smartass_captain | Some days, a man just can't catch a break. [Open, tagging Clint and Verity]

Entry tags:

Some days, a man just can't catch a break. [Open, tagging Clint and Verity]

New York circa 2013 isn't such a bad place, Jim has decided. There's so much to take in and watch that he's certain he could be kept busy for months on end just trying to learn everything he could. Clint had explained currency to him today--Jim knew what it was, just not how it all divvied up. He'd done a bit of research on a clunky old machine Clint had told him the name of and Jim had subsequently forgotten. Some kind of ancient PADD device on an obsolete web browser.

Some girl had shown up hassling Clint about something or another a while ago, and the archer had assured Jim he wouldn't be gone long and left. She was too young for Jim to pay much attention to, and Clint didn't need Jim tagging along for every babysitting job he ended up getting drug off to. Or it was a neighbor asking him about a leak in their ceiling, in which case Jim was just a jerk.

Wooden stairs creaked in protest when Jim finally left the apartment building, being careful to lock up with the spare key he'd gotten from Clint that was stowed safely in the pocket of his purple sweatshirt he was borrowing. Eggs again for the third day in a row didn't seem appealing, and Clint had given him a bit of money, so Jim is heading down to the corner to grab a bite of whatever awesome smelling food was being sold by the vendor he'd been watching from the window for three days now.

"Bro, look! At the corner by the falafel stand bro!"

There, at the corner, was a scruffy short haired blond in a purple sweatshirt and sweatpants, fumbling in his pocket for the correct change to pay for his order. Truly, an easier target would never happen. He didn't even look like he'd had his morning coffee yet. (Jim hadn't). The next thing Jim knows, his delicious smelling food is strewn on the street as a couple thugs in tracksuits drag Jim off into an alley trying to beat the shit out of him.

"What the hell?!" That was his breakfast, assholes!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

"So... I was going to bring you guys some pastries..."

What the hell is Jim doing? It's very distracting. It's not the first time she's seen someone pretending to be Cap but usually they outgrow it by his age. This is probably also Clint's fault.

"What the hell happened?"

Okay, this looks bad. Act casual. "Uh, hey, Verity, how's it beating?" Clint, you goon. "Going! I meant going. These, uh, these guys started some trouble. Tracksuit mafia. Bad news."

Change the subject, you doof. "Have you met Jim?"

Maybe next time change the subject without sounding like Barney Stinson.

Whoa! Its...shit he's supposed to know her name. The first aid lady who was really nice and stuff from the Nexus. The not-telepath who knows when you're bullshitting her. Did Jim dream that? He doesn't think he did, but he was really touch and go for a while there. She had a nice name. Actually gave it to him too. Veris? Veronica?

Verity! Thank you Clint. You are the best. Jim is quick to drop the trash can lid (on the goon's head no less) and wander on over to the end of the alley where Verity is.

"I didn't know you lived in the same 'verse as Clint here. How's things Verity?" Give her your best baby blues, Jim. Sure to diffuse this situation. Or get Jim smacked. It's fifty fifty.

Sorry Jim, but that look really does nothing for or to her. She's never been a sucker for a pair of pretty eyes.

(Okay, once, just the once, and let's not discuss it.)

She's looking them both over while she talks, eyes narrowed a little. "Yeah, I live in Manhattan." And two years in the future but what's a little time between friends?

"Oh, I'm okay. You're looking really well considering you were half dead last time I saw you." She's only pretending to be calm while she tries to process all of this. "Did Clint put you up to this? It's okay, you can tell me. He's not actually allowed to draft people into the Avengers anymore. Clint, shouldn't you be calling the cops or something?"

"Oh, you've met." Clint catches up to them, dragging the tracksuit by his tethered ankles and letting him drop next to his bro.

By which time, he's ready to be affronted by Verity's insinuations. "I didn't draft--he's crashing on my couch 'til he gets his place back! I'm helping a friend!" Beat. "And my phone's in my apartment. Could I borrow yours?"

Considering that look usually gets him any man, woman, or other of the species in particular, that is an impressive resist on Verity's part. Still, he's glad to see another familiar face. One that is apparently friends with Clint, even!

"I think they thought I was him." Jim jerks a thumb toward Clint. He remembers something and gets this disappointed look on his face for a moment. "They wrecked my breakfast, whatever it was." And aggravated some of his injuries, but that is less important.

This situation is probably less friendly than Jim perceives it to be, but he's working up the wattage on his charming smile. Its the principle of the thing.

She's had a lot of practice not being interested. See? She's not impressed when the big famous hero is asking for her help either. But she will hand him her phone with a roll of her eyes and there is no smiling going on stop that.

"You two do look kinda alike. Especially when you're wearing his clothes. Here." He can hold the pastry boxes now. "This is for you. Both of you. I'm sure he won't mind if you eat some for breakfast."

Now that her hands are free she folds her arms. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

Clint would love to make a rejoinder, probably, or at least defend himself, but right now he's quietly calling the local precinct to explain the situation, and to assure them that he isn't threatening random passers-by this time, he promises. There will, he's told, be a car sent sometime. He concludes the call with a somewhat less-than-enthusiastic, "thanks."

