Clint Barton: Idiot

Warning: Angst, fluffiness, Clint/Phil or Agent Coulson/Hawkeye – no extreme smut but definitely slash warnings. Boyxboy. This is a one-shot, but with enough reviews and love will be made into more.

Clint said nothing as they flew back to S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters. He was thoroughly pissed at Fury, Agent Hill and the whole tactical logistics team. He swore under his breath, wishing again Coulson had been his handler for this shit awful mission.

The logistics team had scouted the worst tactical position for his shot. Clint would normally protest and move to better spot, often despite orders, but Coulson trusted his opinion as an operative.

Agent Hill had insisted on the position, determining logistics knew what they were talking about...yada yada. He would normally argue with Hill, be his usual not-playing-well-with-others self. Coulson had asked him to play nice with Hill. Every other handler had dismissed him as a broken asset, Agent Coulson had taken the time to determine his worth. He trusted him with important missions.

Coulson had asked him to play nice and the bad position had almost ended in disaster. Almost as soon as he had taken the shot, enemy agents were on his position. Only years of hard training kept him alive, but not without a serve gash on his bicep. He kept it bound tightly on the flight back, determined not to let medical see.

The door to his quarters clicked open but Clint wasn't alarmed. Coulson was the only person clever and stupid enough to come in without an invitation. The handler didn't need his permission but he had it anyways. Clint had been in love with his handler for years.

They started as handler and asset, then handler and agent, then equals and then friends. The last had been a long journey towards but Clint was grateful for the friendship he had won. Clint knew he would lose his best and only friend if the older agent ever found out about his feelings. They were kept locked away, kept secret and safe.

Clint didn't look up when Coulson walked in. He was currently struggling with the cut on his forearm. It was in an awkward position and deep enough to need stitches. The awkward stitching was currently his only focus.

The older agent sighed and sat next to him, pulling the needle from his hand. He was angry, Clint could tell from the deep groove in his forehead, but the hands now stitching him up were calm and steady.

"You are a supreme idiot, Barton," Coulson reprimanded. Clint winced. He was only ever Barton when the older man was truly pissed. Their friendship had put them beyond last names. The surname stung.

Clint bristled, "You said..."

Coulson cut him off. "I said 'Play nice' not roll over and die." The handler's remark was sharp, but it was laced with real concern. Clint couldn't stand to see so much care for him. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. He would never be enough.

He hid his shame with sarcasm. "I'm fine, honey," Clint sassed back, pulling his arm out of the older man's grip. The stitching had been done for a while, with Coulson's warm hand resting on his arm. Discomfort at the seriousness made Clint lash out. It was one of his worst faults, but so far in their friendship he had always been respectful of his senior agent friend.

The tender look which had graced Coulson's face slammed shut at his hurtful words. The archer had never used sarcasm on him. He stood in a rush, clearly wanting to be away from poisonous words. Clint could hardly blame him.

Still, Coulson lingered over Clint, hand still hovering above his hurt arm.

"Clint..." his voice was laced with hurt...betrayal...

The injured archer lashed out, levying a cold gaze at his handler. "Fuck off." It was a voice of bitterness and regret, but Clint made the mistake of meeting Coulson's eyes when he said it because he wanted the older man to know he meant it.

Phil Coulson looked wounded, as if Clint's words were an actual blow.

He regretted the harsh words immediately, but Phil was out the door before Clint could form an apology.

The next few days were excruciating for Clint.

The chill running through the office at Coulson's frosty demeanor sent junior agents scurrying from his path.

No one could locate Agent Barton during this time. He was rumored to be holed up in his room or hanging from the ceilings, but even his infamous pranks were missing from office life.

Fury came to Agent Coulson two weeks after the incident and informed him to work out whatever "domestic" issue they were having. Fury seemed immune to the resulting glare.

Clint was hiding up in the ventilation system, effectively spying on the junior agents and sulking over Coulson. He steered clear of his handler's office, knowing Coulson would spot him in a matter of seconds. There was an unnatural way he always knew where Clint was hiding.

So the archer waited for his arm to heal, dutifully cleaning the stitches every night. Medical and psych had been looking for him, which made him hide even more.

The archer finally came to the decision that he owed his only friend an apology when he heard a group of junior agents whispering around the water cooler, "Agent Coulson put in for an extended period of leave." They spoke in hushed tones as though speaking of him would bring the feared agent's wrath down upon them.

