Owner	Pose
Clint Barton	Even if the clock on Clint's bedside table said it was 12:05am it still felt like way too early in the morning to him as the daylight crept through his curtains and landed on his face. He made a wordless noise of protest and tried to roll over, only he couldn't, there was a Skye laying on his arm. That realization made a smile creep across his lips as slowly as the daylight had crept up to assault his face. She was here, things felt almost normal again, even though he knew this was a momentary reprieve. It was a nice one though. Taking a minute to watch Skye sleep before he turns, and with his free hand, gently nudges her shoulder. "Hey, Keyboard. Wake up. Sun's out." As much as he didn't want her to go, there was the mission to think about and they couldn't stay like this forever.
Skye Johnson	There's a small groan of protest from the other, still mostly sleeping, body in the bed. "Nobody I know would wake me at this ungodly hour." Despite the fact that it was just after noon, and that she'd intended on setting her alarm and only sleeping till the pre-dawn hours. Somehow all that good intention had gone by the wayside when she'd bumped into Clint and things had gone as things had gone. Really, it was inevitable they end up in bed. Both sleeping like the dead until way past intentions. "Sun can't be out. Turned that shit off." Of course here wasn't the Trisk. Nor did here have blackout curtains. And now that he's mentioned it, the sun was most definitely out and terribly unavoidable.. and fuuuuuck, she wasn't supposed to still be here, what if Miles had tried texting or something. He'd be having a shitfit. She forces her eyes to blink open and focus. "What time is it anyway?"
Melinda May	Faintly at first but starting to grow stronger is the aroma of Gino's minestrone, which means that it's being heated on a stove somewhere close by.
Clint Barton	Clint gives a lazy smile, his eyes half-lidded to keep out the light. "Nah, it's the real deal here. Can't hack the sun," he says, before he strains to look over his shoulder. "Not sure about the time, someone is laying on my arm. But looking out the window, hmm, " he blinks fully. His apartment had been pretty great when it came to when the sun snuck in to ruin his sleep in the winter time, usually he could get until noon... "Shit. It's late, Keyboard," he says rolling back and flailing for the clock. Now that there's a reason to put an effort in. He snags it before it falls to the floor and looks at the time. "Six minutes after noon," he reports showing Skye the baleful red digits on the clock face. Clint's stomach rumbles as a scent hits his nostrils. "Is that soup?" he asks Skye.
Melinda May	Then, as if to punctuate the soup aroma, there is the ever so faint sound of crockery being set on a table accompanied by the burble of a coffeemaker.
Skye Johnson	A low line of cursing escapes Skye as it's revealed not only to be late, but REALLY late and fuuuuuck, she'd meant to be out of here by dawn. Breakfast at the latest, and here it was pushing past noon. It was shit like this would get your ass handed to you in an op and even she knew it. The only real saving grace she had was nobody was likely to connect Clint's apartment with her. Even so, she scrambles to upright, rubbing at her eyes, trying to force sleep from them. She was still groggy from catching up on missed sleep. "Damn, Hotshot, I..." Her words stop abruptly as she, too, smells the soup, and hears the now unmistakable sound of a table being set. "Uh.. were you expecting someone?"
Clint Barton	When Skye got up, Clint shook out his arm trying to bring a stop to the tingles in his hand that had fallen asleep. The cursing is understood, and he rolls out of bed then to help Skye find her things. Really, speeding her out of his place was the last thing he wanted but he knew this was serious and she was really, really, late getting back to the op. He begins to chuck clothes in her direction as he finds and pulls on his own. The question though, gives him a pause, "No," he answers firmly a frown crossing his lips. He finished tugging on his boxers and went for the ICER he left on the dresser by the bedroom door. "Think anyone would have followed you?" he asks, before he kicks himself internally, if someone from the op had followed them they wouldn't be making soup. ~Wake up brain~ Then it clicked. Soup. Person who had helped herself to a spare key. He puts the gun down. "Shit, it's May. She's been checking on me since you left." His voice is loud enough and close enough to the door to carry to the kitchen.
Melinda May	May takes that as her cue to call back loudly enough to be heard, "Clothes, please. Skye, there will be a taxi here for you in about twenty minutes."
