Hope & Clint | Thursday Afternoon

[x-hawkeye.livejournal.com]

Hope stops by to to apologize for the argument with Namor on Clint's journal.


Clint had set up shop in his and Billy's room rather than the common area of the suite because anybody could stop in if he was out there and he didn't exactly feel like talking to just anybody. Even after cooling off the night before and eating all the Cheetos he could handle while throwing random things at Namor every now and again, he was still kind of angry.

Not 'I need to punch a wall' angry, which was apparently where Namor had been, given the flecks of broken ceramic he'd seen on the carpet in the other young man's suite, but irritated. That was more than he usually was. It took a lot to piss him off.

Despite all that, the door to his room was open, so if anybody really wanted to find him, they could. At least he hadn't snuck off to the woods to hide in a tree. All the snow made that a bit impractical.

"Uhm... hello? Is anyone here?" Hope had finally gathered her courage and had hesitantly made her way to the suite where several of the boys were living. "Clint?" She called out hesitantly.

Face dropping down onto the page of his Calculus book, Clint let out a sigh and then pushed himself up, off his bed. He straightened his shoulders and headed for the main part of the suite. "Hey, Hope," he said, offering her a half-smile. "What's up?"

Slightly anxiously Hope returned his smile, though she was just slightly hesitant to meet his eyes.. "Uh hello, Clint... I hope I am not disturbing you? I would like to speak to you for a moment."

"Sure, no problem," Clint said, nodding toward the couch. "You want anything to drink? I ate all the Cheetos last night, but I think I've got like... some tortilla chips and weird olive stuff Namor didn't eat?"

"Just some water, please." Hope said as she took a seat on the couch, fiddling with her skirt a little. "Namor... he was here last night?"

Clint walked over to the kitchenette to get Hope a class of water, saying almost warily over his shoulder as he did, "I went up to his suite to hang out for a little while after Matt was a jerk. Why?"

"Just wondering..." Hope stared at her hands for a moment before blurting out. "I did not wish to upset everybody last night. And your journal was not the place to air some of my things. I apologize for that."

Shrugging, Clint filled a glass of water up and walked back over to Hope. He handed it to her before sitting on the couch opposite her. "It's cool. It happens. And you and Namor weren't really the problem in the end, so it's no big deal."

She took a sip before replying. "Still, your journal is not the place for Namor and I to work out our differences. And Matt... he knows I was upset after the last encounter Namor and I had."

"Yeah, what was that about, anyway?" Clint asked, tilting his head to the side. "I know you guys had like, words or whatever you want to call it. But I don't get why you don't like each other."

"I think we just view certain matters very differently and we clashed on that." Hope remained somewhat vague."Or perhaps our personalities just rub each other wrong? I am not entirely sure what happened myself." Okay, she has some idea's...

Clint snorted. "You two view a lot of matters differently, but that's to be expected. You come from completely different worlds. I mean, completely different. Sure, both your families are wealthy and you were both raised with all these expectations, but it's not the same, no matter how you try to dress it up. You should both stop trying to force the other to view things the way you do. It'll never happen. You'll just keep banging heads over it and no one will ever get any rest, whether it's on my journal or your own or in person."

"I can agree to respectfully disagree with people, Clint, but not when he accuses me of being a light-skirt and a gold digger!" Hope quickly covered her mouth, shocked at what had come out. "Uhm..."

Clint facepalmed. He literally let his forehead hit the heel of his palm. "I got nothin' on that," he said. Flopping back against the couch cushions, he said, "I don't think hugging it out's gonna be an option."

"I think I have to agree with that one..." Hope agreed, still blushing a little at her frank comment. "He accuses me of trying to be something I am not, while he is that, but then he turns around and acts totally different... It just..."

"It's confusing?" Clint quirked another smile. "We're teenagers. Everything is confusing. I'm not saying he was right to say what he said, but he is in what amounts to a completely new country and he's probably going through some culture shock. I guess just - you know what he said isn't true. People who know you know it's not. Try not to let it get to you."

"I was going to say frustrating, but confusing works as well." Hope gave him a small smile. "I hear what you say, but... how do I say it... I think Namor might have a talent for hitting my buttons?"

"Yeah, he's good at that," Clint said, nodding. "You should be like a duck. Let it roll off."

Letting out a sigh, Hope shook her head. "I am guessing I will have to try that. Even if he is being a jerk..."

