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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?"

"Most modern physicists think that we could theoretically go forward in time but not backwards," Phil says with a little smile. Under the table he leans his foot casually against Clint's. A small acceptable touch. Hopefully.

"I'm not some lost Asgardian hiding out on Earth, I promise." If he was he would've revealed it in the fight with Loki for sure.

"Those physicists are a riot. We're constantly in a state of going forward in time." He thinks he's very clever for that one, thanks. If he thinks anything of the barest little hint of footsie under the table, he says nothing of it.

"And you're also definitely not courting me. You're dating me. Like a modern man."

That one is fairly clever. Phil lets himself smile, one of his rare genuine smiles that hides nothing. The people who think Clint's not smart are not paying attention.

"I might court you," he muses, watching Clint across the table. "But not with poetry and flowers. That wouldn't really work on you."

Clint's opened this door. If he doesn't want to hear the grand romantic plans of one Phillip J. Coulson he should shut it soon.

The squinting look Phil gets is nothing bad, nothing malicious or suspicious, but now he doesn't know what to think. "Sex works on me pretty well," he says, and then regrets it, but pushes forward anyway. "We might have to define courting and dating then. What do you think would work on me?"

"I've noticed." Clint never seems to knows what to do when Phil offers him something soft and sweet instead of physical and hot.

"Arguably they're the same thing. Both are a period of getting to know someone prior to a deeper commitment such as marriage. Courting, however, has more restrictions on it. No one would have sex before marriage if they were truly courting someone." Phil is a nerd. Clint should be well aware of this.

"Were I courting you, I would get you historical reproductions of various bows from all over the world for you to try out. I know you're familiar with most types but there's something handmade in traditional styles that you haven't gotten your hands on." Yes, he's thought about this. Phil is a romantic.

"Historical bows." He purses his lips, gives a little tilt of his head. "That'd be pretty cool. I could have a wall of them for display. Like one of those spy walls that turn around to show an armory type."

"And I'd get to watch you draw which does very nice things for your shoulders."

Phil is fascinated by Clint's muscles. He's built entirely differently from other muscled heroes like Rogers and Thor. It has to be because of the bow and the draw. It has to be.

Running his fingers over those muscles never gets old.

"You get to watch me draw without ever having to woo me with fancy historical bows, Phil." Kind of the job! Not to watch his muscles, but...

"Usually, I'm busy watching other things as well." He pauses a moment between bites of pizza. "But I do like to watch you at the range sometimes."

He does not openly oggle at the range. Phil is careful with his glances but he does drop by now and then to watch. He doesn't think anyone could really blame him.

"You also tend to watch other things at the range, too. Nobody's gonna give a shit if you're there to watch your favorite agent do his thing and do it well." Probably. Possibly. He doesn't think it'd be a big deal.

"People thought we were sleeping together three years before we actually did." Phil's aware of the rumors about him and Clint. For years when they were simply close friends people thought they were fucking.

Phil did his best to ignore the rumors. They bothered him only when people assumed Clint got where he was through sex. Those he struggled to ignore.

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