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saoneTitle: Eve With a Lid On (1/2)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saone77
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Summary: AU. Six conversations with baked goods. A companion piece to Blue Plate Special.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Not betad, grammarians beware. Mentions of past violence towards Clint resulting in permanent damage to his hearing.
Word Count: 11972
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Notes: Part of the Lunch Counter Love Story series.
Ao3
"Can I get you anything else?"
Phil looks up from the remnants of his turkey club and is met by the full force of a slightly crooked grin and deep blue eyes. He does something with his own face that he hopes comes off as a subdued, polite smile, but he has the awful feeling it lands on the more grimace-like side of facial expressions. "I'm good, thanks."
The man on the other side of the counter slides those pretty blue eyes over to Maria, and Phil takes the opportunity to rake his own eyes over that jaw line. "Ma'am?"
When Maria doesn't answer right away, Phil looks over at his partner. There's something evil lurking on Maria's face as she glances between Phil and Hawkeye's main cook. "I think I'll take a slice of apple pie," she says. "Thanks."
Phil raises an eyebrow.
"What?" Maria says defensively. "After Rogers spent most of yesterday waxing lyrical about the best apple pie I've ever had in my life, oh, my God, I've been craving some." She looks at blue-eyes. "I'll tell you right now, I've had some pretty damn good apple pie, buddy."
"It's Clint," the man says, his grin deepening to carve out dimples on his cheeks, "and, no offense, but you haven't had my apple pie yet, ma'am." He looks at Phil again. "How about you, sir? Can I tempt you?"
Phil valiantly ignores the little snort/cough combo Maria lets out as he tries to get his brain to come up with some kind of proper, non-creepy response. Dammit. Phil is on the wrong side of forty; he should not feel so discombobulated around a handsome face. Or a firm chest. Or a trim waist. Or a truly amazing pair of arms.
Jesus, look at those arms...
"He'll have a slice too," Maria says. She pokes Phil between two of his ribs. Phil resists the urge to poke back, but he goes along with Maria's order. Life is short, and Rogers was awfully adamant about the amazingness of this place's apple pie.
"Al a mode?" Clint asks.
"You're supposed to say put a hat on it!" A curvy brunette admonishes as she breezes past, a full plate in each hand.
Clint scowls as he tracks her across the restaurant. When he catches sight of Phil's questioning look, Clint ducks his head a bit and a trace of pink appears over his cheeks.
"Darcy thinks we should revive old fashioned diner lingo," he says. "Put a hat on it means adding ice cream to a slice of pie."
"Huh," Maria says. "That sounds like it would get super annoying."
"Right?!" Clint says. "Plus, sometimes I... I can't hear that great... what with the... things... and stuff. So, yeah, no." He rubs his palms across the apron at his hips. "Anyway, ice cream?"
"No," Phil says, "just the pie." He's probably going to have to add at least half a mile onto his morning jog as it is. Phil might chase criminals for a living, but his worst enemy has become the fear of middle-aged spread.
"Okay," Clint says. "Coming right up." He smoothly gathers Phil and Maria's lunch plates and turns towards the rear of the diner. Phil's traitorous eyes follow the strong line of his tee-shirt clad back down past apron strings to the swell of a nicely rounded denim-covered ass. His mouth goes dry as Clint walks away from them, said ass swaying enticingly.
Phil takes a gulp from his water glass and tries to ignore the amusement he can feel radiating off of his partner.
"Perv," Maria says under her breath.
"Shut up," Phil hisses back.
"Seriously, Phil, a fry cook?!"
"Shut. Up."
"He does make an awesome mac 'n cheese, though," Maria says thoughtfully. "And I guess he has some nice assets." She elbows Phil none too gently, jostling him on his stool. "Heh. Get it? Assets. 'Cause that's what you were staring at. His ass."
"Maria," Phil says with a soft voice and a surprising amount of venom, "If you think our years of being partners, and, I had hoped, friends, will save you from my swift and fearsome retribution should you continue on your current path of trying to be a comedian, you are sadly mistaken. Now, will you please-"
"Ooooh, pie!" Maria says loudly, easily drowning out Phil's voice.
Phil's head whips around fast enough to catch Clint looking a tad startled at Maria's enthusiasm. At least, Phil hopes Clint's startled look is due to Maria's enthusiasm and he didn't catch the tail end of Phil's threat.
Clint's crooked smile comes back easily enough as he places plates filled with truly gorgeous pieces of pie in front of Phil and Maria. He then takes a few steps back and crosses his arms over his chest. "Go on," he says with a nod, "let me know if your friend was right."
Phil picks up his fork and uses the edge of it to cut through the golden, flaky crust and the firm apples beneath it. The smell of spices fill the air. Phil takes an appreciative sniff of cinnamon and... something else... nutmeg, maybe... before he gathers a good sized bite and lifts his fork to his mouth.
Phil has never been a particularly demonstrative person, so the deep, happy moan that comes out of his throat at that first taste of Clint's apple pie surprises him so badly that he prematurely swallows and almost chokes.
Phil puts a hand - luckily not the one still holding his fork - to his throat and tries to contain his coughing.
Clint and Maria both stare at him with wide eyes.
"Geez, Coulson," Maria says.
"You okay, mister?" Clint asks.
"Yeah," Phil croaks. "I'm okay." He takes a sip of water. "It's good." He tries to smile, but this time he knows it's more of a grimace.
Clint nods, but there's still a hint of concern in his face. The poor guy was probably afraid Phil was going to keel over or something. Phil takes another bite just to prove that he can consume food like any other normal human.
"Wow," Maria says, talking around her own mouthful of pie, "this is good."
"But is it the best?" Clint asks with a smirk.
"Eh, sorry," Maria says. "Familial obligations require me to leave that title to my grandma."
"Say no more," Clint says, holding up a hand. "I wouldn't even try and compete against pies made by grandmas. How about you?" Clint's eye focus on Phil and one of his eyebrows quirks up a bit for good measure.
"Uh..." Phil licks his lips, chasing a bit of spice. "It's definitely in the top ten."
The eyebrow quirks further. "Top ten?"
"Top three?"
"Okay," Clint says with a nod, "I can live with top three."
"Hey, boss-man," Darcy says, appearing at Phil's elbow, "I'm gonna need a hockey puck on hojack with a honeymoon salad and love apples on the side, all right? Awesomesauce, Daddio." With a thumbs up and a flip of her hair she's off again.
For a brief moment, Clint looks like he just got smacked with something. He shakes his head sharply, then gives Phil and Maria a tight smile.
"Excuse me," he says, "I have to go fire someone."
Phil's willpower has obviously left the building because he can't help but watch Clint walk away again.
"Hmmm," Maria says, "not just a fry cook, then."
Phil scowls at her, then gives his full attention to the plate in front of him.
It is really good pie.
___________
It's a windy, blustery day more suited to early March than mid April, but Phil's glad for the dreary weather. After the morning he's had, Phil really doesn't know if he could handle sunshine and birdsong.
He fights against a strong wind to open Hawkeye's door, then nearly loses his balance as that same strong wind propels him into the diner. Phil hears a poorly concealed snort of laughter, and he fervently hopes that Clint is amused at the near slapstick quality of his entrance and not at the state of his hair or something.
As nonchalantly as possible, Phil lifts a hand and lets it smooth over the back of his head - everything that's left seems to be in the proper place, thank God - and quickly scans the room. There are only a handful of other customers scattered here and there in the booths. Darcy and Jane are the only waitstaff around, and they're both hunched over one of the far tables, their noses buried in thick textbooks.
There's no one at the counter, and Phil's free to take what he's come to think of as his regular seat.
