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Clint doesn't believe in these things, or didn't use to, but he still finds himself out after dark on Halloween, with an offering for the guardian of the threshhold and a heart beating unduly rapidly for someone who is indulging in a superstition.
In retrospect, he congratulates himself for remaining so calm when Heimdall tells him that Thor has told him of the merits of this whisky Midgardians now favour instead of mead, and points towards Valhalla, like a solemn messenger in something from epic literature.
There is a bridge made of a rainbow under his feet, and the realm of the Gods surrounds him. He sure does hope that he'll find Coulson drinking coffee and writing disdainful margin notes on forms, because this is about as much stray from normality as he can take.
The beauty of Asgard is breathtaking, and for a moment Clint wonders what it is that draws Thor to Midgard if this is what he could have instead. Then he remembers that there is more to choices than that, that there is also the part where you make a choice not because of what you leave behind, but of what you gain; that there is doing the right thing and protecting what you care about, that it's about going where the people you love are. Clint's never had anything like Asgard, but he's made a lot of choices in his life. He should know.
The gates to one of the increasingly more splendid and magnificent (and he's getting an idea of why Thor speaks the way he does, because 'pretty damn nice' doesn't really cut it when you try to describe Asgard) buildings open, and Clint half expects giants and battle axes and another Destroyer to ask him three questions to test his heart and the purity of his intentions. Instead, it's Coulson. Clint exhales a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Coulson's wearing a black suit and a blue shirt. Clint reckonizes the shirt, the tie – he'd followed the lines of the pattern with his eyes as he'd complained about Selvig complaining about himself, until a coffee cup had appeared in his vision and Coulson had told him, not unkindly, to shut up and get back to his post, and he'd done that. Just before the Tessaract started behaving, just before the portal opened, just before he stopped thinking anything about Coulson until it was too late to stop anything that was happening to Coulson. But that was then. Now Coulson's still wearing the same suit and tie, and he smiles at Clint and holds out his hand. “Agent Barton. It's good to see you.”
He takes Coulson's hand, and they are standing in front of a monumental gate in the middle of Asgard, and Coulson shakes his hand and looks at him as if this was simply one of the more informal briefings they tended to do when they'd been on different missions for a while, the ones with handshakes and coffee and catching up on all the details the mission reports left.
“Good to see you too, sir”, Clint says, and he's impressed how calm he sounds, as if it meant nothing to him that he just walked over a rainbow bridge into another world in order to talk to a man who died months ago. The sound of laughter and what Clint can only describe as 'feasting', what with the clanging of plates and cups and the smashing and shouts of 'Another!', forms an odd background noise to their encounter.
Coulson looks over his shoulder at a particularly vigorous smashing sound and says, “Ah, yes, that. I think technically you can't come in, even if I wanted to subject you to the... experience, but I was thinking we might benefit from an environment with a little less boasting and drinking songs.” Clint tries to imagine Coulson at what must be a huge banquet hall, tables full of roast meat and goblets full of wine, like in one of those costume epics Thor has been watching with so much bemusement lately, a figure in a neat black suit between tall vikings with flowing red hair and heavy armour, clapping him on the back and encouraging him to speak again of the time he faced the Destroyer with nothing but a magical vessel that made his voice akin to the roar of a dragon.
Coulson gives him that look which means that he has been patiently waiting for an answer from an Agent Barton who insists on not paying attention to his handler at crucial moments, something which his handler only puts up with out of the goodness of his heart, so Barton should stop trying his patience and say something already. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Clint can't help but laugh quietly about the absurdity of it. “Sorry, sir. Sounds like a plan. Lead the way.”
Coulson shakes his head at him fondly and picks up a basket from an impressive wooden chest while he beckons Clint to follow him. “Much to my dismay there is no coffee in this realm, so our usual coffee-and-donuts routine will have to wait until I manage to solve this grave problem. In the meantime, since we're both off duty, I thought the circumstances allowed for something a little stronger. Do you like mead, Agent Barton?”
Coulson steps out into something that seems to be a mixture of a courtyard and a grove, and again Clint has to pause for a moment, because the way the leaves shine in the soft light is breathtakingly beautiful, and it only then hits Clint that not too long ago he wouldn't have been able to see this, to appreciate any of the marvellous sights he's suddenly confronted with, to smile at the beautiful absurdity of life.
