Clint and Philip, Backdated to July 25th
Jul. 25th, 2014 08:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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om_mainClint tries to let off some steam after the incident with Jensen's journal post and instead ends up venting at Philip and getting some stitches in his arm.
He shouldn't have let it get under his skin as much as it had. He kind of prided himself on the fact that he'd been through so much shit and could still kick up a grin. But his grin had faltered at some point and Clint had found himself wandering down to the gym. Actually, he'd have been much happier heading out to the archery range, but the sun was setting and with the angle of the light, he wouldn't have been good for much. So he'd ended up going to the gym instead, and started nudging a punching bag around before actually starting to try and swing a few punches at it. Not that he really knew what he was doing more than taking his frustration out on a sand bag, but really, that's all he needed.
At least, until he hit the bag the wrong way. Anger triggered bad luck and whatever the hell was holding the bag up suddenly malfunctioned. It started to crash to the floor, and he dodged out of the way, but one of the broken chains whipped around and gouged out his arm on the way down. Letting out a sharp, echoing shout, he slammed his hand down over the wound, and then began to curse. Loudly. And with great vehemence.
"Everything okay in there?" Philip called out as he let himself into the gym proper. He'd been heading out of the locker rooms himself, having put in some time earlier. It was cathartic at least... But shouting like that tended to grab his attention pretty hard.
Clint didn't answer, opting to continue cursing like a sailor instead. Blood had started to leak out from around his fingers, but at least it wasn't flowing, and that was a big plus in Clint's book. It hurt like a bitch, but hopefully it was just a flesh wound.
Philip just sighed and detoured slightly for a towel from the middle of the stack of clean ones. "Here, put some pressure on that." He gave the injury a critical look, from where the blood was seeping out from under Clint's fingers. His presumably, has been in the gym, not very clean fingers. "Come on. The towel will work until we get you down to Moira. It's long enough that you're going to want her to dress it."
"Oh sure," Clint hissed, pressing the towel over his arm. "The minute I can walk without a limp, I get a big hole in my arm. This 'gift' is going to kill me one of these days."
"As long as you don't get banged up too bad, you'll be fine," Philip said. "Besides, if you can get a handle on it, wouldn't you want to learn how to aim if you can?"
Clint just grunted at him as they headed toward the infirmary. "Right now, all I want is a shot of tequila."
"I'm afraid I can't help you with that," Philip said. "Astonishing, I know, but I don't drink." More or less.
The younger man shot him a look that was both pained and annoyed, and pointed out, "You don't need to walk me to the infirmary, you know."
"I know that," Philip said with a shrug. Of course, he wanted to make sure Clint got there. "But you seemed aggravated if you wanted the company."
Another grunt, but this time, Clint groused, "They have no idea what they're talking about. And the things they do know about, they're going about all wrong. I’m the one that gets bitched at because I have the guts to stand up and say something about it? Fuck that."
"And this is in relation to..." Philip asked. He thought he knew, of course, but he wanted to be sure.
Clint leveled an annoyed glare at him. "That journal post."
"I just wanted to be sure we were on the same page. I'd said my piece there, it's a much more complicated issue than they're making it out to be," Philip replied. He didn't sound all that apologetic about it either. "But this probably isn't the best place to talk about it. Let's get your arm taken care of first, alright? My room's free, or wherever you'd want."
Clint was quiet for a moment, walking along and thinking about what Phil had posted. It was less about needing to vent to the guy than about maybe needing a place to lay low for a bit after everyone decided he was Satan for what he'd said. So finally, he sighed, "Sure. Whatever."
-----
An hour later, he sank into a chair in Phil's room on the 'junior faculty' hall, which was really just one floor up from where his was. His arm was wrapped in gauze and medical bandage, nursing a few stitches and clotting up any blood that wanted to ooze free. "Must be nice to have your own room."
"It's got its perks. Adjusting to a roommate was a little strange but Felix and worked out pretty well together. I think he'll be in good hands with Benton," Philip said. He'd taken the chair at his desk, there wasn't a great deal of clutter in his room even now. There were classroom books and he had splurged on nice bedding once he'd moved but even in the almost two years, Philip had remarkably little by way of clutter. "I don't actually spend a whole lot of time in here, but it's working out. How about you? How are things going with your roommate?"