"Sorry," Clint says as he, without prompting, places a mug in front of Phil and fills it three quarters of the way with hot, dark coffee. "I wasn't laughing at you... Or, well, I kind of was, but not in a mean way. It's just, you normally seem so put together, and the way you came in was so not put together, I..." The coffee splashes against the inside of the carafe as Clint makes some kind of odd gesture with his hands. He clears his throat. "Anyway, what can I get you today, Detective Coulson?"
Phil blinks, first at the stream of words that had just assaulted him, and then at the slight blush stealing across the tops of Clint's cheeks. How odd. He then looks up at the menu board. Nothing tempts him, not even the addition of French silk and lemon meringue to the pie list. His eyes drop down to his mug. "I think I might just stick with coffee today, Clint. Thanks."
"Rough morning?" Clint asks.
Detecting some true empathy in Clint's voice, Phil decides to respond with an abbreviated truth rather than a standard non-answer. "I spent most of the morning in court."
"Ah," Clint says. He's frowning, but he doesn't ask any follow-up questions. He's silent for a moment, then his face brightens just a tad. "How about a slice of pie, on the house?"
Phil lets one of his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. "Offering someone free pie when they've had a bad day isn't the best business model. Especially around here."
Clint shrugs and makes a scoffing sound. "Whatever. You're a regular; in the long run it'll pay more to keep you happy."
Phil very firmly tells himself to not read too much into this. He's sure that he's not the only person Clint would give a 'cheer up' piece of pie to. Probably. "Well, I appreciate the offer," he says, "I really do. But, again, I think I'll just stick with the coffee."
Clint nods and gives him a small smile before he moves away.
Phil spends a few minutes staring contemplatively into his cup before he gets tired of his self-pity party and starts indulging in his new favorite past-time of surreptitiously watching Clint cook. He likes to think of it as a live version of the Food Channel since that makes him feel slightly less creepy.
Clint chops, and mixes, and periodically checks on something in one of his ovens. There's a rhythm in the way Clint moves around his kitchen, and Phil soon finds himself soothed by it.
In fact, Phil gets into such a mellow state, that he almost jumps when Clint's movements come to a stop right in front of him.
Clint slides a plate across the counter and into Phil's space. It's got a large, gorgeous, golden-hued muffin sitting on it, still steaming from the oven, with a pat of butter and knife off to one side. Phil looks up at Clint and cocks his head slightly.
"I know you said you didn't want anything," Clint says, "but I figure you probably haven't eaten since breakfast, if you even had anything then, and since I now feed people for a living, I'm kind of taking a personal offense at that." The right side of Clint's mouth quirks up into one of his grins. "It's just a corn muffin, and if you really don't want it then-"
At that very moment, Phil's poor, empty stomach gives a hearty growl. Phil shakes his head ruefully as Clint's grin turns triumphant.
"Ha!" Clint says. He pushes the plate a little bit closer to Phil's chest. "Eat."
"All right," Phil says, not even bothering to put up a hint of a protest. The muffin does look delicious.
Clint, obviously pleased at the thought of feeding someone, sticks around and watches Phil as he cuts the top off of the muffin, then slathers the insides with butter. Phil feels his skin prickle a bit at being observed, but he figures turnabout's fair play and all.
"You know," Clint says, right before Phil takes his first bite, "if you ever want to talk, or vent, or whatever..." He shrugs. "I mean, I know it's traditionally a bartender that's the guy behind a counter who's wiling to listen to people's troubles, but..." Clint trails off.
Phil's kind of touched. But he's not going to burden the poor guy with his problems, especially when it involves the nasty details of one of his cases.
"Thank you," Phil says, hoping his sincerity comes through his tone. "For the offer. I appreciate it."
Clint's mouth twists into something wry. "But you're not going to take me up on it, are you?"
Phil doesn't answer. Instead, he takes his first bite of the muffin and, like most times when he eats Clint's baked goods, his eyes involuntarily close in pleasure. "Oh, wow, that's good." The praise and happy noises he makes are also involuntary, but Phil's getting used to the embarrassment. Clint's beaming face usually helps with that.
"Thanks," Clint says, ducking his head slightly, like he's being bashful. God, that's cute. "This is actually one of the first recipes I made on my own. Easy enough for a kid to do, you know?"
"Helping your mom out in the kitchen, huh?" Phil asks genially. From the look that comes over Clint's face, he immediately knows he's made a misstep.
"Something like that," Clint says. The smile he wears now is a little wan and a lot distant. Phil can't help but regret trying to make conversation.
"Sorry," Phil says, "I just-"
"I should get back to doing stuff," Clint says, cutting him off. "Pies aren't going to make themselves, right?" He takes a few steps backward, and Phil knows this pleasant, little interlude is over.
"Oh, okay," Phil says. "How much do I-"
"Don't worry about it," Clint says. He turns, but looks back at Phil from over his shoulder. "You have a good day, Detective Coulson."
"Yeah," Phil says to Clint's back, "you too." Phil polishes off the rest of his muffin. He thinks about saying something else, something pithy and smart. Instead, he keeps his mouth shut, and takes his leave.
___________
Phil is not in the best of moods. He and Maria had arrived at Hawkeye's right in the middle of the lunch rush, and not only had Phil's stool already been occupied - by Sitwell, the traitor - the only empty seat available was a booth at the back, near the restrooms. Phil supposes they're lucky to have a table at all, but he can't even see Clint from this spot.
Not that getting to see Clint is the only reason he likes coming to Hawkeye's. It's just a bonus. A nice, firm, hot bonus.
To add to that, their server this afternoon is Jane. Normally, Phil likes Jane. She's lovely and sweet, but, like most terrifyingly brilliant people Phil's met over the years, she occasionally shows the common sense of a fruit fly. While his and Maria's sandwiches appeared with haste, the slice of pecan pie he ordered ten minutes ago has yet to be delivered.
Phil cranes his neck, searching for her again, but there's still no sign of her. She must be in the back, probably writing out some kind of quantum equation on a wall with a bottle of ketchup.
"I don't get it," Maria says.
"Get what?" Phil says absently. He still hasn't located Jane, but he's realized that if he leans to the right a bit and twists his head just so he can see a reflection of Clint in one of the mirrors on the wall.
"You, Coulson," Maria says. "I don't get you."
Phil gives up his glimpse of Clint and turns his attention to his partner. The look of mild exasperation on her face is something he's never seen directed his way before. She usually saves that look for people like Stark or Selvig, down in the coroner's office.
"What did I do?" Phil asks, feeling a bit cowed.
"Nothing," Maria says harshly. "That's the point."
"I'm sorry," Phil says, "did I miss the beginning of this conversation?"
Maria takes a breath and opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Peter appears beside their table.
"Sorry for the wait, Detective," Peter says, setting Phil's pie down in front of him. "But, on the plus side, I'm pretty sure Jane just figured out-"
"Stop," Phil says, holding up a hand. "Don't need to know. Wouldn't understand it if you told me. Thanks Peter," Phil waves him off, then turns his full attention to his pie. He licks his lips as he makes a little yummy sound in the back of his throat. He picks up his fork, then blinks rapidly when it's snatched from his hand.
"Okay," Maria says, brandishing Phil's fork in a vaguely threatening manner, "that's it. We're having an intervention. Right here, right now."
"Inter-what? Give me back my fork, Maria," Phil says.
"You'll get it back once you listen to what I have to say," Maria says. "God knows there's no point trying to talk to you when you're consumed by pie-lust."
Phil considers trying to take his utensil back by force, but there's a certain terrifying gleam in Maria's eyes that tells him such an action would probably not end well. He spares a forlorn glance towards his cooling pie, then takes a breath and calmly rests his hands on the tabletop. "Fine. Speak."
