Clint was trouble. That was for sure. He'd been sneaking around in the air ducts the second week he had been taken on by SHIELD when his faith in the man who would be his handler for the long haul of his career in SHIELD. When he over heard Fury talking about him and how he treated the agents who were assigned to get him on his feet. He talked back. He lashed out. Fury was on Team Barton, but not if he kept up his behavior. Coulson didn't seem fazed by it, he just had a look of amusement in his eyes. Maybe because for that week, Clint had successfully risen his blood pressure to the point where it hadn't been before. Or maybe because Clint wasn't as bad a fit in SHIELD as everyone thought he was going to be. It wasn't until Fury had exited that room that Clint knew he was going to like working for Phil, since his handler's eyes shifted towards the grate in the air ducts. Acknowledging Clint's presence and ordering him to come down.
It was the first order Clint ever carried out.
After that it was them just finding something that clicked for the both of them. Clint liked sitting shotgun whenever they had to go on a mission and someone had to drive. He felt a swell of pride whenever Phil would walk up to him after a successful mission. Almost hoping for the man to come up to him and take him in his arms or something. Something Fury would undoubtedly frown upon. But Clint didn't really care what Fury usually said. Now more than ever. The man had lost respect points after the Coulson-death-fake out. He just hadn't come out and said that he didn't trust Fury as far as he could throw him. He knew they were part of a secret agency, but it still didn't give him the right to do that. As far as Clint was always concerned, SHIELD was nothing without Phil Coulson.
He found himself drifting in and out of sleep. Every time his body was ready to give in he reminded himself of what was waiting for him in the land of being awake. Compared to the land of sleep. When faced with the decision of a sleepy conversation with Coulson and a dream wrecked with guilt and Loki. He'd rather go sleep deprived. "Well, Tasha might sneak away one of these days." He smiled as he slowly opened his eyes, focusing on the world around him once again. "The quinjet isn't going anywhere, boss. She loves me. I'm the only one out of those jokes that could get her to fly as well as she does."
Clint fought back a laugh as he pressed his face against Coulson's shoulder. It did no favors for his pounding headache. "I'll get Rogers something cooler. Like a bow." He offered up as he turned his head, facing Coulson so that he could study his face. He looked tired. Just as tired as he did. "You look like crap, Phil." Clint was always more than happy to say Coulson's first name out loud. Most people didn't have that honor (nor did they know his first name was Phil). Clint had been surprised when he had first heard it on some mission in Russia. But he still remembered repeating it the entire mission as he shifted slightly, dropping his hand above Phil's heart. He didn't need to see or feel the scar to know it was there. The reason why Phil Coulson had been out of the field so long and Clint had torn himself apart for weeks. He remembered promising himself he wouldn't waste another moment if he had a chance until Coulson came waltzing into the range like nothing had ever happened.
Clint Barton was a great many things. But a shy man was definitely not one of them. People could come up with saying he was shy. But it was just because he didn't know how to deal with most social circumstances and when faced with something he wasn't expecting. Like really wasn't expecting (I.E. Coulson coming back from the dead or a certain red headed Russian spy and her history) he didn't know how to deal. When it came to the Russian spy, he just adopted her. When it came to Coulson however. He choked back insecurity like a hard liquor before leaning his head forward, brushing his lips against Phil's cheek for a brief moment and slightly pulling back. Just in case he had to make a wobbly run for it. "Get some sleep, Coulson. You'll need to wake me in like two or so hours."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-06-05 06:53 am (UTC)It was the first order Clint ever carried out.
After that it was them just finding something that clicked for the both of them. Clint liked sitting shotgun whenever they had to go on a mission and someone had to drive. He felt a swell of pride whenever Phil would walk up to him after a successful mission. Almost hoping for the man to come up to him and take him in his arms or something. Something Fury would undoubtedly frown upon. But Clint didn't really care what Fury usually said. Now more than ever. The man had lost respect points after the Coulson-death-fake out. He just hadn't come out and said that he didn't trust Fury as far as he could throw him. He knew they were part of a secret agency, but it still didn't give him the right to do that. As far as Clint was always concerned, SHIELD was nothing without Phil Coulson.
He found himself drifting in and out of sleep. Every time his body was ready to give in he reminded himself of what was waiting for him in the land of being awake. Compared to the land of sleep. When faced with the decision of a sleepy conversation with Coulson and a dream wrecked with guilt and Loki. He'd rather go sleep deprived. "Well, Tasha might sneak away one of these days." He smiled as he slowly opened his eyes, focusing on the world around him once again. "The quinjet isn't going anywhere, boss. She loves me. I'm the only one out of those jokes that could get her to fly as well as she does."
Clint fought back a laugh as he pressed his face against Coulson's shoulder. It did no favors for his pounding headache. "I'll get Rogers something cooler. Like a bow." He offered up as he turned his head, facing Coulson so that he could study his face. He looked tired. Just as tired as he did. "You look like crap, Phil." Clint was always more than happy to say Coulson's first name out loud. Most people didn't have that honor (nor did they know his first name was Phil). Clint had been surprised when he had first heard it on some mission in Russia. But he still remembered repeating it the entire mission as he shifted slightly, dropping his hand above Phil's heart. He didn't need to see or feel the scar to know it was there. The reason why Phil Coulson had been out of the field so long and Clint had torn himself apart for weeks. He remembered promising himself he wouldn't waste another moment if he had a chance until Coulson came waltzing into the range like nothing had ever happened.
Clint Barton was a great many things. But a shy man was definitely not one of them. People could come up with saying he was shy. But it was just because he didn't know how to deal with most social circumstances and when faced with something he wasn't expecting. Like really wasn't expecting (I.E. Coulson coming back from the dead or a certain red headed Russian spy and her history) he didn't know how to deal. When it came to the Russian spy, he just adopted her. When it came to Coulson however. He choked back insecurity like a hard liquor before leaning his head forward, brushing his lips against Phil's cheek for a brief moment and slightly pulling back. Just in case he had to make a wobbly run for it. "Get some sleep, Coulson. You'll need to wake me in like two or so hours."