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“Agent Coulson, my apologies for disturbing you but your presence is needed on Sublevel 3.”
Phil who looked up from the file he was making notes on at JARVIS’s interruption doesn’t bother biting back a sigh. That’s Stark’s not-so-secret auxiliary lab.
“Is anyone hurt?” he asks and the slight pause before JARVIS answers has him recapping his pen and shoving the file back into his safe – he is not leaving one out in the open in Stark’s tower ever again and no, it doesn’t matter if the man can probably break into the safe without breaking a sweat – before JARVIS finally says:
“That doesn’t appear to be the case.”
He doesn’t sound entirely sure though and Phil heads for the elevator with some trepidation.
What has Stark done now?
It’s been five months since Loki and three since Phil was released from the hospital. More relevantly for the situation at hand it’s been two months since Fury decided that due to Phil’s ‘resurrection’ he needed another way to build the Avengers into SHIELD’s dream team, which translated into him ordering them to move into Stark Tower when Thor returned to Earth – and then a week later Phil as well because he was standing in the way of the team bonding.
Or to put it in Fury’s words: “Don’t think I don’t know Barton and Romanoff are camping in your living room.”
Which – granted – they had been but Fury only had himself to blame for that one: they had spent ten days thinking Phil was dead before medical had updated his status from critical to serious but stable and Fury had told them the truth, more or less confident that Phil wasn’t about to make a liar out of him again. Neither of them likes talking about it even now, just as Phil doesn’t like thinking about the days Clint had spent under Loki’s control – or any other time when one of their fates had been uncertain – but it had been written all over their faces when Phil had woken up.
It hadn’t been a surprise when Clint and Natasha had decided to take it upon themselves to see to his recovery after his release from the hospital. Not that Phil had complained: years of missions together have made them familiar and safe to be around even at his weakest, and it had also made it easier to make sure Clint wasn’t wallowing in guilt or that Natasha didn’t try to take on too much.
Really it had worked for everyone. Clint had cooked and Natasha had kicked Phil’s ass in PT and they had healed slowly.
And then they had transferred the healing process from Phil’s apartment to Stark Tower.
Phil had initially had some concerns about privacy but Stark had assigned an entire floor to each of his teammates, making damn sure no one had to interact with anyone else if they didn’t want to. Phil suspects it might have been his way of getting back at Fury for forcing him to agree to the arrangement – it’s never a good idea to try and bully Stark into anything – and it sort of defeats the purpose of the exercise but there are some things that simply can’t be forced.
The team is slowly getting there, spending more time together voluntarily and learning to trust one another. At first it was the gym and then it was dinners and movie nights. It’s messy and erratic and a little destructive, but it’s also touching and funny and sad at times and Phil gets to watch it all. And – almost despite himself – finds himself included, his carefully masked surprise not fooling anyone.
Phil is technically still on light duty which – for him – means helping with mission planning and the occasional meeting at HQ. He isn’t the Avengers’ handler, won’t be until he is fully reinstated by medical, but because of his living arrangements he still finds himself dealing the small emergencies that occur at home. There hasn’t been anything too serious so far and to be fair not everything has been Stark-related – it’s an even split between him, Banner and Thor – and Phil hopes that’s not about to change.
Of course he is wrong.
When he gets to the lab it’s chaos. The entire team is there – correction: the entire team except Clint is there, he amends when a quick look up doesn’t reveal any sign of the man watching the scene from above – and there is something smoking in the corner.
Natasha has Stark pinned against a wall by the throat and the man actually looks worried while Rogers tries to talk Natasha down – unsuccessfully from the looks of it – and Banner peers at the smoking pile of tech and shouts readings at the room in general. Phil isn’t quite sure why he is bothering: the only other person capable of understanding him is currently otherwise engaged but then Stark has always been good at multitasking so maybe it’s useful. And if it helps keep Banner calm, well. Meanwhile Thor is kneeling in front of a desk, peering under it and blocking Phil’s view of whatever is so interesting down there.
What a mess.
