Work Text:
“They should be here in five minutes. Jen just texted me an update.”
Clint nods, surveying the living room again. It's definitely cleaner than usual, and there are a few gaps in the shelves holding Phil's books and DVDs to keep young eyes away from things they shouldn't see. “I don't understand why they're taking a cab all the way out here. The subway's not that hard to figure out.”
“They're from out of town.” Phil passes by Clint, brushing a hand over his back. He sets a bowl of M&Ms down on the coffee table.
“Or we could have gone to pick Max and Eric up at the hotel. We could have taken them to Central Park and—”
Phil stops the flood of words by grasping Clint's shoulders. “We'll be fine. The boys are pretty easy-going and we have all kinds of contingency plans.”
Right. They have copies of the kids' favorite movies. They borrowed a Wii. They know where the nearest emergency room is. “I know. It's still kind of daunting.”
“Says the man who climbs insanely tall bridges on a regular basis.”
Clint opens his mouth to point out that bridges don't throw tantrums, but the doorbell stops him.
With a reassuring smile, Phil walks over to the door and hits the buzzer. “It's just eight hours. We'll survive. And if we don't, we have Jen's and Mark's numbers.”
Clint joins Phil by the open door. It sounds as if a small herd of elephants is stampeding up the stairs. Eric is the first one to come around the bend to Phil's floor.
“Uncle Phil! I brought my baseball stuff!” He calls out while running up the last flight of stairs. “Mom said we can go to the park. Hi Clint!”
Eric doesn't wait for a return greeting before he pushes past Phil and Clint to get into the apartment. He drops a large dufflebag to the floor and starts unpacking his gear.
“And hello to you, too. Yes, we can to to the park later.”
Jen and Max come up the stairs at a much more sedate pace. “This is a nice place, Phil.”
Phil mumbles a quick thanks and hugs his sister.
Clint is surprised when he gets a hug, too. “Hey, Jen.” She looks nice in a light blue summer dress.
“Hi Uncle Phil,” Max says with a small smile. “Hi Clint.”
“Hi Max,” Clint returns. “Did you bring some things for the park, too?”
Max tugs at the straps of his backpack. “I brought some books.”
Phil ruffles his hair. “Books are great.”
Jen gives Max a little nudge and he walks over to Eric, who has taken over half the couch already. “I should go. Cab's still waiting downstairs. Thanks again for watching the boys today.”
Phil waves her off. “No problem. I'm sure we'll have fun.”
“Yeah, we'll be fine,” Clint adds, in part to convince himself.
“Alright. And you have both mine and Mark's number, right?” Both Phil and Clint nod. “Okay. We should be back around six.” She turns toward the stairs.
“Happy anniversary!” Phil calls out just before she turns around the bend.
Jen acknowledges him with a smile and a wave.
“Ready?” Phil whispers and squeezes Clint's hand.
Clint smiles. “Better be.”
**
Clint is content to lounge under a large tree while Phil and the kids do whichever baseball things they have come here to do. Max is happy to go along with the warm-up and seems to be doing well throwing the ball, but when Eric and Phil start working on catching, he stops engaging and seems bored.
Clint walks over to him. “Hey, do you want to see if we can find some cool birds?” He braces himself for a rejection because six-year-olds probably don't think birds are exciting.
Max nods eagerly.
Pleasantly surprised, Clint calls out to Phil. “We're going to look at birds. Text me if you need anything?”
Phil looks up from where he's helping Eric balance in his crouch. “Will do.”
Clint looks around to find a spot where birds would congregate. There's a thick line of trees on the other side of the meadow. “Alright, let's go over there. It's too crowded here for birds to come close.”
Max slides his hand into Clint's. It's a sweet gesture, especially because it's so unselfconscious. He did the same thing when they were on their way to the park, and Clint wonders if he's been taught to take an adult's hand when in a busy public place.
They walk beyond the treeline, away from the people who stroll along the concrete path. There's a creek winding between the trees. On a hot day like this, it's bound to attract birds.
“Alright, let's stop here,” Clint says in a low voice. “Do you think you can be really still for a while? There'll be more birds if we're quiet.”
“Okay. Are there any ducks?”
“I don't know. Maybe.” Clint scans the low branches of nearby trees. There are some sparrows lingering a short flight away. A young male is the first to land on a stone in the middle of the creek. “Do you see the bird, Max? Do you know what kind of bird this is?”
“No. But they're a lot of them in our yard.”
