Archive of Our Own ^beta

Phil Coulson was not nearly so calm as he appeared, though only a select few would ever recognize it in the tight pull at the corner of his eyes and tremor in the hand clasped at his back that was so minute that it was barely visible. Anticipation, dread and three years worth of longing raged in muted conflict behind the stormy blue gaze that took in the opulence of the room with a detached glance and a steadily growing impatience. It was just shy of midnight, well beyond the polite and appropriate hours to come calling. He didn't care.

"I'm sorry Mr. Kasideus," Phil heard the servant's voice down the hall and footsteps approaching. "He would not take no for an answer and insisted that it was of the utmost importance."

"This better be good, Alfred," a deep voice intoned. "We've only barely returned. The last thing I want to deal with is an uninvited guest."

The last was said tiredly as the speaker stepped into the room looking exhausted and travel worn only to stop short at the sight of his visitor.

"Well then you best change your plans, Mr. Kasideus," Phil said with an air of confidence that did nothing to hide the inherent threat in his voice. "Because you and I have much to discuss."

The man rose to his full height and looked suddenly more alert despite blinking at Phil in silence for the span of several heartbeats. Riven Kasideus was easily five years younger than him and about three inches taller with deep brown eyes and a dark mop of wavy brown hair threaded with silver and a matching close cut beard and moustache. Broad shouldered and roguishly handsome he didn't look nearly as surprised to see him as Coulson expected.

"Leave us," he said to the servant without looking away.

"You know who I am. Good," Phil stated. "Then you know that I am the only thing standing between you and a bullet to the skull. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't end you right now."

Riven watched him with wary resignation but was not the least bit cowed.

"Think very carefully about what you're going to say, Mr. Kasideus," Phil warned. His emotions were on a hair trigger and all it would take is one wrong word to set him off. A brief silence before infusing the next word with such a convoluted mixture of rage and sorrow that it threatened to consume him. "Why?"

A small measure of understanding, of compassion, bled through the other man's gaze. Brief but genuine.

"I fell in love with him," Riven admitted with a sincerity that stung and an almost apologetic shrug.

Phil's expression hardened.

"Was that before or after Hydra mind wiped him?"

Riven sighed and his exhaustion bled through again.

"He wasn't wiped. It's a block. It's all still there...he just can't access it," he explained. "Wipes are too unpredictable. They didn't want him to lose his skill set, or the past that made him who he was...they just wanted S.H.I.E.L.D out of his head."

"So Hydra could use him against us," Phil stated.

Phil wasn't stupid. Far from it. He knew that the man before him had been one of Hydra's top agents, but he also knew how Hydra recruited most of their people.

"You were loyal to Hydra until a year and a half ago," Phil stated. It was a known fact. "What changed? Who were they using against you?"

Riven's jaw tightened and he moved slowly towards the bar, keeping his hands in sight. He remained silent as he poured a drink, glancing at his guest in askance before setting it aside at Phil's refusal. Knocking it back in one swallow the man's voice was rough as he responded.

"My mother," he admitted. "When she passed away..."

Phil's gaze sharpened noticeably.

"Natural causes," Riven clarified with a small but grateful smile. "They lost their leverage. I had no one else."

"No one?" Phil asked knowingly, voice bordering on bitter.

Understanding he was treading on dangerous ground, Riven responded carefully.

"Not that they were aware of," he conceded quietly.

Phil absorbed that in silence. He had some of the pieces but there were still so many missing. He needed to know the full story, no matter how much it pained him.

"Is he aware that you're the one who brought him in?" Phil went straight for the jugular. "That you were the one that handed him over to Hydra?"

Riven's dark gaze was steady, almost challenging. "Yes."

Phil didn't let his surprise at that show.

"That was the first thing they used against me when I...defected," Riven explained. "His first solo assignment was to take me out."

There seemed to be an unspoken agreement to not speak his name aloud. For now it kept Phil from splintering into tiny, broken pieces.

"We had worked a few ops together, breaking him in, getting him used to the way HYDRA handled things," Riven seemed to sense Phil's need to know.

"They were testing him," Phil surmised.

Riven nodded in agreement and then huffed a small laugh, almost against his better judgment.

"He questioned everything they asked of him. Refused to take orders like some mindless drone," he said.

Phil felt a mixture of emotions at the revelation. Pride that the man he loved was still there, dismay at the repercussions of questioning Hydra's orders and dread for inevitable direction in which Riven's story was likely to take him.

