Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Here, hold this for a sec," Stark says absently and hands Phil a small metal sphere about the size of a baseball.

Before Phil can retort that he's not one of Stark's bots, there's a loud shout from the doorway.

"God damn it, Stark! How many times have I told you no liquids? I'm getting sick and tired of decontamination showers!"

If asked later, Phil will adamantly defend that it is his ongoing recovery and not the sight of a damp Hawkeye entering the lab in nothing but boxer briefs that causes him to almost drop the sphere.

Coulson has enough presence of mind to catch the sphere before it hits the ground and then there is a blinding flash of light.

Chapter Text

The spots in his vision clear and Phil finds himself in a tastefully decorated bedroom, standing at the foot of a king-sized bed. In the bed is a sleep-tousled Barton who is pointing a gun at his head. Phil valiantly focuses on the barrel of the gun and not Barton's bare chest. Barton blinks sleepily at Phil a few times before lowering the gun.

"Geez Phil," he says. "You scared the crap out of me. Stop lurking and come to bed. What are you even doing here?"

Phil's brain stutters a bit at 'come to bed' and answers the last question automatically. "It would help if I knew where here was, Barton."

Barton freezes as he's about to place his SIG on the nightstand and very slowly turns back to place it lightly on his lap instead. It's then that Phil realizes that this is not the Barton he knows. Phil has spent enough time with the archer in medical and applied enough field dressings on the man to be familiar with the various scars on his chest. From what Phil can see, this man's chest is scar-free.

"What did you just call me?" not-Barton asks calmly and tries to look relaxed, but Phil can see the coiled tension in the man's arm. Whoever this man is, he's trained and is more than capable of shooting Phil.

Phil raises his arms in the classic 'I surrender' posture while keeping the sphere in his hand. "I called you Barton, but I don't think you're the Barton I know. In the interest of not getting shot before I figure out what the hell is going on, I'm going to tell you I'm armed. My P30 is in a back holster and I've got a knife in my boot."

Not-Barton's smile is one Phil has not seen before - it looks almost involuntarily fond. "You're not my Phil either, but I think you're close enough that I'm going to trust you a bit. Please keep your hands in view and I'm sure we can straighten this out. My name is William Brandt, by the way, not Barton."

Brandt motions with his free hand and Phil moves to one of the chairs by the large window. He already has his phone up to his ear as Phil sits.

"Phil?" Brandt asks into the phone and some tension leaves his shoulders at the answer on the other end. "No, everything's okay, just glad to hear your voice right now. No, that's not why I'm calling at three in the morning, but we can't avoid my mother forever. Look, we can pretend not to argue about this later. For now, I'm going to turn on video, okay?"

Brandt turns the phone toward Phil and he has a brief glimpse of a fond smile on the other-Coulson's face before his eyes widen.

"What the hell?"

"Philip J. Coulson," Phil states automatically. "Senior agent, SHIELD level 7, Alpha-Tango-Charlie-7-8-0-9-4-4-3."

Other-Coulson's face slides into a familiar bland mask and Phil wonders if he's as good at that as this version clearly is.

"This is an interesting development. We can be at your location in thirty, Agent Coulson. It would be appreciated if you could stay put."

Phil nods. "I am aware of SOP in these cases," he replies.

Brandt rolls his eyes and chuckles, drawing Phil's eyes to the other man. "Of course, you'd have procedure for this."

"Brandt," prompts other-Coulson and the younger man brings the phone back to his ear.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Phil. Yes, I know he isn't actually you. Stop worrying. I'll be fine. Just get here as soon as you can."

Phil half listens to the conversation as he catalogs the differences between Brandt and Barton. This version is still physically fit and trim, but softer around the edges in both mannerism and appearance. Phil can only assume that Brandt is not an active field agent and his earlier comment can only mean that he's not in SHIELD.

Brandt hangs up the phone after a few more reassurances. He rises smoothly from the bed in only a pair of sleep pants and motions for Phil to precede him out of the room. They move to sit in the living room in companionable silence. Phil keeps his hands visible at all times and Brandt keeps the gun in his hand. Phil looks around and startles a little when he realizes the décor is very much like what he has at the Tower.

"Washington, DC," Brandt says, breaking the silence. "To answer your earlier question. Phil and I bought the place a few years ago."

There's a click and the front door opens before Phil can think of anything to say. The other-Coulson surprises Phil by going straight to Brandt's side and letting the other agents approach Phil first.

"Are you alright?" other-Coulson asks.

"I'm fine. A little freaked out, but fine," Brandt responds and lifts his left hand to rest against other-Coulson's jaw. Phil turns away from the intimate moment and is bombarded by Stark's sudden and loud entrance into the apartment.

Phil is quickly whisked away to SHIELD HQ and doesn't see Brandt or other-Coulson again for three days. This is also part of protocol since close proximity is deemed too risky in case the doppelganger's goal is replacement. In the intervening time, Phil is poked and prodded until they're satisfied he is neither a clone or alien or other being in disguise. When the only logical explanation boils down to an alternate reality or universe, Phil begins attending an unending series of debriefs outlining differences between his reality and this one. There is always hope that the intelligence will hold true and prevent some future catastrophe.

As Hill and Sitwell reciprocate with their own information, the main differences Phil finds all seem tied to Barton. What Phil considers are Barton's most critical missions are utter failures or do not exist at all in this reality. Without Barton to bring her in, Natasha is killed after multiple failed attempts and it's only a lucky explosion that eventually takes her out. Other-Coulson and Fury still manage to pull together the Avengers Initiative with a magic user named Wanda taking Natasha's place on the team. There is no replacement for Hawkeye.

The Loki and the Chitauri incident still happens with very key differences. There is no Barton, so Loki is takes Fury along with Selvig and the Tesseract. Fury does not have the same access to Barton's underground network of resources and is the one taken prisoner when they steal the iridium. Loki's base of operations, not as well hidden without Barton or Fury's guidance, is easily found in middle of the New Mexico desert. It’s Loki who leads the attack on the helicarrier to give Selvig more time to open the portal. Fury is killed in the ensuing chaos because there is no Natasha there to snap him out of Loki's control. Other-Coulson is still stabbed by Loki, but manages to dodge and get hit in the shoulder instead of the chest. Without a stable power source, only a few Chitauri get through before the portal collapses, and are then easily taken out by the Avengers. Maria Hill is now the director of SHIELD, a position that other-Coulson declined.

Phil is idly rolling the metal sphere in between his hands and pondering what he would have done if offered the same choice. Wonders what options they will give him now if he ends up stuck in this reality. Stark, Banner, and Foster have found nothing - even giving Phil the sphere back had elicited no measurable reaction. Nobody knows how time works between the realities since only the events Phil can recall line up, not the dates when they occurred. Phil can only hope that there is a corresponding effort from his reality's trio of scientific geniuses to bring him home.

