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Clint usually relaxes against him when they're like this. Phil doesn't like that he doesn't so he stubbornly stays in place so either Clint will tell him to move or get over whatever is bothering him.

"You will too," he says softly. "You'll find your center."

He frowns at the idea of showing anyone his scar. Phil doesn't even like to look at it in the mirror.

"You're my center." It's cheesy and sappy, but he knows Phil likes that. The curse of all those schmaltzy Hallmark movies and the like. Maybe that'll distract him.

"We're both gonna be okay. It's just gonna be a process is all. And the process will suck." The process has sucked. Immensely. "But we'll get there."

It does touch that soft, sappy part of Phil. If they weren't both incredibly twisted up by what had happened he would even believe it was entirely genuine. It mostly is. Clint can be sweet like that. It just doesn't feel like Clint's heart is in it right now.

"No vacation in New Mexico," he says after a few minutes of silence, staring into the middle distance. "No deserts."

Is this awkward? It must be awkward. Because he should probably cuddle up, hold Phil tight, kiss him, and then make lewd suggestions for other activities whether cleared by medical or not.

Instead of just letting Phil lean on him and drinking coffee feeling like his skin is tingling in all the wrong ways..

"Pretty sure a nice cabin in the woods is gonna be about as far from a desert as we can get unless you wanna take a yacht out in the middle of the ocean."

It's awkward. He's not sure why it's awkward for Clint. As well as he knows his boyfriend he's not sure what's going on right now.

"I'd rather avoid yachts after what happened near Calais." Phil sighs heavily as he sits up leaning away from Clint.

"I suppose I should be the first to tell you," he says, his tone a little more serious. "Even with physical therapy I may not be able to clear for field work. That makes my future with the Avengers Initiative questionable."

"No, it doesn't." Clint sets his drink aside and angles himself toward Phil. There's an impulse to reach out, to take his hands, but he...doesn't. "You don't have to be in the field to be with the Avengers. We're gonna need people doing all the work none of the rest of us are trained to do. You can be a desk jockey. Queue up missions for us, feed us intel. Take care of fallout. It doesn't make anything questionable."

"Someone needs to be in the field and active on the ground with the rest of you." His tone is patient and logical. "Someone has to be your direct handler and it might not be me."

He's been involved in the Avengers Initiative from the beginning. From when Fury first started writing the whole thing up. They used to strategize in dingy diners in the early years together. He's worked hard to see it this far.

"I can coordinate some of it from a desk, you're right." Phil hates the idea a little bit. He can sit at a desk for hours and do paperwork but the whole of his career being a desk? He doesn't know how he's going to handle it. "I thought you'd want to know."

"We can be our own eyes and ears on the ground. We need someone with eyes in the sky and a farther reaching network of intel. If you think you're gonna miss the exercise, I'll be sure to give you plenty." Phil has to be involved in the Avengers. In any way that he's capable. "The team came together cuz of you, so I hear. Hey, if nothing else, you can be our mascot."

There's a little more of the Clint he knows. Phil smiles just a little.

"If you say the word mascot around Stark I will have to kill both of you." Because that would create some sort of costume or joke suit that Stark would expect him to wear and there's only so much of Stark's nonsense Phil can take on any given day.

"Can you work with a different SHIELD handler? Can they?" he asks, trusting Clint's insight. He's already had this conversation with Natasha who's come to see him. They had tea.

"I can." He knows that he can. He'll do whatever he needs to do. But: "It won't be easy, and it won't be pretty. It'll be a step back for me. But I also know I can't act out too much. Won't look good, given the circumstances." Not that it looked good when he first started out, but many years on he should know better. Being more or less cleared of having something magic tampering with his head can easily be walked back.

"They are gonna wanna be more independent. It's a SHIELD project overall, but half the team aren't affiliated but through circumstance. Fury's burned a lot of goodwill after Stark's hacking. They trust you behind the wheel, or at least, given your near death experience helped glue some of the more disparate pieces back together, you're definitely an ally. Banner's the oddball, but it seems like he and Stark get on like scientifically-inclined peas in a pod, and he shouldn't have any objections to you. Group's gonna need more wiggle room than your average strike team."

And no average handler is going to be able to keep them right on the edge of the line. Phil rubs his hand over his face. He really is the best option to handle the Avengers but if he can't be in the field then he's not much good as a handler. Handlers went into the field.

"It's not definitive," he says with a heavy breath. "Daily physical therapy should help but the doctors are blunt with their warnings. And I'd rather tell you myself than you hear it from the SHIELD rumor mill."

Which even with the organization in disarray was still going strong. Somehow. He knew it was only a matter of time before people speculated if he wasn't really dead after all.

"And you know I don't want to be relegated to a desk."

