hasthehighground | Upstairs: With Oswin

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oom,
oswin oswald

Upstairs: With Oswin

When Clint walks into the bar... he doesn't want to be here.

He hurts, all over, with a headache and bandaging across his back, and pain medicine working with the lack of sleep. Even after 12 hours crashed at Stark Tower last night.

But he owes someone an apology. So he gets a bottle of water, and takes off his sunglasses (tucking them over his shirt) before making his way upstairs.

He stops at Oswin's door, leans his good shoulder against the wall, and knocks.

If it's a little quiet, well: he's a little freaked out.

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There's a silence from the other side of the door. It's not the silence of an empty room - it's the silence of someone sitting stock-still on their couch, watching the door and holding their breath.

A small spidery robot peers down at Clint from over the edge of the door frame.

Clint blinks up at, drawing away slightly.

While startled, his eyes are the same faded blue-grey that they normally are, though his face is haggard with exhaustion.

"Uh, hi," he says. He knows Oswin has spider bots. "Are you a livefeed?"

He knows that quality of silence, but he's not sure how these things work.

Edited 2015-08-01 05:53 (UTC)

The bot whirs to itself for a few minutes (or rather, the focusing elements in the camera whir as Oswin studies the image on her screen).

Then there's a blast of sound (Toreador, at volume), rapidly silenced from both the bot and, softer, inside the apartment.

'Sorry, sorry, wrong button.' Oswin's voice, slightly tinny with the connection and the bot's tiny speakers, follows the music.

She doesn't want to be afraid.

The blast of sound does make him jump just slightly -- then wince, hard, on landing.

He waves it off. "Um. You don't ... " he hesitates.

He's not this guy. The guy who hurts his friends.

Except he does. Except he's hurt this friend, and he outright murdered hundreds more.

"Are you all right?"

'I'm fine.' The sounds from the other side of the door are less muffled as Oswin edges closer to the door. 'You're hurt.'

"I'm fine," he says, a little too quickly. After a moment, he expands: "I mean -- they patched me up, and put me on pain meds."

Then he grins, a little. "N--Dee kind of gave me a concussion. Hard restart, right?" He swallows. "Oswin -- I'm -- God, I'm just glad I didn't break it."

The door opens, because... well.

Oswin is a genius, a survivor... and not exactly known for her amazing life choices.

"There was something wrong, I knew it."

It's more obvious from here that Clint's unarmed, at least in any obvious way. He's wearing loose drawstring pants, and a t-shirt. He has some obvious bandaging on his arm, but the rest of it is only hinted at.

"Yeah," he says, and breathes shakily. It could be a laugh. "Is it -- okay if I sit?"

Here, or inside, he just... isn't sure how long he can stay upright.

It's his tone of voice rather than the lack of weaponry that convinces her - after all, he didn't use a weapon last time.

"You should come in, I have. Um. Chairs. And things. Are you alright? I mean, are you going to be alright, 'cause you're not..." She flails her way through that sentence with a startling lack of coherency, backing away from the open doorway to let him in.

And if she's careful to keep one of her hands out of sight, that's her own business.

Clint doesn't notice, not yet -- he's kind of actively not looking at her, giving her a wide berth as he moves in and settles on a chair. He leans forward a bit, and opens his water bottle. He doesn't drink.

"Um, yeah. Yeah, they're... checking me out. Going in for a complete debrief ... soon." He bites his lip, and finally glances up again. "Do you want me to explain?"

With a lack of anything to do, she goes to start the kettle on the stove.

"Um. I mean. If you want to. You seemed..."

Odd. Angry.

Very angry.

"Like an asshole?" he asks, quirking a smile at her. It's fleeting. "Yeah, uh."

He takes a sip of water. "The place I've been leading security for got attacked," he settles on, as a starting place. "By an alien," he adds, and he realizes belatedly that's not weird to Oswin probably, but that's weird to him. "He, uh -- wanted to take over Earth. And figured I'd be pretty helpful. So he used this--"

Clint swallows, throat dry. He looks down at his water bottle, but doesn't drink anymore of it. "He had something," he says, quieter. "It got in you, and it... re-aligned your perspective." He laughs, quietly. "Nothing mattered, except what mattered to him. And what could... be useful to him."

"Subtract love, add anger." Officially, aliens that get in your head suck. "This is real, if that helps."

"Thanks," he says, quietly, and files away the first sentence for later reference. "It wasn't -- exactly -- like that. I just... didn't... care about anyone who wasn't him. And -- you were distracting me from planning how he'd take over the world."

Clint swallows, hard.

"He didn't. We won."

If it sounds less triumphant than it should, well. Clint got a lot of people killed (Clint killed a lot of people) before it ever got to that point.

"That's... good, right?" Oswin asks hesitantly. "I mean. You're glad about that?"

Clint blinks. "-- Yeah," he says. "I mean, I didn't get to kill him -- something about an interworld diplomatic incident, or some bullshit like that, and a ton of people died who didn't have to, but -- it's better than the alternative."

"That's good, then." She's almost painfully relieved to hear him sound like... well. Like him, again. "Should I apologize for not dropping something on your head?" She heard that comment about a hard reset - honestly, it hadn't occurred to her.

Generally she tries to not hit people about the head.

"-- No," he says, drawing it out. He hesitates for a long moment. "If you hadn't managed it the first time, I-- think I would have killed you.

"So I'm glad you didn't."

"I. Um."

She fiddles with the tea-rag, awkwardly.

"There's a doctor. Not, um. Him, of course. But she... she helps." Oswin explains, made hesitant again.

"She said I should avoid you."

Clint winces.

"Yeah," he says, quiet. "That's... fair. I -- can promise that in 43 years this is the first time I've ever had... this happen. But I can't -- promise it won't again. They're ... going to be putting me through two weeks of quarantined testing.

"And I hurt you."

"Not badly." She bristles, the same way she did at Alana when the topic was brought up. "You're my friend, you idiot. Besides, it's not like you're exactly winning this alien-invader arms race. You're the one that walked into the rooms of someone that's been called a Dalek."

He blinks at her.

His brow furrows.

"Had they... met you?"

"Yeah." Her smile is a crooked, long-weary thing.

"He had a point... but why do you think I don't like doctors? The definite article thinks I'm the epitome of evil."

"Well," Clint says. He won't mention the circumstance -- he's still not sure the connection between Oswin and Clara -- but he sounds confident: "He's a fucking asshole, so nothing lost."

Oswin snorts with unexpected laughter. It's not that Clint's wrong, per say, it's just she wasn't thinking to hear it like that.

"Well, so's your alien, so there."

Clint smiles at her.

Normally, here, he'd ask for a hug. She looks like she could use one.

To be honest, he could use a hug as well.

But... if he was her, he wouldn't feel safe.

"I should probably get heading back," he says. "Get my sleep in while I can."

While he still has access to Nat.

She nods, her hands twisting in the tea towel again.

"You're not... I mean. You'll come back." She refuses to make it a question. A question he can deny. A statement he should have a harder time with.

Clint nods.

If Fury asks him to put a gun in his mouth, then no.

But until that day, yes.

He stands, carefully. "I still owe you a roadtrip, don't I?"

"You better believe it, mister." Oswin agrees, firmly. "One completely sans dinosaurs. I'm afraid I have to insist."

Clint considers, briefly, letting her know that birds are technically dinosaurs.

He decides against it.

"Roger that. No dinosaurs. I'll put it on the itinerary."

He hesitates at the door, then just smiles at her, and leaves.

That... could have gone a lot worse.

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Upstairs: With Oswin

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