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1. Bottle of Water
New Mexico was miserable this time of year. The heat was unending and it seemed to almost pound down on them. Neither of their uniforms were made for this type of weather. Coulson was ruining his second shirt of the day beneath his suit jacket. The leather of Agent Barton's get-up didn't breathe well and the man had no problem mentioning it, repeatedly.
“I'm just saying it's a miracle I haven't had to do anything in the Middle East yet but it seems a little inevitable. Maybe R & D could work on a desert version of this. They should make one for Natasha as well, I'd hate to think of how much that jumpsuit would have to chafe in temperatures like this.” Barton complained, following Coulson as the older agent walked through, inspecting, the rapidly growing base.
“Barton, I need you to oversee the weapon's locker construction. Make sure what you requested made it here.” Coulson ordered.
“Only if you promise to file that request.” bartered Barton.
“Go, and if you end up at your locker and put on your training gear instead, I'll ignore the breach in uniform.” Agent Coulson replied, walking forward without looking back at the departing sniper.
It was a blissful hour until Barton returned, wearing the lighter, cotton training uniform and holding a full water bottle. He didn't talk, just opened the bottle, took a sip before pouring some of on his head, shaking his head and running a hand through it in a way that Coulson was sure was supposed to be seductive.
“Bart, there are electronics in here that cost more than the entire salary S.H.I.E.L.D will ever pay you.” Coulson reprimanded, face blank and voice bland but edged. He walked the few steps forwarded needed to grab the bottle from Barton's hands.
Coulson stalked back to where the main monitors were and without looking back up at the other agent, ordered, “The nest you requested arrive. Go make sure it works. And then run timed drills. I want you to be able to get up there in under two minutes.”
"Sir." Barton said, turning to go without a backward glance. Once he knew the other man had left, Phil took a long drink from the bottle, enjoying the cool, refreshing slide down his throat. In his ear, he could hear Clint's constant and, at times, amusing play-by-play.
2. Beer
“You see Tony, that's your problem, you don't have any guy friends that aren't robotic. Do you know what we do as guys to unwind? We drink a beer, and we watch a sport, and we yell at whatever team is losing for sucking and whatever team is winning for cheating.” Clint thrust a beer out to Tony, giving the man a pointed look until he took it. Then Clint pointed at the couch until Tony sat down, at the opposite end of Thor.
“Why isn't Banner or Rogers being subjected to this?” Tony sniped just to be contrary.
“ Because Banner can't drink alcohol for fear of turning into a giant green rage monster and Rogers is in debrief with Coulson. I love not having to lead us.” Clint grinned huge, taking a long pull of his beer. “I'll even let you pick the sport.”
“Football is traditional this time of year? And if this is a guys night in, why is Natasha here?” Tony asked, pointing to where the Russian was perched on one of the chairs.
“Because I'm more of a man than you'll ever be Stark, and more of a woman than you'll ever have.” Natasha replied without a beat, drinking her beer to hide her smile.
“Rent, did she just quote Rent at me?” Tony asked to no one in particular.
“Your mead is unusual but delicious. I just wish it didn't come in such tiny containers.” Thor put his empty bottle down in the growing graveyard of bottles around him.
“Next time, Tony'll spot you a keg.” Clint promised him, patting the Asgardian on the back. “Billionaire Philanthropist.” Clint said to Tony, before the man could object.
One hour, half a football game, a two-four later, it was turning into the best team building exercise Cap had never thought of.
“Why are you rushing it? It hasn't work every other time you've ever tried? Oh look, you lost yardage.” Tony yelled at the screen, cheeks flushed with alcohol and indignation.
“In my country, real men do gymnastics. Lesser men do hockey. No men do this.” Natasha stated, her accent getting thicker with each beer.
“This is not sport. Sport is a competition of skills that lead only to victory in battle or death. I cannot see how any of this could be used in battle, unless you need weaponry sent to you from great distances.” Thor's voice boomed, alcohol ruining his ability to volume regulate.
“We had those once. They were called gladiators and we ended that barbaric practice centuries ago.” Tony smugged at Thor. “Earth one, Asgard zero.”
“I will bring you to Asgard, you will see the demonstrations and be awed by their magnificence. Of this I am certain.” Thor nodded solemnly, draining another beer in one long pull.
By the time the game was in the final two minutes, Natasha had slinked off without any of them noticing, Tony was barely conscious, and Thor was well into the finishing the second two-four and no longer speaking English. Clint smirked at the sorry state they were all in, bringing his beer up for another pull when he realised it wasn't in his hand.
