4. Chapter 4

Steve did not fall in love with Phil Coulson during the following two months, because he was too busy being run through the SHIELD equivalent of Officer Candidate School to do anything other than eat, sleep, and go to classes.

There wasn't much they could do to improve his physical condition or his ability with firearms, because we was still Captain America, super-soldier, underneath the required basic black tactical jumpsuit that all the plebes wore. Instead, SHIELD pushed Steve through nearly a dozen crash-courses in tactics, procedures, protocols and legalities. The program traditionally ran for sixteen weeks but was compressed down to bare bones and eight weeks due to the pressing need for senior agents and handlers. Steve was one of only seven people being chewed up like ground meat by the demands being placed on them, but after the first two weeks only one dropped out. Steve felt challenged and productive, despite not actually doing much of anything other than read, write, and analyze.

But it was also exhausting for him in a way it wasn't for the other agents. Steve often felt like a man out of time, but he realized that the Avengers had coddled him. Being made fun of by Tony for not knowing who the Beatles were paled in comparison to not having a deep familiarity with the history of the Middle East since the founding of Israel in 1947, for instance. What was to his classmates fairly low-level historical information they probably learned in high school was, for Steve, a complete re-mapping of everything he understood about politics. He discovered that his previous "cultural re-integration" social studies classes had been so basic and shallow as to be laughable, compared to the deep digging he found himself doing just to stay on top of things like weapons dealers in post-Soviet Russia.

He had stayed away from Coulson's office the first couple of weeks, but finally caved. His instructor had given him a thought exercise for a field op in Columbia which Steve had bungled because he had no idea about the complex history of the U.S. "war on drugs" and the long lasting effect it was having on central and south America. Steve felt like a first class idiot.

"Coulson, I think this was a mistake, I—" Steve stopped at the doorway. "Oh. Sorry, I, uh, I'll come back later." He looked straight ahead at the wall in front of him.

Both Clint and Coulson looked up at him from the couch where they were sitting, eating from Chinese food take-out boxes. They weren't even touching but it just looked like an intimate moment, private time they had planned to share together and Steve had railroaded in on instead.

"I mean, I didn't intend to interrupt your, uh, meeting. Sir." Steve felt his spine slowly lengthening, straightening up vertebra by vertebra until he was standing at full attention.

"It's lunch," Clint said with his mouth full.

"Right. I'll come back…later."

"Steve." Phil's calm, easy voice stopped Steve in his tracks. "Get in here, grab a box of food and eat something. Clint took one of everything on the menu, we'll be eating leftovers for a week." He waved a hand at his desk, which was in fact completely obliterated by a mountain of take-out boxes and soup containers.

"I was hungry!" Clint dug into his food again. "Not my fault you let me use the company card."

"I don't want to interrupt." Steve hedged, stepping back into the office. His stomach took that moment to growl. Clint laughed.

"Your company would be welcome." Phil pointed to the space next to him. "It's been a long week and it's going to be a longer weekend, so we're just trying to relax and enjoy some good food. All of the good food, apparently." He gave his heavily laden desk a reproachful look. Clint continued to be completely unrepentant as he ate.

Steve grabbed one of the containers of soup and sat down next to Phil. The other men were not precisely small, but Steve was big enough to both crowd the couch and feel like a giant next to them. He tried to tuck into his food and "think small" in order not to muscle too far into Phil's personal space. Phil, though, bounced his knee against Steve's companionably.

They ate in silence for a while, Steve trading out the empty soup carton for a large box of Kung Pao chicken. Eventually Clint leaned back with a graceless burp and kicked his feet up on the office chair across from him. “Hey Steve, ride tonight?”

Steve tilted his head, considering. “Full moon, I think? Would be a great time to hit the countryside.”

“Night ride, hell yeah! Phil, you in?”

Both Steve and Phil startled. Steve had forgotten that Clint used to ride regularly with Phil, and suddenly felt guilty about never inviting him out before, instead hijacking his partner whenever he had a whim to go riding.

Phil just continued to look startled.

“C’mon, man. Lady Liberty is all dusted off and waiting for you.” Clint grinned like a fiend.

Phil blushed crimson and Clint hooted a laugh. Steve turned to Phil. “Lady Liberty?”

Phil cleared his throat and visibly pulled himself together. “My Triumph Bonneville America. She’s, uh, customized.”

Clint continued snickering. Phil shot him a lethal look.

“Triumph? That’s a British company.”

Phil turned the lethal look straight on to Steve. “It’s a fantastic bike.”

Steve raised his hands in surrender. “Clint’s bike is Japanese. I get it.”

“Actually made in America, but point, Cap. Things have changed.” Clint stood up. “Meet in the garage at, what, around eight?”

Steve nodded, glancing over at Phil who didn’t answer. Clint raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“You’d be welcome to join us, Phil. Natasha rides with us sometimes too.” Steve looked back down at his take-out box.

Phil took a steady breath. “I look forward to it, gentlemen.”

“Aces.” Clint fired a finger gun salute at them and sauntered out.

Phil and Steve ate in silence. Steve actually managed to make a dint in the stack of boxes due to his metabolism, while Phil picked away at his garlic chicken. Eventually, Phil set his box down on the floor at his feet.

“So why do you think this was a mistake?” He asked, turning to face Steve.

Steve froze with lo mien noodles hanging about of his mouth. He started chewing again, gulping down the food, wondering at how classy and professional he looked in front of the older man. Or rather, how much he looked like a damn goofball.

“You had tactical operations lab this morning with Agent Lao, correct?” Phil prompted.

Steve sighed and refrained from throwing the food against the wall. “And I flunked the practice exercise.”

“Tactical error or bad intel?” Phil settled back into the couch, folding his hands across his stomach.

Steve took a deep breath and explained the whole situation. Phil walked him through where his plan went wrong, and why, pulling on a level of detailed information about the region that Steve found impressive.

When they were done dissecting the op, which took nearly an hour with Phil filling in the holes in Steve’s historical understanding of South America, Steve rubbed his face. “You had an op there, once.”

“Several. In fact I think the mission objective Lao gave you was based on one of mine.” Phil smiled. “Steve, you’re a brilliant tactician, but even the best handler is going to send an operation straight to hell if he doesn’t have the intel he needs. The important take-away here is?” He left the question open.

“To double check my knowledge of both macro and micro politics for the region, and this time don’t leave out the banks or the crime cartels.”

Phil nodded approvingly, and Steve’s heart swelled up. He tried not to blush, and sat up straight to grab back some of his professionalism.

“Remember that you don’t have to know everything. You count on Iron Man to know engineering and computer systems in the field; being a handler is no different. Trust your team, ask for their advice and feedback, and make your decisions based on that. Trust me, preconceived ideas will get people killed.” He grimaced for a second before the implacable expression slid back into place.

"You know, it was easier when I was just marching into a war zone." Steve smiled at his own fatalism.

Phil nodded thoughtfully. "Those battle lines were a little bit clearer, admittedly."

Steve stood up. "Thank you, sir. I'm going to go get some studying done."

Phil stood up as well and cleared his throat again. "You're, ah, welcome to stay here. To study. If you like, you don't have to. Just, I'm here all afternoon and you can ask me questions or…something." He squinted, looking as if he had just confused himself. Steve wasn't sure that that rambling invitation was about, since he was pretty sure that Phil was long past the "Captain America fan" stage of their friendship, but he was not about to turn down an opportunity to spend the whole afternoon with Coulson.

Even if he refused to actually admit to himself why.