Clint | Steve


WED 10 JUNE

Clint blames Liam Neeson.

Well, technically, it's only kind of Liam Neeson's fault. Clint was the one that fell asleep on the remote control, which really makes it more his fault than Liam's. Somehow, he managed to bump the volume nearly all the way up. He jolts awake, then, startled by the sound of gunshots. The panic in Clint's chest is real, and the first thing he does is dive onto the carpet.

It takes a moment longer than he would care to admit to realize that the gunfire is coming out of the television. But by then, he's already on the floor with his hands covering his head, seeking cover behind the couch. Clint sits up with a groan and drops his head into his hands.

Liam Neeson's voice continues to blast throughout the silence of Clint's living room, followed by some sort of explosion that shouldn't make Clint jump, but it does. He grabs the remote, mutes Taken 3, then flops back down onto the couch.

Of course, just as he settles in and his heart stops racing, Clint's phone starts vibrating. Incessantly. And, weirdly enough, from somewhere underneath him. Not next to him, or nearby, but under. It must've slipped in one of the cracks of the couch while he was sleeping (or, while he was trying to) and now, he can't find it anywhere. Clint ignores it until it stops. Ignores the way that he's still a little jittery, and on edge. The feeling of Lucky licking at the bared skin of his ankle, though, is a little harder to ignore.

With a sigh, Clint sits up and swings his legs over the couch, planting both feet firmly on the floor.

There's a plate of stone cold pizza on the table, balancing precariously on the edge. He almost reaches for it, then remembers how Lucky does that thing where he hovers over Clint's unattended meals and drools all over them. Lucky starts whining, loud and high-pitched, and very off key, because apparently he has to remind Clint of how he's had such a terrible, horrible, very bad life. And he never eats anything nice, ever, except most of Clint's leftovers.

"Yeah, buddy. I know." Clint groans, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "Oh, yeah. That's a real sad story. Such a hard life. You're breaking my heart."

Pizza is great. Delicious and cheesy, and glorious, and it comes in second best - right after coffee, but even Clint won't eat a slice that has been slobbered on by a very hungry, salivating dog. Okay, so maybe pizza is actually third best. There's coffee, then sleep, and-oh, well, there's also Pietro, who Clint would put before pizza and coffee. Most of the time. And even before sleep, which is one of Clint's favorite pastimes, even if it doesn't agree with him so much lately.

He came home from the Maximoff household on Tuesday and barely slept a wink. It was so terrible that he had to nap, twice, and even that sucked. Falling asleep on this shitty excuse for a couch was never going to end well.

Clint rolls his neck, stretches his arms up above his head, and winces a little at all the loud cracks and pops that follow shortly after.

And then, because he's weak and Lucky's really adorable with his big beady eye, Clint picks the plate up and sets it down in front of the dog. Lucky doesn't waste a moment and lunges right at the pizza, tail wagging excitedly as he devours it whole.

When his phone starts vibrating again, somewhere under his ass, Clint actually curses Liam Neeson. Fucking Liam Neeson. He fumbles around for it blindly, slipping his hand down the side of the couch and under the plush cushions, before he finally finds it and makes a small noise of success. Clint digs his thumb into the circular home button and frowns at the screen.

It's full of new Facebook notifications.

He hadn't used the app in months, until yesterday, until Pietro insisted that he reset his password so they could talk via messenger until he gets his phone back (or, the more likely alternative: until he purchases a new one. Thieves don't often return stolen goods) and Clint had said yeah, sure, whatever you want. And now, this. Now, his iPhone is blowing up with new alerts every ten seconds or so and Clint's not really sure what to make of that, or what he did to deserve it.

Clint scrolls down the list slowly, only mildly alarmed.

Some of the notifications are from Steve, of all people, who is apparently feeling nostalgic. He's going through and liking most, if not all, of Clint's uploaded photos. And sure, Clint hasn't been active in months, and doesn't exactly post a lot online, but there are a couple of good photos in there. Old times. Pictures from times that Clint had almost forgotten about, like that one disastrous bowling trip.

And then there's Sam, tagging Clint in food-related stuff, like tutorials on How to Make Perfect Crêpes, or thirty second videos on making cronuts at home.

He keeps scrolling down, down, until he reaches the end of the notifications.

Pietro sent a sticker (16)

Clint unlocks the screen with a single swipe and taps on the chat bubble in the bottom corner of his screen. The stickers are of cats. Cats. Of course. Sixteen stickers of the same cat in various poses. And, at the very bottom of the chat, three messages. But first, stickers. Clint skims through a couple.

Pietro Maximoff:

her name is Pusheen

? you fell asleep again didnt you? ? ?

clinton?

Clint Barton:

Am here

Nope. I definitely wasn't sleeping. I just really got into this documentary and forgot to message back. Sorry.

