[Avengers: Fanfiction] "Stitch in Time" [Clint/Coulson, G]
Title: Stitch in Time
Author: Ami Ven
Prompt: writerverse phase 21 challenge 28 prompt 25 simplicity
Word Count: 1,216
Fandom: Avengers (MCU)
Pairing(s): Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Setting: part of my MCU Happy Verse
Summary: Clint finds a new hobby he’s especially suited for.
Stitch in Time
Phil had a new team, and Clint was trying not to worry.
He was actually doing fairly well at that, because when he and Natasha had been Phil’s team it had usually been him and Natasha getting them into trouble and Phil getting them out. And, Phil kept bringing his team back to Avengers Tower when they had downtime. Clint had already known Melinda, but now knew for a fact that the rest of them were shaping up to be real SHIELD Agents.
(Except, of course, for Ward having been Hydra. Clint knew that still haunted Phil - not because he hadn’t seen it coming, although it was that a little, but because Ward’s handler, Garret, had almost been Clint’s handler, too, only Phil had gotten there first.)
The point was, Clint did still worry a little, and he’d always found that worrying was easier when he could keep his hands busy. As a sniper, he’d had to keep his projects small and portable - like origami - which he enjoyed and had become pretty good at, if he did say so himself - or whittling - which… he did not. But now, he had almost an entire floor of Avengers Tower to work with (‘almost’ because Phil had already decreed that any ‘shenanigans, foolishness or acts of boredom’ not happen in their bedroom or the kitchen).
“Hey,” said Clint, as Phil’s team was getting ready to leave, snagging his husband by the open front of his canvas jacket.
“Hey, yourself,” said Phil.
“I’m thinking of starting a new hobby,” Clint told him. “I’m gonna take over the fourth spare bedroom.”
“Sure,” agreed Phil, easily. “Does it explode?”
“Don’t know what it is yet,” said Clint. “I’ll update the threat assessment once I’ve figured it out.”
Phil arched an eyebrow. “I’ll have Stark double-check the fire suppression system.”
“You’re the best,” said Clint, and kissed him.
He didn’t mean just for the fire system - and he’d make Stark check it, too, Phil never skimped on safety - but for everything, for letting Clint have his space and his secrets.
“Love you,” said Phil, and maybe he had understood all that.
“Love you,” Clint echoed, with another kiss, and let Phil join his team at the quinjet.
He watched it vanish, then wandered back inside. He really should try to find a non-exploding hobby, for both their sanity. And although he did find archery relaxing, it was really more of an obsession than anything one could call a ‘leisure activity’.
Clint headed in the direction of their fourth spare room, hoping the space itself might give him an idea. As he walked, he scratched absently at his ribs, then frowned when his fingers hit skin instead of fabric.
“Aw, t-shirt, no,” said Clint, pulling up the hem to examine the hole, then went to find his sewing kit.
Growing up poor, orphaned, then in a circus, he was more than confident about reattaching a loose button or mending a tear. But as he knotted the thread (black, because he couldn’t find quite the right shade of purple among a surprisingly large array of other purple thread, so his t-shirt would end up with an impressive battle scar) he pondered.
He’d like his hobby to be something constructive, something he could make. For a moment, Clint considered woodworking, but then he remembered how bad he’d been at whittling and decided against any wood-based crafts.
Maybe knitting? It wasn’t just for old ladies - Darcy could knit, she’d made the afghan on the back of their couch, and she’d gotten Natasha to show her how to kill someone with a knitting needle. But she also said it took a pretty long time to learn, especially if he actually wanted to make a recognizable thing, so he probably wouldn’t be able to knit anything but scarves and potholders for years, and those probably wouldn’t go so well with the whole ‘casual tough guy’ image Phil was going for ow.
Not that Clint didn’t approve, of course - he thought his husband was always sexy, not matter what he wore - but he did find himself missing those ‘Agent Coulson’ suits.
“Ow!”
Clint accidentally stuck himself with the needle - and with an idea.
He knew exactly what his new hobby would be. He just had to clear out the fourth spare bedroom and find a sewing machine.
And let Phil know that it wouldn’t explode.
Probably.
*
“Did I miss my birthday, somehow?” Phil asked, bemused, when he spotted the large gift box on their living room coffee table.
“I don’t think any of your kids would let that happen,” said Clint. “Especially Daisy.”
“No,” Phil agreed, sounding equal parts delighted and horrified, which about summed up Clint’s feelings for Daisy, too.
