Archive of Our Own ^beta

Title: Tights Optional
Author: the_con_cept
Pairing: Steve/Phil (but it’s mostly centered around an adventure Phil has with their kid)
Rating: G
Word count: ~5,900
Contains(s): Nada. Fluff and guns and swashbuckling, but no sex or blood or anything like that. MCU and Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. characters.
Beta: evrybodysdarlin <3 and all further mistakes are mine.
Summary: Phil and Steve have a little boy who naturally wants to grow up to be just like Captain America—at least until he realizes that heroes don’t need superpowers.

“Why?”

“Because it’s not allowed.” Phil glanced in the rearview mirror before changing lanes.

The voice from the backseat piped up again. “Why?”

“Because you might get hurt.” Phil took the next exit. They were almost there, but he was still running half an hour late.

“Why?”

“Because sometimes there are bad guys.”

Billy played with his plastic shield, frowning. “I’m not afraid of bad guys.”

“I know.” Phil grinned, turning onto Elm. Billy wasn’t afraid of anything much. Just last week they’d narrowly averted disaster when he’d climbed up on one of the deck chairs and tried to jump over the balcony railing. As he’d explained, when Steve had caught him, he was only trying to see if he could figure out how to fly. Steve had assured him that he couldn’t—at which point Billy had said, with his usual stubborn logic, that no one could know that until he’d tried. Phil had told him he’d just have to practice closer to the ground. Now he was sporting a scab on his chin from trying to do just that, but at least he’d seemed to come to accept the fact that flying was out of the question.

Phil winked at him in the rearview mirror. “Let’s sing our theme song,” he suggested. This drew a wide, gap-toothed grin from his son.

“When Captain America throws his mighty shieeeeeeeeeeld,” they sang happily. It was Billy’s favorite song, much to Steve’s chagrin. Come to think of it, it was sort of Phil’s favorite, too. It kept them occupied for the rest of the drive, with no further questions about why Billy couldn’t accompany Phil on the mission. They pulled into his sister’s driveway. Phil looked over his shoulder. “We’re here.” Phil got out and opened Billy’s door for him.

“I’m going to be a superhero,” Billy informed him seriously.

“I know.” Phil took the boy’s hand and led him up the steps.

“Superheroes need bad guys to fight.”

“I applaud your logic,” Phil replied. “But six year-old superheroes require a bit of training before they can take on the ones I usually face.” He rang the doorbell.

“Dad says you should always challenge yourself,” Billy replied.

Phil did a double-take. Billy did that sometimes—precocious, people called it. Phil suspected that although Billy had not inherited any of Steve’s superpowers, he had inherited his father’s intensely strategic mind. “He was talking about why you should at least taste the Brussels sprouts before saying you don’t like them,” Phil told him as the front door opened. “But nice try.”

“Phil! I tried to call you back . . .”

Phil took one look at Maggie’s face and sighed. He was going to have to call Fury. “What’s up?”

“Nate’s running a high fever this morning. I made an appointment with his pediatrician, but I think maybe it would be better if . . .”

“If we didn’t expose Billy to the bug. I get it.”

“I tried to call you, but—”

“Ah.” Phil gave her a wry smile. “Billy tried to help around the house by putting my phone in the dishwasher.” Of all the weeks for the nanny to be on vacation; Phil made a mental note to give the girl a raise. He had no idea that her job was every bit as crazy as his.

“Oh, dear.” Maggie put one hand over her mouth, but couldn’t hide the smile in her blue eyes.

“Cell phones and kitties and Pop’s paperwork do not go in the dishwasher,” Billy explained seriously. “Make a note, because that’s important,” he added, echoing what Phil had told him that morning. He held up a hand with band-aids on it, courtesy of Kitty having told him in no uncertain terms that she was not interested in a bath.

“I’ll do that,” Maggie said. Funny how much she reminded Phil of their mom when they were growing up, with those curls and her shining eyes. “Phil, I’m really sorry—”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it. Are you going to be all right?”

