om_main | Clint and Philip, Friday Night and Saturday Morning

Clint leaves town with Lucky in tow, but the next morning, when Philip realizes he's gone, he has Barbara track Clint through the bus lines. He finally finds him in Philadelphia.

It took Clint a few hours after his call with Barney to get everything ready to go. He went upstairs and took a shower, then went to bed at his usual time, but as soon as the house slid into the kind of quiet that only came from most of its occupants being asleep, Clint eased a duffle bag out of his closet. He didn't have much in the way of stuff. He'd never actually bothered to settle in at the school because he'd always figured a day like this would come. He tossed a couple pairs of jeans and shirts inside. Some underwear and socks, his bow, a quiver of arrows, armguard and tab. He found his black BDUs and t-shirt shoved at the bottom of the laundry basket and tossed those in too. He left the computer Stark had given him, along with the StarkPhone. He'd only ever been testing it out, anyway.

From under his mattress, he pulled a plain white envelope out, opening it and counting the bills by the moonlight. Satisfied there was enough, he swung the bag over his shoulder and slipped out of the room. It was only up one flight of stairs to the junior faculty hall, and Clint had Philip's door memorized, even in the dark. He stood outside for a moment, knowing that about ten feet behind it, his friend was probably sacked out in bed. Part of him wanted to pick the lock, slip inside and curl up in the chair near his desk.

He could.

He could back out, chicken out and go back to life as he'd known it for the past seven months. He could ignore Barney again and just keep chugging along the road to heartbreak, just like he always did. Instead, he closed his eyes, swallowing down on the instinct. It was really tempting, especially faced with Philip on the other side of the door. Philip, who was probably going to be the only one who would care that he left. Who would be pissed, and maybe disappointed. It wouldn't last long, though. There were plenty of kids at the school for Philip to train - kids with more power and talent than Clint. Kids who knew how to do this school thing and were actually looking forward to things like college and careers.

Clint breathed out quietly through his nose as he reminded himself that he wasn't cut out for this kind of life and crouched down, very quietly and very carefully removing fifty bucks from the envelope before sliding the rest under the door. He'd told Phil he'd pay him back for Lucky's vet bills. It had taken picking up a shift bussing tables at a grill near the garage to do it, but he had. He'd kind of been hoping to give it to the guy at Christmas, along with maybe a present of some kind, but just paying him back would have to do.

Getting out of town took longer than he'd hoped. The snow was still packed thick, and he'd had to take a bus into Salem Center, then break into the garage to retrieve Lucky, who'd been sleeping in the manager's office under the desk. Clint left Wilson a note saying that he'd picked Lucky up, but though he felt a little bad about not giving the guy notice about quitting his job, there was no way he was going to give himself that much time to rethink leaving town. He probably would have left the puppy too, but he was too afraid that if he didn't come back that Wilson would just put him out on the street again, and for all that Clint was a fuck up, he couldn't let Lucky take the punishment for his shit decisions. Instead, he packed the sleepy puppy up in his bag too, leaving the zipper open a little for air, then caught the next bus out of town.

***

Philip woke at five like always, no alarm, just alert. He'd trained himself out of needing that a long time ago, only needing one when he was particularly tired. He flipped the light on and swung out of bed before freezing, something was out of place...

An envelope on his floor where one shouldn't be. A note would just be left on his door, mail went to the boxes everyone there had on the rare occasion he received anything. He padded over, frowning down at it. It couldn't be dangerous, it wouldn't have gotten into the school. Still frowning, he picked it up. Flap tucked, not sealed and inside was cash. Medium wearing on the bills, so general circulation, not bank-crisp, not anything that had been crumpled in a pocket or jar or anything for any length of time. No message, no note... and when he counted it out, it came to a fairly alarming total.

He knew Clint by now and knew that he wouldn't have just shoved the money under Philip's door. Barton didn't like that he owed anyone anything, he'd have made a point to let Philip know they were square. This... this meant something was wrong. And it was something he was going to have to take care of before it became a public issue. As much as Philip wanted to race out that minute, he couldn't go banging on doors. What he needed to do was wait the few hours for Barbara to be awake, then make his plans. Clint could handle himself, probably, for that little while.

