beenunmade | through a broken mirror for theshield

through a broken mirror for theshield_agent

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.

It never occurred to him that he was stuck in the same classification of any of them. When it seemed as though all the Avengers were grouping together (even Tasha) under the same roof, Clint had decided against joining the Brady Bunch by remaining back in his personality-less room back in headquarters. Something given to all agents of SHIELD who didn't have a place to go off-base. He had personalized it somewhat -- to keep it separate from the other rooms that were around him. Even though at least two of them had been emptied, any traces of agents living in them wiped after the Loki incident. Clint had come to find out they had been aboard the helicarrier when they went. One of which, Agent Ryan Stillson, was at the point of the blast that had disabled the engines enough to cause the mess that Loki had ordered him to cause. Without being asked, Clint had gotten rid of the man's belongings himself after wandering past to his room just in time to see the normal cleaner's -- making their rounds to clean up the relics of the past before they found another poor soul to recruit into this place. When someone had come down on the orders of Fury to make Clint stop what the fuck he was doing -- Clint nearly punched the guy out before returning to what he was doing. Then, following procedural, brought Agent Ryan Stillson's belongings down to the compactor to get rid of.

SHIELD looked after their own after all, but it also meant when they began to work for SHIELD is where they would end. Clint had yet to meet someone who retired from the military division.

Downtime usually meant people getting caught up on their sleep. A lot of the agents slept easier knowing that Loki was gone (as well as the Tessaract). It meant their energies could be spent doing something else. Whenever Clint had laid his head down to sleep, usually an hour or so into it; his eyes would snap open. He had told Fury during the debriefing that he remembered nothing of his time as Loki's mind bitch, but that statement was slowly turning into a lie with every moment he was given some time to himself. He remembered. The ideas that filled his head like whispers once setting his eyes on the glowing cube. Orchestrating getting the materials and man-power needed to take on SHIELD and open the portal to somewhere the cube had only told him that was a good idea. Suggesting the rescue mission when Loki would be "captured" by the Avengers. Clint remembered thinking, once, that it didn't go as planned when he noticed the flash of red hair at the corner of his eye before he was brought back into this reality. His reality. His body may have healed up, but his mind was still twisted. Still lingering on the things he had done he felt as though he had to put on the cocky persona just to keep people off his back.

Things happened quickly after all was said and done. One moment, Phil Coulson was dead. The next he was alive. One moment Nick Fury wasn't in charge and the next the WSC realized that Fury wasn't going anywhere so he was reinstated. One moment Clint Barton was Hawkeye, an Avenger. And the next he was back to where he had began, unsure if he had a place in the team he had joined out of necessity to make an attempt to get his revenge. Even if he didn't. Even blowing Loki out of the sky left him with a severe lack of satisfaction.

Mostly, his entire time after saving the world had been a blur. Instead of basking in the glory, Clint stuck to himself. Even when he went on missions with the team -- it helped that he was a sniper. Being alone was part of the job description it seemed as he crept into the hallway after one of his nightmares. Another good thing about being a SHIELD agent meant they only needed a couple hours of sleep to function. He pursed his lips together as he tucked his hands in his jacket pockets. The last mission had left much to be desired. Clint had so brilliantly tried the little trick of using his grappling arrow to Tarzan his way to ground level, right in front of one of the targets. Only to get knocked back a couple feet. Broken ribs aside and somewhat of a bruised ego, Clint was telling the doctors he was fighting fit. They just didn't believe him. But he didn't really listen to what they had to say about him resting or anything of the like. He moved quietly through the halls with every intention to go to the gym. To get his frustrations out and to possibly tire himself out that maybe sleep would be unavoidable as he turned the corner, nearly running into Coulson.

"...they still let you escape from your office from time to time, I see." He smirked, hoping beyond all hope that he could just annoy him a little. To the point where he could just move passed him and to the gym. He relied, partly, that if the man was still on painkillers and still in work-mode there would be some apathy involved.

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"Clint... I think we both know that you being tired and achy isn't what I'm really worried about here. I'm not sending you out on any missions if I don't know whether or not you're going to come back. That's not going to change. Our jobs are dangerous enough without me worrying that you're going to help get yourself killed." He didn't have to ask what Clint was remembering or what was keeping him up. He knew and he wasn't sure what he could tell Clint that would put him at ease.

