The words on the computer screen started to blur, and Clint Barton's head started to dip down towards his chest. As his head started to tilt sideways, he gasped suddenly and sat up straight, rubbing at his eyes and blinking rapidly to try and wake himself up. He groaned loudly and pushed his chair back from his desk, standing up and stretching his hands towards the ceiling. He'd been working on a paper for his political communications class since ten that morning. It was just past two-thirty now, and he hadn't even started writing the paper yet. He had about four pages full of notes, highlighted in different colors to match the material to the citations in a different document, but he wasn't really sure that he had enough information to actually write the stupid paper, and his uncertainty was making it really hard for him to buckle down and get his work done.
The paper wasn't due until Monday, and usually Clint would have put it off until Sunday, but unfortunately his Intro to Quantum Theory exam was on Monday as well, and he'd been struggling with it for the past few weeks. So while everyone else was getting ready to go out partying for one last hurrah before the semester ended, Clint was forcing himself to finish a paper for a class that he hadn't even wanted to take so that he could spend the whole weekend cramming for the hardest class he'd ever taken, but needed for his degree. It was really going to suck, but hopefully it would be worth it. He really didn't want to have to pay to take the class again.
Clint did a couple of lunges, trying to work up his heart rate to wake himself up a bit. He then moved on to toe touches and some more stretches to work out the kinks in his back that had appeared from spending almost five hours leaning over his laptop. As he stretched, his stomach rumbled angrily, and Clint finally decided that he deserved a break. He grabbed his jeans from where he'd tossed them on the floor the night before when he went to bed and slid into them. He looked down at his soft purple t-shirt with a frown, trying to decide if he should change it, since it was the one he'd worn all day yesterday and had also slept in. He grabbed the collar and yanked it up over his nose, inhaling. It smelled like cotton and vaguely of laundry soap, so he shrugged and left it on. He slid his feet into his purple Chucks, and laced them up quickly before grabbing his wallet, phone, and keys off his desk and sliding them into his pockets.
Natasha was standing in front of his door when he opened it, holding his jacket in one hand, her other hand formed in a fist raised to knock on his door. She raised an eyebrow at him when he flinched back instinctively from the raised fist, and he thought she looked a little hurt.
"I was just coming to get you," they both said at the same time. Natasha's eyebrows quirked up even higher, but she gestured for him to speak.
"I'm falling asleep at my desk. I need some food and about a gallon of coffee," Clint told her. "And honestly, I need to get out of this apartment for an hour or so. I'm gonna go crazy if I don't see some natural light."
"I agree, that's why I was coming to get you," Natasha said, and Clint noticed that she had her purse slung over her shoulder. "Uncommon Grounds?"
"You read my mind," Clint grinned.
Uncommon Grounds was a local coffee shop a few blocks between their apartment and the University that they frequented whenever they could reasonably afford it. The shop served excellent paninis and even better coffee, but if Clint were being honest, he'd still go there even if the coffee sucked. The owner was a man in his thirties named Phil Coulson, and he was easily the sexiest man Clint had ever met.
Phil wasn't classically handsome. He was a little too wiry and his nose was just a bit too off-center and his hairline receded just a bit too much for that, but Clint thought that he was much more attractive that way. It gave him a certain kind of character that counterbalanced his big hands and firm arms and solid shoulders. When Phil really smiled, it was sweet and extended all the way up to his eyes. And his eyes were Clint's favorite part. They were blue and so very kind, and they crinkled at the corners. Phil had a way of looking at him with those kind eyes that made Clint feel utterly safe and relaxed, and Clint had always been a sucker for kind eyes. He'd been stupidly infatuated with Phil ever since the first time he'd walked into Uncommon Grounds four years before as a nervous twenty-one year old Freshman who had a GED and was finally starting to use the second chance he'd been given. Phil had given him a coffee on the house to welcome him to New York and had advised him to color code his notes to make his studying and essay writing easier, and then he hadn't asked for anything in return.
Natasha was constantly trying to convince him to ask Phil out on a date, but Clint knew how the world worked. It was hard not to know your place when you grew up poor and at the very bottom of the totem pole, and it was very clear to him that Phil was completely out of his league. Asking him out would just make things awkward, and then Clint wouldn't be able to see Phil anymore, which he didn't think he could stand. Not to mention that he'd have to find a new coffee shop.
The walk to the shop didn't take long, but the winter air was brisk and freezing, and Clint was shivering by the time they reached Uncommon Grounds. Admittedly, the black leather jacket that he wore from October to April wasn't quite as thick as a winter coat should have been, but it had been a gift from Natasha last Christmas, and he loved it too much to buy something heavier. Natasha didn't appear all that phased, but she was from Russia, which apparently made her impervious to the cold. The rush of warm air that hit them as they opened the door had him sighing in relief, and he pushed past Natasha to rush through the door first. Ungentlemanly it may have been, but he was cold as hell, so he didn't even feel bad.
It appeared that Phil had finally gotten around to decorating for Christmas since the last time Clint had been here, and the inside of the cozy little shop looked appropriately festive. The ice-frosted windows were lined with multi-colored fairy lights that blinked lazily on and off, and glittery white snowflake ornaments hung from the ceiling. The menu boards had little Santas and Christmas wreaths and presents drawn all around the borders, which Clint assumed was the work of Darcy, the high school girl who worked in the afternoons. There was a small tree set up in the corner by the window, decorated with little coffee-themed ornaments, and the scent of pine mingled nicely with the spicy scent of the gingerbread Phil must have had baking in the kitchen. The atmosphere was topped off by the muted sounds of Jingle Bell Rock from the speakers in the ceiling. It looked like the perfect Christmas, and Clint felt a pang of longing in his chest at the sight of it.
"Come on, I'm starving," Natasha said, pushing at his back to get him to move towards the counter. He snapped out of his sudden Christmas melancholy and followed her towards the counter. Phil's face lit up with a smile when he saw them coming towards him, and Clint's stomach immediately turned to mush. He couldn't help but smile back, and he hoped that he didn't look as smitten as he felt.
"It looks amazing in here," Natasha told him, and Phil smiled again, clearly pleased.
"Thanks! I can't believe it took me so long to get the decorations up this year. It's practically half way through the month already!" Phil said. "I guess I'm getting slow in my old age."
