My Life As A Weapon

Clint froze for a moment before he hurriedly flicked the rest of the vegetables into the sink. He tossed the bowl and spoon in as well before he turned around, guarding the evidence. 

“Hey, Bobbi! How are you? Nice weather we are having, right?” he asked with false cheer. 

“Oh, that wasn’t your food. It was mine,” he clarified. It had been his food that she’d made, hence the vegetables.

Bobbi stood, processing this, then shifted the stack of folders resting in the crook of her arm.  “’Kay.  I mean - you could’ve left it for me, instead of just throwing it out, but -”

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“My name is Bobbi Morse. I can turn a standing lamp into a weapon and talk an AI to death in 150 words or less. I also like super weird food and enjoy regularly trying to poison Clint with vegetables because I think he needs them even though he’s lived without them for years,” Clint sighed and flicked a bowl full of uneaten carrots and peas into the sink so that he could destroy the evidence with the garbage disposal.

Arrested by the sound of the monologue, Bobbi paused in the doorway to the kitchen, and listened.  Lord, was nothing sacred in this tower of absurdities?  I thought we were past this. 

“Um.  Why are you listing my best qualities like they’re insults, and why are you throwing out my lunch?”

“Hey, Bobbi! How are you? Nice weather we are having, right?” he asked with false cheer. 

Hawk considered trying to grab the girl and pull her into what little light existed, but he decided against it and moved carefully to only take the water from her. If she left, no telling when the next little crow would appear and talk to him.

“I don’t know why they do anythin’,” he admitted. “Most of it just pisses me off, no matter what they try ta say about it.” He started to drink more of the water and sighed in relief.

“Thirsty, and angry,” Jo observed.  “Don’t you pay attention?  Knowing things like that is always useful.  Why people do things.  Might help you.”

In principle, anyway, but she was getting the impression he didn’t have the patience for that kind of thing.  Or subtlety.

“I like you girls because you are badasses and you put up with all of my stupid jokes,” Clint clarified. He wondered how much he could say at the moment that she wouldn’t remember. He thought he would wait before he decided if he’d test that or not.

“How much have you drank?” he wondered, chuckling. “How many private island party places have you eaten?”

“Sshhut up,” Bobbi advised, and placed a finger over her lips.  She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again to squint at Clint.  It seemed she had stumbled upon an interesting thread of thought, and she decided to follow it, albeit carefully.

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“My name is Natasha Romanoff. I have amazing hair, can kill you with my feet while I’m doing my makeup and like to steal Clint’s last piece of pizza out of the refrigerator because I’m a suuuper spy and no one will ever suspect me,” Clint grumbled mockingly as he looked at the vacant space where his lunch should be waiting for him.

Coming up silently, Natasha perched on one of the barstools.  She arranged herself comfortably to watch Clint’s complaints, propped her chin on her hand.  

“Why do you try and poison me with vegetables? They don’t want to be eaten! They tell you that with their terrible taste!” Clint insisted. ”And quinoa sounds like a fancy private island party place.”

“I don’t like when girls… Okay, a little. I like when girls can hold their own, especially against me. “What if I need backup? Screaming is not useful. Unless it is a sonic scream and I take out my hearing aids. That would be pretty cool.”

Bobbi pointed at Clint, and her finger wavered somewhat before her eyes.  (How drunk are you?)  “You like girls - I know you, Barton - you like girls who can beat you up.  That’s why you like me.”  She laughed and let her hand drop to the table.  “And Natasha.”

Clint watched Natasha and fought the urge to back up and away from her. She was close enough to kiss and he wanted to lean forward and take the chance. He listened very carefully when she spoke. Before he could ask her what she meant by ‘when’, her lips were on his.

He leaned forward, trying to follow her as she drew away. This time, his smile matched hers. “Can we repeat all that to make sure I understood it,” he asked, grinning.

Got him.

Natasha watched Clint’s expression shift, amusement playing around her eyes.  But we mustn’t let him get too confident.

“No,” she replied mildly.  “So you better hope you heard me right.”

He stared after her long after she’d gone. ‘When’ he remembered.

Clint entered the shop because of official Avenger’s business. There was a rumor going around in some circles that the woman who owned this shop really was a witch. A couple of years ago, he would have laughed until his sides hurt, but after meeting Loki he volunteered to investigate her.

After arguing with the door about entering the shop, he looked around and pulled his jacket a bit tighter around himself. The combination of the smell of damp earth and the strangled rays of sunlight made him feel like he was entering a tomb instead of a quaint little store.

He peered through the plants and shelves to find who had spoken to him. When he spotted her, he made his way up to the counter. “Hey, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could help me.”

“No.”  The reply was mild, and delivered just shy of immediately.  The woman silently finished the paragraph in progress, then raised her eyes from her book.

“That is to say, it is possible I could, but I don’t want to.”  She took him in for a moment - scruffy, dressed as if his clothes had merely happened to him, and a general demeanor of being about to break something - then looked back at the open page.

Hawk sighed and considered Jo as she hid in the shadows. This was a rocky start, but he didn’t really understand another way to go about things anymore. 

“Fine. Keep yer shadows and yer mystery. Mind passin’ me the other water while ya do all that?” he asked before he tossed the now empty water skin back in front of her. 

Jo rolled her eyes and laughed quietly.  “Yeah, mysterious, that’s what I am.”  She glanced up, then reached for the second skin hanging overhead.  It only required a slight stretch and, once it was in hand, she took a drink, herself.

“Bleh, no class time. I dropped out for a reason. Besides, haven’t you heard? I can barely count to five. I shouldn’t be in class,” Clint grinned at Bobbi.

“Gross stuff like carrots and celery and broccoli. Also that weird mushy wheat thing you eat that starts with a Q but sounds like it starts with a K. Oh, and peas. Peas are gross too.”

K… Q… Too many letters.  And then it clicked.  Mushy wheat stuff.  Pls.

“That is nonsense, Clinton.  Vegetables are delicious, and so is quinoa, if you do it right.  If it’s mushy, you’re doing it wrong.  I will have you over to dinner sometime, and I will make vegetables, and you will like them.  Because I am a good cook, not because I am threatening you.”

Bobbi paused, considering.

“Why do you try and poison me with vegetables? They don’t want to be eaten! They tell you that with their terrible taste!” Clint insisted. ”And quinoa sounds like a fancy private island party place.”