Before his mind can stray to other, more maudlin thoughts, the conference room door opens to admit Brandt and other-Coulson. Phil takes a moment to appreciate what Barton would look like if he regularly wore a suit and tie.

"Huh," says Brandt in lieu of a greeting, "you guys have the same I-need-coffee face."

Phil smiles his thanks as Brandt hands him a steaming cup of coffee. Other-Coulson puts down a tray of sandwiches on the table. Phil can't help but notice the matching rings on their left hands.

"He doesn't have the scar over your left eyebrow, though," Brandt continues, teasing, as he puts a second cup of coffee in front of other-Coulson.

"Maybe the you in his reality hasn't tried to shoot him," other-Coulson responds. It startles Phil that they're willingly giving him any information about Brandt. All of his other inquiries have been stopped cold.

"You shot at him?" Phil asks, not bothering to correct the other man. Barton has shot at him exactly twice. The first was an intentional miss alerting Phil to Barton's position and making his "arrest" by SHIELD more believable. The second was through his bicep and the only option Barton had to save Phil's life.

"It was a small misunderstanding," other-Coulson replies.

"I thought Phil was after my team commander," adds Brandt. "I work for the IMF."

There's a small cough and a raised eyebrow from other-Coulson.

"I'm Chief Analyst for the IMF," Brandt clarifies with a fond roll of his eyes. "I still go on a few field ops, mostly when Ethan can't be bothered to find someone else, which is how I met Phil."

Some of Phil's surprise must show on his face because other-Coulson's brow furrows.

"I take it your Barton doesn't have Will's, um...capability for analysis?"

Phil frowns at other-Coulson's question, even knowing the slight isn't meant on purpose. He knows that the words were chosen carefully as to not ask outright if his Barton was less intelligent than Brandt appeared to be.

"On the contrary," Phil defends, "Barton's aptitude and tactical strategy scores were through the roof, but he's always avoided any suggestion he be taken out of the field."

"Your Barton works for SHIELD?" Brandt asks. Again, Phil refrains from correcting them. Hawkeye is definitely not his Barton.

"Yes," answers Phil. "He's actually an Avenger."

Both other-Coulson and Brandt look suitably impressed. Phil takes the opportunity to ask his own question. "Where were you born?"

"San Francisco," Brandt answers easily. "Born and raised. Went to the Air Force Academy before I was recruited by the IMF. I was a field agent for several years before moving to join the analysts. I've been Chief Analyst for going on six years now."

"Including the year you straddled both the CA job and Ethan's team," other-Coulson points out and there's another fond rolling of the eyes from Brandt.

It's clear that Brandt tends to understate his capabilities and other-Coulson makes a point of recognizing them. It's familiar enough to make Phil suddenly homesick.

"You don't miss the field?" Phil asks.

"Not at all," Brandt responds easily. Brandt makes the smallest movement toward the curve of other-Coulson's arm and Phil has an answer to a question he didn't ask. Brandt is the reason why other-Coulson declined the directorship and other-Coulson is why Brandt chose to leave the field. Phil doesn't know if he's capable of that level of sacrifice.

"How long have you been married?" Phil asks to cover his unease.

"Three years next month," answers Brandt with a grin.

Other-Coulson moves his arm to settle fully on Brandt's shoulders. "We're hoping to adopt our first child soon."

Brandt lets out a small gasp and turns to face his husband. There's a soft smile on other-Coulson's lips that Phil is sure he's never made.

"Phil?" Brandt asks, breathless and full of hope.

"Yes, Will. You were right. It's time."

The look of pure joy and love on Brandt's familiar face sends a shot of longing through Phil. He unconsciously clenches the sphere still in his hand and there's another blinding flash of light.

Chapter Text

Phil has a second to register heavy humidity and a loud scraping sound before he's pinned against a wall with a well-muscled arm at his throat. He looks into familiar blue-grey eyes and knows this is not Barton. The eyes are cold, calculating, and focused. They hold none of the mirth that always lingers just on the edge of Barton's.

The body that is pressed against Phil's is equally foreign. Even soaking wet and naked, this man is clearly a weapon - a threat that should be respected. His muscles are compact and powerful, like compressed springs ready to be released. It speaks more to close-quarters combat unlike Clint's lithe and acrobatic form. Phil has always thought it fitting to compare Clint to a taught bow-string - precisely drawn back and waiting for the perfect moment to sing.

The other man stares at Phil for a few seconds before he yells over his shoulder.

"Coulson! Get you ass back in here!"

Coulson-gamma's laughing voice precedes him into the room. "Jesus, Cross. Even your refractory period can't be this short. Oh...well…"

The doppelganger walks into the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips. There is no tell-tale scar on his chest, but he is covered in a myriad of others, including a long, wicked one that runs from behind his back, down, and across to his right hip. While Phil has always prided himself in staying fit, this man's form is chiseled in a way that Phil has never been, including his days with the Rangers. The man also looks younger and rougher than what Phil sees in the mirror every day.

Phil watches as a leering grin steals across Coulson-gamma's face. "Well this is going to be nice fodder for some fantasies in the future."

Cross's face doesn't so much as twitch and Phil finds himself missing Clint's trademark smirk.

"You know anything about this?" Cross asks.

"If Banner's perfected cloning, I don't know about it," Coulson-gamma answers. "But somehow I doubt I'd be his first choice to clone. Maybe you can let up a bit and we can ask him."

Cross drops his arm and takes two small steps backward.

"Philip J. Coulson," Phil recites. "Senior agent, SHIELD level 7, Alpha-Tango-Charlie-7-8-0-9-4-4-3."

Coulson-gamma laughs and a corner of Cross's mouth lifts slightly. "Great. My other self's a desk."

"Alternate reality?" asks Cross and Coulson-gamma nods. "I assume this means our long weekend's a loss?"

"It was fun while it lasted." Coulson-gamma sweeps a lingering look up and down Cross's body. The younger man's mouth twitches when Phil makes a point of keeping his gaze at eye-level.

The two men show little regard for Phil as they dress - both in SHIELD-issue tac pants, shirts, and jackets. It concerns Phil for a moment until he remembers that these are two senior, active field agents that have full confidence in their ability to keep Phil in check. They barely turn Phil's way when he requests to use the bathroom. Phil feels a little insulted.

He steps back into the apartment's living room to find Coulson-gamma crowding Cross against the wall, body flush against the younger man and his arms against the drywall. Despite their position, the kiss the men share and Cross's hands on Coulson-gamma's hips are gentle. Phil knows instinctively that this is an apology to each other for a mini-vacation cut short. Phil doesn't try to back out of the room or make more noise - they all know he's there.