“Sure.”

“Mooo-ooommy!” Nate whined from his bedroom.

“That would be for me,” Maggie said with a half smile. “I’d better get him bundled up for the doctor. Call you later?”

“Sure,” Phil said. He looked down at Billy. “I guess you get to see Pop’s office after all. Let me just call in and let them know what’s going on.”

“Captain America! You’re shorter than I pictured you,” Skye exclaimed.

Billy scowled.

“This is one of the nice ladies I work with,” Phil explained. Billy looked at him. “You outrank her,” he added sternly.

Skye blinked. “Wow, I’m even lower on the totem pole than I thought.” She shrugged. “On the other hand, he is Captain America.”

Phil offered a crooked smile. “It’s, er, code. Steve taught him that a true gentleman is always polite to his professional subordinates,” he explained. “It makes things easier.”

“So I hear we’re not going to New Zealand? I’m super disappointed. I was going to read The Hobbit to FitzSimmons on the plane.”

“Maybe tomorrow. Had a bit of an emergency today, but Steve’ll be back this evening, so we should be good to go.”

“Speaking of Steve, does he always dress like that?” She nodded to Billy.

“It’s a phase,” Phil replied. He knew all little boys did it—hell, he’d worn his Captain America footie pyjamas until he could literally no longer get them on. Billy, who adored his father, had a Captain America hoodie and plastic shield, and he wore them everywhere. “For Halloween this year, I plan on donning a Captain America outfit myself; with luck the three of us can trick-or-treat as a family of Captains.”

“And the, uh, other Captain will be down for that?” Skye asked dubiously.

Phil laughed. “He’s praying Billy will grow out of it soon. Me, I think it’s hilarious. I encourage it at every turn.”

“Such a thoughtful husband,” Skye teased.

“I’m a superhero,” Billy explained. “Like my dad. See my super strength?” He demonstrated this by punching the wall. “Ow.”

“No hitting things,” Phil remonstrated.

“Sometimes things need hitting,” Billy replied.

“Did the wall need hitting?”

Billy gave this some consideration. “No.”

“Then what do you say?”

“Sorry.”

“You know, your other dad is a hero, too,” Skye told him.

Billy looked up at Phil doubtfully. “But he doesn’t have super strength,” he noted.

“That’s true. But you don’t need super strength to save the world. You just need a super heart, and your dad’s got one.”

Billy sighed. “But I want super strength,” he said. This was becoming An Issue. Billy had followed his father’s exploits, but would not be able to follow in his footsteps; the serum had not been replicated, and Steve’s superpowers had not been passed on genetically. Unfortunately, Billy refused to believe that he would not one day develop his own superpowers. At six, it was all he wanted in life. Phil could understand that; his admiration of Steve had largely driven his own life choices. But like Phil, one day Billy would have to accept that he would have to be super without the superpowers. Hopefully, someday Billy would realize it didn’t restrict him as much as one might expect.

“Listen, we had a little accident, so I just need to pick up a new phone and copies of the paperwork on the—” Phil was interrupted by a booming voice.

“The fuck is going on here? Am I running a midget espionage group? Are we busting a candy smuggling ring?” Nick Fury stood in the doorway, fists planted on his hips, wearing his trademark glower.

Billy Coulson beamed at him. “Nope. I’m here to hunt the fucking bad guys, Uncle Nick.”

“Do not let your father hear you say that word,” Phil cautioned.

Laughing a big, booming laugh, Nick instantly swooped down and picked Billy up. “Well, shit. You’d be the most mature person on Phil’s whole fucking team, anyway. You want some candy, Ace?” He produced an improbable lollipop from the depths of his black leather trench coat.

“Whoa, candy! You never give me candy!” Skye protested.

Nick, busy ruffling Billy’s hair, didn’t even look at her. “I’ll give you a boot in the ass if you don’t watch it,” he told her. “What are you doing here, Ace?”

