It wasn't a surprise that Clint was the one who was having trouble adjusting to Phil's news.

"It's not that you don't want to work with us anymore, but you think we'd be better off without you?" Clint asked, standing at attention in the doorway of Phil's office.

An hour ago he had broken the news to his agents that Captain Rogers was taking over leadership while he stayed back to provide them support from headquarters through the comm system. It had been nearly two months since Phil had talked to Fury about this; he'd had time to prepare while his agents –while Agents Romanov, Barton and Rogers' headed back to the States. They weren't his agents anymore. It was going to be hard to remember that. They came back at different times throughout the months, but it took until the end of the second month before they were all back on American soil at the same time. Phil was glad to see them in one piece and he knew they had been relieved to see how well-recovered he was from the gunshot wound not too long ago.

"Yes," Phil said carefully, looking up from his paperwork to address Clint. "The three of you perform seamlessly. You don't need me."

"I do," Clint said roughly, leaning against the doorframe, his hand on the knob. He twisted it slowly, his eyes on Phil's desk. "I need you."

"Not in the field," Phil said tentatively. "Agent Barton, you're one of S.H.I.E.L.D's best agents. With or without me."

"Well I only got here 'cus of you."

"And that won't change. I'm still here. I'm just going to be the voice in your ear, overseeing the mission." Phil set his pen down. "It's no different than when we get assigned different missions. Only you'll be with Captain Rogers. And you can't tell me you're worried that he won't do as good of a job as I would," Phil teased. "We both know he's more than capable."

Steve had taken the news remarkably well. If anything, he'd seemed a little relieved. It meant he wouldn't be the one in charge of wrangling Stark outside of the mission –that duty would now fall to Phil. He hadn't spoken to the captain prior to when he delivered the news to the whole team. He wanted to make sure they all felt like equals, like teammates. He and Steve were largely transferring duties and responsibilities between them for now. It would probably do Steve some good –he never complained of course, but he didn't enjoy the paperwork or the sudden late night phone calls that sent him all over the country to chase after Stark.

"He is, of course but –"

"You trust Captain Rogers. With the three of you in the field, there won't be anything you can't do. And I'm still recovering; it'll be months before I'm field ready. You three can do more than if I were there."

Clint nodded slowly, his hands falling to his sides. "It's just…" he chewed his lip, mulling his words over.

"Agent Barton," Phil said gently, "Clint, I'm still your friend. You can sleep on my couch whenever you want. I'll still be here for you." I promise I'm not going anywhere.

Clint smiled uncertainly. "Yeah?" He glanced up, peering at him through his lashes. "That's what I was worried about. You know, your couch is the most comfortable one I've ever slept on."

"That's why I keep it," Phil said lightly, watching in relief as the darkness behind Clint's eyes lifted again.

"So does this mean you're going to be a desk jockey from now on?" he asked, flopping down onto the couch.

"For the most part, yes."

"You'll go batshit, Coulson."

"Visit me in psych if I do, Barton."

"Oh of course sir. I'll take pictures too and bring them to Fury and the rest of the team 'cus no one would believe me otherwise." Clint stretched his arms above his head, craning his neck to stare at Coulson over the couch cushions.

"Oh they would," Phil countered, starting to go through his paperwork again. "I've been telling everyone for years that you would drive me into a straightjacket if just to prevent myself from wringing your neck."

Clint snorted. "Yeah? Well at least if you were working with me I could take responsibility for that part of it. But no, no, one day you'll be sitting here staring at these boring white walls and then you'll start hearing my voice."

"Your voice?" Phil asked dubiously.

"Of course mine. Who else talks to you as much?"

"Ohhh," Phil said, hiding his smile. "You mean whose voice do I find more annoying? It's definitely yours."

"Fuck off," Clint laughed. "You'll go crazy with nothing but papers and white walls to keep you company so you'll start hearing my voice."

"Uh huh," Phil replied, amused as he signed off on his paperwork.

"So you should go back into the field instead of cooping up here. You wouldn't want to be stuck listening to my voice forever without at least getting to see my handsome face."

"Maybe I'll just get so tired of your voice; I'll start hallucinating your face too."

