"I think," he says slowly, trying to wind himself back down, "we have different definitions of trying, and we should rectify that. I feel like--I thought I've been trying, but apparently not in the ways you need or want. And...I know I'm not great at this. I'm a far cry from perfect. We also probably need to adjust our boundaries."
Talking things out calmly and rationally is not always Clint's strong point. But Phil coaxes it out of him, a necessity. He takes a breath and lays his hand out on the table palm up. An offer. To make contact.
"I miss sex. And kissing you. And holding you and being held by you. Putting my head in your lap while you play with my hair and we watch tv? I want that back. It's gonna take time. I don't know how much. I can't--I need you to hear me on this, it's not won't, it's not don't want to, it's I can't give that to you or take it from you right now. I've been working on myself. And I know it probably...doesn't seem like it, but it's a lot of shit in my head, and obviously working on the stuff that kept me from my job was the pressing matter. I almost took us all down. Not him. It was me. Things I did with my own hands, things that happened because of my knowledge. I have to live with memorials for agents I killed. I have to live with civilians that died because I helped an alien army rip through a wormhole. I have to live with knowing I almost lost you for good, and I have to live with knowing it probably happened to spite me or punish me or hurt me."
It's tempting to grab his drink and down a lot of wine for that, but he refrains for the moment. Because this is important. This is the most important. "And it sucks knowing that working on the stuff that impacts my personal relationships takes second fiddle. I know. I can't deal with working on all of it all at once. I have to deal with working on feeling like I'm not an enemy to everything we've both worked our lives for. I have to deal with the bigger picture, first, before I deal with the...more personal damage that he did. I'm sorry. I don't ever want you to think I've given up. Because I need you in my life."
no subject
Talking things out calmly and rationally is not always Clint's strong point. But Phil coaxes it out of him, a necessity. He takes a breath and lays his hand out on the table palm up. An offer. To make contact.
"I miss sex. And kissing you. And holding you and being held by you. Putting my head in your lap while you play with my hair and we watch tv? I want that back. It's gonna take time. I don't know how much. I can't--I need you to hear me on this, it's not won't, it's not don't want to, it's I can't give that to you or take it from you right now. I've been working on myself. And I know it probably...doesn't seem like it, but it's a lot of shit in my head, and obviously working on the stuff that kept me from my job was the pressing matter. I almost took us all down. Not him. It was me. Things I did with my own hands, things that happened because of my knowledge. I have to live with memorials for agents I killed. I have to live with civilians that died because I helped an alien army rip through a wormhole. I have to live with knowing I almost lost you for good, and I have to live with knowing it probably happened to spite me or punish me or hurt me."
It's tempting to grab his drink and down a lot of wine for that, but he refrains for the moment. Because this is important. This is the most important. "And it sucks knowing that working on the stuff that impacts my personal relationships takes second fiddle. I know. I can't deal with working on all of it all at once. I have to deal with working on feeling like I'm not an enemy to everything we've both worked our lives for. I have to deal with the bigger picture, first, before I deal with the...more personal damage that he did. I'm sorry. I don't ever want you to think I've given up. Because I need you in my life."