Chapter Text
Clint storms into her apartment, a man on a mission. “The fuck were you thinking, Tasha?”
Closing the door behind him, Natasha takes a deep breath and follows him through to the lounge. She knew Clint would be pissed at her but she hadn’t expected the ferocity of his anger. She’s never seen him like this and she’s seen him rant and sob and break down plenty times over the years.
“I was…”
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say you were doing it to protect me,” he spits at her. She flinches but doesn’t try to stop him.
“He’s not my father. I told you that. That shit excuse for a human being never made me feel safe a day in his entire miserable fucking life. Jesus, you didn’t even give Phil a chance. You assumed there must be some sinister reason behind him not drinking. That he’s a fuck-up like my old man was. Phil’s the complete opposite from that prick. I’ve never felt safer than when I'm with him. You had no right to compare them; you said as much yourself. But you didn’t trust me enough to take my word for it. That fucking hurts, Tasha. I can't even tell you how much.”
Natasha stares at him wide-eyed. She completely underestimated the extent of his feelings for Phil and now… now she’s paying for it. Dearly. And that's not all she's paying for.
“And you went behind my back. You asked to meet him and I set it up at the coffee shop but you did your own thing anyway. Why would you do that? Just to prove a point? You pushed him, Tasha. You pushed him into telling me something he wasn’t ready to tell. That wasn’t your call. It wasn’t mine. It was Phil’s. Have you any fucking idea what you could have done? Shit, you were here with me when Sam sat in that chair and talked to me about building a relationship with someone with PTSD. You could have triggered an event.”
No matter how good her reasons or how well-meant her intentions, this time she was wrong. So very wrong. Clint has every right to be furious with her. She had indeed been here when Sam had taken Clint through how to try and have a relationship with someone suffering from PTSD. And she’s broken pretty much every rule he set. Not only that, she’s hurt her best friend by not respecting his decisions and his boundaries. Perhaps irrevocably.
“You pushed me too, Tasha. I wasn't ready for the conversation he and I had today. You think I didn't wonder? You think it wasn't in the back of my mind? I hoped he would tell me if he had a problem; that he'd open up to me about it on his own. I guess now I'll never know. But today I just wanted my friends to meet the guy I'm falling for. Have fallen for. And for him to meet the people I'm closest to. To meet my family. And maybe even for him to become part of that family. Instead, he gets two shovel talks and a shit load of bitterness from me.”
Clint's body sags, his anger finally spent. He pushes his hands into his pockets and looks at her. It’s been a long time since he’s looked so broken and she’s horrified she’s the cause. She's done the very thing she was trying so hard to protect him from and she has no idea how to fix it. Right now the best thing she can do is stay silent and let Clint talk.
“I know why you did it but I need a friend in you, Tasha. I need you to be here for me same as I’m here for you. I don’t need you to be some self-appointed saviour protecting me from myself. I’m a grown man and I fuck up sometimes. I dive into things head first. I know all that. But I didn’t this time. I thought about it so much. I’ve been trying so hard to make it work between Phil and me. We both have. And... you nearly destroyed that.
You’ve always had my back, Tasha, and I love you but don’t call me. Don’t try to contact me. Not until I’m ready.”
He drops his gaze from her and turns towards the door. As she goes to follow him, he shakes his head.
“I’ll see myself out.”
***
It’s three full days before Clint’s ringtone sounds from Natasha’s cell phone. It’s been the worst three days of her life, and she’s a surprising number of days like that. Apart from Clint being on assignment, it’s also the longest she’s gone without speaking to him or at the very least texting him.
She’s missed hearing his voice; having him draped over her couch like an untidy throw squeaking that damned ball. She’s missed him popping round unexpectedly, stealing her cookies, drinking her coffee, and stroking her hair. To not have him in her life would be unbearable, so she’s done everything he asked of her. She’s not called or visited him. She’s only spoken to Kate to find out how he is and if Phil’s okay, which thankfully he is. So when her cell rings her heart races and she grabs accepting the call without hesitation.
“Hi, Matryoshka,” he says softly. She almost sobs aloud. It’s the name he calls her when he’s being annoying and wants to piss her off. It’s him telling her they’re going to be okay.
“Hey, Cow Chip,” she replies. It’s her version of Matryoshka for him. He hates it. He gives a strangled laugh.
“Missed you.”
“Me too. You been eating okay?”
“Store bought cookies aren’t the same. They’re kinda shit actually.”
“I know. And my students are getting fat and lazy on mine.”
There’s a pause while they try to get back on an even keel again. It might take a while but they’ll get there.
“Phil told me you sent him a picture of mine from the gallery.”
