clint barton

Phil must have had the patience of...someone who really knew how to put up with bullshit. It was all Clint could think to himself during the past couple days that were leading up to the full moon. With every passing day he was growing more and more irritable, angrier. If he snapped at Phil it wasn't on purpose, mostly. He would apologize a little while afterwards and snap at him again after ten minutes. Rinse, repeat. In his mind he was going to make it up to him somehow. He just didn't know how as of yet. As quiet repentance for snapping at Phil which was usually on an hourly basis at this point when Phil was home. He cleaned his apartment. Ordered him Chinese food in case he didn't show up before Phil got home from work before doing some scouting for better locations for the next night. As much was he was looking forward to being locked in the apartment on the full moon, somehow he doubted how everything would be able to stand up to the full force of him as a werewolf.

His bed 'the sofa' would probably end up dead before the night was through. He didn't want to get into what might happen to Phil if he was there too. Accidents happen(ed). He really didn't want to deal with the outcome of an accident happening in Phil's home or rather an accident happening to Phil. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if that were the case.

The search came out a bust for anything in walking distance before doubling back, hands tucked in his pockets and staring down at his feet as he walked before heading up to the apartment and stepping inside before kicking off his shoes. It happened usually like clock work for him. He was waiting for Phil to come home, already a little moody because he couldn't find a place to hide out that was safe and secure enough for him and possible individuals who were stupid enough to go close to somewhere that was secluded. Of course he wasn't happy. He always believed the day before was worse than the day of because his skin felt too tight, too hot, he was getting ready to shed his humanity once more and he absolutely hated every moment of it. When he heard the front door open he did everything not to roll his eyes and scoff.

"Yanno, 've got no idea why 'm still here. This place fucking sucks." In lesser jerky terms, it went more like: I couldn't find somewhere to hide out tomorrow night. Help me, Phil-wan.

Reminding himself daily of his duties was something that usually made Clint sober up when it came to things he dealt with off the clock. Even if there truly was no 'off the clock' for SHIELD agents. Let alone an Avenger. If he wasn't suited up to save the world from some impossible villain, he was an agent of SHIELD. And SHIELD infiltrated every member's life. It was implied at the get-go. You join SHIELD and SHIELD will be part of you where ever you go. It was something that Clint wasn't quite used too. But it, at the very least, gave him something to do when he was bored. The downtime was minimal at best, but when there was downtime Clint really didn't have anything better to do then be at headquarters. SHIELD had become too integrated in his life without him realizing it. More than once he had loudly said in Coulson (or anyone else's presence) that Phil and the higher-ups were married to their jobs. Whenever Clint would walk down the hallway he'd either see Phil, Sitwell, Hill, and he usually tried to evade Fury at any given moment because nothing ever sat right with him about the Director. Not that he was afraid of him, per say. He just...didn't trust the eyepatch.

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