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saoneTitle: Blue Plate Special
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saone77
Pairing: Clint/Coulson, Natasha/Bucky, Steve/Tony
Summary: AU. Take one ex-circus performer, one homicide detective, a dash of meddling cohorts, a heavy helping of pie recipes, mix well, and bake until somebody gets a date.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Vague mentions of violence towards Clint resulting in permanent damage to his hearing, possible abuse in Clint and Natasha's past, and a homicide case.
Word Count: 5,963
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Notes: Written foruofmdragon as part of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
cc_exchange. Super duper thanks to jesseofthenorth for the last minute beta! This has been tweaked a bit from the original.
AO3 Link
Clint knows he should see more buildings. The step he's about to take isn't just big, it's life-changing, and for him to bet everything on the very first place he's shown seems silly and rash. But the more he pokes around, the more his mind's eye shows him how nice this dirty, dank place could look with a good cleaning and some fresh paint. And some new fixtures. And a couple of cans of Raid.
Clint nearly loses his balance as something large and vaguely horrifying runs over his shoe.
Maybe he should make that a case of Raid.
Besides, Clint's made most of his major life decisions by being silly and rash, and all those turned out okay. For the most part. Eventually.
"I'll take it," Clint says with a decisive nod of his head.
"What?" Marci, his realtor, had been staring at a few suspicious holes in the wall beside the bathrooms and does an honest-to-God double take. "Are you-"
"I'm sure," Clint says.
"But I have other-"
"I'm sure."
"Don't you want to just-"
"I'm sure," Clint says one last time. He sets his mouth and gives Marci a pointed look.
"All right," Marci says doubtfully. "I can have the papers drawn up this afternoon."
Clint runs a finger along the old, scarred countertop. "Good."
_____________
Buying the building takes a significant portion of the settlement money. After everything's been notarized and he's officially a property owner, Clint moves his meager belongings into one of the back rooms, cracks open a new bottle of whiskey, and spends approximately forty-five minutes freaking the hell out.
He has his first panic attack since he woke up in the hospital two years ago. It's not pretty.
Later, after his heartbeat is back to normal and his mind has stopped helpfully supplying him with all the times various people in his life had questioned his intelligence and basic worth as a human being, Clint is exhausted. He has enough left in him to drag some crates into the center of the room and roll his sleeping bag out on top of them. He zips himself up and prays that nothing thinks he looks like a good place to lay eggs.
On the bright side, when he takes his hearing aids out, it's much easier to ignore whatever's skittering behind the walls.
_____________
The contractor Clint hires tells him what he had suspected - the basic bones of the building are good and strong, it just needs a lot of cosmetic work. Clint decides to do most of that himself. He's strong, and capable, and stubborn. Clint's ready to put his soul into this place; it's only right that he should add some blood, sweat, and tears to the mix.
This is going to be his home.
Clint checks out home improvement books from the library until he gets his internet connection up and running. It's remarkable how many do-it-yourself videos are on Youtube.
It's slow going, trying to do everything by himself. Clint doesn't want to hire anyone yet, though. His bank account's still pretty lush, but he's cognizant of every withdrawal, and he'd rather not start paying payroll taxes until he's ready to use his new cash register.
_____________
"You hiring?"
Clint doesn't scream at the sudden strange voice where there should only be silence, but he does flail a little. Unfortunately, a little flailing can go a long way when you're standing near the top of a ladder and both hands are occupied trying to put up a light fixture. Before Clint can do more than gasp and teeter dangerously, there's a strong hand at the small of his back.
"Careful," the voice says.
Clint decides to hold off on any sarcastic comments until he's got both feet back on the ground. He finishes the installation. The hand disappears when he starts to climb back down.
When Clint turns around the last thing he expects to see is a hot redhead with a gorgeous face and an almost palpable air of menace about her. She stares at him impassively. Clint resists the urge to slowly back away.
"Uh... Hi?" he says. "I'm not open yet, obviously. Also, where did you come from? I'm pretty sure the door was locked."
"You know, you shouldn't climb up on a ladder like that when you're alone," she says, carefully picking her way around the debris on the floor to circle Clint. "Something bad might happen."
Clint doesn't think she meant that as a threat, but her unblinking gaze is kind of creepy. "Yeah, well, thanks," he says weakly.
She cocks her head slightly. "You need someone here to help you."
"I'm not really looking to hire anyone quite yet," Clint says, "but if you want to leave your name and number I can-"
"No need," she says, "I can start now. You can pay me under the table."
"I'm not sure I-"
"My name is Natasha."
"Oh, well, pleased to meet-"
"And you are?"
"Clint. But, listen-"
"Clint," Natasha says with a nod. "Yes. We are going to be friends."
Again, Clint doesn't think she meant that as a threat, but... He takes a breath and looks at her, really looks at her. There, behind her polished exterior, is something dark and tired. Clint's seen that kind of desperation enough times in his own reflection that it's easy to recognize it in someone else.
"Yeah," he says slowly. "I think we are. So, would you rather tackle the cockroaches or the bathrooms?"
Natasha bares her teeth in a slightly terrifying smile, and Clint thinks they're going to get along just fine.
_____________
Natasha is from Russia. Clint's not exactly clear on why she left or how she found herself in the States. Nothing gets her to clam up faster than asking her about her past. Clint quickly learns to leave well enough alone and just enjoy how much more is getting done with an extra set of hands.
Clint also enjoys the company once the two of them get too exhausted to work any further. Natasha, he finds, has a fondness for peach schnapps and, once she gets a few swigs in her, an absolutely wicked sense of humor.
A week after Natasha broke in and neatly fit herself into Clint's life, she shares the reason she left Russia.
When she's done, Clint tells her about the attack that took his hearing and the circus from him. Then he tells her about his father. And his brother.
The schnapps is put away and the harder stuff is taken out. When they're both too sloshed to walk straight they help each other to Clint's bed where they climb in, pull the covers over their heads, and huddle together.
They're hiding, and neither one bothers to pretend it's anything different.
In the morning, Clint wakes up with the vague impression of nightmares behind his eyes and the fervent hope that one of the pests he hadn't yet managed to get rid of didn't actually crawl in his mouth and die. He wouldn't put it past one of the little fuckers.
He tries to wake Natasha and gets a smack to his nose for his troubles. She mumbles something.
"What-" Clint winces at the croak in his voice. He clears his throat and tries again. "What did you... Did you just call me a brat?"
Natasha's eyes snap open. Her cheeks turn as red as her hair which, combined with the paleness of the rest of her face and the mess her mascara has left around her eyes, is making Clint have uncomfortable clown flashbacks.
"No, I didn't," Natasha says. She sits up and puts a hand to her temple. "Also, ow."
Clint drags himself off the bed and stumbles to the bathroom. After he takes care of his aching bladder and washes his hands, he gets some Tylenol out of the medicine cabinet.
Natasha's hovering outside, and when Clint leaves she goes in, slamming the door behind her. Clint leans against the wall and waits. He hears the toilet flush, and a few minutes later Natasha emerges. Her face is scrubbed clean, though her cheeks are still rosy.
"I think I ruined one of your towels," she says. "And... you misheard. What I said."
Clint shrugs at both his makeup streaked towel and the brat thing. He's certainly been called worse. By his own blood, even. Then Natasha shocks the hell out of him by making a grab, not for the Tylenol bottle he's holding, but for his other hand.
She squeezes his fingers and lets her eyes focus on a point just over his shoulder. "The word, it's... It's Russian. It means brother."
Clint knows if he opens his mouth something unforgivably sappy would come out. He moves his hand, laces their fingers together, and squeezes back.
