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Phil skidded to a stop at the nurses station, his hand automatically going up to straighten his tie before he spoke.
“I’m looking for a patient named Clint Barker. The information desk said he was in this ward.”
The nurse looked up at him with a bland smile and tapped at her computer. “Barker, Clint. Yes. He’s in room 213, but,” she said as Phil glanced up and down the hall to figure out which direction room 213 was, “visiting hours are from ten am to noon, 2pm to four, and 7pm to nine. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”
“How badly was he hurt?” Phil asked. If it wasn’t too serious, he could have the nurse give Clint his phone, and check in with him that way, but if Clint had been badly injured…
“I can only release that information to immediate family,” the nurse said a little primly.
“I’m his han‑” Phil cursed the undercover operation that meant he couldn’t flash his SHIELD badge or the paperwork that proved he was Clint’s medical proxy. "Husband."
The nurse looked at him, clearly not believing a word. “I’ll need some proof of that before I can tell you anything.”
“Proof. Right.” Phil dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed. “Hi Natalie, it’s Phil. Look, I’m at the hospital.” Phil paused. “No, no I’m fine, it’s Clint.” Another pause. “That’s the problem. I don’t know and they won’t tell me until I prove that I’m his husband. So I need you to go over to the house and take a picture of our marriage license and then email it to me. Justa sec.” Phil put his hand over his phone and said pointedly to the nurse, “I assume that you’ll accept a photograph?”
“Yes, of course,” the nurse said.
Phil nodded. “Sorry, I’m, back,” he said into the phone. “I was just checking something. It’s in the safe with all the other important papers. You remember the combination?” There was a short pause. “Mom & Dad’s wedding anniversary, that’s right. Thanks sis, you’re the best.” Phil ended the call and put his phone back in his pocket. He could imagine the highly amused expression on Natasha’s face, but he knew she’d come through, and quickly. Though she’d probably make sure the fake marriage certificate said they got married in Las Vegas. On February 14th. At an Elvis Chapel.
“I’m sorry to be a stickler for the rules, but you wouldn’t believe how many people we get in here claiming to be relatives. Detectives, both police and private, lawyers, bounty hunters, court clerks trying to serve papers, gang-bangers and so on.”
“Do I look like a gang-banger?” Phil asked, putting on his most genial smile. He knew things would go a lot more smoothly if the nurses liked him.
“No, and you’re not a lawyer either, they dress better, even the ambulance-chasers. But you could be a detective, or a court clerk.”
“I’m just a guy who is very, very worried about the man I love,” Phil said, and didn’t have to work very hard to make his voice tremble a little as he said it. He still didn’t even know how Clint had ended up in hospital. He had been on his way into work, undercover as an adjunct professor of history at a small state college in southern Michigan. He and Clint (who was undercover in the athletics department, of course) were investigating the disappearance of several students under very unusual circumstances. Circumstances that had AIM’s grimy yellow fingerprints all over them.
Phil got a not-entirely-convinced eyebrow raise from the nurse, and he stopped himself from sighing. “Where’s the best place to get a cup of coffee while I wait for my sister to send me that photo?”
“Coffee shop on the 3rd floor; excuse me,” the nurse said picking up a ringing phone.
Phil briefly considered simply barging into Clint’s room and letting the chips fall where they may, but he knew that was his heart talking, not his brain. He couldn’t help but worry, even though his rational mind was saying that whatever had happened to Clint couldn’t be very serious because this wasn’t a post-operative or intensive care ward. In fact, now that he had a chance to read the signs on the walls, it seemed to be an observation ward… What had happened to Clint that he needed to be under medical observation?
Fortified with a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin, Phil was heading towards a waiting area when his phone chimed.
“Let me know as soon as you find out. Love to both. Sis,” read the email and sure enough there was a photo of a marriage license attached.
The nurse didn’t defrost very much when Phil showed her the photo, but simply said, “Fine. Follow me,” and led Phil down the hall.
A little bit of privacy was of course too much to hope for, Phil thought ruefully as she followed him into Clint’s room. But then he saw Clint, pushing himself up into a sitting position and a broad smile breaking out on his face, and Phil didn’t need to act as he rushed forward in concern.