The trip to and arrival at HQ is uneventful. It takes a weak-looking Bruce and the SHIELD scientists five days to clear and give Phil the sphere back this time. It's not until the second day that Phil asks about Stark and gets a sinking feeling when he has to clarify Tony and not Howard.

"Tony Stark died when his convoy was attacked in Afghanistan," Fury tells him.

Phil has to sit down on the nearest stool. Phil fervently hopes he never has to tell Tony how the world suddenly felt too silent and wrong without him in it.

"And Stane?" Phil asks.

"In a nice underground cell that he'll never see the outside of."

"He's better off dead and six feet under," Coulson-gamma bites out. The glare he sends in Fury's direction could melt steel.

"We have training," Cross interjects before the tension can rise any higher. The younger man makes a point of walking between the director and his partner as he leaves the room, so Coulson-gamma has no choice but to follow him out.

"Coulson and Stark were pretty good friends," Bruce explains. "The only person that I know of, besides Cross, that he ever let call him Phil."

Fury shakes his head. "A complete waste. The weapon designs those two came up with were legendary."

"So were their nights out on the town," Bruce points out with a grin. "I'll never look at New Orleans the same again."

Possible doppelgänger replacement doesn't seem to be a concern here, so Coulson-gamma and Cross are always around when they're not required in training. Most of the other agents at HQ barely blink at the two Coulsons walking down the halls - logistics has thankfully found Phil several suits while Coulson-gamma is always in his tac or practice gear.

Phil learns on day four why replacement isn't a concern. The man now known as Aaron Cross was born as Kenneth Kitsom in Kentucky, not Iowa. He was part of a government sanctioned program called Outcome which enhanced both his cognitive and physical abilities. Fury didn't go into the details of why the program fell apart, only that Aaron was the only surviving member. Fury was eventually given full authority over all the CIA super soldier/assassin programs and Cross was brought in, but not before a last attempt at his life had taken out a Dr. Shearing instead. SHIELD was still able to salvage some information from both the Outcome and follow-on, Larx, programs - the treatments are now voluntarily used by select SHIELD agents to stay in top form. Phil and Coulson-gamma are no longer genetically equal. Phil tries not to notice that extra samples of "Coulson baseline" are taken during his exams.

It turns out that, in this reality, Natasha is a former Larx operative. One of the first missions that Cross and Coulson-gamma completed was her extraction out of Budapest. They had barely survived the op and it had cemented the men's partnership on and off the field.   The Cross-Coulson team is now known to be virtually unstoppable when unleashed and, in Phil's view, are primarily responsible for why the Avengers do not exist.

Cross-Coulson took down Stane and brought Tony's body home. They earned Pepper's gratitude and gained SHIELD access to all of Stark's notes and unfinished ideas. Iron Man never existed. Cross-Coulson captured and contained the Hulk until he could be given an antidote that had resulted in a sickly, but otherwise normal Banner. Loki had come to New Mexico in person after almost destroying Asgard. He was killed by Cross after the god had nearly sliced Coulson-gamma in half. A distraught Thor had left for Asgard, taking Jane Foster with him, and had never returned. Natasha only worked solo, covert missions and they have never attempted to find Steve Rogers.

"Who's Steve Rogers?" Cross asks and Phil looks over to Coulson-gamma only to see a similar look of confusion on the agent's face.

"The original super soldier - Captain America," Phil answers. "You don't know?"

"I remember the comics and stuff when I was a kid," Coulson-gamma shrugs. "Didn't really have much time for that kind of thing."

Cross chuckles a little and it's the most emotion the man has shown inside HQ. "That's right, you don't know that Coulson here is the ultimate company man. Been wearing the SHIELD eagle since you were what? Twelve?"

"Eleven," says Coulson-gamma evenly and Phil can't help but be horrified at a SHIELD that would train children that young.

"He's the only survivor of that particular experiment too," Cross adds. Phil doesn't bother trying to interpret the look shared between the two men.

It's on day seven that Phil wanders onto the range hoping for some normalcy. He doesn't realize his mistake until too late - the range feels horribly wrong without the various perches and Stark-designed targets made especially for Hawkeye. Cross spots Phil before he can back out of the room gracefully and, without any verbal or visual cues Phil can discern, sends Coulson-gamma striding over.

"Hey. We're almost done here," he says, which Phil knows is a lie because the two men typically spend hours upon hours on the range. "Cross will  pack up here. We can wait for him upstairs and then head out for lunch."

Phil knows he's being coddled, but doesn't have it in him to complain. "Out?" he asks instead.

"Fury okayed it as long as you're supervised," Coulson-gamma responds with a smile. "Figured we could pass ourselves off as twins if we had to."

Phil nods his agreement and falls into step with the other agent as they walk out of the range.

"You know," Phil says as they start walking, "the junior agents spread rumors that you and Cross have some sort of telepathic link."

Coulson-gamma throws his head back and laughs.

"They need better rumors," he says when he calms down. "The last thing Aaron needs is me in his head all the time."

Phil walks into the shared Cross-Coulson office and has to agree that the junior agents need better rumors. The office looks more like a weapons locker and not the sex den it is described to be. Phil does make a point of not sitting on the couch - better safe than sorry. They settle in to wait for Cross with each Coulson on either side if the desk.

"The Aaron in your world, you said his name is Barton?" Coulson-gamma asks.

Phil nods. "Clint Barton"

"He's not enhanced, but he's a top SHIELD asset?"

"I'm not exaggerating when I say he's the world's greatest marksman," Phil says. "But it's all due to natural ability and hard training. Beyond that, Clint is a damn good agent - one of the top tactical and strategic minds we've seen. There are very few other SHIELD agents who would have been as effective under Loki's control than Barton was."

Phil doesn't add that no one, himself included, could have combined his knowledge of SHIELD resources with the criminal element so efficiently. It is always with a mix of horror and pride that Phil looks back on the incident. Hawkeye came dangerously close to destroying SHIELD and neither Fury or the WSC are likely to forget it. Barton will forever straddle the line between being highly prized and closely watched. How much Clint understands this is another one of those conversations that Phil hopes to have when he gets back.

"Is he straight in your reality?"

Phil blinks at the apparent non-sequitur, but answers with, "He lists himself as bisexual."

"How the hell haven't you slept him yet?" Coulson-gamma asks like it's Phil who's missing some IQ points. "I know we've gone through wildly different things in our lives, but we both ended up at SHIELD, so I think we're more alike than not. Nature versus nurture and all that crap. You've got to be attracted to the guy, so what's keeping you away? Does your SHIELD have some regs we don't?"

"No," Phil responds and doesn't know why he hasn't already put a stop to this conversation. "If Fury tried to eliminate inter-SHIELD relationships, there would probably be a mutiny."

"Exactly! If SHIELD tried to institute frat regs, nobody would get laid. Talk about a stressful work environment." Coulson-gamma stops as another thought comes to mind. "Did you guys give it a go and it didn't work out?"

