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SHIELD had a saying: Hell had no Fury like Nick Fury.
Clint Barton wanted to redact that statement, shred the file it was in and set fire to the remains. People should try facing down an actual Fury before they said things like that, because the mythical Greek version? Way nastier than the Director of SHIELD. Clint would rather face down an irritated and un-caffeinated Nick Fury than ever face down the mythical version again. Not even his exploding arrows had been much use against the angry, winged women with the creepy blood-red eyes and the constant onslaught of claws, wings and teeth had left Clint exhausted, battered and bleeding and even after two days, he was still aching.
The only good part about the op had been Phil’s calm, steady voice in his ear (and he was Phil and not Agent Coulson because you don’t kiss someone like Phil had kissed him three weeks ago and not be on a first name basis). Phil’s familiar and composed voice and pattern of their banter over the comms had helped Clint fight his way through the visions and memories that had stormed through Clint’s mind every time one of the Furies had gotten close to him, because apparently making you relive the worst moments of your life was a Fury superpower.
Really, it had been the perfectly shitty end to a perfectly shitty week. And it wasn’t even as if Clint had had any unreasonable expectations for the week either. All he’d really wanted was the world to keep spinning and the odd distraction of dragging his maybe-boyfriend into random storage closets for make-out sessions. Hell, at this point, Clint would settle for sitting on the couch in Phil’s office watching the other man fill out paperwork. Even with Phil’s voice in his ear during the last mission, Clint hadn’t actually caught a glimpse the other agent in over a week. Director Fury had been keeping him busy for almost a month, smoothing over Stark’s latest PR problem, coordinating missions and training junior agents to the point where Clint suspected Phil had been sleeping in his office again.
“I’m surprised to see you sitting here,” Natasha said and Clint absolutely did not jump in his chair at the sound of her voice near his ear.
He looked up from where he’d been sort of staring at the table to see his best friend slide into the chair opposite him. He’d retreated to the mess hall for caffeine before he attempted to rewrite his latest mission report – this time with all the pertinent information included and none of the dripping sarcasm – except he had yet to find the willpower. Maybe the Doc had had a point when he’d suggested Clint spend a few days in medical.
Clint blinked when Natasha didn’t continue and pretended the eyebrow he arched in question didn’t hurt to move. He ignored the way Natasha was dressed in a tiny black dress and five inch heels at ten in the morning, but he did eye the large, slowly darkening bruise covering her cheek with concern. He knew his own bruises looked worse and he could see Natasha’s own concern in her eyes. Clint also couldn’t help but notice the group of junior agents a few tables over had stopped gossiping and where now staring at both him and Nat with wide eyes and pale faces. Absently, Clint wondered which of the new agents Natasha had threatened to disembowel, because it wasn’t as if he’d done anything to the junior agents recently. Natasha just cocked her head to the side as she looked him over. “You look like shit,” she told him.
“You’d look like shit too if you’d had to fight off actual goddamn Furies,” Clint told her with a scowl.
This time it was Natasha who blinked. “That’s a thing now?”
“Apparently,” Clint said.
Natasha shrugged. “Not the weirdest thing we’ve seen,” she said.
“True,” Clint agreed and dropped his gaze back to the table top.
He grunted when Natasha kicked him under the table and looked up with a glare to find her feigning innocence and sipping the tea she’d brought with her. The spark of mischief in her eyes gave her away, but Clint was pretty sure that was because she wasn’t actually trying to hide anything. “Have you seen Coulson this morning?” she asked.
Clint scowled again. “You’re kidding, right?” he grumbled. “I haven’t seen Phil in over a week! And I don’t mean debriefing or grabbing coffee. I mean I literally haven’t seen him in over a week. The last time I saw him, he was halfway across the Helicarrier deck on his way halfway around the world.”
Natasha sent him an unimpressed look. “You have gone longer without getting laid, you know,” she said.
“Yeah, well I haven’t exactly gotten laid yet, Tasha!” Clint snapped, his voice a lot louder than he’d intended; he fought the blush that threatened when all the junior agents turned to stare at him again.