“Yeah, I bet. That's a sparrow. They're very common.”
A few more sparrows follow, hopping from stone to stone, communicating in short chirps. Max watches them with rapt attention, which brings a smile to Clint's face. He's always thought birds were fascinating, but he's led enough tours of bored school children to know that most kids don't share that sentiment.
The sparrows leave when two mourning doves land at the edge of the creek. Clint tells Max a little about what they feed on, nearly stumbling over his words when Max leans into him, face pressed against Clint's side. It's less surprising than it was at Christmas, when Clint wasn't sure how to react to the ease with which Max, and sometimes Eric, too, would invade his personal space. But the trust and affection displayed in the gesture still bowls Clint over, especially because he isn't sure he's ever had that when it came to the adults around him as a child. He'd certainly learned better by the time he was old enough to remember. He brushes over Max's hair and keeps a hand on his shoulder.
A movement catches Clint's eye and he looks to the left to see a cardinal surveying the situation at the creek. He carefully points toward the bird. “Look, do you see the red bird? That's a cardinal.”
Max lets out a delighted gasp. “It's so red!”
“Yeah, it is. It looks even better in the snow. You should watch for one in the winter.”
“Are there cardinals in Chicago?”
“Definitely.”
They end up spending longer at the creek than Clint anticipated. Max has both interest and patience, which are excellent qualities for birding. Clint wonders if he should consider a birding guide for kids for Max's birthday in September.
When they finally make their way back, Phil and Erik look like they're in need of a break, too, so they pack up all the baseball supplies and head home.
**
The homemade mac 'n cheese is a success once Eric and Max get past their allegiance to orange stuff from a box.
They're on their second helpings when Max asks, “Uncle Phil?”
“Yes?”
“How long have you and Clint been married?”
Phil and Clint share a long look across the table. They don't have a contingency plan for this. “Clint and I aren't married, Max.”
Max looks confused. “Why not?”
Clint hopes that Phil has experience in Kids Asking Tough Questions. It makes sense that Max would ask this. He's known about their relationship since they visited Jen for Christmas, and Jen and Mark came to the city to celebrate their anniversary. He might assume that all the couples he knows are married.
“Who cares,” Eric says in-between forkfuls of pasta.
It's unthinking and not meant to do any harm, but Clint feels hurt nonetheless. Phil's hand twitches against the table, and Clint wants to reach for it.
“Max, not all couples get married.” Phil pauses. Clint's heartbeat speeds up. “Clint and I are really happy together.”
Clint likes that answer, but he wonders if that's a satisfying explanation to a six-year-old. When Max looks at him, he nods.
The gears are clearly turning in Max's head. “So you love Uncle Phil?”
That one's easy. “Yeah, I do.” He glances at Phil, who sends him a fond look.
Max turns toward Phil.
Phil smiles at him. “I love Clint very much.”
Tingles rush through Clint. That's the first time that Phil's ever told that to someone else, at least in Clint's presence. It's nice to hear.
Max smiles at both of them. “Can we play Wii Sports after lunch?”
Relief never felt so good. “Absolutely. We can play together and kick Phil and Eric's, um, butts.”
Max beams at him.
**
The Wii is a big success. They cycle through most of the games that Darcy gave to them, and half the afternoon flies by. Clint leaves to get a glass of water, and when he gets back, Max stands next to the couch, holding a book.
“Can we read this, Clint?”
Max holds out the book, yellow back-cover facing forward.
“Sure we can.” Clint sits down on the couch, and Max joins him, leaning into his side.
Eric glances over his shoulder. “You're such a baby for wanting Clint to read to you. And that book is stupid.”
Max shrinks into himself and clutches the book.
Phil sets down his controller and turns to Eric. “Why don't we go out onto the deck and get the grill started. I can show you how to do that.”
“Oh, cool, yeah!” Eric shuts down the game with impressive speed and leaves through the sliding doors.
Clint mouths Thank you at Phil, who acknowledges him with a nod. Once he has joined Eric on the deck, Clint gently nudges Max. “Want to read the book now?”
“Okay.”
The book is clearly well-loved. The binding is cracked and all the corners are fraying at the edges. When Clint flips the book over to the front, he expects an adventure story or maybe something with animals. He isn't prepared for A Tale of Two Daddies. He wonders who gave that book to Max and why.
“Do you want to turn the pages?”
Max nods. He thumbs past the title page to the first page.
