Clint hangs in the background while the SHIELD team packs up the stalker and takes him back to Headquarters. They do so with the efficiency typical of SHIELD and Clint settles back on the couch almost wishing they would have taken longer. Nothing about this night has gone the way he'd expected and Clint finds that he is irrationally scared that if he leaves it will all turn out to not have been true. He'd been trying to prepare himself for weeks now to lose Phil's friendship over his secret and to find out that Phil had already known and doesn't care has turned his mostly predictable world upside down.
Phil comes back into the living room after seeing the SHIELD agents out the door and Clint watches him nervously, wondering what the protocol is for this. It's getting late - will Phil kick him out soon? Should he offer to leave first? Is there anything more to say about the wolf stuff? Should he ask now or are they going to go back to ignoring it until next time? Clint still doesn't know how much Phil has picked up from his sister (Phil's sister is a wolf! Clint still can't quite wrap his brain around that information) and there are definitely some things he should make sure Phil knows.
Clearly Phil knows wolves heal fast - Phil's been covering for him with Medical for a while and Clint now knows why he never asked for an explanation - but does he know how far it can go? Clint really doesn't want to ever end up in the morgue ahead of his time. What about-
Clint's racing thoughts are interrupted when Phil asks, "Do you need a run?"
Huh. So apparently they're not ignoring it at all. Or maybe Phil is just doing his obligatory 'see how cool I can be' moment and they'll go back to ignoring it later. Too bad Clint's never been one for following a script.
"Nah," he replies. "I've spent the last few nights in my fur watching this place. I'm good." he continues, tone a little flippant because Clint lives to push boundaries and he needs to know how far Phil's comfort zone extends. Clint doesn't think he can handle Phil freaking out, not anymore, not now that he's starting to believe that maybe he can be who he is - all of who he is - with Phil.
But Phil just nods. "I figured," he says. "And thank you for that by the way. I should have taken it more seriously," Phil admits, and Clint relaxes only to tense a second later as he continues, "It's just that I try to keep home separate from work. I didn't want SHIELD up in my personal life."
Right. Of course Phil wouldn't want SHIELD in his personal life. And Clint is SHIELD. Clint didn't even realise how much he had been hoping for something more than just work with Coulson until this moment. He knows that the smile he gives Phil is strained, but it's the best he can do.
Phil picks up on it - of course he does - and his eyes widen almost comically as he quickly clarifies. "Not you!" he insists, and he sounds so earnest that Clint can't help but believe him and that traitorous flame of hope in Clint's heart flares. "You are welcome up in my personal life any time," he continues, babbling, and then he does the most amazing thing. Phil Coulson blushes.
Clint laughs. It's clear that Phil hadn't meant it quite as salaciously as it had sounded and Clint never thought he'd see Agent Coulson make an unintentional innuendo and then blush about it.
He still hasn't, Clint realises, because the man in front of him is not Agent Coulson, he's Phil, and they are subtly but definitively different. Phil doesn't just keep SHIELD out of his personal life, he keeps Coulson out of his personal life and Clint is starting to realise that Phil is someone that no one at SHIELD has ever seen before. Except maybe Fury . . . and Clint. For some inexplicable reason, Phil lets Clint see him.
"You have a dirty mind, Barton," Phil says, with a hint of Coulson in his tone but the smile on his face is all Phil.
"Guilty as charged, sir," Clint answers with a grin. He glances at the clock - almost two am. Better to end the evening on a high note, he thinks as he sighs and stands up. "I guess I should be getting home," he says reluctantly. Clint is watching Phil's face as he says it and his heart leaps when Phil reflexively frowns.
"You don't have to," Phil says, and while it's phrased as an offer it feels like a request. "I mean, it's a long way back to your place and we both have to be up early. You can stay here if you want. The couch is actually pretty comfortable."
It's a thin excuse. Phil may have to get up early because Clint's never seen him come in later than seven am but Clint doesn't have to be in at SHIELD until nearly noon and Phil knows it. "Are you sure?" Clint asks, giving him one last chance.
Phil just smiles. "I'm sure," he says. "Hang on, I'll get you a pillow and some blankets."
Clint busies himself making up the couch - removing the back cushions to give it more depth and spreading out the sheets and pillows Phil returns with. "I'm upstairs, at the end of the hall, if you need me," Phil says and he lays his hand on Clint's shoulder as he passes. Clint's body relaxes involuntarily at the touch and it's too brief but the warmth stays long after Phil's hand has left.
"Phil?" Clint calls as Phil starts up the steps. Phil turns back, an expression Clint recognises as fondness on his face. "Thanks," Clint says, knowing that Phil will understand that he means thank you for all of it - for accepting him, for supporting him, for caring about him.
"Any time," Phil replies easily. "Really. Any time."
Clint settles on his back on the couch and stares up at the ceiling, thinking. The part of him that wants to take everything that happened tonight at face value and then dares to hope for more is warring with the part of him that knows better than to set himself up for disappointment, even if that last 'any time' had sounded an awful lot like an open invitation. For a moment he allows himself the luxury of contemplating what life would be like if he actually got everything he wanted - Phil as Mate, a Pack who accepts and cares for him as he is, pups to love and spoil and protect. To be able to give others the childhood Clint never had. It's a beautiful fantasy, but that's all it is.