"I imagine Hydra didn't take too kindly to that."

"They gave him a lot of leeway at first," Riven said. "They had big plans for him, but they didn't trust him, despite the mind block."

"And the solution to that was?" Phil asked, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't some form of detailed torture or more mind manipulation. He was pretty sure he couldn't handle that right now. It didn't even matter that it was in the past and that he was alive and well after years of uncertainty. Hydra's cold-blooded ruthlessness was well established at this point. Mindless drones that followed orders without questions were exactly what they wanted.

"Partner him up," Riven responded. "I was assigned as his mentor."

He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. It had all started there. The journey that had eventually brought Phil to their door. He could see it in Riven's eyes.

"I suspected they'd send him for me when I left," Riven continued. "A twisted test of loyalty. We'd planned for it actually."

Phil shied away from the perpetual ache in his chest and focused on what he knew.

"So why not disappear?" he asked. "Start fresh somewhere outside of Hydra's reach."

"There's no such place," Riven answered from experience.

"You had to know you'd end up on S.H.I.E.L.D's radar eventually," Phil pressed. "That we'd come for him."

"Figured it'd be fun while it lasted," Riven's smile was rueful and reckless, tinged with bit sadness. "I made the red head in Munich three months ago. Knew it would only be a matter of time before you caught up with us."

Natasha had been so damn close. Minutes behind them. The bed had still been warm...

"Who's idea was it to take out Hydra's upper echelon?" Phil wanted to know.

The moment Riven Kasideus, one of their own, had come down on Hydra's exclusive six figure hit list, S.H.I.E.L.D had dispatched their own team to bring him in. Fury wanted answers and any Hydra intel he could get his hands on.

"It was a mutual decision," Riven disclosed.

Phil had not been part of the initial op to bring Riven in. Sitwell and his team had been awarded that pleasure once they'd narrowed down the man's next likely target and put surveillance in place. They would have had him too were it not for the partner hidden in the shadows that took out one of their agents with the deadly precision of a steel-tipped arrow. In the chaos that followed, three more were injured before the team was forced to withdraw and re-evaluate. By then Riven and his mystery partner had disappeared, leaving their intended target alive and oblivious to their fate.

The recovery of the arrows had set the team and S.H.I.E.L.D on edge. It wasn't a common choice of weapon and had served to remind everyone of their missing and presumed dead archer. It wasn't until all the surveillance footage from the area had been hacked and reviewed that one very grainy photograph emerged.

It changed everything.

Phil would never forget the day Fury called him to his office and sat him down with a grim expression. He didn't say anything for a long time, just gazed at Phil with an unsettling mixture of sympathy and determination. For Fury it was as delicate as it got. He slid an 8 x 10 black and white photograph across the desk. The man in the photo was in profile, hidden mostly in shadow within the cowl of his hood, an arrow drawn back and ready for release. The quality of the image was not the best, obviously taken at a distance and enlarged and enhanced, but there was no mistaking who it was.

His heart had skipped a beat, entire body tensing as his pulse picked up. Two years with not one single lead and the wound was still fresh and deep. Phil had gazed down at the photo for so long, lost in emotions he'd never really dealt with before his confused gaze made its way back to Fury.

"Look at the date stamp at the bottom," he said.

Phil may have stopped breathing.

"Two days ago," he said in disbelief and shock.

No details beyond the thought that he's alive mattered in that moment. Every single ounce of despair over the last two years all but dissipated with the realization that Clint was alive.

Fury slid another photo across the desk. This one of Riven Kasideus dressed in black just before he disappeared behind a wall that would hide him from sight.

Phil looked at Fury, confused by the apparent connection.

"Every bit of intel we have says they're working together."

Fury didn't say more, but he didn't have to. Riven was Hydra, at least he'd been until very recently. Hydra had an established history of successful deep cover operatives. It remained unspoken but it hung in the air...could Clint have been...

"No," Phil said adamantly. "Absolutely not." He would have known. He would have.

Fury declined to comment. He was never much for conjecture anyways. He dealt in cold, hard facts. If he wanted answers, there was only one way to get them.

"Bring them in," Fury ordered. "Both of them."

Phil gave a sharp nod, thankful he'd been given the order because finding Clint had just become his top priority...with or without S.H.I.E.L.D. Fury knew him well enough to know this. He also knew that Phil had the best incentive and the best chances of locating their wayward archer, despite the fact that he was utterly and completely compromised.

