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Phil Coulson was a rock. Unshakable. Always calm, always steady, standing firm among whatever tempest swirled around him. He was strong and secure. Clint was in love with him.
Phil had been the one to bring Clint in. Then, he became Clint's handler. They worked side by side, day in and day out. And slowly but surely, Clint had begun to fall for him.
His surety. The way he took charge, always had a contingency plan. The way he cared for everyone, Clint included, in and out of the field.
He may not have been what most people considered handsome, but Clint had never met a sexier man in his life. So many times, he came close to asking Phil out. But each time, he chickened out. He couldn't bear to lose the easy, steady friendship they had if Phil were to turn him down.
Now, Clint sat alone in a tree in the middle of an empty cemetery and cried. He cursed himself. Cursed every time he was too much of a coward to tell Phil how he felt. Cursed every wasted second. Cursed every single action that led to this moment.
In the ground below him lay a fresh grave, only recently filled in. The body in it had only been there a few days. They had just placed the headstone that very morning. On it was carved the name Philip J. Coulson.
Phil was dead. Without Phil, life had no meaning. He felt like a ship without a rudder.
Clint had hacked into S.H.I.E.l.D's systems and picked out the plot and headstone himself. It wasn't ordinary stone. Nothing was ordinary about Phil. Why should his headstone be boring old rock?
It was made out of stained glass. A deep blue that perfectly matched the color of Clint's favorite tie that he wore. One Clint had often imagined tied around his wrists while they made love. But Phil was now gone. Dead. And with him, all of Clint's fantasies, hopeful and lustful alike.
The headstone was beautiful. It was broad daylight. The sunlight shone through it, coloring the grass and dirt of the grave a gorgeous blue. Overwhelmed by guilt and grief, Clint couldn't stop crying.
The sun was beginning to set, filling the sky with pinks and oranges, before he finally climbed down and left the cemetery. He headed back to the tower in a daze.
All the other Avengers were there, Tony Stark had taken them in after the battle against the alien army. Clint greeted them mechanically before heading to his room and shutting the door.
He curled up in a ball in bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. He lay there staring at the wall, unseeing; wishing Phil was still there, and wishing he wasn't.
********
Time passed in a blur for Clint. Days became weeks. Nothing had any meaning. He felt like he was underwater. Drowning, yet still living.
He saw his S.H.I.E.l.D mandated therapist once a week. It was the only thing that marked the passage of time for him. He told her just enough to get her, and by extension S.H.I.E.l.D, off his back, but never what was really going on.
Sometimes, he wondered why he even bothered, why he even cared if S.H.I.E.l.D fired him. But he couldn't bring himself to stop. Phil had loved S.H.I.E.l.D. There were so many memories of him there. Everything reminded him of Phil, every corner, every hallway. He couldn't give that up, no matter how each memory hurt.
He knew everyone was worried about him in a distant sort of way. But everything seemed distant to him since he had woken up from the mind control to discover that Phil was dead. Distant and unreal. Nothing mattered, not really.
Natasha was the only one able to bring him out of the haze he spent his days and nights in. She could draw him out for a short time. Bring him into the land of the living for a little while. They would sit in his room and chat about everything. The little everyday things and the big things. Sometimes, they even talked about Phil.
She missed Coulson too. She had also known and cared for him. But she hadn't been in love with him. However, she was still the only person who came close to knowing what Clint was going through. She was the only person he had ever told about how he loved Phil.
Sometimes, Clint wondered if he was really alive at all. The world around him felt colorless and unreal. He wondered if he had actually died with Phil on that helicarrier and this was payment for his sins, some sort of hell.
So, the days passed meaninglessly, marked only by the weekly therapist visits. Eventually, he began to fake that he was getting better, but that was only after his therapist suggested more rigorous methods to help him when he wasn't making the progress she wanted.
So he lied to her. He lied to everyone. And he pretended he was feeling better. He was withdrawn. But thankfully, none of the Avengers knew him well enough to realize that that was not his normal state of being.
Only Natasha knew he was faking. But he could trust Natasha. He could let his guard down around her and trust that she wouldn't say anything to anyone. That she would have his back, just always had. She was his anchor, the only thing that kept him tethered to reality, the only thing that kept him from completely spiraling down. She kept he sane, or the closest thing to it he could manage.
Sometimes, he saw Phil out of the corner of his eye. A phantom face in a crowd that disappeared as soon as you looked at it. A man with his back turned that was revealed to not be Phil when he turned around. A figure down an alley that turned out to just be a shadow.
