[ She'd ask for space, for the chance to be on her own for a while, and they'd come to an understanding. It didn't need to be Hawkeye and Hawkeye anymore; she could fight on her own, as her own hero, as the leader of her own story and not have to subside into the automatic title of 'sidekick'. But after fighting a squad of over twenty Hydra agents on her own, it isn't her bed she crawls into that night.
Bruised and beaten but still standing, she slips into a diner bathroom to change out of her costume. A tank top and shorts is what she's got in her bag, but it works, even if the purple hues of skin on her arms and legs are still exposed. It'll do for now, she thinks, just imagining the beauty of a mattress, of a soft cushion beneath her body when she manages to reach one. In her head, it's her apartment she pictures, but it's not where her feet takes her. Absentmindedly she walks, and it isn't until a honking horn of a passing taxi wakes her from her sleepingwalking daze that she notices the old dingy apartment that she really did end up in front of her.
Clint's apartment had been closer, so in a lot of ways, it had made sense for her gut to take her here. But this wasn't the routine anymore. She was a lone fighter, Kate Bishop as Hawkeye. This wasn't her go-to rest stop these days. They had separated on a good note, but somehow, that hadn't been enough to cease her guilt in ending up here.
Body not caring whose mattress it ended up on, she goes inside anyway, her own personal keys to the place still working as nothing's changed. When she walks in, she pets a sleepy Lucky in his bed on the floor, hushing him before he could bark from the excitement in seeing her. She signs to him about playing ninja and because it's Lucky, he understands her, rumbling a happy noise. Giving her once last affectionate pet, she slumps her way to the bedroom.
She doesn't say a word. Not that she needs to, with Clint fast asleep, but she moves as if it's all natural. She drops onto the empty side of the bed, not even bothering to go beneath the covers. Her head hits the pillow and she sighs, snuggling into its softness as her body gives in to the much desired position. Eyes closing, she doesn't know when she falls asleep. ]
[ At the best and worst of times, Clint is a deep sleeper. It might not be the wisest or most practical thing about being a superhero, considering watching ones back is vital in order to stay alive, but when you're an Avenger you start to pick up a thing or two about gut feelings. You learn to get the hours of sleep you need to survive when you can, and the rest you leave up to a subconscious part of your brain that detects whether you're really in danger or you can quite literally sleep it off. It's been some time now since his life had been in any kind of serious turmoil, but he's never quite shaken that ability off.
So he doesn't wake up, barely even stirs, when the mattress shifts beside him. It isn't until an hour, or maybe three, passes when Clint wakes up and finds someone in his bed.
It's ... sadly not the first time something like this has happened and with far less innocent results, but it is the first time in a long while that it has. Lately Clint's been more 'grown up'. Lately, Clint hasn't had to rely on cheap shots and one-night stands to get him through the long dark hours.
And when he rubs his eyes and makes out the familiar silhouette of the shape beside him, he finds that the calmness he's been feeling lately is only that much calmer now.
It's Kate.
For a long moment Clint considers his options, whether it would be better or worse to wake her up or leave her to rest. In the dim light from the streetlamp outside shining in through the gauzy fabric of the curtains by the window, he can make out the haphazard bandages, the shallow cuts, the scabs. She looks a lot like he used to before he unofficially semi-retired himself. It worries him, but more than that he feels a fresh stab of pride blossom in his gut. Kate's always been dedicated to the gig, further proof of what Clint has always thought about Kate Bishop. She's the better Hawkeye.
Her reasons for being here are a little confusing at best but Clint doesn't question it. He checks the clock (it's almost morning) then falls back, letting his head hit the pillow again. He stares up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of their breaths. They're in sync without needing to be. ]
[ She's more tired than sleepy so when she does doze, it isn't as long as she wants. There isn't a beaming sun through the window, only the light of a streetlamp which meant it wasn't morning yet (at least not morning morning) when her lashes flutter back open. They're still droopy in the exhaustion but she's at least aware of her own wake.
And then she sees Clint's eyes open, albeit staring upwards and not at her. She considers closing her own again and either trying to go back into that desired sleep or at least pretend to for the moment, or at least attempt both.
But it's seeing him laying there, so physical, so solid, that she recounts how much she's actually missed him. It was her choice to go on her own and she hasn't considered any regret on the matter, but the company was always nice. It's not like she hasn't been visiting. She stops by to check in on Lucky every couple of days, even dogsitting when he's on an extended mission with the Avengers. She hasn't become a total stranger and she figured as long as she kept in touch, it'd be alright.
