@agentbuttpants / agentbuttpants.tumblr.com
"Haven’t made a house call in years, actually." He chuckled. Phil watched the agent’s suspicion with amusement.
He shook his head. “No, just a chat. Does that seem odd to you?”
"The way you do it? Yes," Will replied seriously. "More coffee?"
It was easy to decipher that Will was speaking from experience— easier than Phil had expected. A flash of interest passed through the handler. He wondered briefly if he’d hit any sore spots, but Will stared back, composed as any agent. That, Phil expected.
He fell into a calm silence as he studied the analyst, finally glancing down with a soft smile. “If I wasn’t so content with you remaining outside of S.H.I.E.L.D., I’d be finding your price for a transfer this minute, Agent Brandt.”
"I'm not sure why you'd want me," Will replied easily, because SHIELD had plenty of analysts already and Will wasn't going back into the field any time soon. "Anyway, that'd be mixing business with pleasure," he said before taking another bite of his cronut. "Assuming," he amended as suspicion stole over him, "that this isn't business already."
Phil’s amusement threatened to bubble over into a soft chuckle. “You’re certainly not wrong.” He offered instead. “What about intuition, then? Would you say it can be honed, gained even, when exposed to the field?”
Will wrinkled his nose as he grimaced, looking away from Phil as he topped up his mug with the last of the coffee. The French press would need rinsing, and he'd have to ask if Phil wanted another round.
"Probably," Will conceded. "I think people become very good at reading the signs, reading the information in their environment. Some very primal instincts come out, and we have a lot of systems in our body taking in information with the goal of keeping us alive. But," and this was a surprisingly painful admission to make, "relying on your gut can lead to some bad calls. Relying in intel can do the same, I guess. But when it comes to justifying why a bad call was made... I guess I'd rather go with something more solid than 'I had a feeling'."
"Do a lot of guessing about me, agent?" He wondered— with absolutely no ulterior tone present (If the analyst suspected anything contrary it would have been of his own projection).
"No," Will replied without hesitation. " Either I encounter some information that enables me to made an educated extrapolation, or there's a lack of data and no point in muddying the waters." He lifted one corner of his mouth in a wry smile. "Guessing just gets people into trouble."
"Cronut fairy." He corrected. Phil studied him, contemplating whether or not Will wanted a genuine answer or the banter they were so prone to sticking to.
"It may come as a shock, but my first job is very much a priority."
"You don't say," Will replied around another bite of cronut. "I never would have guessed."
Phil’s intense moment shifts to a concealed huff, another smile disappearing behind his mug. He finishes off the cup ready for another.
"Faith in potential is my job." The handler pointed out. "But I am off the clock. I can tell you you’re not the most jaded agent I know."
"Hard to be jaded when people keep giving me free food," Will replied as he topped up Phil's mug. "What else do you do when you're off the clock? Or do you have a second job as a donut fairy?"
Is that what he really saw himself as? Phil studied the analyst, watched a very reserved, very straight-laced operative indulge in his share of quips and wit. Phil didn’t consider Will stiff of course, and he certainly wouldn’t use the term ‘wet blanket’.
Will was a very common case. The handler had seen it long before Shield. Specialist, soldiers, spies— unassuming was the real hidden talent among them all. Phil cradled his cup atop the table, thumb brushing along it’s rim. “I’m sure you’ll be able to carve out a few more.” He offers, gaze steady.
Will sighed dramatically and slumped back in his seat. "I guess, as your host, I should keep you entertained," he conceded. "Your faith in my ability is flattering," he added in a deadpan voice, letting Phil know that it was perhaps a misplaced confidence. Phil had moments of becoming suddenly intense, and Will was never quite sure how to handle them.
"Really? ‘Cheeky’? During a discussion like this?" He hides another smile behind his mug, taking another generous gulp. "I knew you had some puns in you."
"Now that I've used up my one-joke allowance, I can go back to being a wet blanket," Will said dryly, before taking a sip of his own coffee.