Clint didn't dare tell even Natasha about this. He just pointedly ignored it, pretended it wasn't happening. He pretended he didn't start every time he saw a man in a suit like Phil's. That his heart didn't jump every time he saw someone with a similar body or face shape to his.
More time passed. Clint was finally to a point where he was able to fake being a semi functional person to those who didn't know him. He worked on ops with S.H.I.E.l.D. Only from the office, they still weren't ready to send him out into the field again.
He also fought alongside the other Avengers when the need arose. He took a lot more risks than he had previously. He found he didn't really care if he lived or died, just that the job got done.
Natasha tried to snap him out of it repeatedly. She scolded soundly him every time he took a stupid risk, but to no avail. With Phil gone, Clint just didn't care about his own life anymore. The only thing he wanted was to save as many lives as possible before he kicked it to make up for the ones he'd helped take while under Loki's control.
Clint still visited the cemetery often. He planted flowers on Phil's grave. They looked beautiful beside the blue glass of the headstone. He took care of them meticulously. It felt supremely important. After all, Phil deserved nothing but the best.
Clint and Phil had had a tradition. Every birthday and Christmas they each gifted the other the most exotic blend of coffee they could get their hands on. Then, on long nights, planning an opp or filling out the paperwork after one, they would drink it together. It had been their special thing.
On Phil's birthday, Clint went to a tattoo shop. He got a small tattoo. A simple coffee cup on his left pec. Right over his heart.
Time ticked by. The tattoo healed. One day, after a long battle, the Avengers saw it. No one reacted, but Natasha gazed at it with saddened eyes. She knew what it meant.
Clint, too, was slowly healing. The world seemed less gray more colorful. But he knew he'd never truly be over it, just like he would never be able to forgive himself for his part in Phil's death.
**********
One afternoon, as Clint was leaving S.H.I.E.l.D after his therapy session, Natasha stalked past him. She held an open knife in hand, her eyes were blazing with rage. Clint immediately turned and fell into step behind her.
Natasha led him directly to Fury's office. She didn't bother to knock. She kicked the door open and glared at Fury.
Fury looked up from his desk, where he was typing something on his computer.
"What can I do for you two?" He asked in a carefully mild tone.
"How dare you?!" She snarled at him. "How could you do this to him, to us?!"
She gestured to Clint with the hand not holding the knife. "You knew he was struggling! And still, you didn't say anything! My best friend was suicidal! He could have died!"
Fury looked at her with feigned calm. "It was classified."
"That's not an excuse! You will take us to him right now, or you will be down another eye!"
Fury opened his mouth to say no, but Natasha cut him off.
"You can't tell me he hasn't been asking for us, asking for Clint. How is he going to feel when he finds out you've been lying to us, when he finds out how low Clint got? Take us to him now."
Fury sighed deeply and stood up, looking more disgruntled than usual and quite a bit wary. "Very well. Come along."
Natasha followed, dragging a bewildered Clint along behind her. Her anger still clearly telegraphed in the lines of her movement.
Fury reluctantly led them from the building into the parking lot and ushered them into a car. Clint sat in the back seat beside Natasha, feeling a bit dazed and more than a bit confused. Fury got in the driver's seat and drove off.
"Natasha. What's going on?" Clint whispered to her once the car was moving.
She looked over at him. "Fury's been lying to us." She clipped out, her voice hard and brittle.
"Yeah. No shit. He's Fury."
"Not like this. He had no right to lie to us about this. Especially given how you've been."
"I've been Ok."
"No, you haven't."
"So is this about Coulson?"
"Yes." Natasha replied before turning away. A cleat signal that the conversation was over.
They drove for an hour or so, weaving in and out of traffic and up and down side streets. Clint mulled over what he knew, or thought he knew.
Fury was hiding something that had to do with Phil. Natasha was angry. And she had said something about someone being unhappy about them being kept in the dark. His head felt foggy as he turned the information over and over in his head, trying to figure out what it meant, how it all fit together.
Finally, they came to a large officelike building. Fury parked the car and strode up to the door of the building. Natasha followed him with Clint trailing along behind. At the door, Fury swiped his access card, typed in a code, and had his retina scanned before they were allowed access.
The doors opened with a gentle click, and they all three stepped inside. Fury led them through a normal looking lobby to a bank of elevators. He pressed the down button, which required yet another pass code and retina scan before the doors opened, and they were able to enter the elevator and go down.
