Jealous (again)
Clint’s not lurking. He doesn’t lurk. Medical just released him and he can’t help it if he happens to be walking by Phil’s office when Phil’s talking to Sitwell. And that Phil’s office door is open a couple of inches and that if Clint stands just so, he can happen to see a reflection of the two men in the water cooler in the hall. Totally not his fault.
“Quit complaining,” he hears Sitwell tell Phil.
Phil groans.
“You’re lucky to be alive, Phil.”
“I don’t feel lucky.”
“Seriously, you’re acting like a child, and since you’re the one who scheduled your fitness test to be in three weeks, you should stop complaining.”
Clint hears Phil grunt unhappily.
“Okay,” Sitwell shrugs. “No skin off my nose. I love that you’re stuck on desk duty. They give you all the shit jobs to do instead of me. How are those recruit evals going, by the way?”
“I hate you.” Phil glares at him. “And I know what you’re doing.”
“No you don’t. And is it working?”
“No.”
“Look Phil, if you want to get back in the field, you’ve got to get over this last hump. If you can’t manage an eight-minute mile, you shouldn’t be out there and you know it,” Sitwell says more seriously.
Phil makes an unhappy noise.
“Maybe what you need is a running buddy,” Sitwell suggests.
“A running buddy,” Phil says dubiously.
“Yeah, you know, someone to run with you. Keep you motivated. Make you go even when you don’t want to.”
“Which is always,” Phil points out.
“How about Hawkeye? The two of you have been spending a lot of time together lately.”
Phil blinks and there’s a beat before he answers. “No, we haven’t.”
Sitwell just stares at him.
Phil clears his throat. “Hawkeye’s out on a mission. Regardless, Barton doesn’t jog, he… parkours. The man’s a former circus acrobat, it’s how he,” Phil waves his hand in a vague gesture, “interacts with his environment.”
Clint frowns. He can jog. If he’s motivated.
“Well, be his parkour buddy, then.”
“I couldn't even jog a mile right now, Jasper. You think I could vault over things and run up the sides of buildings?” Phil retorts.
Sitwell considers him for a moment. “You’re right. Maybe jazzercize is more your speed. You used to do that, right?”
“I might actually kill you.”
Clint sniggers quietly and sees Jasper grin. “Come on, Phil. You need to build your stamina.”
“You’re so helpful, maybe you could run with me.”
Sitwell snorts.
“When was the last time you made an eight-minute mile?”
“When I had to requalify after I broke my leg in Bolivia.”
“That was…” Phil pauses and thinks for a second. “…2005.”
“Yep,” Sitwell says happily. “Maybe one of your new recruits would run with you. I’m sure there’s at least one suck-up in the group.”
“Ugh. I couldn’t stand to look at those earnest, enthusiastic faces that early in the morning. Give me jaded and cynical any day.”
Clint smirks.
“Hey, what about--? No, never mind.”
“What?”
“Well, I was going to suggest Rogers, since he likes to run, but you said no earnestness in the morning.”
Clint stiffens when he sees Phil sit up and look interested. Sitwell sees it, too, and grins. “Maybe earnest isn’t so bad if it comes in the form of Captain America,” he ribs Phil.
But Phil slumps again and makes a dismissive gesture. “He’d run circles around me.”
Sitwell rolls his eyes. “He runs circles around everyone. Come on, what have you got to lose? I hear he feels pretty bad that it took you getting sort-of killed for the Avengers to all play nice and save the world.”
Phil scowls. “I’m not going to trade on Captain America’s guilt and sense of duty.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because that’s exactly what Fury did,” Phil snaps.
Sitwell brushes it off. “Oh, come on, Phil. It wouldn’t even be like that. Rogers is a nice guy. He’d probably be happy to help you out. It would be like the dogs at the racetrack chasing the mechanical bunnies. Chasing Captain America – what better incentive could there be for you?”
“You’re an ass,” Phil says, but he’s clearly warming to the idea.
“That’s my boy!”
“I haven’t said yes,” Phil points out.
“Yes, you have,” Jasper says gleefully. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll even go ask him for you if you want.”
Phil rolls his eyes. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker, Jasper.”
Sitwell snorts. “That’s not what Fury says.”
“What?” Phil asks, sounding perplexed. Sitwell waves him off.
Phil pauses. “I don’t want to embarrass myself. Maybe I’ll… I’ll run for a week and get past that first hurdle and then see if he’s interested.”
“Good idea!” Sitwell says brightly, and Phil gives him a sheepish grin.
Clint glowers and slips away down the hall.
**
Phil’s alarm clock goes off an hour earlier than usual and he hits the snooze alarm. Three times. It’s not that he doesn’t like early mornings. Normally he has no problem with them. It’s just that he’s dreading today. The first three days when you haven’t exercised in a long time are the most unpleasant, and he hasn’t attempted any real cardio workout since before Loki. Or does it count as a cardio workout if you’re not actually moving but stress and adrenaline have your pulse up over 150 for a sustained period? He’s not sure his heartrate dipped below that from the minute Hawkeye was taken until his heart stopped beating altogether.
