Log: Matt and Clint

[x-daredevil.livejournal.com]

Matt and Clint hang out like brothers. That is, they snipe back and forth, drink, eat Indian food and oh yeah, discuss this whole mutant school thing



Half dressed from working out, Matt settled in to his recliner and slipped his soundproofing headphones on before thumbing his phone, "Call Birdbrain," he intoned. A moment later, his headset began to ring as the cell connected and he took a sip of his beer. This was going to be an interesting phone call.

Clint's personal mobile buzzed in his pocket, so he grabbed it, checked the caller ID, and answered as he walked through his apartment toward the kitchen. "Hey, bro," he said, opening the fridge. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I've already told you, I don't have the seniority to get you out of jail. I could probably get you out of a j-walking ticket, though."

"Good thing for you I know a good lawyer, then," Matt retorted, "but I got a good one for you. You need to sit down and grab a beer for this," he took another swig of his own - the last of a holiday themed microbrew he'd received at a secret Santa exchange. He came out better than the lady who got the salt and pepper shakers.

"I mean, I guess he's alright - for a lawyer," Clint said, grabbing a beer. "Also, I'm drinking this beer because I want to, not because you told me to." Using the bottle opener on the wall, he took care of the cap, tossed it in the recycling bin, and headed for his couch. "'Sup?"

"You will drink your pig swill and like it!" Matt retorted. Their arguments over beer were passionate and never went anywhere. "You remember my night-time friends? The ones with questionable hobbies?" It was thanks to Clint that Matt had what gear he did. "Turns out, there's an entire school."

Clint's head thunked back against his couch and he sighed, knowing his brother would hear him quite clearly. "Dude, it's hard enough to keep SHIELD away from you and your 'friends,' how am I supposed to keep them from looking at an entire school of people with questionable hobbies?" Yes, Matt had his gear because of Clint but Clint had given it to him so he a) wouldn't get caught and b) wouldn't get killed by the people he chased down.

"Good news is they aren't lovers of the night, but they are a school. I went to check it out," and see what everything was about, "Unsurprising to no oe with all the talk of registration, they're trying to get kids out of difficult situations and whatnot. Sounds needed."

"Yeah," Clint said, frowning a little. "We should really be having this conversation in person, dude. I've told you about the phones. Especially with everything." The fact that both he and his brother were closeted mutants post M-Day... it made Clint exceedingly uneasy about conversations like this.

"When're you free?" Matt had to agree with meeting in person, but there was the concern about others overhearing. 'Private' wasn't nearly as private as people thought in New York City.

"Now, if you wanna come over. Or I could go over there. I've gotta hit the lab after, though," Clint said. "Want me to make some food?"

"Yeah. Come here? And get take out," maybe it was paranoia, but Matt thought there was a chance Clint's apartment might be bugged. "I'll pay you back if you don't make me argue with the Indian takeout guys again."

"You are bery bery rude," Clint said, doing a passable Indian accent. Then he snorted. "Yeah, I'll be over." His apartment was not bugged, but that was only because he'd found the bugs and moved them to the next apartment over. That didn't mean he was confident his phone calls weren't being recorded along with every single other American's. With his luck, they'd somehow pick up a string of words he said and he'd suddenly be responsible for ending a mutant underground railroad school or something. "I'll pick up something on the way."

It took him twenty minutes and and two subway stops to get to the restaurant, then a half hour waiting on the food and another twenty to get to Matt's. He knocked.

In that time Matt had worked through a kata, showered, changed and meditated. Relaxation was the theme for the night. No after-hours activities for him. Going to answer the door, he smiled, sniffing the takeout, "You are the best brother," he declared, "You want another beer or something else?" he was going to stick to water probably.

"If you've got some milk, that'd be good," Clint said. "I got that super spicy thing with the peppers. I probably won't have any tastebuds left once we finish dinner." He walked through to the kitchen and sat the bag on the counter before he started unpacking everything. "Sorry for the spice stench that's about to be unleashed. It's really good, though."