“Phil!” Clint wide smile, was somewhat marred by the large purple egg on his temple and the angry red scrape down the side of his cheek.
“I came as soon as I heard, babe,” Phil said, reaching for Clint’s hand and picking it up in both of his own. He hoped his body was obscuring the nurse’s view of Clint’s face enough to cover any confusion on it as he brushed a kiss across Clint’s knuckles. “What happened?”
“One of the kids I was training slipped and dropped a barbell. I almost caught it.”
“But it caught you,” Phil said. He moved one hand to stroke Clint’s cheek near the scrape. His fond smile wasn’t acting, either, just letting himself show something he often felt. He turned to the nurse, “Why is he under observation?” Phil could guess, but it was information that a history teacher probably wouldn’t have.
“We screened him for concussion, but we’re keeping him overnight just to be on the safe side, and also to make sure that he doesn’t develop a subdural hematoma. That’s - “
“Bleeding on the brain,” Clint said with the nurse. “I learned about it in Sports Medicine.” Clint had actually learned about it after jumping off a building and crashing through the awning that he had hoped would break his fall.
Phil frowned and gripped Clint’s hand more tightly. Was this hospital equipped to monitor Clint properly? Or should he call for an evac to a SHIELD facility?
“Do you need anything?” Phil asked, looking directly into Clint’s eyes and squeezing his hand again, trying to signal that he needed a sit rep.
“Just you, babe,” Clint said with another wide smile. “C’mere.” Clint wrapped his free arm around Phil’s shoulders and tugged. Phil let himself be drawn forward, expecting Clint to use a hug as a cover to whisper in his ear. But instead Clint surged towards him and an instant later he felt warm, soft lips on his. Clint was kissing him.
Phil had to suppress the soft moan that threatened to escape, but he couldn’t stop himself from kissing back a little more desperately than the situation actually warranted. Phil had dreamed of kissing Clint Barton, and if this was going to be his one chance, he was going to enjoy it properly. Clint’s fingers gripped his shoulder tightly and Phil realized he was still stroking Clint’s cheek with his thumb. He made himself back away, and smiled into Clint’s eyes.
“I was worried about you,” he said softly, letting himself cup Clint’s jaw briefly before finally withdrawing his hand.
“I’m okay, really. I’m pretty sure I don’t have a concussion. Apart from the headache I feel fine.” Clint squeezed Phil’s hand and then pulled back. Phil nodded. Message received. Clint had been concussed more than once in the line of duty, and if he said he was pretty sure, then he was probably okay.
“Visiting hours end at 9:00pm, you’ll need to leave then,” the nurse said, and left the room.
Phil straightened up, but couldn’t bring himself to back off too far, or get up from where he was perched on the edge of Clint’s bed, his hip warm against Clint’s leg under the this blanket. “Was it really just an accident?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, no chance of it being anything else. If I hadn’t been there, and been strong enough to catch the barbell—well, mostly catch it—a promising young basketball player would have spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair, if he was lucky.”
“Sounds like he was very lucky that you were there,” Phil said, and he couldn’t keep the fondness out of his eyes or voice, as if somehow pretending that he and Clint were married meant it was okay to show his feelings in a way that he normally wouldn’t. And didn’t.
“Yeah, I guess. Anyway, this doesn’t feel anything like the last two times I got a concussion, I think they’re just being extra careful because it happened on school property, while I was working. The kid could have been badly hurt, and this is a college town, right?”
“Of course.” Phil’s phone rang. “That’ll be Natasha checking in to make sure she doesn’t need to stage a hostile takeover of a medical facility,” Phil said as he dug his phone out of his pocket and answered. “Yes, I got in and he’s fine. Thanks for sending the picture so quickly.” Phil handed the phone to Clint. “Here, you reassure her,” he said, glancing at the door to make sure that the nurse wasn’t lurking nearby.
Once Clint had signed off, Phil waved at him when he tried to hand the phone back. “Keep it. Where’s yours? I tried to call you as soon as I heard you were in hospital, but it went to voicemail.”
