It came again; the deep-throated scream from the apartment above. Martha growled; she felt bad for the guy and all, but people had to sleep around here. She rolled over to face the window, pressing a pillow over her ears. A dark figure appeared silhouetted against the blinds. Martha gasped as the lithe figure of a woman crawled up the fire escape. This neighborhood got worse every year.
"Barton?" He could barely make out the flaming red of her hair in the dark, but her deep, breathy voice was unmistakable. She flipped on a light, causing him to blink. He was soaked in sweat, having been woken from a dream he could no longer remember by his own shout. Pizza-Dog growled softly from the bottom of the bed.
He blinked at her, reaching out to soothe Pizza-Dog. Her hair was red. The exact opposite of blue. "Y'know, Tasha, it's a really good thing you don't have blue hair." He cursed the words the minute they escaped from his mouth. She stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
Way to play it cool, Barton.
"Someone in the building was complaining about 'that war vet that's always screaming upstairs.'" He winced at the no-nonsense tone of her voice.
"Spying on me?" He demanded. "Am I on SHIELD's blacklist now?" She had the remarkable ability to glare without moving her face at all, he reflected. He sighed and climbed out of bed, stretching with exaggerated motions. She rolled her eyes. "Admit it. You're impressed," he said smugly, pulling his shirt on with unnecessary slowness.
"I've slept with a lot of people, Barton. And some, not many, but some were far more impressive." She bestowed a patronizing smile on him.
Ouch.
"Damn." He hung his head for a moment before drilling her with a cheeky grin. "Was it Steve?" He said it just to see the look of disgust that contorted her pretty face. He widened his eyes in pretended shock. "Don't tell me he's not impressive enough. Oh, God, was it Thor?"
"Oh my God, Clint." She looked like she might vomit. If he had to pick one thing that he loved about her, it would have to be the way she was so completely disgusted by the thought of sleeping with someone she considered a good friend. It had always been a subject of great interest to him that, when people insinuated that she was sleeping with him, she adopted a carefully blank expression.
If that wasn't love, he didn't know what was.
"Clint," she said, bringing him back to the moment. "You look absolutely awful." It was probably true, he realized. Training all day, most of the night, and sleeping for about five hours…well, they weren't a good look. Even on his oh-so-handsome features.
Pizza-Dog's growl became marginally louder as she crossed the room to examine his face.
"Shh, mutt," Barton told the dog in a stage whisper. "If you're quiet, she'll forget you're here and there'll be some Hawk on Spider action."
"Barton!" she slaps him a little less than gently. "Knock it off!" She glared at him for real this time, brows swooping down toward her nose, which, he mused, was probably the most adorable nose he'd ever seen. "What is going on?" Her lips always thinned when she was angry. He forced his eyes to move back up to her eyes.
"There's an attractive Russian…in a skintight suit…in my room…in the middle of the night?" he guessed with a smirk. She made a disgusted noise and stalked to the window, red curls bouncing with every step.
"You could stay the night!" he called after her. His only reply was her lone middle finger.
Pizza-Dog fell quiet.