It had taken Phil a year to get to this point. A year of relentless tracking and near misses. Over the course of that time he'd pieced together some of what happened through captured or cornered low level Hydra operatives. Enough to know that Clint had been taken, that he hadn't been a Hydra plant all along. Not that Phil had ever believed that to begin with.

"So what's the plan?" Riven interrupted Phil's thoughts. "Where do we go from here?"

Phil eyed him dispassionately. He cared nothing for the man before him. Phil would be fine tossing him in a cell or handing him over to Hydra to deal with. He wouldn't. He wanted to, but he wouldn't. He hated the man for his connection to Clint but understood that Riven could be very useful to S.H.I.E.L.D.

"That depends entirely on Clint," Phil said.

He honestly did not how this would play out and wouldn't until he could speak to Clint.

"He doesn't go by that name anymore," Riven informed him quietly.

"I'm aware," Phil responded coldly. "Get him down here please."

There was a measure of resignation and defeat in sad eyes as Riven retrieved his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. He gave Phil one last glance before hitting a speed dial number on his phone. They waited several rings until Phil heard the low echo of Clint's voice pick up on the other end.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Riven smiled despite himself, voice intimate, gentle. "Thought you were going to wait for me."

Phil heard a muffled reply, couldn't pick up on the exact words.

"Yeah," Riven agreed. "Taking a little bit longer than I'd expected. There's...there's actually someone here I'd like you to meet." A flicker of glance back at Phil. "Join me downstairs?"

There was obvious grumbling on the other end of the phone and Phil heard the words tired and warm.

Phil's heart clenched tightly in his chest when Riven's lips curled in a small indulgent smile the way his wanted to at the sound of a tired, grumpy Clint.

"I know...I'll do my best to make it up to you," Riven sidestepped the promise that likely wanted to spill from his lips.

Phil felt no sympathy for the man as he disconnected the call and closed his eyes.

"He's on his way."

"Good," Phil replied, which was the understatement of the year. "When he arrives you will put him at ease and then excuse yourself with an appropriate excuse. An associate of mine will meet you at the door and escort you a holding area. Do not," Phil warned sternly, "try anything or she will not hesitate to put you down."

Riven looked neither intimidated nor impressed. In fact he looked as tired as Clint had sounded on the phone. Despite that the man still held a certain resolve, an underlying determination that spoke loud and clear. He would be going nowhere without Clint. Phil had a few things to say about that. Their steely-eyed gaze held until the sound of a very familiar voice preceded Clint's entrance to the room.

"Who just drops in for a visit at this ungodly hour?" Clint complained before fully entering.

He stopped short at the site of Phil, immediately alert but not quite shedding the rumpled, sleepy look that suited him so well. He was barefoot, wearing dark sleep pants and a gray long-sleeved thermal shirt that hugged the contour of his body and the muscles in his arms.

"Hello, Ronin," Phil said ever so softly.

Clint, and he would always be Clint to Phil, glanced at Riven in askance at their unexpected visitor. For Phil's part all he could do was drink in the vision of a healthy, hale and very alive Clint Barton. It took supreme effort for him to keep his place, to not cross the room and pull him into an embrace.

"This is Agent Coulson from S.H.I.E.L.D," Riven introduced him, Clint's head turning back to Phil sharply at the mention of S.H.I.E.L.D." Phil watched as those kaleidoscope eyes and sharp gaze swept over him from head to toe.

Riven moved the short distance to Clint and spoke to him quietly, most of it lost to Phil as he just allowed himself to gaze at the man that he loved. It had been so long. The memories he had, that they'd created...they'd helped him through the last three years of hell, but nothing compared to seeing the man in the flesh once again. Warm, vibrant and in living color, Clint was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Wait...where are you going?" Clint asked as Riven started to leave the room.

Riven didn't even hesitate, didn't glance in Phil's direction.

"Just going to make some tea," he lied. "I let Alfred go for the night. I'll be back. It's okay," Riven held Clint's gaze and paused at the door. "You can trust him."

Phil knew Natasha was waiting out of site to escort the man to a holding area just off the property. Riven was well to do in his own right, long before Hydra had recruited him. It had taken a long time to track this particular property as one of the handful of safe houses owned by the former Hydra spy.

Ronin, Clint, glanced back at Phil and relaxed marginally. Riven's assurance had taken the edge off and had Clint standing down and looking less wary.

"What does S.H.I.E.L.D want with us?" Clint asked, circling a bit and keeping his distance from Phil.