“The battery died about three minutes after I was admitted, otherwise I would have called you, I swear,” Clint said. “It’s in my bag, which should be in that cupboard. I’m so used to our fancy SHIELD phones that I keep forgetting to pack my charger. The battery life on these civilian models sucks.”
“I’ll remind you to charge it at night from now on.”
“Oh, I do, it’s just that, it, uh…”
“You play so much Angry Birds that it kills the battery.”
Clint had the good sense to look sheepish. “Anyway, thanks for coming. I mean, I’m fine, but, um, well being in hospital kinda sucks so…”
“Of course I came. You were hurt. I’ll always come, Clint.” Phil heard the door open behind him and reached for Clint’s hand again.
“Visiting hours are ending, you’ll need to leave now.”
Phil turned and said, “Yes, okay,” over his shoulder. Then to Clint, “You keep my phone, I’ll take yours home and charge it. Call me in the morning as soon as you know what time you’re going to be discharged.”
“Yeah, I will. You have a 2 o’clock class tomorrow, right?”
“Yes, but I can cancel it if you haven’t been discharged by then. My students won’t be at all disappointed to miss their quiz on the causes of the Great Depression.” Phil finally let go of Clint’s hand and moved away. It only took him a moment to find Clint’s phone slip it into his own pocket. Giving in to his impulses and using the fact that the nurse was still standing by the door, he crossed back to the hospital bed and kissed Clint soundly once more. “Sleep well,” he said with a smile.
“Well I’m pretty sure I’ll have good dreams, at least,” Clint said with a waggle of his eyebrows.
“Good night, dear,” Phil said as he headed towards the door.
“Love you,” Clint called after him.
Phil paused, and turned. “Love you, too,” he said, hoping his words didn’t sound as rough to Clint as they did to his own ears.
~~~~~~
Phil turned out not to have to cancel his history class the next day, because Clint was released first thing in the morning. Phil picked Clint up at the hospital and brought him back to the house they were sharing. When SHIELD had originally set up this op, it was easy to slip Phil into the adjunct professor’s role. They’d been undecided at first how to get Clint in as well, and for a week it looked like he was going to be stuck working as a groundskeeper, but then the trainer position opened up in the athletics department and it was easy for SHIELD to construct a winning resume for ‘Clint Barker.’
Then it had been a simple matter of Phil pinning a 'housemate wanted' ad up on the college’s staff notice board, and ‘picking’ Clint from the available candidates, of which there were a surprisingly large number. Or maybe not so surprising, considering how little adjunct professors made. In fact Phil had been startled to discover that Clint’s salary was actually (slightly) higher than his…
So they’d spent the last couple of months living together as room-mates, which wasn’t at all difficult considering how many safe-houses they’d shared on missions. Phil was well acquainted with Clint’s habits, and Clint with his own… eccentricities. They split the chores equitably: Clint was a surprisingly good cook and Phil handling most of the cleaning chores.
Once Clint was safely back at ‘home,’ Phil went in to teach his class. Which he wished he had cancelled after all, because apparently it was already all over campus that he and “the cute new trainer with the abs and the ass” were secretly married. Several of the young women in his class kept glancing at him, then at each other, and giggling. Phil just hoped that Clint wouldn’t have any trouble going back to his role training student athletes.
So he was understandably worried when he checked his phone after class and found a call from the college’s head of HR requesting that he stop by her office ‘as soon as possible.’ Phil dutifully presented himself.
“Of course I don’t want to pry into your personal affairs,” said the blue-haired matron, about to do just that, “but, well, it has come to my attention that you and a Mr. Clint Barker, employed by the Athletics Department, are husband and, er, husband.”
“Yes,” Phil said, calmly folding his hands together and regarding her steadily. He could handle this. He won arguments with Nick Fury regularly, after all. Well, sometimes. There was that once…
“Well, of course we don’t want to infringe on your privacy, and I’m sure whatever reasons you had for concealing your relationship were good ones, but…”
‘Here it comes,’ thought Phil as he started to try to figure out who SHIELD could send in to replace him and Clint.
“We pride ourselves on a very strict non-discrimination policy here, and you should know that the college supports you and Mr. Barker completely.”