Natasha smiles softly, then her face hardens again and her eyes flick to Clint's. "Did you sleep in your hearing aids?"
"Uh. Yeah."
"Should you have done that?"
Clint ducks his head. "Uh. No. Probably not."
Natasha glares at him. "Take them out. Your ears need to rest."
"But I need to-"
"I'm here now, Clint. Take them out."
Even after living with it for years, the thought of absolute silence is still scary. Natasha's scarier, though.
"Fine. Sis." Clint grins as Natasha rolls her eyes hard enough to hurt and ruffles his hair.
_____________
Natasha wants to learn sign language and is quite perturbed when she finds out that Clint never bothered with it. After she's finished saying what Clint is sure are very unflattering things about him in Russian, she signs them both up for a class.
_____________
One of the first things Clint signs outside of class is Thanks, Nat.
Natasha sniffles suspiciously, then socks him in the arm.
_____________
Clint's not sure where Nat finds Darcy - and he's not sure what planet Jane lives on half the time - but as they get closer and closer to opening day he needs waitstaff, so he's not complaining. Though, he's pretty sure that Jane's habit of leaving napkins filled with complex equations laying around is going to get annoying.
Clint waits until Jane wonders off then picks up what she left behind. He looks at the scribbles, then turns the napkin upside down and tries looking at them again.
"Yeah, don't even try, boss-man," Darcy says, plucking the paper from his fingers. "If you stare at them long enough, they will turn three dimensional and punch you in the face. Trust me on this."
Clint frowns. "Are you sure this is the best place for her to work. I mean, I like Jane and everything, but-"
"Jane needs to be around normal people," Darcy says. "Or, you know, as normal as you, me, and Natasha get. Besides, if she works here, I'm confident that I can get at least one good meal into her a day. Doctoral candidates cannot live on Pop Tarts alone, no matter what Jane tries to tell you."
_____________
The whiteboard Clint installs in the back hall for schedules and work assignments gets a 'has Jane been fed' box in the upper right corner.
Each day, someone makes sure it gets checked.
_____________
The sign painters come on a Tuesday. Clint stands on the sidewalk and watches them work. Nat comes outside and stands with him for a little while.
"Hawkeye's, huh?" she says softly.
"Yeah," Clint says.
"I like it."
"Me too."
_____________
On opening day, the first customers through Hawkeye's doors are a pair of cops, Clint nearly has a nervous breakdown. It's a combination of the ghosts of his misspent youth and all the legal hoops he's had to jump through to get a restaurant open. He must have missed something, and now the man's here to shut him down.
When the cops simply nod at him before taking a seat at the counter and fixing their attention on the menu board, Clint relaxes a bit. Then more cops come in, and he tenses again. Then Nat and Darcy start giving him orders and all Clint thinks about for a while is cooking.
They get busy. Wonderfully busy.
Around mid-afternoon there's a lull. Clint slumps against one side of the counter while Nat and Darcy lean against the other. Jane isn't due in for another few hours. Clint thinks he's going to have to hire more people.
"I need better shoes," Nat says.
"I need a nap," Darcy says.
"I need to know why there are so many cops in this neighborhood." Clint flinches as Nat and Darcy stare at him. "What?"
"You do know there's a precinct around the corner and down about a block and a half, right?" Nat asks.
"Uh... Yeah. 'Course." Clint chuckles and takes rag out of his back pocket so he can wipe at an imaginary spot on the counter and avoid Nat's 'what a dumbass' look.
Clint's seen that look enough already, thank you very much.
_____________
On the diner's third day, Darcy starts the morning by introducing Clint to Luke and Danny.
"I am too young to be run so ragged," she says. "And I don't care if Natasha says she can handle ten hour shifts. If she keeps working so hard she will take one of your knives and stick it through somebody's eye. Mark my words!"
Clint doesn't need to be convinced. He hands Danny over to Natasha and puts Luke behind the counter with him.
Danny's friend Peter comes in the next day. He's interning at one of the local papers, but needs something with flexible hours that'll give him some pocket money. The day after that his girlfriend, Gwen, stops by and starts clearing tables in the middle of a busy lunch rush. She keeps coming back, so Clint fills out paperwork for her too.
_____________
When Clint realizes he's responsible for eight other people he has another panic attack. Luckily it's after closing, and Nat's the only one there to watch him freak out. She pours peach schnapps down his throat and rubs his head until he falls asleep.
_____________
After a few days Clint stops mentally flinching every time he sees a uniform. It helps that most of the officers - beat cops and detectives alike - seem to love his food. Clint laps up their praise like a cat with cream.
Over the course of a month, Clint starts to pick out his favorites from the regulars. There's Rogers, who proposes after he tastes Clint's apple pie - the guy's practically engaged to a billionaire or something, so Clint's almost positive he's kidding. There's Rogers' partner, Barnes, who flirts shamelessly with Nat and almost licks his plate every time he gets the meatloaf.
Banner nearly cries the first time he tastes Clint's ratatouille. Odinson does cry when he has Clint's Swedish meatballs - Clint's recipe is evidently extremely close to the Kjøttboller his grandmother made for the family every Christmas.
Hill side-eyes Clint's place, Clint's food, and Clint himself until she tries his mac and cheese, then her eyes are too busy rolling back into her head to give him any more suspicious looks. Coulson has an epic sweet tooth and swears to systematically work his way through Clint's pies and cobblers.
Captain Fury is a hard nut to crack. When he samples Clint's Shepard's Pie and a smile breaks out over his normally fierce face, Clint knows he's got him.
_____________
Clint has a well-worn book of his favorite recipes. Most are in his handwriting, but some are scraps he's torn out of magazines or pages he's printed out from online.
Every so often Clint flips through his book. He lets his fingers smooth down pages and his mind drift.
He loves this recipes. These recipes are tried, and true, and tested.
But there's nothing wrong with changing things up a bit. And some section are woefully lacking. So, Clint turns his laptop on, pulls up Google, and starts looking for something new.
_____________
One lovely afternoon in May Nat pours a glass of iced tea into Barnes' lap.
The entire diner goes silent.
Clint can't see Nat's face, but it's hard to miss the tension in her shoulders or the way her hand convulses on the empty glass.
Rogers starts to say something, and Nat spins on her heel and stalks off towards the back of the building.
Clint tells Pete to give Barnes more napkins, leaves Luke to man the grill, and goes after her. He finds her in his bedroom. She's pacing in front of his dresser and mumbling to herself. She's still holding the glass.
"Nat?" Clint says softly.
"He asked me out," Nat says, turning to him. Her eyes are wide and wild. "On a date. He asked me out on a date."
"Okay," Clint says. "Did he not want to take no for an answer?"
"I didn't say no," Nat says. "I... Oh, my God." She looks down in horror at the glass in her hand. "I poured iced tea into his lap," she says faintly.
"Yeah, you did."
"What's wrong with me?"
"You're incredibly anti-social." Clint blanches and holds up both hands at the glare he gets. "Whoa! Not judging! That was in no way a judgy statement!"
Nat raises an eyebrow. "Judgy?"
"I'm just saying," Clint says, "you're kinda messed up. But so am I. So..." He shrugs. "I have no idea where I'm going with this. Or what to do. Should I get you ice cream? Is this an eating ice cream with your bff moment?"
Nat stares at him for a moment. She snorts, loudly. "You're horrible," she says.
"Yeah," Clint says, rubbing a hand through his hair.
"At the whole talking to people thing."
"I know. I know."
"I now understand why you're trying to woo Coulson with pies."