Clint snorted at the idea of Phil ever letting himself get slow, let alone by something as trivial as age. Phil's eyes flicked over from Natasha to Clint, and his smile dimmed a bit, which made Clint want to shrivel up and die, but also do everything he could to fix it at the same time.
"God, Clint, you look like a zombie," Phil said, making Clint wince. "Are you sick?"
"Nah, just studying. Finals, you know," Clint shrugged, wishing desperately that he had thought to look in a mirror before leaving the apartment. "And on that note, give me the biggest coffee you have with like a hundred espresso shots. I'm gonna need to fill my veins with caffeine if I'm gonna make it through this weekend. And one of those grilled chicken paninis with red peppers…"
"Pepperjack and spinach," Phil finished for him, already moving to start up the espresso machine. "Clint you order the same sandwich every time you come in here, I've got it down by now, I promise." Clint smiled sheepishly, secretly pleased that Phil knew him so well and bothered to remember something small like what he wanted on his sandwich. Natasha also ordered her usual, and they loitered by the counter to chat with Phil while he made their food. They might have even eaten there, if Steve and Bucky hadn't come through the door, bantering with their usual affectionate antagonism.
Bucky was Natasha's boyfriend, Steve was Bucky's best friend, and both of them were Clint and Natasha's roommates, who had apparently both finished their exams and decided to get something to eat before heading home. As Steve and Bucky placed their orders, Clint and Natasha went to claim a table for the four of them, grabbing the one closest to the window with the big mismatched armchairs that they always gravitated towards every time it was free. Clint claimed his favorite chair, the squashy white one covered in big ugly purple and blue flowers, and tore into his sandwich like a starving man. It was delicious, like always, and he may or may not have moaned happily as he chewed.
"Should I leave you two alone?" Natasha asked drily, and Clint just stuck his tongue out at her, showing him his half-chewed food. She scowled at him.
"You're disgusting."
He grinned at her and swallowed the food in his mouth, following it up with a swig of coffee from the truly ridiculous-sized mug Phil had procured from somewhere. It had to be at least a liter of coffee. He sighed in happiness at the taste on his tongue, and took a moment to wish that he could afford to eat every meal there.
"I don't see the big deal, Steve," Bucky was saying as they approached, food and coffee in hand. "Just go home with the guy for Christmas. It's not like you'll have to meet his parents."
"We've only been dating for three months!" Steve defended. "Doesn't it seem a bit soon to be living with him?"
"Oh please, it's not like you're moving in. It's a month!" Bucky insisted.
"Yeah, I guess," Steve sighed, taking a large bite of his muffin. "I don't know. It just seems kind of serious…"
Steve was interrupted by the door slamming open, the bell clanging loudly, and Darcy rushing in like whirlwind.
"Sorry Boss!" she called, unwinding her scarf from around her neck as she rushed towards the counter. "I got held up after class, but it's totally cool now! Go ahead and eat, you must be starving, I got this!"
Phil just looked amused as Darcy hung up her coat and scarf and then shooed him out from behind the counter. He grumbled at her quietly, reaching into the cooler to grab a bottle of water and requesting that she make him a panini; her punishment for being late.
"Come sit with us, Phil!" Natasha called, shooting Clint a pointed look as she moved to sit in Bucky's lap to free up her chair for Phil. Bucky didn't even seem to notice when she sat on him, his argument with Steve apparently having degenerated to an intense staring contest.
"So what I'm getting here," Natasha said as Phil approached with a bottle of water and his sandwich, "is that Tony's invited you to stay with him for Christmas and you're not sure if that's moving too fast?"
"Right!" Steve said, as Bucky groaned.
"There's nothing fast about it, it's a visit for Christ's sake. You're not going to be meeting any family or anything, they're all dead!"
"Did you ever think that maybe he just doesn't want to be alone on Christmas?" Natasha asked, cocking her eyebrow in that Natasha way that immediately made everyone in the vicinity feel stupid. "Bucky just said he hasn't got any family. Maybe he just thought it would be nice to spend Christmas with his boyfriend instead of by himself. Again."
Steve looked stricken for a moment, and then he groaned loudly and covered his face with his hand. "Well why wouldn't he say that then?" he whined. "That would have been so much easier, and I've been such a jerk, being so indecisive…"
"You know Tony," Natasha said. "He'd never ask for anything serious if he could disguise it under nonchalance and jokes."
"Why didn't I think of that?" Steve asked, looking like a kicked puppy, which was quite an accomplishment for a six foot tall man who was strapped with muscle. "I'm the worst boyfriend ever. I'll be right back, I've got to go call Tony. I guess I'm going to Malibu for Christmas."
"And then there was one," Clint intoned dramatically. Natasha frowned and Clint immediately felt bad. It wasn't her fault that Clint's only living family was completely off grid. She was totally allowed to have a life.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like to come to Russia with us, Ptichka?" she asked, and Bucky scowled. As he and Natasha had been dating for three years, they were at a completely appropriate level for him to be meeting her parents. He could understand that Bucky would be annoyed at having Clint tag along for that, and he really had no intention of intruding. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't afford a plane ticket to Russia.
"Really, I'm sure," Clint assured her, and Bucky offered him a bro nod. "I'd probably piss off your mafioso father and get disappeared."
Bucky laughed, but Clint noticed that it sounded kind of nervous, like he was worried about something like that happening to him. They always teased Natasha about her family being part of the Russian mob due to the fact that she was pretty private about her family life and stoic as stoic could be. But every time they made mention of it, Nat didn't deny it, and smiled a catlike smile that really made them wonder if they were actually right about her potential mafia connections.
"I couldn't afford it anyway," he said, changing tacks so as not to make Bucky too nervous about being banished to the Siberian tundra. "I've got to start saving up for my grad school applications, you know? Plus, like, food and stuff."
"So you're staying in New York over Christmas then?" Phil asked, fiddling with his water bottle.
"Yeah," Clint sighed. "Just me and the big city. Whatever, New York is a fucking magical place to be during Christmas. All the movies say so."
Phil smiled at him, and Clint's heart skipped a beat. "Well, I'll be here too. If you get lonely you can come by and I'll make you a sandwich on the house."
