Clint groaned when he cracked his eyes open, only to be violently invaded by the light pouring from the window. Goddamnit, why did they always forget to close the blinds?
Oh right, because he jumped Phil yesterday before the older man could get to that.
Oops.
Still, it didn't stop Clint from protesting, and he turned around, fully intent on flopping his arms around Phil's chest and dragging him closer. This would have had the double advantage of hiding his delicate eyes from the harsh attacks of the sun, and of perhaps initiating morning sex.
Clint's plan was sadly thwarted very early on by the disturbing and definitely unnatural, criminal even, fact that Phil wasn't in bed. The archer frowned, burrowing his face into the cushions, frowning. He had a fairly useful capacity of 'programming' his body to whether or not he had to go to work, and he was sure he was allowed to sleep in today.
And he didn't really got days off without Phil. Except when Natasha volunteered him to take her out-Fury and Hill were still a little wary of letting her loose in New York-, but then usually the red head would have shown up before dawn and would have stared him until he woke up.
Not an agreeable way to wake up.
Either way, no work, no Natasha, why wouldn't Phil be in bed with him. Why were they in holidays anyway, it was Thursday-
Oh. Shit. Thanksgiving.
Clint bolted in a sitting position, and now that he was listening for it, there was the distinct sound of pans and bowls being moved around.
Damn.
He jumped up, naked because he did jump Phil before going to bed, and barged in the kitchen just in time to stop Phil from starting the microwave. When he opened the appliance's door, it contained a can, not even opened. He sighed and took it out, turning to face Phil, giving the can a little shake.
"Come on babe, do we need to do this again? No metal in the microwave!"
Phil's expression was torn between embarrassed and frustrated.
"It's written 'Goes in microwave' on it."
Clint sighed and dumped the content-cranberry sauce-in a Tupperware.
"What's it in goes in the microwave. And it's much better when done on the stove."
Clint put the whole thing in the fridge. Phil was frowning, and the archer sighed, drawing his boyfriend in a hug. The older man relented quickly, exhaling and leaning on the blond's shoulder.
After nearly a minute, Clint let him go.
"Why do need to heat up the cranberry sauce at-" he looked at the clock and grimaced "eight forty eight in the morning?"
Phil carded his hand through his hair and looked away. It never ceased to marvel how much Agent Extraordinaire Coulson, most buttoned up of the straight men would unmask when around him.
"It's never going to be ready."
Clint pinched his lips and started caressing Phil's forearm, as comforting and platonic as he got.
"You're worrying for nothing."
Phil shook his head vehemently.
"No, they're all going to be here, and I can't cook, and the dinner will suck and-"
Clint frowned and leaned forward.
"I beg our pardon?"
Phil froze, confused. Clint arched an eyebrow.
"Did you just say the dinner was going to suck?"
Phil at last realised his mistake and back pedalled.
"No, of course, it's just-"
Clint smirked at him, eyes focused and intent.
"Listen to me, you big idiot. As long as I am in this kitchen, nothing that will ever come out of it will 'suck'. It's going to blow your folk's mind. It's going to be awesome, the food will be great, Hood will be running around, your nieces will be chasing him, and everyone will be happy. Clear?"
As if to concur, Hood, who had been standing guard nearby, ready to warn Clint if Phil set fire to something (again), came in and yipped happily, plastering himself against the older man's leg.
Finally Phil sighed and nodded, his shoulders relaxing. Clint beamed at him, Phil answering shyly.
"Now here's what's going to happen. I'm going to put something on, then I'm doing French toast, and after that we're getting started on the dinner, and everything will go swimmingly. Ok?"
Phil nodded again, eyes grateful. Clint pecked him softly on the lips and went to get dressed. Sometimes he wondered why he dated such a perfectionist, only to be frequently reminded that thoroughness was a very good thing.
It saved his ass more than a few times in the field.
No, all he thought about wasn't sex.
When he got back from tugging on sweat pants and a batman shirt, he found Phil leaning on the counter, looking far more like himself, calmer and almost serene. Clint had learned that the only two things that could genuinely frazzle his partner was either Clint doing something stupid and potentially hurting/killing himself, and his family.