"Yeah, I mean... Wait. What?" Clint blinks a few times. "I'm trying to what?"
"Woo Coulson with pies," Nat says again. She narrows her eyes. "Do not tell me you-"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Clint."
"I swear to God, Nat, I-"
"Clint."
"I expanded the dessert menu because I thought we needed more variety," Clint says. "It had nothing to do with Detective Coulson."
"Uh huh."
"It didn't!"
"I may be anti-social," Nat says, "but at least I'm not in denial."
"I'm not in denial," Clint says crossing his arms.
"You know that's exactly what someone in denial would say, right?"
"Natasha."
"Fine," Nat says, "you don't have the hots for Coulson. Just like you didn't add all those pies to the menu for him. And you don't spend a significant portion of each of his visits here staring at him."
She smirks, and Clint gets a very, very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"You're not joking, are you?" he asks.
Nat shakes her head.
"I stare?"
"You're not overt about it," Nat says. "I only caught you because I noticed the pie thing, and I was looking for confirmation."
"Oh, well, that's good," Clint says. "My creepy tendencies aren't immediately noticeable. That's great news."
"It's not creepy," Nat says. "It's kind of sweet. You like him."
"I don't know him," Clint says. "I don't even know his first name."
"I don't know Barnes' first name," Nat says.
"Yeah, and look what happened there."
"Yes," Nat says softly, "look what happened there." She bites at her lower lip for a moment, then lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. "I have to apologize to him."
"That's probably a good idea," Clint says.
"And you have to get your head out of your ass."
"No promises."
_____________
When Clint goes back out to the main part of the restaurant, he glances up at the menu board and winces.
Damn. There are a lot of pies up there.
_____________
Nat does go out with Barnes - who's first name turns out to be James. When she comes in the next morning, she's practically glowing with happiness.
It makes Clint's heart hurt, but in a good way.
Clint asks if he needs to give Barnes the shovel talk. Nat says she's already done it for him.
_____________
"It's Phil," Nat says to Clint one lazy afternoon while he's doing payroll.
"What?"
"Coulson's first name. It's Phil." She grins, plants a kiss on his forehead, and leaves him with his thoughts.
_____________
Clint's always found washing dishes to be soothing and almost meditative, so he's elbow deep in soapy water when he starts to seriously think about what Nat had said.
If Clint's being honest with himself - which he wasn't before, but he's trying now - the attraction he feels towards Coulson - Phil - is fairly obvious.
Clint has always had a predilection for older men. He's dated guys his own age and guys younger than him, but his hottest encounters have always been with someone at least a decade his senior. He likes them seasoned and experienced.
He also likes them kind, and Coulson - Phil - seems like he would be very kind. The looks he gets on his face whenever Clint places a piece of pie in front of him are almost achingly sweet. Clint thinks he could easily get addicted to the crinkles Coulson get around his eyes, and the way his mouth quirks up into the cutest little half smile, and the...
"Oh crap," Clint says. "Oh no. Oh crap no." He can't be this far gone over the guy yet. He hasn't even had a conversation with the man that didn't revolve around baked goods.
_____________
"I haven't had a conversation with him that didn't revolve around baked goods," Clint says that night as Nat's wiping down tables. He thinks they're alone in the restaurant. Nat's raised eyebrow and pointed look over Clint's shoulder tells him he's wrong.
"Whoa," Darcy says, her head popping up over the back of a booth, "are you and Detective Coulson finally gonna get it on?"
"What the... Were you hiding back there?" Clint asks.
"No, I was sleeping. I wanted to take a power nap before I finished mopping the floors." She grins. "But, seriously, boss-man. Daddy kink. I can dig it."
Clint slaps a hand over his face. "Don't ever say those words again. Also, you're fired."
Darcy laughs at him. Clint's pretty sure he deserves it.
_____________
"I have decided I am a good person," Nat says.
Clint glances up from his latest batch of pie crust. "Okay."
"And a good friend."
"All right."
"And a good sister."
Clint grins at the expression on Nat's face and leans in to buzz her cheek.
"So, because I am such a good person, friend, and sister, I am going to tell you a secret."
Clint abandons his dough and gives Nat his full attention.
She smiles, and it's mostly playful and only slightly terrifying. "You're not the only one who's pretending not to stare."
_____________
Clint's chopping up an onion and daydreaming about actually talking to the guy he's crushing on, who might just be crushing on him back, when the door to the diner slams open with an unusually extravagant gusto.
The man who enters is small in stature, but he has a gigantic aura around him. He also has on a suit that probably costs more than Clint's car and elaborate facial hair that should be ridiculous but seems like it fits him.
"Where's the harlot?" the man says loudly.
"Tony?!" Rogers squawks. He, Barnes, Banner, and Odinson are sitting in a booth. Clint's afraid if Banner doesn't move his ass and let him up, Rogers is going to climb over the table.
"Don't try and placate me, Steve! I want to meet this trollop you've been waxing lyrical about face to face! This homewreaker! This-" Tony Stark - because that's who this has to be - stops cold when his eyes find Clint.
"Steven," Stark says, his voice dropping into a purr, "you have been holding out on me. You told me he was a wizard in the kitchen, but you didn't say he was gorgeous." He sidles up to the counter. "Hiya, handsome."
Clint blinks and takes a few steps backwards.
"Aw, he's shy!" Stark says. "Steve, he's shy!"
Rogers, who finally managed to extract himself, rushes over. "I'm sorry," he says, looking at Clint. His gaze switches to Coulson, who's seated at the counter. "Really, really sorry."
Clint looks at Coulson. Coulson looks at Clint, then immediately drops his eyes to the half eaten crust on his plate. The very tips of his ears turn a fetching shade of pink.
"Wait a minute," Stark says, "are you two-" His voice is cut off as Rogers slaps a hand over his mouth.
"Sorry," Rogers says again as he hustles his fiancé out of the diner. "So, so sorry."
Clint's aware he's still gripping his knife. He tries to relax his fingers.
"So, that happened," Luke says.
Nat doesn't say anything, though she does point to Coulson's back and raises both her eyebrows. Darcy points at Coulson's back too and give him a double thumbs up.
Clint will be firing both of them very, very shortly. Just as soon as he finished chopping his onion.
_____________
A week later, Clint's about ready to crawl into bed when a sudden craving for pie sends him back out to the kitchen. There's a single piece of chocolate chess left, and Clint knows that if he doesn't eat it now, Darcy or Luke will probably snag it for breakfast. The moochers.
He's rounding the corner that leads from the back of the building to the main area of the diner when two figures outside the diner's glass door have him pulling up short. His pulse races until he realizes it's Rogers and Barnes. They seem to be having some kind of discussion. Clint pads over to the door and taps on the glass to get their attention before he unlocks it.
"Evening, fellas," Clint says. "Everything all right?" It's a stupid question because Clint can plainly see that everything is definitely not all right. Rogers and Barnes both look like ten miles of bad road. Their usually youthful faces are haggard. Their shoulders are slumped.
"Yeah, man," Barnes says. He rubs a hand over his face. "We just... We just finished up a bad one, you know?"
Rogers and Barnes are in homicide. Clint doesn't have to ask what a 'bad one' means. "You guys want to come in?"
Rogers shakes his head. "You're closed and-"
Clint snorts. "I'm not gonna fire up the grill, but there's stuff in the fridge I can put in the oven. Come on, you two look like you could use a little comfort food." He holds the door open with his shoulder and motions for the two men to come inside.
Rogers and Barnes glance at each other, but the lure of something filling and warm wins out over propriety. They shuffle in and take seats at the counter.
