Oh, Phil knew that Clint had commitment issues. There were plenty of reasons why he might, so Phil didn't prod it. If Clint wanted to talk about it, he could come to Phil. Phil wouldn't enjoy it, but he would listen, because that was what friends did. They listened and they were supportive and they didn't force the subject. He would suck it up if Clint did want to talk, but thankfully he didn't.

Phil had had his share of short-lived relationships. Perhaps not as short as Clints, but no one lived up to Clint. The closest he'd managed was that cellist he'd told Pepper about, the one who'd broken up with him for working too much. It was just as well. Phil had liked him, but it wasn't right. There were too many lies, too much work. He hadn't been Clint.

He sometimes wondered if anyone had noticed. He tried his best to treat Clint and the other agents equally, but it was hard at times. If anyone had noticed, it would have been Natasha and whether she would say anything to either of them or just ignore the whole thing, he was unsure. He hoped that she didn't know at all. He hoped that if she did, she wouldn't confront him or, worse, tell Clint.

When they finally reached Clint's door, Phil keyed in his door code. Of course he knew it. "Let's get you on the bed and then I'll look for some pants." Phil wasn't letting anyone take Clint anywhere. Clint should have known that. Phil wouldn't leave his side until he was sure that Clint was feeling better and he wouldn't leave him if there was any danger of Fury wanting to lock him up. Clint wasn't a tool. He was Phil's friend and while Phil could send him on dangerous missions in the field, he would let anyone use him without his permission.

"Fine. You wheeze." He helped Clint over to the bed with a weak smile.