Archive of Our Own

Thus the sum of things is ever being reviewed, and mortals dependent one upon another.

--Lucretius

"Do you love me?" Loki asked him.

"No, sir," he answered. "It's not necessary."

"I could order you to love me," Loki said. "But I won't. As you said, it's not necessary."

It was a good thing Natasha didn't tell him about Coulson until they were at the shawarma place, because when she did, Clint nearly threw up what little he'd managed to eat. He wouldn't have been much good during the fight if he'd known, and he damned sure would have put that arrow through Loki's eye if he'd gotten the chance.

Clint refused Stark's invitation to get some sleep at the Tower. He had to go back to the carrier. He had to face what he had done, had to see for himself that Coulson was dead. He had to find a way to say goodbye.

He knew Nat would come with him, but he was surprised when Rogers, Stark, and Thor joined them in one of Tony's helicopters. Banner looked torn, but he decided to stay behind. Clint got it: between the destruction and the way everyone would stare at him, he didn't know if he'd have been able to go if it weren't for his need to see Coulson.

He wasn't sure what to expect once they'd landed. The damage was horrific (he had done that; it was his fault). Many of the people working on repairs glared at him; some of them averted their eyes and backed away. He couldn't blame them. Hill and Fury were fine, though; Fury thanked him for not taking the killshot when he could have. That was something, anyway, a tiny scrap he could hold onto.

"You'd kill him for me. You'd kill both of them."

It wasn't a question, but Clint still answered, "Of course, sir."

Fury himself led them to a private room in a secluded area of Medical. Coulson, or rather Coulson's body (his fault) was lying on a gurney, covered with a sheet. Clint walked up to it, up to him, and pulled the sheet back to expose Coulson's face.

Phil's face. There was no reason to keep the walls he'd built up over the years, not anymore. Clint could call him Phil now that he was dead.

Natasha was at his side, but everyone else stood somewhere behind them. He reached out with a shaking hand and touched Phil's cheek. They'd closed his eyes, but it didn't look like he was sleeping; it looked like any other dead body. Except it was Phil. His skin was cold, and very pale; the only color was the dried blood at the corner of his mouth. Clint pulled the sheet back enough to see the gaping wound in Phil's chest, then pulled it back up again.

Phil was dead. Fury hadn't lied, not this time. Phil was dead, and it was Clint's fault. "I'm so sorry, Phil," Clint whispered. "I'm so fucking sorry."

He felt Natasha take his hand. He knew what she was going to say: It's not your fault, Clint. He shook his head when she opened her mouth, and she kept quiet.

The rest of the team waited until he and Nat stepped away before they came closer. Thor was saying something about composing an ode when Stark, who'd been increasingly antsy since they'd landed on the carrier, started pacing back and forth, shaking his head. "This is unacceptable," he burst out. "Agent Coulson can't die; it's just wrong. There's got to be something we can do. We've got Thor, and that damned Tesseract--can't we use it?"

"I don't think that's how it works, Stark," Rogers said, his arms crossed in front of him.

"All due respect to my elders, how the hell would you know?" Stark shot back. "Thor, come on--tell us there's some Asgardian mumbo-jumbo that can bring him back."

Thor shook his head. "I do not know of any such…." He broke off, bringing his hand to his chin.

The atmosphere in the room shifted noticeably, and everyone stared at Thor, willing him to finish. "Any such what?" Clint asked when he couldn't stand it any longer. He tried to tamp down the growing hope he felt, but he couldn't.

"I've heard tell of an old, nearly forgotten spell that was used on a fallen shield brother," Thor said slowly. "My cousin Idunn is gifted in healing, and I believe she mentioned it once. If the spell exists, it would require great skill, perhaps greater than Idunn could wield, and I am unsure if it would work on the people of Midgard."

"We have to try it," Stark said, in motion again. "Can we get your cousin here, or do we need to bring Coulson to Asgard? We can do that, right? I mean, we have the Tesseract now."

The room was spinning a little. Nat squeezed Clint's hand again; it helped. "We'll have to get the Director's permission to take the body anywhere," Rogers said, looking at Fury.

"I don't believe that will be necessary," Thor said. "But I will require the Tesseract to travel home and bring Idunn back to Midgard with me."

"If you can bring Coulson back, I'll give you the Tesseract myself, Council be damned," Fury said. Clint stared at him, surprised; he knew Coulson and Fury were old friends, but he hadn't expected the Director to agree so easily.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, sir?" Hill asked, looking alarmed. "They're already out for blood after what happened."

"SHIELD wouldn't be what it is without Phil Coulson. The Avengers wouldn't exist if it wasn't for him," Fury said, turning his glare on her. "Do you really want to argue with me about this, Agent Hill?"

"No, sir," Hill said quickly, standing at attention. "Of course not."

"Where is the Tesseract?" Thor asked. "I should leave as soon as possible; delaying will make the spell more difficult."

"Come with me," Fury said.

Clint watched as Fury led Thor away, Rogers and Stark following. "Are you okay?" Nat asked softly.

"I never told him," he murmured.

"Who else do you love, Agent Barton?"

"If Thor's right, you'll have another chance," Nat said. "You both will."

"It's my fault he's dead, Nat," Clint said. "Even if he comes back, that won't change."

"It was Loki, Clint," Nat said. "Coulson knew that. Why do you think he went up against Loki in the first place? He thought it was the only way to bring you back. He was pretty torn up when he heard what had happened to you."

Clint brought his hand up to his face. "He never should have…fuck, Nat." He knew Phil had cared about him--liked him, even--but that was all it was. If he'd gone up against Loki in some misguided attempt to help Clint, that was just Coulson being Coulson.

"Loki killed him," Nat told him, her hand on his arm. "He'd tell you that himself if he could. Maybe now he'll be able to."

Hill cleared her throat behind them. "Barton, we need to debrief you."

"I'll need you to disable the helicarrier," Loki said. "I'll leave the planning up to you; I know you're more than capable. Complete destruction isn't necessary, but it’s certainly acceptable."

"Right," Clint said, putting his shoulders back. Time to face the music. "Thank you for waiting. For letting me see him."

Hill nodded and gestured for him to precede her out of the room. Nat tried to follow, but Clint waved her off. There were several agents waiting outside to escort him to the secure holding area. He appreciated that they didn't cuff him, not even when he got to the interrogation room.

Clint answered every question they asked. He didn't want to hide anything; he needed to know that SHIELD was doing all it could to protect itself. He spoke plainly about the people he'd recruited, the strategies he'd planned. He kept refilling his water glass, because all this talking was thirsty work, and he hadn't had anything to drink since the shawarma place. It felt a little too good to be sitting down, but he kept himself at attention, kept his eyes open. He stayed focused. He could at least do that.

A couple of shrinks were in the room, and once he'd given Hill the bare bones of a report, they started in on him. He tried to answer their questions as honestly as he had the others, but it was a lot harder to talk about how it all had felt. He had to actually think, had to remember more than what he had done. Had to remember the cool certainty that had suffused him when the world was tinged ice-blue.

"Most of the time I didn't feel anything," he said, struggling to put it into words. They needed to know; it was important. "I just acted. I knew what my job was, and I did it. It was only when he…when Loki would ask me something, and I would do what he said, or tell him what he wanted to know. That felt good. Like I'd done something wonderful. But sometimes…."

"Sometimes?" one of the shrinks prompted. She hadn't been there at the beginning, he didn't think; she must have come in later.

"Sometimes I could feel a tiny sliver of who I really was," Clint said haltingly. "Sometimes I could fight it, just a little. That was the worst, because I always knew it wouldn't last. The part that Loki had, that part didn't want to fight. He, I just wanted it to be easy again. To feel that satisfaction."

Clint took a sip of water, feeling sick. His hand was shaking again.

"Agent Barton, when's the last time you slept?" the shrink asked, her voice gentle.

They should be yelling at him, should be demanding answers, demanding his head. They should lock him up. He'd killed their own people. He wasn't safe; he'd been compromised. Unmade.

"Agent Barton?" she said, a little louder.

"Uh, sorry," he said, blinking. "What was the question?"

"When is the last time you slept? Did you sleep at all while you were under Loki's control?"

"No," Clint answered, shaking his head. "If I wasn't doing something, he had me on surveillance. I guess the last time I slept was before my shift in New Mexico." He hadn't eaten much, either, just a few bites when the mercenaries he'd recruited ate. Loki hadn't wanted his attention diverted.

"I suggest we end this session immediately," the shrink said firmly, looking at Hill. "Agent Barton is clearly suffering from exhaustion and dehydration."

"I'm fine, doc," Clint said. "I'm not gonna be able to sleep until Thor comes back, anyway." He probably shouldn't have said that; they might try to drug him or something. They might not even know about Thor and his cousin and Phil. "I wouldn't mind a shower, though," he added; it felt like days had passed since the quick clean-up he'd done after Nat had taken off his restraints. "And I really need to brush my teeth."

"Agent Hill, it is my professional opinion that Agent Barton needs fluids and rest, and he needs them immediately," the shrink said. She sounded almost like Phil did when he was schooling someone, but she was wrong; he didn't need anything. "This interrogation is over; Barton is going to Medical. Has anyone even checked him for injuries?"

"Like I said, I'm fine," Clint said, annoyed. He had a few bruises from going through that window, and from his fight with Natasha. It wasn't anything he needed looked at. "Does anyone have a breath mint? That's all I need." Wow, waving his hand around like that hadn't been the best idea--now the room was spinning again. He took a deep breath and refocused.

"Here," Hill said, handing him a piece of gum.

"Thanks," he said, sticking it in his mouth. He closed his eyes as the peppermint hit his taste buds. It was a worse mistake than waving his hand around, because now he was going to have to open them again. He knew he was slumping in his chair, but he couldn't sit straight any longer.

"I think Dr. Jablowski is right," Hill said somewhere to his right. "Sitwell, can you get Barton to Medical by yourself?"

"Depends," Sitwell said; when had he gotten there? "Barton, can you open your eyes?"

"Yes, sir," he said, forcing them open. "Sorry, sir."

"Think you can manage to walk?"

"Yes, sir," he said, standing carefully. "Is Thor back yet?"

"Not yet," Sitwell said, his voice almost as gentle as the shrink's had been. "I promise we'll let you know when he is, okay, Clint?"

Somehow they made it to Medical, where one of the nurses gave him a toothbrush and toothpaste and watched him brush his teeth. It was a little weird, but she said she was worried he might fall. She wouldn't let him get in the shower, no matter what he said. She led him to a gurney and watched him take his boots off. "You gonna tuck me in, too?" he asked, rolling his eyes. It made the room spin some more.

"No, just start an IV on you," the nurse said, unimpressed.

"Don't give me anything, okay?" he asked, wondering if he sounded as desperate to her ears as he did to his own. Judging from her expression, he did.

"Just fluids, I promise," she said, showing him the IV bag and patting his arm before putting the tourniquet on.

He would have sworn there was no way he could sleep, not with Phil's possible resurrection up in the air, but he closed his eyes as she slid the cannula into his vein, and the next thing he knew, Natasha was telling him to wake up.

"What?" he said, sitting up so quickly he got dizzy again. It looked like the IV bag was close to empty, so he'd probably been out an hour or so. "Is it Coulson? Is Thor back?"

"He's back, he brought his cousin, and we need you," she said, and that was all it took. He shoved his feet into his boots again while the nurse hung a second bag of IV fluids, this one the familiar yellow liquid they always gave agents who'd been without food for a few days. Clint didn't want to waste any time, so he pushed the pole with him and said nothing when the nurse followed him down the hall.

He could hear the argument before Nat even opened the door. "If there's any risk at all, it should be me," Rogers was saying as they walked in.

"He barely knew you," Stark retorted. He waved his index finger at Rogers, who looked as unimpressed as the nurse had earlier. "Fury may be a bastard, but he's known Coulson for probably twenty years. I'd do it, but Idunn says it needs to be someone Coulson had a bond with; she says that's really important. The only other person who's known him for years is Natasha, and she says she can't."

