Owner	Pose
Skye Johnson	The box was large, and it had come addressed to Clint, via the Trisk - specifically the unit that he had shared with one rebel agent: Skye Johnson. As such, it had been flagged. Darcy had been called. The thing had been scanned within an inch of its life and declared 'safe', but there was still some concern given her defection. The return label on the box is from a local bow shop, one that checks out when investigated. In fact, their records show that it was a special order, paid for by Skye, along with some other items that she hadn't picked up yet.
Clint Barton	Since Skye's defection, Clint had moved into his old place in Brooklyn. A 3rd story walk up he had a few weeks left on his lease for. Today, like most days, he was hanging around watching TV. The place looked rough, dishes were piled in the sink, there were pizza boxes all over, though thankfully free of pizza, and more than a few empty beer cans and bottles of harder drinks as well. Clint looks just as rough as his place, he'd shaved since the bar, but it was patchy and his clothing still looked rumpled and smelled strongly of booze.
Darcy Lewis	And it's to this place that Darcy goes, having tracked down the address. Whatever this package was, Clint should have it, and when all the research to clear the package without opening it checked off, Darcy signed off on it and took it with her. She thumps loudly on the door, shifting the box about until she finally just brings it up to rest on the top of her head. It's not the heaviest thing she's dealt with, but it's just bulky enough that it's annoying to hold against a hip.
Clint Barton	Clint looks up sharply when his door is pounded on. He grabs the ICER he was keeping next to the couch and moves towards the door and peers through the peep hole. Seeing Darcy, he puts the gun in the waistband of his sweats and opens the door. "Hey Darce," he says as he leans against the door frame. "What's up?"
Darcy Lewis	"special delivery," Darcy says as the door opens to Clint leaning on the frame. She dips her chin, causing the box to tip forward and start to slide from her head. "of a special order from a special someone," she adds when the box is caught by either of them, but Darcy's hoping by Clint. "Can I come in?"
Clint Barton	As he's pretending to be a wreck, Clint should just let the box fall, but he doesn't and gets to it before it's fully out of Darce's hands. "Heavy," he remarks. "Whatcha get me?" he asks as he steps out of the way to let Darcy in "And sure, but enter at your own risk, the cleaning lady hasn't shown for like two years now, probably because I've never hired one."
Darcy Lewis	Darcy steps in, closing the door behind herself. As her eyes sweep over the bad-even-for-HER apartment, she frowns, shoulders drooping. "Oh, god, Clint. This is horrible," she laments, setting her purse and keys down by the door and moving to tidy up... a little. "I'm surprised you don't need a hazmat suit. And I didn't get you a damn thing. I just brought the box that got delivered to your place in the Trisk. I backtracked the purchase. Shitcode got it for you."
Clint Barton	The box looked and felt familiar. He glances at the shipping label even as he complains, "Hey! It's not that bad!" but it was. He grimaces as he looks up at the mess. This wasn't how as he liked to live but he had to sell his part. Though when Darcy says the box is from Skye that's all he can look at. "Wait. What? When did she send it?" He sweeps some trash off his kitchen island to set the box down, then grabbing a kitchen knife he cuts the tape on the box and opens it. Once the box lid is opened and tossed aside, there's a bow inside. A familiar one, the Bowtech 12, painted purple, with all the custom fixings, one he'd gotten from Skye just before Christmas. There were two notes inside. The first was unfamiliar, but read: ~Sorry about the delay. Factory had some issues with the custom work. Come on in for a 10% discount on us. - Jack~ Clint frowned at the note but set it aside quickly, the second one was in Skye's handwriting: ~Thought with the way you were eyeballing this, that the two of you might want to get to know one another better in private. I'd take it to dinner and ask its name first, but maybe that's not how you hotshot Avenger boys do such things.~ ~Love you, Skye~ "What the shit," Clint says looking over at Darcy. "I got this exact same bow from Skye weeks ago."
Darcy Lewis	"Not that bad, my fucking ass. It stinks of month old garage in here. This is disguisting. I know you're torn up, but this is fucking ridiculous," Darcy snips as she moves to pull up a trash bag, and then hunt for a new one to replace that full one... and then she begins filling that trash bag. "Couple weeks before Christmas. Looked like the vendor was having back order issues or something, but how it just sat in their delivery bays for years on end. Seriously, if she had TOLD me, I could have called and lit a fire under someone's ass for her," Darcy says as she pulls up the NEW bag and reaches for a third. Of course, that's when Clint says he already GOT this bow and Darcy looks over with a blink. "You what? Not possible. I checked the order log. This was the only bow ordered. Decemeber 14th, Skye Johnson-Barton."
Clint Barton	"That's impressive I've only been avoiding cleaning for a week and a bit, so I have no idea how it could smell that bad!" he counters, only to see a pizza box he'd left from moving day. "Okay maybe chuck that out," he amends. Clint frowns, arms crossed over his chest as Darcy goes on about the order. Oh, all the details sound right he's just mad about the mess. When Darcy looks over, Clint nods slowly. "Already got it," he says as he moves to a duffle bag by the couch and produces a bow that's identical in every respect. "See. Skye was there when it came too. So, yeah, no idea why there's too and why this one had the notes and the other one didn't. Who'd send me a bow other than Skye. Hell, nobody else but the people at the store I was even looking at it." Then it hits him. "Wait. What was that name again?"