Pietro Maximoff:

oh? what was it abt?

Clint Barton:

Kidnap. Murder. Revenge.

It was Taken 3.

And don't call me Clinton. I regret ever telling you that. I'm just Clint. We clear?

Pietro Maximoff:

hi Just Clint

Clint Barton:

New rule: you have to wait at least 10 minutes after I've woken up before you start making dad jokes. At least 10. Because it's not that funny and I'm still laughing. Think it has something to do with the sleep deprivation..

Pietro Maximoff

so you were sleeping! I knew it

;)

Clint Barton:

Yeah I was

Because I'm old

Pietro Maximoff:

it is 8pm how are you going to survive friday night ?

Clint Barton:

I keep asking myself that same question.

Pietro Maximoff:

taken is the one with laim newson?

*nelson

*nelson

wtf

*meson

Clint Barton:

Yeah, there are 3 movies, with Laim Meson as the lead.

Pietro Maximoff:

dont worry abt your party babe i got you

i will be there for the celebrations

Clint Barton:

I feel better already.

Pietro Maximoff:

what time on friday?

Clint Barton:

6 or 7. Nat said she'll get back to me tonight or tomorrow. You need a ride? I can swing by and get you.

Pietro Maximoff:

yes i think so. wanda has a date and she might kill me if i ask her for a lift. would that be ok? i dont want to upset the birthday boy

Clint Barton:

Yeah, babe. Of course it's ok.

Pietro Maximoff:

this is why you are my favorite boyfriend :-)

Clint Barton:

You bet I am.

I don't even know where the party is. Can you believe that? Not a big fan of surprise parties. I'm even less of a fan of Stark-themed parties. I got a bad feeling that he's involved.

Pietro Maximoff:

i think you worry too much

worry less abt these things. you are nearly 40

Clint Barton:

This is why you're my least favorite boyfriend.

Pietro Maximoff:

tfw your bf is always so grumpy all the time

#justoldmanthings

Clint Barton:

Tfw your boyfriend sends you 700,000 stickers of cats. Just because he can. Because he's got nothing better to do.

#JustQuicksilverThings

Pietro Maximoff:

did you just hashtag!

get twitter

Clint Barton:

I'm 34, not ancient. I know what hashtags are.

And nope. Not happening.

Pietro Maximoff:

so only fb snapchat facetime skype & pinterest? but not twitter? not even for me

what if i asked nicely

Clint Barton

Not even if you begged me.

Pietro Maximoff:

but i am asking very nicely

Clint Barton:

Aw, cute.

But it's still not happening. I didn't even use half of those things before I met you and I hardly use them now.

You can blame Sam for that Pinterest account that I never use. He just wouldn't stop bugging me about it. And sure, you're way more annoying than he'll ever be, but I'm still not signing up. Just not my thing.

Pietro Maximoff:

ugh ok fine

what are you doing?

Clint Barton:

You mean apart from messaging you and not signing up to Twitter? Not much. I'm not really into this movie so I think I'm gonna head upstairs soon. Grab a shower and maybe get an early night.

Pietro Maximoff:

....

Clint Barton:

This is usually the part where you make a joke about me being an old man. Which I am, sure, but I don't care. Gotta swing by Steve's in the morning and catch up, otherwise he'll never get off my case.

Pietro Maximoff:

and you feel up to doing this?

Clint Barton:

Yeah, I'll be fine. Steve's good company.

I think when he came around to feed Lucky while I was at yours, he let his nuisance of a boyfriend in. Somebody messed around with my paint tins and wrote "Clint sucks" on the living room wall. Now I have to paint over it. It was either Barnes, or Lucky's real pissed at me for being away for so long. He's still giving me the cold shoulder.

But I'm leaning more towards Barnes. He's a pest.

Pietro Maximoff:

ha hah i like this nuisance of a boyfriend

Clint Barton:

Of course you do. You two have a lot in common.

Pietro Maximoff:

like what?

Clint Barton:

Lemme think.

You both tell really bad jokes. Seriously bad. Think you're funnier than you actually are. You both suck at darts. He's also got that whole floppy hair prince charming kind of thing going on, like you. Did I mention the bad jokes? Cause he tells a lot of them.

I think you'll get on just fine.

Pietro Maximoff:

i like him already

what was his name again? barnes?

Clint Barton:

Yep. Bucky Barnes. I've known him for years.

And I think you already know Steve.

Well, you do. You know him.

Pietro Maximoff:

how?

Clint Barton:

He's an officer. Might've even been the one to take your statement. I should've mentioned sooner that I knew him, but it just slipped my mind. If that's too weird for you, or brings up stuff you don't wanna think about, then we don't have to go on Friday. We can just stay in? I mean it.

Whatever you want.