Phil takes a closer look at what’s holding Banner’s interest as it is likely to be the source of all this mayhem, and he sighs as he recognizes it. Two weeks ago the team was sent to investigate the sudden disappearance of Dr. Barlow, a scientist SHIELD had been keeping an eye for quite some time. It had been a simple mission which did not require the Avengers’ special expertise, but then there can’t be an apocalypse every other week. If they’re to learn to work together, simple sometimes will have to do. All they had found was one of Barlow’s inventions, a machine Phil is fairly certain is now smouldering in Stark’s lab – despite knowing for a fact that it’s supposed to be in SHIELD’s R&D right now.
Phil rubs absently at the scar on his chest before catching himself and forcefully making himself stop. He will have to have words with the Avengers’ temporary handler. Again. And Rogers as well, as much as it pains him. They should know by now not to leave Stark – or Banner for that matter – unattended around unknown tech.
“Would anyone care to tell me what the hell is going on?” he says because damn it he is supposed to be taking it easy and he doesn’t need this shit.
They all freeze and Phil takes advantage of the sudden silence to add:
“Natasha, please let Stark go. We might need him later.”
She does and when she turns towards him he catches a glimpse of something wild in her eyes. And all of a sudden Phil’s chest feels too tight because there are very few things in the world capable of making Natasha look like that and one of them is currently unaccounted for and–
“Where is Agent Barton?” he asks with a calm he doesn’t feel and if Stark was worried before now he looks downright scared and this is not good at all.
Thor shuffles away from the desk, revealing a pile of clothes that could possibly be what Clint was wearing this morning and beyond that there’s a small form curled into a tight ball, head tucked into its knees with its hands over its ears. It’s also got the T-shirt Clint was definitely wearing earlier though it’s now way too big, and Phil really needs to stop calling it ‘it’ and start saying ‘he’. Because that’s a little boy and if he’s reading the clues right it’s also Clint and what the hell happened?
On autopilot Phil takes out his phone and hits speed dial, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy as the pain in his chest increases tenfold. When the call connects it actually takes him a couple of seconds to register the impatient voice at the other end of the line and he has to put his mind back in the game to report:
“Sir, there is a… situation at the Tower.”
“Is it the kind of situation where you need help burying a body?” Fury asks because the bastard – Phil thinks it with love – finds his tribulations with the most unruly members of the Avengers endlessly amusing.
“No, sir.” Not yet anyway, he adds silently with a dark look in Stark’s direction. “Agent Barton seems to have been turned into a –” Phil takes a wild guess, “– five year old.”
Silence, then:
“Well, shit.”
“Yes, sir,” Phil agrees fervently.
“How the hell did that happen?”
“Unknown at present.”
Fury sighs. “Get him over here. We’ll have medical take a look at him.”
“Yes, sir,” he says and snaps his phone shut. Then he turns his attention to Stark and Banner because if anyone is going to have answers it’s one of them.
“What happened?”
“Look, it was an accident. I was showing Barton the new arrowheads I made for him when that thing just… it just exploded,” Stark says. “And then he was like that!”
“And what is that thing doing in your lab instead of SHIELD’s headquarters?” Phil asks, low and dangerous and Stark has the good grace to look somewhat repentant.
“Well, we didn’t know what it was so Bruce and I –” Banner’s “hey!” has Stark quickly backpedalling: “I mean I, I thought we – I? – should figure it out first but then it wasn’t really doing anything until it just went boom and –”
Phil interrupts his ramblings with a sharp “Is it permanent?”
“I don’t know – not yet anyway. But we’ll figure it out, right Bruce?” Banner nods in agreement and Phil would appreciate his efforts to look reassuring if he wasn’t failing so miserably. “Right.”
Phil does pinch the brink of his nose then and he knows they’re all looking at him and he can’t lose it now, except Clint’s been turned into a child, practically a toddler, and what if he never–
No.
Phil cuts off that line of thought ruthlessly because it’s not helping, not at all – except he can’t unthink it now, it’s just like when Clint got brainwashed by Loki, that niggling doubt that they would never get him back and–
Focus.
