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Wincing, the bright light above his head makes Coulson’s head pound. He wracks his brain, trying to remember what happened to end up in this unfamiliar room which is obviously some kind of hospital. Carefully, he pushes himself up on the bed.
“Good afternoon,” a familiar voice says from his side.
Coulson looks to where it came from to see a man who hasn’t looked up from the paperwork in his lap. “Director Fury,” he rasps, voice gravelly from disuse. “How long have I been out?”
“A week.”
“Did we win?” he asks desperately.
Fury’s expression changes ever so slightly in a way that, over the years, Coulson has learned to interpret as happiness. “We won. Loki has been arrested and is awaiting trial on Asgard.”
He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, relaxing. “You know, I really thought I was a goner,” he admits as his memory starts piecing together what happened for him to end up here.
Fury finally looks up at him, his expression inscrutable. “Coulson, you died.”
“For how long?” He doesn’t know much about human biology, but he knows the brain cannot survive for longer than a few minutes without oxygen before there is a risk of neurological deficits. The director hesitates; Coulson has never seen him so unable to explain something before. Something awful must have happened. “How long?”
“Several days.”
“Days?” he asks incredulously. “How is that possible?”
Fury stands up, and heads towards the door. “That’s a story for another day, when you’re a bit stronger.”
“Director,” he pleads.
He sighs. “There is a new drug being engineered, containing…Kree blood.”
“You saying I’m part alien now?” he laughs, startled.
“In a way, yes.”
“Well, thank you. For saving me.”
“I didn’t create the drug,” Fury says. “I merely ordered the scientists who did to give it to you.”
“Still, thanks.”
“The Avengers demanded that, once the doctors deem you healed enough to leave, you will stay at Avengers Tower for the remaining of your recovery. You okay with that?”
“Uhh…yeah.”
“They’ll probably been around to visit. Your death was the final push to get them to actually work as a team.” Fury slams the door behind him, leaving Coulson alone with his thoughts to process everything he said. He died. And now he’s living with alien DNA coursing through his blood. This is shit straight out of a Sci-Fi movie.
***
Fury was right, the Avengers did come to visit him occasionally. Not all at once though, and with the exception of Thor, who was on his own planet. It’s nice to see some familiar, friendly faces, tired of seeing nurses and doctors on the hour every day. Something doesn’t feel quite right though. Deep within him, something feels fundamentally wrong. He feels hollow. Like he came back broken.
He came back though. He came back and is determined to make the most of his second chance of life. If only he could walk for more than ten minutes without feeling the need to collapse.
After what seems like an eternity, but was only three weeks, his doctor signed his discharge papers. Nat came to pick him up, listening to music in comfortable silence in the car as she drives through the city.
Coulson looks up at the skyscraper of a building when Nat parks, his new home. For now, at least, not wanting to overstay his welcome. He’ll be back in his one-bed apartment in a month, maybe two, once he’s recovered enough from being fatally stabbed.
“I was a bit intimidated by it too at first,” Nat states from his side, startling him out of his thoughts. “You’ll be able to find your way around soon enough.” Something on his face must show his thoughts because her expression softens slightly, and she places a hand to his arm, touch light as if she’s afraid she’ll break him. “You’ll be okay, I promise. You’re safe, and I think you’ll be happy here. This is…one of the only places I’ve ever felt at home.”
Comforted by those words, Coulson pushes his doubts of feeling like an imposter among the Avengers out of his mind, and smiles at her. “Let’s go then.”
Nat (and Jarvis) give him a tour of the main places he needs to know, pausing in the kitchen for some quick lunch before she leads him to his bedroom. “If you need anything, you know where to find me, and Jarvis is always here to help too.”
“Thank you.”
She awkwardly wraps her arms around him, only for a moment, and whispers. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
When she leaves, Coulson sits on the edge of his bed, softer than anything he has ever slept on, and is perplexed by that interaction. In the years they have worked together at S.H.I.E.L.D, they have never once hugged, she has never even shown any emotion around him. More than once, he thought she was a robot or something of the like. Ironic, given the alienness of his body now.
Sighing, he lies down and escapes the weirdness of his life for a moment.
The sky outside is dark when he finally awakes, and looks to the alarm clock on the bedside table to see that is almost ten pm. He closes his eyes, but his stomach rumbles, rudely interrupting any idea of falling back to sleep.
It takes a while for him to navigate the way back to the kitchen and almost returns to his room when he sees a figure at the oven.
“I’m making grilled cheese,” Barton says. “Want one?”
“Jesus,” he exclaims. “How’d you know I was here?”
He turns around to face him, shrugging, “I’m Hawkeye.”
He accepts that as a valid reason. “A grilled cheese would be great, thanks.”
Coulson sits at the table as Barton cooks. He’s another person he has worked with for quite a while now but has never really gotten the chance to really know. Except, unlike with Nat, he has always been drawn to this man in a way that he has never really understood.
Barton sits opposite him when he’s finished, and they eat in silence. “Why did you become Hawkeye?” he asks when he finished eating.
“I’m good with a bow and arrow.”
“Okay, why did you join S.H.I.E.L.D then?”
“Why did you join S.H.I.E.L.D?” he echoes.
“Because I want to help people.”
“Why not the police or something else then?”
“Well, Fury is kind of hard to say no to.” Barton chuckles quietly in agreement. “Besides, I was intrigued by the secrets this organisation holds.”
“Ever find out who killed JFK?”