Clint laughed, relaxing onto the couch. "It's gonna be weird without you, sir."

"You'll have Natasha and Steve," Phil pointed out.

"I've known you longer."

Phil sighed. "I'm not going anywhere, Barton. I'll be right here, at my desk, doing all your paperwork."

"You could just make me do my own," Clint retorted, grinning at him.

"You're impossible."

Phil mostly did Clint's paperwork for him because he had the time for it. (He usually did Romanov's too, but Rogers was always prompt with his work). Since he had started leading Strike Team Delta, he'd been too busy to run Fury's errands. Tracking down Banner and Stark, talking to them about their choices had left them here. But he knew Fury wanted him to take a look over some other files and he probably wanted to send him in to talk to Stark again. If the man could be a team player, was willing to be a team player and work with Captain Rogers, they had a good chance at completing the Avengers. There was no point in risking contacting Banner and potentially losing him to the winds again unless they had Stark on board. And he definitely wasn't too amenable to being part of a team. But as Phil had said, having three Avengers working seamlessly together was better than none. And considering that both Natasha and Clint had issues with authority, it was a situation where it was better to get it over sooner rather than later. The best case scenario for all of them would be one where the Avengers were never needed, where four of five members would remain completely unaware of the fact that they were being considered for such a project.

"Hey Phil?" When Clint said nothing more, Phil made an inquisitive hum, turning to look at him. "You wanna grab dinner tonight?"

"Sure. What did you have in mind?" Phil could have sworn his heart stopped beating.

"That, uh, Italian place? Two blocks from your place."

"Sounds nice. Is Italian a theme for… us?" Maybe Clint would overlook that pause.

Clint chuckled. "Isn't it supposed to be like the staple of good food?"

"I think it depends where you come from. But yes Italian and French cuisine are typically higher class restaurants here."

"Cool. I'll meet you there at six?" Clint rolled to his feet, hands shoved into his pockets. He didn't look at Phil.

"Yeah, that works," Phil said softly, watching as Clint left his office.

Part of the reason he had given up his position, was because it put him far away from being able to influence the team's decisions. It put him away from being Clint's commanding officer. They were closer to equals now, even though they had both received promotions. Phil was a Level Eight now that he was staying back, handling more of Fury's operations. Steve was a Level Seven and both Natasha and Clint had risen to Level Fives as they had more than proven themselves in the last two years. As disorienting as this sudden change was going to be for them, it would be better for everyone in the long term. He would never have to worry that rank had anything to do with what was going on between Clint and he. If there was anything between them.

But Phil fixed his suit and combed his hair and arrived ten minutes early at the restaurant. Clint had apparently called ahead to make reservations and Phil was led to a secluded booth where he sat and skimmed through the menu as he waited for Clint to arrive. Clint turned up five minutes late wearing a Henley with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and jeans so dark they were practically black. He looked… great. Phil actually felt a little guilty that he hadn't stopped at home to change into something less usual. Clint grinned at him a little sheepishly as he sat down across from him.

"Sorry the bus was the late," he said, picking up a menu.

"You look great," Phil said, smiling at him, feeling hope rise in his chest.

"Thanks," Clint said, ducking his head as though he could hide his faint blush.

Phil smiled to himself, taking a sip of water. He'd had more than enough time to decide on his meal while he was waiting for Clint to arrive. But more and more this was starting to feel like a date. And Phil couldn't be happier about it.

"Thought anymore about getting an apartment?" Phil inquired.

"Yeah, actually," Clint said, glancing at him. "I started looking when I got home."

Phil smiled, relieved to hear it. Hopefully it meant Clint was accepting the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't going to move on him or leave him stranded. He had a home there; he didn't have to live in it for it to be a home though. In Phil's opinion home was a lot more transient a term. Home could simply refer to people.

"Find any places you liked?"

"Yeah, a couple. One of them was a loft and the other was a corner apartment with a hell of a view."

"Those get snatched up quick."

"I sent them both to the housing account at work," Clint said. "That's what we're supposed to do right?"

