Steve still remembers the long wait for Phil to wake up. He remembers the way the agent's chest would rise and fall with each breath forced into his lungs by the ventilator. He remembers the steady beep and hum of machinery. Mostly he remembers being willing to wait however long it took while simultaneously praying Phil would wake up soon. It had been disheartening going back day after day and seeing no change, but the nurses had told him it was to be expected. Phil was lucky to be alive, they had said.
He'd gone every day that he could. Usually he had company (the other Avengers had set up a roster for sitting with him, apparently) but there had been days when he'd been alone. Those were the times he'd liked to talk to Phil, tried to coax him to wakefulness. He'd been so still.
He's still now. But it's different. His breaths are natural, easy. The expression on his face is one of peace, nothing like the expressionless mask the coma provided. Phil's fallen asleep on the sofa with paperwork in his lap. Steve takes a moment to appreciate the picture; the agent is leaning against the armrest, his head propped on the knuckles of his right hand, his left still holding the pen poised over the form he'd been filling out (oh, he'll be so angry when he sees that ink blot).
Carefully, Steve sits on the couch beside him. He's careful not to reach out and touch, knowing full well that doing so with an experienced S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is not a bright idea. (He'd found that out the hard way once, with Natasha, and had adopted it as a general rule.)
"Phil," he says softly.
He can't help but grin as the agent's eyes open immediately. Phil's a light sleeper; whether by training or nature, he hasn't figured out yet.
"Finish the reports and come to bed," he says, knowing by now that the latter request will never precede the former.
"Ten minutes," Phil says, his pen already gliding across the form.
Steve waits with him, reaching over and extracting the pen from Phil's grasp the second he sees the last line written. Phil gives him that half-serious chastising look and Steve has half a mind to kiss it right off his face. Instead, he neatly places the forms in a folder and locks them in the safe in the closet. Phil's loitering in the doorway to the bedroom, turning to go inside only once Steve is immediately behind him. They change their attire for bed and slip beneath the sheets, turning the lights out.
Sometimes, Steve watches Phil sleep, sometimes it's the other way around. But more than anything, Steve likes to watch Phil wake. It's something he doesn't think he'll ever tire of.