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In retrospect, Phil wonders how he could have been this blind. But things are always clearer in hindsight. That does not make it acceptable, though. It's his prime objective to know and see things. It's his job, and his obligation towards his assets. It certainly should have been his obligation towards his partner.
Coulson sighs and stares at the mission report he has been pretending to read for an hour. The harm has been done now; the next directive is to finish the report, and then find a way to make this right again.
He doesn't allow himself to think that it's too late for that, that this may be beyond fixing.
They stand in the kitchen. Clint is wearing jeans and an unreadable expression. Coulson is wearing his favourite tie, the one he likes to wear for missions which he knows are doomed to fail.
“I need time”, he says.
“Ok”, Clint says, and leaves to get his things.
“Have you spoken to him?” Tasha is sitting on the couch in her flat in the mansion, feet tucked under her, disdain for all these childish tantrums written clearly across her face. “What's there to say”, Clint says and reaches for the bottle to fill up his glass. “He needs time. Do you know how many of my relationships have ended with those three words, Tasha? All that haven't ended with a shouting match or a punch in the face.” [That it had only been the one, and that it ended with all of the above and with too many memories and the line Let my heart grow colder/and as bitter as a falcon in the dive on his mind whenever he considers telling anyone the truth, he does not say. Tasha knows enough to read between the lines anyway.]
They end up having a shouting match, and Tasha does punch him in the face. She doesn't leave. Love is for children, which means it's up to the grown-ups to put band-aids onto the scrapes and help rebuild the sandcastle that was destroyed in the pigtail-pulling and pointless fights.
Clint is sprawled over the couch in Tony's living room, relaxed, unguarded, and Phil allows himself to indulge in the image. Agent Barton of SHIELD is always taunt lines, guarded looks, tense muscles, something Agent Coulson of SHIELD approves of because it tends to keep his assets alive; but sometimes, Clint forgets that he can be Clint now and then, and something aches in Phil when he sees Agent Barton of SHIELD watching bad television next to him, holding the remote like a potential weapon and keeping all entrances and exists in his vision at all times in case a threat manifests. He didn't ask Jarvis to provide him with the feed from the security cameras, not specifically, but somehow here he is, paperwork in front of him and a small image of a relaxed Clint on the screen to his right.
Clint and Tony are playing Truth or Dare or some other form of ridiculous and inadvisable game, unsurprisingly at the insistence of Tony Stark who never passes up on a chance to embarrass people and hear their raunchy stories and less well-guarded secrets. Unsurprisingly, the conversation is mostly about sex. Phil had considered turning the feed to mute, but a part of him wants to hear what Clint has to say about the matter when he is like this, not all tense muscles and guarded looks, not all smiles and carefully placed innuendo. He hears far too much about Stark's sex life than he is comfortable with, but at least he only hears about it. The regulations about sexual activities on the helicarrier weren't there before they brought in the Consultant.
He stops paying attention for a while and goes back to his reports, and it is mere, peculiar, cruel chance that he takes a short break from his paperwork when Stark asks Clint what he likes best about sex and Clint answers, too honestly to be a joke, 'mostly the part where it's over'.
Coulson goes very, very still.
If Coulson had a mind for that sort of thing right now, he'd be impressed by the fact that not only does Stark not pounce on Clint and tell him how that's strange and unnatural and how he must be taking the piss (or how Coulson is just really bad in bed), but that he is actually very sensitive and reserved in handling the topic. Clint's still sprawled over the couch and relaxed, and he laughs, telling Tony that it's no big deal (except when it is, how can he say that it's not -), that there is no particular reason, he just never liked sex, never saw the point or appeal really (Clint and never – but he'd always thought – everybody always acted as if he was basically the second Stark in the team in that respect -), and that he'd appreciate it if he kept it under wraps because he kinda liked this 'second Stark on the team' image he had (all the nights Clint'd been out, and Phil had wondered, somewhere in the darkness of his own memories, how often he took him up on the open relationship option, how many beautiful women in one-night hotel rooms and handsome, younger men in clubs it would take until Clint would come to kiss him goodbye and move out of their flat), and because it made matters difficult if people knew.
Stark, being Stark, asks what Phil desperately needs to know and wishes he'd never have to hear. “So, you and Coulson.”
