”
”Tony, that would be a pretty big breach of privacy,” Steve said mildly.
Stark turned to him and jabbed a finger in Steve’s general direction. ”Ha! Your comment suggests I’d care.”
”You might not but I do.”
”Oh? So you’re not at all interested in why Fury lied to us, threw a bunch of bloodied collection cards at our faces, and then kept Agent Agent’s revived condition from us?”
Steve rolled his eyes. ”Of course I’m interested. I just—”
”Sir,” JARVIS cut smoothly in. ”Agent Coulson of SHIELD is in the lobby.”
Stark raised a brow. ”And this should interest me because…?”
”Tony,” Steve chided.
”Oh, fine,” Stark huffed. ”J, direct him to the 7th floor.”
Tasha raised a brow. ”7th is practically a landfill.”
”Don’t be absurd,” Stark scoffed. ”It’s just under construction. No trash whatsoever.”
Still somewhat confused, Clint allowed himself to be herded into the elevator with the rest of the team sans Banner, who excused himself with a slightly sheepish air. Probably a good call.
Floor 7 was deserted and empty, filled with half-finished cubicles, cardboard boxes, and packing peanuts spilled on the floor. Coulson was standing in the open office, staring out of the window, in a meticulously relaxed pose. He turned around when he heard them approach.
”I asked to see Clint,” he said.
”I’m afraid I failed to hear the request,” Jarvis said smoothly.
And apparently, even Stark’s AI was a part of this weird care package Stark was intent on serving Clint. What the fuck.
Stark strolled forward with hands in his pockets, conveniently stopping in front of Clint to shield him behind his back. ”Yeah, not going to happen,” Stark said.
”The thing I don’t quite understand,” Steve said conversationally, ”is why you didn’t bother telling us you were alive. We were important enough to use as a blunt force object against the Chitauri but when that was over, we suddenly didn’t matter. Makes a fella feel less appreciated, you know.”
”Does your new, fancy team know they’ll be tossed aside after they’ve served their purpose?” Stark asked, tilting his head to the side. ”I bet they’re already approaching their best before date, considering you’ve been frolicking around for…what seven months now?”
Clint tried and not quite managed to stifle a small gasp and closed his eyes. Seven months, he thought. He’s been with his new team for seven months.
A sharp burst of pain on his forearm jolted him out of his thoughts and he glanced to the side, facing Tasha’s furious gaze.
”I—” Coulson sounded confused.
”Tony and I had thought about asking you to be our liaison,” Steve said. ”I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved it turned out that you couldn’t be trusted.”
Wow. Steve really wasn’t pulling his punches. Clint leaned slightly to the side to get a look at Coulson’s face.
He looked lost.
Confused and lost.
”You didn’t know?” Coulson asked slowly. ”You thought I—I was told you were—Oh, god, Clint—” His voice broke as he brought a hand to his mouth. ”I was told agents on level seven and above were told,” he whispered.
”I was demoted after Loki,” Clint said.
Tasha’s face was completely unreadable. ”No one bothered to tell me,” she said flatly.
”And the rest of us are Avengers with no official SHIELD status,” Stark said. ”Never stopped me before but it’s hard to search for stuff no one knows is there.” He paused and let out a considering hum. ”J, search for…anything. Scrub the SHIELD servers.”
The AI was silent for a moment. ”For what, exactly, Sir?” He then asked.
Stark shrugged. ”Anything interesting.”
”Very well, Sir.”
Coulson was still looking like he was about to be sick, eyes on Clint. ”I didn’t know,” he said. ”Clint—I swear I didn’t know.”
Clint shot him a quick, tight smile before looking away. ”Yeah. Makes sense, I guess. Fury has always been an asshole.”
”I missed you so much,” Coulson continued in that same awful, soft voice. ”At first I thought you were recovering, then I saw you on the news and I thought you were busy. Then—” He stops and swallows.
”You thought I couldn’t be bothered?” Clint asks, incredulous and frankly, pissed. ”You thought I’d just dump my handler of over 10 years, my best friend after Tasha, the man I’ve loved for years? Respectfully, Sir,” he hissed. ”Fuck. You.”
He ignored Stark’s incredulous hissing as he turned to march to the elevator. What a fucking joke. All of it. Him. Why the hell did he even think—
”Clint, wait!” Coulson called after him.
His shoulders climbed to his ears as he continued to the elevator and pressed the button with perhaps more force than necessary.
Nothing happened.
He punched the button, then punched it again, and gritted through clenched teeth, ”JARVIS, I fucking swear—”
”Clint, please.”
It was that ’please’ that did it.
Because Coulson didn’t beg, he’d never used that tone of voice, not off duty and not even during the rare missions where he had to play the lure. A tone that was desperate and nearly hopeless, and it chilled something inside Clint. So, he lowered his hand and turned slightly sideways, staring at the subtle pattern on the plush carpet.
”I never thought it would happen,” Coulson said quietly. ”I never thought you’d spare me a second look. You’re gorgeous and so much younger than me and I’m just…me. A workaholic with a receding hairline and a pension plan.
”That night with you was, as cliche as it sounds, a dream come true. And I was scared beyond reason what would happen after—that’s why I never said anything. I didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t comfortable with so I stayed silent because even if I couldn’t have you by my side like I wanted, I’d still have you as a colleague and a friend.
”Losing you to Loki…That was the reason I confronted him.”
”What the fuck,” Clint said and turned to face Coulson. He looked tired and defeated, and neither was what Clint was used to seeing on his face.
”I thought that not having you would break me. So I confronted a teenage god with daddy issues and died.”
