8. Rescued 8

What Clint had not been prepared for, because it wasn't something that he thought was even possible, was that the Cor-mmandos missed their captain. The more time Clint spent with them, though, the more he realized that they were grieving for Phil just as much as he was if not more. Clint doubted that they knew Phil was dead, but it was clear that they knew Phil was not where he should be and that his absence was affecting them deeply.

They loved their morning walks and would work themselves into a frenzy over dinner (which Clint sympathized with, he usually felt the same way), and after a few days of sniffing around the suite of rooms mistrustfully had come to terms with their new home (again, Clint could relate). They adored Steve (who didn't, after all?) and Pepper and Bruce, and were very good at avoiding Natasha and Tony. But they were always looking around, staring mournfully at doors as if waiting for Phil to just walk through at any minute. Sometimes they would all pile up together on the floor at the foot of the bed and sigh heavily at each other until Donut could not take it anymore and made her zig-zag way to the top of her tallest cat tower in the living room, leaving Clint alone in the queen-sized bed thinking too much about why none of them were asleep.

It was not helping with Clint's own grief, at all.

The whole first month after the Chitauri invasion, Clint had mandated therapy at SHIELD three times a week. He admitted to Natasha that he needed it, because after being mind-raped by Loki and then losing Phil, Clint was already at loose ends. He knew that he had been through worse in life, but he was having trouble moving on under the weight of grief and guilt he carried.

He had no idea how to deal with three heart-broken corgis. He asked Steve to play with them in the afternoons, had Pepper escort them around for grooming and pampering, and asked JARVIS to play soothing nature sounds for them whenever Clint wasn't home. It all helped about as much as he expected it to, which was not much. In fact, the longer Phil failed to show up, the more depressed the dogs became.

Despite Tony's explicit ban on the dogs being anywhere in the tower other than in Clint's suite, the Cor-mmandos had full run of the place. JARVIS made sure they didn't get near anything dangerous and kept the windows all locked tight, so Clint figured it was fairly safe. It was a lazy afternoon, with the Avengers on stand-down, Tony locked up in his lab, Steve and Natasha sparring, and Pepper Potts single-handedly running one of the largest and most successful businesses on the planet—just another day in Avengers Tower, Clint mused, nursing his beer and watching a soccer game on the large screen TV in the main common room. He was there because it was centralized, so he could keep at least one eye on the Cor-mmandos as they wandered from gym to kitchen to common room and rode the elevators at will (JARVIS spoiled them, and the dogs thought it was some kind of game to be dumped out on a floor of the tower and find their way back to where they started. It was a classic exercise for both brain and body, and reminded Clint of some of his SHIELD training. In truth, Clint thought JARVIS was the smartest person in the tower, AI or no).

Donut yawned, frowning up at him from her sling. "Yeah, girl, I know. Good day for a nap, huh?"

"Who are you talking to?" Bruce walked in, trailing dogs like a canine Pied Piper. They worshiped Bruce in a strange, eerie way, as if they were acolytes to his messiah. Whenever he was around, they all stared at him with dazed expressions and followed him quietly. The only one not creeped out by it was Bruce himself, so no one mentioned it. He stopped and peered at the sling.

"Is that a cat?"

"It's Clint's cat, Donut," Natasha said, walking in with her own beer in hand.

Clint raised his bottle in salute. "Thought you were training with Steve."

She shrugged as she curled up in the corner of the couch. "He decided he needed to go rescue Tony from himself."

Bruce snorted. "Good luck to him."

Natasha looked thoughtful. "I think he's got Pepper's support," she said cryptically, and took a swig of her beer.

Bruce nodded, although his expression clearly stated that he had no idea what she was talking about. He turned back to Clint. "Cute cat. Kind of looks like you."

Clint sighed. "I get that a lot."

"Hmm." Bruce gave Natasha a couple of shy, nervous looks before clearing his throat. "Okay, back to the lab for me." Bruce started walking out with the Cor-mmandos on his heels, but he turned around and pointed at them. "No. Stay." His voice was solid and firm. The dogs all sat down and watched Bruce leave with longing in their eyes.

"Do they see Banner, or the other guy?" Clint mused, watching them. After a couple of seconds the dogs got back up and padded around the room aimlessly.

Natasha watched them with an intense expression.

"What?"

"Phil played with the dogs, you know. They were always at his feet."

Clint looked over at the pack of corgis mulling around, pushing at each other with their noses and looking out the glass windows and generally not being anywhere near Clint.

"I walk them twice a day."

"You keep them at arm's length."

"They're Phil's." Clint settled into the couch mulishly, Donut squirming on his chest.

Natasha sighed and took another swig of her beer, but did not say the obvious: Phil was dead. Whatever the corgis had been to Phil in the past, they were Clint's now. Or, he was theirs. He petted Donut, who yawned again but was picking up on his mood, her legs twitching irritably.

