"You're scaring the kids, honey."
Phil scowls at the teasing voice as he gently lowers himself into his chair. Jasper's smug smile greets him from across the desk and he has the insane urge to reach over and smack it right off his face.
"Good. They should be scared," Phil grumbles instead.
Jasper arches an eyebrow. "Really? I thought you always said it wasn't your style to terrorize the newbies."
"A lot's changed since the Battle of New York and they have to be ready for it. Things are different now."
"Things are different, or you're different?"
Phil's eyes flicker to the cane resting against his desk and linger there. It's one of the few times he's felt unwilling to look someone in the eye. He's always been one for eye contact; to let someone know just who they're dealing with, no surprises, and more importantly, as a tool to gauge whomever he's speaking to. Now, though, he finds himself stubbornly refusing. He knows what he'll see in the younger agent's eyes and since he doesn't want to see it, he doesn't look.
There's no denying he is different. He knows that. He's changed, and not entirely for the better. It's a shock to discover that he's not as unshakeable as he used to be, that something as simple as standing in an open doorway with his back unguarded is enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. He's dodged Stark's continued attempts to get him to move into that ridiculous tower partly because the level of unprofessionalism involved with rooming with the Avengers is for the record books, but mostly because he's sure he doesn't want to deal with the repercussions of waking them all up with his screaming in the middle of the night.
Perhaps he should feel guilty that he's haunting the halls of S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ like an unfriendly ghost these days. But given the way people scatter in his presence or part like the red sea and whisper as he passes, he's not often in the mood to be charitable.
"Fury has me playing desk jockey for the next five months," Phil huffs by way of an explanation.
"As well he should," Jasper answers.
Phil looks at him then. But there's none of the pity he'd been expecting. Instead, the younger man just watches him patiently, his eyes betraying only the slightest gleam of worry. Jasper leans forward in his seat.
"Look, Phil, most people don't have the pleasure of being assigned desk duty after being run through like you were," Jasper says. "You know what they get the pleasure of? A dirt nap."
"A dirt nap would be preferable to more PT."
"Funny, jackass."
"'Jackass' huh? What happened to 'honey'?"
Jasper sniffs dramatically, fanning at his eyes. "You tell me! You're not the man I married!"
Phil resists the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to Jasper to try to tickle your ribs when you're not expecting it. The younger agent clears his throat and smooths down his tie, shifting in his seat. Any hint of playfulness is gone, now.
"But in all seriousness, I'm glad you're back. Believe me, it's not the same without you. That being said, you have absolutely no right to push yourself. The world hasn't fallen apart in your absence and even though the Avengers are a royal pain in the ass that I will be only too glad to pawn off on you the first chance I get, I can handle them. Yeah, I know you hate being confined to light duty, but we can't have you running off and getting yourself killed again. So take your time, heal up and get back to being that guy who takes out armed gunmen with sacks of flour," Jasper says. He pauses, as though to see how Phil's taking it, before leaning back in his seat once again, smile firmly in place. "In other words: suck it up, sweetheart."
Phil clucks his tongue at that and eyes the scant paperwork on his otherwise bare desk. As much as he hates to admit it, Jasper's right. He wants to be ready to get back to work, to his usual duties, but he knows he's nowhere near fighting fit. It's just not something he wanted to admit to himself. It's going to take a lot of work to get back to where he was, but he's never been one to back down from a challenge.
"Sucking it up," he sighs.
"That's the spirit. Now, if you're gonna be stuck riding this desk for five months like you said, then just pretend it's Captain America's cock and you ride it for all you're worth," Jasper exclaims loudly, slapping a hand onto polished oak for emphasis.
Phil buries his face in his hand.
"I'm embarrassed to know you," he says.
"Shut up, I can see you smiling."
"That's called a grimace."
"You're smiling."
"I'm not smiling."
As he continues to try to convince Jasper that his joke was entirely inappropriate and unwarranted—he's having a harder time than he would have thought—he's certain of two things: 1) Even people like him can use a pep talk now and again, and 2) It's going to be a very long five months.