"No. We haven't...Clint and I have never had that type of a relationship," Phil answers.

"Why the hell not?"

"It would be inappropriate," Phil responds automatically. "I'm his handler. I need to remain impartial."

"Bullshit. I've slept with nearly all my handlers and it never mattered on ops. When was the last time you remained completely impartial when it came to Barton or anyone under your command?  We're soldiers - we do what has to get done, but it doesn't mean we won't do everything we can to keep people we care about from harm."

Coulson-gamma tilts his head and narrows his eyes. Phil tries not to flinch away from the other man's gaze, but grips the sphere in his jacket pocket a little tighter.

"Huh. It's more than just sex and you're scared." Phil clenches his jaw and Coulson-gamma sighs. "I am the last person who should be giving advice on how people should live their lives, but Hill…Hill always said it was better to live a fucked up life than not at all."

Coulson-gamma is lost in his thoughts for a minute - thinking of Hill, his first handler and lover who had died on an op six years ago. Phil thinks she sounds an awful lot like the woman he knows.

Another half minute passes before Coulson-gamma continues quietly, "I don't know if this matters or not, but Aaron and I? We're the real deal. It's not something I ever thought to look for or consider myself worthy of, but I'll fight tooth and nail to keep it now. It's pretty amazing and…" He unconsciously runs a hand over the scar that bisects his torso. "...it means a lot not to wake up in a hospital alone. So if it's possible that you and your Barton are the same as us, then I think you should take the risk. Only time the answer is always no is when you never ask the question."

A clearly annoyed Cross enters the office before anything else can be said.

"You," Cross says as he drops several weapons cases on the couch, "are never allowed on another solo mission with Sitwell ever again."

Coulson-gamma turns in his chair and leans back with his arms behind his head, grinning. "That's fine with me, but care to tell me why in case the director asks?"

Cross puts one of the cases on his desk and begins to check over its contents, movements clearly agitated. "If I have to listen to him go on about how great your ass looked in that fucking tuxedo one more time, I swear they'll never find all the pieces of his body. That man clearly has no sense of self preservation."

"Aaron…" Coulson-gamma starts, but is interrupted by Cross slamming the case shut. The younger man leans heavily against the desk before turning intense eyes on Coulson-gamma. Phil wonders if they've both forgotten he's still in the room.

"I know you had a hell of a reputation before, but we've been together for four years. You'd think all the talk would stop by now."

Coulson-gamma's eyes widen a little before he smiles affectionately. "If you're trying to protect my virtue, you could always marry me."

Cross huffs and turns back to the case. "There's still the small problem of neither of us actually existing."

"Just an idea," Coulson-gamma says casually, but there's something underneath the words that has Cross refocusing on his lover.

The two men look at each other for a long moment before Cross asks, "Seriously?"

Coulson-gamma only shrugs. Cross stalks over to the chair, straddling Coulson-gamma's legs and caging him in with his hands on the arm rests. Coulson-gamma looks up at Aaron with a raised eyebrow and drops his arms.

"If that's what you want, then we'll make it happen," Cross says before his voice drops to a growl. "But lets be very clear that I don't need a piece of paper to make you mine."

Coulson-gamma grins fiercely before Cross falls into him and crushes their lips together. The visual, so close to some of his more inappropriate fantasies regarding Clint, sends a shock of desire through Phil. The blinding flash of light really shouldn't have been a surprise.

Chapter Text

The sudden loss of a chair beneath him unbalances Phil and he overcompensates, landing on his knees in the damp grass. He just barely keeps his forehead from smashing into the marble headstone in front of him.

"William F James, Sergeant First Class, US Army, Silver Star, Operation Iraqi Freedom," the epitaph reads. It doesn't matter what the name says, there can only be one reason why Phil finds himself standing at this particular grave.

Phil ignores the dates below the text because SHIELD had a tendency to, for lack of a better word, reuse their operative's former lives for formal burials. He's attended several ceremonies under the cover of darkness where the dates of death and often the names are different from the people he fought with.

"Who the hell are you?" a voice asks from behind him.

Phil stands slowly, keeping his hands visible, and turns to face Coulson-delta. A light, misty rain is falling, but there's enough fading sunlight for Phil's face to be easily seen. The other man only looks mildly surprised at seeing his double.

"Thought Fury would wait more than an hour to try and change my mind," Coulson-delta says. "And, if you don't mind my saying, you're not very good at your job for a shapeshifter."

Phil can't help but look down at himself.

"Not the actual impersonation," Coulson-delta corrects. "That's pretty good, but shouldn't you have tried looking like Will instead of me?"

"I'm not a shapeshifter. Fury didn't send me," Phil says and quickly continues. "I'm from another reality. Philip J Coulson, senior agent, SHIELD level 7, Alpha-Tango-Charlie-7-8-0-9-4-4-3. This is my third jump so far. I don't know a William James, but I have a feeling he's the man I know as Clint Barton."

Coulson-delta just stares at Phil, eyes and face blank. The rain starts to fall a little harder. Coulson-delta closes his eyes and turns his face up, raindrops scattering across his cheeks. He drops his gaze after a long moment, eyes going first to the headstone and then up to Phil.

"We should probably have this conversation somewhere more comfortable."

Coulson-delta shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and walks away without waiting for Phil's response. Phil follows him and comes to a dead stop a few feet from the car. It's a 1966 Shelby GT 350, beautifully restored to near-original condition. Phil knows that, while it looks black in the fading light, the car is actually a deep purple with a grey leather interior to match the silver stripes down its center. Phil doesn't know why seeing the car, Clint's car, suddenly makes everything feel just that much more real, but he can't make his feet move. A shiver runs through him that he can't blame on the cold rain dripping down the back of his neck.

"It's Will's car," Coulson-delta points out unnecessarily with a sad, understanding look in his eyes. Phil gives himself a hard mental shake and climbs into the passenger seat.

Coulson-delta doesn't drive them to SHIELD HQ. Instead, he chooses a small coffee shop a few minutes away. They are the only ones there and the lone barista focuses back on his tablet once they've been served their drinks. Coulson-delta still chooses a small table in a corner that would make it difficult for them to be overheard.

"This is your third reality?" Coulson-delta asks without preamble.

"Not counting my own, yes."

"Are you the inflection point?"

"No." Phil shakes his head. "It appears to be Barton - William James, for you."

"Figures," Coulson-delta says softly with a smile that is both fond and unbearably sad. "Born to be a troublemaker in any reality."

"Was he a sniper in the Army?" Phil asks.

Coulson-delta nearly laughs. "Hell no. Too far away from the action and way too much sitting still for James. He was in the bomb disposal unit."

Phil almost laughs himself. Bombs always make Clint twitchy, preferring to let Widow or Phil's steadier hands deal with them. Phil sobers and asks the question he knows may be painful.