Phil nodded but his response was cut off by their waiter arriving and taking their orders down. Phil was grateful that he didn't have to worry about eating soft foods as he was recovering nicely; Clint ordered the lasagne and Phil wasn't jealous. Not at all. Phil ordered the fettucine and garlic toast, sharing a smile with Clint. Since Clint had first made dinner, Phil hadn't had an excuse to eat any garlic bread. He was taking the opportunity now.

"Y'know," Clint said once the waiter had left with their orders. "I always kind of wondered what your family life was like. I mean you probably know more about what mine was like growing up."

Phil smiled apologetically. "Nature of the job. What can I tell you? My parents both passed away. My father when I was twenty-two –car accident." Phil glanced away. "He was my rock. I didn't really know what to do after he was gone."

"I'm sorry," Clint murmured softly, reaching over to touch his hand. "I didn't mean to-"

"You don't have to apologize," Phil said. "I don't get much chance to talk about them."

"Okay," Clint said, slowly retracting his hand.

Phil already missed the warmth of his touch. "And my mom passed away five years later. I think –I think she couldn't stand to live without him. But, she tried. She tried." Phil smiled a little sadly. "My father was an Alpha and she was an Omega. It was a pretty traditional family, minus having two point five kids and a dog. I don't have any siblings, or cousins."

"What did you want to grow up to be?"

Phil smiled. "I wanted to be like my dad. I think that's why I went into the army, at first. But it wasn't a good fit for me. One of my C.O's had heard of S.H.I.E.L.D. and she sent in a recommendation for me and I transferred into S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy and finished my military service in their employment. What about you?" he asked cautiously.

"Well, I think I just thought I was going to perform at the circus forever. It wasn't such a bad lifestyle. I used to think I could do it forever, like Chisholm or Duquesne seemed to. I liked having an audience to play to. Barney was the one who wanted to get away, who had a plan. He started saving up, I think. Not that I could blame him –he was just a stage hand. He didn't know what it was like to be in front of the crowd."

Phil smiled at him. "I can see that."

"Oh really?"

"With the way you show off on ops?" Phil shook his head, smiling good-naturedly at him. "You had to love performing."

Clint grinned. "Course I did. I was the star of the show."

The waiter chose that moment to bring their drinks over, flashing a smile at the both of them before disappearing back into the kitchen. And Phil felt himself relaxing, easing into the dinner date. Whether it was a date or not, didn't matter. Phil didn't care if it was a date. He was spending time with Clint; he had Clint's undivided attention and it was a gift –one he cradled close to his chest. It was a good thing he had left Strike Team Delta in Captain Rogers' hands, he realized as he listened to Clint talk about what he loved most, because Phil was hopelessly in love with the man in front of him. He liked watching how Clint moved his hands when he talked, the way his entire body came alight. He wasn't poised with a sniper rifle or a bow in his hand, keeping perfectly still as he waited to take a kill shot. Here, Clint was looser. At ease in a way Phil was only just starting to see. And it was a very good look on him.

It was possibly the best date Phil had ever been on and he didn't even know if it was a date. But Clint could make easy jokes and they were easy to follow. There were no secrets between them –Clint knew what Phil did for a living and vice versa. The one conversation that didn't come up between them was work. There was so much else to talk about. Like the fact that Clint's favorite food was pizza, how he had always wanted to have a dog but never had the opportunity. Phil stretched his leg out, his foot bumping against Clint's; Clint who only smiled, but kept his leg there for the rest of the meal. There were casual touches, their hands bumping as they reached for their drinks or napkins. The way that whenever one of them shifted, their knees pressed together underneath the table. The food was good but Phil was more interested in Clint. And he couldn't help hoping that Clint was feeling the same way.

As Phil reached for his wallet, he caught sight of Clint's glare. "I'll pay. I invited you out."

Phil agreed after a brief pause, wondering if Clint knew how date-like he sounded, as he returned his wallet to his pocket. So Clint paid for dinner and they headed outside the restaurant. And Phil wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss him. But he just wasn't sure. He didn't want to risk all the trust he had built with Clint over the years. And, in the end, he wasn't left wondering for long. When they were outside the restaurant, Clint set his hand on Phil's and led him out of the doorway. Before Phil could ask if something was wrong, Clint's mouth was on his. Clint was careful, a little tentative, but entirely deliberate as he kissed Phil. Phil, in turn, wrapped his arms around Clint and kissed him back. All of his doubts and questions about whether this was a date or not were answered in that one moment; nothing existed outside of the taste of Clint, the firmness of his biceps underneath Phil's hands and the faint heat of his body next to Phil's.

