Phil loves hockey and has always loved hockey. It starts when he's six and comes into the kitchen to get a glass of water. It's late at night, way past his bedtime, but when he passes through the living room to get to the kitchen, his father's still up, watching something. The man smiles at him and says, "What are you doing up, buddy?" He gets him a drink, but hurries back to the living room right after, apparently not wanting to miss whatever it is that's on TV. Phil drinks his water, then puts his cup in the sink like his mommy says to, and goes back into the living room.
"What are you watching?" he asks and his dad smiles at him, pats the couch beside him.
"It's hockey," he says, as Phil settles in beside him. "We're winning. It looks like it's going to be a shut-out."
Phil doesn't know what all of those words mean, but he likes the feeling of sitting there with his dad, watching people skate all over the ice, hitting at something Phil can hardly see but which his dad tells him is a puck. He falls asleep before the game is over, but when he wakes up the next morning, he knows he wants to do it all again.
It becomes a thing, Phil staying up past his bedtime on hockey nights and watching the games with his dad. He learns to cheer when their team makes a goal and boo when the other team does. He learns words like "penalty" and "blue line." It makes his father smile to hear him say those things, to ask questions about the game. His mother smiles, too, but she also shakes her head, exasperated to have both of her boys glued to the TV every few nights.
The next time Phil goes shopping with his mother, he asks her very politely for a hockey stick and a puck, because he's learned by now that polite is the way to go, and she buys them for him. She also signs him up for community hockey in the fall, though she thinks he might be too little. She's right; he gets battered and bruised every single practice and game, but he also has the time of his life.
By the time Phil's twelve, he's outgrown the community hockey team, but not his love of the game. He gets a scholarship for academics to a prestigious boarding school, and though it's got nothing on Shattuck-Saint Mary's, it still gets him noticed. He plays on the team there and then later, on a team in Flint, Michigan for Juniors.
When he gets picked up by Edmonton Oilers, his dad's the first person he calls. The pride in the man's voice is enough to let Phil know he's doing exactly the right thing. Not that he ever doubted it, but his dad promises to come to some of his games and that makes Phil's whole season.
Phil plays in Edmonton for three years, then in Calgary for five more. In those eight years, he has concussions, sprains, torn muscles, and once even a terrible case of food poisoning that keeps him off the bench for two whole games. In his eighth season, Phil suffers the worst injury he's ever had. It's a body check gone wrong, and Phil breaks two ribs and dislocates his shoulder. The broken rib very nearly punctures his lung, and by the time Phil gets out of physical therapy, he's missed half a season. That's when he decides he'd better retire before the sport kills him.
Of course, he can't give up hockey all together. He applies for a position as a skating coach for the Rangers, because they're the ones with the opening and, to his surprise, he gets the job. He keeps that position for a year and a half before being promoted to assistant coach. A few years later, he hears that the Avengers are in the market for a new head coach, and since he knows General Manager Fury personally from their days at Edmonton together, he gives it a shot.
The best part about being a head coach is that Phil can help more players than ever before to develop their skills and up their game. He doesn't work as closely with any individuals, not like he did before, but it's better this way and Phil embraces it with open arms.
The worst part about being a head coach is having to fight off the attraction he feels to a certain right winger on the Stark-Rogers-Barton line. It didn't used to be a problem, this attraction to men. It was, tough, sure, keeping it hidden all those years, but it was never like this. Some days, Phil has trouble even tearing his eyes away from Hawkeye long enough to watch the rest of the team. It would be better, he thinks, easier, if they just got together. It's an awkward position, though, since Phil has a certain amount of power over Clint, and if Clint doesn't want him in the same way, things could become very uncomfortable for both of them. That's why it'll never work out, he knows.
But then, Phil was never counting on the shit show that is Steve Rogers and Tony Stark coming out. It's a mess for everyone involved and even for the 90% of the team that isn't actually involved. Phil gets calls about it every ten minutes for the entire week after it happens, from the League management and the media, all wanting to know just what kind of team he's running here. Rogers and Stark are grown men, though, and what they do in their spare time is none of his business, and that's exactly what he tells anyone who asks. It doesn't change the line-up and though it's not his call, he knows for a fact that Fury won't trade either one of them for this, not while they're still making him an obscene amount of money. And they are, because the hardcore fans are still packing the stadiums, even most of the ones who are disgusted by their heroes' sex life.
The whole thing is an opportunity, though, and Phil grabs it while he can. He calls Clint into his office one morning and turns off his phone to stop the constant calls.
"Have a seat, Barton," he says, and Clint does.
"Am I in trouble, sir?" Clint asks, smiling slyly. "Are you going to have to put me in timeout? Last I checked, I wasn't the one causing the media circus."
"You aren't in trouble," Phil says, because he feels it's important to stress this point. Clint has a funny way of showing his insecurities, but Phil knows they're there. He didn't used to think so, but he knows better now, has done ever since Clint admitted his learning problems and Phil helped him find a program that could help him with his reading, one that would work for him in his unique situation. "And you won't be in trouble, no matter what happens here today."
"That sounds ominous," Clint says, but he doesn't sound nervous, just curious.
"Would you like to get dinner with me some time?" Phil asks casually, like the answer doesn't matter at all.
"Coulson," Clint says, grinning, "Are you asking me on a date?"
"Yes," Phil says, "but before you answer, let me reiterate that this doesn't change our professional relationship at all, either way."
"Okay then," Clint says and stands up. He leans over Phil's desk and asks, "Can I kiss you?"
Phil doesn't answer, just meets him halfway. They kiss for a while and things are just starting to get really heated when Phil's watch alarm goes off. He sighs and pulls back.
"Sorry," he says, and steps back far enough to fix his tie without Clint's hands interfering. "I've got a meeting with Fury. We have to work on fixing this mess the rest of your line made. Would you like to continue this later tonight?"
Clint agrees immediately and they make plans for dinner at seven sharp. Clint will be late, of course, but that's okay. Phil likes order and he likes punctuality, but he likes Clint more. Hockey has always been the love of his life, but here in this moment, he thinks maybe eventually there might be room for two in his heart.