Avengers AU Fic: Eve With a Lid On 2/2 (Clint/Coulson)

[saone]

Title: Eve With a Lid On
Author: 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 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

Part 1






Phil makes his first date with Clint over a shared piece of chocolate chess pie. He breaks his first date with Clint in between bites of a rather suspect looking hot dog he grabs from a cart outside the precinct.

"I'm so sorry," Phil says into his cell phone as he quickly walks down the block to where Maria's keeping their car idling. "I'm going to have to cancel tonight."

"Uh, okay," Clint says. "That's kind of short notice. Can I ask why?"

Phil reaches the car and waits for Maria to roll down her window. "One of Maria's CIs gave her a tip that someone we've been looking for might show up at this club," Phil hands Maria her hot dog and waves off the apologetic expression on her face. "It's probably not going to pan out, but we need to follow up. The guy we're looking for is..." Phil trails off, not wanting to over-explain the details of what had been a particularly nasty case. He walks around behind the car and leans against the passenger side door. "Clint, I'm really sorry."

For a few long moments, all Phil hears through his phone are background noises from the diner. Phil hopes that Clint's attention has been momentarily captured by something else and his keeping quite isn't actually due to seething rage or - even worse - a sudden realization that he could do a lot better than an aging cop.

"Let me get this straight," Clint says, after Phil's rumbling stomach had forced him to take a bite of his pathetic excuse for dinner, "you're standing me up because you have to go on a stakeout?"

Phil nearly chokes as he swallows too early. "Yes."

"Because Detective Hill got a tip. From a CI."

Phil winces. "Yes. That's right."

"Wow," Clint says. "That's so cool."

Phil blinks a few times. "Sorry, what?"

"That's like Law & Order stuff right there," Clint says. "Or CSI. Or Dog Cops."

"Dog Cops?"

"You don't like Dog Cops?" Clint asks with a bit more force than Phil thinks a question like that deserves.

"I love Dog Cops," Phil says quickly. "Who doesn't? But... You're okay with this?"

"Yeah," Clint says, "I mean, I'm not saying that I'm not a little put out." The background noises fade and Phil imagines Clint leaving the main floor and walking deeper into the building, maybe even back to the apartment he keeps there. "I was really looking forward to spending some non-diner time with you."

"Me too," Phil says. "I made reservations." He had had plans for the night. Good plans. Romantic plans.

Clint makes a sympathetic noise. "Yeah. But it's your job, right? What can you do?"

"It is, yes. But it's not... I'm not... You're really okay with this?" he asks again.

"Sure."

"But, Clint, I-"

"Phil," Clint says with a slight chuckle, "do you want me to be upset?"

"No," Phil says.

"Are you canceling tonight because you've changed your mind about dating me, or because you're going to be stuck in a car with Detective Hill, trying to catch a bad guy?"

"The latter," Phil says. "Definitely the latter."

"Then don't worry about it. It's okay."

"Are you sure?" Something in Phil just has to ask one more time.

"Yes, I'm sure," Clint says firmly. "Just come by when you're done, all right?"

Phil smiles and shakes his head. "What, so you can feed me?"

"Well, it certainly won't be so you can get lucky," Clint says. "We haven't even been on one date yet; how easy do you think I am?"

"I'm trying to decide if I should answer that or not."

"Go with your gut, Detective," Clint says. "And give me a call when you're headed here." His voice drops down, soft and sweet. "I'll make sure something warm is waiting for you."

Phil laughs then twitches violently when Maria honks the horn. He quickly makes his goodbyes to Clint and slides into the car.

"Don't give me that look," Maria says as Phil glares at her. "I heard you laughing. Out loud. In public. It freaked me out."

Phil sighs and stuffs the rest of his hot dog in his mouth so he can fasten his seat belt.

"I'll assume that display of mirth, odd as it was, means Clint's okay with you canceling?"

Phil nods and keeps chewing.

"Jesus Christ, Coulson," Maria says as she put the car into gear and smoothly pulls into traffic, "that man is a keeper."

"Yeah," Phil says after a moment, "I know."

___________


The something warm Clint has waiting for him is a chicken pot pie.

"Are you kidding me?" Phil says, staring at the golden crusted concoction sitting on a plum colored placemat on Clint's dining table.

