Fic: Lines

[jade_dragoness]

Title: Lines
Author: J.D. aka jade_dragoness
Summary: Phil has a habit of, when he leaves the tender care of SHIELD's doctors of never taking his pain killers.
Pairing: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson; established
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Warnings: discussion of drug addiction
Word Count: 807
Disclaimer: Never ever will be mine. *sadness*
A/N: Written for hc-bingo prompt: medication.
Feedback is hugely welcomed.
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AO3
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Clint was of the opinion that Phil Coulson was as close as a man could come to being fucking perfect. Even Phil’s worst habits, his disturbing love of reality TV, his addiction to coffee and his unabashed habit of collection Captain America memorabilia like they were about to run out was endearing. Hell, Clint would even go so far as to say it was goddamned cute.

Okay, so Clint’s opinion wasn’t completely unbiased here.

But one habit of his that Clint wished to all get out that he could change was Phil’s incredibly stupid and stubborn habit of was how, the moment he left the tender --and overbearing-- care of the SHIELD doctors, he refused take his pain killers. It didn’t matter what type of medication the doctors prescribed, whether it be Vicodin, Oxycontin or even freaking aspirin. The moment that Phil got home he went cold turkey and refused to take anything.

The lines of pain which developed at the sides of Phil’s mouth and at the corners of his eyes drove Clint up the wall and down the other side from the knowledge that Phil was suffering. And he didn‘t have to. Clint would’ve tried bribing the SHIELD doctors to keep Phil longer but they were all more terrified of Agent ‘Could Send You to Siberia with a Keystroke’ Coulson than a simple Avenger. Or even Natasha, and yeah, Clint had tried deploying a Black Widow-sized threat. That it hadn’t worked still bewildered him, especially since Nat refused to explain what the hell had happened.

Okay, bewildered and impressed over whatever Phil had done but that didn’t stop him from yelling at Phil when he was acting so stupid.

“Will you stop being so fucking stubborn!” Clint shouted, holding the pill bottle of Vicodin which the doctor had prescribed in tight fist. “You have broken bones!”

“It‘s only a couple of cracked ribs,” Phil said quietly, his face was tinged gray with exhaustion. His eyes were closed, the deep lines at the corners of his eyes having nothing to do with age and everything to do with pain.

Every time Clint looked at him, and saw those signs…it made him feel sick. And guilty. He should’ve been there. He should have a found a way to protect him.

“And it‘s not your fault,” Phil added, proving again just how well he knew Clint by being able to read Clint's mind while his eyes were closed.

“And even if you'd been there, I'd still probably would have gotten hurt, because civilians were in danger,” Phil continued quietly. “Your priority with these kinds of threats is to stop the source of the attacks. You let me take care of everything else.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know!” Clint leaped to his feet. Feeling like he should be vibrating where he stood but managing to control himself. “That's another conversation! I'm pissed over your goddamned pain meds!”

Phil grimaced and finally opened his eyes to stare up at Clint. “I can't take them.”

“Explain to me, why!”

Phil looked away. Clint sat next to him, dropping gently onto the couch so Phil wasn't jarred. He pleaded, “Phil tell me.”

The silence was tense until Phil sighed and said softly. “For nearly every year of my adult life I've been working in a pretty dangerous profession. I've been hurt pretty badly. So have people I've worked with. I've seen them be injured and recover from those injuries, but sometimes... they don't make it out of the recovery.

“I've seen some good men and women get hooked on painkillers. I've seen it ruin their relationships, their jobs, their lives. I can't risk that. I won't.”

Clint blinked and sat back. He gently pressed his hands to Phil's shoulder.

“And I know it's not rational. But... I'd rather suffer a little longer, maybe slow my recovery than take the chance that maybe this time... I'll get addicted,” Phil continued. He turned to stare at Clint with pleading eyes. “I'm sorry. I know you hate it but I just can't.”

Clint clasped Phil's hands with his own, looking down at their entwined fingers. He tightened his grip. “I can't say that I don't get it. You know I do.” Clint shook away the memories of his past that really had no business here, with this man. “I just hate seeing you in pain. A lot.”

“I know,” Phil leaned close and pressed his forehead to Clint's.

They stayed pressed together like that until Clint growled out, “Fine. But I want veto rights if I think you're being too ridiculous.”

Phil's response was a light kiss to Clint's lips, more gratitude than acquiescence.

“I mean it,” Clint mumbled as soon as Phil pulled back.

Phil's only response was a smile that turned the pain-lines into amused crinkles. “Only if you stop blaming yourself whenever I get hurt.”

Clint grimaced.

End