When a Scone is Not Just a Scone
“Hey, Phil,” Clint says, and Phil shoots a quick glance up to see Clint standing in his door with smile on his face and a plate in his hands. In the back of his mind he registers mild surprise; Clint usually arrives with lunch, not breakfast.
“Morning,” he says, unable to stop his own smile. He turns back to the screen in front of him; one last evaluation to finish and he’ll be done with this group – and this assignment – for good. Only two of the recruits have cut muster as far as he’s concerned: Mendez, who’s been a standout since day-one; and, Oliver, a quiet but competent recruit coming over from the Merchant Marine.
Clint walks forward and sets the plate on Phil’s desk, removing the wrapping from the top.
“What’s this?” Phil asks, excited by what he sees. “They don’t look very healthy. Unless they’re gluten-free. Or made with applesauce instead of butter.” He’s suddenly not quite as excited.
Clint huffs. “Currant scones. Loaded with flour and fat.”
Phil lifts an eyebrow. Current scones are his favorite.
“To celebrate. I heard you ran your mile in 7:48 and got cleared by Psych.”
“Word travels fast.” Phil grins, though; he’s back on active duty.
Clint shrugs. “Eh, you know how this place is.”
“Mm,” Phil acknowledges. SHIELD agents will never give up their secrets in the field, but internal gossip is another thing altogether. He eyes the plate of unevenly-shaped lumps appreciatively before grabbing one – it’s still warm - and sniffing it. It smells delicious. “You know, I owe you a debt of thanks. I probably wouldn’t have passed the fitness test if it weren’t for you.”
“Of course you would have,” Clint counters.
Phil isn’t convinced that’s true. Running with Hawkeye every morning gave him extra motivation not to humiliate himself so he pushed himself hard – definitely harder than if he’d been running on his own. Not to mention the fact that left to his own devices, Phil would have been subsisting on coffee and donuts from the vending machine down the hall. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’s felt better and recovered faster because of the healthy food Clint’s been bringing him daily for the last couple of months. There’s no point in arguing about it, though. “Nonetheless, thank you. I appreciate your support though all of this.”
It looks like Clint actually blushes a little at that.
“Aren’t you going to have one?” Phil asks, gesturing toward the scones.
“Nah. They’re for you.”
“I’m happy to share,” he says, then breaks off a piece and pops it into his mouth; it practically melts on his tongue. “This is delicious. Where did you get them?”
“I made them,” he answers matter-of-factly.
Phil swallows. “You made them?” he says, and he can’t keep the surprise from his voice.
“You don’t believe me?” Clint asks with a faint smirk.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s that your diet consists primarily of take-out and whatever you can sweet-talk Marla into making for you in the mess. The only thing I’ve ever seen you cook are scrambled eggs. And those cookies you made for Bobbi when you were wooing her--”
Clint startles at Phil’s words and looks confused. His face flushes so red, so fast, that Phil’s a little bit afraid he’s going to pass out.
“Oh.” Phil says, suddenly slightly dizzy himself. “Are you… Clint, are you wooing me?”
Clint furrows his brow and glances down at the floor for a few seconds. When his eyes find Phil’s again, he looks bewildered. “Am I?”
Phil’s mind races and things start to fall into place – the bedside vigil, the showing off on the gun range, the coercing him to eat healthy, the pummeling he gave the recruit who’d questioned Phil’s abilities, the running, and now scones – all of Clint’s uncharacteristic behavior doesn’t seem so odd if viewed through a different lens. “Are you?” he asks again, knowing he sounds every bit as stunned as he feels.
Clint’s eyes dart from Phil to the plate of scones and then back. “I… don’t know. I think… maybe? I mean… hypothetically, if I were, how would you feel about that?” he hedges, his face still blazing.
Phil stares down at the plate in front of him. How does he feel about that? He’d never given any serious consideration to the idea of Clint as a romantic partner. Sure, he’s attracted to the guy and always has been - who wouldn’t be? Those arms alone are enough to make any mortal swoon. But there were good reasons why he’d never let his mind go there: Clint dates women (but he’s never explicitly said he’s not interested in dating men); Clint was married (he’s not anymore); Clint wouldn’t be comfortable with the handler/asset thing (since the Avengers Initiative is coming online, that’s a moot point).