"Alex? Cool kid. Just left for a road trip to Alaska or something. Which, you know, good for him." At least he'd found out that he had some family still around. "I think I'm gonna have to vacate when Vance comes back though. Kid deserves his old room."
"I'm sure you'll figure it out between you," Philip said. "And we're getting new students in all the time. I haven't seen much by way of actual poor relations between roommates, so there's that."
He leaned back then, looking at Clint and let his hands settle in his lap with the, 'really, I'm harmless' posture. "So. Did you want to talk about that mess?"
"You sure you don't have a beer?" Clint asked, making a face.
"Nope," Philip said as he settled back a little further. "I haven't quite picked up the taste for it." It wasn't that he didn't know how to drink, he did. But it wasn't really for fun.
"Right," Clint sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. At least the painkillers the doc had given him were starting to kick in. "So. I get it. I shouldn't have taken shots at the guy when he's all, 'Oh my fucked up childhood', but he's not the only fucked up person at this school, you know? And if that had been my sister, I would have been scrambling to get her out of there, foster care or not."
"The entire thing was botched, start to finish," Philip said with a shake of his head. "And knowing Tessa, she's not going to say a word about it, especially as she's no longer present on campus. I'm guessing it didn't help either when the entire school didn't immediately leap to outrage." Philip certainly hadn't, Felix either, but he guessed that they both had very different views of the whole thing. "I can't speak to why he left her there, probably know one knows that but him. It seemed like it hit pretty close to home for you."
Something darkened in Clint's eyes, but he shoved his fingers sloppily through his hair and shook his head. "Look, I like my privacy as much as the next guy, but if that girl, whoever she was, was helping kids here, then what they didn't know shouldn't have hurt anyone here. Maybe she shouldn't have blackmailed the guy. I don't know the circumstances. Maybe she's fucked up. But she's gone now, right? If the headmasters can keep her out, they will, and if they can't, there's no use squawking about it, right?"
"Tessa isn't a threat to anyone here," Philip said firmly. "Anything she did, she was doing for the safety of the school and the students. I do also know for certain that the reason she was monitoring everything was to kill any information out there on any of us that she could. Most of the students don't realize just how carefully public opinion of mutants is being managed. It may not have been the best idea, but it's what we have to work with and there haven't been any more fatalities that we know of, thank god."
He shot Clint a glance then at that last bit. "And I didn't tell you that."
Clint raised an eyebrow. "My lips are sealed. So you were part of it? The monitoring and all?"
"Not directly, no. At least not with the collection of information, that's not where my talents lie. If you're asking me if I was involved in using Tessa's networks, then yes. We're doing something incredibly complicated here, Clint and it's not as straightforward as, people are watching so they're the bad guys. The goal is to not have any more kids like that poor girl that got shot, or to have kids kidnapped like Laura and River." Philip just shook his head, it was so damn frustrating. "I think that's a bit higher goal than corporations using data mining to see what to sell to you. But then, I'll admit I'm biased."
"So. Mutant NSA," Clint suggested, eyebrows still up on his forehead a bit.
"If you like," Philip said with a shrug. "Which goes along with the, I'll deny it if you say anything. For what it's worth, I don't give a damn about the skeletons in anyone's closet, not unless they're dangerous. I don't know if we could have done anything about Vance's situation, but I'd like to think we could have." He shot Clint another dry look and shrugged. "Hypocritical of me, I'm sure, as I rarely tell anyone anything."
Clint didn't fail to catch the reference, and the nudge, but he was drugged up enough not to get bristly about it. Instead, he stretched back in the chair. "How about you tell me something, and I'll trade ya."
"What do you want to know?" Philip asked. "You already know my big hobby."
"If this girl Tessa is the one collecting information and that's not your thing, what is it? Your thing. What do you bring to the team?" Clint asked curiously.
Philip was silent for a long few moments then, weighing what to say. It wasn't a secret, within that first circle, but circumspection was still first nature to him. But Lydia had made her involvement more open discretely and he was doing security for the school... "A certain kind of organization," he said finally. "And knowing some of the threats to watch out for. I'm doing security work for the school openly now, but I was doing it before. I had a pretty large hand it in when Worthington came out."
