Round 1
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Prompt Post No. 1
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This round will be closed to new prompts for a 24 hour hiatus once it reaches two thousand comments. Fills may still be posted. After another 2000 comments, Round 1 will close. Round 2 will go live one week after this ( Read more... )
Prompt Post No. 1
Please make sure to read the rules.
Click here for flat view.
This round will be closed to new prompts for a 24 hour hiatus once it reaches two thousand comments. Fills may still be posted. After another 2000 comments, Round 1 will close. Round 2 will go live one week after this ( Read more... )
It’s been fun (not) for the first two weeks, but now it’s getting ridiculous and everyone is getting fucking paranoid. Fury starts running everyday drills, and you really, really not want to have drills designed by Fury.
Clint hides in the air vents whenever he can, no one ever finds him there.
Fine, except for Phil, who has the uncanny ability of somehow always knowing where Clint is hiding.
“It’s the tracker I put on you,” Phil says, entering the room and looking at the ceiling in that precise moment, even though Clint is fucking sure he hadn’t made a sound.
He lies. Probably. Clint checks regularly for surveillance. Of course, Phil might be simply mind reading, that’s been known to happen, if you believe the junior agents.
Who seem to think Phil not only has mind reading abilities but also walks on water, stops bullets, can calm Hulk down by humming him a lullaby, and dates a supermodel. (Clint hadn’t started that last rumour. This time. Although he is flattered by whoever did.)
“If you get down, I’ll share the extra cheesecake I got from Muriel,” Phil says and Clint hesitates and then crawls out, trying to look dignified and not as if he would sell his soul for cheesecake.
“How the hell did you get extra cheesecake?” he asks, even though he knows very well. Muriel fancies Phil. Clint knows, because he might have been crawling through an air vent and might have happened to overhear that Phil reminds her of her second husband, the good one, the one who was a hero fireman who died on duty.
That would be sweet if she hadn’t followed it with “I miss his hose, if you know what I mean.”
Yeah.
Followed by all the kitchen staff speculating on the size of Phil’s, ahem, hose.
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Phil hums around a mouthful of cheesecake, not at all making Clint want to taste it from his lips. Office rule is fucking stupid.
“I asked if there was more cheesecake, I got more cheesecake,” Phil says, like it’s that simple and Clint is being silly. It’s sort of the slow explanatory voice he uses when he has to explain an Earth custom to Thor and can’t send him to ask Jane. Which mostly means that Thor is inquiring about Earth dating customs. Clint sometimes wishes he could bring popcorn to those conversations.
“You know, this is only because the kitchen staff wants to get into your pants,” Clint mutters and then realises he actually said it out loud. This is why Muriel’s cheesecake is evil. It interferes with his brain functions. “I mean,” he starts and shrugs.
Phil rolls his eyes. “I assure you, the kitchen staff does not want to get in my pants,” he says flatly.
Yeah, that’s what he thinks.
“Speaking of pants, and getting into,” Clint tries, even though he realises it’s a futile endeavor. At Phil’s look, he raises his hand defensively. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I’m pretty sure I can. Look, I know you’re bored,” he says, his tone turning a little apologetic. Clint immediately feels a pang of guilt for acting like a petulant child instead of enjoying the respite. “I thought about taking the weekend off,” Phil continues, smiling a little. “We could...”
Which is precisely the moment when the alarm goes off. Red light, meaning all hands on deck. That’s a big one.
Perfect timing, Clint thinks starting on his way down the corridor and feeling Phil fall into step next to him. On their way, they pass Natasha.
“Welcome back,” Clint tells her without pausing. “Your fault?” he asks, indicating the sound.
She cocks her eyebrow at him, which isn’t a proper answer, he’d like her to know. Then again, Natasha never wastes time using words when a perfectly arched brow would suffice. At his, look, she gives in. “Might be.”
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“It’s just a scratch, stop freaking out,” Natasha tells him, from where she’s leaning against the wall and watching Clint pace.
“Tom’s on duty,” he tells her, and when she just continues staring at him he realises he needs to explain a bit further. “He really enjoys the part where he gets his hands all over Phil.”
He probably deserves the eyeroll, but complaining about that is easier than saying he worries. Easier than admitting that when Phil went off the comms for forty-three seconds Clint was aware of each of them passing and they seemed like fucking years. Easier than saying that he’s pathetically grateful to Bruce for smashing the hell out of the robot attacking Phil and a little pissed that it took so long and ended with Phil getting knocked out for a moment.
He suspects Natasha gets it anyway, but he’s not actually saying it.
“Yeah, that’s kinda what doctors do when they patch someone up,” she tells him.
“Well he doesn’t have to enjoy it,” he points out sullenly and she snorts, a rare thing coming from Natasha, but it sort of makes him feel better. “It’s like everyone wants...” he stops and shrugs.
“I assume you realise you’re being ridiculous so I won’t point it out,” Natasha offers flatly. “Why does it bother you?”
He shrugs again. Hell if he knows. He just wants people to stop, and he kind of wants everyone to know Phil is off limits, and...
“So, apparently I am taking that day off,” Phil says, walking out and closing the door carefully. The cut on his brow looks much better now it has been cleaned and is held with butterfly bandage. He’s also favouring his left side, and if he allows them to see it, it must actually be serious. Clint’s fingers itch to reach out, but they’re still in the corridor outside the medical, and the doors are transparent.
“Mandated medical leave. I’m sure you’ll have a blast.”
“Don’t be so happy about it. Before they let me out they made me swear I’ll have someone checking up on me every hour to see if I remember my name,” he says dryly, a little annoyed. That’s good, annoyed is good. “I volunteered you, Barton.”
Clint nods. “The alternative was medical, wasn’t it.”
“I hate the smell,” Phil agrees. “Your company is a slight improvement,” he adds, and for once his face totally betrays the fact that he’s lying through his teeth.
“I’m flattered, sir. Shall we?” he asks, and follows Phil past Natasha, who winks at him knowingly. Once they get to Phil’s car, Clint extends his hand and waits for Phil to reluctantly give up the keys. He waits for Phil to get inside and close the doors before he gives in and turns in the driver’s seat, placing a hand on Phil’s cheek and tilting his head gently to investigate the injury.
“It’s nothing,” Phil tells him.
“Sure. That’s why you’re on mandated medical leave. And why good doctor Tom wanted to keep you in,” he says, managing to sound not bitter at all. While he’s working on that, the worry somehow comes through. Oh, well, can’t win all.
Phil covers his hand with his. “I’m fine. They wanted to keep me in as a precaution, and they did let me out.”
Precaution, that’s what they call it now, Clint doesn’t say. One battle at a time. “At least I have a reason to keep you in bed for the entire day.”
“Like you ever needed a reason for that.”
*
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Also?
This just keeps getting better and better!
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Thanks for reading and commenting! I'm happy you're enjoying this :)
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