InsaneJournal

Who: Matt & Phil
When: Pigeons! Day 3
What: A Rescue of sorts
Where: Their room, then the great (less) wild yonder
Warnings: Some language, some flirting, bad migraines - not in that order
Status: Completed via GDocs


It was like a goddamned HItchcock movie and Phil could see the toll it was taking on Matt. He’d already called Matt’s work and told them Matt couldn’t come in today, but he wasn’t sure that was enough. He placed a cup of coffee on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed, fingers running through Matt’s hair.

“Alright, sunshine, no bullshit. How bad is it?”

The first muttered reply was lost to the pillow Matt had his face smashed against. It might have been a dismissive retort or a curse. Probably the latter as a fresh wave of glittering pain lit up his head. He turned his face just enough to get actual words out, but it cost him. He had to swallow a couple of times just to keep the nausea at bay.

"You ever— nope, can't brain enough for a decent analogy. I don't think my head's hurt this bad since I had a building fall on it. These goddamn birds are just so fucking loud."

Decades spent watching people for a living meant Phil read between the lines, understood the gravity of Matt’s unspoken action. In the year they’d been together, he’d never seen Matt like this. Phil’s fingers stroked Matt’s hair and his heart broke a little for his partner, knowing there was nothing he could do to help. Except, maybe- His brain raced ahead. He reached for his phone, sending off a few quick texts before getting to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

He went to his room, grabbed his go bag, then grabbed Matt’s before coming back and kissing Matt gently on the forehead, noise cancelling headphones in his hand. “Alright, love - over the shoulder or bridal style. Pick one.”

It took a moment for the fuzz in Matt's increasingly occluded field of vision to clear enough for him to make out the shape of what Phil was offering. He'd been momentarily lulled into a tiny moment of relief when his partner's hand had been in his hair, as it had been often since the pigeons descended.

At first, he could handle it, but it was three days later, and he was for sure not handling it. Phil’s question didn't register at all. Not at first. He shifted on to his side some more. "We can't go. What if— People could need us."

“And we’ll only be a phone call away. Right now, you’re of no use to anyone, darling,” Phil said, giving Matt his best “Director of SHIELD” voice. “I love you, darling, but I’m not giving you a choice in the matter right now. So, bridal style or over the shoulder?”

"Bossy," Matt groused, but he got himself at least up on his hand without buckling. "But I love you too. Think I'll scrape up enough dignity to say bridal style. If you put me over your shoulder, I'm very likely to vomit on your shoes. Fair warning."

“Well, they’re not my favorite pair, so I’d live, but let’s avoid the vomit if we can.” He scooped Matt up into his arms. “You know, maybe I’m just stealing you away so we can get married in Vegas,” he teased before shifting to place the headphones in Matt’s hand. “Noise canceling headphones. If you want. Not sure if it’ll help or just make everything worse.”

For the most part, Matt tried to face his current predicament with some small bit of dignity. His arm looped around Phil's neck, the other held the headphones. The fact that Phil could do this at all was unfairly hot, but the bigger travesty here was that Matt couldn't do anything actionable about this fact. He frowned at the object in his hand, deep in an internal debate wherein he weighed the pros and cons of rendering himself temporarily blind-for-real.

A fresh wave of pain answered it for him. "I won't be able to see or hear you, so I'm going out on a lot of trust. I know you know that, and I know you've got me, but I just—I hate this so, so much."

“I know you do. I can’t imagine what this is like for you.” The closest Phil could come was when the serum was destroying his body from the inside and he was hiding it from the team. “I’m wearing a button up. Feel free to undo a button or two and put your hand inside it so you can at least feel my heart.”

Maybe it would give Matt something to ground himself. “Here’s the plan. Going down to the garage. Getting into Lola, putting the top up, and then heading along the coast until we’re pigeon free. You can have your hand on mine on the gearshift or on my thigh. Does that work?”