But the possibility… For the first time, he lets his mind go there. Clint is skilled, smart, and funny, and Phil knows he wouldn’t want it to get out, but he’s also incredibly kind and thoughtful. But even more, they fit together. The two of them have spent countless hours and days in easy companionship in close quarters, always without conflict or problems. In fact, Phil can’t think of a single time when he hadn’t outright enjoyed it, even under the most trying circumstances.
And of course, there’s the part where he’s gorgeous, too. Phil’s eyes reflexively flick down to Hawkeye’s arms. They’re hypnotic, and, God, he feels an overwhelming need to press his mouth against Clint’s bicep and work his tongue against the roadmap of veins on Hawkeye’s skin; to feel the soft, springy relief as they give under the pressure of Phil’s mouth.
It’s all so obvious, in retrospect.
Phil shakes his gaze away from Clint’s arms, knowing with crystal clarity, the answer to the question so he stands up and walks around his desk. Clint watches warily and takes a step back. Phil closes the distance and steps into Clint’s space.
“Phil?” he asks skittishly.
“Clint,” Phil answers, smiling.
“What…?” Clint’s brow furrows furiously.
“Ever since I woke up in the hospital, I’ve felt like I should be doing something; that I was handed this miracle and it’s my responsibility to make something more of it because almost dying should mean something. For weeks I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with my second chance, but I didn’t feel like I was missing anything. I already felt happy. Alive. And I’m not sure how I missed it for so long, but it’s obvious to me now that everything I want is already right here in front of me.”
“What are you saying?” Clint rasps, then clears his throat and swallows noticeably.
“I’m saying…” Phil stops, searching for the right words. “Oh, forget it,” he says, and throws caution to the wind. He reaches up and gently cups Clint’s face, then moves in slowly to kiss him, giving the other man ample time to draw back.
But Clint doesn’t. He just licks his lips and watches Phil with bright eyes which close just as Phil’s mouth meets his. The kiss is soft, and sweet, but it makes Phil’s lips tingle and his heart pound. After a couple of seconds, he pulls back and looks at Clint to check his reaction. But Clint doesn’t even open his eyes before he surges forward and presses his lips to Phil’s again, this time a little firmer, a little less chaste. A couple seconds later, Clint’s tongue seeks entry and Phil makes a happy noise in the back of his throat and he wants it to go on forever. When Clint pulls back a moment later, Phil grunts his displeasure.
“So, if I was wooing you, what would your answer be?” Clint asks, smiling tentatively.
“Yes,” Phil answers without hesitation. “My answer would be 100% yes.”
Clint’s grin ignites. “Okay then, I’m wooing you.”
“Good,” Phil says before pulling Clint back in so he can finally get on with taking advantage of his second chance at life.
**
Fury walks into his office without knocking and deposits himself in the chair across from Phil. He’s grinning dangerously and Phil nearly squirms in his seat.
“Nick,” he says warily.
“Phil,” he says, reaching out and grabbing one of the scones.
“Have a scone,” he says pointedly.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he says before taking a sizable bite. He looks in surprise at the pastry in his hand. “This is good,” he says after swallowing. “I didn’t know your boyfriend could cook.”
Phil closes his eyes and sighs, then opens them back up and looks resignedly at his friend. “Go ahead and say it.”
“Say what, Phil?” he asks innocently, but there's amusement in his voice.
“Whatever it is you’ve been holding back for weeks.”
“Aw, Phil, would I do that?”
“Yes,” he says bitterly. He deserves whatever Nick dishes out for being as dense as he’s been.
“Yeah, you’re right. Normally I would. But you know what? You two have been through a lot, and I’ve actually kind of been rooting for you.”
“Really?” Phil says, surprised, sitting up straight. “That’s… Thank you, Marcus.”
Nick blinks at him and then busts out laughing. “Did you really buy that? God, Cheese, I might have to reevaluate whether you’re ready to be back out in the field! But I did make a bundle off of you two morons, and that makes me feel more generous than I probably should be.” He shoves another piece of scone into his mouth and grins evilly.
Phil cringes. “You were running a pool?”
“Of course I was.”
Phil leans his elbows on the desk and drops his face into his hands. “You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?” he groans.
“Hell no!” Fury says as he stands, and Phil looks up in time to see him swipe another scone. “Seriously. These are good. Give my compliments to the chef.” Nick cackles. As he leaves, Phil hears him muttering though his laughter. “…blind fools… Hawkeye my ass… even with only one eye…”
Phil shrugs, smiles, and reaches for another scone.
~END~