Chapter title from I Know You Know by Empires.

The mission passes in a blur. They don't get the Mandarin, but they destroy his base and stop the attack on Jarvis. Tony collects enough data to keep him busy for months, Bruce passes out after the Hulk lets himself go and doesn't wake up like he usually does, and Clint manages to keep himself together long enough to get back to the tower a couple of hours before the sun is due to rise. The mission is over, and he only has one thing on his mind now.

"He's still there?" he asks Jarvis for the hundredth time.

Jarvis replies, infinitely patient, "He has not left, Agent Barton. He is still in Mr Stark's office."

"Thanks," Clint rubs his eyes with his thumbs and tries to hold it together. It's proving extremely difficult. He multiplies in his head to try and keep his mind off the issue, but it doesn't work very well. He's always been pretty good at maths, so it's not as distracting as he'd like it to be.

When they touch down, Steve gives final orders as they troop into the tower. "Thor, can you carry Bruce to his room? Thanks. Tony, leave the data for tonight, please? It's not going anywhere. Get some rest – go with Thor and Bruce, okay? Clint, Natasha…" he looks at their faces and waves a tired hand. "Go find Coulson. I'm going to bed and sleeping for at least three days."

"Jarvis?" Clint asks as Tony limps after Thor, stripped of his armour.

"Agent Coulson is still in Mr Stark's office, Agent Barton."

"You go," Natasha tells him, touching his shoulder briefly as they pause to let Steve out before them. "I'm going to have a shower. See you tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow," he says. His mind is blanking out again. She puts her hands either side of his face and pulls it down so that she can kiss his forehead.

"Go," she says gently, and pushes him in the direction of Tony's office before heading towards the elevator, which Steve is holding for her.

Clint stands in the corridor until the elevator doors close and he's left alone. He's terrified, he realises. He very rarely freezes, but he can't move now. Once he starts, he won't be able to stop, and he's suddenly so, so scared that it isn't real. If he walks in there and the office is empty, he doesn't know what he'll do. If he walks in and finds out that Coulson isn't Coulson and is actually some sort of SHIELD trick, he'll have a meltdown for sure.

"Agent Barton," Jarvis says softly.

Clint has to swallow before his throat will work. "Yeah, Jarvis?"

"Agent Coulson has not left Mr Stark's office. I believe he's waiting for you."

Clint swallows again. "Right. Right." He can do this, he tells himself. He just needs to move. "Okay." Move. Move.

His right foot takes the initiative and suddenly he's walking towards the door of Tony's office, breathing shallow and blood rushing in his head. He pushes the handle down, pushes the door open, walks in, and stops. Coulson rises from where he's been sitting on one of Tony's weirdly shaped, over-priced chairs and smooths his suit down. The gesture is habitual, so familiar it makes Clint want to cry, because it's pure Coulson – no one could fake that. No one would even think to try. His head feels light, and he bites down on his tongue to try and anchor himself. It doesn't work very well.

"You're still real?" he asks, and his voice comes out far too high, far too scared.

Coulson takes a step forward, and it takes all of Clint's self-control not to flinch away instinctively. He's never been so scared and strung out in his whole life. "I'm still real," Coulson says quietly. Clint forces himself into motion, and he circles around Coulson before he realises what he's doing. "I'm real," Coulson says again, and Clint pauses. Coulson's turned so his back is to the wall, and he takes a small step to the side so that the door is easily accessible. Another incredibly Coulson move, and Clint swallows furiously.

"Phil," he manages to say, not quite a question, barely audible. Coulson keeps his eyes on him, and Clint takes a deep breath before he approaches him. He's been keeping at least two metres between them – standard procedure for being in the vicinity of an unpredictable person – and he closes the gap until he's less than a foot away, standing right in front of Coulson. They're practically nose to nose, and Clint lifts his hand slowly, giving Coulson plenty of time to stop him if he chooses. He doesn't, and Clint's fingertips brush his jacket lapel so lightly he doubts Coulson even feels it. He clenches his jaw to stop it trembling before he pushes down, just slightly, and feels the solid bulk underneath the material. "You're real," he whispers, and Coulson nods, never taking his eyes from Clint's.

"I'm real," he breathes, like he's trying not to scare Clint off.