"Deal," Clint agreed immediately. An excuse to spend more time around Phil and free food? There was absolutely no way he was passing that up. Natasha looked satisfied with that answer, her eyes flicking assessingly between Phil and Clint, back and forth like she was trying to push them together with just the power of her mind. Clint thought he wouldn't mind that so much.
After a few minutes, Steve came back inside and their conversation turned, inevitably, to finals. Phil only laughed at them and expressed how glad he was that he didn't have to worry about school and testing anymore. All in all, it turned out to be a very good break, and exactly what Clint needed. When they got back home, he sat down and banged out his entire essay in an hour.
Unfortunately, the studying for his test didn't go quite as smoothly. The next day was absolute hell. He was trying to cram an entire semester's worth of Quantum Theory into his brain, and his brain didn't seem to appreciate it very much. He spent all day locked in his room with a big KEEP OUT sign posted on his door, hoping that complete silence and isolation would help him focus. Honestly, he thought it was just driving him stir crazy. He'd find himself staring at the wall with intense focus instead of comprehending any of the information he was supposed to be absorbing. It took a few minutes to get himself back on track, and then within another ten he'd find himself staring blankly at the wall again.
He was finally driven out of his room at six o' clock when his stomach started to growl too loudly for him to ignore. He kicked something as he came out, and looked down to the ground to see what it was in annoyance. Bucky had the worst habit of leaving his stuff all over the place, and it drove Clint crazy. He couldn't count how many times he'd tripped over Bucky's school bag or a lone shoe. What he found, though, definitely wasn't a shoe.
There was a small purple box about the size of a tissue box at his feet wrapped in purple paper and tied with a white ribbon. A small white piece of cardstock was folded in half and stuck under the ribbon, and his name was written on it in neat, blocky handwriting. He frowned, a little curious as to why someone would leave a present outside of his door, but then he caught sight of the sign he'd hung and thought that maybe they had just decided to heed his wishes. Still, if it was something from one of his roommates, he didn't see why they would have gone to the trouble of wrapping it up so nicely. More likely, they would have just stuck it in the kitchen with a post-it note. But who else could have gotten in to their apartment and left a gift for him?
He pulled the cardstock free from the ribbon and opened it to find a message written in the same blocky hand.
"Did you know that green tea stimulates the brain? Good luck with your studying."
It wasn't signed, and the handwriting wasn't one that he recognized. He retreated back into his room and dropped onto his bed so that he could work on untying the ribbon and pulling off the paper. The box turned out to be a plain white one, just meant to make the present easier to wrap. Inside the box, though, was a bag of Asian pear green tea leaves and a little tea infuser shaped like a fat bird with striped wings that would float on top of the water. He smiled at the thoughtfulness of the gift, wishing he knew who had sent it so that he could thank them.
His stomach growled again and he took the hint, getting up off his bed and heading towards the kitchen with his gifts in hand. It wouldn't hurt to try the tea, and he definitely could use some brain stimulation.
Natasha was in the kitchen when he got there, leaning back against the counter and eating Honey-Nut Cheerios out of a bright yellow bowl. She raised her eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything. Clint waved at her and set the tea and the infuser on the counter, turning to rifle through the fridge for something to eat. There were a few slices of leftover pizza that he claimed for himself, shoving a piece in his mouth before he'd even withdrawn his head from the fridge. When he turned around the set the box on the counter, he saw that Natasha was inspecting his gifts, the little bird infuser held up at eye level.
"Where did you get this?" she asked, and Clint shrugged.
"I don't even know, man. I opened my door and there was this box sitting there, wrapped up like a present and a card that had my name on it, so I opened it up and this was inside. Apparently green tea is supposed to stimulate the brain." At her raised eyebrow, he shrugged again. "There was a note too. It's in my room." He grabbed the kettle off the stove top and filled it with water, setting it to boil as Natasha continued to study the bird.
"Why a partridge?" she finally asked.
"I have no idea," Clint said, kind of surprised that she'd been able to identify it. "I didn't even know what kind of bird it was. But it's kinda cool, isn't it? See the infuser is on the bottom, so it'll float when I put it in my cup. Like it's swimming on top."
"Yeah," Natasha said slowly, thoughtfully. "It's cute. And you have no idea who left it for you?"
Clint shook his head. "None. And I know I should probably be weirded out about it, but honestly it's kinda nice. Someone's just trying to be kind to me for no reason, which doesn't really happen all that often. So I'm just gonna roll with it."
Natasha hummed thoughtfully before setting the partridge back on the countertop. "Fair enough," she conceded. "How's the studying going?"
Clint groaned loudly and spent the next few minutes bitching about how much he hated his life as he finished his pizza and made up his new tea in the Hufflepuff mug Natasha had gotten him for his birthday.
"But anyway," Clint said as his tea finished steeping, fishing the infuser out of the cup by grabbing the bird around the neck. "I've got to go study some more. Hopefully the magic tea will help." He raised his mug to her as a goodbye and headed back towards his room, sipping as he went. The tea was nice and really did taste like pears, and he found himself smiling into his mug as he sat back down at his desk. He didn't know if it would actually help him retain anything, but it was the thought that counted, and the idea that someone had bothered to think about him at all went a long way towards making studying seem a little less horrible.
He spent his Sunday in isolation as well, coming out of his room only to pee or get something to eat. When he'd returned from one of his bathroom breaks, he'd found another, smaller purple wrapped box sitting on top of his notebook. Clint had smiled to himself and started untying the ribbon, noting that this box didn't have a note attached. He'd torn through the wrapping paper quickly, and when he opened the box he had found a collection of chocolate Turtles and Dove candies, along with another note settled on top.
"It's kind of a stretch, I admit, but I thought it would be better than more birds. Here's a little brain food for your studying. You're smart, and I know you can do it."
He hadn't really understood what they gifter had meant by the gift being a stretch, but in the end he had just been happy with it and dug in to the candy.
He'd gotten up very early Monday morning and trudged to his exam like a man on death row, but the travel mug full of pear flavored green tea and the few pieces of candy he'd thrown in his coat pocket as a reward for later had made him smile despite his worries about the test.
The test had, as expected, been horrendous, but Clint thought he'd done okay on it, and was fairly certain he hadn't failed. Now, though, the test was over, and Clint found it much easier to just not care about it anymore. Either he'd passed or he hadn't, and there wasn't anything he could do to change that. At any rate, he was finished with finals for the semester, and that was reason enough to be happy.
