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“Phil, Phil wake up,” Phil stirred irritably at the insistent voice in his ear. What with the temp beds in headquarters being what they were and the worry of Clint being out on op without him, he’d only really dropped off a few minutes ago and waking up felt like swimming upwards through treacle, “Come on babe, wake up now, wake up, I found it, I actually found it!” Clint, the voice, it was Clint, he was home early and he sounded…unusually exuberant for what time it had to be. Phil forced himself up to awareness faster. Finally breaching the surface of sleep, he blinked up into Clint’s joyously grinning face,
“Clint? What is it?” he yawned,” What time is…” Phil stopped abruptly as the intake of breath brought him a nose-full of something very, very bad. He shuffled back, pulling the covers up around himself and grimacing, “…what is that godawful smell?”
“Ah,” sitting on the edge of the bed, still in his full and obviously hard-used tac suit, Clint had the decency to look a little sheepish. The sparkle in his eyes however, didn’t fade one bit, “that’s probably me.”
Phil frowned, “Is there a reason that you smell like the sewer?”
“Because I was in the sewer.” Clint’s answer was matter of fact but frankly devoid of useful information. Phil tried again,
“Why were you in the sewer?”
“Because Fulton went in the sewer, so I had to go in there to catch him.” Clint said, quickly, as if that bland statement didn’t contain the culmination of weeks of work, “But Phil, listen…”
Phil raised an eyebrow, “You caught Fulton?”
“Yes.”
“In the sewer?”
Clint nodded, “After he ran through the market and the bookstore and the butcher’s, yeah. But that’s…”
“Ah.” Phil leaned and sniffed gingerly in Clint’s direction, “I thought I detected the subtle odour of blood in amongst the sewer and rotten vegetables. Is any of it yours?”
Clint shook his head, “None, I promise. But Phil…”
“Well that’s good,” Phil felt the familiar wave of relief, Clint was home again, safe and uninjured. But, his SO brain nagged, he was home rather early, “Clint,” he said slowly, “not that I’m not pleased to see you because I am, I always am,” he repeated and Clint found his hand under the covers and gave it a squeeze, “but why are you here and not in post-op? Shouldn’t you be debriefing?”
“Nah,“ Clint dismissed the idea casually, “I’m submitting extra reports tomorrow.”
Both Phil’s eyebrows rose this time, “Voluntarily?” Usually Clint preferred to submit his report orally as soon as possible after the fact, to cut down on paperwork. Phil tried to keep the surprise out of his voice but some must have leaked through because Clint rolled his eyes,
“Yes,” he sassed, “because…”
“Alright…” Phil turned to the next important issue, frowning at the suspicious smears on the bedsheets around where Clint was sitting, “and again, know that I am very happy to see you, but did you skip the decontamination showers on purpose?”
“Couldn’t get in.” He sounded all together too pleased with himself and Phil narrowed his eyes,
“Why?”
“No ID.”
“Clint,” Phil asked, though he already had his suspicions, “Where’s your ID?”
“Pulled the strip on it.” Clint said smugly, referring to the practise of removing the protective barrier on the back of each S.H.I.E.L.D. ID card that separated the two hidden layers of chemical which, when combined, would eat through and destroy the plastic and embedded microchips in seconds. It was standard practice when needing to be unidentifiable, but Clint was here, he was safe, not compromised or, god forbid, captured, so why would he…Phil hardly dared ask,
“What for?”
“Needed the waterproof case,” Clint sounded smug, that strange excitement that he’d woken Phil with starting to bubble up in his voice again. Phil tried his hardest not to become exasperated, which was getting harder and harder in the face of Clint’s inexplicable mood and the time of night,
“Clint,” he said calmy as possible, “what could you possibly have needed the case for that was worth pulling the strip on yet another ID?”
Clint practically squirmed and the mattress shifted under his excited wriggling, “Something important,” he sing-songed.
Phil waited, but Clint just grinned, was he being deliberately obtuse? “Well,” Phil eventually sighed, “I hope it was, because you know Sharma in HR is going to pull a strip off you when you have to go in for a new one tomorrow, especially after last time.”
“Probably,” Clint agreed, far too happily for someone who knew what dealing with Sharma entailed, “but it was worth it.”
“What was?”
“I’m trying to tell you. I did tell you.”
“No,” Phil was on the very edge of losing his composure. You love him, he reminded himself, he is the love of your life, honestly he is, “I’m really sure you didn’t.”
“I did,” Clint insisted, “When I came in. Maybe you weren’t properly awake. Never mind. So. Phil,” his voice dropped low, practically vibrating with excitement, “I found it.”
Phil was at a loss, “Found what?”
“It.”
Phil took a deep breath, “What are you….” He met Clint’s twinkling gaze, saw how he was virtually fizzing over with excitement, and all at once the breath froze in his chest “…no…” he breathed.