Clint shrugs, as if it really was the most ordinary thing in the world, and says “Relationships are about compromise. It's like that pasta thing you told me about which Pepper and Steve love and you absolutely hate – it makes them happy, and that makes you happy, and that's all that counts.” “Forcing yourself to sleep with someone isn't exactly the same as smiling through a plate of Fettuccine Alfredo, Barton”, Stark says, much too seriously, and Coulson thinks exactly, and what have I done, and for the past two years, I have effectively, and I never noticed that he didn't, I have effectively been - “Don't say that”, Clint says, and he sounds angry. “It's not like that. Dammit, Stark, it's breaking out the handcuffs when you'd rather have vanilla sex, not closing your eyes and thinking of England, and DEFINITIVELY not something worse. I care for him a great deal, and I like to see him happy. Besides, he needs to unwind sometimes, and that does the trick. If I'd personally prefer it if I could give him a massage instead, well, I can always say so, can't I? Don't look at me like that, Tony. It's just sex, and it's my choice. Nobody's forcing anyone to do anything.” Tony is silent for a long time and then says “Well, you're a grown man, Barton. If you say so”, and Barton nods and says “Hey, it's fine, really. Just don't tell anyone, ok? I.. well, let's just say that it's not a confession that tends to go down well with people, as you have just demonstrated.” “Your call. You know where to find me if you ever need someone for anything though.”
The conversation moves on, and the moment seems like a bad dream as Clint proceeds to explain to Tony that Tony knows nothing about oral sex and makes a rather convincing demonstration of technique using his hands, as if the previous conversation never happened, as if Clint didn't just admit that the best thing about sleeping with Phil is the moment when the ordeal is finally over.
Coulson sits very still for a long time.
He texts Barton half an hour later that he's caught up in work and that he shouldn't wait up, taking care to use exactly the same style he usually does. Barton replies with 'Affirmative, see you tomorrow, sir', and 'I love you'. He resolutely does paperwork for another two hours, and when he gets home, Clint''s asleep, one arm hugging a pillow, the other spread across the empty space next to him. He's halfway under the covers when it occurs to him that he should perhaps sleep on the couch, but Clint stirs, gives him a sleepy smile and lets go of the pillow to embrace Phil instead before he falls asleep again, and Phil doesn't have it in him to push Clint away.
He listens to Clint's calm breathing, feels the way he lies curled up against him, and tries to store this away for memory. He always had a feeling that this was too good to be true.
Phil doesn't sleep that night.
He doesn't know whom he expects when he opens the door, but it's not Pepper. He also doesn't know what he expected, but a slap across the face was not on the list. Pepper has her most terrifying 'you did something I disapprove of, and you're going to be very, very sorry about it' look, and Phil resigns himself to the fact that what currently is one of the top-ranking worst days of his life is just about to get worse. “Your archer is currently shooting whatever ridiculous trick arrows my fiancé keeps handing himat everything within range, which means pretty much everywhere, and which includes my prized art collection. You have five minutes to explain to me what is going on and how you intend to fix it, Phillip J. Coulson.”
Phil tells her.
Pepper slaps him again.
Then she helps herself to his coffee and one of his notepads, pulls him down to sit next to her and explains why that will break and not fix matters and what he needs to do instead. Phil kisses her on the cheek and promises her his firstborn child if it works. Pepper tells him that it will, and that she'll settle for a large box of cupcakes.
They have a long conversation which only happens because Pepper and Tasha lock them into their bedroom and there is nothing else they can do. Well, they could face in opposite directions and stare at the wall, but that would accomplish nothing.
Phil very much wants to fix this. He hopes Pepper has managed to slap enough sense into him to do it.
He hopes Natasha has been likewise effective in making Clint amenable to sorting this out.
In the end, they accuse the other of and admit to being idiots, spend a period of time worthy of hormonal teenagers kissing in which Phil tries to make sure Clint will tell him if he's uncomfortable with something and Clint tries to convince Phil that kissing is more than fine and it's definitively not on the list of things he only tolerates because they make Phil happy.
They get out of the room under promise of no more stupidity as well as buying dinner and a lot of cupcakes. From the look Pepper gives him and the one Natasha gives Clint, Phil reckons they are going to be under surveillance for quite a while after this.
When they are on their own again, Phil sits Clint down to make a list and discuss boundaries. Clint sighs and tells Phil that he's making this too complicated. He indulges him anyway.
Phil has no idea how to do this, and while Clint goes along with his attempts, he gets the impression that he's still doing this wrong.
He wonders if perhaps he isn't good enough for Clint after all.
Phil, who doesn't do anything in half measures, does new and unexpected things like learning how to give proper massages. Clint can't say he can complain, but sometimes he wishes Phil would stop making this so difficult. He misses the simplicity of before, the well-known pattern of getting Phil to unwind by carefully placed comments and hands.
He wonders if perhaps Phil will tire of these attempts which never seem to work the way he hopes they would.
He fears that it's more likely that Phil will leave him, citing 'it'd be better for you that way' as reason.
Clint may have let that last part slip during training, so Phil finds himself confronted with an angry Natasha who tells him in no uncertain terms that she will break a number of his bodyparts if he doesn't cease to be stupid about the whole affair.
She also suggests that he stop worrying (loving of bombs optional, and Phil exhales, because if Natasha makes a pop-culture referencing joke, that means the a dire-looking mission is salvageable after all) and do something that makes Clint stop worrying.