“Did I now?”
“Shut up! He asked me to tell you thanks and to ask if you would like to see how it looks in his home instead of on the wall in the gallery.”
He was asking her to his home. Natasha's completely taken aback by the gesture. He's a bigger person than she. She would be full of resentment if someone had treated her with such disrespect and caused so much pain. But as Clint pointed out three nights ago… she doesn’t know Phil at all. And she would very much like the opportunity to change that. Something it appears he’s still willing to give her.
“Tell him… tell him I will make a batch of cookies to bring along. And Clint…?”
“Uh-huh?“
“I am so very sorry. To you both.”
***
It’s been almost eight weeks since their first date (twelve since they originally met in Prospect Park) and when Clint’s not away on assignment, the pair makes sure they get together at least a couple of times a week for a home-cooked meal. Well, home-cooked when they're at Phil’s… more often than not, take away when they're at Clint's. At least, it used to be. It’s not that Clint can’t cook; in fact, he’s a pretty damn good cook when he puts his mind to it. It’s more that he can’t be bothered what with take away being so damned easy and all. However, he’s beginning to come round to the niceties of making a meal from scratch especially if it gives him extra time in the kitchen with Phil.
Thinking about it, watching the older man in the kitchen is actually one of Clint’s favourite activities. It’s kinda sexy seeing him with that look of concentration on his face, brow furrowed and the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips as he finely chops onions or garlic or whatever; or standing next to him inhaling his scent as they work together to prepare a meal; or feeling the heat from his body as he leans in to steal a piece of food with a mischievous grin. Yeah, he’s really getting into this home-cooking thing. Maybe not for the right reasons but still.
Tonight’s been another chilled evening at Clint's apartment; just relaxing and talking, making dinner (they’d shopped for the ingredients for lasagna earlier which of course means finely chopped onions, garlic, and mushrooms which in turn means some NC18-rated ‘Cooking with Coulson’...awesome!) and eating their meal while watching Dog Cops. Both men are hooked on the show and view it with child-like enjoyment.
While occasionally loose with his own diet, Phil’s pretty strict with Agent’s and always brings a portion of her kibble with him. It takes a lot of self-control from Clint to stop him from passing her a tidbit or several during the evening. He knows she doesn’t get fed human food - Phil explained this was non-negotiable - and he respects that decision. He thinks back to when he had Lucky and the reason he was called ‘Pizza Dog’. It’s probably a good thing that Katie Kate has him now and by all accounts, he’s happy that she does. She has a lot more sense when it comes to treating a dog like a dog and not a BFF - she spoils him in other ways. But he really misses him sometimes all the same.
After a damn fine dinner (even with all the salad shit Phil made Clint eat), they take Agent for a stroll around Clint’s neighbourhood. It’s a reasonable distance which they take at an easy pace, and good for walking off the pasta carbs.
Tonight only one person approaches them to say hi to Agent. It’s still attention that Phil doesn’t want but at least the guy talks to him and asks if he can pet her before trying to do so. Unlike a lot of people. It surprises Clint how often people ignore the ‘Service Dog. Please Do Not Pet’ patch on Agent’s vest.
The guy also accepts when Phil patiently explains she’s a service dog and she’s currently working so he’d rather he didn’t - it can actually be dangerous for him if she’s distracted. The guy looks a bit stunned and apologises. He just likes dogs and had no idea.
So many people are offended when Phil tells them no and don't bother to listen to his explanation. They don’t seem to realise, or care sometimes, how important it is for the handler that their service dog is not approached while they’re on duty; it takes the dog's attention away from them which means an important sign could be missed resulting in an event being triggered instead of averted. But thankfully there are others, like this guy, who appreciate what Phil has to tell them and that he takes the time to do it.
When they get back to the apartment, Phil seems subdued. Clint can’t put his finger on why. He doesn’t think it was anything to do with the guy they met; they've certainly had much worse encounters. And it was a nice evening - not too hot, not too cold - kids were laughing and screaming at each other in the street, although one of them did have a screech that went right through you. But that’s kids for you; can’t live with ‘em, can’t ship ‘em off to a desert island until they’re eighteen… right?
Clint’s more than a little concerned about the quietness that's come over Phil, and also with the way he seems to be more… on alert is how it can be best described. Eyes constantly flitting around the room, body reacting to any sudden noise or movement, a tension that seems to radiate from him. Plus his temperature has gone up - even after this short a time, Clint knows that’s not a great sign.
The other thing that suddenly dawns on him is that Phil hasn’t given Agent her ‘off duty’ command like he usually does. He must realise something’s not right himself. When they settle down on the couch deciding to watch one of the Marvel movies that pop up on Clint's scheduler, she sits pressed against his leg her head on his knee as he absently scratches behind her ear. Clint has seen it before; it’s a coping mechanism that usually works well to calm him.