Pietro Maximoff:

it will be fine ok i am not going to keep my boyfriend from going to his own birthday party and i dont want to miss it either

how long have they been together? bucky & steve?

Clint Barton:

You're sure? Because I mean it, we don't have to go. And I think it'll be 12 years this November.

Pietro Maximoff:

wow 12 yrs is a long time

Clint Barton:

Very long, yeah. Not nervous, are you?

Pietro Maximoff:

no

ok only a little

Clint Barton:

There's nothing to be nervous about. It's not like you'll be alone, right? I'll be there. Obviously. It'd be seriously weird if I wasn't at my own birthday party.

We'll have some dinner and drinks. Play some pool. And I can teach you how to throw a dart, because that's still bugging me. It'll be a quiet night with a few close friends. Not so scary at all. I got you. Don't worry about it.

Pietro Maximoff:

what should i wear

Clint Barton:

I don't even know what I'm wearing. You'd probably have better luck asking someone else?

Pietro Maximoff:

oh yes i forgot that you only own plaid

wanda will know what to wear i will ask her instead

Clint Barton:

....

Smartass.

Pietro Maximoff:

is that the best insult you have? you must be very tired

Clint Barton:

Yeah. I had trouble sleeping last night.

Pietro Maximoff:

so did i

Clint Barton:

Feeling any better? How's the eye?

Pietro Maximoff:

better

less swollen today i think

Clint Barton:

Good. You called off work for the week?

Pietro Maximoff:

yes i have my shifts covered

and also for the week after unless i am feeling better

Clint Barton:

Take it easy, yeah? Don't push yourself.

Pietro Maximoff:

i will be fine

Clint Barton:

Don't be fine, be careful. There's a difference.

Pietro Maximoff:

....

Clint Barton:

Sorry. I'm being bossy.

I guess I just worry about you and don't want anything to happen. Don't push yourself too hard.

Pietro Maximoff:

i will be ok i just hate this

Clint Barton:

I know you do, babe. But it'll be better in a couple days, so you just have to stick it out until then. You'll be back doing your lessons and walking your dogs before you know it and it'll be like nothing ever happened

Pietro Maximoff:

no not that

well ok yes that annoys me but i dont like this

i dont like being apart

Clint Barton:

Oh, right. I don't like it either.

Pietro Maximoff:

i miss you

Clint Barton:

I didn't want to go, but I had to. And I know that sounds weak. There's just stuff I can't leave behind right now.

Like this whole thing with Laura. I can't leave Lucky alone for too long either. This is our home and he's my boy. I wanted to stay in that bed forever. Believe me, I did. But it doesn't matter how much I wanted it...I had to get back to the real world.

But you're welcome here, whenever you wanna come and visit. I mean it. Come over. Any day, any time. The same goes for your sister.

Pietro Maximoff:

you would want us there?

Clint Barton:

Of course I do. It's a big house. There's plenty of room for both of you.

Pietro Maximoff:

even for your nuisance of a boyfriend

Clint Barton:

Yeah, sure, I got lots of room especially for my nuisance of a boyfriend who isn't that much of a nuisance.

It's just not the same when he's not around. I guess you could say that I got used to him being there. That I miss him and haven't slept right since I got back. When I wake up, the first thing I do is reach for him.

Pietro Maximoff:

:((

i didnt want you to leave yesterday you know

Clint Barton:

I know

Pietro Maximoff:

so why did you

Clint Barton:

Babe

You know why. It's just not practical right now.

Pietro Maximoff:

i still miss you

[DRAFT] Clint Barton:

And I miss you. So damn much. Maybe you could come by this weekend? That's if you don't have som

A notification pops up in the middle of the screen, then, just as Clint's mid-reply.

Low Battery
20% of battery remaining

[Dismiss]

Clint hits dismiss and taps out the rest of his response, hitting send before he can overthink it any further. Then, he rises from the couch and heads towards the staircase. Lucky's since finished the pizza, so Clint takes a minor detour and stops at the kitchen briefly to dispose of the dirty plate. Once he's halfway up the stairs, he whistles for Lucky to follow. He trots along happily behind Clint.

Somehow, the battery is on 15% by the time Clint finds a charger and plugs it into a socket. He hovers nearby, for a moment, but doesn't wait around for too long and heads for the bathroom down the hall.

Fifteen minutes later, after Clint's showered and shaved, and dressed in a pair of loose fitting pyjama bottoms (a gift from Steve that Clint only wears when it's laundry day. Okay, so almost every day is laundry day, but still, the pants are too baggy and kind of scratchy, yet he doesn't have the heart to throw them away) he pads back over to his phone with a towel draped over his bare shoulders and crouches down next to it. He brings up Pietro's reply, smiling as he skims over it.

Pietro Maximoff:

sorry I have plans with my boyfriend

obviously i was talking abt you so yes i will be there. what time / day?