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, looking at the team assembled around him.
“We need to get Clint to medical, they’re expecting us,” he says and when no one moves he raises an expectant eyebrow at them.
“Um… the child does not appear to want to leave his hiding place,” Thor offers.
Of course. Why is Phil not surprised?
He approaches the desk slowly, kneeling in front of it while trying not to cut off any escape route. Not that he knows whether that actually matters, having no idea whether Clint’s state of mind matches his body’s age or not.
“Clint? My name is Phil,” he says, keeping his voice level and gentle. It’s surprisingly easy. “Do you remember me?”
His efforts are rewarded by the boy taking a quick peek at him from over his knees – and yes, that’s definitely Clint, and Phil has to resist the urge to grab him to make sure he is okay. But if he wants Clint to trust him he needs to let him take the first step.
“I don’t know,” Clint says, his voice wavering like he might burst into tears any second and Phil doesn’t think he would be able to handle that.
“Hey, that’s fine.” He tries to sound reassuring and it must be working because no tears come. “Would you mind coming out of there so we can make sure you’re okay?”
Clint looks at him again, debating the pros and cons in his head while Phil waits patiently for him to come to a decision. Finally, Clint starts crawling towards him and it’s instinct that has Phil reach out when Clint is close enough. He catches himself a second later but by then Clint’s already wrapped his arms around Phil’s neck and it’s too late to go back.
Phil stands slowly, keeping a careful hold on the kid while trying hard not to freak out because Clint is tiny and anything could hurt him and how are they supposed to keep him safe?
“Right,” he says, looking around the room and daring one of them to say something. They’re too busy staring right back however, and Clint doesn’t like the attention, hiding his face into Phil’s neck. “Let’s go.”
Natasha materialises next to him, taking point as they move through the Tower, the rest of the team trailing behind. She scans the space around them as if she was in enemy territory and expecting hordes of attackers to appear from behind plotted plants, her hands opening and closing around her knives. Phil is glad he isn’t the only one who is so unnerved by Clint’s transformation because it feels like the world has shifted off its axis. This is Clint and yet not at all, and Phil finds himself having to rethink every decision he would normally make in a heartbeat to account for the fact that Clint isn’t there to watch their backs. Even if he is.
They must be quite a sight when they get to HQ, with Natasha stalking ahead followed by Phil still carrying Clint and the other four a few steps behind. Wisely, no one comments. Phil isn’t in the mood.
Fury is waiting for them in medical and Clint doesn’t like him one bit, his little hands gripping Phil’s jacket as tightly as they can as if expecting Fury to drag Phil away. Which is Phil’s first clue that there is still something of the adult Clint in there – or maybe his second: he isn’t sure how to interpret Clint’s immediate and complete trust in him.
“I had to see it to believe it,” Fury says with a shrug and then leaves them to it with a parting “Find me after,” to Phil.
The visit to medical is a nightmare, with Clint still refusing to let Phil go and Phil not inclined to make him and Natasha glaring at whoever comes within short distance of the pair. It’s a small miracle that everyone survives it, especially after the ordeal of the blood sample that led to the rest of the team being kindly but firmly invited to wait outside.
The conclusion is that Clint is currently a healthy four year old. The psychiatrist who spent the better part of an hour trying to coach more than monosyllabic answers out of him just shakes her head, saying that she doesn’t think they’re dealing with an exact replica of Clint at that age, if only because he hasn’t asked about his parents – or more tellingly his brother, Phil thinks – since he’s been here. It’s more likely that his adult mind regressed along with his body, keeping only the most deeply ingrained instincts intact, and Phil nods to that. It fits with what he’s observed so far.
They’re waved out of medical with obvious relief from the staff and the team crowds around them.
“He’s fine,” Phil says. “I need to report to Director Fury. Can you look after him for a few minutes?”
He directs that last part at Natasha because he doesn’t know how Clint will react to being handed over to anyone else and she looks mildly freaked out by the perspective – though you wouldn’t be able to tell unless you were Phil or, well just Phil at the moment. He wonders how much of that is due to Natasha’s usual awkwardness around children and how much to the fact that it’s Clint, but she is no coward and Phil plays dirty.