"Coulson bonded with Captain America when he was a little boy," Rogers said, glancing over at a tall, dark-haired woman dressed in long, flowing robes. She was watching all of them. "That's longer than he's known Fury," Rogers continued.

"He had a crush on Captain America--he barely met Steve Rogers," Stark said pointedly, and Rogers looked away, pinching his nose.

"I will serve as bond for the Son of Coul," Thor proclaimed. "My veins carry the blood of Asgard, whence came both the spell and its wielder."

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Clint said irritably. "If Coulson needs some sort of help, it'll come from me."

"Uh, no offense, Katniss, but you look even worse than Agent Corpse over there," Stark said. "There's no fucking way we're risking you on this."

"Not your choice to make, Stark," Clint snapped. "I got him into this, so I'll get him out. Besides, I've known him almost as long as Fury has. He's…he was my friend, okay?" They didn't know how few friends Clint had, but it didn't matter, as long as they let him help.

"Who else do you love, Agent Barton?"

Fury came into the room, his coat swinging behind him like something out of an action movie. "Barton's right," he said, which surprised the hell out of Clint. "I may have known Coulson longer, but I'm not the one he gave medical power of attorney to. Not to mention his trading cards."

Clint stared at Fury. He'd known about the medical stuff; Phil had signed the same paperwork for him. But Phil had never mentioned leaving him anything in his will. Maybe it was because Clint had found one of the cards at a garage sale when he was undercover. "Thank you, sir," he said hoarsely. "I'll get him back."

"Not so fast, Barton," Fury said. "Do you even know what you're signing up for?"

"If it's a way to help Coulson, that's all I need to know." He turned to the woman standing next to Phil. When she looked at him, it felt like she was looking into his soul or something ridiculous like that. He didn't say anything, just stood there and met her gaze as calmly as he could.

"You would be serving as life-bond for Phillip Coulson," she said, like that was supposed to mean something to him. "I have healed the Son of Coul's injuries, but his soul rests in Valhalla. If we are to bring him back, he will need a guide, someone with whom he felt a close bond."

Clint nodded. "Just tell me what to do."

"There is risk involved," Idunn warned him. "You may not survive, especially in such a weakened condition. You may remain in Valhalla."

"I understand," Clint said, nodding again. "I'll do it."

Idunn studied him again. "This is the one," she pronounced after a moment. "This Hawk, he will be the bond for Phillip Coulson."

"Great. Let's get started," Clint said. "Where do you want me?"

"Hold on a minute, Barton," Fury said. "I'll allow this on one condition. Ms. Arnardottir, I need your word that, should Agent Barton be in danger of losing his life, you will halt the procedure. Don't argue with me, Clint," he said, holding up his hand.

Fury had never called him by his first name before; Clint knew it was calculated to make him understand how serious he was. It didn't make any difference.

"Phil would never forgive me if you died bringing him back," Fury continued, putting his hand on Clint's arm. "You know that as well as I do."

Clint was afraid if he protested, they'd let someone else do the job, so he nodded tightly. If Phil was alive to be pissed off at Fury, that was a totally acceptable outcome as far as Clint was concerned.

"I will do my best to safeguard the Hawk's life," Idunn said, inclining her head. "The rest of you may go now." Her phrasing made it a suggestion, but her tone made it clear it was more of an order.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I need to stay to monitor Agent Barton," the nurse said. Clint had forgotten she was there; his situational awareness was shit at the moment.

Idunn turned her gaze on the nurse. "You are a healer, my child?"

"A nurse, ma'am," the woman answered, respectful but unintimidated.

"Very well," Idunn said. "You may stay. However, the rest of you must leave."

There were some grumblings, especially from Stark, but by the time Clint had climbed onto the gurney next to Phil's, the room was empty except for him, Idunn, and the nurse. And Phil's body, pale and cold, the sheet drawn up to his chin. Phil wasn't moving, wasn't breathing, but he didn't look the same as he had earlier. He looked like he was waiting for something.

"What do I need to do?" Clint asked, looking up at Idunn's face, which managed to be both severe and compassionate. Her eyes were dark, unlike Thor's, but her features were as perfect as his were.

"I will send your spirit to Valhalla. If you are indeed as closely bonded as I believe you are, you should find him there easily. You must persuade him to come back with you. Once you have done that, you need only embrace him and hold tightly. I will do the rest, if I am able."

"What Fury said earlier," Clint told her, "you can forget that. Whatever it takes to bring Phil back, that's what you do, no matter what."

Idunn inclined her head again. She gestured for the nurse to lower the side rails between the two gurneys and push them together. The nurse did it, locked the brakes, and patted Clint on the shoulder.

"If I am successful, the bond between you will anchor Phillip Coulson to this world," Idunn said. "You will need to remain in close proximity for at least a sevenday, perhaps longer, or he will return to Valhalla."

"That won't be a problem," Clint promised, although he wasn't sure how that would work. Hill and the shrinks weren't anywhere close to being done debriefing him. He'd find a way to do it, though, even if he had to break out of containment.

"Are you ready, then, young Hawk?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Take his hand," she instructed. Clint reached out to the other gurney. Phil's hand was cold, but it wasn't stiff. Clint cradled it in his with as much reverence as Phil had for his trading cards. Please, he thought, and held on.

Idunn's palm was warm on his forehead. "I wish you good luck," she said. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was somewhere else.

***
There was an enormous tree in front of him. Its branches should have blocked the sun, but a radiant light shone over everything. There were people sitting at tables behind him and on both sides, but none of them noticed him; they were too busy drinking and laughing. He felt like there was some kind of invisible tether trailing behind him.

Phil was sitting at the base of the tree, leaning against the trunk, a book open on his lap. He was in his shirtsleeves, barefoot, sitting on his folded up suit jacket, the tie Clint had bought him for Christmas loose around his neck. He looked up, and when he saw Clint, he stood, dropping the book carelessly on the ground. Then Phil Coulson, who never, ever, moved at anything faster than a brisk walk, sprinted towards him.

Before he knew it, Clint was running full out. He thought vaguely that he and Phil would meet up like in some romantic movie, but they both slowed to a walk when they got close. "Clint?" Phil said, reaching one hand out towards his face, stopping just short of touching him.

"Yeah," Clint said hoarsely. "Yeah, Coulson. It's me."

Phil laughed in disbelief. "We're dead, Clint; I think you can call me Phil."

"Phil," Clint said helplessly. "Jesus, Phil, it is so good to see you." He didn't know which one of them moved first, but it didn't matter, because they ended up in each other's arms, and Clint never wanted to let go. This was where he belonged, with Phil, in Valhalla or anywhere else in the universe.

It took a minute for him to even remember what he was supposed to do. "I'm not dead, Phil," he murmured into Phil's ear. "I'm here to bring you back."

Phil jerked away from him. "You're not…is it Loki? Is he doing this? Are you even real?"

"I'm real, I promise," Clint said, reaching for his arm. "It's me, Phil, I swear. Loki's out of my head; we've got him locked up. We got Thor's cousin to help us, and we can bring you back. I can bring you back. You can come home, if you want to." Please, he thought. Please, I need you.

"Just like that?" Phil asked skeptically, although the tension in his bearing lessened a little. "No catch?"

"No catch," Clint said, willing Phil to believe him. "Idunn's got your body all healed up; it's just waiting for you. For your soul, I guess."

"So what's the deal?" Phil asked, frowning. "I agree to go back, and you end up stuck here? I won't do it. I won't let you sacrifice yourself, Clint, not for me."

"If you refuse to go I'm just gonna stay here," Clint said. "I won't leave you, Phil. This isn't some sort of exchange, I promise. Either we both stay in Valhalla, or we both go back."

"I won't leave you either," Phil said, looking at him for a long moment. "Clint…."

"What is it?" Clint asked. He could feel the thread trailing behind him, but he was more connected to Phil than he was to anything he'd left behind.

Phil shook his head, looking down. "Nothing," he muttered. "You're sure this is going to work?"

"No," Clint admitted. "The only thing I'm sure of is that I love you." Saying it was easier than he'd ever thought it could be.

Phil smiled and touched his face. "I love you, too," he said. Clint didn't need the words; somehow he already knew.

They stood there for a moment. It felt like the link to his body was stretching thin; it could break at any time. "Either we both stay here, or we both go back," Clint said. "But you need to decide soon; I don't think Idunn can keep the spell going much longer."

"All right," Phil said, nodding. "What do we do?"

"Come here," Clint said. "She said I've got to keep hold of you."

"That's really not a problem," Phil said, moving easily into his arms again. "Now what?"

"I guess you make like Dorothy," Clint said. He could feel the warmth of Phil's body where it was pressed up against his. He breathed in Phil's scent and brushed his lips against Phil's ear. "Just want to come back with me."

"There's no place like home," Phil murmured, his arms solid around Clint's back, and kissed him. A golden light surrounded them, and the tether tightened. Clint hung on to Phil with every bit of strength he could find, and the thread went taut as a bowstring and snapped back.

***

Clint opened his eyes, which was even harder than it had been in the interrogation room. "Have you started?" he asked, because it felt like something should have happened by now.

Idunn smiled at him. "You have done well, young Hawk."

"What?" Clint said, confused. He was so tired, even more tired than he had been before, but it didn't feel the same. Something was different. He was warmer. His hand was warmer.

He sat up and looked, and Phil was there, his chest rising and falling evenly, his eyes closed, looking more peaceful than Clint had ever seen him. His cheeks were pink, and his hand, Jesus, his hand was warm.

"Phil," Clint said, squeezing his hand. "Coulson, can you hear me?"

Phil's forehead wrinkled, and he mumbled something that could have been "Clint." His hand tightened around Clint's, but then his face relaxed back into sleep.

"You must rest now," Idunn said, pushing Clint back against the pillow. "Both of you must sleep. You will not be separated; I will see to it."

"He's okay?" Clint asked, fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open.

"Phillip Coulson will be well," Idunn answered. "Sleep." She rested her hand on Clint's forehead again, and he slept.

***

There were fragmented dreams, and moments where he almost swam back up into consciousness. There were moments where he was reaching for Phil. Phil was always there, whenever he reached out, even in his dreams.

It took him longer than usual to wake up. It was a slow, languid distance to the surface, to the point where he could hear (someone turning the page of a book), could feel (the pillow under his head, a warm body next to him, clothed in something soft, and a hand resting on his shoulder). He stretched out his arm and felt cotton jersey over muscle. The hand moved from Clint's shoulder to cover Clint's. He opened his eyes.

"Morning, Sunshine," Phil said, the warmth of his expression contrasting with his sardonic tone. "Although technically it's evening."

"Morning, Coulson," Clint said, unable to stop the smile from breaking out all over his face. "It's good to see you, sir."

"Apparently you came to Valhalla to bring me back, Clint," Phil said, with unmistakable fondness. "I think you can call me Phil."

"Phil," Clint acknowledged, sitting up. His back cracked audibly; it felt like every muscle in his body had stiffened up while he slept. He had electrodes stuck to his chest, the IV was still in his forearm, and his mouth was dry and gummy. And there was something stuck to his dick, what the fuck. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Forty-six and a half hours," Phil said, handing him a cup of water with his free hand. "Or so they tell me; I was unconscious for the first twelve."

Clint stared at him. "Seriously?" He took a sip of water, then drank down the entire cup in a few gulps.

Phil nodded. His thumb was moving over Clint's knuckles; Clint wondered if he knew he was doing it. "Idunn said it was what you needed, that we shouldn't worry if you didn't wake up for a couple of days. Still, I have to admit it's a relief to see you with your eyes open."

"And you," Clint said, "you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Phil said. "I don't even have much of a scar."

Phil's hand still covered Clint's where it rested on Phil's chest. The only thing Clint could feel under his fingers was the beat of Phil's heart.

"Do you want to see?" Phil asked, his voice quiet and almost shy.

Clint nodded jerkily. "Can I?" It should have been weird, the odd intimacy of the situation. The two of them were in a bed together, and Phil was lifting his shirt and exposing the line where Idunn had knitted his flesh back together, barely visible under the wiry hair on his chest. They'd stitched each other's wounds before, had huddled together for warmth, but this kind of exposure was different. It should have been weird. But it wasn't.

