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Clint opened the front door. “And you are?” he asked glaring down at the boy standing before him.
He wasn’t very tall to begin with, but his hunched shoulders gave him the appearance of being a foot shorter than what he actually was. He had straightened sandy blonde hair that was combed over to one side; thick glasses; a dark plaid shirt, well-worn jeans, and sneakers. His jacket was mustard yellow and it was painfully obvious how tremendously nervous he was just standing outside the archer’s door.
“Andrew?”
“Were you asking me or are you trying to still figure it out for yourself?” he took a swig of his beer as he continued to stare intimidatingly at the boy.
“Uh…”
“Papa, please,” Marceline sighed, her coat and set of house keys in hand, as she playfully shoved him out of the way.
“Whoa!” Clint grabbed at the back of her shirt and pulled her up short. “Where do you think you’re going, little ma’am?”
“Out,” she stated, her words almost sounding like a ‘duh’.
“Dressed like that?”
“Papa!” she hissed embarrassed and did a side glance toward the boy, hoping he’d spare her from looking silly in front of a peer.
“Who is it honey?” Phil called.
“A boy for Marcy,” he hollered back.
Phil was over in a second. “What?” The bowl he had been drying off was clutched in one hand, the dish towel draped over his shoulder haphazardly.
“Uh,” the boy shifted nervously. “Hello…sirs.”
“Hello,” Phil’s worried face melted into a polite smile and he held out his hand for the boy to shake. “We’re Mr. and Mr. Barton-Coulson. I’m Mr. Coulson, this is Mr. Barton. Are you one of Marceline’s friends from school?”
“Yes sir. My name is Andrew.”
Clint rolled his eyes and snorted. “Now he’s sure.”
Phil ignored his husband’s side comment. “Nice to meet you, would you like to come in?”
“What?” Clint and Marcy barked, one angry the other appalled.
“Come on in, we’re just about to have dinner. Are you hungry?”
“No, we had plans to go out.” Marcy stepped in between her fathers and the young boy.
“Why waste your money? We’re having turkey slop. It’s Marcy’s favourite.”
“They have plans,” Clint snarkily replied quietly into Phil’s ear.
He held his hand up to shush him and focused his attention to the fidgeting boy. “Andrew?” Phil said gently. The poor child looked as though he couldn’t decide on whether it was best to run away or fall down dead. “You don’t have too, but we’re still offering it.”
“Can…can I talk to Marcy alone for a second, please?” he asked biting his lip and adjusted his glasses on his nose.
“No!”
“Of course,” Phil pried Clint away from the door and ushered him toward the kitchen. “We’ll be in here if you need anything.”
Once out of sight, Clint rounded on him. “What are you doing?”
“Are you drinking? It’s not even six yet!” he scolded in a whisper, slapping his shoulder. “We made rules.”
“It’s six someplace! What was that?” he pointed behind them toward the door. Phil grabbed his hand and pulled it back around the corner.
“I was trying to be nice and inviting. Would you rather her go out with him to do things we don’t know about or let them come in here and get to know him and keep an eye on them?” Clint opened his mouth to retort, stopped, and closed it. “There, see. I always have a reason. Also, the boy looks too nice to pull anything, but I’m just being safe.”
Clint snorted in defeat and grumbled unhappily as he made his way into the kitchen, taking a long gulp of his beer.
“Get rid of that thing before dinner. I’m going to get Bas.” He started down the hall and then added in a quieter hiss, “If they come back, behave!”
Clint continued to mutter under his breath as he finished off the beer and placed the empty bottle in the sink to be rinsed. He looked back toward the door and sighed, his hands itching for his bow. He didn’t like her being out there with that stranger alone. No matter what the kid looked like, he was still a threat to Clint.
He decided to set the table to help take his mind off of the whole thing. It wasn’t long before he noticed Marcy and that kid, whose name was maybe Andrew, standing just outside of the dining area. “Yes?” he asked moving around to lay the silverware beside the plates.
“Can he stay for dinner?” she asked fidgeting nervously with her sleeves.
“Can he?”
Marcy huffed irritated and rolled her eyes. “May he stay for dinner?”
He took a moment and sighed giving in. “Yeah, take of your coats and shoes or Daddy will have a fit.”
“Come on,” she grabbed Probably Andrew’s hand excitedly and led him back toward the door.
Phil returned with Bas, set him up in his chair, and headed toward the kitchen to get the last of everything finished. Marcy and Andrew returned, their hands clasped and took their seats. Marcy scooted closer to the boy and laughed over whatever he was saying.
Clint ignored them, his mood taking a sour turn, and leaning down toward Sebastian. He listened to the little guy babble as he waved his small green spoon about. Bas’s face lit up when he saw someone was paying attention to him, and shook his plastic object toward his papa.
