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Phil thinks back to that first home visit and wants to laugh. Not a good laugh, a strained, bitter one. His sub, the man he’s thinking of collaring, is out in the field. The basic wretchedness comes with the territory, but Clint is after the Black Widow now, and he’s late on a scheduled call back to home base, and Phil is about ready to explode. He hates Prague, he hates the Widow, he hates god, and he hates himself, too. If Clint doesn’t call within in the next ten minutes, Phil is going to be forced to go find him. No one in his way is going to enjoy that.
“Hey, boss?”
“Hawk. Where are you?”
“My favorite nest,” which means the one in a tree near the derelict hotel the Widow has been holing up in. “I’m late ‘cause stuff came up.”
“Fine. Where is your target?”
“She’s here, but…”
“Take the shot. We can’t afford to waste any more time.” He knows that someone made the Black Widow, just like Hawkeye has been honed and shaped by Clint’s hard life, but she is a danger to his organization, his goals, his operatives, and his sub. She cannot be allowed to live, and Clint usually understands that kind of thing.
“No.” The word is a physical shock.
“What?!”
“I’m not doing it, boss.”
“Hawkeye, are you out of your mind?”
“Maybe. I’ll call you tomorrow. Sorry.”
And with that he’s just fucking gone. Phil is enraged and Fury is unhelpful, and Clint seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. Phil doesn’t sleep or eat much in the next twenty-four hours, and snaps to attention when Clint calls him again.
“Hey, boss?”
“Hawk!”
“We need your help.”
“Who’s ‘we,’ white man?”
“Shit, you must be tired. I’m so sorry, sir. But we need your help, and that’s all I can say.”
Phil has to exercise some ingenuity to find them, but he finally does. Clint is holed up in a burned out warehouse, in an improvised loft littered with energy bar wrappers and gel protein packs and water bottles. The only bedding is a pile of filthy blankets, and there’s a scrawny girl buried in them, staring out with wary eyes. Familiar eyes, and Phil groans. “Clint, you didn’t….”
“She needed help.” He sounds as stubborn as he ever has.
“Clint.”
“Please, master,” Clint says softly, and the girl flinches like someone burned her. “She has nowhere else to go. She’s more lost than I was.”
“I’m sure it seems that way, but you’ve seen her file.”
“Yes, master. And you’ve seen mine.”
No one knows for sure if the Black Widow is a dom or a sub, since Red Room operatives are trained to present as both, but right now every dom instinct Phil has is telling him to protect this girl, so soothe her and feed her and make sure she’s okay. He calls in a few favors, and soon the girl is at SHIELD. She never lets go of Clint’s hand if they’re in the same room together, and Phil wouldn’t dream of trying to interfere. The more time he spends around her, the more subby she seems. Behind the enforced placidity of a good spy, he can see the same expression in her eyes that he saw in Clint’s in the beginning, that profound distrust, and the even deeper longing for kindness.
It takes some fast talking to get Fury to take Natasha on, but Phil never regrets it afterward. By the time he’s reasonably sure that Clint’s new pet will be safe, he’s almost asleep on his feet. Clint is waiting outside for him, and just says, “I’ll drive, sir.” Phil barely has the energy to nod, and actually does fall asleep on the way there. He wakes up because of the change from speed to stillness as Clint parks in the driveway.
“Home, sir.”
“Mmph.” Phil lurches up out of the bucket seat, and staggers up to the door.
“You mad, boss?” Clint asks softly as he shuts it behind them.
“Not anymore,” Phil assures him, clumsily patting Clint’s shoulder as he lurches upstairs to take a shower. He isn’t mad at Clint anymore. Not after meeting Natasha, after seeing her genuine helplessness. She has done a lot of terrifying things in her time, but it’s pretty much impossible to fake the level of disorientation a sub feels when unsure of where they belong. It hurts to see a ghost of that look on Clint’s face as he comes into the bedroom. “Come here, baby,” Phil slurs, lifting the covers for Clint.
“Yes, master,” Clint whispers, and shifts close to Phil, but doesn’t quite touch him.
“I meant what I said before. You made the right call.”
“…I did?”
“Yeah, Clint. You did.”
“I just couldn’t, Phil. I couldn’t do it. We were the same.” He clings to Phil, and Phil just holds him for a long time, knowing the truth of it.
Phil has the next day off, thanks to Fury’s infinite wisdom. Clint leaves early, though, and calls at midday to say that he’s going to stay in the sub barracks for a little while, to help Natasha get settled. It takes a lot of effort not to whine, but he gives Clint his blessing, offering to bring him anything he needs.
“Thanks, boss, but I think I’ll be all right.”
When Phil returns to his office, he has to agree that as bad as it is for his own sense of well-being to have Clint sleeping away from him, Natasha needs a friend. Where Clint was fractious and unruly, Natasha is heartbreakingly obedient. She latches onto Phil as well, and he finds himself walking her to the bathroom and waiting outside for her. The rank and file of course suspect all kinds of ridiculous things, but Natasha is using her considerable talents to be as inconspicuous as possible for a lovely woman with bright red hair. She slides along the walls and hides in dark corners, but she does seem to be settling in. Phil loans her books and Fury sets her up with a therapist and a workout schedule, both of which seem to steady her. The books give her something to do, and after two weeks and Natasha deciding that Sitwell’s cool demeanor and explicitly clear rules suit her, Clint comes home again. Phil tries not to cling too desperately, but after a while Clint just laughs at him and settles into his lap.
“Can a couple foster a sub?” He asks, after just kissing and cuddling Phil for what must be at least half an hour. They’ve moved to the bed, mostly clothed and sprawled atop the covers.
“We’ll have to look into it,” Phil says, much mellowed by the treatment.
“I’m still sorry I made you worry.” Clint pulls back just enough to meet Phil’s eyes.
“I know.” He kisses Clint’s forehead. “I know you never mean to make my life harder, because you’re my good boy. You did the right thing.”
Clint shivers and makes a happy little noise, burying his face in Phil’s chest. “Awesome, but I’m glad to be here with you again.”