“Cici went to Bermuda, and I washed the cat and the phone and the papers and then my cousin Nate got the flu so Pop can’t leave me with Aunt Maggie, or I’ll get sick, too,” Billy told him. He popped the sucker in this mouth and grinned around it.

“Well, no you sure can’t. Don’t want my baby getting no flu,” Fury said, kissing his forehead.

Skye raised her eyebrows and looked at Phil, who shrugged. Nick Fury was the hardest hardass who’d ever walked the earth, and every person who knew him walked in fear, including Phil, but his godson, William Nicholas Rogers Coulson had had the director wrapped around his chubby little finger from the day he was born.

“I’m glad you’re here; I need to talk to you about those requisitions,” Fury told Phil. The look in his eye said Phil was in trouble. “You really think I’m made of money, don’t you?”

“No, sir.” Phil grappled with himself but couldn’t help adding, “I’ll just ask Fitz to go out in the woods and gather some sticks and stones and feathers, and put together some bows and arrows for the next alien invasion.”

“It would be real nice if I owned the mint or, hell, China, but I don’t get to hold my hand out to Uncle Sam and say, ‘Give me money, bitch,’” Fury informed him. “Cutting edge weapons don’t grow on trees.”

“I’m aware of that, sir, but—”

“Er. Why don’t I just take Captain America on a little tour while the two of you, uh, scream obscenities at each other?” Skye offered.

Fury handed him over. “Look, I can get my hands on maybe half of this—”

“Half? So why don’t you just give us the bullets and we’ll throw them at the enemy?”

Fury’s eye narrowed dangerously, but Phil wasn’t about to back down. Not on this. “Two thirds,” Fury offered in a hard voice.

“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s unacceptable. My team faces incredibly dangerous situations almost every day, and they require cutting edge equipment in order to survive.”

“Hey, Cap, let me show you where we keep the guns!” Skye said loudly, drowning them out.

“Cool,” Billy told her.

In the end, Phil got most of what he requested, though it was like pulling teeth. He didn’t like being insubordinate, but dammit, they needed those weapons. After he’d gotten the forms signed by Fury, he went in search of his son, stopping first at the lab, which was rather larger than the one on the bus, though they rarely got to use it. Fitz and Simmons were both wittering away at one another, excited by some new math formula. “Hey. Anyone seen my kid?”

“Was he yours? He looks more like your husband. Maybe it was the outfit. He was so cute,” Simmons told him. “Dressing like his Da and all.”

Fitz made a noise, wrinkling his nose.

“What, you didn’t like him?” Simmons looked surprised.

“I liked him fine. It’s just that kids are so . . . biological. All covered with germs and everything. Wiping their noses on their sleeves—blech. But he was very well-behaved, I’ll admit. I even showed him some of the weapons I’ve been working on, and his interest was very flattering.”

“Yeah, he likes guns.” Phil could understand the draw; without powers, you looked for something else to give you an advantage. Billy understood that instinctively. But they were careful to keep him away from that sort of thing as much as possible. Even thinking about Billy getting his hands on a Phase Two weapon made Phil’s palms sweat. “Where is he now?”

“Oh, I think he’s in the video conferencing room watching cartoons,” Simmons said.

“Oh, good. Several giant monitors, all showing Bugs Bunny explosions. And I was worried he’d be over-stimulated and hopped up on candy for the rest of the day,” Phil said, rolling his eyes.

“A little Bugs Bunny never hurt anyone,” Simmons told him firmly.

“In fact, I got quite a few of the ideas for my early inventions from the Acme company,” Fitz piped up. “Mind you, they didn’t much work, but it’s hard to get your hands on the ingredients for dynamite when you’re eight years old.”

Phil groaned. “Which reminds me; I should check in on my little troublemaker.” He nodded to his team and headed down to the conference room, shoes clicking on the highly-polished floors.

