through a broken mirror for theshield_agent
Reminding himself daily of his duties was something that usually made Clint sober up when it came to things he dealt with off the clock. Even if there truly was no 'off the clock' for SHIELD agents. Let alone an Avenger. If he wasn't suited up to save the world from some impossible villain, he was an agent of SHIELD. And SHIELD infiltrated every member's life. It was implied at the get-go. You join SHIELD and SHIELD will be part of you where ever you go. It was something that Clint wasn't quite used too. But it, at the very least, gave him something to do when he was bored. The downtime was minimal at best, but when there was downtime Clint really didn't have anything better to do then be at headquarters. SHIELD had become too integrated in his life without him realizing it. More than once he had loudly said in Coulson (or anyone else's presence) that Phil and the higher-ups were married to their jobs. Whenever Clint would walk down the hallway he'd either see Phil, Sitwell, Hill, and he usually tried to evade Fury at any given moment because nothing ever sat right with him about the Director. Not that he was afraid of him, per say. He just...didn't trust the eyepatch.
It never occurred to him that he was stuck in the same classification of any of them. When it seemed as though all the Avengers were grouping together (even Tasha) under the same roof, Clint had decided against joining the Brady Bunch by remaining back in his personality-less room back in headquarters. Something given to all agents of SHIELD who didn't have a place to go off-base. He had personalized it somewhat -- to keep it separate from the other rooms that were around him. Even though at least two of them had been emptied, any traces of agents living in them wiped after the Loki incident. Clint had come to find out they had been aboard the helicarrier when they went. One of which, Agent Ryan Stillson, was at the point of the blast that had disabled the engines enough to cause the mess that Loki had ordered him to cause. Without being asked, Clint had gotten rid of the man's belongings himself after wandering past to his room just in time to see the normal cleaner's -- making their rounds to clean up the relics of the past before they found another poor soul to recruit into this place. When someone had come down on the orders of Fury to make Clint stop what the fuck he was doing -- Clint nearly punched the guy out before returning to what he was doing. Then, following procedural, brought Agent Ryan Stillson's belongings down to the compactor to get rid of.
SHIELD looked after their own after all, but it also meant when they began to work for SHIELD is where they would end. Clint had yet to meet someone who retired from the military division.
Downtime usually meant people getting caught up on their sleep. A lot of the agents slept easier knowing that Loki was gone (as well as the Tessaract). It meant their energies could be spent doing something else. Whenever Clint had laid his head down to sleep, usually an hour or so into it; his eyes would snap open. He had told Fury during the debriefing that he remembered nothing of his time as Loki's mind bitch, but that statement was slowly turning into a lie with every moment he was given some time to himself. He remembered. The ideas that filled his head like whispers once setting his eyes on the glowing cube. Orchestrating getting the materials and man-power needed to take on SHIELD and open the portal to somewhere the cube had only told him that was a good idea. Suggesting the rescue mission when Loki would be "captured" by the Avengers. Clint remembered thinking, once, that it didn't go as planned when he noticed the flash of red hair at the corner of his eye before he was brought back into this reality. His reality. His body may have healed up, but his mind was still twisted. Still lingering on the things he had done he felt as though he had to put on the cocky persona just to keep people off his back.
Things happened quickly after all was said and done. One moment, Phil Coulson was dead. The next he was alive. One moment Nick Fury wasn't in charge and the next the WSC realized that Fury wasn't going anywhere so he was reinstated. One moment Clint Barton was Hawkeye, an Avenger. And the next he was back to where he had began, unsure if he had a place in the team he had joined out of necessity to make an attempt to get his revenge. Even if he didn't. Even blowing Loki out of the sky left him with a severe lack of satisfaction.
Mostly, his entire time after saving the world had been a blur. Instead of basking in the glory, Clint stuck to himself. Even when he went on missions with the team -- it helped that he was a sniper. Being alone was part of the job description it seemed as he crept into the hallway after one of his nightmares. Another good thing about being a SHIELD agent meant they only needed a couple hours of sleep to function. He pursed his lips together as he tucked his hands in his jacket pockets. The last mission had left much to be desired. Clint had so brilliantly tried the little trick of using his grappling arrow to Tarzan his way to ground level, right in front of one of the targets. Only to get knocked back a couple feet. Broken ribs aside and somewhat of a bruised ego, Clint was telling the doctors he was fighting fit. They just didn't believe him. But he didn't really listen to what they had to say about him resting or anything of the like. He moved quietly through the halls with every intention to go to the gym. To get his frustrations out and to possibly tire himself out that maybe sleep would be unavoidable as he turned the corner, nearly running into Coulson.
"...they still let you escape from your office from time to time, I see." He smirked, hoping beyond all hope that he could just annoy him a little. To the point where he could just move passed him and to the gym. He relied, partly, that if the man was still on painkillers and still in work-mode there would be some apathy involved.