Work Text:
Phil gave his bed partner a sleepy smile as she opened her eyes, golden lashes fluttering over hazy-brown eyes, nowhere near fully awake. He dropped a tender kiss to her forehead and she returned his smile, and then giggled as he kissed her on the top of her nose.
“Phil, you’re so silly.” She drew out the ‘I’ in his name and the word “silly”, and while he honestly found that annoying when most people did it, he thought it was adorable coming from her. Like most things.
“Your fault.” He murmured, smile on his face and reflected in his voice. She giggled again and snuggled into his chest, her finger tip tracing the faded scar left from a bullet on his shoulder.
“I don’t understand how a man who’s so silly in the morning can have more than one bullet scar, Phil.” Her voice had dropped to that dangerous, low tone he’d come to almost-fear from her. It happened most often in the evenings, over dinner in her home. Usually the mornings were safe. Phil was disappointed to find that wasn’t the case anymore.
He traced a finger over her cheek, tucking a strand of rebellious, dirty blonde hair behind her ear, smiling faintly at the freckles that dusted her skin. She was young, compared to him. Forty, and just barely. Almost ten years his junior, but sometimes she acted even younger. It was endearing, and it made him feel young, too. (When it wasn’t making him feel even older, anyway.)
But for all her youthful spirit, she could be horribly observant. He didn’t want her to catch him in a lie, so he’d told her the truth—as much as he could. He worked for SHIELD. It was a government thing, nothing serious. And besides, he worked behind a desk, doing paper work. Nothing dangerous.
So he hadn’t been too successful with sticking to the truth, after all.
Besides, there were some things he couldn’t hide. Like his scars.
He wasn’t as scarred up as Barton and his ilk, but Phil has his share of scars; three bullet holes (right shoulder, left thigh, and one from a small caliber hand gun on his right side, down by his pelvis), obvious knife scars (The most obvious was one that ran a few inches across his lower back; some idiot obviously hadn’t known how to handle a knife in a gun fight), and a spattering of other small scars from things he couldn’t explain to her (shrapnel wounds, mostly, or scars from where he’d landed in glass or gone through windows and the like).
She wasn’t stupid, his darling cellist.
“I…” Phil paused. What could he say that he hadn’t already? He’d exhausted all of the various ways he had of telling her that he couldn’t tell her, and he knew she was getting fed up with that. She wanted answers from the man she was sharing her bed and, if Phil was right, her heart, with. And he couldn’t blame her. “I used to work a dangerous job, on the streets. Law enforcement. Those scars? They’re the reason I don’t anymore. I can’t tell you more than that.”
She stared at him for a long moment, her earth-brown eyes searching his face for answers or lies (of which she would find neither, his training was far too good.) and after apparently not finding any, she gave him a soft, genuine smile, and settled back against his chest.
“Law enforcement. Basically a cop, then? I don’t see why you couldn’t have told me that before, Phil. Honestly, you men with your secrets.” She kissed her collarbone and Phil smiled, even though she couldn’t see it.
“I don’t like talking about it; it was a long time ago, when I was young. And now I’m old and ache-y and I’ve put it all behind me.” He moved one hand to pet her wild hair, even as she snorted at the reference to his age.
“You’re only, what, a hundred years older than me?” They shared honest laughter, before she scooted away and sat up; her hair falling over her bare breasts in a way hid everything but the shape from view. Phil was sure she did it on purpose. “You’re only ten years older than me, Phil. Stop acting like it’s such a big deal.” She planted a kiss on his mouth, fleeting and chaste, and he smiled after her as she got up from the bed and slowly went about finding his shirt.
He wanted to tell her that almost-fifty was far over the average life expectancy for a field agent (which he still was), and that at work he was practically a dinosaur. Not to mention the strain his job had put on his body and mind over the years made him feel like he was in his eighties, some mornings, and watching his darling Carolyn move about the room in the nude, graceful and fit as a dancer, didn’t always help.