Clint starts reading. It's a sweet story about a girl with two dads who meets a little boy on the playground and answers all kinds of questions about her family. Max knows the story by heart, and he doesn't hesitate to point out a line Clint accidentally skipped.
When they finish reading, Max has a smile on his face.
“Is that your favorite book?” Clint asks.
Max nods.
“I like it, too.”
Max looks up at him. “Yeah?”
Clint almost says hell, yeah. “Definitely.”
Max traces along the outlines of the figures on the cover.
“So, are there any kids in your class that have two daddies?”
Max shakes his head.
“Two mommies?”
“No. But Karen just has a mom.”
“Right.” Clint glances in the direction of the deck, where Phil is gesturing as he explains something to Eric. It brings a smile to Clint's face.
“Clint?”
He turns back to Max, who is intently staring down at the book. “Yeah?”
“When did you know that you like boys?”
“Uhhh.” Clint's mind goes blank and he wishes Phil were there to handle this question, much like he did at lunch. A simple answer is probably good. But Clint also wants to be honest. It probably wasn't easy for Max to ask this. “I think I've always known.”
Max nods. Clint wonders if he should ask him if he likes boys, too, but maybe that would be an inappropriate question. This conversation really is for someone with way more parenting experience than he has. On the other hand, he understands why Max is talking to him about this and not to his parents. Clint has a feeling that Max hasn't brought this up with either Jen or Mark.
“I like boys, too,” Max whispers. “That's okay, right?”
Clint's heart aches. He wraps an arm around Max. “Of course that's okay. You can like whoever you want.” Shouldn't Max know this? Wouldn't Jen and Mark have told him that? It's easy to see why Max is so attached to that book if that's the only source of affirmation he has about what he's feeling. It seems impossible that there aren't any gay people around Max, but what if there aren't? There's him and Phil, of course, but outside of the occasional interaction over Skype, Max doesn't talk to them.
Max presses himself closer. “Can I really?”
“Yes, really. Boys. Or girls. Or boys and girls.”
“Okay.”
Clint waits to see if Max has any other questions, but he seems content to sit with Clint. There are other things Clint could ask—like if there's a specific boy Max likes—but he isn't sure if that's crossing some sort of line. “Do you want to see what Uncle Phil has been up to?” Clint asks eventually.
“Can we make some hot dogs?”
Right, boys and bottomless pits for stomachs. Clint remembers that. “Sure thing, buddy.”
They detour through the kitchen to get everything they need, which Max insists on carrying outside. Clint follows a step behind him, ready to catch anything that might fall off the precariously balanced tower in Max's arms. He manages to shove it onto the outside table without dropping anything, however.
Clint steps next to Phil and kisses his cheek. “Hey.” The need to be close springs up in him with a sudden fierceness.
“Hey yourself.” Lowering his voice, Phil asks, “Is Max okay? That seemed like a rather intense conversation the two of you were having.”
Clint wishes he could tell Phil what happened, but it'll have to wait. “It kinda was. I'll tell you later. And yeah, Max is okay.” He also really wants a hug.
“Clint?” Phil asks, concerned.
He glances at Max and Eric, who are tearing open every package on the table and are deeply involved in a debate about the right amount of hot dog condiments. Clint decides to hell with it and pulls Phil close to him. It takes Phil a moment to relax into the embrace, but then his arms come around Clint. A hand settles low on Clint's back. It anchors him in exactly the way he needs, and he's so fucking grateful that Phil knows him well enough to realize that.
When they pull away from each other, both Max and Eric are looking at them, Eric with impatience and Max with curiosity.
Clint catches Max's eye and smiles at him. He gets a wide grin in return.
“Who wants to be in charge of making sure these are the best hot dogs ever?” Phil asks.
Both Max and Eric's hands shoot in the air.
Clint snorts. “I'm leaving that decision entirely up to you, Phil.”
“It obviously takes two people,” Phil teases. He waves Max and Eric over to him. “Let's get started.”
Since three people for one grill is already more than enough, Clint sits down and props up his feet on the chair next to him.
**
Jen and Mark show up a few minutes after six to collect the kids. They look relaxed and seem to have enjoyed their day out in the city. While the visit has passed without major catastrophe, Clint is still glad to return Max and Eric to their parents. Phil seems to be on the brink of exhaustion, too.
While the rest of the family is chatting about how the day went, Clint pulls Max aside. He kneels down to be on his eye-level. “Hey, remember what we talked about earlier?”
“Uh-huh.”