Clint rolls over to face the back of the couch, burying his head under the pillow. He tries to force himself to sleep, tries not to think that Phil is just upstairs. One would think he'd have gotten used to sleeping alone by now but even after all these years it just feels unnatural. And so very lonely. Clint has always found the nights to be one of the worst things about being Lone, which is part of the reason he sleeps as little as he does.
Clint has been fantasising about sleeping - just sleeping - with Phil practically since he met the man and the knowledge that Phil is so close is just too much temptation to resist. Just a peek, Clint tells himself.
Clint grows his fur and pads quietly up the stairs. When he reaches the door at the end of the hall he pauses for a moment, listening to the sound of Phil breathing evenly on the other side. The sound calms him instantly, and he moves forward, pushing the door open with his nose. The door squeaks loudly and Clint freezes. He sees Phil sit up straight in bed, hand going for his gun and for all that he wishes he could disappear Clint doesn't move - it's never a good idea startling people in their line of work and nothing draws the eye like movement. So he waits silent and motionless until Phil relaxes, recognising him, and pulls his hand back.
Clint flattens his ears and looks down, embarrassed, as he backs out the door, whining in apology. Stupid! he berates himself. Getting caught watching Phil sleep? He can just see it now, Phil looking everywhere except at Clint as he tells him maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all . . .
Phil's voice interrupts his self-flagellation before Clint is halfway out the door. "The end of the bed's free," he offers, and Clint blinks, sure he can't possibly have heard what he thinks he's heard. He cocks his head at Phil questioningly but the other man just smiles and pats the covers at the foot of the bed.
It's too good an opportunity to pass up, and Clint jumps up on the bed, curling into a comfortable ball, head pointed in Phil's direction, watching him to make sure he's really comfortable with this. Phil just watches Clint with affection and awe as he runs his hand through the thick ruff at his neck. Clint closes his eyes and revels in the feel of Phil's strong fingers running through his fur and when Phil scratches behind his ear he can't help but let out a pleased growl - a sound that would definitely have been a moan in his human form and Clint is never so grateful to be a wolf right now.
Phil gives Clint's shoulder a last pat and lays back down with a soft, "Good night, Clint," and the use of his name soothes the last of Clint's fears that Phil had forgotten just who he'd invited into his bed. Clint settles with his head resting on Phil's feet under the blanket and lets that small almost-contact ground him and send him to sleep.
Phil is still sleeping when Clint wakes from the best sleep he's had in years. He's way too awake to stay in bed, as tempting as it is with Phil there, so he jumps down and squeezes through the still-open bedroom door. He changes in the hallway because he's never been able to get a handle on going down stairs quietly as a wolf, and hopes no one outside is in a position to see a naked man walking down Phil's stairs through the windows. Then again, it's one way of warding off other potential stalkers.
Clint pulls on Phil's sweats that he left abandoned by the couch and replaced the cushions, folding the blanket and stacking it neatly with the pillow at the end of the couch. Then he turns his attention to exploring Phil's kitchen.
Clint has never felt so at home as he does in this house, despite the fact that it's his first time here. That's all down to Phil and the urge to give him something in return is undeniable. Breakfast isn't much, but it's pretty much all Clint can do right now and besides, Phil doesn't eat nearly enough. Clint finds eggs and cheese to make omelets and is frying up the bacon when Phil comes down.
Just looking at him makes Clint feel simultaneously blissfully happy and nervous as hell and he supposes this is the 'morning after' feeling he's heard so many people describe. Clint wouldn't know - he's never stayed the night with any of his anonymous partners, never trusted anyone enough to actually sleep in their presence. Sleeping with Phil last night, for all that it was just sleeping, feels so much more meaningful than anything Clint's ever experienced before.
Clint smiles when Phil enters the kitchen, trying - and probably failing- to hide his nervousness. Clint really is usually quite good at hiding his emotions - you have to be to survive in his line of work - but deep down he doesn't really want to hide from Phil, so his efforts are half-hearted at best. "G'morning," he says.
Phil's answering smile is beautiful. "Good morning," he says. "You didn't have to make breakfast, you know."
"I wanted to," Clint insists, handing Phil a plate. "Sorry about . . . last night," he continues, looking away.
"What part?" Phil asks, with seemingly honest confusion.
Clint is horrified to find himself actually blushing as he clarifies. "The part where I slept on your bed."
Phil smiles again, wider this time, and Clint notices something like . . . smugness? in the quirk of his lips. "Usually when I stay with the Pack, Becca sleeps at the foot of my bed. Sometimes it's one or more of the pups. I don't mind at all." And yeah, Clint thinks, if Phil actually stays with the Pack for extended periods of time it makes sense he'd probably get a few bedmates.
Phil steps closer, deliberately moving into Clint's personal space until he raises his head and meets Phil's eyes. "If you're waiting for me to freak out about your wolfishness," he says softly, "you're going to have a long wait." The tension abruptly leaves the room, because yeah, Clint has been waiting for the freak out.
"Now eat up," Phil orders, "I've got a meeting with Fury this morning, after which I'll probably have a whole new crop of trainees for you to terrorise."
Awkwardness forgotten, Clint grins in anticipation, already working out which tricks he'll play this time in the name of 'proper training.' Clint loves fresh meat, and no one can argue with success - the trainees Clint 'tortures' consistently perform higher at their end-of-training evaluations. Which is probably why Phil always gives his tacit approval.
"Just no permanent damage, please," Phil requests, starting in on his omelet with obvious relish. Clint just smirks.