"Fuck," Clint feels his lips shape the word, and he bites down on his tongue hard, but it does nothing. Fuck it, he thinks, fuck it. He pushes Coulson until he steps back and keeps pushing until he's up against the wall, Clint crowding in on him. Coulson could easily push him away or just stop, but he doesn't, so Clint thinks fuck it one more time, closes his eyes, and kisses him. It barely qualifies as a kiss – just pushing his lips against Coulson's bruisingly hard for three long seconds – but as he draws away, Coulson leans into it and follows him back. Clint pauses in shock, eyes half-open, and Coulson doesn't move either. The tips of their noses are just touching, and Clint won't be the one to break the contact. Neither of them do anything for the longest moment, and then at the same time they both move in again.

This time, it's a real kiss, and Clint pushes himself up against Coulson's body and tries to get as close as he possibly can. "You're real," he breathes as they break apart for a brief second, "you're real, you're real –"

"Clint," Coulson whispers, and Clint feels the shock jump through him like a physical thing.

"You've never…" he says, pulling back and staring at Coulson. You've never called me Clint, he wants to say, but he can't get his mouth around the words. "Say that again," he says instead, and Coulson smiles and puts a hand on the back of his neck to pull him in again.

"Clint," he murmurs against Clint's lips, and kisses him again. Clint can feel his heart in his throat, hear it in his ears, and he can hear everything else too – every movement of his uniform against Coulson's suit, every wet sound their mouths are making, and every puff of breath either of them lets out. They reassure him that Coulson's alive and breathing against him, solid and real.

"Stay," he begs next time they part, lips wet and breathing ragged, "don't go, please."

Coulson takes a moment to get his breath back and nods, smile familiar enough to break Clint's heart. "Of course I'll stay," he says, and Clint kisses him again, pushing and straining against him. He wants to sink into Coulson's bones so that there's no space between their bodies at all; he wants to get rid of Coulson's damn clothes and run his fingers over every inch of his body to check that he's absolutely there and whole; he wants to curl around him and never let go for another second; he wants to do so much, he wants – "Come on," Coulson says, pushing gently so that he can stand away from the wall, "you need to rest."

As long as Coulson doesn't try to unwind Clint's arm from around his waist, Clint will let him lead them wherever he wants. It takes them the better part of half an hour to make it up to Clint's room because they keep pushing each other against the walls and kissing for minutes on end, and they lose Clint's armguard and Coulson's tie along the way.

Once they get to Clint's room they barely manage to close the door before Clint's pushing at Coulson's jacket. "I need to see," he says, almost apologetically, but Coulson understands and doesn't try to stop him.

Clint thinks he tears off a few buttons as he pulls Coulson's shirt open, but he's way past caring. There are scars under the material, and Clint traces them and spreads his palms out across Coulson's sides, feeling what can only be a burn scar over his left hip. There's gauze over and above his heart, and Clint touches it lightly, understanding immediately what it means. Loki's left scars on both of them – Coulson's are just more visible.

"It's fine," Coulson tells him softly. "I don't need the bandages really, but it protects my shirt if it opens up again." Clint kisses him to make him stop talking about things that hurt, and unbuckles his belt deftly. Coulson's hands catch his before he can unbutton the pants and presses his forehead against Clint's. "Not tonight," he whispers, and Clint nods.

"I know," he touches Coulson's temple and lays his hand over his cheek. "Don't go."

"I won't," Coulson promises. He toes off his shoes carelessly and walks Clint to the bed so that they can sit on the edge. Clint unlaces his boots while Coulson unzips his vest for him and eases it off his shoulders. Clint kicks his boots off and they both manage to get down to their boxers without actually separating at all, and suddenly the exhaustion is overwhelming. Coulson runs a hand through Clint's hair and laughs breathlessly. "Sleep, okay? Come on, get in," he lifts the covers and Clint rolls under them because Coulson told him to.

"You're staying, right?" he asks, catching Coulson's hand, and Coulson smiles, letting Clint pull him under as well.

"I'm staying," he agrees.

"I don't think I'd be able to take you going again," Clint admits, pressing his face into Coulson's good shoulder. "Lights."

In the darkness, Coulson presses himself close and holds him as he falls asleep, and Clint thinks he might have died and not realised it, and if that's the case, he really doesn't care at all.

x

The world is bright beyond his eyelids, stuck closed with sleep, and Clint is warm and comfortable under the sheets. He stretches without opening his eyes and turns over, bringing up a hand to rub at them. He remembers just before he opens them what happened the night before – Coulson, the Mandarin, Coulson coming to bed with him – and his hand falls on empty space as he wakes up properly and realises that no one else is there with him.

He snaps upright and looks around, Coulson's name on his lips (if it wasn't real, if it was somehow a hallucination or a dream he's going to fall apart), and he sees Coulson sitting in a chair across the room, on the verge of getting up. He stills when Clint sees him and breathes out a ragged sigh of relief, and he stays seated as Clint pushes back the covers and gets up to come over to him, fingers spread and ready but too nervous to touch.