Clint sighed and slumped lower in his chair. “Look, Phil’s a gentleman, okay?” he said in a softer voice, his eyes on the empty coffee mug in front of him and his fingers picking at the material of his pants underneath the table. He really didn’t want to see the expression on his best friend’s face right now. “We haven’t even had a third date yet. He had these plans and he was going to cook and it was just going to be the two of us in his apartment. No SHIELD, no crises, no Avengers…”
“That’s kind of cute,” Natasha smirked.
Rolling his eyes, Clint looked up again. “Shut up,” he shot back, but he could feel his mouth turning up with the ghost of a smile. “It was going to be awesome.”
“It does explain a few things,” Natasha said somewhat cryptically. Then she kicked him under the table again. “You need to go and see Coulson,” she told him firmly. “And then if you’re still giving everyone the puppy eyes, I’ll help you buy ridiculous amounts of jello and help you turn Stark’s pool into jelly.”
For the first time in days Clint felt a genuine smile curve his face. “Just remember that if Thor jumps in again, we’re supposed to rescue him before he suffocates.”
Natasha shrugged. “I was thinking more along the lines of throwing Fury into it,” she said. “Then you can have your date.”
Clint chuckled. His best friend was awesome. “I may hold you to that,” he said.
Unfortunately, Clint had to hit the range before he could go and find Phil. If it had just been an attempt at target practice he would have put it off, but he’d volunteered to help some of the new junior agents run through their weapons qualifications. Plus, it meant less work for Phil and Clint would never see that as a bad thing. It should have been easy. He should have been in and out in two hours and off to see if Phil wanted to grab lunch. Clint just hadn’t counted on the way the junior agents insisted on watching him and whispering among themselves instead of concentrating on what they were doing and making everything take four times as long as it should.
He also hadn’t counted on Captain Rogers and Thor showing up.
“Okay, Cap,” Clint said, giving in to the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to ward off his growing headache. “You want to run that by me again?”
“Thor and I are here to take over the drilling of the junior agents for the rest of the day,” Steve Rogers said in his most reasonable sounding voice.
“Yeah, I got that bit,” Clint replied. “But why are you making them run around the corridors of SHIELD? You do realise Director Fury’s office is on that level, right?”
Steve smiled reassuringly, his whole expression radiating innocence and wholesomeness. Clint wondered what the hell the good Captain was actually up to. “I’m sure we won’t accidentally trouble Director Fury,” Steve said.
“And even if that were possible, I am sure the Captain would be deeply apologetic for any inconvenience he causes,” Thor added earnestly.
“Okay,” Clint conceded, trusting that Steve actually had a reason for structuring the drills like he had. The man was a soldier who had fought in WW2. He knew what he was doing. Probably. “And Thor, you’re here because..?”
“The Frost Giants!” Thor proclaimed with a grin.
“The Frost Giants,” Clint echoed.
“Indeed,” Thor nodded. “It has come to my attention that the good agents of SHIELD have not been properly versed in the tactics and magic of Frost Giants. It is my duty to correct such a deficiency. I have a dramatic re-enactment planned that will be greatly informative.”
Clint blinked at the two of them. He did not know how Phil dealt with this shit on a daily basis. Hopefully if he could duck out fast enough, Clint could still make it to Phil’s office and kidnap him for lunch before Fury found out about Steve and Thor’s new training regime. “You two have fun with that,” he told them, before he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m just going to get out of your way.”
“You should go and see Agent Coulson,” Steve told him and if it had been anyone else, Clint probably would have gotten defensive, but he could tell Steve didn’t mean it as anything other than a genuine suggestion.
“Indeed,” Thor said. “I believe you would find it most enjoyable, Mighty Hawk.”
With narrowed eyes, Clint looked between Steve and Thor. His gut was telling him they were both knee-deep in trouble, he just couldn’t figure out what kind. Both of them genuinely seemed to want Clint to go and see Phil, but there was a mischievous glint in Thor’s eye that Clint did not trust. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll go see Phil.”
Maybe Phil would actually know what was going on.
There was a robot following him.
Even for SHIELD, that was weird.