“I’ll be right back,” he tells Clint. “Can you stay with Natasha for a little while?”
Clints nods, holding out his arms towards her, and she takes him with only the slightest hesitation, positioning him over her left hip so she can still access her weapons with her dominant hand.
“I like your hair,” Clint tells her very seriously and when her lips twitch in an aborted smile Phil knows they’re going to be just fine.
“That boy has taste,” he hears Stark say as he makes his way towards Fury’s office and though he smiles at Natasha’s scathing retort it feels slightly strained.
The meeting with Fury is blessedly short and to the point – then again they always are. Clint will move back to the Tower under Phil’s supervision while they try to locate Dr. Barlow and figure out how to fix him. And they will fix him.
Fury’s absolute certainty settles something deep inside Phil, and the pain in his chest finally lessens because Fury doesn’t lie to him. To everyone else, sure, and God knows he tried lying to Phil too in the beginning, but Phil could always tell and eventually he stopped bothering.
“Keep me in the loop,” Fury adds gruffly when Phil stands to leave and Phil nods even though Fury is pretending to be too busy to notice.
Phil knows Fury did what he thought necessary by telling everyone he was dead, and that he would do the same thing all over again if need be. He also knows by doing so the man lost some of the complete and unwavering trust Clint and Natasha had in him, and Nick regrets that even if he would never own to it. They’ll probably patch things up eventually, but until they do Phil doesn’t mind playing intermediary.
Clint falls asleep in the car on the way home sandwiched between Phil and Natasha, a warm weight against their sides. He doesn’t even stir when Phil puts him to bed, enlisting JARVIS’s help to alert him if Clint should so much as twitch – Phil doesn’t want him to wake up alone and not know where he is.
He still ends up checking up on him throughout the night, finding Natasha curled into a corner on his third visit. He abandons all pretences then, settling down next to her and wondering how she’s coping with the vulnerability and defenselessness of her partner in his current form. He doesn’t ask though, because she won’t answer and that’s not how they do things. Finding sleep is much easier knowing she’s standing guard.
During the next few days, Clint trails after Phil like a lost duckling, already secure in the knowledge that he doesn’t have to follow Natasha because she’ll follow him. Phil doesn’t mind, like he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s suddenly been assigned to look after a four year old – of course he doesn’t, it’s Clint. It’s just that he feels wholly unqualified for the job. He doesn’t know a thing about children beyond what common sense dictates: keep them fed, clean, warm and occupied, and make sure they get plenty of rest but even then he’s pretty sure he’s forgetting something. And that’s all good and well but what about specifics? How much is enough sleep? What kind of food should he eat? Natasha is no help, the internet has too many answers and SHIELD has no paediatrician on staff so in the end Phil sits Banner down and asks him every stupid question that he can think of. Bruce can’t answer everything but at least it’s a start, and when a spreadsheet appears on Phil’s fridge the next day he finally starts thinking maybe he won’t screw this up.
On Day 2 a pile of clothes and toys materialises in Phil’s living room which has become the main rallying point for the team. Clint stares at it with wonder and starts exploring cautiously, the others looking on with varying degrees of amusement and curiosity. When Stark emerges from his lab an hour later, bleary-eyed and exhausted, Phil is kind enough to wait until he’s finished his first cup of coffee before raising an eyebrow at him and inclining his head towards what’s left of the pile.
“What?” Stark says defensively, looking vaguely embarrassed, “The kid couldn’t just keep walking around wearing Barton’s T-shirts, could he?”
“Thank you,” Phil tells him, and Stark blinks before shrugging like it’s no big deal and fleeing back to his lab. Phil rolls his eyes and thinks Pepper is one brave woman.
Looking after a child is exhausting, even one as quiet as Clint, and Phil is glad when he progressively grows accustomed to the others and starts spending time with them without needing Phil around. Clint likes drawing with Steve and listening to the mighty Thor’s adventures and it frees some time for Phil. Unfortunately free time means time to think about the situation and Phil finds he doesn’t want it after all. So he throws himself into work instead. They still don’t know how to reverse what happened to Clint, but they think they’re getting closer to locating Dr. Barlow. And if Phil sometimes finds himself calling up the security feed of whatever room Clint is in, no one has to know.
