clint/coulson, next-door neighbor AU
It's not that Phil is fussy. He's really not. His house is clean because it was drilled into him in the Army that knowing where your things are at all times can be the difference between life and death, and that has only been reinforced in his time at SHIELD. He does his paperwork as soon after missions as possible because that's when details are freshest in his mind, and any tiny thing can be important in his line of work. His designer suits are always clean and pressed because it completes his harmless, forgettable, office flunky image that is a better disguise than any of the camo he wore in the Rangers.
But when it comes to his yard, Phil will admit he's a bit of a perfectionist. It's his sanctuary, the place he goes to when he's worn out from dealing with idiotic probationary agents, world-ending disasters, and alien invasions.
So, when he comes home to find a messy hole under the fence between his new neighbor's yard and his own, and said new neighbor's mongrel dog rolling around happily in Phil's delphiniums, Phil feels his anger is completely deserved.
The dog is all too happy to follow Phil as he marches up to his neighbor's front door, sniffing around at his heels, his single eye full of joy. Even as pissed as he is, Phil can't help but be a little charmed by the way the dog sits patiently next to him after Phil rings the doorbell.
"Just a minute!" someone inside yells. Something crashes inside, followed by a string of curses. Phil can't quite stifle his smile as the dog barks worriedly. Finally, the door flies open, framing the new occupant of the house.
The man is, simply put, gorgeous. He's wearing a pair of worn blue jeans that ride low on his slim hips, and no shirt, showing off his muscular chest and fantastic biceps. Phil forces himself to look up at his face before he makes a fool of himself. "I found your dog," he offers lamely, waving his hand at the mongrel.
"Oh, thank god," the man says, dropping to his knees and holding his arms out. "Pizza, what the hell?" The dog yaps happily and rushes at him, wagging his ragged tail. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize he'd gotten out. I had the tablesaw going in the back," he said, looking up at Phil from his place on the floor. "Thanks for bringing him back." He stands, keeping one hand on the dog's collar, and offers the other to Phil. "I'm Clint Barton. I'm guessing I'm your new neighbor."
Phil takes his hand, noting its strength and the gun callouses on his fingers. He smiles. "Phil Coulson."