Phil didn't seem to mind when Clint traced over his skin with his fingers. His cheeks were slightly flushed, but he had that almost-smile on his face that he got when he didn't want people to know he was really happy. Clint couldn't help smiling in return; he was so glad Phil was alive. Phil waited until Clint was finished, pulled his shirt back down, and put his hand over Clint's again. If this was part of the "close proximity" thing Idunn had mentioned, Clint was all in favor. Too bad it was all only going to last for a week.

"I should tell you something," Phil said, and now there was something strange in the air, some sort of tension. It took him a minute to realize where it was coming from. Phil was worried about how he was going to react, and somehow Clint was picking up on it, even though Phil's Agent Coulson mask was firmly in place.

"Whatever it is, it's fine," Clint assured him. "You're okay; that's all that matters."

"I hope you still feel that way after spending every moment with me for the next week," Phil said dryly.

Clint relaxed. "Is that what's got you freaked out? Idunn told me about that," he said. "Something about being in your proximity for a sevenday. I don't know how we'll work it with Hill and my debrief, but I don't mind, Phil. I like hanging out with you."

"It's a little bit more than just hanging out, I'm afraid," Phil said, still worried. Clint knew he was worried. There was an undercurrent of something else, though, like part of him was pleased. Clint wasn't sure how he knew that, either, but he did.

As far as Clint was concerned, any time he got to spend with Phil was great. This whole thing where he got to call him Phil and touch him was an unexpected bonus, and let it never be said that Clint Barton looked a gift horse in the mouth. "So, what, we're attached at the hip or something?"

"I think it's best if I demonstrate," Phil said seriously. "I promise, Clint, I won't go far, and I'll be right back."

Phil was really worried, and Clint wanted more than anything to let him know that it was okay. He was about to squeeze Phil's hand, but he couldn't, because Phil got out of bed and walked away. He knocked on the door, it opened, and he stepped out into the hallway. Clint could see the tension in his shoulders. Then the agent outside shut the door.

The first thing that happened was that Clint saw weird flashes in the periphery of his vision. "What the hell?" he muttered, shaking his head, but they didn't go away. He could feel the beginnings of a headache at the back of his head. It felt like there was a thread connecting him to Phil, and it was stretching out as Phil walked away. His headache increased in severity by the second. The further Phil traveled, the further the thread stretched, and that was bad. The thread was stretched too far already, and it was getting worse.

Clint's head was pounding, and he could barely keep himself from retching up the water he'd just drunk. He had to get to Phil or something terrible was going to happen. He struggled to his feet, tripping over the catheter tubing, pulling at his IV, tearing the leads off his chest, ignoring everything but the need to get to Phil now.

"Clint, I'm here, it's okay," Phil called as he came back into the room. "Don't, it's okay, stay there," and then Phil was holding him up, and Clint couldn't help it, he threw his arms around Phil and clung to him, breathing harshly.

"I'm sorry; I didn't know it would be that bad," Phil said, rubbing Clint's back. "Come on, let's get you back into bed."

"Can we just stay here for a second?" Clint asked plaintively, although he felt fine now. He felt good. Bordering on great.

"Sure," Phil murmured, pulling him closer.

He could have stood on his own without a problem, but having Phil's hands on his back and shoulders, skin on skin thanks to the open-backed hospital gown they'd put on him, was the best thing he'd ever felt in his life. It wasn't about how attracted he felt, although that hadn't changed; there was more to it. A lot more. He could still feel the thread linking them, but now it felt as natural as a beating heart. He could tell Phil felt it, too; he could sense Phil's contentment, his happiness. It should have freaked him out, but it just felt right.

Phil took a step back after another few seconds, although he kept his hands on Clint. "Sit down before you fall over," he said. "You need to eat."

Food was definitely a good idea, Clint thought, settling himself back on the bed. Along with a shower, a shave, and actual clothing.

"You're remarkably calm about this," Phil said. He sat down next to Clint, his hand still on the small of Clint's back.

"Not what I expected when Idunn said I'd be your life-bond," Clint admitted, "but it's fine. Like I said, I like hanging out with you." What he meant was closer to it's wonderful; it's amazing; I love you.

He looked around and realized they weren't in Medical; they weren't even on the helicarrier. They were in a windowless room that was furnished only with a queen-sized bed, a table and chairs (all bolted to the floor), and a bathroom. The bathroom contained a sink, a toilet, and a shower, but there was no door. Cameras covered every angle of the room, and the door to the hallway was reinforced steel. He frowned, because it made sense that SHIELD had him locked up, but it wasn't fair to Phil. Clint was the one who'd been compromised.

Then something else occurred to him. "Have you been here the whole time? The whole forty-six or whatever hours?" Clint asked.

"Yes," Phil said, flushing; he was nervous again. "It's okay; I didn't mind. I was a little worried you'd object to sleeping together, though. I mean, sharing a bed."

"It'll be like that mission in Helsinki, remember that?" Clint said. Sharing a bed with Phil was the last thing he would ever object to. "Seems like this bed is a lot more comfortable than that cell was, not to mention a hell of a lot warmer."

Phil chuckled, and Clint could feel him relax. "Stark had it brought in when he saw the way the medical staff had us jammed into a single hospital bed. I've been told he took pictures, but Natasha promised me she found them and deleted them. We're still under surveillance, of course. I'm afraid we're going to be the subject of SHIELD gossip for years."

"Not for years," Clint said, bumping shoulders with Phil. "Maybe a few weeks, though. Then they'll get bored and move back to speculating about whether or not Rogers is still a virgin."

Phil smiled, but he didn't say anything. He didn't seem upset, just thoughtful. Clint could feel the connection between them, solid and real, and wondered how he would feel when it went away.

He wouldn't be able to reestablish the distance between them, replace the walls he'd built over the years. He didn't want to; at some point he intended to tell Phil how he felt, no matter what it might cost him. But it wasn't right to tell him now, when there was no way they could get away from each other. He'd wait until their week of attachment was over, so Phil could leave if he wanted to.

In any case, he couldn't confess his feelings while under twenty-four hour surveillance. It was going to be hard enough without anyone watching.

"Clint," Phil said, his voice quiet and serious.

"What is it?" Clint asked. He could feel Phil's hand moving up and down, just an inch or two, along his spine. He leaned into it and moved his own hand to rest at Phil's back.

"Thank you," Phil said, looking into his eyes. "Thank you for coming for me, for bringing me back."

"I'll always come for you," Clint said, just as seriously as Phil had thanked him. If they hadn't been under surveillance, Clint might have told him right then, despite his resolve not to. Whatever this life-bond thing was, it was playing hell with his judgment.

There was a knock, and someone came in with a couple of trays of food. If they sat at the table, they wouldn't be in reach of each other, thanks to the way the chairs were bolted to the floor. Without the need for discussion, they simply took the trays and ate in bed, pressed together along their sides.

Clint ate his scrambled eggs and wheat toast slowly, mindful of his shrunken stomach, but he couldn't resist stealing a bite of Phil's pie. Phil smiled indulgently and didn't say a word.

After they ate, the same nurse who had put it in took the IV out, admonishing him to keep pressure on the gauze for a full two minutes. Clint rolled his eyes, but with both her and Phil watching him, he did as he was instructed.

Then he took everything else off, including the catheter taped to his dick, grateful they hadn't put in the internal kind. When he got in the shower, he thought he could feel Phil looking at him, at his body. It was harder to tell when they were separated, though. He showered quickly; even being a few feet apart felt wrong.

It wasn't until after he'd gotten dressed in the clothes they'd left for him and was starting to feel tired again that the team showed up. He was really glad to see Nat, who gave both him and Phil hugs, which was nearly unprecedented but certainly welcome. The hugs from Thor were less of a surprise, even when they were lifted off their feet. Bruce and Steve (who both insisted he call them by their first names) settled for handshakes, although Steve held on a little longer than expected, while saying "Thank you" with an almost overwhelming amount of sincerity.

Stark (Clint couldn't quite bring himself to call him "Tony;" he'd heard too much about the guy from Phil and Nat) flitted around the room, touching everything, studying the walls and the door and the furniture, frowning like the way it was bolted to the ground personally offended him. When he got to Phil, he pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to him. "Just a little something I've put together for the team," he said. "I have one for Barton, too, but the assholes you work for won't let me give it to him yet."

Phil showed it to Clint: a small, thin rectangle of clear plastic. When Phil touched it, it lit up, revealing icons with the faces of each member of the team and one labeled "JARVIS." The largest icon, in the middle of the screen, was a red button.

"That one calls everyone," Stark said.

"Good thinking," Phil said. "We planned on setting something up eventually, but time ran away from us."

Stark ignored the compliment. "Speaking of time, how long are they going to keep you and Katniss locked up?" he asked.

"Phil's not locked up," Clint corrected him. "And it's standard procedure to keep a compromised agent secure until they've been debriefed and cleared."

"You're not compromised any more. And Phil may not be locked up, but it's not like he can leave," Stark said. "Last time he tried, he made it about ten feet into the hallway before he had to turn around and come back. He was white as a sheet."

"You looked all right when you came back earlier," Clint said worriedly, watching Phil's face. He'd been so desperate to get Phil back in arm's reach that he hadn't even wondered how the separation had affected him.

Phil shrugged, putting his hand on Clint's arm and squeezing. "There are a few side effects, but it's nothing I can't handle. I don't have anywhere to go for the next few days anyway."

"So you get the headache and nausea, too, huh?" Clint asked.

Phil shook his head. "No. Is that what happened to you earlier?" He reached up and touched his fingers to Clint's temple. "It's gone now, though," he added, and he didn't make it a question.

"It was gone as soon as you got back," Clint acknowledged, more for the rest of the team than Phil. "What happens for you?"

Maybe it was the wrong thing to ask; Clint sensed that Phil didn't particularly feel like discussing the effects of their life-bond in front of other people. Not to mention the surveillance. Clint was about to say, "Never mind," when Phil shook his head again.

"I get light-headed," he said. "And cold. The farther away I get, the colder I feel."

Clint instinctively pulled him closer. The bond between you will anchor Phillip Coulson to this world, he thought, rubbing Phil's arm briskly. Phil gave him an amused smile.

"I'm not cold now, Clint," he said, but he stayed where he was.

"You must stay with Hawkeye or risk being pulled back to Valhalla," Thor said to Phil. "Idunn said it was fortunate the bond between the two of you was so strong, or her spell would not have sufficed to tie you to this realm."

Clint guessed what Stark was about to ask and frowned. Fortunately, Nat guessed as well. She elbowed Stark before he could open his mouth, then glanced pointedly up at the nearest camera. He looked up and frowned, but he kept his mouth shut.

"It's not a problem," Phil said. "We've stayed in much worse accommodations before."

Clint fought off a yawn. He shouldn't be so tired, not after sleeping nearly two whole days, but maybe bringing Phil back had taken more out of him than he'd realized. Phil gave him a sharp look and said, "As nice as it is to see all of you, coming back from the dead is unexpectedly tiring, and Clint and I have a full day of debriefs tomorrow."

"Of course, sir," Steve said, gesturing at the rest of the team. "We'll see you later."

"Don't let anyone near that phone, Coulson," Stark said. "That's proprietary tech. It can get a signal through every material I could think of, no matter how thick, and it only needs charging once a month. I'm not sharing it with SHIELD. Besides, it's keyed to your DNA; it won't work for anyone else."

Phil nodded. "Thanks. I'll keep it close."

They said their goodbyes, and after they'd changed, Phil shooed Clint into the bathroom, where they shared a sink and brushed their teeth. It was another thing that should have felt awkward but didn't.

"How's your side?" Phil asked quietly when they'd finished.

"My side?" Clint asked blankly. He felt half asleep again.

"You were pretty badly bruised," Phil said, his hand inching towards Clint. "They told me they did x-rays and nothing was broken, but it looked painful."

