Mother Hen
Phil sets the coffee and donuts on his desk and settles deep into his chair with a contented sigh before he turns on his computer to work on his latest recruit evaluations. It’s not his favorite thing in the world, but at least it gives him something to do until he tests as field-ready again. And it’s important, he reminds himself. SHIELD lost a lot of valuable personnel in Loki’s attack and they need to start rebuilding the ranks. Plus, staying busy keeps his mind from wandering to other less pleasant things, like how incredibly painful it is to be stabbed in the chest, or how far he really has to go in his recovery, or how, when Clint thinks no one is looking, he sometimes wears a haunted expression that makes something inside Phil ache.
He starts with an easy one: Mendez. He’s been watching her closely since the day on the shooting range when she was the only one of the bunch to figure out that Clint hadn’t missed his target. A few minutes into giving her a better-than-average rating, there’s a knock on his door. “Come,” Phil calls out, never taking his eyes from the computer screen.
He hears Barton’s familiar tread and feels a reflexive fluttering in his chest that he never wants to scrutinize too closely. A few seconds later, a tray full of food is deposited on his desk. Phil looks from the tray up to Clint, then back down at the food. Then back up at Clint. “Who are you and what have you done with my agent?” he deadpans.
Clint huffs a loud breath through his nose.
“What’s this?”
“I brought you breakfast,” Clint answers, as though it’s obvious. Which, okay, it is.
“Thank you, but I already have breakfast.” Phil tips his head slightly toward the coffee and donuts sitting by his elbow.
Clint scowls. “You’re still recovering.”
“Yes, I am,” Phil acknowledges, seeing no correlation between that and the unappealing-looking food in front of him.
Clint makes an exasperated noise. “You need to eat healthier.”
“And that’s what this is?” Phil has his doubts.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” Phil pokes at the white and green blob on the plate with his finger. It’s still piping hot.
“Egg white and spinach omelet,” Clint explains and Phil crinkles his nose in displeasure. Clint huffs. “Egg whites have a lot of protein without the fat and cholesterol of the yokes. The spinach is high in iron.”
“And I need that why?”
“The protein will give you more energy. The spinach...” Clint pauses and Phil lifts a questioning eyebrow. Clint shrugs. “You’re still kind of pale. If you’re anemic, the spinach will help.”
“I see.” Phil is starting to find this slightly entertaining. “And the yogurt?”
“Greek yogurt. It has a lot of probiotics,” Clint answers. When Phil just stares at him, Clint rolls his eyes and continues. “All those antibiotics you’ve been on have probably done a number on the microbiome in your gut--”
“The microbiome in my gut?” Phil says with amusement in his voice.
“Yeah,” Clint answers, nodding, looking and sounding completely serious.
Okay. Phil can play along. He eyes the small glass of red juice on the tray. “I prefer grapefruit,” he says, but Clint is shaking his head before he even finishes.
“No grapefruit. Of any kind. It can interfere with the absorption of more than one of your meds. You shouldn’t have it at all as long as you’re still taking them.”
“And so this is…” he says, then takes a small sip and visibly shudders as the sourness assaults him.
“Unsweetened cranberry juice. It’s got a ton of nutrients to boost overall health and help fight infection,” Clint tells him.
“I don’t have any infections,” Phil points out, clearing his throat and then taking a sip of coffee to try to get rid of the awful taste of the juice.
“You’re still healing,” Clint retorts. “And ‘boosts overall health’,” he repeats, with air quotes to emphasize the point, and as near as Phil can tell, he's not joking.
Phil stares at Clint for a long moment, trying to process the fact that Clint Barton is giving him healthy-eating tips (and using air quotes, for god's sake). Clint watches him placidly. “You’re being ironic, right?” Phil eventually concludes.
“What?” Clint furrows his brow.
“If there is one person on this earth who has worse eating habits than me, it’s you.” Clint starts to protest but Phil cuts him off. “What did you have for breakfast?”
Clint hesitates. “That’s beside the point.”
“No, I don’t think it is. Go on, tell me. What did you eat this morning?”
Clint firms his mouth before answering. “Half of a left-over burrito.”
“Did you heat it up?”
There’s a beat before Clint answers. “No. But that doesn’t make it unhealthy,” Clint says, crossing his arms defensively.
Phil snorts. “No, you’re right. What makes it unhealthy is the beef and the double cheese, plus the cup of sour cream you dump on it.” He knows how Clint likes his burritos.
Clint scowls at him. “I didn’t almost die a few weeks ago,” he points out.
“It’s been nine weeks, and I’m nearly fully recovered,” Phil asserts, which, might not be technically true, but it's close enough. He tips a curious gaze at Clint. “Barton, are you mother-henning me?” he asks bemusedly.
Clint’s face flushes. “Fine, whatever. Don’t eat it.” He reaches for the tray.
“No,” Phil says quickly, covering the plate protectively with his arm. He very suddenly doesn’t want Clint to take his gift back; he doesn’t really want the food, but he wants Clint to take it back even less. “I am hungry. Thank you, Clint.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, looking inordinately pleased, and something in Phil warms.