Clint rubs his hands together, glancing away in thought. Phil's still got a road to physical recovery. And might never be one hundred percent again. Even still, he's managing himself pretty well. There's every possibility that this is just worst case scenario being speculated on.

But. Also every possibility that this really needs to be prepared for.

He looks back. "What would you do otherwise? I mean, if you're not cleared for the field and you don't want to be stuck at a desk. What are your options from there?"

"I have no idea," Phil admits which is a hard thing because he's always had a plan before. He's very good at improvising plans in the field too. For himself the plan has always been to be a field agent and most likely die in the line of duty.

Coming close to that makes it very clear that he should have thought of something sooner.

"Stark offered me a job before everything went to hell. I could take that." He's not sure the offer is still there. "I might kill him though which defeats the purpose of working for him."

"Fashion designer. Go into menswear. Be an agent for a supermodel or something, handle all the calls and plan all the outfits and outings, make sure all the venues follow protocols." It's a joke, yeah. But fuck if he can't see Phil being really good at something like that. Being a handler but in a way that doesn't involve running across rooftops being shot at.

"Maybe go into training? Not for the physical shit, but training baby agents in all the other ins and outs. Or if you'd think about leaving SHIELD entirely, you'd just have to consider what you love doing and go from there."

"Well... I love doing you," he says in an attempt to lighten the mood a little bit.

Training is not a bad idea though. Phil's refined many agents put under his care, including taking some of the rougher edges off Clint and Natasha. They hoped he could take the rough edges off the Avengers.

"But don't you dare start paying me. You have more class than that."

"Oh, if you think I'm too classy to pay for sex, you don't know who you're talking to." See, that feels more normal. The cheeky jokes. That's fine. They're fine-ish. They're going to be fine. They still haven't kissed, and Clint hasn't done any touching, but at least this feels better. "We'll need to figure out some reasonable rates for you. Get you working in a dungeon in the dominatrix business. How do you feel about other people wanting daddy to spank them for being naughty?" He says it with such a suggestive lilt, trying not to break at the very idea. It's a close thing.

Phil almost puts his head in his hands. His fingers twitch for a second before he schools his features into something calm and almost bored.

"I don't believe most sex clubs in New York could afford me." The only person who gets to experience any of Phil's talents is Clint and he's going to keep it that way until Clint says otherwise.

"My services don't come cheap. You had to buy me two packets of donuts before I went out with you."

"We'll have to have a jetsetting lifestyle and find a place with clubs that can afford you. Monaco, Rome, Abu Dhabi. The ritziest and most exclusive clubs. And then I'll take a cut and ply you with more donuts for dates." Not that he needs plying! "I might even go the extra mile and throw in a pizza now and then."

"Oh pizza, aren't you Mr. Romance." Phil nudges him in the ankle. "Go figure out what we're ordering for dinner."

Clint knows where the take out menus are in the kitchen. Phil figures he's staying long enough for dinner since he hasn't gone running for the hills with everything Phil's added to his list of worries.

If Clint does decide to leave before then Phil's at least getting a kiss on the way out.

"Well now I'm in the mood for pizza, so I guess I'm just gonna be the embodiment of romance just for you."

They can weather this. Nothing has fundamentally changed about them together. If they can crack wise and exist together and have pizza. It isn't like they aren't over the moon for each other. Clint gets that he might be a little more distant, but...obviously it's not the biggest deal. What with everything on their plates right now.

As long as the distance doesn't last forever. Phil expects that much like when they were first learning to trust each other it'll be small steps back to normal. Even if Phil's aching just to leap back to that warm, safe place they were in before it all went to hell.

"You do know how to make a man feel special." Phil leans back further in the couch until something pulls wrong, then he has to shift with a grimace of pain trying to re settle himself. He really can't wait for the day everything stops hurting.

He catches that look with a frown. "You okay?" Which, stupid question, sure, but. "Do you need to take something? Or, you need to take more of something?"

"After dinner." Phil doesn't like how foggy the painkillers make him. He doesn't like being unable to react as fast as he wants. He does not mention he might be more willing to be vulnerable if Clint stayed with him longer.

He is not guilting his boyfriend into spending time with him.

"I don't want to pass out on the couch waiting for it."

"Are they that strong, or is your tolerance shit?" Or both. "You really should take what's recommended. Making yourself be in pain isn't--jesus," he breathes, "I fucking sound like you now. Okay. Shutting my trap, cuz next time I'm beat to hell, I'm gonna still be my usual terror."

Phil listens to Clint lecture him with a pleasant little smile. It is amusing to hear almost the exact same words he's said over and over every time Clint gets injured.

"I take them when they're necessary," he says calmly. "Most of the time I'm fine. I sometimes sit wrong or pull something and it hurts for awhile until it doesn't. And I do take them before bed."

He also locks his bedroom door when he does because Phil is just as paranoid as the agents he handles.

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