Skye Johnson	Skye winces at Clint's words. This was sooooo not good. Though one supposed if one were going to be caught out in the middle of an op, in the bed she wasn't supposed to be in, Agent May was probably the least troublesome of people to be cought out by. That was before May calls out. The wince is followed by a groan and Skye laying back on the bed, complaining to the ceiling, "Oh god. She knows. Of course she knows. I'm never living this down." Her pants land half over her face at this point. "Great aim Hotshot." Though she sits up and looks about for her undergarments, finding them and shrugging them on, followed by her pants. "See my shirt?"
Clint Barton	Clint grimaces at May's words shouted through the door. Well this was embarrassing and probably unprofessional but to be honest probably not the worst thing May had caught him doing. "Yeah, pretty sure the two of us in the bedroom paints its own picture," he says, tossing the pants blind before ducking down and pulling his own on. "And I am sure she'll let you live it down around about the time you're level eight," he says unable to keep the grin off his face. Where the pants land turns the grin into a chuckle. He can't help it. "Guess I can't shoot pants blind, huh?" he jokes as he scans the room for the shirt. "Not seeing it. Or mine, did we take those off in the hallway?" he asks. He knew he had a spare shirt in here somewhere, but anything of his would be basically a dress on Skye.
Skye Johnson	The hallway. Other than the pizza boxes, which theoretically could have been Clint's, Skye's shirt in the hallway was a dead giveaway that she was here. Unless Clint had hunted down some other woman, wearing the same clothes Skye had been wearing last evening while talking to May, odds were pretty good even a moron could have sussed out that Skye was here. "Great. In other words, I'm never living this down. She's already read me the toned down version of the riot act." So her shirt was in the hallway. No help for it now. "Gimme one of your shirts or grab mine from the hallway. Something before she starts making even more pointed commentary on what we're up to in here." Then she laughs, shaking her head. "I'll be lucky if it's level eight."
Melinda May	May doesn't comment on whether or not she noticed the shirt, the pizza boxes, or both. Fairly shortly, though, the smell of coffee mixes with the aroma of minestrone. It ... might or might not be an appealing combination.
Clint Barton	Yeah, the shirt Clint had been wearing when May came to check on him was out there too, so the story was pretty much written. Clint chuckles when Skye pronounces herself doomed. "Sorry?" he offers with a grin that says he wasn't really. It'd been both their faults and he didn't regret it. He grabs a couple of shirts from the laundry pile and giving them both a sniff, he lobs the least disgusting of the two towards Skye, taking care not to hit her in the face this time. "C'mon, let's go face the music," Clint says as he tugs his own shirt on and opens the door.
Skye Johnson	Skye doesn't sniff the shirt. She'd rather not know. Besides, she has to change back into her actual shirt. Not that she intends on inviting Miles over, but the illusion has to remain, and a man's shirt, especially one in Clint's size as opposed to Genus' size (her safehouse being one of his burns) would stand right out. "You are sooo not sorry. Gloating is just mean, though I guess it's payback for shooting you." She smirks as she pulls the shirt on and pads from the bed to the bedroom door. "That smells so damned good." Even if she's surprised May's taken pity on them.
Melinda May	Waiting in the kitchen/breakfast nook of the apartment, May is giving the heated minestrone a stir while holding a mug in her other hand that has a little thread and paper tag hanging from it. She is rather pointedly not looking toward the bedroom, which probably means she saw the shirts on the floor.
Clint Barton	"Guilty," Clint admits of gloating. "And yeah," he says, planning on getting a lot of mileage out of you shooting me. "Hmm, maybe you'll have to join me for that strip tease I owe Darcy for the pool thing." It was all joking. In truth he would be happy to put the shooting thing behind them, but since she brought it up he felt like the best way to go would be to acknowledge it with humour as they always did. "I assume you're taking about whatever May's making, not my shirt," Clint says stepping through the door into the hall, their shirts were there where they'd left them, Clint snags Skye's with a toe, tossing it up and catching it in a hand before holding it out for her. His shirt he leaves where it is for now, his second least disgusting shirt would do for lunch. "Hey May, that does smell good," he remarks idly as he makes his way to the table.