"Was it Loki?" Coulson-delta stifles the flinch, but Phil sees it anyway. "What happened on the helicarrier?"

"James was compromised, under Loki's control. The others were fighting amongst themselves and he managed to sneak onboard during the chaos. He rigged several bombs to go off as a larger force attacked. I headed down to the detention area for Loki and Natasha managed to snap him out of Loki's control." Coulson-delta's voice stays even, but his fists clench on top of the table. "James stepped between me and Loki. He saved my life and Loki stabbed him through the heart."

Coulson-delta has to pause and take several deep breaths. His voice goes bitter as he continues. "Fucking Fury must have grabbed his dog tags when I was distracted. Can you believe that Iron Man wore James' bloody dog tags under his armor during the battle with the Chitauri? Stark had met Will maybe a handful of times, but he said Loki'd made it personal. And we won. We saved the world."

There is no emotion reflected in Coulson-delta's voice or eyes, like the capability for feeling had died with William James.

"You know," Coulson-delta continues, "James never believed in heroes, even though many people would have called him one. He saved a lot of lives in Baghdad. But James thought he was weak for not being able to walk away from it or for letting his wife and child think he was dead when he joined SHIELD. He'd laugh his ass off knowing the Avengers saved the world in his name."

"How long were you together?" Phil asks because it seems like the right question.

"Been sleeping together about two years. Finally admitted it was a hell of a lot more than just sex a few months ago. Said he loved me as he was dying in my arms. I never got a chance..." Coulson-delta takes another sip of coffee instead of finishing the thought.

"And you're leaving SHIELD?" Phil doesn't mean to, but the question still comes out like an accusation.

Coulson-delta's eyes narrow, but he doesn't seem any more capable of anger than he is anything else.

"What's the point of trying to save the world when the only person that made it worth living in is gone?" He rubs his forehead tiredly and sighs. "I'd be no use to anyone right now anyway. Fury's calling it a leave of absence, but I'm not so sure."

"Was it worth it?" Phil asks before he can stop himself.

"Yes," Coulson-delta answers without hesitation.

"Even after?"

"You and Barton aren't together, are you?" Phil shakes his head and is surprised at the twinge of pity he sees on Coulson-delta's face. "Yes, it's worth it. I'd go through this a hundred times over for any moment with Will. It's hard to explain to people what it feels like - to feel the other half of your soul slide into place. Will's gone now, but I live day to day hoping that a little more of the hurt fades away enough so I can find that piece of him I know he left behind."

"And when it does?"

"Maybe I'll come back to SHIELD, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll write stupid poetry or paint in some cabin in Vienna. Who the hell knows? I've never been the same person since I met William James and I have no fucking clue who I am now that he's gone. For once in my life, I'm going to be selfish and not carry the weight of the world on my shoulders while I try to figure it out."

"I wish you luck," Phil says and means it.

Coulson-delta gives him a genuine smile in return. "I wish the same to you when you get home. I don't presume to know or feel the need to ask what's keeping you apart, but I have a feeling that Barton's effect on you isn't much different than James' on me. Like I said, troublemaker."

Phil smiles back. He can't argue with that assessment.

Coulson-delta finishes off his coffee and stands. "Come on. Let me say my goodbyes and then I'll drop you off at HQ."

It's after hours, but the guards wave them through with a flash of Coulson-delta's SHIELD identification. They're able to park the car within sight of William James' grave. His ashes, Coulson-delta tells Phil, are hidden within the gravestone itself. Phil's suit is soaked through, clinging uncomfortably from the short walk to the car, but Coulson-delta pays no attention to the downpour as he stands over his lover's last resting place.

Phil thinks back to a conversation he hadn't meant to overhear between Natasha and Steve. She had been relieved that Fury held Clint in containment, under full observation, for a full week after the end of the Chitauri battle. Psych and medical wanted to confirm that the last of Loki's influence was gone. It had taken slightly less than a week for the doctors to upgrade Phil's condition from nearly dead to hopeful to wow-he's-going-to-live. Clint left containment knowing Phil was alive. Phil isn't sure if it's just his own optimism, but he thinks he now knows the source of Natasha's relief.

Phil watches as Coulson-delta kneels in the rain-soaked grass and heartbreakingly lays a gentle kiss on the cold marble. The sphere feels like ice in Phil's hand as another flash of light surrounds him.

Chapter Text

Phil doesn't have a chance to rebalance himself this time and lands on his ass with a thud. The room he's now in is filled with warm sunlight. He looks up to see Coulson-epsilon and probably-not-Barton staring at him from behind the kitchen counter. The two men are frozen mid-motion, the flat of the knife stopped an inch away from a thieving hand holding a cube of ham. Phil stands up from his sprawl on the floor with as much dignity as he can muster considering he's still damp and bedraggled from his prior stop.

Phil's motion unfreezes the men. Probably-not-Barton slowly puts the knife down on the counter, but Phil notes that he keeps his hand loosely on top of the hilt. Coulson-epsilon pops the cube of ham in his mouth.

"Hmm...I'm going to go with alternate universes," he finally says. "How many have you jumped?"

"Philip J. Coulson," Phil recites. "Senior agent, SHIELD level 7, Alpha-Tango-Charlie-7-8-0-9-4-4-3. This is number four, not counting my own."

"What?!" Probably-not-Barton asks incredulously.

"Bright flash of light, him looking like he just came in out of the rain, and his form didn't shimmer when he hit the ground like a shapeshifter would have," Coulson-epsilon explains.

"For the record," probably-not-Barton says as he finally lifts his hand off the knife and crosses his arms. "Your lack of reaction to this kind of thing, and not the flock of killer harpies, is the reason why I don't ask you about work."

Coulson-epsilon shrugs again and turns back to Phil. "So, Agent Coulson, what do you propose we do with you?"

"I didn't start jumping voluntarily," Phil says tiredly. "I'm not trying to replace you or have any other villainous intentions. I'm unarmed. No testing in previous realities have shown any excess radiation or reason for why I'm continuing to jump."

"What's the inflection point?"

Phil doesn't say anything, but looks pointedly at probably-not-Barton. Coulson-epsilon's eyes widen in surprise and shifts closer to the other man.

"What does that mean?" probably-not-Barton asks.

"It means he thinks you're the point of change between the different realities," answers Coulson-epsilon.

"Me?!"

"Not you specifically," clarifies Phil. "My version's name is Clint Barton. You've been different in every reality I've encountered."

"I need to call Fury," Coulson-epsilon says, glancing apologetically at the younger man.

"Why don't you show him the extra room so he can get cleaned up while you call? He looks like he could use it." suggests probably-not-Barton. If the man is disturbed by the turn of events, he's not showing it to Phil. "I'll grab him some of your clothes to wear."