Clint's eyes go wide and his hands wring themselves in the dark purple oven mitt he's holding. "You don't like chicken? No, wait, you like chicken. You don't like chicken in pie form?"

"I love chicken in pie form," Phil says. "But this is way too much, Clint."

Clint scrunches up his face and cocks his head to one side. "Too much what?"

"Trouble," Phil says. "You didn't have to go to so much trouble. Not for me. Not this late at night."

Clint snorts and rolls his eyes. "Technically, it's morning," he says, smiling to take any sting out of his words. "And this wasn't any trouble at all." Clint tosses his oven mitt onto the table, then motions Phil to hand over his coat. "Sit. Eat. Now."

Phil frowns but does as he's told. "I still think-"

"See, that's your problem." Clint takes a seat across the table from Phil and makes a little motion towards the fork beside Phil's plate.

Phil huffs a bit, still not liking the amount of effort Clint put into this late night - or early morning - meal. But he dutifully picks up his fork and cracks the crust of the pot pie. "Aw, geez," Phil murmurs as he gets a face full of savory-scented steam. He breaks more of the crust and mixes it into the filling.

"My mom used to make this," Phil says softly as he gathers some chicken, crust and veggies onto his fork. "Not a lot. Usually two or three times a year. Four, if we were lucky, and it was a really cold winter." He looks up and narrows his eyes at Clint. "She'd spend hours working in that kitchen."

Clint grins and shakes his head. "You're sweet," he says, "but the reason it took your mom so long is because she didn't have left-over cooked chicken from another recipe. Or an employee to chop up vegetables for her. Or a freezer full of various kinds of pre-made dough."

Phil pauses with the fork half way to his mouth. "Your pie dough is frozen?"

"I don't have time to make a fresh batch every morning." Clint pouts a bit. "Is the magic gone now?"

"It's a good thing you're cute," Phil says solemnly before he finally takes his first bite. He lets out a little grunt of pleasure as the flavors hit his tongue. It's so, so good.

Clint's face lights up. "How could I not cook for you when I get reactions like that?"

Phil's too busy trying to maintain some semblance of table manners - would it be that bad if he just held the bowl up to his mouth and used his fork as a shovel - to even try and think up a response to that.

For a little while there's nothing but the sound of Phil contentedly eating. Clint's leaning on the table. He's got his chin propped up on one hand and a distant look on his face.

"My mom was never much of a cook," Clint says as Phil's scraping the bottom of his dish. There's an odd note to his voice, and his eyes are tilted towards the table top, but they're unfocused. "I picked up everything I know from folks in the circus."

Phil rests his fork against the edge of his dish and waits. He knows that Clint has stories, but as this new silence drags on, it seems obvious that this isn't going to be the time he shares them.

Phil clears his throat. "Thanks again."

Clint starts a bit. His eyes focus and find Phil's. "I'm glad you liked it," Clint says, a ghost of a smile playing over his lips.

"No, I'm not talking about my dinner," Phil says. "I mean, thank you for being understanding. About tonight."

"It's not a big deal, Phil."

"No," Phil says, "it is."

Clint studies him for a moment. "Have some people not been understanding?"

Phil leans back in his chair. He takes his time and gathers his thoughts. He knows this conversation is going to be awkward, but the thought of getting all of this out of the way now - so it doesn't come back and bite him on the ass later - feels almost liberating.

"The demands of my job have caused friction in the past." He pauses and runs a hand over his face. Clint, bless him, sits patiently and quiet.

"Every relationship I've had has ended because the person I was with couldn't handle my job," Phil says. "First it was the Army. There were long deployments, then not being able to talk about where I was being sent or what I was doing when I got there. Then I became a cop and... Before I put on the badge, I never knew a person could be so fulfilled yet so frustrated by the same job. And, sometimes, I bring those frustrations home with me. I can get surly and uncommunicative." Phil shrugs. "After a while, it was just easier to be alone."

Clint absorbs that for a moment. "Wow," he says, "this has gotten surprisingly deep for a first date."

Phil feels heat rise to his cheeks and his ears. "Sorry. I-"

"No, no," Clint says, "I get it. I do. Maybe it is better to get the worst of any possible dealbreakers out in the open early, before anyone gets too attached, right?"

