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It’s a school. As far as Clint, who barely has seen one of those from the inside for longer than a few months at a time, can tell, it’s just a regular, normal school, filled with students and hopes and books.
There’s a lot of construction going on when he picks his way toward the back of the building, he notices. He remains unseen for the moment, sticking to the shadows, while he circles around.
It never hurts to know all the exits, he thinks, his fingers itching for his bow. However, he’s wearing civilian clothing, an old battered jacket and jeans that are faded at the knees and worn soft, sneakers instead of combat boots.
He’s just a regular guy today, not Hawkeye and not SHIELD-agent Barton. His fingers dig deep into the pockets of his jacket, brushing against sleek plastic and metal: a cell phone, a pocket knife, keys, some change.
Just a regular guy sneaking around a school.
Not creepy at all.
He smirks at himself and fishes the phone out of his pocket. It’s the latest StarkPhone, barely one week on the market, and the predictions are that it’ll make Tony even richer than he already is.
Clint isn’t surprised about that. Tony himself helped develop the core processor of the phone and got involved in the programming, during the few weeks Clint was laid up with a broken leg, and it was the only thing Tony talked about when he wasn’t idly speculating about robot prosthetics in connection with Clint’s body and his line of work.
Tony gave Clint the phone after seeing Clint’s old and battered phone fall out of his pocket and down a twenty floor building during his first mission back. He put in a few games and a few apps he thought Clint would appreciate and like, and as a wallpaper, he put a snapshot of Phil sprawled out on the couch, at the Tower, with Pepper-the-cat curled up comfortably on his chest, her head tucked under Phil’s chin.
Phil’s number is the first on his speed-dial list, and he brushes his thumb over the screen to place the call.
“Hey,” he drawls when Phil answers the call. “I’ve been naughty. You wanna put me over your desk and spank me with your ruler?”
He grins at Phil’s answer and scruffs his toes against the ground, kicking at a pebble and enjoying the warmth of sunshine on his face.
“I’m actually right outside,” he admits after a moment. “You feel like lunch?”
~~
Five minutes later, Phil stops next to him, dressed impeccably in a suit and looking unflappable at the prospect of confronting a man lurking around the school.
His school.
“Hey,” Clint grins. He doesn’t lean in for a kiss, but he bumps his shoulder gently into Phil’s.
“Hey, yourself,” Phil replies, his lips twitching slightly in amusement. “Quiet day?”
“Very quiet, sir,” Clint agrees. “Nat’s on some mission for Fury, Thor’s home to visit the parents, Tony’s in Malibu, celebrating the success of his company, and I think Steve spends his days volunteering and working with homeless, underprivileged kids.” He shrugs to gloss over the fact that he doesn’t just thinks so, but that he’s spent the major part of the morning helping Steve. There’s no need to pull attention to his involvement in that.
Phil smirks, as if he knows perfectly well what Clint is omitting, and knowing Phil, he probably does. He usually knows what is going on in Clint’s life, no matter if Clint tells him or if he deduces it like Sherlock fucking Holmes. Where Clint is concerned, Phil has something like a sixth sense. He knows how Clint thinks, what he’s prone to do, how he likes his eggs in the morning, and he usually does without Clint having to say much.
It makes living together easier. On the other hand, when he fucks up, he does so royally. He forces his thoughts away from that particular line of thinking – they are fine, there are no problems right now, it’s a great day and they are fine. He isn’t angry about Phil’s little stunt, pretending to be dead, anymore.
He really, really isn’t.
“So….lunch?” Clint repeats hopefully.
“I’m actually in the middle of something,” Phil says, sounding apologetic enough that Clint knows he interrupted something remotely important.
“Something important?” he asks nonetheless.
Phil shrugs. “Not as important as you are,” he says, the skin around his eyes crinkling and the tips of his ears starting to turn a slight shade of pink. It delights Clint to see that. “I interrupted the meeting to take your call anyways.”
Clint winces slightly. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I was in the area, I just wanted to take a look at your new digs.”
Phil hums. “You want to come in, make sure my office is secure?” he offers. There isn’t a single hint of mocking in his voice, which Clint appreciates. But then, if there is one person in SHIELD who is as paranoid as Clint, it’s Phil.
Or Natasha.
Or Fury.