"I would think that would be fairly obvious," Phil responded, hyper aware of each movement Clint made.

Clint huffed out a small yet insincere laugh, eyes widening slightly.

"Recruitment? Seriously?" he said incredulously, and then more firmly, "we're doing just fine on our own. Thanks."

"Are you?" Phil pushed. "I know for a fact you've spent the last year on the run with a bounty on both of your heads."

Clint feigned nonchalance but Phil knew his tells, the tightening of his shoulders and pinch between his eyes. A life on the run was exhausting and often limited in resources, even when one was as well financed as Riven Kasideus.

"You had a home with S.H.I.E.L.D once," Phil said quietly. And with me. "Did Riven tell you that?" Did he tell you that you were happy, that you were loved and that when you disappeared that if felt as if a piece of my heart and been ripped out and torn to shreds?

"He told me," Clint said, the tone of his voice taking on a slightly defensive edge. "He told me everything. We don't keep secrets from each other Agent Coulson. He was hired to do a job. He did it. End of story. Things changed."

That, above all things, was obvious. Of course there were things that Riven wouldn't know, or couldn't because only a select few knew that Phil and Clint had actually been married shortly after he'd recovered from Loki's spear. It was something that had never made it into their personnel files. Phil used his thumb to twist the titanium band on the ring finger of his left hand. They'd never worn rings, never even bothered to pick any out, due to the nature of their work, but when Clint went missing Phil had needed something tangible to keep his head in the game - to hold the grief and uncertainty at bay.

"And you're not curious about that?" Phil asked with an air of disbelief and some small amount of hope that he managed to keep carefully hidden. "Nine years of your life wiped away and you aren't the least bit curious? I find that hard to believe."

Clint circled around the sofa and sat on the end furthest from Coulson, tucking his feet beneath him. At ease, but keeping his distance. Phil wondered if the ever present ache in his chest would ever subside. He sat in the chair at the opposite end, putting himself at Clint's level, even now thinking of Clint's comfort over his own.

"Believe it," Clint said with a surety that had dread settling in Phil's stomach. "I'm not really one for regret, Coulson. What good does it do me to look back? Those years are gone; I'll never get them back."

"What if you could, Cl...Ronin?" Phil blurted hopefully. "What if you could?"

From the moment they'd discovered Clint had been mind wiped...blocked...by Hydra, Tony and Bruce had been working on a way to reverse the process. They'd had some very promising results but nothing conclusive. Yet.

"Doesn't matter," Clint said, crushing Phil's hopes without even meaning to. "Nothing can top what I have now. I'm happy. ”He emphasized the word in whispered wonder. "I...I never thought I'd ever have this...love, this connection with another person. I never thought that I deserved it. I love what I do Coulson...and I love who I do it with. I won't jeopardize that for a maybe, for a past that was never all that kind to me to begin with."

The lump in Phil's throat was hard to swallow around. Clint looked so earnest and vulnerable that he had to look away. He had to.

"So," Phil cleared his throat as best he could. "If I were to inform you that S.H.I.E.L.D's invitation to rejoin our ranks extended to yourself only...."

"I'd say screw you," Clint said, firm but friendly.

Coulson hoped the small laugh that escaped him did not sound as hopeless and watery as it felt on the inside. "I suspected as much."

Phil felt his heartbeat quicken as Clint's head tilted to the side, gaze sharp.

"Did we...know each other?" Clint asked somewhat uncertainly.

The smile that graced Phil's face was real in a way it hadn't been since Clint had been taken from him.

"We knew each other quite well," Phil said with careful honesty. "As a matter of fact, I dare say we were the best of friends." And so very much more.

"Really?"

Clint eyed him again, slower this time. Despite the somewhat skeptical look, there was a definite flicker of more than polite interest. It was there and gone all too quickly.

"Is that so hard to believe?" Phil asked softly. "That we could be friends."

"No," Clint insisted. "It just doesn't seem very likely. I mean look at that suit," he gestured in Phil's direction. "That probably cost more than someone like me would make in a year at S.H.I.EL.D. You're obviously upper level...we don't exactly look like we would run in the same circles."

"You were one of S.H.I.E.L.D's top agents," Coulson informed. "We worked several ops together. You saved my life more than once."

Clint was watching him closely.

"I'm willing to bet you returned the favor," he said.

"A time or two, yes," Phil agreed. He still had the occasional nightmare about one of those times as a matter of fact.

"This must be weird for you," Clint seemed to realize.