The last two Thanksgiving had given Clint a taste of that. The first one after they got together, they both decided it was a bit too soon for meeting the parents, which meant Phil felt incredibly guilty about leaving Clint for Thanksgiving. It was a big deal for him. He came back at seven on Black Friday, and spent the remainder of the weekend trying to redeem himself for an offense that hadn't been made, despite what Clint could tell him.
On the second Thanksgiving, Fury dispatched them to get the Black Widow. Clint still felt a bit guilty about infuriating and terrifying the older man while he was already morose about not making it to the traditional family gathering.
It was one of the main reasons that when Phil told him his mother was trying to get him to hold it at his place, Clint was pretty -very- supportive of the idea, despite his anxiety at meeting the Coulsons.
Which brought him here, on a lovely Thursday of November, making a dinner as close as possible to Phil's description of what it should be, since Clint himself never really had one.
He smiled at Phil and took the eggs and bread the older man handed him, getting to business. Phil meanwhile took Hood out in the garden. Clint smiled and flipped the toasts, humming under his breath.
When he moved in with Phil, he'd been worried the dog would be stressed by the change of environment, but the corgi cared about nothing but the backyard and the possibility of spending entire days outside it brought.
Needless to say, it settled most of the doubts Clint had about their relationship. What did it say about him that the only reservation he had before committing himself fully to a man who lied to him was that his dog might not approve? He didn't want to know.
With a tsk, he waved Phil to the table, where the man had stacked strawberries and blueberries, beside Clint's maple syrup. The archer could never understand why the other man would insist on trying to turn sugar and calorie loaded breakfast food healthy with fruits, when it was such a lost cause.
Phil was just weird that way. Clint often heard men complain that women were impossible to understand. He begged to disagree. The entire human race was impossible to understand, as far as he was concerned. There were simply individuals he liked enough not to care about that.
When they were done, Phil threw the newspaper in the recycling bin, and Clint went to their second neighbours, two foodies who had a massive fridge, who accepted to keep their turkey, because they had no room in their own fridge for a bird of the necessary size to feed the Coulson clan.
He dumped it on a corner of the counter, leaving it to thaw a bit more before attempting anything more on it. Phil was standing there, the sous chef waiting for instructions. Clint smiled at him and rolled his metaphorical sleeves.
Time to get down to business.
For hours he prepared pies and pâté, stuffing for the turkey, the actual turkey, and everything Phil considered was a must. At some point Clint spilled pumpkin pie filling on himself, when Hood tripped him in his haste to get to the French door in the living room.
The archer decided it was useless to put on a new one, there was bound to have more slips up. The decision was deemed a happy one when it drained the remainder of Phil tension, while the older man was doing his best not to get too distracted by the half nakedness of his boyfriend.
Clint hid his smile and resumed his work.
By three, he was almost done cutting the last vegetables, asparaguses, because he petitioned for them in revenge for the imposed sweet potatoes. Phil was sliding parmesan chips in the oven, and that would be it until the visit arrived. Hood was at the door, barking at the neighbour's cat that was right on time for the usual teasing flaunting routine he and the corgi had struck up.
It always weirdly reminded him of himself and Natasha. Both the animals pretended they annoyed each other, but he had seen each one separately when the other didn't make it, and it was pretty pathetic.
Not that he knew what Natasha looked like when he wasn't there. That was the point.
He heard the oven's door closing, and Phil stepping close to wrap his arms around Clint waist as he threw the last green stick on the plate. With a sigh he leaned back, letting Phil support him for a moment.
He stretched his back, wincing when a few bones popped. Phil huffed a laugh and kissed him under his ear.
"All done?"
Clint smiled lazily at the ceiling.
"For the moment."
Phil smiled against his neck.
"Thank you. It all smells amazing."
Clint chuckled breathily.
"Told you so."
Phil nodded slowly, nuzzling his neck a bit longer before breaking apart reluctantly.
"They'll be here around four, we should go get cleaned up."
Clint frowned at him.
"Are you saying I stink?"
Phil raised an eyebrow at him.
"You smell like pumpkin."
Clint rolled his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Everything smells like pumpkin."
Phil's lips quirked against his will, and he shook his head.
"Do you really want to meet my parents in sweatpants?"
Clint looked down and sighed. Goddamn know it all.
"Good point."
Phil smiled at him, and made a show to give him a slow once over.
"Not that I mind..."