Phil blinked. "That's, ah, that's very good to hear. We've had, ah… issues in the past, which is why we weren't upfront about our relationship."
"I understand completely. If you should be subject to any kind of prejudice here, I'd encourage you to report it to me directly, or to the staff ombudsman." She smiled sweetly at him, and Phil felt a little bad for the charade.
"I'll, ah, do that. Thank you." Phil beat an escape as politely as he could manage.
Clint was completely recovered and back to work the next day, and for the next two weeks they settled back into their 'normal' routine of fitting in whatever investigating they could between teaching, training, and, now, pretending to be married to each other. Though thankfully that part wasn't difficult. They simply started meeting up for lunch on campus regularly, and driving 'home' together at the end of the day whenever Clint wasn't busy at an event.
Clint, being Clint, took advantage; he called Phil "dear" and "honey" and "babe" and on one memorable occasion in front of the entire swim team, "snuggle-muffin." But Phil had been dealing with Clint's snark on the comms for years, so he let it roll off his back. Mostly. But Clint also touched him. An easy grip on his forearm while they were eating together on campus, an arm around his waist while they walked to the parking lot. And then there was the kissing. Always brief, and closed-mouthed, but Clint now kissed him 'goodbye' when they parted in the morning and 'hello' when they met up again in the evening on campus.
Phil knew he should tell Clint to stop. That it wasn't really necessary for their (new) cover story. That it was it was attracting attention to them when they were supposed to be undercover. Except that he couldn't bring himself to, because he liked it. He knew, of course, that it was just Clint being Clint, having a bit of a joke because of the situation they'd found themselves in, but Phil discovered that he was just pathetic enough to look forward to that brief press of lips, and the sparkling smile that always followed as Clint said, "Have a nice day, dear."
The investigation was going maddeningly slowly. They'd looked into all the previous disappearances, finding out as much as they could about the missing students' backgrounds, friends, interests, study habits, and anything else they could think of that might help, but as Thanksgiving rolled around, they were unfortunately no closer to figuring out what was going on.
Since nearly the entire college was closing down for the holiday and all the students were going home, Phil and Clint were planning to head back to New York for the week. Except that it turned out that all the flights were fully booked.
"Can't SHIELD send a Quinjet or a chopper or something?" Clint asked. "I mean, obviously we'd have to drive out to somewhere inconspicuous, but…"
"SHIELD isn't going to dispatch a jet or a helicopter just to give us a holiday."
"But this is an active op. You could say we have to follow a lead or something… Yeah, I know. Okay, so we drive."
"It's two days drive to New York. We'll have three days there and then have to turn around and come back."
"Yeah, but at least we'll get out of here for a week. This college town is starting to make me feel claustrophobic. I know all the cashiers at the Krogers by name."
Phil felt the same way. He was used to long missions, he was used to slow investigations. He was even used to living in a safe-house with Clint for weeks at a time. But he was starting to feel more like an actual history professor than a SHIELD agent. Clint, at least, was able to practice with the college's archery club once-in-a-while, even if he had to do it with a second-rate bow and carefully pretend to 'miss' regularly. Phil hadn't been on a firing range since the op started, because hanging out at the town's small gun club was out-of-character for his mild-mannered cover identity.
"All right. We drive. We'll leave at the crack of dawn on Saturday. We'll stop and find a motel when we get tired, and we should be in New York by Sunday afternoon."
"Awesome. I guess you'll be glad to have me out of your hair for a few days, huh?" Clint asked, but Phil could tell something was off. Clint wasn't looking up at him with a smile the way he usually did when he joked around. Instead his face was tight and he was looking at the ground.
"Are you kidding?" Phil grinned widely at him. "You're the best roomie I've ever had. Remind me, while we're driving on Saturday, to tell you about my college room-mate Richard. He was a slob, a snorer, and a grade-A prick. Oh, and Joe, one of the guys I bunked with in the Army, he farted so much that we used to string air-fresheners around his bunk like a garland."
Clint laughed. "Yeah, okay then. Looking forward to hearing those stories. Though I bet neither of them can beat having a two goats and a tortoise for bunk-mates."