Coulson takes his hand, solving the problem, and Clint sighs again. "You're still here."

"I said I would stay," Coulson says simply, and lets Clint tug him to his feet. He's dressed in his suit again, but his shirt is slightly creased and his tie is still missing. He didn't leave the room to go and get it, Clint thinks, and feels something in his chest inflate with happiness.

"You did," he agrees, and presses his forehead to Coulson's for a moment. "Okay," he says, eyes closed as he tries to get a grip, "here's what we're going to do – I'm going to brush my teeth, then you're going to tell me everything. That cool?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Clint swallows and forces himself to step away, going into the bathroom and closing the door. He takes a leak, washes his hands and face, brushes his teeth, all on autopilot. He clamps down on the flash of gratitude that sparks when he sees that Coulson hasn't left and takes a deep breath instead. "Okay," he says, blank mask in place, "tell me what happened. How are you here? Thor saw Loki kill you. Natasha saw the footage."

"Did you see the footage?" Coulson asks, and Clint barely conceals a flinch.

"No," he says shortly, going to lean against the dresser, "I couldn't," he adds without looking at Coulson.

Coulson sighs and puts a hand on the back of the chair he'd been sitting in, holding himself up. "I did die," he tells Clint, "my heart stopped twice before I stabilised, and the blood loss was close to fatal. I was in a coma for a month. When I woke up, I was extremely weak. Fury explained that my survival was a secret – no one had known for sure whether or not I would make it, so he thought it better not to get anyone's hopes up."

"A month," Clint repeats numbly, "that doesn't…you've been running around almost this whole time? And you didn't think we might like to know?" he clenches his fists, only just managing to keep himself from shouting. Coulson sighs.

"I wasn't fit to do anything but lie still in a hospital bed for another few weeks after I woke up. There are many advantages to being technically dead, Clint," his name from Coulson's mouth is as wonderful as it was last night, "the boss needed someone he could trust after everything that happened, and I had to –"

"You didn't have to do shit," Clint snaps. "Does this mean you're in the ghost squad now?"

"No such thing exists," Coulson says smoothly, automatically, and Clint glares at him. Everyone at SHIELD knows about Fury's ghosts – men and women who are technically dead so that they can move around and above the system, untouchable and insubstantial. No records exist of their identities past the dates of their deaths. That's another reason for the no bodies and no funerals policy. Coulson sees Clint's murderous expression and sighs. "I'm not part of anything," he says. "I kept track of your progress – and Natasha's – and you moved on. You didn't need me anymore. You're Avengers now, not SHIELD agents."

Clint wants to hit him. "How are you so dense?" he asks instead, disbelieving. "Did your brains leak out with all that blood? We didn't move on – Ididn't move on. Natasha couldn't tell me what had happened until after Loki went back, because she knows what I would've done if I'd known he'd killed you," he steps closer and glares at Coulson, "I wouldn't have given two shits about a truce with Asgard, or inter-planet security or goodwill, or any of that. I would've killed him. I would've put an explosive arrow in his eye and detonated it. I've had more nightmares in the past few months than I have had in my whole life. I'm always going to need you, okay? SHIELD agent or Avenger, that's never going to change. And yeah, that makes me weak, and dependent, but I don't care, not anymore." He pauses, well aware that he's shaking slightly, and his voice is a little too high. "I can't do this without you," he admits, "just…living without you has been the hardest thing…" he trails off helplessly, and Coulson steps forward and pulls him into a hug.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against Clint's hair, "I'm so sorry,"

"You'd better be," Clint mumbles into his shoulder. "And you should probably tell Fury to update his security, because this was not okay. This wasso far from okay."

"I wasn't too pleased with it either," Coulson admits, and Clint remembers Agent Hill's reaction to being told that Coulson was on his way to the tower.

"Are you in trouble for letting us see you?"

"Probably," Clint feels him shrug and wraps his arms around his waist. "I don't care. This has gone on long enough."

"Damn right it has." Clint's really glad he has the cover of Coulson's shoulder to hide his suddenly damp eyes. He's going to need to break down in the shower later, he can just tell. "What have you even been doing?"

"Too much physiotherapy," Coulson says darkly, and Clint smiles and steps back, coughing to clear his throat of the lump that's worked its way in there.

"You had breakfast yet?"

"No."

"You want breakfast? Let's have breakfast. Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Where's everyone else?"