Clint Barton:

Whenever you want

Pietro Maximoff:

i could stay the whole weekend?

Clint Barton:

Oh

You wanna stay over?

Pietro Maximoff:

is this not ok?

Clint Barton:

No, no. It's fine. You can stay. Whatever you want.

Pietro Maximoff:

whatever i want? hmm

i want pancakes

Clint Barton:

Of course you do.

Pietro Maximoff:

five pancakes

Clint Barton:

That's a very specific number of pancakes.

Don't forget the blueberries

Pietro Maximoff:

i will make them for breakfast

Clint Barton:

Yeah? Make sure you share them with Wanda. She's been good to me.

Pietro Maximoff:

these are not for wanda

Clint Barton:

Pancake hoarder

Pietro Maximoff:

i would make them for you old man

Clint Barton:

Oh, like this weekend?

Pietro Maximoff:

yes if you want me to

Clint Barton:

I'd like that.

Maybe I'll cook something nice for dinner. Or if that goes badly, we can always order some takeaway. You can't go wrong with pizza, right?

Pietro Maximoff:

like a date?

Clint Barton:

Yeah, like a date. It'll be our second. Can you believe that?

Pietro Maximoff:

(poop emoji)

Clint Barton:

Did you seriously just send the poop emoji

Pietro Maximoff:

oops

i meant to do this one instead

(broken heart emoji)

Clint Barton:

That's not any better.

Pietro Maximoff:

this one!

this

(heart eyes emoji

see? the love heart eyes

because i have the heart eyes for you

Clint Barton:

You sure about that?

Pietro Maximoff:

very sure 1000% sure

Clint Barton:

Ok, well, that's good.

Time for bed, Quicksilver. I'll talk to you in the morning. Be good xx

Pietro Maximoff:

when am i not?

night xx

Sleeping alone isn't as nice as not sleeping alone, Clint decides, as he settles in underneath the duvet. Definitely not as nice as having someone close, just within arms reach. He tosses and turns for a good half hour, at least, before finally dozing off.

It's a restless sleep. Clint's used to those.

When he wakes, a little after 5AM according to the digital alarm clock on his bedside table, the first thing Clint does is pat the spot next to him. It's still a little dark out, but slowly growing lighter, and when Clint realizes he's alone, the next thing he does is check his phone for messages - there's a new Facebook Messenger alert that Clint brings up immediately. Even though it's dated back to 2AM, Clint still replies like he half expects Pietro to be awake.

Pietro Maximoff:

sweet dreams agent barton xxxx

Clint Barton:

You were in them. Xx


THURS 11 JUNE

Coffee is good. Rich, warm, good. It makes the morning fly by, but maybe that's because Clint's already had four and a half cups.

He tidies up in the kitchen, throws out the cardboard takeaway boxes that still smelly faintly of pizza, paints over the love letter that Bucky left for him on the living room wall, and forgets all about why he got up so early in the first place.

Because of Steve.

It's half nine when he realizes. Steve's caller ID lights up the screen of Clint's iPhone. But, just like he always does, Steve hangs up. He doesn't give Clint nearly enough time to climb down from the ladder and answer the call.

They've argued about this before, countless times before: it's called a mobile phone for a reason, Clint, because it's mobile. Keep it with you. And he does, sure. Barely goes anywhere without his phone these days. It isn't his fault that Steve hangs up pretty much as soon as he dials.

A message lights up the screen, followed shortly by a second, and a third.

[9:37AM]:

Hey, Barton. I tried calling. We were supposed to meet at 9, remember? Did something come up?

[9:39AM]:

Or did I get the date wrong again?

[9:40AM]:

Message me back so I know you're ok.

[9:43AM]:

Shit. I'm sorry, man. Totally forgot.

[9:46AM]:

Want me to swing by instead?

[9:49AM]:

....

[9:53AM]:

Don't worry bout it. I'll just see you on Friday, yeah?

[9:56AM]:

I wouldn't miss it for the world.

[9:57AM]:

You're sure you don't want me to come around? I'm only around the corner. I know things have been rough for you lately, Clint, but you still have people that care about you.

[10:03AM]:

Things are good, Steve. I mean it.

[10:06AM]:

You're sure?

[10:08AM]:

Not really, but I'm trying to be.

[10:09AM]:

I know I shouldn't ask, but have you caught them? The assholes that beat up Pietro. Y'know, my friend. Pietro. He means a lot to me so it'd be nice to know I had some good news, for once.

[10:10AM]:

I can't talk about this with you, Clint. As much as I want to, I just can't.

[10:11AM]:

Yo u're retired and I'm not even working the case. I took his statement but haven't had any further involvement. All I can say is that nothing has changed. You just have to give it time, Clint.