"Phil, we've been partners for almost five years now," Maria says. "And, in that time, I'd like to think that we've become close. In fact, I tend to think of you as a brother."
"I'm touched, Maria," Phil says. "Truly. And the sentiment is returned."
"Yeah, whatever. I'm talking now, shut up."
Phil sighs.
"Anyway," Maria says, "you're like family. I don't know about yours, but mine's not big on the whole compliment, coddling thing, so I'm only going to say this once. You, Phil Coulson, are a professional badass."
Phil blinks a few times, but he doesn't depute the statement. "All right."
"You are one of the most competent people I've ever met," Maria continues. "I know the only reason you're still a detective and you haven't risen further up the ranks yet is because you enjoy the chase too much. You hunt murderers for a living, Phil, and you're good at it."
Phil nods, because it's true.
"You saved my life," Maria says softly. "More than once."
"Like you've saved mine," Phil adds.
Maria waves off his second interruption. "There is no one I would rather have at my back than you, Phil. However, that being said, if you don't do something about this little crush of yours, I'm going to have to hurt you. Badly."
"Maria," Phil says, a touch of annoyance in his voice, "I don't-"
"Do not try and deny it. Seriously. Every time you get within twenty feet of Arm Porn over there, you turn into a mess. A huge, awful mess. A really, giant, awful-"
"I get it," Phil says.
"I don't think you do," Maria says. "It's embarrassing, Phil. I am embarrassed for you."
Phil can feel the start of a scowl pulling down the corners of his mouth. "Thank you for your input. Can I have my fork back?"
"No," Maria says. "It's embarrassing."
"You already said that."
"It's obviously worth repeating. Here, I'll say it again. It's embarrassing. And unnecessary. Phil, the guy's clearly into you too.
Phil rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. He's never really been a religious man, but he prays for strength anyway.
"So, that being said, I'll repeat, I don't get you," Maria says. "You're a catch. Reel him in already." She frowns. "Or, no, wait, I guess if you're the catch you wouldn't be the one doing the reeling..."
"I'm not a catch, Maria," Phil says.
"Of course you are."
"No, I'm really not."
"Phil," Maria says, her exasperation adding another syllable to his name, "yes, you are. Okay, granted, not to me, but I think that's because of the whole brother thing. Also, partners sleeping together is so cliche. Except for Carol and Jess, they're just hot."
Phil wonders what kind of irreparable damage it would do to his cred if he banged his head against the table a few times. "Maria, stop. Please. I'm not a catch. I'm not. All those things you said, you just think they're good qualities because you're a cop. Regular people don't see me like that."
Maria narrows her eyes. "How do you think regular people see you, Phil?"
Phil sighs and fights the urge to slouch. "I'm on the wrong side of forty, I haven't had a full head of hair since the first Bush administration, and I'm practically married to a demanding, high stress job that's probably going to give me my first heart attack sometime in the next decade or so. Any one of those things would be enough to make a normal guy run in the opposite direction."
Maria stares at him, long and hard. "Then I guess it's a good thing Clint's not normal, isn't it?" she says, finally.
"Of course Clint's normal," Phil says.
"Really? Because the people he's surrounded himself with sure the hell aren't." Maria grimaces. "Not like I'm exactly one to talk..."
"They're eccentric," Phil says kindly.
"Which is just another word for not normal," Maria says. She leans across the table and drops her voice. "Seriously, though, I'm not the only one who gets the willies from Natasha, right?"
Phil lets his eyes scan the room and quickly picks out the redhead. "No, you are not," he says out of the corner of his mouth.
"Barnes has balls of steel," Maria says.
"Hmmm." Phil lets his eyes widen slightly. Maria tenses and turns her head just a tad. Phil makes a grab for his fork.
"Ah ha!" he says triumphantly, his fork clutched tightly in his fist.
"Dammit," Maria says. She slumps in her seat. "And here comes the pie-lust."
"Never do that again," Phil says before he turns his attention back to his plate.
"This isn't over, Phil," Maria promises. "Even if I have to rope every other person in the department into it, you are getting that piece of tail."
"Uh huh." Phil says. Honestly, he has no idea what she just said because, well, pie.
___________
"Good job, Detective," Fury says as Phil's shrugging on his coat.
It's late. Phil's been going almost non-stop since he got the lead on a string of deadly home invasions the previous morning. He's tired, down to his core, but he still manages to rustle up a hint of a smile for his captain and old friend.
"Thanks, sir," Phil says. "But I certainly didn't do it alone." He's the last to leave though, wanting to stay until the suspect they had in custody had been processed.
"I'm aware of how much everyone pitched in on this one," Fury says. He lets his right hip rest on the edge of Phil's desk. There's a disconcerting twinkle in Fury's eye and Phil forces himself to pay attention. "I'm also aware of where everyone else is. Hill told me she got a text from Barnes about our favorite eatery. You are going, right?"
Phil doesn't bother to hide his sigh. He sinks back down into his chair. "Not you too."
"Not me too what?"
"Maria's been talking to you, hasn't she?" Phil asks.
"Detective Hill talks to me on a daily basis, Coulson."
"Nick..."
Fury's face cracks into a grin. "Maria didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, Phil."
Phil closes his eyes and briefly shakes his head.
"Don't get upset just because the trained detectives you work with day in and day out have picked up that you're head over heels for a certain cook," Fury says with a chuckle.
"Wait," Phil says. "Detectives? Plural? Who else knows?"
Fury gives him a pitying look. Phil closes his eyes and shakes his head again.
"Can I give you a piece of advice?" Fury says.
"Will you not if I say no?"
Fury snorts.
"Yeah," Phil says, "I didn't think so."
"Phil, if we've managed to figure out that you're smitten, could you at least entertain the possibility that we've also managed to figure out that Barton's smitten back?"
"Hearing you use the word smitten is very odd to me," Phil says.
"Hmmm." Nick strokes his goatee thoughtfully. "How about enamored?"
"Nick."
"Infatuated?"
"Please stop."
"Besotted?"
"Did you swallow a thesaurus?"
"Amorous?"
"For the love of God," Phil says, "if I agree to go to Hawkeye's will you quit it?"
"For now," Nick says. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives Phil a look that's disturbingly parental. "I think he could be good for you."
Phil hauls himself out of his chair, claps a hand on Fury's shoulder, and tries to ignore how red his ears probably are.
___________
Phil does go to Hawkeye's, and he ends up getting some leftover tuna casserole. It wouldn't normally be his first choice, but it's not like he tastes it anyway, not with Clint holding court in his sleepwear. However good Clint's ass looks in jeans, it's nothing compared to how his ass looks in the thin, form-hugging, cotton pants he has on now.
Jesus.
As Phil feasts on both casserole and eye candy, he absorbs the atmosphere and comradery around him. He can feel the muscles in his shoulders relaxing and the horrors of the past two days melting away. He's still tired, but the bone deep weariness he felt earlier is gone.
And then Bucky has to start digging.
"Where the hell did you learn to cook like this, man?"
Sure, the question seems innocuous, but Phil can hear the intent behind it, and he can see the shrewdness hiding in his fellow detectives' faces. It's the same look that gets trotted out anytime one of them starts dating someone new.
Except Natasha. No one, not even Fury, tried to interrogate Natasha.
Phil guesses that he should be glad everyone's weapons are still holstered and no one's shining a light into Clint's eyes, but he doesn't appreciate this, especially since he's still not convinced Clint's interested in him.
Then Clint answers Bucky's question, and Phil stops being pissed and starts paying attention. Clint used to be in the circus. That's so cool. Guesses for Clint's former occupation are bandied about, and Phil can't help but try and confirm a suspicion he's had.