“Wha?” Clint mumbled looking around, startling to the left when he found Coulson standing to his right, drinking from his beer. Coulson was either a ninja or Clint was way drunker than he thought he was.
“I knew something like this would happen.” Coulson admonished, head flicking to where Steve was sighing over Tony, trying to manhandle the other Avenger up to bed without carrying him. “This may be a good time to let you know Agent Barton that you have to run a training exercise with the new recruits at 0700 hours.”
“Of course I do.” Clint muttered, sinking further into the couch, not pouting. Clint watched as the lesser team eked in a victory. When he looked back up, only Thor, asleep, was in the room and Clint's previously half full beer was now an empty on the right side table.
3. Sweet Tea
“Banner you have outdone yourself.” Clint said, taking another big gulp of the drink down. “I always knew chemists had to be good cooks as well. Really the same thing.” Clint continued, finishing up the glass before pouring another.
“Thanks, it's Betty's recipe, I just had a hankering for it.” Banner ducked his head, a small prideful smile on his lips.
“Well I thank her but mostly I thank you.” Clint eyed the large vat of it, eyes squinting a bit before he looked straight at Banner again. “Don't give any to the rest because between Thor and Tasha, that's going to be gone in a matter of minutes.” Clint pulled out his water bottle and emptied it into an empty test tube, ignoring Bruce's look of horror and light, subsequent protest.
“I'm not going to lie to them.”
“Fine, if they ask but don't go advertising it.” Clint stopped filling up his water bottle to look at Bruce again with a pleading pout. “Please, this can be our thing. We need to have a thing. Hulk and I have a thing where I piggy back him to get to new rooftops but we don't have a thing.” Clint gave the scientist his best charming smile, crowing with delight as Bruce shrugged a bit before conceding.
“I knew you would be my favourite,” Clint grinned, turning to head out of the lab, pausing and turning back once he got the door. “Friday, I'm making you dinner, bring Betty.”
With a loping gait, Clint headed up to Phil's office from the lab, smirking at some of the recruits in a way that he knew made them scamper off in fear. Clint waltzed in, not bothering with knocking and flopped down on Phil's desk, careful not to disturb the careful piles.
“Yes, Agent Barton?” Coulson said blandly, eyes not coming up from the folder he was reading. Clint just held out the water bottle, shaking it a bit to get Phil to notice. The older agent took it and it was a testament to the trust Clint had spent years cultivating that he drank it without asking what it was.
“That's good. Not as good as my grandmother's.” Phil said but he wasn't returning the bottle and Clint could only smirk at that.
“Liar, it's better. Banner made a batch of it and I now have the direct line. I'm making him and Betty dinner on Friday, if you'd like to join.”
“I'll be in L.A, babysitting Stark.” Clint nodded, accepting the excuse at face value, even though he knew Phil's flight was Friday morning.
“That's fine. I'll invite Natasha instead. She's better at setting the table anyway. She can make napkin swans.” Clint smiled, soft and forgiving, before getting up. He stretched, knowing just how it made his shirt ride up enough to reveal a sliver of skin before heading for the door.
“I'll see you on Saturday.” Phil said, voice tinted with regret.
“If Tony manages not to cause an international incident.”
“When he does, I'll handle it, and be back for Saturday.”
4. Eggnog
Clint stood at the doorway to the den that the Avengers had claimed as the unofficial staff lounge at the mansion and marvelled at the drunken mess in front of him. Tony was plastered against Steve, trying to make out with him while the other man tried to resist. Clint couldn't hear much of the conversation and he wasn't at the best angle to lip read but with snippets like “too drunk,” “wrong,” and “tomorrow morning when you are sober,” Clint was fairly certain he could suss out what was happening.
Clint could sense Phil coming into his personal space before he could see him and without a word, he handed his cup of eggnog over to the Agent, smirking a bit at the grimace it produced after Phil took a sip.
“Who is responsible for this?” Phil asked, handing it back to Clint.
“I think me, and then Tony, and then Darcy, even after she'd tasted it.” Clint admitted, taking another sip before passing it over again.
“That would explain it.”
“Son of Coul, felicitations on your yule tidings!” Thor exclaimed, smile huge as he waved before passing out completely on the floor, leaving both Darcy and Jane standing over him with looks of gleeful mischief and disappointment respectively.
“He can drink an entire two-four of beer and be fine. Two pints of this stuff and he's down for the count. I think you should put rum as one of his vulnerabilities. Along with rubik's cubes. Watching him trying to solve one of those was like watching a puppy run into a glass door over and over again.” Clint said in a mockingly somber tone.