Clint stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned around to glare at the robot that was about three feet behind him, beeping. Carefully held in its pincers, the robot carried a packet of chocolate donuts that Clint knew from experience was Phil’s favourite kind after a bad day. Obviously having spotted that Clint had stopped, the robot gave a loud series of beeps and trundled over to him. Clint watched the robot warily, his fingers itching to reach for one of the knives he kept on himself at all times.
The robot stopped about a pace away from Clint and rotated its pincers upwards, as if trying to give Clint the donuts. Still wary, Clint hesitantly reached out to take the offered snacks when he spotted the sticky note stuck to them, which read ‘Please give to Coulson to cheer him up’. He didn’t recognise the handwriting, but then he’d never seen Stark write anything that wasn’t his own signature either. Happy that Clint had taken the donuts, the robot, who reminded Clint of a miniature Dummy, gave another loud beep and started trundling back the way it had come. Clint watched it for a moment, before looking down at the donuts in his hand.
What the hell was going on?
“Barton!”
Clint paused about halfway to Phil’s office, still carrying the donuts, at the sound of Agent Hill’s shout. What was with everyone and everything trying to grab his attention today? Glancing in the direction the shout had come from, Clint saw Hill striding resolutely down the corridor, her eyes glinting determinedly. He wondered what she was mad about this time, especially considering he hadn’t even done anything on account of being too sore. He couldn’t even shimmy through the ventilation without aching. “What can I do for you this fine morning, Agent Hill?” he asked with his best shit-eating grin.
“I want you,” Hill said, pointing a finger at him warningly, “to undo whatever it is that you did. The junior agents think the apocalypse is coming and I just do not need that kind of stress in my life.”
Clint fixed a smirk on his face as he scrambled to think what it was that he could have done. He really couldn’t think of anything that would have irritated Hill this much and that had to be a first. Phil would be proud. “Exactly what is it that I need to undo?” he asked hesitantly.
Hill paused, her eyes widening. “You mean, you don’t know?”
“What do you mean he doesn’t know?” Agent Sitwell demanded, popping his head out of the nearby break room. “Barton, how can you not know?”
“Uh…” Clint started to say, but Darcy’s smirking appearance beside Sitwell interrupted him.
“The organic matter has hit the proverbial ventilation device,” Darcy said as she sauntered out of the break room, stirring a cup of tea. “And we need your cute ass and manly biceps to fix it, Hawkeye. I’m voting we move the threat level up to full supervillain if anyone’s asking.”
“Do we have a mission?” Clint asked, still confused.
“Ah… no, actually,” Sitwell said. “This is about your boyfriend.”
Clint flicked his gaze between the three agents. Both Sitwell and Hill looked deadly serious and Clint wondered if there was some sort of weird alien device on base that was sending everybody mad. “It’s Stockholm syndrome, it’s got to be,” Hill muttered. “He’s spent too long around Tony Stark and the Avengers and now he’s finally gone native.”
“I don’t think it’s that,” Sitwell disagreed. “I think it’s far more devious and diabolical. Phil Coulson would not submit to something as simple as Stockholm syndrome. I think Stark’s replaced him with an android.”
At Hill’s sceptical look, Sitwell frowned. “It’s not that crazy!” he said. “I heard him call Stark Tony and then saw them laughing together over coffee.”
Sitwell and Hill both turned to stare at Clint, clearly expecting answers. Clint felt a little like Alice after she’d fallen into Wonderland and he couldn’t stop the worry curling through his stomach. He hadn’t seen Phil in a week and maybe something had happened on their last mission? Clint folded his arms across his chest to hide his apprehension. “Look,” he said. “I have no idea what you’re all talking about. Or what it has to do with Phil.”
“It’s actually kind of simple,” Darcy said, piping up again and smirking at everyone as she sipped her tea. For a second she looked scarily like Natasha and Clint wondered if the two of them had been hanging out and bonding over tasing people and other methods of destruction. “You know that saying that everyone always tells the new junior agents? Hell hath no Fury like the Director of SHIELD?” Darcy continued. “Well, what they should really tell everyone is Hell hath no fury like a really irritated Phil Coulson who doesn’t get to spend enough quality time with his hot new boyfriend.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence after Darcy’s words. Shaking her head slightly, Hill turned back to Clint and pointed her finger again. “Just… fix it,” she said. Her message obviously delivered, she pivoted sharply and stalked off down the corridor again.