Coulson had sent a pair of agents out of his office in tears after incorrectly filing reports.

He hated it, but Clint knew he had to clear things before his handler quit for good. He crawled through the vent above Coulson's desk. The agent was finishing up paperwork, his pen scratching against the white pages in the familiar way which made Clint's heart clench. He didn't look up but knew he was being watched. The tense line in his shoulders told the archer he wasn't fooling his handler.

"If you have something to say, Barton, hurry up with it." His tone was harsh and Clint dropped out of the vent gracefully. He stood though, fighting the urge to fidget. Phil wouldn't look up at him and kept on with his reports. It threw Clint and he wondered if this was a mistake.

Clint finally realized the man was waiting for an apology. He deserved one, but he had never been good at apologies.

"Phil..." a glare from said agent cut him off. "Agent Coulson," he amended. He now had the handler's full attention but it only made him more nervous. "I lost my temper. You deserve better from me. I was your friend and you were just worried..." He trailed off but Coulson's just stared at him.

Clint hadn't really apologized. It had been a shit excuse anyways. These weren't the words Phil needed to hear to soothe the savage hurt. They were both hurting, but only Clint could make it right again.

The archer looked down and away, unable to look at the hurt in his friend's eyes. "Shit Phil, I am sorry..." He ran a hand through his hair, making his messy blond hair even messier. "Don't quit because of me. I'll ask for a transfer first."

It was the best thing really. Clint thought this was better. He could try to move on and Phil could have an agent that wasn't such a...

A strong pair of arms wrapped around Clint, looking around his neck and pulling him flush against the perfectly ironed suit of his best friend. The smell was all Phil – coffee and ink and something comforting, like home.

"You're an idiot," Phil whispered in his hair, warm puffs of his breath sending shivers through Clint. His words echoed the night Phil stitched him up, back when Phil was still his friend and before his big mouth ruined everything.

Maybe there was hope for their friendship.

This time, Clint had the right reply. "I'm a total idiot."

He pulled away slightly from Phil's arms. He read the flush and slight hurt from his withdraw and leaned back in, gauging the older man's reaction. He pressed his lips softly against the others.

Clint froze in horror when the other man didn't respond. After the initial gasp of surprise, Phil had stood completely still, shell-shocked.

Of course he was, Barton thought. He was just trying to comfort a friend. The archer broke the kiss and pushed out of Coulson's arms completely, stumbling back with a crestfallen look.

"Phil, I..." but the older agent held up his hand, silencing him. Clint couldn't read his expression at all, there was nothing there to read. Phil would hate him now. The thought made tears spring up in his eyes. He was quick to hide them but the older man was lost in his own thoughts and didn't seem to notice. He was still standing there, staring open-mouthed at Clint.

Clint thought about their friendship and how he had fucked it all up, again. Without Phil, his life would be bleak. No more late night carry out to finish mission reports. No funny, lewd jokes of the comm. No handler who actually care about his opinion. No friend smiling at him when he did good work. No more warmth and light that was Phil.

The thought of losing all that and more left Clint cold and heavy with grief. He wanted to find one of his nests and close out the world. A numbness was taking over his heart, breaking everything and crumbling the world around him. He wanted to grieve in peace.

He took another step back, towards the door, his eyes going carefully blank but a lone tear slipped out before he could catch it.

Phil saw, of course he saw. It seemed to break the agent out of his shock. The older man looked as though he had never seen him before. It made Clint hate himself even more. He was a stranger to his own best friend.

He was turned to charge out the office door, find somewhere peaceful to finish mourning, when Phil's warm body pressed against his from behind. The contact was unfamiliar but warm and comfortable. His arms felt like Phil smelled, like home.

Clint thought about struggling to push his handler away so he could grieve in peace, but Phil held him tight.

"You aren't going anywhere, soldier," Phil whispered affectionately, pulling Clint as close as possible. Their bodies aligned, which sent a spike of lust down his traitorous body.

His body reacted in a predictable but embarrassing manner. Clint squirmed then, determined to get out while his dignity was somewhat intact.

One of Phil's hands snaked up along his throat and a harsh, husky voice broke Clint's brain.

"Stop wriggling or I will take you over my desk."

The rational part of Clint, the one afraid for his heart was drowned out by the sexy archer who wanted Phil to take him over his desk.