“Yeah, little guy?” he asked pinching the end of it to shake it, the smile his lips pulled into was pure joy. Sometimes he hated having a baby around; it always managed to change his mood from bad to good. He knew Phil purposely left Bas there to keep him from making any further comments to the tweens, just like he knew whenever Phil wanted to win an argument he’d just hand Bas over. Babies were Clint’s kryptonite.
“Foo!” he giggled as spittle ran down his chin. Nature had suddenly decided that he needed to grow teeth and the surprise had been a shock to both Clint’s finger and Bas’s mouth when they had discovered it.
“Yes, food is coming.” He wiped up some of it with the child’s bib before kissing his forehead. “Papa’s going to help Daddy.”
“I’ll get it,” Marcy offered, jumping up in her usual helping manner.
Clint held up his hand. “Nah, you have a guest, just make sure Bas doesn’t flood his tray.” He straightened and went through the swinging kitchen door and stopped.
Phil was fussing over the potatoes: all hysterics and huffs and threatening mutters to the inanimate object in his typical panicked way. He stopped, setting his hands down on the counter and looked back at Clint. “They’re runny,” he almost sobbed.
“Throw the boxed flakes on it,” he offered, calmly setting his hands on Phil’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. “This is like when we first started cooking. Remember? You torched the chicken and I made chunky glue out of the mac and cheese?”
“I still don’t know how you managed to do that,” he tittered, closing his eyes, and leaned into Clint for support.
“I’m magical. Now go throw flakes in it, and I’ll start setting things out there.” He kissed his cheek again and patted his side as he turned and picked up the bowls of steaming corn and green beans.
“Oh what would I do without you?” he sighed rubbing his forehead as he went to get the emergency mashed potato flakes to fix the soppy mess in the giant mixing bowl.
“Sit alone in the living room doing cross-words with classical music blasting to fill the empty void.”
“Ah! Now I remember why I started dating you. I ran out of music to listen too,”
“Oh ha, ha,”
“Hurry before they start making out,” Phil turned and shooed him as he busted the seal on the box.
“We could always just stay in here and make out?” he teased into Phil ear. The older agent waved his face away. Clint laughed setting the bowl of green beans up into the crook of his arm as he grabbed the tossed salad and kicked the door opened. “Cut it out!” he shouted as he entered the dining room.
Maybe Andrew jumped. Marcy rolled her eyes, “Cut what out?”
“I was just making sure,” he eyed the two of them cautiously as he set the dishes down.
“Papa…” she sighed covering her face. That was another thing he enjoyed about being a parent, how many times a day he could pull that response out of his little girl. It was his life goal to not only love her with all of his heart, but embarrass her as much as humanly possible.
“Clint!” Phil called from the kitchen.
Clint held up two fingers toward his eyes and then pointed them at the boy, never breaking his glaring eye contact as he backed out of the room.
“Your father is terrifying,” he heard the boy confess in a whisper as the door swung closed.
“I hope you’re pleased,” Phil hissed handing him a few dressing bottles; the salt and pepper shakers; gravy boat; and bowl of mashed potatoes. He added the plastic bag of shredded cheese in between Clint’s teeth and opened the door for him. “Rolls are almost out of the oven,” he promised, to help reassure their guest, as the archer struggled with the load in his arms.
Once he’d set everything down carefully, he tossed the bag of cheese to Marcy, and headed back into the kitchen. Phil pointed to the neatly sliced plate of turkey waiting on the stove as he filled the basket with round soft steaming rolls. Clint picked it up and waited until Phil had finished his task, taken a deep breath, and turned to the door with a patiently kind smile.
“Here we go,” he sighed and entered the dining room. Clint followed. They were greeted by Bas’s squeal of delight at the sight of the plate of meat. Baby knew where his priorities lay and it made Clint proud.
Dinner turned out nicer than what anyone had expected. Sebastian threw his potatoes at the table the first time Clint had tried to help him feed himself and thankfully Phil carried most of the conversation for the evening. It seemed as though Andrew really was an okay kid. He thought Marcy was pretty, funny, and it seemed as though they were only very good friends. Clint’s high blood pressure took a break and some of his muscles relaxed. Afterward, Andrew even helped clear the table. Clint reconsidered his earlier caution toward the boy…until Phil decided to invite him to family movie night.
“Family movie night is for family,” Clint whispered, grabbing Phil’s arm as Marcy and Andrew disappeared into the kitchen with the last of the dirty dishes. Bas chewed on his bib, his slobber dripping onto Clint’s shirt as he shifted the child up higher on his hip.
“Natasha comes over all of the time,”
“Natasha is family,”
“He’s a guest. The night is still young and he’s nice.” Phil gently pulled free.
“He’s a booger eating, frisky, hormonal raging boy!”
“He’s harmless,” he shrugged.
“Not everyone is like us. They feel…” he stopped as the two tweens returned and headed toward the living room. “things,” he finished following him into the kitchen.