"Oh," Clint said, blinking. Is that what Phil had been looking at when he'd gotten out of the shower? "It's not bad; I barely notice it." He took his t-shirt off. "See, it's fine."

"May I?" Phil asked, a hitch in his voice that Clint doubted anyone besides him or Nat would be able to pick up.

"Sure," Clint said easily, like it was no big deal. He controlled his breathing carefully, mindful of the cameras, as Phil placed his hand lightly on the area where the bruising was darkest. It felt incredible, as intimate as if it were Phil's mouth instead of his hand. He could see Phil's eyes dilate, a faint flush appearing on his cheeks. When Phil moved his hand to Clint's shoulder, his fingers gently tracing the bruises on Clint's upper arm, he could feel Phil's arousal through the link.

Clint saw Phil dart his glance up towards the camera and drop his arm. "You're sure it doesn't hurt?" he asked, frowning.

"It's fine, Coulson," Clint answered, pulling his shirt back over his head and telling his dick to settle down. "I slept through the worst of it, and now I'm gonna sleep some more. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to stay awake for the whole day." He deliberately walked away, his body language as casual as he could make it.

Phil followed him, staying a few feet away. "I'm going to read for a while," he said.

Clint could feel a tug between them, and colors seemed a bit muted, but his head didn't ache, and his stomach was fine. He was still relieved when Phil got into bed next to him, sitting with his back against the wall and picking up his book. "What are you reading?" he asked sleepily, putting his hand on Phil's thigh under the covers, where the cameras couldn't see. Everything immediately felt right again.

"Mockingjay," Phil said sheepishly. When Clint opened his eyes and laughed, he said, "It's my niece's favorite; she gave me the series for my birthday. She wants to go see the movie with me the next time I'm down there. And it's not like they'll let me do any work. I finished a couple of other books while you were sleeping."

"Better not let Stark know, or he'll start calling you Peeta," Clint said, smirking.

"Peeta, huh?" Phil said, smirking back at him. "You're familiar with the series?"

"Just the first one. Someone left it in the safe house in Singapore," Clint explained. "It wasn't like I had anything else to do."

Phil's gaze softened. Woo had been his handler in Singapore; Phil had been busy dealing with Stark. After a week of extreme boredom relieved only by the frequent bickering between Woo, Clint, and the two junior agents who'd come along for the ride, the mission had turned into an enormous clusterfuck. They'd barely made it out of there alive.

"You can borrow the others if you want," Phil murmured, his hand finding Clint's under the covers.

***

When he woke up the next morning, he was lying on his stomach, his face turned toward Phil, who was on his side. Clint kept his eyes closed. His t-shirt had ridden up during the night; Phil's hand was resting on his bare skin. He turned his body to face Phil, moving carefully to avoid dislodging his hand or waking him up. He kept his breaths slow and even, hoping to convince whoever was watching that he was still asleep, and placed his fingers lightly on Phil's forearm.

He could feel Phil's breath puffing against his chin. Phil had morning breath, but it wasn't too bad. He could also smell Phil's shampoo, traces of the soap he used, and a heady, barely there undertone of sweat. He could hear Phil's quiet snores, and he could feel Phil's hand, warm and callused, just above his hip.

Clint kept his eyes closed and concentrated on what else he could sense.

Phil was dreaming; that was easy. Clint couldn't tell what Phil was dreaming, but whatever it was, it must have been something good, because Phil was really happy. More than that, he was content.

Or maybe that was just projection, Clint thought, hiding a smile in his pillow. He slit his eyes open just enough to see part of Phil's face.

He'd seen Phil sleeping before, on ops, when they'd alternated watches. On missions, even when they were in a safe house, there was always a coiled readiness to Phil, asleep or awake. Clint expected to see it again--they were under surveillance--but instead Phil's face was completely relaxed; he was even drooling a little on the pillow. It was probably a bad sign that Clint was no more bothered by that than he was by the morning breath, but it wasn't exactly surprising. Clint may have kept the truth from everyone but Nat (and Loki), but he'd never lied to himself. He'd known he was in love with Phil Coulson for nearly ten years.

The idea that Phil might return his feelings, that maybe they had something between them to build on, that was new. By rights he should forget it, because it had to be the bond; that was the only logical explanation. If Phil had been attracted to him before, Clint would have seen it. But every time he tried to apply logic to the situation, the connection between them would reassert itself, and he'd be half convinced they were destined to be together forever, like in one of the romance novels Hill tried to hide in her office. It was going to be rough once this all went away.

He put all of that aside when he realized Phil was on the edge of waking up. Clint made a show of stretching and opening his eyes, and when Phil blinked at him sleepily, he said, "Good morning, Sunshine," and grinned at him.

"Morning," Phil said. He blinked again and was instantly alert and focused, although to the casual observer he'd still appear half asleep. His hand flexed reassuringly on Clint's back.

I want to wake up with you every morning, Clint thought, safe in the knowledge that the bond only seemed to transmit general feelings.

Phil put his bland Agent Coulson expression on his face, but his eyes were crinkled up at the corners, and he moved his fingers along Clint's back in what could only be called a caress. Then he got out of bed and walked into the bathroom.

***

The day kind of went to shit after that.

After they got cleaned up and dressed, the guards brought them breakfast. They were still finishing up their coffee when Hill arrived to escort Clint to his debriefing. Once they got into the interrogation room they took Phil out, despite Phil's sternly worded protest. They didn't take him far--Clint suspected he was in the room next door; that's what it felt like--but just because he was close enough that Clint didn't puke didn't mean he was happy about it.

Then this dark-haired, semi-Asian looking dude in a suit appeared, a minion following behind him with a briefcase. He introduced himself as Mr. Mueller, and from the way Hill was looking at him, Clint figured he must be from the WSC. "I'll be observing your debriefing, Mr. Barton," he said coolly.

"It's Agent Barton, sir," Hill told Mueller. Clint guessed Phil's resurrection had gone a long way towards bringing Clint back into Hill's good graces.

"Agent," Mueller acknowledged. The guy was trying to work an expressionless face and a well-tailored suit. Maybe it would have worked on someone outside of SHIELD, but it wasn't going to impress anyone who knew Phil.

"Who is this guy?" Clint asked Hill, sitting back in his chair. "Why is he here?"

"That's none of your concern, Agent Barton," Mueller answered.

"The Director okayed it," Hill answered Clint, her tone indicating that Fury hadn't been given a choice. "Are you ready to begin?"

He nodded. "What happened when Thor's cousin sent you to Valhalla?" she asked.

"Hell if I know," Clint said bluntly, a little surprised that that's where they were starting. "She wished me luck, and I closed my eyes. It didn't seem like she was doing anything, so I opened them back up and asked her what was going on. She told me I did well, and when I looked over, I could see Coulson was breathing again. I don't remember anything beyond that." He directed his responses at Hill, ignoring Mueller.

"Did it feel similar to when you were working for the enemy?" Mueller interjected. Hill looked disgusted for a brief instant, but then her expression turned impassive again.

Clint bit back what he wanted to say and settled for a simple, "No. It didn't feel like anything. I closed my eyes and then I opened them, that's it."

"But you do remember what happened when you were with Loki," Mueller said.

"This Natasha Romanoff, the famous Black Widow," Loki said. "You love her. Does she feel the same? Are you lovers?"

"No, sir," he answered. "She's my best friend. I'd do anything for her."

"Who else do you love, Agent Barton?"

"Yes," Clint said, telling himself to stay calm. The guy might be from the WSC, and who knew what the fuck he was after, but this was a SHIELD debrief. SHIELD needed to know what had happened, and how to protect themselves, in case it happened again. He'd known he was going to have to talk about it.

"We've reviewed the statement you gave us after the battle, Agent Barton," Hill said smoothly. "I'd like you to take us through it in detail now, starting with what happened in New Mexico, when Loki first approached you."

"Yes, ma'am," Clint replied, because if she was going to emphasize his title in front of this WSC jackass, he'd do his best to stay polite. He started talking, once again reciting the facts, making sure he told them everything important that he could remember.

The headache had started as soon as they'd shut the door, but it wasn't bad at first, just a mild pressure at the back of his skull. It got worse gradually, slowly enough that he could ignore it for a while, and the nausea was unpleasant but tolerable. He could still feel the thread linking him to Phil, and he knew Phil wasn't far away; that helped for the first hour or so.

The second hour was worse. He tried not to let on how much pain he was feeling, but Hill had been trained by the best: by Phil. She could tell he was hurting, but apparently didn't feel she could do anything about it. When he sipped some water to try to clear his head before he talked about the next part, the pain spiked, and for the first time that day it was about more than the headache--he needed to get to Phil now. Phil needed him.

"Where is he?" he asked through gritted teeth. "Please, ma'am, I need to--"

The door to the room opened. There was some sort of commotion going on outside, but Clint didn't give a fuck. He got up from the table, but Mueller's minion was in front of him, telling him to sit back down.

"Move the fuck out of my way, or I'll move you myself," he ground out.

The asshole did not, in fact, move. Clint was about to take him out when Hill did it for him, grabbing the guy by the shoulder. Clint nodded his thanks and shot out the door.

"In here," Fury said from the doorway, an urgency in his voice Clint had never heard before. Clint ran into the room. The nausea and headache were getting worse, not better. Phil was slumped in his chair, white as a sheet, unresponsive.

Clint sank to his knees next to the chair and put his arms around Phil. He was breathing, but it was shallow. "I'm here, Phil," he said, his voice cracking. "Come back to me. Please, come back; I'm here."

Phil's skin was as cold as it was pale. Clint pulled him off the chair and onto his lap, cradling him awkwardly in his arms. The link was always stronger if they were touching skin, so he worked his way under Phil's jacket, pulled the tail of his shirt out of his pants, and got his hands on Phil's back. He knew immediately he'd done the right thing. Phil was still unconscious, a dead weight, but his skin was getting warmer, and Clint could feel his presence (his fear) through the link.

"I've got you, Phil," he murmured, his lips brushing Phil's ear. "Come on back; I've got you."

Phil jerked awake in his arms and immediately clutched at Clint, pulling his t-shirt up to stick his hands underneath. He buried his face in Clint's neck, breathing in shuddering gasps. Clint brought one hand up to cup the back of Phil's head. There was another commotion going on behind him, but all he cared about was Phil.

"Let us pass," a familiar voice said. "My cousin must see to them."

Idunn crouched down next to Clint and Phil, Thor standing guard behind her. He completely blocked everyone's view, even the camera's. Clint thought, fuck it, and pressed his lips against Phil's temple. Phil kissed his neck in turn, his breaths slowing down to something approaching normal. Like kissing him was normal. Through the link, Clint could feel Phil's relief, his…affection was the safest way to think of it. Clint hoped Phil wouldn't regret any of this when the link was gone.

"This was ill-done," Idunn said darkly, placing one hand on each of their shoulders. "Have I not told you to stay with each other?"

"Wasn't exactly our choice," Clint muttered, feeling the growing warmth of Phil's lips, still pressed against his neck. "Not gonna let it happen again."

"This is not the way friends and allies act," Thor said. It sounded like he'd turned to face the others. "Hawkeye and the Son of Coul are not to be separated; to do so is to risk the wrath of Asgard."

"This incident will postpone your recovery," Idunn told the two of them. "You must now remain in close proximity for an additional time, perhaps as long as another week. If your bond were not so strong, Phillip Coulson would have returned to Valhalla this day."

Clint shuddered, and Phil reached a hand up to his face. It was all Clint could do not to kiss him again.

"I will continue interviewing Barton alone," Mueller proclaimed from somewhere behind Thor. "And I won't wait two weeks to do it. SHIELD's own protocol demands immediate debriefing."

"You're not going to harm two of my best agents just to satisfy some stupid-ass protocol," Fury said. Clint imagined the glare he must be aiming at Mueller and smiled a little. "From now on, Agents Barton and Coulson will not be separated for any reason until Ms. Arnardottir says it's okay."

"You'll hear from my superiors about this," Mueller said coldly.

"It's not gonna change my orders," Fury responded. "Get out of here, Mueller; your presence is no longer necessary. We'll handle any further debriefing ourselves."

