5. Chapter 5

Steve did not fall in love with Phil over the course of a long, romantic night-time motorbike ride.

Probably, he figured, because his best friend who was also Phil's partner was riding with them.

Steve was zipping up his jacket when Phil wheeled his bike over. Phil stopped and looked at him, his shoulders tense and his expression closed.

It was a beautiful bike that was similar to Steve's sportster, but not quite as low slung and possibly even longer. It was solid and utilitarian in the same stylish way that Phil himself was. It was also custom painted in a bright red/white/blue motif that ran patriotically over it from tip to tail. There were two small leather saddlebags on the back, each embossed with the Captain America shield. On the body was delicately lettered "Lady Liberty", with a flag snapping around the words.

Clint was leaning against his bike, holding his helmet up to his face and shaking with laughter.

Steve looked back up to Phil, who hadn't moved.

"She's a beaut, Phil."

Phil squinted at him.

Steve shrugged and fussed with his helmet. "We've all got our heroes."

Patting his bike, Phil smiled as he slung a leg over.

"Man, you two are hopeless," Clint sighed, sitting on his own bike and gearing up. Steve wasn't really sure what he meant, so instead asked which direction they were headed. JARVIS, who was tied into their helmet comms, could steer them back home when the time came so Clint and Steve had, over the months they had ridden together, stopped planning rides in advance. They usually picked a road and made random turns until they decided to go back.

When Clint explained this to Phil, there was a long, protracted discussion that in no way resembled a shouting match wherein Clint said "For fuck's sake, it's fine! We always get home!" and Phil said "I am not dragging your damn body out of an unmarked ditch!"

Steve ended the matter by starting up his bike and revving it until they were all nearly deaf.

By the time they made it out of the city, it was a gorgeous night, the moon lush and full as it rose majestically over the horizon. They did not chatter too much on the comms, instead enjoying the nearly empty back roads and the silvery, magical landscape.

Naturally, it was Clint — or more accurately, Clint's stomach — that stopped the ride over an hour in. He led them into the parking lot of an all-night diner that Steve suspected had been built about the time he was born. But it advertised "The Best!! MilkShakz in the County!" and that was all she wrote, when it came to Clint and his unstoppable sweet tooth.

"This is great. I've really missed riding," Phil said, his gait loose and confident as they went into the diner after parking their bikes. Clint was already at the counter, interrogating the poor soda jerk about their choice of ice cream and pointing aggressively at the menu. Phil stood back and watched him with fond eyes, and Steve tried to keep his stomach from jerking and twisting up.

"Yeah. About that." Steve lowered his voice.

Phil looked at him quizzically.

"Uh, Clint and I have been riding together for a while, and I'm sorry I didn't think to invite you along sooner. He mentioned you rode, before…well, before." He shrugged, hunching over a litle. "And I was just kind of used to it being 'our thing' and that was selfish of me. Especially since." He waved a hand around, hoping to catch the essence of "especially since you guys are together like that which I don't have a problem with and completely respect."

Phil's eyebrows crinkled together as he listened. "That's okay, Steve. I appreciate being invited to join you, and I don't have exclusive claim on Clint or anything."

But he has you, Steve thought as he nodded.

"Who's claiming me?" Clint turned to them.

"No one would have you, Barton."

"Wounded! This means I get your banana shake all to myself."

Phil arched one eyebrow and Clint backed up. "Okay okay, no touching the banana." He smirked. "Heh. No touching the banana."

Steve snorted in laughter while Phil rolled his eyes. They sat around and drank their milkshakes, debating going on for a while or turning back. Clint demolished his Chocolate-Cherry monstrosity (Steve hated cherry flavored anything) and ordered a caramel shake to go. Phil jerked his head to the parking lot and walked out, so Steve followed once he put a dollar down for tip.

"We'll leave the sugar monster to finish loading up."

"He really has a bottomless stomach." Steve shook his head.

Phil sighed as they walked up to his bikes. "It's on or off. On a mission he'll go days on almost nothing, just water and a couple of MREs. No complaints. No arguing, no stopping to buy local food, nothing. I have to remind him to eat, if he's on a stake out. Then he comes off mission and he's like a damn horse, will eat until he's sick."

"Oh. That makes sense." Steve nodded, straddling his bike just to sit on it.

"How, exactly?"

"The orphanage. Feast or famine: you make do with what you've got until you get a chance stuff your face. I mean I had it good, really, the sisters always tried to shove food at me because I was so small and sickly. Strong kids like Clint, they had to fight for it or starve." Steve fiddled with the zipper on his jacket, remembering Bucky's epic, never-ending battle for food. It had been cruel irony that by the time they escaped the orphanage, the Great Depression had been in full swing. Bucky's first letter back from basic training had mostly been a five page rhapsody about the mess hall.

"I'm ashamed I never put that together, but I know you're right. Thank you."

"For?"

"Giving me information on how to deal with my asset." He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets in a move that was both vulnerable and defensive. "You'll figure it out, as a handler, but we spend more time handling our assets than the operation itself. You know from the Howling Commandos and the Avengers: keep your people sharp, and they can turn any shit-storm mission into spun gold. Clint's relationship with food has always bothered me. I thought it was a self-esteem issue, the way he doesn't take care of himself in the field."

Steve nodded. "But it's not. He's just on the 'famine' mentality, the idea that he's got to wait. Like you said: on or off. He never developed a middle setting."

Phil laughed ruefully. "Neither the pysch department nor Barton is going to like this re-education program."

"The 'how to graze like a cow' elite asset training?"

"No, that would be your specialty, Rogers." Phil laughed.

Steve grinned at him. Phil was leaning against his parked bike with his feet crossed. In his jeans and flannel shirt and leather jacket he was relaxed, and the harsh light of the diner's parking lot seemed to pick out his solid masculinity. Confident and yet wearing a boyish expression of happiness, Coulson answered every question Steve ever had about men. He caught himself with a short gasp and turned to look over his bike, fussing with it pointlessly as he blushed.

"Steve?" Phil's voice broke the heavy silence.

"It's been a great ride!" Steve said brightly, turning back around to give Phil one of his patented USO smiles. Phil had stepped closer and was looking at Steve with a kind, but otherwise unreadable, expression.

"God, get a room." Clint slurped his milkshake as he joined them and Phil cuffed him on the back of his head. Steve tried not to giggle hysterically in panic.

"I wasn't, we were—"

"Oh man, stop. I don't care!" Clint rolled his eyes and straddled his bike.

Steve glanced a furtively at Phil, who was studying him intently with the same focus he used on crossword puzzles. It did not do anything to ease Steve's nerves. "We were just talking about the ride."

"'The Ride.' Sure." Clint waggled his eyebrows and ducked when Phil made to smack him again. "Hey Dad! Stop! Child abuse!" Clint laughed.

"Shut up, Barton," Phil said, resignation clear in his voice. "We ready to head back?" He put on his helmet. Clint finished making disgusting noises with his milkshake then sent the cup sailing through the air to land unerringly in the waste bin on the other side of the lot.

Steve was incredibly relieved to have a reason to shove his burning face into his helmet. It was okay for them to rib him, and he was not too worried about it outside of not wanting Clint to actually take it seriously and get mad at Steve for making eyes at his fella. Steve knew a lot of things had changed over the course of 70 years, but he suspected 'jealous boyfriend' was a constant he did not want to test.