A few hours later, Philip was behind the wheel, mouth set in a grim line. He'd kept things quiet, holidays were good for that sort of distraction, but was on the road after Barbara had worked her magic. Tracing the call that came through for Barton was trivial and if he ever met once Charles Barnard Barton, he and Coulson were going to have Words. From there traffic and store cams had traced him to the local bus station, from there to one of the hubs in New York and then south. It would take him a few hours to get there and Barbara had promised to tell him if he changed locations.

If asked, he would deny that he had asked if she could... do anything with their booking system to keep Clint from purchasing tickets.

***

When Clint arrived at the Philadelphia Amtrak station, he'd stared in dismay at the milling crowd of people around the ticketing booth. Apparently, there was some kind of glitch in their software and what with the weather, it was going to be a couple of hours before they had it worked out. Clint might have decided to hitch a ride instead, but even though he wanted to get as many miles as possible between himself an Xavier's, he was kind of glad for the forced stop in his journey. It gave him time to snag a bag of chips and a soda from the vending machine and figure out where he was planning to go next.

Instead, he wound up stretched out on one of those hard wooden benches, staring up at the long, ornate vault that comprised the train station, its phallic, ornamental lights dancing in his vision. Lucky's nose face-planted in his armpit as he squirmed his head out from inside the duffle bag and the heat from the puppy was enough to wring out all (or at least some) of the tension and adrenaline that had kept him moving for the past twenty-four hours. He didn't even register falling asleep.

Philip had perhaps... bent the traffic laws a bit on the way down, though never so much as to risk police attention. He checked in one last time as he pulled into a parking lot at the station, Barbara confirmed that he was still there. Philip took a deep breath as he shut the car door, wrestling down his irritation as he did. He would at least listen. He would.

And then drag Clint back to the school by his ear if needed.

He stopped short once he entered the terminal. Philip had honestly expected that he would have to hunt Clint down, that the ticketing problems would have had him hiding until he was able to head out. Instead, the blond was sleeping on a bench (burdened down by his bag and the head sticking out of it). He crossed the space swiftly, and stood, arms crossed, next to Clint, looking down at him with a frown.

Lucky raised his head and fixed him with a one-eyed stare that could have been either judging or understanding. His head cocked, one ear lifting.

At the movement, Clint stirred, reaching out to slide his fingers through Lucky's fur on instinct before opening his eyes...and freezing at the sight of Philip standing over him.

"Mr. Barton," Philip said evenly. "Are you aware that underage students need to sign out if they will be away from the school?"

What might have started out as almost a sheepish look closed down almost immediately. Of course Philip had come after him because he'd broke some kind of stupid futzing rule. He started to sit up, cradling the bag (and the dog) in his arms. "Fuck off, Coulson."

"I don't think so. I've been on the road for hours tracking your ass down and I don't even want to think of what I owe Barbara," Philip gritted out. "What did he say?"

Clint's shoulders hitched up a little. Why the fuck had Philip come after him? And how was Barbara involved? He grabbed for the handles of the bag, setting his sights on the ticketing counter as he stood. "What?"

Philip slid in front of him again, blocking his way smoothly. "What did your brother say to you that had you running in the middle of the night?"

Clint stiffened. It was no use telling Philip that he had no right to trace the call. That was what Philip did. Hell, he was fucking 'school security'. They probably had a recording of the whole conversation and fuck, what if they had a recording of the whole conversation? But, no. Philip wouldn't be asking if he already knew. So Clint just forced a laugh in his face, easy and light. "Look, Phil, I'm flattered, you coming all this way just to kick my ass over some school rules, but this is just what I do. I got bored. Barney's setting me up with a gig in Kentucky. I'm gone. Go buy yourself a coffee and trot on back."

Philip's frown deepened the longer Clint talked. "Bored? Really. You're bored of flirting with Abby, of taunting Stark into making all your lunatic arrow ideas. You're bored of training with me." That last part was really what stung the most he realized.

Clint flinched before he realized what he was doing, and felt Lucky nose at his hand. He swallowed a little before looking away from Philip's face. "Training for what, Coulson? The Hunger Games? Whatever you're looking for, there are about a million more kids out there who'll fit it better than me."

