Note: So I'm writing a more action-based story on Clint Barton/Hawkeye; as usual, not much romance but it's called "When in Rome," and I'd love if you guys checked it out. But if you don't want to, please don't feel compelled to!
Also, I tried really hard to work on my dialogue here...
Outside the theater in Herald Square in possibly the greatest city in the world, two uninterested and tired looking college students stepped out under the loom of the streetlight while a silent shower of snow drifted in clusters from above.
"So," the boy shifted his weight to the back of his heels while a small stream of translucent smoke puffed through his parted lips, "how was it?"
"It was really good," Lee replied, veering her gaze from his eyes to the ground distractedly, "I actually kind of loved it. I mean, the entire movie was this elaborate, extended metaphor and completely deconstructed the romantic comedy genre. Which is great because I'm honestly not a big fan of romance or comedies. It's rare to get either right, let alone both, you know?"
He looked startled and his eyes widened slightly. For what it was worth, he suckered out a semblance of a laugh, "Wow."
She grinned, "Sorry. Am I rambling again? I—um—I tend to do that a lot."
"No," he replied after a moment's hesitation while the corners of his lips tipped into a small smile, "I'm just…surprised. I didn't see it really that way."
Lee pursed her lips and sucked in a short breath, "…yup," and she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and discount the fact that the movie was called Romance Breakdown.
Cue the awkward laugh, "Well," he remarked dryly, "thanks."
She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, "…right. Ha ha. Thanks. I had a good time."
"Yeah," he ushered forward and nodded in agreement, "me too. I'll call you."
He wouldn't.
"I'll be looking forward to it," she replied without missing a beat.
"There are too many pigeons in New York," Clint lamented with an indifferent sigh. It was ironic enough that he was named after a bird but he couldn't help how annoying these winged rats were. And the horrifying thing about them was they didn't seem the least bit afraid of the people strolling around. The fact that they were still here in the wintertime should've warned him about their sheer stubbornness.
He strolled through the small space that was the Avengers' float while they made their way through downtown Broadway. His snow boots were rough and frigid against his clammy toes.
It figured New York would eventually hold a parade for the Avengers but the fact that their attendance was mandatory was a little more than, well...annoying. What was more agitating was upon his arrival, he realized there was no sign of Hulk, Thor or Widow. So this mandatory parade wasn't really quite mandatory after all.
Apparently, he missed the notice they could skip out.
"This is humiliating," Steve muttered bitterly under his breath.
Apparently, so did Captain America.
"You should be more excited about this," Clint replied impartially, slipping his hands into the back pockets of his casual jeans, "they're treating us like we're the Giants and we just won the Super Bowl."
He wasn't really excited about this but he figured he might as well make the best out of what he had while it lasted. He'd be leaving for Tibet tomorrow and he couldn't really afford to complain about something so stupid. If there was one thing he learned after years and years of having his life on edge, it was that it was the small and stupid human things that assured him the most.
Steve spared a glance around at the high-rise skyscrapers (he'd never get used to it, really), "Super Bowl? What's that?"
Clint seemed to forget the fact that the Captain was kind of behind when it came to sports...or just pop culture in general, "Yeah—it's nothing."
"I'm not going," Lee stated firmly.
"Seriously?" Her roommate, Daphne, stared at her incredulously while collapsing onto a bed at the opposite side of the room. She played casually with the drawstrings of her (disgustingly hipster) backpack while her sweeping a long lock of dark brown hair behind her shoulder. "Wait—you're kidding me right? You couldn't stop talking about this guy and now you don't even want to go see him?"
"Why do you sound so surprised?" Lee replied, flipping a page over in her New Yorker magazine, "I'm sick, I have a fever—plus, the last time I listened to you was when you set me up with Michael, who, might I add, never called me back."
"Well. I'm not really surprised," Daphne admonished with a sly smile, "Michael can be kind of dense."
"Oh thanks for the warning. You're kind of a week late on telling me," Lee replied dryly while she shifted from where she was lying on her bed, "besides, I'm really, really stressed, I have my LSATs tomorrow. Plus, it's finals week and this silly cleanse diet you have me on is making me break out all over my forehead. I'm also sleep-deprived and exhausted. So. Nope. Not going."
This prompted Daphne to chuck her Blackberry in Lee's direction.
She managed to dodge the device as it made contact roughly with the headboard of her bed.
This time, it was Lee's turn to stare at her roommate incredulously, "Hey! What if that actually hit me?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Daphne snapped, completely ignoring that fact that had that Blackberry been aimed with 'better' precision, it could've potentially made contact with Lee's head, possibly giving her a concussion, "I mean—this guy saves your life, you can't stop talking about it, or him, and now you don't even want to see him?"
"The New York Giants win the Super Bowl. I'm not going to go to the parade to thank Eli Manning for making that super clutch pass to Manningham," Lee replied, sifting carefully through her magazine; and then after a half second of consideration, she decided to tack on, "or maybe I would go. I mean, beating the Patriots a second time in a row?" She let out a low whistle, turning her attention back to the pages of her magazine, "So much for being an underdog, huh."
