[Independent Coulson RP blog. MCU, post-Avengers, incorporating aspects of 616 canon and MAU.]
The problem with Clint wasn’t that he missed things right in front of his face because he was too used to the luxury of distance, or that he usually displayed the emotional maturity of a 12-year-old.
No, the problem was that while he worked in a profession that was less than kind to his wardrobe, he did not believe in replenishing said wardrobe, instead nicking pieces from mission outfits and SHIELD-stamped sweats basics to round out his closet. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d encountered the slight lift of Phil’s eyebrow — the one that said, “Yes, I’m well aware of what he’s wearing, but his circular reasoning on the topic makes me tired, and it’s not worth bringing up.”
Of course, she’s also regularly encountered the Phil Coulson eyebrow that clearly says: “Pot, meet kettle.”
Which is how they’ve all ended up quietly incognito to shop. Phil disappears straightaway; he’s lost a Burberry and a Dolce and Gabbana in the line of duty since their last shopping trip. (Which had been just before last Christmas, she remembers. An acceptable loss, two suits in all that time. Phil would probably beg to differ.) Natasha is convinced he hoards his tailor away from mere mortals, and his assets always let him go without following. He will come back later with suggestions for both of them — jeans for Clint, maybe, that hit the precise note between smart enough to catch a knowing eye and deconstructed enough for his Hawk to actually wear them, and a jacket for Natasha that’s been carefully chosen for all the ways it can be modified to hold a weapons cache, or maybe a dress that magically needs no tailoring.
When he reconvenes with them two hours later, he’s replaced both suits plus one. A pair of Hugo Boss and one Armani — a splurge for him. She wonders already what he looks like in it.
She’s gratified to know that she was right about the jeans for Clint, who grumbles about how good his ass looks in SHIELD-issue sweats, and designer denim is a crock anyway — but a few words from their handler, whispered too low for even Natasha to pick up over the din of the sales floor, stem Clint’s arguments in their tracks.
Coulson’s choice for her has nearly the same result — and then she is moving, the picture of grace and knowing that belie nothing of the split-second’s surprise at this venture’s choice. They make their way to checkout, the bags crumpling in the boot of her car, and then it’s familiar waters again, which means fighting over which Chinese to stop at and threatening Clint’s wellbeing in creative and escalating ways if he doesn’t get his damn boots off her dashboard.
In the back, tucked inside a nondescript black box, a bra and panty set lay tucked into seafoam tissue paper, a delicate lace contrast in gunmental grey.
YAY FOR BACKUP FILES! Also: huge thanks to my mom’s letting me use her laptop and re-install some of my software in there (well, I still have to extract a bunch of files from my “backup hard drive”, yet that’s already something to start with) :3 So here’s a teaser of something I’m working on these days)))
Clark Gregg at the 20th Annual Screen Actors Guild Awards
We need to talk more about Lola, clearly the awesomest car to ever exist.
Of course she’s allowed.