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It really didn’t surprise Clint when Bobbi showed up at his apartment and handed him something to sign. He knew what it was before he even saw the words on the page. Divorce papers; just another legality that they had to go through. He let her wear his bathrobe after she kicked the shit out of the Russian thugs that were waiting for him outside which lead to some accidental fire hydrant explosion.
“Today sucks, I’m going back to bed,” he announced.
“What kept you up all night, Clint?” she asked as she toweled her hair and he tried to make his escape up the stairs.
“… just couldn’t sleep,” he said. She was saying something else to him but he was already up the stairs and shutting the door to his room. He crossed the floor and flopped back down on his bed and just laid there looking up at the ceiling for a moment before wriggling up against the other body in his space.
“Was that Bobbi?”
“What do you think?” he muttered as he buried his face against warm chest. Large fingers combed through his hair. “She brought the last of the divorce papers. It’s all official now.”
“Hm,” was the only answer he got. It was good enough for him.
They laid in silence for a long time. Clint was close to falling back asleep between the rhythmic rise and fall of the chest under his cheek and the fingers in his hair.
“Clint?”
“Yeah?”
“You should be more careful.”
“I know. Can I go to sleep now?”
“Sure.”
---
He was honestly expecting it when Jessica showed up. There was a lot he hadn’t told her but, to be honest, his not-relationship with her was far more complicated than just him not being able to commit to her… like the fact that he was pretty damn happy in a relatively committed relationship already. He’d tell her sometime. Preferably when she wasn’t slapping him repeatedly because she thought he was cheating on her… his not-girlfriend.
He’d tell her later.
But what she said still hurt. Whether he was actually in a relationship with her or not, which remained to be really seen, he respected Jessica and respect meant that he took what he was told very seriously. And she basically told him he was emotionally constipated trash.
Kate’s attempts to tell him he wasn’t went largely unheard and all he wanted was to go back to his room and curl up in the safety of the other body that had grumbled unhappily when he’d been dragged out of bed by the knocking on the door yet again.
“I’m going to sleep,” he announced to Kate.
“Is Agent Coulson here?” she asked casually.
He stopped making for the stares and turned around to give her a meaningful glare. “Did you go into my room when I told you not to again?”
“You never said that… precisely,” she said.
He huffed in irritation. “Yeah. And I’m going back to bed. Don’t go through my stuff.”
“Give him a kiss for me,” she called when he got to the top.
“That’s gross,” he answered. She probably laughed but he was already back in bed and cuddled up against Phil’s chest, tracing over the scar and making himself into a human octopus against his lover/boyfriend/partner/whatever’s side.
“I really suck at women,” Clint stated.
Phil grumbled something that didn’t make sense for a minute before planting a kiss on the top of Clint’s head. “No one’s arguing with you about that one,” he said sleepily. “Now it’s my day off and you kept me up all night so I would like to sleep if you don’t mind.”
“I mind,” Clint said cheekily.
“Don’t care. Go to sleep.”
“Yessir.”