Security. Mutant security. It was weird to think about, especially since Clint was about as far from security as you could get, but he remembered when the guy with the wings was on TV. He'd dragged Barney into one of the campers to pack in with half the troupe to watch the coverage. The thought that even back then, Phil had been watching their backs; it was kind of nice to know. Or maybe that was just his painkillers talking.
But he'd promised a trade. "You don't have to worry about the Vance thing with me."
"Is there someone looking for you?" Philip asked. He didn't need much clarification, not after the response to Jensen and the talk about Jensen's sister. But knowing if they needed to hide another student, that was important. "It's not a problem if there is. As you said, there are a lot of kids here with past..." he paused, looking for a word. "Past issues."
"Parents died in a car accident, which isn't surprising considering how much my dad drank," Clint snorted. "My brother joined the military, but was pissed off enough with me that he didn't tell me which branch. I dunno, he might come looking at some point, but he's a good guy. I'm letting him live his life without a mutant brother for awhile. There's...one other guy."
Clint squinted, then sighed, ruffling his hair again. "A guy with the troupe that got me into boosting cars. He took off when I got nabbed by the cops, but he's the only one that's kind of, you know, problematic."
"I can add him to my watch list if you want," Philip asked. Which.... really didn't explain what he'd do to the guy if he found him but that wasn't important right then, or so Philip thought. "I'm not sure if should congratulate you on dodging CPS or not." It wasn't much of a guess, Clint hadn't mentioned other family and he obviously hadn't been living with that brother.
"Barney and I were in foster care for a bit, but we ran away. Not because we were in a bad situation. It was way more healthy than our own place had been. But we were kids and we wanted adventure. We wanted to be our own family. Maybe it was sketchy, but the carnival gave us jobs and took care of us," Clint told him. "There are so many families in that business that CPS wouldn't have known where t'start."
"And now you're the World's Greatest Marksman," Philip said, amusement in his tone clear.
Clint shot him a smirky smirk. "Hell yeah I am. Or, you know, sort of. Kinneas has kind of got a corner on that title."
"Somewhat different circumstances, as I understand it," Philip said. "I think you can probably be secure in your title."
Clint's lips twitched with a small grin, but it sort of sloughed away after a moment. "I don't need to tell you to keep that to yourself. Maybe I was wrong to jump that guy about what he said on the forums, but it's not me posting my shit for the world to see."
"Like I said, the whole thing was a mess," Philip said with a shake of his head. "And I don't tell other people's secrets," he said, utterly serious as he looked at Clint. "Unless it's something lifethreatening, and then all I can say is I'll use my judgement. So, if you do need that sort of service any time, my door's always open."
"And maybe some day you'll give me your life story too. Only fair, you know," Clint smirked.
"You know, most of my childhood was actually as boring as I keep telling people," Philip countered. "Mostly we moved a lot and that was more a pain than anything."
"Military, or circus troupe?" Clint taunted playfully.
"Neither, my mom works for the government," Philip admitted. "So did my dad before he died."
Clint started to ask what the difference was between military and government, but the last part kept the question off his lips. "Now I know why you wear all the suits."
"I have a suit," Philip pointed out. "Everything else is not a suit." More or less. Technically. But armor came in a lot of forms.
"Now I know why you wear a suit a lot," Clint corrected, grinning.
"Nobody looks at me in one," Philip pointed out. "Or in the button downs shirts. I'm just one guy in a crowd." Not to mention the camouflaging effects both of these things had on his build.
"I can't tell if it's the painkillers or what, but you're actually starting to make sense," Clint complained.
Philip just snorted at that. "I always make sense. I may not tell everything but it does always make sense."
"You told me," the marksman pointed out, rubbing his eye with his good hand.
"You look like you need some sleep," Philip said as he looked at Clint. "You can crash here or head back to your room, whichever."
"Eh. Mind if I hide out here for a bit?" Clint asked, squinting through the meds.
"No, that's fine," Philip said. "I have plenty of work to do, you won't bother me." Worst case, Clint would snore and that was an annoyance that Philip could filter out. He was keeping put though, he wasn't interested in someone just hanging out in his room when he wasn't there.
"Sweet," Clint sighed, shoving up out of the chair to kick off his shoes. A few minutes later, he was stretched out on one side atop Philip's covers, dead to the world.