"He was a marksman," Phil says.
Clint looks surprised. "How did you-"
"Hawkeye's," Phil 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. I could see that." Phil gets a mental image of what those amazing arms must look like in action. "Do you still have your bow?"
"Yeah. I haven't done anything with it for a while, though," Clint says, ducking his head a bit, though his eyes stay focused on Phil. "I keep meaning to find somewhere to practice, but something here's always clamoring for my attention, you know?"
"I can imagine," Phil says. He thinks about his own life and how hard it can be to push his job back and carve out a bit of space for himself. "But if you love something you should make time for it."
"You're right," Clint says with a firm nod. "I should. I will."
"So, what happened?" Maria asks, her no nonsense voice startling Phil and harshly reminding him of the others' presence. "How did you wind up here?"
Phil scowls at Maria's bluntness. Clint looks a bit unsure at the questioning, and instead of answering he starts to clear away some of their empty dishes. Phil can't tell if it's stalling or a diversionary tactic, and he knows he's not alone in smelling blood in the water. Whatever happened with the circus is obviously a touchy subject, but this isn't an investigation and Clint is certainly not a suspect. Phil's about to speak up, to say that they've imposed on Clint's generosity and hospitality enough for one night, when Clint begins to talk.
"There was an... an accident," Clint says as his expression becomes horribly vulnerable and young. "I was in the hospital for a while, and the show waits for no man." He shrugs, and it looks so forced that Phil's heart aches a bit.
"Do you ever think about going back?" Maria asks, and Phil can hear the underlying question - are you planning on sticking around - loud and clear.
"No," Clint says with almost no hesitation. "I mean, I loved it, but that part of my life's over."
More and more of Phil's annoyance fades away as his colleagues and friends express how glad they are that Clint's going to be staying. Clint blushes and says something cute, and Phil can't help but be charmed all over again.
"You know, guys, I'm beat," Steve announces suddenly.
Barnes sounds his agreement, and Phil winces as he checks his watch. While he's sure Fury would show his detectives leeway if he and the others come in late tomorrow, Clint has no such luxury.
"Yes," Phil says, "I suppose we should be going."
"No," Maria and Bruce say in unison. Phil narrows his eyes.
"You should stay," Maria says firmly, "and... have some pie. Don't you want some pie? You always want Clint's pie."
Phil frowns and absently pats at his stomach. He knows what Maria's trying to orchestrate, and he should cut her off at the knees before she can get more blatant and embarrassing about getting Phil alone with Clint. But... Pie.
"You do have pie, don't you, Clint?" Thor asks, looking far too innocent for a man with biceps the size of Phil's head.
"There's a slice of chocolate chess left," Clint says. He quickly strides down to the standing fridge, grabs a container, walks back, and drops it on the counter in front of Phil. He looks... hopeful, actually, and Phil starts to wonder if maybe Maria and the others were right.
Still... "It's late," Phil says, "and-"
"We could split it," Clint says, shocking the hell out of Phil and, from the look on his face, himself as well. Clint's eyes momentarily flick to the others, then he seems to steel himself. "You'd be doing me a favor, if you keep me from eating the whole piece."
Phil should say no. He should go home, get some sleep, and come back here tomorrow so he can keep feeling out the situation. Just because it seems like Clint's interested, doesn't necessarily mean... But Clint looks so eager... But Phil could just be projecting... But there's pie...
"Okay," Phil says.
A dopey smile forms on Clint's face. "Okay."
"All right."
"Yeah. All right."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Oh, for the love of God!" Maria throws her hands in the air. "That's it. I'm done. You two sad sacks are on your own." She herds the others out into the night. Just before she shuts the door behind her, Phil catches a wink aimed his way, then she's gone, leaving Phil and Clint alone.
Phil's going to have to buy her flowers.
"Sorry about Maria," Phil says. He takes a deep breath and goes for broke. "She's been trying to convince me to ask you out for weeks."
"Really?" The word ends in this adorable squeak, and Clint clears 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.
Phil has an overwhelming urge to do something uncharacteristically awful like pumping his fist or finding someone to high five. "So, would you like to-"
"Yes!"
"Are you sure you want to answer right away?" Phil asks, his voice oddly light and teasing. He's pretty sure that odd, effervescent feeling bubbling in his chest is happiness. "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. Phil nearly bites his tongue. "I'd be okay with anything," Clint says, "as long as it's with you."
"Oh." Phil's brain begs off trying to come up with anything more.
"Yeah," Clint says.
"So, you're interested in-"
"You. Yeah."
"Are you sure?" Phil has to ask. "I mean-"
Clint laughs. "I don't change my dessert menu for just anybody, Phil Coulson."
"All those different desserts you've been making, they were all for me?" Phil asks, needing to make sure that's what he's hearing.
Clint nods. Then shrugs. Then nods again.
He changed his dessert menu. For Phil. "Oh," Phil says. He thinks of all those months they spent unknowingly dancing around each other. Jesus, they could have been having so much sex already. Maria was definitely getting flowers. And a new ankle holster. And maybe some chocolate.
"It would have been nice to know your intentions earlier," Phil says, teasing again. They banter back and forth, and it's so easy to just sit and let this new thing unfurl between them, until Clint has to pause mid-sentence for a jaw-cracking yawn.
"I should go," Phil says, thinking of how late is is and trying to stifle his own yawn.
Clint smiles ruefully. "Sorry."
"It's okay. You're exhausted," Phil says. "I am too, actually."
A line forms between Clint's eyebrows as he frowns a bit. "You had a rough day," he says.
"Yeah. But I can't complain about the way it ended."
"Today's ending pretty good for both of us, I think."
"It could get better," Phil says.
Clint smirks. "I thought you just said you were exhausted."
Phil shakes his head. Clint is a flirt, and he loves it. "Tell me when I can take you out to dinner."
Clint thinks for a moment. "Wednesday. Barring any scheduling emergencies, Wednesday."
"Okay," Phil says. "Wednesday. I'm taking you out on a date on Wednesday."
"Yeah, you are."
They both stare goofily at each other for a minute or two until Clint sets off another yawning chain reaction. Phil offers to help Clint with the dishes they dirtied, but Clint waves them off, then walks Phil to the door.
Before Phil steps outside, Clint puts a heavy hand on his shoulder. Phil turns and Clint's other hand comes up and cups the side of Phil's face.
"Is this okay?" Clint asks, his eyes wide and dark.
Phil, afraid of babbling like an idiot, simply nods.
The kiss is chaste and sweet, but the fire it starts in Phil's belly is anything but. When he feels Clint start to pull away, Phil rests one of his hands on the back of Clint's neck and holds him in place for just a little while longer.
Clint breaks the kiss, but keeps his face close to Phil's. He presses his forehead against Phil's temple. "Neither one of us is in the shape to start something tonight."
"Hmmm." Phil runs his nose along the side of Clint's cheek. "Wednesday, then?"
Clint laughs and gives Phil a little shove. "Do I look like the type of boy who puts out on the first date?"
"God, I hope so."
Clint laughs harder. His entire face kind of scrunches, and Phil is just... Phil is just gone for him.
"Good night, Detective," Clint says, the firmness of his voice belied by the amused hitch in his breath and the glint in his eyes.
"Good night, Clint." Phil steps outside and waits while Clint locks up. When Hawkeye's is secure, he gives Clint a little wave and starts his journey home. After just a few steps, he stops, takes his phone out, and sends a quick text to Maria.
You were right.
Phil takes a few more steps, and his phone vibrates with an incoming message.
I will lord this over you until the end of time.
Phil chuckles and shakes his head. He has no doubt that she means it. He's also pretty sure that Clint's worth it.
