Clint woke up, naked and wrapped around Phil, with Phil facing the wall. Hearing someone in the bathroom between the Jack and Jill style bedrooms—Kit, if he correctly remembered the planned sleeping arrangements—he rolled away from Phil's back, glanced at the clock, then stifled a groan. Six fifteen. Of course, they'd gone to bed early and, even with the time taken up by the intense (despite, or maybe because of, being sound-suppressed) bedroom cardio, he'd probably gotten in eight hours of sleep. Even so, he'd rather not be awake right now.

He stared at the ceiling until the muffled sounds in the pass-through bathroom subsided. Yeah, not getting back to sleep.

He got up, took his turn in the bathroom, washed his face, and then got dressed to go for a run. Phil hadn't moved. The man was sleeping so heavily that, if Clint wasn't certain Phil had been warm and breathing when Clint was pressed against his back just minutes ago, he'd be tempted to check for a pulse.

Clint crept down the stairs, crossed the big foyer, inched around piles of sleeping children in the open living room, then slipped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. He was not surprised to find Kit there. He was surprised to see her tying running shoes.

She looked up. "Want to go running with me, Aladdin, and Cleopatra?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "I was gonna ask where I might run."

She handed him a bottle of water. "Just follow me and my babies."

He followed her out the back door.

When they returned from their run half an hour later, Clint trotted up the porch steps. He sat on the top step facing the yard and took a swig from his water bottle. Cleopatra then Aladdin sprawled, panting, at his feet. Finally, Kit made it to the porch and collapsed on her back on the wood. "I run with my dogs," she gasped. "You—you race them. Holy crap."

Clint laughed and took another drink. "I like running."

"I thought I liked running…." She sat up. "You sure you're human?"

"I'm the normal-est guy I know."

"I patently refuse to believe that." Kit hauled herself to her feet. "I need food."

"Food is good." Clint stood and followed her inside.

Phil was at the coffee pot that had clearly just finished brewing. He glanced up and poured two mugs of coffee. "Want any, Kit?" he asked as he stirred sugar into Clint's coffee.

"Thanks," she said. "You know I like it in the morning just not all day." She smirked at Clint. "Kind of makes me odd man out in this family, but you fit right in."

"I guess." Clint shrugged. "Least as far as drinking coffee."

She chuckled. "Oh, you fit in."

Phil handed her a cup of coffee, black like his. "Thanks," she said as her brother took a sip of Clint's coffee before handing it to him. She smiled into her cup. "Didn't think you like sweet coffee."

"Depends," Phil said.

"On whether it's his?" she asked.

"I like coffee all kinds of ways including cappuccino and dolce vanilla coffee."

"Cappuccino's not sweet," she challenged.

Phil rolled his eyes.

"What?" she demanded. "I'm a lawyer. We're argumentative."

"Sounds like something from a Tshirt." Clint was studying the contents of the refrigerator. He pulled eggs, cheese, and fruit out.

"Nah," Kit said. "That'd be 'Lawyers do it while arguing.'"

Clint chuckled.

"'Spies do it undercover,'" Kit quipped.

Clint laughed harder.

"'Bureaucrats do it in triplicate.'" She smirked at her brother.

"Duplicate," Clint muttered. "Not as young as we used to be." Kit guffawed. Clint reflected that, despite their restraint and their intense focus on being quiet, she might well have heard them last night. If she had, she didn't seem bothered by it, was maybe amused, or happy for her brother. Even so, Clint was glad his face was still red from running so he didn't have to worry about blushing.

Phil put a hand over his face.

Kit elbowed her brother then gestured at Clint. "Do you go running with him?".

"Not usually." Phil stoically sipped coffee.

"Don't blame you."

"He lets the scary Russian redhead run with me."

"Tends to keep you both occupied and out of trouble," Phil said drily.

"C'mon," Clint said, "someone get me more omelet ingredients and I'll cook. I'd appreciate it if someone else would make toast."

"Biscuits," Kit said. She turned both ovens on then rummaged around in the freezer and pulled out a couple of big bags of frozen biscuits.

"Awesome," Clint said.

Phil dragged ham, leftover chicken, vegetables, milk, flour, and spices to the counter. He pulled several pans out then set about helping Clint crack eggs while Kit arranged biscuits on nonstick baking sheets.

Half an hour later, Julie and Robert Coulson walked in followed by Maddie, Hector, Shannon, and Shawn carrying Cadence. Clint was finishing up arranging a variety of omelets on serving dishes while Kit put biscuits in tea towel lined baskets. Bowls containing assorted sliced fruit were already on the table.

"Oh, you're a keeper," Julie Coulson said.

"I second that," Maddie said.

Clint looked up. "You haven't tasted anything yet."