“It’s my new hobby,” said Clint.
“Gift wrapping?” said Phil.
Clint thumped his shoulder gently. “Just open it.”
The box wasn’t actually wrapped, just held closed by a wide satin ribbon, which came undone easily. Phil set the lid aside, then peeled back the tissue paper to reveal what was inside.
“A suit?” he asked, running gentle fingers over the lapels of the folded jacket.
It was - three pieces, charcoal grey, with deep purple pinstripes so thin they were hardly visible. The lining of the jacket and vest were a darker purple, which looked black until it caught the light.
“I know you’re all footloose and fancy free in the field, now,” said Clint. “But I kinda miss the suits. And if you looked hot in those cheap I’m just a government agent off-the-rack things, I thought…”
Phil smiled. “Then trying it on would be an adequate ‘thank you’?”
“If you also let me help you take it off,” said Clint, with a playful leer. Then, more seriously, he added, “Plus, I need to see if it’ll need any alterations. I got your measurements from SHIELD wardrobe files, but I also had to make a few guesses.”
“You…” Phil had taken the jacket out of the box, and realized it had no label. “Clint, did you sew this?”
The archer smiled. “Simplicity pattern number six-eight-seven-one.”
“This is… you only started that ‘new hobby’ two months ago!”
“Well, this isn’t the very first thing I made. Most of the beginner’s patterns are for girls’ clothes, though, so I made a dress for Nat and a skirt for Darcy. And some pajama pants, those are technically unisex. But this was my goal. How’d I do?”
“This is…” Phil tried again, but still didn’t seem to have any idea how to finish that sentence. “Remember when I went undercover as that international arms dealer, and I had a suit made by that tailor from Queens, whose great-grandfather had stared that shop?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Clint. He remembered the op, but not especially the suit - he hadn’t seen Phil from less than five hundred feet away before the bomb had gone off.
“This is much, much better,” said Phil. “Thank you.”
Clint felt his ears turn pink. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Does this mean I’ll have to take you out for a fancy dinner now?” Phil teased.
“Not that you have to,” Clint said, but his husband grinned.
“Oh, I want to,” he said. “A suit like this deserves to be shown off.”
Clint grinned back, and kissed him.
THE END
Current Mood:
Author: Ami Ven
Prompt: writerverse phase 21 challenge 28 prompt 25 simplicity
Word Count: 1,216
Fandom: Avengers (MCU)
Pairing(s): Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Setting: part of my MCU Happy Verse
Summary: Clint finds a new hobby he’s especially suited for.
Stitch in Time
Phil had a new team, and Clint was trying not to worry.
He was actually doing fairly well at that, because when he and Natasha had been Phil’s team it had usually been him and Natasha getting them into trouble and Phil getting them out. And, Phil kept bringing his team back to Avengers Tower when they had downtime. Clint had already known Melinda, but now knew for a fact that the rest of them were shaping up to be real SHIELD Agents.
(Except, of course, for Ward having been Hydra. Clint knew that still haunted Phil - not because he hadn’t seen it coming, although it was that a little, but because Ward’s handler, Garret, had almost been Clint’s handler, too, only Phil had gotten there first.)
The point was, Clint did still worry a little, and he’d always found that worrying was easier when he could keep his hands busy. As a sniper, he’d had to keep his projects small and portable - like origami - which he enjoyed and had become pretty good at, if he did say so himself - or whittling - which… he did not. But now, he had almost an entire floor of Avengers Tower to work with (‘almost’ because Phil had already decreed that any ‘shenanigans, foolishness or acts of boredom’ not happen in their bedroom or the kitchen).
“Hey,” said Clint, as Phil’s team was getting ready to leave, snagging his husband by the open front of his canvas jacket.
“Hey, yourself,” said Phil.
“I’m thinking of starting a new hobby,” Clint told him. “I’m gonna take over the fourth spare bedroom.”
“Sure,” agreed Phil, easily. “Does it explode?”
“Don’t know what it is yet,” said Clint. “I’ll update the threat assessment once I’ve figured it out.”
Phil arched an eyebrow. “I’ll have Stark double-check the fire suppression system.”
“You’re the best,” said Clint, and kissed him.
He didn’t mean just for the fire system - and he’d make Stark check it, too, Phil never skimped on safety - but for everything, for letting Clint have his space and his secrets.
“Love you,” said Phil, and maybe he had understood all that.