“If you—if you ever want to talk more about that or ask more questions, you can always call me or Uncle Phil, okay?”
Max nods, and Clint desperately hopes that he understands that he's serious about this. He remembers what it's like to be so young and feel utterly alone with too many confusing feelings. If he can spare Max from that, he will.
“Are you and Uncle Phil going to visit again soon?”
“Hopefully, yeah.”
“This summer?”
Clint already knows that that likely won't be possible. “Probably not.”
“Oh.” Max's face falls.
“I know. I wish we could. But soon, okay? And you can Skype us, too. That's almost like visiting.” They might go to Chicago for Thanksgiving, even if leaving Nat to herself doesn't sit well with Clint.
Max is almost successful in his attempt at a smile. “Yeah.”
“Max, time to go!” Jen calls from across the room.
Max throws his arms around Clint's neck and holds on tight. “Bye, Clint.”
Clint returns the embrace. “Bye, Max. Remember what I told you.”
Max nods against his shoulder and lets go to run over to his parents. Clint's knees crack as he stands. He waves goodbye to Jen and Mark as they usher the kids out the door. The silence that settles over the apartment after Phil closes the door is wonderful.
Clint rubs his hand over his face and closes his eyes. He hears Phil walking over, leaning into him when he stops in front of Clint. Phil's fingers scratch over his nape. Clint hums with pleasure.
“We survived,” Phil says.
“You sure?”
“Yes. Still in one piece. Want to help me load the dishwasher and tell me about your conversation with Max?”
Clint straightens and opens his eyes. “Sure.” It's easier for him to talk when his hands are busy.
They work in silence for a while, putting leftovers in the fridge, tossing out empty packages, and rinsing plates. Phil opens the dishwasher and pulls out the bottom rack. Clint slots utensils into the basket.
“That book Max wanted me to read to him, I thought it would be some, I don't know, adventure or animals or robots, but it was about a girl with two dads. I didn't even realize there were these kinds of books for kids now.”
Phil slides plates into their designated spots. “Jen's been really concerned with teaching Eric and Max about different groups of people, so I'm not surprised he has a book like that.”
That matches Clint's perception of Jen. “Do you think it's because of you?”
“Maybe.”
Clint grabs a bowl off the counter. “The kids have always known about you, right?”
Phil slides the filled bottom tray into the dishwasher and pulls out the top one. “As far as I can tell, yeah.”
Max and Eric didn't seem surprised when Phil showed up with a boyfriend at Christmas, which made at least one thing easier during that visit. “Anyway, we read that book, and then Max asked when I knew that I liked boys, so I told him and—”
“What did you say?”
Clint accepts the glasses Phil hands to him. “I said I'd always known. Which is true. Kinda. Obviously, I wouldn't have been able to say I was gay in those exact words, but the feeling, yeah.”
Phil hums in acknowledgment.
Clint takes it as a sign that he should continue. “And then Max said he likes boys, too.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. He didn't seem to be sure if that was okay, which, fuck, aren't we past that? I thought kids today knew that's okay. Guess not.” Clint pushes some odds and ends—a bowl, a cup—into open spaces. “I think he was reassured. I hope he was. I also told him that he could always call us if he wanted to talk more about this.”
Phil reaches for the detergent from under the sink. “Of course he can.”
“I didn't screw up that conversation, right?”
Phil pauses in pouring detergent. “You didn't. It sounds like you said exactly the right things.”
Clint steps back and lets Phil finish setting the dishwasher. “I hope so.”
“I'm sure.” Phil pushes the start button. A quiet gurgling fills the kitchen. “Besides, it's not like Max really knows if he likes boys.”
“What makes you say that?”
Phil leans back against the counter. “He's only six. When I was six, I didn't even know what being gay was.”
“Yeah, but that was a different time. He knows what it means. He knows us, and he has that book, and there are probably gay people in some of the TV shows he's watched.”
“Granted, but that doesn't necessarily mean that what he's feeling translates into him being gay.”
Clint crosses his arms. “He said he likes boys. That seems pretty specific to me.”
“He's six, Clint. He doesn't know yet what he—”
“Please don't say what he wants because I can tell you, he probably does.” Clint can't stand still anymore. He crosses over to the cabinet with glasses, pulls one out, and fills it with water. He takes a sip and sets it down.
“You don't know that.” Phil's voice is pitched low, which only makes it worse. He's trying to get Clint to be reasonable, but Clint can't be reasonable about this.
