Phil didn't want Clint to die, either. He cared about all of his agents, but few got under his skin the way Clint did. Really, no one got that far under his skin. Natasha came close, but it was different. Or maybe it was Clint that was different. Clint had always been different to him, even if he tried to ignore it, it always came back to that. Clint was different. He was special. Phil didn't know why. He just was. It was a fact of life, the same as any other.

You didn't always get to choose who you worked with, but when it came to Clint, he would't even dream of letting another handler take him. It wasn't just that Clint listened to Phil more consistently than anyone, either. It was that Phil knew how well they worked together, how easily they could plug into each other and play off of each other. He couldn't remember ever having a better working relationship with anyone, purple crayon and all.

And then he felt Clint shaking. He started to rub Clint's back just as Clint's stomach emptied itself on his pant leg. It wasn't exactly surprising and while he'd generally prefer to not be covered in vomit, right now it was definitely preferable over being covered in Clint's blood. It wasn't as if he hadn't been covered in worse, anyway. "It's fine. They're just pants. Just focus on yourself right now. You're going to be fine in a little while. I promise."

He really did need to get Clint to medical, but he wasn't even sure if Clint could stand on his own, let alone walk. Phil could only assess so much. He'd feel a lot better if someone from medical looked Clint over and gave him the okay to take Clint back to his room. He would stay with Clint as long as he needed to to be sure that he was going to be fine.