Clint pulled away, eyes wide and a little breathless. "We should definitely do that more," he said.

Phil smiled endearingly at him. "Do you want to come back to my place for drinks?" he asked, reluctantly letting his arms fall to his sides.

Clint caught his hand easily, "That sounds great."

Phil couldn't help the grin he flashed at Clint. "I think so too," he admitted.

They walked the two blocks back to Phil's apartment. Holding Clint's hand was too much and yet not enough at the same time, a pleasant torture as all he wanted to do was touch more of Clint. Clint seemed to feel the same way as every few seconds they would share a look, longing and hungry for more of the other. There was a palpable tension between them; their energy was electric and wild, waiting to burst as they walked in silence. It was a relief when Phil fumbled his key in his lock and managed to get the door open. They tumbled through it, laughing, and Phil had only just shut his door before Clint was kissing him again. Phil wasn't sure when but between one kiss and the next, he'd slid his hand under Clint's shirt and was taking as much time as he could to appreciate his body. Clint didn't seem to feel the same though, shifting as he trailed kisses along Phil's jaw, his hands deftly undoing Phil's tie. His shirt was next, shoved off his shoulders and Phil didn't care that it was going to be wrinkled tomorrow.

"An undershirt and everything," Clint said with a sigh, but he was smiling. "You're like a present I have to unwrap."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't rip my clothes, they're expensive," Phil pointed out, feeling heat spreading over his body the longer Clint looked his fill. Phil had no doubts about whether Clint was enjoying the view or not; he was.

"Promise I won't rip 'em off, sir," Clint purred. Phil groaned in protest. "You like when I call you that, sir?" he teased.

"It does things it shouldn't since I hear it about fifty times a day," Phil explained. Actually, that was probably a low estimate.

Clint hummed, stepping closer to untuck Phil's shirt casually. "Do you like it when they do it?"

"Just you," Phil answered.

Clint grinned, kissing him thoroughly. "I like seeing you like this," Clint murmured breathlessly, "all casual and everything."

"It's hardly casual," Phil protested. It was still a suit. Or part of a suit, at this point. "When you were over cooking me dinners, I was more casual than this."

Clint nodded in agreement. "Pajamas, sir. They really suit you."

Phil chuckled, groaning, "How do you do this to me?"

"How do I do what, sir?" Clint asked, grinning at him. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Phil kissed him instead, curling his fingers into the soft fabric of Clint's shirt, tugging him close. Clint was relaxed and pliant beneath his hands, allowing Phil's tongue to explore his mouth. They kissed slow and sensual, like they had all the time in the world. There were no impending crises and they were off from work –as far as Phil was concerned, they had more than enough time. Clint seemed in no rush either, almost lazily dragging his hand up Phil's bare chest. They hadn't yet left the living room but both of them were without shirts, content for the time being to explore the other.

"I can't tell you how long I've wanted to do this," Phil murmured against his lips.

Clint stroked along the back of Phil's neck, his roughened hands sending pleasant shudders down Phil's body. "That long?" he asked, sounding a little surprised.

"Too long," Phil said.

"Same," Clint said softly, smiling at him.

Phil closed the distance between them, delighting in the feel of Clint's body against his own. Clint seemed to feel the same way, his hand settling on his ass as he pushed their hips together. There was no friction, but Phil could feel the heavy weight of Clint pressing against him and he knew Clint would be able to feel Phil. Clint groaned into Phil's mouth, as if just the touch of him, the knowledge that Phil wanted this as much as Clint was too much for him. Their kiss got messier; Clint's hold on him tightening as Phil's hands glided across his abs appreciatively. Clint gave a breathy chuckle, the sound trapped in the not-quite space between them as he ground his hips against Phil's.

"Maybe we should take this into the bedroom?" Phil gasped, pulling back.

"Here I thought you'd never ask," he husked, "lead the way, sir."