He was surprised to find Natasha waiting for him outside the Physics building when he emerged, but she acted as if it wasn't unusual at all.
"How did your test go?" she asked as he approached her.
"Eh, okay. Not terrible," he said noncommittally. It felt kind of like jinxing himself to commit to an answer.
"Right," Natasha said, drawing out the 'i' sound. "Well, come on, let's go to Uncommon Grounds. I'm starving."
Clint winced at the idea, knowing there wasn't a lot of money in his bank account. His job had been cutting his hours like crazy lately, and he barely made enough to cover rent and food. Hell, sometimes he didn't make enough and he had to get his roommates to help him out until the next paycheck. It always made him feel like the worst kind of asshole when it happened, even though they were his friends and insisted that they didn't mind because he always paid them back as soon as he had the money. He didn't like owing people debts. He thought, not for the first time, that it was probably time to start looking for another job.
"I can't really afford it right now," he admitted. "I've got to pay my phone bill next week and rent's coming up the week after that. But I don't mind hanging out while you eat…"
"Don't be stupid," Natasha scoffed, waving her hand in the air like it could retract his statement. "I'll buy you something. What's the good in getting a weekly allowance from my mobster parents if I can't use it to buy my best friend lunch every once in a while?"
He felt awkward about it, but long exposure to both Nat and Tony Stark had taught him that you didn't turn them down when they offered to pay for something. It only offended them.
"Yeah, okay," he said grudgingly after a moment, forcing a smile at her mob joke. "Thanks."
Natasha didn't acknowledge his gratitude, just linked her arm through his and started steering him in the direction of Uncommon Grounds like she thought he might try to run away from her. He sighed and let her lead him.
"Maybe you should ask Phil if he'd consider hiring you," Natasha said thoughtfully as they walked. "Darcy is his only employee, he must need some more help while she's in school, right?"
"I don't know, Nat," Clint sighed. "Even if he was willing to hire me, I don't know that I could spend that much time with him and not let him see how I feel about him."
"Well, that sounds like a plus to me," Natasha retorted. "I don't know why you're so insistent on lusting after him from afar."
"You mean besides the fact that he's way out of my league? He just wouldn't be interested and I don't want to have to start avoiding him."
Natasha jabbed him in the side. "He's not out of your league, and anyway, I don't see why you don't just ask him out. You've been pining after him for years and the worst he could do is say no, and if he does, that doesn't mean you can never show your face in front of him again. You just grow a pair, accept that he's not interested, and then continue on with things as they are now."
"Yeah, except there's no chance that he's going to say yes, so why should I even make things awkward at all? It's just better that I don't say anything," Clint insisted, scuffing the battered toes of his Chucks against the sidewalk.
Natasha shot him a dark look and pursed her lips, but thankfully she didn't press the subject anymore. "Fine, be a baby then. But I still think you should ask Phil about a job." Clint didn't answer her, running the idea through his head as they walked.
Uncommon Grounds was pretty dead when they got in, but that wasn't too surprising considering it was two o' clock on a Monday. Most people were at work or school.
"Hey Phil!" Natasha greeted as they entered, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully.
"Ah, hey, how are you guys?" Phil greeted, turning to fire up the panini grill. "The regular?"
"Sandwich yes, but can I get an eggnog latte?" Clint interrupted. It was a bit more expensive than his usual order, but Clint knew Natasha wouldn't mind.
"Of course!" Phil answered cheerfully, ringing up their orders and running Natasha's card while he waited for the grill to heat up. "Did you take that test yet, Clint?"
"Yeah,I just got out of it," Clint sighed. "It kinda sucked, but I'm glad it's over."
"I'm sure you did fine," Phil placated. "You're very smart."
Clint couldn't deny the thrill of pleasure that ran through him at Phil's words. Phil thought he was smart. Obviously, Clint knew he wasn't stupid, but it was really nice to know that Phil saw past the rough exterior and realized that he was more than he appeared to be. Most people didn't bother.
"Thanks," Clint answered quietly, his mouth kind of dry. Phil smiled warmly at him before turning away to start putting their order together.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," Natasha announced, sending Clint a very pointed look before she turned on her heel and headed towards the back of the shop.
"So, um…" Clint said, stopping for a moment to clear his throat and wishing he didn't feel quite so awkward. "Have you considered hiring anyone else lately?"
"I have a bit," Phil admitted. "It would make my life much easier if I had someone to help me out during the morning rushes. But I've kind of hesitated about it because I'm not really good at having other people do things I can technically do myself. It's kind of a problem of mine."
"Micromanager?" Clint asked, suddenly rethinking Natasha's idea. He couldn't stand having someone breathing down his neck and double checking his work all the time. It made him feel incompetent.
"No, not at all," Phil denied, tossing a look at Clint over his shoulder that clearly said he was insulted that Clint even had to ask. "More like a control freak, I guess? But once I convince myself to give up some of that control, I accept it and trust that person to do what needs to be done. It's the initial part that gets to me; admitting that I need help and can't do everything by myself, you know?" Phil turned away from the grill for a minute to start making their drinks.
"Yeah," Clint said, thinking about how worthless he felt every time he had to ask one of his roommates to front him some money for the rent. "Yeah, I get that."
"Why do you ask?" Phil asked. "Know someone who's looking for a job?"
"Yeah," Clint said. "Me, actually. I work at a restaurant right now, but I'm not really getting that many hours, you know? I mean, I totally don't want to be all up in your face about hiring me or anything. But if you, you know, decide that you might want to hire someone, I hope that you'll consider me. I can fill in an application and everything, if you have one."
Phil looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment before he nodded slowly. "How many hours would you want? And how much would you want to be paid?"
Clint hesitated for a moment. He hated when people asked him what he thought his labor was worth. "Ah well. Full time, if I can get it. And I guess like...ten bucks an hour? Like I know that's kind of a lot for a new employee, but honestly it's the least I can take and still afford to live in my apartment and eat, you know?"
Phil nodded thoughtfully for a moment before saying, "An application won't be necessary. I already know you and I trust you, so it's not like I need references. And I know you're smart and a quick learner. I'll tell you what, give me your phone number and tonight I'll look over my books and see if I can afford to take on another employee and I'll call you tomorrow to let you know."