"It's not about me, Clint," Phil kept his face open and friendly but got down to business. "We've been searching for you from the moment Hydra took you. This isn't a standard recruitment...I'm here to bring you home."

"I have a home," Clint responded almost immediately. "It's not S.H.I.E.L.D. Not anymore."

Outwardly, Phil maintained his calm demeanor. Inwardly, he was desperately scrabbling for purchase...something...anything to give him hope.

"It could be," he insisted. "You'd have the full protection of S.H.I.E.L.D at your back. No more running."

"Why?" Clint asked, quietly incredulous. "Why would you, or anyone for that matter, care about what happens to me?"

Phil could tell that he was intrigued by the prospect of what he was offering, but that he was also incredibly wary and genuinely confused as to why any one person, let alone an entire organization, would go to such lengths for him.

It was heartbreaking for Phil. He'd spent years, first as a friend, and then as a lover, helping Clint understand and believe in his own value.

"We're family," Phil stated, throat tight and sore. "You may not remember...but we do. S.H.I.E.L.D takes care of its own."

Clint looked lost for the first time, tired and alone and younger than he really was curled up on the sofa in his pajamas. Wariness returned as Phil stood and approached him slowly, settling on the couch, near enough to touch.

"Think about it okay?" Phil asked earnestly and with obvious caring.

"Riven?" Clint asked, showing where his loyalty and the bulk of his concern lie.

Phil took a deep breath and felt his heart break.

"If that's what it takes to bring you home...we'll make a place for him as well."

Clint blinked in surprise at the promise in Phil's words. It took him a long time to respond. Phil waited it out patiently, giving Clint the time he needed to think and process.

"Yeah, okay," he agreed tentatively. "We'll think about it."

Nodding in relief and defeat, Phil held out his hand, the need to touch, no matter how clinical, nearly overwhelming. "That's all I ask."

Clint's grip was warm and firm, lingering perhaps longer than necessary. Phil was prepared however to let the other man break the contact and was a little surprised when this hand was turned at an angle, Clint taking in the wedding band on his ring finger.

"It's a little late to be making house calls when there's a Mrs. Agent waiting at home isn't it?" Clint asked in the first show of friendly banter since they'd been introduced.

It threw him off just enough that he struggled with an appropriate response.

"My husband," Phil clarified softly, "was taken from me some time ago. I'm afraid I haven't been able to part with..."

The break in his voice was involuntary and he cut himself off as Clint gripped and held him between both hands, eyes wide, brow wrinkling in distress.

"Jesus, I'm sorry" Clint apologized in genuine sympathy. "Fuck, me and my big mouth..."

Coulson laughed. It was watery but real. The profanity laced apology was pure Clint and the mere fact that he was alive and well to give it was so much better than the alternative. So much better. He could live with this. He could. For Clint he could endure anything.

"It's alright," he assured with a squeeze before gently disengaging his hand and wrestling back control. "It just catches me off guard sometimes."

Coulson glanced away from the sympathy in those beautiful eyes with a dismissive gesture. There were many things he wanted from Clint, but that wasn't one of them.

The archer didn't seem to know what to say to that and Phil was grateful that he didn't say anything at all.

"Well, Phil stood and put some formal distance between them, much as it pained him to do so. "I won't keep you any longer. I expect I'll to hear from you soon."

Clint nodded, still a little unsettled by the unexpected turn in the conversation.

Phil let himself out and walked across the grounds and to the makeshift command center at the edge of the property. Riven Kasideus sat with his hands cuffed behind his back. Natasha, Tony and Steve stood across from him in interrogation mode. All turned to him as he entered.

"Keys, please," Phil said to Natasha.

She handed them to him as he approached.

"Stand up," he ordered Riven.

The man did so, turning slightly so Phil could unlock the cuffs. He rubbed at his wrists as Phil met his gaze with steely resolve.

"You'll both sign with S.H.I.E.L.D," he informed the former Hydra assassin, keenly aware of the startled glances from the team. "I don't care how you do it, but convince him."

"You can't be serious."

"Coulson, are you..."

He held a hand up to forestall both Tony and Natasha. Steve had remained silent.

"Keep him happy and keep him safe and you'll never have to worry about that bullet to the head," Phil's voice was all but devoid of emotion at this point.

Riven was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and simply nodded his acquiescence before easing is way around Coulson and quickly making his way back to Clint.