Skye Johnson	"As I recall," Skye smirks, swatting his ass as she passes on by, "Darcy expressly requested that I be there. Not sure you get a say in it." And she's nothing but agreement about the shooting. Ignoring it wasn't going to make it any less true. Letting it become part of their history, though? Totally them. "Definitely what May's making. The shirt smells rank." She hadn't needed to sniff it, now that she was wearing it, it was abundantly clear. Her footsteps leading to where the table has been set, snatching up her shirt from Clint along the way. And, because pretending she hadn't been caught out like she had by May also wasn't going to make the truth go away, Skye chooses to meet that head on as well, taking a seat at the table. "Smells great. And look what I found, begging. Can I keep him?"
Melinda May	Once the pair finally deign to make an appearance, May turns off the stove and moves to set the pan on a trivet on the table. Yes, there are two bowls already waiting on the table, as well as two coffee mugs. But she's not a waitress, y'all have thumbs you can serve yourselves. The coffee pot is set on the table a moment after the soup. "Skye, you have fifteen minutes until your taxi arrives. Clint, you're going to get some laundry done. Now eat. Both of you."
Clint Barton	"To watch," Clint clarifies. "To make up for shooting me, you've got to dance too. Possibly with me, I am open minded like that," He blows off if Darcy thinks he has a say in this or not. He wasn't proud, he'd leverage the whole Skye shot me thing if it won him some sympathy on this score. Skye gets a hipcheck for calling his rank shirt rank, and he settles down at the table smiling as Skye talks about him like a stray she found. "I don't eat much and I don't need to be taken on walks to do my business," he says before he leans over the table to snag the coffee pot. "Mugs out if you want some," he says as he pours some into his mug first.
Skye Johnson	Clint gets a snort for his suggestion. "In your dreams, Hotshot. You didn't even bleed." And the hipcheck gets a small laugh. Skye doesn't need a second invitation to serve herself, leaving plenty in the pot for Clint to have, dishing him out a bowl while he pours her coffee. "May gets a dry, "Fifteen whole minutes, huh? Gee. That was generous." She knows why though. She's been given what grace she could be given already within the confines of the op. "But seriously, thanks for everything, May." Skye shrugs. What could she say, other than the truth. "I actually thought he was at your place. I was just looking for a space to crash and maybe actually sleep." Not that she felt obligated to offer an explanation, though she did think May deserved one.
Melinda May	May plucks the tea bag from her own mug and drops it in the trash before claiming a chair at the table. "You know my opinion on coffee, Barton." She also seems to be not partaking of the soup, though it's entirely likely that she ate before showing up here. She can only nod to Skye's thanks. "You owe me, Skye." That she doesn't specify WHAT is owed might be just the tiniest bit ominous.
Clint Barton	"Neither did Darcy! And we both got hit in our important assets!" Clint counters laughing as well after the hipcheck. He pulls out Skye's chair on the way to his own spot at the table, and when she's done serving herself, he goes next once the coffee has been handed out. Priorities. "Are you sure?" Clint teases may waggling the coffee pot, sloshing the dark brown caffeinated ambrosia inside. "It's really good stuff." He lets it go quickly though and turns his attention to his soup raising a brow at what Skye might owe May and then adding when it connects. "Wait? The place with the plant was your place, May? You said it was a safehouse."
Skye Johnson	"I did not shoot Darcy. You get to negotiate with her all on your own. Not sure she's forgiving you for that anytime soon. Lesson, Hotshot, you bruise a girl's ladies, you better make nice fast." Of course she'd be just as happy to offer the same advice about bruising the boys. May's comment about owing her is noted, Skye telling Clint dryly, "That level 8 thing? I think we're in when I take over for Fury territory. She's never letting this go."
Melinda May	"Stop and think about that, Barton. Would you have managed to NOT laugh if I'd told you I was taking you back to my place? While you were bellied up to a bar with a half-empty bottle next to you?" May doesn't bat an eyelash at the offering of the coffee. She just takes a sip of her tea. She's honestly waiting for Skye to start cackling in 3... 2... 1...
Skye Johnson	Skye's eyes widen and she laughs outright at Clint. "Oh. My. God. Hotshot. You were picked up by May. In a bar." Yeah, that one is being filed away for future use and abuse.