Phil just nods and doesn't bother to say that he's already kind of attached.

Clint cocks his head to one side. "If being alone is so easy, do you mind if I ask why you're taking a chance on me?"

The heat that had dissipated a little comes rushing back to Phil's face. "That depends. Would it win or lose me points if I mention your god-like abilities in a kitchen?"

Clint's entire face scrunches as he laughs. "God-like, huh?"

"And your arms," Phil says, figuring he's already in for a penny. "And your eyes."

"And my ass?" Clint asks with a wink.

"Yeah," Phil says, feeling slightly mortified, "that too."

"Good to know."

"And your smile. I really like your smile."

Said smile makes an appearance. Clint also ducks his head, and a blush steals across the tops of his cheeks. It's like an adorableness trifecta.

"Um... I like your smile too," Clint says, gazing at up at Phil through thick lashes. Phil feels his stomach give a little bit of a flip.

"As for the rest," Clint says, moving his head and looking at Phil straight on, "I don't know what to tell you. I can say that, with the life I've had, I would never had survived if I couldn't be adaptable. Rolling with the punches and all that." Clint's mouth twists up into some kind of bastardization of his usual grin then evens out again. "I understand commitments, and I understand shitty hours. And, who knows, maybe the two of us will end up fighting like cats and dogs over the stupidest crap, but I think the only time I'm gonna care about you breaking a date, is if you're happy about it."

"I can't imagine that ever happening."

"And if you do get surly and uncommunicative," Clint says, "I'm pretty sure all I'd have to do to make you sweet again is bake you something."

Phil laughs. "Yeah, that would probably do it." Phil thinks of a future filled with pies, and muffins, and cobblers. He then thinks about what it's going to cost to have all his pants altered.

"So, uh..." Clint's oddly hesitant voice brings Phil out of his depressing, tailor-related thoughts. "Is it my turn?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Your turn for what?" Phil says.

Clint's eyes are wide and somber. "To tell you why I'm not that great of a catch, god-like kitchen abilities aside."

"Clint, unless the next words out of your mouth include 'serial' and 'killer', I'm fairly certain that there's nothing you can say that-"

"I lied," Clint says.

Phil blinks. "Okay."

"The other night," Clint continues, "when I told you guys about the circus."

"Okay," Phil says again.

Clint's fingers find his discarded oven mitt and they begin plucking at a loose thread. "You remember I said I left the circus because of an accident?"

Phil nods.

"Well, it wasn't an accident," Clint says. "There were these guys, and..." Clint shakes his head sharply. "I'm not gonna get into the specifics, but, they kind of beat the crap out of me." He chuckles. "Actually, it was more than just kind of. They put me in a coma."

Phil's fingernails dig into the wood of the table. That's the only reaction he allows himself.

"When I woke up," Clint says, "I couldn't hear that great." He shakes his head again. "Or, at all. Mostly." He scrubs a hand through his hair and shoots a longing look towards a cupboard by the sink. "Man, last time I talked about this, I was drunk, and it was a lot easier."

Phil lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug. "I wouldn't mind something right about now," he says softly.

Clint nods once, then is out of his seat and moving across the room. Phil hears a door opening and glass clinking.

"Is bourbon okay, or would you rather-"

"Bourbon's fine," Phil says.

When Clint comes back to the table he's carrying two tumblers and a bottle of Maker's Mark.

"I've got hearing aids that work really well," Clint says as he pours a few fingers into each glass. "Seriously, they're amazing." He takes a healthy swallow. "But I can't wear them all the time, like at night. And I usually watch TV with the closed captioning on, 'cause it's easier sometimes. And, there's some other stuff, but..." Clint downs some more from his glass. "I just thought you should know, you know?"

Phil takes a few sips from his own glass as he takes stock of what he's just learned. He has questions. Of course, he has questions. Phil bites most of them back, but there's one thing he has to know. "The men who did this, they-"

"Were caught, tried, and convicted," Clint says. "And then they were destroyed in civil court. Their families were rich, and I had a great lawyer. It was awesome." Clint's current grin shows far too many teeth, but Phil kind of likes it.

"Good," Phil says, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Good." Then he processes the last part of what Clint said. He lets his eyes flick around Clint's apartment, then raises his eyebrows questioningly.