“No. Did you?”
“No. It seems like one of those things no one knows the answer to except from the culprit themself.”
“You never answered my question,” he says when Barton puts their plates in the dishwasher.
“Fury is kind of hard to say no to,” he quotes him. “And the pay is pretty good too. Goodnight, Coulson.”
“Goodnight,” he says as the archer leaves him alone in the kitchen.
***
This past week hasn’t been nearly as terrible as he initially thought. He spent most of his time watching mind-numbing daytime TV or helping with dinner. Coulson got on with all the Avengers, and, more often than not, was happy to watch them interact with one another. Family is the only word strong enough to explain their dynamic. Sure, they argue a lot, but it is evident fighting alongside one another made them incredibly close.
What he is surprised about most though is how close he and Barton has gotten. Almost everything he does, Barton is right beside him (except using the bathroom though, that would be weird). Their midnight rendezvous in the kitchen has accidentally happened more than once and is starting to become a routine for them. An unexpected friendship (why does that word for them make him want to scream or cry?) blooming from the most awful situation. But he’s making the most of the second chance he’s got, savouring every moment with the Avengers like the final bite of a meal he knows would be his last.
“Have you ever been seriously injured in a fight before?” Coulson asks as he eats some cereal out of the box.
“You do remember what I do for a living, right?” He looks pointedly at Barton, who answers his question, “I’ve been around so many explosions I’m now hard of hearing.”
“What? I- How did I not know?”
“Hearing aids can be very discreet nowadays,” Barton says. “Perks of being friends with a tech-building, genius billionaire.”
“Very discreet indeed,” he mutters as he fails to see the aids despite looking very hard. Coulson takes his eyes of him, before speaking, “Ever since Lo-” he swallows, unable to say his name. “I feel like…”
“Like?” Barton prompts him gently.
“I don’t really know how to explain it,” he sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to be alive again, but I feel like maybe I shouldn’t be. Like I don’t deserve this second chance. There are so many good people who die every day and should be bought back. Not me.”
“We can’t save everyone,” Barton murmurs. “I hate that as much as you do, but we can’t resurrect people, we can’t play God, in case this falls in the wrong hands.”
“Then why me?”
“Because despite that risk, Fury cares about you enough to want you back in his life.”
“But-”
“He can replace you at work,” Barton seemingly reads his mind. “But he can’t replace you .”
“Oh…”
“Besides, I’m glad you’re back, I’m glad you’re here.”
Coulson rests his chin in his hand, turning away to hide the heat spreading across his cheeks.
***
Clint knocks on his bedroom door, then walks in a moment later.
“You know, you’re supposed to wait until I say ‘come in’ when you knock. I could have been naked or something.”
“Don’t care. I want coffee.”
“So, go get some? You don’t need my permission.”
Clint rolls his eyes. “I’m going to a coffee shop, and you’re coming with me.”
“Um…”
“Aren’t you tired of being shut away in here for the last month? You’re physically able to walk down the street, yeah?”
“Yeah, but-”
“Great, let’s go.”
Clint walks away, and Coulson has only a split second to decide whether he wants to go with him or stay in the sanctity of the tower. His legs move despite the incessant voice in his brain screaming at him that it’s not safe out there .
He brushes his reservations aside as he feels the summer breeze against his skin. But they are soon surrounded by people on all sides, and his breathing becomes ragged as he curses the busy New York streets. Clint squeezes his hand, and his rapidly beating heart is no longer because of the crowd.
The bell above the door chimes as they enter the building, and he feels like he can finally breathe again.
“What do you want?”
“A latte,” he answers, a little breathless as Clint looks slightly proud at him. How did he know that he was scared to leave the tower? And how did he know that this is exactly what he needed without Coulson even knowing that himself?
Clint orders their drinks and pays since he left his wallet at home. “You look like a lovely couple,” the barista says. “Have a nice day.”
Clint lets go of the hand he is still holding, and they wait for their drinks in awkward silence, looking anywhere else but the other. Did they really think they look like a couple? That’s preposterous! They don’t like each other; he’s not attracted to Clint. He’s not. He’s-
Oh.
Oh .
He is attracted to Clint. He is- Fuck! It’s fine, they can still be friends. It’s not like he likes Coulson like that.
The walk back passes much the same as while they were waiting for their coffees and they go their separate ways when they arrive home. Coulson loses track of time as he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling and analysing every moment he has shared with Clint since he moved here, wondering when and how these feelings arose.
He eventually goes to get something to eat, having skipped dinner to avoid Clint. Which was decidedly a stupid thing to do as he is obviously in the kitchen at this obscene hour. They lock eyes and it would be too awkward to leave now, so he opens the fridge and scans its contents without saying a single word.
“Let’s just forget about earlier, okay?”
Coulson deflates slightly at that, what little hope that trickled its way in dissipating immediately.
“No?” he asks as Coulson continues ignoring him. “What is it?”
“I don’t want to say.”
“Say what? I said we can forget it, so unless you want-” he cuts himself of in realisation.
He turns to look at him apologetically. “Clint…”
“I’m going to ask you once, and you’re going to be honest,” he commands. “Do you want to be with me?” Coulson’s silence is answer enough, and Clint crosses the room to stand in front of him. “I want to be with you.”
His eyes snap to Clint’s sincere gaze, and they move forward simultaneously, their lips crashing together with weeks built up longing turning them into a desperate mess. A mess that Coulson accepts wholeheartedly.