"Thanks, Clint," Rogers says. "Normally, we wouldn't... But this was..." Rogers trails off and shakes his head.
"This was a bad one," Barnes says again, more softly this time. His eyes are fixed on the countertop in front of him.
Clint feels a clenching in his gut. He turns on the oven and walks back to the fridge. "Any preferences?"
"All your stuff is amazing," Rogers says, a ghost of a smile on his face.
"Damn right it is," Clint says. As he pulls out a couple of casseroles, a thought comes to him. "Hey, was there anybody else on this case?"
"Yeah," Barnes says. "It was all hands on deck for this one."
"Call 'em," Clint says. "Tell them my kitchen's open late. One night only."
"Seriously?" Rogers asks. Barnes is already reaching for his phone.
"Yeah," Clint says with a nod. "Definitely."
These are good people. Clint likes these people. They've gone through something horrible, and the very least he can do is offer to feed them.
Over the next twenty minutes, the other detectives stagger in. They all look awful. Their faces are wan and their clothing wrinkled. Even Coulson, who usually seems so perfectly put together is disheveled. His tie is crooked, and it takes every bit of willpower Clint has to not reach over and straighten it.
The timer dings and Clint takes steaming hot pans out of the oven. He plates the food and smiles as each detective grabs his or her dish. Clint fixes a plate for himself too, and, for a little while, the only sounds in the place are scraping of utensils and soft grunts of contentment.
When Barnes is almost finished, he lifts his head and looks at Clint. "Okay, I've tried to get your story out of Nat, but either she doesn't know or she's just not telling. Where the hell did you learn to cook like this, man?"
All eyes focus on him, and Clint feels his cheeks heat up. "The circus," he says.
"No, seriously," Barnes says.
Clint raises his eyebrows and shrugs.
"You are serious," Rogers says. A look of delight comes over his face. "You were a carny?"
Clint shakes his head. "Carnies are the guys who run the games; I was an artist."
"That's so cool," Rogers says. "I mean, that was cool, right?"
"It had it's moments," Clint says. He knows his smile is wistful, but he can't help it.
"So, what did you do?" Banner asks.
"Lion tamer!" Odinson says swiftly.
Hill looks Clint up and down. "Aerialist ."
"Snake charmer," Barnes says with a wink. "Sword swallower?"
"He was a marksman."
Everyone turns to Coulson, who looks a little embarrassed by his statement.
Clint has to swallow a couple of times before he can get his voice to work right. "How did you-"
"Hawkeye's," Coulson says with a shrug. "I always wondered where that name came from. I figured it had something to do with your past. That maybe you were in the service. A sniper or-"
"Archer," Clint says. "I was an archer."
"Huh." Coulson smiles at him. "I could see that. Do you still have your bow?"
"Yeah. I haven't done anything with it for a while, though," Clint says. "I keep meaning to find somewhere to practice, but something here's always clamoring for my attention, you know?"
"I can imagine," Coulson says. His eyes are warm and curious now, the despondency from earlier is gone. "But if you love something you should make time for it."
"You're right; I should." Clint nods firmly. "I will."
"So, what happened?" Hill asks bluntly, her voice giving Clint a bit of a start. "How did you wind up here?"
Now that Clint's attention is away from Coulson, he can see the shrewd looks on the others' faces. Clint guesses that it's natural that a group of detectives would be curious.
When Clint thinks about Hill's question, his first instinct is to reach up and touch his ears. He beats it down and starts to busy himself by clearing away some of the empty dishes. "There was an... an accident. I was in the hospital for a while, and the show waits for no man." Clint hopes the shrug he gives them is more nonchalant than it feels. It's still a little raw, being left behind, even though it's been years.
"Do you ever think about going back?" Hill asks.
"No," Clint says without hesitation. "I mean, I loved it, but that part of my life's over."
"That sucks," Barnes says solemnly. "Though, I can't feel too broken up about it, personally, 'cause now you're ours."
"Yes, their loss is most certainly our gain," Odinson says, punctuating his statement by slapping his hand on the counter.
Clint feels his cheeks heat up. "Aw, shucks," he says, trying to cover the very real emotion that's bubbling up inside.
"You know, guys, I'm beat," Rogers says.
"Oh, yeah," Barnes says with a clearly over-exaggerated yawn. "Me too."
"Yes," Coulson says apologetically, "I suppose we should be going."
"No," Hill and Banner say sharply.
"You should stay," Hill adds, "and... have some pie. Don't you want some pie? You always want Clint's pie."
Coulson frowns and pats his stomach. "Well, I-"
"You do have pie, don't you, Clint?" Odinson asks.
"There's a slice of chocolate chess left," Clint says. He fetches it from the fridge and drops it onto the counter in front of Coulson like some kind of offering.
Coulson licks his lips. "It's late, and-"
"We could split it," Clint says, shocking the hell out of himself and, from the look on his face, Coulson too. Rogers and Barnes smirk at each other while the others nod approvingly.
Clint's heart thunders even as his confidence ratchets up a few notches. "You'd be doing me a favor," he says, "if you keep me from eating the whole piece."
Phil stares at him. "Okay," he says.
Clint tries to keep a dopey smile off his face. He fails. "Okay."
"All right."
"Yeah. All right."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Oh, for the love of God!" Hill exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. "That's it. I'm done. You two sad sacks are on your own." She stalks out into the night, shooing the others ahead of her, and leaving Coulson and Clint alone with their single slice of pie.
Clint tries to laugh, but it comes out odd and stilted. Anxiousness and anticipation are churning together in his stomach. He wonders if adding pie to that mix is such a great idea.
"Sorry about Maria," Coulson says as he takes the fork Clint hands him. His entire body tenses, like he's preparing himself for a blow. "She's been trying to convince me to ask you out for weeks."
"Really?" Clint's voice breaks, and he has to clear his throat. "I would say yes, if you were, you know, to do that. Ask me out, I mean. I would say yes. If you wanted." Clint shoves a forkful of pie into his mouth just to get himself to shut the hell up.
Coulson blinks. "So, would you like to-"
"Yes!"
Coulson's eyes do that crinkle thing. Clint can't help but think it's adorable.
"Are you sure you want to answer right away?" Coulson asks. "I could be inviting you to go to a French film festival or a comic book convention."
Clint ducks his head and looks up through his lashes. "I'd be okay with anything," he says, "as long as it's with you."
"Oh." Coulson looks floored.
"Yeah," Clint says.
"So, you're interested in-"
"You. Yeah."
"Are you sure? I mean-"
Clint laughs. "I don't change my dessert menu for just anybody, Phil Coulson."
Coulson still looks floored, but he also looks very, very pleased. "All those different desserts you've been making, they were all for me?"
Clint nods. Then shrugs. Then nods again.
"Oh," Coulson says again. A new smile comes over his face. His previous smiles were full of warmth, but this one packs some heat. "It would have been nice to know your intentions earlier."
"I could say the same thing," Clint says.
"Hmmm. We should probably start working on our communication skills."
"Are you serious, or was that a euphemism for dating-type-stuff?" Clint asks. "Honestly, I'm okay with either option."
Coulson's eyes are practically twinkling now. "Good to know."
"And if any of our friends ask, we were both totally smooth about this, right?"
"Oh, definitely," Phil says, as the eye crinkles come out in full force, "I'm sure the people who know us best will buy that."
_____________
Nat laughs for three minutes straight the next morning when Clint tells her about the smooth thing.
He thinks that reaction is a tad excessive.
But she's family; he loves her anyway.
