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Phil looked up from his phone call as the door to the hotel room opened. Agent May slipped in, brows drawn together in a frown.
"How was dinner?" he asked.
"Terrible," she said shortly.
Phil glanced at the remains of his own room service dinner, satisfied, as she went on.
"The pasta was cooked for about an hour, the marinara came out of a jar, and I swear, Coulson, the only spice that... 'chef' has ever seen comes after 'Old' and is sitting on his bathroom counter..."
Clint snorted in his ear. "Is May complaining about the food again? You should totally introduce her to Sitwell. They can bitch together."
Phil looked up from his report, eyes narrowing as he critically eyed May. She was striding angrily around the room, still ranting as she toed off her shoes and started changing for the night. "You know," he told Clint, "That might not be a bad idea."
She froze and turned toward him, pointing accusingly, shirt in hand. "Is that Barton? Yes, it is. It is a very bad idea, whatever he's suggesting is a horrible idea, and I do not want to be involved."
"Hey!" Clint yelped, and Phil laughed.
"We'll be home in thirty hours," he told Clint, knowing that his voice had gone softer with affection despite his best efforts, and not quite mustering the energy to give a damn.
"Safe travels, sir." Clint's voice was just as fond, Phil could hear the grin in it, and Phil's lips twitched in response.
"Keep the property damage to a minimum," he ordered, and Clint laughed.
"We always try," he said cheerfully, and after another silent second or two, there was a click as he hung up.
"It's amazing the way you guys can coo disgustingly at each other without a single term of endearment or sappy goodbye," Melinda said as she pulled a baggy SHIELD t-shirt over her head.
"Years of practice," Phil said blandly, only half-joking, but she laughed anyway.
Clint's words echoed in Phil's head, and he watched her, thinking, as she packed away her clothes.
"Have you ever worked with Agent Sitwell?" he asked curiously.
Melinda thought for a moment. "Shaved head, wire rims, sarcastic as hell?"
Phil nodded, amused.
"Yeah, good agent, knows his shit." She grinned. "Saw him almost make a probie wet his pants once, when the kid fucked up royally."
Pride bloomed in Phil. It was always nice to hear that a protégé was succeeding.
"He was one of your groomsmen, wasn't he?" she asked, and when he nodded, curiosity lit her eyes. "Why do you ask?"
"You two have a lot in common," Phil said easily, and her expression grew stormy.
She shook her head. "No. No, I want no part of this, Coulson."
"Melinda -- "
"No! No, just 'cause you're happily hitched up now, it does not mean you need to hook up everyone else you know!"
"I just think you'd get along!" Phil protested. Normally, he'd stay far away from the personal lives of the agents under and around him, but what she said was somewhat true -- it was natural to wish his friends were all as happy as he was, wasn't it? And he wasn't going to go into any crazy machinations -- he just wanted to give them a chance to interact, for God's sake! It was a good idea, fostering healthy working relationships within SHIELD! "You both enjoy new experiences and good food, especially gourmet food in unexpected places, you have a similar sense of humor... and he's a Mets fan too," he concluded winningly.
Her lips quirked into a smile, but she was still scowling.
"I don't need you to set me up on a date, Coulson. Put your matchmaker hat away," she said, but he could see the barest hint of speculation in her eyes. She was good, but Phil was better.
He resolved to drop the subject.
With May, anyway.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"No."
"She's a SHIELD agent -- you don't have to worry about keeping your backstory straight or explaining your absences."
"No."
Clint came out of the kitchen, mug in hand, and Phil shifted so that Clint could curl on the couch, snuggling into his side. Tucking the phone between ear and shoulder, Phil took the mug out of Clint's hand so it wouldn't spill, happily inhaling the fragrant steam for a moment. He took a sip of the rich cocoa and stopped Clint's indignant protest with a quick kiss.
"I hear kissing, I do not need to hear kissing, and the answer is still no."
Phil handed Clint his mug back, running his hand through Clint's hair and smiling at the way Clint subtly arched into the touch.
"She found a great Colombian restaurant on the outskirts of Dubuque," Phil said idly.