Matt chuckled. "Any excuse to feel you up, huh?" But it helped. It really did. He didn't actually open Phil's shirt. Instead, he sighed and nodded his assent with a slightly aggrieved, "It works," and then pulled the headphones on and immediately pressed his fingers through the narrow gaps between buttons. The pain abated almost immediately, but so did the rest of the world. He could still see in shades of red and shadow, but it had none of the depth it normally did. His breath hitched; the first inkling of panic was starting to dig its claws in even as he tried his best to concentrate on his lover's heartbeat. "Hurry."

Phil turned his head to kiss the hand that was wrapped around his neck before hurrying to the elevator and down to the garage as fast as he could without actually breaking out in a run. He got Matt settled in the front seat before putting the bags in the trunk and getting behind the wheel, putting the top up as he sent a quick text to a friend at traffic control to clear their route as much as possible. He took Matt’s hand and squeezed it before peeling out of the garage and heading out of the city.

Slowly, achingly slowly, the vibrations of the car gave way from city sounds to the broader highway cadence—at least, from Matt's perspective. He thought it far more likely that they had probably broken several speed limits he absolutely was not going to ask about. Soon enough, though, the pressure inside his head eased up, enough that he was practically slumped in the seat by the time Phil squeezed his leg. He eased the headphones off; Matt's existence became real again. When he breathed in deeply, he could taste salt on his tongue. "The coast? How far did you have to go?"

“Point Reyes. About fifty miles north of the city. Made reservations at some cottages on the water about ten to fifteen minutes up the road, depending on how I take the curves,” Phil teased, trying to inject some levity into his voice. “We can be back in the city in an hour, give or take. Less if I call in a chopper.” His fingers stroked Matt’s thigh as he glanced over worriedly. “How are you doing?”

"You and your planning." Matt shook his head, but his fondness was more than obvious. Rousing himself enough, he leaned over until he could rest his shoulder against his partner's. "Why does it not surprise me that you could get your hands on a helicopter?" His brow furrowed then, and he sat up with a slight wince. "Fifty miles, though. That's pretty damn far. I'm better, much, much better, but how far out did you have to go before they were gone? The birds, I mean."

“I have connections. And Lola’s equipped with everything from missiles to rocket launchers to wifi,” Phil explained with a shrug. Setting the car in cruise control, he put his arm around Matt. “I can get my hands on almost anything if I try hard enough.”

He thought for a long moment. “Depends what you count as the city. They thinned out by Muir Woods and then once we were over the pass, they were pretty much gone. Seem heavily focused on the Bay Area - not sure if they extend to the East and South Bay, but I’d rather not find out.”

"Show off." After patting Lola's console affectionately, Matt leaned back into the space Phil provided him with a quiet sigh that masked very real amusement. "Well, you got your hands on me, too, so I guess that just proves your point."

His mouth thinned in concern, a storm cloud gathering between his brows. "We would have heard reports. And I think we both know why they're concentrated in a radius around The Station. It's us. Or whatever brought us here." Matt's hands closed into fists on his thighs. "If anything happens to Alex or Luke, or anyone we care about, I-I— well, I guess I'm just going to get mad about it and not be helpful at all. How much further? I want to check in without seeming like I'm hovering."

Phil chuckled at the comment but still didn’t fully reflex, not when he was worried about Matt and the station residents, particularly their boys and Julie. “Nothing will happen to them. For once they’ll be smart and stay inside. And if Yelena gets herself hurt, I will lecture her till the second coming when we get back,” he muttered affectionately.

Phil pulled off Highway One, turning onto a dirt road. “Nearly there. But you can call them now if you need to check in.”

His fingers actually itched to pull out his phone and do just that, but Matt shook his head. It was nice to do that and not feel like it was about to fall off his neck or rattle to pieces. "Will you message people? Once we're there? Unless you already have. I had to give up on the network on day one of those damned birds. I know Luke and Alex will understand—Yelena, too. I'm trying really hard not to hover, but we're both in serious danger of being helicopter parents." He chuckled wryly. "And then it comes back to helicopters somehow."

