Clint Barton is going back to bed. (today_sucks) wrote in onewaythreads, @ 2017-11-04 23:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, clint barton, kate bishop (hawkeye) |
Who: Hawkeye and Hawkeye.
What: Double the pleasure double the fun DOUBLE MINT GUM
Where: 56A, or maybe 56B
When: Early October
Rating: Low
It'd only taken a handful of phone calls and the flashing of Kate's credit card to secure a place for herself in Preya. Then a long plane ride. A really, really long plane ride. Kate felt sweaty and stinky and horrible by the time the plane landed. She was anxious to get off that tarmac, grab her bag, and get on the road. Unfortunately, it was another thirty minutes before she had her bag in hand, and yet another half hour before she was in the rental car.
Thankfully, it wasn't that far of a drive to make it to her new home. The keys from the manager were supposed to let her into her new place, where she could finally drop off all her bags and explore. But the key wasn't working. Kate jiggled the thing in the lock, then smacked her open palm against the door in frustration.
At any other time, Clint probably would have ignored that smacking noise -- apartment buildings were full of weird noises, after all -- but he’d been standing in his kitchen which was mighty close to his front door, and it was really really hard to ignore the sound of the wrong key jingling in his lock.
It wasn’t a fault, he thought, that his first instinct was that someone was trying to break in.
And it was just smart, he figured, to arm himself if that was the case. So it stood to all things logical and reasonable that he had his bow out and mostly ready even as he approached the door. “Someone lives here!” He called, just in case it wasn’t obvious.
Kate jumped a little at the sound of the yell from the other side. She frowned, pulling out the paper from her pocket, crumpled and folded, and opened it up. “Is this… 56A?” She cried back, yelling through the closed and locked door. “Because I’m supposed to like… live here now.”
56...A? There were letters in this building? He’d never noticed. Way to go, Hawkeye. Oh, well. Probably no bow and arrow was required then, since this really did seem to be the case of girl not knowing where she lived.
Which sounded more awkward than it was, probably. “No,” he responded loudly, setting down his gear around the corner before moving to open the door. “That’s probably across the hall---Katie?” If he’d been expecting anyone one at all (and he hadn’t been) she would have been the very last person.
The door opened and Kate looked up… into Clint’s face. Clint Barton. Jesus. She hadn’t been expecting that, and for a moment she felt a little speechless. Her eyes were wide, her jaw slack. Then she seemed to snap out of it. “Clint? What are you doing here?”
Clint blinked, looked over his shoulder for some ungodly reason, like maybe he just expected this to be a trick and there was someone inside his own apartment pulling it. But that was not that case. All that was in there was fresh coffee and a dog that apparently slept like the dead.
“Uh,” he said, awkward and confused. And a little overwhelmed. “I live here.”
Kate glanced down at the key in her hand, and the tag that had the number on it. Then she glanced back up at him, frowning deeply. “...no, you don’t. You live in Brooklyn.” This was so confusing. Why was he here? One of the reasons she’d come here was to figure out who she was apart from him. How was she going to do that with him here? With him in the apartment she’d been rented, no less?
“Wait, so this isn’t 56A?” She turned around behind her and studied the door opposite. The name tag was rusty, but she could make it out. 56A.
“Well, I live here now,” Clint corrected because yeah, he had lived in Brooklyn. But that apartment complex was probably better off without him bringing hell down around them when they were just trying to mind their own. At least, it was now that the mafia had left.
Why was she here? Clint wanted to ask, but that’d mean she’d get to ask him the same thing, and since he didn’t want to answer that -- well. He kept quiet. “56B.”
“Oh.” She turned around again and stared.
Crap. That was just perfect. Just perfect. She hadn’t entirely left to get away from Clint, per se, but she knew that she needed some distance from him if she was supposed to figure out who she was. Both as as person and as a Hawkeye. And now he was standing right in front of her, looking… well, almost exactly how she remembered him. Maybe with fewer band-aids littered across his face and arms.
“I guess this is me.” She motioned to the door behind her. It wasn’t the worst thing. Actually, it could be a very good thing. Clint was pretty much her best damn friend in the whole damn world. And being without him was… a little bit unthinkable. She put the key in the lock--her lock--and the door swung open easily. “I’ll just be… settling in.”
Some fewer bandaids. There always tended to be a few, no matter how many fights he did or did not get into. Really, Clint was pretty great at wrecking himself on nearly anything.
“Wait,” he said, when she turned around all… all. Like she was just ready to leave. Which was, okay, fair, because he’d up and left too, but that had been a split second kinda shitty decision on his part after a week of a particularly low low. It wasn’t like he’d been out to abandon Kate. He had missed her.
“You uh-- need help? Or coffee?” Maybe a hug? He could have used one of those. Lucky only went so far, some days.
Kate turned when he asked her to wait. How could she not? This was Clint. Her best friend. And, yeah, she’d come here to kinda get away, but now that he was here in front of her again, she was starting to realize how stupid that was. Just the way she felt at the sight of him, the way him calling her back made her feel?
“I’d love a coffee,” she nodded once. “Just let me put my bags down.” ...she probably should have brought more stuff with her. But after the long flight and all that? She sure needed a cup of coffee (or six) to make it through to an appropriate bedtime.
Her apartment was completely empty. But it was beautifully clean, too, with fresh carpets and paint. She moved into the kitchen and set her bags on the counter, then came back into the hall and closed the door behind herself.
“Where’s Lucky?”
Clint’s apartment, on the other hand, looked very much lived in in the way that all his places seemed to. There were some empty beer bottles on the kitchen counter, a half a dozen coffee mugs scattered in various places, most often precariously placed. A few empty pizza boxes, because, really, this was Clint.
Clint, who smiled boyishly, and was already pushing a fresh mug of coffee in her direction when Kate walked in. “He’s--” But really, right on cue (and because Lucky probably loved Kate more), the dog in question came running up, all barks and embarrassingly excited half jump-climbing. “--yeah. Right there.”
The way Kate reacted to the dog was embarrassing. There was a lot of “who’s a good boy?”s and Kate crouching down so that Lucky could whimper and lick her face. Both of Kate’s hands were on his head, scratching his ears and hugging him close. She couldn’t help it, Lucky was her favorite. Well, besides Clint. And some of the others. Whatever, Lucky was the fucking best.
She stood up again after a moment, when they’d both spent their excitement, and gave Clint a “Thanks,” as she accepted the mug of coffee. This was… good. Normal. It felt nice. Right.
Clint couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Kate absolutely losing her shit over Lucky, and the way the dog reacted with wild, happy wags of his tail. He hadn’t been that excited since he’d gotten pizza from a stranger in the park a few weeks back. It was good to see them both in good spirits.
“Hey,” he said with a shrug, waving off the thanks, “that’s what friends are for.”