Darcy Lewis	"You win the award for slobbiest Avenger if you can manage this in a week," Darcy deadpans, continuing to fill the third trash bag. She manages not to gag at the smells. "Skye Johnson-Barton. I figured she was trying to ride your name for a discount or something. If I were gustier, I'd totally walk into Adam & Eve and claim to be Rogers, just to fuck with the clerk's head too."
Clint Barton	"Heh," Clint says. "Guess I've found my superpower. Hawkeye is no more, I only answer to the Slob." Normally he'd snicker along with his bad joke but this whole thing has him puzzled, he brings the bows together and lays them down next to each other on the counter. "And I think she mentioned something about a discount," he remarks. "Or they thought she was Wasp. I dunno. Probably best they just thought we were hitched. Wasp is married to someone else." He does look up to smile tightly about Darcy pretending to be 'Mrs. Rogers'. "Do the Avengers /get/ a discount there? But if they do, I will totally go with you as Steve. I am sure I could pull it off if I showered, shave and all the rest." He looks down at the bows again, his smile turning into a frown again. "So, any other details? Or about the package that came earlier? It was sent to the Trisk too, just before Christmas."
Darcy Lewis	:no. Avengers don't get discounts at a sex shop, Barton. But we can still go as Mr and Mrs Steve Rogers. You wear stars, I'll wear stripes. It'd be hilarious," Darcy retorts, coming over to peer at teh twin bows. "Not really. I didn't see any other orders. Just the one, and how it sat and sat as if on back order. I didn't see any unusual deliveries for you at the Triskelion, but I can look?"
Clint Barton	Clint grins, this time the expression seems real. "Sounds good. We should-" he begins to say bring Skye along too but yeah, he's supposed to be heartbroken right now. "-do that sometime," he finishes instead. Glancing back at the bows he nods, "Yeah, if you could that'd be great. I'll see if I can remember when it showed up. Also, guess I need to get Reggie and his brother her down to R&D to be checked out. I mean, probably not a bomb or anything, but trackers and stuff, not impossible."
Darcy Lewis	"If you want to. I already ran the thing through every scanner SHIELD has. It's clean as far as we can tell," Darcy replies. She noted how real the eager excitement of going into a sex shop pretending to be someone else lights up his eyes as the normally would, only for him to change what he was going to say for something that sounded lame and flat. "..Barton? What the hell is going on?" she asks suddenly, brows pulling together, lips pouting slightly.
Clint Barton	"Huh," Clint says when Darcy says the thing's been scanned six ways to Thursday. It made sense. "Well, glad Skye didn't shop for me at Adam and Eve then, I'd have to quit SHIELD just so I didn't have to see security again after they passed around the scans." There was another tight smile then, "Guess I am going to have to bring Reggie by for scans though, just to be safe." He pats the older of the two bows. When Darcy asks him what's going on, and uses his last name like he was in trouble back at the group home, he raises both brows. "What? With the bows? I have no idea," he says playing dumb. He knew she meant in the larger sense. Or at least, he thought she did.
Darcy Lewis	Clint plays dumb and Darcy folds her arms over her chest, leveling That Look on him. It's the look she used to give urtwhile scientists who forgot to eat even after food was made and set down in front of them. It's The Look she uses when said scientist failed to shower or sleep or brush her teeth or change her panties. It comes with a slight tilt of her head and a narrowing of her eyes. Nothing is said. Nothing needs to be said.
Clint Barton	Clint meets that look with a confused look. "What, Darcy? You seriously don't think I sent myself this second bow or something do you?" he asks clinging to his chosen cover. "I am pretty messed up right now, but I'm not /that/ messed up. I have no idea where any of this is coming from or what's going on."
Darcy Lewis	"I'm not talking about hte fucking bow you dipshit. I'm talking about how you've locked yourself up to drink your sorrows away instead of going OUT THERE and trying her sorry ass down. I'm talking about how you very eagerly seemed ready to go with me on a stupid silly something, and then changed what you were going to say. Because yes, you're messed up, but you're not THAT messed up. What the fuck gives?"
Clint Barton	Now that he knew what was really going on, this was the part Clint had been dreading. Lying to his friends. "Listen, I tried tracking her down the day she ran, and guess what? She shot me!" he says turning away from Darcy as he says it, leaning on the cabinet and digging into the memory of his own frustrations and anger from the moment the round hit. He takes a breath and turns, running a hand through his hair, "I was going to say we should invite Skye as Wasp, but then I remembered that wasn't going to happen because she's gone. That's what happened, Darce. Are you happy now? Or do you have more questions to dig up the worst day of my life? 'Cause I have some day drinking to get back to." He crosses his arms and waits. The pain of having to pretend almost banished from his face except for his eyes which don't quite meet Darcy's.