Clint nodded so quickly and fiercely that Phil legitimately feared that his head was in danger of falling off, “Yes!” he crowed.
It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be, Phil could hardly speak, “No.” he said again.
Clint leaned in very close to Phil’s dumbstruck face, “Yes!” he laughed and with a flourish produced his S.H.I.E.L.D. case. Instead of the usual ID, showing through the waterproof display window was a brightly coloured card. Clint pushed the case towards him and Phil took it with shaking hands. Reverently he eased the card free, expecting all the time to be mistaken, to be seeing things…He wasn’t.
“Oh, oh my god,” he groaned, staring with disbelief at a near mint example of the infamous 1952 ‘Captain Manerica’ cigarette card misprint which, because it referred to Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes as ‘best guys since childhood’ rather than ‘best friends’, had caused a storm of outrage leading to the cards being destroyed in their droves. They were almost impossible to find, Phil had been searching fruitlessly for years and now he was holding one, “Oh Clint...” his voice trembled with more than a little awe, “it’s perfect, it’s almost perfect…hardly even foxed…how did you…?”
Clint shrugged, “Told you, chased Fulton through a bookstore. He tried taking the owner as a hostage but I threw a knife so that stopped that, then as he ran off he knocked a table of cookbooks over and this big old one fell on the floor, opened and there it was. They’d been using it as a bookmark babe, a bookmark!” He shook his head, disbelieving, as if that was the wildest part of his story, “Couldn’t just leave it there. The owner said I could have it, as a thank you, so I ripped the ID and stuck it in the case. Fulton had made it to the sewers by the time I got outside, but the blood trail was easy enough to spot and he didn’t get far after that. Then I came straight here because I knew you’d want to see it soon as. What do you think?”
He was grinning again as he finished and Phil found his breath entirely taken away, “Let me get this straight…” he said, slowly, “you are mid-mission with a near hostage situation and chasing a mark you’ve been after for months, and you not only manage to spot and recognise the insanely rare collectable but you make time to stop and pick it up even when it means your mark gets a headstart. You kill your ID even though you know you won’t get range time until you get a new one just so you can use the case to protect it, you still manage to catch your mark and bring him in and then you volunteer for extra paperwork just so you can bring it to me quicker?”
Clint scrubbed at the back of his neck, “Yes?”
Overwhelmed, Phil groaned and fell back against the pillows, “Oh my god, I have the best husband in the world.”
Clint laughed, and leaned down for a kiss, “And I have the nerdiest and most handsome, so that works out.” When he sat back his cheeks were flushed. He looked down, shyly, “You really like it?”
Phil chased him for another kiss, “I love it. I really do. And I love you. Clint…I…you…” he found himself lost for words to describe the immense feelings swelling his chest, god, Clint was too much, too amazing, and he was his. Phil didn’t know how he would ever deserve him, “…thank you,” he finished, trying to put as much of his love as possible into his voice. It must have worked, because Clint blushed again,
“You’re…more than welcome babe, anything for you, you know that.”
They sat, just looking at each other, until the warm and comfortable silence between them began to gather an edge, to grow more heated. Clint shifted, reaching for Phil and the mould/slime/things Phil really did not want to think about smell wafted towards him again, wrinkling his nose, and making him cough. He smiled wryly, “How about,” he suggested, “you take my ID down to the showers and freshen up while I change these sheets and then when you get back, I’ll show you how very grateful I am?”
“Yeah?” Clint stood, scooping up the offered ID from the nightstand, “How grateful is that? Grateful enough to talk to Sharma for me? Or to help me with my report?”
Phil let the smirk slide slow and smooth across his face, “Both,” he assured Clint, “After.”
“After?” Clint looked puzzled and then his eyes widened and he shivered, “Ohhhhh. Right. Yes. I will…be…quick.”
Phil let the bedsheet fall, just slightly, exposing his hip and caught Clint’s eye when it darted down to the shadowed skin and back up again, “I’ll be waiting sweetheart.”
Clint swallowed, “Aw, man, Phil, I will be really, really quick.”
The door clicked closed behind Clint, almost hitting him as he rushed out and Phil chuckled as he climbed out of the bed to switch out the covers. As he finished he saw the card lying on the nightstand and was struck again with a bolt of such overwhelming emotion that he was glad to be lying back down again. Picking up the card one more time he slid it carefully back into the case Clint had provided. He found himself staring at it, the bright colours, the print still so sharp. What a find, what a rare and exceptional find, and yet it was nothing compared to the heart and soul and love of the man who had found it for him. Smiling, Phil stowed the card away in the nightstand drawer where it would be safe until he could get it to his secure storage. Then he arranged himself back on the pillows, eyes fixed on the door, and waited for his real treasure to come home.
He didn’t have to wait long.
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