Being close like this, she wonders if maybe that hadn't been enough. Not after they'd been such a clamped duo before.
She doesn't shift, doesn't stir, but she sighs. And then she speaks. ] Sorry for crashing.
[ Clint hears her voice and it snaps him out of his reverie, gets him to tilt his head towards her so they're more or less looking at each other's faces in the dim light.
His mouth quirks into something of a smile, but it's so faint, so subtle, it's barely there at all.
He closes his eyes and opens them again. If he could, he'd probably shrug a shoulder too, but that's hard to do when you're lying on your back and there's a pillow in your way.
He lets out a breath instead. It's a calm exhale, relaxed in the early (early) morning.
He wonders just for the briefest moment what it might be like to have mornings like this on more than just the rare occasion. ]
[ She'll blame it on the fact that she had just been busy ass-kicking and now would pretty much take any form of soft surface to rest on, but sitting here like this, she feels a nice sort of peace. Like this could have been the exact spot she wanted to end up in, even if unintentionally.
She half sighs, half snorts through her nose, breaking into a grin that's partially smeared into the pillow. ]
Don't lie. You have it big to lure all the pretty girls into it. [ A raised brow notes she's mostly joking, but also not.
She shifts just enough to scoot in a bit closer. She thinks it's out of subconsciousness; she might be a little cold. Her arms held against her chest now brush against his, fingers uncurling to touch his shoulder. ] Your bed's bigger than mine. [ Her voice is soft. Like she can't even believe her own excuse. ] It actually doesn't smell bad today either. That's a relief.
[ Clint says the words like they mean something, but he says them half-conscious that he's saying something relevant at all.
He's thinking of how close Kate is to him. He's thinking of how much he's missed her. He's thinking of all the times he'd wanted to ask her to be partners again, because he's not really Hawkeye without her.
He finds himself leaning in towards her too, hand coming up from beneath the covers to reach for her fingers, the ones touching his shoulder. He lets a warm palm close over her hand, giving her enough space to take it back if she wants to. He just hopes she doesn't. ]
I've gotten better at it.
[ Laundry, he means. But the words don't even seem to matter at this point. His hand squeezes her fingers gently.
[ The warmth of his fingers trickle against hers like the transformation of a shared heartbeat into a temperature. This isn't like a usual embrace or their mission victory high-fives. This is Kate Bishop brushed up against Clint Barton in his bed, so close that she can feel his breath touching her lips.
I'm glad you're here. ]
Yeah. [ It's all she could say. Because she's glad too. Because it's good to go solo and to prove herself on her own without being resorted to sidekick status. But it's become like Han Solo and Chewbacca. Like Timon and Pumbaa. Could you ever really have one without the other? After all her time as Kate Bishop with Clint Barton at her side, the longer she couldn't stand to be changing it.
Because it's Clint. It's Clint, all scruff and messy hair, low aggravating voice that vibrated under her skin. She missed him. And she was glad she was here.
She's quiet for a long time after her one-word response (just another addition to the list in ways she's like her predecessor. She can see his eyes in the darkness and she wonders if gazing here long enough might provide some sort of clue as to how she'd ended up here. It doesn't. But she doesn't expect it to.
She doesn't let herself think either, figuring that's an undesired side effect, and she raises her body over his to kiss him, soft and almost lost and faint as the sirens that blare outside into the street. ]
[ For a moment, Clint considers the possibility that this is all just some really great dream he's having right now, and when he wakes up, he'll be in bed but he'll be alone. Kate will be somewhere else, being Kate, and doing what Kate does, and he'll realize they haven't spoken for weeks.
But this feels too real. He's never had the kind of vivid imagination others do to think about what it might actually be like to kiss Kate Bishop, and whatever he could think up probably wouldn't be as good anyway. She's soft and warm against him. She's undeniably Kate.
Clint leans in, his mouth finding hers, his hand reaching out to touch her, maybe anchor himself to her. ]
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So he doesn't wake up, barely even stirs, when the mattress shifts beside him. It isn't until an hour, or maybe three, passes when Clint wakes up and finds someone in his bed.
It's ... sadly not the first time something like this has happened and with far less innocent results, but it is the first time in a long while that it has. Lately Clint's been more 'grown up'. Lately, Clint hasn't had to rely on cheap shots and one-night stands to get him through the long dark hours.
And when he rubs his eyes and makes out the familiar silhouette of the shape beside him, he finds that the calmness he's been feeling lately is only that much calmer now.