“Please,” Sitwell added. “Just, no details, okay? Ever.”
Helplessly, Clint turned to Darcy as Sitwell disappeared back into the break room. Darcy just continued to sip her tea and smirk at him. “Trust me on this one, Barton,” she said finally. “There are no words. You’re going to want to see it or you’d never believe it.”
The closer Clint got to Phil’s office, the thicker the sense of impending doom that seemed to have settled over everything. It vaguely reminded Clint of the minor panic that had swept through SHIELD three weeks ago when the rank and file had caught sight of the unflappable Agent Coulson in jeans. Clint had very good memories of those jeans, but he did wonder exactly what Phil had done that could possibly be scarier than that, because some of the newer junior agents were watching him with outright horror, their eyes wide and their faces edging towards pale.
Turning the corner, Clint blinked in surprise when he almost crashed into Tony Stark. Stark grinned when he saw Clint, the expression somehow managing to be both delighted and maniacal. “Legolas!’ he greeted. “You’re going to see Phil, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” Clint agreed, before his sharp eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?” he asked a beat later, because the last he’d heard, Stark had been dramatically telling Pepper he was never setting foot on SHIELD property again. “And since when do you call Coulson Phil?”
Stark waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Since Phil and I became bros,” he said. “But that’s not the real question. The real question is whether or not you’re going to join us on the dark side. You really should. We have cookies and really cool sentient robots.”
Clint opened his mouth to answer, but Stark caught sight of the donuts in his hand before he could and interrupted. “Oh, you brought donuts. Good idea, Robin Hood. That’ll work,” Stark said.
“Work?” Clint echoed. “Stark, what the hell are you talking about?”
Stark smirked. “Ask Phil,” he said, moving past Clint and talking over his shoulder. “Oh, and tell Phil that bros don’t ditch other bros for their boyfriends, so we’re still on for coffee next Tuesday.” Turning, Stark began walking backwards down the corridor still talking and smirking at Clint. “And avoid the break room near Fury’s office. Bruce switched the coffee in there for decaf,” he added. “Also, just ignore all the robots, unless one of them is following Fury again, in which case you might want to duck.” Stark gave him one last smirk and disappeared around the corner.
Deciding whatever this was, it had gone on long enough, Clint headed straight for the open door to Phil’s office. Darcy’s nearby desk was suspiciously devoid of the young agent. “Okay, Phil, what the hell is going…” Clint demanded as he strode into the office, but when his brain registered the sight in front of him, he stuttered to a halt.
Phil was sitting behind his desk, reading over a file and sipping coffee just like usual, but that was the only normal part about it, because unlike normal, Phil wasn’t armoured in his usual pristine suit. Clint closed his eyes for a second before opening them again, but the scene hadn’t changed. Phil’s sneaker-clad feet were propped up on his desk and he was comfortably slumped down in his chair, the sleeves of his insanely soft-looking black sweater pushed up to his elbows and revealing forearms that Clint just wanted to lick. Worn jeans hugged his legs, the same ones that had sent Clint crazy three weeks ago and the final straw that had Clint almost melting into an undignified puddle of goo were the black, thick-framed glasses Phil was wearing. Clint felt himself make a very embarrassing noise as the sight of those glasses registered, but most of his remaining brainpower was concerned with not giving in to the urge to slam the office door closed and flip the lock.
“Clint?” Phil asked, the corner of his mouth tilted up into a smile and sounding like this wasn’t the first time he’d sent Clint’s name.
“Huh?” Clint said intelligently.
“I asked you if you wanted to finish your question,” Phil said, the smile taking over his entire face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“What question?” Clint asked.
Phil’s smile turned into a grin. He stood up from behind the desk and walked over to where Clint still stood frozen in the doorway. “I don’t even pretend to understand it, but it’s really flattering the way you turn speechless whenever I’m in jeans,” he said.