Clint frowned at him, slashing an angry finger at him.
"No! No. You aren't starting anything you won't finish. Clear?"
Phil was smirking at him now and slowly drawled out.
"Yes, my dear."
Clint narrowed his eyes at him. Oh, it was like that?"
"Go on, sweetheart, go get showered, I'll make sure everything is clean."
Phil, already leaving the room, paused and looked over his shoulder, expression mildly disgusted.
"Sweetheart?"
"My dear?" Clint slowly drawled in answer.
Phil huffed in laughter, shaking his head, and finally disappeared into the bathroom. Neither of them was big on nicknames, never going farther than Baby when they were alone and feeling cheesy.
Hood came in, looking for scraps, but gladly accepting the long head scratch Clint bestowed on him. Then he went to curl up on his spot of the couch, intent on sleeping for the rest of the day.
Clint took a moment alone in the kitchen to tell himself everything would go well. They were Phil's parents; they couldn't be bastards, right? Phil never said much about his sister, but they seemed to get on just fine as well.
Nothing could go wrong.
OOOOOOOO
Clint startled badly when the doorbell rang. Hood fell down the cushion in surprise. A quick look to the clock indicated that yes, it was four fifteen, and that the guests were entitled to arrive.
He did his best not to hyperventilate as he stood, hearing Phil open the door and greeting them. From the sound of it, it was his sister, and Clint was glad she arrived first. He would rather meet her first than Phil's parent.
He did his best to smooth down the few wrinkles that sneaked into his light purple button down. Phil gestured him over as the family removed their boots and coats.
The man was tall but lanky, like he never grew into himself, all long limbs and slim waist. He had a mop of brown hair sitting on his head, and smiled happily at Clint while helping one of his daughters, the youngest, who was seven if Clint recalled properly, out of her coat. The older one was looking thoughtfully at him, and Clint wondered if she remembered him from the time she went to the park with Phil, before they got together.
The woman's, the sister's, resemblance to Phil started and ended in the eyes. They were the same startling blue. Otherwise she had a soft round face with vibrant ginger hair. She studied Clint with the same knowing gaze her brother would sometimes use, when he felt the archer wasn't entirely truthful. Finally she smiled and skipped to him, extending her hand to shake it.
It was a trap. She used it to drag him forward and smack two loud kisses to his cheeks. She drew back to smirk at him and pat his shoulder.
"It's nice to meet the man who gives Phil something he can actually talk about. You're good to him."
Phil huffed fondly and spoke up.
"Clint, this is Catherine, with her husband Peter and their daughters Justine and Delphine."
The woman rolled her eyes and slapped Phil's shoulder much as she had Clint's, moments before.
"My name's Kitty."
She turned back to Clint.
"I hope you cooked, because if Phil did, I'm calling pizza."
Phil shook his head again and decided it would be more productive to welcome his nieces and brother-in-law. Clint briefly considered forcefully dragging him back by his side but finally decided to act as the mature adult he sometimes was.
"I assure you I was in charge of the kitchen."
She smiled and was about to say something when she got interrupted by the typical shrill squeal of an excited pre-teen.
"Ohmygod! Oh my god, he is so cute!"
Justine grabbed Hood who had been investigating the new arrivals of potential petting hands. The corgi opened wide helpless eyes at Clint, who shook his head at him. If he was going to survive through this, the dog would go down along with him.
The two girls dragged Hood into the living room, Phil and their parents shaking their heads fondly. Peter gave Clint an apologetic smile.
"Sorry about that."
Clint shook his head easily.
"No problem, he loves kids. He's just not used to have them in his home."
"Why is everyone standing in the hallway?"
As one they all turned toward the door where an older man was standing with his wife. He was clearly Phil's father, down to the straight nose and the balding head. The petite woman beside him looked exactly like Kitty, down to the way she was staring and smiling almost hysterically at Clint.
It made wonder how many guys or girls Phil brought home in the past. The answer seemed to be 'not much'. Clint wasn't happy and flattered about that. He wasn't.
As soon as Phil took her coat, Mrs. Coulson strode to Clint. She offered her hand, but Clint, recognizing the trick this time went directly to kiss her cheeks. She chuckled in delight.
"I am Martha Coulson, and this is my husband Kenneth."