Despite all the attention he’s getting, Phil remains Clint’s favourite with Natasha a close second – “yeah, that’s not normal,” Stark says, “the kid is weird” but they all hear the underlying “he fits right in”, and Natasha’s punch doesn’t pack any heat. After a couple of lock-downs instigated by the unfortunate and overzealous Avenger who was with Clint when he decided he wanted to see Phil now, they all get used to Clint disappearing from the care of whoever he’s with to reappear in Phil’s office.
Phil’s perfectly aware that he’s a little (a lot) paranoid when it comes to Clint’s safety but then they all are, and Clint isn’t even that much of an adventurous kid – to Thor’s never-ending dismay. He likes sitting on the couch in Phil’s office and looking out of the window. Phil doesn’t know what he is looking at, or even if he is looking at anything in particular. He asks him once but Clint can’t seem to put his thoughts into words and grows frustrated, and Phil has to run small circles on his back to calm him down.
Even at four, Clint sees too much for his own good. He knows something isn’t right, that he isn’t right. The first time the Avengers are deployed on a mission after his transformation he goes from room to room looking for the others, over and over again until he exhausts himself. Only then does he allow Phil to pick him up and settle them down on the couch.
“It’s okay, they’ll be fine,” Phil repeats over and over again until Clint calms down, and when the team still isn’t back they watch cartoons to keep him distracted. It’s usually Phil’s favourite part of the day because they always make Clint laugh, a free and uninhibited sound that never fails to make everyone nearby smile helplessly. But Clint isn’t laughing today, and it’s only when the team files into the room, safe and sound and bickering over one thing or another, that he throws himself at Natasha and finally cracks a smile.
Two days later Phil is at HQ to update anyone who is anyone on the Avengers. Unsurprinsingly, it takes a while. He calls home when they break for lunch and gets the all clear: yes, Clint is fine, he did eat all his vegetables, and he’ll see Phil when he gets home.
Which is why he isn’t expecting the total devastation that greets him when he arrives at the Tower a little after six that evening. Clint is curled into a tight ball of misery on Natasha’s lap, his face red from crying, and the rest of the Avengers seem to be at the very end of their rope, looking at Phil with a combination of relief, distress and condemnation. He can’t actually blame them, not when Clint is making those pathetic little hiccupping sounds against Natasha’s shoulder that make Phil feel like a terrible, terrible person. Because he knows this is his fault somehow, and he rubs his chest absently, the tight feeling getting worse when Clint sees him and doesn’t reach out for him until Phil is standing right next to Natasha. Only then does he hold out his arms, tears spilling down his cheeks anew, and Phil picks him up without further thought, cradling him close as Clint clings to him and sobs into his shoulder.
“What happened?” he asks Natasha, feeling at a complete loss – he spoke to Clint five hours ago, he was fine!
“He forgot you were at HQ. Went to your office and you weren’t there and he couldn’t find you anywhere. It just went downhill after that.”
He must look very near stricken, because she gentles her tone and adds: “Not your fault. He’ll be fine.”
Phil isn’t sure he agrees with that assessment – the first part anyway – but there is no arguing with Natasha, so he just nods. Eventually Clint cries himself to sleep, his body going limp in Phil’s arms, and Phil carries him to bed, tucking him in carefully. Even in sleep Clint won’t let him go, so Phil sits with him all night, soothing away the nightmares when they inevitably come and trying not to let the guilt swallow him whole.
For the first time that night he lets himself consider what will happen if Clint never turns back into his adult self. Despite Fury’s assurance, it’s been almost three weeks and they haven’t made any progress on the why and how. Would Clint still live at the Tower if he remained a child? Who would look after him once Phil was cleared for active duty? Would they try to find him a nice family instead so Clint could have a second chance at life – at a better life?