An hour and a half later Phil watched the security feed of the house in the dim light of the van. Clint slept soundly in Riven's arms as the other man lie awake and stared at the ceiling. Natasha's gaze had spoken volumes when she'd finally left with the others but it had been easy to ignore. For three years he'd been denied even the slightest glimpse of his husband and hadn't truly even known if he was alive for two of those years. Despite the current circumstances and the mind block...it was somewhat soothing to watch the man he loved sleep and listen to him breathe.

Memories of that fateful morning, the last they'd shared together, surged to the forefront. Had Phil known it would be the last he would have held Clint tighter...longer...would have never let him go. As it was, it had been like any other morning...until the city had fallen under attack and the Avengers had been called in. Clint's comm had gone silent only seconds before the abandoned building he'd been perched on had collapsed. In the chaos that followed, Phil's world had been forever changed.

He was only now beginning to realize that he could never go back. What they had was over. Gone. The grief he felt was different, but still very much there. Clint was alive and he would be forever grateful for that...the grief he felt now was for their future. What could have been.

Riven eventually fell asleep but Phil did not. He sat silent watch over his husband through the night, unmoving and unaffected by his lack of sleep. Not once did he look away, not even as the first tendrils of sunlight touched the horizon and the couple stirred, lips meeting as they turned to one another. He watched as Clint writhed in sleepy, trusting surrender and as Riven claimed him with a tender reverence that bordered on worship...that spoke of love.

I fell in love with him.

It was in anguish that his eyes finally closed.

Clint had been lost to him three years prior. It was only now however, that Phil would be forced to let go and move on without him.

Epilogue (six years later)

Phil Coulson sat at his desk in S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters in New York completing the last of his paperwork for the day. For once he was on target for leaving at the end of the business day. He was just working through the last field reports when there was a knock at his door. He didn't even look up.

"Come in," he said.

"Hey," said a familiar voice.

It had been years since he'd heard it but it still made his heart beat faster. He'd know that voice anywhere.

"Clint?" Phil could do little more than blink in surprise for a long moment.

When Riven and Ronin had signed with S.H.I.E.L.D they had, per Phil's request, been assigned to one of the department's overseas headquarters. He had in fact only seen Clint a handful of times since the night the duo was recruited.

Clint gave him a ghost of a smile looking tired and worn. "You're the only one who still calls me by that name."

Phil was aware of that as well. He couldn't seem to help himself. "Does it bother you?"

Clint gave a small shrug that could go either way, looking too tired to really care.

"Do you mind ..?" Clint gestured into the room and Phil stood.

"No, of course not, please come in," he said.

Phil watched Clint wander around the small room, eyes subtly taking everything in, before settling heavily on the small sofa.

"I didn't realize you were stateside," Phil offered when it seemed Clint would not speak.

"Yeah," Clint responded. "I needed a change of scenery. Tasha suggested New York." He glanced at Coulson and a ghost of a smile appeared momentarily. "Here I am."

Phil's answering smile was gentle as he walked around his desk to join Clint. One thing that had not changed was the friendship between Clint and Natasha. She had wormed her way into Clint's new life with Riven with dogged determination and fierce loyalty. It had taken some time, but eventually she had accepted Riven as part of Clint’s life and Phil knew from the few conversations they’d had that Natasha had developed a genuine friendship with the other man as well. For Clint’s sake, Phil had been glad. Even if it had made his own heart heavy.

“I…I just needed someplace quiet,” Clint explained, as if he needed a reason to be there. “Is it okay if I just...”

“Absolutely,” Phil assured when the other man faltered. “Take all the time you need.”

Phil sat next to the archer in silent support, understanding more than most that there were no words that could be spoken to ease the kind of pain Clint was feeling. Riven had died saving Clint’s life. For that Phil would always be grateful, no matter his other feelings towards the man. It had taken every ounce of strength and discipline he’d had to not go to Clint when it happened. Eight months later and a string of missions that had Phil holding his breath as Clint recklessly endeavored to deal with his grief had proven to Phil that it had been the right decision. He watched as Clint ever so slowly relaxed into the sofa as Phil offered no well-meaning sympathy and made no demands of his time.

The silence that followed could have been awkward but Phil sensed a reason behind Clint’s visit beyond the need to retreat from the hive of activity beyond the door to his office. He was patience personified as he waited it out. It did surprise him however when Clint reached out and took his left hand, thumb stroking over the spot where his wedding ring used to be.

“You took it off,” Clint stated heavily. “Why?”

