Summary:Kate stops by to check up on Clint only to find him about to dive into a six pack. She takes one for the team and tries to cheer him up. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Two days ago Mrs. Ratkowski called the number she had for one Clinton Francis Barton, managing to give him the good news and yet still working herself up into a rather good lather about what she had to do to deal with the apartment problem in the first place. But even though it took some enduring to survive her tirade, eventually he got the okay for him to move on back to the apartment.
But when she got off the phone, Barton held onto the phone for a time, frowning to himself as he looked at the caller ID of the disconnected land lady. He lifted his head at the old work desk and then looked back over his shoulder. "Hey Groucho?"
"What'sit Barton?"
"I gotta run up some leads, make myself available. Cover for me or throw people at my burner if they need to get me."
"Right, man." Groucho, who has no mustache, waves a hand absently while still plinking away on his computer. He didn't see Barton make his way out. Nor his way to the motorpool.
Eventually, however, the archer showed up at his newly renovated apartment and stepped through the door.
First thing that hit him was the smell. Clean. Spic and Span and everything was so damn clean. He stepped through, six-pack in hand as he started to slip out of his work jacket but not before snaking the lime out of one of the pockets. He tosses the jacket in the middle of the floor, leaving it there. To the window that looks out on the street and the fire escape he pulls it open. One of his kitchen chairs that survived the remodel is drrrrragged over with its feet scraping. He sets it down in front of the window. The six-pack is set down with a glassy clink, then he's set down. A knife slides from somewhere hidden up his sleeve and he starts sectioning the lime. There's drink to be had, and he's gettin' his drank on.
It had been a few days since Kate had heard anything from Clint other than 'apartment's getting fixed, stop complaining about the mess already'. Or something along those general lines as she'd been nagging him about getting it into actual, liveable shape for awhile now since officially meeting him. For someone younger than him she certainly had no qualms telling him he needed to sort his life out just a bit. At least in regards to his living situation.
The fact that she hadn't heard from him had her taking a route by his place every day just to check on him. Even when he wasn't there she'd pause on the sidewalk peering up into the windows for several minutes before heading on her way. At least, until today, when she just happens to catch him opening up the window and settling in to drink.
The obvious slight sway of the fire escape along with the tell-tale clank heralds her arrival. It's not long at all before her brunette head pops up over the edge and she smirks toward Clint. "Wow, it's not even five o'clock yet."
Weirdly enough Clint actually jumps a little, touching a hand to the collar of his white t-shirt as if she kicked him in the chest to jumpstart his ticker. "Fucksake, Bishop." He'd been lost in thought with eyes distanced but now he tilts his beer back and scowls at her.
"You should use the door, I'll get the neighbors complainin' or Mrs. Ratkowski will see you stomping up the steps or somethin' and I'll get booted again." Though really those are… unlikely scenarios.
He tosses a nod towards her though, brow furrowed. "What's up with you?"
"In this neighborhood? I don't think anyone would really notice or care, Clint." Kate swings her legs up over the side to stand fully with a quick sweep of her hands over her thighs to dust hreself off. There wasn't much to get rid of. She was wearing a pair of purple hightop sneakers, darker purple leggings, and a loose white t-shirt that had a stylized arrow criss-crossed on it. It wasn't custom. It was just one of those trendy things that worked for her.
"Not a lot. The boyfriend moved on so I'm solo again. Otherwise I've been catching up with some friends and teammates." The beers are eyed. "What's got you in a mood?"
In the running for most unconvincing deflective question is, "Who says I'm in a mood?" He folds his arms over his chest as he settles back into his chair. One boot goes thump on the sill of the window and then he's crossing a leg over his knee and looking entirely at home once again.
"Can't a guy enjoy a beer in his home without bein' hassled?" He cradles that beer in the crook of his arm, arms still crossed as he looks beside and past her. Then his gaze lifts up to her.
One eyebrow quirks as he gives her a once over and then asks, "What happened with you and the boyfriend?" Then his eyes widen a little as he realizes, "Didn't know you had a boyfriend. Was he a jerk?"
Kate Bishop snorts as if she doesn't quite believe the fact that he was just trying to relax. She sinks down to sit just on the edge of the sill with her legs to the side as she was still mostly out on the fire escape. It left him room to lounge but she could look him in the eye instead of having to lower her gaze to do so. Plus it was just a bit more comfy as she shifts to lean her back against the window frame. "'A' drink usually doesn't require an entire six pack," she adds giving a little waggle of her finger in toward the case. "Plus I totally snuck up on you." A faint grin is offered before he asks about the boyfriend.
Her head leans back to glance upward with a little shake of her head. "No, he was a nice guy. I just felt like he was relying on me too much for… Everything." A long sigh is exhaled, and another faint grin creeps over her. "I helped him settle into the city. I was teaching him how to cook. Getting him up-to-date on pop culture. He just didn't seem to have any idea of what he wanted to do when I wasn't around."
Kate glances back to Clint with a small frown. "That make any sense?"
