Chapter 8
Phil Coulson was halfway across the Mediterranean Sea when his cell phone rang, and he frowned down at the phone, unable to see anything other than that it was Jarvis calling. That on it's own was odd – the AI usually directed calls rather than making them and Phil answered curiously.
“Jarvis?”
“Good afternoon, Agent Coulson. I am calling on behalf of Mr. Potter. Do you have a moment to speak with him?” the request was not something Phil had ever expected to hear but he immediately agreed.
“Of course. Put him through.” A moment later, Harry's tentative voice was in his ear.
“Mr. Coulson?”
“I'm here, Harry, and like I keep telling you, you can call me Phil. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you knew the day of uncle Clint's birthday.” the boy admitted. “He said it was in June but he didn't say when.” though his chest had tightened at the mention of the archer, Phil answered.
“It's the 18th, Harry. Why?”
“Because I need your help with something.”
“Anything.” Phil found himself saying before he realized what he was promising, and boy did he hope Harry wouldn't ask for anything crazy or both Nat and Clint would kill him.
“I'd like to learn American Sign Language for his birthday.” the request was the last thing Phil had ever expected to hear and he laughed.
“I'll teach you.” he could all but hear Harry's answering grin.
“Thank you very much! When are you getting back to New York?” Despite the fact that Phil had had no intention of returning to New York anytime soon, he answered easily.
“Saturday. I'll make sure to come by as soon as I get back.”
“See you then!” Harry replied excitedly before hanging up, and Phil found himself smiling at his phone. He'd known that to be related to Natasha the boy had to be special, and he'd seen it time and time again, but it never ceased to amaze him.
When Phil arrived on Natasha's floor in Stark tower on the Saturday, Harry was waiting for him, and he greeted him with a wide grin and a signed 'hello'. Phil blinked in surprise, before signing 'hello' back, and watched the grin widen impossibly.
“Did you teach yourself that?”
“I asked Jarvis for some help. He brought up videos and stuff for me to watch and told me when I wasn't doing it quite right. We both think you'd be more help though, right Jarvis?”
“Indeed, Mr. Potter.” Phil just nodded, looking around.
“Where's your aunt?”
“She's upstairs with uncle Steve. Uncle Clint's not here today.”
“Bruce and Tony?”
“In the lab.” Phil nodded.
“Alright, well we better get started. Why don't we start with the alphabet?”
>>>
It took a month of spending almost every afternoon together for Harry to have a good handle on the language, but when he was able to say most basic words and at least spell things when he couldn't remember the sign for them, Phil found himself feeling extremely gratified of their work. They were out for the afternoon – Harry had come up with the excuse that he wanted to explore the city and Phil expanded it by saying Natasha and Clint were being too protective. That had shut them both up and allowed Phil to take Harry out for the afternoons. They'd visited museums, galleries, parks, outdoor festivals, fresh markets, and anything that caught Harry's eye. While they'd spent most of their time signing and learning the words for what they saw in ASL, Phil also found himself enjoying the month much more than he'd enjoyed anything in years.
It was on an afternoon where Phil wondered if maybe there sessions could end soon – they were getting ice cream and Harry had signed that he wanted chocolate which Phil had then dutifully ordered, when Harry started to look thoughtful.
“What's the sign for uncle again?” he asked, and Phil showed him slowly, watching Harry mimic him until it looked like he had it.
“If you're such good friends with aunt Tasha, and all of her good friends are my aunts and uncles, why aren't you my uncle too?” Harry asked with the unabashed curiosity of an almost-9-year-old.
“I don't know.” he replied honestly. “Did you want me to be your uncle?” Harry shrugged, but he was pointedly looking anywhere but at Phil.
“I don't know.” he mimicked. “Would you mind terribly if I was your nephew?” Phil could have laughed. Would he mind? This boy was certainly something else.
“Not at all. Do you think your aunt would mind?” Harry shook his head.
“She's happy that I -” he paused, thinking of the words. “When I develop relationships. Jarvis told me so.” Phil couldn't help his smile at the words, wondering what else Jarvis had told the boy.
“I would be happy to be your uncle, Harry.” Phil said, and watched the beaming grin spread across the boy's face. The boy lifted his free hand to sign. 'Thank you uncle Phil' and Phil just reached over to ruffle the boy's hair. He'd certainly entered himself into this for the long haul.
>>>
Clint woke up on June 18th feeling like he did every other day. Well actually, he felt much less aware than usual. He looked around the room and realized it was barely even light out and wondered what had woken him. Then movement caught his attention in the corner of his eye and he watched the door open, Harry's tiny form peeking out from behind the door.
“Hey kid. Just give me a minute.” Clint muttered, knowing his speech was a tad slurred, but before he could reach for his hearing aids he watched the boy's hand lift, fingers twisting to form a sign.
'Good morning uncle Clint. Happy birthday.' Clint could only stare a moment and watched Harry frown, looking down at his hands in concentration. When he signed the same two phrases again, Clint actually laughed.
“You learned sign language?” he asked unable to believe his eyes, and Harry smiled, signing 'Yes'.
“Why?” at that Harry frowned.
'For your birthday.' he signed, and Clint could actually feel the tears in his eyes. He rolled out of bed, rushing over to scoop the kid up in a hug, holding him close.
“Thank you.” He could hear Harry's laugh and then the kid was pushing him back a bit, bringing his hands between them.