"You can tell me that story while we're on the road, too," Phil said with a fond smile. He reached out and squeezed Clint's arm. Touching each other casually, affectionately had become second-nature, Phil realized as he released Clint and consciously fought to keep his body language relaxed.
"Yeah, I will. I'll, uh, see you in the morning then," Clint said.
"Yes. Goodnight." Phil had an absurd impulse to lean in and kiss Clint, which he resolutely quashed. Instead he turned and headed for his own bedroom, thoughts and emotions swirling in his head.
~~~~~~
Friday night over dinner, Clint was quiet.
"Is there something wrong, Clint?" Phil asked. "I know you don't have any family to go home to for the holidays, is that what's bothering you?"
"Uh, no. No, I've been on my own so long I, uh… that's not it."
"Then what is it?"
"Okay, don't be mad, please? There's a kid on the swim team. Great kid. Smart, kind, generous, all his team-mates like him, just a really good kid." Clint paused.
Phil put his knife and fork down, and leaned back in his chair. He had an inkling about where this was going.
"He's on scholarship. His folks don't have very much money, and he can't afford to go home, he doesn't even have enough for a bus ticket," Clint was making puppy dog eyes at him, which was more effective than Phil liked to admit.
"Where do his folks live?"
"In West Virginia, which, obviously, is a no-go, but he has an aunt and a bunch of cousins who live just north of Philly, which is on our way, right? And that way he could at least be with family for Thanksgiving instead of sitting in his dorm all by himself. Please Phil?"
Phil smiled a small smile that was mostly in his eyes, and only just touched his lips. He happened to know that it was one of Clint's favorites. "Well, we can't leave him all alone in his dorm, AIM might get him."
"Yeah, that's right! It's the right thing to do for the mission and everything," Clint said enthusiastically, then his eyes narrowed. "Wait, you're having me on."
"About AIM, yes, but not about driving your friend to Philadelphia on our way to New York."
"Thanks, Phil, you're the best."
~~~~~~
It wasn't until the next morning in the car, while Diego ('call me Dee, everyone does') was loading his bag into the trunk that Phil realized that he and Clint would need to keep up the charade of being married for the duration of the car trip, or at least until they dropped the young man off at his aunt's tomorrow.
"Thanks again, for the lift Clint, Sir," said Diego.
It didn't surprise Phil in the least that the athletes Clint was coaching called him by his first name. "My name is Phil. Feel free to use it whenever you're not in one of my classes," Phil said.
"Um, yeah, okay, thanks… Phil."
Phil bit back a sigh as he pulled onto the freeway. He didn't need the reminder that he was older, balder, and considerably more… 'Sir-like' than Clint. But Clint picked that precise moment to lay a hand on Phil's thigh. Phil glanced over for a millisecond before fixing his eyes back on the road ahead. Clint was in the same relaxed sprawl in the passenger seat that Phil had seen a hundred times before, except this time there was a small smile on his lips, and his hand was resting warm and heavy and solid on Phil's thigh. Which somehow felt more intimate than the chaste kisses they'd been sharing for the last two weeks.
'Because those were for show, in the parking lot, in case someone was watching,' Phil thought. 'He doesn't have to be touching me now for Diego to believe that we're married.' Phil resolutely stamped down in the flicker of hope that tried to spark to life. 'He's in character, that's all,' Phil reminded himself.
Clint broke out a package of packed sandwiches for lunch, so with the exception of a single gas & bathroom break they drove for six hours straight, by which point Phil's eyes were starting to cross.
"Clint?"
"Yeah, hon?"
"I'm getting a little punchy. Would you drive for a bit?" Phil usually did most of the driving, but on long-haul trips like this, they switched off on a six or eight-hour rotation. Of course they wouldn't be driving straight through, because it wasn't a mission, but Phil saw no reason to depart from their usual routine.
"Of course. Pull in at the next rest stop or whatever, and I'll take over."
"Thanks, love." The words came out of Phil's mouth without his brain having given permission, but the brilliant smile on Clint's face in response made Phil take one hand off the wheel and reach over to squeeze Clint's knee. Clint put his hand on top on Phil's, tangling their fingers together and holding onto his hand until Phil needed it back to negotiate the freeway off-ramp and the turn into a service station.
