#agent0019

"Is that your cane, or are you just happy to see me?"

Daredevil realized that he was still holding his folded cane in his hands and crouched as he was, it probably wasn’t helping him look like a serious vigilante. He stood up, turned towards her, and stepped off the raised wall. He crossed the roof and put the cane in his leg holster.

“Okay, you have got to stop calling your nose the Super Smeller. If you want to nickname a body part, nickname your butt. Call it the Tight Bouncer or the Hexagon.”

Clint smiled over at Bobbi. “How much thought have you put into a nickname for my butt?”

@agent0019

Bruce’s dreams were a chaotic mess. He’d once described his perception of his time as the Other Guy as someone pouring a liter of acid in his brain. That was still pretty accurate. Though now, every once in awhile, he could get a very clear picture before it all dissolved into over exposed noise.

Yelling. Noise. Screaming. Puny human running from him. Falling through the floor. Falling again. Trapped. Tumbling and falling. Walls closing in. Metal screaming. Water. Water every where.

“Wake up.”

Bruce’s eyes snapped open. He could make out the shape of a person before he had to close his eyes again. The light was too bright and it hurt. He tried to hold up a hand to protect himself, but there was something draped over him. Quickly he opened his eyes to see what it was.

A coat? This isn’t mine. I don’t think.

He had to close his eyes again.

What’s under me? Sand? Is that sand? Am I on a beach? Why am I on a beach?

He felt cold and he started to shiver.

What’s going on? Was there a mission? Memory started to filter in. There was a fire. Someone was trapped. They needed his help. Bobbi. Bobbi was trapped. She was okay. I remember she was okay. He saved her. That was over.

“Coffee,” he said. His voice sounded ragged like he hadn’t used it in awhile. He managed to open his eyes a little and tried to focus on the person leaning over him. “I was getting coffee.” The coat was falling and he tried to grab it, but his fingers wouldn’t work right. Talking, using his hands, and even looking around felt strange and unfamiliar like it had been awhile since he’d performed those simple tasks.

Come on, Banner, get it together. Look around. Figure out where you are. This isn’t the first time we’ve had to do this.

Send ™ and my muse will do a poor imitation of yours.

“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.

“You mean you can’t determine our location by reading topographical air pressure, sensing the relative temperature of the sun, and smelling gravity?  Man.  That surgery really did a number on you.”

Bobbi took a step forward, sliding her hands from Matt’s waist to wrap her arms around him.  She snuggled against his back and kissed the corner of his jaw.

“You’ve been very patient.”  Resting her chin on his shoulder, she smiled.  “Ready for me to whip that blindfold off?”

Matt smiled while Bobbi teased him. “I know. I’m losing my edge already. Or it could be that I’ve never been here. Should I be worried that you’ve blindfolded me and driven me out into the wilderness? You know that I’m one of those terrible lawyers that isn’t filthy rich, right?”

Matt’s hand trailed along her arms and his fingers rested over hers. He gently squeezed her hands, enjoying all of this. He rested his head against hers and waited patiently.

SYMBOLS FOR THE MUN || ACCEPTING!

🎂 - I’m new to your blog, and I want to be friends

“Yeah.  Yeah, something about old times, blaze of glory.”  Bobbi took a breath, eyes skyward, shaky on the exhale.  She closed her eyes and let a second stretch into an age, the same old prayer, God help us.  

It was all so familiar.  She focused on Clint’s back, solid against hers, the smell of leather and sweat, and the sidearm heavy in her hand.  How many times had those shoulders supported her?  Only a thousand. She steadied her breathing.

“Just remember we gotta get back in time or the sitter’ll charge us double.”  Focus.  Exhale.  Her eyes opened.  “All right.  We got this.  Let’s fly, Hawkeye.”

“What? No! No blaze of glory! People die in those! I’m against that!” Clint whispered firmly. “

Clint took a long moment to refocus.  He tightened his grip on his bow and tilted his head from side to side, his shoulders never leaving Bobbi’s. Do or die. That was their usual situation. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Shit,” he whispered. “I do not want to owe Natasha anymore vodka,” he muttered before he quietly selected his next arrow. “Let’s hurry this up, shall we?” he grinned.

On her command, he stood and fired his electronet arrow. The tip of the arrow exploded and expanded catching one hostile fully in the middle and two others on either side. All three convulsed as the the electric shot stunned them into unconsciousness.