After which, he needs to catch up. "Sorry, what? What's got you in the neighborhood, Verity?"

"She's saying everyone from Iowa looks the same." Jim can't effectively point at Verity while holding two boxes of potentially delicious foodstuffs, but he tries. And then grins. Because JIm still thinks this is pretty fucking great. "She thinks we look alike too. Too much corn in the system, or somethin' I guess."

Standing side by side like they are, it's a lot easier to tell them apart. Clint's got a lot more muscle than Jim does and Jim has those stupidly bright blue eyes. But with an oversized purple sweatshirt on, sweatpants, bedhead, and just enough stubble for it to be edging on scruffy, they do kind of look like they could be related or something. And they're both farm kids form Iowa who grew up in horribly dysfunctional families! So..normal for Iowa.

"What's Iowa got to do with anything?" She looks between them curiously before remembering, "Wait, no. I just came to bring you guys food. Katsuya made pastries and thought you'd like some."

Her nerves are still too raw from confession time with Katsuya to deal with Jim's eyes and smile at the same time, so she's going to look down at the tracksuit idiots. "This is what you get for villains around here? Geez, that's sad. In Manhattan, they wear properly idiotic costumes like real criminals."

Sarcasm is an excellent defense mechanism.

"Aw, c'mon," Clint protests, "Manhattan's got mobsters, I've seen 'em. Kingpin, even." But hey, pastries. "Thanks. You wanna come upstairs? I could get some coffee going, pretty quick."

She asked a question, Barton. "Oh, yeah, Iowa. We're both from Iowa, turns out. But seriously, coffee? I got the good stuff." He's not lyin'.

"Who?" Not for the first time today, Jim suddenly feels like he's walked in on the middle of a conversation he has no business being in. Or maybe he's just bad with names.

The promise of pastries and coffee is too much to resist, so Jim sidles up next to Verity and nudges her slightly with his hip. Clint really does have the best coffee and upstairs would be closer to resting than he is now. Plus he can change out the bandage on his arm because seriously, it kinda hurts.

"We're fine, Verity. Come up with us and have some coffee. As a thank you for bringing us food, if nothing else." He thinks Verity's just shy. But he does want to talk to her now that he isn't half conscious and bleeding all over himself.

Edited 2015-08-14 15:06 (UTC)

"Well, yeah, mobsters." Life in this city has really skewed her perception of what's dangerous. "The Kingpin's a mob boss or something. Big bald guy in a suit."

And then wait was that... oh. Yes it was. Boy, she turns interesting colors when she blushes. She'll just be taking a little step away from Jim now.

"Coffee would be nice." But if Jim keeps that up one or both of them is going to end up wearing it.

Clint tries to catch Jim's eye and give him a little negative head-shake, to urge him not to do stuff like that. Maybe he's counting on corn-based telepathy to get the message across. "I'll, uh, zip these guys to the sign there, and be right up."

And given the way Jim's being around Verity, he thinks, he'd better hurry.

Lady and gentleman, James Tiberius Kirk. Now that he wasn't a) blown up, b)knocked silly, and c) not on duty there was very little to stop Jim from at least kind of flirting with everyone under the sun. Not Clint because Jim thinks it's just a little bit weird how they sort of look alike and he's not that narcissistic. But definitely Verity.

His eyebrow quirks up at her retreat and, okay huh. Must be shyer than he thought, or taken. That happens sometimes too. Bummer. Whatever, he can still be friendly! Jim'll lead Verity back up the stairs to Clint's place--last door on the left past the sideways '8' infinity door that goes back to the Nexus.

Once inside, Jim has the common sense to set aside the boxes of treats and move a pile of clothes off of the couch so there's room for everyone to sit once Clint gets back. Then he'll meander on into the kitchen and try to work this antique coffee machine.

"How d'you like your coffee Verity?" Hiss, whistle. Okay, maybe he shouldn't press random buttons like that.

Edited 2015-08-14 21:09 (UTC)

She doesn't need a chaperone Clint, geez. She just needs her personal space respected right now. His announcement is met with a little shrug; he's the professional good guy, she's not going to argue with what he decides to do with the jerks.

There's something charming about being so blithely indiscriminate like that. Making a game of making people feel good is kind of sweet. She's just having a day, so her arms are folded and she's stimming while they walk upstairs.

The apartment is. Well. Exactly what she expected. She went to college and she's seen worse, but still. Not impressed. Watching Jim trying to use the coffee machine is amusing though.

"Not on fire. Want me to do that?"

Man she should have seen Bones and Jim's dorm at Starfleet if she thinks this--well, okay. She probably wouldn't have wanted to see it. He listened to classical hip hop from the 1990s and had the curtains drawn all the time when he wasn't studying.

He got top scores in xenoanatomy classes. Thorough study, that Jim. None of which is relevant right now! Right now Jim is staring at the coffee machine like he's hoping it will know what he wants. Because Clint showed him how this worked yesterday and he can't for the life of him remember.