A low growl built in his throat, vibrating into Phil's hand and Clint felt an answering hardness press into the cleft of his ass. He wiggled in challenge, inviting Phil to make good on his threat.

"Be good," Phil growled, grinding against the junior agent. Clint moaned and arched into Phil. It hurt to be so painfully hard. "I want to kiss you now, dammit," Phil moaned into his ear.

Clint twisted in his grip enough to face Phil and paused enough to see the passionate haze clouding his handler's face, pupils blown wide before he was devouring him. Rough teeth and tongues battling and neither of them wanting to win.

Phil broke away long enough to trail searing kisses down Clint's neck. Words jumbled from the usually eloquent and stoic man, mostly incomprehensible which made them all the more hot.

Clint heard some of it through kissing, "...need you...wanted you from the first ti...worried for you...need you...Clint..." His name was a fervent prayer, but Clint only had one thing to murmur in return.

"Love you, Phil. Loved you for so long." It was raw and honest. The thing he had kept hidden, kept safe - he could finally tell the one person he had wanted.

Phil stilled when he spoke, his lips pausing on Clint's pulse. He was silent only for a moment, but it was enough for Clint to start doubting himself. The lips still at his neck were a terrible reminder of what he was good for and it wasn't love. Broken people weren't meant to be loved. Clint Barton was broken and Phil deserve more than him.

How could Clint be so stupid to think Phil could love him back?

Hot tears came now, welling up from his eyes and spilling before Clint could protest to stop them. He didn't really want to stop them, he realized. It hurt that this was only physical for Phil, that his friend could be so callous with his feelings.

Tears landed on Phil's cheek, startling the older man who looked up to see Clint crying hard. It only made Clint sob harder, seeing the concerned look on his handler's face. His eyes squinted and his bottom lip and chin trembled.

Phil's forehead creased in worry. "Clint?" he tried pulling Clint out of it, but the tears wouldn't stop. Clint tried because Phil was trying to kiss him again, desperate in worry now, but all he could feel was the overwhelming loss of something he had never had. Clint wanted Phil any way he could have him, but the tears wouldn't subside.

When Clint finally came out of it enough to stop crying, they were on Phil's office couch. Clint was cradled on Phil's lap and the older man was whispering in his hair.

"I love you. Love you. Love you. Love you. Love you. Love you..." and kept whispering it like a mantra, rocking Clint lightly. The archer felt safe and secure in Phil's arms, not trapped.

Crying had left him sleepy. He nuzzled Phil's neck and that seemed to startle the man out of chanting. He pulled Clint's face up to his, searching his eyes to find something. He smiled at Clint, kissing him lightly, sweetly on the mouth.

Phil took the tear-bleary man's head in his hands and stared at him hard.

"Clint Barton, you are an idiot for seeing everything except how much I love you. I absolutely adore you. I'm sorry I was so shocked when you told me, but I never dreamed you could love me back. You are worth loving. Every single day I have loved you, you make it worth it." Phil announced each of things with a small kiss dotting Clint's face.

Clint felt he must be dreaming and let out a small sob that he should wake and find this was all not real.

"No!" Phil commanded. "You're scaring me with the breakdowns, baby. Please tell me how to make this better. How can I prove I love you?" The pleading in his voice shook Clint and he took a moment to evaluate his handler.

Coulson looked like shit. If he hadn't been crying, he had been close. His hair was mussed, his suit beyond fixing and his mouth was pulled in worry. Something in Clint relaxed then, easing the pressure in his chest. Phil seemed earnest to convince him.

Clint nuzzled him gently and considered it.

"Show me?" Clint asked as though it were a question of Phil wanting to give so much.

Phil smiled in return. It was beautiful, full of promises and wishes Clint had only cautiously dreamed about in the darkest of solitary nights. It light up his face. It lit up the whole fucking room.

"Every day for he rest of our lives," Phil replied seriously. Flushing with embarrassment he amends, "Or as long as you want me."

The kiss was sweet this time, lingering until they both needed breath.

"Always," Clint whispered in the parting of their lips. "I always want you."

Then the stoic man may or may not have cried. Rumors of this event are spotty at best. Only Clint and Phil knew the truth about what happened between them on that day.

And they weren't about to admit anything.

As a couple, they were under the radar. As a team, they were unstoppable.

Every night Phil Coulson crawled into bed next to his lover, the agent known as Hawkeye and would whisper in his ear, "You're an idiot and I love you."

The idiot would smile like a loon in the dark.