A/n: For stars_inthe_sky.

This technically comes a day late, but: HAPPY WEDDING DAY, STARS! \o/ \o/ \o/ In lieu of being able to hug you in person or get you a shiny wedding present, I thought I could at least give you a fic (which I totally was going to make wedding-related until I saw this post and well, I have a feeling you'll like this anyways). I hope your day was completely wonderful. :D This fic is for sometime soon when you're decompressing from all the insane fun you're having. ;D I love you and CONGRATULATIONS!

Major, major thanks to inkspire for the late night, lengthy, interactive beta sesh and dealing with my time management failings. XD

Bobbi and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Date

By the end of the day, the last thing Bobbi wanted to do was go out for drinks. It'd been a long, grueling day – scratch that, week. All she wanted to do was go home, order Chinese, put her feet up, and watch approximately five hours of Netflix before slinking off to bed. And especially after last night's disaster of a date, ugh.

But she'd promised Jemma, and after cancelling on her two weeks in a row, Bobbi simply couldn't cancel a third time. So she got home, got ready, and went back out with only a dozen or so longing looks at her cushy purple couch.

Jemma's enthusiastic greeting and bubbly chatter made the trip to the crowded pub worthwhile. It felt like it'd been forever since the two of them had had the chance to hang out and talk outside of work. It was more refreshing than Bobbi expected, and as they chatted, the grind of the week sloughed off her shoulders.

Bobbi signaled the grizzled bartender for another amber beer as Jemma rushed through a story about a mishap in the lab that day.

"Now here I am babbling on about work when you haven't even told me about your date last night!"

Bobbi grimaced. "There's not much to tell – it was terrible. Guy was an idiot."

"Oh dear." Jemma winced in sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?"

"Well, for one, he was late. Which, whatever, stuff happens, but he didn't even bother to apologize."

Jemma made a face. "Well, that's inconsiderate. Strike one."

Bobbi smirked a little, resigning herself to recalling the whole ordeal to her friend.

"Well, he had trouble making conversation to a painful degree. I can actually tell you who won the curling game last night, and that there was a curling game last night."

"It was that bad?" asked Jemma – cute, adorable, innocent Jemma who was always giving people the benefit of the doubt. And hadn't had the misfortune to go on a litany of terrible first dates.

Bobbi, meanwhile, could've probably filled a book about bad first dates. She took a fortifying gulp of her beer, polishing off the rest, and set the bottle down with a thunk.

"It was that bad. I literally ran through every topic of conversation known to man, and I never got more than one or two words in response."

Jemma wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. Honestly? Not even complete sentences?"

"Nope. I asked him what his favorite color was, what he did for a living, if he'd travelled anywhere fun recently... I asked him what pizza topping he likes, and neither of us had ordered pizza. He didn't ask anything back. I got so desperate I actually asked him what he had for lunch the day before." Bobbi threw her hand up.

Jemma gasped. "Seriously?"

"That's about when I gave up, prayed for the food to come faster, and curling became interesting."

"Oh my God, Bobbi. I think this might've been the worst date in history."

"But wait, there's more," said Bobbi, now enjoying telling the story. "When the food came, he had this giant burger – I was actually having menu envy – except then the guy cut the burger into thirds. He stabbed one of the chunks with his fork and proceeded to awkwardly gnaw on the thing, like a freaking Viking."

"No!" Jemma shrieked, covering her mouth and giggling incredulously.

"Oh yes. Yes, that actually happened. There were witnesses."

"That's completely ridiculous!"

"I asked for the cheque as soon as I'd finished my food like a human." She rolled her eyes. "He pulled out a handful of small change and said that was all he had – he 'forgot his wallet' – "

"What!"

"So I paid."

"You did not." Jemma was furious.

"Yup. That bad, remember."

The bartender set another cold Rickard's in front of Bobbi, offering a knowing look. She tipped it his way and took a grateful swig as Jemma launched into a rant on the subject of money and dating and equality.

