OOM

[hasthehighground]

Clint walks out of the building with Doctor Jan Li, walking together but not talking. He looks tired, but otherwise well -- he's healed up, so his gait is easy.

He spots Natasha about halfway down the sidewalk, and a smile curls in the corner of his mouth.

He turns to Dr. Li, who looks and spots Natasha as well. They exchange a few words, and shake hands.

Clint tucks his hands into his jeans as he gets closer, stopping a couple yards back.

"Hey."

Comments

[redintheledger]

She's been waiting.

Turned up early, got out of the car to lean against it, and waited. She's been making a target of herself (freaking paparazzi), she knows, and probably it'd be more secure to wear a wig. Or at least straighten her hair.

Except Clint knows her first like this, so lacking intel on what they've done to him, the risk is worth it.

Then he's here, and it's a bit easier to breath.

"Hey you," Natasha says, with a faint smile. "Ready to go?"

[hasthehighground]

It was a good choice. It already seems a little unreal, to see her, to know --

well, he passed. Whatever test that was, he passed it. He can be out in the real world, with real people like Natasha.

"Yeah," he says, after a hesitation. "Are you?"

[redintheledger]

She glances past him to the building. To anyone and everyone standing out front, even if they aren't glancing over.

"Yep," Natasha says very firmly, as if in judgement.

"Got our stuff in the trunk. You right for me to drive?"

She normally does, unless it's his car. But there's no harm in asking.

[hasthehighground]

Clint nods, and as she moves to the drivers side he closes the space to the car.

He rests his fingers on the top of the shotgun doorframe, before sliding them down to the door handle. He doesn't look at everyone around them.

Quiet: "Thanks."

[redintheledger]

"You're welcome."

She wants to touch him. Make sure he's here, he's okay (at least physically), hug him. But she doesn't. It's not how they go, when he's been hurt in some way.

So instead, she smiles again, just as a faint and smile and secret as before, and starts the car. There's a drive ahead.

(Mostly because she wants to put a decent distance between Clint and the WSC.)

[hasthehighground]

It's not, really, that Clint's anxious. But tenseness seeps out of him the further they get from the WSC.

About 45 minutes into the drive, he finally looks over at Natasha. "How've things been?"

With: the rebuilding, SHIELD, her.

[redintheledger]

Fine is a lie, and sounds it. She doesn't say it.

"Not as bad as they could be," is what she settles on. "Busy, though."

Busy with the rebuilding, busy with the fallout of SHIELD losing so many people and being so exposed. Busy with herself.

"It's. It's good to have you back."

It's not a meaningless phrase when she says it. She means it. She's missed him.

[hasthehighground]

Clint's mouth quirks up slightly. "And I wasn't even gone two weeks."

Still, he rests his arm on the storage divider, so he's in her space -- but not in her way -- if she reaches for the console or the stick.

[redintheledger]

"The paperwork made it seem longer." The words are wry, the expression fond.

(She's still telling the truth, even though tease needs to be met by tease. Them's the rules.)

[hasthehighground]

"Yeah," he says. It's fond, a little subdued.

There's old jokes under the surface -- her claims as a junior agent about SHIELD paperwork being child's play compared to the KGB, his habit of trading favors with agents so they'll do the actual writing for him while he dictates.

His eyes narrow at the interstate signs, thoughtfully.

"Do you want coffee?"

[redintheledger]

"I could stand some."

She glances not at him, but at what he might be looking at.

"Want to stop some place, or wait until we reach the hotel?"

It's up to him. The latter's more secure, but she almost regrets saying it as soon as she says it.

There's laying low, and there's jumpy, and she's trying not to be too jumpy over people recognizing her from grainy phone pictures.

[hasthehighground]

Just a billboard with the nicest looking egg sandwich and cup of joe anyone's ever seen out of McDonald's.

He turns to look at her, part-way through the question, and as she finishes with that flash of regret -- he's instantly suspicious. He tries not to let it show.

Fury's got good reason to be suspicious of him.

(The WSC cleared him.)

Hell, he'd be worried if Fury wasn't suspicious of him.

(Why did he even go if it wasn't going to do any fucking good?)

"Yeah? What's at the hotel?"

[redintheledger]

It shows, but more because she knows him than anything else. The corner of her mouth tilts down, briefly.

"A coffee-machine, if the specs are right."

Her eyes flick over at him, but briefly. She's driving.

"It's not you," she says then. Guessing. "It's. People took photos of us, during the battle. I'm distinctive." Wry. "But the shots are crap. I'm just...

A bit.

You know."

[hasthehighground]

Clint blinks.

He leans back slightly into the door, still watching her, even if circumstance means she can't return it.

"Doll," he says, after a long moment. "I hate to break it to you, but without the ops suit you're just one of the million gorgeous redheads in the States."

[redintheledger]

It takes her a moment to reply, but when she does, it's with a broader smile she's shown this far and a bit of easing in the lines of her body.

Thank you, Clint.

"So, what you're saying is, I shouldn't start wearing Clark Kent glasses?"

[hasthehighground]

He looks at her face for a long moment more, then smirks slowly.

He turns back to the front.

"I didn't say that."

[redintheledger]

"Just checking." Never hurts to make sure, after all.

She also takes the next exit.

Coffee. Coffee, and not letting her jumpiness beat her.

[hasthehighground]

It's not the McDonald's exit, which is really for the best. It's not the worst coffee, by any means, but he can't see Natasha enjoying the experience.

"Two blocks down, 3 o'clock," he says, a couple minutes later, after she's gotten to the little downtown.

[redintheledger]

Just be glad you didn't know her when the first McDonald's opened in Moscow, Clint.

"Got it," she says after a quick glance, and falls silent to find the closest car-spot.

He's a good person to ride shotgun with, or maybe she's just used to listening to him on ops. Or both.

The car is somewhere she can see it from the shop: having it stolen, with their gear inside, would be annoying. And cause even more paperwork.

[hasthehighground]

It's one of those slightly shabby independent coffee shops, trying to fit in that sweet spot between interesting to hipsters and not off-putting to retirees but not quite hitting anything more unique than not-really-a-Starbucks.

That's really all it needs to be. Clint waits by the door for Nat to get the lay of the land. He glances around the room as he takes his place in the short line. There's pastries, and some sandwiches, and a chalkboard full of coffees and teas.

[redintheledger]

He lines up, she claims a table. Her coffee order is simple, and he knows it, and she'd really like to keep an eye on the car.

It also means she can keep an eye on the other patrons. See if anyone is looking at them for long.

(They aren't: Natasha and Clint know how to blend in.)

[hasthehighground]

There's a false start -- Clint remembers he left his wallet with Natasha on going to the WSC, and has to circle back to the table to retrieve it.

After that, he manages to get two black coffees, which come in large blue clay mugs, and -- with some deliberation -- a raspberry scone for Natasha.

He stops to doctor his coffee with both milk and sugar, leaving Natasha's well enough alone, before bringing the whole thing back to her.

"Ta-da," he murmurs, setting the tray down. He's already holding his coffee in his hands, and sits down in the chair next to hers. Not too close, but he tucks his foot behind hers so they're just crossing ankles, and takes a sip.

[redintheledger]

She doesn't do anything so obvious as beam with pleasure, or wriggle in her seat at the sight of the scone. But her lips curve and there's a sudden pleased expectation in her posture that, if you know her, convey as much as if she'd grinned.

"Yeah," Natasha says, "this was a good idea of yours."

[hasthehighground]

Clint just smirks slightly into his coffee, and is quiet.

Natasha doesn't need his angst about all of the places his ideas have landed people.

And the coffee's not bad.