"Don't forget the Ethiopian place she told us about in Portland," Clint added, loud enough for Sitwell to hear. "That place was fucking amazing."
The silence dragged on as Phil stole another sip of Clint's cocoa, and he could practically hear Jasper glaring at the phone.
"Dammit, Coulson," he muttered.
"I'm not going to set you guys up on a date or anything," Phil told him. "I'm just informing you of qualities I thought you might be interested in -- in case you want to get off your ass and make a move."
Sitwell choked. "You -- you, Mr. He-Could-Never-Love-A-Man-Like-Me-I'll-Just-Pine-For-A-Decade, are telling me to get off my ass and make a move -- "
"We're not talking about me," Phil said smoothly, flicking Clint in the back of the head as he snickered into Phil's chest.
"We're not talking about me, either. Scuttlebutt says she's got a screw loose."
Phil rolled his eyes. "Scuttlebutt says I'm either a zombie, a ghost, or an LMD."
"Yeah, well, jury's still out on that last one." He made a distinctly happy noise. "My food's here. Gotta go."
He hung up without another word, and Phil gently tossed his phone on the coffee table.
Clint nestled in closer, and Phil shivered at the feel of his husband's lips on his neck.
"Wanna borrow my bow, Cupid? Ow!" he yelped as Phil bit his ear.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Any further questions?" Phil concluded, and when there was nothing but headshakes and negative murmurs in reply, he ended the briefing, satisfied at the level of the team's preparation. The upcoming op was still days away, but their thorough intel and planning lessened the chances that things would spiral out of control.
As soon as he dismissed them, Fitz and Simmons were up and away, clearly itching to get back to their labs. Skye wandered off, her attention already grabbed by something on her phone, and Phil made a note to check -- yet again -- her level of network access, but Ward and May lingered as he did.
Ward was clearly thinking about the upcoming mission, eyes narrowed as he calculated options and probabilities, his actions a little slower as he cleared away his notes.
May was waiting for Phil, since they'd made tentative plans for the evening earlier in the day.
He found the slowly growing friendship between them incredibly fulfilling -- the unflappable image he put on in front of the juniors was exhausting, and he appreciated good friends that he could relax with.
"Would you like to join us for dinner, Agent Ward?" he asked politely, both because the man was still there and because he was still trying to draw Ward into the fold.
"What?" Ward asked as he visibly shook off his fugue, shaking his head as the question registered. "Uh, no, thanks. But, uh, thanks for asking."
He didn't always say no these days, but it was still hit and miss. The social fabric stretched over the steel framework of Phil's new team was being knitted slowly, but it was strong.
"Maybe next time," Melinda said with a smile, and Ward nodded distractedly, already lost in thought again.
With a shrug and a glance at Phil, Melinda left the conference room, Phil quick to grab his briefcase and follow her.
"Carter recommended a new barbecue place before she left for Moscow," Phil suggested, glancing at May as they walked down the corridor. "No reviews yet, only word of mouth, so we won't need to call ahead, and the wait shouldn't be too bad."
Melinda considered the idea a moment before nodding. "Sure, let's try it. Her suggestions are usually pretty reliable."
She glanced up the corridor toward their offices. "I've got some stuff to clear away first. Meet you there?"
"Eight?" he asked, and when she nodded, he added, "I'll text you the address," and ducked into his office to send a few more texts as well.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Dammit, Coulson!"
It came in stereo, since Melinda arrived at the table Phil was holding just as Clint and Jasper came from the other direction.
Phil raised his hands. "This is not a setup. It's not a date, okay? Barton and I aren't leaving you alone, this is just dinner out with friends -- you saw me invite Ward," he told May.
"And you heard me ask both Woo and Natasha," Clint added, glancing at Jasper as he grabbed a fry out of the basket in the middle of the table.
"Maria couldn't make it either. Look, if this makes either of you uncomfortable, we can all leave," Phil said reasonably. "But we're already here, and the food is supposed to be good."
Melinda and Jasper eyed each other warily, and Phil watched, half-amused and half-guilty, as Melinda straightened to her full height and Jasper squared his shoulders.