They all climbed out of the car and stretched. Phil shot a glance and Clint and said, "I'm just going to ah…"
"Go," Clint flapped a hand at him, taking the nozzle of the gas hose out of its cradle and starting to pump the gas. Then he turned to Dee with a pained expression on his face. "Um, would you mind doing this, I really need to piss."
"No problem. Uh, meet you inside?"
"Yeah, fill it right up. Phil'll pay once he's done in the bathroom."
Diego smiled and nodded and Clint high-tailed it towards the men's room.
They all met at the register, Dee had a bottle of water and a bag of chips in his hands. Phil had a bottle of orange juice and one of blue Gatorade, and Clint had a package of powdered donuts and a Snickers bar. Years of missions together had developed a fine-tuned efficiency between Phil & Clint when it came to gas stops. They piled their purchases on the counter and Phil pulled out his credit card in a well-practiced move, then he waved at Diego to add his snacks to the counter.
"It's on us," he said with a smile. SHIELD could afford an extra few bucks, and Phil didn't feel the least bit bad charging Dee's snacks to his card.
"Oh, no, you don't have to do that," Diego turned pink, but Clint took his chips and water out of his hands and placed them on the counter.
"Let us pay for it, okay? We both know what it's like for money to be tight," Clint said gently.
"Okay, yeah. Thanks."
Back in the car, Phil waited until they were back on the road before cracking open Clint's Gatorade and handing it to him, then opening his package of donuts. Diego accepted one, but Clint shook his head. "I've never understood why you like those things."
From the back seat Dee said, "Um, can I ask you a, uh, personal question?"
Phil raised his eyebrows but Clint grinned. "Sure, go ahead."
"How long have you been married?"
"Five years," Clint answered quickly. "We were, ah, living in New York when the law passed there, and we got married a few months later."
"But you've known each other for longer, right? I mean, it just seems like you practically know what each other is thinking." Dee sounded wistful.
"We've, ah, been together for almost ten years," Phil said, feeling his face heat up a little as he said it. Clint glanced over and flashed him a smile, then took one hand off the wheel and laid it on Phil's knee. "And we've been through some, ah, really rough times together, which builds a lot of trust."
"I guess that makes it easier to be sure you're making the right decision — getting married, I mean."
"Well, I don't know if anyone's ever completely sure about it. Life's complicated. But I was completely sure of how I felt about Phil, and sure I wanted to be with him for… well, for the rest of our lives. And it's worked out okay so far." Clint squeezed Phil's knee again and then glanced over his shoulder to grin at Dee.
"Well you're obviously happy, and still in love and stuff. My, uh, my folks split up when I was a kid, and my mom took it really hard. She cried for like, months."
Clint made a sympathetic noise.
"I mean it's fine, my mom and I got along okay and everything. And the scholarship means I'm gonna get a good education and everything. I just, I just wonder, you know, if I'm ever gonna love someone like that."
"Well love is only a part of it," Phil said, staring straight out through the windshield, because he couldn't look at Clint, or Dee for that matter, while he spoke. "Liking is just as important, sometimes more so, in fact. And trust, and respect. I…" Phil cleared his throat. "I love Clint, but I also like him, and trust him, and admire him, and respect him."
"Caring comes into it too," Clint said softly. "I mean, it seems obvious, that if you're in love with someone you care for them, but think about the things you'd do for your best friend without a moment's thought. Like say, driving across town to bring them cough syrup because they're sick," Clint said with a glance at Phil. Phil was looking at him, however and their eyes locked for a moment before Clint turned his attention back to the road.
"Or bringing food and coffee to their office when they're working late, even though you could have gone home hours ago," Phil said.
"Or sitting up all night in a chair next to their bed when they're in, ah, hospital. If you're happy doing those kinds of things…" Clint trailed off, seemingly unsure what he wanted to say next.
"If you can't imagine not doing those things for the, ah, person you're with… Well, that's a pretty good indication that what you feel is real," Phil said, and as the words came out of his mouth, he realized how profoundly true they were.