"No, there aren't. I actually don't think there is another student at the school who has what I'm looking for." Philip glanced around the very busy station, now starting to move as the 'software problem' resolved itself. "And I don't want to talk about that here, there are too many prying ears."

He sighed then, and scrubbed a hand over his face, looking very tired. "Clint. Just come back with me, we don't even have to go back to the school first. If nothing else, I'm thinking that Lucky is hungry and tired of being in that bag."

Clint glanced guiltily down at Lucky. He knew the puppy wanted out, and fuck if he didn't want to follow Philip like he always did, but he tried to remember that he'd had a reason for leaving in the first place. "Look...you're. You've got college coming up, or whatever it is you're gonna do with your life. Then you're gonna leave. And there's nothing like that in the cards for me. I'm not like you, or any of the other kids at that school. I'm not even good at the reason they took me there in the first place. I suck at school and I suck at being...you know, and me being there? It's just me trying to pretend I'm something I'm not."

"So that's what he said," Philip said. "Was he trying to warn you off to protect you or was it something else?" It was a reasonable guess, he thought, all things considered.

Clint shifted uncomfortably. "I don't belong there, Philip."

"It seems like you do to me," Philip said evenly. "I think your friends think so too."

Hackles up again, Clint flashed a look at him. "Aren't you my friend? Or are you still just trying to pretend you're some mentor training partner that drives however many hours to Philadelphia just to tell me I broke school rules?"

"Barton," Philip said with a sigh. "You're an idiot sometimes. I thought I was more clear than that."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure the idiot thing is well documented," Clint told him lightly, even if he didn't exactly feel the humor.

"I suppose this would be a bad time to ask you what you're doing at Christmas," Philip said by way of reply. "If you do Christmas, I mean. I don't want to assume."

Caught off guard, Clint just stared at him, not understanding. Lucky nosed at him again and he reached down into the bag to pull the puppy into his arms. "Maybe you're right about talking about this somewhere else."

"My car's in the parking lot. He can stretch his legs on the way there," Philip said with a nod at Lucky. "I'll explain more out of earshot."

The archer set Lucky on the floor between them, then followed Philip out, waiting while Lucky lifted a leg on some bushes. A few minutes later, they were both sitting awkwardly in Philip's car. "I'm not saying I'm coming back."

"No, you didn't say that. Which part did you want clarification on first?" Philip asked. "The why I came to get you or the holiday part?"

Clint rocked his head back against the headrest heavily. Why was he doing this? He started to reach out for the door handle to leave, but Lucky turned in his lap, tail slapping him across the face and he scowled, giving the puppy the evil eye. Which, apparently, is what he got back in return. "Fine. Fine, the first one. Why did you bother coming?" he sighed, risking a glance over at Philip.

"Because I am your friend, and I'm hoping that you actually do know that." Philip said as he looked over at him. "Beyond that, you're underestimating yourself, you do that frequently. I'm not training with you because I don't have any other options, I'm doing it because you have the talent for it."

"The talent for what? What happens when you're gone?" Clint asked, frowning. "The only thing I feel comfortable with at that school is your training."

"That is a little more complicated to explain and it kind of goes with part two," Coulson replied. "I'm assuming you've noticed that I don't exactly have a... typical outlook on things."

"Like I do?" Clint asked wryly.

The look Coulson shot him then was dry and very unimpressed. "I mean it. Think about the scenarios we run, then think about the students. Who else could run them? I mean actually run them, not just run through them."

"I get it. You're a ninja. You've got family in a vague, yet menacing government organization," Clint answered, shrugging lightly. "Is that what you're planning on doing when you leave school? Join the Alphabet Soup?"

"More than likely, yes, eventually," Philip replied baldly. "It'll depend on how things are going with the mutant situation, and a lot of other things, but yes."

"You realize I can't do that, right? I mean, that kind of thing requires grade scores and shit," Clint pointed out.

"It's not that black and white. If you have a skill set they want, arrangements will be made," Coulson said. "What's more important are those skillsets and the right mentality for it."