Clint Barton	Clint lifts a finger like he's about to protest May's assumption he'd laugh at the thought of May dragging him out of a bar to go to her place. "Okay, fair point," he says before he uses the readied finger to point to Skye with a laugh. "And quiet you. May was the one who texted another guy to join in," he says before he takes a sip of his coffee around a chuckle. For all the teasing this was nice, it felt familiar, like before this mission turned everything upside down. "And oh crap, that was your couch I spilt all that booze on," he says flinching when the thought occurs. "Send me the cleaning bill. I'll take care of it."
Melinda May	Almost as if that's what reminded her, May puts down her tea cup and reaches into her jacket. She pulls out a Gino's napkin and sets it on the table next to Clint's bowl. "I suddenly feel like I'm back in Junior High School, passing notes." She stands and moves to the living room, taking her tea with her. "Ten minutes, Skye." How in heck is she tracking the time so closely?
Skye Johnson	Skye just shakes her head at Clint. She's so unrepentant. "Riiiiight. And what's that I remember about you not sharing? And with Tony, even. Though I have to admit, May's got good taste in men." Oh yeah, she's pulling out no stops to tease him. Though he's given a softer grin, followed by a quiet, "I'm really sorry about that. I mean the why of it." They'd already dealt with the bulk of that one, though, she and Clint. It was obvious in the ease of the pair around the table. "Oh, May! That note." Talk of the drinking at May's had reminded her. "Still have it?"
Clint Barton	"Well in my defense I had just gotten shot and I was, really, really, drunk, my judgment wasn't quite what it normally is," Clint says firing back with a grin. "And May, no jokes about my normal judgement," he says giving May a grin. The softer look from Skye and the words are met with a smile and a hand reached out for her's "It's okay," he says. It still stung, but it was a bruise not a wound, time would soothe its ache. The note is met with a surprised look and an eager smile, "I'll take your word for it, I didn't go to junior high," he says. "Looked fun on TV though," a glance Is given to Skye then. "Am I going to need a pen to check the boxes for do you like me, yes or no?" he asks. He unfolds the note and reads it, a smile crosses his lips as he does. It read: ~Asshole. Damn I love you. Home soon as I can. You owe May a bottle of bourbon. The good stuff. Safe as I can be. You do your job. -Keyboard.~ He smiles at Skye and leans across the table to give her a kiss. "Love you too, Keyboard," he says before settling back and wiping at where his shirt got into his soup. "And May, apparently I owe you a bottle of good bourbon."
Melinda May	"You do," May replies to Clint from where she's settled on the sofa with her tea. "Get Stark to help you pick it out." You know, since he helped drink most of the original bottle. She seems quiet settled and ready to just hang out here for a while. Could that possibly mean something?
Skye Johnson	Skye's fingers squeeze Clint's back. "Blah blah blah," she chuckles. "Excuses. I've seen the memorial bed. Think there was even a plate passed around to get the bronze plaque upgraded to silver or something in commemoration of your 50th shooting." She nods her thanks to May with regards to the note. It's not quite how Skye imagined the note to be passed along, but it would have been silly to make him wait since the topic had come up. "Didn't go to junior high either, so I guess we're even. Though that might explain why we needed Nat to manage to hook up with one another." Skye nods at Clint's owing May. "And that one's out of your pocketbook. I'm not the person who spilled it. I'd have covered what you drank."
Clint Barton	Clint gives Skye's fingers a final squeeze before he swats at her laughing. "They do not have a plaque," he complains through a grin. "Besides, twenty-five is silver, fifty is gold. Jeez, you really didn't go to junior high did you?" Clint watches as May gets comfy on the sofa, with a bemused grin. "If you want me to trade you couches, you're going to have to help me move them," he calls to her before taking another spoonful of soup. He chuckles, at the mention of Nat. "Well, to be fair I when Nat gave us a shove, I was trying to attract you the way I attracted girls when I was younger. Y'know by being less skeevy than the alternative and bringing booze." Of course growing up in a circus, less skeevy is easier to pull off than in the world. "Just sort of got hung up on the actual talking part." He gives his head a shake. "And yeah, it's on me, don't worry," Clint says about the bill for the booze. "I'll hit up Tony. Or, y'know borrow a bottle if he's not looking too closely."
Melinda May	"No thanks," May replies to Clint. "I like my sofa when it doesn't reek of bourbon." She takes another ship from her mug. "I'm staying here to make sure Skye gets going on time, and to make sure you don't, Barton." There's likely some logic behind that that she's not bothering to explain. Deal. "Oh, and Skye. Five minutes."