[10:14AM]:

See you on Friday?

[10:16AM]:

Uh-huh. I'll be there with bells on..

[10:18AM]:

Oh, and he'll be there.

[10:20AM]:

Who?

[10:21AM]:

The kid?

[10:24AM]:

Yep. We're dating. Kind of.

[10:25AM]:

I don't know why I said that. There's no "kind of" about it. I just thought you should know that we're together.

[10:26AM]:

Is it serious?

[10:28AM]:

Yeah.

[10:30AM]:

Clint, you're my friend and I only want what's best for you, and you know that. But are you sure this is it?

[10:33AM]:

Jesus, Steve. Don't take that tone with me.

[10:36AM]:

There's no tone.

[10:34AM]:

Stop frowning or your face will get stuck like that.

[10:37AM]:

I just hope you know what you're doing.

[10:39AM]:

Never have before. Why start now?

[10:40AM]:

Don't answer that. Gotta go.

Steve, of course, being Steve, does answer.

He's always cared too much - more than Clint was used to, anyway. Two alerts pop up on the lockscreen: one text from Steve (who is saved under the name of "Stove" in Clint's contacts) and a Facebook message from Pietro. He opens the text first. Steve, with his big heart and his good intentions, only wants what's best for Clint. And he says as much, again, like maybe it hasn't quite sunken in yet, even after all this time.

[10:42AM]:

I only want what's best for you and don't want to see you get hurt. Be sure that this is it before it gets too serious.

Too late, Clint thinks. Way too late for that.

And sure, he only has good intentions, but that doesn't stop Clint from feeling a little ticked off at Steve.

He types up several replies and doesn't end up sending any of them. Instead, he closes the message and brings up his conversation with Pietro. It's a sticker. Well, two stickers. Of that damn cat.

Clint Barton:

You and your cats.

Pietro Maximoff:

im bored

Clint Barton:

Hi Bored, I'm Clint.

Pietro Maximoff:

that was terrible why are we together

you used to be much funnier

i dont think we should see each other anymore

Clint Barton:

Oh, shut up. It was funny.

Pietro Maximoff:

i mean it tho

im bored ((and dont u dare say that terrible joke again))

Clint Barton:

Yeah, me too.

Pietro Maximoff:

so? what can we do

Clint Barton:

Wanna bang?

*hang

I mean. Whatever.

Pietro Maximoff:

ha haha yes

Clint Barton:

That was a yes to the hanging, right? Because I know just the place. You'll love it.


THURS 11 JUNE

"I'm not having a crisis." Clint says, a lie. He's standing in the middle of a Baskin-Robbins and is kind of having a crisis. A very mild one, but a crisis all the same. With his iPhone wedged between ear and shoulder, Clint taps at the glass display case. "I want that one."

"One scoop of Cookies 'n Cream coming up." Alex, the 20-something year old server behind the counter, clad in that hideously bright pink t-shirt, says.

Natasha's voice echoes down the line then, as Clint nods in confirmation and continues browsing through the row of multi-colored flavors, pausing at mint choc, which he's always been a sucker for. "What?"

"I'm not having a crisis."

"No, not that. I heard a voice."

"Oh." Clint says. He glances over his shoulder, checks for someone that isn't there - yet. "Well, I'm out. I guess that happens sometimes. When you're out, people are there. They tend to talk."

"Baskin-Robbins?"

"I don't even wanna know how you knew that, but yeah, I'm at Baskin-Robbins." Clint says, veering back towards the counter. He pulls out his wallet and slaps the right amount of bills, along with a couple coins, down onto the counter, and waits. "And I'm not having a crisis."

Natasha considers that. Briefly. "You seem to be handling it pretty well, all things considered."

"Guess I just don't care."

"Uh-huh."

"What, so Tony's hijacked my party? What's the worst that can happen?" he asks, even though this is kind of it. It's exactly what Clint was hoping to avoid. "I knew it was gonna happen. Sooner or later, Tony Stark always gets his way."

"And you're fine with it?" she asks.

He shrugs, realizes that Natasha can't actually see him (or, maybe she can, but he'd rather think that she can't) and then makes a low, noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. Okay, so he's having a small crisis. It's miniscule, really. Nothing to fuss about. He's turning 35 in a little over a week and instead of having the party that he actually wanted, he gets this. He gets Tony Stark and his tendency to go overboard.

All of his anxiety melts away, though, when he glances out of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Baskin-Robbins and spots Pietro on the sidewalk.

He's hard to miss in his Adidas windbreaker, ridiculously tight skinny jeans, and shiny high tops. Underneath the jacket he's wearing a plain white t-shirt. Clint's grinning before Pietro even steps inside. He's only seconds away, now. Steps.