Phil took a deep breath and released it slowly before answering that one. When Riven and Ronin had held a ceremony of their own, it had just seemed appropriate. It didn’t matter that technically he was still married to Clint. The man he loved had given his heart to someone else.

“It was time,” Phil said roughly.

Clint’s eyes were suddenly bright with unshed tears.

“How did you know?” he asked with an obvious lump in his throat and pleading eyes. “How do you go on? How do you live with this…”

Tight fist pressed to his heart, Clint’s voice broke and his breath hitched as he visibly attempted to pull himself together before meeting Phil’s gaze.

“Tell me it gets easier,” he begged. “Tell me that someday I’ll feel whole again…”

“I wish I could,” Phil said, genuine and honest in a way that could only speak from experience. “It changes with time, the pain becomes more manageable, you go on with your life…but you never forget.”

Clint looked both tortured and relieved by his words. Phil knew the feeling well. As much as you want relief from the pain and the grief...you never want to forget all the things that you loved about someone.

“With time, Clint,” Phil continued gently. “You will be able to breathe again, to laugh…and to live. Trust me. It will come. I promise.”

Clint managed to look hopeful and dubious at the same time, as well as terribly exhausted, both physically and emotionally as he scrubbed the heel of his hand roughly over his eyes.

“You look like you could use some sleep,” Phil carefully observed. He knew from experience that it was a great way to escape your grief, if only for a time, but that it could also be very elusive when you needed it the most. “And I have it on very good authority that this couch is perfect for napping.”

It was a surreal moment because Clint had been the one to say that very thing, years ago when he’d needed a refuge in the early days of his training, long before they’d developed a romantic relationship.

Clint’s flash of longing was quickly overridden by what Phil could only interpret as uncertainty that he may have been intruding.

“I’m going to be at least another two hours finishing up my reports,” Phil lied. “I’ll wake you then. Please…get some rest. You’re safe here.”

For a moment Phil thought that Clint was going to bolt anyways, but in the end he just gave a tired nod and said, “Thanks.”

Instead of hovering like he wanted to, Phil gave Clint his space and went back to his desk as the archer slipped off his shoes and stretched out as much as he could. He immediately picked up where he left off earlier, tapping his keypad efficiently as Clint settled, intrinsically aware that any lingering silence would only make the man uncomfortable.

He listened as Clint took a deep trembling breath and exhaled, slow and undeniably fragile. For the span of several heartbeats Phil could feel the weight of Clint’s gaze and he did his best to outwardly ignore it even as his pulse quickened. In the next moment though, Clint was out, features softened in slumber yet still etched with grief and exhaustion. For a moment, Phil gave up the pretense of working and just gazed at the stranger that was his husband.

Phil didn’t know what any of this meant. It had taken years but he’d finally moved on with his life, had even gone on a few dates, one very recently as a matter of fact. He recognized the faint flutter in his chest as hope and ruthlessly quashed it. The only reason Clint sought him out was due to a presumed sense of shared loss. The man was still grieving.

He’d all but given up on the pretense of completing his field report when Natasha opened his door and stuck her head in. Somehow she managed to look both nonchalant and worried at the same time. It crossed Phil’s mind to glare at her but it wouldn’t have done any good and he really couldn’t blame her for not saying anything. He lifted his chin and pointed towards the couch.

Natasha knelt next to Clint and just studied his face for a long moment before snagging the quilt from the back of the sofa and covering him with it. She glanced over at Phil as she finished.

“He hasn’t been sleeping well,” she said quietly.

“I gathered,” he said.

“I can stay if you want to go home,” Natasha offered.

“Thanks, but I’m going to be a while,” he said, not carrying the lie any further, already aware that Natasha would likely see through it. “I’ll make sure he gets…wherever he’s staying.”

“My place,” she said, looking at him in that way that told Phil she was seeing more than he wanted her to. “The apartment…not the tower.”

Phil merely nodded and typed a few more sentences into his report. When Natasha paused at the door, he knew that he wasn’t going to get out of the encounter emotionally unscathed. She looked back at Clint and then met Phil’s gaze meaningfully.

“Be careful,” she cautioned.

Phil did glare at her this time. The handful of interactions he’d had with Ronin since he’d been recruited could all be classified as handled with spun glass care..

“With you,” she clarified gently. “Be careful with you.” She glanced over her shoulder at Clint one more time. “You’re always careful with him.”

She gave him a wink and before he could do much more than blink at her she was gone. Phil looked back to the report with a sigh. His head just wasn’t in it so he gave up the pretense and shut down his laptop. Grabbing a book off the shelf he made his way from his desk to sit in the comfortable cushioned chair across from Clint.

