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[x-daredevil.livejournal.com]

Matt and Clint label stuff in the kitchen with the label maker...without asking permission. Jobs and the future and life are discussed in brotherly fashion.



Sitting on the kitchen counter, Matchbox 20 blasting from his phone, Matt held a box from the pantry, shaking it. "Is it....hot chocolate?" he guessed, then opened it up. "...nope."

Clint grinned. "Mustard powder," he said, knowing Matt would already know but saying it anyway. He clicked out the appropriate letters on the label maker, though, and waited until the braille strip had printed before snipping it off and handing it to his brother. "Are you sure it's okay for us to be doing this? Like, nobody's gonna mind everything in here suddenly having braille stickers all over it?"

"If they do then they're douche bags," Matt replied, placing the label on the box. "I keep asking people to make stuff or find stuff and whatever, I'm sick of it. So they can deal with labels." He had no sympathy for that sort of thing. "What's next?"

"I'm just saying," Clint said, printing out a label for cinnamon. "It doesn't seem like there's anybody else here who's blind. You oughta cut 'em some slack. It takes a little getting used to. And it'd be better if people didn't wind up resenting you for whatever reason. It's not like you're here full-time - it's what, two or three days out of the week?"

"This is like... a place for mutants, right?" Matt asked, "People who are different? Well, DNA or not, blind is different. So....seems like this is the place where people should be more accepting. Including my dumbass labels so I don't have to ask for help every time I wanna cook something." It didn't seem like it was that much of an imposition to people, other than Clint who was the one making the labels, and he'd been helping with that for years, albeit a lot less now that they were adults.

"Right, no - it's not like it's a huge thing," Clint said, handing over the label once he cut it free of the machine. "Cinnamon," he said. "I'm sure they do stuff for people with particular mutations all the time. It's just a matter of like. Checking or giving people a heads up that you're doing it. Especially since you're not here all the time - I've had years and years to get used to finding labels on random things in my cupboards and you know Steve and Andre started that off before you even moved in. But it might be weird for people if they're not expecting it or like. Whatever. Olives," he said, handing over another label once Matt had finished with the cinnamon one.

"Then they get used to it," Matt shrugged, "people adapt. It's not really a big deal, it's just labels on stuff. Not even the nice stuff," he hadn't labeled the pots and pans or anything, just the things that were easily mistaken for other things in the pantry and various spices.

"Common courtesy, Matt," Clint said, waiting until the olives were labeled before printing one for the red chili powder. "It's like me going, 'Hey, bro, left that chair pushed out from the table in case you're not paying attention.' So you don't smash your toes on it or whatever. You're changing something in a place where these people live. It's just nice to be like 'yo, I did this thing.' So they're not all like, 'what the fuck?'"

"Yeah, but we're gonna put it all back," Matt pointed out, "No one is going stub their toe because we labeled the box of popcorn so I don't mix it up with hot chocolate," unlikely to happen once he opened the boxes anyways, but it would cut down on the amount of time searching for the right box. "And I'm here three days a week. That's enough to get some say in things, albeit a minor one." He paused for a second, "It's kinda the only thing keeping me at my job right now anyways."

"What, that your boss lets you work from here some?" Clint asked, printing and handing over another label. Sometimes talking to Matt was a bit like arguing with a brick wall. He was so smart about so many things, but some things - like common courtesy or asking before doing something like changing things in somebody else's kitchen - just eluded him. Clint didn't pretend to be perfect at that, himself - get him in a lab for any length of time and he'd forget every bit of anything not related to his experiment. But still.

So it was easier to just let the conversation go and maybe tell somebody in charge of something that the change had been made. Clint didn't think it'd cause a stir, didn't think anyone would get upset, but still. It was polite. "What's going on at your job that's got you saying that?"

"It's not the law I wanted to do," Matt explained, "and I thought I could stick it out, get some more experience and move on, but....it's not great. And my coworkers suck," he paused for a moment. "They know I'm on Warren's special project, which....goes above my boss' head. And it's not like what they think because of the mutant thing, but of course they don't know that. So they like to make my life hell. Being able to telecommute has actually made me more productive because I deal with less bullshit," but it still wasn't the work he wanted to do.

"So what kind of law do you want to do?" Clint asked, pausing in his label-making because this seemed kind of important.