Clint hasn't seen him since Tuesday, which isn't all that long, sure. Except it feels like weeks, not days, and he only grows more and more restless with each slow step that Pietro takes towards the building.

"There you are." Clint says, to himself, mostly. He releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. Then, when Natasha makes a curious noise, Clint stutters out, "Uh-finally, my order's here. There you are, ice-cream. I gotta go, Nat." he ends the call and stuffs his phone into his jacket pocket, stuffed in with his wallet and keys.

The ice-cream cone is actually ready, so Clint picks it up off the plastic tray on the counter just as Pietro slinks up behind him and pecks him on the cheek. Twice.

It's only then that Clint notices the hat.

Navy blue, pulled down low, barely concealing the dark bruises around his eye. It's less swollen, at least. That's something. Clint traces his finger along the brim of the hat lightly, before dropping his hand away.

"Going incognito?" Clint asks, then takes a lick of his ice-cream. He holds it out to Pietro a moment later, who wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. "It's a good look. Suits you." he says, teasing, but it's true. It does look good, because Pietro's the kind of guy that would look good in nothing but a burlap sack.

Pietro, however, seems to think that Clint's simply poking fun at him. Which is probably why he yanks the cap off and pulls it down on Clint's head, hard, and down over his ears, nearly covering his eyes and partially obscuring his vision.

"Better? You wanted the hat so much, you can have it."

"I don't want your hat." Clint scoffs, but still doesn't take the cap off. He adjusts the hat a little, so it isn't down that low and blocking his view of the younger man, then gives Pietro's arm a light squeeze. "Order something nice. I'll grab us a table."

Inside the store, it's pretty much deserted, aside from a couple of stray customers that are hovering around near the display cases. Clint picks a table that isn't sticky, but is right next to the window. He's surprised when, less than thirty seconds later, Pietro joins him, because he knows just how indecisive his boyfriend can be at times.

"That was quick."

"What can I say? I know what I want." Pietro says, with an exaggerated sigh, and drops down into the plastic chair directly across the table from Clint. Then, with the biggest grin plastered on his face, he waves his ice-cream cone around and proudly announces his choice: "Double scoop of Cotton Candy."

Now, that spells trouble.

(which is something that Clint's never been any good at staying out of, so this will be no different).

There isn't much room left between them, not with the way that their knees are knocking together underneath the table, so it doesn't take much effort for Clint to lean over, take Pietro's chin in his hand and kiss him - Pietro makes a surprised noise, something caught between a squawk and a squeak. A little undignified, sure, but pleased. Happy. Clint pulls back with a smile, leans back in his chair and takes a bite out of his Cookies 'n Cream.

"Did you really just do that?" Pietro asks, horrified, and it makes Clint's heart stutter to a halt.

"What, I can't kiss my boyfriend in public?" Clint frowns. He's mid-bite when Pietro's eyes go wide, again, and he gestures at Clint's face vaguely. "Seriously? I can't kiss you in public? Since when?"

"You can kiss me whenever you want, old man, I meant that. You bit it." his ice-cream has started to melt, a little, and drips down onto the table. Pietro almost uses his sleeve to mop up the mess, but Clint slides a napkin over before he can.

"Oh. Yeah, so what?"

"So, you bit it. You don't bite ice-cream."

"I'm a biter." Clint grins, around a mouthful of Cookies 'n Cream. "There are worse things to be."

Pietro snorts. "I am not so sure." he says, narrowing his eyes at Clint. He gives him an obvious once-over. "The hat suits you, even if you are a thief."

"How am I a thief? You gave it to me, babe, which makes it a gift." Clint says. He pulls the cap off and drops it down onto the table between them. Plain, navy, nondescript. It looks more like something out of Clint's wardrobe, not Pietro's. "This doesn't seem like your style. Figured you'd be more of an Adidas guy. Y'know, to go with your shoes, and the jacket. Either that, or something glittery."

"You can always buy me one, if you like."

"Well, that's good to know."

"Buy me a sparkly hat." he says. "But only if you want to."

The corner of Pietro's mouth is pulled up into a smirk as he kicks Clint's ankle playfully under the table, which is just Classic Pietro. And, as always, it's not clear if he's flirting or just being his usual annoying self. He's still kind of cute though.

Clint's nearly thirty five years old. He's pretty sure that "cute" isn't a word he should be using. At all. Probably shouldn't be using it to describe his boyfriend either, but still, the word fits him quite like nothing else.

"What made you change your mind?" Pietro asks, licking lazily at his bright pink and purple ice-cream cone. "You had plans, yes? Did your friend cancel them?"

"I cancelled."

"Didn't you want to see Steve?"

Clint shrugs, then. Weak, half-hearted, and coy. Almost. It isn't something that he often is, or ever was. He's nearly thirty five, he doesn't get coy. And even if he does, it's only when he's around Pietro, so really, it's the younger man's fault.

