2. Memoria

There were shades of memories that battered at him, flying by like shadows passing a window. He knew they were there, and even suspected what they were, but he could not see them like he was supposed to.

The thing was, Clint would have been fine wondering what had happened while he was under Loki's thrall, in fact he would have been fucking thrilled for that to be a deep black hole in his mind. But no, what Loki had stolen with his tricks was far more precious: real memories of things and places and people who were important to Clint. Loki had erased such moments capriciously, on a whim, whenever he was bored with the texture of Clint's obedient mind.

Loki had laughed every time.

Clint remembered that he loved Phil. He remembered times and places where that thought had bubbled up in his consciousness before being ruthlessly shoved back down. The memories of all the years he spent pining for Phil were there, unmolested, as painful and bright as ever.

As bright as the foul hospital lighting in Phil's room, grainy fluorescence washing the color out of everything. Not that Phil needed the help, lying on the bed looking pale, thin and sick. He had tubes going in and out of places that should never know the presence of tubing, but he was off the respirator, and sometimes he was even awake. Lucid, maybe not so much; but awake and delirious was better than comatose in Clint's opinion.

While Clint waited out being cleared for duty again, he mostly sat near Phil's bed and tried to grab the shadows of memory that he knew meant something. His instincts told him that he had admitted his feelings to Phil at some point recently, but Clint could not nail when that would have been, or how it would have happened. He was halfway to believing that he just imagined it.

Natasha didn't mention anything to clue him in, but then he was holding his blank cards close to his chest. The more damaged he was, the longer it would take to be reinstated. He almost didn't care, but staying near Phil meant staying on with SHIELD, Avengers be damned, so he did not tell anyone about the things he couldn't remember.

Phil looked at him every time he woke up. Sometimes he seemed anxious, and he mumbled incoherently for a while. Other times he just stared intently at Clint, as if he was waiting.

Clint wanted to tell him "I love you." He wanted to ask if he had already told Phil that once, sometime, before. He desperately wanted to know what Phil might have said when Clint told him, if anything. Had Phil pulled away and let him down gently? That seemed probable, to Clint. As much as he deserved.

He tried to parse what was memory and what was wishful thinking. He knew that there was no telling what Loki had embedded into the dark corners of his mind.

He and Phil had worked perfectly together for nearly ten years like a well-oiled machine. Clint figured they could go for another ten.