But now he can, and now Coulson is standing next to him, again waiting for an answer, and Clint doesn't even try to stop grinning. “Never tried it, sir, but then I've never walked across a rainbow bridge into a place right out of Norse mythology. There's a first time for everything, right?”
They end up sitting under a huge oak tree, sipping mead from carved wooden cups. Coulson is sitting close to him, like they used to during difficult missions, just with more implications, and that as well as the mead is keeping the cold at bay. There is an icy wind in the air. It comes from Jotunheim, Coulson says. The gates between the realms are permeable on this day, he says.
Clint doesn't know much about mythology, but he knows that much, because he just walked across a fucking rainbow bridge to see his dead handler in the realm of the Gods. He shifts closer to Coulson under the pretense of reaching for more mead, because he didn't quite come just to see the man who used to be his handler. “Isn't that dangerous, what with.. you know, frost giants. Loki. Viking zombies, that sort of thing?” Coulson smiles amicably, and Clint is once again taken aback how much Coulson is Coulson, even if his job now is to deal with Rainbow bridges and frost giants and eight-legged horses as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He wonders if Coulson asked Odin whether there was a form to fill out in case Loki accidentally freed the Fenriswolf before the scheduled time.
Coulson says “Asgard is always guarded and guarding, but yes. There are reasons why people used to dress up for Halloween – it was to disguise themselves, to keep threats at bay they knew about, even if they could not quite grasp them with what was found in their philosophy.” There used to be a time when Clint hated these moments, the times when Coulson said something and then smiled and explained a reference he should have understood. Now, he just waits for Coulson to catch on and clarify. He got a second chance at listening to Coulson make comments that went way over his head, he can swallow as much hurt pride as he needs to.
Instead, Coulson puts down his cup of mead and embraces him, tightly, holding on longer than he normally would for reasons of propriety or whatever it is that keeps Coulson from hugging Clint now and then. Clint wonders if maybe Coulson had also thought that he'd never get to explain basic references to the classics of western literature to his asset again.
When they break the embrace, Coulson looks a little shaken, and Clint carefully swallows down the hopes that stirs when Coulson returns back to the topic as if this interlude never happened.
Another wave of icy cold wind shakes the leaves of the tree above them, and Clint watches as an oak leaf lands on Coulson's shoulder before he minutely shivers, composes himself, and tells Clint that the veil between the worlds is descending again, that it is time for him to return to Midgard. He helps Coulson to his feet, one warm, steady hand clasping the other, and for an endless moment Clint thinks that he's had more than one second chance in his life, and that this is the time when he'll tell Coulson that he wouldn't have come all the way to Asgard on a pagan road trip if there wasn't more to this than simply saying hello to his former handler.
Clint opens his mouth to say 'While I'm here, sir, I might as well tell you in person that I've been in love with you for years', or something like that, but while fate was kind enough to get him a face-to-face with his dead handler-slash-love-interest, that's about as far as kindness seems to go, because Coulson says 'It was good to see you again, Agent Barton. Safe journey back.' Coulson smiles that characteristic soft smile he has when he hides everything that constitutes Phil Coulson to the person he is smiling it at. Something breaks in Clint, but things have been breaking in him for a long time now, so it's not enough for him to silence all the fears and doubts he buried somewhere deep inside when he realized what the 'something' was that made him react different to Coulson than to all previous handlers, and to say what he came here to say.
He gets the impression that honesty and courage are the types of things which are important in a place like Asgard, and that he's likely to have invoked the displeasure of everyone around by keeping his mouth shut. He almost expects to trip and fall onto his nose on the way to the Bifrost as punishment, or something like that. He shakes Coulson's hand and turns to leave, a heaviness settling in him like a signature under a contract that spells nothing but bad ideas and severe mistakes.
He doesn't get far. He's only just turned his back to Coulson as three figures materialize before him, two female and one male, with all the radiance and splendour he is used to from Thor, just magnified. Figures that the Gods should appear more striking in Asgard than in a slightly health-and-safety-unconscious Shawarma Place on 52nd street. “Son of Coul, we would have words with you. Clint Barton, you may remain until we have spoken.” And with that, the three of them as well as Coulson are gone in a flash of light, and Clint is alone in a grove with icy wind and rustling leaves.
The fact that he sits down to wait for Phil without even contemplating that he is sitting on his bum in Asgard waiting for his dead handler who had just been whisked away by three Norse Gods makes him wonder that perhaps he's been working with SHIELD for too long to still retain anything close to sanity.