Darcy Lewis	Darcy frowns at the answer, arms still folded. "Yeah. Sucky day... Fuck. Maybe I shouldn't be sad she left if THIS is your fucking reaction," Darcy starts, arms unfolding. She turns from Clint, anger spiking in every fiber of her being. Anger she takes out on filling trash bags again. "You're a fucking pussy, Barton. Jesus Christ. You love her this much, then you fucking get your friends together to go after her. You don't dit and pine like some fucking girlie man who can't get his dick up without orders," Darcy blasts. Clint? Lying? Darcy believes hook, line, sinker. And she mouths off because that's waht Darcy does. All while cleaning up the trash. "But whatever. This doesn't make me fucking happy at all. This? This pisses me the fuck off. You're not such a fucking bad ass you can't call a friend to help you through this. Or to chase her ass, slap her in cuffs, drag her back, and beat the sense back into her. I don't know. Something. ANYTHING is better than sitting here moping like a fucking bitch," Dracy finally says, the anger turning on herself as it occurs to her that's she's probably not being fair. She needs a Snickers. Darcy isn't Darcy when she's hangry. "Fuck. Whatever. I'm out. Go take a fucking shower and call me when you're fucking sober," she adds, grabbing up the bags and turning to head for the door.
Clint Barton	Clint flinches internally, when his lies work and he's blasted for being a pussy. Truthfully, she was partly right, when he'd first woken up from being shot his first instinct was to get drunk. "Hey, I went with May to Madripoor to try and find Skye, we had some dudes' fingers broken, hopefully that's badass enough for you." He lets out a breath and turns away again. Yeah, he hated this but suck it up Barton and do your job. He cleans some of the crap off his kitchen counter as he says, "Anyhow I got shot there too, so my badassing is over for the moment. But believe me when I'm off the sick list, and we have an idea where she is, I'll be right there kicking in the door." That was weak tea bullshit. Like Clint would let something like being on the sick list stop him. He grabs the stuff off the counter and stuffs it in a bag, turning in time to spot her angry departure. He steps between Darcy and the door. "Hey, I am doing what I can do Darcy. If you want the person who can be all badass over this, talk to May. She's the case officer."
Darcy Lewis	"You're so full of bullshit, Barton. it's a wonder your eyes are still blue," Darcy spits. "You're only on teh sick list because you're too fucking drunk to see straight," she adds. Two steps from the door and he's in front of her again, and Darcy glares UP at Clint. She narrows her eyes sharply, feeling something is wrong. She just assumes its the drinking, and so she shifts a bag around to free a hand so she can make a grab for the bag Clint is carrying. "You're not doing jack shit. If someone I loved was taken, possibly against their will, there wouldn't be anything in the 'verse that can stop me from going after and putting two in whomever's got them's brain pan. Fuck case officers. Fuck regulations. Fuck bullet holes. Fuck everything. You've got it so fucking great. She's crazy about you, and first sign of trouble you give it one go, take a licking, and dust your hands: Oh, poor me! I got shot. Nothign more I can do. Might as well sit here like a fucking baby with my dick tucked between my ass cheeks," Darcy growls, anger flaring hotter again, forcing tears to her green eyes, over her lashes and down her cheeks to her chin. "Go QQ more, you big ass baby, and let the real bad ass bitches take care of your shit," she snarls, yanking at the bag in his hand roughing.
Clint Barton	Clint lets her grab the bag out of his hand without contest, just like he takes the insults hurled his way. He's just standing there taking his the verbal beating, until Darcy mentions what she'd do if she were him. "Right. Like you've put two in anyone," he says darkly. "It's not like tazing people, they don't get back up so spare me all the big talk, okay Darce." He moves out of her way. "Anyhow, talk to May before you go trying to put two in anyone's brain pan there, Mal. She'll sort out your bullshit real quick." Yeah, he's seen Firefly. "Anyhow, I'll call you later. Y'know, when I'm done my QQing."
Darcy Lewis	"Fuck you," Darcy snaps, because like HELL she's going to bring May into this. The same way Darcy cussed out agents for not evaccing a pet store, Darcy is cussing herself out for having just sat back and done nothing. "I'm Inara," she adds, shuffling to get her coat and keys and then open the door, and out she goes, into the cold with her coat over a shoulder and not protecting her at all. She leaves the door hanging open as she stomps down the stairs to the apartment's trash bins. Bags thrown away, Darcy pulls on her coat finally, and directs herself just back to the office. "Fucking Barton," she grouces to herself as she walks away.
Clint Barton	Clint slams the door behind Darcy, then alone in his apartment, he leans against the door and sighs. "I fucking hate undercover ops," he says. He goes to the bows and recovers Skye's note. He reads it over twice, then folds it nearly, and tucks it away along with the other one, in a floor board hidey hole, murmuring as he does, "Hurry back." Then he's off to the sofa, plunking his ass down and firing off a text to May while his Starkbox boots. << Darcy is on the warpath. Watch out for her. >>