6. Chapter 6

By the following afternoon, when it was past time for Clint to get the hell out of the hospital, everyone who visited made concerned noises at Coulson except (of course) Tony who came right out and said that Coulson looked like shit.

“Stark, shut up,” Coulson snapped and the room went quiet. Steve and Thor were there, but Banner and Natasha were at the door or just outside of the small room, waiting for Clint to be rolled out, and they had no doubt heard Coulson loud and clear.

Clint was sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, wondering how bad Coulson looked. The bandages on his eyes had been reduced to a thin roll of gauze, just too keep the lids closed, not that it mattered because Clint was in too much pain to try anything fancy and he could not see anything anyway. But what he heard in Coulson’s voice threw him.

“Coulson?” Clint tried to sound professionally concerned. “Maybe you should go take a nap or something.”

Someone—Natasha?—breathed out heavily, as if getting ready to say something, but Coulson talked over them.

“I’m your handler, Barton. It’s my responsibility to oversee your recovery.”

“Pretty sure I pay several doctors exorbitantly for that, Coulson,” Stark said from somewhere to Clint’s left. His voice was soft for a change, lacking the usual sarcastic bite, so Clint figured Coulson probably really did look like shit.

“Stark, you—”

“Gentlemen, let’s get Hawkeye upstairs to his room so everyone can get some real sleep,” Steve broke in, his voice full-on “I am Captain Fucking America and you will follow my goddamn order, soldiers!” mode, which worked surprisingly well whenever he bothered to roll it out. Clint was already standing and feeling for the wheelchair next to him before Steve had even finished. The nurse helped him get turned around to sit in it, and he felt Natasha’s calm, small hands as well, which was her way of letting him know he was safe. He was woozy and his balance was completely off, so he patted her hand in appreciation.

The doctor had given Clint—or rather, given someone—his medicine, which had been reduced down to extra-strength Tylenol and eye drops for the pain, but he was still supposed to keep the eyes wrapped to reduce stress and movement. The pain had gone down as the doctor promised, but it was still there, and that distracted Clint from focusing too much on how he was being fussed over.

He heard everyone start walking as he was rolled out towards the elevator. It felt like an honor guard, the entire Avengers team around him, mostly quiet. It unnerved Clint like nothing else had so far, so he felt compelled to break the tension.

“Did I actually puke yesterday?”

“On the high-end, custom designed executive carpet in the conference room? Yes, that would be you,” Stark said, and Clint could hear the smirk in the man’s voice.

“You know, I thought I’d get to that after one of your famous parties. You’re slacking, man.”

“Huh. True.” They all piled into the elevator, and someone bumped Clint’s legs. Because he was in the wheelchair, everyone was taller than he was, which was something he was marginally used from hanging out with Captain America and Thor to but not quite to that extent. “I’ll send up a case of liquor. Or is a keg more your style?”

Clint thought he heard Stark tapping on his phone, probably actually ordering a keg for delivery. Clint only kept from laughing by sheer willpower and the threat of extreme pain.

There was a muffled sound from Coulson, which made Clint think Nat had elbowed him hard to keep him quiet. It was weird and disturbing to know Coulson was so off his game, and that set off bells in Clint’s head. He wondered if Coulson knew more about the extent of Clint’s injury than he was saying, if maybe he knew that Clint’s days on the job were numbered.

The honor guard continued all the way to Clint’s room. Thor spoke up, his hand heavy on Clint’s shoulder, and Clint felt entirely pathetic for how emotional that made him. He blamed it on the drugs hangover, and the pain.

“Hawkeye, it always brings worry and recrimination when a warrior is cut down in battle. The healer says that you will likely recover fully if you rest, so I implore you to follow her orders and take your ease. Should you need anything please send for me, and I shall move all the Realms to aid you.”

Clint was totally not going to break down like a sobbing little kid at Thor’s earnest and concerned words, so he just nodded and gave him a quick “thank you.” After Thor everyone pretty much said the same thing, only less poetically, and then Clint found himself alone in his apartment.

Or, almost alone. He knew Natasha and Coulson were there.

