[Seven Deadly Sins — Flogging Molly]
"So then we're surrounded by sharks, right?" Clint's voice has taken on that volume of someone who's had a bit too much to drink to realise no one wants to hear his stories. There is a half-dollar coin which he flips over his knuckles, back and forth, in-between his fingers.
"Oh, god. Here we go." Natasha sips her wine and rolls her eyes, giving Bobbi a look that she seems to understand. "I am so sorry," she says a bit conspiratorially to her. "I shouldn't have brought it up."
Bobbi giggles while she tries to both bounce her quarter into one of the shot glasses and drink her margarita at the same time. To comical effect, she misses and spills some of her drink into her lap. "I'm not worried. Once we get home, he won't be so chatty."
"You," he points to Natasha, waving a finger a little too close to her nose, "brought up the crash."
"Yes, yes I did," she answers dryly. "I should choose my stories more carefully and remember my audience."
"It's all about the audience!" Flipping the coin a few more times across the backs of his fingers, he tosses the coin casually, bouncing it off the table and into the glass in front of him. "Ha! I told you two not to play quarters with the World's Greatest Marksman! Anyhow, the shark."
Natasha and Bobbi both take a glass and empty them. Bobbi laughs again — the sound is just like music to him, even as it's nearly strangled out by the thumping of the speakers and the din of the other patrons and pool cues breaking sets on felt. He doesn't drink the hard stuff often, but they're celebrating — even if he can no longer remember what it was they were celebrating — and he makes an exception just now.
"Yes, yes, you punched the shark and the rest of them gasped and swam away." Natasha's tone is droll and indulgent, but there is still a hint of amusement in her slow smirk. Clint can be a force when he's worked up, and he knows that she knows after years to pick her battles concerning his bravado.
"Yeah they did." He waves a hand for another round of tequila and continues. In the same motion he waves his arms back and forth, mimicking fins. "And then all of those assholes swam away."
Bobbi wraps both of her arms around one of his and hugs tightly to him. "Of course they did, sport." She plants a bit sloppy kiss on his cheek and rests her head on his shoulder.
He presses his lips to the top of her head. "See you get me, birdy." For a moment he's glowing, happier than he can remember. "You know, it doesn't get better than this. A great night with my two favorite ladies. Hey! Where's the camera?"
"Oh, no." Bobbi shakes her head.
"No, no. This is the best night ever!" He leaves out the thought "since our wedding" because he doesn't want to remind anyone of the divorce and the rest of the mess since then. "I want to remember it forever!"
Natasha produces the disposable, and he insists that he's the world's best photographer, because you shoot pictures. After fumbling a few minutes trying to get all three of them, he hops up with none of his archer's grace.
"Slide together, you two!" he waves his hand back and forth until they comply. "The two most wonderful ladies to every find themselves unable to resist Clint Barton!" He stumbles as he snaps the picture, and calls it good enough, plopping back down between them, nearly landing on Natasha's lap. "Best night ever," he repeats, picking the coin back up and spinning it through his fingers.