"Yep," Clint says.

Phil nods. "I had wondered."

"What was your main theory, if you don't mind me asking?"

"That the circus pays a hell of a lot better than anyone suspects."

Clint snorts. "Lame."

"Rogers thinks you got an inheritance from a long lost relative," Phil says. "Barnes has decided that you used your archery skills to knock over a couple of banks."

"That's badass," Clint says. "Let's go with the badass one."

Phil shakes his head in a disapproving manner, though he's pretty sure the smile he can't hold in ruins the effect. "I'd rather not perpetuate any rumors that the guy I'm dating is a criminal, all right?"

Clint's face goes serious again. "Dating? Are you sure?" He lifts one hand up to his ear. "Even with-"

Phil grabs the hand that's still on the table. He squeezes it. "Don't finish that sentence," he says softly. "Unless you want me to start gushing about all the things I find incredible about you."

Clint's eyes narrow. "Gushing?"

"Yes."

"I am going to go out on a very large and sturdy limb and say that you do not gush, Phil Coulson."

"I could become a gusher. For you." Phil grimaces. "That doesn't sound right," he says, though most of his words are drowned out by Clint's laughter.

It takes a minute or so, but Clint eventually calms down to a chuckle every other breath. "Wow," he wheezes. "So, I guess we're dating then."

"Yeah," Phil says.

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Good."

Clint grins. "I know we didn't make those reservations, but this has been kind of nice, right?"

Phil glances around the little living space Clint has carved out for himself. He has a sudden flash of a future spent curled up on Clint's monstrosity of a couch - purple velvet, yikes - watching Dog Cops and running his fingers through Clint's hair. That thought warms him more than any chicken pot pie ever could.

"This is perfect," Phil says.

Clint does the adorableness trifecta thing again. "You're still not getting lucky."

"Oh, I don't know," Phil says, "I think I already have."


___________



Phil doesn't know how long he's been awake or even what time it is. He could turn over and check the clock, or his watch, or his cell, but that would mean taking his eyes off of the man sleeping next to him, and Phil just isn't ready to do that yet.

If they were at Clint's place, the alarm would probably have gone off by now, rattling the bed frame and shaking the mattress. But, for the first time since they started dating, they had ended the previous evening at Phil's apartment. Phil can't help but be just a little overcome by the sight of Clint spread out in his sheets.

Phil lets his gaze drift over the nicest set of shoulders he's ever seen, on to a strongly muscled back, and down the curve of Clint's spine to where the top sheet just barely covers his ass.

Clint looks sexy, and amazing, and gorgeous, even with half his face smooshed into a pillow.

Phil stares a bit more until the screaming of his internal clock - set by the army and telling him he's wasting daylight - is too hard to ignore. Not wanting Clint to wake up alone and in a strange room, Phil gently brushes a hand over the ball of Clint's closest shoulder. Clint stirs, but doesn't wake, so Phil lets his next touch be a little firmer.

A soft, inarticulate noise comes from Clint's mouth as long lashes part and one blue eye peers blearily up at Phil.

"Good morning," Phil says as he touches the fingertips of his right hand to his mouth then moves that hand towards Clint. He puts his left forearm across his chest and moves his right hand up towards his shoulder.

Clint grins and stretches lazily, putting on quite a nice display. When he finishes, he's on his back and both eyes are warmly focused on Phil. He mirrors the gesture Phil just made.

"Breakfast?" Phil asks. He knows that Clint's focus on his mouth is for practical reasons, but he still can't help but feel a little frisson of possessive pleasure at being the center of Clint's attention.

Clint nods and starts to extract himself from the sheets, but stills when Phil gently pushes against the center of his chest.

"Stay," Phil says as he curls the three middle fingers of his right hand towards his palm and stretches out his thumb and pinkie.

Clint lifts one eyebrow and tilts his head to the side just a bit.

"I want to cook for you," Phil says.

Clint's look of confusion is replaced by a look of alarm that's then swiftly smoothed over into what Phil has come to recognize as Clint's come-hither face. Clint lowers his lashes to half mast, licks his lips, and palms his dick through the bedsheets.

Clint doesn't really do subtle.