_____________
end
Author:
saone77Pairing: Clint/Coulson, Natasha/Bucky, Steve/Tony
Summary: AU. Take one ex-circus performer, one homicide detective, a dash of meddling cohorts, a heavy helping of pie recipes, mix well, and bake until somebody gets a date.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Vague mentions of violence towards Clint resulting in permanent damage to his hearing, possible abuse in Clint and Natasha's past, and a homicide case.
Word Count: 5,963
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Notes: Written for
uofmdragon as part of cc_exchange. Super duper thanks to jesseofthenorth for the last minute beta! This has been tweaked a bit from the original.AO3 Link
Clint knows he should see more buildings. The step he's about to take isn't just big, it's life-changing, and for him to bet everything on the very first place he's shown seems silly and rash. But the more he pokes around, the more his mind's eye shows him how nice this dirty, dank place could look with a good cleaning and some fresh paint. And some new fixtures. And a couple of cans of Raid.
Clint nearly loses his balance as something large and vaguely horrifying runs over his shoe.
Maybe he should make that a case of Raid.
Besides, Clint's made most of his major life decisions by being silly and rash, and all those turned out okay. For the most part. Eventually.
"I'll take it," Clint says with a decisive nod of his head.
"What?" Marci, his realtor, had been staring at a few suspicious holes in the wall beside the bathrooms and does an honest-to-God double take. "Are you-"
"I'm sure," Clint says.
"But I have other-"
"I'm sure."
"Don't you want to just-"
"I'm sure," Clint says one last time. He sets his mouth and gives Marci a pointed look.
"All right," Marci says doubtfully. "I can have the papers drawn up this afternoon."
Clint runs a finger along the old, scarred countertop. "Good."
_____________
Buying the building takes a significant portion of the settlement money. After everything's been notarized and he's officially a property owner, Clint moves his meager belongings into one of the back rooms, cracks open a new bottle of whiskey, and spends approximately forty-five minutes freaking the hell out.
He has his first panic attack since he woke up in the hospital two years ago. It's not pretty.
Later, after his heartbeat is back to normal and his mind has stopped helpfully supplying him with all the times various people in his life had questioned his intelligence and basic worth as a human being, Clint is exhausted. He has enough left in him to drag some crates into the center of the room and roll his sleeping bag out on top of them. He zips himself up and prays that nothing thinks he looks like a good place to lay eggs.
On the bright side, when he takes his hearing aids out, it's much easier to ignore whatever's skittering behind the walls.
_____________
The contractor Clint hires tells him what he had suspected - the basic bones of the building are good and strong, it just needs a lot of cosmetic work. Clint decides to do most of that himself. He's strong, and capable, and stubborn. Clint's ready to put his soul into this place; it's only right that he should add some blood, sweat, and tears to the mix.
This is going to be his home.
Clint checks out home improvement books from the library until he gets his internet connection up and running. It's remarkable how many do-it-yourself videos are on Youtube.
It's slow going, trying to do everything by himself. Clint doesn't want to hire anyone yet, though. His bank account's still pretty lush, but he's cognizant of every withdrawal, and he'd rather not start paying payroll taxes until he's ready to use his new cash register.
_____________
"You hiring?"
Clint doesn't scream at the sudden strange voice where there should only be silence, but he does flail a little. Unfortunately, a little flailing can go a long way when you're standing near the top of a ladder and both hands are occupied trying to put up a light fixture. Before Clint can do more than gasp and teeter dangerously, there's a strong hand at the small of his back.
"Careful," the voice says.
Clint decides to hold off on any sarcastic comments until he's got both feet back on the ground. He finishes the installation. The hand disappears when he starts to climb back down.
When Clint turns around the last thing he expects to see is a hot redhead with a gorgeous face and an almost palpable air of menace about her. She stares at him impassively. Clint resists the urge to slowly back away.
"Uh... Hi?" he says. "I'm not open yet, obviously. Also, where did you come from? I'm pretty sure the door was locked."
"You know, you shouldn't climb up on a ladder like that when you're alone," she says, carefully picking her way around the debris on the floor to circle Clint. "Something bad might happen."
Clint doesn't think she meant that as a threat, but her unblinking gaze is kind of creepy. "Yeah, well, thanks," he says weakly.
She cocks her head slightly. "You need someone here to help you."
"I'm not really looking to hire anyone quite yet," Clint says, "but if you want to leave your name and number I can-"
"No need," she says, "I can start now. You can pay me under the table."
"I'm not sure I-"
"My name is Natasha."
"Oh, well, pleased to meet-"
"And you are?"
"Clint. But, listen-"
"Clint," Natasha says with a nod. "Yes. We are going to be friends."
Again, Clint doesn't think she meant that as a threat, but... He takes a breath and looks at her, really looks at her. There, behind her polished exterior, is something dark and tired. Clint's seen that kind of desperation enough times in his own reflection that it's easy to recognize it in someone else.
"Yeah," he says slowly. "I think we are. So, would you rather tackle the cockroaches or the bathrooms?"
Natasha bares her teeth in a slightly terrifying smile, and Clint thinks they're going to get along just fine.
_____________
Natasha is from Russia. Clint's not exactly clear on why she left or how she found herself in the States. Nothing gets her to clam up faster than asking her about her past. Clint quickly learns to leave well enough alone and just enjoy how much more is getting done with an extra set of hands.
Clint also enjoys the company once the two of them get too exhausted to work any further. Natasha, he finds, has a fondness for peach schnapps and, once she gets a few swigs in her, an absolutely wicked sense of humor.
A week after Natasha broke in and neatly fit herself into Clint's life, she shares the reason she left Russia.
When she's done, Clint tells her about the attack that took his hearing and the circus from him. Then he tells her about his father. And his brother.
The schnapps is put away and the harder stuff is taken out. When they're both too sloshed to walk straight they help each other to Clint's bed where they climb in, pull the covers over their heads, and huddle together.
They're hiding, and neither one bothers to pretend it's anything different.
In the morning, Clint wakes up with the vague impression of nightmares behind his eyes and the fervent hope that one of the pests he hadn't yet managed to get rid of didn't actually crawl in his mouth and die. He wouldn't put it past one of the little fuckers.
He tries to wake Natasha and gets a smack to his nose for his troubles. She mumbles something.
"What-" Clint winces at the croak in his voice. He clears his throat and tries again. "What did you... Did you just call me a brat?"
Natasha's eyes snap open. Her cheeks turn as red as her hair which, combined with the paleness of the rest of her face and the mess her mascara has left around her eyes, is making Clint have uncomfortable clown flashbacks.
"No, I didn't," Natasha says. She sits up and puts a hand to her temple. "Also, ow."
Clint drags himself off the bed and stumbles to the bathroom. After he takes care of his aching bladder and washes his hands, he gets some Tylenol out of the medicine cabinet.
Natasha's hovering outside, and when Clint leaves she goes in, slamming the door behind her. Clint leans against the wall and waits. He hears the toilet flush, and a few minutes later Natasha emerges. Her face is scrubbed clean, though her cheeks are still rosy.
"I think I ruined one of your towels," she says. "And... you misheard. What I said."
Clint shrugs at both his makeup streaked towel and the brat thing. He's certainly been called worse. By his own blood, even. Then Natasha shocks the hell out of him by making a grab, not for the Tylenol bottle he's holding, but for his other hand.
She squeezes his fingers and lets her eyes focus on a point just over his shoulder. "The word, it's... It's Russian. It means brother."
Clint knows if he opens his mouth something unforgivably sappy would come out. He moves his hand, laces their fingers together, and squeezes back.