He shouldn't have let it get under his skin as much as it had. He kind of prided himself on the fact that he'd been through so much shit and could still kick up a grin. But his grin had faltered at some point and Clint had found himself wandering down to the gym. Actually, he'd have been much happier heading out to the archery range, but the sun was setting and with the angle of the light, he wouldn't have been good for much. So he'd ended up going to the gym instead, and started nudging a punching bag around before actually starting to try and swing a few punches at it. Not that he really knew what he was doing more than taking his frustration out on a sand bag, but really, that's all he needed.
At least, until he hit the bag the wrong way. Anger triggered bad luck and whatever the hell was holding the bag up suddenly malfunctioned. It started to crash to the floor, and he dodged out of the way, but one of the broken chains whipped around and gouged out his arm on the way down. Letting out a sharp, echoing shout, he slammed his hand down over the wound, and then began to curse. Loudly. And with great vehemence.
"Everything okay in there?" Philip called out as he let himself into the gym proper. He'd been heading out of the locker rooms himself, having put in some time earlier. It was cathartic at least... But shouting like that tended to grab his attention pretty hard.
Clint didn't answer, opting to continue cursing like a sailor instead. Blood had started to leak out from around his fingers, but at least it wasn't flowing, and that was a big plus in Clint's book. It hurt like a bitch, but hopefully it was just a flesh wound.
Philip just sighed and detoured slightly for a towel from the middle of the stack of clean ones. "Here, put some pressure on that." He gave the injury a critical look, from where the blood was seeping out from under Clint's fingers. His presumably, has been in the gym, not very clean fingers. "Come on. The towel will work until we get you down to Moira. It's long enough that you're going to want her to dress it."
"Oh sure," Clint hissed, pressing the towel over his arm. "The minute I can walk without a limp, I get a big hole in my arm. This 'gift' is going to kill me one of these days."
"As long as you don't get banged up too bad, you'll be fine," Philip said. "Besides, if you can get a handle on it, wouldn't you want to learn how to aim if you can?"
Clint just grunted at him as they headed toward the infirmary. "Right now, all I want is a shot of tequila."
"I'm afraid I can't help you with that," Philip said. "Astonishing, I know, but I don't drink." More or less.
The younger man shot him a look that was both pained and annoyed, and pointed out, "You don't need to walk me to the infirmary, you know."
"I know that," Philip said with a shrug. Of course, he wanted to make sure Clint got there. "But you seemed aggravated if you wanted the company."
Another grunt, but this time, Clint groused, "They have no idea what they're talking about. And the things they do know about, they're going about all wrong. I’m the one that gets bitched at because I have the guts to stand up and say something about it? Fuck that."
"And this is in relation to..." Philip asked. He thought he knew, of course, but he wanted to be sure.
Clint leveled an annoyed glare at him. "That journal post."
"I just wanted to be sure we were on the same page. I'd said my piece there, it's a much more complicated issue than they're making it out to be," Philip replied. He didn't sound all that apologetic about it either. "But this probably isn't the best place to talk about it. Let's get your arm taken care of first, alright? My room's free, or wherever you'd want."
Clint was quiet for a moment, walking along and thinking about what Phil had posted. It was less about needing to vent to the guy than about maybe needing a place to lay low for a bit after everyone decided he was Satan for what he'd said. So finally, he sighed, "Sure. Whatever."
-----
An hour later, he sank into a chair in Phil's room on the 'junior faculty' hall, which was really just one floor up from where his was. His arm was wrapped in gauze and medical bandage, nursing a few stitches and clotting up any blood that wanted to ooze free. "Must be nice to have your own room."
"It's got its perks. Adjusting to a roommate was a little strange but Felix and worked out pretty well together. I think he'll be in good hands with Benton," Philip said. He'd taken the chair at his desk, there wasn't a great deal of clutter in his room even now. There were classroom books and he had splurged on nice bedding once he'd moved but even in the almost two years, Philip had remarkably little by way of clutter. "I don't actually spend a whole lot of time in here, but it's working out. How about you? How are things going with your roommate?"
