InsaneJournal

WHO: Clint Barton & Liv Moore
WHERE: Streets then Liv's Place
WHEN: {backdated} sometime a little while ago
WHAT: Clint and Liv bump into each other after being out separately; Clint walks her home.
WARNINGS: PGish
STATUS: Complete

Clint wasn't a heavy drinker. Not really. He had the occasional night where he needed to stop thinking, more and more when dreams were a big issue to deal with. But he had seen more than enough alcoholism in his time to steer clear of becoming dependent. At least on anything that wasn't coffee. Maybe it was an addiction all the same, but he'd sooner over caffeinate than get himself so drunk he blacked out.

This was definitely one of those 'slightly tipsy' nights, as he staggered just a few times on the walk home, nothing to be overly worried about, just a happy guy ambling home. Even if his nights usually have a little bit of danger in them he hadn't been shot, stabbed, run over or attacked in a few weeks, so he figured taking a chance wouldn't be too bad an idea. He'd find out later if his luck had changed.

Wandering the street, pretty sure he was taken the road back home, Clint hadn't expected to run into anyone, but the stark white blond hair was a sort of give away, "Hey, Doc." He was possibly a little too cheery, but that was what decent booze did to a person.

---

Liv usually drank at the Double Tap but Dan was out on a job and she didn’t feel like going back to the apartment alone. So she had gone to a bar not far from where she lived, within walking distance to her apartment, leaving her car parked at the complex. Though it wasn’t necessarily a step she needed to take it turned out considering by the time she left the bar she was still pretty sober.

On the short walk back to the apartment she saw someone sort of familiar. And then he called her Doc. Which was a bit surprising considering she wasn’t technically a doctor. But with that phrase it only took her a moment to realize who it was. Not that she knew his name. She just knew him as the guy that had walked into her morgue with a bullet wound. “Hey,” she replied with a small smile still not knowing what the guys name was. “How are you? How’s your ribs?” At least he was alive still. That was a relief given it had been quite a few years since Liv worked as a surgeon. Plus it wasn’t like she had all the proper equipment around in the morgue.

---

“They’re good, no one’s broken them in a while, so that’s a plus, right?” It was funny, meeting people on the street, out and about, living life. Man, he was a little too tipsy to focus. “Barely even a scar honestly, I mean, compared to how it usually is.” Like the gnarly one on his leg from where he had dug out a bullet one time.

So that was something to be grateful for, especially since Liv stopped him from probably making things worse for himself. “How ‘bout you, get any more walk ins?” He chuckled a little, because obviously most people wouldn’t be so stupid as to walk into a morgue rather than go to the hospital, but Clint never claimed to be like most people. “You’re not workin’ late, are you?”

---

“You know,” Liv began giving Clint a small smile. “I think it’s a good that no one has broken your ribs in awhile...” She made sure to emphasize that last word. “You should probably reevaluate your life.” She was kidding mostly. It was good advice but she had a feeling Clint wasn’t about to take it.

“Nope, believe it or not most people don’t go to the morgue for medical help.” Though Clint wasn’t the only one she had ever stitched up in her morgue. But it was a very rare thing. “No. Stopped at a bar on my way home,” Liv replied to his last question still pretty sober. “I”m guessing you did the same?” She could tell by the way he smelled and the slight slur in his words.

---

It wasn't the first time Clint had heard it, it certainly wouldn't be the last time either, but it wasn't exactly like Clint went looking for these things. Most of the time, trouble just happened to know where Clint was going to be and met him there. "Well, sure, but then I'd need to actually be proactive about something." But as usual, Clint just brushed things off with a 'eh' about it. Whatever happened, it happened.

“Yeah,” there wasn’t even the remote chance of playing off his slightly drunken weave or his tipsy nature, so why bother? “Dream shit, y’know.” Which could either come across as ‘I have nightmares’ if Liv wasn’t one of Orange County’s specially selected dream-havers, or she’d know exactly what he was talking about.

“It probably won’t help, y’know, but worth a try.” It wasn’t like there was a good way to try and not deal with dreams.

---

Liv was definitely a dreamer. One that had turned into another species thanks to the dreams. A zombie. She was well aware of the havoc dreaming could have on a person. And how there was no real way to deal. Liv herself had fallen victim to dealing with drinks on occasion herself.

“It might help a little. Or at least temporarily,” Liv replied giving him a small, reassuring smile. “But yeah, there’s not much that can help with those.” She wished she had better news for the guy, but there wasn’t much when it came to dreams.

---

Temporarily was okay, he could deal with temporarily, at least when it came up. Clint understood not getting reliant, he did. But sometimes… “Yeah, so, hey it is what is it.”

No point in getting down about it, least of all when he’d been drinking. Getting down while drunk was a very bad idea. “Where are you headin’? Loitering around the street while a lil’ bit drunk is a bad idea for me. I’ll get hit by something.” Probably a truck, knowing his luck.

---

“Good thing you’re with a medical examiner,” she joked. But really she’d prefer not to have to do makeshift surgery in the middle of the street if Clint got hit by something. Or hurt in anyway really.

“Back to my apartment,” she added answering his question. “It’s not far. What about you?” she’d offer up her couch if his place was too far.