Natasha smiles softly, then her face hardens again and her eyes flick to Clint's. "Did you sleep in your hearing aids?"
"Uh. Yeah."
"Should you have done that?"
Clint ducks his head. "Uh. No. Probably not."
Natasha glares at him. "Take them out. Your ears need to rest."
"But I need to-"
"I'm here now, Clint. Take them out."
Even after living with it for years, the thought of absolute silence is still scary. Natasha's scarier, though.
"Fine. Sis." Clint grins as Natasha rolls her eyes hard enough to hurt and ruffles his hair.
_____________
Natasha wants to learn sign language and is quite perturbed when she finds out that Clint never bothered with it. After she's finished saying what Clint is sure are very unflattering things about him in Russian, she signs them both up for a class.
_____________
One of the first things Clint signs outside of class is Thanks, Nat.
Natasha sniffles suspiciously, then socks him in the arm.
_____________
Clint's not sure where Nat finds Darcy - and he's not sure what planet Jane lives on half the time - but as they get closer and closer to opening day he needs waitstaff, so he's not complaining. Though, he's pretty sure that Jane's habit of leaving napkins filled with complex equations laying around is going to get annoying.
Clint waits until Jane wonders off then picks up what she left behind. He looks at the scribbles, then turns the napkin upside down and tries looking at them again.
"Yeah, don't even try, boss-man," Darcy says, plucking the paper from his fingers. "If you stare at them long enough, they will turn three dimensional and punch you in the face. Trust me on this."
Clint frowns. "Are you sure this is the best place for her to work. I mean, I like Jane and everything, but-"
"Jane needs to be around normal people," Darcy says. "Or, you know, as normal as you, me, and Natasha get. Besides, if she works here, I'm confident that I can get at least one good meal into her a day. Doctoral candidates cannot live on Pop Tarts alone, no matter what Jane tries to tell you."
_____________
The whiteboard Clint installs in the back hall for schedules and work assignments gets a 'has Jane been fed' box in the upper right corner.
Each day, someone makes sure it gets checked.
_____________
The sign painters come on a Tuesday. Clint stands on the sidewalk and watches them work. Nat comes outside and stands with him for a little while.
"Hawkeye's, huh?" she says softly.
"Yeah," Clint says.
"I like it."
"Me too."
_____________
On opening day, the first customers through Hawkeye's doors are a pair of cops, Clint nearly has a nervous breakdown. It's a combination of the ghosts of his misspent youth and all the legal hoops he's had to jump through to get a restaurant open. He must have missed something, and now the man's here to shut him down.
When the cops simply nod at him before taking a seat at the counter and fixing their attention on the menu board, Clint relaxes a bit. Then more cops come in, and he tenses again. Then Nat and Darcy start giving him orders and all Clint thinks about for a while is cooking.
They get busy. Wonderfully busy.
Around mid-afternoon there's a lull. Clint slumps against one side of the counter while Nat and Darcy lean against the other. Jane isn't due in for another few hours. Clint thinks he's going to have to hire more people.
"I need better shoes," Nat says.
"I need a nap," Darcy says.
"I need to know why there are so many cops in this neighborhood." Clint flinches as Nat and Darcy stare at him. "What?"
"You do know there's a precinct around the corner and down about a block and a half, right?" Nat asks.
"Uh... Yeah. 'Course." Clint chuckles and takes rag out of his back pocket so he can wipe at an imaginary spot on the counter and avoid Nat's 'what a dumbass' look.
Clint's seen that look enough already, thank you very much.
_____________
On the diner's third day, Darcy starts the morning by introducing Clint to Luke and Danny.
"I am too young to be run so ragged," she says. "And I don't care if Natasha says she can handle ten hour shifts. If she keeps working so hard she will take one of your knives and stick it through somebody's eye. Mark my words!"
Clint doesn't need to be convinced. He hands Danny over to Natasha and puts Luke behind the counter with him.
Danny's friend Peter comes in the next day. He's interning at one of the local papers, but needs something with flexible hours that'll give him some pocket money. The day after that his girlfriend, Gwen, stops by and starts clearing tables in the middle of a busy lunch rush. She keeps coming back, so Clint fills out paperwork for her too.
_____________
When Clint realizes he's responsible for eight other people he has another panic attack. Luckily it's after closing, and Nat's the only one there to watch him freak out. She pours peach schnapps down his throat and rubs his head until he falls asleep.
_____________
After a few days Clint stops mentally flinching every time he sees a uniform. It helps that most of the officers - beat cops and detectives alike - seem to love his food. Clint laps up their praise like a cat with cream.
Over the course of a month, Clint starts to pick out his favorites from the regulars. There's Rogers, who proposes after he tastes Clint's apple pie - the guy's practically engaged to a billionaire or something, so Clint's almost positive he's kidding. There's Rogers' partner, Barnes, who flirts shamelessly with Nat and almost licks his plate every time he gets the meatloaf.
Banner nearly cries the first time he tastes Clint's ratatouille. Odinson does cry when he has Clint's Swedish meatballs - Clint's recipe is evidently extremely close to the Kjøttboller his grandmother made for the family every Christmas.
Hill side-eyes Clint's place, Clint's food, and Clint himself until she tries his mac and cheese, then her eyes are too busy rolling back into her head to give him any more suspicious looks. Coulson has an epic sweet tooth and swears to systematically work his way through Clint's pies and cobblers.
Captain Fury is a hard nut to crack. When he samples Clint's Shepard's Pie and a smile breaks out over his normally fierce face, Clint knows he's got him.
_____________
Clint has a well-worn book of his favorite recipes. Most are in his handwriting, but some are scraps he's torn out of magazines or pages he's printed out from online.
Every so often Clint flips through his book. He lets his fingers smooth down pages and his mind drift.
He loves this recipes. These recipes are tried, and true, and tested.
But there's nothing wrong with changing things up a bit. And some section are woefully lacking. So, Clint turns his laptop on, pulls up Google, and starts looking for something new.
_____________
One lovely afternoon in May Nat pours a glass of iced tea into Barnes' lap.
The entire diner goes silent.
Clint can't see Nat's face, but it's hard to miss the tension in her shoulders or the way her hand convulses on the empty glass.
Rogers starts to say something, and Nat spins on her heel and stalks off towards the back of the building.
Clint tells Pete to give Barnes more napkins, leaves Luke to man the grill, and goes after her. He finds her in his bedroom. She's pacing in front of his dresser and mumbling to herself. She's still holding the glass.
"Nat?" Clint says softly.
"He asked me out," Nat says, turning to him. Her eyes are wide and wild. "On a date. He asked me out on a date."
"Okay," Clint says. "Did he not want to take no for an answer?"
"I didn't say no," Nat says. "I... Oh, my God." She looks down in horror at the glass in her hand. "I poured iced tea into his lap," she says faintly.
"Yeah, you did."
"What's wrong with me?"
"You're incredibly anti-social." Clint blanches and holds up both hands at the glare he gets. "Whoa! Not judging! That was in no way a judgy statement!"
Nat raises an eyebrow. "Judgy?"
"I'm just saying," Clint says, "you're kinda messed up. But so am I. So..." He shrugs. "I have no idea where I'm going with this. Or what to do. Should I get you ice cream? Is this an eating ice cream with your bff moment?"
Nat stares at him for a moment. She snorts, loudly. "You're horrible," she says.
"Yeah," Clint says, rubbing a hand through his hair.
"At the whole talking to people thing."
"I know. I know."
"I now understand why you're trying to woo Coulson with pies."