"Nah I got this." No, no you don't Jim. And Verity knows it. Fuck. "I mean..uh...Okay, I forgot how it works. Don't tell Clint." Pause. "I didn't break it did I?" Shit thats probably grounds for eviction if he did. Coffee is serious business.

Edited 2015-08-14 23:10 (UTC)

She didn't like 90s hip hop when it was new and relevant. No, she wouldn't really want to see it.

"It'll be fine," she promises, and there's that gentler tone of voice he might remember. "Find a towel to wipe the water up with okay? We can fix this." She figures it'll mostly be her fixing it since this stuff is hopelessly antiquated to him, but that's okay. She knows what she's doing and if she doesn't she has--Wait no, Clint has her phone.

Okay so it might take slightly longer than anticipated.

"How are you feeling? Did you hurt anything in the fight?" She's pretty sure he did.

He's like a reverse Steve Rogers that way. Fumbling around in an alternate past like a kid, really. Jim will obediently grab a towel to clean up the water and point out where Clint keeps his coffee. That way when Clint makes it upstairs there's drinks and food for everyone. Which is what everyone deserves after dealing with those tracksuit guys down at street level.

Maybe falafel would have been Jim's favorite thing and now he will never know.

"Chest hurts, but that's the bruised ribs." No more concussions, luckily. "I'll need someone to help me check the back of my arm. Think I popped one of the blisters from my burns. Otherwise, I'm fine." Really, all things considered this was a good fight for Jim.

There will be falafel tomorrow, Jim. It's one of the great things about New York. There's always falafel tomorrow.

She nods, moving carefully around him to make the coffee. She starts by picking the whole machine up and shaking it over the sink, in case water got somewhere it shouldn't be. And of course, she's going to wash the coffee pot. "I can do that once this is going."

Verity's coffee may turn out even better than Clint's because she has a secret ingredient: a pinch of salt. It makes the coffee less bitter and the water tastes fresher.

"So... I hope that fight didn't ruin your opinion of the city."

Really Jim just busies himself with picking up a little bit around the apartment. Making sure there aren't arrowheads on the floor or dirty socks lying around. The things that tend to kinda gross out women.

It's the least he can do as 'temporary bum who lives in someone else's home'. Yeah let's not think about that too hard right now, Jim. Holy mother of--that shoe has either been on the business end of a seasick Gorn or it is way way too ripe to be in the same room as company. He will chuck it up somewhere far away from the living room.

"Yeah, no. He warned me about those guys beforehand. It was my fault for wandering out by myself." Not gonna throw Clint under the bus for this. Not cool. "Besides, I got to see him in action, and apparently he's not kidding about the whole superhero thing." Snrk. That's gonna take some getting used to.

She'll pretend she doesn't know what he's doing. Really, it's her own fault for not calling and letting Clint know she was coming by. They might have frantically company-cleaned in peace. Next time, boys. Next time.

"It's not your fault, it's their faults for being jerks." Once the coffee's going, she washes her hands. "No, he's really not kidding about that. He's a member of the most famous team of heroes in the world. They've saved the world, well, more often than I can count. Probably more often than I know."

That's a far more respectful tone in her voice than when she was talking to Clint. But it doesn't last. "He show you the Hawk skirt yet?"

She's... really not sure she wants to brave the bathroom to look for Clint's first aid kit. "Where's the bandages?"

"The what now?" Oh this Jim has got to see. "He doesn't have the legs for a skirt. I call bullshit." Really who goes around saving the world in a skirt. Well, Jim supposes ladies could, since it's their fashion thing and all. It'd make for a great street-view if they did. Best not to say any of that out loud.

Blink.

"It was..." Jim wants to say it was by the chair he'd been camped out in for the last couple of days while he was resting, but it's nowhere to be found. Jim pauses. "Hmm."

Probably just best to wait for Clint.

While Jim and Verity are exploring the Nest of the Hawk, Clint is giving a statement to the nice officer, and handing over the suspects. With that done, he makes his way upstairs just in time to hear the question about bandages on his way in the door.

"Kitchen first aid kit's in the island, left cupboard, bottom shelf. There's also one under the sofa, and in the bottom-left cabinet of the entertainment center." He's Hawkguy, of course there's several first-aid kits. All fairly fresh, too.

"Oh I will show you the pictures just as soon as Clint brings back my phone," she promises. "He wore a headband back then too. But it was the seventies." Clint really should be a lot older than Verity. Like a lot older. Being dead a half-dozen times has done wonderful things for his complexion.

"Thanks." She'll check the kitchen one since she's in the kitchen. Yes, she's checking the dates on things before using any of it. "Everything settled with the cops? And do you have any clean dishes or should I assume everything needs washing?"

Let's be honest, she's assuming everything needs washing anyway.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Totally thought you were gonna say 'cuz she cleans the pot'

That probably helps too.

If this is a thing Jim will wear it. No shame.

Aw, history...

It's not so much the skirt as the deep-v-neck.