The doors swooshed open again to reveal a brightly lit corridor lined in doors. Everything was medical white. Clint thought distantly that this must be a nightmare to clean. Fury began walking briskly down the hall, Clint and Natasha followed.
Looking into the doorways as they passed, Clint saw all varieties of medical and scientific equipment. Fear and hope warred in Clint with every step they took.
Finally, they reached a door towards the end of the hallway. This door was shut. Fury knocked on the door, then opened it slightly and stuck his head in.
"I've brought you some visitors. Clint and Natasha."
"Finally!" Said a weak voice from inside the room. A voice Clint hadn't heard in what felt like an eternity. A voice he would know anywhere. Phil's voice.
Clint pushed past Fury and threw the door open as he barged into the room. Phil was sitting up in a large hospital bed. The back was raised up, and he was propped up by a generous amount of pillows. His face lit up when he saw Clint.
"Clint! It's good to see you. I'm glad you could come." He greeted warmly.
Clint crumpled to the floor, his legs no longer able to hold him up. He clamped his hands over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the loud sobs that shook his frame.
"Clint!" Phil cried out in concern. "What's wrong?"
"Not much." Natasha said coolly, pushing her way past Fury into the room. "Just that he's spent this past year thinking you were dead and that it was all his fault."
Phil's face turned white with horror. He looked over at Fury, and his eyes hardened, and his face flushed with anger.
"You told me they knew. You told me they were doing OK, and that you told them I was alive."
"Yes." Fury replied evenly.
Phil lost it. "THIS DOESN'T LOOK LIKE OK TO ME!" Phil shouted at Fury, motioning to Clint still huddled on the floor. He began to make a move to get up out of bed.
"Stay in bed." Fury barked, stepping forward. "And you should understand that your statis was on a need to know basis. Still is, in fact."
"AND I TOLD YOU THEY NEEDED TO KNOW!"
Phil heaved himself out of bed and stumbled over to Clint's side before Fury could stop him. He lowered himself onto the ground beside Clint and carefully wrapped his arms around Clint's hunched over body.
"I'm here, Clint." He whispered. "I'm alive. I've got you."
Clint turned into Phil's embrace, burying his face in Phil's shoulder. He clung to him for dear life as he failed to control his sobbing, gasping for breath in between his cries.
"It has been wonderful to see you, Coulson." Natasha spoke before turning to Fury. "I want to be shown around this facility. Now."
They stared at each other for a full minute, eyes full of meaning, before he relented and led her out of the room, giving Phil and Clint some privacy.
Phil tightened his hold on Clint.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He whispered into Clint's hair.
Eventually, Clint's sobs turned to whimpers, and he looked up to meet Phil's gaze. He reached a hand up to caress the side of Phil's face.
"You're alive. You're really alive!"
A huge grin broke out over his tear stained face.
"Yes, Clint, I'm really alive. Now, do you mind if we move this to the bed? The floor is hard, and my chest is starting to hurt."
Clint heaved himself up off the tile immediately and held out a hand to Phil and carefully lifted him up after him. He gently helped Phil back into bed.
Once Phil was settled, he patted the bed next to him. Clint took a careful seat, which Phil had indicated.
"How have you been, Clint?" Phil asked softly.
"Bad." Clint whispered back. "You were dead."
"I'm so sorry." Phil reached out a hand to stroke Clint's cheek. "I told Nick you and Natasha needed to know. That you guys could keep it a secret. He told me he'd handle it."
"Clint leaned into Phil's hand. "Not your fault."
"I'm glad you're here."
"Me too. Natasha was so angry at Fury, I'm kinda surprised she didn't burst into flames. She's probably off right now reading him the riot act."
Phil shrugged and smiled just a little. "He deserves it."
Clint huffed out a laugh. He listed slightly as he did so. His whole body was exhausted from the crying and the emotions of the day. Phil smiled at him and scooted over, patting the bed again.
"Here. Lie down, get comfortable. This bed's definitely big enough for two."
Clint looked up to see Phil warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes before nodding. He laid down next to Phil. Phil slid one of the many superfluous pillows over for Clint to rest his head on.
The whole thing was surprisingly comfortable. Phil pulled the blanket up around them, and Clint, without meaning too, was asleep within minutes.
***********
Clint awoke some time later from the best sleep he'd had since Phil "died," by the creaking of the door slowly opening. He sat up in an instant.
