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Coulson crossed his arms and glared at Barton in his most repressive manner. It would have been more effective if he hadn’t had to look all the way up Clint’s six-foot frame from his own three-foot-four height to do it. He still had his school contacts in, but with his eyes shadowed by his frown, Clint could almost pretend he was seeing Coulson’s normal blue gaze.
“I thought we had decided this,” Coulson said firmly. “No trick-or-treating.”
“No,” Clint responded, drawing the word out. “I believe we tabled the discussion for later.” He dangled the child-sized suit from its hanger, trying to catch Phil’s interest. “It’s later, sir.”
“Where did you even get that... ” Coulson determinedly did not dignify the 3-piece polyester ensemble with the word ‘suit’, “that... thing.
“Got it at Walmart in an after-season sale,” Clint answered cheerfully. “Just in case, you know?”
Coulson eyed the pocket square protruding from the jacket’s breast pocket disdainfully. His critical gaze continued on down the length of the jacket to the sewn-in faux fly on the elastic-waisted pants, and then back up to the white dress shirt. “That’s not even a real tie,” he sneered.
“Well, yeah. I mean, who in the world teaches their kids to tie ties anymore, boss?” Clint pulled out a child-sized pair of dark sunglasses and hooked them on the neck of the shirt where they bumped into the dark clip-on tie.
“C’mon, sir,” he coaxed. “Be Agent Coulson for a night. Flash your badge. Intimidate people. Live a little.”
Coulson sighed. “Fine. Give me the suit. Just turn off the puppy-dog eyes. I couldn’t resist that look even when I had a functional prefrontal lobe.” He held the jacket by the shoulder, watching the cheap black material bunch under his hand. “As a kid, it just burrows into my hindbrain and makes me want to give you a teddy bear and do whatever you want. Or cry.” He shook his head in disgust. “Mostly cry. I want my adult brain back.”
He peered up at Clint. “And you’re cataloging that to use later, aren’t you?” he accused.
“What, that you can’t resist a mournful gaze?” Clint returned with a grin. “Nah, never heard you say it,” he promised. “C’mon, sir: ‘Let’s put it on.’”
Coulson rolled his eyes but played along. “Put what on?”
“The last suit you’ll ever wear,” Clint intoned.
----
When the door opened, revealing a woman in her mid forties, Coulson had his badge ready. Right-side up, even.
“Good evening, ma’am,” he began with a brief nod. “I’m Special Agent James Martin with the Food and Drug Administration. This is my partner, Agent Martin,” he said, indicating Clint standing just over his shoulder. He paused for a beat. “No relation.”
He leaned forward and peered into the bowl of candy she was holding, and then up into her face. “We are investigating reports that you are distributing toothbrushes from this location. Care to confirm or deny this rumor?”
“Aren’t you just the cutest thing?” she exclaimed, ignoring his question to look him up and down from his carefully parted and combed hair to his polished dress shoes.
“No, ma’am, we at the FDA do not indulge in cuteness that we are aware of,” he deadpanned. “Do you have a comment to make on the subject of toothbrushes?”
Phil’s ability to remain in character got him an extra treat -- and one for Clint as well for “having such a creative son.” They got smiles and laughter at each house, and Phil practically skipped down the sidewalk, weaving between witches and Thors and princesses and dragging Clint behind him. They were only able to go to 12 houses before Phil’s feet -- used to sneakers now, rather than dress shoes -- protested too much for them to carry on.
“OK, we’ll head home,” Clint said, “but I want to hit that second house again. Those were the best candy bars.”
- - -
“Good evening, ma’am,” he began with a brief nod. “I’m Special Agent James Martin with the Department of Public Health. This is my partner, Agent Martin,” he said, indicating Clint standing just over his shoulder. He paused for a beat. “No relation.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Weren’t you here before? But from the FDA?”
“I assure you, ma’am, the Department of Public Health takes its responsibilities too seriously to repeat visits.” He held up a thick mag-lite that Clint had (at JARVIS’ direction) rigged up with a red LED at the end, sliding his sunglasses out of his pocket and onto his face with his other hand. “If I could just have your attention right here for a moment...”