Fic: Canon
Mar. 15th, 2012 04:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: Canon
Summary: Who the hell is Mike, and should Phil Coulson shoot him?
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 840
Rating/Contents: PG, total silliness, in-universe RPF, domesticity, etc
Pairing: Clint/Coulson, Clint/Mike
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: So I was talking silliness about RPF, and then this happened.
Clint had already known it was going to be another overnight on the helicarrier. It was the end of whatever bureaucratic cycle they actually gave a shit about at SHIELD, so Phil was going to be working probably until whenever he let Clint seduce him away from his desk- which could be, depending on Phil's mood, anywhere between 9 PM and Tuesday. And Clint didn't really have any reason to go home if Phil wasn't going to be there, because if Phil wasn't there Clint would just end up going to the range, and there was a range here, so leaving would just be a huge waste of effort on everybody's part.
So he stayed. However, if Clint had to eat one more meal in the commissary he was going to go completely fucking insane, so here Clint was, standing in the tiny kitchen of the living quarters, chopping vegetables for stirfry. He'd bring Phil some, and Phil would eat it on reflex without even noticing, and Clint would stand around feeling really inappropriately like Donna Reed.
Someone was approaching, and Clint looked up; it surprised the hell out of him to see Phil. "Hey," he said happily. "You're early for dinner."
"Who is Mike?" Phil said, without prologue.
Clint's knife hand stopped. "I don't know a Mike. Do you know a Mike? Am I supposed to know him?"
"Barton," Phil said, in the warning tone that Clint usually went to great lengths not to hear; Phil had a lot of warning tones that Clint regularly ignored, but this was the bad one.
Clint put down the knife, turning to face him. "Before I totally screw myself, what happened?"
"I found the stories, Clint."
"People put all kinds of weird stuff on the internet," he said dismissively, trying to sound casual. "You should see the stuff about Steve and Tony, there's this one-"
"Everyone's seen the stuff about Steve and Tony," Phil said, cutting him off. "But you don't download the stuff about Steve and Tony."
"How did you know that?" he demanded, shocked. "Have you been on my computer?"
Phil gave him a look. "You saved it on the S:\ drive."
"Is that not private?"
"I couldn't classify any of our computer systems as completely private as long as Tony Stark is around," Phil said, "but no. The S generally stands for 'Shared.'"
His eyes widened. "Shit, really?"
"Yes, really." Phil tossed a thumb drive onto the counter. "I cleaned your folder. You're welcome."
Clint picked up the drive, fiddling with it. "Well. This is awkward."
"Who is Mike?"
"It's really hard to explain," Clint protested.
"I've got time," Phil told him.
"No, you don't," Clint reminded him.
"I'll make time," he said. "Depending on how this conversation goes, I might find myself with a lot more free time."
Clint swallowed, because Phil really didn't make empty threats. "It's not a big deal," he said. "They're just stories."
"About you and someone else."
Phil really was going to attack-dog him about this until he got answers; Clint never forgot about that, but sometimes he tried really hard to. "Look, Phil-" He sighed in frustration. "Mike is what they call you."
Phil looked nonplussed. "What?"
"Yeah," Clint said. "It didn't occur to you that it was strange that his name was 'Mike Hawke'?"
"What's strange about that?" Phil asked, frowning.
Clint put his hand over his eyes. "Oh my god. Look, did you read any of the stories?"
"I may have skimmed them," Phil said, shifting; Clint knew that meant "in great detail and more than once."
"It didn't strike you as odd that in almost all of them, I get injured and have to be rescued by an unassuming, silent man in a suit?"
Phil pursed his lips. "It hadn't escaped my notice."
"I'd think you could put two and two together," Clint coaxed.
It seemed to dawn on Phil, but he still looked unhappy. "There could be other men in suits that I'm not aware of."
Clint walked over, putting his arms around him in a way that completely violated their agreed upon helicarrier limits; but Phil looked like he kind of needed it right now, though he'd never, ever admit it. "Trust me when I say that there really, really couldn't."
Phil sighed, letting Clint hug him. Tony chose exactly that moment to walk by; he leaned over and snagged a piece of broccoli from the counter as he passed, popping it into his mouth. "Get a room."
"Go to Hell, Tony," Clint said amiably.
"G'night, Clint," he called back. "Night, Mike."
"I'm going to kill him one day," Clint said, with no more malice than usual.
"I've got forms for that," Phil said, smirking.
He kissed Phil on the cheek. "Go back to your other deadly paperwork. I'll see you when the food's ready."
Phil smiled, squeezing his hand as he left. Clint shook his head, going back to his vegetables.
He couldn't decide if he hoped Phil had found the Barton/Hawke/Romanoff stuff or not.