Natasha and Fury stood in the doorway. Phil was also awake. From the book on his lap, it looked like he had been reading.
Fury stepped into the room. "Well, now that it seems Barton no longer wants to kill himself, you both can be going."
Phil sucked in a breath and looked from Fury to Clint, horrified.
"What does that mean?!" He demanded.
Clint looked away, abashed.
"Clint, did you try to kill yourself?!"
"No." He muttered, still not looking at him. "I didn't try to kill myself or anything..... It's just..... I didn't try hard not to either."
"That's not much better!" Phil exclaimed angrily.
"You were dead, Phil! You were dead. It was my fault, and I never got to tell you how much you meant to me, that I loved you. I'm sorry that I couldn't just get over that!"
Clint hopped off of the bed and made a move towards the door. Phil grabbed his arm before he got more than a step from the bed, stopping him dead in his tracks. With surprising strength, Phil turned him back towards the bed and kissed him.
Clint went still with shock for a split second before his brain kicked back online, and he returned the kiss with enthusiasm. Moments later, he climbed back onto the bed to get closer to Phil, eventually straddling Phil's lap for optimum kissing angle.
When they finally came up for air, the door was shut, and Fury and Natasha were nowhere to be seen. Though Phil's body was not strong enough for sex yet, they took advantage of this solitude to get even more handsy. Phil almost cried when he took Clint's shirt off and saw the tattoo.
************
From then on, Clint had constant access to Phil, access that he used liberally. He was almost always over visiting his new boyfriend. A cot was set up for him in the room, though he never really used it. Both of them preferred to keep the other close, and so they shared Phil's spacious hospital bed.
Finally, the day came when Phil was well enough to leave the secret shield lab where he had been brought back to life, and, with the help of a cane, rejoin the outside world for at least a little while.
The day dawned bright and sunny. Phil barely waited for the doctor to give him the all clear before dragging Clint out the door.
Once he had started feeling better, the cabin fever had taken hold of him. The last couple of weeks had been especially bad. It was so bad that he had contemplated pulling a Clint and escaping from medical custody. He didn't, but he seriously considered it. There was a half drawn up escape plan hidden between the pages of one of his books.
It did help that as his body slowly mended, they were able to do more and more sexually. They had been finally given the go ahead for penetrative sex not too long ago, with the stipulation that they were to be careful and to not do anything too strenuous. They had been taking full advantage of that.
As they finally stepped out of the building into the fresh air, Phil breathed a sigh of contentment. The sun on his skin and the breeze on his face felt absolutely wonderful.
They climbed into the car, Clint taking the driver's seat and drove around for a while. Phil insisted on having the windows rolled down. They stopped for lunch at a little restaurant that had open air seating.
After lunch, they drove around some more. They drove out of the city, past the suburbs, into the countryside. As they drove further out, down old badly paved roads, they passed by a small cemetery. It, too, was old and badly maintained. It looked like it had been entirely forgotten by time and people. Many of the headstones were half hidden by vines and overgrowth.
As they drove past it, Phil turned to Clint and asked. "So what was my funeral like?"
"It was nice, I guess. Not all that much different for any other agents funeral. Most of it was a blur for me. I did hack into S.H.I.E.l.D and picked your grave site and headstone. I promise your grave is well kept. I made sure of it."
"Take me there. I want to see it."
Clint turned the car around and drove them to the cemetery where Phil was "buried." Once they arrived, he led Phil down the familiar path to the grave.
Phil stared down at his immaculately kept grave. The blue glass headstone was surrounded by a riot of beautiful healthy flowers that had been carefully tended to. A white porcelain coffee cup with Captain America depicted on it sat nestled among them resting against the headstone. There was no question who had done it.
"Clint." Phil whispered, his voice choked with emotion as tears began to fill his eyes. "You did this?"
Clint nodded.
"You did all of this for me?"
"Yes." Clint replied solemnly. "You deserve nothing but the best. And this was my best. I thought you were dead. This was the only thing I could do for you."
"Clint. It's beautiful." The tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks.
Phil hugged Clint tight and kissed him fiercely. They stood there for many minutes before Phil was ready to leave.
Once they were in the car, Phil spoke.
"You know, that is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. I'm just glad I lived to see it."
"Me too."
"I love you."
"I love you too, Phil. So much."
They drove back to the secret. S.H.I.E.l.D lab they called home in companionable silence. Nothing more needed to be said. They had their whole future ahead of them. They saw it clearly shining brightly with happiness.