Coulson-epsilon looks over at Phil and then back at probably-not-Barton before motioning down the hallway for Phil to precede him. Coulson-epsilon stays discretely outside the bathroom door that Phil knows better than to close. Phil strips quickly out of the ruined suit and stays under the hot spray of water for as long as he thinks he can get away with. Both the rain and the reality he's just witnessed have left him feeling chilled to the bone.

His soggy clothing has been replaced by a pair of chinos and a light, button-down shirt by the time Phil finally emerges from the shower. He dresses quickly and steps out into the hallway to find Coulson-epsilon still on the phone.

"Understood, sir," he says and then spots Phil. Coulson-epsilon gestures at the phone, "Do you mind?"

Phil shakes his head and Coulson-epsilon pulls the phone away from his ear and pushes a button. He turns the phone toward Phil to show Fury on the small screen.

"Philip J. Coulson," Phil recites again. "Senior agent, SHIELD level 7, Alpha-Tango-Charlie-7-8-0-9-4-4-3."

"Interesting. Hang tight, Coulson," is all Fury says before the screen goes black. Phil isn't sure which of them he's addressing. Knowing Fury, probably both.

Coulson-epsilon puts the phone away and waves back down the hallway. "Jason made omelets."

Phil notices that both men have taken the time to change out of their sleepwear while Phil was in the shower. They are now wearing loose, un-tucked shirts over their jeans - a good way to hide the weapons Phil assumes they are now carrying. Phil also notes, a little belatedly, that the offer of a hot shower was a good way to confirm his claim of being unarmed.

He sits at the table and his stomach growls embarrassingly when an omelet and coffee is placed in front of him. Probably-not-Barton only smiles and holds out a hand.

"Detective Jason Walsh, NYPD. Sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier."

Phil shakes the detective's hand and, for the first time since he started jumping, feels like he could be looking at the actual Clint Barton.

"Fury's sending a transport, but even with the newest Quinjet, it will be a good 14-15 hours before they arrive," Coulson-epsilon says as Phil digs into his food.

Phil looks around at what he can see of the small house. There's nothing identifiable about their location and a lot of the décor seems impersonal and nothing like he would choose for himself.

"Where exactly are we?" he finally asks.

"New Zealand," Walsh answers as he sits next to Coulson-epsilon. "We're on vacation. Or is that now were on vacation?"

Coulson-epsilon shakes his head. "No. We had a deal and Nick owes us both. He and Hill can handle it after the transport arrives." He turns back to Phil. "So if you have specific questions for either of us, you've got 14 hours to ask."

Walsh interrupts before Phil can open his mouth to speak. "When was the last time you got any sleep?"

Phil looks at Walsh with a mix of surprise and confusion. He thinks back to his last night in the Gamma universe. Phil had just gotten back into his temporary quarters with another report on the viral delivery system when the general alarm had sounded - something was attacking near HQ. Phil and all the non-battle personnel had been herded into the main cafeteria as Cross and Coulson-gamma had run by armed to the teeth. Phil remembers admiring the wicked looking broadsword strapped to Coulson-gamma's back, but not actually getting any sleep that night.

"That's what I thought," says Walsh. "I'm a little too familiar with that particular look. I know it's technically none of my business, but you look like you could use a few hours of sleep instead of a debrief."

Coulson-epsilon hides his smile behind a sip of coffee. Phil can't help but feel warmed by the concern. It's not an unfamiliar feeling. Barton has proven to be unmovable when he thinks Phil is overworking himself - even more so since Loki.

"I appreciate your concern, detective, but this shouldn't take too long." Phil looks at Coulson-epsilon, waiting to see if he'll ask Walsh to leave. The other man only waves his coffee cup at Phil as a signal to start.

"Loki?" Phil asks simply and Coulson-epsilon nods. "Who did he take?"

"Hill and about a dozen other agents along with Selvig," he responds. "Not quite enough for a successful attack on the carrier. At least it wouldn't have been if Hulk hadn't taken out an engine during his rampage."

"Did you?" Phil stops. How the hell do you ask someone if they died?

"Get stabbed in the back and end up dead for about an hour? Yes." Coulson-epsilon answers almost casually. He flinches when Walsh stands suddenly with a loud scrape of the chair against the floor.

"I'll go make more coffee," the detective says and quickly leaves the room. Coulson-epsilon watches him leave, but doesn’t stand to follow.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" Phil apologizes.

"No. We've talked about it," Coulson-epsilon says with a sigh. "He just hates it when I'm so nonchalant about it. It's easy to forget sometimes...how close I came. It took about a week for the Treatment to heal all the damage and I was back to regular duty less than a week after that."

"Alien tech grew me a new set of lungs and a heart," Phil recounts of his own recovery. "I've been in physical therapy for over a year and only got cleared for the field a few months ago."

Coulson-epsilon can't do much but give a sympathetic grimace. Phil remembers back to the day he'd been well enough to move in to the tower at Stark's insistence. The Avengers had raised a "Welcome back from the dead!" banner over the living room. Clint, who had been leading Phil with a supporting hand at his elbow, disappeared faster than Phil could blink. Natasha had smoothly stepped into place at Phil's elbow with a glare that only Steve noticed. By the time Clint had reappeared the next morning, the banner was gone. It was one of many things they'd never talked about.

"How did you meet Walsh?" Phil asks, snapping out of his reverie.

"I tried to recruit him about a year ago - a few months after the Chitauri," Coulson-epsilon answers.

"You tried to recruit him?" Phil asks.

"He said no." Phil's eyebrows go up in surprise and the other man smiles. "Jason is one of the most self-aware individuals I've ever met, even if he has a tendency to downplay his capabilities. Jason's a great cop. He believes in the good he's doing with the NYPD and that it's where he can make the most impact. It's the same reason he's turned down every CO position offered to him - and there have been several."

Phil thinks about Fury offering Barton full senior agent status years ago, equal to Coulson and Hill at the time, and the archer turning it down in favor of staying in the field. Fury had eventually acquiesced and Barton doesn't complain when he's given non-standard missions like watching over the Tesseract. A lot of agents joke that Coulson is Fury's other good eye - they're very wrong. If anything, Coulson and Hill are Fury's left and right hands. It's Barton who Fury uses as his good eye.

"We ran into each other at a Stark event about a month after the failed recruitment. Jason was very persuasive," Coulson-epsilon continues with a grin. "We've been seeing each other since. It's not easy with our schedules, but we do what we can."

"Doesn't it…" Phil trails off, again unsure of how to ask the question on his mind.

"Scare the hell out of me that this could all end very badly?" Coulson-epsilon fills in. Phil nods.

"Every second," Coulson-epsilon admits and then gets a looks on his face that Phil doesn't know how to read. "I didn't realize it before, but until Jason, I'd only been content. I don't like being vulnerable, but the upside...the upside is a hell of an upside. If anything, I do my job better. I have to. Jason Walsh gives me a reason to want to save the world."