"That...that sounds awesome," Clint breathed, trying not to feel too relieved, because he didn't know that Phil would actually be able to employ him. "Like, really, thanks man." He grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and dug one of the pens he'd brought for his test out of his coat pocket, scrawling his number down and sliding it across the counter. Phil finished plating up the food and then slid the napkin into his pocket.
"Well, don't thank me yet," Phil warned, but his smile was warm and Clint was pretty sure he was going to melt into a puddle of goo. Natasha chose that moment to reappear, grabbing her plate and coffee off the counter before turning away immediately to go find a seat.
"Thanks, Phil," she called over her shoulder.
"Yeah, thanks Phil," Clint echoed her, grabbing his food and following her. Despite it being the same thing he got every time he went to Uncommon Grounds, his panini tasted particularly good that day.
When they got home later, he found a long rectangular box wrapped in purple paper and tied off with a ribbon sitting on the counter in the kitchen.
"What's that?" Natasha asked as he made a beeline for it, immediately pulling off the ribbon.
"Remember how I got the tea and the infuser?" Clint asked. "Well yesterday I got some candy, and both of those were wrapped the same as this one."
"Do you even know who is giving you these gifts?" Natasha asked, looking suspiciously at the box like she thought it might explode.
"No," Clint admitted. "But I mean, so far it's been food and I haven't died yet. It's just someone being nice to me during exams, you know? Like...taking care of me while I stress myself out. Kinda like the care packages your mom sends you with Russian candy, you know? Except for clearly whoever this is isn't my mom. But it kind of feels like the same intention."
"Well," Natasha said slowly. "I suppose it's not hurting anything. But aren't you wondering how this person keeps managing to get these boxes in here?"
Clint shrugged and grimaced. "Yeah, okay, so that's kinda suspicious. But I guess I'm just letting it go because it feels nice to know that someone's doing something nice for me just because, you know? It's nice to feel cared about."
"I care about you, Ptichka," Natasha reminded him, sounding almost offended.
"I know you do, Tasha," Clint assured her. "But this just feels different, you know? Like...I don't know. Like maybe the difference in the way you care about me and the way you care about Bucky?"
Natasha pursed her lips and met his eyes searchingly, like she thought he was keeping an entire illicit affair from her or something. He didn't know what she saw when she looked at him, but eventually she nodded and gestured towards the gift.
"Well? Are you going to open it?" Clint grinned and started tearing at the paper, revealing, once again, a plain white box. Inside the box, however, was a bottle of handcrafted Belgian dark ale called 3 French Hens. The note inside was written in the same writing on the same card as last time, and simply said, "Exams are over! Have a drink to celebrate!"
"Huh," Clint said, looking at the bottle. "What a weird name." He offered it to Natasha so she could look, and an odd smile crossed her face.
"What did you say you got yesterday?" she asked, turning the bottle over in her hands.
"Chocolate," Clint told her with a shrug.
"Was it Dove and chocolate Turtles?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Yeah," he answered slowly, his brow furrowing at her in confusion. "How did you know that?"
She tapped the label on the bottle, her fingernail clinking against the dark glass. "Three French Hens," she said. "And yesterday was Turles and Doves. And the day before that it was a partridge in a pear tea."
"Oh," Clint said, and then, when he got it, "Oh! It's the Twelve Days of Christmas!"
Natasha nodded sagely. "Looks like you've got another nine days of gifts coming," she said. "I wonder how they're gonna pull off ten lords a leaping?"
Clint laughed loudly, tickled by the warm, happy feeling in his stomach. Someone was going to the trouble to give him clever gifts for twelve days in a row, and he didn't even know why. But he did know it made him feel damn good about himself, and suddenly he was really looking forward to the days to come, even when he had been kind of depressed about being alone on Christmas just five minutes ago.
"I think you have an admirer," Natasha said when she handed the bottle back.
"I dunno," Clint denied, though he secretly felt thrilled at the idea. "I mean...it could just be that someone is being nice because they know I'm alone for the holidays and they think I'm pathetic and need a pick-me-up."
"It could be that," Natasha agreed. "Except they chose to go with the trouble of doing twelve creative gifts in twelve days instead of leaving just one anonymously and being done with it. And also, the words are a little spot on for a random act of kindness aren't they?" she asked. And then, before he could ask, she sang, "On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…" trailing off and staring at him meaningfully.
"So, what?" Clint asked. "You think I'm being courted with Christmas songs?"
"You're definitely being courted with Christmas songs," Natasha agreed.
"Huh," Clint said thoughtfully, looking back down at the note that he'd dropped on the counter. He kinda wish he'd kept the other two as well, and he made a mental note to look through the trash can in his room to see if he could find them.
"So what are you going to do about it?" Natasha asked.
"I'm not really sure," Clint admitted, leaning back against the counter. "I mean...there's Phil, who I've been...I don't know…."
"In love with?" Natasha suggested dryly.
"No, not love. I mean...I feel like I could love him, really easily, but it's definitely not at that point yet. Something between want and love. "Like" just seems so third grade," he complained, wracking his mind for the word.
"Yearning?" Natasha asked innocently. "Lusting, languishing, being warm for his form?"
"Oh my god, shut up!" Clint cried, waving his hands in front of him as if to ward off her words. "I hate you so much."
"No you don't," Natasha sang at him. "And I think the word you're looking for is 'pining'."
And as much as he hated to admit it, she was absolutely right.
"Okay, yeah, pining. I'm just saying, though, I've pined after Phil for years. He's gorgeous and he's so kind. Like, the nicest guy I've ever met and he doesn't even try. But he's way out of my league and I know it. I just don't have a chance with him," Clint sighed, wishing that he could talk about this and not sound quite so pathetic. "And now I'm getting really nice surprise gifts from someone who has obviously put a lot of thought into this. Like, this is really sweet and I can't help but think that, whoever it is, maybe they really like me. And part of me loves that, and thinks that I should just try to get over Phil and focus on this person who wants me. But at the same time I'm not really sure that I want to move on from Phil, which is just so stupid, I know. It doesn't make any sense. Like, I could have a chance at really liking this person, and I could potentially be happy with them. But I also kind of feel like it's not fair to them to do anything when I've obviously got it bad for Phil still. And I'm not sure that I'm ready to give Phil up."