He purses his lips, amused. ”No, no ulterior motives— But it’s certainly a view.”
Will raised both eyebrows. "Cheeky," he observed.
"I’m glad you’re here to help me eat these," Will said around a second bite. "I think a whole box would kill me. Or at least make it harder to fit into my pants."
"Perfect." Phil flashed a satisfied smile. He finished half of his own, chasing it down with another sip of coffee. The warmth of it hit the agent’s stomach, a content sound slipping past his lips.
Will raised an eyebrow. "Perfect? You planning on killing someone with pastry?" Will couldn't fight back a smile as another joke occurred to him, one that would stir Phil up. "Or are you taking the scenic route to getting me out of my pants?"
Was that what Will called it? Luring? As their meetings accumulated it was abundantly clear— Phil had no qualms leaving his office for the other man’s company. If anyone had been fond of using bait, it was Phil.
Speaking of bait. “What do you think?”
"I'm glad you're here to help me eat these," Will said around a second bite. "I think a whole box would kill me. Or at least make it harder to fit into my pants."
"You seem to be quite fond of coffee when I’m around." He noted, "Or is that you just being considerate?"
Phil let Brandt enjoy (or not enjoy) his pastry, taking a bite of his own as he dug in. In the back of his mind of course, he still waited, eager to hear Will’s verdict. It was a feeling he associated with Will more often than not— Odd, considering it wasn’t Phil’s usual take on acquaintances. But if he was a host to many of the analyst’s firsts, he certainly hoped he made a good impression.
"It's effective bait for luring you out of your office," Will returned. He gave Phil a small smirk before taking a bite of his cronut. It was light and buttery, and incredibly sweet.
Accidental Baby Acquisition - Phil/Will
Phil holds the thing for maybe four minutes before he decides that Will is far better suited for childcare. Mainly because Phil really isn’t suited to having tiny humans vomiting milk and apple-sauce down his back. Phil has been involved in a great many gross and challenging situations; he doesn’t feel to bad at hand-balling this particular one to another agency.
And William Brandt, damn him, makes it look easy. He walks around their apartment in jeans and a t-shirt and bare feet with a baby seated against his hip. Settles back in the recliner with his feet up and a bottle in one hand and a suckling baby in the crook of his elbow. It annoys Phil, for reasons he can’t quite articulate.
"You’re disgustingly domestic," he tells Will, once the baby is asleep and they’re sharing a hot shower.
"Yeah," Will agrees with a small smile, as though he doesn’t mind at all.
*Runs a hand along the swell of Lola's hood* Nice ride.
”You—
Please don’t—”
*pulls hand away*
Sorry. I bet you just washed her, huh?
I wax with care.
You wax—?
Ahem. Noted.
He makes an appreciative sound, adjusting the cronut on his plate before licking a hint of glaze from his thumb. “French press?” He nodded, nodding towards the coffee on the table. It was already smelling better than Will’s roasted cookies. “Fancy.”
To be fair, Phil had a press of his own at home. He found it interesting to learn what Will used, tucked the information away for later.
"Lazy," Will corrected. "I hate cleaning espresso pots and I don't drink coffee at home enough to bother with a coffee machine." He finally selected a cronut that had salted popcorn resting atop it's glaze. He dropped it onto his plate, and tore it into halves and then quarters before pausing to lick his fingers clean.
So I recently reached 250 followers, and I decided to do a mini giveaway of sorts:
Rules:
ends May 11
"Yeah, just this close to a third degree burn." Phil plays along and side-steps the heavy details— he’d talked enough about fiery explosions and Destroyers in his report. Oddly enough, he’s far more interested to hear Will’s opinion on pastries.
"One of those Boston Cremes is reserved for me." He warns, a smile still present.
"I don't see your name on it," Will replied bluntly, but there were far greater prizes in the box, so he picked out a creme dropped it on Phil's plate, before spending a moment with his chin propped on his palm, surveying the goods.
