Clint Barton: Hawkeye (cant_miss) wrote in avengers_logs, @ 2019-07-28 19:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | -complete, christine palmer, clint barton |
Who: Clint and Christine
What: Throwing back darts and drinks
When: Saturday night, the 27th, before "Christine's" text post
Where: Just a bar
Rating: Green with some language
Status: Complete
Sometimes, what you really needed was to do something outside of your comfort zone. In college, Christine remembered being a poor medical student, going to whatever bar would take change, and nurse it for a few hours until she had to head to class. The whirlwind of classes, clinicals, practicums, residency.... well, it didn't leave a lot of time for discerning palates.
Even though she hadn't thought of that time in a while, when she randomly bumped into Clint and they started talking, she realized that she was long overdue for something like this. Of course, she would probably regret it the next morning when she was trying to do rounds with a hangover, but for now, she wasn't going to argue the cheap beer, the loud music, and the terrible round of darts she was currently engaging in.
"This isn't fair," she said, shaking her head and putting her hands in her jeans pocket. "It's like you have so much more experience at this than I do. I should be allowed to stand closer to the board, and get a handicap." She raised an eyebrow, grinning all the while. "Or else I might end up poking an eye out, and it's so hard to do surgery on yourself."
Clint hadn't gone to college but this had been exactly what he'd done when he was college age. Get fall down drunk in the kind of bar serving drinks he could afford and play darts or pool. Preferably for money. This place was a step above the shitholes he sat around in his early twenties and Christine's money was fairly safe. "Experience, natural talent," Clint offered with a grin.
"I could give myself a handicap? Throw without looking." Clint reached for his whiskey with his right hand, drinking long swallows while staring straight at Christine. Without averting his gaze from her, he flicked his left wrist, throwing a dart. Bullseye. "You can also try getting me really really drunk."
Christine watched him make the shot with an awestruck look to her face. "As a surgeon, that kind of accuracy turns me on," she joked, raising an eyebrow. "As a competitor, I just got turned off. More booze you say?" She caught their waitress's eye and motioned for another round. Her beer was almost done anyways.
"I have to say, that was impressive, no joke. Where did you learn to do that?"
Clint's whiskey wasn't empty yet but that was easily fixed. "That's one part sniper, one part circus."
"Excuse me?". The waitress handed their drinks off which was good because she needed another one to proceed this conversation. "You can't randomly mention working in a circus as a one off sentence. I need more information! Do people really join the circus? I don't even think I've been to a circus..."
"Not really," Clint said, reaching for his new glass. "And they don't have circuses anymore. Gone out of style. My brother and I ran away from our group home when I was ten, wound up there. That's where I learned to shoot a bow, throw knives, basic acrobatics."
She just stared at him. "You ran away and joined a circus. I repeat: why are we not talking about this?"
Clint shrugged and the smile he gave her didn't show nearly enough teeth. "It's just something I did because it beat the group home and my brother wanted to. He was the only family I had left, I would have followed him anywhere. My childhood wasn't great, I don't talk about it a lot." Clint swallowed down half of his whiskey. "My brother ran off when I was seventeen. I left the circus when I got my GED and joined the Army."
Now Christine half wished she had ran away and joined a circus instead of running away to college. Would have probably been cheaper. "Oh the army.....I don't know that I could do that. I've never shot a gun, I've never been in a fight... heck, I don't think I've punched someone since I was like 8. Tommy Spitzer. He tried to kiss me." She gave a slow grin. "He regretted not getting permission. My parents grounded me for the summer but it was worth it."
She took a drink and gave a nod. "I also had a crappy childhood but mine was religious based. My mom and dad are crazy. We went to church 5 times a week, and during holidays, every day. I could recite scripture before I could read. I counted down the days I could disappear. I guess that's why I went into medicine -- they believe God is the only healing a person needs."
"You got punished for that? Shit, I'd have bought you a cake. But that is a lot of church. Even Jesus needs a day off." Clint winced in sympathy.
"They threw me out of the Army. I was a sniper with the Rangers. Good at shooting people but I made a shit soldier."
