Clint woke up slowly, to the sensation of being watched. He opened his eyes and found Phil lying on his side looking at him.

"Hey."

"Hey." Clint smiled slowly. "Love you."

"Love you too. Are you all right? I know I dumped a lot on you yesterday."

"I'm... confused, more than anything. I love you, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left yesterday. I screwed up."

"It was a lot to take in."

"Can you maybe explain it a bit more? I mean, thinking about it, I have noticed stuff over the years. But I just saw them as quirks. As part of you. I want to know more about what this is and how it affects you."

"OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder." Coulson paused and thought for a moment. "For me, it means I need a steady routine. When I have a spike, I have to see my food being prepared and it has to be prepared in a certain way. Even that isn't enough sometimes. I get these... flashes. Of mould. Of maggots. Of blood. And I just can't eat. I also have to engage in repetitive behaviours and tics. For me that's usually repeating of words, pacing, and chewing my lower lip. I can replace the lip chewing with gum though." Clint watched as Coulson's tongue goes out to lick at the bite marks he'd left on his own lips. "I also have to count things when I'm upset. If it doesn't come out to a multiple of five, I have to count it again. And again, and again, even though I know it's not going to change. Since I came back from the dead, I've developed a new tic. Tapping out Morse Code words. Usually for something I want to happen, or just of random words." He looked away, and Clint resisted the urge to reach up and cup his cheek, not sure how welcome his touch would be. "But most of the time, I have it under control. I can eat most things. I stick to a routine, but that's more practical than anything, and it doesn't hurt me if I need to break that routine for a mission. Or because my boyfriend decided to surprise me." Clint was glad to see a smile. "Most of the time I'm fine."

"But not right now?"

"No. Not right now."

And then Clint couldn't hold back any longer. He reached out and pulled Phil down into a tight hug, one hand cradling Phil's skull, the other pressed to his back.

"What do you need?" The tension flowed out of Phil, and he hugged Clint back.

"I need routine. To wake up at the same time every morning and do the same things every day. I'm seeing a psychiatrist."

"Does that help? The shrink?"

"It has before." Phil paused. "Although, this one... she's competent, I'm sure, but..."

"You don't like her."

"No."

"Then we'll find someone you do like. What else?"

"I need to see my food being prepared. And to serve it up onto my plate myself."

"Okay. We have a cooking rota, but everyone is so pleased you're back. I'm sure no one would mind if we were to hang out in the kitchen while dinner's being cooked."

"I know I'm a mess. You don't have to do this."

"Hey!" Clint was actually offended that Phil was still trying to give him an out. "Did you leave me after I got captured by those assholes in Burma? Or after I was shot in Guam?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, idiot."

"Exactly. So what makes you think I'd leave you now? You're going through a rough patch. We'll deal."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

So they deal. Nothing changes overnight. Phil finds himself overcome sometimes. He paces. He taps. He chews. But Clint is there, solid, reliable. They find a psychiatrist, an older lady named Kate. She was good, and Phil liked her. So did Clint. No one objected when Phil gravitated to the kitchen in the hour or so before dinner. In fact, they were all happy to have him. They'd all missed him.

And slowly, steadily, Phil's keel evens out. He doesn't need to go back on medication. He just has to relearn how to cope. It's the same as his physiotherapy, a steady build up of thoughts instead of muscles.

And when something does go wrong, when something does trigger him and he has to stop and count, lower lip between his teeth, Clint is right there.

They have a new routine, and it works.

Of course, roughly a month into their new routine, it all goes to hell. But that's another story.

Okay guys, I know it's short and covers a lot of the stuff covered in Magical Thinking, but do not despair! There shall be more! Hence the evil Cliffie. I'm writing the next one already, and it should be up in a couple of days. Although I'm thinking it might be a lot longer fic, which I would post as a WIP. Either way, definitely an update in the next day or two.