Phil stumbled back against the counter, barely managing to hang on to the glass in his hand. It hit the side of a drawer with a loud clink and iced tea sloshed out over his hand. He clutched at the side of his face, his expression simultaneously angry and apologetic. "I'm sorry," he managed, putting the glass behind him. "I wasn't... I've been under strict orders to stay away. Director Fury thought it would be better this way. If I come back now, I might be a target. And I'm not exactly in fighting shape, you may have noticed." He rubbed his jaw pointedly.
He straightened up. The fact that Clint had just lost control and hit him made him more worried about Clint than himself. The other man's control was usually better than that--he could be infuriating and often had a terrifying definition of "fun", but when it counted, he could summon the patience of ten nuns, waiting up there in his perches, stalking his prey.
"Are you okay?" He took a closer look at Clint, his brows knitting together in concern. "When did you last eat? Or sleep?" Suddenly something Clint had said registered in his brain. "Wait, he tried to find my cellist?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-05-10 10:17 pm (UTC)He straightened up. The fact that Clint had just lost control and hit him made him more worried about Clint than himself. The other man's control was usually better than that--he could be infuriating and often had a terrifying definition of "fun", but when it counted, he could summon the patience of ten nuns, waiting up there in his perches, stalking his prey.
"Are you okay?" He took a closer look at Clint, his brows knitting together in concern. "When did you last eat? Or sleep?" Suddenly something Clint had said registered in his brain. "Wait, he tried to find my cellist?"