imagine Clint as a transman
They nearly have him convinced to stay when they tell him that theyâll feed him every day, even if he does something to piss them off.
Clintâs still not sure about this SHIELD thing, but heâs never been in a place with a free cafeteria open 24/7 before. He takes to dropping in at random hours, but no matter when he stops by (2am, or a half hour after the lunch rush, or just before dawn after heâs intentionally pissed off Agent Hill, just to see if theyâll still let him have breakfast) thereâs always, always food for him.
Heâs not sure he trusts it, yet. But itâs a good start.
In the end, though, itâs not the food that convinces him to sign on. Itâs not that the higher ups have yet to hit him. Itâs not even that Director Fury himself promises that heâll never be forced to kill anyone he doesnât want to.
Itâs what happens in medical.
Clintâs been dodging his mandatory physical for three weeks now. Heâs never been comfortable with doctors, but itâs even worse now than it was when he was a kid. Little kids all look the same, give or take. He hadnât really minded his body back then, had barely even known that there was something wrong.
Things are different now. Having a doctorâhaving anyoneâget up close and personal to the way he is now isnât something heâs willing to go through. SHIELD can just deal with it, or heâll leave. Simple as that.
He might have gotten away with it, too, until the man in the suit shows up.
Heâs quiet, balding, and Clintâs head says, accountant, you can take him, but his gut says dangerous, donât cross him, so he mostly stops to listen out of confusion. Itâs been awhile since his brain and his instincts havenât agreed with each other.
âMister Barton, Iâm Phil Coulson,â the man says. âWould you mind coming with me?â
amandla
izzy806
gummygunk
stormborns
2087