"Dr Banner is still unconscious – Mr Stark is with him. Thor and Captain Rogers are still asleep, and Agent Romanoff has left the tower. I believe she said something about taking a walk."

"Kitchen's free then," Clint clarifies, "great, let's have breakfast. Thanks Jarvis."

"My pleasure, Agent Barton."

Clint laces his fingers with Coulson's as they walk downstairs and holds on tight. Coulson pauses to pick up his tie and Clint's armguard from where they left them the night before, but doesn't let go of Clint's hand to put it on. Clint has cereal and Coulson has fruit, and it's good. It's domestic. It's so normal, Clint can't quite believe it. He chose to stay away from SHIELD because he couldn't bear to move in a world where Coulson had been his lodestone. Coulson's never been in the tower with him before, and yet he puts bowls on the countertop while Clint gets the cutlery, and it's seamless. He slips into Clint's life without any grating at all.

"Hey, Coulson? What's gonna happen now?" Clint asks when he's done, unable to stop himself watching every move Coulson makes. His eyes are his most reliable part of him, after all, and if he keeps them focused on Coulson, it means that this is real, and Coulson's here, and alive.

"What happened to Phil?" Coulson asks, a slight tilt to his lips, and Clint grins. He feels like he's flying. This is easily the best day of his life.

"Phil," he says, like he's never said it before, the smooth scrape of his teeth on his bottom lip and the press of the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth delicious and new. "Okay. What're we gonna do now?"

"Well," Coulson – Phil – puts his plate in the sink and leans against the countertop, "I'm going to talk to Director Fury about my future as soon as I see him, and I suppose we'll see how it goes from there."

"Be our liaison," Clint says, "we've had about six already – you should do that, you're good at superhero wrangling. You and Pepper could exchange tips."

"What makes you think we haven't already?" Coul–Phil smirks, and Clint gets up to kiss him again, long and sweet. He tastes of mango and strawberries, and Clint keeps his eyes closed for a long moment afterwards.

"Don't leave again."

"As long as you want me to stay, I'll stay."

"Might be a pretty long sentence."

"That's fine by me," Phil presses a kiss to his cheek, and it's so intimate that Clint never wants to move again. "I'll have to talk to the rest of the team, of course."

"They'll want you to stay," Clint tells him, opening his eyes. "We all missed you." Saying that rams home the truth – Phil was dead, as good as buried for five months and they had all accepted that. And now he's standing right in front of Clint, alive and breathing and willing to stay. It's kind of mind blowing. "I don't think this has sunk in yet," he realises, and Phil smiles against his skin.

"It definitely hasn't for me."

"You've known you were alive."

"But not that this would happen. I didn't think –"

"Wait," Clint pulls back and frowns, "this as in us knowing you're alive, or this as in," he waves his hand wordlessly between their chests, "this?"

"Both," Phil says, and Clint shakes his head.

"How come the smartest people I know are always so dumb? It's like, the smarter the person, the dumber they are."

"Thank you so much," Phil says sarcastically, and Clint grins.

"You're not leaving this tower for at least a week. You know that, right?"

"I'm aware," Phil can't seem to stop smiling, and that's just fine. Clint kisses him again, tries to melt into the shape of his body, and only stops when a familiar throat clears pointedly behind them.

"While I'm very glad to see that you've both finally decided to stop being such blind idiots," Natasha says, "you're not the only one who missed Coulson."

Clint grins and doesn't let go of Phil's shoulders. "Told you."

"When everyone's up –" Phil starts.

"We'll have a house meeting," Natasha cuts him off and comes over to kiss his cheek. She puts a hand on each of their shoulders for a moment and closes her eyes. "And then," she says, and Clint is suddenly very aware that she could kill them both in seconds, "we'll discuss how to deal with Fury."

"There's a conversation I can't wait for," Phil says dryly, and Natasha smirks, pats their shoulders, and goes to make herself a cup of tea, moving around them easily. Clint doesn't let go of Phil, and Phil gives no indication that he wants him to.

"It can wait," Clint decides, temporarily grateful to everyone and everything for allowing him to have this. After all the crap he's come up against, and all the wonderful things that have happened to him, this is something he never dreamed he would be allowed to have, and he can't keep the smile from his face.

"You're going to be disgusting," Natasha says pleasantly as she gets one of Bruce's odd teas out of his cupboard, "I can just tell."

That's fine, Clint decides, and kisses Phil again before pulling him out of the kitchen so they won't get in Natasha's way. Everything's fine. He has a home, he has a team, and now he has Phil Coulson. Everything's wonderful.