Phil almost falls for it.

"Stop that," Phil says. "I can cook."

Clint's face screws up like he just smelled something ghastly, and Phil wonders if he should start to feel offended. Instead, he takes Clint's hand - the one that isn't still positioned over his crotch - and kisses Clint's knuckles.

"Trust me," Phil says.

Clint studies Phil's face for a moment, then snorts and rolls his eyes. He relaxes back against the pillows and imperiously waves Phil away from the bed.

Phil grins because a playful Clint is impossible to not grin at. He leans in and plants a kiss on Clint's forehead, then climbs out of bed. He's half way across the room when a low wolf whistle causes him to almost trip over his own feet. He looks over his shoulder to find Clint's heavy gaze firmly planted on his bare backside. The come-hither look is back, and Phil can't help but let out a shaky laugh as he walks the few remaining feet to the bathroom.

It's not that Phil doesn't appreciate being leered at - Phil really appreciates being leered at - it's just someone like Clint finding someone like Phil leer-worthy is still a new and novel concept.

Phil quickly washes up and brushes his teeth. By the time he's finished in the bathroom, Clint has gone back to sleep. Or he's faking it. Either way, Phil manages to put on a pair of boxers and a tee shirt without being accosted, which is good, since he's not sure his willpower could take it.

Morning sex is great - amazing, incredible - and everything, but Phil didn't spend almost three hours on the phone the other evening being grilled by his mom about his new 'fella' just so he and Clint could cram pieces of toast into their mouths as they both rushed out the door.

The first thing Phil does when he gets to his kitchen is set up the coffee maker. Knowing that Clint likes his coffee strong and thick enough to dissolve a spoon, Phil puts in twice the usual amount of grounds. Phil grimaces, but sacrificing his own taste buds is a small thing if it ensures Clint is awake and happily caffeinated.

As the sludge begins to brew, Phil takes a good, long look at a post-it on the side of his refrigerator. He makes mental notes of certain things, then he turns on his oven and begins to gather his supplies.

Phil gets out his one, lone baking sheet, his one, lone mixing bowl, and the smallest of his two measuring cups. The new bags of flour and sugar go next to the bowl, followed by the new box of baking soda and the not so new salt canister. A carton of cream and a bag of the best chocolate chips he could find take up the rest of Phil's limited counter space.

Phil checks the post-it again, takes a deep breath, then starts to open bags. He measures, and pours, and mixes, and just before he adds the chocolate chips, he hears a faint shuffling sound coming from the direction of the bedroom.

"Hey," Clint says as he ambles into the kitchen. Phil's not sure how he's navigating since both of his hands are rubbing sleep out of his eyes. His hair looks like a bird's nest, and the only thing he's wearing is an old, worn pair of Phil's sweatpants, which, since Clint's waist is a little trimmer, hang low on his hips.

Phil's heart stutters in his chest, and he seriously rethinks the whole morning sex thing. "I thought I told you to stay in bed," he says, trying to sound mild and completely unaffected by the Adonis in his kitchen.

Clint shrugs and smirks. "Smelled coffee," he says roughly. "Gimme."

Phil - who's not charmed by the grabby hands Clint is doing, he's just not - nods towards a row of mugs on the wall. "Help yourself." He goes back to his mixing bowl and waits for the next inevitable question.

Clint makes an appreciative noise at the color and consistency of the coffee he gets out of the pot. He takes a few deep sniffs before downing about half the mug in one go. "Oh, yeah... That's good. So, what's cooking, good-looking?"

Phil snorts. "It's a family recipe." He feels Clint draw closer.

"I love family recipes. Does it have a story?"

"Not really," Phil says. "My mom calls them her lucky scones."

"Hmmm. Are they to bring luck or to celebrate when something lucky's already happened?"

Phil pauses as he's adding the cream and thinks for a moment. "I don't know. Both, maybe."

Clint hums again, then he just seems content to sip his coffee and watch Phil. "Do you mind?" he asks after a moment. "Me watching you bake?"

"Just as long as you're not silently judging me."

"I could vocally judge you," Clint says. "Your kneading technique could use some work."

Phil hip checks him. "Shut up. And if you won't go back to bed, you might as well make yourself useful; there's bacon and eggs in the fridge."