She made a soft noise of triumph and he watched as she pulled his shirt from underneath the chair where she’d thrown it last night. She winked over her shoulder at him as she slowly bent down and then stood up, giving him a view that had him immediately interested, even if it took his body a bit to respond. (He hated being old so much, sometimes.) She put his shirt on and buttoned it all the way down. She came up to his about chin, so the shirt was long enough to cover her.
“I’m going to make breakfast, darling, and then I’ll have to go. We’re driving out to go play at a children’s hospital tomorrow, but it’s an all day drive, so we have to leave soon.” Carolyn’s voice faded slightly as she meandered to the kitchen and went about banging pots and pans (her sign for him to come to the kitchen and make breakfast because she was a god-awful cook). Phil found himself chuckling as he stood up and stretched, slowly, listening to the pops and clicks of his back and joints.
Carolyn was perfectly happy to sleep in the nude, but Phil slept in sleep-pants and boxers, and more often than not a t-shirt, as well, though she’d managed to talk him out of that last night, with dancing fingers and warm, moist kisses.
He went to the bathroom and did his morning routine, but decided against a shower; for once he didn’t have to leave for hours, and he could take his time, shower and clean up the house after Carolyn left for the day. He still got a faint thrill of elation that someone trusted him enough to leave him in their home after they left. It wasn’t something that was done, in his line of work.
It was just one of a thousand ways that Carolyn was different from the people he worked with, and he loved her for each and every one of those precious differences.
Phil didn’t bother putting on actual clothes, knowing that in all likelihood Carolyn would manage to spill something on him. As graceful as she could be, she had her clumsy moments when disaster struck in, most often, messy ways.
He made it to the kitchen to find her sipping coffee, sitting on a stool at the island, the makings for blueberry waffles already out and ready, the waffle maker waiting open with a cup of strong black coffee next to it, steam curling into the morning air. Phil couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his face as he took in the whole, wonderfully domestic scene.
If he was being honest, this was his wildest fantasy, and it was a sweet torture to have it so close to coming true.
Phil dropped a kiss to Carolyn’s shoulder as he walked past to grab his coffee, and he felt one of her hands trail across his back in response. The touch was hardly sexual, lasted for less than a breath, but still felt more intimate than just about anything they’d done in the bedroom last night.
Phil loved it.
He made them waffles and they ate them, reading different sections of the paper and pointing out interesting parts to each other as they did, both laughing at the comics and some of the more ridiculous things in the gossip column. Carolyn pulled out the section with the horoscopes in it, and Phil let her catch him rolling his eyes.
She stuck her tongue out at him and read both of theirs out loud anyway. “For the wonderfully charming, incredibly sexy Scorpio, the next week will bring drastic, swift change. Yadda yadda yadda…a romantic endeavor may meet its end…blah. Sorry, darling. The paper says we have to break up.” She grinned at him and Phil rolled his eyes again.
“I’m sure it does, dear. Just as it said you were charming and sexy.” It was another little routine game of theirs, this silliness over the paper. It was, to Phil at least, terrific.
“It does, Philip. And that was incredibly and wonderfully, thank you very much. And let’s see…Ah, here we go. For the boring Cancer,” She winked to him to show it was a joke, and Phil huffed at her anyway, just to get a giggle. “The next week will test the limits of your physical, mental, and emotional endurance. Test and push those limits to their extremes. Oh my. I wonder what that means?” She looked up at him with just the slightest hint of worry in her dark brown eyes, and Phil shrugged.
“Nothing, Carolyn. They’re vague so that a lot of people can read it and then apply it to their lives later on in the week. Which, I’ve told you before, I won’t do because I don’t believe in all your silly hoodoo things.” While not precisely true—he did not, in fact, believe in magic or hoodoo, as he called it, to get a laugh, or the ridiculous horoscopes, but he did believe in unexplainable things—it never failed to get a huff and a fake pout from his lover.