"There will be no more 'debriefing' today," Idunn announced regally. "Phillip Coulson and Clinton Barton will require much rest and sustenance to recover from this cruelty."

"I could stand to eat," Phil said, lifting his head and brushing his lips against Clint's cheek as he did so. "How about you, Barton?"

"A cheeseburger and fries sounds good," Clint agreed. The link was thrumming happily through them. If anything, it felt even stronger than it had that morning. He sat back a little, trying to regain his composure and professionalism while maintaining physical contact with Phil.

"I was thinking pizza," Phil said. "That place around the corner."

"Don't push your luck, Coulson," Fury said. He sounded relieved. "I'll have something brought to you from the canteen."

Clint didn't know why someone couldn't just as easily go out to the pizza place to pick something up for them, but he wasn't going to complain. They'd eat in their room (his cell), with people watching their (his) every move, but at least they'd be together. "Can you walk?" he asked Phil, although he knew Phil would be fine.

"Might need a little help," Phil answered. It would provide a nice excuse to keep in close contact on the trip back.

***

When the guards locked the door behind them, Clint wanted nothing more than to sink into Phil's arms in relief, but instead he sat down on the bed next to him. They both still had their hands on each other's backs, underneath their shirts.

"You ready to deal with another couple weeks of this?" Clint asked, feeling a little nervous.

Phil gave him an unamused look, but all he felt through the link was warmth and affection. "Spending time with you isn't that much of a hardship, Barton," Phil said. "Some privacy would be nice, though. Hopefully your debrief won't take too much longer." His index finger was tapping against Clint's back in what he belatedly realized was Morse code. WSC wants scapegoat, he tapped.

M is asshole, Clint tapped back. "Doesn't seem like there's much left to talk about," he said.

Be careful, Phil tapped. "I'm sure everyone appreciates how willing you are to answer questions," he said. "I know it can't be easy."

Clint shrugged. "I just want to get it over with." He spread his palm over the small of Phil's back, just above his waistband. Phil's skin was warm. So was his forearm where it touched Clint's, and his hand, fingers lightly stroking Clint's spine.

He took a slow breath, then let it out.

Want to be alone with you, Phil tapped.

Me too, Clint tapped back, trying to ignore the flush of want going through both of them. "What do you think they'll bring us for lunch?" he asked.

"It's Thursday," Phil said, with satisfaction.

Clint groaned. "I will never understand you. The gumbo here sucks, Phil. They shouldn't even be allowed to call it gumbo; it's insulting to the entire state of Louisiana."

"I don't care what they call it, as long as I get to eat it," Phil said. "I know it's hardly authentic, but it's still delicious, which you would realize if you gave it half a chance."

"No way," Clint said, shaking his head. "The okra is way too slimy. D'you suppose they'll know to bring you the gumbo and me a cheeseburger?"

"We eat in the canteen together every Thursday we're not on assignment," Phil pointed out. "I think our preferences are well-known at this point."

"Your preference," Clint corrected. "I'd rather eat at the pizza place."

"Once we're out of here, I promise I'll buy you all the pizza you can eat," Phil said, while tapping I'll get you out with his finger.

Both of us, Clint tapped. Together. "I don't know, boss, I can eat a lot of pizza," he said out loud.

Together, Phil tapped, looking into his eyes. Clint didn't know how the fuck he was going to deal when the link wore off, if and when Phil went back to being Agent Coulson. "All the pizza you want, I promise," Phil said, and Clint could almost swear Phil loved him back.

They brought the food in a few minutes later. It wasn't particularly hot, but they both devoured it, updating each other on what had happened between bites. As soon as it was gone, Clint was exhausted again. Phil chivvied them both into the bathroom to brush their teeth (you did not want to get into an argument with Phil Coulson about the importance of oral hygiene, because you would lose). When they got back to the bed, Phil stripped to his boxers, outwardly calm. Clint knew better, but he figured this was another gift horse to avoid examining and tossed his own t-shirt on top of his jeans. He slid under the covers, and Phil immediately turned onto his side and pulled at Clint's arm until Clint turned in the same direction. By the time they got settled, Clint was basically spooning Phil, and he couldn't be bothered to worry if whoever was watching could tell.

It was probably for the best that he was exhausted, because otherwise the sensation of all that skin against his might have led him to spontaneously combust. Instead, he let out an unsteady breath that Phil matched and touched his nose to the back of Phil's neck. The last things he was conscious of were the warmth of Phil's hand on top of his, both of them resting on Phil's chest, and an overpowering feeling of peace, connection, and deep joy.

He felt the joy and connection again when he woke the next morning, but that wasn't all. Phil was awake, and Phil was hard; Clint could sense both clearly through the link. Clint was hard, too; God, he wanted Phil so much, and he could feel that Phil wanted him just as badly. He rocked a little against Phil's ass without conscious intent, and Phil breathed in sharply. Clint carefully moved his hand lower, until it was brushing against Phil's dick, unable to stop himself. Phil went rigid for a split second, then grasped his hand tightly and brought it back up to his chest. Not now, he tapped urgently against the back of Clint's wrist. Not here not yet.

Not yet. Jesus fuck, not yet.

Ok not yet, Clint tapped back, and deliberately rolled onto his stomach, fighting the urge to thrust against the mattress.

Soon, Phil tapped against his back, and Clint stifled a moan in his pillow.

Clint had spent hours stuck in a nest, unable to change position more than the barest amount, to get out of the sun or the rain or the snow, to drink or eat or empty his bladder anywhere but in his own uniform, but he had never had as much difficulty controlling his body's reactions as he did that morning. He couldn't even take the edge off in the shower, because Phil would feel it through the link.

Phil wanted Clint as much as Clint wanted Phil, and that knowledge was a kind of exquisite torture that Clint wasn't sure how long he could endure.

"The debrief shouldn't take much longer," Phil said as they ate breakfast, touching only at their knees. "I can't imagine they'll need more than today to finish up."

"That doesn't mean they'll be ready to release me, sir," Clint said. "You know the protocols for compromised agents."

"You're hardly the typical case, Barton," Phil said, and there was that affection in his eyes again. "Fury knows that." He took Clint's hand and squeezed it.

"He may, but that Mueller guy sure as shit doesn't," Clint reminded Phil.

Phil snorted with disdain. "Mueller is a martinet. Fury knows better than to listen to him."

"I hope you're right," Clint said glumly.

***
The debrief went much easier with Phil in the room next to him, one ankle hooked around his. Phil was pretending to go through reports on his tablet, but Clint knew his attention was on the questions they were asking, and on Clint's answers. Now and again Hill looked at the two of them, her brow wrinkling, but she didn't bring up the fact that they were sitting close enough to touch each other.

"How are you holding up?" Phil asked Clint quietly over the sandwiches Hill had brought in for their lunch break.

Clint shrugged. "It is what it is." He knew Phil could tell how much talking about this took out of him. It helped that neither one of them had to acknowledge it out loud.

By three that afternoon they'd just about wrapped things up. Hill was looking over her notes, tapping a pen against the table, and no one had said anything for a minute or two. Then Phil looked up from his tablet and said, "I have a few questions, if no one objects."

Clint turned to him, trying not to give in to the part of him that felt betrayed. Phil touched his hand briefly, just long enough to project a reassurance Clint wasn't sure he believed. Hill noticed, but said nothing.

"What do you want to know, sir?" Clint asked tightly.

"I'm curious about some of the decisions you made, Agent Barton," Phil said. "You said that Loki left a lot of it up to you, is that correct?"

"I'll need you to disable the helicarrier," Loki said. "I'll leave the planning up to you; I know you're more than capable. Complete destruction isn't necessary, but it’s certainly acceptable."

"Understood, sir," Clint said, and turned away.

"Yes, sir," Clint answered. He'd thought it would be harder telling Phil about this stuff, but he was used to Phil debriefing him.

Phil looked down at his tablet for a moment. "From what I understand, he left the planning of both the Stuttgart operation and the attack on the helicarrier almost completely to you, including how many additional men you might need."

Clint nodded.

"How did you decide who to recruit?" Phil asked, meeting his eyes.

Clint frowned. "I've been around long enough to know who SHIELD's enemies are."

"Exactly," Phil said, nodding like he was pleased. "Yet you chose independent mercenaries--men who had a beef with the agency; I'm not arguing that point, but I believe none of them even knew each other before you brought them in."

"What are you getting at, Coulson?" Hill asked, sounding more curious than anything else.

"Why didn't you contact Hydra?" Phil asked, turning to Clint again. "It seems to me they'd be the logical choice, although perhaps Loki didn't want them around the Tesseract?" His voice was calm, matter-of-fact; it was like this was any other mission debrief in his office.

Clint shook his head. "He never even asked." He felt himself answering without thinking, responding to the familiarity of Phil's voice, Phil's questions.

"Yet you didn't contact Hydra. You didn't call anyone from Ten Rings, either. You stuck with independent mercenaries, avoiding any connections to the organized groups that target SHIELD every day. Why?"

"I couldn't let them get detailed information on the helicarrier," Clint answered automatically. He didn't fully understand what he'd said until Hill sat back, her eyes wide. "I didn't, I…shit. The guys I picked, they were adequate, but they weren't anywhere close to the best I could have found. Did any of them even survive the attack?"

Hill shook her head.

"I have a question for Agent Hill as well," Phil said. He'd moved his chair even closer, and he reached for Clint's hand under the table. Hill was watching them closely again, but she didn't say anything. "I'm sorry to have to ask this, but can you tell me how many people Agent Barton personally killed while he was under Loki's control?"

"Two guards in Stuttgart. Three people on the helicarrier, although he didn't shoot them," Hill said. She was studying Phil closely. "An argument could be made for the four mercenaries killed in the attack, but Barton certainly wasn't directly responsible."

Clint looked down, sickened. Five people out of the dozens who'd died, but he was responsible for all of them; none of it would have happened without him. The Chitauri would never have destroyed half of Manhattan if Clint hadn't disabled the carrier. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people had died, and all of those deaths were on Clint.

"How many did he injure?" Phil asked next. Clint would have pulled away if he could, but Phil was still holding his hand, rubbing his thumb gently over Clint's knuckles, projecting reassurance and calm.

"Twenty-seven," Hill replied. She sat back in her chair, glancing from Phil to Clint. "Most of them were minor injuries--arrows through the shoulder. The three who died all died as a result of the explosions. Barton didn't take a single kill-shot."

Phil nodded. "That's what I thought. Barton, did Loki order you to kill anyone?"

"Just the guards in Germany," Clint answered numbly.

Phil nodded again. What Clint got through the link besides reassurance was a mixture of sadness, anger, and above all, pride, which didn't make any sense. "Let the record reflect that Agent Barton did everything he could to limit the damage to both SHIELD personnel and equipment, despite unimaginable coercion."

"Agreed," Hill said, nodding. "Agent Barton also deliberately avoided killing both myself and Director Fury in New Mexico; he didn't kill or even injure anyone at that time."

"Given this understanding of Agent Barton's actions, I recommend he be released from custody immediately," Phil said firmly, his hand tightening on Clint's.

"What?" Clint asked. He shook his head, but Hill wasn't saying no, and he could sense a bedrock of trust, pride and affection coming from Phil.

"I'll have to okay it with the Director," Hill said, "but I think he'll agree."

Clint frowned. So what if things could have been worse? That didn't mean he wasn't responsible.

"Could you give us a minute, Maria?" Phil asked.

"Sure," she said, and walked out of the room.

"I'm sorry," Phil said after the door closed, both his hands on Clint's now. "I know you weren't prepared for that, but I hope you'll begin to believe me when I say none of it was your fault. You fought, Clint. You fought with everything you had, and it made a difference."

"It wasn't enough," Clint insisted, shaking his head. Phil didn't understand; he couldn't possibly understand.

"If it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else," Phil said. "And no one else would have fought as hard as you did. If it had been anyone else, the damage and loss of life would have been much worse. You never miss, Clint, and you aimed to injure, not kill."