Phil's small but serviceable kitchen is not really meant for two grown men. They both get jostled, and Clint steps on Phil's foot, and at one point Phil has to put his hands on Clint's hips and physically move him out of his way - though, between Clint's smug grin and the way Phil's touch lingered, neither of them minded that very much.

Phil slides the scones into the oven and busies himself with making toast. In minutes, the bacon's cooked and ready, and Clint's plating four picture perfect sunny-side eggs.

"I knew I was keeping you around for a reason," Phil says as he and Clint settle themselves at Phil's table. He takes a bite of bacon then nearly chokes as Clint's foot runs up his calf and presses against his inner thigh.

"I'm sorry," Clint says, his polite smile a direct contrast to the rather obscene things his toes are doing, "what reason is that exactly?"

Phil has some willpower left after all, or his stomach is currently in more control of him than his dick. Either way, Phil gently but firmly takes a hold of Clint's bare ankle and pushes his foot away.

"Stop that," Phil says. "Breakfast."

"But after breakfast?" Clint asks. He bites his lower lip and bats his lashes. It should look ridiculous, but it really, really doesn't.

"We'll see." Phil winces.

Clint's cute look is swiftly replaced by something shrewd and his smirk is almost evil. "You totally just channeled one of your folks, didn't you?"

"You are too naked and hot for me to continue anywhere near that line of thinking," Phil mumbles as he shoves some egg into his mouth.

Clint chuckles and thankfully doesn't make any further observations. They eat in silence for a few minutes. Phil finds his eyes drifting to the timer on the microwave.

"When do you have to get back to the diner?" he asks.

"I'd usually like to be in before the lunch rush," Clint says, "but when Nat found out I was going to spend the night over here and that you had the day off, she told me that if I showed my face before closing something long and probably terrifying would happen to me."

"Long and probably terrifying?"

"I don't think all the words she used were English, but she was holding a paring knife in a very dangerous manner, and I decided to not ask her to repeat anything."

"Good call," Phil says. He knows how close Clint and Natasha are, so he keeps any other thoughts - like how Barnes must be crazy or a saint - to himself.

"Yeah," Clint says. "She's really happy for us. And, um, she wants me to ask you something."

The microwave beeps, and Phil holds up a hand towards Clint. "Hold that thought, okay?" Phil opens his oven and uses a folded over dish towel to remove the baking sheet. The scones look exactly like the ones his mom makes, and Phil feels both relieved and a little proud of himself.

Phil gingerly picks up two scones and puts them on a plate. He then practically shoves the plate towards Clint. "Here. Scones."

Clint huffs in amusement. "You're adorable. And these look great."

"Yeah?" Phil asks.

Clint looks at him fondly. "Yeah."

Phil fiddles with the dish towel he's still holding. "Do you want butter, or-"

"Nope, I want to try them like this first." Clint picks up one of the scones, and Phil watches nervously as he brings it to his mouth. Clint takes a bite, chews, and his eyes widen. "Oh. Oh, wow."

"It's good?" Phil asks.

"It's awesome," Clint says before he takes another bite. He makes a few soft, happy noises, and Phil suddenly gets what's so great about feeding someone you lo... care for. Feeding someone you care for.

Phil takes his seat again and reaches for the other scone only to have his fingers slapped.

"Get your own, buddy," Clint says, drawing the plate closer to himself and hunching over it protectively.

Phil laughs. "I'm glad you like them."

"I'm glad you made them for me." Clint polishes off the first scone and almost immediately reaches for the second. "Man, next time you talk to your mom, tell her that I think she's amazing, okay?"

"Yeah," Phil says. He steels himself. "Or you could tell her yourself."

Clint pauses mid-chew. "You want me to call your mom?"

"No," Phil says. "I, uh... I know it's kind of soon, but when mom found out I was seeing someone she kind of... hinted rather strongly that she and dad wanted to meet you." Phil grimaces. "And by hinted, I mean she demanded. And by rather strongly, I mean she threatened to get both Nick and Maria involved."

Clint puts down the remnants of his second scone and leans back from the table a bit. Phil's stomach does an unpleasant little churn. Normally, Phil would never dream of springing his family on someone so soon. But when his mom had learned that Phil was dating someone and that person was serious enough to warrant her lucky scone recipe, she pounced. It's not that Phil can't say no to his mother, it's that he can't say no to his mother, his boss, and his partner all at the same time. He's tried. It wasn't pretty.

