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"Should we have stayed?" Clint asked. "Not forever, I mean, but maybe for a few days. They needed help."
As always, Phil seemed to know what he was thinking. "The other you, Barton, will be fine eventually. There's nothing more we could have done."
"Yeah, but...I kind of know what he's going through," Clint said. "I've been there, in a way. If it hadn't been for you and Nat..."
"He's got Romanov and I," Phil said. "His version of us. They'll know what to do."
"But-"
"They'll work it all out."
***
In the beginning...
There were certain days that were etched into Coulson's mind forever: the first time he killed, the night he lost his virginity, the day a stupid science experiment turned half of New York into a vampire infested hellhole. His mental list of significant moments was short and included as much horror as happiness, but the day Barton was infected with the vampire virus stayed at the top of the list for a long time. It was the day when he felt something inside die a little.
The vampire that infected Barton must have been lying concealed in the shadows. It was just a routine inspection of the defences around Stark's tower. Coulson led the small party with Stark taking notes while Barton clambered up and down the barricades, checking the metal plates covering what had been wide glass windows. Agent Romanov prowled along with them, her eyes constantly moving as she tried to see every direction an attack could come from at once.
The day was sunny and warm, the kind of day when it felt like nothing could go wrong. The tower's defences looked pathetically weak in the bright sunlight but they'd held up for a couple of months now. Coulson lifted his head to the sky, basking for just a moment in the sun he hadn't seen for nearly a week.
He could remember the shock as he heard something snarl and then someone had thrown him aside with a shove that sent him flying into a barricade and left him dazed for a moment. He looked around in time to see Agent Romanov neatly beheading a young female vampire and he watched the head as it rolled over and over to stop just by his foot. Coulson frowned down at it for a moment, taking in the smear of blood around its full lips.
Then he looked up. Barton was kneeling on the ground. He had a hand to his neck and his fingers were wet and red when he pulled them away.
Coulson felt dizzy and sick as he took it in. He took a step forward and stopped when Barton shook his head.
"It's not safe," Barton said. His voice broke on the last word as a look of horror started to spread across his face. "I'm not safe. Shit, sir, I'm not safe."
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Coulson approached and knelt a couple of feet from Barton.
"Maybe you're not-"
Barton laughed bitterly. "Infected? Fuck, sir, you know that I am. She got a good bite in before Nat pulled her off."
Coulson reached out and Barton flinched for a moment before carefully holding out his unbloodied hand. They twined fingers together and Coulson tried to smile reassuringly, but he thought it came out closer to a grimace.
"Lock me up, Phil," Barton said quietly. "Don't let me hurt anyone. Promise? You have to promise or I'll ask Nat to kill me right now."
"I promise," Coulson said steadily. "I won't let you hurt anyone."
***
Months later...
It had become a daily ritual now, bringing Barton his daily ration of blood and trying not to watch as he gulped it down. The thick red liquid would be warm to touch. Sometimes Coulson held the cup for a while before taking it down to the cells, held it near his face, as though the coppery scent would help him understand how Barton could drink it so greedily.
There was a wary sort of truce between them, enough that Coulson sat across a table from Barton in the cell he'd been housed in since his infection instead of behind a glass divider. Coulson wasn't entirely defenceless; he had a Stark-enhanced Taser on his belt and a panic button on his wrist that would release sedative gas into the room if anything went wrong.
It had been a long time, however, since Barton had done more than drink the blood and make lewd suggestions. Later Coulson berated himself for letting his guard down. He'd started to believe that the virus was losing its hold, that Barton might be starting to come back to them.
He sat across from the table that day and watched Barton drink his meal, their gazes locked. Coulson could feel his face heating as Barton put the carton down, licked his lips slowly and then sprawled back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Coulson's.
"Haven't you ever wondered?" Barton asked after a while.
"Wondered what?"
"What it's like." Barton's voice deepened to a seductive rumble. "How it tastes. How it feels. The buzz of all this energy flowing through you, making you stronger. Faster. Better."
Coulson hesitated for just the briefest moment before he shook his head and said, "No."
His hesitation was enough. There was suddenly something bright and eager in Barton's eyes and he sat up.
"I could show you," Barton said. "We could be amazing."
"No."
"I won't hurt you," Barton said with a wicked smile. "Much."
Standing slowly, Coulson looked at Barton with what he hoped was a steady, reassuring expression. "No, Barton. You don't want this, not really. You'd regret it if you did it because we're going to find a cure."
He'd forgotten how fast vampires could move. Before Coulson could take more than two steps to the cell door Barton was on him, pushing him against the wall and grabbing his right wrist to hold it in a vice-like grip over his head. Barton used his body to hold Coulson in place and he pressed his forearm across Coulson's throat.
"Come on, Coulson," Barton practically purred. "I can feel how much you want me."
He shoved a leg between Coulson's and ground against him, leaving Coulson in no doubt at all about what he wanted. Coulson swallowed convulsively and concentrated on staying calm and pretending that Barton wasn't affecting him.
"I don't want this," Coulson said evenly.
Barton chuckled, low and dirty, and lowered his head to nuzzle at Coulson's neck. A hot, wet tongue swiped up the side of Coulson's throat, sending unwanted shivers down his spine, and then Barton suddenly froze.