It's Kate.
For a long moment Clint considers his options, whether it would be better or worse to wake her up or leave her to rest. In the dim light from the streetlamp outside shining in through the gauzy fabric of the curtains by the window, he can make out the haphazard bandages, the shallow cuts, the scabs. She looks a lot like he used to before he unofficially semi-retired himself. It worries him, but more than that he feels a fresh stab of pride blossom in his gut. Kate's always been dedicated to the gig, further proof of what Clint has always thought about Kate Bishop. She's the better Hawkeye.
Her reasons for being here are a little confusing at best but Clint doesn't question it. He checks the clock (it's almost morning) then falls back, letting his head hit the pillow again. He stares up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of their breaths. They're in sync without needing to be. ]
no subject
And then she sees Clint's eyes open, albeit staring upwards and not at her. She considers closing her own again and either trying to go back into that desired sleep or at least pretend to for the moment, or at least attempt both.
But it's seeing him laying there, so physical, so solid, that she recounts how much she's actually missed him. It was her choice to go on her own and she hasn't considered any regret on the matter, but the company was always nice. It's not like she hasn't been visiting. She stops by to check in on Lucky every couple of days, even dogsitting when he's on an extended mission with the Avengers. She hasn't become a total stranger and she figured as long as she kept in touch, it'd be alright.
Being close like this, she wonders if maybe that hadn't been enough. Not after they'd been such a clamped duo before.
She doesn't shift, doesn't stir, but she sighs. And then she speaks. ] Sorry for crashing.
no subject
His mouth quirks into something of a smile, but it's so faint, so subtle, it's barely there at all.
He closes his eyes and opens them again. If he could, he'd probably shrug a shoulder too, but that's hard to do when you're lying on your back and there's a pillow in your way.
He lets out a breath instead. It's a calm exhale, relaxed in the early (early) morning.
He wonders just for the briefest moment what it might be like to have mornings like this on more than just the rare occasion. ]
Bed's too big anyway.
no subject
She half sighs, half snorts through her nose, breaking into a grin that's partially smeared into the pillow. ]
Don't lie. You have it big to lure all the pretty girls into it. [ A raised brow notes she's mostly joking, but also not.
She shifts just enough to scoot in a bit closer. She thinks it's out of subconsciousness; she might be a little cold. Her arms held against her chest now brush against his, fingers uncurling to touch his shoulder. ] Your bed's bigger than mine. [ Her voice is soft. Like she can't even believe her own excuse. ] It actually doesn't smell bad today either. That's a relief.
no subject
[ Clint says the words like they mean something, but he says them half-conscious that he's saying something relevant at all.
He's thinking of how close Kate is to him. He's thinking of how much he's missed her. He's thinking of all the times he'd wanted to ask her to be partners again, because he's not really Hawkeye without her.
He finds himself leaning in towards her too, hand coming up from beneath the covers to reach for her fingers, the ones touching his shoulder. He lets a warm palm close over her hand, giving her enough space to take it back if she wants to. He just hopes she doesn't. ]
I've gotten better at it.
[ Laundry, he means. But the words don't even seem to matter at this point. His hand squeezes her fingers gently.
And then, voice a murmur: ]
I'm glad you're here.
no subject
I'm glad you're here. ]
Yeah. [ It's all she could say. Because she's glad too. Because it's good to go solo and to prove herself on her own without being resorted to sidekick status. But it's become like Han Solo and Chewbacca. Like Timon and Pumbaa. Could you ever really have one without the other? After all her time as Kate Bishop with Clint Barton at her side, the longer she couldn't stand to be changing it.
Because it's Clint. It's Clint, all scruff and messy hair, low aggravating voice that vibrated under her skin. She missed him. And she was glad she was here.
She's quiet for a long time after her one-word response (just another addition to the list in ways she's like her predecessor. She can see his eyes in the darkness and she wonders if gazing here long enough might provide some sort of clue as to how she'd ended up here. It doesn't. But she doesn't expect it to.
She doesn't let herself think either, figuring that's an undesired side effect, and she raises her body over his to kiss him, soft and almost lost and faint as the sirens that blare outside into the street. ]
no subject
But this feels too real. He's never had the kind of vivid imagination others do to think about what it might actually be like to kiss Kate Bishop, and whatever he could think up probably wouldn't be as good anyway. She's soft and warm against him. She's undeniably Kate.
Clint leans in, his mouth finding hers, his hand reaching out to touch her, maybe anchor himself to her. ]