They often watch TV with hands touching, Phil’s fingertips or thumb gently stroking Clint’s skin. Several awesome times, Clint has been stretched out on the couch with his head on Phil's lap as he gently runs his fingers through his short, spiky hair. It's only with an incredible amount of willpower Clint doesn't whimper or moan out loud when Phil's nails occasionally drag over the soft skin of his neck. His touch alone is almost enough to make him do that as it is.
There have even been a few occasions (thankfully now that Agent has accepted her new ‘kiss okay’ command and no longer tries to cock block them) where they've abandoned watching the TV altogether and made out like a couple of teenagers. Fuck! Those had been incredible (but frustrating) nights and Clint jerked off as soon as Phil left or as soon as he got home depending on whose place they were at.
But not tonight. Clint’s been around Phil long enough now to know when he doesn't want any physical contact and while it's not awkward, it's not as relaxed as it was earlier. Something definitely happened during the walk and he desperately racks his brain to recall what it might have been. He vaguely remembers a tapping sound as Phil's fingers beat against his leg when they passed by the kids and now that he thinks about it, it was accompanied by a quiet mumbling. It's not something he's noticed before and it didn't last long but it was definitely there.
About halfway through the movie, a still restless Phil apologises and announces he needs to get home.
Clint can hear the tiredness, the strain in his voice. Understanding, and perhaps a little surprised it's taken this long, he nods and says, “Sure.”
On the spur of the moment, he adds, “Or... you could stay over. If you want to.”
Phil ducks his head and manages to give Clint a slightly weaker version of that gorgeous little half-smile of his. Although he’s touched by his request, he shakes his head and pushes himself off the couch trying not to wince at the pain in his hip and leg.
“Didn’t mean to stay this long. I must have kept you away from things you’d rather be doing.”
Clint rolls his eyes receiving another small smile from the ex-Army Ranger. He knows there’s nothing he’d rather be doing and no-one he’d rather be doing it with than the man beside him. It suddenly strikes him, even after a few months, how in love with Phil Coulson he is.
Clint’s well aware he shouldn’t push. He wouldn't normally, but he would genuinely like for Phil and Agent to spend the night even if it’s in separate rooms. The sudden thought of the three of them having a lazy breakfast together in the morning is too much for him to ignore. He gets up from the couch and stands beside Phil to nudge his shoulder with his own.
“Stay. Please.” To break the tension that seems to be building, he jokes, “Don't get any ideas, Coulson, I’m not asking you to act out any wild fantasies I might have. Not this time. Besides, I've got a guest room that’s already made up.”
Clint’s never made any demands, never asked anything of Phil other than his time when he’s willing to share it (and for Phil that’s whenever Clint wants it). He's never made him feel weak or inadequate because of his injuries or given him ultimatums about sex. In fact, he doesn’t often initiate physical contact, usually allowing him to do that. Phil’s not sure if it's because Clint's happy with the occasional touches or kisses for now, or if he just isn’t interested in taking things any further, even with all the smutty innuendos. He simply doesn’t realise Clint’s giving him space. Waiting for him to make the first move when he’s ready to do so. No-one’s ever done that for him before and it doesn’t occur to him that's what's happening now. Apparently, their communication skills still need a little more work.
But whatever his reasons it doesn’t matter to Phil. He loves Clint, unequivocally, and is happy just to spend time with him, however he's comfortable with it. And if it never progresses beyond where they are now, that's fine too. It may only have been a couple of months but Phil knows there will never be anyone else; Clint is it for him. The special someone.
But he also knows tonight he needs to be at home. He’s out of sorts and he doesn’t want their first time spending the night together to be when he’s like this. He can feel a thick blanket of fog beginning to fall over him and he doesn’t want Clint to become touched by it. He also doesn’t want to ruin the evening for either of them.
“I’d love to, Clint,” the older man tells him, his voice soft but the tension in his face betrays the reality.
Clint drops his head forward and reaches for the back of his neck in that self-conscious way he does when he’s uncertain about something. He tilts his head to look at Phil. He can’t stop the concern from showing in either his eyes or his voice. “But…there’s something wrong, isn’t there?”
Phil studies the photographer for a few moments. Only Agent is better at sensing when he’s battling pain or PTSD but Clint’s right up there with Hill and Fury. He’s amazed at how quickly Clint’s come to recognise the signs and sorry he’s had to learn to look for them. Not for the first time he wishes things could be different.
Regretfully, he nods. “Yeah.”