___________
Part 2
Author:
saone77Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Summary: AU. Six conversations with baked goods. A companion piece to Blue Plate Special.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Not betad, grammarians beware. Mentions of past violence towards Clint resulting in permanent damage to his hearing.
Word Count: 11972
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Notes: Part of the Lunch Counter Love Story series.
Ao3
"Can I get you anything else?"
Phil looks up from the remnants of his turkey club and is met by the full force of a slightly crooked grin and deep blue eyes. He does something with his own face that he hopes comes off as a subdued, polite smile, but he has the awful feeling it lands on the more grimace-like side of facial expressions. "I'm good, thanks."
The man on the other side of the counter slides those pretty blue eyes over to Maria, and Phil takes the opportunity to rake his own eyes over that jaw line. "Ma'am?"
When Maria doesn't answer right away, Phil looks over at his partner. There's something evil lurking on Maria's face as she glances between Phil and Hawkeye's main cook. "I think I'll take a slice of apple pie," she says. "Thanks."
Phil raises an eyebrow.
"What?" Maria says defensively. "After Rogers spent most of yesterday waxing lyrical about the best apple pie I've ever had in my life, oh, my God, I've been craving some." She looks at blue-eyes. "I'll tell you right now, I've had some pretty damn good apple pie, buddy."
"It's Clint," the man says, his grin deepening to carve out dimples on his cheeks, "and, no offense, but you haven't had my apple pie yet, ma'am." He looks at Phil again. "How about you, sir? Can I tempt you?"
Phil valiantly ignores the little snort/cough combo Maria lets out as he tries to get his brain to come up with some kind of proper, non-creepy response. Dammit. Phil is on the wrong side of forty; he should not feel so discombobulated around a handsome face. Or a firm chest. Or a trim waist. Or a truly amazing pair of arms.
Jesus, look at those arms...
"He'll have a slice too," Maria says. She pokes Phil between two of his ribs. Phil resists the urge to poke back, but he goes along with Maria's order. Life is short, and Rogers was awfully adamant about the amazingness of this place's apple pie.
"Al a mode?" Clint asks.
"You're supposed to say put a hat on it!" A curvy brunette admonishes as she breezes past, a full plate in each hand.
Clint scowls as he tracks her across the restaurant. When he catches sight of Phil's questioning look, Clint ducks his head a bit and a trace of pink appears over his cheeks.
"Darcy thinks we should revive old fashioned diner lingo," he says. "Put a hat on it means adding ice cream to a slice of pie."
"Huh," Maria says. "That sounds like it would get super annoying."
"Right?!" Clint says. "Plus, sometimes I... I can't hear that great... what with the... things... and stuff. So, yeah, no." He rubs his palms across the apron at his hips. "Anyway, ice cream?"
"No," Phil says, "just the pie." He's probably going to have to add at least half a mile onto his morning jog as it is. Phil might chase criminals for a living, but his worst enemy has become the fear of middle-aged spread.
"Okay," Clint says. "Coming right up." He smoothly gathers Phil and Maria's lunch plates and turns towards the rear of the diner. Phil's traitorous eyes follow the strong line of his tee-shirt clad back down past apron strings to the swell of a nicely rounded denim-covered ass. His mouth goes dry as Clint walks away from them, said ass swaying enticingly.
Phil takes a gulp from his water glass and tries to ignore the amusement he can feel radiating off of his partner.
"Perv," Maria says under her breath.
"Shut up," Phil hisses back.
"Seriously, Phil, a fry cook?!"
"Shut. Up."
"He does make an awesome mac 'n cheese, though," Maria says thoughtfully. "And I guess he has some nice assets." She elbows Phil none too gently, jostling him on his stool. "Heh. Get it? Assets. 'Cause that's what you were staring at. His ass."
"Maria," Phil says with a soft voice and a surprising amount of venom, "If you think our years of being partners, and, I had hoped, friends, will save you from my swift and fearsome retribution should you continue on your current path of trying to be a comedian, you are sadly mistaken. Now, will you please-"
"Ooooh, pie!" Maria says loudly, easily drowning out Phil's voice.
Phil's head whips around fast enough to catch Clint looking a tad startled at Maria's enthusiasm. At least, Phil hopes Clint's startled look is due to Maria's enthusiasm and he didn't catch the tail end of Phil's threat.
Clint's crooked smile comes back easily enough as he places plates filled with truly gorgeous pieces of pie in front of Phil and Maria. He then takes a few steps back and crosses his arms over his chest. "Go on," he says with a nod, "let me know if your friend was right."
Phil picks up his fork and uses the edge of it to cut through the golden, flaky crust and the firm apples beneath it. The smell of spices fill the air. Phil takes an appreciative sniff of cinnamon and... something else... nutmeg, maybe... before he gathers a good sized bite and lifts his fork to his mouth.
Phil has never been a particularly demonstrative person, so the deep, happy moan that comes out of his throat at that first taste of Clint's apple pie surprises him so badly that he prematurely swallows and almost chokes.
Phil puts a hand - luckily not the one still holding his fork - to his throat and tries to contain his coughing.
Clint and Maria both stare at him with wide eyes.
"Geez, Coulson," Maria says.
"You okay, mister?" Clint asks.
"Yeah," Phil croaks. "I'm okay." He takes a sip of water. "It's good." He tries to smile, but this time he knows it's more of a grimace.
Clint nods, but there's still a hint of concern in his face. The poor guy was probably afraid Phil was going to keel over or something. Phil takes another bite just to prove that he can consume food like any other normal human.
"Wow," Maria says, talking around her own mouthful of pie, "this is good."
"But is it the best?" Clint asks with a smirk.
"Eh, sorry," Maria says. "Familial obligations require me to leave that title to my grandma."
"Say no more," Clint says, holding up a hand. "I wouldn't even try and compete against pies made by grandmas. How about you?" Clint's eye focus on Phil and one of his eyebrows quirks up a bit for good measure.
"Uh..." Phil licks his lips, chasing a bit of spice. "It's definitely in the top ten."
The eyebrow quirks further. "Top ten?"
"Top three?"
"Okay," Clint says with a nod, "I can live with top three."
"Hey, boss-man," Darcy says, appearing at Phil's elbow, "I'm gonna need a hockey puck on hojack with a honeymoon salad and love apples on the side, all right? Awesomesauce, Daddio." With a thumbs up and a flip of her hair she's off again.
For a brief moment, Clint looks like he just got smacked with something. He shakes his head sharply, then gives Phil and Maria a tight smile.
"Excuse me," he says, "I have to go fire someone."
Phil's willpower has obviously left the building because he can't help but watch Clint walk away again.
"Hmmm," Maria says, "not just a fry cook, then."
Phil scowls at her, then gives his full attention to the plate in front of him.
It is really good pie.
___________
It's a windy, blustery day more suited to early March than mid April, but Phil's glad for the dreary weather. After the morning he's had, Phil really doesn't know if he could handle sunshine and birdsong.
He fights against a strong wind to open Hawkeye's door, then nearly loses his balance as that same strong wind propels him into the diner. Phil hears a poorly concealed snort of laughter, and he fervently hopes that Clint is amused at the near slapstick quality of his entrance and not at the state of his hair or something.
As nonchalantly as possible, Phil lifts a hand and lets it smooth over the back of his head - everything that's left seems to be in the proper place, thank God - and quickly scans the room. There are only a handful of other customers scattered here and there in the booths. Darcy and Jane are the only waitstaff around, and they're both hunched over one of the far tables, their noses buried in thick textbooks.
There's no one at the counter, and Phil's free to take what he's come to think of as his regular seat.