Summary: Who the hell is Mike, and should Phil Coulson shoot him?
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 840
Rating/Contents: PG, total silliness, in-universe RPF, domesticity, etc
Pairing: Clint/Coulson, Clint/Mike
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: So I was talking silliness about RPF, and then this happened.
Clint had already known it was going to be another overnight on the helicarrier. It was the end of whatever bureaucratic cycle they actually gave a shit about at SHIELD, so Phil was going to be working probably until whenever he let Clint seduce him away from his desk- which could be, depending on Phil's mood, anywhere between 9 PM and Tuesday. And Clint didn't really have any reason to go home if Phil wasn't going to be there, because if Phil wasn't there Clint would just end up going to the range, and there was a range here, so leaving would just be a huge waste of effort on everybody's part.
So he stayed. However, if Clint had to eat one more meal in the commissary he was going to go completely fucking insane, so here Clint was, standing in the tiny kitchen of the living quarters, chopping vegetables for stirfry. He'd bring Phil some, and Phil would eat it on reflex without even noticing, and Clint would stand around feeling really inappropriately like Donna Reed.
Someone was approaching, and Clint looked up; it surprised the hell out of him to see Phil. "Hey," he said happily. "You're early for dinner."
"Who is Mike?" Phil said, without prologue.
Clint's knife hand stopped. "I don't know a Mike. Do you know a Mike? Am I supposed to know him?"
"Barton," Phil said, in the warning tone that Clint usually went to great lengths not to hear; Phil had a lot of warning tones that Clint regularly ignored, but this was the bad one.
Clint put down the knife, turning to face him. "Before I totally screw myself, what happened?"
"I found the stories, Clint."
"People put all kinds of weird stuff on the internet," he said dismissively, trying to sound casual. "You should see the stuff about Steve and Tony, there's this one-"
"Everyone's seen the stuff about Steve and Tony," Phil said, cutting him off. "But you don't download the stuff about Steve and Tony."
"How did you know that?" he demanded, shocked. "Have you been on my computer?"
Phil gave him a look. "You saved it on the S:\ drive."
"Is that not private?"
"I couldn't classify any of our computer systems as completely private as long as Tony Stark is around," Phil said, "but no. The S generally stands for 'Shared.'"
His eyes widened. "Shit, really?"
"Yes, really." Phil tossed a thumb drive onto the counter. "I cleaned your folder. You're welcome."
Clint picked up the drive, fiddling with it. "Well. This is awkward."
"Who is Mike?"
"It's really hard to explain," Clint protested.
"I've got time," Phil told him.
"No, you don't," Clint reminded him.
"I'll make time," he said. "Depending on how this conversation goes, I might find myself with a lot more free time."
Clint swallowed, because Phil really didn't make empty threats. "It's not a big deal," he said. "They're just stories."
"About you and someone else."
Phil really was going to attack-dog him about this until he got answers; Clint never forgot about that, but sometimes he tried really hard to. "Look, Phil-" He sighed in frustration. "Mike is what they call you."
Phil looked nonplussed. "What?"
"Yeah," Clint said. "It didn't occur to you that it was strange that his name was 'Mike Hawke'?"
"What's strange about that?" Phil asked, frowning.
Clint put his hand over his eyes. "Oh my god. Look, did you read any of the stories?"
"I may have skimmed them," Phil said, shifting; Clint knew that meant "in great detail and more than once."
"It didn't strike you as odd that in almost all of them, I get injured and have to be rescued by an unassuming, silent man in a suit?"
Phil pursed his lips. "It hadn't escaped my notice."
"I'd think you could put two and two together," Clint coaxed.
It seemed to dawn on Phil, but he still looked unhappy. "There could be other men in suits that I'm not aware of."
Clint walked over, putting his arms around him in a way that completely violated their agreed upon helicarrier limits; but Phil looked like he kind of needed it right now, though he'd never, ever admit it. "Trust me when I say that there really, really couldn't."
Phil sighed, letting Clint hug him. Tony chose exactly that moment to walk by; he leaned over and snagged a piece of broccoli from the counter as he passed, popping it into his mouth. "Get a room."
"Go to Hell, Tony," Clint said amiably.
"G'night, Clint," he called back. "Night, Mike."
"I'm going to kill him one day," Clint said, with no more malice than usual.
"I've got forms for that," Phil said, smirking.
He kissed Phil on the cheek. "Go back to your other deadly paperwork. I'll see you when the food's ready."
Phil smiled, squeezing his hand as he left. Clint shook his head, going back to his vegetables.
He couldn't decide if he hoped Phil had found the Barton/Hawke/Romanoff stuff or not.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-03-16 12:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-03-16 12:56 am (UTC)But, y'know. Shiny.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-03-16 02:09 am (UTC)