Or perhaps, he just never really had an open mind before taking Nick Fury up on his offer.
Phil is returned to him after what seems less than five minutes, but from the way Coulson looks, that 'Not a word, Barton, I've just had a two hour debrief from hell, and it's mostly your fault' look Clint has come to know (and miss) so well, it was longer for Phil. Phil looks exhausted and thoughtful, and there is something Clint can't quite read in his voice as he says “Agent Barton, are you familiar with the myth of Orpheus and Euridice?”
Clint may be in love with Agent Coulson, but it's been a trying day, so Clint is a bit more flippant than perhaps warranted when he replies “No, sir. Remind me to give Hugin my file so you can read up on the part where I'm an uneducated kid who ran away with the circus.” He regrets it the moment he says it, because this is where he is leaving, and this is where he gets yet another chance to say what he really thinks, and he really should do so, because how many second second chances do you get in life. Only Coulson says, “Never mind. You should leave, Agent Barton. And if there is one last order you would take from me, then don't look back. Please. Clint.”
And there is nothing Clint can say to that, can he, except maybe “Consider it done, sir.” He locks away everything he wants to say instead and adds “You'll keep berating me for my mission reports though,won't you, sir? I've grown quite fond of Hugin and Munin, I'd hate to see them disappear.”
Coulson smiles. “Of course I will. I'll stay in touch, trust me. Goodbye, Agent Barton.”
Clint says “Goodbye, sir”, and walks back towards Bifrost. He thanks Heimdall and tells him to tell Thor to come and visit more often because he's missed, even by Steve with his stupid 'only one god and with a better dress sense' comments, and to let him know if he liked the whisky so he can figure out a way to transport single malt by divine raven for the future. Heimdall opens the path towards Midgard, and Clint walks.
He doesn't look back.
The next morning is the day after Halloween, and Clint wakes up with the mild hangover that comes from too much emotional intensity and thoughtfulness and not enough mead. He makes a mental note to make Tony install a coffee machine in his bedroom, one of those nice ones with a timer which start making coffee ten minutes before you wake up, and stumbles into the bathroom to get a shower.
He doesn't notice the letter on his desk until he's fully dressed and trying to find the armguard he'd been trying to repair (Tony may be the engineering genius, but he's the archer, he can fix his own armguard, thank you very much).
'I'm delighted to see that you have saved my vintage Captain America poster from SHIELD storage. Furthermore, I know I could have handled last night in a much better way, but in the meantime, please restrain yourself from acts of undue violence against myself or my possessions. I'm in the process of implementing a better protocol for such situations.'
Clint is still a bit raw from last night, but he can't help but smile. He writes a short note back telling Coulson that he'll see how the ravens feel about shipment of posters, and that it was good to see him. He doesn't write that he loves Phil and would like for him to know, even if it's not mutual, but he figures that he might actually get another shot at this next Halloween, and vows to get a grip and say something next time. You don't get many fourth second chances, and this definitively calls for the next round of sacrificial bread and wine being on him.
He wonders why the ravens aren't there, because they normally wait around until he's at least said hello and promised them donuts at a mutually convenient time, but he supposes being Odin's messengers is a busy job and that they'll come back eventually. He'll save some breakfast for them. He grabs his bow and heads out for some pre-breakfast practice.
He doesn't drop his bow, but it's a close thing.
Phil Coulson is sitting on the couch in his living room, leafing through the copy of the poetic Edda that is now a permanent item on the coffee table. “I'm pleased to see that my predicament has at least improved your taste in reading, Agent Barton”, Coulson says.
Asgard is merciful, Thor had said. Clint was grateful, he really was, but he sometimes couldn't help but think that Asgard had taken Coulson away from him, and where was the mercy in that. Now Coulson is sitting on his couch, alive and breathing, and says “I got a bit of an earful concerning matters which were mine to resolve and which I had been neglecting last night. Similarly, I was informed that while in general the dead are supposed to stay dead, there are precedences for this sort of arrangement, and I should consider it an apology for getting run through with a magical spear. Asgard is merciful.”
When Clint eventually finds his voice again, he manages “Sir, I know how you feel about personal space, but can I..”, and Coulson nods, and the next thing Clint knows is that his hand is on Coulson's chest and there is a heartbeat, strong and steady, and Coulson's breath is warm against his ear, and his head is somehow on Coulson's shoulder and Coulson's hands are on his back.