'I love you, uncle Clint' he signed, and Clint held him in one arm so he could bring up his hand as well.
'I love you too, kid.' he signed back, and hugged him tightly again.
>>>
Phil Coulson was just settling in for the night when the knock came at his door. His first instinct was to go for his gun, but then he remembered that there were only 3 people who knew where he lived, and none of them required him to use a gun. Or at least, not usually in his home. He went to the door, looking through the peephole just out of habit more than necessity, and the man he saw on the other side of the door had him swinging the door open before he could think twice.
“Happy Birthday.” he said automatically, and Clint blinked at him, taking in the pyjamas he was wearing. It was only years of practice that didn't have Phil blushing at the fact that he was standing in front of Clint in his old worn pyjamas.
“Thanks.” was the automatic reply before the assassin pushed into his apartment, moving to pace in the living room. There was a frantic sort of energy about him and Phil followed cautiously, not really sure what was going on. This was the first time Clint had willingly been in the same space as him since he'd been announced back from the dead to the team; the archer had been furious – but also hurt – and Phil had seen that in his eyes clear as day when he'd finally convinced Fury to let him tell the Avengers that he was alive. He'd been fairly certain that Clint hated him now, and it had hurt because despite everything else, Phil Coulson was in love with one Clint Barton and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it because the archer hated him for pretending to be dead for years. And in all honesty, Phil couldn't blame him because he hated himself for it too.
“Harry told me that you taught him to sign language.” Clint said suddenly, spinning to face him, and Phil nodded, frown forming.
“He asked to learn for your birthday.” was his response, and Clint just stared, his eyes were unreadable.
“You've been spending afternoons with Harry for a month.” and once again, Phil nodded. None of this was a secret, but clearly Clint was looking for confirmation so he gave it.
“Yes.”
“Why?” and Phil's frown deepened.
“Why what?”
“Why teach him?”
“Because he asked.” Clint took a step forward and it took everything in Phil not to take a step back.
“That's it? You were in the Mediterranean.” and Phil wondered how exactly Clint knew that. “And you came back just because he wanted to learn sign language.”
“No, I came back because he wanted to learn sign language in time for your birthday. It was very important to him to be able to do something meaningful for you. Harry idolizes you. You're a hero to him, and not because you're an avenger, but because you make him feel like he belongs and you love him because you can, not because you have to.”
“Natasha doesn't love him because she has to.” was Clint's automatic response, and Phil agreed.
“Of course not, and he doesn't think she does – but she's blood. It makes things different. They're family no matter what happens – but you chose him. You're the first person to ever choose him. So he learned sign language to show that he chooses you too.”
Clint couldn't believe the words he was hearing – well no, that wasn't true. He believed them, and it made his heart ache. He couldn't even decide if it was a good or bad ache, only that it made his eyes burned. Phil was right, he did choose Harry, he'd always choose Harry. Harry was his family as much as Natasha and the rest of them were. As much as Phil was, despite how angry he'd been – how angry he was.
“Well that explains Harry.” Clint said, but then his eyes narrowed. “What's your excuse?” and Phil couldn't help himself from pinching the bridge of his nose. He was tired, and no matter how angry Clint was at him, he couldn't believe he thought he had to ask this.
“Do I need an excuse to help Harry do something for your birthday?”
“Well it's a bit out of character since you wouldn't even tell me you weren't dead for two years.” this time it was Phil who took a step forward.
“I've apologized to you for that. I've told you why, even though I know no excuse will ever be good enough. I haven't said anything about the fact that you would rather be anywhere else but in the same room as me because I know you're mad and I deserve that. What I don't deserve? You doubting that I would ever be willing to do something nice for you.” and while Clint agreed that was kind of unfair, he certainly wasn't going to admit it now.
“Maybe I just don't know why you'd bother.” was what Clint replied harshly, and Phil had had enough at this point. Ever since he'd died and been brought back to life, his life had been hell. Not having Clint and Natasha at his side or in his ear, had been disorienting and like he was missing limbs. Even when he'd been given permission to tell them he was alive, it hadn't quite been the same but at least he'd been able to see them; and then he'd spent the last month with Harry. He'd spent the month with a child who saw the world with such big curious eyes and he'd heard all about the people he considered family coming together to raise this amazing child, and he'd missed them so much it hurt. Natasha he was able to speak to – had been able to speak to since she'd found Harry, but Clint had still be separate, Harry his only real link, the only person who'd told him how the archer was actually doing. Not that they'd talked about Clint much or even often; Harry was also intuitive, and seemed to only tell Phil about Clint when he thought the man needed it before easily changing the conversation to other things. But now, faced with Clint for the first time in months, alone in his apartment, Phil couldn't take it anymore. He closed the distance between them, hands cupping Clint's face and bringing their mouths together in a heated kiss. In the back of his mind, Phil registered that Clint hadn't fought him at all, hadn't tried to fight him in the slightest, instead he'd banded his arms around Phil, returning the kiss easily. When Phil finally pulled back, he didn't release Clint's face, only made it so their eyes met and the archer would be able to see he meant every word.
“Because I've loved you for a very long time, and I'm not about to stop.” he felt the shudder run through Clint's body, watched his eyes close as he slumped forward and Phil caught his weight easily.
“Say it again.” was the request murmured against his next, and Phil smiled, holding Clint tight.
“I love you.” and he felt Clint shudder again, his arms tightening around Phil as if he was afraid he'd run away otherwise.
“Me too.”