“Love you,” Clint echoed, with another kiss, and let Phil join his team at the quinjet.
He watched it vanish, then wandered back inside. He really should try to find a non-exploding hobby, for both their sanity. And although he did find archery relaxing, it was really more of an obsession than anything one could call a ‘leisure activity’.
Clint headed in the direction of their fourth spare room, hoping the space itself might give him an idea. As he walked, he scratched absently at his ribs, then frowned when his fingers hit skin instead of fabric.
“Aw, t-shirt, no,” said Clint, pulling up the hem to examine the hole, then went to find his sewing kit.
Growing up poor, orphaned, then in a circus, he was more than confident about reattaching a loose button or mending a tear. But as he knotted the thread (black, because he couldn’t find quite the right shade of purple among a surprisingly large array of other purple thread, so his t-shirt would end up with an impressive battle scar) he pondered.
He’d like his hobby to be something constructive, something he could make. For a moment, Clint considered woodworking, but then he remembered how bad he’d been at whittling and decided against any wood-based crafts.
Maybe knitting? It wasn’t just for old ladies - Darcy could knit, she’d made the afghan on the back of their couch, and she’d gotten Natasha to show her how to kill someone with a knitting needle. But she also said it took a pretty long time to learn, especially if he actually wanted to make a recognizable thing, so he probably wouldn’t be able to knit anything but scarves and potholders for years, and those probably wouldn’t go so well with the whole ‘casual tough guy’ image Phil was going for ow.
Not that Clint didn’t approve, of course - he thought his husband was always sexy, not matter what he wore - but he did find himself missing those ‘Agent Coulson’ suits.
“Ow!”
Clint accidentally stuck himself with the needle - and with an idea.
He knew exactly what his new hobby would be. He just had to clear out the fourth spare bedroom and find a sewing machine.
And let Phil know that it wouldn’t explode.
Probably.
*
“Did I miss my birthday, somehow?” Phil asked, bemused, when he spotted the large gift box on their living room coffee table.
“I don’t think any of your kids would let that happen,” said Clint. “Especially Daisy.”
“No,” Phil agreed, sounding equal parts delighted and horrified, which about summed up Clint’s feelings for Daisy, too.
“It’s my new hobby,” said Clint.
“Gift wrapping?” said Phil.
Clint thumped his shoulder gently. “Just open it.”
The box wasn’t actually wrapped, just held closed by a wide satin ribbon, which came undone easily. Phil set the lid aside, then peeled back the tissue paper to reveal what was inside.
“A suit?” he asked, running gentle fingers over the lapels of the folded jacket.
It was - three pieces, charcoal grey, with deep purple pinstripes so thin they were hardly visible. The lining of the jacket and vest were a darker purple, which looked black until it caught the light.
“I know you’re all footloose and fancy free in the field, now,” said Clint. “But I kinda miss the suits. And if you looked hot in those cheap I’m just a government agent off-the-rack things, I thought…”
Phil smiled. “Then trying it on would be an adequate ‘thank you’?”
“If you also let me help you take it off,” said Clint, with a playful leer. Then, more seriously, he added, “Plus, I need to see if it’ll need any alterations. I got your measurements from SHIELD wardrobe files, but I also had to make a few guesses.”
“You…” Phil had taken the jacket out of the box, and realized it had no label. “Clint, did you sew this?”
The archer smiled. “Simplicity pattern number six-eight-seven-one.”
“This is… you only started that ‘new hobby’ two months ago!”
“Well, this isn’t the very first thing I made. Most of the beginner’s patterns are for girls’ clothes, though, so I made a dress for Nat and a skirt for Darcy. And some pajama pants, those are technically unisex. But this was my goal. How’d I do?”
“This is…” Phil tried again, but still didn’t seem to have any idea how to finish that sentence. “Remember when I went undercover as that international arms dealer, and I had a suit made by that tailor from Queens, whose great-grandfather had stared that shop?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Clint. He remembered the op, but not especially the suit - he hadn’t seen Phil from less than five hundred feet away before the bomb had gone off.
“This is much, much better,” said Phil. “Thank you.”
Clint felt his ears turn pink. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Does this mean I’ll have to take you out for a fancy dinner now?” Phil teased.
“Not that you have to,” Clint said, but his husband grinned.
“Oh, I want to,” he said. “A suit like this deserves to be shown off.”
Clint grinned back, and kissed him.
THE END
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