"I know it probably doesn't help," Clint said, shrugging, "But I don't think he realizes he's being a jerk. It's not like he's doing it maliciously."

"Not knowing is not always an excuse though, Clint. Not when you are actively refusing to look further so to speak." Hope shook her head slowly as she tried to formulate her thoughts.

"Yeah, I know," Clint said. "And there's no excuse for not looking further. It just is what it is."

Taking a deep breath, Hope closed her eyes and pushed down the frustration that had been rising up again. Opening her eyes she consciously smoothed out her expression and pasted on a small smile. "True, it is not going to change unless he truly desires himself to change."

Clint had watched as Hope calmed herself, his head tilting to the side again. After she spoke, he asked, "Why do you do that? Why do you repress everything you're feeling and put on a mask?"

She blinked at him once in surprise, but expression remained fairly smooth. Still, she didn't speak for a long moment. "It is the way I was taught." Hope explained in a few words, not giving much further detail.

"Yeah, but you don't have to do it. I'm not going to judge you for getting upset or anything. You know that. So why do you do it anyway?"

"Being upset does not help. You said it yourself that things will not change."

Clint frowned a little. "There's a difference, though. Repressing everything and hiding behind a mask with people you don't have to hide from and letting things go when it's not going to be constructive."

"The first is just a tool for the second. That is all, Clint." Hope quickly minimized the whole thing.

"It's a protective mechanism," Clint said, still staring at Hope. "You wrap yourself up in formality and cover up with a mask so no one can really see you." His gaze had lost focus just a bit, but suddenly he zeroed in on her, eyes snapping up to Hope's. "I see you."

And this was seriously getting creepy... So Hope shifted modes and let out a small giggle: "I did not know you were a psi as well, Clint." She gently kidded.

Clint didn't respond immediately, eyes narrowing slightly, then he snorted a soft laugh. "I'm not psi and you know it. But did you ever see that show Lie To Me? You should check it out if you haven't - and look up microexpressions. That's what I see. Sometimes. Sometimes it's difficult to figure out what they are, but they're there."

"Microexpressions? No, I do not think I have ever really heard of those. It sounds like something worth to look up though. Can you explain them briefly though?" Hope didn't mind directing the attention away from her.

Clint gave Hope a look that said he knew what she was doing, but he explained, "It's like... a flicker of expression - anger, happiness, sadness. Like the exaggerated versions we see in B-rated movies only instantaneous. They don't stay on somebody's face long enough for most people to notice them. So when you lie - to yourself to or to somebody else - it's obvious to people who know what to look for on your face."

"Can other people detect them easily?" She inquired curiously. "I mean, you have your sight to help you, but I imagine it would be harder for normal people. Especially if it is only a flicker."

"According to the TV show, yeah," Clint said. "I think it takes some training, though. Like, a lot. Tons of training. Years."

"TV shows do tend to exaggerate things though. So perhaps it does not quite work that way." Hope fell silent and considered it for a moment: "Or people might simply not be aware, but call it intuition instead."

"That's what one of the characters has - it's like. It's instinctive for her. The main character, the guy - he had to learn it. So he's kind of bitter that she knows everything he does but she doesn't know she knows it and she didn't have to invest any time in learning it." Clint knew he could redirect the conversation if he wanted, that in the interest of pursing Hope's issues he probably should, but he didn't want to push it. They weren't that close.

"Ah, I see." Hope nodded again. "I will have a look, since it the subject matter sounds very interesting." She glanced at the clock for a moment. "I am sorry, Clint, but I do need to leave for a violin lesson soon. Though... you spoke of masks. But courtesy is a lady's armor and often it is the only one she has."

Eyes narrowing slightly, Clint said, "That's from Game of Thrones. I saw the HBO series." He stood up, offering Hope a hand to help her stand. "But there's a lot more to the women in that show, that book, than courtesy." His expression turning rueful, he said, "Not least of which is the scheming, incestuous queen, the valiant younger daughter, and that chick who gets sold to the horse dude by her brother. None of them are really bothered by courtesy and they periodically throw it off."

"They have something else then their courtesy to use." Hope simply replied as she stood up. "Again my apologies, Clint, and I will endeavor to keep you clear if a future spat might occur."

"You do that," Clint said, shaking his head. It was sort of like arguing with a brick wall - nothing got through. "I'll see you later, Hope."