Phil looks at the food and picks up his fork. When he looks back up, Clint’s already slipping out the door. After he leaves, Phil pokes at the omelet, then glances at the donuts. He stares at them for a long moment, then sighs and tosses them into the garbage. If Clint can make the effort to have Marla make special food for him in the cafeteria and bring it all the way to his office to try to get him to eat better, then he can make the effort to actually eat said food.
He takes a small bite and screws up his face at the taste, then sighs and takes another bite, washing it down with his coffee. He’s not sure he’s going to be able to make himself drink the juice, but he means to try. And really, Clint’s not wrong about any of it. He is slightly anemic, according to his doctor. And he knows he has more stamina if he eats more protein. And, okay, yes, one of his doctors had suggested that he start taking probiotics after having been on antibiotics for so long. Phil had absolutely meant to do all of those things, he's just never gotten around to it.
He’s half way through forcing the omelet down his throat when Nick walks in and sits in the chair in front of his desk without waiting for an invitation. He looks at the tray of food with a puzzled expression. “Should I be looking for a pod in the basement?” he quips.
Phil takes another bite of the omelet and shoots a look at the other man. “You’re hilarious.” Damn! Why hadn’t he thought of that one to use on Clint?
“Are you actually going to eat that? Because if you are, then I am gonna have to start watching for aliens exploding out of my staff.”
“Barton brought it,” he tells Nick. “Apparently it’s good for me.”
Fury studies him for a few seconds and then his whole face contorts and he guffaws loudly.
“What?” Phil asks, feeling defensive and it bothers him that he doesn’t even know why.
“You seriously don’t see it do you?” he asks with an unnerving grin.
“What I see is an agent who blames himself for something that wasn’t his fault. He thinks he needs to atone for what Loki did. If this,” Phil sweeps his hand over the plate, “makes him somehow feel better, then the least I can do is eat it.”
“Sure, you go with that,” Nick answers, with mischief in his eye.
“If you have something to say, Marcus, then say it,” Phil sighs wearily. He doesn’t have the energy to puzzle out Barton’s or Fury’s behavior.
Nick grins at him. “Nah. It’s much more fun to watch you work it out for yourself,” he says, then stands and cackles all the way out the door.
Phil glares after him and aggressively stabs another piece of omelet and shoves it into his mouth. It still tastes bad, but he chews determinedly. Clint and Nick are both behaving very oddly but Phil has no explanation for it. He’s pretty sure he’ll be able to figure it out eventually, once he doesn’t have to use all of his reserve store of energy just to concentrate enough to write a trainee evaluation. But he’s still damn good at compartmentalizing, so he turns back to the evals on his computer. A couple minutes later he’s chewing absently, the awful taste of the food forgotten, and he’s so completely focused on his work that all thoughts of Clint and Nick are forgotten.
**
Clint grabs the mostly-empty box of four-day-old pizza out of the refrigerator and tosses it on the counter, then pushes aside the other take-out containers until he finds a beer. He uses the edge of the counter to snap the cap off. The sharp hiss as it flips free is somehow deeply satisfying. He takes a long pull off the bottle as he opens the second drawer down, then roots around, digging through the sea of take-out menus. He finds what he’s looking for at the very bottom, under menus from more than one restaurant that he knows have been closed for a few years. He should probably clean out that drawer.
And he could use a shower. Badly. But he's alone here and so he can’t be bothered, and instead sits on a stool with a tired sigh. After delivering breakfast to Phil that morning, Clint had spent the day working on the on-going clean-up in Manhattan. SHIELD’s still not sure what to do with him after the whole 'being Loki's puppet thing' so he's been effectively benched, and there’s been nothing on the Avengers’ radar, so he’d loaded rubble into trucks for fifteen hours. It’s not much in the big picture of the destruction he wrought, but he needs to do something. His arms ache with the burn of sorely overused muscles, but as far as penance goes, it’s not even close to enough.
As he sits at the small breakfast bar in his apartment perusing the SHIELD Nutritional Guide for Effective Recovery and Long-Term Health, he distractedly reaches into the box and grabs a slice of the cold, meat-lovers’ pizza (with double meat and cheese), and takes an enormous bite (it's possibly he hasn't eaten anything since his leftover burrito early this morning). He chews mechanically as he studies the Guide, reading through the entire thing. It has all kinds of good tips about healthy eating and even a week’s worth of suggested menus. It’d probably be pushing it to try to get Phil to eat three-squares a day, but maybe tomorrow he can get Marla-in-the-kitchen to make ‘sample lunch #1’ for Phil; steamed fish over quinoa, and Brussel sprouts. Ugh, wait, no. Brussel sprouts are disgusting. He would never be that cruel to Phil, no matter how much of a ‘super food’ the Guide says they are. Maybe, kale, instead. According to the pamphlet, leafy green vegetables are loaded with B vitamins. Clint smiles with satisfaction as he shoves the entire crust of the slice of pizza into his mouth. Yeah, kale… that’s better.