"Sorry," Clint says as he, without prompting, places a mug in front of Phil and fills it three quarters of the way with hot, dark coffee. "I wasn't laughing at you... Or, well, I kind of was, but not in a mean way. It's just, you normally seem so put together, and the way you came in was so not put together, I..." The coffee splashes against the inside of the carafe as Clint makes some kind of odd gesture with his hands. He clears his throat. "Anyway, what can I get you today, Detective Coulson?"
Phil blinks, first at the stream of words that had just assaulted him, and then at the slight blush stealing across the tops of Clint's cheeks. How odd. He then looks up at the menu board. Nothing tempts him, not even the addition of French silk and lemon meringue to the pie list. His eyes drop down to his mug. "I think I might just stick with coffee today, Clint. Thanks."
"Rough morning?" Clint asks.
Detecting some true empathy in Clint's voice, Phil decides to respond with an abbreviated truth rather than a standard non-answer. "I spent most of the morning in court."
"Ah," Clint says. He's frowning, but he doesn't ask any follow-up questions. He's silent for a moment, then his face brightens just a tad. "How about a slice of pie, on the house?"
Phil lets one of his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. "Offering someone free pie when they've had a bad day isn't the best business model. Especially around here."
Clint shrugs and makes a scoffing sound. "Whatever. You're a regular; in the long run it'll pay more to keep you happy."
Phil very firmly tells himself to not read too much into this. He's sure that he's not the only person Clint would give a 'cheer up' piece of pie to. Probably. "Well, I appreciate the offer," he says, "I really do. But, again, I think I'll just stick with the coffee."
Clint nods and gives him a small smile before he moves away.
Phil spends a few minutes staring contemplatively into his cup before he gets tired of his self-pity party and starts indulging in his new favorite past-time of surreptitiously watching Clint cook. He likes to think of it as a live version of the Food Channel since that makes him feel slightly less creepy.
Clint chops, and mixes, and periodically checks on something in one of his ovens. There's a rhythm in the way Clint moves around his kitchen, and Phil soon finds himself soothed by it.
In fact, Phil gets into such a mellow state, that he almost jumps when Clint's movements come to a stop right in front of him.
Clint slides a plate across the counter and into Phil's space. It's got a large, gorgeous, golden-hued muffin sitting on it, still steaming from the oven, with a pat of butter and knife off to one side. Phil looks up at Clint and cocks his head slightly.
"I know you said you didn't want anything," Clint says, "but I figure you probably haven't eaten since breakfast, if you even had anything then, and since I now feed people for a living, I'm kind of taking a personal offense at that." The right side of Clint's mouth quirks up into one of his grins. "It's just a corn muffin, and if you really don't want it then-"
At that very moment, Phil's poor, empty stomach gives a hearty growl. Phil shakes his head ruefully as Clint's grin turns triumphant.
"Ha!" Clint says. He pushes the plate a little bit closer to Phil's chest. "Eat."
"All right," Phil says, not even bothering to put up a hint of a protest. The muffin does look delicious.
Clint, obviously pleased at the thought of feeding someone, sticks around and watches Phil as he cuts the top off of the muffin, then slathers the insides with butter. Phil feels his skin prickle a bit at being observed, but he figures turnabout's fair play and all.
"You know," Clint says, right before Phil takes his first bite, "if you ever want to talk, or vent, or whatever..." He shrugs. "I mean, I know it's traditionally a bartender that's the guy behind a counter who's wiling to listen to people's troubles, but..." Clint trails off.
Phil's kind of touched. But he's not going to burden the poor guy with his problems, especially when it involves the nasty details of one of his cases.
"Thank you," Phil says, hoping his sincerity comes through his tone. "For the offer. I appreciate it."
Clint's mouth twists into something wry. "But you're not going to take me up on it, are you?"
Phil doesn't answer. Instead, he takes his first bite of the muffin and, like most times when he eats Clint's baked goods, his eyes involuntarily close in pleasure. "Oh, wow, that's good." The praise and happy noises he makes are also involuntary, but Phil's getting used to the embarrassment. Clint's beaming face usually helps with that.
"Thanks," Clint says, ducking his head slightly, like he's being bashful. God, that's cute. "This is actually one of the first recipes I made on my own. Easy enough for a kid to do, you know?"
"Helping your mom out in the kitchen, huh?" Phil asks genially. From the look that comes over Clint's face, he immediately knows he's made a misstep.
"Something like that," Clint says. The smile he wears now is a little wan and a lot distant. Phil can't help but regret trying to make conversation.
"Sorry," Phil says, "I just-"
"I should get back to doing stuff," Clint says, cutting him off. "Pies aren't going to make themselves, right?" He takes a few steps backward, and Phil knows this pleasant, little interlude is over.
"Oh, okay," Phil says. "How much do I-"
"Don't worry about it," Clint says. He turns, but looks back at Phil from over his shoulder. "You have a good day, Detective Coulson."
"Yeah," Phil says to Clint's back, "you too." Phil polishes off the rest of his muffin. He thinks about saying something else, something pithy and smart. Instead, he keeps his mouth shut, and takes his leave.
___________
Phil is not in the best of moods. He and Maria had arrived at Hawkeye's right in the middle of the lunch rush, and not only had Phil's stool already been occupied - by Sitwell, the traitor - the only empty seat available was a booth at the back, near the restrooms. Phil supposes they're lucky to have a table at all, but he can't even see Clint from this spot.
Not that getting to see Clint is the only reason he likes coming to Hawkeye's. It's just a bonus. A nice, firm, hot bonus.
To add to that, their server this afternoon is Jane. Normally, Phil likes Jane. She's lovely and sweet, but, like most terrifyingly brilliant people Phil's met over the years, she occasionally shows the common sense of a fruit fly. While his and Maria's sandwiches appeared with haste, the slice of pecan pie he ordered ten minutes ago has yet to be delivered.
Phil cranes his neck, searching for her again, but there's still no sign of her. She must be in the back, probably writing out some kind of quantum equation on a wall with a bottle of ketchup.
"I don't get it," Maria says.
"Get what?" Phil says absently. He still hasn't located Jane, but he's realized that if he leans to the right a bit and twists his head just so he can see a reflection of Clint in one of the mirrors on the wall.
"You, Coulson," Maria says. "I don't get you."
Phil gives up his glimpse of Clint and turns his attention to his partner. The look of mild exasperation on her face is something he's never seen directed his way before. She usually saves that look for people like Stark or Selvig, down in the coroner's office.
"What did I do?" Phil asks, feeling a bit cowed.
"Nothing," Maria says harshly. "That's the point."
"I'm sorry," Phil says, "did I miss the beginning of this conversation?"
Maria takes a breath and opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Peter appears beside their table.
"Sorry for the wait, Detective," Peter says, setting Phil's pie down in front of him. "But, on the plus side, I'm pretty sure Jane just figured out-"
"Stop," Phil says, holding up a hand. "Don't need to know. Wouldn't understand it if you told me. Thanks Peter," Phil waves him off, then turns his full attention to his pie. He licks his lips as he makes a little yummy sound in the back of his throat. He picks up his fork, then blinks rapidly when it's snatched from his hand.
"Okay," Maria says, brandishing Phil's fork in a vaguely threatening manner, "that's it. We're having an intervention. Right here, right now."
"Inter-what? Give me back my fork, Maria," Phil says.
"You'll get it back once you listen to what I have to say," Maria says. "God knows there's no point trying to talk to you when you're consumed by pie-lust."
Phil considers trying to take his utensil back by force, but there's a certain terrifying gleam in Maria's eyes that tells him such an action would probably not end well. He spares a forlorn glance towards his cooling pie, then takes a breath and calmly rests his hands on the tabletop. "Fine. Speak."