Phil spent the next three hours alternating between reading the same few pages and watching Clint sleep. While he’d followed Clint and Riven’s careers within S.H.I.E.L.D carefully, it had been by mostly watching mission feeds and reading field reports. To have Clint close enough to touch, to hear the soft, even exhalation of each breath…it was a gift he was loath to give up. He’d have happily spent the entire night in that chair if it allowed Clint the luxury of a good night’s sleep.

Alas, it was not meant to be. Just under three hours into his respite, Clint stirred and then immediately stilled when his eyes opened to the ceiling of Phil’s office.

“You’re at S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters in New York. You’re safe,” he said just as Clint turned to meet his gaze. Phil watched as awareness returned.

Clint sat up and rubbed his hands over his face and then roughly through his hair, putting the soft looking spikes into adorably wild disarray. He looked relatively well rested from the long nap but still weary with grief. When he glanced down at his watch he looked almost startled at the time and then embarrassed. He tossed Phil a quick glance.

"Fuck," he mumbled self-consciously and kept his eyes lowered. "Sorry, didn't think I'd sleep that long. I should get out of your hair. I'm sure you've got better things to do."

Actually, he didn't.

"It was no imposition at all, Clint," Phil was quick to assure. "I often work late. Feel free to make use of my couch any time you need a nap...or just need to get away from everything. Even if I'm not here."

Clint looked at him then. They both knew the offer indicated a level of trust that was beyond the rather brief friendship that had been established between Coulson and Ronin…but Phil had laid the groundwork long ago that they had been friends before.

“Thanks,” Clint said soft and genuine.

Right about that time Phil’s phone chimed with an incoming text. Giving Clint an apologetic glance he retrieved it from his pocket and checked the message to make sure it wasn’t anything important. It was Richard, his date, from the other night.

Last minute I know but you up for a nightcap?

Unexpected butterflies clashed with sudden guilt and Phil didn’t quite know what to do with it as he stared down at his phone.

“I should get going,” Clint said, rising to his feet and bringing Phil to his, phone still in hand.

“Yeah,” Phil agreed reluctantly. “Let me lock up and I’ll walk out with you. I told Natasha I’d see you home.”

Clint yawned as Phil moved back to his desk and put the last of the field reports in his briefcase. He studiously ignored the expanse of skin and bellybutton revealed as the archer stretched unselfconsciously, lean and graceful, like a large sleepy cat.

Phil locked the door behind them and they walked in companionable silence to the parking garage. Clint paused as Phil turned in the direction of his car causing him to slow and then stop as well.

Tilting his head in the opposite direction Clint said, “I’ve got wheels. Tony was nice enough to offer one of his cars while I’m in town.”

“Oh,” Phil said wondering if the disappointment he felt was reflected in his voice.

“Thanks again for…you know,” Clint looked a tad sheepish again for falling asleep on Phil’s couch and ducked his head. “I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” Phil responded with such earnestness that there was no mistaking the sincerity behind it.

Nodding, Clint took a couple of backward steps away from Phil and then hesitated. About to take a step towards his own vehicle, Phil paused as well. He watched as Clint faltered, hands in his pockets and shoulders slightly hunched. While he was more rested than he had been earlier the archer still looked vulnerable…and more than a little lost in his uncertainty.

“Clint?” Phil asked in concern.

The man in question brought a hand to the back of his neck, a telltale sign of stress or discomfort, as his lashes swept low.

“I, ah…I know it’s kind of late, but…” Clint started and then paused long enough for Coulson’s pulse to start racing and his mind to catch up. Anything. Just ask and it’s yours, Clint. Please, just ask… “do you…would you like to grab a cup of coffee?”

He understood that it didn’t necessarily mean anything and that Clint just didn’t want to be alone right now. He understood that the archer was still grieving. He was perfectly aware that it probably wasn’t a good idea, that it was late and that coffee was the last thing he needed at this hour. And he was very much aware that he’d not responded to Richard’s text at all.

None of that mattered.

“Sure,” he said as nonchalant as he could manage. “I know the perfect place.”

The cautious yet grateful smile he got in return was tinged with subtle relief. It was one of the most beautiful things Phil had seen in a long, long time.

“Your car or mine?” he asked.

They’d started out as friends once before. Phil had no idea where it would take them this time, but he was more than willing to go for the ride with Clint at his side.

End.