[Avengers: Drabble] "Mended" [Clint/Coulson, G]
Title: Mended
Prompt: ‘jacket’ & ‘button’
Bonus: western genre
Word Count: 575
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Avengers (MCU/movie’ verse- Wild West AU!)
Pairings: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Summary: Sheriff Coulson wakes up to a surprise visitor.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Mended
Normally, Phil was out of bed before the sunrise, gleaming star pinned to his jacket, as he left his rooms above the sheriff’s office and started his patrols.
Today, he was still deeply asleep until the morning light slid across his bedclothes, bringing him abruptly and painfully awake. Phil was sure there wasn’t an inch of him that didn’t hurt, not after yesterday. He'd gotten his man, a notorious train robber now riding with three heavily-armed US Marshalls back to Kansas City- but not without apparently, straining every muscle in his body.
He rose stiffly, taking stock of his bruised ribs, the still-scabbing scrape down his left forearm, the red burn mark on his shoulder- everything ached dully, but none constricted his motion, and Phil made his way down the rickety stairs to his office.
Only to stop short in the doorway.
There was a fire burning cheerfully in his tiny cast iron stove, warming a pot of steaming coffee and a dish of what smelled like oatmeal. The papers he’d left strewn over his desk were now in neat piles, and Clint was sitting in Phil’s desk chair, tipped back on two legs and bent over a bundle of fabric in his lap.
“What?” Phil managed, voice coming out a croak.
Clint let the chair drop back to the floor and dumped the bundle onto the desktop. “Phil! I thought you were out on patrol! I… I wanted to surprise you.”
“You did,” said Phil. He tried to smile, but it tugged on the split lip he hadn’t noticed, and he winced.
“What happened?” Clint demanded, jumping up to catch Phil’s arm. “Are you all right? Sit down before you fall down, sir.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted, but let Clint ease him into the desk chair. Sitting there, he could see Clint’s bow case propped against the desk, and that the bundle of fabric was actually his jacket, the one he’d torn yesterday, now neatly patched, the three loose buttons securely attached.
“And eat all of it.” He looked up as Clint set a mug of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal on the desk. “Then let me look at those injuries.”
The archer reached to move the mended coat out of the way, but Phil caught his hand. “Thanks. I didn’t know you could sew.”
Clint ducked his head, smoothing the fabric. “Who do you think made that spangly costume you ogle every time you come to see my act?”
Phil smiled- he’d been a Marshall before he’d become Sheriff of Shield Canyon and he still denied, out loud at any rate, that he’d purposely taken jobs that followed the route of Carson’s Traveling Circus. “Wasn’t the costume I was ogling,” Phil said. “But I didn’t think the troupe was back this way for a few more months.”
“They’re not,” said Clint. “They’re- I’ve been the World’s Greatest Marksman for almost two decades, Phil. I thought I’d never get tired of it, the crowd, the new places. But with Kate joining us- she’s almost as good as I am, at least as good as I was at her age. I think I’m ready for a change of career.”
“Have you thought about what you’d like to do?” Phil asked, softly.
Clint smiled, shyly. “Thought about tryin’ law enforcement,” he said. “Know anybody who could use a deputy?”
Phil grinned. “I know just the guy,” he said, and tugged Clint into a coffee-flavored kiss.
THE END
Current Mood:
cold
Prompt: ‘jacket’ & ‘button’
Bonus: western genre
Word Count: 575
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Avengers (MCU/movie’ verse- Wild West AU!)
Pairings: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Summary: Sheriff Coulson wakes up to a surprise visitor.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Mended
Normally, Phil was out of bed before the sunrise, gleaming star pinned to his jacket, as he left his rooms above the sheriff’s office and started his patrols.
Today, he was still deeply asleep until the morning light slid across his bedclothes, bringing him abruptly and painfully awake. Phil was sure there wasn’t an inch of him that didn’t hurt, not after yesterday. He'd gotten his man, a notorious train robber now riding with three heavily-armed US Marshalls back to Kansas City- but not without apparently, straining every muscle in his body.
He rose stiffly, taking stock of his bruised ribs, the still-scabbing scrape down his left forearm, the red burn mark on his shoulder- everything ached dully, but none constricted his motion, and Phil made his way down the rickety stairs to his office.
Only to stop short in the doorway.
There was a fire burning cheerfully in his tiny cast iron stove, warming a pot of steaming coffee and a dish of what smelled like oatmeal. The papers he’d left strewn over his desk were now in neat piles, and Clint was sitting in Phil’s desk chair, tipped back on two legs and bent over a bundle of fabric in his lap.
“What?” Phil managed, voice coming out a croak.
Clint let the chair drop back to the floor and dumped the bundle onto the desktop. “Phil! I thought you were out on patrol! I… I wanted to surprise you.”
“You did,” said Phil. He tried to smile, but it tugged on the split lip he hadn’t noticed, and he winced.
“What happened?” Clint demanded, jumping up to catch Phil’s arm. “Are you all right? Sit down before you fall down, sir.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted, but let Clint ease him into the desk chair. Sitting there, he could see Clint’s bow case propped against the desk, and that the bundle of fabric was actually his jacket, the one he’d torn yesterday, now neatly patched, the three loose buttons securely attached.
“And eat all of it.” He looked up as Clint set a mug of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal on the desk. “Then let me look at those injuries.”
The archer reached to move the mended coat out of the way, but Phil caught his hand. “Thanks. I didn’t know you could sew.”
Clint ducked his head, smoothing the fabric. “Who do you think made that spangly costume you ogle every time you come to see my act?”
Phil smiled- he’d been a Marshall before he’d become Sheriff of Shield Canyon and he still denied, out loud at any rate, that he’d purposely taken jobs that followed the route of Carson’s Traveling Circus. “Wasn’t the costume I was ogling,” Phil said. “But I didn’t think the troupe was back this way for a few more months.”
“They’re not,” said Clint. “They’re- I’ve been the World’s Greatest Marksman for almost two decades, Phil. I thought I’d never get tired of it, the crowd, the new places. But with Kate joining us- she’s almost as good as I am, at least as good as I was at her age. I think I’m ready for a change of career.”
“Have you thought about what you’d like to do?” Phil asked, softly.
Clint smiled, shyly. “Thought about tryin’ law enforcement,” he said. “Know anybody who could use a deputy?”
Phil grinned. “I know just the guy,” he said, and tugged Clint into a coffee-flavored kiss.
THE END
Current Mood:
cold