“Hardly hoodoo, Phil. Besides, what I and my girlfriends do with goats and babies in the cemetery is none of your business.” She held her fake pout—crossed arms and jutting chin included—for all of twelve seconds before she burst out laughing. Her laugh was rich and catching, and Phil found himself laughing along with her, even as he walked quickly around the island from his seat opposite her and gathered her slim figure up into his arms. Her laughter faded as he kissed her, pressing fleeting, innocent kisses to her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, and her forehead, before he pressed a slightly less fleeting kiss to her full, pink lips.
She chased his lips with her own, until she landed her own kiss that was much more passionate and much less innocent. The kissing turned to making out, heavy but leisurely. They might not have all the time in the world right then, but there would always be later, and they weren’t horny teenagers anymore. To them, the promise of later was more than enough to last them after a few steamy kisses and touches.
Or at least, that’s what Phil had to tell himself when they pulled apart and Carolyn nibbled her lower lip as she glanced at the clock.
“I…” She stopped, her shining eyes darting to the floor and then back up three times before she gave Phil a little smile. “I’m going to get ready to go.” Her voice was soft and Phil only nodded and stepped back, letting her go. He wondered (hoped) she’d been about to say ‘I love you’ to him. He wanted her to love him, because he was fairly certain he loved her. But he didn’t want to say it, not until she did, until she was ready.
And fuck his job, too. He was allowed at least one good thing in his life, wasn’t he? At least this? For all the years of service he’d given, for all the bullets and knives he’d taken, all the hits and punches, and for all the horrible things he’d done, to keep the country—the world—safe. All he asked was a chance that this beautiful woman who could pull the saddest of melodies from a cello love him. It shouldn’t have been too much to ask, after everything.
Phil was waiting, but patiently. He wanted Carolyn to say that to him and mean it, so he was willing to wait. After all, old or not, he had time. They had time. And he felt like with how things were going, it would be any day now.
Phil cleaned up as he listened with half an ear to his cellist running around the bedroom, packing things last minute and swearing enough to make a sailor blush. He couldn’t stop the smile that worked its way onto his face as he listened. She was so much his opposite, in almost every aspect. He supposed that’s what drew him to her.
She came skidding into the kitchen a moment later, suitcase stuffed to bursting in one hand, the other tucking his shirt into her jeans. Phil decided not to comment since he had other shirts she’d stolen from him that he could steal back and wear.
“Okay, I should be back in…mm…two days? Maybe three? Lonnie and Silas might want to hang around, book a few more gigs for later in the year or just go out drinking. I’m not really sure, you know how they are.” And Phil could smile and shake his head because he did know how her friends were, and he could still find some quiet amazement in that, too.
Carolyn dropped her suitcase on the floor and threw her arms around Phil’s neck, hugging him close.
“Will you be here when I get back?” Her voice was a soft whisper against the side of Phil’s neck, and he didn’t bother hiding the pleasant shiver it caused him.
“I don’t know. Hopefully.” It was the same answer he gave her every time he had to leave, and as usual, she sagged against him.
“Okay. I’ll wait.” She pressed a quick kiss to the side of his neck, and then pulled back so they could have a proper goodbye kiss. Once they were done, he carried the suitcase to the car for her and they kissed once more before she drove off, cello already packed in the back seat. Phil didn’t even try to fight the smile that stayed on his face until her car rounded the corner and she was gone from sight.
He had a house to clean, now that she was gone. She’d appreciated a clean home when she got back, even if he was at work. And she’d give him an even brighter smile when she saw him after that, too.
Phil hummed a little tune to himself as he worked (He’d fervently deny that it was “Star Spangled Man with a Plan” were anyone to ask or accuse), and took a shower after he finished cleaning the living room, kitchen, and bedroom.
Just as he finished shaving and getting dressed, his cell phone rang with a job for him from SHIELD; go to Project Pegasus and talk to some people there. Apparently there had been strange readings all day, and some of them were getting a little jumpy about it all. Phil agreed with an eye roll, since no one was there to see him, and packed quickly.
Within ten minutes he was in Lola’s front seat and driving down the residential street that Carolyn lived on. Once he got to a back road he’d switch Lola to flight mode. He was honestly more preoccupied with thoughts of Carolyn.
He thought maybe he’d take her dancing when he got back. She loved dancing.