Natasha put her beer down on an end table. "Let me hold the cat, while you do something with the dogs that isn't going for a walk or feeding them dinner." She held out her hands.

Clint glared at her. "The cat has a name. And you've never wanted to hold her before."

Natasha kept her hands out. "You only brought her in on Fridays. I was working. Also, Donut is a terrible name for a cat."

"Your opinion doesn't count," Clint said, but pulled the grumpy little cat from her sling and passed her over to Natasha. Clint had never actually seen Natasha interact with a pet of any kind; she could ride a horse and had once worked with a trained monkey while undercover at a European circus (the irony of that mission still burned Clint, sometimes) but she always steered clear of the Cor-mmandos and had never shown any interest in Donut.

She held Donut out from her with both hands while they looked at each other. Donut swished her tail and kicked her back legs, which must have sent some message to Natasha, who pulled her in and gently set Donut on her lap.

Bereft, Clint eyed the Cor-mmandos. He got up and sat on the floor in the middle of the room, putting distance between himself and the girls. "Hey, Stevie. Come here, boy," Clint said, patting the floor next to him. He knew if he could bring Stevie to his side, Bucky and Dum Dum would follow.

Stevie hopped around excitedly but circled Clint with a confused look in his eyes.

"Stevie, come here. Good boy, come on." Clint held one hand out and kept patting the floor with the other. "Come here, and I'll pet you."

Stevie stopped circling, moved a few feet closer and started pacing instead. He was jittery and nervous, clearly uncertain about the sudden change in behavior. After a few moments, Stevie stopped and crept forward, hunched down to the point where his belly almost touched the floor. Even Clint could tell it was a very submissive posture, so he firmed up his voice. "Good boy, Stevie. Good boy. Come here."

Stevie finally nosed his way up to Clint, who slowly and gently started scratching him around his neck and ears. The dog lets out a pathetic little groan and flopped over, using his butt to squirm up next to Clint's legs, his paws flapping in the air. Clint smiled and started scratching with both hands.

Bucky and Dum Dum walked over cautiously. Clint kept up a low-level, quiet dialogue of praise and encouragement until all three dogs were sprawled around him. There was still a feeling of wariness coming off of them, and Stevie kept looking over at the elevator as if expecting Phil to join them, but it was the closest they had come to Clint since the last time Phil had brought them into headquarters for Pet Friday.

Clint could see Phil clearly in his mind's eye, that final Friday before they were both sent out to New Mexico to deal with the magical hammer from space: Phil, immaculate and sitting on the floor of his office while carefully gifting out milk bones to the Cor-mmandos, who all knew better than to walk on his suit. Clint had stood in the door way with Donut fast asleep in her sling, trying to catch Phil's attention but knowing it was a lost cause, and not caring too much because Phil looked downright adorable on the floor, spoiling his makeshift pack. Clint had walked over and sat down, one leg resting oh-so-casually against Phil's side. Dum Dum had jumped up and flopped down over his thighs, his tongue darting out to lick Phil's ear. Phil had laughed, that rarest of sounds, and Donut had actually started purring in reaction. It was a perfect moment, and it was their last perfect moment all together.

It wasn't until the dogs were all whining and trying to crawl into his lap that Clint realized he was crying. He wrapped his arms around them and let himself go, sobbing into their fur, hiding his face against whichever one was next to him at the moment. He cried for what he had lost and what he never had; whether the dogs understood that or not, Clint couldn't even think about. He let them comfort him, their warm and forgiving bodies surrounding him with everything he had left of Phil.

"Clint." Natasha's voice drifted over to him after a few minutes. He pushed Bucky and Stevie off his lap and wiped his face with his hands.

"Yeah?"

"Heads up, I think you upset her."

Clint looked over to see Donut on the floor at Natasha's feet, pacing madly in a circle. She let out a couple of frustrated mews but kept going. Clint knew she would keep trying to go straight and failing until she fell down exhausted, stubborn and determined to get where she wanted to go. Clint moved to get up, but Stevie broke off and padded over to Donut, watching her for a second.

"Hey, you—"

"Shut up, Clint. Let them figure this out," Natasha hissed at him. Nervously, Clint settled back down.

Stevie, not a large dog in the great scheme of things, looked enormous looming over Donut. She was mewing in earnest, going faster and faster in her frustration. Stevie stepped closer and pushed at her with his nose, breaking her out of the circle. She took a few steps towards Clint, then started to drift to the side. Stevie nudged her back on course. They progressed across the room that way, Donut veering off course and Stevie nudging her back, herding her gently along until she hopped onto Clint's lap and head-butted his stomach.

"Awww, dog. Thanks." Clint ruffled Stevie's head.

Natasha sat down next to him, leaning into him for mutual support, her hand snaking to his lap to pet Donut. The dogs didn't crowd Natasha, but they settled down around them, protecting their family (from what, Clint wasn't sure).