6. Chapter 6

Steve did not fall in love with Coulson during the cluster-fuck of a mission in Budapest.

But he came close.

Clint had not wanted to be a part of the operation, claiming that Budapest was bad luck. In the aftermath, Steve thought that maybe Clint was on to something with that. And he certainly harbored no jealousy over the way that Clint and Coulson looked at each other during the pre-mission briefing, exchanging whole conversations with minor head tilts and raised eyebrows.

But it made sense, because they were partners and they knew each other in ways that Steve did not like thinking about (even when he jacked off to it in his shower).

It was Steve's first major operation outside of the Avengers that required him to take a lead position, which as a handler meant holding back and hiding rather than charging in at the front. There were several specialists in play, including Barton. For Steve, it was more of a training mission that was expected to be straightforward and short. Coulson was technically the Agent in Charge, with Steve acting as the ground commander to Coulson's general, monitoring communications and directing things while Coulson kept an eye on the big picture in a very hands-off way.

The big picture, unfortunately, included one specialist going rogue and all their intel being lethally corrupt. In the end, the mission turned brutal in a way that was nothing like Steve was was used to as the leader of the Howling Commandos or even the Avengers, which usually involved a straight forward job of "attack and conquer". Instead, Budapest became a bloodbath of turncoats and traps and Coulson getting shot while trying to rescue an informant.

Steve managed to hold the ruined strands of the op together, getting everyone to safe houses even while Coulson gasped and cursed on the comm. As soon as Barton was en route to where the quinjet was stashed in a warehouse outside of the city, Steve grabbed his shield and flung himself out of his bolt-hole. He found Coulson in a wash of blood, several bodies strewn around him looking only slightly worse than he did.

"Hold on, Coulson. Barton's in transit."

"I'm good."

"Right. Just…just hold on." Steve wrapped his arms around Coulson, holding him to his chest. He was sitting in Coulson's blood, the man's back pressed against Steve's chest as he tried with one arm to keep him still while staunching the blood with the other.

"I'm holding, Steve." Coulson's voice wavered over Steve's name.

"Stay with me, soldier. Stay with me." Steve pressed his greasy, bloody hand harder against the wound, trying not to think of how many men he had helped die, and how few were as important as Coulson. "Barton, where the hell are you?"

"Ninety seconds out, Captain." Barton's words were short and clipped, his attention on flying the quinjet to their rooftop location. Steve sympathized with Barton's worry, but it seemed to pale in comparison to his own.

"Barton's almost here, Coulson." Steve whispered into Coulson's ear, holding the man as closely to him as possible.

"I'm good."

Steve snorted. "You're bleeding out."

"Dying in your arms, that's okay. Better than…that other time," Coulson said, his voice thready and weak but a very slight smile on his lips.

"No one is dying."

"Maybe. I'm…I'm good, here."

Steve swallowed heavily. "Clint will be here in a few seconds. He'll…he'll be here for you."

"That's good. Just don't leave. I…need you."

Steve nodded, tightening his hold to push in on the wound to staunch the flow, seeing Bucky slip out of his grasp, remembering the stain of Coulson's wound on the helicarrier. He barely registered the quinjet landing and a med team tumbling out of the rear hatch. They raced up to Coulson with bags and needles and bandages, but Steve could not bring himself to let go.

"Hey, Steve. Steve, hey."

Steve felt Clint's hand on his shoulder, shaking him. Steve looked up.

"You gotta let go. They need to put him on the gurney." Clint's voice was soft, a gentle touch in the midst of Steve's panic.

He finally relaxed his hold, allowing them to pull Coulson from his arms. "I told him…I told him you were coming."

Clint pulled Steve to his feet, his expression shuttered. "Thanks."

Steve stood up, Coulson's blood dripping down the front of his suit. One of several suits he had bought, dark and tailored, because that was what Coulson wore and Steve thought it fit the job as well as it did the man. "I told him you were here. I told him."

Clint slowly pulled the bloodied jacket off of him as if Steve were a child, replacing it with a heavy parka. "I think he was okay with you here."

"I've lost men before." Steve yanked himself out of Clint's hands.

"Coulson's not lost, and he's more to you than just another guy on your team." Clint snapped the words.

The tone made Steve pause, turning to face Clint directly. "What are implying, Barton?"

"I think you know damn well, Rogers*. Now get on the 'jet." Clint shoved him with his shoulder as he walked past.*

Steve sat in the jet, the blood on his slacks cold and sticky against his skin as he watched the medical team working frantically to staunch Coulson's wounds. Clint didn't look back or even ask for updates as he hurled the quinjet towards the helicarrier, and Steve didn't offer.

Later, when Clint came into Coulson's recovery room, Steve got up and left. It wasn't his place to sit by Coulson's bedside, not in any way other than as the junior agent he technically was at that point. More-so, he did not want to face off with Clint about his feelings, because that was not his place either.

He intended to go back to visit, as a polite formality, but he could not get the image of Clint sitting at Phil's bedside, white as a ghost and staring at Steve with dark, angry eyes.