"It doesn't have to be a big thing," Phil says. "They're in Boston, and I though maybe we could make it a day trip. We could take the train, have lunch, then be back here for dinner. I'm sure you wouldn't want to be away from the diner for more than a day, so that's the perfect excuse - I mean reason - the perfect reason for such a short trip."

"Short trip. Yeah." Clint scratches at the back of his neck. "Uh, see, the thing is... I'm not exactly the meeting the parents type, Phil," Clint says slowly.

"You're worried. I'm probably implying that they're really bad, aren't I?" Phil says. "They're not. Mostly. I mean, they're parents, you know?"

"No," Clint says, "not really. I'm just... What I'm trying to say is I'm not really that great... as a prospective... .whatever." He flaps one of his hands around.

"What are..." Phil frowns softly. "Are you talking about your hearing?"

"No," Clint says, "I'm talking about the rest of me. I'm, you know, me."

"Uh huh."

"Phil..." Clint leans forward. "I'm not the kind of guy people want to introduce to the folks back home."

Phil knows what Clint's trying to say, but he's just not getting it. "I don't understand. You're a successful businessman who's smart, and funny, and sweet, not to mention incredibly attractive. And you own your own building, for Christ's sake. You're kind of a dream guy, Clint."

"I'm... Wait. What?" Clint sits up straight and blinks a few times. "Huh. What do you know? I'm all respectable and everything, aren't I?" He grins. "Well, damn."

"Were you, uh, not respectable before?" Phil asks.

"I was a vagabond and a rogue," Clint says with a seriousness that has Phil wondering what would show up on a background check. Not that he would ever...

"But the vagabond and rogue days are behind you. Right?"

Clint smirks. "I'm a successful businessman and property owner now, Phil."

"Uh huh."

"Plus, I'm kind of dating this really hot detective, so I guess I'd better stay good, right?"

Phil feels Clint's foot start up his calf again. "Good being a relative term, of course."

"Oh, of course."

Phil again takes a hold of Clint's ankle, but this time he keeps the foot in his lap and starts to rub at the insole. "Not to pressure you or anything, but-"

"Are you trying to soften me up with a foot rub?" Clint asks, eyes narrowing.

"And the scones," Phil says. "Don't forget the scones."

Clint sighs then lets out a little grunt as Phil's thumb digs into a tender spot. "What if they don't like me?"

"Impossible," Phil says.

Clint rolls his eyes.

"Look," Phil says, "I like you. And mom will probably be so thrilled at the possibility of me not dying alone and unloved that she won't want to do or say anything to spook you too badly." The heavy grilling would probably wait until Thanksgiving when Phil's extended family could get involved too.

Clint chews on his bottom lip for a moment. He looks pensive and adorable.

"Okay," he says finally. "I guess lunch sometime in the future wouldn't be that bad. Hopefully."

"That's the spirit," Phil says, patting Clint's shin.

"And now that I've agreed to that, I don't fee so bad about telling you the two of us are going on a double date with Nat and Bucky."

"Uh..." Phil very carefully replays Clint's last few words in his mind. "I don't recall you asking-"

"You're making me meet your parents," Clint says. "Nat's the only in-law you're going to have to deal with. Well, the only one I claim, at any rate. So, suck it up."

Phil adds one more piece to the puzzle that is Clint's history. "All right," he says. "Fair enough."

Clint claps his hands together. "Now that that's all out of the way, is it time for morning sex yet?"

"Yeah," Phil says, "it's definitely time for morning sex."

Clint crams the last bit of scone into his mouth. "Awesome."

___________


end

Comments

[snottygrrl.livejournal.com]

OMG ::does happy dance::

i so loved part one and now there's a part two ::flails::

::downloads onto ereader::

[saone77.livejournal.com]

:D

I've got ideas for at least a few more parts too. After all, Clint has to meet Phil's parents, and Phil has to be terrorized by Natasha, right? ;D

[gemini8.livejournal.com]

i LOVE everything you write. :)

[saone77.livejournal.com]

Thank you! :D