Could they let him go?
Natasha slips into the room, interrupting his thoughts before he can come to an acceptable conclusion. She looks Phil over critically and he looks back at her steadily, keeping his face inscrutable until she mutters something unflattering in Russian and sits down on the side of the bed that hasn’t been taken over by the two of them.
“He’s fine. You’re both fine,” she says and maybe it’s the darkness of the night or the steady rise and fall of Clint’s chest but Phil almost believes her.
The next day Fury calls to say they have Dr. Barlow.
The fifty year old man just spent a month four decades younger – which probably explains why the combined effort of SHIELD and Tony Stark couldn’t ferret him out – and is ecstatic that his experiment apparently worked and then crestfallen when he learns his machine went kaput in Tony Stark’s basement. But like any mad scientist – Phil lives with two, he means that with a healthy amount of respect – he bounces back quickly, already coming up with possible improvements. Phil isn’t sure why anyone would willingly turn themselves years younger but maybe he is missing something. He will have to ask Clint when he gets back to normal – because he will get back to normal, Dr. Barlow having assured them that the effect is only temporary, lasting four to five weeks.
Phil doesn’t have the joy of interviewing Barlow himself as he is currently not allowed to leave the Tower as per Avenger special order – also known as ‘let’s make sure Clint never cries again’ and JARVIS is a very strict enforcer of that policy – and he is so relieved that his fervent “thank you” to Captain Rogers when he tells him Clint should be back to normal within two weeks embarrasses them both.
He suddenly feels lighter than he has in days, like he can finally breathe, all the stress and doubt lifted off his shoulders. It also makes him realise how exhausted he is because he is still recovering and splitting his time between looking after Clint and work isn’t exactly restful. Natasha rolls her eyes at him – duh – and puts him to bed alongside with Clint at naptime, ignoring the way Phil is glaring at her half-heartedly and telling him she won’t allow him to undo all of her and Clint’s hard work now that he’s stopped being stubborn.
Phil falls asleep before he can think of an adequate answer because Clint and Natasha are both right there and safe, their presence signalling to his brain that it’s okay to let go. So he does, until Clint decides he’s had enough sleep and starts poking at him and: “I’m not sleepy anymore”. But Natasha is there, picking him up and telling him to let Phil sleep, and Phil goes back under to the sound of Clint giggling.
Everyone’s spirit is lifted by the news – though Banner and Stark look somewhat disappointed they’re no longer needed to save the day – and the mood in the Tower improves dramatically. The change almost takes Phil by surprise: to the exception of Natasha, he hadn’t really paid much attention to how affected the others had been and he isn’t proud of it.
Clint seems to sense the change in atmosphere too and acts accordingly. The first inkling Phil has that quiet and subdued might not be Clint’s four year old natural state is when he comes running into his office, pauses for a second in the middle of the room and then proceeds to crawl under the couch. Quite honestly Phil would worry they were under attack if Clint wasn’t laughing his head off the whole time.
“Clint?” he asks the couch.
“Shhhh… We’re playing hide and seek,” Clint says in a loud whisper which would be more effective if his attempts to stifle his laughter were not failing miserably.
He quietens eventually and Phil returns to work, the occasional giggle drifting up from Clint’s hiding place.
Twenty minutes later Rogers comes strolling into the room with a smile.
“You wouldn’t happen to have seen Clint by any chance?” he asks, and Phil freezes momentarily because dear God, he is about to lie to Captain America. Captain America.
Clint spares him the never ending shame, another giggle coming from the couch, and Rogers’s smile widens as he drops to his knees to peer under it.
“I can see you,” he singsongs.
Clint scrambles from under there so fast Phil is worried he’s going to hurt himself, and then he is sprinting out of the door, shrieking with laughter as Rogers takes off after him in hot pursuit.
The silence that follows their abrupt departure feels lonely.
“JARVIS?” Phil says.
“Of course, sir.”
Seconds later he is watching the video feed of Clint launching himself at Natasha and climbing on her like a monkey to escape Steve, confident that she can protect him from anyone, and indeed the man backs off at Natasha’s raised eyebrow, his hands coming up in the air in mock surrender. Then Natasha looks up at the camera and gives a little wave and smirk at Phil.