"Phil, we've been partners for almost five years now," Maria says. "And, in that time, I'd like to think that we've become close. In fact, I tend to think of you as a brother."
"I'm touched, Maria," Phil says. "Truly. And the sentiment is returned."
"Yeah, whatever. I'm talking now, shut up."
Phil sighs.
"Anyway," Maria says, "you're like family. I don't know about yours, but mine's not big on the whole compliment, coddling thing, so I'm only going to say this once. You, Phil Coulson, are a professional badass."
Phil blinks a few times, but he doesn't depute the statement. "All right."
"You are one of the most competent people I've ever met," Maria continues. "I know the only reason you're still a detective and you haven't risen further up the ranks yet is because you enjoy the chase too much. You hunt murderers for a living, Phil, and you're good at it."
Phil nods, because it's true.
"You saved my life," Maria says softly. "More than once."
"Like you've saved mine," Phil adds.
Maria waves off his second interruption. "There is no one I would rather have at my back than you, Phil. However, that being said, if you don't do something about this little crush of yours, I'm going to have to hurt you. Badly."
"Maria," Phil says, a touch of annoyance in his voice, "I don't-"
"Do not try and deny it. Seriously. Every time you get within twenty feet of Arm Porn over there, you turn into a mess. A huge, awful mess. A really, giant, awful-"
"I get it," Phil says.
"I don't think you do," Maria says. "It's embarrassing, Phil. I am embarrassed for you."
Phil can feel the start of a scowl pulling down the corners of his mouth. "Thank you for your input. Can I have my fork back?"
"No," Maria says. "It's embarrassing."
"You already said that."
"It's obviously worth repeating. Here, I'll say it again. It's embarrassing. And unnecessary. Phil, the guy's clearly into you too.
Phil rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. He's never really been a religious man, but he prays for strength anyway.
"So, that being said, I'll repeat, I don't get you," Maria says. "You're a catch. Reel him in already." She frowns. "Or, no, wait, I guess if you're the catch you wouldn't be the one doing the reeling..."
"I'm not a catch, Maria," Phil says.
"Of course you are."
"No, I'm really not."
"Phil," Maria says, her exasperation adding another syllable to his name, "yes, you are. Okay, granted, not to me, but I think that's because of the whole brother thing. Also, partners sleeping together is so cliche. Except for Carol and Jess, they're just hot."
Phil wonders what kind of irreparable damage it would do to his cred if he banged his head against the table a few times. "Maria, stop. Please. I'm not a catch. I'm not. All those things you said, you just think they're good qualities because you're a cop. Regular people don't see me like that."
Maria narrows her eyes. "How do you think regular people see you, Phil?"
Phil sighs and fights the urge to slouch. "I'm on the wrong side of forty, I haven't had a full head of hair since the first Bush administration, and I'm practically married to a demanding, high stress job that's probably going to give me my first heart attack sometime in the next decade or so. Any one of those things would be enough to make a normal guy run in the opposite direction."
Maria stares at him, long and hard. "Then I guess it's a good thing Clint's not normal, isn't it?" she says, finally.
"Of course Clint's normal," Phil says.
"Really? Because the people he's surrounded himself with sure the hell aren't." Maria grimaces. "Not like I'm exactly one to talk..."
"They're eccentric," Phil says kindly.
"Which is just another word for not normal," Maria says. She leans across the table and drops her voice. "Seriously, though, I'm not the only one who gets the willies from Natasha, right?"
Phil lets his eyes scan the room and quickly picks out the redhead. "No, you are not," he says out of the corner of his mouth.
"Barnes has balls of steel," Maria says.
"Hmmm." Phil lets his eyes widen slightly. Maria tenses and turns her head just a tad. Phil makes a grab for his fork.
"Ah ha!" he says triumphantly, his fork clutched tightly in his fist.
"Dammit," Maria says. She slumps in her seat. "And here comes the pie-lust."
"Never do that again," Phil says before he turns his attention back to his plate.
"This isn't over, Phil," Maria promises. "Even if I have to rope every other person in the department into it, you are getting that piece of tail."
"Uh huh." Phil says. Honestly, he has no idea what she just said because, well, pie.
___________
"Good job, Detective," Fury says as Phil's shrugging on his coat.
It's late. Phil's been going almost non-stop since he got the lead on a string of deadly home invasions the previous morning. He's tired, down to his core, but he still manages to rustle up a hint of a smile for his captain and old friend.
"Thanks, sir," Phil says. "But I certainly didn't do it alone." He's the last to leave though, wanting to stay until the suspect they had in custody had been processed.
"I'm aware of how much everyone pitched in on this one," Fury says. He lets his right hip rest on the edge of Phil's desk. There's a disconcerting twinkle in Fury's eye and Phil forces himself to pay attention. "I'm also aware of where everyone else is. Hill told me she got a text from Barnes about our favorite eatery. You are going, right?"
Phil doesn't bother to hide his sigh. He sinks back down into his chair. "Not you too."
"Not me too what?"
"Maria's been talking to you, hasn't she?" Phil asks.
"Detective Hill talks to me on a daily basis, Coulson."
"Nick..."
Fury's face cracks into a grin. "Maria didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, Phil."
Phil closes his eyes and briefly shakes his head.
"Don't get upset just because the trained detectives you work with day in and day out have picked up that you're head over heels for a certain cook," Fury says with a chuckle.
"Wait," Phil says. "Detectives? Plural? Who else knows?"
Fury gives him a pitying look. Phil closes his eyes and shakes his head again.
"Can I give you a piece of advice?" Fury says.
"Will you not if I say no?"
Fury snorts.
"Yeah," Phil says, "I didn't think so."
"Phil, if we've managed to figure out that you're smitten, could you at least entertain the possibility that we've also managed to figure out that Barton's smitten back?"
"Hearing you use the word smitten is very odd to me," Phil says.
"Hmmm." Nick strokes his goatee thoughtfully. "How about enamored?"
"Nick."
"Infatuated?"
"Please stop."
"Besotted?"
"Did you swallow a thesaurus?"
"Amorous?"
"For the love of God," Phil says, "if I agree to go to Hawkeye's will you quit it?"
"For now," Nick says. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives Phil a look that's disturbingly parental. "I think he could be good for you."
Phil hauls himself out of his chair, claps a hand on Fury's shoulder, and tries to ignore how red his ears probably are.
___________
Phil does go to Hawkeye's, and he ends up getting some leftover tuna casserole. It wouldn't normally be his first choice, but it's not like he tastes it anyway, not with Clint holding court in his sleepwear. However good Clint's ass looks in jeans, it's nothing compared to how his ass looks in the thin, form-hugging, cotton pants he has on now.
Jesus.
As Phil feasts on both casserole and eye candy, he absorbs the atmosphere and comradery around him. He can feel the muscles in his shoulders relaxing and the horrors of the past two days melting away. He's still tired, but the bone deep weariness he felt earlier is gone.
And then Bucky has to start digging.
"Where the hell did you learn to cook like this, man?"
Sure, the question seems innocuous, but Phil can hear the intent behind it, and he can see the shrewdness hiding in his fellow detectives' faces. It's the same look that gets trotted out anytime one of them starts dating someone new.
Except Natasha. No one, not even Fury, tried to interrogate Natasha.
Phil guesses that he should be glad everyone's weapons are still holstered and no one's shining a light into Clint's eyes, but he doesn't appreciate this, especially since he's still not convinced Clint's interested in him.
Then Clint answers Bucky's question, and Phil stops being pissed and starts paying attention. Clint used to be in the circus. That's so cool. Guesses for Clint's former occupation are bandied about, and Phil can't help but try and confirm a suspicion he's had.