Clint stepped back reluctantly, and Phil didn't let him go far, catching his hand between his own as he led him towards his bedroom. Unsurprisingly, given that it was Clint who had started this, he tugged Phil against him, his fingers wrapped around Phil's belt loops. Clint kissed him senseless, easily brushing his tongue against Phil's, distracting him from the fact that Clint was slowly and surely undoing Phil's pants. But he could feel everything Clint was doing to him and he was content to let the man have his way. Phil was startled when Clint turned them around, shoving him onto his bed. In one fluid movement, Clint dropped to his knees and pulled Phil's slacks off, tossing them aside carelessly.

"Should I be worried that I'm not American enough for you, sir?" Clint asked, his voice a low husk as he gazed up at Phil, index finger trailing along the edge of his red-white-and-blue boxers.

"Didn't know I was getting asked out tonight," Phil croaked his voice little more than a whisper. He spared a moment to be grateful Clint hadn't noticed –

"I think it's that you weren't expecting to get naked tonight," Clint corrected, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Wait. Is that –is that Captain America's shield?"

Phil would go to his grave denying it if he had to. But the loud echo of Clint's laughter was a welcome sound –and even if he was right –which he wasn't –it was good to hear.

"No, definitely not," Phil said adamantly, fighting to keep from blushing.

"Oh really?" Clint asked, smirking at him. "What is it then?" He dragged his finger across the shield, located right at the top of Phil's hip.

"It's, just the uh, company logo," Phil said, and even to him it sounded like a lie. Probably because it was one, and a poor one at that.

Clint laughed again, but there was no derision to it. He leaned forward suddenly, a warm smile stretched across his face. "Not the sexiest thing, sir. But that's okay." And he pressed a light kiss to Phil's thigh. "I think you more than make up for it."

Phil made an undignified sound, tugging at Clint's arms until the other man was almost lying beside him. "You're wearing too many clothes," he said in answer, kissing Clint deeply. He didn't take as much time as he might have liked to, as he undid Clint's jeans and practically peeled them from his body. "How tight do these need to be?" Phil asked, once he'd managed to pull the offending fabric off.

Clint chuckled lazily, beaming up at him. "I needed to make my ass look good."

"Your ass always looks good," Phil murmured, smiling as he leaned in and kissed Clint.

Kissing Clint was perfect –there was no other way to describe it. He shifted closer and they were getting more intimate. Clint curled his arm around Phil's back, his hand resting on his lower back as he dragged his other hand through Phil's hair. Clint got impatient first, hooking his leg around Phil's before rolling them over. He pulled back, nipping briefly at Phil's lip before trailing hot kisses down Phil's neck. Phil inhaled softly, stretching out under Clint's touch. Phil kept his hands resting on Clint's back, enjoying the feel of his muscles rippling with each movement as Clint kept himself occupied by sucking a hickey onto Phil's collarbone. And then Clint was kissing down his stomach with intent, sparing a moment to make eye contact as he pulled Phil's boxers down. Clint was a very dedicated lover, a fact which Phil was both surprised and overjoyed to learn. Clint swallowed him down and soon the room was filled with the sound of Phil's moaning but he couldn't bring himself to mind. He shouted a hoarse warning, but Clint didn't seem to mind as he continued until Phil was breathless and sated.

And then Clint was on the bed, next to him and Phil wasted no time in divesting Clint of his underwear before his hands were on him. Clint squirmed under him, arching into Phil's every touch. Phil loved every sound that fell from Clint's lips as the other man came with a low groan. Phil spent a few minutes kissing along Clint's torso, taking a moment to suck a mark of his own on Clint's chest. Before long, Clint was tugging Phil down until they were kissing and whatever thoughts Phil had remaining vanished. Instead there was nothing but the sound and feel of Clint beside him, his hands roaming over his body. They each basked in the presence of each other, but soon their breathless pants edged into moans and Phil could feel the way Clint was pressed against him. Phil reached over, fumbling only when Clint tweaked his nipple, his breathy chuckle echoing in the bedroom. Phil half groaned, half laughed as he pulled out a condom and lube from his bedside table and smacked them against Clint's side. It was a question as much as a statement and Clint leaned over, eyes wide and very much interested.

"Want you," he mumbled, tugging Phil over him and the discussion was over before it had ever really started.