As he came around the corner, he could see Billy’s form, standing in front of the giant screens, enthralled. “Hey, kiddo, wh—” A blast on the screens brought Phil to a halt. He saw his own body slumped against the wall, his mouth bloody. “So that’s what it does,” said the Phil Coulson onscreen. Horrified, Phil rushed over and hit a switch, plunging the room into darkness.

Billy spun. “I was watching that!” he protested.

“And you shouldn’t have been!” Phil snapped. He turned to find Skye walking up behind him. “And where the fuck were you?” He almost never swore in front of the kid, but he was so angry he couldn’t help himself.

Skye looked taken aback. “I just had to use the restroom.”

“Did you show him this?” Phil took her arm and led her to a monitor, where he rebooted the simulation, careful not to let Billy see. Her face went white.

“No,” she swore. “I had it set to Thundercats. He must have accessed it from the main database somehow. Wow, how did you do that, little man? Those are supposed to be encrypted! You have some mad hacking skills!”

Phil wanted to say more, to demand to know how it could happen, but Billy was tugging his jacket. “Was that you, Pop? Was that really you?” he demanded.

“It was just pretend,” Phil assured him. God, of all the things he never wanted Billy to see. He was going to have to find a therapist. No boy should see his father die. “It was just pretend, Billy.”

“Did you really shoot that guy?”

“No.”

“How come Dad didn’t help?”

“He was busy.”

“So you did shoot that guy!”

“Billy . . .”

“Awesome,” Billy said, surprising him.

“I—uh—shooting people isn’t awesome.” He thought about Loki for a moment. “Sometimes it’s a little awesome,” he admitted. “But don’t shoot people, okay?” He shut the monitors down and turned to Skye. “Clear that out of the memory and make sure no one sees it again.”

“Yes, sir.” He knew she was taking him seriously by the way she spoke—in short, acquiescent sentences with no hint of her usual stumbling.

He was still angry, but he knew better than to say anything while he was angry. It was better to wait until he’d cooled off. “We’ll talk about his later,” he said. She nodded. Phil motioned for Billy to follow him. “Let’s go, son. I’m hungry. Ready for some lunch?”

“Grilled cheese,” Billy told him.

“Grilled cheese,” Phil agreed. He tried not to show how upset he was. Billy seemed to be okay, but you never knew how that sort of thing would affect a kid.

“With tomato soup.”

“Excellent choice. Let’s hit it.” Just as he took Billy’s hand, there was a loud blast. He turned to Skye; she shook her head.

“Wasn’t me.”

Nick Fury’s voice came over the intercom. “Attention, all personnel. We have a security breach at the—” Another blast, and the com cut out.

“Can you get that back online?” Phil barked. “Find out what’s going on.”

She was already moving. She grabbed her cell and began frantically jabbing at buttons.

What the hell was going on? Headquarters had never been attacked! Phil had never imagined anyone would have the balls to go up against Nick Fury on his own ground.

“Fitz says it’s the lab,” Skye told him. She looked up at Phil, eyes very wide. “He says—uh—he says Simmons is down. He says they’re demanding access to the Phase Two weapons, whatever those are. He needs—” Another blast rocked them, causing Skye to grab a counter to keep from getting knocked off her feet.

“All right. I’m going to go and . . . handle things. You take Billy and get him out of here.”

“Love to! How!?” Skye demanded, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Phil went to a bottom cabinet and opened it, sweeping the electronic junk out and pressing a button set in the frame. The wood panel at the back slid open.

“Awesome!” Billy shouted.

“Hush.” Phil nodded to the tunnel. “South fifteen feet, make a right, head west for, fuck, about fifty feet, left, then the first right fork, then straight on until you see daylight—that’ll be the grate above the back parking lot, about eight feet off the ground. Can you do that?”

Skye was already pushing Billy into the cupboard. “I’m not great with directions,” she warned. “Once I got lost in a shopping mall parking lot for six hours near Christmas. I—”

Phil grabbed her phone and hit the record function and snapped, “South fifteen feet, make a right, head west for fifty feet, left, then the first right fork, then straight on until you see daylight!”