But only Phil makes him feel like this, protected and wanted and not like a stupid, paranoid fuck-up. Still, he hesitates. He never spent much time in schools, not that he could remember, and entering one now somehow feels wrong and weird. He doesn’t have a reason to be here; no mission and no orders.
“Come on,” Phil murmurs, cajoling. “I do have the time for a quick tour while the meeting is adjourned.”
~~
The tour is really quick, but it has highlights such as “This is where Dr. Connors came in through the sewers” and “We’re still getting the funds to repair these labs,” and “It took some time to sort through all the books here”, and finally, “This is my new office.”
Clint curiously looks around. The office is bland and boring, no personal touches to it. In that, it does resemble the one Phil had at SHIELD.
“It’s kind of open,” he says after a moment, just because he has to say something to break the silence that has fallen between them.
“That’s the purpose,” Phil replies. He sounds faintly amused. “This is a school, not an undercover mission.”
“It kind of is, sir,” Clint murmurs. “You’re on a plate here, visible for just about anyone.”
“Hiding in plain sight,” Phil agrees. “And in turn, nobody can sneak up to me here.”
“Except maybe Natasha,” Clint tosses in, but he notices the subtle way Phil checks his watch and he knows a clue when he sees it.
“You’re busy,” he says, shifting from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry for interrupting like this.”
“Yeah.” Phil glances down and smiles softly. “It was a good kind of interruption, though.”
“Okay.” Clint allows himself a wide, happy grin. “I’ll see you tonight. At the Tower.”
He pushes his hands back into his pockets to stop them from doing something stupid, like reaching out for Phil.
On his way out of the building, he almost gets run over by a kid with messy hair, black-framed glasses that are both old-fashioned and incredibly modern, and a skateboard.
He bites back a curse and makes sure to get out of the way – the kid is lucky enough Clint didn’t break his neck there, he thinks grumpily, and that thought is unsettling enough he almost feels like a really old man, screaming at the neighbors’ kids to get off his lawn.
~~
Phil lets himself into the main common area of the Tower with a faint smile and a hum. Pepper-the-cat is there, as usual, her sleek body pressing against his shins and her face rubbing against his pants while she purrs her greeting, and he kneels down to return her greeting, petting her and scratching behind her ears, the way she loves.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Clint calls out from the direction of the kitchen, and Phil feels the tense muscles in his shoulders start to relax slightly. Clint is standing at the stove, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder, his hair a mess, and he is the best thing Phil has seen since lunch.
He picks up Pepper and settles her in the crook of his elbow, her claws digging into the sleeve of his jacket, before wandering over to where Clint is standing. Leaning against his back, he presses his lips briefly against Clint’s neck.
“What are we having?” he asks, inhaling deeply.
This is home, he thinks vaguely, Clint’s strong body next to his, Pepper sheltered between the two of them, and the mind-numbingly normal domesticity of cooking dinner after a long day at the office.
His life could have more of that, he decides, his eyes falling half-closed as he allows himself to relax, to give in to his exhaustion.
Clint’s elbow digs gently into his ribs, on the side where he isn’t holding Pepper. “Are you awake back there?” he asks, and he sounds amused enough that Phil straightens with some difficulty and puts Pepper down.
“I’m awake enough,” he promises and goes to set the table. He pretends not to notice when Clint feeds Pepper some scraps, as he always does. For the most part, the cat gets cat-appropriate food, after all, and it’s not as if Phil himself doesn’t indulge every now and then as well. It won’t kill her, he decided, and living in Tony’s Tower is dangerous enough as it is.
It’s something he’s thought about before, but it’s not like JARVIS – he can’t put a back-up of Pepper on some secure server in case someone infiltrates the Tower.
Dinner is delicious, and it’s a private affair just between the two of them. The rest of the Avengers are away or busy, but for the moment, neither Clint nor Phil care. They sit close together, their feet tangled together under the table, and when they put away the dishes and the left-overs, they move around each other with the ease of long practice and familiarity.
Phil is busy putting the left-overs into the fridge when Clint presses himself against his back, a long, solid line of heat and muscles.
“So…” Clint murmurs, his mouth hot through the material of Phil’s shirt, “you wanna catch up on your show, or do you want to take advantage of the fact that everybody’s out?”
His hands wander suggestively down Phil’s chest, scratching slightly across his nipples and then skipping down, to press against his dick through the material of his pants.
