#handler husbands

((tw: previous character death)) ((I'm so sorry.))  ((I will probably write another one sometime where Jasper isn't dead and done with Phil's damn fool ideas))  ((but this one wrote itself in the parking lot....))

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Bunnied by this video and for askagentsitwell because, if it weren't for them, I'd never have seen it and had FEELINGS.

~*~

It was a stupid thing to do, really, Jasper would have hated it - which was precisely why Phil was doing this.  It would have been their anniversary today, and Phil was feeling a bit maudlin.

He’d always thought they would pass on near in time to each other - if not on the same operation, then because of the job in general.  Not for either to out live the other by a decade or more.  Phil had stopped counting.  Mostly.  Or not at all - but he claimed he had.

Part of him felt that if he did this, maybe Jasper would be there in spirit to smack him upside the head for the travesty he was planning.

Some days he went half through expecting the snark, or the holding - only to remember he was gone now.  The rest was spent quietly, and it was undecided whether this was a good most-of-the-day, or a bad one.

It was a simple livestream, mostly because he didn’t have the savvy to upload something without taking the time to over analyze and edit it all to hell before posting.

Also, this way he couldn’t talk himself out of it after the fact, as he probably should.  Dear Lord, but Jasper would cuss him out... then probably throw up his hands in dispair and make him “pay” for the culinary crime in a way that had them both gasping and him holding onto his husband for dear life at the end.

(Okay, realistically (at this age) maybe not quite so energetic, but even the aggressive cuddling would be welcome in contrast to a small lonely bed in the apartment of SHIELD’s small retirement assistance home.)

Chili-cheese dip.  A bastardization of chili-cheese dip that would drive Jasper up the wall, across the ceiling, and down the other side.  A microwave, a can of chili, and a jar of cheese-whiz.

And strings playing in the background as he muddled through explaining how to do things, hands a little slower than they’d been in his youth, or even his middle age.  Receding hairline still forward just enough that he tried for a comb-over, hair silver-white.

Shaking hands working the manual can opener, grip strong enough through sheer force of will.  A little trouble with the jar, but he got it open.  Mind wandering off now and then causing a pause in his explanation, before he got right back to it.

Mind wandering off, because what he wouldn’t do to hear, “Fucking hell, Phil, you’re murdering spaghetti. HOW are you even murdering goddamn spaghetti!” or “Hell no, get that Taco-bell out of my kitchen YESTERDAY.” again.

He tried not to think of “Take a break and eat something that didn’t come out of a damn machine.” and “What, you’re not taking me out to movie and a dinner, first?” and “Come here.” ...and a warm embrace shutting out the world and taking the worries off his shoulders and reminding him how to breathe again - better than any ‘I love you’ that could ever be spoken in any language.

The strings played as he thought of a wryly twisted mouth, eyes half squinted in mirth behind too-large glasses frames.  Of sure hands that would surely have grasped his own shaking ones, as they did so many times, pulling them close to his chest and wrapping Phil up and telling him "It’s not okay, but it’s over, and that means you are."

He barely noticed Natasha coming in to check on him, and turning off the live stream as he lost himself to thought, as metal and flesh hands steered him away from the counter, and a trio of people who looked far too young for their age led him back to his ‘apartment’.

“Sorry, Phil, the traffic was pretty bad today.  We’re here now, though - what were you doing?”

“Just some damn fool stupid idea, Steve.  He’d have hated it.”

“I brought pancakes from IHOP.”

Phil simply shook his head, attempting a small smile that faded just as quick.  He knew that Steve and Bucky, meant well.  He knew they all did.

Phil entered the small house with his coat held carefully closed.

Jasper looked up and put down his book. “No.”

Phil’s coat said ‘Meow’.

“Phil, You can’t-”

Phil just opened his coat, pulling out the sorriest looking ginger kitten. one ear half gone.  “I couldn’t just leave her outside, it’s pouring rain outside.”

The kitten mewed again, shaking her head and spraying a fine mist of water droplets everywhere.

“No, Phil.  We have to take her to a shelter - you can’t keep doing this.”

“But she needs a /home/.”

“She’ll find a home.  There’s a great no-kill shelter on the other side of town.”

Phil set the kitten on the floor and she started nosing around.  Out came five other ‘rescues’.

Two retrievers, the originals, that Phil had found in a box on the side of the road three years ago.  Steve and Thor nosed at the kitten who curled up and half growled at them - the sound ten times bigger than she was.

Next came a pair of older kittens, nearly a year old now.  Tony and Bruce were found in two boxes on two different street corners when Phil was walking home, on the same day.  Both seemed they must have been the runts in their litters, the only ones left.  Bruce was a fluffy black with green eyes, and Tony was a mostly white short-hair with black paws and a little black ‘mustache and goatee’ which Phil declared made his superior manner understandable.

Last to come forward was last week’s rescue, a little blond and brown calico, just as small as the ginger kitten Phil had just brought home.  Clint took a flying leap off the book case to land on the floor by the new kitten.

The ginger kitten hissed at him, and Clint just came forward, half sat on her, and started grooming her.

“I’m going to name her Natasha.”

“Phil.”

But while Phil was fondly watching their little horde of pets come forward to greet their new friend, Jasper had already gotten out some food, a towel, and the flea/heartworm/earmites medication off the top of the fridge.  Phil grinned as he sat on the floor with Jasper, holding Natasha while his husband squeezed the medication on the back of her neck, then dried her off while Jasper checked her claws to make sure they weren’t too long for her.

“You and your damn strays,” Jasper muttered, but he was smiling slightly.

“Thank you,” Phil replied, leaning forward and giving him a kiss.

send me a ship and I’ll tell you who:

shops for groceries: Jasper in fact he's made Phil swear to that fact. 

kills the spiders: they're equal opportunity spider killers 

comes home drunk at 3am: ... I guess Jasper but really it's Barnes' fault. 

makes breakfast: Jasper, he tends to be the cook most of the time. 

remembers to feed the fish: Phil, he's the one who really wanted the fish tank. 

decorates the apartment: they both do 

initiates duets: Jasper, well unless it's Christmas, then it's anybody's game

So there was a lovely commission from dr-kara in my inbox today!  I had need for Handler Husband napping, and this was just perfect.