“I got it, Pop,” Billy said. “We’ll be okay.” Then he paused and looked over his shoulder, expression uncertain. “You come, too.”

Phil bent quickly and kissed his head. “I can’t, champ.” He looked out into the hallway, planning his next move. “When your dad’s on assignment in Siberia, it’s my job to take out the trash.”

“Agent Coulson. I was hoping to see you.” The voice was thickly accented.

“Harris,” he said. Harris was one of the best. “Who hired you?”

The man only grinned. He was from New Zealand, originally, but had left for more adventurous climes when he was only fifteen. Now he was a world-class smuggler; Phil had come up against him once, years ago, and he had gotten away. Not this time.

“Join your friends,” Harris suggested. His grin widened when Phil hesitated. “I know you think you’ve got the drop on me, but you’d be wrong.” He nodded over Phil’s shoulder. Phil swiveled, slowly, and discovered a small dot of red on his suit that followed him. “Come on in. Join us. Might want to check that your little missy ain’t hurt too badly.”

That settled it; Phil could take out the guy behind him and probably Harris as well, but he’d have to assess Simmons first. He dropped his weapon, kicked it away, and walked slowly over to where Fitz was kneeling over a prone body.

“Good boy,” Harris said approvingly. “We’ve been waiting for you. Needed a level seven for the password.”

Phil ignored this. They weren’t getting any passwords out of him. “Are you all right?” he asked the weapons specialist quietly.

“Simmons is right out,” Fitz hissed at him. He hadn’t moved her, but had used his coat to staunch the blood coming from her forehead. “I wish it had been me.”

Phil blinked. “Why?”

“Because she doesn’t throw up at the sight of blood,” Fitz explained. He did look rather green. “I wish Ward had been here. He’d know what to do.”

Phil gently examined Simmons; she was unconscious, and that was about all he could say. Her breathing was steady and her color was good. And she had no weapons, damn it. “Why are you here?” he asked Harris.

“Phase Two weapons.” Had to hand it to him; Harris got straight to the point.

Phil smiled grimly. “The weapons are useless. There’s no energy source. The tesseract’s gone.”

“We have an energy source. We just need the weapons.” He motioned to the door and another armed man entered.

That’s when Phil noticed the small light on the side of the man’s automatic. It glowed an unearthly green. “Where did you get that?”

“Never you mind.” He spoke into some sort of intercom on his wrist. “Ready the explosives.”

“I think that’s the 0-8-4 we were supposed to go after today,” Fitz whispered excitedly. “Isn’t that handy?”

“Enemies breaking into headquarters with their own Phase Two weapons with unknown capability?” Phil pulled a face. “Not so handy.”

Fitz, however, was floating on some sort of technological high. “Will you look at that? It’s outfitted with what looks like very advanced Piezoelectric portable scavengers with reverse polarization, if I know my EM harvesters, and I do.” He grabbed Phil’s arm, eyes alight with an unholy love of all things tech. “Sir, sir! This is Stark-level engineering! Do you realize what this means?”

Phil thought back to what very little he knew about engineering. “That they’re capable of harvesting ambient energy?”

“Among other things! I’d guess they’re capable of harvesting energy and sourcing it out to other equipment. Look at the crystals, the circuits! I’d bet that they could tune it to that energy source—which I’m willing to bet my arse is alien—and they could power it over, well, who knows how big a distance?”

“Oh, joy,” Phil said weakly. “So what you’re telling me is that with that energy source and our weapons, New Zealand is about to become the world’s next superpower and possible ruler of the world?”

“Could be worse, sir.”

“Ranked high in education, high quality of life and so on?” Phil ventured, not really listening. He was looking for an opportunity to get the jump on one of their enemies. Harris was pacing, talking into his com.