"You mean, the skillset where I use a bow and arrow," Clint answered, arching a brow. As much as he loved archery, and as much as he knew he could kill someone just as easily as a guy with a rifle, he knew what other people would think.

"You never actually answered my question," Coulson said. "About if anyone else can do what we're doing."

Clint huffed softly. "I guess not many, when it comes to us taking people out in the scenarios. If it was real, I might not be able to do it as easily, but I could do it."

"I might be completely off base here, Clint," Philip said and he let his head thump back on his seat as he stared out the front window. "I'm not going to be offended if you tell me I am. But I think you've got it in you. Which has nothing to do with being your friend and wanting you to come back to the school. That's just a bonus."

It said something about Clint's life that he just stared quietly at Phil's steering wheel, unsure what the fuck to say to that. Because not very many people at all, by which he meant none, had ever believed in him like that. He was quite literally speechless.

"And for the record, I don't think there's anyone else. Abby comes close, but she's always going to be more overt. A lot of those kids..." Philip shook his head. "They've got it in them to be heroes. I don't. At least not the way they would and I think you know why."

"And if I asked you what your power is?" Clint asked curiously. It wasn't a deal breaker. He could live without knowing. It just felt like the thing to ask.

"I couldn't tell you," Philip replied. "There are less than a half dozen people that know and almost all of them are need to know. The two that aren't found out by accident." And hadn't that gone over well... "It's not a secret I keep to be mysterious, it's for peoples' safety. That could change in the future, depending on how things pan out."

A need to know power. That was sort of par for the course with Coulson. Clint found himself shrugging. "Okay."

"So that leads me to part two," Philip said and he actually, honest to god, fidgeted. "It was... strongly suggested that this year I visit my grandparents for Christmas. And possibly bring someone with me."

Clint nodded distractedly. "Noriko." His mind had stuttered to a stop back at Coulson's power somehow being a threat to other peoples' lives if they knew about it.

"Ah, no actually," Phil said. "I asked you this in the station, remember?"

The archer turned in his seat and stared at him dead on. "Me? Why me?"

"In no particular order, because we're friends, because I'm guessing you haven't done a real holiday for a while and I'm guessing that you are going to get along really, really well with my grandmother," Philip said with a shrug.

Clint had no fucking clue why he flushed at that, but found himself nodding and saying, "Yeah, okay," before he really knew what he was doing. Yeah, sometimes he really was that much an idiot. His grandmother? What kind of incentive was that?

"So, are we going back to school or not? If you don't want to go back yet, we can stay overnight at Stark's place." And Philip had no ulterior motives, of course. No agenda in taking him to the den of one of his chief enablers of interesting things.

Clint reached up and rubbed his face. He didn't want to ditch Philip, but he knew Xavier's would screw him over at some point. He was even more confused because a kernel of wonder had been planted - could he work for the government? He had an arrest record, but Philip seemed to think he could do it. Did he have something to work toward? He was tired, and Lucky was a heavy lump in his lap, and he wasn't certain he could make a good decision to save his life. "Can we just...I don't know. Not go back yet?"

"We'll go to Stark's," Philip said as he started the car. "Rather, we'll go to the apartment he has for me there. There'll be time to get food for your friend and you can figure out how to walk him. Just make sure you're cleaning up after him, Steve'll probably be annoyed if they find surprises in the landscaping."

Clint blinked blearily. "Since when does Steve live at Stark's?" Another blink. "Since when do you live at Stark's?"

"Steve has a part time job with a landscaping company that's doing work around Stark's building. And I don't actually live there, when the building was renovated, Stark set up apartments for a couple people. I've only been there once or twice," Philip said as he pulled out onto the street.

"Huh," Clint answered, slumping down to lean his head against the window. Maybe he'd finish his nap on the way back to New York. It would be a great way to avoid talking to Coulson. However, he still managed to point out, around a yawn, "JARVIS likes me."

"Good, because he's a little irritated with me," Philip said. He glanced over and stopped talking then. If Clint was sleeping, he wouldn't be arguing...

Clint managed to wonder about that - how Phil could have possibly gotten on JARVIS' bad side, but was asleep before the thought fully formed.