on_va_voir (on_va_voir) wrote in districtmarvel, @ 2016-01-17 22:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | clint barton, steve rogers |
Who: Clint and Steve
What: Interventioning with canine assistance
Where: District 8, Steve's apartment
When: A few days after Steve and Scott steal Clint
The problem with Steve's tendency to leap directly into action was the fact that he sometimes did so without a plan. It didn't mean his intentions weren't good, or that it wasn't the right choice, or even that it might not work out in the end, but it did sometimes result in him getting to step two and realizing he had no damn clue what to do next.
That was the issue he was currently staring down, now that he'd gotten Clint to District Eight. It had been surprisingly easy to persuade him to get out of the Capitol, but once they were back at his apartment, Steve realized he didn't have any idea what came next, beyond ridding his house of anything remotely alcoholic and having a serious chat with Clint about why drinking to that level of excess was a no good very bad idea.
Somehow, he didn't think that was going to fly.
So there was a possibility he'd been tiptoeing around the conversation that needed to happen - a decidedly un-Steve-Rogers-like move. But he didn't want to act and get it wrong and lose this opportunity to make things better for Clint. Because whether Clint agreed with him or not, drinking himself half to death every night wasn't making anything better.
Steve had stepped out a couple hours ago to do a round of visits and buy some food for dinner, figuring he'd give Scott and Clint a chance to talk, if they wanted, though chances were good that Clint would instead use the time to add to the sprawling blanket fort he'd begun building in Steve's living room. Times like these, it was hard to believe that Clint was actually the older one.
Crossing in front of one of the factory's that had been nearly demolished in an explosion a couple decades ago (and never properly torn down, rendering it both a hazard and an eyesore), Steve caught sight of a slight movement at the corner of his eye. He paused, then backtracked a few steps, peering down the dim alley. There was nothing there that he could see, but just as he'd made up his mind to keep going, he watched as a metal trash can toppled over with a terrific clang. Underneath the sound of screeching metal, he heard a Yip, and that was enough for him to drop his bags at the mouth of the alley and jog toward the tipped over trash can.
He found a scruffy, mangy dog there, whimpering and holding one paw up, like maybe it had been been struck by the trash can's lid. The dog had clearly seen better days - it was filthy, scrawny, and it was obviously blind in one eye. It looked up at Steve warily, but didn't slink away as he squatted down, putting himself on the creature's level.
"Hey, fella," Steve murmured, carefully extending his hand toward the creature, palm up. The dog eyed him for a moment, then tentatively licked at Steve's fingers. "You hungry?" Steve asked, and the dog's ears perked up, like it knew exactly what he was asking. Steve straightened and headed back for his bags, digging out a wedge of cheese he'd bought. He quickly unwrapped it and broke off a corner, holding it out to the animal. As soon as the dog caught a whiff of it, he bounded over and gobbled it from Steve's hand, the cheese disappearing with a lick and a gulp. Then he sat back on its haunches and looked up at Steve expectantly, as if to say, Okay, where's the rest?.
Steve considered the dog for a long moment, then came to a decision all at once. He broke off another hunk of cheese, but he kept it in his hand as he scooped up his bags. "C'mon, boy," he instructed, and the dog trotted happily along behind him, gaze never leaving Steve's fist. They were back at Steve's apartment in a matter of minutes, and Steve let himself and the dog in, tossing the dog the bite of cheese as soon as the door was safely closed behind him. "Good boy," he murmured, then raised his voice as he took the bags to the kitchen table.
"Clint, can you run a bath?" he called. "Had a friend follow me home, he could use a good scrub."