1964-09-22 - Oh Do You Still Live Here?
Summary: Oh, we're still married. Riiiiight! Right.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
clint bobbi 

There is a place that still exists that is technically considered both Bobbi and Clint's place. Technically. Between Clint's pretty consistent away missions or cover missions, Bobbi's duties with the newly blooming avengers, Clint's also pretty consistent hospital stays, both of them keeping SHIELD pleased and whatever else that keeps both of them funning at full speed most of the time, there's just not a whole lot of time that the weird married couple got to spend 'making a home' or whatever the hell you're supposed to do.

Clint's here today. In the middle of the day, though you wouldn't guess by looking at him. The guy's dressed in sweatpants and a faded yellow tee shirt that he should've thrown away months ago judging by the fraying around the collar. An empty bowl sits on the floor next to the couch where he has propped his bare feet up and is doing elevated push ups while watching the black and white television about two feet from his face. Gilligan's Island. "You can make all that crap, but you can't patch a few boat holes. I'm disappointed, in you, Bob."

Bobbi came out of the kitchen in little more than a pair of jeans and a red hot colored tank-top. Her golden hair sweeping over her shoulders and he bare-feet padding softly against the riotous colored carpeted floors. She held a spoon perched above her yogurt container, staring at Clint for a long moment. She seemed to puzzle over the sight of her husband sitting on the couch. Such an odd sight to her. She hadn't seen him in ages. Yet here she was. Married. The term sounded strange even in her mind.

"You better not be talking to me, honey. Because I know the exactly chemical composition to make a patch on most boat hulls." She smiled, and it was a bright, cheery thing as she came around to plop down onto the couch beside him. A twist around and she was pressing a kiss against his cheek.

Clint's feet shift a little bit on the couch cushion they're planted on, pushing up all the way, his arms lock and the guy looks up when Bobbi comes into the room. The very picture of 'what the hell did I just get caught doing?' and trying to decide just how guilty he should look.

Nah. Nah! He's good. He's not doing anything suspicious. Yeah, he's good. Clint pulls his feet off the couch and stands himself upright. "Huh? Oh. No, not you, Bob Denver," Gesturing to the television he was practically face-smashed against while he tried to get a work out in. "You seen this? It's hilarious. It's a step by step on how to do it wrong." Clint smirks and drops back to the couch beside Bobbi when she sits down, accepting the kiss with a crooked grin.

Bobbi laughed lightly as she settled back against the couch's soft cushioned frame. She rarely spent time on it, much less watching TV. The living might as well be a set piece for all the time either one of them spent time on it. "No. Can't say I've had much in terms of free time. I've had my nose buried in a few too many lab reports to see the light of day for the past three weeks. Then before that I had a good few weeks on mission." She shrugged, and wrinkled her nose faintly at the memory of it.

"Sharon and Carol congratulated us, by the way." She flashed Clint a grin, wiggling her eyebrows up and down as she clamped down on a spoonful of yogurt.

"We went drinking and had a hen party. Delayed.. but yeah."

"That's probably for the best," Clint squints at the television while Gilligan tries to make a raft and ties it /all wrong/. "I get the feeling this would drive you apeshit." Multitasking! It's a thing Clint does very well. He has two modes; off and on, and when he's on, if he doesn't keep himself busy, well…bad shit tends to happen. "Lab reports. The very reason kids run away to join the circus. To avoid shit like that." Clint smirks good-naturedly over at Bobbi, "Better you than me. That doesn't stop them from dropping banker boxes of dossiers in my lap but, eh…" The archer shrugs and leans in too close to get a look into bobbi's yogurt.

An eyebrow arches upward over the mention of a hen party and congratulations. "So you let them in on it, huh? Heh, how'd that go over?" Already getting restless, Clint leans back into the crook of the couch's arm and back, fingers tapping against the upholstery.

Bobbi grinned over at her husband, a cackle held back only behind her teasing lips as she continued to put away the contents of her strawberry flavoured yogurt. "I'll take your word for it. Inaccurate shows tend to do that. Same with books. I really don't get how hard it would be for them to at least research the proper way that various chemical compounds interact with one another. It's so simple!" She muttered, rolling her eyes as she stabbed at the yogurt container with her spoon.