Clint smiled and shook Phil's father's hand, nodding to everyone, not sure of what to say except "I'm Clint."
She smiled and nodded back, looking around, taking the mostly clean kitchen and the living room where the girls were playing and laughing with Hood, who was basking in the attention.
"It smells amazing; I can wait to taste it! Phil always raves about how marvellous a cook you are!"
Clint felt his cheek redden, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. He wanted to glare at Phil, he didn't like the attention to be on him, but that would only have kept the spotlight for even longer.
"Thank you, ma'am."
She downright cooed, and Clint wanted to disappear.
"Isn't he adorable! That one's a keeper, Phil, don't you dare loose him."
Clint wanted to say something about Phil not being the one to lose him, but he didn't want to both sound that cheesy and to expose his insecurities for all to see.
Phil cleared his throat and caught everyone's focus as he offered drinks. The crowd moved to the kitchen as they rattled their various orders until only Clint and Peter remained.
The tall man was smiling at him, and Clint suddenly realised he went through the exact same thing, years ago.
"Don't drink tonight. Kenneth and Kitty are only waiting for that."
Clint shoved his hands in his pockets, cocking his head.
"Speaking from experience?"
Peter shook his head.
"Not personally. Phil's last boyfriend though..."
Clint did his best to tamp down the jealousy.
"What about him?"
Some of his emotion must have shown in his voice because the amused twinkle in Peter's eyes grew larger and his smile wider.
"It was about twelve years ago, me and Kitty just got married, and I think Martha got pretty insufferable to Phil about when he was going to settle down. So he decided to bring a date at Thanksgiving. I don't think it was serious, just to get Martha off his back. Kitty and Kenneth fed him drinks until he was more than tipsy and proceeded to shred him a new one."
Clint gulped, and Peter patted his shoulder.
"So yeah. Don't drink."
Clint managed a strangled "Thanks."
"Don't worry, though, Kitty already likes you and Martha was ecstatic to finally meet you."
Clint nodded and Peter left for the kitchen. He could do this.
He could do this.
He could do this!
He couldn't remember much in between the moment Peter left the hallway and the moment they all seated themselves at the seldom used dining room table. He floated in a daze of in jokes, kids' laughs and good natured ribbing.
Until he was about to serve himself, only to be interrupted by Kenneth, who was proclaiming they needed to give their thanks.
Everyone had a smart answer, from "I am thankful for all the people I had the joy to meet", from Mrs. Coulson, to "I am thankful for my new football equipment", from Delphine.
Clint had no idea what he could say that wouldn't freak the Coulson's, because the only thing he could think of at the moment was "I am thankful that the suckers from AIM didn't succeed in gouging my eyes out last month."
Especially now that everyone was staring at him. He floundered for words for a long moment, completely mortified until he saw Justine pointing discreetly at Hood. He exhaled and took the out it offered.
"I am thankful Hood is still with me."
He didn't have to fake the slight catch in his voice. Because honestly, he didn't know exactly how old his dog was, or what exactly had happened to him before Clint took him in, and therefore had no guarantee he wouldn't die on him at any moment.
Phil must have talked about the dog to the clan, because they all looked at him as if he just said the sweetest thing ever, not like he offered some bullshit counselled by an eleven years old.
Phil's sweet smile was heartwarming, and Clint looked down, cheek burning slightly. Feeling he was somehow relevant, Hood raised his head from where he was sleeping at Clint's feet and rubbed his face on his leg.
Clint proceeded to beam at his plate.
He could do this.
OOOOO
After dinner, everyone moved to the living room, the girls lying on the floor, letting Hood fret around them, too gorged to move. The adults didn't fare much better, going for the slightly more dignified option of sprawling on the couch and the love seat. They were still one seat short, and Clint briefly considered getting a dining room chair.
He quickly shot down the idea and plopped down to sit on the floor, back pressing on Phil's shins. He couldn't see the older man's face but he could guess the faint smile gracing it as a steady hand went to thread through his hair slowly.
The way he plastered himself against his partner wasn't especially dignified, but these people saw him eating a turkey leg. There is no dignified way to eat a turkey leg.
Everyone had been very nice since the beginning of the evening. Clint should have remembered from Peter's warning that they were only waiting for him to lower his guard.