Skye Johnson	Skye smirks at May. "I know, I know." She shovels a few mouthfuls of soup down. And May's logic is impeccable. Even if Skye wasn't connected with the place, it wouldn't do to have either May or Clint leaving in anything remotely like close proximity to herself. Plus, knowing May, there was going to be a small conversation after she, herself, left.
Clint Barton	"Fine, fine, I'll get yours cleaned," Clint promises with a shake of his head. He doesn't rush the soup because he knows he'll have time to finish it unlike Skye. "I know enough not to walk out the door holding her hand, May," he grouses. "I'll hang back for the rest of the day until the guys get bored of watching. If there's guys." A smile is offered to Skye. He knew how worried she was about the people behind the Rising Tide, he was too. "So, since we're in the mood for giving spy advice. How do I proceed from here knowing the op's an op. I mean, until I figured things out, I was getting pretty desperate, probably on the cusp of doing something stupid. So, barring that, what do I do to keep things looking right?"
Melinda May	And that, apparently was the question May was waiting for. Getting up from the sofa, she makes her way back into the kitchen with a bag she scooped up off of the floor by the sofa. "You're going to keep trying to crawl into a bottle. You're going to keep missing out on sleep, and you're going to have to deal with having a nanny extremely frequently when you're not on base." She starts emptying the bag, starting with a mostly-empty bottle of Jack which she uncaps and promptly starts pouring down the drain.
Skye Johnson	Skye nods. "And... I'm going to find a way to keep you in the loop. You two just became a perfect cover. Fuck that's brilliant." The remainder of her soup is slurped from the bowl, and a hasty sip of coffee taken.
Clint Barton	Clint chuckles softly, "Sit at home and drink all day? Have you come by and bring me food? Definitely had worse assignments." Though he mostly planned to make it look like he'd been drinking all day. Only so much heavy drinking he could do before he started to dull his edge. When May empties the bottle, its pretty clear May has the same idea. "I guess I should put in for some sick leave too. Keep out of the office, I mean if Nat asks me about this, she'll know right off it's an op no matter what I say. Hm, guess I'll need to raid the house too, get my TV and my game system back so I don't go crazy in here." Skye's declaration of the whole thing being brilliant gets a look, "Care to share the brilliance, Keyboard?" he asks.
Melinda May	May sets the now-empty bottle of Jack aside and pulls a box of tea from the bag to set on the counter. Then she pulls a much smaller object from the bag and tosses it at Clint, trusting his ability to catch it. It's a rather cheap brand of eyeliner. And no, she will NOT admit to how much time she spent looking at eyeliner reviews to find out which one was the WORST about smudging. "Also, don't worry about Nat. I'll deal with her if I have to."
Skye Johnson	Skye totally smirks at May. "Tea. Perfect. Absolutely passable as Jack at most distances if you're not sniffing. Save some of the real stuff and spill it on your clothes, Hotshot. You'll stink like you've been drinking even though you haven't. And avoid the strict dental hygiene, too, Hotshot." Her coffee is given an enthusiastic swallow. "So, not sure of all the details, or why I didn't think of this before, but I didn't have a mopey assed boyfriend setting himself up as the perfect distraction. You're both going to get a secure line as soon as I can get it set up. Don't worry, it's not assailable. And no, I'm not telling you how I managed it. Just I'll be using it to send you what I can." She nods to Clint. "You're going on sick leave. What you're not on duty for, Fury can't direct. As for Nat, I'll bow to your call if she's in or not." That one she looks to May for direction on.
Clint Barton	Clint smirks as May replaces his jack with tea. "Heh. That works," Clint says and then snags the eyeliner out of the air looking at with a further smirk. "Guess I am looking up make up tutorials on my phone tonight," he jokes before adding. "And I hope you mean that non-lethally, May." Clint nods to Skye about spilling real booze on his clothes to sell the fake stuff. "And don't I always?" he says about the dental hygiene. Clint listens to the rest, but still doesn't quite get it. "Okay, so we'll have a private line, and I'll be off duty, but ready to act, but what will I be doing exactly?" He leaves the question about Nat to May. She was case officer, it was her call.