Phil turns his body to Clint and reaches his hand to his face, sliding the tips of his fingers along Clint’s jaw to the back of his neck. Gently he draws the younger man towards him and leans into him to rest his forehead against Clint’s.
A strange mix of happy and sad at the touch but taking it as a good sign, Clint carefully places his hands on Phil’s hips and tells him, “I’m going to ask again another night.”
Phil smiles, “I kinda hope you will.”
“Just kinda?”
“Pushing it.”
Clint grins. “Always.”
They stand like that for a few moments. It's a symbiotic relationship each giving and receiving what they need from the other; Phil getting strength from Clint's touch, Clint getting comfort from Phil's.
Eventually they break apart and surprisingly, it's Clint who moves first.
“C'mon, I'll call you a cab and I'll wait downstairs with you.”
“You don't need…”
Clint cuts him off. “I want to.”
Phil looks at him with a gaze so intense Clint can feel the heat rise in his face. He can say so much with his eyes, put so many feelings into a look. Clint feels a wave of love wash over him for the ex-Army Ranger.
Phil has no idea why Clint stays with him. He's so patient with all his shit. He could have anyone; someone without flaws, someone whole. But here he is with this mess of a man. Phil's chest tightens not with pain but love.
Clint puts in a call to Howling Commandos Cabs, the company that Phil uses, and has a quick but filthy chat with Darcy. Clint doesn't blush easily (unless he's thinking impure thoughts about Phil) but that woman just has a knack. In the meantime, Phil gathers his and Agent's things, putting them in his rucksack. He's signed her 'stay’ commands and she sits patiently to the side until he's finished then he puts on her vest and his jacket. They're ready to go.
“Five minutes,” Clint tells him. “Apparently ‘Dugan’s nearby so Bucky'll head here next. You all set?”
Phil nods and gives him a small smile. “I'm…”
“The next word out of your mouth better not be sorry or no goodnight kisses for you,” Clint tells him trying to keep it light.
Phil ducks his head once again and looks up at him, his smile a touch wider. He's responding to humour and Clint is happy about that. Once he gets home and settled he should be okay.
Carefully, Clint steps a little closer and waits for an invite. It's immediately granted and he touches his lips to Phil's. It's not a heavy make out session like they usually have before they leave each other. This is more a gesture to comfort, to feel safe… to feel loved.
***
Mrs Ramirez is leaving her flat at the same time as the two men with her little granddaughter who is screaming loud and shrill enough to wake the dead. Jesus! She's like a fucking whistling kettle at full steam.
“Car ride?” Clint shouts across to her. She nods and tries to give him a brave smile failing miserably. Yeah, must be a nightmare having a kid that won't settle. The only thing that seems to work with her is going for a ride in the car.
Clint's neighbour looks past him to nod at Phil, her expression becoming concerned. “Clint?” she says with a distinctly worried tone to her voice.
He turns to look at Phil and what he sees makes his heart miss a beat then race in his chest.
Phil's almost doubled over, right hand clutching the top of his prosthetic where it meets the flesh of his arm. His face has changed from tired to agitated and full of fear. His pallor has turned ashen and his skin looks clammy with beads of sweat gathering along his forehead.
With dread, Clint realises the child screaming has triggered an event, and he has no idea what to do. He can only watch in horror, totally helpless as Phil backs away from him and crashes into the opposite wall, his face a mask of complete and utter anguish.
His breathing is coming in short, painful gasps. His eyes are wide open witnessing something that Clint will never see. His body shakes and jerks as the flashback overwhelms his system. He slides down the wall to the floor pulling one knee up to his chest. The other leg is stretched out in front of him. His shirt, already soaked through with sweat, has left a smear down the wall; dark against the paintwork, like blood from a wound.
On the surface what was an everyday sound, a crying child, has thrown Phil’s mind into turmoil and his thought process has gone haywire. Suddenly he’s back in Kandahar reliving the trauma in a terrifying flashback...
...rearguard to his squad
the heat
the sweat
the dust
the neverending dryness of his mouth
the sounds
the smells
the awareness
...the first IED blast
blinding flash
concussive effects
ground shuddering beneath his feet
ringing ears and
disorientation
...smoke and dirt rising into the air in great engulfing clouds
the burst of flame amongst the debris raining down
the broken bodies torn by shrapnel
the blood; the sight of it, the cloying stench of it, the tackiness of it
the screaming and yelling, muffled by the noise-wave
the terrified shrieks from someone pitched to go right through you
...taking cover
swallowing panic
assessing damage
protecting his men; the living, the dying - and the dead
giving commands
leading the way
...the second IED blast
searing agony
his head
his chest
his arm, no...
his stump - there's a stump where his hand used to be… a stump
searing agony
his hip
his thigh
his own torn and broken body
blackness…
...pain, so much pain until he can no longer feel it
blackness...