"Doesn't even matter," Mrs. Coulson said. "It's a good morning anytime I get up with this big crowd and don't have to start coordinating cooking. If it's imperfect somehow, say a little bland—which I doubt—we'll adapt, add salt and pepper or something."

"Yep," Hector said. "We're"—he gestured at himself, Maddie, Shawn, and Shannon—"usually busy in the mornings wrangling kids, so we only assist a little." He examined a platter of chicken and broccoli omelets. "Hey, isn't that fancy."

"Not really," Clint said.

Maddie laughed. "We're usually lucky if we manage to get fruit into our cold cereal, so this is a great treat for us."

"Oh." Clint gestured at a different platter. "I made the plain cheese omelets for the kids but anyone can have some."

Mr. Coulson pulled a pitcher of orange juice out of the refrigerator. "Speaking of the kids, let's try to eat in peace for a few minutes before they start trooping in."

"Hear, hear," Shannon said. She got Cadie settled with milk, a biscuit, and part of a cheese omelet. The four year old dug in with gusto.

Clint carved five apple slice bunnies then arranged them on a plate which he set in front of the little girl. She giggled and ate one.

"Man," Shawn said, "now I really want you to go to Disney World with us. You cook and you're good with kids."

"Can't get leave," Phil said mildly.

Kit tittered. Shannon elbowed her.

A few minutes later, everyone but Mrs. Coulson was settled at the table with food, coffee, and orange juice. Julie Coulson started a second pot of coffee before sitting down. Robert Coulson drank coffee from a mug before handing it to her. She grinned.

"The omelets are awesome," Maddie said.

"I agree," Mr. Coulson said.

"You really can make a meal out of nothing," Mrs. Coulson said. "If I didn't know what was in my fridge, I'd have no idea you put leftovers in these."

"Thanks." Clint beamed.

"Seven kids at Disney." Kit said. "That's going to be challenging at the times when you all go together to the same place."

"You learn to deal with it." Hector shrugged. "Me and Maddie could handle all seven by ourselves."

"Sounds like you wanted more kids," Clint said.

"Oh, no." Maddie shook her head. "We had Elissa and Savanna and we thought, sure we can handle one more, maybe have a boy. Then triplets happened. Think the ultrasound tech thought I was gonna kill Hector right then and there when she told us."

"That's for sure." Hector smiled ruefully. "Fertility treatments weren't even involved, so it was a big shock."

"They're wonderful though," Mrs. Coulson said.

"Oh sure," Maddie said. "Wouldn't give 'em back for the world, but talk about the pregnancy from hell."

"I remember that." Phil stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. "You were very sick, for most of the pregnancy."

Maddie put her hand on Phil's arm. "You came from Europe for six weeks to help look after me, Savanna, and Elissa."

"That's when I became so close with Elissa." Phil frowned thoughtfully. "I can't believe that memory was taken from me."

Clint's heart lurched with yet another revelation of what Phil had suffered. Maddie and Robert Coulson both opened their mouths, evidently intending to speak, but they were derailed by the six older children swarming into the kitchen with a great clatter. Elissa swooped through, kissing each of her older relatives plus Clint on the cheek before pouring herself coffee.

"Mmm, omelets." Savanna put a ham and spinach omelet on her plate.

"Made by Uncle Clint," Hector said. His middle daughter nodded and sat down.

"Mom," Dakota said in a tone that was becoming familiar even to Clint. Shannon cringed. "Can I become a chef?" the nine year old asked.

Shannon blinked. "Yes," she said, "that you can become."

"Sweet!" he declared.

Breakfast was a hit all around. Kit—and Cass and Gabby and Mr. Coulson—even snuck a few bites of the plainest chicken omelets to Aladdin and Cleopatra who ate the treats with clear enthusiasm.

Zach sat back in sated bliss. "Thank goodness there's no school tomorrow."

Elissa giggled. "I second that, but I do have my summer job at the vet's office."

"Yeah, but we don't." Gabby was thoughtful. She turned to her grandmother. "Can we stay here a couple more days?"

Julie and Robert Coulson looked at each other. "You mean you kids? I don't see why not," Mrs. Coulson said.

Within minutes, plans were finalized for Cass, Gabby, Zach, and Dakota to spend the week with their grandparents.

After breakfast, Clint and then Phil showered, dressed, then did the little repacking that was needed. Clint took the luggage down and put it in the trunk.

The kids and dogs swarmed out of the front door, followed by the adults. The hugs and farewells took half an hour.

Mrs. Coulson put her arms around Clint and held him tight. "Now you can quit visiting his grave and visit here. We'll make home baked goods together."

"Yes ma'am," Clint said.

"Bring him back soon," Mr. Coulson said. "How about Labor Day?"

"Yessir," Clint said.