“You are going to your suite and going to sleep,” Natasha said, sounding angry.

“I’m fine, Agent Romanoff, and when I need your advice I’ll ask for it.” Coulson snapped, walking off somewhere, possibly from the sound of it to Clint’s bedroom. Clint heard Natasha following.

“Coulson, I will knock you out. You’re running on fumes and you need to rest. This isn’t going to help Clint.”

“Still here!” Clint called out. He felt trapped in the middle of his own apartment, not really knowing which direction he faced or where the furniture was in relation to him. His sense of balance being off threw him more than he cared to admit—something else to checkmark in the “unable to perform his job” column—so he was not steady enough to walk, even if he wasn’t slightly worried (a hell of a lot) about walking into a wall. His eyes felt full of sand and gravel, achy and hurting.

“I will get Clint to bed and watch over him. You will leave and go to sleep.” Natasha was walking back into the room, trailing Coulson’s footsteps. Coulson stopped and there was a satisfied huff from Nat. “Don’t pretend you didn’t almost trip over the couch.”

“Damnit,” Coulson snarled. He sounded exhausted and defeated, something that usually took four days and a mission gone bad to accomplish. Clint was starting to understand why Nat was pushing for Coulson to leave.

“I’ll be fine. Nat’s seen me naked before, she can even hold my dick when I piss so I don’t miss the bowl, okay?”

“Ew,” Nat said, but Clint could tell she was laughing.

“So get out of here, Coulson. I’m just going to go to bed. I’ll be here when you wake up and check on me. Nat will be here. I’m fine.”

There was a long pause before Coulson answered. “It will probably be a little while before Stark gets that keg delivered anyway.”

Clint laughed, which hurt, and he ended up holding himself still and taking deep breaths.

“Sorry,” Coulson said, right into his ear, his voice gentle and soft and sexy as hell. He was probably crouching down next to the chair. Clint did not want that kind of attention in a weak moment, or ever, not if he couldn’t have what he wanted.

“Whatever. Stop torturing me with your pathetic attempts at a joke and get the hell out of here.” Clint put on a very small, only slightly painful smile directed at where he thought Coulson was.

Natasha bustled Coulson out faster than Clint could follow, and then rolled him to his bedroom. He was already bored of just sitting around, but it wasn’t as if he could watch TV or go for a jog, so he resigned himself to bed rest and let Nat tuck him in. She was secretly the worst mother hen ever, and if Coulson did not know that, he had not been paying attention.

“I am so bored,” he said as soon as she flipped the sheets over him. He had to stay slightly elevated, as laying down put too much pressure on his eyes, so he knew falling asleep was not going to be easy.

“That was a record. Not even five seconds in the bed and you’re complaining.”

“You could take my mind off the pain.” Clint tried to leer through the pain and the blindfold, at least aiming for a laugh if not a blowjob.

Nat was surprisingly quiet for a long time.

“Nat? It was a joke.”

“I know. I just think…Clint, you can’t see Coulson. He’s completely in pieces over this.”

It was a non sequitor that Clint could not process. “Huh?”

“We’re good, you and I. But I think we should keep things friendly for a while. Just to see.”

“Either I’m still on the heavy drugs or this conversation makes no sense.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Heavy drugs, then. Am I tripping?”

“Probably. Just answer the question.” Nat sat down on the edge of the bed, Clint could feel it dip under her weight.

“Yeah. Sure. Hasn’t everybody?”

“Are you pretending you aren’t in love with him?”

Clint tried not to ground his teeth, because his whole face ached from the pain that radiated from his eyeballs. “You know where that’s at. It’s not something I can do anything about.”

“Hm. I’m not so sure. Because when you are in love with someone, their health is more important than your own; their happiness is more important than your own.”

“I get that, Nat. Why do you think I’ve kept my distance? Phil is more important that what I want. Why are you lecturing me about this? What has this got to do with us?”

“Everything, once you stop being stupid. Now get some sleep.” She stood up and walked out, her footfall light but sure.

“Bored! I’m so bored!” Clint called out, knowing that she was going to ignore him.