Who: Clint and Steve What: Drama aftermath Where: Clint's place When: After a whole bunch of stuff, including Nat and Bucky's texts, Steve's visit with Nat, Nat and Clint's texts, and directly after Clint and Steve's texts Warnings: Alcohol, painkillers (although those are for Clint's ribs), discussion of forced prostitution and other awful things
Probably, it wasn't a good idea to mix alcohol with painkillers, but Clint reasoned that, since the painkillers were wearing off anyway, a little alcohol was probably safe. And after a night like tonight, he needed a goddamn drink. Or six. And although he really preferred to be lying down, it didn't bother his ribs too much to get up and grab bottles and tumblers down from the normally-locked liquor cabinet so they'd be ready and waiting when Steve got there. Given the conversation they'd had, he'd need a couple of drinks, too. Strong ones.
He was lying on the couch when Steve entered, having been instructed via text to just come up and open the door. He didn't feel like fighting, right now. He'd done enough of that with Natasha already, and he could tell that, sweet and well-meaning as he was, Steve was absolutely raring for a fight. And, as usual, Clint had made himself an easy target. He'd lied. Lied on purpose, sure, and to protect him, but Clint wasn't sure how much Steve was going to appreciate being protected. Probably about as much as he'd seemed to appreciate it when it was coming from Natasha.
So even lying down, Clint was braced in every sense as his friend opened the door, but he still managed a smile, a friendly tone. "Hey Ace. Lock the door behind you, yeah? Whiskey's on the table."