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Charles didn’t have to search for Clint, he knew he’d be down in the medbay with Agent Coulson. He hadn’t meant to camouflage his movements, really, but the wheelchair made so little noise, he knew he had when he heard Clint speaking softly to Coulson.
“You know, boss,” Clint was saying quietly, “our team is getting more than a little annoyed by the idiot Fury sent over to help us while you’re having your little nap, here, so we’d really appreciate it if you could determine you’d had enough beauty sleep and wake the hell up. This guy couldn’t control a group of pre-schoolers, let alone our crew. Thor makes him shake in his boots and Stark doesn’t even bother to show up unless Fury escorts him in and even then, he’s got a piece of tech he’s working on and ignores everyone. Banner refuses to even be in the same room with him, Natasha’s eyes must be hurting from all the rolling they’re doing, and Cap just sits there nodding like a fool. I just...” Clint’s fingers gently brushed Coulson’s hair off his forehead and then stroked down the side of his face, “I miss you. And we need you back. I need you back.”
Charles’ eyes slid closed at the sad affection, at everything Clint hadn’t said out loud. He backed up a bit down the hallway and then made sure he could be heard coming. When he came to the doorway this time, Clint had sat back a bit in his chair, the scene looking nothing as personal as it had the minute before.
“You could tell him how you feel, you know.” Clint’s eyes narrowed as Charles tapped his temple. “Surface thoughts can’t be kept out.”
“There’s a certain amount of irony in you saying that I should tell someone who doesn’t believe he’s worth being loved that he is.”
Charles blinked, hoping none of his surprise had shown through. “Would you be so kind as to tell me why you think any irony exists?”
“I can’t read minds, but I’m damn good at body language and reading between the lines,” Clint replied, calm and quiet. “You’ve been in a similar position yourself.”
“Agent Barton--”
“I thought we agreed on informality? Because I can call you Professor X all day long, you know.”
Charles grimaced. “Charles will be fine, Clint.”
Clint nodded, then leaned back in his chair. “It wasn’t your intention to come here and lecture me on how to handle my interpersonal relationships, Charles, so what can I do for you?”
Charles nodded, more than willing to drop the subject. It made him uncomfortable that someone not on his team could read him so easily. “I came down to make sure you didn’t go all day without eating again. Come and get something; have a break.”
“I won’t leave him alone.”
“He won’t be. Thor is on his way down. Do you play chess, by any chance?”
“Not with telepaths,” Clint said, chuckling as he stood and stretched.
Charles grinned back. “Damn. I shall have to keep searching, then.”
“Eye of the Hawk,” Thor boomed as he stepped into the room. “You do not look very well, my friend.”
“Just a little tired is all,” Clint replied, waving off the concern.
“I shall stay with son of Coul for the next day. You shall feast and rest and should you attempt to come here before the day is done, I shall take it as a slight on my abilities to protect him.”
Clint swallowed. No one wanted the god of thunder to think he was being insulted. “Thank you, Thor. I appreciate you staying with him.”
Thor inclined his head. As Clint headed for the door, Thor placed one huge hand gently on his shoulder. “You Midgardians are tougher than you seem.”
“Sometimes we are, yes,” Clint answered with a small, wobbly smile as he joined Charles and the two of them left the room.
He sighed heavily, and while it was normally Charles’ wont to touch those who seemed to need it, he knew without even looking too deep that Clint would not appreciate the gesture. Instead, he paced his chair so that he was next to Clint and looked up at him. Clint met his gaze squarely.
“You heard what I was saying to Phil.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“Thanks for not making a production out of it.”
Charles nodded.
“I mean it, Charles. SHIELD isn’t the military, but it’s still considered bad form to have the hots for your boss.”
“Yes, I can’t imagine Fury would be too pleased about that sort of thing.”
“He’s not a ‘phobe, if that’s what you meant. It’s more like I’d be a distraction to his super efficient agent; you know, assuming this is an alternate reality where somehow Phil Coulson would want anything to do with me outside of telling me who and where to shoot.”
“You don’t sound bitter. How is that?”
Clint shrugged. “Can’t be bitter about what was never possible to begin with.”
“Indeed,” Charles replied, thinking of his time with Erik before all the possibilities had been ripped away.