...raised voices, bright lights overhead, erratic beep of machines
blackness…
...terrifying hands, touching him, pressing down, gripping tight
blackness...
…the whine of an electrical charge then a surge of pain in his chest - once, twice, three times
blackness...
Agent has long since placed herself between Clint and Phil, protecting and assisting her handler by pawing him, nudging him, licking his hands and face trying to distract him from the event he’s going through. And slowly it begins to work. Eventually, with a trembling hand, he reaches up burying his fingers in her wiry coat - his eyes beginning to focus again. She pushes her face against his and whines.
“It's okay, baby,” he murmurs into her fur as he wraps his left arm round her neck pulling her close. His voice is hoarse and his throat feels raw. He's been screaming.
After a while he becomes aware of his surroundings and he's finally able to sign 'I'm okay’ to Agent. He looks past her to see Clint sitting on the floor nearby. He blinks in confusion before recognising the photographer.
“Hi,” he says feebly.
“Hey,” whispers Clint. His face is still pale after witnessing Phil's flashback but now that he seems to be stabilising, colour starts to come back into his cheeks.
“I'm so sorry,” Phil tells him. He looked tired before but now he looks exhausted. Drained.
Clint shakes his head. “Don’t,” he admonishes gently. “Don't ever apologise for that.”
Phil nods appreciating Clint's words and gives him a weak smile. “Was it bad?”
“Scary as fuck,” he replies honestly after a moment. It’s fairly obvious Phil remembers very little of it but aside from the wild eyes and screams the most frightening part to Clint was towards the end when Phil kept begging to be allowed to die. Clint closed his eyes at the memory of the words he was certain would haunt him for the rest of his life; “Let me die, please! Please! Let me die! Please! Let me die!"
Whatever had happened to him, or perhaps whatever they had done to bring him back must have been horrifying.
“Yeah.” Phil drops his head forward.
“Can I do anything?” Clint asks after a moment.
Phil hesitates. “Some water’d be good.”
Clint gives himself a mental facepalm. He reaches to his side and picks up the bottles that Mr Ramirez brought when Phil was out of it. The Ramirez’ daughter had been in the military before she... well, anyway Mrs Ramirez probably recognised the signs of a flashback and told her husband when she disappeared back inside. He hands one to Phil who smiles gratefully before cracking open the lid and downing most of it in a few long swallows.
“And maybe a shower?” Phil adds when he's finished drinking. He knows his shirt is soaked, his jeans too and everything in between but a shower will go a long way to helping him feel more stable again. He can think about his clothes later. His hair is plastered to his head and he wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm. It feels like a tonne weight. He's so fucking tired.
“Of course.” Clint doesn't move however. He remains seated and waits with Phil until he's ready to get up. Like Agent, he's watching over him ready to be there if he needs anything. They don't really talk again and it's several minutes before Phil's able to move accepting some assistance from Clint.
***
“I'm going to leave the door open in case you need anything. Is that okay?”
Keeping his head bowed, Phil nods.
“I'll be back in a minute with fresh towels and some clothes.”
Phil nods again but still doesn't make eye contact.
When Clint returns, Phil has stripped and is standing naked before him. It takes every bit of control he has not to make a sound when he sees the scars covering Phil's body. There's a massive one that splits in two and runs through his chest hair from maybe halfway down his sternum to a few inches above his navel. Fuck knows what happened there but it must have been awful and painful. “Let me die, please! Please! Let me die!” runs through his head again. There's a network of them running up his thigh, over his hip to the first few of his lower ribs. A few are thick and wide like skin grafts; most look like jagged shrapnel tears. He's also removed his prosthetic leaving his stump bare.
Phil knows Clint is outside the door but makes no effort to cover himself. Every injury he's ever experienced is on display for Clint to see. He finally looks the photographer in the eye his arms spread apart, hiding nothing.
“This is it, Clint. This is what you get. This is me… Phil Coulson… the Dog Soldier.” Phil's voice breaks on the last word.
Clint drops the pile of towels and clothing on the floor and rushes to him wrapping his arms around his shoulders feeling them shake under his touch. Phil tenses but doesn't pull away. Clint holds on until Phil collapses against him his weight dragging them both to the floor as he releases huge gut wrenching sobs that wrack his body.
Clint’s tears are silent but they fall along with Phil's. He's opened himself up, laid himself bare to Clint - figuratively and literally - and it leaves the two men shattered and raw.