"I don't know about that," Clint said, looking down at their clasped hands. "I still got you killed." His voice was steady, but he knew Phil could feel the emotion behind it, just as he could feel Phil's absolute and unshakeable belief in him.

"You didn't get me killed," Phil said, quiet but firm. "Loki killed me. You came for me, and you saved me. No one else could have done that, Clint. Only you."

Clint's looked up, meeting Phil's eyes. What he saw there, what he felt through the link, made his breath catch, and he wished desperately that they were somewhere else, anywhere, as long as they were alone. "I'll always come for you," he said hoarsely.

"I know," Phil murmured.

Then Mueller walked in with his minion, and Clint felt like all the air had gone out of the room. Phil dropped his hand after an apologetic squeeze. He turned back to his tablet, his leg still pressed against Clint's. Hill followed Mueller in and sat down at her seat again, shaking her head at Clint and Phil when Mueller wasn't looking.

Hill took a moment to shuffle through her notes as Mueller took a seat next to her. "What can I do for you, Mr. Mueller?" she asked coolly.

"I have a few more questions for Agent Barton," Mueller said. Phil didn't look up from his tablet, sorting through something, occasionally tapping the screen, but Clint could feel how focused he was on the conversation.

"Go ahead and ask," Clint said. Neither Hill nor Phil would be inclined to let the asshole get away with anything after what had happened the day before, and maybe if he showed he was willing to cooperate the guy would be satisfied and leave him alone. Probably not, especially if Phil was right about the WSC looking to use him as a scapegoat, but it was worth a shot.

Mueller inclined his head snootily (the guy did everything snootily) and said, "Very well. I've been watching a feed of this interview, and I've reviewed everything from yesterday and the day of the battle. I can't help noticing there are some gaps in your account."

Clint shook his head. "I've gone over everything. There aren't any gaps."

"I'm afraid that's just not true, Agent Barton," Mueller said. Asshole. "There were three instances where you said that Loki asked you questions that were, and I quote, 'personal'." Agent Hill may be satisfied with that response, but I assure you that the Council won't be."

"Are you serious?" Clint asked. Hill frowned, but she didn't say anything.

Phil had his phone out of his briefcase and was texting someone, his thumbs moving as quickly as any teenager's. Mueller ignored him.

"We need to know everything," Mueller said. "When you were in the bunker and Selvig was working on the tesseract, what did Loki ask you?"

"Do you love me?"

"No, sir," he answered. "It's not necessary."

"I could order you to love me," Loki said. "But I won't. As you said, it's not necessary."

"Thank you, sir."

"He asked me about Agent Romanoff," Clint said, because they knew about that; Phil had shown him the footage of her interrogation of Loki. Mueller must have seen it as well, along with who knew what else. Mueller and his bosses probably watched the footage of him and Phil in lock-up, the thought of which tied Clint's stomach in knots.

Phil reached for his hand under the table, apparently finished with his phone. Clint grasped it gratefully.

"What specifically did he ask you about her?" Mueller asked, leaning forward.

"About her past, things that she might regret," Clint said, his jaw clenched tightly. "About the Red Room. I told him about some of the missions that still haunted her." He'd never had a chance to talk to Nat about it, to apologize.

"I see," Mueller said. "What else?"

Clint looked at Hill. She nodded, still frowning. Phil was projecting some sort of anticipation that Clint couldn't quite figure out. "He asked me if I cared about her. I told him I did."

"This Natasha Romanoff, the famous Black Widow." Loki said, "You love her. Does she feel the same? Are you lovers?"

"No, sir," he answered. "She's my best friend. I'd do anything for her."

"Who else do you love, Agent Barton?"

"Did he ask if you were involved? Are you and Agent Romanoff intimate?" Mueller said.

That pissed Phil off, anger radiating off him in waves; it matched Clint's mood perfectly. He spit out, "He asked, and I answered him, but that doesn't make it any of your damned business."

"Oh, really," Mueller said. "I think you'll find otherwise, Agent Barton. While we're on the subject, I assume Loki asked you who else you cared about. I'm sure Agent Coulson came up. I can't help but notice that the two of you are very…close."

"Who else do you love, Agent Barton?" Loki asked him, studying his face.

"I love Phil Coulson," Clint answered calmly, although the tiny part of his brain that was still him was screaming at him to stay silent.

"You'd kill him for me," Loki said, all thoughtful consideration. "You'd kill both of them."

It wasn't a question, but Clint still answered, "Of course, sir. Do you want me to?"

"Not at this time," Loki answered, steepling his fingers. "Maybe later."

Clint swallowed hard, every muscle in his body tensed. Phil's leg was solid against his, his hand warm.

"I need you to answer me, Agent Barton," Mueller said. "It's important that we understand everything."

"That's enough," Phil said in his don't you even think of fucking with me voice. "This interview is over; Agent Barton and I are leaving."

"Are you going to stand for this, Agent Hill?" Mueller asked.

"It doesn't matter what Agent Hill says," Phil said, opening his briefcase. "In approximately ninety seconds, Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers, and Agent Romanoff are going to come through that door. They'll have Dr. Banner with them as well…unless, of course, he's too angry. Agent Barton and I will be leaving with them."

Clint turned to Phil, his shoulders slumping in relief. Phil put his tablet and his paperwork into his briefcase and closed it. Then he reached for Clint's hand again, gripping it in his on top of the table, projecting a fierce sense of protection and belonging.

Hill sat back in her chair, looking briefly at their clasped hands. "That's fine with me," she said. "When do you think you might be back? You'll need to be cleared by psych before returning to active duty."

"We'll be gone at least two weeks," Phil said. "We both have plenty of leave."

"That is unacceptable," Mueller said. "I have the authority to hold both of you indefinitely, as long as it takes to bring this matter to a conclusion."

"What sort of conclusion is the Council looking for, Mr. Mueller?" Phil asked him, effortlessly taking over control of the room. "I can assure you that I will not allow Agent Barton to be blamed for the damage done to Manhattan and the helicarrier. Any attempt to do so will result in the media learning exactly what Tony Stark carried into the rift that day, who ordered it, and who tried to stop it."

"Fury wouldn't dare!" Mueller said, and Clint didn't need a link to know he was furious. Hill's expression was impassive when Mueller glanced at her, but Clint saw the corner of her mouth twitch when he looked away.

"Whether or not the Director would leak the information is immaterial," Phil said calmly. "He's not the one you need to worry about."

The words were barely out of his mouth when the door burst open. "Did someone call for a ride?" Tony asked the room. He was in his armor, but his faceplate was up. "Because we're here for a pick-up." Steve and Natasha were right behind him.

"Thank you, Mr. Stark," Phil said, picking up his briefcase. "Agent Barton?"

"After you, sir," Clint said, resisting the urge to flip Mueller off; he didn't want to make things more difficult for Hill and Fury.

He and Phil followed Tony, Steve, and Nat out. "We've got a helicopter waiting on the roof," Steve said.

"Listen," Clint said, looking at each of them. "Thank you. Seriously, thank you."

Steve looked at him like he had two heads. "We nearly took the two of you out of here while you were still unconscious," he said. "Agent Romanoff persuaded the rest of us that you'd be safe, but none of us were happy about it."

"You don't put someone who's saved the world in a cell," Tony said. "Not to mention saving Coulson. Pepper was really upset when you were dead, Agent. She says hi." He handed Clint a phone like the one he'd given Phil. Clint put it in his pocket without looking at it.

"Tell her hello," Phil said, inclining his head. "I appreciate that you came through for us."

Nat snorted. "Wasn't anything you haven't done for us a hundred times, sir," she said, bumping Clint's shoulder. By then they'd reached the top floor. When the doors opened, Clint saw Thor and Bruce waiting for them. The agents who should have been guarding the door were standing to the side, along with Sitwell and Fury.

"I'm not gonna ask you where you're taking them, Stark," Fury said.

"Good, because I'm not telling," Tony answered.

"Agents, I expect an update in a week's time," Fury told them. "You're both approved for three weeks' leave. See that you use it wisely."

"Thank you, sir," Phil said. "Jasper, it's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too," Sitwell said, clasping Phil's shoulder briefly. "Thank you for bringing Phil back, Clint."

Clint looked down. "I wish there was more I could have done."

Phil looked at him and put his hand on Clint's arm. "Come on, let's get out of here," he said.

"Yeah," Clint said roughly. They headed for the stairs; Clint didn't realize the rest of the team wasn't following until they'd gone through the door. "I guess we're going somewhere outside of the city," he said, looking at Phil.

"It's probably for the best," Phil agreed.

There was a Stark Enterprises helicopter waiting for them, sleek and shiny and screaming of money. The pilot greeted them politely and ushered them into the cabin. Clint sank into one of the incredibly cushy seats and took Phil's hand.

"Please fasten your seatbelts, gentlemen," the pilot said over the intercom. "We'll be underway momentarily."

Clint pushed the button and said, "Can you tell us our destination?"

"Of course, Agent Barton," the pilot answered. "Mr. Stark has arranged for you to stay at his cottage in Chautauqua."

"How long does it take to get to Chautauqua?" Clint asked.

"We should be there in an hour, sir," the pilot answered.

"Thanks," Clint said, turning to look at Phil, who was broadcasting a complex mix of need, affection, and nervousness.

"Clint," he said, curving his palm and fingers around Clint's cheek. "Unless you have some objection, I'm going to kiss you now."

Clint barely had time for one abortive shake of his head before their lips met.

Kissing Phil would have been amazing no matter how or when it happened, but the link between them heightened everything. They kept things light and easy, but feeling Phil's response as well as his own was still intense enough that Clint had to break it off after a minute or two.

"Jesus," he said, resting his forehead against Phil's. "Maybe we shouldn't do that again until we're, you know…."

"Somewhere with a bed?" Phil asked. Clint could feel his pulse fluttering against his fingertips.

"Yeah," Clint said hoarsely. "Phil…"

"Before you say anything else, there's something I need to tell you," Phil said. "I promised myself I'd tell you as soon as I got the chance."

"Okay," Clint said, his heart tripping in his chest. "I'm listening."

Phil pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "When Loki took you, I swore that if we ever got you back, I'd tell you how I felt," he said. "I love you, Clint. When I was lying on the floor of the carrier, bleeding out, I only had one regret, and that's that I never had the balls to tell you when I had the chance. Thanks to you, I have another chance, and I'm not going to waste it."

He had to kiss Phil again before he could bring himself to speak. "Phil, when I found out you were dead, I had that same regret. And when Idunn said we might be able to bring you back….. I'm so fucking grateful you're here. I love you."

"I'm sorry we wasted so much time," Phil said.

"Doesn't matter," Clint said, stroking Phil's cheekbone with his fingers. "None of it matters now. You're here, and we're together. We've got three weeks before we have to think about anything else."

"Whatever will we do with all that free time?" Phil asked, his thumb caressing the line of Clint's jaw.

"I'm sure we can think of something," Clint said. "I hope it doesn't take too long to get there."

"Mmmhmm," Phil murmured. "The sooner the better."

They kissed again. Phil's mouth opened under his, sucking lightly on his bottom lip, and it was all Clint could do not to take off his seat belt and climb onto Phil's lap. Phil broke the kiss this time, breathing heavily. "Not here," he murmured. "Not yet."

Clint nodded. "Soon," he said, sitting back in his chair.

"Soon," Phil agreed, giving Clint a soft smile.

"You sure this is really happening?" Clint asked after a moment to breathe. "Because I gotta tell you, Phil, shit this good doesn't happen to me."

"It's real," Phil said. "It's too bizarre to be anything else."

Clint laughed. "Yeah, I guess you're right about that, given our history. You think they'll have to call us back because of dinosaurs in Central Park, or will we actually get the whole time off?"

"If we get called back, you have my permission to break into Fury's house and steal his eye-patch," Phil said, the corner of his mouth twitching. Clint had been threatening to do that, and Phil threatening to warn Fury, for practically the whole time they'd known each other.

"I'm gonna hold you to that," Clint said, grinning. "What do you think Stark's 'cottage' is gonna be like?"