“I do know that!” He doesn't meant to raise his voice, but he's angry. He expected Phil to react to Max's revelation the same way he did, with recognition, and then with worry about Max thinking that it was somehow not okay for him to like boys. The way Phil is almost dismissive of Max's thoughts and feelings—Clint takes a breath to calm himself. He doesn't want to fight with Phil, but he isn't just going to let this go, either. “I know because that was me, when I was Max's age. Sure, I didn't really know what being gay meant either aside from all the homophobic bullshit all around me. But there was this boy next door, and we used to play together. We played house. I think he was copying his older sister. We got one of her dolls and we pretended his room was our house. And it wasn't like one of us pretended to be a girl. I knew that that was how the game was supposed to go, but we didn't play it that way. It felt right. That we were both boys, and that we had a kid, and a house, and—I knew that that's what I wanted. I knew that, Phil, so don't tell me that Max can't know.” Clint looks at Phil, challenging him to deny his experience, too.
Phil holds his gaze for a moment, then looks away. Clint lets his eyes slide away, too. The whooshing noises from the dishwasher fill the silence between them.
Phil pushes off the counter and reaches out. Clint almost flinches away, but he doesn't. It would make this into something bigger than it is. Phil's fingers settle lightly on his arm. “I'm sorry.”
Clint nods. But when Phil tries to pull him into a hug, he stops him with a hand to his chest. “I need some time. I think I'll sit outside for a while.” Phil's heart is beating fast. Clint looks up and sees the worry in his eyes. It lessens Clint's anger. They don't argue a lot, at least not about their relationship. They've had one big fight so far, and Clint remembers Phil telling him later how scared he was that Clint would leave. “We're okay. Just give me some space, okay?”
Phil's hand falls away from his arm. “Yeah. I'll be here.”
Clint manages a small smile. “I know.”
**
“It's supposed to rain soon.”
Clint turns his head. Phil stands in the open sliding door, hovering with uncertainty. “Thanks. I'll be right in.”
“Take your time. I just wanted to let you know.” He disappears back into the living room.
More aware of his surroundings, Clint realizes that his back is protesting the way he's been sitting, wedged into a corner of the deck. When he got outside, he didn't feel like sitting in any of the chairs, so he fit himself in the space where the wooden fencing meets the building wall.
He stretches out his legs and reaches for his phone. It's been almost two hours and he barely noticed. The anger is gone, but there's a weight in his chest that makes him want to fold himself up tightly, like he used to do when he was younger and things got to be too much.
Clint stands slowly and stretches his arms over his head. There are dark clouds rolling in from the west. It's definitely going to rain within the next half hour. He heads inside and finds Phil lingering by the door.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “You didn't eat much earlier.”
“Not really.” Clint isn't sure what he wants. He wouldn't say no to the comfort Phil offered before, but Phil's standing a few feet away, keeping a purposeful distance. Clint knows it's for his benefit. He made it clear that he wants some space, and Phil won't get closer again until Clint asks for it. It's almost too nice, but that's the kind of person Phil is.
Clint walks over to sit on the couch. He pulls his knees up. “Do we have any ice cream?”
Phil's face brightens. “We do. Want me to get you some?”
Clint nods and watches Phil cross the room to the fridge.
“There's chocolate, vanilla, and raspberry sorbet.”
“Uhh, just chocolate.”
Phil sets the carton on the counter and takes a clean bowl from the dishwasher. “Do you want sprinkles?”
“We have sprinkles?”
Phil scoops ice cream into the bowl. “I bought some for the kids, just in case.”
“Sure, yeah.” Somehow, sprinkles make this more of a treat. He watches as Phil finishes up, placing the ice cream and sprinkles back into their places before carrying the bowl over to the couch.
“Here.” Phil sits next to him, leaving a few inches of space between them.
Clint unfolds his limbs. “Thanks.” He can tell that this is fancy ice cream, the handmade local kind that costs seven bucks a pint. “This is really good.”
That brings a real smile to Phil's face. “I'm glad.”
Halfway through his ice cream, Clint asks, “Want some?”
Phil hesitates, but then agrees. Clint feeds him a spoonful and watches as Phil licks his lips. “That's really good indeed. Makes me feel like I'm ten again.”
It's a sweet sentiment even if Clint can't relate. Ice cream with sprinkles wasn't exactly a prominent feature during his childhood.
“I'm sorry for earlier,” Phil says in a rush. “I shouldn't have doubted you. I'm sorry.”
