They Say What They Say

Previously, Phil took a photo of Clint.

Phil knows that it’s foolish and more than a little insane. But he spends so much of his life being sensible and on top of things that he figures that no one could fault him for being a little indulgent at times.

And really it was all Barton’s fault, he reasoned. His fault for turning up to their mission briefing in well-worn jeans and a plain white t-shirt and that gray overcoat that Phil knew for a fact to be eminently soft and touchable and that had cost Clint a sizable amount of money from some upmarket menswear store in London. He’d been so proud of his purchase, Phil remembered, so very pleased with himself when he bounced into Phil’s office to show off his coat after he’d returned him from a job well done. And it was only because Phil knew that, until he’d joined SHIELD, Clint had never really had the wherewithal to buy himself nice things that he’d refrained from shooting off some sarcastic comment about sartorial choices and fashion plates.

For some reason that coat combined with the casual jeans and t-shirt and the barest hint of stubble on Clint’s chin had caused something inside Phil’s head to snap and before he could think about it, he was ordering Clint to stand against the wall as he took a photo of him with his phone.

Clint had wanted to know why. Of course he wanted to know why. Who wouldn’t? But Phil couldn’t tell him - couldn’t even begin to think of a plausible excuse as to why he suddenly felt the need to take a photo of Clint wearing that coat and those jeans - and so he just continued in his way with a hurriedly snapped “No.” when Clint asked to see the photo.

That meeting was the most uncomfortable one Phil has ever sat through, what with his phone burning a hole through his jacket pocket combined with the looks Clint was shooting him across the conference room table. Clint’s shoulders had that ‘I’m not letting this go until you explain yourself’ kind of hunch, and Phil knew that even if he did manage to slip away without Barton following him, he’d have about twenty minutes tops before Clint turned up in his office with that look on his face. The one that told Phil that he was being an ass and just admit it goddamn it.

If he could have he would have fallen to his knees and kissed the ground when the meeting ended and Fury said, “Agent Coulson, can you accompany me back to my office to go over a few things.”

The look Clint gave him as they filed out of the conference room told him quite clearly that this was not over and that eventually Phil would have to explain himself.

Two hours later Clint was on a plane to Beirut and they didn’t see each other for a month after that.

They never did have that conversation about the photo. Thankfully Phil never did have to explain how he later printed a copy of it and tucked it inside his wallet, hiding it between his driver’s license and one of his less precious Captain America cards. It was a moment of madness, he reasons, but one he’ll never regret.

Previously, Phil took a photo of Clint.

Phil knows that it’s foolish and more than a little insane. But he spends so much of his life being sensible and on top of things that he figures that no one could fault him for being a little indulgent at times.

And really it was all Barton’s fault, he reasoned. His fault for turning up to their mission briefing in well-worn jeans and a plain white t-shirt and that gray overcoat that Phil knew for a fact to be eminently soft and touchable and that had cost Clint a sizable amount of money from some upmarket menswear store in London. He’d been so proud of his purchase, Phil remembered, so very pleased with himself when he bounced into Phil’s office to show off his coat after he’d returned him from a job well done. And it was only because Phil knew that, until he’d joined SHIELD, Clint had never really had the wherewithal to buy himself nice things that he’d refrained from shooting off some sarcastic comment about sartorial choices and fashion plates.

For some reason that coat combined with the casual jeans and t-shirt and the barest hint of stubble on Clint’s chin had caused something inside Phil’s head to snap and before he could think about it, he was ordering Clint to stand against the wall as he took a photo of him with his phone.

Clint had wanted to know why. Of course he wanted to know why. Who wouldn’t? But Phil couldn’t tell him - couldn’t even begin to think of a plausible excuse as to why he suddenly felt the need to take a photo of Clint wearing that coat and those jeans - and so he just continued in his way with a hurriedly snapped “No.” when Clint asked to see the photo.

That meeting was the most uncomfortable one Phil has ever sat through, what with his phone burning a hole through his jacket pocket combined with the looks Clint was shooting him across the conference room table. Clint’s shoulders had that ‘I’m not letting this go until you explain yourself’ kind of hunch, and Phil knew that even if he did manage to slip away without Barton following him, he’d have about twenty minutes tops before Clint turned up in his office with that look on his face. The one that told Phil that he was being an ass and just admit it goddamn it.

If he could have he would have fallen to his knees and kissed the ground when the meeting ended and Fury said, “Agent Coulson, can you accompany me back to my office to go over a few things.”

The look Clint gave him as they filed out of the conference room told him quite clearly that this was not over and that eventually Phil would have to explain himself.

Two hours later Clint was on a plane to Beirut and they didn’t see each other for a month after that.

They never did have that conversation about the photo. Thankfully Phil never did have to explain how he later printed a copy of it and tucked it inside his wallet, hiding it between his driver’s license and one of his less precious Captain America cards. It was a moment of madness, he reasons, but one he’ll never regret.