“Oh, er, could be. Mostly I meant that New Zealand’s been home to the likes of Sir Vaughn Jones, who increased my interest in low-dimensional topology, and Stephen Parke, Sir Julian von Haast, Ernest Rutherford, not to mention Beatrice Tinsley and Maurice Wilkins! Are you familiar with Wilikins? If not, you’re really missing out.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Phil muttered. “I’m pretty sure these guys aren’t here on behalf of the government and I doubt they’re interested in dispensing high quality of life to everyone.”

The intercom on Harris’ wrist went silent. “The explosives are set. That means you have ten seconds to give me the password to the weapons vault, or I’ll blow it open and take what I want without your help.”

“You’ll have to detonate,” Phil told him. If the guy moved just a couple of feet closer, Phil would have the advantage.

“Ten,” Harris said quietly, stepping forward. “Nine . . . eight . . .” Phil very carefully shifted his weight, ready to spring. “Seven . . . six . . . fi—”

A cupboard suddenly swung open and Skye’s head popped out. She saw the men with guns. “Whoops,” she said. “Sorry, wrong room. I’ll, uh, give you guys some privacy,” she ducked back in and shut the cupboard behind her. One blast and the door was gone. “Oh jeez, oh jeez,” Phil heard her mutter.

The man with the gun walked over and jabbed it in the cupboard. “You. Out.”

Skye obeyed, hands on the back of her head. “I knew I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque,” she said.

Harris said, “Anyone else in there?” Phil shared a tense look with Skye.

The other man with the gun bent and looked in. “Nope. Clear,” he said.

Phil let out a long breath. At least Billy was out of it for the moment.

“Hands behind your head and get down on the ground,” Harris barked at Skye. “You too,” he added to Phil and Fitz.

Phil nodded, and he and Skye did as they were told. First he was going to have to get the guy on the left. He could use him as a shield, get his weapon, cover Skye—

There was another blast that rocked the room. Harris touched the communicator on his wrist. “Talk to me,” he ordered.

A tinny voice came over the speaker. “The weapons room is open.”

Harris turned back to Phil with a grin and pointed his weapon at them. “You know what that means?”

Phil didn’t answer.

“That means you’re expendable.”

Phil braced himself, but before he could move there was an explosion of sound and light and the tall man was knocked, head over heels, across the room. He shared a shocked look with Skye and Fitz.

Billy stood by the cupboard, holding a Destroyer Gun. “So that’s what it does,” Billy said.

The other man turned toward Billy, and Phil felt his blood run cold. But as he stepped forward, Billy raised the gun threateningly. “Move away, please,” he said in a calm voice.

The man sneered. As his gun began to arc through the air, Phil leapt. He grabbed the gun, forcefully pointing at the empty doorway, and used his other hand to hammer the man’s face repeatedly, knocking his head back. The blood was rushing in Phil’s ears—he was in the grip of pure, undiluted rage. Finally the guy stumbled back and Phil managed to wrench the gun away. He tossed it aside: now he could use both hands to beat the snot out of the man who dared to try leveling a weapon at Phil’s son.

Eventually, Fitz got up the nerve to insert himself bodily between Phil and his adversary. “That’s good, sir,” he was saying in a soothing, almost condescending voice. Phil realized the man had been talking for quite some time, but he’d been in too much of a fury to hear it. “That’s very good. You’ve apprehended him very thoroughly, sir. They don’t get much more apprehended than that. I think you can stop, now.”

Phil stood down, feeling shaky. His hands were trembling a little. He turned around to find Skye was holding the Destroyer, having taken it away from Billy. “Give me that right now,” Phil ordered. He turned to his son. “That is not a toy—haven’t I told you that we don’t play with guns?”

“Wasn’t playing,” Billy said truculently. He didn’t look sorry, either. “Anyway, that was awesome.”

“That was not awesome.”

“It was a little awesome.”

Skye jumped up and picked Billy up, hugging him. “My hero,” she said, kissing his cheek. Billy wrinkled his nose.

“Why didn’t you go outside like I told you?”

