Fake!MM for Gabby's Maria

[hasthehighground]

Clint doesn't spend all of his time in the rafters. It's pretty hard to get refills up there.

So right now he's drinking a tall glass of milk on a barstool, facing outwards and leaning back slightly. He is giving the rafters a thoughtful look, though. He's starting to feel less bruised, after all.

Comments

[mm_gabby]

He may be less bruised, but after running into Agent Romanoff, Agent Hill can't say the same.

It stayed civilized, of course. They're all professionals here.

"Agent Barton."

Hands clasped behind her back, a slight strut in her step, she approaches the bar and requests a water at room temp.

"Tired of M.A.S.H. reruns?"

[hasthehighground]

He tenses slightly, though his wariness doesn't extent to his tone.

"Scientifically impossible, Hill," he assures her. "How's clean-up proceeding?"

[mm_gabby]

She'd argue, but.

M.A.S.H. is a classic.

"Not as quickly as Director Fury would like, not as cheaply as the government would like, and not as red-tape sanctioned as The Council would like. So, pretty well."

She hooks her boot in the rung of her stool, and leans against the bar. Keeping impassively neutral, she supplies him with the same disclaimer she gave Romanoff.

"Fury didn't send me. This is just a friendly call."

[hasthehighground]

Clint breathes out a bit of a laugh. "Isn't just Fury I'm worried about, sir."

He rolls his shoulders, and glances very slightly sideways. "You're on the clock?"

Because buying her a lager would do at least something to make him feel better. As so far, it seems like he's not allowed to apologize.

[mm_gabby]

She pretends she doesn't know what he's talking about.

It's actually the nicest thing she's done for him in a long time.

"Not right now I'm not."

Smiling crookedly, she nods once. He can do what he likes.

[hasthehighground]

Clint relaxes. Not entirely, but a lot.

He tilts his head to the Bar, "An Old Milwaukee to go with the water," glancing to Hill, he says "I'd join you, but it's roughly 0900 in New Zealand."

He just finished his oatmeal. (He was up way earlier training, but whatever.)

[mm_gabby]

She knocks back half her glass of water before setting it aside, knuckles still noticeably ruddy.

"It isn't exactly after five where I've come from either, but hey."

She tilts a smile in his direction, and salutes with the bottle.

"Thank you. How's New Zealand?"

[hasthehighground]

"Boring," he says, with a grin. "It's great. Kind rainy and cold, though, and since it's like the 60s that means you know I've been living in California for too long.


"Not much on TV, though."

[mm_gabby]

"So I hear."

She chortles, shaking her head.

"I think I've spent too long in HVAC to even notice the weather. I can't remember the last time I was on leave, though."

She carefully arches an eyebrow.

"Be sure you take advantage of Director Fury's generosity for all it's worth."

[hasthehighground]

He grins, half-saluting with the milk. "Yes, sir.





"How generous is he feeling?"

[mm_gabby]

"Not that generous."

The least he could do after they saved the world was give them two weeks of utter privacy. But that's just it.

It was the least he could do.

"You can probably expect him to start looking by the end of the week. Don't worry, I won't give him any head starts. But he won't need them, either."

[hasthehighground]

"Yeah," Clint breathes out a laugh. "It's not like we were being particularly subtle, by his standards.

"Thanks for the heads-up."

[mm_gabby]

She shrugs.

After taking a draw from her beer, she actually sits down. Hill's version of relaxed is still pretty poised for action. She keeps her boot hooked on a rung, but now she's facing the room with her back to the bar, balanced on the edge of her stool.

"You don't have to say anything--"

She keeps her eyes forward, but they narrow just a bit before she continues.

"--But how have you been?"

[hasthehighground]

"Not possessed, if that's what you're asking," he says after a moment, but there's no heat to it, and it's clearly the start of a thought.

He runs his free hand over his cheek to scratch the back of his neck, clearly still bone-deep weary even if he's caught up on his sleep. "I've ... it's been rough. Doesn't look endless, though." There's an unspoken probably, there.