"He was a marksman," Phil says.
Clint looks surprised. "How did you-"
"Hawkeye's," Phil 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. I could see that." Phil gets a mental image of what those amazing arms must look like in action. "Do you still have your bow?"
"Yeah. I haven't done anything with it for a while, though," Clint says, ducking his head a bit, though his eyes stay focused on Phil. "I keep meaning to find somewhere to practice, but something here's always clamoring for my attention, you know?"
"I can imagine," Phil says. He thinks about his own life and how hard it can be to push his job back and carve out a bit of space for himself. "But if you love something you should make time for it."
"You're right," Clint says with a firm nod. "I should. I will."
"So, what happened?" Maria asks, her no nonsense voice startling Phil and harshly reminding him of the others' presence. "How did you wind up here?"
Phil scowls at Maria's bluntness. Clint looks a bit unsure at the questioning, and instead of answering he starts to clear away some of their empty dishes. Phil can't tell if it's stalling or a diversionary tactic, and he knows he's not alone in smelling blood in the water. Whatever happened with the circus is obviously a touchy subject, but this isn't an investigation and Clint is certainly not a suspect. Phil's about to speak up, to say that they've imposed on Clint's generosity and hospitality enough for one night, when Clint begins to talk.
"There was an... an accident," Clint says as his expression becomes horribly vulnerable and young. "I was in the hospital for a while, and the show waits for no man." He shrugs, and it looks so forced that Phil's heart aches a bit.
"Do you ever think about going back?" Maria asks, and Phil can hear the underlying question - are you planning on sticking around - loud and clear.
"No," Clint says with almost no hesitation. "I mean, I loved it, but that part of my life's over."
More and more of Phil's annoyance fades away as his colleagues and friends express how glad they are that Clint's going to be staying. Clint blushes and says something cute, and Phil can't help but be charmed all over again.
"You know, guys, I'm beat," Steve announces suddenly.
Barnes sounds his agreement, and Phil winces as he checks his watch. While he's sure Fury would show his detectives leeway if he and the others come in late tomorrow, Clint has no such luxury.
"Yes," Phil says, "I suppose we should be going."
"No," Maria and Bruce say in unison. Phil narrows his eyes.
"You should stay," Maria says firmly, "and... have some pie. Don't you want some pie? You always want Clint's pie."
Phil frowns and absently pats at his stomach. He knows what Maria's trying to orchestrate, and he should cut her off at the knees before she can get more blatant and embarrassing about getting Phil alone with Clint. But... Pie.
"You do have pie, don't you, Clint?" Thor asks, looking far too innocent for a man with biceps the size of Phil's head.
"There's a slice of chocolate chess left," Clint says. He quickly strides down to the standing fridge, grabs a container, walks back, and drops it on the counter in front of Phil. He looks... hopeful, actually, and Phil starts to wonder if maybe Maria and the others were right.
Still... "It's late," Phil says, "and-"
"We could split it," Clint says, shocking the hell out of Phil and, from the look on his face, himself as well. Clint's eyes momentarily flick to the others, then he seems to steel himself. "You'd be doing me a favor, if you keep me from eating the whole piece."
Phil should say no. He should go home, get some sleep, and come back here tomorrow so he can keep feeling out the situation. Just because it seems like Clint's interested, doesn't necessarily mean... But Clint looks so eager... But Phil could just be projecting... But there's pie...
"Okay," Phil says.
A dopey smile forms on Clint's face. "Okay."
"All right."
"Yeah. All right."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Oh, for the love of God!" Maria throws her hands in the air. "That's it. I'm done. You two sad sacks are on your own." She herds the others out into the night. Just before she shuts the door behind her, Phil catches a wink aimed his way, then she's gone, leaving Phil and Clint alone.
Phil's going to have to buy her flowers.
"Sorry about Maria," Phil says. He takes a deep breath and goes for broke. "She's been trying to convince me to ask you out for weeks."
"Really?" The word ends in this adorable squeak, and Clint clears 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.
Phil has an overwhelming urge to do something uncharacteristically awful like pumping his fist or finding someone to high five. "So, would you like to-"
"Yes!"
"Are you sure you want to answer right away?" Phil asks, his voice oddly light and teasing. He's pretty sure that odd, effervescent feeling bubbling in his chest is happiness. "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. Phil nearly bites his tongue. "I'd be okay with anything," Clint says, "as long as it's with you."
"Oh." Phil's brain begs off trying to come up with anything more.
"Yeah," Clint says.
"So, you're interested in-"
"You. Yeah."
"Are you sure?" Phil has to ask. "I mean-"
Clint laughs. "I don't change my dessert menu for just anybody, Phil Coulson."
"All those different desserts you've been making, they were all for me?" Phil asks, needing to make sure that's what he's hearing.
Clint nods. Then shrugs. Then nods again.
He changed his dessert menu. For Phil. "Oh," Phil says. He thinks of all those months they spent unknowingly dancing around each other. Jesus, they could have been having so much sex already. Maria was definitely getting flowers. And a new ankle holster. And maybe some chocolate.
"It would have been nice to know your intentions earlier," Phil says, teasing again. They banter back and forth, and it's so easy to just sit and let this new thing unfurl between them, until Clint has to pause mid-sentence for a jaw-cracking yawn.
"I should go," Phil says, thinking of how late is is and trying to stifle his own yawn.
Clint smiles ruefully. "Sorry."
"It's okay. You're exhausted," Phil says. "I am too, actually."
A line forms between Clint's eyebrows as he frowns a bit. "You had a rough day," he says.
"Yeah. But I can't complain about the way it ended."
"Today's ending pretty good for both of us, I think."
"It could get better," Phil says.
Clint smirks. "I thought you just said you were exhausted."
Phil shakes his head. Clint is a flirt, and he loves it. "Tell me when I can take you out to dinner."
Clint thinks for a moment. "Wednesday. Barring any scheduling emergencies, Wednesday."
"Okay," Phil says. "Wednesday. I'm taking you out on a date on Wednesday."
"Yeah, you are."
They both stare goofily at each other for a minute or two until Clint sets off another yawning chain reaction. Phil offers to help Clint with the dishes they dirtied, but Clint waves them off, then walks Phil to the door.
Before Phil steps outside, Clint puts a heavy hand on his shoulder. Phil turns and Clint's other hand comes up and cups the side of Phil's face.
"Is this okay?" Clint asks, his eyes wide and dark.
Phil, afraid of babbling like an idiot, simply nods.
The kiss is chaste and sweet, but the fire it starts in Phil's belly is anything but. When he feels Clint start to pull away, Phil rests one of his hands on the back of Clint's neck and holds him in place for just a little while longer.
Clint breaks the kiss, but keeps his face close to Phil's. He presses his forehead against Phil's temple. "Neither one of us is in the shape to start something tonight."
"Hmmm." Phil runs his nose along the side of Clint's cheek. "Wednesday, then?"
Clint laughs and gives Phil a little shove. "Do I look like the type of boy who puts out on the first date?"
"God, I hope so."
Clint laughs harder. His entire face kind of scrunches, and Phil is just... Phil is just gone for him.
"Good night, Detective," Clint says, the firmness of his voice belied by the amused hitch in his breath and the glint in his eyes.
"Good night, Clint." Phil steps outside and waits while Clint locks up. When Hawkeye's is secure, he gives Clint a little wave and starts his journey home. After just a few steps, he stops, takes his phone out, and sends a quick text to Maria.
You were right.
Phil takes a few more steps, and his phone vibrates with an incoming message.
I will lord this over you until the end of time.
Phil chuckles and shakes his head. He has no doubt that she means it. He's also pretty sure that Clint's worth it.
___________
Part 2