"Anyways, how have you been sweetie? Stationed over seas?" She arched a brow upwards as she glanced him over and then laughed softly.

"Well enough. Course there was a hot bar-tender so.. there's that."

Clint props an elbow up on the couch arm, resting a rough cheek against the heel of his palm. "Probably because they're on a desert island in a sound studio in hollywood, pretending to make putty out of mangos and sugar." Clint purposely shoots the horse, entirely too amused over riling Bobbi up.

There's a loose shrug from Clint when she asks how he's doing, gaze slipping mundanely over toward the set again while he thinks about turning it off. "Not so much over seas, no. They got a lot of focus out there, but the've been keeping me internal, bouncing all over the country. We both know that I'm not exactly the soldiering type," Clint grins rakishly and scrubs at the back of his head, as if it were a point of pride that he keeps his rakish disposition. "What about you? How's the babysitting gig?"

"Ooh-la-la a hot bartender? Do I need to go beat anyone down?"

Another light hearted laugh followed and Bobbi shook her head. "Mangos and sugar? Dear god, they must want to attract an army of ants or wasps. Hell.." She chortled lightly, clapping a hand over her lips as she struggled to halt the giggles that bubbled up from her throat. She reached out to lightly swat at him with the back of her free hand.

"I have been actually flown over seas and back more times than I can count. I dunno the details other than they needed an expert over there for a few weeks. It's all hush hush and need to know." She huffed a breath and then giggled openly at the comment about the bartender.

"I dunno honey, he's from Harlem and quite buff."

Clint scoffs and casts a cocky grin in Bobbi's direction when she said the guy was buff. "So he's a meathead. Good. They're always slower than you might expect. Easier to pick off." Blond eyebrows pop up and waggle a little bit, playfully.

Bobbi rolled her eyes and made a dramatic groaning sound as she elbowed Clint, trying and failing to hide the grin on her lips. "He's really easy on the eyes. Sweet too for a bartender. He even gave me a drink on the house." She ribbed, and broke out into laughter as soon as she caught sight of Clint's wiggling, waggling eyebrows.

"I dunno, you'll have to explain to Carol, and Sharon both why their favorite bartender has an arrow in his head. I doubt they'll be happy either honey."

Elbowed, Clint feigns extreme pain, clutching his side and groaning for about five solid seconds before becoming miraculously healed once more. "Well if he's a nice guy, I guess I can forgive him for being too damn good looking for his own good." Pushing up form his corner of the couch, Clint tips over, practically knocking over Bobbi's yogurt as he topples over, catching himself on the arm and back of the couch with his arms, trying to smother kiss his wife. "But only because I'm pretty sure Carol would snap me in half."

Bobbi rolled her eyes once more as Clint groaned, and shook her head, polishing off the rest of her yogurt as best she could.. at least until said husband was tipping over her and nearly upsetting the container all over her jeans. She yelped, and then his arms were around her and she was holding the yogurt, and spoon well above both of their heads. Her other arms slinking around his shoulders as she quite willing returned the sloppy, smothering, smooch.

"Cute." She added, pecking at his lips.

"I still married you for some reason though."

Clint makes himself right at home, collapsing the rest of the way on the couch while Bobbi holds her yogurt up over her head, sparing them both the mystery stains in the wash later. In deference to the 'trapped' woman, Clint holds his weight up on his arms while he grins at her. "Because you were drunk and /I/ look good in sleeveless shirts," he responds cheekily and winks, demanding another peck. Then another. Then another.

Bobbi streeetched her arm out toward the end table, setting the yogurt down on it as it became increasingly clear that Clint had no intention of getting off her nor letting her finish her brunch-time snack. She hmm'ed dramatically, still fighting the urge to grin and failing utterly. She swatted at his cheek as he came in for another peck on her lips followed by a rapid succession.

"Clint Barton! You're terrible!" She laughed outright then, and curled her other arm around him. Seeming more than content to simply enjoy the moment she'd been given with the man she'd been married to for months and had hardly seen.

"Yeah, and?" Clint asks with a crooked grin as he sinks in to give Bobbi another kiss, this one a little more on the promising side. "Nobody said you made good decisions, Bobbi Morse."

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