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Agent Phil Coulson slammed the door to his office in frustration. How could the mission have turned into such a disaster? It was the basic infiltrate and gather intel type of mission, Agent Romanov was spearheading the infiltration, and Agent Barton had been hiding in a nest somewhere high and out of reach. Like always. They had enough information already to know that they were going in on a soft target. Not heavily guarded, minimal security.
Or so they thought.
It all happened so fast. One minute Natasha Romanov was talking to them and the next… shots were heard, Romanov called for backup. She asked immediately for Barton to go in. Without hesitation, and that didn’t mean anything good. That meant the situation had gotten out of control and quickly.
Barton was down from his perch and into Hawkeye mode before Coulson could give the okay. He remembered calling out into his headset for Barton to wait, just until they heard something from Natasha about what was going on. But no, not Barton, not when it came to his ‘Tasha. He wouldn’t wait, all he knew was Natasha Romanov had specifically asked for his help, and she never did.
There had been shots fired, Coulson could hear the automatic rifles, military grade, going off from all the way down field where they had a helicopter waiting. This had definitely been a scrap of a job. The intel was bad, and the fact that there was a possibility they couldn’t retrieve the intel SHIELD was after just made it worse. He had heard the radio cut out just as one of the agents shouted “GRENADE!” Then there was silence.
He remembered calling out for his best agents over and over again, waiting for word. Something. Then there was a crackle, and more silence, until Natasha’s voice came out over the radio clear and confident.
“Got the intel, need a pick up! Southeast corner. And there are some feisty, well-armed guards that will not thank me in the morning.” Coulson had chuckled, catching his breath in relief. The copters dropped in the corner where he had thought there would be two agents waiting, but there was just one.
Coulson’s face had dropped, where was Clint? At the sight of Coulson’s face, Natasha shrugged.
“I have no idea, we got separated. I tried telling him where to meet me but there was nothing.” Natasha grimaced, both from pain and worry as she climbed into the apache. The apache that would be taking them to their only ride back to base. And they were in the Arizona desert, in the middle of nowhere. If Barton didn’t show there would be no way of him getting back to base.
A set of shots rang out from across the compound, as guards from the facility came running. Shit.
“Wait!” Coulson had called out, before Natasha could give the signal for them to take off. If they didn’t leave, one of those clumsy shots could hit the copter and they would be grounded too.
“We have to go, Coulson!” Natasha instigated telling the copter to take off. Coulson almost fell out of the helicopter trying to reach for the shrinking buildings for an imaginary Clint that was nowhere to be found. Natasha had prevented him from falling out by a firm hand on his shoulder. It was a tear to his heart to leave his best agent and lover in the middle of enemy territory. The familiar phrase, of not leaving men behind, echoed inside his head. But this wasn’t just a soldier under his command, an agent that he ordered around, this was Clint, his lover and best friend. And now everyone in the helicopter had the same thought, the man was as good as dead.
“He’ll be fine, Phil. I promise!” Natasha called out to Coulson over the din of the propellers. She couldn’t know that and it hurt her to leave him as well, but she was only his friend and as she always reminded people she was Russian, loss and pain were familiar roads that she walked down.
Coulson had used the radio back at the jet to call for Barton over and over again. His voice that echoed into the white noise of the radio silence had went from worried to fearful to downright desperate. Finally, it took orders from Fury to return and report in before they took off to head back to base.
Now here he stood in the middle of his office, and there was still no contact with Agent Barton at all.
Clint.
It was what had worried Coulson most of all. Barton always took risks, not caring what happened to himself at all if it meant completing a mission, and that made him a good agent. But personally, it made for a downright shitty relationship. The constant worrying, the near death scares, Coulson was a lucky man in most respects but in this, they always fought. They were both agents and knew the risks, but Coulson wished wholeheartedly that Clint would at least pretend that he felt that he had something worthwhile to fucking lose if he died. That Coulson was worthy enough to be fought for, that he was enough to encourage Clint to worry about his own survival. Sometimes, Coulson worried it was simply because Barton didn’t think himself of enough value as a person, which was fucking stupid. Their love was proof enough of that. Coulson was completely nuts about the man. And it cut both ways, he never felt like it was one sided, until Barton pulled stunts like this.
And then there were times Coulson wondered if maybe his love just wasn’t enough. That it didn’t matter, because Barton would always run head first into the fray, not thinking, not questioning. Never looking back. While Coulson was left staying on the sidelines, calling out orders smoothly into his partner’s ear and crossed his fingers that his adorable, irritatingly charming lover and asset came home safe and sound.
And just like he had always feared, this time Barton might not have been so lucky.
“Beat you back to base, Phil.” A voice called out in a raspy, grumble from the couch in his office that sat against the wall. Barton looked to be just waking from a nap he had been taking while waiting for Coulson to get back from the mission, well more like his body was so worn out, and lacking in the proper amount of blood that he had passed out as soon as he went from being vertical to horizontal. Coulson banging his office door was what woke the exhausted agent from his stupor.