The shy expression on Phil’s face and the adorable smile were Clint’s undoing. “Are you kidding me?” Clint growled, wishing he was articulate enough to explain to Phil just what the sight of him in jeans always did to Clint, but words had always been more Phil’s thing than his. Instead, Clint tossed the packet of donuts towards the desk, yanked Phil forwards by the belt loops and attempted to kiss him breathless. Phil gave in with a soft groan, his warm, calloused palms sliding up Clint’s bare arms and making him shiver. Phil tasted of coffee and something sweet and home and normally a thought like that would have sent Clint panicking, but this was Phil so all it really did was make Clint’s knees weak.
Clint eventually found himself able to form thoughts again when Phil broke away for air and he felt his hands fist in Phil’s soft sweater to stop him moving further away. Clint needn’t have worried because Phil didn’t seem to want to move either, his hands stroking the naked skin of Clint’s back underneath his t-shirt. “Hi,” Phil said, that adorable shy smile back on his ace.
“Hi,” Clint replied, his voice rough enough that he barely recognised it.
Fighting back the impulse to jump Phil right then and there, Clint shook his head to clear it a little and smirked. “So, not that I’m complaining because I will never, ever complain about you in jeans, but what’s with the denim?” he asked.
Phil’s answering smile was sharp-edged and dangerous. “Guerrilla warfare,” he replied.
For a moment, Clint frowned in confusion. Then realisation hit and suddenly Clint understood why Steve and Thor had taken over the drilling of the junior agents, the robots, everyone telling him to go and see Phil – even Stark’s cryptic comments and Natasha’s knowing smirk. Phil was angry with Fury, because there could be no other target. “Phil,” he started, but broke off to clear his throat. “Why are you fighting a guerrilla campaign against the Director of SHIELD?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Phil asked softly, reaching up with one of his hands to carefully trace the purple bruise on Clint’s jaw. He missed the warmth on his back for a second, before the delicate touch on his jaw made him shiver in a completely different way. “I’ve barely caught sight of you in over a week and glimpsing you across the Helicarrier deck doesn’t count.”
Clint felt something hesitant and warm slowly unfurl in his chest. “You mean all of this was for… me?” he said.
In response, Phil ducked his head and a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “Most of the idea was Tony’s…” he started to explain, but suddenly Clint didn’t care about the words because everything about Phil was screaming that the answer was yes.
Phil had done all of this for him.
Pressing forward, Clint ducked his head too so he could cut off whatever Phil was saying with a kiss. He poured everything he had into it; the want and the need and the crushing wave of knee-shaking love that he felt. Clint might have been nowhere near ready to say the words out loud, but he couldn’t mistake the feeling rushing through him.
This time the kiss was broken by the shrill ringing of Phil’s phone and he pulled away with a curse to answer it. “Coulson,” he greeted, only sounding slightly breathless.
Clint was close enough to hear the unmistakable voice of Fury on the other end. “All right, you asshole, you win!” Fury growled. “Both your and Agent Barton’s requests for leave are effective as of this second, but I swear, Coulson, if you leave without fixing the chaos you created, I will fire you!”
Phil grinned as Fury hung up. “So,” he said to Clint, who was more than a little impressed at how badass his boyfriend was. “It looks like we’ve both got the next two weeks off. Although, you should probably spend most of that time resting.” Clint felt Phil’s fingers gently tracing over his bruises again. Then Phil glanced away, an endearingly abashed expression crossing his face. “Anyway,” Phil continued. “I was wondering if you would like to get dinner with me this evening?”
Clint stared at him. How was Phil even real? He somehow got the Avengers to help him instigate chaos against Fury because he wanted to see Clint and then asked Clint out to dinner like Clint might actually say no. Clint was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them. “Actually, Phil,” he said, unable to resist pressing forward to give Phil another brief kiss, “I’d rather cook you breakfast in your own kitchen tomorrow morning.”
Grabbing Phil’s hand, Clint turned and determinedly pulled him out of the door of his office as Phil laughed happily behind him.
End.