"I like to be thorough," Clint says only a little bit defensively, then he adds. "And plan for the future." He grimaces but then takes another swallow from the bottle. He looks to the side over where his couch used to be and scowls a little, then says in her general direction, "Yer gonna make me go out and drink amongst people. Is that what you want?"
But then she's speaking about her boyfriend and it might seem like he's not paying attention at all. She asks him if it makes sense and he doesn't answer her. Instead there's silence for just time enough for the street noise outside to creep up on them.
But then he looks back toward her and says, "Yeah. You want whomever you're involved with to be a whole person. Have their own life."
Kate Bishop starts to slowly frown at that lack of listening. He asked! It wasn't as if she went around talking about her love life to everyone. It just seemed like he'd needed to get his mind off of something else. His response however causes her to glance inside his pretty much empty apartment thoughtfully.
Swinging a hand out she smacks his feet lightly. "No, I'm going to make you go furniture shopping. I'll even agree to IKEA so long as you get yourself a couch that doesn't look like someone died on it."
"That," Clint says as he points at her with the half-empty bottle, "Is a hell no." Though at the least he smiles a little. "Unless you want to do the whole thing, I'll give you my card info and you can knock yourself out." Such a tempting option… free rein to entirely redo an apartment to taste.
"Though you know, me. I like simplistic. So not a lotta chotchkis or anything." He straightens up a little and pulls his shoe off the sill, feigning pain at where she struck it he rubs his foot. "Heck, you can do it all from your phone and leave me alone to do what I wanna."
Which is the important thing here really.
Kate Bishop rolls her eyes at the response of not going anywhere. Was he really that far into his beer already? "Well if you insist I go—" She begins as she moves to half-rise. It's a trick though; instead of leaving her hand snakes in through the window to grab his half-drunk bottle from his hand. Just as quick she snags it, and tips it back to chug the remaining contents in three gulps without hesitation.
"Oh, no, it appears I'm inebriated and unable to safely go anywhere for at least a few hours. I guess you'll just have to put up with me."
Kate sinks back down to sit on the sill again. "So either you can talk, or I'm going to start window shopping on my phone and showing you everything I'm thinking of getting."
"Shit," Is what Clint says at first, succinctly encapsulating the situation. She's able to grab the beer fast enough after all and she makes with it as she will, and Barton… he just sort of looks at her as if she's this strange being from Mars that won't leave him alone. "You're like the Great Gazoo." He says as he leeeeans over and gets another bottle from the six-pack, twisting the cap off with a rough turn and then grabbing one of the lime sections to flavor the lip of the bottle.
"This lil green alien guy that used to give Fred Flintstone soooo much crap. Like seriously, a ton of crap. And even at like, five years old, while I was watching it. I had no hint as to what an asshole actually was. And yet, on some primal instinctive level, I knew that Gazoo was one."
That might be a bit harsh, considering. But then he takes a deep breath and says, "Wait, you're not under age are you?" Since that would be just the kicker.
"It's not the first time I've had a drink, Clint," Kate assures in the way that one would do when casually brushing off the finer details of a topic. The empty beer bottle is set on the window sill beside her though as she lines up the fallen soldier with room for others to join. "I try not to be annoying though. It just seems like leaving you alone right now would be a really bad idea. One that might end up on the news."
Kate's expression softens and she lets out a little sigh. Shifting her weight a bit she does reach back to pull out her phone perhaps to go through with her threat of shopping. "Look, the least I can do is keep you company. If you don't want to talk about what's bugging you then we don't have to. But," she adds glancing back into the apartment again with a wry grin. "We can do some online browsing for stuff that *you* would like. Just the basics. Nothing fru-fru or kitchy," she assures. As if to prove her point she holds out her phone to show off the IKEA website, true to her word, but there's a sofa on it. "Look it even doubles as a bed if you fold the back down."
He takes in a looooooong steady deep breath as he leans forward in his chair, eyes widening slightly as if this very moment, this very thing, it was all so damn painful. But he grimaces a little and shifts to the side only to then release the breath in this heavy grumbly sigh. Though it's short-lived.
He looks sideways at her. Takes a swig of beer. Then looks at the phone. Blue eyes rove over what she points out and he says, "Kid, it's a futon. I'm not in college. I have no use for a flip and fu…" He stops and then says, "For a flip out bed."
That said he finally pushes himself to his feet, that rickety kitchen chair complaining with a creak. "Seriously," He waves over his shoulder toward her as he moves into the kitchen proper, pulling open the refrigerator door with a /whumpf/. "Find things you like, order them, it'll work fine for me."
Kate Bishop tries very, very hard not to crack a smug grin when he turns down the futon in that manner. "Clint, there's a huge difference between 'making due with what you're given' and actually getting what you want. Else," she adds with a chuckle as she shifts to swing her legs inside the window still perching there but definitely INSIDE the apartment this time. "You'd have been fine with the futon."
Reluctantly, Clint rolls his eyes away from her but cracks a smile. "Alright. Fine." He leans over to look into the phone's screen and tells her. "Show me what ya got, kid." And with that maybe he'll start to pull out of this funk.