It didn't take long before Clint was groaning, promising that he was ready. But Phil took his time, making no secret of the fact that he was enjoying the way Clint was alternating between cursing and begging for him. When Phil finally rolled the condom on and brought them together, it was bliss. Clint's eyes fluttered shut, a quiet moan falling from his lips. He was beautiful. Phil caressed his side, feeling the way he shuddered around him. Clint shifted and it dragged a groan from Phil as he leaned down, kissing him irresistibly. Clint returned the kiss eagerly and pulled on Phil's hips impatiently. Obligingly, Phil began moving his hips and Clint pulled back to groan breathily as his own hips twitched in response. Phil reached between them, wrapping his hand around Clint as he thrust. Clint keened in response, throwing his head back against the pillows and Phil licked a strip along his exposed neck, growling low in the back of his throat. Clint was his. He didn't want to have to share Clint with anyone but that was a conversation for another time. Phil pulled back before he could do something stupid, like lay a claim, and instead channeled his energy back into pleasuring Clint. From the way his fingers were digging into Phil's hips and the way he was becoming less coherent he knew it wouldn't be long. With a few more thrusts, Clint came with a shout and Phil followed seconds later.

"That was –something else," Clint panted. "I liked it."

Phil laughed shakily and grabbed his hand, kissing along his knuckles in wordless agreement. It was something special. Or, it could be something special one day. Clint was half-asleep by the time Phil set about cleaning up after them. Clint gave a soft whine, catching Phil's hand and trying to drag him back to bed. Phil kissed his temple instead.

"You'll thank me in the morning," he told him, dragging the damp cloth across his stomach. He had to get up anyways and dispose of the condom.

Clint grumbled in sleepy protest and Phil couldn't resist smiling like a love-struck fool. Which, he probably was. After putting the cloth aside, he crawled back into bed next to Clint. Clint was still awake, blinking drowsily at Phil as he hesitantly moved closer. When Clint let him, he gently wrapped his arm around him. Clint smiled at him cheekily and pecked him lightly.

"Guess I'm staying the night?" he mumbled.

Phil just rolled his eyes. "No, I'm evicting you from my bed. You're like a space heater."

"You like it," Clint slurred, his eyes drifting shut.

"I do," Phil replied softly, slowly reaching out to brush his fingertips through Clint's fine hair.

Clint started spending more time at Phil's both before work and after work. Phil was more grateful than he could say that Strike Team Delta didn't have any current missions as it gave him more time to spend with Clint. When he next ran into Natasha, she was in the middle of the cafeteria, and arched an eyebrow at him. She then looked between him and Clint and smiled knowingly. Despite having run into Steve several times throughout the week, the captain didn't comment on anything. Steve was a fairly astute man and Phil was willing to put it at fifty-fifty whether or not he knew what was going on. It was just as likely that Steve didn't want to invade their privacy and as such was minding his own business. If that was the case, then that made him the first person at S.H.I.E.L.D. to do so since he had driven Clint back to work. And really, there was nothing inappropriate about it. No one even saw them enter at the same time, but apparently everyone knew about it.

Phil was in his office for five minutes before he changed his mind and headed down to Maria's office. If she or Jasper heard about it from someone other than him, rumor mill gossip or not, he would never hear the end of it. He probably wasn't going to hear the end of it from them either. Earlier that morning he and Clint had discussed what they were going to do.

"We're in this together," Clint had said with an easy shrug. "I don't care if everyone knows."

If two years ago someone had told him he was going to be dating Clint Barton, Phil probably would have decked them. Just on the principle of the thing. But two years had apparently changed a lot of things for the both of them. He filled out the paperwork two days after his first date with Clint but he didn't file it and he didn't tell Maria or Jasper the truth. He said that Clint was apartment shopping and Phil had gone to help him and they'd lost track of time. Maria definitely didn't believe him, but she let his excuse go. Jasper took it as fact. The rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. was buzzing at the possibilities but Clint just gave everyone a different story and Phil glared them into submission. What he had with Clint was too new for him to feel comfortable sharing it just yet. His relationship was Clint was perhaps the most seriously relationship he could remember being in; it meant so much to Phil.