"Criminal defense," Matt answered automatically, "I've always wanted something like that. Got turned down for all my internships when I applied in school and kept getting approached by these big firms like Worthington Industries. That's the thing. Most guys would kill for this job. Money's good, job stability, benefits are great, big name on the resume, chance at moving to another firm as junior partner after a few years, the works. And I was excited to get it for all those reasons, but....I'm jealous of Foggy who's working for barely nothing at the DA's office." And admittedly, Foggy was also jealous of him. They had been roommates for years, until they had finished law school.

"What's stopping you from leaving and pursuing what you want to pursue?" Clint asked. "You know Steve and Andre would help out until you get on your feet if it means straight up quitting Worthington Industries."

"'Cause I wanna make it on my own," Matt changed the song, deciding he didn't like the next one right now. He was stubborn when it came to independence, even before he had learned to use his powers and whatnot, "And there's the awkwardness now of being friends with Warren, who introduced me to this place."

"You think he'd be pissed if you left?" Clint asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I think it'd bother him, yeah," Matt replied, "I'm on his special project, remember?" And this. And stuff.

"Right, but if you're unhappy, that doesn't like. I mean, he's your friend now, in addition to being your boss. He should want you to be happy with the work you're doing. And if you're not, then something needs to change. Since the company's probably not going to... and anyway, you could help him with the special project without having to actually be at the office dealing with douchebags." Clint frowned, the more he thought about it the less happy he was that people were being assholes to his brother.

"I'm not quitting yet," Matt assured him. He was a big boy, he could handle crap at work, even if he didn't like it. He didn't want Clint to try and jump in and help. He wasn't 13 anymore. "But....I'm thinking about it. Probably going to look at options and all that. I've got a case here I'm working on that's interesting at least. It's not criminal defense, but it's at least not corporate."

"Always look on the bright side," Clint said, his frown melting away as he quirked a rueful smile. Say whatever you wanted about SWORD, but at least he was doing something he loved. The people he worked with weren't always great, but he could at least say the job itself was what he wanted to be doing.

Leaning over, he poked Clint with a finger, "Label!" he ordered, as if telling a dog to 'mush,' "Have you seen the gym yet? I should show you and we can go a few rounds. It's awesome," Matt was pretty sure Clint wasn't on the list to go in the Danger Room yet. If there was a list.

"Nope, you haven't shown me the gym yet," Clint said, obligingly printing a label and handing it to Matt. "Pickles," he said. "And sure, let's go a few rounds. But after, you gotta show me the labs. I've heard these insidious rumors about how awesome they are, but I've yet to find concrete evidence of their awesomeness."

That made Matt pause. It was totally a Clint thing to request, but..."I have no idea where they are," he finally said after thinking about it. "None."

"Bad brother," Clint said. "No Chinese for you." He chuckled, though, and said, "Eh, whatever. I'm sure we can find somebody to ask or something. It's not like an immediate need. I've got all weekend before driving you back into the city."

"We can definitely explore. We're men. We don't ask directions!" that's why there was GPS, not that it was helpful in the mansion. "But Chinese is always a plan. You can't take that away!"

Clint snorted. "Correction - we're men, therefore we refuse to ask directions and get ourselves horribly lost. I, at least, have learned from past mistakes. But fine, you can still have Chinese, whichever. Because I'm nice like that."

Flipping his brother off, Matt didn't disagree. He preferred not to ask directions, but then that had to do with him getting on his high horse about being independent and whatnot more often than not and he had already heard Clint on that topic plenty. "Good. Because Chinese takeout is the best. And I'm your favorite brother."

Snorting again, Clint said, "I don't play favorites and you know it. But you're less likely to hit me up for money or have the mob come after me, so you've got that going for you."

"Exactly. Favorite," this was an easy thing, really. "And I help prevent you from being bored. Because then you get into trouble on your own."

Clint didn't reply because he really didn't play favorites where his brothers were concerned. Barney was just... Barney. Endlessly optimistic but lacking common sense and prone to getting himself into mounds of trouble because he didn't think things through. But he meant well and he really did care about what Clint was up to when they talked - it wasn't the obligatory 'I'll listen to this because I have to.' Most of it probably went over Clint's head, but Barney'd been the one to offer to spring him from Alaska if he needed to get away and SWORD wouldn't let him.

Matt was right, though, about Clint finding trouble on his own. Sometimes it was like he was a trouble magnet. "So's there a good Chinese place here or am I hauling ass back to the city to get something decent?"

"We can go into Salem Center and find something," Matt didn't have a dedicated Chinese place here yet. "I'm kinda feeling like Mongolian BBQ." He hadn't had that in a while.