“Come on, Clint, let’s get lunch ready,” he hears her say as he goes to close the window, which makes him change his mind and leave it open instead. Natasha’s cooking skills are somewhat limited – to put it nicely; if one wants to be completely accurate she tends to burn things – it may be safer if he supervises from his office.
It quickly becomes apparent that hide and seek is Clint’s favourite game. He is terrible at it though because he always hides in Phil’s office, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to figure that out. Phil doesn’t mind of course, although work gets done much slower as this means he ends up chatting with whoever is doing the seeking until Clint betrays his presence. In small ways though, Clint is still Clint and when he figures out after a few tries that his strategy is somewhat lacking he adapts to the situation, trying out new hiding places.
Paradoxically, it’s now that they know they’re getting Clint back soon that Phil finds himself missing him the most. He misses his quiet presence and sharp eyes and unwavering loyalty, and he knows it’s not rational because Clint’s right here. Even accounting for the fact that he isn’t, not really, the man has been away on solo missions that lasted a lot longer than a few weeks. But maybe in this case Phil doesn’t have to try to make sense of it.
Around the same time Phil finds himself dealing with an avalanche of work – have they all forgotten he is still on light duty? – and while he tries hard not to let it impact the amount of time he spends with Clint, he knows he’s distracted and not quite up to date on what the boy gets up to when he isn’t playing in his office.
Which is why the following comes as a bit of a surprise:
“Agent Coulson, you are needed in your kitchen. Young Mr. Barton seems to be stuck.”
Phil doesn’t panic because JARVIS takes Clint’s safety as seriously as he does and if Clint was in any real danger there would have been a Tower-wide announcement by now. Then again JARVIS’s reference scale for danger is Tony Stark, so Phil hurries to the kitchen all the same.
And almost has a heart attack because Clint – who’s supposed to be napping, the spreadsheet says so – has somehow managed to climb all the way on top of the fridge. Instead of looking proud of himself he seems on the verge of tears, and if Phil had to guess he would say Clint has no idea how to get down.
“Phil, I’m stuck,” Clint says miserably when he sees him.
“Clint, don’t move,” Phil warns and tries to figure out if he can reach Clint – and not drop him. He’s fine carrying him around but raising his arms over his head is still a struggle sometimes. Unfortunately today is one of those days. “JARVIS, can you get Thor?”
“Right away, sir.”
As they wait for Thor, Phil frowns at his body’s limitations unhappily.
“Are you mad?” Clint asks with a small voice.
“No, Clint, I’m not mad,” Phil says with a sigh because he isn’t, not really. He was just scared for a second. “What were you thinking? You could have gotten hurt.”
If anything that seems to make things worse.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be trouble.”
Phil is spared from having to contemplate where that came from by Thor’s entrance.
“I found you, little bird,” he booms, picking Clint up from the top of the fridge and carrying him over his head like he weights nothing. However that fails to elicit the peals of laughter it usually does and Thor frowns, sensing that something is off.
“Is something the matter?” he asks. When Clint shakes his head Thor looks at Phil for confirmation, but all Phil has to offer is a one-shoulder shrug. He has no idea what’s going on.
So Thor, who’s gotten wise in the handling of Clint, does the smart thing: he plops him down into Phil’s arms and leave them to figure it out.
Phil relocates them to the living room and once he’s got them situated on the couch he asks:
“Clint, what’s wrong?”
Clint doesn’t answer for the longest time and then:
“You’re always busy.”
Phil frowns. He’s spent more time in his office lately, it’s true, but that’s hardly ‘always’, and he fails to see how it translates into Clint climbing the fridge. But then he’s no expert in child psychology, and it probably makes perfect sense to Clint somehow.
“I’m not too busy for you,” he says, floundering a bit because he thought that was fairly obvious – yes, he misses the adult Clint, but he would never take it out on the child version. Then again, Clint is four so maybe it needs saying out loud. God, he is bad at this. How it didn’t become glaringly obvious sooner is anyone’s guess. “I’ll always make time for you, okay?”