"Fucking bastard," Barton said against Coulson's neck.
Coulson pressed the Taser hard against Barton's ribs and hit the trigger, pushing him away but still feeling the pain as he was caught in the massive electric discharge as well.
***
When Coulson woke several hours later, Agent Romanov told him that Barton had escaped and disappeared without a trace. The wall he'd built around his feelings hardened at the news so he was able to thank her for the information with a grim smile and ignore the worried looks she shot him.
***
Four months later...
Coulson leaned against the door jamb and watched, allowing himself a small smile at the sight before him.
Clint was sprawled on their bed completely naked, his entire focus on a book that looked suspiciously like one of the science fiction adventure stories he kept denying that he read. There was a slight frown between Clint's eyebrows and his eyes moved rapidly over the page. The combination of intense studiousness and buck-ass nakedness appealed on levels Coulson hadn't realised he still had until a couple of months ago.
The nakedness thing was apparently Clint's way of relaxing after a stressful day and Coulson saw it as a good sign that Clint was doing it here, on their bed, instead of spending hours bundled in every hoodie and set of sweatpants he owned the way he had when they first left New York.
Coulson never thought of him as Barton now. Nobody did. Barton was the vampire and Clint was firm in his insistence that it was either 'Agent Barton', when it was in relation to work, or 'Clint' when it wasn't. In their quiet apartment in Washington, he was definitely Clint.
It took three quiet throat clearings before Clint noticed that Coulson was watching him. The slow, happy smile that appeared when Clint finally looked away from the pages was worth every minute of the wait.
"Hi," Clint said, putting a marker in and closing the book. "You're late."
Coulson shrugged with one shoulder. "I got caught in a meeting."
Clint rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. "Anything I'm allowed to know about?"
"You're very distracting when you do that," Coulson said, allowing his gaze to wander the length of Clint's body.
Clint pretended to look down and be surprised at his lack of clothing. "You're very easily distracted then."
Rolling his eyes, Coulson shrugged out of his jacket and threw it at Clint, who obediently draped it over his hips and then returned to his original pose.
"You're not subtle," Coulson said.
"So sue me," Clint said. "I've never been subtle, it's one of my many charms. Your meeting?"
Coulson pulled off his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt. "The Seattle team declared the city clean."
"That's great news."
The hesitation was so brief Coulson might have missed it if he hadn't become so attuned to Clint over the months of his recovery. When he sat on the edge of the bed and looked into Clint's eyes, Coulson could see something shadowed and dark there. Without thinking he put a hand on Clint's arm, intending to rub soothingly, and Clint flinched. Coulson changed tacks, shifting his hand to rest on the bed near Clint's chest but carefully not touching him. They'd been lovers for less than two months and he wondered sometimes what they would have been like together if the virus hadn't happened. Would there be all these negotiations of when and how they could touch? It seemed like there was a never ending minefield of bad memories and triggers to navigate.
"What happened in therapy today?" Coulson asked gently, because that was always what stirred up Clint's distress. "Can you talk about it?"
Clint closed his eyes and Coulson could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.
"Clint?" Coulson said.
"Remember a few days after I woke up, you asked me why I escaped?" Clint asked. "I spent all those months playing the obedient vampire and then I just...left?"
"I remember." Coulson smiled and he was relieved when Clint reached out to take his hand, tangle their fingers together and hold on tight. "You told me you didn't know."
Clint lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss on the back of Coulson's fingers. "I didn't, not really. I wasn't thinking clearly. But...that day in the cell. When I tried to bite you."
"I remember it vividly."
"Thought you might." Clint tucked their hands against his chest. "Right in that moment, I really didn't know whether I wanted to bite you, fuck you or kill you. I think maybe I wanted to do all of them at once and didn't know where to start."
"I worked that part out."
"It was when I decided it was time to leave."
"Why?"
"I knew you weren't going to let me do any of it," Clint said quietly. "You were always better than me at hand to hand and you were never going to be stupid enough to give me a weapon. I left so I could figure out a plan bring you to me. Hopefully Nat as well. I was going to get you somewhere I could control things and when you were powerless..."
He trailed away and Coulson waited for a while before asking, "What were you going to do?"
Clint let out a long breath. "I don't know. Some days, I was going to kill you. Other days...I wasn't thinking good things."
"It's not your fault."
"I know," Clint said. "The thinking part of me knows that. But sometimes, when I have nightmares..."
Coulson knew the nightmares; he had held Clint through enough of them over the weeks.
"What can I do?" he asked.
"Fuck me until I can't see straight?" Clint suggested.
"You know that's not actually what your therapist would recommend," Coulson said, trying sound stern and failing.
"Yeah, she'd suggest that we talk about and it we will. We do." Clint's smile was weak but real. "But I'm all talked out today. Right now, I just want to forget for a while and your way of making me forget is a lot better than the bottle of Scotch method."
"Are you sure-"
"Yes," Clint said firmly. "Now shut up and fuck me. Please."
They were going to talk about it properly later and Clint would talk to his therapist and Coulson had no doubt that they'd be going through his cycle again and again for years. But for tonight he would put that aside because, as much as Clint needed to hold onto something and forget for a while, Coulson needed to ground himself in Clint's touch.