---

“Very lucky,” since he apparently went to a medical examiner just for medical help in general. Why not? It was still just stitching up. And clearly Liv was trained medically enough to not butcher him. “But I think I’ll try and avoid it.” Because if they’d both been drinking? No thank you.

He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, home or to another bar or somewhere else, in all honesty he didn’t exactly have a plan. “Em, yeah, same, ish.” No plans tended to be how Clint rolled with things though, “Let me walk you though?” At least part way. All the way might be too pushy, but at the least it’d get his blood circulating and might clear his head with the air. “I think I wanna hedge my bets with a doctor for a while.”

---

“Probably a good idea,” Liv replied. Though she had a sinking feeling that trouble seemed to follow Clint around. Especially with his previous comments.

“Of course,” there was a small smile on her face because Clint coming with her was exactly what she had been planning. She didn’t feel right leaving him alone as drunk as he was. “You usually find people to walk home when you’re out like this?” she questioned only half joking as she began to lead the way to her place.

---

“You might be surprised how often that happens.” Although, to be fair, his randomly finding people to walk home with didn’t always work out in his favour at all. But it had been a while since he’d made those poor decisions at least. “It usually works out alright.”

And the odd time or two it didn’t usually led to something else working out okay in the end too. There was just a lot of trouble leading to okayness in Clint’s life, and he was pretty much okay with that too. He was never too concerned with finding a purpose behind things or anything. If he didn’t have to go to the hospital, it was a good night.

“Unless you’re secretly a serial killer, in which case this might go badly for me.” It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility either.

---

Liv would definitely be surprised. This was a first for her. But then she didn’t often go out drinking. Unless it was at Dan’s bar in which case he usually took her home. Or she didn’t drink enough to get drunk.

“Actually that’s why I work in the morgue,” Liv joked. “To help cover up all my victims.” Hopefully Clint would catch on to the joke. Because not only was it in her tone, but she was pretty sure a serial killer wouldn’t randomly admit to it.

---

“Ah, I see the master plan,” he sort of figured it was a joke, few people admitted to that, and being that he had been in a group like that, well, he didn’t peg Liv for the type. If either of them were likely to have bodies hidden somewhere, it was him.

“Glad I didn’t foil anything and end up in a drawer then.” There was a slight stagger in his walk, but nothing enough to really be threatening to him. Thankfully he could still walk. “Guess you gotta have like a firm enough resolve to work in the morgue, eh? Seeing all that.” The worst things people did to each other sometimes.

Jesus, Clint would drink way more than would be healthy if that were him. Then again, he doubted he was smart enough to make it that far.

---

“Yeah,” Liv said softly her tone growing a bit more serious as she thought about all the autopsies she had done, all the murders she had worked on. It could be a lot especially with Liv’s connection to most of the victims - visions of their life, taking on their personalities. But someone had to do the job, and she wanted at least something good to come out of what she was.

“You know,” she went on changing the subject as they walked. “You never told me what you do.”

---

What did Clint do for a living? It was hard to explain exactly what he did without blatantly saying ‘I’m a criminal’, which was basically what he did. Probably not the best thing to tell someone you were walking home with though.

“I’m a lock specialist.” Not an outright lie, “Fix folks locks when they get all locked outta things, or one time getting locked in. Y’know.” It was probably easier than explaining anything around the truth, but then he was fairly sure Liv, who fixed up a bullet wound for him, wouldn’t believe he was entirely squeaky clean.

---

Clint was right. Liv wasn’t buying that fixing locks was all he did. But she had secrets of her own. So if Clint wanted to keep what he really did private Liv wasn’t going to pry. “Wasn’t aware there were so many people that needed help with locks,” Liv commented. It was her subtle way of saying she knew that wasn’t all he did but she was fine at leaving it at that.

“Well,” Liv said as they reached her apartment building. “This is me. You wanna come up and sleep it off?” Not an invitation in bed at all. Liv was in a relationship, thank you very much. It was just her being worried about Clint being out so drunk.

---

“Aw, y’know, lots’a people getting locked outta stuff.” It was semi bullshit because he technically did unlock things. It just happened that no one really wanted him too. “Now you know who to call when you need lock work.” Because he’d totally figure it out, surely.

Stopping at the building, Clint actually pondered going up, because to be fair he wasn’t exactly sure where he was in relation to his own place. “D’you got some coffee or whatever?” Because yeah, he might pass out on the sofa, but he would definitely need a cup in the morning, especially if Liv had work early. Clint Barton was not a morning person.

---

“Of course,” Liv replied with a small smile. “Who do you think I am?” she wouldn’t be able to survive without coffee either. Even if she did have to put tons of hot sauce in it. She was tempted to warn him to stay out of the freezer but Liv had a feeling that would have the opposite effect on Clint. She’d just have to try and hide the brains father back while he was passed out on the couch.

Opening the door to the building she paused before entering. “You coming or what?”

---

If there was the option of coffee in the morning, and Clint didn’t have to figure out how to navigate his way home, then there wasn’t really a reason to not take Liv up on the offer. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

It wasn’t like he was intruding if Liv was offering. He could even make two cups in the morning and try not get shot this month. That’d be a decent ‘thanks’.

---