"Alex? Cool kid. Just left for a road trip to Alaska or something. Which, you know, good for him." At least he'd found out that he had some family still around. "I think I'm gonna have to vacate when Vance comes back though. Kid deserves his old room."
"I'm sure you'll figure it out between you," Philip said. "And we're getting new students in all the time. I haven't seen much by way of actual poor relations between roommates, so there's that."
He leaned back then, looking at Clint and let his hands settle in his lap with the, 'really, I'm harmless' posture. "So. Did you want to talk about that mess?"
"You sure you don't have a beer?" Clint asked, making a face.
"Nope," Philip said as he settled back a little further. "I haven't quite picked up the taste for it." It wasn't that he didn't know how to drink, he did. But it wasn't really for fun.
"Right," Clint sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. At least the painkillers the doc had given him were starting to kick in. "So. I get it. I shouldn't have taken shots at the guy when he's all, 'Oh my fucked up childhood', but he's not the only fucked up person at this school, you know? And if that had been my sister, I would have been scrambling to get her out of there, foster care or not."
"The entire thing was botched, start to finish," Philip said with a shake of his head. "And knowing Tessa, she's not going to say a word about it, especially as she's no longer present on campus. I'm guessing it didn't help either when the entire school didn't immediately leap to outrage." Philip certainly hadn't, Felix either, but he guessed that they both had very different views of the whole thing. "I can't speak to why he left her there, probably know one knows that but him. It seemed like it hit pretty close to home for you."
Something darkened in Clint's eyes, but he shoved his fingers sloppily through his hair and shook his head. "Look, I like my privacy as much as the next guy, but if that girl, whoever she was, was helping kids here, then what they didn't know shouldn't have hurt anyone here. Maybe she shouldn't have blackmailed the guy. I don't know the circumstances. Maybe she's fucked up. But she's gone now, right? If the headmasters can keep her out, they will, and if they can't, there's no use squawking about it, right?"
"Tessa isn't a threat to anyone here," Philip said firmly. "Anything she did, she was doing for the safety of the school and the students. I do also know for certain that the reason she was monitoring everything was to kill any information out there on any of us that she could. Most of the students don't realize just how carefully public opinion of mutants is being managed. It may not have been the best idea, but it's what we have to work with and there haven't been any more fatalities that we know of, thank god."
He shot Clint a glance then at that last bit. "And I didn't tell you that."
Clint raised an eyebrow. "My lips are sealed. So you were part of it? The monitoring and all?"
"Not directly, no. At least not with the collection of information, that's not where my talents lie. If you're asking me if I was involved in using Tessa's networks, then yes. We're doing something incredibly complicated here, Clint and it's not as straightforward as, people are watching so they're the bad guys. The goal is to not have any more kids like that poor girl that got shot, or to have kids kidnapped like Laura and River." Philip just shook his head, it was so damn frustrating. "I think that's a bit higher goal than corporations using data mining to see what to sell to you. But then, I'll admit I'm biased."
"So. Mutant NSA," Clint suggested, eyebrows still up on his forehead a bit.
"If you like," Philip said with a shrug. "Which goes along with the, I'll deny it if you say anything. For what it's worth, I don't give a damn about the skeletons in anyone's closet, not unless they're dangerous. I don't know if we could have done anything about Vance's situation, but I'd like to think we could have." He shot Clint another dry look and shrugged. "Hypocritical of me, I'm sure, as I rarely tell anyone anything."
Clint didn't fail to catch the reference, and the nudge, but he was drugged up enough not to get bristly about it. Instead, he stretched back in the chair. "How about you tell me something, and I'll trade ya."
"What do you want to know?" Philip asked. "You already know my big hobby."
"If this girl Tessa is the one collecting information and that's not your thing, what is it? Your thing. What do you bring to the team?" Clint asked curiously.
Philip was silent for a long few moments then, weighing what to say. It wasn't a secret, within that first circle, but circumspection was still first nature to him. But Lydia had made her involvement more open discretely and he was doing security for the school... "A certain kind of organization," he said finally. "And knowing some of the threats to watch out for. I'm doing security work for the school openly now, but I was doing it before. I had a pretty large hand it in when Worthington came out."
