"That," Lucy said cheerfully as she stepped back into the elevator beside Clint an hour later. "Was absolute fun." She arched her eyebrows at him asking, "Can we do it again tomorrow?"
Clint stared straight ahead, grinding out, "Shut the heck up. If I told Thor you'd tried to attack me in the elevator and I'd had to go back on my promise in the name of self defense, we both know he'd believe me."
"I was only playing along!" Lucy simpered, batting her eyelashes just to irk him. "Isn't that what you told me to do?"
"You went overboard."
"I gave them details that made it believable!"
"You gave them details about my personal life!"
"You mean your full first name?"
"And my hometown!"
"You will recall that you were the one who told me that; that one's on your own head."
"Go visit your d*** daughter," Clint snapped.
Lucy laughed. "It burns you that I beat you at your own game. You're a sore loser, Agent Barton, did you know that?"
"Your neck is scrawny enough to snap in one flick of the wrist, did you know that?"
Lucy snorted, not at all fazed.
Clint decided to try a different tactic, something to at least throw her off of her game a little.
He turned to her and brushed the wavy, raven-colored locks away from her neck, remarking, "Your skin's so pale that you would bruise easily enough, too, if I was in the mood." He stooped down and kissed juncture of her jaw and neck, getting sadistic enjoyment out of her gasp of shock before he growled menacingly in her ear, "You are mine to do with whatever I want. I will win this; you will not. I will own you, I will break you, and when you break I will kill you."
When he straightened up, her eyes were dark and unreadable. The elevator doors opened to his level and Clint gestured for her to go before him.
"There's a bag on the counter for the lady," Jarvis said to him upon their stonily silent entrance.
Clint asked, "What is it?"
"Women's clothing courtesy of Miss Potts."
Clint smirked and marched into the kitchen, ripping open the big paper bag. Blue dress, white gown, a pair of jeans, a pairof yellow shorts, a pair of tan slacks, red t-shirt, purple dress shirt, and under things that he really could've done without seeing.
"Hey, you want to watch a movie?" Clint called out, stuffing the bag onto a corner of the counter.
"Go to Hel!" came the instant reply – from his horribly neglected library, if he didn't miss his mark.
"Catching Fire it is," Clint muttered, throwing some popcorn into the microwave. A few minutes later, he had the popcorn in a bowl and the movie starting as he settled onto the couch and yelled into the apartment, "Get in here, Angel!"
"What?" the irritated woman snapped, emerging from the hallway with a book under her arm.
"Sit," he requested in as welcoming a tone as he could manage for her, slapping the couch space beside him.
Lucy settled into a recliner, trying to pretend that she wasn't as wary as they both knew she was, asking dryly, "Is this the part of the show where you take advantage of me, Agent Barton?"
"Nope, this is the part where Gale and Katniss are talking in the woods."
She rolled her eyes and buried her nose in the book she had brought in.
"Want some?" Clint asked nicely, offering her the bowl of popcorn.
She wrinkled her nose, giving a definite, "No."
"You ever tried it?"
"No."
"You should."
"Barton," she said impatiently, lowering her book. "We both know that we don't want to have to converse with one another, so let's not. There's no one here to impress."
Clint decided that was the best cue that he was going to get, so he sighed and lied in a convincingly ashamed tone, "I'm trying to say sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that in the elevator."
"But you meant what you said and we both know it."
Clint didn't deny it, asking instead, "Can we just agree to coexist?"
"Can you agree to do so in silence?"
Clint rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the movie. Lucy curled her legs up into the recliner, and that was that. When the movie ended, Clint took his popcorn bowl into the kitchen sink and grabbed the gown while he was in there.
"Here," he said, throwing it at Lucy.
She looked disdainfully at the garment, asking, "What's that for?"
"Bed. Arguing will not work this time."
They had a stare-off for a long minute before she sighed, set her book aside, and stood up, stalking down the hallway to change as she muttered another string of Norse curses. She ducked into the bathroom, so Clint changed in his bedroom, opting for a plain gray t-shirt and black sleep pants.
When he was changed, he went in search of Lucy, finding her sitting at the mirror in the spare bedroom, trying to untangle her mussed hair and still muttering obscenities under her breath.
"How do women deal with this much of an infernal rat's nest?" she growled.
"With a hairbrush?" Clint guessed, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.
"Only to wake up and have to do it all over again."
"Are you telling me that your usual slicked back style didn't take three hours?"
"I had someone to do it for me – as befits a future king such as myself!"
"And we see how that worked out for you."
"Shut up, Barton."
"You know, you could just try braiding it."
"What? Like that Katniss character?"
"Why not?" Clint shrugged.
"Do you know how impossible that would be to do on my own?"
Clint sighed, standing erect as he said, "I don't deal well with people who are determined to whine their way through life."
"I'll keep that in mind," Lucy growled, glaring at him.
Clint moved to sit on the bed and ordered, "Come here."
"Why?"
"Do you want help with your rat's nest or not?"
"From you?" Lucy asked, raising her eyebrows. "No."
"I wasn't actually asking you what you want. Come. Here. And sit. Down."
Another deep sigh worked its way through the blue-eyed woman as she moved to sit in front of him on the bed. "This is stupid, Barton."
"I'm trying to help here, Angel," Clint protested, gathering the black hair into his hands.
"You're trying to get under my skin."
"Is it working?" She didn't answer, so Clint asked, "What are you planning on doing tomorrow?"
"Killing you."
"What time? I'll have to know so I can coordinate it with when I poke Banner so that he can avenge me. According to Stark, his side is actually very ticklish."
"Speaking of Stark, quit channeling him."
"What?" Clint asked.
"You have been acting like Stark; I'm sure it's Stark you're emulating. Even you aren't naturally this annoying, let alone this talkative."
So they were together in silence until Clint finished his decidedly sloppy braid. He tugged on the braid until she moved her head so that her neck was once again exposed to him and he kissed her in the same spot he had on the elevator.
"Good night, Angel. Sleep well; I'll most likely kill you in the morning."
So saying, he stood and left her for his own room, wondering if Lucy would recognize the altered line from The Princess Bride.