”What. The. Fuck,” Clint repeated. ”Why the fuck would you do that!”
Coulson’s mouth drew into a stilted, self-deprecating smile. ”As I said, a world without you wasn’t a world I wanted to be in. And if I could take Loki out…” He shrugged. ”And then I found out that living in a world where you didn’t exist wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. That was living in a world where I didn’t mean—”
”Don’t you fucking dare finish that thought,” Clint growled, suddenly furious, and stalked forward to jab Coulson on the shoulder. ”I didn’t fucking know. Fury didn’t tell us you were alive.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to blow it out slowly through his nose. ”Besides, it’s not like I’m your friend anyway.”
Coulson shook his head a bit, looking taken aback. ”Excuse me, what? Who said that?”
”May,” he said. ”When you came to pick me up on the Bus. She said she wasn’t the Cavalry but a friend and I told her it must be nice to have friends because they get to know if you’re alive. And she said I was never your friend.”
Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a familiar tell, something he did when he was either having a headache or someone did something moronic that required cleaning up which usually ended up with Coulson having a headache. ”Damn you, Melinda,” he muttered and huffed.
”So, she was right?”
”No!” Coulson said. ”The correct answer was that you’ve been—you still are—so much more than just a friend.”
Feeling off-kilter, Clint hugged himself. He didn’t know what to think and it made his head pound like he had a migraine from hell. He wanted to sit down and he wanted a drink and he wanted to sleep for a week, but most of all, he wanted the awful look off Coulson’s face.
”May I—” Coulson started and then stopped, looking uncharacteristically hesitant.
”What,” Clint snapped.
”I know I have no right,” Coulson said carefully, ”But I would like to—If you allow me—” He paused and huffed out an exasperated breath. ”You look like you need a hug and I really, really would like to hug you.”
For a moment, Clint just stood there, silent, looking at Coulson. He knew that if he said no, Coulson would accept that. He’d nod, button up his jacket, and walk away. But he also knew he didn’t want Coulson to walk away. He wasn’t sure what he wanted but he sure as fuck didn’t want that.
He was so tired of losing people.
”Yeah,” he choked out. ”Yeah, okay.”
Years ago, when Tasha had been badly hurt on an op, Clint had stayed by her side through the surgery and the following stint in the ICU. Coulson hadn’t been there the whole time but he’d been in and out frequently, quietly letting Clint know he had their backs. When Tasha finally regained consciousness, Clint had started to cry like a baby and Coulson had hugged him them. It had been the best hug of Clint’s life. The kind of secure, warm, unflinching hug that let you know that no matter what, things would be okay.
This wasn’t that hug.
This was Coulson—Phil holding on to him like he was drowning, and Clint holding on just as hard. This was Couls—Phil’s breath hitching against his neck, slight tremors running down his frame. This was Phil whispering ”I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Clint,” over and over again.
This was Clint squeezing his eyes shut and trying to hold back tears that leaked out anyway, feeling his shirt grow damp with Phil’s tears.
This was Phil resting his forehead on Clint’s, eyes closed, breathing the same air.
This was—
”Okay, we’re coming out!” Stark announced. ”Just so you know. I’m letting you know. This is FYI. Public displays of—you’re just standing there. Okay.”
Clint flipped him a bird without looking.
”Rude,” Stark said. ”J, open up.”
”Of course, Sir,” the AI said, opening the elevator doors. Fucker.
Stark didn’t say anything as he sauntered into the elevator with a smug smirk. Steve gripped Clint’s shoulder briefly and nodded at Phil, which probably meant his disappointment had changed targets. Tasha stopped next to them and gave Phil a long, inscrutable look before brushing a strand of hair on Clint’s temple.
”I’m paying a visit to Fury,” she said mildly.
”Leftovers would be appreciated,” Phil said.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. ”No promises,” she said before entering the elevator.
And then it was just him and Phil.
Phil opened his mouth to say something and then yawned. ”Sorry. I haven’t gotten much sleep in the past couple of days,” he said ruefully, rubbing a hand over his face.
Clint bit his lip. Was he going to be stupid? He was going to be stupid. Tasha would probably smack him over the ears but—this was Phil and—
”You wanna come up?” He said before he had the chance to think too long about it. ”Just to sleep.”
”You don’t have to do that,” Phil said quietly.
He shrugged. ”Look…I’m not asking for you. I’m asking for me.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. ”I just miss you so fucking much.”
”I’m sorry.”
”I know. And I’m sorry you had to go through that alone, believing we didn’t care—that I didn’t care.”
Phil ducked his head a bit to look him in the eye. ”It’s not your fault, Clint.”
”Well, it’s not your fucking fault, either,” he snapped and then sighed. ”Sorry.”
”Agents Barton and Coulson,” JARVIS’s voice cut smoothly through the slightly awkward mood. ”Sir suggests you, and I paraphrase, step into the elevator and relocate to Agent Barton’s quarters to get some rest.”
Clint snorted.
”Thank you, JARVIS,” Phil said.
His lips curled into the familiar, slightly amused, small smile and the sight felt like a punch to the gut. But in a good way. Clint cleared his throat. ”Yeah, sure. Okay. Let’s go, Phil.”
He held out his hand and from the corner of his eye, saw how the small, amused smile turned into something close to awed as Phil took his hand. His grip was warm and steady and it grounded Clint as the door slid closed without a sound and the elevator started to climb up. Feeling almost like a teenager on his first date, he squeezed Phil’s hand a bit and pressed his lips together to stave back a smile when Phil squeezed back.
None of this was a quick fix for what they’d been through but it was a start. Not a happy ending but a hopeful beginning, a blank slate for them to build something new.
Together.