He's cried into his handler's shirt before, and while that had been a particularly awful mission, Clint reckons that someone coming back from the dead counts as a sufficiently intense situation to allow the same infringement on personal space and expensive suits.
Eventually, Clint lets go and says, not particularly steadily, “It's good to have you back, sir”.
Coulson replies “You as well, Barton. There are aforementioned matters which I need to attend to, but perhaps for the time being we should tell the others before someone accidentally kills me again.”, and his voice isn't particularly steady either.
Nobody accidentally kills Coulson, and while it takes some time and support from Thor to convince everybody that yes, this is Coulson, and yes, he is now no longer dead, apparently, and no, Stark, you can not run experiments on me until you discover the secret of immortality, I have more important things to do than indulge in your desire to play Frankenstein, they eventually reach the stage where the team believes him and expresses, in various ways, their joy that he is back.
Which means that Tony says that this is damn inconvenient, now Coulson will find out what he said at his funeral and never believe Tony again when he claims to hate Agent Agent, and Natasha gives him a nod and half a smile, and Thor only barely restrains himself from a crushing embrace and proposes a feast in Coulson's honour instead.
Coulson leaves to talk to Fury and Hill and discuss official SHIELD business, because surprisingly there aren't any protocols for scenarios in which agents come back from the dead. “We'll discuss matters later”, he tells Clint, and Clint nods an affirmation and goes to pick up his bow so that he can think. He's getting the impression that he has a lot of thinking to do, in general, and concerning that promise/threat to 'discuss matters' and fifth second chances in particular.
When Clint asks Tony what Orpheus and Euridice is all about, Tony says it's about a guy in Greek myth going to the underworld, and that he has a quiver for a certain unnamed archer to finish and no time for classics lectures. When he asks Bruce what the thing about Orpheus and the underworld is about, Bruce gives him a puzzled look and explains that it's a metaphor used for the problems with the French monarchy which couldn't be expressed openly and were thus done satirically via the medium of Greek myth, and that it's general social satire which might almost be seen as a 19th century anticipation of tabloids and paparazzi nowadays, given the character of the personified Public Opinion, and asks him not to take this the wrong way, but since when he was interested in the comic opera of Offenbach.
When Coulson gets back from official SHIELD business, he asks Clint if he'd be willing to save him from yet another night spent at a feast of honour and have dinner with him instead. They share a quiet takeaway sitting on Clint's couch, and the silence is made mildly uncomfortable by the fact that Clint knows Coulson wants to discuss something important, and that Clint knows this is probably when he should tell Coulson all the things he meant to say years ago. So instead, Clint does what he's good at, and distracts by bringing up a completely different topic.
When he asks Coulson what that thing with Orpheus and Euridice is all about, Coulson puts down his container of take-away and looks at him so seriously that Clint's getting the impression that maybe, he didn't change the topic at all.
Coulson says that it's a story about a man who lost his love and ventured into the realm of the Gods to undo the wrongs and have his love returned to him, and that the Gods granted his wish, provided that he left without looking back.
“It was a risk”, Coulson says. “Orpheus doesn't trust the Gods or Euridice, not entirely, so he does look back, and all is lost. As such, it was a problematic analogy to use. But I used to have an agent who would face any risky or problematic mission with a defiance of comm silence and a throwaway comment that he'd do it because he knew I thought he could, so I figured it was a risk worth taking.”
Clint doesn't have anything to say in terms of Greek mythology. He doesn't need to say anything in terms of the level of trust he places in Coulson.
He decides that waiting a year to tell Coulson everything he should have said years ago would be stupid under the current circumstances, and that he might as well go with the tradition that his mouth has a tendency to get him both into and out of trouble.
He says “Given the whole divine intervention and Greek mythology lecture, I suppose I don't have to mumble my way through a verbal expression of feelings anymore, so I'm going to do this instead.”
Phil kisses back, as softly and enthusiastically as Clint initiates. He doesn't have eyes for much else, but he gives the two ravens on the window-sill a thumbs up before turning all his attention back to Phil. He's never been this grateful, this happy to be alive and in a position where he's deemed worthy of second chances.
Eventually, they stop making out like teenage boys and just sit and hold each other for a while. Clint puts his head on Phil's shoulder and smiles. In a way, it figures. Halloween had always been his favourite holiday.