"Yeah, I mean... Wait. What?" Clint blinks a few times. "I'm trying to what?"
"Woo Coulson with pies," Nat says again. She narrows her eyes. "Do not tell me you-"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Clint."
"I swear to God, Nat, I-"
"Clint."
"I expanded the dessert menu because I thought we needed more variety," Clint says. "It had nothing to do with Detective Coulson."
"Uh huh."
"It didn't!"
"I may be anti-social," Nat says, "but at least I'm not in denial."
"I'm not in denial," Clint says crossing his arms.
"You know that's exactly what someone in denial would say, right?"
"Natasha."
"Fine," Nat says, "you don't have the hots for Coulson. Just like you didn't add all those pies to the menu for him. And you don't spend a significant portion of each of his visits here staring at him."
She smirks, and Clint gets a very, very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"You're not joking, are you?" he asks.
Nat shakes her head.
"I stare?"
"You're not overt about it," Nat says. "I only caught you because I noticed the pie thing, and I was looking for confirmation."
"Oh, well, that's good," Clint says. "My creepy tendencies aren't immediately noticeable. That's great news."
"It's not creepy," Nat says. "It's kind of sweet. You like him."
"I don't know him," Clint says. "I don't even know his first name."
"I don't know Barnes' first name," Nat says.
"Yeah, and look what happened there."
"Yes," Nat says softly, "look what happened there." She bites at her lower lip for a moment, then lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. "I have to apologize to him."
"That's probably a good idea," Clint says.
"And you have to get your head out of your ass."
"No promises."
_____________
When Clint goes back out to the main part of the restaurant, he glances up at the menu board and winces.
Damn. There are a lot of pies up there.
_____________
Nat does go out with Barnes - who's first name turns out to be James. When she comes in the next morning, she's practically glowing with happiness.
It makes Clint's heart hurt, but in a good way.
Clint asks if he needs to give Barnes the shovel talk. Nat says she's already done it for him.
_____________
"It's Phil," Nat says to Clint one lazy afternoon while he's doing payroll.
"What?"
"Coulson's first name. It's Phil." She grins, plants a kiss on his forehead, and leaves him with his thoughts.
_____________
Clint's always found washing dishes to be soothing and almost meditative, so he's elbow deep in soapy water when he starts to seriously think about what Nat had said.
If Clint's being honest with himself - which he wasn't before, but he's trying now - the attraction he feels towards Coulson - Phil - is fairly obvious.
Clint has always had a predilection for older men. He's dated guys his own age and guys younger than him, but his hottest encounters have always been with someone at least a decade his senior. He likes them seasoned and experienced.
He also likes them kind, and Coulson - Phil - seems like he would be very kind. The looks he gets on his face whenever Clint places a piece of pie in front of him are almost achingly sweet. Clint thinks he could easily get addicted to the crinkles Coulson get around his eyes, and the way his mouth quirks up into the cutest little half smile, and the...
"Oh crap," Clint says. "Oh no. Oh crap no." He can't be this far gone over the guy yet. He hasn't even had a conversation with the man that didn't revolve around baked goods.
_____________
"I haven't had a conversation with him that didn't revolve around baked goods," Clint says that night as Nat's wiping down tables. He thinks they're alone in the restaurant. Nat's raised eyebrow and pointed look over Clint's shoulder tells him he's wrong.
"Whoa," Darcy says, her head popping up over the back of a booth, "are you and Detective Coulson finally gonna get it on?"
"What the... Were you hiding back there?" Clint asks.
"No, I was sleeping. I wanted to take a power nap before I finished mopping the floors." She grins. "But, seriously, boss-man. Daddy kink. I can dig it."
Clint slaps a hand over his face. "Don't ever say those words again. Also, you're fired."
Darcy laughs at him. Clint's pretty sure he deserves it.
_____________
"I have decided I am a good person," Nat says.
Clint glances up from his latest batch of pie crust. "Okay."
"And a good friend."
"All right."
"And a good sister."
Clint grins at the expression on Nat's face and leans in to buzz her cheek.
"So, because I am such a good person, friend, and sister, I am going to tell you a secret."
Clint abandons his dough and gives Nat his full attention.
She smiles, and it's mostly playful and only slightly terrifying. "You're not the only one who's pretending not to stare."
_____________
Clint's chopping up an onion and daydreaming about actually talking to the guy he's crushing on, who might just be crushing on him back, when the door to the diner slams open with an unusually extravagant gusto.
The man who enters is small in stature, but he has a gigantic aura around him. He also has on a suit that probably costs more than Clint's car and elaborate facial hair that should be ridiculous but seems like it fits him.
"Where's the harlot?" the man says loudly.
"Tony?!" Rogers squawks. He, Barnes, Banner, and Odinson are sitting in a booth. Clint's afraid if Banner doesn't move his ass and let him up, Rogers is going to climb over the table.
"Don't try and placate me, Steve! I want to meet this trollop you've been waxing lyrical about face to face! This homewreaker! This-" Tony Stark - because that's who this has to be - stops cold when his eyes find Clint.
"Steven," Stark says, his voice dropping into a purr, "you have been holding out on me. You told me he was a wizard in the kitchen, but you didn't say he was gorgeous." He sidles up to the counter. "Hiya, handsome."
Clint blinks and takes a few steps backwards.
"Aw, he's shy!" Stark says. "Steve, he's shy!"
Rogers, who finally managed to extract himself, rushes over. "I'm sorry," he says, looking at Clint. His gaze switches to Coulson, who's seated at the counter. "Really, really sorry."
Clint looks at Coulson. Coulson looks at Clint, then immediately drops his eyes to the half eaten crust on his plate. The very tips of his ears turn a fetching shade of pink.
"Wait a minute," Stark says, "are you two-" His voice is cut off as Rogers slaps a hand over his mouth.
"Sorry," Rogers says again as he hustles his fiancé out of the diner. "So, so sorry."
Clint's aware he's still gripping his knife. He tries to relax his fingers.
"So, that happened," Luke says.
Nat doesn't say anything, though she does point to Coulson's back and raises both her eyebrows. Darcy points at Coulson's back too and give him a double thumbs up.
Clint will be firing both of them very, very shortly. Just as soon as he finished chopping his onion.
_____________
A week later, Clint's about ready to crawl into bed when a sudden craving for pie sends him back out to the kitchen. There's a single piece of chocolate chess left, and Clint knows that if he doesn't eat it now, Darcy or Luke will probably snag it for breakfast. The moochers.
He's rounding the corner that leads from the back of the building to the main area of the diner when two figures outside the diner's glass door have him pulling up short. His pulse races until he realizes it's Rogers and Barnes. They seem to be having some kind of discussion. Clint pads over to the door and taps on the glass to get their attention before he unlocks it.
"Evening, fellas," Clint says. "Everything all right?" It's a stupid question because Clint can plainly see that everything is definitely not all right. Rogers and Barnes both look like ten miles of bad road. Their usually youthful faces are haggard. Their shoulders are slumped.
"Yeah, man," Barnes says. He rubs a hand over his face. "We just... We just finished up a bad one, you know?"
Rogers and Barnes are in homicide. Clint doesn't have to ask what a 'bad one' means. "You guys want to come in?"
Rogers shakes his head. "You're closed and-"
Clint snorts. "I'm not gonna fire up the grill, but there's stuff in the fridge I can put in the oven. Come on, you two look like you could use a little comfort food." He holds the door open with his shoulder and motions for the two men to come inside.
Rogers and Barnes glance at each other, but the lure of something filling and warm wins out over propriety. They shuffle in and take seats at the counter.