“All the bad guys were in here,” Billy explained patiently. “Outside is boring. Anyway, she got lost first,” he pointed at Skye. “And if you take the second fork on the right, there’s a room with a bunch of really great guns like this one!”

Phil examined the gun. “How is this even working? It shouldn’t be working with—”

“Ambient energy,” Fitz explained to Phil. “Like I said, this rivals something that would come from Stark. The alien energy is powering our guns! Isn’t that amazing? Wait ‘till Simmons wakes up! Oh, she’ll be so sorry she missed it!”

“I wonder who came up with it?” Phil murmured, but that was a mystery to solve another day. The guns were now operable, and Harris being down was the only advantage Phil had. He’d better make his move while he had the chance. “Call medical and stay here,” he ordered the others. “And for god’s sake, keep my kid out of the . . . out of everything,” he added lamely.

Billy looked disappointed. “Are you mad at me?”

Phil mussed his hair. “No. You stayed calm and you did a good job, and I’m proud of you. Now Pop is just going to go out and take care of the rest of the bad guys. Then we’ll go to lunch.”

“McDonald’s,” Billy suggested; it was a treat he only got on special occasions.

Phil grinned. “You betcha,” he said, taking the safety off and turning to the door. “You earned it.”

Halloween was a rare day when Phil and Steve were both home from missions, but Phil dropped by headquarters anyway, because Fury wasn’t off duty, and he demanded to see his godson before trick-or-treating started. It was supposed to be quick—just ducking in and out, but—

“That. Is so. Cute.” Fitz commented as they passed him in the hall.

Both Phil and Billy gave him a bland smile.

Simmons was so overcome she just sort of squeaked, covering her mouth with both hands. “I have to go find my camera!” she said, then darted off.

Skye ambushed them next; Phil suspected she’d hacked into the surveillance cameras and had seen them coming. “Oh. My. God. He’s—he’s adorable,” Skye gushed. She bent. “And who are you today?”

“Agent Coulson,” Billy replied. “Same as always.” Phil knew he didn’t like being called adorable, but he kept a deadpan expression.

This didn’t work.

“Oh. My. GOD. He even knows how to do the face!”

Billy winced behind his dark glasses. He tried to adjust his tie, which caused it to come loose. He picked it up off the floor and clipped it back on. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said. “I’m here to work, not to flirt. Uncle Clint says that’s superhero rule number five; do the job before you get the girl.”

He looked annoyed by her shriek of laughter. “Oh, my god, he’s going to kill me! I have to get a picture,” she said whipping out her cell phone. “Please let me get a picture!”

Billy looked up at his father, who shrugged. “When you’re this good, you have to put up with the fangirls,” Phil told him.

Billy gave a long-suffering sigh and posed by crossing his arms over his chest. His hair was slicked back, his suit was expensive . . . his badge even looked authentic. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Skye said after snapping a picture. “Can I get it autographed if I print it out?”

This finally brought just a small smile to the little boy’s face. “Okay.”

“Cool. I sent it to the printer in that room,” Skye said pointing. “Could you grab it for me while I hunt down a pen?”

The mini-celebrity nodded and obediently went to pick up the picture.

“A-fucking-dorable,” Skye whispered at Phil. “Is he yours or Steve’s, biologically speaking?”

“Steve’s.”

Phil was proud, he really was—but he was embarrassed, too. He’d tried to dissuade the boy, but it turned out he was in the minority. When Tony Stark caught Billy in a make-shift Phil costume, he’d immediately sent emails (with pictures attached) to the whole team. Clint had found the glasses, Natasha got him a tie for his birthday, Nick made him a little ID and had it laminated, and Tony himself had bought Billy about fifteen identical little well-tailored Phil-Coulson-Replica Dolce & Gabbana suits, and now the boy refused to wear anything else.

“A-fucking-dorable,” Skye repeated. “And this is coming from someone who hates kids.”

“You must be Skye,” said a voice over Phil’s shoulder

Phil and Skye both turned to see Steve walking toward them.

“I—I—are you—” she stammered.