"What can I do to help? I will really read you that story if you think it will help." He frowned. "And how many of those pills have you been taking? A lot of those are habit-forming." It was the last thing any of them needed.

"I'm not going on missions with a death wish, Phil. You don't have to worry about that. Things happen in the field, we both know that. Occupational hazards and all that. SHIELD just has them at the bucket fulls." Clint was trying to ease Phil's mind just a tad. Self-destructive behavior aside. Which honestly could lead into death wish if Phil wanted to point that out. The biggest thing was that Clint? Knew what people wanted to hear and right now, he knew Phil wanted to hear this right now.

He thought on it for a second. He'd been coming back from missions and the only thing he truly wanted was some company. The only thing he wanted was someone there. Admitting it was half the battle. "I think you just being there might help." His brow shot up, looking over to Phil with an incredulous look. "So now I'm a junkie with a death wish?" He laughed a little. "Really, Phil. I don't usually take anything they give me anyway."

"I never said any of that. I'm just worried about you. You've been acting off for a while now, Clint. Let's work on fixing that." He tried to force a smile. "One thing at a time, though. You need sleep, so let's go back to your room. I'll stay as long as you need me to." He couldn't fix all of it, not right away, but he could try to help with what he could. If Clint thought that having Phil there would help him sleep, Phil would stay with him.

He didn't want to think about Clint's self-destructive behavior or the fact that he was pretty sure that Clint was lying about it, because when it came to Clint, sometimes his worry turned into anger and that wasn't going to help either of them right now. Now, he just wanted to focus on getting Clint healed and rested and then he would work on the rest. The fact that Clint was willing to talk about it could be a good sign, but it could also mean that he was a lot worse than he was willing to admit.

"Something similar to it though." Clint noted the forced smile in the back of his mind as he started walking towards his room, fully expecting Phil to follow after him. "You know me, Phil. You have to trust in me that whatever's going on is going to pass sooner or later." Hopefully sooner rather than later. For Phil's state of mind, he might make an extra attempt for it to be sooner. He turned around, walking backwards so that he could look the agent in the eye.

"...I'm not acting that off, am I?" His brows furrowed a bit with concern. Obviously, the only one else he knew who could point it out was Nat. The others he usually found himself around figured it was him...being himself.

Phil did follow after Clint, studying his face and the way he was moving. "I don't think anyone else has noticed, if that's what you mean. You're my agent. I'd be worried if I wasn't the first one to pick up on things like this." He just wanted to get Clint back to where he should be so that they could get back to working together. He wanted to believe Clint that it would pass, but he was still so worried that it would get him killed before it was through.

He wondered if living with the other Avengers would help or make it worse, but he wouldn't suggest it until he was sure it wouldn't make him worse. That was the last thing he wanted. If Clint was happier here, Phil was happy to have him close, where he could keep an eye on him and get to him easily if he was needed.

Clint's smile seemed to grow at that, eyes on Phil as he kept on walking backwards. Folding his hands behind his back as he does. "You're my friend too," he pointed out quietly. "On top of being my handler." There was really only one person in his mind that could have roped him into joining SHIELD initially. At that point in his life, Clint would have laughed in Fury or Hill's faces if they ever showed up under the big top to recruit "the world's greatest marksman"; who at the time was just a circus act. A better one than most people. "I'm pretty sure the others will only know if I'm acting weird is if you or Tasha point it out. We're not exactly braiding each other's hair every nig--well, they might be." He laughed a bit. Clint really didn't know what the others did back where they all lived in the Avengers headquarters.

Clint was somewhat glad that he had decided to stay in the SHIELD apartments. It seemed like it would be more loud if he had decided to go live with Tony and the others.

The archer still kept walking backwards with a smile on his face before nearly falling over a trash bin. Catching himself by performing a quick little backflip so he didn't look like an idiot. Now he just looked like a talented idiot. The action immediately sent a jolt of pain through his upper body. "You think you could warn me next time, Coulson?" He hid the look of pain on his face as he just moved...to walk forward, side by side with his handler.

