1. It's all in the telling

Clint woke up to find his left leg was encapsulated by a cast, and chances were good that things were staying that way for a while. Clint was used to medical and being grounded, it was familiar, and after the trauma of the last op he was glad to be alive enough to hate being laid up.

More importantly, it was going to give him a chance to finally tell Phil how he felt. Their quick-and-dirty hook ups of the past three years were fun but Clint had realized, hanging upside down off a damaged thirty-story building in Bangkok with his severely broken leg screaming in pain while blood smoothly flowed down his back and dripped out of his hair, that he was going to die without facing up to how he felt.

Or more accurately, die without telling Phil how he really felt about him.

But Natasha had shown up just as the last bit of wreckage wrenched loose, sending Clint into free-fall. She caught him on her aerobike, or so he assumed since he just remembered screaming. The fact that he lived, though, meant something important, and Clint was an idiot but he wasn't stupid, and he never let a second chance get away if he had it in his sights.

He heard the familiar beat of Phil's business shoes padding down the hall, heading for Clint's private room. Clint braced himself. He had no idea how long he had been out of things – long enough to get his leg in a cast, and cleaned up – but he was ready. It didn't matter what Phil said, because Clint was not going to keep living with regret. Win or lose, he was taking the shot.

Phil came in and smiled warmly at him, setting Clint's (totally illicit) coffee on the tray near the bed.

"Phil?"

Phil glanced up at him, still wearing the friendly smile.

"I need to tell you something."

Phil expression turned wary, but he nodded. "Go ahead."

"I just need to tell you this. Whatever…whatever you decide. I don't care, but you have to know, I need to tell you." Clint took a deep breath. "I love you."

Clint's heart froze as Phil dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "Yes, Clint, I know."

"What? What the hell, Phil?" Clint pulled back as far as he could on the bed.

"You have a severe concussion with post-traumatic amnesia. This is the fourth time you've worked up the courage to tell me you love me. I get it. I love you too. We'll kiss, it will be great." Phil rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm just not sure I can handle this much emotional turmoil from you in one week, let alone 24 hours."

"Well I'm so fucking sorry!" Clint crossed his arms. "How am I supposed to know I have amnesia?"

Phil stepped up to the bed and held Clint's face in his hands. "Because I'll tell you. Over and over and over again until you remember how much I love you." He leaned in and kissed him.

Clint thought it was the best kiss he could ever remember.