He filed the paperwork after their fifth date. He told Maria the same day. She hugged him. He told Jasper a few days later and got another hug for his trouble. Fury at least didn't hug him, but Phil found a congratulatory present at his apartment. It was a box full of condoms, lube and a set of handcuffs. Phil refused to touch but when Clint found the box, there was no dissuading him. (He really liked the handcuffs). Steve called the team together and officially notified them that due to his emotional connection to Clint, Phil would no longer be their ground support. No one was surprised and Phil was relieved that Clint didn't immediately tense up. But he did worry. Because in the back of his mind, he could just hear Clint's voice begging him not to leave. And although Phil wouldn't admit it to anyone, let alone himself, sometimes late at night when Clint wasn't sleeping next to him, he wondered whether Clint had come to him because he was afraid of losing him. Phil had just left the team, after all. It wasn't outside the realm of possibilities. Nor was the fact that Clint might have been harboring feelings for him for some time and his leaving the team had provided Clint with the opportunity he'd been waiting for. But Phil didn't like thinking about that, so he didn't.

Clint was in Argentina with Natasha and Steve when the S.H.I.E.L.D. security team declared the loft apartment was safe for him. The finance department funded it and they had everything put into Clint's name. Honestly, all things considered it was possibly the best birthday present Clint could have gotten. He came back just in time for the first dump of snow they'd had and he spent the entire time complaining. Until he saw the email and begged and pleaded for Phil to come and see his apartment.

"My own apartment, Phil," Clint had said, all smiles. "I have my own apartment now. Aren't you proud of me?"

And Phil had said, "Always," and kissed him on the mouth.

Then Clint had dragged him to his apartment and Phil had to admit that he was very impressed. It was a nice place and he was a little jealous of the view. A fact that Clint liked to lord over him whenever the opportunity presented itself –which was surprisingly often.

"Keep bragging about your view and I won't help you move in," Phil said at last. He liked his apartment just fine, but Clint's was going to be a work of art when he was done with it.

"Aw sir," Clint purred, and he knew exactly what that word could do to Phil.

Phil shot him an exasperated glance and Clint sat back down on the couch from where he had started to rise.

For Clint's birthday, they celebrated by christening every room. Or so Clint said. Phil also bought take-out that they didn't get around to eating until was cold, though neither of them could complain. And Phil had also bought him a book on the history of archery which focused primarily on traditional archery posture and the tricks they used to perform. Clint loved it, if the fact that Phil caught him trying out some of the shots and poses in the range said anything about it.

And as Clint had predicted not too long ago, Phil was slowly going insane as he sat at his desk doing paperwork. When he went to Fury to request getting back on field work –not that he'd ever left it –Fury made him take his qualifiers. More as an 'I-told-you-so' than anything else but Phil headed down to the gym with the other agents. Most of them were around Agent Singers' age, close to retiring but not quite. Others were more like Rumlow, sent in an attempt to keep them in line. Not quite a punishment. But Phil passed with perfect scores in the hand-to-hand qualifiers and other combat areas, not really a surprise considering who he'd spent the last two years sparring with. Those three were a handful to keep up with. His accuracy wasn't perfect; he wasn't Hawkeye, but it was his average. He was still in shape. And he was honestly surprised at himself. He'd been sitting at a desk for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to hold his gun, much less shoot it. When he took his scores to Fury as ordered, the other man smirked at him.

"You ready to get back into the field, agent?" he asked.

"Yes sir."

"Good. Put together a team and get to Algeria. We think Hydra's been sniffing around and we want to know why."

"On it, sir," Phil said, picking up the folder Fury tossed his way.

"And Coulson?" Phil paused at the door. "Glad to have you back." Fury smirked, just the slightest shift of his mouth but Phil recognized it for the well-wishing it was.

Phil pulled a couple of Strike agents from different teams, but he didn't call on anyone from Strike Team Delta. For one, they were otherwise occupied and secondly he needed to do this one on his own. It was too easy for the other agents to forget that he was just human, just average. No special shooting like Barton, no enhancements like Steve or Natasha. Phil picked a few other agents from different sectors; ones he knew would respect his orders. Agent Morse, Agent Hale and Agent Martin none of them would stand for agents like Rumlow or his friends. It certainly made the information retrieval mission more exciting than it needed to be, but they accomplished their goal and returned to base within a week. Strike Team Delta returned at the same time and Phil had to take a moment to wrap his Agent Coulson persona around him when he saw Clint limping off the plane.