~~~~~~
They'd stopped at a roadside diner for supper and Phil had spent a few minutes on his phone, calculating their route and searching for somewhere to stay for the night. He wanted to find the cheapest motel he could, because he was sure Diego wouldn't let them spring for his room. The most likely candidate he found was an extra hour's drive on the freeway, in a small town a few miles off the beaten path. He showed his phone to Clint, who nodded. "Looks good, babe."
Clint climbed back behind the wheel, and an hour later was gritting his teeth to keep from cursing out loud. They'd found the freeway turnoff just fine, but then hit a construction detour which led them on a roundabout route through what was probably very scenic farmland in daylight. It was almost 10:00 pm by the time they pulled into the motel parking lot, and Phil heaved a sigh of relief that the "Vacancy" sign was still brightly lit.
"I'm afraid I've only got two rooms left," said the woman behind the counter in the motel's tiny office.
"That's fine, they're married," Dee said brightly, then, "Shit, I'm sorry. I forgot that you guys don't like, advertise it." He looked crestfallen.
"It's okay, Dee," Clint said while Phil smiled his blandest, most inoffensive smile and offered his credit card.
"Well that's all settled, then, rooms 7 and 8, the last two on the left. They're both the same so it doesn't matter who takes which one," she said, holding out two keys. Clint took the one for room eight and handed the other to Dee.
"Thank you," Phil said signing the register while Diego pulled out his wallet and showed the lady his student card as ID.
"I'm going to give you a 10% student discount, dear, seeing as I'm all booked up now. I get to turn the light off and go to bed myself."
"Thank you ma'am, that'd be great."
"There you go. Do you want directions to the diner in town? It'll be open for another hour."
"No thanks, we've eaten, we're just going to hit the sack so we can head out bright and early tomorrow morning."
"Well you're all paid up, so you can just drop your keys in the box on the door when you leave."
"Thank you, good night."
"Sleep well."
They trudged back out to the car, pulled into the parking space in front of room number eight, and got their bags out of the trunk.
"Can you be ready to leave at seven tomorrow morning?" Phil asked Dee. "We'll stop for breakfast after we're back on the freeway."
"Sure, that's fine. I'll set my alarm on my phone. See you in the morning." Dee shrugged his bag onto his shoulder and disappeared into his room.
Clint put the key into the lock for room eight and pushed the door open. Phil was glad to be standing behind him, so that Clint didn't see the no doubt highly conflicted expression on his face when it turned out that the room had only one bed.
"Well," Clint said with a shrug, "it's not like we haven't shared a bed before." He tossed his bag in one corner of the small room and sat on the edge of the bed to take his shoes off. "I'm gonna hit the sack right away and shower in the morning. You?"
"I, uh, I think I'll shower now," Phil said. It would give him a chance to settle himself… and to steel himself for crawling into bed with Clint.
Standing under the spray, Phil thought about what he'd said in the car in answer to Dee's questions, and wondered how seriously Clint had taken any of it. He had slipped into playing the role of 'affectionate husband' so easily, Phil couldn't help but wonder if maybe Clint felt some of the same things he did. Telling himself sternly to stop dreaming as he toweled off, Phil pulled on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, then let himself out of the bathroom as quietly as he could. He needn't have bothered, as Clint was sitting up in bed, bare-chested with the sheet pooled around his hips, tapping away on his phone.
"Have you beat your Angry Birds high score yet?" Phil asked.
"Nah, I was just texting with Nat."
"How's she doing?"
"Fine; she's up and walking around on her bad ankle, and trying to talk the docs into letting her start training again after the holidays."
"I'll check in with her and the doctors when we get to New York. I don't want her pushing herself too hard."
"Yeah, that's what I told her you'd say."
Phil set the alarm on his phone and put it beside the bed. "Well, goodnight."
"Goodnight Phil." Clint smiled at him, put his own phone down, and reached over to switch off the light.