“Once we get to the cottage, yeah. Grab some food from the restaurant and then we can settle in and maybe you can actually rest a bit,” Phil said, glancing over at Matt.

“I can’t figure out if a helicopter ride would be torture for you or enjoyable,” he mused aloud as the car slows before pulling in to the parking lot. Turning the car off, he leaned in, brushing his lips against Matt’s. “We’re here.”

"I'm not sure about resting, but would you be okay with a small coma? Preferably wrapped around you, or vice versa. But food finally sounds good, so that's an improvement. Look at you"—Matt smiled tiredly at his partner—"still the man with the plan. Does Cap know you're stealing his vibe?"

His smile deepened by a few degrees at the gentle way Phil kissed him. "Torture, for sure. Something tells me you'd make it up to me, though. So, food first, then bed?"

“You are more than welcome to pass out around me,” Phil said fondly. “Hope you like seafood. The chowder here is amazing.”

Phil chuckled at the comment about Cap. “Well, I was president of his fan club. And running a secret organization means having many backup plans. And backup plans for backup plans when ops go to shit.” It was part of the reason helping Yelena and Matt in the extra activities they did felt right and fulfilled a need. “But let’s try to avoid helicopters then.”

He grabbed their bags from Lola’s trunk and wrapped an arm around Matt as he guided him to the front desk to check in and order room service.

"Nerd," Matt teased, but it lacked anything approaching venom. "Bet you'd kill in an improv group. Hopefully not literally. I usually go in with a plan, despite all appearances. Pivoting to the new and unexpected is the norm, though. As you well know, Mr. Fancy Agent Man."

Staying nestled against Phil's side was more a matter of necessity than any romantic sense, although he had to admit there was probably at least a small element to that. He didn't say much to the receptionist, but he could tell even a small smile of gratitude was enough to make her heart skip a beat. ('Still got it.') Soon enough, they were in a room that smelled of wood and ocean, and sounded like waves and quiet. "Okay, even my Catholic Guilt has to admit this is pretty damn perfect."

“Should I phone the local priest so you can go to confession?” Phil teased, letting the bags drop to the floor before pulling Matt against him. He was grateful the receptionist hadn’t mention that small detail that Phil had bought out all the cottages at the inn for the next week. So maybe he was a bit paranoid. “Also, pretty sure that receptionist wants to steal you from me.”

Matt practically melted against the firm line of his partner's body, now so familiar to him in spite of any number of layers that may be between them at any given time. "We'd have to add a few unclean thoughts to the list, so maybe let's skip it for now." He laughed and nosed at Phil's neck and the side of his jaw. "Can't steal what's already locked down."

“Such a dirty catholic boy,” Phil teased, lips brushing Matt’s ear as he whispered. “Mine.”

He was vaguely aware that they shouldn’t get too far into anything because there were food coming within the next half hour. “You know, we never did get that anniversary trip after the kids' prom. Seems the Station keeps throwing us curveballs.”

Of course Matt shivered. He was only human. He was also very proud of himself for not moaning, but it was a close thing. "Yeah," he said instead, voice rough for all the fun reasons this time, "all yours."

He had to laugh, but it was low and close. Being in Phil's arms was easily one of Matt's favorite places to be. "Looks like this is one of those lemonade situations, rather than a baseball one. I'd love to be able to spend some time with you that's not qualified by needing to leave because one of us—me, obviously, in this case—can't deal with the current Station fuckery. But these are the lemons we've been dealt, so I guess we should at least attempt to enjoy ourselves?"

“Might need to spike the lemonade otherwise I’ll be refreshing my phone for updates every thirty seconds,” Phil admitted. He threaded his fingers through Matt’s hair. “Probably have thirty minutes before dinner. Should we check in on the kids?”

"Mmyeah," Matt barely got out; it was decidedly slurred around the edges. "Let's be mature, responsible adults before we explore this unplanned anniversary a little more."