Phil frowned. "Why are you asking him?"

Shannon smirked. "He'll make sure you get here!"

As everyone laughed, Elissa hugged Phil one more time. "Do come back. And is it okay if I visit you?"

"Sure," Phil said. "I'd love to see you."

She let him go and pushed him toward Clint. The archer took the car keys out of his pocket. Phil sat in the passenger seat and waved at his family, all of whom were waving madly back—including Aladdin and Cleopatra who waved with their tails—while Clint backed down the long driveway.

When they reached the highway, Clint realized that Phil was grim and white faced as well as quiet.

"Babe?" Clint said.

Phil scrubbed his hands over his face.

"You have a real nice family, Phil."

"I...do." Phil's voice was all but airless. "I can't believe I just let go of them, of you, of everything that matters, for so long."

"You didn't," Clint said. "It was taken from you."

Phil winced. "I don't know if that makes it better or worse."

"Some of both." Clint began studying the highway signs intently. Fifteen minutes later he pulled off at a little rest stop. He went around and tugged Phil out of the car.

"What are we doing here?" Phil said.

"Getting your blood circulating." Clint pulled him along a path deeper into a dense stand of trees. "You're too pale."

Despite the late morning warmth of early summer, Phil's hand was cold. His voice was rough when he spoke. "Would have been so much harder without you there."

"Guess I drew some fire away from you," Clint said lightly.

Phil nodded. "Don't know how I would have explained you if you hadn't been there."

Clint glanced at him.

"I want them to know about you." Phil stopped in his tracks. "I'm glad they got to see you." He pulled Clint close and kissed him, lips clinging together then releasing, just to the right side of chaste.

"Glad I got to meet them," Clint breathed against Phil's mouth.

Phil turned away. "I don't know how I would have explained about"—he put their clasped hands over the scars on his chest—"this, and me, without you there."

Clint stroked Phil's cheek. The color was coming back to the older man's face. Phil combed his fingers through Clint's hair. He closed his eyes and focused on the welcome, familiar touch.

"Are you all right?" Phil asked.

Clint opened his eyes. "Why wouldn't I be all right?"

"All of that"—Phil made a vague gesture toward the road and the direction of his parents' house—"can't have been easy for you."

Clint shrugged. "Seemed pretty good for a meet your significant other's parents deal." His cheeks heated. "Not that I'd know really, except from movies, but—uh—it might even have been a little easier than the usual scenario because I wasn't the focus of all the attention. Everyone was mostly curious about you and what happened to you."

Phil thought this over. "You might be right."

"Next time we go, I'll be old news, and so will you as far as your death and everything." Clint grinned. "Pictures from Disney might be the worst we have to endure."

Phil rolled his eyes. "And Kit and Shannon threatening to go online and book a trip for us."

Clint looked away. Going on vacation was something he and Phil just didn't discuss in their years together, back when things were some weird kind of normal, back before Phil died. This shouldn't be hitting him hard at all, and yet it was, with a feeling he couldn't identify. Disappointment maybe. It sat in his stomach like a stone.

Phil blinked. "I didn't mean it that way."

Clint made a gesture, trying to wave it all away.

"We'll go." Phil caught his hand. "I'm not sure when and where, but we'll go on vacation together."

"We never did before." Clint consciously relaxed his throat before continuing. "You aren't obligated."

"No," Phil said. "I want to." He brushed light fingers down the side of Clint's neck and made a shiver slide down Clint's spine. "The days at Gramercy," he murmured, "and the nights, where we could just focus on us and whatever we wanted—needed—to do. I enjoyed that." He placed a soft wet kiss on the sensitized spot his fingers had been stroking and Clint sucked in a breath. Phil smiled. "I want to do it again, have it be just us."

Clint looked at Phil through his lashes. "Soon?" He tried not to sound hopeful.

"Soon as we can, before the end of the year."

Clint's stomach didn't completely settle but he nodded. "How about we stop for an early lunch," he said, reaching toward solid emotional ground, "then you sleep the rest of the way home. We'll see Mockta tomorrow."

Phil nodded but resisted Clint's tug on his hand. At the archer's questioning look, he backed up against a nearby aspen tree. He pulled Clint flush against himself before kissing him, deep and lush. "Never want to give you up again," he murmured between kisses. "Didn't want to give you up this time."

"I know," Clint whispered.

Phil pressed him close. "I want to be with you. I really really do," he said before kissing Clint breathless.

Clint pulled away slightly. "Think your blood's circulating again." He flattened his hand against Phil's flushed cheek. "You're not pale anymore, and you're warm."

Phil grinned. "Kinda hot, actually." He kissed Clint one more time then moved them both away from the trunk of the tree.

Clint clasped his hand. "Let's go home."

Phil nodded.