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"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.

"Ffffffffine. God, it's like looking in a mirror, except you're not in traction right now. I'll order the damn pizza." Grumble grumble. Is this usually how Phil feels?? Damn, he's an asshole. One who isn't going to change his ways about pushing the limits of what's medically recommended, which only makes him more of an asshole.

He knows what the best place around is (by 'best' we mean 'Phil's favorite' because a fight about The Best Pizza In New York City is a fight that will lead to riots in the streets) and exactly what to get, because he's thoughtful and remembers things. Or he tries to. Really hard. Given that this feels like the first relationship that's really, really mattered. A lasting one, anyway. That could go places. Or comfortably stay the same for the rest of eternity.

It's comfy. God, he wants that comfy back.

Phil refrains from pointing out that Clint could have seen him in traction if he had come to Medical. He's better at behaving himself when he's in medical and he doesn't have options open to him. At home, he can choose not to have meds and his bed is infinitely more comfortable.

Just listening to Clint moving around in his space is relaxing. He got him back. He's safe and whole. Himself. That's how Phil likes him best. Clint as Clint. Well, no, he likes Clint best as his.

He could take painkillers and pass out with Clint around.

"Okay, all ordered, got some time, I'll clean up a little? Make your bed, fluff some pillows, fix a leaky faucet, anything?" He does a mock bow. "I'm at your disposal for the time being."

"I hope none of my faucets are leaking. But go ahead. You know I trust you here." Phil waves a hand at Clint with a fond smile. He's welcome in Phil's space and there's nothing he feels the need to hide. "Do whatever."

He picks up his tablet to answer a few emails and send out a few orders, coordinating. Still listening to Clint moving around, just enjoying Clint in the same space as him.

Until the doorbell rings signaling dinner is here. Phil grunts as he slowly gets up from the couch to get the door.

The problem comes from the fact that Phil makes enough to have a decent place and is clean and organized enough even when injured that there frankly is not a whole lot to really actually do. This will not deter Clint, however. The coffee's taken care of, donuts stashed away, bed made (with wistful memories of spending fun nights and cozy mornings in it), and he's just generally wiping down the kitchen when the pizza arrives.

He's never this industrious at his own place.

"I got it," he calls, but Phil's already getting up, and there's a little bit of alarm at that. "I got it, I got it, you don't have to-"

"My legs aren't injured," Phil reminds him. He's a little slow to get up but he can get up and can help a little bit. "I'll pay the man, you carry the pizza."

He opens the door and pays the delivery man. He lets Clint take the pizza and bring it to the kitchen. He likes to pay because Phil's a very generous tipper.

"I also need to move after sitting for so long," he says after he closes the door. "Muscles get stiff."

"Right." Doesn't keep the frown off his face. "I know how that gets after injuries. It's just...weird to see you so hurt. I wish I'd been there."

There are a lot of things he wishes. And they won't get him anywhere.

"Do you need to take a walk around after? Around the block or...is that a little much?" He straightens up and rubs his neck. "I'm hovering, right? Yeah, I'm hovering. Sorry."

Technically, Clint was there. Just not himself.

"Do you want to see it?" Phil asks, tilting his head to the side. "Would it make things easier for you?"

It's an odd offer to make while standing around in his kitchen but it seems like Clint really doesn't know how to take Phil being the injured party this time around. It's been awhile since he's been the one seriously injured.

"And I might do some physical therapy stretches before bed. We'll see how I feel." He's not going to complain about Clint hovering. It's better than the distance between them before.

"Do I--what? No. I mean, eventually, I'll see it, but you don't have to just...show me deliberately just to show off."

He's pretty sure it would only make him feel guilty. Pretty sure he's going to see just how close his boyfriend was to dying in an unpleasant manner and possibly just leave without saying anything, so. Better to not risk it.

"I thought it might make you feel better if you saw the good work done by medical. It's healing. I'll just be stiff and in pain for awhile." He isn't quite sure how to reassure Clint in this situation. It's odd to be unsteady in this.

Phil opens the pizza box and is pleased to see his favorite. "Perfect." He gets himself a plate for it and then carefully sits down at the kitchen table.

"There's nothing they can do about the scar, though."

"I've been on the receiving end of their handiwork plenty of times," Clint reminds. "I know they do good work."

The scar will just be a scar, on either side of the body. Clint's got plenty. That's just a sign of how much you've survived. It still healing, and the memories being fresh enough as they are, he's not sure...about damn near anything, really. "I hear chicks dig scars. Haven't really found that to be the case in practice though."

"If I suddenly decide I want to court a woman instead I'll keep that in mind." Phil almost rolls his eyes. He settles for a bored look instead. He has not been interested in a woman for awhile. Not since somehow Clint got through all his defenses and somehow became everything.

He still can't pinpoint the exact moment it happened but there are times it feels inevitable. Phil is terribly romantic.

"Sit down and have dinner with me." Phil nudges the other chair out with his foot. "Then if you need space you can head out."

"'Court a woman'," and Clint does roll his eyes, practically flopping into the chair and grabbing some cheesy ambrosia. "Are we sure time travel is a hard thing to do, because I swear sometimes you sound very old timey. Sure you didn't drop out of the 1500's?"

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