11. Epilogue

Phil stood in the waiting area, scanning email on his StarkTab. Around him, in varying states of pretending-not-to-worry, the Avengers tried to be inconspicuous. Even Tony was (for once) subdued as he leaned against a wall with his sunglasses on and talking in low tones to Pepper, who was (for once) a jittery bundle of nerves.

Steve paced. Natasha stood like stone a few feet from the doorway leading to the examination rooms, her expression blank, probably engaged in some form of biofeedback. Bruce had somehow distracted both Thor and Jane in a conversation about Asgardian magic and how it related to Midgard physics (as far as Phil could tell, it didn’t). It was all very normal in a completely stressful, anxiety ridden way. While Clint's eyesight had gradually returned over the past three weeks, it was the day of his official SHIELD eye exam which would determine if he remained on the Avengers' roster or not, and everyone was invested.

Phil was glad he had email to check, because otherwise he would have had to talk to one of them and that would have gone sideways.

The fact that Clint and Phil had become an “item” had not gone unnoticed, nor uncommented upon. While Phil saw no problem with that, he was very tired of their combined anxiety on his behalf. Everyone was treating him with gloves just as soft and worried as the concern they had for Clint, and it was annoying. It drove Clint further and further into his defensive shell, forcing Phil to dig deeper and deeper to get anywhere with Clint, which was somehow obvious enough to the team as a whole that their worries tripled. It was a vicious cycle and Phil was literally 24 hours away from sending them all to Xavier’s for psychic testing. As if that would make his job easier, he snorted to himself internally.

The door to the examination rooms burst open and Clint practically flew out, grabbing Natasha and lifting her up, twirling her around while he laughed like a lunatic. It was the signal everyone was waiting for and a very impressive group hug commenced, and if Phil wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw Tony wiping at his eyes under his sunglasses. Steve was not quite as subtle, his eyes wet with happiness, and Natasha was smiling enough to scare Bruce.

There was an instant plan for a party, Tony yelling at JARVIS to warm up the grill on “the lido deck” (the common area facing the pool patio) and Steve slapping Phil hard enough on the back to send Phil stumbling a pace. Phil smiled, allowing himself to participate in the good will, but stayed back from the mass of (for lack of a better term) puppy piling. Eventually everyone peeled out to get into bathing suits and alcohol, and Phil was left alone in the waiting room with Clint still grinning like a madman.

“All good?”

Clint’s smile faded a little. “Very slight scarring, down to 20/6. You’ll get the report.”

“Still the best ever recorded for human eyesight.” Phil shrugged, packing away the StarkPad and trying to decide between his comfy swim trunks or something a little more incendiary for Clint’s benefit. It was, after all, his party.

The smile returned. “Yeah. I still got it.”

Phil nodded. “You do.”

Clint tipped his head, studying him. “You aren’t as relieved about this as I thought you’d be.”

Phil sighed. “Because you thought it actually mattered to me.”

“Huh?”

Phil shook his head, stepping close to run a hand through Clint’s short hair. “I don’t care about your eyesight. You vision is an amazing gift but it isn’t what I fell in love with. You could have remained blind or simply ended up with 20/20 vision, I wouldn’t care. I still have you.”

Clint’s jaw worked a few times, but he didn’t say anything for a minute. Phil let his hand drift along Clint’s shoulder, down his arm, to rest on Clint’s hip. Finally Clint took a deep breath, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and surprise. “You meant it, that night. You really meant it. Fuck.”

“Later. Right now, Tony has promised me a porterhouse steak, and I intend to collect.”

Clint nabbed him, lifting him off the ground for a second before hauling him towards the elevator and pushing him in. “Maybe a quickie?”

Phil sighed heavily, trying to sound persecuted, but he knew from Clint’s grin that he was not pulling it off. “JARVIS, please disable the elevator cameras.”

Clint cackled, his eyes bright and focused on Phil’s face as he shoved him up against the wall.

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