"Phil's not yours, Ptichka," Natasha reminded him gently. "He could be, though, if you manned up and asked him. He likes you, you know."
"Well yeah, he likes me," Clint agreed. "But not like that."
"Look, Clint," Natasha said flatly, her gentle tone gone, replaced with annoyance. "You have three options: you can spend the rest of your life pining after Phil like a pathetic puppy, you can man up and tell Phil that you want to date him, or you can move on. That doesn't mean you have to date whoever is sending you gifts, of course, but I suppose that is option four, if that's what you want. But eventually you're going to have to make a choice."
"I know," Clint sighed. "I just don't know what the right choice is."
"You're smart," Natasha assured him. "You'll figure it out. Now, I've got to go check and make sure that James has started packing. He always puts it off to the last minute. Will you be all right?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine," Clint waved her off. "Just, you know, trying to sort my life out. What else is new?"
Clint took his gift to his room with him, along with the card that had come with it. None of the cards had been particularly affectionate or anything, but he still liked the stark look of it and the thought behind them. They hadn't just been gifts given without thought, certainly. The paper they'd been wrapped in was his favorite color, and the gifter had taken into account that it was finals time, and in their own way had offered support and encouragement, and he appreciated that down to his core.
Growing up an orphan had meant that he pretty much had to fend for himself for most of his life, particularly after Barney got sent to jail and Clint realized that Trick didn't actually care about him at all. He was used to it, but the idea of someone trying to take care of his little needs and wants made him feel pretty gooey inside.
He found the other two cards in the trash can. One of them had a bent corner, but other than that they were both fine. He attached them to the tackboard mounted above his desk, pinned open so that he could read the little messages as many times as he wanted to. The blocky handwriting looked was neat and efficient, and it didn't look like it was trying too hard. There wasn't any fanfare or flowery words, just simple messages in neat hand, and they brightened up his day.
But he wasn't sure that they brightened up his day more than seeing Phil smile did.
Clint groaned loudly in frustration and headed over to the door to flip off his light. It was still the middle of the day, so it didn't actually make it that much darker, but it would do. He was going to take a nap, and maybe when he woke up, all his problems would be gone and his life would be sorted out. It wasn't very likely, of course, but that didn't mean he couldn't dream.
Clint was sitting on Natasha and Bucky's bed, watching as Natasha sorted through Bucky's suitcase to make sure he had everything he needed, when his phone rang. He didn't recognize the phone number, but sometimes people from work used the phone register to call and see if he could switch shifts, so he answered it anyway.
And then he nearly had a stroke when he realized it was Phil Coulson's voice greeting him on the other end of the line. Stupidly, he hadn't really thought about the fact that giving Phil his phone number would mean that Phil would be calling him. And, he realized with a little thrill, he now had Phil's phone number. Or at least the phone number to Uncommon Grounds, but Clint was going to count it anyway. He had to take his victories where he could get them.
"Clint? Are you there?" Phil's voice snapped him back to attention, and Clint realized that he'd drifted off in his own thoughts and had been completely ignoring Phil.
"God, I'm sorry! Natasha was asking me a question!" he lied quickly, earning a raised eyebrow from Natasha.
"That's all right," Phil assured him calmly. "As I was saying, I went over my finances last night, and I'd be pleased to offer you a job. I can take you on full time, at eleven dollars an hour. Is that okay with you?"
Clint was stunned. Not only was Phil pretty much saving his ass by offering him a job that Clint had only asked about yesterday, but he was offering to pay more than Clint had asked, when Clint had no experience working in a coffee shop. From anyone else, it would have been extremely suspicious, but from Phil it was just the pure unadulterated kindness that Clint had come to expect from him. As long as Clint had known him, Phil had always gone out of his way to help him out, giving advice when he thought it was warranted and sometimes even pressing a free coffee or pastry on him when it was obvious that Clint's funds were low. Phil was the best kind of person, much better than Clint. Phil was the kind of person that Clint couldn't even touch.
He realized that Phil was waiting for an answer, so Clint cleared his throat and swallowed.
"Um, yeah, that's more than okay. That's great actually. I mean...you do know that I've got like zero experience, right?"
"I do," Phil assured him, sounding a bit amused. "But I know you'll pick it up quickly, and I know I can depend on you to do your very best. I think you're worth the investment."
Clint didn't need to see Natasha smirking at him to know that he was blushing. He was just glad that he was on the phone so that Phil didn't see it. He'd never really had anyone think he was worth their time before. He'd been of use to people, of course. When he was smaller and the only one who could fit in through the air vents and basement windows to get the front doors unlocked, or to get past alarm systems, he had been of use.
Clint viciously pushed that thought from his mind. He had promised himself that he wouldn't think of those times Before. He had a new life now, a better life, and obsessing over the past wouldn't help him.
"Wow," Clint said, and he hated the way his voice cracked. "Thanks, Phil. It means a lot. Like, really."
"You're welcome," Phil said warmly. "Now, are you free some time today to come down? Bring your social security card and your license and we can get your paperwork done, and maybe even get started on learning how to run some of the machines."
Clint looked at his watch, noting it was just past noon. "Yeah, sure, I don't have to do anything until six," he said. "I can come right now, if you want."
"That sounds fine," Phil said. "I'll see you soon."
"Yeah," Clint said, kind of breathlessly. "See you."
"What was that all about?" she asked suspiciously. "Did you ask Phil on a date finally?"
Clint made a face at her, but she just raised her eyebrows in a clear demand for information.
"No," he said when she wouldn't stop. "I took your advice yesterday while you were in the bathroom and I asked Phil if he might be willing to think about hiring me. He just offered me a job, eleven bucks an hour and full time."
"That's great news," Natasha said. "But I thought you were concerned about spending all that extra time around Phil?"
Clint grimaced. "Yeah, I am. I mean, I'm not an animal, I can keep from mauling him. But it's certainly not going to help me get any distance to clear my head and decide what I need to do about sorting out my lack of a love life. But I've got to be practical, you know? I'm not making enough to live on at Aureole, and Phil's offer is amazing when you consider that I have no experience. I can't afford to refuse him, especially when I'm the one who asked in the first place. I have no doubts that Phil went out of his way to arrange employment for me."