Phil sounds so worried. The weight in Clint's chest scrapes against his insides, leaving a raw hurt behind. He sets the empty bowl on the coffee table. “I know. You couldn't have known what it was like for me. You were just going by what you remember.”
Phil looks down at his hands. “Still.”
Clint moves closer and rubs his hand over Phil's shoulder. “It's okay. We're okay.”
Phil lets out a shaky breath. His back is still tense. Clint keeps his hand there, spread out, and leans closer to nuzzle along Phil's neck. “I'm not mad at you, I promise.”
Phil turns into the shelter of Clint's body and Clint brings his other arm around him, holding him close. “I don't like when we argue,” Phil whispers.
“It happens.” Clint wants to believe that they've built a solid foundation for their relationship. Arguments are part of the deal. He's had some spectacular fights with Natasha over the years, and she still stuck with him. He likes to think it'll be the same for him and Phil. Even if there's still the niggling fear that they're going to find that one thing they won't be able to resolve.
Phil straightens. “I don't think I could have done what you did. Even if I'd known.”
“What do you mean?” Clint keeps a hand on Phil's side.
“Play house with other boys. Not hide. You've never hidden, and that's—” Phil looks away.
“I never knew how. Didn't exactly work in my favor.”
Phil shakes his head, more at himself than at Clint. “I knew too well.”
Phil doesn't talk about it much, but Clint knows there was a lot at stake for Phil when he came out. “Doesn't matter now.”
“I suppose so.” He doesn't sound convinced. “Do you want to watch TV?”
It's their code for “let's snuggle on the couch”, which sounds like a wonderful idea. “Yeah. You got anything on the DVR?”
Phil smiles. “Yeah, a thing or two.” By which he means that he's taped at least ten shows while he was over at Clint's during the week.
“You pick something.” Clint doesn't really care. He's probably going to nod off anyway.
Phil reaches for the remote and settles into the corner of couch. Clint follows, stretching out against his side. They've done this often enough to know how to fit themselves together comfortably. The TV comes on and Phil's hand finds its way into Clint's hair. It feels like any other evening, for which Clint is rather grateful.
**
It's still raining by the time they turn in. Heavy drops hit the bathroom window as Clint brushes his teeth. When he steps into the bedroom, Phil's checking his phone, the book on the history of the Brooklyn Bridge that he's been reading on the sheets next to him.
“Jen sent a text with a message from Max.”
Clint crawls into bed. He curls into Phil's side, head on his shoulder. “What's it say?”
Phil angles his phone so Clint can read the screen. Hi Uncle Phil! Tell Clint I saw another cardinal. I have to go to bed now even though I'm not tired. Goodnight!!
Clint smiles as he hears Max's voice in his head. “Are you going to write back?”
“Yeah. Anything you want me to say?”
Clint can't think of anything that could be condensed into a text. “Just goodnight and sweet dreams, I guess.”
Phil types. “Max is a good kid.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“And you're good with him.”
The compliment sends a flush of warmth through Clint. “I try.” He watches as Phil slides the phone onto the nightstand. “Does it bother you? That Max is reaching out to me?”
Phil opens his book. “No, why would it?”
“Because you're his uncle, and I'm just...” Clint isn't sure how to define his relationship to Max. He's not family. But he's more than an adult Max happens to know.
“You're someone he trusts, and I'm glad that he has that.”
“Me too.”
Phil starts reading. At this point, Clint usually picks up one of his birding magazines or plays a game on his phone, but he doesn't feel like either tonight. He wraps an arm around Phil's waist. “Tell me what's happening with the bridge at the point you're at.”
“They just started building the towers at each end.”
“Huh. Are there any pictures?”
Phil flips to the final section. “There are a few.” He slowly turns the pages.
Clint likes looking at old photographs. They're like a direct link to the past. He wonders what it was like to see the bridge slowly rise out of the East River over the course of a few years. “Will you read a little? To me?”
“You want me to read to you?” Phil sounds surprised. With reason, as Clint's never asked for that before.
“Yeah. Just continue where you were.” He doesn't really care about the history although it is probably more interesting than he imagines. He wants to listen to Phil's voice, the smooth cadence of words rising and falling as sentences begin and end.
“Okay, let's see.” Phil clears his throat. “The best over-all view of the site was still from the deck of the ferry. So every day thousands of people on their way to and from New York got a splendid, close-up look at the the three towering boom derricks swinging blocks of limestone into place...”