Short Story: Spilled Coffee and Singed Pillows: Marvel
Title: Spilled Coffee and Singed Pillows Fandom: Marvel Characters: Clint/Phil, cameo by Nick Fury Prompt: “I tried to surprise you, but I spilled your coffee on the way over…” thanks to @lukeskywalkersbutt Rating: G Genres: romance/fluff, humor Warnings: talk of guns and shooting Word Count: 1,100 Summary: Phil’s tired from a mission, Clint fails succeeds in taking care of him Notes: pre-Iron Man, story 3/∞ on this new blog
Phil tried to keep his frown from turning into a snarl as the post-mission review hit the thirty-five minute mark. It had been scheduled for ten, but everyone in the meeting who hadn't actually been on the mission kept talking about what happened and discussing different solutions. One of the new bean counters kept asking inane questions, like 'why didn't you use less bullets?" Phil was annoyed, his team was exhausted, and Fury was beginning to look murderous.
Finally, Phil put his foot down – or more literally his hand, as he smacked the table to get everyone's attention. "We didn't use <i>fewer</i> bullets, Jakobson, because that's how many it took to stop the target from firing his gun at Agents Kraig and Lu. If you think that's still too many, then you can take it up with me, privately, before you insult any member of my team further." Jakobson had at least enough sense to quail under Phil's glare. "We're done here." Phil nodded to his team. "Dismissed. Go get some sleep."
These post-mission meetings were a waste of time. Since Secretary Pierce had made them mandatory, it seemed like they had to explain in detail every tactical decision they made down to every bullet they fired. And there was always someone who didn't seem to understand that people were tired and wanted to go home. Plus the way some of them acted, it was like they were trying to make you feel bad for taking out the bad guy – be it terrorist or arms dealer or whoever. Phil always said he hated meetings he wasn't in charge of.
Phil was done for the day.
He wanted to go home, but the pullout couch in his office was much closer and calling his name. Decisively, Phil made a plan: nap in office, shower in the gym, food in the cafeteria or vending machine, then paperwork, then home. And then more sleep.
The door to his office was a few inches ajar.
Phil was not in the mood for a visitor.
Nevertheless, he pushed the door open. The sight made him groan – more in relief than exasperation.
Clint Barton straightened up in surprise from where he was leaning over Phil's desk. A pillowed dropped from Clint's hands. A singed pillow.
"You're back, babe!"
"You look surprised."
Clint laughed with a tinge of franticness. "Nope, I saw you were logged back on base, so I figured I had an hour or so after the debrief, medical check, and post-mission meeting. You took a lot longer."
"The post-mission meeting took longer. Again." Phil stepped forward, shutting the door behind him, taking a closer look at his office. Yes, that pillow was definitely singed. Apparently, by the candle that had toppled over and spilled wax on a stack of thankfully to-be-shredded papers. There were the remnants of some sort of food in the garbage can, but still plenty on the floor. The pullout had been partially pulled out. Clint smiled sheepishly. "Was there an earthquake, Clint?"
The laughter was chagrinned this time. "Sorry, babe, I tried to surprise you, but I spilled your coffee on the way over."
"Okay, but what happened in here?"
"Oh yeah, well, I tried to bring you food and coffee, but, as stated, the coffee spilled out there in the hall. I had too many things in my hands. Your couch is tricky, Phil; it's very, very sneaky. So I tried to pull it out, but pulled the wrong thing too hard and it popped and knocked me into the desk, and I knocked the food off onto the floor. And the candle. Yeah. I'll buy you a new pillow. Um… those papers weren't important, were they?"
Phil took a deep breath before stating, "Fortunately, no, or you'd already be dead."
Clint gave a dramatic "phew!" of relief. He walked over to Phil and shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry, babe. Glad you're back."
Phil shook his head and wrapped his arms around Clint. "I'm glad I'm back too."
Releasing him, Clint said, "Help me pull this darn thing out, and you rest while I finish cleaning up."
Phil showed Clint how to squeeze the bar to release the legs and the bed folded out nicely. Phil relaxed on his remaining pillows, while Clint bustled around putting his room back in order. "Here, babe, the bottled water survived." Phil smiled and drank a third of it down, before closing his eyes and listening to Clint hum a Motown song as he worked.
When Clint was finished, he asked, "What do you need first? Food, sleep, coffee, me shutting up and leaving you alone? Honestly, in spite the disaster I just caused, I am capable of taking care of you."
"Dim the lights and come lay next to me," Phil said.
Clint did, making sure he locked the door as well, cuddling up next to Phil. "Missed you, Phil."
"You're like a dog who panicked and destroyed the door because mom and dad left."
Clint snorted, belying his affronted words, "I'm offended!"
"I'm not surprised. When did you get back in from Ashgabat? You're probably as worn out as I am."
"No, I got in early this morning, so I got a few hours kip. But another nap would be great."
Phil's voice was soft as he drifted, but Clint managed to catch it. "I sleep better next to you."
Gently, Clint kissed Phil's forehead. Phil was back in his arms and all was right in the world. He was going to talk to Fury about those post-mission meetings though. Honestly, what did those pencil pushers think they were accomplishing? Big waste of time. Read the debrief like everyone used to do, and ask questions if you need to.
Phil shifted and suddenly asked, "Why a candle?"
"It was eucalyptus and lavender – supposed to be relaxing."
Phil settled down again. "Sounds nice."
"I bought two."
"Don't you dare move; I'm too comfortable. We'll bring it home."
Clint smiled and kissed Phil again. "Sounds like we could use it while we take a nice, relaxing bath. With bubbles and maybe one of those bath bombs Natasha tries to keep secret."
"You have sensitive skin – you'd itch."
"Probably. Still, think you'd look hot all glittered up."
Phil chuckled and poked Clint in the ribs. "I was halfway asleep. Don't make me laugh, and I'm too tired to think about baths with you."
"Just think of the warm water, the scent of eucalyptus and lavender, and my arms around you and drift right off to sleep."
Phil sighed deeply. "That sounds nice, sweetheart."
Clint tightened his arms around Phil. "Goodnight, babe." All was indeed right in the world, despite the subtle burnt smell wafting around the room.