He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees as he sighs, trying to shake away the lingering discomfort of the night’s slate of dreams. The nightmares about Loki eviscerating him are becoming less frequent (he knew he just needed a little time to get over that), but for some reason, the ones about Clint are becoming more and more terrifying. Psych could probably tell him what they mean. He really should make an appointment, especially since they have to clear him before he can go back on active duty. He’ll do it. One of these days.
He gets up and shuffles over to the bathroom and relieves himself, then squeezes a glob of toothpaste onto his brush. As he brushes, he stares at himself in the mirror, contemplating second chances. He still doesn’t know what to make of this one he’s been given. He wishes he’d woken up with a clear understanding of what he’d been missing in his life and how to go about taking advantage of the new-found opportunity to do something about it. It’s strange, though, because more and more, he doesn’t feel like he’s missing anything at all. After a couple minutes of distracted brushing, Phil spits and rinses his mouth with no greater insight than he started with.
Phil goes back to his room and dresses, then eyes his coffee maker wistfully as he walks past it, and grudgingly heads out of his apartment. When he gets outside, he jumps when Clint pushes off from where he’s leaning against the wall next to the entrance.
“Hello, Sir.”
“Jesus, Clint, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Phil says, his heart pounding in his chest. But he regrets it immediately when he sees the stricken look on Clint’s face. “Oh, no! I just meant… sorry, I’m fine, you just startled me,” he rambles, trying to reassure his friend that his heart’s not actually going to give out. But Clint still looks guilty and like he might throw up and… beat up. There’s a vicious looking bruise wrapping around his left eye (which is nearly swollen shut), and a line of stiches on his jaw. Without thinking, Phil lifts his hand to Clint’s face, but stops before touching him and then quickly drops it, embarrassed and not sure why he would do such a thing. “What happened? I thought you were on a milk-run?”
“Yeah, well, unfortunately the assholes I was surveilling didn’t get that memo.” He glances down at Phil’s hand where it’s dropped back to his side, and then back up.
Phil gives him a critical once-over. “Anything else I should know about?”
“I’m fine, Sir.”
“What are you doing here?”
Clint clears his throat. “I, uh… I heard you need a running partner.”
Phil narrows his eyes. “Did Jasper send you?”
Clint shrugs noncommittally.
“You hate running,” Phil observes with suspicion. Bobbi used to drag Clint out running. He went, but it was obvious he only did it to please her.
“I don’t know where you got that idea, Sir. I don’t believe I’ve ever said that to you,” Clint answers, face betraying nothing.
Phil pointedly raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t have to say anything, you’ve always been able to make your opinions perfectly clear in other ways.”
Clint’s lips quirk up at the corners. “I think you may have formed a mistaken impression, Sir.”
He could continue to argue the point, but on the other hand, Clint’s here and Phil enjoys his company, so why look a gift-horse in the mouth? But he reconsiders the black bruises on Clint’s face. “I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for you to be running if you’re injured.”
Clint rolls his eyes. “I’m not injured, I have a couple bruises. I think I’ll survive.”
Phil rubs the back of his neck. “You don’t have to do this,” he says, giving Hawkeye one last out.
Clint shrugs. “I don’t mind.”
Phil hesitates, but then sighs. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
Clint smiles and they start a slow trot down the sidewalk. They run three miles, with Phil needing to stop every half-mile or so to walk for a stretch. Clint keeps pace with him, slows when he slows, walks when he walks, stops when he stops. They don’t talk – not that Phil really even could with how winded he is – but Clint encourages him with his quiet presence. Before he knows it, they’re back at his apartment, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as Phil had thought it would be.
He invites Clint up for coffee but he shakes his head. “Thanks, Sir, but I still need to debrief and Hill will have my head if I’m not there soon.” he says, then gives a small salute as he trots away. Phil watches him go and twenty feet down the sidewalk he spins and jogs backward as he grins and yells to Phil, “Good job today, Boss! See you later!” Then he turns and Phil watches as he gracefully thief-vaults over the hood of a car parked in the street and disappears around a corner.
Later, Phil is unaccountably disappointed as he drinks his coffee alone.
**
Clint vaults over the car and darts down the block. As soon as he’s around the corner, though, he doubles over, collapsing against the side of a building. He wraps an arm gingerly around his torso and pants shallowly. Fuck. His face is throbbing, and the bruises on his ribs and shoulder burn painfully, every breath feeling like someone is stabbing him. He’s actually really fucking thankful that Coulson was moving like molasses in winter because Clint probably couldn’t have run any faster.
Clint’s no fan of running. And it’s not particularly pleasant when he’s injured. But if someone is going to run with Coulson it’s sure as hell not going to be Rogers. He’s got nothing personal against Cap, the guy is genuinely nice. But when they’d pulled him out of the ice six months ago, muted alarms bells had started going off in Clint’s head. And the idea of him and Phil jogging together… well, the thought of it makes Clint uneasy in a way he can’t explain.
He waits until his breathing evens out a little and his side isn’t screaming at him quite so loudly, then he straightens up and begins a slow walk to the subway.