#thegreatestmarksman

“Obviously the worst thing that can happen is getting kicked off the team.” Clint huffed, running a hand through his hair and sitting down in the nearest chair. He just needed to think about this rationally.

“Or you know, get rejected twice. That would be pretty fucking terrible.” He covered his face with his hands, not believing that they were actually having this conversation.

“Non, you overthinking this,” Remy decrees. He pops another beer open -- he’s practically sprawled across the chair he’s sitting in, most of a six pack sitting next to him. He’d broken in, because he’d never just knocked on Clint’s door in his life and wasn’t going to start now, but per usual he’d brought alcohol. He’s a good friend, alright?

Kind of.

>> “What’s the safest way to set a car on fire?”

“Why are you asking me? You think I know how to set a car on fire?” Clint paused, glancing around before stepping closer.

“Break the car window open, throw something flammable on the inside and hit it with something to light it. If you want to get really fun, cut open the fuel tank and let some of the gas leak out before doing it.”

He steps back again, shrugging. “Just don’t let me catch you, I technically work for the government but I can’t do anything unless I catch you in the act so.”

Uh, oops, he hadn’t pegged this guy at the bus stop as a government man. Sophie would be so disappointed. Eliot would be both mocking and pissed. Of course, if Eliot were around then Hardison wouldn’t have had to ask this guy anything. At least Hardison was right about the guy knowing how to set a car on fire. He just has -- that look about him. 

A very distinctive look, as Eliot would say.

listen,, when clint slides into being completely infatuated with sarkis (which is coming up real quick ngl because clint goes from 0 to 1000 so quickly) he might poke and prod because he needs to know

“I wasn’t really careless. I cared about the people I was saving, just not so much me.” If anything, he was hurt because he cared to much then not enough.

They just hook up sometimes, usually because Remy is still hanging around the bar at last call. And, okay, maybe Remy’s kind of... stopped going home with other people... but he and Clint aren’t dating. They just fuck, sometimes. And text. Or, you know, “”””sext””” as the kids are calling it, these days. Clint takes really stupid nudes but makes up for it by being really hot.

But so, anyway: not dating. Possibly not even friends, Remy never assumes that kind of thing. Also, Valentine’s Day is a Tuesday. Clint works Tuesday. (Okay, Clint kind of always works.) So, even if Remy had been inclined to -- what -- sweep the guy off his feet, or something, which he is not -- the timing doesn’t really work out.

So on the Tuesday in question, Remy comes in at his usual time, orders his usual beer, and plops a heart-shaped box of artisan chocolates on the bartop like it’s no big deal. Which it isn’t. Everyone likes chocolates, okay, and they’re really good chocolates, and the place is empty as usual on Tuesdays, so it’s not like he’s going to embarrass himself.