"Because he has feelings for you," Natasha said immediately.
"Because he has a soft spot for strays and he's ridiculously kind," Clint countered. "I'm a big boy, and I'll figure it out, okay?"
"Okay," Natasha said. "I trust that you know what you're doing. But when you inevitably have some sort of breakdown crisis just remember that Moscow is nine hours ahead of New York and if you wake me up in the middle of the night I will kill you."
"Noted," Clint said dryly. "Now, I've got to go find my social security card and then head out. I'll see you later."
"Bring me home a blueberry scone!" Natasha called after his retreating back.
Uncommon Grounds was fairly busy when Clint finally got there, after spending almost an hour practically tearing his room apart looking for his Social Security card and finally finding it, inexplicably, in his sock drawer. It was getting to be the end of the lunch rush, but Phil didn't seem pressured at all.
"Oh good, you're here!" He greeted when he spotted Clint, popping a lid on a to-go cup and sliding it over to a businessman who was practically glued to his BlackBerry. "What can I get you?" he added to the next person.
"Yeah, sorry," Clint said. "I couldn't find…"
"It's not a problem," Phil assured him as he moved over to start making another coffee. "I've been pretty busy anyway, so you would have just been sitting around waiting for me anyway. Go on take a seat, I'll be with you…" Phil was interrupted by the sound of a timer going off. "Actually, can you go in back and take the muffins out of the oven and put the next trays in? They're already all set up, just pop them in and set the timer for thirty minutes, please."
"No problem, boss," Clint said, adding a sarcastic salute for effect, which made Phil smile.
Clint had never been in the back of Uncommon Grounds. Honestly, he'd never really had a reason to be. It looked pretty similar to any of the other food prep areas Clint had ever seen with a lot of stainless steel, a big shelving rack of ingredients, behind which sat a desk, shoved into the corner, and a large sink area in the very back. On the left wall was a big heavy metal door that looked like it led to a walk-in refrigerator, and past that were two large ovens, stacked one on top of the other. He found a pair of oven mitts that were bright pink and scattered with bright orange polka dots resting on a table next to four trays of what looked to be raspberry chocolate chip muffins. Using the garish oven mitts, he switched the trays out and reset the timer. The muffins looked and smelled delicious, and it took all of his willpower not to eat one. Phil always baked the best things.
There was a large cooling rack set up at the back of the counter space, so Clint tipped the muffins out and arranged them on the rack to cool before he headed out to the front of the shop again. The line was a bit shorter, but still extending almost to the door.
"Grab a muffin or something, take a seat," Phil instructed, nodding his head at the display case of baked goods. "I'll be with you as soon as I can."
"It's not a problem," Clint shrugged, going immediately for one of the raspberry chocolate chip muffins. "Like I said, I don't have to be anywhere until six." He took his muffin and claimed his favorite armchair, settling in with his phone to wait.
He beat his high score on Fruit Ninja by the time the rush died out and Phil came to join him, toting two large mugs with him. Clint was surprised when Phil handed him one of the mugs and he found that it wasn't coffee, but apple cider with ground cinnamon and clove floating in it.
"I didn't know you sold apple cider here," Clint said.
"I don't," Phil responded, sipping from his own mug and then smiling in a pleased sort of way. "I keep it in the shop around Christmas because my mom used to make it for me when I was a kid and it makes me miss her a little less. It's an employee only treat." He added this last part with a conspiratorial wink. Clint grinned at him and took a drink, delighting in the taste of cinnamon and apple on his tongue.
"Damn, that's good," he said when he swallowed, and Phil's ears went a little pink with pleasure. Clint had to look away to keep from launching himself across the table. Phil was so damn cute. It really wasn't fair. After a second of slightly awkward silence, Phil cleared his throat and held up the file folder he'd brought to the table.
"It's not really a huge to-do, it's not like this is a corporation," Phil explained. "I just have an employment contract that's pretty general. You agree to your pay, I agree to your pay, stuff like that. You can take a minute to read it over while I go to the back and scan your social security card and your license."
Clint handed over his documents and then started skimming through the contract. It was all really straight-forward and pretty much exactly what Phil had said it would be. Clint had already scrawled his signature on the line by the time Phil had gotten back.
"You signed that pretty quick," Phil said as he sat down again, this time with a cobb salad in a plastic take-out container. "Sorry, I'm gonna eat. I'm starving."
"Nah, go ahead," Clint said, waving him off, and Phil immediately dug into his food. "So, uh, I liked your oven mitts."
Phil groaned loudly and swallowed. "Yeah, my niece picked those out for Christmas last year. She's twelve and has interesting opinions on colors. You should see the shirt she got me for my birthday. It's purple."
"I like purple!" Clint protested, waving a hand at the purple t-shirt he was currently sporting.
"I've noticed," Phil answered dryly. "And it looks very nice on you. But you don't understand. This shirt is like...I can't even really describe it. Like neon purple. And it has an acid green collar. It's really horrible, I promise you."
Clint laughed loudly, trying to picture Phil in a neon colored monstrosity of a shirt. Somehow, the image wasn't exactly computing. Phil almost always looked like he'd just stepped out of a magazine with his neat dark jeans and soft looking sweaters that Clint always wanted to reach out and stroke. During the summers he changed the sweaters for subtly patterned button-up shirts with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. It was a very good look on him, and Clint always appreciated it.
"By the time I finish this, Darcy should be here and then we'll start with the education. Sound good?"
"Yeah," Clint said, sipping at his cider again to keep himself from staring sappily at the smile Phil was shooting him. "Sounds great."
God, he was so fucked.
True to Phil's word, Darcy had arrived within the next hour and they had spent the rest of Clint's time there teaching him how to make different kinds of coffee. They'd both assured him that he'd done really well for his first day, but Clint knew there was no way he'd be left alone to handle the machines for a while yet. On the way home, Clint had stopped at Aureole to quit. Part of him felt a little bad about not giving a two week notice, but honestly he'd gotten so little hours, he didn't think it would be that difficult for them to find someone to fill in.
Steve and Bucky were in full-on cooking mode by the time Clint got back to the apartment, which was awesome. He had thought that maybe Natasha would try to cook for their designated goodbye-for-the-holidays dinner, but clearly she had finally accepted that cooking was not her forte and had just given in to Bucky and Steve's greater culinary skills.