Martha, who had been chatting about various cases with Kitty-who was a lawyer-, turned toward him and Phil, taking their position.
"So boys, when are you going to get me grand children?"
Clint, who had been almost dozing off, snapped back to full awareness he managed to choke on the sharp mouthful of air he inhaled. Phil's hand, that had moved to massage the back of his neck, tightened its grip on his shoulder.
Peter was the first one to recover and he spoke lightly, answering as if she had been joking.
"Martha, unless you need to get your eyesight checked, surely you noticed they are both men?"
She waved a dismissive hand at him.
"Nonsense, they can adopt!"
Phil mumbled a bit.
"Mum, we can't really have one."
She looked distressed at this.
"But you always wanted to have kids! It was your big dream! You cried when you realised you were gay because of it!"
Clint felt his heart bottom because he never knew this; Phil never told him he wanted children. He never told him his biggest dream. He turned to look at him but the older man was glaring at his mother.
"Our job wouldn't allow it, mom."
Phil's hand was rubbing soothing circles in the back of Clint's neck, a gesture the archer knew to mean 'Don't worry, it doesn't matter'. The worry that Phil didn't think of them as permanent morphed to guilt as the blond realised his boyfriend hadn't talked about it because he was sure Clint wouldn't want kids.
He wasn't sure how Phil got that conclusion. Probably from all the times he complained about being stuck with Hood. He always thought the man knew he was kidding, but apparently not.
As he looked at Phil as the man tried to defend himself from his mother's inquiries, telling her it was fine, he didn't really want kid, all because he loved him and didn't want to make him comfortable, he came to two conclusion.
He was ridiculously in love with this man.
And he was going to make it happen. He was going to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. if he had to, but Phil and he would have a kid.
He would be lying if he said he never thought about it, having a real family, but Phil never broached the subject, and since the other man never had any qualms asking for what he wanted, Clint assumed he didn't want any.
He could live with that. He had been handed a life so much better than what he always expected, he wasn't about to nitpick about a detail.
Clint briefly closed his eyes when he realised Phil probably had the same train of thought.
No matter anymore. They were here now. They were on the same page, and he would make it happen.
He wondered if Natasha, Fury and Hill would help them with the foster system; get them to be less of a pain.
Probably.
OOOOOOO
Later that night, when everyone was gone, when they were lying in bed and when Hood was exceptionally allowed to sleep in their bed as a reward for his good behavior, Clint turned around in Phil's arms to be face to face with the man.
Phil sighed and peppered light kisses along Clint's face, whispering in between them.
"I'm sorry about my mother."
Clint shook his head, catching Phil's lips in a long sweet kiss.
"Don't be."
Phil pinched his lips, Clint feeling it against his cheek.
"She shouldn't have said anything."
Clint pressed their cheeks together.
"I'm glad she did."
Phil sighed.
"Clint-"
Clint interrupted him.
"Phil, will you adopt a kid with me?"
Phil drew back sharply, and Clint could just picture his eyes wildly trying to see Clint's face in the pitch black room.
"Don't say that, Clint, don't just say that."
Clint dragged him back into his arms, hugging the crap out of him.
"I'm not, Phil, I'm not, I swear."
Phil exhaled helplessly against his shoulder.
"Clint..."
The archer whispered in Phil's ear, not able to speak louder, knowing his voice would break if he did.
"Do you know what I would have given to have that, when I was young? That someone would come, would see me and would want me? Would bring me home with them, and love me, even if I was stupid and broken and illiterate and dirty? I would have given everything Phil, everything I had. But they never came."
Phil's arms finally tightened around him, hugging him just as fiercely as Clint was. He kept talking.
"I want to help a kid, Phil, a kid who is sure no one will love him, or her I don't care. Let us be that Phil. We could be good at it."
Seconds trickled by, slowly, oh so slowly, until Phil exhaled roughly, sobbed, really and pressed his face to Clint shoulder.
The archer realised Phil was crying. He wasn't sure if it was from joy at Clint's offer or sorrow at his partner's past, and he didn't really care at the moment because Phil whispering back, punctuated by shuddering breathes.
"Yes. Yes. Yes of course."
Clint smiled, his eyes a little moist himself.
"I love you."
Phil kissed him long and deep.
"I love you too."
A/N: The Fanart for this fic can be found on my tumblr!
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