There's a noise at the door and both Coulsons look up to find Jason holding a carafe of fresh coffee. He gives Coulson-epsilon a fond smile before sitting at the table with a light touch to his shoulder.

"I take it you and Barton aren't together?" Walsh asks.

"Not romantically, no," Phil answers. "He's good a friend and I'm his handler."

"He's an asset?" Coulson-epsilon asks.

"Turned down a promotion to senior agent," Phil explains with a knowing smile at Coulson-epsilon. "It's only the tip of his capabilities, but Clint's a specialist, a sniper. Never misses. Clint uses a rifle on occasion, but he's most effective with his bow."

"Did you say a bow?" Walsh asks, surprised.

"I know it sounds archaic, but Barton has shown time and time again that the right arrows in the right hands are better than any other weapon we could give him."

"He wasn't on the Olympic team, was he?" Walsh wonders.

Phil laughs. "No, nothing so mainstream. He grew up in the circus before the army, and then eventually went mercenary, leading to SHIELD's recruitment. Why? Are you an archer?"

"No. I've touched a recurve exactly once in my life," Walsh denies, but there's clearly something he's not saying.

"It only took once to nearly get recruited into the national Olympic team," Coulson-epsilon points out and it's Phil's turn to be surprised. For the first time since Phil appeared, Walsh looks at the edge of his ability to absorb everything in stride.

Coulson-epsilon must sense the same thing and steers the conversation back on track. "You seem pretty sure that Jason or, in your case, Barton is the inflection point. Maybe we can help figure out how and why you're jumping."

"He already knows," Walsh says with quiet confidence.

When the two Coulsons look over in surprise, Jason reaches over and pats Coulson-epsilon's cheek lightly. "I spend a lot of time looking at your face," he explains and then points at himself. "Plus I am a detective. I can tell when you want to say something, but aren't sure you should."

Walsh grins at Coulson-epsilon's raised eyebrow.

"He's partly right," Phil concedes. "I'm fairly certain I know how to make myself jump. I just don't know how to get myself home."

Phil describes each of the different realities he's encountered, focusing on the relationships between each Coulson and the not-Bartons. However embarrassing, Phil also describes exactly what he was thinking and feeling just prior to each jump. The two men look equally horrified at Phil's description of Coulson-gamma as a child soldier, but it's Phil's re-telling of what he saw at James' grave that leaves Coulson-epsilon looking shaky. Walsh laces their fingers together and focuses on Phil.

"Maybe the multi-verse is trying to tell you something."

Phil almost wants to ask what exactly Walsh thinks it's trying to tell him, but Phil is not a dense man. Going through the different realities at one time points at a conclusion that's difficult to ignore.

Coulson-epsilon chuckles. "You think the universes at large is playing matchmaker?" he asks, effectively agreeing with Phil's own thoughts.

"An alien invasion fell out of a hole in the sky, you came back from the dead, I fought a flock of killer harpies, and he's been jumping realities," Walsh counters. "But my idea is the one you think seems far-fetched?"

"Fair point," says Phil. "But assuming that's true, how does that get me home?"

"Each time you've jumped, you've been thinking about what you want with Barton and the sphere sends you somewhere else. If we go with the matchmaking theory, maybe the multi-verse isn't satisfied you've learned all your lessons," theorizes Walsh. "Maybe, if you focus on what you already have with Barton, you'll get sent home."

"Worst-case," adds Coulson-epsilon, "you just end up in another universe."

Phil looks down at the sphere in his hand. Could it really be that simple?

"Do I need to wait for Fury?" he asks.

"Not from what you've told me so far," says Coulson-epsilon. "It sounds like most of the events and timelines are primarily in sync, so we're not going to get much future information from you. We're aware of the viral delivery system and have, so far, deemed it too dangerous to use until we figure out a way to improve the 50/50 chance of surviving the final process. I do suggest you talk to Charles Xavier. The basis for the Treatment came voluntarily from one of the mutants under his protection. You're welcome to stay and find out more…"

"No," Phil interrupts. "I've been gone long enough."

"Do you know what you're going to do when you get back?" Walsh asks.

Phil opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally voicing his fear. "What if my universe is the one where it doesn't work out?"

"Wow," Walsh responds with a shake of his head. "It's a little amazing how someone who believes so strongly in heroes can be so pessimistic."

The detective pauses to collect his thoughts before continuing. Walsh turns to Coulson-epsilon and squeezes the hand he's holding. "If you follow the threads between the universes, Barton's in love with you."

Coulson-epsilon sits up in surprise and then smiles at Walsh. The younger man smiles in return before turning back to Phil.

"I think we've established there are some similarities between Barton and I, which leads me to thinking he probably hasn't been too subtle about how he feels about you."

Phil starts to protest, but finds that he can't. No, if he's truly honest with himself, Phil knows exactly how Clint feels.

"With that established," Coulson-epsilon prods. "Does the rest of it really matter?"

Phil stands. "I need to go home."

Walsh and Coulson-epsilon stand as well and wrap their arms around each other's waists. It's a sign of solidarity that Phil finds comforting.

"It was good meeting you, Phil Coulson," Walsh says. "Best of luck."

Phil closes his eyes and recalls his fondest memories of Clint Barton. Clint, injured and malnourished, glaring at him defiantly while strapped to a bed in medical. Clint flirting with him on the open comm. Blue-grey eyes sparkling with mischief even as Barton claimed innocence over a well played prank. The line of Clint's neck as he threw his head back and laughed. Barton's intense focus as he drew an arrow back to fire and then the cocky grin when it inevitably hit its target. The clench in Clint's jaw as he urged Phil for one more step in therapy. And finally, a drug-blurred memory, once thought to be only a dream, of tired eyes looking down at him with awe and unrestrained love.

Phil smiles as a warm light surrounds him.

Chapter Text

Phil's not sure what it says about him that seeing his office fills him with an overwhelming sense of homecoming. Everything is comfortingly familiar from the "World's Greatest Dad Handler" mug sitting on the corner of his desk to the perpetually half-dead plant on his filing cabinet to the archer sleeping, sprawled out on his leather couch.

Phil's relieved smile slips when he recognizes that Clint's sprawl looks less like a stolen catnap and more like he's passed out from exhaustion. The archer is wearing his field uniform that looks fresh from battle if the dust and what looks like splatters of dark green blood are anything to go by. Clint's face, even in sleep, is lined with worry and there are deep circles under his eyes.

Clint's brow furrows and he starts to shift on the couch. Phil barely hears the plaintive "Phil", but the soft, lost sound is enough for Phil's heart to clench in his chest. He places the sphere on his desk and steps closer, balancing on the edge of the couch. This is not the first time that Phil has needed to wake the Clint from a nightmare.