Coulson looked to the familiar voice in shock. Clint was laying prone on the couch covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. And Coulson had never thought Barton had looked quite so wonderful has he did in that moment.
“Whe- wha- ho- You-?” All of the words Coulson wanted to say congealed on his tongue in a series of spluttered questions. His feet were cemented into the ground and he couldn’t encourage them to move to close the gap so that he might embrace his boyfriend.
Barton grimaced as he sat up from the couch and hobbled over to the desk perching onto the surface, pain etched into his face. He was cradling his arm and there were several cuts and gashes covering his face, neck, and cutting into the armor he wore around his torso. Once Barton found a comfortable position, if you could call his stiff, pained posture comfortable, his face softened as he took in Coulson’s face. Everything in him was calmed by seeing Coulson, and that familiar well pressed suit.
“Hey.” Barton smiled at his lover fondly, reaching out to take Coulson’s hand. His winced when Phil pulled away. He knew he’d be in trouble. But he didn’t know how much as he watched Coulson’s face burn an ugly shade of red with anger.
“Hey?! I radioed you for over an hour Agent Barton, you failed to respond and instead of reporting to proper channels you just show up in my office and all you have to say is ‘hey?!’ Report Agent.” Coulson demanded with the authority he almost never exercised over Barton unless Fury demanded it of him while at work. Normally, Barton could tell it was dolled out with a begrudging air, but not now. Not when Coulson had been so obviously worried and fearful he had lost Barton for good this time. Somewhere in the back of his head, Clint should have realized that Coulson would have been angry.
“Come on, Phil.” Barton whined, he was going to bleed out soon if Coulson didn’t give him a little first aid. He had been able to patch himself a little but he actually did need a bit of medical attention.
“Report, Agent Barton.” Coulson demanded, hands balling up into fists at his hips.
“Fine.” Barton grimaced, putting a hand to his shoulder where a bullet and maybe a piece of shrapnel were lodged in the muscle. That would take a while to heal. “I went into the facility to help out Agent Romanov-“
“Against orders.” Coulson interrupted him, correcting that little detail. He wordlessly went to the closet in his office to retrieve the medical kit he kept there, that was always well stocked. It quickly had moved from a small standard issue kit to a tackle box sized emergency kit, complete with things like syringes of adrenalin, forceps, stitches, a defibrillator and surgical gloves since Barton begged his boyfriend to be the one to stitch him up. Barton had a thing about doctors, and unless he was unconscious and required actual surgery, there was almost never a way for Coulson to get him to see the actual SHIELD doctors, unless his job was on the line. Routine, mandatory physicals were usually administered by force and with his boyfriend in the room watching him so that the crafty assassin didn’t disappear into an airshaft while a SHIELD doctor had their back turned. Coulson flicked on his bright desk lamp and set to work, deciding what order he would stitch Clint up in.
“Against orders!” Barton reiterated belligerently. “Natasha asked for my help Phil, you know she never asks help from anyone. Ever.” Barton hissed as a freshly gloved Coulson helped Barton out of his blood-soaked body armor and uniform. Once the uniform was off, Coulson ground his jaw in anguish at the sight of Barton’s battered torso. He was surprised if Barton didn’t have at least two bruised, if not broken ribs. But his torso was still strangely attractive, even with the bruises and cuts that marred the well-defined muscles. Often, Coulson counted himself a very, very lucky man.
“Continue, Barton.” Clint smiled as he noted Coulson’s anger was softening.
“I fought my way to ‘Tasha’s position and was helping her get through the chaos to the control room so that she could get the intel we needed. I used my arrows to create a distraction so she could slip through, and she did, until a grenade rolled out from a blind corner. She shouted a warning but it went off before she or I could find cover. It was a flash bang, then they rolled out one that wasn’t.” He jumped with a groan as Coulson wrapped up his ribs, once he had stitched a few of the uglier cuts to his sides and removed the shrapnel from the grenade Barton told him about. Once his ribs were wrapped, Coulson wordlessly started in on Barton’s shoulder. “I used my body to protect ‘Tasha, then she slipped through in the middle of the chaos and left me alone fighting off the well armored guards.” Clint smirked, remembering how he had taken a few of them down before they overwhelmed him.
“What happened to your radio?” Coulson demanded as he adjusted his desk light to focus in on the cut in Clint’s shoulder, it was almost too torn from the bullet holes and shrapnel for Coulson to work on. He was worried about the muscle and he wasn’t a surgeon. He applied pressure to the wound and cleaned it as best as he could, while listening to what Barton had to say about not responding to him.
“It got destroyed during the fight. But it worked well enough for me to hear, but not to respond. I heard you Phil.” Barton looked up into Phil’s face, filled with remorse that he had been forced to listen to all of the pleas his Phil had called into the radio. He knew that of all things, that was what had kept him fighting, through all of it, through the pain, through the chaos. He had wanted so badly to get back to Phil. It hurt to listen to his lover be almost close to tears, begging for Barton to answer.