"It's just a sprained ankle," Clint said, as he sat on the examination table in the doctor's room. "I'm barely even bruised."

That night they went to Clint's apartment and watched the sunset together while eating greasy pizza. Clint leaned against him and it was a good date. It was a good day. But Phil got busier with his own missions and Strike Team Delta started spending more time in the field. When their schedules matched up, they spent as much time as they could wrapped up together in bed. They hadn't been dating for more than six months and Phil found that every time he wanted to ask Clint, to ask him 'how long', he couldn't. Mostly because he was worried what Clint's answer would mean. But it wasn't a fear he would hold onto forever. And, honestly, whatever Clint's answer, the fact was that they were together. Even if Clint said –even if –Clint had decided to date him to keep him around, Phil wasn't sure that he could leave Clint because of it. Not the healthiest reason for a relationship, but it was something they could work on. Clint's life had given him more than enough reasons to believe that people wouldn't stick around. If he had to, Phil would prove it to him. Despite the risks, despite knowing every time one of them left, the other might not come back, Phil never did say those three words. It was too soon, they hadn't been together that long, Phil would rationalize on the nights he was safe at home and Clint wasn't back from a mission. They had rushed into a relationship. And Phil didn't want to rush anything else, at least not yet.

A few weeks later, Fury called him into his office and laid out the news. There was a spike in Hydra activity and he'd sent Romanov out to race it back to New Mexico. The energy readings they had taken from the area were unusually high and no one had any explanation for it.

"I'm putting Strike Team Delta on this," Fury said, leaning back in his seat. "I want you to put together a team and flank the building, Hill's gonna be waiting with her own team at the back. I'm going to be here," he said, gesturing at the map, "waiting with a team to arrest these Hydra agents. I want to know what they're doing to cause all of this."

"Yes sir," Phil said, nodding as he studied the map. "I'm going to request Agent May join us for this."

"Good luck with that one, Coulson," Fury said with a laugh. "We've got three days to prepare."

"What do you want us to do, sir?" Captain Rogers' asked warily. "Bait the enemy out?"

"I want you to do what Strike Team Delta does best, Captain. Scatter them, terrify them and chase them out to us. We'll be ready."

Maria gave a decisive nod. "I've put my team together, sir. We'll be ready."

Steve didn't appear relieved by the plan either. "If there are enough Hydra agents to warrant three separate S.H.I.E.L.D. teams I don't know if it's a good idea to just send us in."

"You make a good point, Captain," Phil murmured, eyeing the numbers.

"If we let them take us prisoner though," Steve said thoughtfully, "that might work. It'll give us a vantage to work from."

Fury inclined his head in consideration. "I can see how that would work. When do you want to go in?"

"Give us twelve hours," Steve said, standing up. "Twelve hours before you get into position. Drop us in and we'll take care of it."

"Done. You have two days to prep your team captain. Dismissed."

Steve saluted and left the room.

"What if they run late, sir?" Maria asked, crossing her legs as she examined the map.

"We'll work our way inside, if we have to," Fury said. "So long as we shut this thing down."

"Sir," Maria said slowly, flipping over one of the pages. "This energy reading –"

"Yeah," Fury said darkly. "It's got more power than a damn nuclear bomb. I don't know what they're cooking up down there, but we're putting an end to it."

"Absolutely sir."

But something about it left a bad taste in Phil's mouth, a dark feeling squirming in his gut. Something about this wasn't right. But no matter how long he poured over the maps, the data, he couldn't figure out what was bothering him. And Clint was determined to make sure he didn't get to the bottom of it, as he turned up in time for dinner to start harassing Phil out of his office. It was Clint –he always did it –and Phil let Clint lead him down to the cafeteria, more certain that something was wrong with this plan than before. But in the two days of preparation they had, Phil couldn't figure it out. He kissed Clint goodbye, and watched as he boarded the quinjet next to Rogers and Romanov. And then he was gone.