[mm_gabby]

She turns her head. It wasn't exactly what she was asking, hence the lack of amusement in her expression. But it had to be answered eventually. She needed to know. So her expression stays carefully blank.

"That's good. We need you back on the team."

Her team.

Their team.

"There haven't been any lasting ... side-effects?"

[hasthehighground]

"Nothing I've noticed. Not that I've got to tell you, but I'd feel a hell of a lot better if I got an eval when I get back."

Quiet for a moment.

"Team still want me?"

Brainwashing is brainwashing, but it's hard to trust a guy who's blown up a good amount of your home-away-from-home. He gets that.

[mm_gabby]

"They've already forgotten who you are."

Her lips twitch.

Don't be stupid, Barton.

"You can look forward to feeling a hell of a lot better real soon, then. As soon as you're back, you're going to have more doctors poking cold metal sticks at you than you'll know what to do with."

One of Hill's specialized skills is her human relations, obviously. She's got a way of putting people at ease.

[hasthehighground]

Yeah, well, fuck you too, Hill. (That's very fond, actually.)

"My lucky day," he says, dry, trading the milk for a coffee. Black, obviously.

[holds_her_own]

[SAME GABBY TIME, DIFFERENT GABBY CHANNEL. HI, NEW JOURNAL, DON'T MIND MEEEE...]


"Hey."

She punches his shoulder. There's no force to it; even if Barton's feeling better, her hand is still sore.

"It is your lucky day. You had me starting to worry, bastard."

(That's likewise fond, inasmuch as Maria Hill can do fond.)

[hasthehighground]

He holds in place for the punch, humoring, and grins at her.

"Natasha go easy on you?"

When threatened with feelings: mock!

[holds_her_own]

"Why don't you ever stop to think that maybe I'm the one who went easy on Romanoff?"

Those who work closely with Maria Hill are usually able to see past the stern glares. Blink and you'll miss it, but the corner of her mouth curves just enough to betray a smile.

"Nah, you know us better than that."

When have they ever gone easy on anyone? The good news is the sparring equipment is still standing.

[hasthehighground]

He gives her a steady look over his coffee.

"Y'all scare me," he drawls, accent half-affected. He's quiet for a long moment. (He doesn't say so how was the funeral, because he missed that funeral on purpose. Like hell he's going to watch them put Coulson in the ground.

He realizes he's not a very good friend, but what's the use of being on the surviving side if you can't be selfish about it.)

"I'm wimping out of actual sparring for right now. I'll warm up against some junior agents when we get back."

No one he's actually tried to kill lately.

[holds_her_own]

She smiles a little.

"Only because you can't keep up."

The banter is more routine than heartfelt, even though Hill does a good job of bullshitting it. He doesn't ask about the funeral; she doesn't want to talk about it. So it all evens out.

She takes a swig from her beer.

"When was the last time you took some leave, Barton? Enjoy it. I know you're scared to get back in the ring with me, but I can wait a few more days before cornering you."

[hasthehighground]

"You got me, sir," Clint says, bland. "I am absolutely terrified of you."

He sets his coffee down to rub at his left arm. "Yeah. I'm thinking of taking a really long nap. And then maybe swimming."

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "And don't you talk to me about taking vacations, Hill. I'm not sure you know the meaning of the word."

[holds_her_own]

She snorts, and bursts into laughter. It's sharp, mocking him as she shakes her head in disbelief.

"You are so. Fucking. Boring."

Sometimes, when life is shit, the only way out is to pretend like everything's normal. Like nobody's on edge, wounded, or grieving. It isn't just easier, it's cathartic. Taking the piss out of Barton is just one way to say hey, I care, and I'm sorry, but I'm glad you're still here, you stupid chump.

"You create too much work for me to justify a vacation. What would I do if I left you alone for a few days? All the office chairs would go missing, and we'd be accessing our equipment from the ceiling."