"Oooh, what's cooking?" Clint asked, trying to peek over their shoulders to see into the pot. It was kind of hard with Steve, but Bucky was the same height as Clint, so he took the advantage where he could.
"Fajitas," Bucky answered, and surely enough Bucky was searing a bunch of colorful vegetables in a skillet and Steve was grating cheese into a bowl, a small mountain of chopped lettuce resting on the cutting board next to him. The smell was making his mouth water, so Clint reached around Bucky quickly and snagged a red pepper. He had it in his mouth before Bucky could yell at him.
"Damn it, Clint, we all have to eat this. Can you not stick your dirty fingers into the pan?" Bucky complained.
"Sorry," Clint shrugged, but he wasn't really that sorry.
"Oh hey," Steve said suddenly. "Someone left you a gift. It's on the coffee table in the living room."
Clint turned to head out of the kitchen, but not before he snagged some of the grated cheese from the bowl. He was followed out by some creative cursing, but he didn't really care. The package sitting on the coffee table was wrapped the same as usual, but when he picked it up it wasn't quite as rigid as the others had been. Whatever it was clearly wasn't in a box. He wondered what it could possibly be, with the theme of four calling birds. And really, it had to be frustrating to try and come up with clever gifts when so many of them were based on birds.
He set the card aside and opened the gift first, too curious to wait. It turned out to be four books, stacked one atop the other. The top one was To Kill A Mockingbird. He set it aside and looked at the next, smiling when he saw One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, which was a movie that he loved. He kept promising himself that he would read the book one day, and now it looked like he would get that chance. The other two were Black Hawk Down and Where Eagles Dare. He set them aside and reached for the card, which was fairly apologetic in nature.
"I managed the four birds, but I dropped the ball on the calling part. Didn't figure you'd appreciate me capturing some pigeons for the cause. I hope you like them anyway."
Honestly, Clint loved them. He'd never read any of them before, but that wasn't even the point. Someone had given him books, novels, that they actually thought he would enjoy to read. Clint knew the impression he gave off, with all his muscle mass and midwestern simple-guy looks, but he found it kind of annoying that a lot of people didn't look past that and just assumed that he was stupid. Whoever was sending the gifts had sent him something that took brain power. They had assumed that he would take time to read when he didn't have to, which wasn't really the same as declaring that they thought Clint was a genius, but it was faith that he was more than he appeared at first glance, and Clint liked that.
He had just enough time to stash his new books in his room and pin up the fourth note when Bucky called that dinner was ready. Clint's stomach rumbled, and suddenly it seemed like it had been hours since he'd eaten the muffin that Phil had given him. They made a joint effort of getting everything on the table, and within a few minutes they were all digging into their food and, in Clint's case, moaning happily at the taste of peppers and seared chicken. He'd gone hungry enough Before to always appreciate food when he got it. Plus, it was just really good food.
The others spent the time discussing their travel plans for the next day. All three of them would be leaving early in the morning, though Steve would be travelling in style using his boyfriend's private jet while Natasha and Bucky rode coach for nine hours. Clint hoped for their sakes that there were no small children on the flight with them.
"You're being kind of quiet, Clint," Steve observed, ever concerned about the well-being of everyone around him.
"Just don't have a lot to contribute to the conversation," Clint said, shrugging. "Besides, eating. Really great, by the way."
"Thank you," Steve said. "What did you do today?"
Clint had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes he felt like Steve was their den mother, and while he appreciated that Steve cared, sometimes Clint felt like he was a little pushy. Usually, though, it was just better to let Steve ask his questions and answer them as quickly as possible. Otherwise, Steve looked all disappointed and sad, and it tended to give Clint the same feeling that he got when he saw that Sarah Mclachlan animal abuse commercial.
"Uh, well, I went to Uncommon Grounds. Phil gave me a job, so it was all paperwork and him and Darcy showing me the ropes."
Bucky and Steve exchanged a look, and Clint wanted to bang his face into the table. All of his friends knew about his massive crush on Phil. Apparently, it was kind of hard to miss.
"Before you start giving me shit, just know that I've probably already had this conversation with Tasha," he advised, and Natasha looked smug.
"Ah, well," Steve said, and then he trailed off awkwardly for a second. "You're an adult Clint and I trust you know what you're doing. Just, be careful, all right? I don't want you getting hurt."
"I'm not going to do anything stupid," Clint sighed. "Phil doesn't know how I feel about him and it's going to stay that way."
"Well, that's not really what meant!" Steve protested. "I think you and Phil would be a very nice couple. Just that you've been avoiding asking him out since I've known you, and I kinda feel like putting yourself in his presence for long hours almost every day will be trying on you. You might come to resent it."
"It will be fine," Clint sighed. "I promise, it will all be fine, okay?"
"Okay," Steve agreed, but he still sounded doubtful.
"By the way," Bucky interrupted, for which Clint sent him a grateful look. "Did your friend find you?"
Clint frowned at him in confusion. "Uh...what friend?"
"I don't know, he didn't give me his name. A little taller than you, red hair, looked a little shady. He came by around three looking for you, and disappeared pretty quick after I told him you weren't here and I didn't know where you were."
Clint felt like he might sick for a moment. "Did, uh...Did he have a scar running through his eyebrow?" he asked.
Bucky looked thoughtful for a moment before he shrugged. "I didn't notice. Why, who is he?"
"It's nothing," Clint dismissed quickly. "Don't worry about it."
His friends were all suspicious of that, of course, but all Clint could do was hope that they didn't push the issue. They all looked like they wanted to, for a long minute, but Natasha, bless her, came to Clint's rescue.
"So I was thinking that when we all get back home, we could go out and have a little celebration ourselves somewhere. Maybe get a nice dinner?"
Steve looked, for a moment, like he was going to say something, but then he let Natasha distract him. "Yeah, that sounds like it could be really nice," he said. "Did you have any place in mind?"
Clint was quiet as they started making tentative plans. He still had half of his second fajita on his plate, but suddenly he didn't feel hungry anymore. His stomach was roiling with nerves about what his mysterious visitor could mean for the life he had created for himself here. He was trying very hard not to freak out. For all he knew, it could someone completely different.
Maybe, by some blessing of the universe, the shady looking redhead that had appeared at his front door wasn't his brother.