2. Chapter 2

They all watched Clint being rolled out with a sense of shock. Phil wanted to chase after him, but they were still in a debriefing and one of the medics was trying to talk to them. Phil forced himself to tune back in to the conversation.

“…arc eye, maybe. He mentioned light from welders,” Steve said to the remaining EMT. “It was a factory; there was a lot of welding going on, among other things. But he seemed fine right after our evac.”

Phil stepped closer. He had no idea what Steve was talking about, but the medic seemed to understand.

“That would explain the delayed reaction, but it could get worse if that’s the case. I’ll make sure the doctor knows.”

“He specifically said he had not been hit with chemicals, and we weren’t able to ask if he’d been drugged, but I’m sure he would have mentioned either before now.” Steve replied. The medic nodded.

“Okay, thank you Captain. We’ll inform you of his status as soon as we know something.” The medic turned and left. Steve looked over at Phil, who tried to school his features.

“What do you think it is?” Phil asked. Natasha shifted closer to him, the only cue she gave to her own worry, although Phil could see it in her eyes.

“Arc eye? It’s something welders get. I don’t know what causes it, medically speaking, but it happens if they look at the bright light of an electric arc. Causes blindness; a few factory workers in my neighborhood suffered from it.” Steve frowned.

Phil’s stomach dropped. “Permanent?”

Steve shook his head. “No, didn’t seem to be. I remember they got their vision back. I think.”

“Here.” Tony spoke behind all of them. They turned to look at a display he had pulled up, a Wikipedia entry on photokeraltitis. “Huh, so that’s snow blindness. Always wondered. Well, says here it’s temporary, heals fast.”

“Usually,” Natasha added cryptically. Phil frowned at her. She looked away. He was used to her being the pessimistic one, but he did not need to hear it right then.

“Phil.” Steve rubbed his neck. “I think we’re done with the debriefing. We’re all worried about Clint, and there is nothing needing doing that we can’t get to tomorrow. And the room needs cleaning,” he grimaced, pointed at where the remains of Barton’s watery vomit were staining the floor.

Phil nodded. “Agreed. Everyone, check your calendar, I’ll reschedule for tomorrow. Meantime, I’m going down to medical to find out if we can get an actual diagnosis on Barton. Romanov, get some food and some sleep, that’s an order.” Phil knew the others would do both without being told, but if he didn’t give Natasha a direct order, she would just follow him down to medical.

He walked out as Tony asked JARVIS to send up a biohazard crew to clean the floor.

The medical “wing” of Avengers Tower was floors 49 through 54. There were treatment suites, surgical suites, laboratories, and clinics for physical therapy, chiropractic, and gynecology. It was small hospital designed specifically for the Avengers Initiative, all of it: superheroes and support staff and significant others. And since it was funded by Stark, it was a research facility as well, because Stark did not live in a world where scientists of any stripe or PhD did not want time for research.

When Phil got off the elevator on the 50th floor, a nurse was standing there to greet him and give him a sit rep. Knocking Barton out had not been ideal, but the EMTs on the scene had thought that keeping him awake for the sake of the doctor’s exam would have ended in blood and tears for everyone involved, which Phil tacitly agreed with. Barton had been in too much pain to be reasonable.

As he was led to the waiting area while the nurse debriefed him with the very little they knew at that point, Phil relived the long, horrifying seconds when Barton had collapsed in screaming agony. On past missions, Phil had watched Barton being tortured, at least twice, and seen him react less to the pain then than he did during those moments in the completely secure, safe conference room. Phil was good in a crisis, it was probably his greatest talent if he was asked to rank them, but he had worked hard to stay calm while Rogers lifted the nearly hysterical agent out of his chair and laid him on the floor like a child, holding his wrists to keep him from gauging his eyes out.

Because Phil was invested, and he could lie to everyone but himself about that.

Barton was difficult, even more so than Romanov, who was just as much of a smart ass but at least tended to follow orders. Phil and Barton had butted heads when they first met, Barton’s overbearing aggressiveness rubbing against Phil’s dry wit and firm hand.

If there was one point that Phil could point to and say, “that was when I fell in love” he thought it was their third op together, in Gambia. It was an easy op and started out more like a vacation, gathering intel on “bad guys” who were almost too stupid to rank that high. Barton had been playing rich business tourist and Phil stayed out of sight, running things by radio and phone, until everything went ass over teakettle. Phil got nabbed and Barton was suddenly in charge, their roles effectively reversed, and Phil just assumed the hot headed marksman would get them both killed. Specialists were specialists for a reason, and that reason was rarely “good at being in charge and getting everyone out alive.”

Instead, Barton played handler to Phil’s asset and they took the whole organization down less than seven hours after Phil had been grabbed.

When it was over, Barton had thrown his beat-up, ripped-up suit jacket at Phil’s head and yelled that next time, Phil could seduce the rich guy. Phil had grabbed the jacket with his uninjured hand, inspected it, and told Barton that the replacement costs were coming out of his paycheck. Barton groaned, sat down across from him and preceded to hunt-and-peck the AAR that Phil narrated for him on Phil’s laptop because Phil was too doped up to type. Barton had freely translated Phil’s slightly groggy recap, and a copy of the resulting report had actually been framed by Sitwell and hung in the supervisory agents’ break room for posterity.

Phil had requested to be Barton’s full time handler afterward, and if that wasn’t love, Phil didn’t know what was.

But the fact was that they worked together, and Phil had been dating someone else for a long time, and Barton was very wrapped up in whatever it was he and Romanov shared. Phil ached, sometimes, when he saw his two best specialists exchanging intimate looks that spoke volumes of their time together, but he did not begrudge them for it. His philosophy was, “whatever port in a storm” and he knew better than most just how much a storm both Barton’s and Romanov’s lives resembled.

When Leslie had pursued Portland instead of Phil, he wasn’t surprised, because they had drifted apart over the years. He still loved her, but theirs was a friendly relationship based on a mutual appreciation of classical music and reality TV shows. The sex had become lackluster, and while mediocre sex was better than no sex in Phil’s opinion, it was hardly enough to inspire a long-distance relationship when the emotional investment in it had already faded. He had also grown tired of hiding so much of his world from her. At first it had been nice to have a part of his life that was completely removed from his job, but he learned over time that it was also extremely isolating. Some agents preferred that, a tall fence between their private lives and SHEILD, but Phil grew weary of the games he had to play on both sides of that fence to keep everything balanced.

When they officially called it quits, Phil humored the idea of making a move on Barton, but only for about 30 seconds. He knew he could seduce Barton, who had unconsciously telegraphed his interest in Phil on a few occasions. But Barton was used to being used, and used to using, and Phil did not want to be the asshole who rebounded by fucking over someone he truly cared for. He was thinking about giving things time, letting Barton get acclimated to the idea of Phil being interested, but then the Avengers happened. Loki speared him, and between the long painful recovery and trying to keep the Avengers working as a team Phil had let it slide. Barton had Romanov, and the three of them continued to work seamlessly together, and Phil figured it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. The Avengers were his priority, far and above his neglected libido or his unrequited love for someone who had made it clear that he did not actually need Phil.

Phil was invested, but he wasn’t a fool.

He sat down in the waiting area, planning to stay there until the ophthalmologist to come out with news.