Phil snorted. "Enormous."

"Well, yeah, that's a given," Clint said, "but what else?"

They spent the rest of the flight coming up with increasingly ridiculous descriptions of the luxuries that awaited them, but when they finally landed, it was next to a home that wasn't nearly as ostentatious as they'd predicted. The helipad wasn't even on the roof.

"Mr. Stark had some things packed for you," the pilot told them, hauling out a pair of matching suitcases and tossing a garment bag over his shoulder. "The staff has brought in enough supplies for the next few days; JARVIS can order anything else that you need."

"JARVIS?" Clint said. He had a feeling he should remember who that was, but he was drawing a blank.

"Stark's AI," Phil explained. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised Stark has him installed here as well."

"JARVIS is in all of Mr. Stark's homes," the pilot confirmed. "If you'll follow me, agents?"

It took longer than Clint liked for the pilot to open the house and key in their voices, thumbprints and retinal scans. Then he had to carry their bags in, give them a tour, and show them where the keys to the vehicles were kept. "No, really, we'll be fine," Phil said for the third time as they stood in the kitchen. "Thank you, Mr. Speedman, but you can go; we'll be fine."

"If you're sure," the pilot said.

"We're sure," Clint said firmly. "It's been a long day, and Agent Coulson and I would like to get some rest."

"Of course," the pilot said politely. "Unless I hear otherwise, I'll plan on picking you up in three weeks. I'll show myself out."

"I thought he'd never leave," Clint said once the door was shut.

Phil didn't say anything, just took his hand and led him into the nearest bedroom. When Clint moved closer, Phil gave a small headshake. He'd shed his jacket and tie on the plane, and his fingers were already at work on the buttons of his shirt. "JARVIS," Phil said.

Clint nearly groaned in frustration when the AI answered, "Yes, Agent Coulson?"

Phil had finished unbuttoning his shirt and was now swiftly removing his cufflinks. "Am I correct in assuming you have a privacy setting?" he asked, laying his dress shirt on top of his jacket and reaching to pull his undershirt over his head. Clint gazed eagerly at the hair that was scattered over his chest, the way it trailed down from his navel, and at the way Phil's cock was already pressing against the front of his trousers.

"Of course, sir," JARVIS said. "All activity in the house is monitored for threats, but neither Mr. Stark nor my consciousness has any access to anything designated private unless my automated subroutines detect a threat."

Clint had tossed his shirt and belt onto the floor and was working on Phil's belt by the time Phil said, "Please engage privacy mode."

"Acknowledged," JARVIS said.

"Boots off," Phil said, pointing at Clint's feet. He sat down on the bed and untied his shoes.

"Okay," Clint said after a moment, following suit. When their bare shoulders brushed up against each other, Clint couldn't help but notice a tiny thread of anxiety mixed in with the heady waves of love and want that Phil was projecting. "Hey," he said, toeing his boots off and putting a hand on Phil's forearm. "You know I'm a sure thing, right?"

"I do," Phil responded, his eyes crinkling.

"What's the worst that could happen, we both go off like teenagers the second we get our dicks out?" Clint teased. "I can live with that."

Phil looked down. "It's been a while," he said. "I probably will go off the second you touch me, between that and this." He gestured between them to indicate the link.

"I really don't care," Clint said. He moved his hand to the back of Phil's head and kissed his temple like he had the previous day, then moved to the corner of his eye, the bridge of his nose, the soft skin over his cheekbone.

Phil turned towards him, and when Clint caught Phil's lower lip between his, it was even sweeter than the first time they'd kissed. Clint pushed Phil back against the pillows, deepening the kiss, the want sparking between them so strong it should have been visible to the naked eye.

When he moved on to mouthing Phil's neck, Phil said, "Jesus, Clint. Fuck, that feels good," his hands moving restlessly over Clint's shoulders.

"Mmmhmm," Clint said, busy getting his hands and mouth on all that glorious skin. He reached for Phil's belt again; it was ridiculous that they weren't naked yet.

Phil moaned, his hips jerking upwards as Clint's fingers brushed against his boxers. Clint felt Phil's arousal, mixing with and heightening his own. His hands shook as he pulled Phil's pants and underwear off, then his own. He knelt over Phil's hips and bent his head, kissing Phil, their mouths their only points of contact. Phil's hands came up to rest on Clint's shoulders, and even that simple touch magnified the pleasure running through them.

Phil twisted under him, flipping their positions so he was on top, his body flush against Clint's. Clint arched his back as Phil pressed open-mouthed kisses over his neck and chest. He had one hand in Phil's hair, the other clenching at the firm muscle of his ass. The feel of Phil's erection next to his, combined with the ever-growing pleasure arcing through them, had him gasping for breath, sure he was about to come, sure they both were. He would have been just fine with that; everything felt amazing. Instead, as they turned to their sides, it all just ratcheted up to another level. He and Phil were breathing in sync, alternating deep kisses with sucks and bites at each other's skin, everything more coordinated than it had any right to be, every sensation exquisite.

Clint couldn't help the needy sounds he was making, couldn't maintain the silence he'd always used as a shield during sex, even when he was with Nat. When Phil pulled back for a moment, just looking at him, the waves of love and connection and pleasure stuttered up yet another level. Part of him wanted to shut his eyes, to hide; it was all too much. He touched the tip of his fingers to the crow's feet at the corner of Phil's eye.

They crinkled up as Phil smiled at him. "Think we can hold it together long enough for you to fuck me?" he asked.

Clint laughed with delight. "I'm certainly up for trying," he answered, shifting his hips under Phil's to demonstrate just how up he was, both of them gasping in response. "Do we even have what we need?" he asked, unsure how either of them were even capable of speech at the moment.

Phil snorted and sat up. "It's Stark's house," he said as he reached into the bedside table, pulling out lube and a condom with a triumphant grin. He bent to kiss Clint greedily, then turned on his side, this time with Clint at his back, the way they'd awakened that morning.

There was no need for further words as Clint reached for the lube and slowly, carefully prepped Phil. Clint knew when he could add another finger, knew where to press and stretch, knew when Phil was ready. He would have been able to tell even if he were blind and deaf; he could feel Phil's response to every move he made. They moaned in unison as Clint removed his fingers and slowly pushed his way inside Phil. Clint stayed there for a minute, resting his forehead against Phil's shoulder. The pleasure he felt, magnified and fed back through the link, was almost unbearable in its intensity.

Then he started to move, and everything changed. He still felt the incredible physical sensations looping through both of them, but that was only part of what he, what they, were experiencing. It felt like he and Phil were surrounded by a golden light, suffused with an unimaginable joy. For a timeless moment he was aware only of Phil, around him and in him, of the two of them, together, linked, connected, flying higher and higher until they finally let go, their orgasms only one small portion of the whole that was them, together.

***

Clint came back to himself slowly, tightening his arms around Phil and kissing the back of his shoulder. Phil brought their linked hands up to his face and pressed his mouth against Clint's fingers. They lay together, still breathing in sync, for a few minutes, until Clint softened and had to dispose of the condom. Phil turned onto his back and maneuvered Clint until he was resting his head on Phil's chest. Clint could hear Phil's heart beating. The link was still there, as steady and strong as Phil's heartbeat.

They lay there a while longer, until Phil kissed his forehead and said, "As much as we're both enjoying this, we should probably get cleaned up."

Clint lifted his head and smiled. "Yeah, you're probably right. And I can't tell which one of us is hungry--is that me or you?"

"I think it's both of us," Phil answered, returning his smile. "Come on. Shower first, then dinner."

Phil sat up, pulling Clint up with him. Despite his words, Phil made no move to get off the bed. Instead, he put a hand on the back of Clint's neck and kissed him, his lips gentle against Clint's. "I love you," Phil said.

"Yeah, I got that," Clint said. "See, we've got this empathic bond going on; it's kinda cool. Means you can't fool me, not anymore."

Phil snorted. "Then you can tell how serious I am when I tell you to shut up and get in the shower," he said, swatting at Clint's ass.

***

Clint made dinner, just a couple of steaks, mashed potatoes, and a salad (Phil was good at almost everything, but cooking wasn't in his skill set). They ate it out on the deck, overlooking the pool and the trees beyond. They sat next to each other, touching each other casually, reaffirming the bond, but there was none of the intense pressure from earlier. It was comfortable, easy and simple and right. Clint couldn't stop smiling, and every time he looked, Phil was smiling back at him.

Phil gave Clint the last quarter of his steak, and when they were finished, he insisted on ice cream. He put one scoop in his bowl and three in Clint's.

"Don't think I don't see what you're doing, Coulson," Clint said when they sat down again.

Phil just looked at him for a moment. "You've lost weight," he said.

That was all either of them needed to say.

Clint dragged Phil inside once the mosquitoes got obtrusive, but it was too early to go to bed, and neither one of them was interested in turning on the television. They ended up sitting on the large couch--sprawling, really, Clint leaning back against the well-cushioned arm, Phil nestled between his legs, his head resting on Clint's shoulder.

They talked about nothing in particular, drifting from topic to topic. Clint asked about Phil's family, which led to a quick phone call to his sister, whom he'd apparently promised to update beyond the basics of "Guess what? When they called and told you I was dead, they made a mistake." Phil did some smooth talking to convince her not to drive up and visit them, and when that didn't work, he resorted to some form of blackmail related to their childhoods that Clint didn't quite follow.

Phil dissed Clint's choice of casual summer attire, going so far as to label his shorts "manpris," which was a low blow. Clint accused him of getting his khaki shorts tailored like his suits, carefully not mentioning how nicely they showed off Phil's legs and ass.

He was still getting used to being exposed to all that skin, to being able to touch it whenever he wanted; it was intoxicating. There was a slow undercurrent of arousal running through both of them, but neither of them felt the need to act on it yet.

There were comfortable silences mixed in with the conversations. They'd finished up a discussion of the relative merits of baseball, hockey, and football, and Clint was idly running his fingers up and down Phil's arms, enjoying the way their desire was steadily building.

"What's gonna happen when I piss you off?" Clint asked.

Phil shrugged. "You piss me off all the time, Barton. It's a talent of yours."

Clint frowned. "You won't be able to get rid of me, not even for a little while. Not for another couple of weeks."

"We'll make do," Phil said, squeezing his forearm.

"What if your family doesn't like me?" Clint asked abruptly. "It sounds like everyone you're related to has, like, graduate degrees and shit."

Phil sighed. "See, now you are pissing me off. I'm not planning on saying, 'This is my boyfriend, who left school at age ten and has a criminal record. I'm only with him because of his spectacular body.'"

"Jesus, Phil," Clint said, wincing as Phil cut to the core of his fears.

"I'm planning on saying something more like, 'This is my partner, Clint. You might have seen him on television. He's the only unaugmented human in the Avengers, and he's the most amazing man I've ever met,'" Phil said. "'And he used to be in the circus.' My nieces and nephew are going to be very impressed; you're destined to be the cool uncle."

"Uncle?" Clint asked hesitantly.

"Unless you're planning on bugging out after the bond wears off," Phil said, and now he was the one feeling anxious.

"Never," Clint promised. "Bond or no, you're stuck with me, boss."

"Good," Phil said. "And when we inevitably fight, we'll have the make-up sex to look forward to."

"That is an excellent point," Clint conceded.

They'd been silent a few minutes when he brushed his lips against Phil's temple. Phil smiled. "Do you think it'll be like that again?" Clint asked quietly.

"I'm reasonably confident that was a once in a lifetime experience," Phil answered, shifting a little so he could see Clint's face. "Once in a thousand lifetimes, even."

Clint hummed in response, enjoying the heavy, warm feel of Phil in his arms.

"I've been trying all evening to come up with the right words for it," Phil said thoughtfully. "None of them are right. Sublime is close, but it's not enough. Transformative. Ecstatic."

"Transcendent," Clint murmured. He wasn't sure where he'd learned the word, but it seemed to fit. "Sacred," he added after a minute, hoping it wouldn't strike Phil as sacrilegious.

"'Sacred,'" Phil repeated. "Yeah, I think that's about as close as we're going to get."

