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"Hiemdall's always supposed to be listening. Or seeing." Phil sits back again. Two steps forward and maybe only one back. Hard to say when Clint clearly needs to rabbit. "You'll be kept in the loop, I'm sure."

He lets him be useful. Or feel useful. Maybe letting his boyfriend fuss over him, fix something for him, will help in the long run.

"Natasha nags me like I'm suddenly not a level seven agent." Phil's mature enough not to roll his eyes about being fussed over by two of his best agents. He handles them not the other way around. "You can also come by to sit on the couch and watch Kitchen Nightmares. Or to escape Stark. The door is always open to you, Clint."

"I tune him out a lot better than you do. He's not a bad sort. Just a nosy, talkative little shit." Stark was removed from the Avengers list for good reasons, but it's apparently all worked out in the end.

Clint's quick and efficient about the cleanup, because he needs something to do with as much gusto as possible and also so he can leave faster. And it feels bad. To need to leave. Because this should be a safe and comfy place. Except there's talk about him and thinking about him and Clint has talked and thought about him so much that sometimes it seems impossible for there to be room for anything else.

"Okay." He flashes a tight smile. "Well, I'm gonna..." With a thumb jerked at the door. "Text me, though. When you need me. For anything."

"You didn't babysit him in Malibu."

Really, Phil doesn't mind Stark that much. He's a good man underneath it all. Stark's just very good at getting under his skin and he doesn't like it. At all. But he is a good man at heart.

He gets up to walk Clint to the door because he is an old fashioned gentleman. "I know how to reach you. And I will if things start falling apart around me."

Chivalry is alive and well. He might actually invite Steve, just because in less awkward circumstances, they'll probably get along fabulously. "Kinda hope you'll reach me before things get to the falling apart stage. We want to avoid the falling apart. Okay? Don't you fall apart on me."

"You'll catch me if I do." At the door Phil stops. He really wants to kiss Clint before he goes. He would really like those arms around him again. But Clint's still not comfortable, still itching out of his skin.

He settles for a tight squeeze of his hand. "Don't stay away so long this time, okay? The falling apart goes both ways."

They can hold each other up until they can stand on their own.

That's a hell of a lot of trust that, majority of the time, he'd be happy to accept. It's a little harder to believe it, now. Phil's been able to read the room well enough to not insist on a kiss, which, he should be able to kiss his boyfriend, right? And yet he's so damn grateful not to get into it. The hand holding he allows, only very lightly giving anything in return.

He can't make any promises himself. So he simply ducks away through the door without saying anything.

God. That could've gone better. Hopefully that'll placate Nat. And Phil. Who deserves better. And yeah, it was good to see for himself that his boyfriend is alive and recovering.

He should probably go over whenever he thinks about it. Hell, he should probably move in at least temporarily, just to keep an eye on him, to have someone there to help and be at beck and call. But he doesn't. He only comes over when Phil asks him to, and if he has to make up some bullshit chore for Clint to do, then, they don't have to mention it or acknowledge it at all.

There hasn't been this much distance between them since Clint first joined SHIELD and everyone, Phil including, was trying to get a good sense of the carney they had recruited. He often feels like he can't understand his boyfriend anymore, that he's looking at a shadow. Someone else is wearing Clint's skin.

If it wasn't for the little glimpse of Clint, the Clint he remembers, here and there Phil would be more worried than he is. And he's very worried.

And the more Phil recovers the less he needs Clint around to do things for him. The reasons don't hold up to scrutiny. Eventually, he's going to be fully healed and there'll be no reason for Clint to come over except if Clint wants to. Phil's not sure he wants to. He's not going to walk on eggshells forever.

He sends Clint a text with a grocery list and asks that he bring it over whenever he has the time.

The good news is that when Clint's as reasonably clear of any potential future mind control as can be, he's put back in the field. Light duty, at first, to get back into the swing of things and to start getting used to his brand new handler.

It doesn't go great. It doesn't go wrong, necessarily, but those who've been around long enough to remember Clint in his early days will definitely feel that this is familiar. But it's doing things again, even if he doesn't get too far from home turf, and it helps to settle something restless inside him.

Not all of it. Definitely not all of it. It's a start, though. Everything feels like it's just a start.

He shows up with bags of groceries in and on his arms, knowing full well that while the help is appreciated, it's less and less necessary. Still, he does it with a smile. "I feel like you should be impressed I got it all in one trip, but you're one person with an occasional extra mouth to feed. It's not exactly lots."

"I could have an extra mouth to feed," Phil says as he lets Clint into his apartment. "If you'd like to stay for dinner."

He follows Clint into the kitchen. Once a bag is set down Phil starts unloading it. His movements are smoother and the only time he winces is when he twists wrong. It really won't be long until his physical and he finds out if he can return to field work or not.

But his first priority is getting Clint to stay long enough to work out whatever's truly wrong and if Clint wants to fix this or not.

This is where, under more normal circumstances, Clint might make a very lewd comment about what to put in his mouth and then probably go in for a kiss. He's aware of himself this way.