"I didn't see it. You were kind of in the way." Mostly true. He'd only had about five seconds between noticing it and Clint banging into it. Maybe now he'd finally learn not to walk backwards, but Phil was pretty sure that that lesson was only going to stick for a few hours at the most.

Though he did frown when he saw that Clint was in pain. He definitely made the right call about the gym. "You're my friend, too, Clint, but I'm not braiding your hair. I draw the line at tucking you in."

He didn't really try to think too much about what the other Avengers were up to. He imagined that Stark and Banner spent a lot of time doing science and that stark spent the rest of the time antagonizing Rogers. He couldn't imagine Clint or Natasha getting involved in either of those situations. The fact that Natasha seemed to be doing well there was surprising, but good. He wasn't so sure that Clint really would do as well, but he could hope.

"Liar. You see all." He laughed as he continued walking beside him, tucking his hands in his pockets as he walked next to his friend. Phil was right when it came to prohibiting his occupation of the gym. If one backflip was enough to cause pain. Then doing anything else would have just done more bad than good. Not that he would say his handler was "right". He liked imagining that whatever Phil said was wrong.

If Phil had asked him to move into the tower, Clint would have. The fact that he hadn't yet made him feel a little better about where he was. "If you did want to braid my hair. I might need you to get your temperature checked, Coulson. Or see if there was any shapeshifting aliens around."

"So your current theory is that I just enjoy watching you trip over trash cans?" If Clint wasn't hurt, that theory wouldn't be so far off, but Phil never liked seeing Clint in actual pain. He preferred mild humiliation and only because Clint put so much effort into his posturing.

"I'm not the one asking for bedtime stories." He smiled, though. It wasn't as if he minded at all. If Clint needed someone to take care of him, Phil would do it gladly. It's what friends did and friends were rare in this line of work. Phil was careful with the ones he had and the fact that he could count Clint among them meant a lot, not the least of which because Clint had some serious authority issues that Phil was always surprised to have somehow managed to sidestep.

"Better than breaking my dreams that you're omnipresent." He smiled, trying to hold back the laughter at the ridiculousness of the statement he just said. "Plus, I didn't trip. I have the reflexes of a cat." Even though his reflexes didn't exactly do him any favors, nor did his circus tricks.

Clint's nose wrinkled up as he looked over at his friend. "I'm just trying every avenue. I usually fall asleep listening to your voice drone on during debriefings. A bedtime story shouldn't be any different, right?" Clint just felt comforted in the presence of Tasha or Coulson. Having either in the room would have caused him to get some sleep rather than forgo it altogether. "I'd ask Tasha to read a bedtime story. But she'd just give me one of those judging looks and go about her business." He tried to mimic the look Nat usually gave him when he did something questionable. But it didn't have the same intensity if, say, Tasha did it herself.

Phil laughed. "Or worse, she'd tell you some creepy Russian story and then you'd really never sleep." If anyone else told him that his voice put them to sleep, he might have been insulted, but this was Clint and that already gave him a pass. Plus, he'd just tripped over a trash can, which must have been hurting both him and his ego. Besides, if he could help Clint sleep, he would consider it a win. Poor guy clearly needed it.

"And I'm not omnipresent. I'm just all-knowing. There's a difference." And that difference was that one simply involved a lot of hidden cameras and observation. He wasn't God, but he did take a professional interest in the eating, sleeping and social habits of his agents. One could never know too much about their coworkers.

"She has done that before. I was in the infirmary and couldn't escape." So he had just used the 'morphine' button instead to make himself knock out. A pleasant escape. He didn't mean any harm in saying Phil's voice put him to sleep. It was familiar. One of only a couple things in the world that Clint categorized as 'safe'. In his eyes, nothing could go wrong when he had Phil around. He had been his handler for many years. His friend for a shorter time than that.

"Well, I guess that's a reasonable difference. I'll accept it." He laughed as he continued walking, stopping at the door to his little room. "By all knowing do you mean, you spy on all the little agents? Or are you really...a robot?" He joked haphazardly. Knowing exactly which buttons hit where when it came to Phil. Clint was still amused at the assumption that Coulson was a robot by many junior agents.

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through a broken mirror for theshield_agent

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