I wrote this while I was supposed to be working on Best Laid Plans, but I finally got a chapter done for that so I'm posting this too. Very rough, may get taken down for editing.

The last time they got married was in New Mexico. Before that, it had been Portland. Amsterdam. Budapest. London. Other people collected stamps, or Captain America Memorabilia (okay, so he collected that too), but Phil and Clint collected marriage licences. They'd sneak away on missions, they'd find a moment to spare, they'd forge the documents most of the time. Phil was good at that; Clint was okay, but he tended to get the letters in the wrong order and not notice until he'd spent hours finishing off the damn thing.

Natasha had been Clint's best woman six times and Phil's twice and Fury had stood up for Phil more than once. Phil's family knew, of course. They'd been at wedding number two (that one was in Canada). But outside of those few, no one knew that they were married.

Their first marriage was for an undercover mission. Their target was a man who worked at the local city hall. He was aiding in smuggling chemicals that were obliquely related to the super-soldier serum. They'd only been dating a few weeks (this was eight years ago now, they'd known each other for twelve) that first time, but Phil got them paperwork in their own names along with the names of their cover and it just felt right. They redid it a few months later, with Nick and Natasha and the Coulson Clan.

That was mainly because Mama Coulson wouldn't have forgiven them, but it set the precedent. It became a game. They'd find new and exciting ways to propose to each other; new places to get married. They'd affirmed their love for each other over and over again, and Clint needed that. He really did.

His history left him terrified of being left alone, and he loved Phil, so much. Their first marriage settles something in him. but he avoided Phil for a full week after it.

"What?" Phil had asked when he finally cornered him. "What's wrong? I know the wedding upset you. It doesn't have to mean anything. It was just for a mission."

"What if I want it to mean something?" and Phil's face had lit up. He loved Clint as much as Clint loved him, but he worried that Clint would find someone 'better'. They both had their insecurities, but then, so does everybody.

When Phil died, Clint was left with a stack of paper. Each one had their names, a date, and each one was proof of their love. They were kept in a binder under plastic, in the same way Phil kept his Captain America Cards. Clint flipped through the pages, touching each licence in turn.

Norway, their first time. It was for a mission but felt so real.

Toronto, Canada, and it went perfectly (Nick denied involvement, but Clint was convinced he'd had all of SHIELD working to make sure aliens didn't disrupt their big day). All of Phil's family were there and they thought that Phil worked in an office. Anne Coulson was in her early seventies and she took to Clint like he was one of her own. George, her husband, was slightly more reticent, saying it was rather rushed. And Clint was terrified of all of Phil's sisters.

The Netherlands, he'd been shot in the leg on the way to the church and Phil had calmly shot the men following them, called for back-up and then patched him up while they said their vows.

Budapest, that was technically illegal. More than technically, actually. They'd forged their papers and paid a great deal of money to a man who worked in the local government. They were both covered in blood and filth and Natasha stole a veil from a nearby church for Clint and insisted he wear it. Not that Clint had needed much convincing.

Portugal, they married on the beach in swimwear and Phil had held his hand and made love to him in the safehouse.

Luxemburg, Phil's suit jacket only had one sleeve and there was blood on his shirt. Clint didn't look much better. Natasha held a gun on the registrar, and they'd left him a hefty pile of mission funds for the hassle.

In Iceland, things had gone better. They were there on a surveillance job but nothing happened. in fact, by the end of it they'd proved that the guy they'd been following had nothing at all to do with Hydra, and that they guy they wanted was actually his cousin. Clint had proposed out of boredom, and Phil had kissed him and said that if he was bored there were other things they could be doing. He handed Clint a complete wedding licence two days later.

The list goes on and on.

New Mexico is the last page in the file. That had been fun, Clint had campaigned for Darcy to be their flower girl and Phil had just raised an eyebrow. In the end, it had just been them and a sweet couple they'd met at City Hall (they had been married in the slot before and Phil had looked at Clint and then asked them to bear witness). It had been almost perfect, one of their better weddings at least.

Clint picked up the document he needed to add to the file. Phil's death certificate. Sitwell had handed it to him. Jasper didn't know they were married, but he was Phil's best friend and one of the best agents SHIELD had to offer. He knew they were something.

"I'm sorry."

Clint's hands had shook as he'd taken the piece of paper, knowing what it was, but unable to comprehend what it meant. He'd already been told, of course, but the paper made it real (in the same way the marriage licenses made their love real).

His hands were shaking again as he slid the sheet into the polyester packet. There was a gap at the back for his own certificate when it was needed. Which might be sooner than expected.

He'd already caught himself staring longingly at his service weapon (it was not his weapon of choice, but it's hard to fatally shoot yourself with a bow and arrow).

Clint's ring is with Phil's on the chain that Phil's dog tags were on. He's not sure when he'll get them back. If he'll get them back. He should call Phil's mother. She should have already have been told. He wasn't sure if Nick had called her though. Nick hadn't called Clint, he'd heard the news from Natasha and then asked Maria and she'd confirmed it. Finally, two days later, he'd got the certificate from Sitwell.

It had taken three weeks for them to let him out of quarantine. For them to be sure that every trace of Loki is gone from his head. Clint had laughed, bitterly true, but he had laughed. He'd fought Loki and helped save the world. He was pretty sure that Loki wouldn't have just let him do that (at the same time he is terrified and ridiculously grateful for all the tests they put him through to be sure Loki's gone).

Then they'd let him out and he'd come here and drank all of the vodka and sat here looking through his and Phil's history.