“And then what happened?” Coulson questioned, his pride not allowing himself to admit to the emotional weakness that drove his actions in the heat of the moment.
“I heard ‘Tasha telling me to meet her in the Southeast corner of the compound and I heard the chopper, but I heard it take off without me.” Barton sighed, wishing he had fought just that much harder to make it out to meet the chopper.
“How did you make it back?” Coulson questioned, moving on to patch the marks on Barton’s face.
“I called Stark.” Clint smirked at his own ingenuity. It wasn’t often the Tony Stark helped out SHIELD, but Fury had introduced them when he had intimated to Barton that he wanted his Hawkeye in on the Avenger Initiative. Stark and Barton had quickly formed a rapport and talked whenever he ran into the genius billionaire on base, so he hadn’t felt awkward asking for assistance from the philanthropic narcissist. It was much better than taking the bus. Or hitchhiking across western America back to SHIELD base. Busses and cars didn’t really stop for half battered and blood-soaked SHIELD agents anyway. Stark had driven out there so fast and drove Barton back to base so quickly that he had actually beaten Coulson back.
“Remind me to thank Mr. Stark.” Coulson had smiled at that, and once he had explained himself, Clint could tell Coulson had forgiven him. Coulson ran his fingertips up the crests and valleys of Clint’s musculature. No matter how many times, his fingertips still forgot. He could spend hours memorizing the dips and crests but still he forgot and had the pleasure of reminding himself over and over again. He couldn’t feel anything but pained relief as he slowly brought up his hands to cradle Clint’s half bandaged face and finally kissed him, tugging at Barton’s closed lips insistently. He needed to feel all of Clint, needed the reassurance that he was really and truly okay. When he felt Clint’s tongue sweep into his mouth, Phil let out a shout of pleasured happiness against his lover’s lips that was somewhere between a sob and a moan. He tangled his tongue with Clint's and rippled with pleasure as they danced a familiar duel of tongues, lips and nips from teeth.
Clint was home, and he was safe. He would heal, and eventually everything would be right again.
For now there was only this, the bliss of being able to embrace his foolhardy lover again.
Barton broke away once the cry registered with his brain, seeing the love and relief in Coulson’s features. He hated when missions did this to Phil. He never wanted to cause anyone else pain, that’s why he took this job in the first place. A job that would leave him too busy to get personal with anyone. Then Phil happened. And things went beyond personal, with Coulson things were a necessity. Without Phil, Barton wondered how he ever did or could function.
Now things had changed and he was constantly putting his lover through hell. He didn’t do it on purpose, but he hadn’t ever really had the keenest of survival instincts either. He took risks and while he was good, he didn’t hide how flippantly he combatted danger. He valued completing the mission more than completing it in one piece, and today was proof of that.
“I’m sorry, Phil.” Clint murmured and looked into his lap, anywhere but into Phil’s face where it hurt to see the evidence of the havoc he wrought on Coulson’s life. The sharp-suited man was everything to Barton, and he could do so much better than being with a reject carnie like Barton. Sometimes Clint was shocked that Coulson still wanted himself as bad as the day they first came together. Coulson with all of his well-mannered, well-dressed, intelligent, confident perfection. He worried that one day all this agent stuff would become too much for his lover and he would leave. Leave like everything else did in Clint’s life. He was always prepared for everything to leave and for nothing to remain.
“Hey…” Coulson tilted Barton’s head back until his sad eyes met Phil’s. He was beating himself up again.
Clint watched Coulson give him the smile that melted all of his worries away, the smile that showed the man he was very much loved and that nothing could chase Coulson away. Coulson kissed him again until he looked much less self-chastising.
“I love you, Phil.” Barton uttered with a shuttering breath that made him wince against his ribs. They hurt almost too much to be just bruised. He was guessing they were probably cracked.
“I love you too, you bumbling idiot.” Coulson chuckled before pulling Clint off of his desk. He supported Clint with an arm slung around his shoulders, grip on the wrist of it tight and sure, and another arm around Clint’s back.
“W-Where are we going?” Clint asked worriedly, struggling against the pull of stitches and from breathing against his hurt ribs.
“I’m taking you to the infirmary.” Coulson announced once they reached the door.
“Oh no you’re not!” Clint protested trying to shake out of the grip Phil had on the arm slung over his shoulders, wrinkling his lovely navy suit that was a favorite’s of Coulson’s.
“Oh yes I am, and you owe me for that scare today. So you’re going to let the doctors do their job and you’re not going to fight it, or escape through the ductwork again like you did last time.” Coulson demanded using his authoritative voice that was all Agent and no Phil.
“But sir!!!” Barton whined as they went into the hallway of SHIELD headquarters. Agents laughed as they went by and Agent Barton’s voice could be heard all the way down the hallway in the direction of infirmary.