~~~~~~
Phil was dancing with Clint. They were swaying slowly to some sappy eighties ballad, arms wrapped around each other. Clint smiled at him and then kissed him warmly. Clint's lips were soft and sweet and Phil kissed him back gently, reverently. Clint pulled back and smiled again, his eyes twinkling with amusement now. He tucked his face into the side of Phil’s neck and pulled him even closer, so that they were touching from shoulders to knees. Phil felt so safe and so happy, held in Clint's arms.
Phil woke up, still basking in the feelings of his dream. Because, he realized, immediately, Clint was actually holding him close. Clint had cuddled up to him in the night and was spooned behind him, one leg tucked between his, and one arm wrapped around Phil's waist. He could feel the soft warmth of Clint's breath on the back of his neck.
Phil kept his eyes closed and his breathing even, wanting to hold onto this for just a few moments before the inevitable awkwardness. Clint however, must have known that he was awake.
"I should apologize," Clint said softly in his ear, "but I'm not gonna. 'Cause I'm not sorry. This feels so good." Clint snuggled more firmly against Phil's back and he could feel the firm ridge of Clint's hard cock through the fabric of his sweatpants.
"What you said in the car yesterday, about how you felt," Clint said. "Was any of it true?"
Phil swallowed around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "Every word." It came out as a strangled whisper.
"Good. 'Cause I've wanted this for ever."
Phil felt the warm press of lips on the back of his neck and suppressed the shudder than threatened to ripple trough him as Clint kissed his neck, his ear, his jaw.
"Wanted it for so long. Wanted to hold you; wanted to kiss you; wanted to touch you. Please say I can touch you, Phil."
Phil wanted nothing more than to tell Clint he could do anything he wanted, but a strident voice in the back of his head wouldn't let him say 'yes'. Instead when he opened his mouth to try to ask… to try to explain… what came out was a plaintive whine, "Clint," as Clint nuzzled the hollow of Phil's throat with soft lips.
Clint stilled immediately. "Tell me 'no' if you need to Phil. I'll understand. I care about you so much, I never want to hurt you. Do you want me to stop?"
"No, I…" In a panic, Phil wrapped his arm over Clint's to stop him from pulling away. Phil took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to marshal his scattered thoughts. "I'm going to roll over, okay?"
"Sure, no problem." Clint loosened his grip but didn't pull away. Phil twisted until he had turned over so that they were facing each other, lying on their sides. He hooked a leg over Clint's knees to maintain the contact that he now craved, and laid his hand on Clint's cheek.
"I care about you too, and I want this…" Phil stopped, not knowing how to say the next part without sounding pathetic.
"But?" Clint's eyes were guarded.
"I need it to mean something," Phil blurted, his ears turning pink in embarrassment.
"Oh, Phil." Clint tipped their foreheads together. "If I just wanted sex I would have said something a long time ago. Why do you think I've been making such a fool of myself ever since we started pretending we were married? The idea of being in a real relationship with you…" It was Clint's turn to trail off.
"That's what you want? A relationship? With me?"
"Phil, I've been saying 'I love you' for a week and wishing… wishing that you knew it was true, and not just for our cover. I want everything with you."
"Me too. I mean, that is, in the car, when I said I loved you, I, ah, meant it." Phil stammered through the admission and was rewarded with a luminous smile from Clint.
"So, uh, would it be okay if I kissed you?" Clint asked.
"Yes please," Phil said, sure that his own smile was so wide it looked goofy. Goofy smile or not, Clint leaned in to kiss him softly and sweetly and it was even better than the kiss in Phil's dream, because unlike dream Clint, real live Clint was mostly naked in his arms. Phil slid his hand from Clint's cheek to the back of his neck, then down his spine and back up again in a long, slow sweep. Clint moaned and rocked against him, then pulled back from the kiss that had turned heated.
"I, uh, I guess we have to get up, huh?" Clint said.
"What time is it?" Clint hiked himself up on one elbow so that he could see over Phil's shoulder to check the display on the motel room's bedside alarm clock.
"It's six-forty. We've got twenty minutes before we're supposed to meet Dee at the car." Phil could hear the regret in Clint's voice.
"How fast can you shower and pack?" Phil asked.
"Really fast. Like, lightening fast."
"I bet you can. Touch me, Clint."