He pulled the clip from his gun, emptied the chamber and put the separate parts in different places to remove temptation. It wouldn't stop him, if he got desperate. There were enough ways he could kill himself, he had more guns and he had knives and he was sure Natasha had left some cyanide behind the last time she'd stayed over, but he was drunk and tired and he was pretty sure that if his gun didn't work when he grabbed it he'd give up and cry until he was sober.

He flopped, fully dressed, onto his bed and slept.

When he woke up, the phone was ringing. He glanced at the caller ID and his heart seized in his chest. It was Mama Coulson calling. She could want to commiserate, or she might want answers that he wasn't sure he could give her. But he couldn't ignore this call. He answered it and pressed the handset to his ear.

"'lo," he croaked, then cleared his throat. "Hello, Anne."

"Clint, are you alright? You sound a bit off, sweetheart."

"I'm... I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Is that son of mine not taking care of you?" and he just dropped the phone and pressed his face into his hands and cried. She didn't know. How could she not know? He couldn't tell her, there was no way. He wouldn't be able to get his words out. He sobbed and sobbed and his whole body shook with it.

Time passed. He wasn't sure how much. He cried himself out and then fell to sleep on the floor. When he woke up, Fury was there. He was sitting in the arm chair and looking at him.

"Sir?" he said, and dragged himself into a sitting position.

"I received a very distraught phone call from Anne Coulson asking what the hell had happened."

"Oh. You hadn't told her."

"No. I hadn't."

"You should have."

"No, I shouldn't." Fury sighed. "I wasn't going to tell you this until I was sure, but this has forced my hand."

That turned Clint's brain back on. Fury hadn't told Phil's family he was dead. Fury was here. Fury was here and...

"You bastard," Clint said, his voice flat. He was too tired and hungover to emote.

"Your husband is alive."

"You bastard."

"I did what I had to do. He's alive, but he's in a coma. The doctors have no idea what's going on with him, whether he'll even wake up."

"Fucking magic," Clint said, letting his head fall back against the wall. "You're still a bastard."

"I know."

"You're going to have to tell everyone."

"I will."

"And you're going to officiate at our next wedding."

"Fine."

"On the bridge of the helicarrier."

"Really?" Fury looked pained, but Clint just raised an eyebrow. He'd known Nick for twelve years and he knew what buttons to push and where the bodies were buried. "Fine."

The next time they get married, it went like this:

Phil wass pale, but dressed in an exquisite tux, tailored perfectly to his form. It was black, with a bow tie and pocket square in a slightly different shade of black. Clint's tux matched it, but his tie and pocket square were purple. They were on the bridge of the helicarrier, and Fury was standing in front of them in his best suit and his leather coat. To their right, Clan Coulson, from Anne and George on down to the nieces and nephews. Pepper Potts and Maria Hill were on that side too (so is Captain America). To their left, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor, Bobbi Morse, Lucky the Pizza Dog, Sam Wilson, Jessica Drew, Kate Bishop, Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster, Sharon Carter... the list goes on. All the family Clint hadn't known he'd made over the years. All of SHIELD has turned out to see them married, and those who can't get there (the ones who are actuallyworking for a living) Stark is sending them a livestream via JARVIS and Clint would be embarrassed if he wasn't so overwhelmed. All these peoplecare so much and he still isn't sure what to do with that. Natasha is his best person and Phil has Sitwell as his. Steve served as ring bearer, carrying the rings out on his shield, and Clint had begged until Darcy had agreed to be their flower girl.

"Alright," Nick said, adjusting his stance and looking over the assembled masses with his one good eye. "We're gathered here today on this flying carrier to join Clint Francis Barton and Phil Justice Coulson," he paused for the hysterical laughter from Stark (and everyone else there, but mainly from Stark).

"Seriously, you're middle name is Justice?"

"To join," Fury tried again and the laughter died down. "Phillip Coulson and Clinton Barton in matrimony. For the fourteenth time." There was some muttering at that, but Fury glared everyone back into silence. "If anyone here has reason these two should not be wed, shut your trap. You're too late anyway. these fools have been getting hitched for as long as they've been together, which is a really long time. But I've never known two people so in love, so committed to each other that they'd go through this so many times." He smiled. "So we're doing it again, and we'll keep doing it until the world ends or they stop loving each other. Same thing, really. Now, without further ado, the vows. I'm sure you both know the words by now, so let's do this thing." He gesture to Phil.

"I, Phillip J Coulson, take you, Clinton Francis Barton, to be my husband," Phil said, looking into Clint's eyes. Even after all this time and all these weddings, the words still shook Clint and he found himself grinning wildly and unashamed. "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, and beyond. Because you know thatnothing, not even death itself that will keep me from you. And this is my solemn vow."

"I, Clint F Barton, take you, Phillip Justice Coulson, to be my husband. Again." That got a laugh. "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, from alien invasions to military coups and genetically modified super penguins," another laugh, they all remembered that mission fondly. "To love and to cherish till death do us part. And nothing but death could keep me from you, no matter what goes between."

"May I have the rings?" Fury said and Steve stepped forward. Two simple gold bands sat on the shield. They weren't worn or old looking, but they were the same rings they'd had since their first wedding.

"With this ring, I thee wed. With my body I thee worship. With all my worldly goods I thee endow," Phil said, slipping the ring onto Clint's finger.

"What," Clint cracked picking up the other ring. "Even your signed Captain America trading cards?" His smile softened as he met Phil's eyes. "With this ring, I thee wed. With my body I worship. Always."

"You may kiss, but try not to scar the impressionable junior agents," Fury said, but they weren't listening any more. All they could see was each other.

They had been married thirteen times before, they had had thirteen 'first kisses of married life'. This one left them all behind.

And their honeymoon...well, let's just say it was pretty awesome too and leave it at that...