Honestly, Bobbi would've been perfectly happy to split the bill, and generally didn't hold to the tradition of guys picking up the tab on the first date. But it was still a nice gesture that definitely won some points from her for the guy who did.

"We got up to leave and I went for the door, but before I could walk through, he walked through first – I ended up holding the door for him."

"Unbelievable!" Jemma smacked her hand on the counter. "Who does this guy think he is?"

"Someone who clearly doesn't know how to make a good first impression," Bobbi replied. "That's the last time I let Hunter set me up with an online profile."

"That's just so – who is this guy? What's his name? I want to give him a piece of my mind."

Bobbi reached out and patted Jemma's arm. "Okay, calm down, drunk Jemma."

"Morse, I want a name!"

Bobbi laughed. "So you and Fitz can search him up and delete his bank account or something?"

"No, of course not! Maybe. Yes. Tell me!"

"Naw, girl, don't waste your energy. Let him go suck somewhere else with someone else. His number's deleted from my phone – good riddance."

They managed to move on to other topics for a while and switched to drinking water. But as the night wore on, Jemma went back to her blue martinis and the subject of the Hideous Date. She wouldn't let it go, and it was almost cute, like a small aggressive dog with a chew toy. It only got worse the more booze Jemma slurped, though by that point Bobbi had drank enough beer (and a couple shots of rye) to find the whole thing hilarious.

Enjoying Jemma's vigorous show of support maybe a little too much, Bobbi made an off-hand remark that the guy in question was here in the pub tonight. (Later, she blamed drunk logic for thinking this was in any way a good idea.)

"Where he is?" Jemma demanded immediately.

"Look, rather than make a scene, let's leave him to his douchery and head home. It's late anyways and you're drunk." Belatedly realizing setting Jemma on a stranger was probably not the smartest move, Bobbi signalled the bartender for their bill.

"I fully intend to make a scene." Jemma waved her arm out, nearly smacking a passing woman in the face. "Point him out."

"Naw, c'mon, you've got that brunch thing with Fitz tomorrow. Let's go."

Jemma huffed in aggravation. "Very well. You win. Just at least let me put a face to this terrible man. Show me the man stupid enough to screw up his chances with a goddess like you, and we can go." She sloppily patted Bobbi's leg.

"Okay, deal." Bobbi laughed again.

She scanned the crowd of people with drinks in their hands, standing or sitting or weaving through the throng. She spotted an attractive looking guy at one of the standing tables, fiddling with the label on his beer bottle – the same Rickard's Red she'd been enjoying tonight. Good arms, she noted. Great smile. He'd do.

"That guy there? In the faded purple-gray shirt with the black arrow logo. You can stick your tongue out at him as we walk by."

Jemma scowled and finished the last sip of her drink. Bobbi swivelled on her stool to pay the tab. By the time she turned back, Jemma had zig-zagged her way across the wooden floor and was jabbing her finger at the handsome stranger in the gray shirt.

"Oh God."

Bobbi nearly took out a server in her desperation to stop her friend. She threw a hasty apology over her shoulder, stumbling to Jemma's side.

"Jemma – Jemma." Bobbi latched onto her friend's arm. She pushed a strained smile in Arrow Shirt Guy's direction. The redheaded woman and black-haired guy at his table looked confused and mildly alarmed by the whole exchange with the angry Brit.

"No, let me finish." Jemma shook her off. "This guy can't treat you so poorly and get away with it."

Bobbi looked to the guy with the very nice arms. "I'm so sorry."

"No, absolutely not, Bobbi." Jemma crossed her arms over her chest for a second, only to resume poking her finger accusingly at Arrow Shirt Guy. "If anyone here should be apologizing, it's him – you."

"I'm really sorry," said Arrow Shirt Guy somberly.

Bobbi blinked. Was he...playing along with this?