It’s an easy decision.
~~
If Pepper-the-cat is annoyed about being locked out of their bedroom, she hides it well, and decides instead to curl up on the couch. It’s where Steve finds her when he comes home, tired but not tired enough to go to bed.
He finds the left-overs in the fridge, gets himself a drink and settles down next to the cat, careful not to disturb her.
Steve likes cats well enough, but he’s never had too much contact with them. When he grew up, they were mostly kept to keep rat populations under control, and there were no cats in the war. He keeps a careful distance from her, but when she comes to him, demanding to be petted, he doesn’t refuse.
JARVIS helpfully starts up the movie he’s started to watch the night before but didn’t finish, and after a while, when Steve is comfortably sprawled out across the cushions of Tony’s couch, he becomes aware of a small weight coming closer to him. He watches as Pepper sets a careful paw on his thigh, then a second one, the tip of her tail twitching slightly as she stretches her neck and sniffs him.
Steve holds perfectly still, his attention focused on the cat that now has a third paw on his thigh. She’s not heavy, he finds, and now she’s starting to purr, a soft sound that’s familiar enough to soothe him.
He slowly reaches out and brushes a single finger over her head, and she leans into the caress and starts purring in earnest, her feet digging rhythmically into his pants and thighs as she moves around, circling to find a comfortable position. Finally, she settles down with a satisfied sigh, and Steve huffs a breathless laugh.
“All right, then,” he murmurs. His hand is big enough to cover her head completely, and he gently smoothes his palm down her back, over the soft, grey fur. Her ears twitch slightly, but that’s the only thing she does.
Steve smiles and continues petting her while the TV is running in the background.
It’s something he could get used to, he thinks.
~~
“Where’s the cat?” Phil murmurs softly, his words slurred slightly. He looks tired, but happy – there’s a softness around his crinkled eyes as he traces his fingertips over Clint’s shoulders and chest, down his arms and hands.
“Not sure,” Clint murmurs back. His hair is sticking up in every possible direction, there’s the dark shadow of a bruise forming near his collarbone, and in this moment, Phil loves him more than life itself. “Want me to go and look for her?”
Phil hums. “Yeah,” he finally murmurs. It’s weird not to have her curled on top of the sheets when they go to sleep, and he’s sure that he’ll wake up in a few hours and start to panic because she isn’t there and his nightmares convinced him that something happened to her.
“Okay, okay.” Clint leans closer, brushes a kiss over Phil’s cheek, and disentangles himself from sheets and Phil’s legs. He pulls on shorts and a t-shirt, runs a hand through his hair, and Phil wants to pull him back down onto the mattress and go for round two, but he knows he’s too tired for that, and he needs to be up early the next morning.
He watches Clint move silently through their room, and then Clint is gone and he dozes off for a little bit, only roused back to awareness when the door closes quietly behind someone.
He recognizes Clint’s steps as he pads closer to the bed, and then, the mattress dips and a warm, familiar weight presses itself against Phil’s spine.
“Sorry,” Clint murmurs. “She’s asleep in Steve’s lap, didn’t want to wake either of them.”
Phil murmurs a reply he doesn’t understand himself, and pulls Clint close to himself.
It’s weird, not having Pepper in their bed, but he’s sure he’ll do for one night.
~~
It’s half past two in the morning when Steve wakes up because the cat jumps off of his lap. He has a crick in his neck, and he should go to bed, he thinks, still half-asleep. He still manages to turn off the TV and fold the blanket someone has spread over him before stumbling off in the direction of the bedrooms. Pepper-the-cat is ahead of him, moving silently along the hallway and stopping in front of Clint and Phil’s bedroom door where she sits down and mewls.
Steve hesitates for a moment, but Pepper mewls again and lifts a paw to scratch at the closed door, and Steve shrugs mentally and opens the door for her.
If Clint and Phil are engaged in certain activities Steve doesn’t want to know about…he stops the thought right there and waits for the cat to disappear in the thankfully silent darkness of the room. Steve closes the door behind her and continues on to his own bed.
~~
Phil doesn’t wake completely when Pepper settles in the crook of his elbow and nudges her nose under his chin, just enough to drop one sleep-heavy hand into her fur and rub his thumb across her head in a slow caress.
Clint snorts at the display and curls himself around his pillow, willing himself to go back to sleep.