He really hadn't meant to make them uncomfortable. He'd hoped to allow them to get to know each other better among a larger group of friends. Unfortunately, none of their other friends were able to make it, so it was just the four of them.
There was a moment of charged silence, and then Jasper offered a small smile. "Agent May."
She smiled back. "Agent Sitwell."
Clint slid into the booth across from Phil, grinning happily at him as their feet bumped under the table, and Phil couldn't help but smile back. The move negated any impending awkwardness regarding seating arrangements -- Phil should probably have asked for a table -- and Jasper seemed to relax as he slid in next to Clint. Melinda sat beside Phil, and if the smile she gave him as he handed her a menu was a trifle cool, well, she'd get over it. He hoped.
Conversation was stilted at first, but once they began comparing menu items to past meals in various locales, things eased up as Phil had trusted they would.
They were all well used to discretion in public, so there were no awkward pauses while they tried to figure out what they could and couldn't say -- a benefit of being out among a group of senior agents that Phil definitely appreciated.
Halfway through the meal, something Phil said made Jasper nearly snort his beer through his nose, and Melinda laughed so hard she slapped the table, tears in her eyes. Phil leaned back in the booth as happy satisfaction surged through him. He was so grateful to still be here, among his friends, his calf brushing Clint's under the table, those gorgeous eyes he loved sparkling with humor and affection.
He'd never been dissatisfied with his life, it was true, but there was very little in it before that could compare to moments like this.
The food was good and the drinks were generous, and the time passed quickly. Being most senior among them -- and responsible for the awkwardness of the perceived setup -- Phil tried to pay the bill when it came, but he was shouted down, and submitted gracefully to defeat.
"Dessert?" Jasper asked, tucking his wallet back into his pocket. "I know this great little all-night coffeehouse a few blocks away that does amazing late night pastries -- the owner is an insomniac who loves to bake."
Melinda pointed at him with wide eyes as they all slid out of the booth. "Althea's! Yes! I love that place, I'm surprised I've never seen you there."
"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing for her to precede him.
"Oh my God, her fruit tarts are incredible," she said as she wove her way through the tables, and Jasper murmured his agreement.
Clint's hand was warm on the small of Phil's back. "Think they even remember we're here?"
Before Phil could reply, Jasper half-turned. "You guys comin'?"
Phil hesitated briefly as he took stock of the situation. Melinda kept her eyes on her hands where she was fiddling with the strap of her purse, and the transparency of the supposedly indifferent look Jasper was broadcasting would have embarrassed a probie. Phil's lips twitched in a smile.
"I think we'll pass this time," he said, smoothly ignoring Clint as he muttered innuendo about having dessert at home in his ear.
"Suit yourself," Jasper said with a shrug, but the tips of his ears and Melinda's cheeks both went a little pink.
They said their goodbyes in front of the restaurant, and Phil watched, happy, as Jasper and Melinda walked down the sidewalk, heads leaning toward each other as they talked.
"That went better than expected," Phil observed.
"Yep. Great idea I had," Clint said with a grin. When Phil just eyed him, his smile turned wicked. "I think we deserve a reward for a job well done, don't you?"
Phil said nothing, just hailed a cab.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Much later, when Phil was sated and sleepy, Clint drowsing against his side, a cell phone buzzed on the bedside table. Clint stirred from where he was draped over Phil's chest, reaching across him and pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder as he reached for the phone.
"It’s yours. 's Sitwell," he muttered, handing Phil his phone so he could read the text.
If you say 'I told you so' I am going to slip you a mickey and shave your head while you're asleep, and don't think that I won't or that your husband can save you.
Phil snorted, showing the phone to Clint.
"You'd look sexy bald," Clint murmured.
"So glad you think so," Phil said wryly, and Clint brushed a kiss over his temple.
His phone buzzed again, May this time.
Thank you. Now butt out.
"You realize, of course, that the first time they fight, you're going to get it from both sides," Clint told him, and Phil just groaned and buried his face in the pillows.
END