"For your information," Jemma continued hotly. "Not only is Bobbi single and completely gorgeous, but she's smart, independent, at the top of her field, damn hilarious, can drink everyone in here under the table, and still kick your ass afterwards."

"Jemma," Bobbi hissed through clenched teeth, though her cheeks warmed at Jemma's praise. And because Arrow Guy's gaze flicked to her, eyes dancing, and it was really kinda cute how his lips twisted to keep from smiling.

"Well," said Arrow Shirt Guy, clearing his throat when Jemma finally stopped for a breath in her ensuing rant on social courtesy and table manners. "I clearly acted like an ass."

"Yes, you did," said Jemma sharply.

"I'm sorry for, um…" His eyes darted to Bobbi.

"Not being able to make conversation?" she supplied.

"I was nervous."

"Gnawing on your burger, in chunks, like a caveman?"

"I was raised by wolves." His friend hid a cough.

"And making me hold the door for you?"

"We lived in a barn."

"Fair enough," Bobbi replied. Jemma shot her an incredulous look as if to say are you actually flirting with this heinous man?

"But what about the loose change? Forgetting your wallet?" Jemma pressed.

"Oh, I've got this one," said the redhead standing beside Arrow Shirt Guy. "Clint's really that much of an idiot – honestly, you're lucky he even remembered his pants."

Arrow Shirt Guy – Clint opened his mouth in protest, but instead swung his attention back to Bobbi and dipped his head. "Actually, that's true."

Bobbi bit back a laugh. Was it bad that she was totally digging this guy? Her phone vibrated and a quick check showed her a text from their ride home.

"Hey, Mack's here." She nudged Jemma. "We gotta go."

"Well," said her friend, deflating a little. "I hope you'll treat your dates better in the future."

"Me too," said Clint. He met Bobbi's eyes and butterflies did a loop-de-loop in her stomach.

She tugged Jemma away from the table and ushered her towards the door. Jemma mumbled something about inconsiderate men and how Bobbi deserved the best and idiot, honestly.

"Yes, absolutely – Mack is right there at the curb." She gave Jemma a gentle push. "I forgot something – I'll be there in a second."

"Ah, going to give him a piece of your mind, now?" said Jemma triumphantly.

"Definitely." Or my phone number.

Jemma beamed and flung open the pub doors, swaying across the sidewalk to Mack's dark blue vehicle.

Bobbi quickly backtracked to Clint's table. "I'm really sorry about that – my friend was super drunk and kind of…thought of you were someone else." She winced. "Mostly because I maybe told her you were someone else."

Clint laughed, his eyes crinkling. "No worries."

"It was highly entertaining," said the black-haired guy at Clint's table with a grin.

"Anyways, thank you for going along with that. And sorry, again, seriously."

"Sorry that whoever that guy was, was such an ass," said Clint. "Hope you punch the friend who got you into that cluster."

"Yeah, that sounded like a pretty crap date," commented the redheaded woman.

"Ugh, it was the worst," Bobbi huffed. "It's like he was determined to set a record."

The redhead nodded. "Been there."

"So, what else did 'I' do?" said Clint, with this little half-smirk that was dangerously sexy.

Bobbi smiled back. "Well, that'd take all night, and unfortunately, my ride's here and waiting."

"I guess I'll just have to take you on a second date."

"You better. You have a lot to make up for, you know."

The black-haired guy suddenly produced a pen and passed it to Clint. He scribbled his phone number onto a napkin and handed it to Bobbi.

"I'll do better next time," he said with another really great grin, and it almost made her weak in the knees. "Promise."

She tucked the napkin into her pocket. "I'm holding you to that."

-end-

A/n: The terrible date was completely real, folks. That really happened to me a couple years back. Non-conversation, me literally asking about his lunch because I'd run out of every topic, not getting asked a single thing in return. The burger, change, door, and all. The worst, most painful date ever.

(Second: fyi to anyone who is interested, but I'm doing fic and art commissions! Check my tumblr for more info, here: redrackham87 dot tumblr dot com / commissions )