"Yeah, I did." he says. "But I wanted to see you more, so here I am, and here we are. Stop looking at me like that, kid, and eat your damn ice-cream before it melts."

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor startles Clint, at first. It draws him out of his thoughts, which is a good thing, of course. Always a good thing. Somehow, Pietro manages to not drop his ice-cream as he drags himself over, chair and all, to sit next to Clint, wedged in so close that their elbows are brushing.

"You missed me." Pietro says, waggling his eyebrows.

"Like a hole in the head."

Pietro pulls a face, like he's not even a little convinced. "I know you make jokes to deflect, but I also know that you missed me. Not as much as I missed you, I think." he says that last part like it's a secret, a conspiracy meant only for Clint's ears.

"What makes you think that?" he asks.

"Just a feeling."

Something in Clint's chest eases up - or softens, just like it always does, around Pietro. Little by little, the walls he built up around himself are slowly being taken apart, brick by brick. With the hand that isn't holding onto his ice-cream cone, Clint touches Pietro's jaw, before dropping his hand to rest on Pietro's knee. He leaves it there, to rest, to remind himself that yes, this is real, and yes, I can be happy. I am.

"Do you want a taste?"

"Of what?" Clint blinks.

"The ice-cream. It is very sweet, like me. Taste it. Here, try some." he offers, innocently holding the ice-cream cone out. All wide-eyed and still grinning widely like a Cheshire cat. "It will not bite you. Go ahead, old man. Try some."

Narrowing his eyes, Clint hesitates. It's not that he doesn't trust Pietro, because he does, but he's trouble. Lots of trouble. Always has, and always will be, most likely. Clint's definitely not complaining. He licks at the ice-cream, the swirls of purple and pink mixed together. It's sweet. A little too sweet to have all the time, but then again, Pietro's always had more of a sweet tooth than Clint has.

He takes a bite out of the ice-cream, just to watch Pietro scowl. It's big enough that it leaves an indent in the shape of Clint's teeth. Pietro smiles sweetly.

Clint ends up with ice-cream all over his chin and mouth.

"Since you like it so much," Pietro says.

"I can have it." Clint says, finishing the sentence for him. His own ice-cream is melting, with pale droplets falling onto the table - and onto his hand. Clint licks along the joint between forefinger and thumb, and carries on like it's completely normal to have ice-cream smeared across the bottom half of his face.

When he glances up, he sees that Pietro is dangerously close to dissolving into a fit of laughter. He's a little on the cautious side though, like he's worried about why Clint doesn't seem all that bothered by the ice-cream smeared across his face. Pietro's resolve doesn't last and he starts snickering.

He tries (and fails) to hide his laughter behind his hand, but that only seems to make it so much worse. Clint's laughing along before he realizes it. The ice-cream beard tastes good, at least, when Clint drags his tongue along his bottom lip.

"You're such a punk." Clint mutters beneath his breath, but not quietly enough for Pietro to miss. He says it fondly. "What's funny? Is there something on my face? Oh-oh, there is? Well, you used my napkin, so I'm gonna have to use yours."

"I don't have one."

"No? Guess I'll just have to use you. Come here. C'mon, I wanna give you a kiss." Clint smirks, shifting in his chair so he's stretching over towards Pietro. "Just one. Gimme a kiss."

Pietro bats him away, at first, and shoves at his shoulder playfully. He's shaking with laughter, now, which makes it that much more difficult to exchange actual words. It's madness. Clint's laughing nearly as hard as Pietro is and still isn't sure why, all he knows is that he's happy and enjoying himself, and a little more in love with Pietro than he was before. Which is impossible, sure, and yet.

Maybe it's because he's learning new things about Pietro: he scrunches his nose up when he finds something really funny, he's allergic to walnuts and doesn't like cookie dough. He tells Clint all of this in between fits of giggles - there's no other word for it. He's giggling. Clint finds it way more endearing than he probably should.

"One kiss." Clint says.

He doesn't need to ask again.

It's a mess. Such a mess, but Clint wouldn't have it any other way. His skin is sticky from ice-cream, from Pietro's lips travelling across his jaw, along his chin, up, up to the corner of his mouth.

Pietro exhales quiet laughter against his skin and Clint's face hurts from smiling so much. He's surprised that it isn't messier. There are spots of ice-cream on the table, on Clint's jeans, the back of his hand. He still can't bring himself to care all that much. Being with Pietro feels good. And this, it feels like just what he needed.

Just what they both needed, actually, judging by the grin still fixed on Pietro's face. It's sweet, easy, and a sharp contrast against the dark bruises and angry red scrapes. Clint catches Pietro's free hand by the wrist and presses a kiss to his knuckles, because he can.

It's innocent.