But he doesn't and simply helps unload groceries like a good boy. Friend. Good boyfriend.

"Yeah? I can do that. You want me to whip something together, or do you wanna try your hand at something? Or just order something, but maybe something a little healthier."

Phil watches Clint for a moment and sighs heavily. "We're really not okay, are we?"

He doesn't see the point in dancing around the topic or easing into it. Phil can be deceitful and keep secrets but he prefers to get to the heart of the problem whenever possible. In their personal relationship he's always been honest and straightforward with Clint.

He holds a bunch of bananas in his hands and for a long moment looks completely lost. When he finally sets them down on the counter, he pulls his hands back, tucking them under his arms.

"Is that a we as in you and me individually, or we as in us?"

"According to my therapist I'm doing well for a man who almost died." Phil puts himself across from Clint giving him plenty of space but also making it hard for the man to not see him, not face him.

"I don't think you're doing well and that's effecting us." There's a clench of fear and worry in Phil's stomach. He doesn't want to lose Clint. He doesn't want to push so hard that Clint decides to leave them behind.

But he has to say something because the silence is going to end them too.

"It's." He falters. "Um." Because how does he put any of it in words? He's not good at it. He's good at reading people, but not so adept at verbalizing anything for himself. "A process. Is how the docs have all put it."

That's a start. Clint's sharing something which is more than he's gotten any time before now.

"What do you need from me?" Because maybe if there's something Phil can do too it'll help. The distance between them aches in his chest. Not like the scar and the injury but deeper and harsher.

From Phil? What does he need from the guy that almost died partly because of him? He's not sure he can even see it that way, in needing (or deserving) anything after what happened.

"Well," with a distinctly chipper tone, going back to the bags to give his hands something to do, "dinner's a good start."

Sidestepping. Avoiding. Phil feels a little rush of frustration. One step forward and Clint back peddling as hard as he could. He takes a deep breath and let's it out slowly.

"Let's cook something together." He wants to see what Clint will do. Push back when he starts to draw away. He'll figure out this dance if it kills him.

"Sounds good. I know I joke about my bachelor kitchen, but I promise I've never actually burned anything down." A beat. "While cooking." Arson is a completely different thing entirely.

He knows this is frustrating to Phil, but he keeps giving Clint space, and he takes it greedily. Gives him enough room to wiggle around and maneuver. He should maybe give more in return. Give something else. He licks his lips.

"I'm cleared for light active duty. Mostly just been quiet short recon trips. Probably gonna go back to the full shebang in the next few weeks. I hope. I don't think anything that's knocked loose in my head is gonna be any kind of liability in the field."

"I know. Your handler has been keeping me updated." And asking for advice on how to work with Clint in the field. Phil is the resident expert according to everyone in SHIELD second only to Natasha. Who is currently busy with her own work that Phil also knows about.

He washes his hands and starts to gather things for a simple pasta sauce. Phil deliberately puts himself in Clint's space again and again, brushing against him here and there.

"I've been hearing mostly good things."

"I'm shocked. I've been kind of a pushy asshole. You know how it was, breaking you in." A joke. If anyone got broken in, it was Clint. But he's pretty sure it worked both ways between them. New handler just has to learn that sometimes being hands off is the best possible course of action.

And in a more literal sense, hands off is not what Phil is up to. He takes the casual brushing touches the way he's taken most of the other ones: without complaint, without comment, not reciprocated. He does make a point to actually get out of the way while Phil does his thing. Pasta goes with pasta sauce. Obviously. He can cook up pasta without incident, given you just let it cook and you can go do other things while it softens up.

"I haven't had much chance to get into trouble yet."

"Yes, you did a wonderful job," Phil says dryly. Chopping vegetables keeps him from trying any more touches but he can't help longing for something like Clint's arm casually around his waist or a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

He's quiet for a little bit before he speaks. "Are you afraid I'm going to break if you touch me?"

He's going to pick at this problem for a bit. He can have a one track mind. He wants to understand why Clint either needs this distance or thinks it's what has to happen.

Well, now he's frowning at uncooked pasta. He could keep being an asshole, sure. Just go escape and then not have to have this conversation, even if they only have it in starts and stops. He can't avoid it forever, though. Or he shouldn't. "It sounds stupid when you say it."

"It's irrational but not stupid," he corrects. Phil has to remember just how much Clint has lost over his lifetime. He has to find a well of patience that is at war with his own desires.

"It is stupid that you're blaming yourself." He glances over at him. "It was my choice to face him. The only people responsible for what happened to me are myself and Loki."

"I'm gonna hurt you." He says it quietly. If a watched pot never boils, they'll never have any pasta at this rate. "I know I'm not...actually gonna, I'd never want to, I wouldn't do it deliberately. But I'm so sure it'll happen."

Phil takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"You're hurting me now."

Because all awhile he was recovering and getting better he wanted Clint with him and Clint wouldn't. They're in the same damn room and it feels like Phil's with a stranger. He feels like he's still lost Clint to the mind control.

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