Christine agreed whole heartedly -- Jesus probably enjoyed his days off. Too bad her parents had never agreed with that sentiment. "I guess to be a good soldier is like being a good chuch-goer: no thinking for yourself, just do what you're told and hope for the best." She threw another dart, giving a little clap when she actually got it close to the the bulls eye.
Well. Close was subjective.
"And then you ended up here, like all of us."
"Now you play god as a surgeon and I'm still good at killing people" Clint had another swallow of whiskey and picked up a dart. "Keep your wrist straight, like this." He demonstrated, flicking the dart at the board while keeping hi wrist firm and straight.
She gave a little giggle at the idea of being God. She'd always tried to avoid that complex most surgeons had. Stephen had had it...with good reason though. The man really was an amazing surgeon. It made her sad sometimes to think he'd never do that again. "Killing people sounds .... well, bad," she confessed. "I've had people die on the table before, but I can confidently say I never meant for it to happen. I don't know ... I mean, I get that ...you have skills, and you all have to do things that I will never understand." Like killing. "It just ...how do you do it? Is it hard? Or does it just become a job? It must, hey? I cut people open for a living, and what's routine to me is horrifying for other people..."
Clint's second glass of whiskey was nearly empty and the slow warm feeling was settling in Clint's stomach. "Basically the same thing as being a surgeon except going in reverse."
Christine opened her mouth to respond before closing it again. "Huh." Ask a stupid question...
In fact, she didn't even know what to say back. She was rarely speechless.
"You win comment of the night," she said, raising her hands in defeat. "Congrats! Want some ice cream to celebrate? Or more booze?"
Clint threw his head back and laughed. "You should see your face right now, doc. Nice to know I can still shock."
"You're so blunt, Clint. And my best friend is blunt but you?" She gave a low whistle. "Nope, you win. Completely. I would like to see you have a conversation with Stephen. I can picture that going in circles, and no one winning. I'll bring the popcorn."
Clint looked shocked. "I have more people skills than Stephen Strange. I'm a delight." He leaned forward with a wide smile. "People love me."
Christine laughed. "I don't doubt that at all. I'm thoroughly enjoying this. I mean, it could be the beer? But I'm fairly certain you're hilarious without it."
"Of course I am." Clint swallowed down the last couple swigs of the his second whiskey. "Now, d'you want to try again at the darts? Or we can grab another round and try your luck at pool? Promise not to run the table on you."
"Nah, you should beat me entirely. Blow my socks off." She grinned and quirked her brows. "Through pool, of course."
Despite Christine's words, Clint held back enough to give her a fair shot at the pool table. As promised, he didn't run the table, limiting himself to one or two shots per turn. It extended the game and Clint filled the extra time with another drink. By the time they were done, Clint didn't really have to pretend to miss.
"C'mon. You good? Need anythin'?" He asked, setting down his empty glass. "I can walk you home."
This man was not only a professional aimer at things, he was clearly a good drinker because Christine was sloshed. "I am way too old to be drinking like this," she said, giving him a nod. "And way too old to be up this late without the adrenaline of surgery. Yup, walk me home and maybe hide my phone so I don't send stupid text messages tonight. Although, how funny would that be? I'm hilarious drunk."
Clint paid their bill, leaving a generous tip. "If you're old, I'm ancient. Old man river. Ollllllld." The drawn out syllables gave away just how drunk Clint really was. "You're not old. Now gimme your phone. I'll keep it safe."
Without hesitation, she handed it over. "The password is the shape of a star because i'm a superstar!" It wasn't Like there was anything she had to hide -- other than a few selfies with Stephen. She liked the rare smiling picture she could coax out of him. "And older than you. I'm closer to 40 than I want to believe."
Clint took her phone, taking the password as an invitation to unlock it. Huh. Who knew Zoltar knew how to smile. Clint thought Strange's face would have cracked.
"You think you're older th'n me? You? Think you're? Older than me? Have you seen you? I'm 45. Respect your elders ."
She squinted a bit before shaking herhead. "Does it count if I feel older? Oh man, tomorrow is going to suuuck. I hope I have Gatorade . ...let's go circus boy. You can sleep on my couch and make sure I don't die. Aspiration is a thing."
And the way her stomach was toiling, she should have stopped before the shots.