OOM: after first EP

[hasthehighground]

After Clint writes his notes but before he comes back from the bar, he grabs some bread, eggs, and maple syrup, because when a man promises French toast he's sure as hell gotta deliver.

There's no noise from the bedroom, and the clock says it's still the same time he left, so Clint grabs a sheet of note paper and writes a third note. Knowing Natasha has something on her is going to calm his nerves a bit.

This letter takes a lot longer to make than the other ones, because Clint has no idea what jobs Natasha is going to take in the near future or who he should pretend to be for the letter. He edits, and re-edits, several times in his head before settling on what he finally writes down:

 

Sweetheart,

Did you find the restaurant? (It's the one where you can see all the stars outside the window.) Because if you did, read on...

I first came here awhile ago, and I thought of you. The show is beautiful, and even the patrons have interesting stories to tell.

I never saw any trouble while I was there, but the security team wears silver badges if you need them. They should all speak English.

I left something for you at the bar, under my full first name. Go open it, and buy yourself a drink on me. I'll be there as soon as I can.

Waiting to see you,

C.
 

Clint narrows his eyes at it, scanning it back over. Yeah, he's pretty sure that's soppy enough. Romance has never been his strong suit. He folds it and unfolds it a couple dozen times to give it a worn look, while listening to the early morning news, then sticks a salt shaker on it to weigh it down.

He starts work on breakfast, once he hears the shower start up. The only thing worse than no french toast is cold french toast.

Comments

[redintheledger]

Natasha? Is not particularly a morning person.

But she's slept in, had a shower, blown dry her hair, and stolen one of his shirts, and she could possibly even pass for human.

(Pants are for the weak.)

(as are bras.)

(...so, maybe she's wearing a skirt.)

"That smells amazing."

[hasthehighground]

Clint just grins at her as she comes into the room, flipping a couple slices over.

When she's leaning her elbows on the opposite side of the island, he glances to her eyes and says: "It'd better. Sleep okay?"

He's still keeping reign on the toast with his spatula, but he offers her his free right hand across the counter.

[redintheledger]

She smiles at him, slow and pleased, the expression soft around the edges. She takes his hand in hers, and brushes over his knuckles with her thumb before lifting his hand and kissing it, lightly, as a knight would his lady's hand.

"Your bed is ridiculously comfortable. I may have to confisicate it, for the greater good."

[hasthehighground]

Clint raises his eyebrows a bit at the gesture, because he's fond of her and all but he doesn't even know how to curtsey (also, he's pretty sure handbooks warn against doing that while cooking). Oh, all right, it's not that weird.

"Yeah?" He says, slow. "You got the forms for that?"

[redintheledger]

"Telling would be breaking the code of silence for all Masters of the Ancient Art of Paperwork," she says, solemnly.

[hasthehighground]

"Oh, well." Clint huffs a laugh (it's a little harder than normal; he's uneasy underneath his cheer, even though he's been told Milliways only comes through doorways) and tugs his hand lightly out of her grasp, before quickly plating the french toast.

There were already two slices on the plate; he's well aware he's probably getting those.

"The syrup's in the fridge if you want to nuke it first," he offers as he grabs the eating plates. He could care less, as long as the syrup itself is available in copious amounts.

[redintheledger]

"It's the only way to be sure," she quips, sliding her arms off the counter to make her way into the kitchen itself.

She's been friends with the man for years - she can read that undercurrent of unease. That he hasn't told her yet means that it's nothing immediately life-threatening. And yet...

"You okay?"

[hasthehighground]

When her back's to him, he arranges the toast on the plates so they each get one hot, and one warm.

"Uh," he says, on his way to snag a banana. "I think so. Something ...weird happened, while I was shopping."

[redintheledger]

She turns, takes a plate, and her eyes don't leave his face.

"Weird?"

[hasthehighground]

"Yeah. I'm submitting a report, but it's for Fury's eyes first." He shrugs, unpeeling his banana and digging a carefully folded worn note out of his pocket, and hands it to her held between two fingers.

"If you encounter anything weird -- really weird -- read that. I kept it as free of anything as I could," he says, "but it's in English. Romantic rendezvous sort of thing. From 'C.'"

[redintheledger]

She pauses, and then carefully takes the note from him. "Anniversary, or you just felt like being fluffy?" she asks, because reports? You don't ask about.

Of course then she runs into the issue of only having two hands and no additional tentacles, so the note is placed down on the counter before she finishes drowning toast in syrup.

Fluffy and weird might, actually, be in-character for their covers, she muses.

[hasthehighground]

Clint snags the syrup from her when she's done, and then gives it a carefully assessing look. Okay. Not too empty for his task.

"Choose your own adventure." He douses his french toast liberally, and sets the remains of the banana on the plate. "I'd think more fluffy, though, because probably most guys pour on charm a bit more when it's a real anniversary. Or I could just be a slacker at charming."

[redintheledger]

"I've seen you flirt in bars. You are definitely lazy."

[hasthehighground]

Clint grins at her. "Why should I waste my time on people who don't know a good thing when they see it?"

He cuts a bite of sopping french toast with the side of his fork, and eats it.

[redintheledger]

This look, Barton?

This is deep amusement.

Deep, cackling, silent, laughter at you.

Granted, it's a look around a mouthful of french toast, so the power of the mental laughter might be countered, just a little.

[hasthehighground]

Clint's wounded. You can tell by how he keeps eating his toast and reaches out to tap her leg lightly with his foot.

Later, he goes to work, and Natasha goes to Sweden, and Milliways becomes relevant again. But right now it's good to spend an hour with the best friend Stark's antics have kept from him for too many months.