“Duly noted.” Phil surveyed the scene before shaking his head and turning around, back to the room. “If I can't see it, I won't have to report it.”
“Die Hard, ten minutes in my room?” Clint proposed, looking towards where Tony and Steve were swaying gently to Bing Cosby.
“I'll try and find something less potent.” Phil agreed, pushing the still mostly full glass back in Clint's hands.
5. Root Beer
“Stark, are you telling me that you used S.H.I.E.L.D resources and laboratory space to make soda?” Coulson asked, voice hard and face blank.
“Root beer. I did all that to make root beer.” Tony corrected, smug as always. Coulson looked around to the other Avengers scattered about the room. Steve was looking guilty, obviously about to admit fault while Clint was standing to the side chuckling into his glass.
“Agent Barton, do you find this misuse of time and resource funny.” Coulson asked, tone flat, head quirked minimally towards the archer.
“Not at all sir. I don't find anything funny. S.H.I.E.L.D removed my sense of humour a long time ago after the Danish incident.”
“Barton, walk with me. Stark, I want this lab cleaned up within the hour and any further indulgences, such as this, should be done in your mansion's laboratory on your own time. I imagine Mr. Rogers can assist you.” Coulson turned on his heel, posture stiff as he walked away from any more incriminating scenes.
Clint followed a couple feet behind, only sidling along side with Phil once they were around the corner and out of sight.
“Would you care to tell me what you found so amusing now?” Phil asked, not looking Clint in the eye.
“Here have some.” Clint offered in lieu of an answer, thrusting the glass into Phil's hands. One sip later and Phil understood. Clint had probably been laughing for hours before Phil had even entered the lab.
“This is awful.” Phil gave the glass to a passing recruit with only the order of “Dispose of this.”
“This isn't even the first batch. Steve didn't have the heart to tell Tony to stop. He could probably build a bomb using nothing more than some twine, a toothbrush, and some vinegar, but he can't make Root Beer.”
“I need something to get that taste out of my mouth.”
“Well, I'm feeling a little peckish. Maybe we could go do lunch. Go Eun's for a little Korean?” Clint asked, keeping his voice low so they weren't overheard.
“20 minutes, parking lot.” Phil said, nodding in agreement. As Clint peeled away to get into his civilian wear, Phil continued, “Agent Barton? Next time, keep that kind of open insubordination to private channels.”
“Noted sir,” Clint said cheekily before disappearing down another corridor.
(+1) Coffee
Phil wasn't a morning person for the first ten minutes of any morning, no matter the circumstances. After those ten minutes though? He could do about anything. He was almost always up at 6:03, with rare exceptions. This morning was just the same, the sky still winter dark, slowly warming into morning. He had a routine. Check cellphone, collect paper, start coffee machine, freshen up, relax with coffee and news at his kitchen island. If no giant radioactive monsters destroyed the city in that hour, he was never happier.
Clint was only a morning person when he wasn't in a place he considered home. He'd be up at first light of dawn, eyes wide, mind clear when they were away on mission. Places where Clint felt comfortable were a whole other story.
Phil wasn't sure if he would like the interruption to his usual ritual but from that very first morning, it never felt like an intrusion, only an enhancement. Phil would be halfway through his cup of coffee and the world news section when Clint would finally join him.
This morning, Clint came in around 6:30, completely naked, eyes still mostly closed. Without opening them, he could still locate Phil. Just like every other morning like this, Clint distracted Phil by nuzzling his face into Phil's neck while he stole Phil's coffee. Every morning Phil would let him. Clint's body was sleep warm pressed against Phil's side for the minute it took Clint to drain the rest of Phil's coffee.
Clint made that same disappointed whine when he went for that fourth sip to find no coffee left, which was Phil's cue to get up and refill the mug. Clint stole Phil's seat, as always, but in one graceful movement, he hooked his foot in the second stool and pull it close enough to abut the first one, eyes still closed, body mostly collapsed atop the island. Phil stood by the machine, coffee making the mug burn his hands slightly, as he enjoyed the slope of Clint's back from this angle.
Phil took a sip from the new mug, before padding over and placing the coffee down between them. He readjusted the paper, and sat on his new seat. Clint cracked an eye open, smiling softly at Phil, shifting around so that they were pressed together shoulder to knee. Phil placed a hand on Clint's lower back, enjoying the smooth feel of skin on his finger tips as he turned back to the paper.
In silence, just like the rest of these mornings Phil was growing to love, they shared a mug of coffee. Once it was finished and the sun finally up, Clint was going to make them breakfast but for now, Phil just got to enjoy the their closeness, the only sound the odd clank of ceramic on granite or swish of newspaper.