#avengerdeafened

“so about that four twenty loving ghost.” no preamble here, just the start of a conversation after she spots him in the crowd and trots after him, hands shoved carefully into her pockets. “it wasn’t a ghost. turns out the student living above me really loves incense. and something called rage yoga.” 

The LOOK he gave his brother, one of exasperation. Ex-military and ex-FBI, of course Barney always had to think up a plan first rather than just charge in. Shouldn’t he and that little group of Avengers or whatever the hell they were operate in a similar manner? How else would ANYTHING get done?   ❝       You can take out your hearing aids if you don’t wanna listen to me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t just SIGN it to you.      ❞    As if to make it point clear, his hands were held out, moving in the sideways motion for just ‘plan’. Barney’d already faced nearly dying once and he certainly didn’t fancy experiencing it again.

“I’m a motherfucking trainwreck.”

“I’m fine, y’know. You don’t have to pretend to care.”

“   care to explain to me just what the hell you were thinking?   ”    arms folded over his chest,   fury stares at barton,   one brow lifted.    “   you were sent out with a mission to kill this woman and   --   you bring her back to headquarters?   what could she possibly have done to convince you?   ”  

at first fitz didn’t bother to look up. he assumed that it was jemma that had just walked into and started on a mini rant about how they needed to look at the coding on the dwarves again because they were starting to act very strange. he was in the middle of his sentence when he finally looked up and saw who was in front of him. “oh my god. you’re clint barton. i’m so sorry. i thought you were agent simmons.” 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. Tits her head to the side and gently presses a kiss against his collar bone, halfway on skin and halfway on his shirt. It was too much effort for her to move any further. “I didn’t mean to wake you...”

The sudden and sharp profanity had drawn his attention away from the paper he’d been reading, the man trying to relax and still catch up on the years missed while locked away in a bunker. The sudden shout was enough to instantly put him on EDGE again, a constant alertness always there and arising whenever he thought there might be trouble. Even his attempts to relax after the hell he’d been through were often thwarted by the SMALLEST possible sign of trouble. His eyebrows rose, setting the paper aside before standing up see what the hell was going on now with his brother.   ❝     What, did you hit your hand again with the damn hammer? I don’t know how the hell you’re gonna hold a bow for much longer if you fuck up your hand with renovations.     ❞    They were an essential part of the body for archers and it certainly wouldn’t be the FIRST time he’d witness the action. Normal people could shake off an injury like that, what the hell else were they using their hands for anyways?    ❝     I don’t need to go get bandages because you cut it open, now do I?     ❞