Kitty & Clint | Saturday Afternoon

[x-hawkeye.livejournal.com]

Kitty's looking for an adventure, Clint's looking for his older brother, they wind up at the same seedy, Russian bar.


She'd forgotten how dirty it was. The scent of this city both attracted and repelled her at the same time, the smell of a thousand people crammed into a tiny space. Cigarettes burning in the gutter, oil spooling on the street. Taking a deep breath, Kitty closed her eyes and wondered if it was worth it.

The bar door opened and she slipped inside as casually as if she lived there. She kept her head down, eyes just barely grazing over the people inside. The woman had picked one of the seedier joints. If there was an order of things, this place fell on the bottom. Her gaze glanced off a girl leaning over the bar, her shirt unbuttoned as she leered towards the bartender.

A peepshow for a drink. Kitty leaned against the bar and ordered water, ignoring a dirty look. It came, slammed down on the wood so hard she thought the glass might crack. With a wry smile, she noted it looked as brackish as whatever the woman next to her was drinking.

So this was where she was going to find her next adventure. She hoped it was cleaner than the floor suggested.

Alaska was good for clean air and freezing body parts off in ten minutes or less, but Clint was a New Yorker at heart and always would be. Which meant he was enjoying being back in the city even if the circumstances of his return were... less than orthodox. But seriously, who thought changing over an entire organization's PTO policy was a good idea? Bump that, he'd use it all in one go if he had to.

"Nyea," he said, the Russian coming easily for him even as he evaded the friendly hands trying to get him to stay in the back of the bar. He wasn't sure what Barney had gotten himself into this time, but it involved Russians and he counted himself lucky that he'd been able to make friends with these people before they decided to take him out back and try to shoot him. Or whatever the mob's modern disposal methods were. "I've a girl out front. You know they don't like waiting."

Barney hadn't even been here, which was the ridiculous part. He'd shown up expecting a bit of drinking with his brother before Barney tried to talk him into lending him money or going on a road trip to Atlantic City. Only not so much. More with the Russians.

Finally escaping the back room, knowing the men were watching his every move, Clint sidled up to a dark-haired woman, put on his best 'hey, baby, sorry I'm late' smile, and murmured through it, "Please pretend you know me and you're upset I'm late."

"You sure?" Kitty raised an eyebrow as she whispered the phrase. What the hell. It didn't seem worth the time to wait for his answer. After all, it wasn't the request of anyone sane or at the very least, not in major trouble. She looked down into her drink, wondered how much disease it was breeding and dashed it right in his face.

Perfect, Clint thought, and he wasn't even being sarcastic. "Babe, c'mon," he said at full volume, momentarily struck by how... similar this was to all of his other interactions with women lately. Like, his real-life, actual girlfriend type interactions. He wasn't doing so hot in the romance department.

The Russians behind him guffawed and then closed the door to return to their poker game, but Clint didn't want to drop the act in case the lecherous bartender with a bad attitude was an informant for them. He probably was. And that girl really couldn't be legal. This whole establishment just screamed 'Barney's kinda place.'

"Why are you late this time?" Kitty leaned back, willing herself not to giggle. A smile pricked the corners of her eyes. Propping her arm up on the bar, she signaled the bartender over with a wave. "He's buying my drinks."

"So?" the bartender snorted. "You only ordered water."

Her ears turning a little pink, she swiftly shot back, "Well, put something in it then."

Clint's eyebrows rose as he made a token effort to wipe off his face and he mouthed water incredulously at the woman before saying, "I got held up - I mean, I was actually here, just. Back there with the guys, not at the bar. With you." He managed to snag a cloth from the other side of the bar while the bartender was getting something from the top shelf for the lady. He'd probably be paying twenty bucks for a shot of Jack but if it kept him from getting maimed by the mob, he'd take it.

She wrinkled her nose at him when he mouthed the word out. The urge to stick out her tongue was strong but then again, Kitty wasn't sure what that would get her in a place like this. She glanced down at her watch, hoping that whatever the bartender picked was both expensive and light on the alcohol.

"I guess I can forgive you. If you make it up to me." She tapped her fingers on the bar, wondering where this night was going to go. Her gaze drifted across the room. It was starting to feel a little crowded, a little too much like there were a hundred eyes on her back.

Mopping up the tepid water from the bar after drying his face, Clint smiled brightly at the woman. "You know I can. Tell me what you want, babe, and it's done." There was this niggling thought at the back of his mind that perhaps assuring - even fake assuring - a woman he met in a place like this that he'd do whatever she wanted... wasn't necessarily his best plan, but he was running a little high on adrenalin at the moment and she was being such a good sport.