"Barton," Phil says, placing a gentle, but firm hand on Clint's shoulder.

Clint's eyes fly open and lock onto Phil's. Phil watches a myriad of emotions flash through them - fear, confusion, hope, joy.

"Phil!" Clint cries and Phil finds himself enveloped by a pair of strong arms. After so many days, so many years, Phil doesn't attempt to keep himself for sinking into the hug. Clint's name escapes from Phil's lips in a sigh and the arms tighten around him. Clint clings to him desperately for a long moment before pulling back and holding Phil at arms length, eyes automatically scanning for changes or injuries. "You're back."

Phil is eagerly absorbing Clint's familiar features - how could Phil have ever thought the other realities compared - when the klaxons start blaring the general alarm. Clint moves one hand off Phil's shoulder and to the comm still in his ear.

"It's Coulson, sir. Yes. His office," Clint reports, his other hand falls away and Phil tries not to feel bereft.

They have just enough time to get up from the couch before Fury, Hill, Sitwell, and the Avengers burst into the room. Phil catches a glimpse of several other agents out in the hall wearing tac gear with rifles in hand.

"Philip J. Coulson, Senior agent, SHIELD level 7, Alpha-Tango-Charlie-7-8-0-9-4-4-3," Phil says and then turns to Barton. "Callipygian."

The single word recalls hours and days and years of their time together - years filled with random discussions over the comm, days ensconced in safe houses, and too many hours in quiet conversation by each other's beds in medical. Clint throws his head back and laughs. Phil smiles, warmed by the happy sound, but doesn't miss how the others look equal parts surprised and relieved.

"It's definitely Coulson," Clint says to the room at large, still grinning.

"The doctors will have to confirm your assessment, Agent Barton," Fury reprimands, but there's an indulgent note in his voice that the director only gets when all his charges are home safe.

The whole group makes it way down to medical, everyone already welcoming Phil back regardless of Fury's caution. Sitwell, Hill, and the other armed agents peel off just before medical, leaving a single guard at the door. Stark reassures Phil that JARVIS has already matched the energy signatures from his departure and arrival. Natasha gives Phil's arm a small squeeze and herds the Avengers away soon after with the exception of Bruce who stays to confer with the medical staff.

Fury and Barton are standing at the door having a silent argument full of crossed arms, raised eyebrows, and glares. Barton eventually throws up his hands and stalks off while Fury manages to melt into the background as the doctors start their battery of tests. The director re-materializes a few hours later, after Phil has been scanned by every piece of medical equipment SHIELD has and he's starting to feel like a pin cushion.

"Welcome back, Agent Coulson," Fury says with a tilt of his head that has Phil automatically falling into step beside him. "Early results are good, but we'd like for you to stay on base until morning."

It takes a concerted effort for Phil not to let his shoulders slump. He expects Fury to lead him to temporary quarters, so Phil is surprised when the director pushes open a door just down the hallway from the examination room. Phil looks inside to find Barton asleep on one of the beds with an IV line trailing from his hand. Phil strides forward and grabs the chart at the foot of the bed.

"He was hurt?" Phil accuses, suddenly angry that they had allowed Clint to hide out in Phil's office instead of insisting he be in medical. This is exactly why Phil has never allowed any other agents to take over as Barton's handler.

"No," Fury says as Phil reads for himself that Barton is only being treated with IV fluids and a mild sedative. "He's been running himself ragged since you disappeared. I haven't seen him like this since you…"

Fury trails off and Phil looks over his shoulder to where he's standing by the door. The director suddenly looks bone-tired and hesitant. Fury scrubs a rough hand over his face and squares his shoulders. Never let it be said that Fury didn't care about the well-being of his agents.

"You know, Coulson, near-death experiences are supposed to give people clarity of thought. For Barton's sake, I think it's time you come to some decisions."

The two men stare at each other across the room until Phil gives one short jerk of his chin. Fury leaves without another word.

Phil replaces Clint's chart and settles himself on the other bed in the room. He watches the steady rise and fall of Clint's breathing and fights his own exhaustion to consider what every universe has been trying to telling him. Phil can't delude himself into thinking that he hasn't known about the younger man's feelings. Can't continue to ignore that he's been equally in love with the archer for years. Phil knows that it's fully on his shoulders that they've been stuck in this limbo. He has been selfishly unwilling to take the next step forward or back away and let Clint go.

In the morning, Phil wakes before Clint and quietly leaves medical with Fury's permission. He showers and thankfully slips into one of the spare suits he always keeps in his office. He then sits at his desk and schedules a closed-door debrief for later that morning, requesting Fury as lead with Hill and Barton as witnesses. Closed-door debriefs provide SHIELD agents a chance to relay all aspects of their mission without fear of reproach or embarrassment. The debrief is not recorded and the details submitted in the final report are agreed upon by the agents in attendance. In all the years that Phil has served with SHIELD, he has never requested a closed-door debrief.

Phil enters the conference room at the appointed time and finds everyone else already there. Fury and Hill look curious, while Barton is openly concerned. Phil sits, gives Clint a reassuring smile, and begins to speak. It doesn't take long for the others to understand why Phil, an innately private person, would prefer certain details stay out of the official report.

Phil spends most of the debrief looking at Clint, but the archer has hidden behind an impassive mask and eyes that betray no emotion. Phil's throat feels raw by the time he explains what eventually brought him home. He meets Fury's eyes and finds approval there. Hill looks almost wistful as she stands with Fury and the two agents leave the room.

Clint closes his eyes and drops his chin to his chest, arms wrapping protectively around himself. "Why did you ask me to be here?" he asks softly.

Phil realizes with a start that the archer is still bracing himself for rejection. He moves to stand in front of the other agent. "Clint...look at me."

Clint looks up, eyes wary, and Phil resolves never to be the cause of so much doubt ever again. He gently cups Clint's jaw with his hand and smiles when some of the shadows are chased away.

"I needed you here because I want to say I'm sorry. I was selfish and scared and...I've wasted so much time."

Clint's eyes widen, still unsure.

"Come home with me," Phil whispers and finally, but not inevitably, presses their lips together.

Twelve hours later, Phil will wake suddenly, only to have strong arms tighten around him and a sleep-graveled voice remind him he's home. Six months later, Phil will pose a question and laugh when Clint walks into a wall. A year later, Phil will sit next to Clint's hospital bed, stroking his husband's ring with his thumb as he waits for the Treatment to run its course. Three years later, Phil will find Clint standing in the midst of a massacre, holding a baby in his arms and know his life has been changed forever.

Years will continue to pass and, on days when his husband, his son, and Stark conspire to wreak havoc on public property and his blood pressure, Phil will glance at the nondescript metal sphere sitting on a shelf in his office and know that the multi-verse is laughing at him.

Fin