“Okay,” Clint says, sounding less than convinced and silence stretches between them again until Phil asks tentatively:
“Do you want to play hide and seek again?”
Clint shakes his head. “I want to stay here.” Then he adds in a rush: “If that’s okay.”
“Sure, we can do that,” Phil says encouragingly. “Anything else?”
A beat of silence, then:
“Can Tasha come too?”
“JARVIS?” Phil probes and gets a prompt answer.
“I will ask Agent Romanoff to join you.”
“Thanks, JARVIS.”
Natasha slips into the room ten minutes later, her hair still wet – she must have been in the gym – and she raises a questioning eyebrow at Phil who tries to indicate what happened with a mix of hand gestures and facial expressions.
He may or may not be entirely successful at getting his point across because she rolls her eyes at him and flops down next to them.
“Hey, punk,” she says, poking Clint and getting a small smile for her troubles. Phil may be slightly in awe. “Are we having a quiet afternoon?”
Clint nods.
“Seems that way,” Phil concurs.
“Sweet, I’ll grab my book,” she says, standing back up and waving away Phil’s reminder to grab some of Clint’s too.
Clint is asleep by the time she gets back, catching up on his nap. Phil’s body seems to think it’s a very good idea, the lull of Clint’s breathing and Natasha’s turning of pages eventually pulling him under. When he wakes up, he finds that the whole team has gathered around them, and he slept right through it. Natasha is still curled up on the couch, reading, and Clint has joined Thor on the floor, the two of them engrossed by a Disney movie with the sound set on low. Rogers is sitting in a corner, his sketchbook open in front of him and Stark and Banner have set up shop on the other couch, passing a scientific paper back and forth between them.
It’s surprisingly peaceful, and Phil thinks that he could get used to this.
The next day he decides to hell with work. Clint will get back to normal soon, Phil can catch up then. He doesn’t know how much Clint will remember of all of this – Barlow was a bit fuzzy on the details – but Phil will be damned if he spends his last few days as a child quietly miserable.
When he tells Fury as much the man laughs at him and tells him he’s on leave until they get Barton back – it’ll get HR off his back since it seems Phil has accumulated too many unused vacation days. Again.
Clint looks surprised and then pleased when Phil doesn’t head for his office that morning and when he finally asks shyly if he isn’t working today, Phil’s reward when he tells him he isn’t is a blinding smile.
And they wait. All of them, even as they play with Clint, read to him, make sure he eats and sleeps and chase him around the floors to make him take his bath. They wait.
Phil takes to sleeping in Clint’s room, wondering if today’s the day they’ll get Clint back. If he is feeling maudlin, he thinks that maybe he’ll miss the four year old version a little, except deep down he knows that’s a lie. He would die for him and kill for him and he’s grown used to his comfortable weight on his chest, but Clint, the real Clint, is over a decade of shared knowledge and companionship, having each other’s back on missions gone to hell and others so simple they almost felt like a vacation. It’s Clint showing up at a safehouse dragging a sullen Natasha behind him and being his eyes on a rooftop and eating take-out in his office while going over mission parameters. Clint is warm silence and blood and laughter and may just be one of the best parts of Phil’s life at SHIELD, which makes him of the best parts of Phil’s life period because SHIELD is all he’s got. And he is finally getting that piece of himself back.
He wakes up one morning and the bed has become one size too small overnight. Clint – their Clint – is sprawled half on top of him, heavier than Phil is now used to. He’s muttering something under his breath, which is probably what woke Phil up, so he reaches out for whatever part of Clint he can reach – a shoulder, the top of his head –, holding on until Clint settles down and rolls away, burying his face in a pillow. On Clint’s other side Natasha catches Phil’s eye and she smiles, soft and relieved.
This is familiar, born of too many beds shared on too many missions. It’s safe and comfortable and home, and Phil closes his eyes, secure in the knowledge that the world is back on its axis.
They sleep. Everything else can wait ‘til later.