"Why do you insist on stinking up my apartment?" Then again, Matt did ask for Indian food. "How much do I owe you anyways?" Grabbing some silverware and glasses, he went to see if there was any milk. Shaking the carton, he decided there was enough for at least a glass. He didn't keep much food around since he was so rarely home and cooking. In fact, his kitchen was mostly an afterthought in the apartment and too tiny to be useful to most people, but he had a decent sized living room. It was a trade off he was more than happy about.

"Because you insist on sending me to get Indian," Clint said, sliding Matt's containers of food across the table. They stopped with two inches left to the edge, all lined up in a row. "Your food's in position," he noted. "And you don't owe me anything, just pick up the tab next time we're getting something after one of Andre's disasters."

"That is still both cool and creepy," Matt noted, though it was probably no more so than the fact that he was blind and could still 'see' it vaguely with his own abilities. Sitting down, he dug into his butter chicken with a happy grunt.

For a while there wasn't a lot of talking, just mumbled phrases as they stuffed their faces. Finally, Matt sat back, burping gently, "Damn they make good food. Anyways. Business," of a sort, "the number of interestingly dressed denizens of the night are increasing. I found out through one about the school. Their premise is to train people, give them control and understanding, so they're less likely to be harmful." Peaceful coexistence seemed unlikely, but a noble, lofty goal.

"Okay, I'll bite," Clint said, sitting back with his glass of milk cupped carefully between his palms. "They want to maintain anonymity to protect themselves and the people they're sheltering, right? I need a location so I can at least steer things away from them if necessary or take any cases that drop on SWORD from that area."

"I don't have a physical address," Matt admitted, "but I could probably google it with what I know. North of here, outside the city. Westchester county," which wasn't exactly a small area, but it was at least a start. "I went earlier today, they mean what they say," he could see the benefits of a place like that.

"Alright, I'll keep it on my radar," Clint said, sipping his milk. "You're steering clear of trouble - aside from your nocturnal activities? I'm pretty sure I couldn't do anything if you straight up got arrested. Besides lie, of course, but that might bring attention." He knew Director Fury and SSA Coulson had buried his x-gene status given the general dislike of mutants in the world, but there wasn't much either of them would probably be able to do for Matt. Not that he'd ask them to do anything.

Matt nodded, "I'm actually starting a new project at work, working with others on corporate policy for equality for mutants. It'll be a long time before anything is implemented and there's no protection at the state or federal levels, but it's interesting. The legal ramifications alone will take years to unravel fully, but...things have to start somewhere even if it doesn't move fast enough."

There was no point telling Matt to be careful with that and keep his head down. Clint knew enough about corporate law to know something would get out to somebody - some other company running corporate espionage would catch on to their potential policies, it'd hit the news. Whatever happened, though, he figured Matt was better equipped than most to handle things. "Keep me posted on this school thing."

"Do not tell me you're going to the lab now, nerd," Matt was as big of a nerd as Clint, just in different ways, "Let's see what's on Netflix."

"I gotta hit the lab," Clint said, grinning a little. "It's my personal project - grappling arrows and increasing their weight capacity. Important stuff."

"Nerd," Matt repeated, cleaning up the now-empty containers. He could keep the leftovers for dinner tomorrow. "Use a stronger, lighter line. Physics 101. And don't get yourself in trouble either." Because agent or not, he was still junior.

Clint snorted. "Duh." Because using a stronger, lighter line and not getting caught were obvious answers. "I've got some material that we've never used before to try out on the cables, but it requires a lot of testing to make sure it'll work."

Duh. "No breaking your neck either. I don't want to hear it from Steve," how was it that Clint was older and a secret agent, yet Matt ended up responsible for him since he went to law school? His uncles made no sense.

Grinning, Clint finished his milk off and tossed his empty container of food in the trash. "Yeah, sure. No broken necks here. Boy Scout's honor."

"You do, I'll kill you. And neither of us were Boy Scouts," neither of them had childhoods that allowed for things like that. Still, it worked. "Alright. Go be a nerd. I'm going to find something to listen to on TV or whatever." His powers sadly didn't extend to monitors of any sort.

"But it sounds so much better than 'ex kid carnie's honor,'" Clint said, still grinning as he rinsed his glass and put it in the dish washer. He double checked to make sure he'd pushed his chair in at the table - yeah, Matt would be able to see it with his echolocation stuff, probably, but it never hurt to be careful. "Catch ya later, bro."