The sight of the lumpy looking thing at the end of the air-shaft Clint was crawling through made him pause in his forward trek. It was positioned exactly in front of his destination: the office of one Phil Coulson. Sure, he could have just walked in, but it was more fun for him to crawl through the vents. Plus, he was pretty sure Phil felt a little better knowing Clint was in the vents. Or he'd at least stopped telling Clint to get out of the vents. That might have been resignation more than peace of mind though. But regardless, this lumpy thing was now sitting in front of his destination: the vent leading into his superior/boyfriend's office.

For a full minute, he just lay there staring at the thing. Whatever it was didn't appear to be moving though, which probably ruled out something living. Plus, the last time he found possum in the vents, it had been furrier. This thing was just lumpy. It actually looked kind of like a bag.

Slowly creeping closer to the thing (because he didn't really want to go through the whole series of rabies shots again), Clint watched carefully for any signs of movement. Anything that would indicate this foreign thing was about to attack him. Still, no movement from the object in question.

He was a good seven feet from the thing still when Phil's all-too familiar voice called out to him. "It's a bag, Clint. Not a wild animal."

How Phil knew he was in he vents when he was still feet away, Clint didn't know. He didn't ask though as he picked up his pace, grabbing the bag when he was close enough to it. The bag itself was unmarked and obviously contained something, though Clint wasn't sure what. "Why is there a bag in your vent, sir?"

"It's for you," replied Phil casually, as if leaving a gift for someone in an air vent was a completely normal thing to do. Glancing through the vent grid, Clint noted his boyfriend was sitting at his desk, apparently completely involved in his paperwork. He didn't even appear aware that Clint was there, though given he'd been talking to him, that obviously wasn't true.

Pushing open the grid (because opening gifts in an air vent didn't work well as Clint had discovered), he jumped down into the office with said bag in hand. In better light, he could see the bag was thin plastic, like the type grocery stores or gift shops gave out. The lack of markings was weird, but Clint figured it was probably some small local shop that couldn't afford to have plastic bags with their logo printed on it. "What is it?"

"I'm pretty sure the point of a gift isn't to tell the other person what it is they're getting," remarked Phil as he continued to focus on his paperwork. The fact that he wasn't even looking up made Clint a little uneasy. He trusted his partner with his life, but that didn't mean he wasn't a little nervous about what Phil could have gotten him. Especially if Phil didn't seem interested in watching him open it.

Shrugging as casually as he could, Clint pulled open the bag and dug out the item balled up on the bottom. The soft cotton was kind of a surprise for Clint, but as he unfurled it and caught what was written on the fabric, he began laughing.

The shirt (or at least half a shirt) proclaimed in large, white letters: 'I love pizza and you'. It was a t shirt for sure and probably a girl's from the looks of it. The bottom looked like it would fall at least a few inches short of his waist line, too.

"I thought you'd find it amusing," remarked Phil, who was still focusing on his work somehow.

"Where did you find this?" asked Clint as his laughter died down to snickering, glancing over at his boyfriend as he tugged the shirt he was wearing over his head.

He didn't see Phil freeze so much as heard the scratching of his pen cease as soon as his shirt rose over his head. It was followed by the choked remark of: "Clint, what are you doing?"

"Trying it on," replied Clint as he pulled his shirt over his head and picked up the one Phil had bought him. "Is this a woman's size?"

"Yes," confirmed Phil in a slightly strangled voice. "I got the biggest size I could but I doubt it'll fit."

"Eh," dismissed Clint, tugging the fabric over his head. It wasn't actually too bad, though he'd probably have to cut the sleeves off. He could feel the fabric straining against the muscles of his arms. Still, he managed to pull the shirt all the way on, despite the fact it was a little tight. The hem fell shorter than Clint had thought it would, hitting just past the bottom of his rib cage and leaving his abdominal muscles exposed. Still, he had to admit, he liked it.

Turing to Phil, he offered his boyfriend a grin as he extended his arms to the sides so the words were visible. "What do you think?"

"I think it's very tight," remarked Phil, though he kept his voice steady. Whatever surprise he'd been suffering through earlier was gone, or at least well hidden behind his standard agent mask. The man who barely phased now was Agent Phil Coulson, supernanny. Of course, that might also be because Phil had barely glanced at him, which Clint suspected might be due to the tightness of the shirt.

Grinning, Clint crossed to Phil's desk and picked up a pair of scissors that were perpetually sitting in arms reach on the desk. Though he knew Phil could improvise a weapon out of anything, it did help if the object was already sharp. Snatching up the scissors, Clint easily cut the sleeves open, snipping around the edges to remove the restrictive fabric. He hated to have his arms restrained. It was literally a nightmare for him.

Shoulders free, Clint placed the scissors back exactly where he had found them and snatched up his shirt. Throwing it over his shoulder, Clint headed for the door to Phil's office with a wave. "Thanks for the shirt Phil."

"No problem," muttered Phil, though Clint could hear the groan in the man's voice. If it was a restrained patience groan or a 'god he looks hot' groan, he wasn't sure, but the groan was audible all the same.

Laughing, Clint stepped out of Phil's office, winking at his startled secretary before heading down the hall whistling.

"Is that a woman's shirt?"

Natasha's calm, toneless voice cut through the archery range from behind Clint, causing the archer to glance back as he loosed the arrow in his grasp. "Yeah. Phil got it for me."

"Did he intend for you to actually wear it?" asked Natasha, one of her eyebrows raising as she came up beside him to lean on the wall.

"Probably not," replied Clint with a slight shrug as he drew back another arrow, aiming for a target that went flying by above.

Fury had installed a full archery range complete with moving targets after the fifth time he got a complaint about Clint using other agents for target practice. They'd been powder sack arrows of course, completely harmless, but there'd been a number of dry cleaning bills that accompanied the complaints (Fury said hundreds but Clint suspected it was only 150 at most). Building the archery range had been deemed cheaper and safer.

"Huh." Natasha's standard dismissive noise accompanied her own movement back towards the door to the range. "Mats, five minutes. Also, Clint? Lose the shirt while we spar, I don't want to tear it."

"What, it looks that good?" teased Clint as he let his last arrow fly before shutting down the moving range.

Natasha snorted. "No, Phil might ground me if I do. Based on how he sounded when I stopped by his office, you're in for a wild time when you get home."