They were silent again for a few minutes, although Clint's idle strokes were more purposeful caresses now. Both of them were breathing just a little more deeply, and Phil pressed first his nose, then his lips, against Clint's neck. "You ready to find out what it's like the second time?" Clint asked.

They didn't make it into the bedroom until much later. It may have not been transcendent or even transformative, but their second time was still pretty damned sublime.

***

They were on the deck a week or so later when JARVIS said, "I'm sorry to interrupt your lunch, agents, but Mr. Stark wishes to speak with you."

"Put him through, please," Phil said after taking a second to check in with Clint. The check-in consisted of raising his eyebrows slightly and pressing his bare calf against Clint's.

Tony's voice rang out through the speakers: "Are the two of you dressed? Because I told JARVIS to leave you a message if you were, you know, busy."

"Clothes would give me tan lines, Stark," Clint said, grinning at Phil.

"What do you need, Tony?" Phil asked, pretending to ignore him.

"Idunn's getting ready to go back to Asgard, and she wants to check on you and Maid Marian before she leaves," Tony said.

"I still have my taser, Stark," Phil said. "If you ever refer to me as 'Maid Marian' again, I will use it."

"Fine, Gimli," Tony responded, and Clint snorted.

Phil gave Clint his official "I am not amused, Agent Barton" face, but Clint would have known better even without the link.

"Anyway, Thor was ready to fly up there with his cousin, but I thought it would be better if we all stopped by. Don't tell me the two of you aren't getting a little bored; there's only so much sex you can have."

"You would know," Clint said dryly. He and Phil agreed silently not to comment further.

"When should we expect you?" Phil asked, standing up to take their plates into the kitchen.

"We'll be there in half an hour," Tony answered brightly. Which meant they were already in the air.

"At least they gave us the week," Clint said while Phil loaded up the dishwasher.

"They'll give us the rest of it as well," Phil said. "Barring another alien invasion, Fury promised he'd keep us out of it." He turned and pulled Clint close, his hands on Clint's hips. "We may never get another vacation again."

"You sure you're not bored?" Clint asked. "I think we've watched enough reality TV to satisfy even you." He'd had to find a book and leave the room a couple of times; there was only so much a guy could be expected to tolerate, and "Dance Moms" was way over that line.

"Maybe I'm not ready to share you with anyone yet," Phil murmured, nuzzling behind his ear. "We'll be back at work soon enough; I intend to enjoy having you to myself as long as I can."

Thinking of what awaited him once they got back, Clint sighed and rested his cheek against Phil's. He'd had nightmares almost every night since they'd arrived, dreams where he wielded Loki's scepter and killed Fury, Hill, Natasha, the rest of the team, and Phil. He wasn't sure he was ready to face any of them again, not yet.

"Hey," Phil said softly. "It'll be okay. I'll be with you; you know that. Always."

Clint nodded, because he could feel Phil's certainty as easily as Phil had felt his anxiety. They could spend longer apart now without any side effects (which was, if Clint were being honest, good for both of their sanities), but the link between them was still active, especially when they were touching. "I don't want to lose this," he said. "If what Idunn said is true, we've only got another week."

"It won't change how we feel," Phil said.

Clint nodded again. He didn't need the link to believe in what they had. "I know," he said, and kissed Phil's cheek.

They stood there another minute, just being with each other, before Phil kissed him apologetically and said, "They'll be here soon; we should get ready."

"You're not changing into a suit, Phil," Clint said, rolling his eyes. "We're on vacation, remember?"

Phil shook his head. "I'll leave the jacket and tie off, but I'm not greeting Tony Stark wearing these," he said, gesturing at the plaid shorts Clint had dared him to buy on one of their trips to town. "I'd never hear the end of it."

"Good point," Clint conceded. "I guess I could put some pants on, although I know you'd miss all this," he said, pointing at the ("nice" and "appropriate") shorts Phil had insisted on buying for him. He figured they might come in handy if he ever went undercover on a golf course.

"At least those are the right length," Phil said. "Shorts aren't supposed to fall beneath the knee."

"So you keep telling me, old man," Clint teased, following him into the bedroom.

It was hard not to get distracted when Phil stripped down to his boxer briefs, but Clint forced himself to look but not touch. He switched from shorts to jeans, then watched some more as Phil put on a modified version of his usual uniform--light blue shirt (no undershirt, the first few buttons undone), trousers, belt, socks, shoes. No tie or jacket, and he pushed his sleeves up to just below the elbow.

"What?" Phil asked, catching him staring.

"That's a really good look on you," Clint said appreciatively. "Not sure I'd want anyone at work to see you like that, though. They might get ideas."

"I'm glad you approve," Phil said, pulling him in for a kiss. "I've always liked you in jeans."

"Agents, Mr. Stark and the others have landed at the airport and will be here shortly," JARVIS announced.

"Thank you, JARVIS," Phil said. He sounded perfectly composed, but Clint was getting more and more antsy.

"Are we telling them or not?" Clint asked, because not correcting Tony and being open about their relationship were two different things.

"Is there a reason why we shouldn't?" Phil asked, pausing on his way into the living room. "I'm not advocating that we start groping each other in the Director's office or anything, but we're going to be working closely with these people. I'd rather not have to pretend around them."

"No, I guess not," Clint said, conceding the point. "Natasha knows, and it's not like the rest of them don't suspect."

"I know you're not comfortable sharing personal information," Phil said. "If you'd rather keep this between us, I'll understand."

"No, you're right," Clint said. "It'll be better if they know. That way, if…." He swallowed, unable to finish the thought.

Phil finished it for him. "That way, if anything happens to one of us, they'll understand what we're going through. I would have appreciated that when Loki had you. I was a mess, and no one knew except Natasha. Even she didn't know all of it."

"I'm sorry," Clint said. "Fuck, Phil, I'm so sorry."

It wasn't anything he hadn't said before, although it was usually in the middle of the night after he'd awakened them both with one of his nightmares. Phil answered the same way he always did. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Clint. It wasn't you. You saved me."

Maybe someday Clint would actually believe it the way Phil did, but he wasn't holding his breath.

"You two better not be naked," Tony's voice called out from the front door. "It would embarrass Cap. Final warning: get dressed now, because we're coming in."

"We're not naked, Stark," Clint said, taking Phil by the hand and walking with him out into the living room. "Phil made me put on pants."

After sharing greetings ranging from formal (Idunn), polite (Steve, Bruce, and Pepper, who kissed Phil's cheek), quietly pleased (Nat), and enthusiastic (Thor and Tony), Tony made everyone drinks and ushered them all out to the patio. "I know Idunn needs to talk to you, but first I wanted to clear something up."

"What's that, Tony?" Clint asked. He was sitting on the outdoor couch (he'd wondered why anyone would need an outdoor couch when he'd first seen it, but now it was one of his favorite things about the house) next to Phil, and they were holding hands. But maybe Tony needed things spelled out a little more, despite his earlier remarks.

"Everyone's moving into the Tower once renovations are complete," Tony said. "I've been putting together plans; everyone will have their own floor. But I need to know if I should set aside two floors or just one for the pair of you."

"One," Phil said.

"Wait, since when are we moving into Stark Tower?" Clint said, barely registering what Phil had said. "Nat, are you good with this?"

She lifted one shoulder. "He's got good security."

"I will stay there happily whenever I am on Midgard," Thor added.

"And before you ask, I'm putting in some special reinforcements for Bruce and Thor," Tony said, waving his hand. "I was thinking you'd appreciate the top floor, Barton; is that okay with you, Agent?"

"Of course," Phil answered smoothly. "Clint, what do you think?"

"What do I…" Clint trailed off, retracing the conversation in his head. "One, huh?" He looked at Phil.

Phil met his gaze calmly, but he was a little worried. Clint squeezed his hand and said, "Yeah, the top floor sounds great. When is our new place going to be ready?"

"You should be able to move right in once you get back to the city," Tony said, clapping his hands together decisively. "I'll send you the plans; let me know if you want anything changed. Pepper's in charge of furniture and appliances, so she'll email you."

"I know you've got some pieces in your apartment you'll want to keep," Pepper said. "Just let me know what you'll need."

"We'll do that," Phil said. He was projecting so much happiness that Clint was surprised the rest of them couldn't pick it up. He glanced over at Idunn and thought maybe she could; she had a kind of Mona Lisa smile going on.

They spent the afternoon catching up. It was hard hearing about the ongoing repairs to the helicarrier, but good to know that Idunn had been helping out in Medical. She hadn't brought anyone else back from the dead, though. The official story was that Phil hadn't actually died in the first place; Fury was apparently fine with everyone thinking he'd lied to get the Avengers to work together. Only the highest-level agents knew what had actually transpired, although word was spreading about the way Clint had limited damage and loss of life as much as he could while under Loki's control.

Pepper mentioned something about a cellist and a bow that Clint was going to get to the bottom of later. Apparently she and Tony thought he and Phil had been together for years. "They would have been, if they'd listened to me," Nat said, punching Clint on the shoulder.

"She's right," Phil admitted ruefully.

Clint laughed and said he was just glad they were together now. Natasha made him promise to listen to her the next time she told him to do something, and he said he would, even though they both knew better.

Idunn observed them all but rarely spoke. Clint frequently looked up to see her watching him and Phil, but it didn't feel obtrusive. When the others went inside to see about dinner, she asked if she could speak with them alone.

"You are both much improved from the last time I saw you," she said once the three of them were alone on the patio. "The bond between you is truly wondrous to behold. Have you felt any ill effects?"

"No," Phil said. "Clint went for a run without me this morning. It wasn't until he was two miles away that we noticed any effects, and they were negligible."

"Was that okay?" Clint asked. "At some point we're going to have to tolerate separation, and we wanted to see how things were progressing."

"It has done you no harm," Idunn said. "I believe any discomfort will dissipate more rapidly over the next few days."

Clint looked down at his and Phil's clasped hands.

"This displeases you," Idunn said.

"Our work requires frequent, sometimes lengthy, separations," Phil said. "But we…"

"We don't want to give up the connection," Clint filled in. "Being able to know what the other person is feeling, that part of the bond. We'll miss it."

"That is merely an outward manifestation of what has always been there," Idunn said, a wrinkle appearing between her eyes. "It's as I have said--the bond between you is strong, very strong. Without it, Clint Barton would not have been able to bring you back from Valhalla, Phillip Coulson. I've never seen a bond as deep, not between the people of your realm. It is rare even in Asgard."

"I'm confused," Clint said. "I thought you cast a spell between us. You know, created the bond, so that I could bring Phil back."

"I am not capable of such magic," Idunn said, looking vaguely alarmed. "I merely accessed what was already present. I understand now that you were not yet physically intimate, but were you truly not aware of your bond before Phillip Coulson's death?"

"We hadn't ever spoken of our feelings," Phil said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. "Idunn Arnardottir, is there a way to maintain the level of connection we only reached after my return? Is the empathic bond permanent?"

"I am unsure," Idunn answered. "This previous lack of awareness is unfamiliar to me. May I take your hands?"

They nodded, and she grasped their clasped hands in hers, closing her eyes.

Her hands were nearly as large as Thor's; they covered Clint and Phil's completely. They were warmer than Clint expected. He glanced over at Phil and saw his eyes were closed, a peaceful look on his face. Clint smiled and followed suit.

Idunn's hands were getting warmer, even hot, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The heat traveled up his arms to his chest, up Phil's arms to his chest, throughout their bodies. He and Phil were breathing in sync again, and Clint felt the same golden light surround them, the same boundless joy and love and connection they'd shared once before. The lack of a sexual component only served to highlight how perfectly they fit together, each the missing piece that cemented the other's life, their lives, into an unbreakable whole.

Idunn must have left at some point. When Clint opened his eyes, the only one with him was Phil. He reached up and cradled Phil's face in his hands, leaning in so their foreheads were touching, brushing away a tear with his thumb. He thought vaguely that he should be embarrassed by the wetness on his own cheeks, but it was okay; no one else could see them. Apparently you really could cry tears of pure happiness.

END