Daphne stared daggers and shook her head with vehement disapproval, "You disgust me with your clichés."
"Are you bitter, Boston?" Mockingly, and with a good-natured smile, Lee placed a hand to her chest, "It's okay. We can't help where we're born. Just be glad you live in the greatest city now."
"Stop changing the subject," Daphne said firmly, knitting her brows in agitation, "and let's go to the parade."
"I have class," Lee replied without missing a beat.
"It's a Sunday!"
"Pilates class," she corrected herself tersely.
Daphne snorted, "You don't work out."
"Well, I do now."
"You said you were sick."
Lee opened her mouth to say something back but bit her lower lip when she realized that for the first time, Daphne caught her lie. So she shrugged and conceded silent defeat before reclining into the headboard of her bed, flipping over another page in her New Yorker magazine.
"Stop reading your pretentious-douchebag magazine and come to the parade with me," Daphne groaned, pushing herself to the edge of her bed, "please?"
Lee looked over her shoulder, "Okay then."
Daphne arched a brow, "Wait—seriously?"
"Yeah. You said please," Lee replied with a cutesy, mock grin while tossing her magazine to the other end of the bed, "I just wanted to see how long I could get you to beg."
"Wow," Daphne sneered in her direction, "just when I thought you couldn't get any more annoying, you manage to outdo yourself."
Lee shrugged, "I'm not the one with a broken Blackberry."
Truth is, Daphne had been trying to break her phone for weeks so she could find a convenient excuse to get her parents to buy her a new phone. Yes, she was turning over to the Apple family, and yes she was fully aware she would be leaving the Crackberry family forever. But in this day and age, she couldn't afford to care about loyalty to technological families.
She hadn't really been planning to hit Lee in the first place. (What kind of crazy person would do something like that anyway?) She was only trying to get a point across; and apparently, it worked. Kind of.
That and she'd been planning on checking out Captain-freaking-America's fantastic ass all week.
"Holy shit. Where is everyone?" Daphne asked, tugging at the straps of her backpack.
Lee strolled down the sidewalk and pursed her lips, sparing a quick glance around the vicinity. Daphne was right. The place was startlingly desolate compared to what it looked like when the Giants were around. Remnants of paper masks painted a red and yellow, red polyester capes and tiny, travel-sized American flags littered the ground in a cornucopia of patriotism and tired indifference.
The floats were coming up where they stood and Daphne jumped out excitedly on the edge of the metal railings while Lee admonished with a semblance of an amused smile that maybe that was why the police had those barricades up in the first place. Even heroes had to be protected against the crazies. But after a moment of contemplation, she decided to follow suit and tried hard to duplicate Daphne's eagerness, but not without a bit of hesitation at first.
A flock of pigeons flew overhead. Lee ducked low immediately and covered her head quickly while they headed high into the blue, "There are too many freaking pigeons in New York."
"I'll never understand your fear of birds," Daphne told her, without sparing a glance in her terrified roommate's direction.
"You've never been pooped on," Lee pouted, knitting her brows in agitation, "though, you're not a real New Yorker until you've been pooped on by a pigeon."
"There's only two of them," Daphne scowled as the next float came into sight, turning the subject over almost too quickly.
The float held a giant red A with two tired looking men standing at the front. One had his hands dug deep in his pockets while the other typed away furiously on his Blackberry, "Where's everybody else?" Daphne (almost) whined.
"Maybe that's why there's nobody here," Lee replied thoughtfully, "maybe they all came to see the others."
"Well—the captain's here," Daphne replied cheerfully, cupping her chin while she propped her elbows against the railing of the barricades, "you'd think he'd look a little happier about being here."
Lee didn't blame him. The parade was really kind of lame.
"And your savior isn't even here," Daphne said with a soft sigh, "you must be disappointed."
She considered this for a moment because she'd be lying if she said she wasn't slightly gloomy. But the truth is, she would probably be all the more gloomy if she was sitting back in her dorm alone. So she had to thank Daphne for this one, even if she was dragged out here in one way or another. Lee wouldn't admit aloud but her roommate sometimes knew best when it came to what did they call them—unconscious desires, a la Freud.
But it also took Lee a moment to actually get what Daphne was saying about her savior and all, "Oh, yeah. Tony Stark isn't here."
"Where's your mind at?" Daphne snapped, flicking her index finger roughly against Lee's forehead, "That took you like—half a minute to respond."
This left a brilliant red mark. Lee grimaced and rubbed gently at the spot with her index finger. But this irritation didn't last long because at this point, she turned her gaze as the float approached where they stood and she caught sight of one very familiar looking archer still typing away at his phone.
Upon closer inspection on the widescreen overhead the giant, obnoxious A, Lee realized, with a small smile that he must've been typing something very important:
'Darfdkuahliehaejra3283oje;roiaje;'
Hey Hawkeye—look over here, Lee thought quietly to herself while she crossed her arms over the railing over the barricade.
Some might have called it an act of fate—some might call if pure coincidence and sheer dumbass screwed up luck. But at that moment, Clint decided to lift his gaze from his phone…
…while a giant wad of pigeon droppings fell from the sky and fell promptly onto the screen of his phone.
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