Phil, who sometimes enjoys going for the oldest trick in the book just for the sake of novelty, asks Clint if he could accept that Phil needs a bit of space to process this, rather than assume (perhaps somewhat correctly) that Phil was doing all of this solely for Clint's sake. Clint gives him an indulging look and says that while he can see right through him, of course, Phil can have some space, and that it wasn't as if he'd been complaining about the kissing and cuddling Phil had taken to so nicely.
Phil also asks Clint to marry him. Clint gives him an incredulous look for that and spends a month explaining how this is an excessive reaction and something Phil really doesn't have to do to prove anything to Clint whenever Phil brings it up again, but eventually he says yes.
That improves matters. It doesn't necessarily iron out all the wrinkles, but Phil has a notion that they might stand a chance after all.
-Epilogue-
One evening, Phil comes home to find Clint on the bed in what appears to be the world's most carefully arranged 'casual sprawl' pose, wearing nothing but a similarly carefully arranged bedsheet, hair ruffled as if he simply woke up looking like a privately commissioned porno for Phil by accident. He grins, that grin Phil used to think meant that showers and dinner and potentially more paperwork could wait and Phil's priority was to come and fuck Clint senseless. Phil sighs and resigns himself to a cold shower.
Clint throws a pillow at him and tells him he's an idiot. Phil tells him he loves him. He showers and congratulates himself on a job frustratingly but well done.
When he emerges from the shower, Barton is wearing ridiculously form-fitting black jeans and.. 'Barton, is that eyeliner?' Clint shrugs. Phil thinks it shouldn't be possible for a shrug to require this many flexed muscles. “I know how you looked at me that Halloween, sir. You know I fight dirty if that's what it'll take.” Phil tries to go for exasperated, and not for all the other things his brain currently unhelpfully supplies. “And what happened to not calling me sir outside work?” “What happened to 'only in the bedroom and only when I mean it', sir?” Barton shoots back, and damn him, that'll be right back to the shower with him. “Clint, look, you don't have to - “ “Phil. No, I don't. I know I don't. But this cold shower thing is really starting to get to me. You're treating me differently, like you have to handle me with cotton gloves, like you have to ask permission to be near me. It's not like that, Phil. I don't want you to act like this out of some notion that this was in my best interest, because it's not.” Phil had a coherent and elaborate answer to that, but then Clint, who indeed fought dirty, and effectively so, pulled him against himself and said, just roughly enough to bypass Phil's brain completely, “For fuck's sake, sir, it's not as if I get nothing out of this. The way you look at me, how you trust me, how you give me all this power to make you lose control, just me, just here, when you are the one who keeps it together at all other times. The way you hold on to me as if for dear life, as there was nothing that mattered to you more than that I am there, when you come; the way your hair is ruffled and how you sometimes sheepishly smile afterwards, and how you make up regulations when you realize you do and are embarrassed about it. I may not care about the sex aspect of sex, but.. well, it's about more than that. And now stop torturing yourself and come to bed with me. Phil. Please.”
Phil considers refusing. He considers telling Clint that this isn't what Phil wants (which would be a blatant lie), and that this isn't what Clint wants (which would probably end with a punch to the face which Phil would deserve), and that he needs time (of which he has had a lot, and in any case the last time he'd used those exact words had not exactly been a success). He considers how Clint's ass looks in those jeans, and how he looks years younger and rather unduly stunning with the eyeliner (instead of looking like a SHIELD asset in his late 30s wearing makeup), and how he's tired of trying to do the right thing and doing the wrong thing instead.
He comes to bed with Clint.
Phil doesn't last long, and if it weren't for the fact that this felt new and important and like a first time, he'd be embarrassed that all it took was a couple of kisses and a hand job. But Clint looks at him with that smile that is only reserved for his bow and sometimes for Phil, and embarrassment can be damned. “You're going to stain the pillow if you go to bed wearing that”, he says, because they've said everything important already. “Who said anything about going to bed yet?”
In the end, they manage more rounds than he thought he was capable of at his age, and Clint laughs as he tells him so. Clint's hands and mouth are every bit as talented as he remembered, and he manages not to tell Clint how much he's missed this, but it's a close call. “What do I do for you?” Phil asks, because this is the new part, because he's at a loss what 'to reciprocate' means now. Clint laughs. “First, stop making this complicated, because it's really not. Then, come cuddle. And keep looking at me like that.” “Like what?” They've said everything important, and by now the part where they don't really do sappy and deeply philosophical relationship talks has caught up with both of them. It feels like normality. “Just... like that.”
In the morning, there are stains on the pillow, and Clint looks like a goth teenager after a rough night out. Phil tells him he told him so. Clint tells him it was worth it.
When Clint invites him to shower with him, Phil doesn't say no. Clint grins. Phil feels like he passed the entry exam to his own relationship.
He sends Pepper a box of cupcakes, an IOU for his firstborn child, and an invitation to the engagement party