Hey guys,
I hope your weekend has been better than mine I have the mother of all colds and it sucks. So for this chapter I would like to thank my awesome beta gemini96. So yeah, thanks :). Hope you enjoy. Also my dog is lying down with her head under the cooker it's quite weird.
Yeah ignore me.
As I draw out the final notes I realize that my fingers are still as numb as ever despite not fumbling over the notes. I lower my violin and roll my shoulders, the bones clicking into place. I can see Bruce doing the same and Barton stretching out his arms, Stark looks as comfortable as ever leaning on his double bass. Clapping causes me to look up. I thought we'd be alone that's why we play here but not today. It's the wettest and most miserable of days and we have an audience, it consists of a sole tall, muscled, blond. His brown leather jacket is turning black with rain but he doesn't seem to care.
"C'etait exceptionnel." that was incredible
"Nous parlons tous anglais, vous êtes américain, vous ne sont pas?' we all speak english, you're american aren't you?
"Your accent, it's kinda obvious." Clint is obviously the one to comment on that.
He moves to introduce himself, "I'm Steve. Do you mind me taking some photos of you guys playing?"
"As long as you get our good sides" How Tony says it so seriously, I don't know. In all these years of knowing him I'm reasonably certain he doesn't think he has one, a good side that is. Bruce plucks out the intro to 'Welcome to the Black Parade'. I can't help raising my bow and joining in. Stark manages to quit staring at Steve and focuses on his fret broad, Barton's grinning like the flipping Cheshire cat.
I am unable to resist wondering why this guy would want photos of us. Street (or park) musicians aren't exactly uncommon in any capital city, especially Paris. (when we're soaked to the skin.) But that doesn't really matter does it. No, what matters is that I can finally feel all my fingers again. I knew I should have worn gloves, who really would have noticed if they didn't go with my outfit, which was not retaining any of my body heat whatsoever. Even more so now that my coat was open so I wouldn't ruin my shoulder rest. Professional music accessories are expensive.
As I play the melody I keep repeating the lyrics in my head, I'm never normally this absent minded on a Tuesday pre-evening (between afternoon and evening). The photographer's smiling with a look of concentration as he directs the camera lens at our little quartet. Lowering our bows we all look heaven-ward because somehow the rain got even heavier, the drops are bouncing back a foot off the ground now, and the drumming noise being made against our umbrellas and the leaves over-head is more grounding than our music could ever hope to be. But still Steve approaches us, "A few friends of mine and I are having a show, quite soon actually, and we could use some background music. It's going to be at le navire de l'air..."
"Hey! I was there last weekend, although I wasn't playing, I was..."
Three glares inform him that we already knew and didn't care to begin with; we would hurt him, or at least kick his over talkative backside out into the downpour,which amazingly shut him up.
"Well if you want to... it's next Thursday." He hands something to Clint and just walks off, backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Anyone else feel like they've seen him somewhere?"
I know the face. Why do I know the face? They all shrug and start thinking about what to play a week from now.
"At least it'll be warmer than here."
I gave Bruce a withering look, "The Arctic would be warmer than here Bruce."
"Will I have to wear a tie?" Tie-wear was always a deciding factor for Clint.
"The only time I've ever seen you wear a tie was at Coulson's wedding and you took it off on the way to the reception."
Personally I was surprised that he didn't take it off during the service but I guess he was the best man.
"I remember that, really good after party, wasn't there?" I thought Tony would have forgotten based on the quantity of alcohol he consumed.
Bruce being the only one with any sense of purpose today piped up, "We should do our version of April in Paris."
"What? Now?"
He got an eye roll from me, "No Stark, on judgement day."
"How exactly does it start again?" His voice gives no sense of embarrassment. Clint hums out the intro both Bruce and I are singers worthy of broken glass (not in the good way). He merely nods at me. It's finally my solo intro, if any of them notice me fudging it, they don't say anything. Which may or may not have something to do with the way I threatened to skin them with a teaspoon the second time we met, Clint just can't be bothered I guess, since he knows he'd get out of it.
Je suis une ligne.
The rain isn't as heavy now; it's like the silent tears that come after the bone wrecking hysterical ones, but some how still convey more sorrow. Tony has left to go and flag down a cab. How he expects to get one which will fit his double bass in, is beyond me. Bruce said that he had to meet an old friend, the smiling eyes told a different tale however. I know Clint saw it as well, he always does. We didn't mention it. We're sat under the purple umbrella, not touching, but close enough to share warmth, God knows we need to.
"How was he?" I don't need to name him, the reason I haven't seen Clint in five months. "He's like hell Tasha. All he wants is to go out get hammered, get high and then get laid. He can't or just won't hold down a job. He's got nothing, no friends, no life, nothing to keep him on the straight and narrow. Barney's gonna be the death of me." He sounds so lost, so desperate. He's rubbing his face with his hands. I place my hand on his shoulder. "You listen to me, you have done your best, your god-damn absolute best to help him. It is not your fault."
"But it is. My best isn't fucking good enough to save my own brother..."
"Is he really your brother?" He's looking me straight in the eye. "Name one thing he has done for you, purely for you. Can you?" He looks down. "Blood family doesn't mean a damn thing, Clint. Coulson and me we're your family. Got it?"
He smiles sadly, "I missed you."
Kissing my hairline he stands and offers a hand out to me. I want to drag him back down with me, but I know his balance is too good, so I let him pull me up out from the shelter of the purple monster. Grabbing my bag and violin case, I quickly rescue my umbrella from the chair it was resting against which was seconds away from being stowed six feet up in the trees by Barton.
Having safely stored it away in the hidey-hole, he jumps back down in a way that should not be humanly possible.
"Doesn't it remind you of university?" He's wearing that shit eating grin again I can't help but laugh. "You make it sound like you were there too." He pretends to scowl at me and I laugh, "You know as opposed to just working at my favourite café." Which, as a matter of fact, was the one I stopped at earlier.
"You were so much more fun back then sweetheart." I poke him with the soggy black umbrella in indignation, at the comment or the pet name, I can't decide.
He yawns. "You haven't moved have you?"
I tilt my head, why would I have? Yes we can do that but we do like to pretend to be normal. "Because then you still have that really comfy couch."
"I left it at yours." He doesn't seem at all concerned by the health risks that, that statement would carry for anyone else, he holds up his hands "It wasn't breaking and entering, I have a key."
"Out of a flat, Barton?" I raise my eyebrows and he shrugs, "I've got two days till I move in."
He does the eyes.
A lot of people will say I'm cold, but that puppy-eyed pleading look makes me melt. Every fucking time, and he knows it.
"Sure, but I thought you got back last week." He's shaking his head before I'm finished talking.
"When you called I got the dates mixed up. I actually only got back this morning."
I narrow my eyes at him, "Where's your suitcase then?
"I left it at yours." He doesn't seem at all concerned by the health risks that, that statement would carry for anyone else, he holds up his hands "It wasn't breaking and entering, I have a key." I sighed, "Don't really have a choice then, do I?"
Even though we both know that if I did, the answer wouldn't change in the slightest.
Thank you all you awesome people who've read this far and continue to read my slightly deranged ANs. I would also like to point out that the French is by google translate and my French well let's say rusty is a an understatement so if anyone could do the translations for me that would be awesome.
Reviews might stimulate my white blood cells so please say something.