Who: Clint and Natasha Where: Nat and Wanda's place When: The night after this What:A frank, honest, totally rational conversation Clint is an asshole Warnings: Drunkenness and cursing, for a start, more to come if necessary
Clint didn't like to go places uninvited. It wasn't his style. True, he wasn't the most mannerly person, but he'd lived in the Capitol long enough to understand that it could get you in real trouble showing up at someone else's house when they weren't expecting you. Still. Even though she was mad at him, he was pretty sure that Natasha wouldn't mind. Too much.
She probably would mind the fact that he still smelled like last night's whiskey (well, more accurately, tonight's whiskey, since they'd mostly been drinking sugary, sea-colored cocktails last night, but same difference) but there wasn't much he could do about that. He knew if he didn't go over there right now they were going to get caught in a game of which-one-is-going-to-text-the-other-first and really, they should just have the damn conversation. Clint wasn't particularly sure where to start that conversation, but he was sure, on the ride over to her house, that he'd figure out something clever.
He didn't.
Instead, he knocked on her door louder than he meant to and slumped a little against the frame as he waited for her to open it. He looked put together enough, at least, clothes clean, hair glossy and brushed. He was a little scruffy, but otherwise he looked okay. Not that that helped him know what to say when she opened the door. In the end, he just blurted, "You're mad at me and I don't like it."
Clearly, alcohol made Clint a paragon of self-expression.