Security. Mutant security. It was weird to think about, especially since Clint was about as far from security as you could get, but he remembered when the guy with the wings was on TV. He'd dragged Barney into one of the campers to pack in with half the troupe to watch the coverage. The thought that even back then, Phil had been watching their backs; it was kind of nice to know. Or maybe that was just his painkillers talking.
But he'd promised a trade. "You don't have to worry about the Vance thing with me."
"Is there someone looking for you?" Philip asked. He didn't need much clarification, not after the response to Jensen and the talk about Jensen's sister. But knowing if they needed to hide another student, that was important. "It's not a problem if there is. As you said, there are a lot of kids here with past..." he paused, looking for a word. "Past issues."
"Parents died in a car accident, which isn't surprising considering how much my dad drank," Clint snorted. "My brother joined the military, but was pissed off enough with me that he didn't tell me which branch. I dunno, he might come looking at some point, but he's a good guy. I'm letting him live his life without a mutant brother for awhile. There's...one other guy."
Clint squinted, then sighed, ruffling his hair again. "A guy with the troupe that got me into boosting cars. He took off when I got nabbed by the cops, but he's the only one that's kind of, you know, problematic."
"I can add him to my watch list if you want," Philip asked. Which.... really didn't explain what he'd do to the guy if he found him but that wasn't important right then, or so Philip thought. "I'm not sure if should congratulate you on dodging CPS or not." It wasn't much of a guess, Clint hadn't mentioned other family and he obviously hadn't been living with that brother.
"Barney and I were in foster care for a bit, but we ran away. Not because we were in a bad situation. It was way more healthy than our own place had been. But we were kids and we wanted adventure. We wanted to be our own family. Maybe it was sketchy, but the carnival gave us jobs and took care of us," Clint told him. "There are so many families in that business that CPS wouldn't have known where t'start."
"And now you're the World's Greatest Marksman," Philip said, amusement in his tone clear.
Clint shot him a smirky smirk. "Hell yeah I am. Or, you know, sort of. Kinneas has kind of got a corner on that title."
"Somewhat different circumstances, as I understand it," Philip said. "I think you can probably be secure in your title."
Clint's lips twitched with a small grin, but it sort of sloughed away after a moment. "I don't need to tell you to keep that to yourself. Maybe I was wrong to jump that guy about what he said on the forums, but it's not me posting my shit for the world to see."
"Like I said, the whole thing was a mess," Philip said with a shake of his head. "And I don't tell other people's secrets," he said, utterly serious as he looked at Clint. "Unless it's something lifethreatening, and then all I can say is I'll use my judgement. So, if you do need that sort of service any time, my door's always open."
"And maybe some day you'll give me your life story too. Only fair, you know," Clint smirked.
"You know, most of my childhood was actually as boring as I keep telling people," Philip countered. "Mostly we moved a lot and that was more a pain than anything."
"Military, or circus troupe?" Clint taunted playfully.
"Neither, my mom works for the government," Philip admitted. "So did my dad before he died."
Clint started to ask what the difference was between military and government, but the last part kept the question off his lips. "Now I know why you wear all the suits."
"I have a suit," Philip pointed out. "Everything else is not a suit." More or less. Technically. But armor came in a lot of forms.
"Now I know why you wear a suit a lot," Clint corrected, grinning.
"Nobody looks at me in one," Philip pointed out. "Or in the button downs shirts. I'm just one guy in a crowd." Not to mention the camouflaging effects both of these things had on his build.
"I can't tell if it's the painkillers or what, but you're actually starting to make sense," Clint complained.
Philip just snorted at that. "I always make sense. I may not tell everything but it does always make sense."
"You told me," the marksman pointed out, rubbing his eye with his good hand.
"You look like you need some sleep," Philip said as he looked at Clint. "You can crash here or head back to your room, whichever."
"Eh. Mind if I hide out here for a bit?" Clint asked, squinting through the meds.
"No, that's fine," Philip said. "I have plenty of work to do, you won't bother me." Worst case, Clint would snore and that was an annoyance that Philip could filter out. He was keeping put though, he wasn't interested in someone just hanging out in his room when he wasn't there.
"Sweet," Clint sighed, shoving up out of the chair to kick off his shoes. A few minutes later, he was stretched out on one side atop Philip's covers, dead to the world.
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Date: 2014-07-31 07:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-31 08:26 pm (UTC)