"Anything?" Kitty turned her wide, dark eyes on him.

"Anything," he confirmed, silently acknowledging that he was probably going to regret this.

"Bring me the Pangboche Hand." A wicked little smile teased the corners of her lips. There was no way this stranger would know what that was.

Clint paused for a long moment, running over various possibilities in his head, before saying, "Aw, babe. You're gonna make me work for it, aren't ya?" His eyes glinted with amusement as he asked, "You want the stolen one or the pieces in the UK? Or the Weta Workshop replica?"

Her jaw dropped and it took a minute for her mouth to start working. "So what would you have said if I asked you to find me Jimmy Hoffa?"

"Wouldn't wanna blow his WitPro?" Clint offered, openly grinning now.

"Who are--" she cut herself off, remembering that she was supposed to know this man. A laugh escaped her before she said, "You're serious."

"I mean," Clint said. "I could probably get you the black market, private collection Pangboche Hand. The samples in the UK would be harder. I know somebody who could get you the replica. Jimmy Hoffa's a little more difficult. But workable. In like twenty years. So if you don't mind waiting, which y'know, you kind of do."

"I know a couple people, too, but they're not exactly legit." Kitty eyeballed him. "But I think I'll pass on the hand this time. Too much hair on the palms." The bartender pushed a glass over to her and she took it. It smelled of turpentine.

"There's a masturbation joke somewhere in this conversation," Clint said, tossing the bartender the cloth and then going for his wallet. "I mean, seriously. But you're adorable when you're astonished. Let's see if I can't astonish you at home. After you finish your very alcoholic beverage."

"It's probably not a good idea for me to finish this. I mean, it doesn't even have a little umbrella in it." Kitty thought that she could probably get drunk just breathing in the fumes that were wafting from the glass. Whoever this man was, they hated him here. Or maybe it was just her.

She set the drink on the bar. "Shall we?" Once we reach the door, he'll be done shaking off whoever he's ignoring and that'll be the end of it. Maybe I should just hit a coffeeshop instead of trying to hang around bars.

Clint picked up the glass and tossed back its contents, then laid a fifty on the bar and gestured toward the door with a flourish. "M'lady." Then he hummed the melody to a song that popped into his head.

"What song is that?" she asked curiously as she stepped to the door. "It's pretty."

"Follow You Down," Clint answered. "By the Gin Blossoms," he continued, opening the door for her and waiting until it'd closed behind them before saying, "I'm Clint, by the way. Thank you and it's good to meet you."

"Kate." She didn't offer her hand just yet. "What was all that about?" The look she gave him was frank, curiosity written all over her face.

"It's always best to make sure your escape routes are solid before going into an establishment owned by the Russian mob. I'd've done that, except I didn't know the Russian mob owned the bar. I was supposed to meet my brother but he never showed," Clint explained, shoving his hands in his coat pockets to avoid the chill in the air. "What were you doing in there drinking water?"

"A girl's allowed to drink water, y'know," she pointed out. "And what do you know about me anyhow? For all you know, I could be a long-lost Russian princess or something." Then she shook her head, snowflakes glistening against the dark strands. "And why would the Russian mob be a problem? To you?"

"They're not a problem, per se, Anastasia," Clint said, grinning. "They're just unexpected. Like the Spanish Inquisition. And now I'm worried about what my brother's gotten himself into, but I can't figure that out until I sort out the guys back there. Which is a thing I'll probably do when I get home."

"You sound like the kind of man who's dangerous to be around." Kitty quickened her step, glancing over her shoulder.

"And you don't sound phased at all," Clint replied, lengthening his strides to keep up with her. She was a little bit short.

"Of course, I'm not-" She cut off the sentence, laughing a little self-consciously. He hadn't meant that.

The light at the intersection was blinking stop. She halted at the signal and looked up, into his face. "Why should I be? We're two strangers who met at a bar. You used me to get out of a jam. Unless you planted something in my pocket--which I'm pretty sure I would've noticed--I'm never going to see you after tonight anyhow. So your danger? Interesting but not much more." A slow smile flowered on Kitty's lips, barely forming when the light changed and she turned her head.

She pushed forward again, halfway into the intersection when she heard the squeal of a car going much too fast.

Clint had seen the car, tracked its path and velocity, without even thinking about it. His brain just noted it, recognized the danger, and had him reaching out for her without consciously considering any of his actions. While the car flew by them, barely an inch to spare between its side view mirror and his arm where it wrapped around Kate's waist, he said, "If I was a paranoid kind of person, which I'm not, I might think that was an attempt at a hit and run." He looked down at her, wondering if he was going to have to deal with her recoiling - his reflexes were preternatural for a reason. An x-gene reason.