"Thanks, Clint," Rogers says. "Normally, we wouldn't... But this was..." Rogers trails off and shakes his head.
"This was a bad one," Barnes says again, more softly this time. His eyes are fixed on the countertop in front of him.
Clint feels a clenching in his gut. He turns on the oven and walks back to the fridge. "Any preferences?"
"All your stuff is amazing," Rogers says, a ghost of a smile on his face.
"Damn right it is," Clint says. As he pulls out a couple of casseroles, a thought comes to him. "Hey, was there anybody else on this case?"
"Yeah," Barnes says. "It was all hands on deck for this one."
"Call 'em," Clint says. "Tell them my kitchen's open late. One night only."
"Seriously?" Rogers asks. Barnes is already reaching for his phone.
"Yeah," Clint says with a nod. "Definitely."
These are good people. Clint likes these people. They've gone through something horrible, and the very least he can do is offer to feed them.
Over the next twenty minutes, the other detectives stagger in. They all look awful. Their faces are wan and their clothing wrinkled. Even Coulson, who usually seems so perfectly put together is disheveled. His tie is crooked, and it takes every bit of willpower Clint has to not reach over and straighten it.
The timer dings and Clint takes steaming hot pans out of the oven. He plates the food and smiles as each detective grabs his or her dish. Clint fixes a plate for himself too, and, for a little while, the only sounds in the place are scraping of utensils and soft grunts of contentment.
When Barnes is almost finished, he lifts his head and looks at Clint. "Okay, I've tried to get your story out of Nat, but either she doesn't know or she's just not telling. Where the hell did you learn to cook like this, man?"
All eyes focus on him, and Clint feels his cheeks heat up. "The circus," he says.
"No, seriously," Barnes says.
Clint raises his eyebrows and shrugs.
"You are serious," Rogers says. A look of delight comes over his face. "You were a carny?"
Clint shakes his head. "Carnies are the guys who run the games; I was an artist."
"That's so cool," Rogers says. "I mean, that was cool, right?"
"It had it's moments," Clint says. He knows his smile is wistful, but he can't help it.
"So, what did you do?" Banner asks.
"Lion tamer!" Odinson says swiftly.
Hill looks Clint up and down. "Aerialist ."
"Snake charmer," Barnes says with a wink. "Sword swallower?"
"He was a marksman."
Everyone turns to Coulson, who looks a little embarrassed by his statement.
Clint has to swallow a couple of times before he can get his voice to work right. "How did you-"
"Hawkeye's," Coulson says with a shrug. "I always wondered where that name came from. I figured it had something to do with your past. That maybe you were in the service. A sniper or-"
"Archer," Clint says. "I was an archer."
"Huh." Coulson smiles at him. "I could see that. Do you still have your bow?"
"Yeah. I haven't done anything with it for a while, though," Clint says. "I keep meaning to find somewhere to practice, but something here's always clamoring for my attention, you know?"
"I can imagine," Coulson says. His eyes are warm and curious now, the despondency from earlier is gone. "But if you love something you should make time for it."
"You're right; I should." Clint nods firmly. "I will."
"So, what happened?" Hill asks bluntly, her voice giving Clint a bit of a start. "How did you wind up here?"
Now that Clint's attention is away from Coulson, he can see the shrewd looks on the others' faces. Clint guesses that it's natural that a group of detectives would be curious.
When Clint thinks about Hill's question, his first instinct is to reach up and touch his ears. He beats it down and starts to busy himself by clearing away some of the empty dishes. "There was an... an accident. I was in the hospital for a while, and the show waits for no man." Clint hopes the shrug he gives them is more nonchalant than it feels. It's still a little raw, being left behind, even though it's been years.
"Do you ever think about going back?" Hill asks.
"No," Clint says without hesitation. "I mean, I loved it, but that part of my life's over."
"That sucks," Barnes says solemnly. "Though, I can't feel too broken up about it, personally, 'cause now you're ours."
"Yes, their loss is most certainly our gain," Odinson says, punctuating his statement by slapping his hand on the counter.
Clint feels his cheeks heat up. "Aw, shucks," he says, trying to cover the very real emotion that's bubbling up inside.
"You know, guys, I'm beat," Rogers says.
"Oh, yeah," Barnes says with a clearly over-exaggerated yawn. "Me too."
"Yes," Coulson says apologetically, "I suppose we should be going."
"No," Hill and Banner say sharply.
"You should stay," Hill adds, "and... have some pie. Don't you want some pie? You always want Clint's pie."
Coulson frowns and pats his stomach. "Well, I-"
"You do have pie, don't you, Clint?" Odinson asks.
"There's a slice of chocolate chess left," Clint says. He fetches it from the fridge and drops it onto the counter in front of Coulson like some kind of offering.
Coulson licks his lips. "It's late, and-"
"We could split it," Clint says, shocking the hell out of himself and, from the look on his face, Coulson too. Rogers and Barnes smirk at each other while the others nod approvingly.
Clint's heart thunders even as his confidence ratchets up a few notches. "You'd be doing me a favor," he says, "if you keep me from eating the whole piece."
Phil stares at him. "Okay," he says.
Clint tries to keep a dopey smile off his face. He fails. "Okay."
"All right."
"Yeah. All right."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Oh, for the love of God!" Hill exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. "That's it. I'm done. You two sad sacks are on your own." She stalks out into the night, shooing the others ahead of her, and leaving Coulson and Clint alone with their single slice of pie.
Clint tries to laugh, but it comes out odd and stilted. Anxiousness and anticipation are churning together in his stomach. He wonders if adding pie to that mix is such a great idea.
"Sorry about Maria," Coulson says as he takes the fork Clint hands him. His entire body tenses, like he's preparing himself for a blow. "She's been trying to convince me to ask you out for weeks."
"Really?" Clint's voice breaks, and he has to clear his throat. "I would say yes, if you were, you know, to do that. Ask me out, I mean. I would say yes. If you wanted." Clint shoves a forkful of pie into his mouth just to get himself to shut the hell up.
Coulson blinks. "So, would you like to-"
"Yes!"
Coulson's eyes do that crinkle thing. Clint can't help but think it's adorable.
"Are you sure you want to answer right away?" Coulson asks. "I could be inviting you to go to a French film festival or a comic book convention."
Clint ducks his head and looks up through his lashes. "I'd be okay with anything," he says, "as long as it's with you."
"Oh." Coulson looks floored.
"Yeah," Clint says.
"So, you're interested in-"
"You. Yeah."
"Are you sure? I mean-"
Clint laughs. "I don't change my dessert menu for just anybody, Phil Coulson."
Coulson still looks floored, but he also looks very, very pleased. "All those different desserts you've been making, they were all for me?"
Clint nods. Then shrugs. Then nods again.
"Oh," Coulson says again. A new smile comes over his face. His previous smiles were full of warmth, but this one packs some heat. "It would have been nice to know your intentions earlier."
"I could say the same thing," Clint says.
"Hmmm. We should probably start working on our communication skills."
"Are you serious, or was that a euphemism for dating-type-stuff?" Clint asks. "Honestly, I'm okay with either option."
Coulson's eyes are practically twinkling now. "Good to know."
"And if any of our friends ask, we were both totally smooth about this, right?"
"Oh, definitely," Phil says, as the eye crinkles come out in full force, "I'm sure the people who know us best will buy that."
_____________
Nat laughs for three minutes straight the next morning when Clint tells her about the smooth thing.
He thinks that reaction is a tad excessive.
But she's family; he loves her anyway.
_____________
end
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