Steve shook her hand. “Steve Rogers. We’re just about to head out and go trick-or-treating.”

Skye looked impressed. “So that’s your costume?”

“Pretty authentic, huh?” Steve grinned, posed, showing off his own Dolce & Gabbana suit, his dark glasses—and his plastic Destroyer Gun.

“Hot,” Skye agreed. “You don’t have the expression right, though.”

Steve looked at Phil and straightened, looking stern. “Better?”

“More cool, more impassive,” Skye instructed. “More—you know, chill. Like you just bombed the shit out some alien and you don’t even care. You know, suave as hell.”

Steve tried, but now Phil was shuffling his feet self-consciously, and Steve started to laugh. “What’s the matter?” he teased, slipping an arm around Phil’s waist. “You were the one who suggested we should all wear the same costume.”

“I didn’t expect Billy to insist on dressing like me,” Phil grumbled. Multiple Captain Americas were cute. Multiple Agent Coulsons were a little mortifying.

“Karma’s a bitch, huh?” Skye put in.

Steve laughed again and nudged him. “Now you know how I feel. Last week it took a lot of coaxing to get him to put down that shield long enough to eat dinner. Last night it took me half an hour to convince him he wasn’t allowed to wear wingtips to bed.” Steve nuzzled his cheek in a proud and affectionate sort of way. “At least his taste is improving.” Phil was never going to get used to the heat of Steve Rogers’ body, the scent of the man, that sweet, crooked smile he wore whenever he looked at Phil. Phil’s face began to heat up.

“The unflappable AC blushing?” Skye put in. “Never thought I’d see the day.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m telling you—the whole family as slick g-men? A-fucking-dorable. Can I get a picture?”

“Take a couple and forward one to me,” Steve said. “I’m going to put it on this year’s Christmas card.”

He and Phil posed together. “You realize most people are just going to think we’re dressed as accountants or something?”

“With the guns and the shades? No way. Government agents all the way. Let’s take one with Billy, too,” Steve said.

“Speaking of which—where did our kid go?” Phil wondered. “It shouldn’t take that long for him to go around the corner and come back.”

They found Nick Fury holding him aloft in the copy room. “What if I got you an eye-patch and a really slick leather jacket for Christmas?” he was saying with an earnest look on his face. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars,” he offered.

Billy shook his head, looking very serious. “I’m sorry sir, but that’s unacceptable.”

Skye hooted in mirth again. “Face it, Director, you lost him.”

“Huh. Wait ‘till he sees me in action,” Fury said. “Jumping out of helicopters and shit. I can be badass, too.” He looked sadly at his godson. “I need a hug,” he said.

Billy obliged, which seemed to cheer the man up.

“You’re gonna make a hell of an agent someday,” Nick told him. He set him down, reached into his trenchcoat and handed him a full-size Snickers bar, causing both Phil and Steve to groan. “You two can shut the fuck up. I gotta keep my cool cred around here somehow,” he added.

Billy was delighted. “I didn’t even have to say trick-or-treat!” Then he cleared his throat and tried to look businesslike. “I mean, thank you, Director Fury. I appreciate your vote of confidence. And the candybar.”

“Can I get your autograph now?” Skye asked. She found a pen and handed it to him.

“Yup,” Billy said. He very carefully printed his name on his picture and gave it back to her.

“I want one, too,” Fury said. They printed another, then they took another picture, one of the whole family with replica Destroyer Guns slung over their shoulders. Each man carefully signed his name over his picture. Steve said he was going to make copies for Christmas.

“Fuck copies,” Fury told him. “This shit is going out in the company newsletter.”

Phil groaned.

“Well,” Skye said, “I’m putting mine in a safe, dry place so I can save it forever.” She smiled at Billy. “This is going to be worth a million dollars someday.”

“I know,” he replied, nodding very soberly. He grinned up at Phil. “Because when I grow up, I’m going to be just like Pop.”

A/N: Fic inspired by this awesome kid.