Сначала мне этот фик очень понравился, у меня слабость к историям, где один персонаж внезапно пропадает и его никто не помнит, кроме другого, которому никто не верит. В первой главе прямо душещипательные моменты такие были, у меня глаза норовили на мокрое место съехать. Но потом началась какая-то, на мой взгляд, фигня и муть, но на вкус и цвет, так что кому-то это может показаться и удачным. Так что ссылю на всякий случай:

Tell Me About Phil

Phil hasn't gone missing. Phil is gone. Clint is going after him.

Clint slides the closet door open, and he freezes. There are two garment bags hanging up; they're both tagged, BARTON and COULSON, the labels in Phil's surprisingly messy handwriting. Clint ignores BARTON, whatever, Phil bought him a suit, it's very touching but it's not important right now. He jerks down the zipper on COULSON, afraid of what he's going to see, afraid of what he might not see.

Hanging there is one of Phil's neat black suits, newly pressed; the shirt is new, very light green with subtle stripes, and but the tie, it's the one Clint thought he'd lost, the plum-colored one Clint bought him a month before his birthday because he couldn't remember when his birthday actually was.

He never once wept in front of Phil, but Clint knows that if he had, Phil would have let him cry all the tears he needed to onto his suit without saying a single word about it, without even thinking about it. It's good, because Clint doesn't even know how long he sits in that closet crying into Phil's suit jacket, relief and pain pouring out of him in equal measure.

Phil may be somewhere, Phil may be nowhere, but Phil was. Phil was, and if that's all Clint can have right now, then it's enough to go on, enough to give him the strength to keep trying.