Kitty nodded. She was trembling--not because of the car but because she had come so close to phasing at the moment he'd touched her. Way to go, Pryde. That's the last thing you need--outing your powers to this guy. He's probably a criminal. Her fingers gently removed his, noticing how strong they were. Definitely a criminal.

"I guess I'm glad you're not a paranoid kind of person then." She made for the shadows of a building ahead.

Despite his words, Clint's eyes flicked minutely around the street as they walked, taking in more and at a farther distance than anyone else around them would have been able to comprehend. Patterns flowed together for him, both the traffic and the people on the sidewalk around them, and he said, "Well, at least no one's actively following us at the moment." There was something weird, something he'd seen but not consciously recognized. It was going to bug him until he figured it out and the least he could do while he did that was make sure no Russians were actually going to try and kill her in the next ten minutes.

"Right." Kitty turned. "I think there's a subway entrance right over--no, wait." She furrowed her brow, confused now as to where they were. Her sense of direction was failing her once again. "What is it you do for a living again?" She asked the question quickly, hoping to distract him into giving a real answer.

"Currently on vacation, actually," Clint replied, motioning to a side street down which they could walk to get to an actual subway station. "But I worked for SHIELD for a while before transferring to SWORD. Been stationed in Alaska for the past few weeks. What about you?"

"SHIELD and SWORD? Next you need a Round Table," Kitty mused, laughing. She wondered why Clint was still following her. "I worked for a... ah, collector. But no longer, at least for the time being."

"Oh, a collector of what?" Clint asked.

"Thimbles, mostly," she said. It was clearly a lie. Kitty was never good at them.

"Right, so you're not a Russian spy, then, sent to infiltrate the bar back there for whatever reason. Cause I think puppies lie better than you just did," Clint said, laughing again. "But it's all good. Unless your employer's the one who's really after the Pangboche Hand."

"Do I look like a Russian spy?" She asked, amused and fascinated in spite of herself.

"Of course not - but that's the point. If you were a Russian spy and you looked like a Russian spy, you wouldn't be a very good one, would you?" Clint raised his eyebrows a bit, inviting further questions. He still couldn't pinpoint what it was he'd seen. But then, he'd been seeing a lot of things lately that he couldn't explain right off. They'd make sense eventually.

"Oh, well, I guess you've found me out. Katya, it is." Kitty glanced over her shoulder. "So do the Russians really have anything to do with your brother?" She was waiting--for what, Kitty wasn't quite sure, but she felt the night wasn't over yet.

"Probably," Clint admitted with a rueful shrug. "Barney gets himself in trouble. He usually manages to get himself out of it again. And if there's ever anything serious, I help him out. That's what brothers are for, after all. But you, you're just a handbag full of mystery, aren't you, koshka?"

"Not especially. You wouldn't say that if you knew me." Her smile dimpled. This guy is crazy. I wonder what Jean would say if she saw him. I bet she'd tell me to leave.

"Which is exactly what a handbag full of mystery would say," Clint concluded, nodding sagely. "Anyway, I think you're safe from potential Russian followers and hit-and-run incidents." Reaching into his back pocket while keeping pace with her, he pulled his wallet out and tugged a card free of one of the slots meant for a credit card. Handing it to her, he said, "Just in case, though, you can reach me at that number if you notice anything or anyone suspicious."

"Anything?" Kitty laughed. She took the card but didn't pocket it.

Clint quirked a smile at the echo of their previous conversation. "Anything."

"I'll remember that next time I'm online." She slid the card into her back pocket, knowing that she'd probably forget it. Kitty caught the hint of his smile and hesitated. Maybe you shouldn't blow him off. It might be nice to have another friend out here. Then again, how did her mutation fit into this? It didn't. She squelched the thought before it could blossom.

"Stay safe, koshka," Clint said, almost hoping she'd give him a number in return but knowing it was for the best if she didn't because really. His life was a mess right now. Still, never hurt to get things a little messier.

Kitty hesitated once more, then said, "Ariel. If you decide you want to look me up, start there."

It was the name she used most frequently in the kinds of online forums and dodgy offline places that she had done her previous job. If he found her again with just a word, Kitty decided, he would be a man worth knowing. And if not...well, Clint seemed the type to enjoy the occasional goose chase.

Clint grinned and gave her a small salute. "Will this be a scavenger hunt or a shot in the dark?"

"If I said, that would be telling." Kitty accepted the salute with a smile, thinking Crazy. Definitely crazy.

With a laugh, she turned and walked toward a turn in the street. She'd take the long way home.