“We feel things,”
“I’m talking,” he turned his face toward the innocent looking baby, who blinked at him. Clint pulled his head toward his shoulder and covered his ear to barely hiss, “sexy things!”
“Oh Clint really!?” Phil chided exasperated and pulled out the box of microwave popcorn.
“I’m serious! They could be out there playing tonsil hockey!” he froze. Phil gave him an amused look as he started the microwave and searched through the cabinets for a giant bowl. “Oh my god, they could be playing tonsil hockey!” he breathed and turned, Phil’s laughter following him out of the kitchen. Oh no they wouldn’t! Not on his watch!
He entered the living room. “AH!” he shouted.
Marcy froze, halfway kneeling down in front of the DVD player, with a case in her hand. “Ah?” she raised an eyebrow. Bas tried imitating the noise, bouncing up and down excitedly.
“What are you watching?”
“Lord of the Rings. Andrew’s parents don’t own the extended edition.”
“Oh…” he turned to the boy and looked him over. “You like the Lord of the Rings?”
That seemed to be a trigger. He kind of melted and laughed in a goofy way as he scratched the back of his neck. “I own leather bound copies of the books. It’s my favourite –”
“Great have a seat,” Clint gestured to the couch and went around, pulling out the baby bouncy swing, and set it in view of the TV.
Once he had made sure Bas was securely in, Marcy came over and handed him a pacifier. Phil brought in the popcorn, they handed out pop as an evening treat, and the two teens settled into the couch to watch the movie. Phil and Clint stood a little ways off for a few moments before retreating to the kitchen to finish cleaning up.
He had just put away the rest of the turkey and potatoes when he heard Phil sniffle from the sink. He closed the fridge and found him trying to scrub at a pan, tears in his eyes.
“It just won’t…come clean,” he said when Clint put his arms around his waist. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Clint didn’t say anything, just kissed Phil’s shoulder and held him tighter. “It feels like she was just moving in yesterday,” he whispered.
“It feels like I just moved in yesterday.” They laughed. Clint let go and bumped his hip into Phil’s to move him aside so he could help rinse the other plates and put them in the dishwasher. “Let’s get this done before we miss our favourite scene.”
“Have I told you that I love you?”
“Never.” They laughed.
They completed their task and went to the living room just in time for their scene. Instead of taking up room and invading Marcy and Andrew’s space, Phil managed to pull Clint into one of their giant chairs on the other side of Bas’s swing. The child was unconscious, laying back in the reclined chair comfortably; his binkey half hanging out of his mouth as the machine controlled swing gently rocked him back and forth.
Phil and Clint fit snuggled together sitting on their sides with their legs tangled. Clint had his arm wrapped around Phil’s shoulders, their fingers laced and resting on the arm of the chair, his other was wrapped around his waist, holding him close. Phil smiled, his free hand coming to lie on Clint’s knee as they relaxed back; the archer whispered every word into his ear as he usually did.
When the credits started rolling Marcy and Andrew stood to stretch.
“Don’t tax yourselves,” Marcy held up her hand to her dads when she saw Phil starting to get up. “He lives in the building over. I’ll walk him to the ground floor.”
“Thank you for dinner, it was delicious. And for letting me stay to watch a movie,” Andrew bowed his head and fixed his glasses, still a bit intimidated by Clint’s paternal warning gaze.
“It was nothing sweetheart,” Phil waved his hand and tried getting up out of the seat; Clint’s arms and legs preventing him from the task. “Come over whenever you’d like. I’m sure you’ll want to watch the others and the bonus material too.”
“Take a knife,” Clint called as they moved toward the entrance hall. Marcy rolled her eyes at him and hurried Andrew along.
“I should see him off,” Phil tugged at Clint’s arm.
“Marcy said don’t tax ourselves,” he sighed and leaned back, pulling Phil with him.
“I thought you didn’t like them being alone?”
“He likes the Lord of the Rings,” he shrugged.
Phil smiled at his love and laughed. “We raised her well.”
“So long as he doesn’t get frisky or try sexy things he can speak to her.”
“He lives on base and they go to the same school, we couldn’t if we wanted too.”
“We could move,”
Phil cocked an eyebrow, “you’d move.”
“Yep.”
“You’d move to keep them from speaking?”
“Yep.”
“You hate moving.”
Clint shifted, bringing their arms to wrap around Phil’s front tightly. “I only told you that so we could stay here.”
“Why here?”
“I like the view.”
“We could have been living in Hawaii or Virginia.”
“But it’s not this view.”
He sighed. “What’s so great about this view?”
“If you look out our bedroom window, the building in the middle of everything is the place where we first met.”
Phil paused and thought about that answer. Clint was right…this was… he wiggled a bit so that he could look at him, a giant smile widening across his face. “You’re so romantic.”
“I try.” He shrugged with a laugh and kissed him.