Nothing at all like the way that Pietro kisses him, then, his tongue grazing over Clint's lower lip and sucking it into his mouth, making Clint groan a little too loudly in the middle of the otherwise silent Baskin-Robbins.

Maybe that's why he drops his ice-cream cone (or, what's left of it; it's melting, fast. Pink and purple beads dribble down the side of the cone). Maybe that's why he drops what remains of his ice-cream cone into Clint's lap.

He's up and on his feet in a heartbeat, because it's cold and wet, and soaking right through his jeans. Pietro looks mildly apologetic - that is until the ice-cream falls off of Clint's lap as he stands and onto the floor, and the look is wiped right off his face, replaced by something forlorn and heartbroken.

"You dropped it." Pietro pouts.

"But-what-it was you." Clint stammers, still holding onto his own ice-cream cone. It's a lost cause. Most of it has melted and is currently dripping onto the floor. "No, you dropped it. Right into my lap. This is great."

Pietro bites down on his bottom lip, hard, like he has to physically stop himself from laughing - and honestly, Clint's not much better. He's not sure why he finds it so funny. It's sticky and messy, just like everything else. Clint drops his ice-cream cone into the bin on his way to the bathroom. There are a couple of empty stalls, and some urinals along the far wall, but Clint heads for the sink. He pulls a couple sheets of paper towel from the dispenser and runs them under the water, dampening the edges, before he starts dabbing at the stain on his jeans.

Half bent over at a sink, rubbing at his crotch, isn't really Clint's best look. He straightens up only when the door swings open. Pietro appears, still looking only a little apologetic, like he's torn between feeling bad and feeling amused.

"Is it bad?" Pietro asks, grimacing when he sees the stain.

Clint huffs out a laugh. "Yeah. It looks like I wet myself, or that I," he trails off. The ice-cream soaked into his jeans, making everything feel cold and sticky. He dabs lightly at the spot anyway, even though it's not really helping. But it's not really making it worse either.

"Or, what?"

"Nothing." he grumbles. He's wiped up as much as he can, and now his pants just have to dry. Clint scrunches the paper towel up into a ball, throws it at the wastebin off to Pietro's left, and scores. "You really know how to make a mess, don't you?"

Pietro's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. He throws a glance back over his shoulder, then, as if he's checking that no one else is around. "Me? You were the one that started with all of the, you know, the kissing. This is not my fault." he says, amused, and waves his hand about vaguely. "You did this, old man."

"Oh, ok. Sure." Clint scoffs. "You kissed me first."

"Actually, you took my hand, like so." Pietro demonstrates by taking Clint's right hand and pressing his lips to his ice-cream sticky knuckles. "And did that. So, this is very much on you, old man."

"Yeah? You don't say." he says.

It's quite literally on him. Not just on, though, but all over. Clint pulls a face, and feels a little uncomfortable about the huge damp stain on the front of his jeans. Maybe it wouldn't show so much if he were wearing black jeans, like Pietro, but no, he had to go for light blue denim.

"Take them off," Pietro tugs on a belt loop, then, pulling Clint towards him. "And let them dry under the machine."

The machine in question is the bathroom hand dryer - it is located conveniently next to the row of sinks, but it's still a very public bathroom, and Clint's not stripping down. He shakes his head, swats Pietro's hand away and takes a steady step backwards. Away from Pietro and his devious smile.

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I might not be wearing anything underneath."

Pietro looks scandalized. His mouth falls open to form a rather surprised O. But he also looks weirdly happy about it. Too happy. "Might not? Might? You either are or you aren't, old man. Is your memory not so good today?" he asks, with the biggest shit eating grin.

"Screw you."

"You would need your pants off for that. I-"

"I'm not taking my pants off in a public bathroom, kid. I don't care how much you want me to, I'm not doing it. I won't." Clint interrupts. "Oh, yeah. The jig is up, pal. You dropped your ice-cream into my lap just so you could get me alone. To seduce me."

"Is it working?"

Clint considers that. "Why don't we get outta here and find out?"

The biggest flaw in that plan, though, is that Clint forgot to factor in the way that life just likes to screw him. Plain and simple. He and Pietro are giddy, practically tripping over themselves in their haste to reach Clint's dusty pickup truck. Too giddy, actually, to pay any notice to the faces they pass on the sidewalk. Somehow, one of them knows him and actually calls his name.

Somehow, he didn't recognize them at first glance.

It's been so long, after all. Weeks.

He's got one arm slung around Pietro's shoulders, turning around together to face the stranger (who isn't a stranger at all, actually). Clint's tongue suddenly feels too heavy in his mouth, and his throat is oddly constricted.

"Laura."


A/N: I recommend checking this chapter out on ao3 if you want to see the pictures / emojis that they actually send to each other. They don't appear on here, but actually look really cute on ao3.