#arrowloosed

[mknbrd]

the one with the jacket over the shoulders. but it's from clint. and i'm lazy. and you love me.

she's cold, and she hates being cold. clint knows this. clint's been intimately acquainted with bobbi complaining about being cold, being cranky about being cold, not wanting to leave the house about being cold for the better part of a decade.

she hates being cold more now. it reminds her too much of the skrull planet, of struggling to keep her fingers warm, of cold, clinical rooms and green men — she can deal, but she's decidedly unhappy about life right now.

the nice thing about clint knowing how much she hates being cold is that he doesn't need to do much beyond look at her. the jacket's off his body in a moment, slung over her shoulders. he goes a step further too, stutters his step to take her bag from her so she can slide her arms into it, and then takes it upon himself to zip her into it.

bobbi loves him. bobbi loves him so much she doesn't know what to do with it. she doesn't know how to say this, though — but he knows. she reaches out, hooks her pinky through his, swings it a little as they keep walking, and feels decidedly less cranky about life.

[mknbrd]

‘  come back to me. forgive me. i love you.  ’

the words steal the breath right out of her chest. the words leave her throat. there's a difference, isn't there, between knowing something to be an unmistakable truth, and being presented with that information in a way that demands some sort of action from her.

the truth, one she's known even when they were at the worst versions of themselves— clint barton loves her. he always has. she thinks he always will.

the presentation, one that comes when she's not sure what they are, but she knows that she loves him too, and her life looks better when he's a part of it— clint metaphorically on his knees before her, and, she thinks, asking for another chance.

practically, she got shot four times two days ago, and has been declared good to go home— super soldier, after all— but not okay to be by herself. and he's still her emergency contact (who again, loves her very much)— is great at picking up takeout orders when she doesn't have the energy to cook, and wouldn't know how to leave her by herself if he tried. so they're laid out in her bed with chinese food between them and top model reruns on tv, and she's not sure how they got here, but they did.

" baby, " bobbi says, a little hoarse from the dozing she's been doing all afternoon, and the amount of super-soldier strength painkillers she's on. she can't tell if she'd just scared him, or if he's serious. or both. bobbi's not sure what idea scares her the most.

she rolls onto her side a little, as much as she can. tucks her arm underneath her head. " baby, what are you asking me ? "

[mknbrd]

‘  do you want me to get married?  ’

she opens her mouth, closes it again. does that a few more times. because the thing is— no, she doesn't want clint to get married. but she's not supposed to say that, is she? because she doesn't want clint to get married, but she also isn't sure what she wants from clint, either. he's the guy. he's her guy. but that doesn't mean she's got some sort of claim over him, even though she feels like she should. they're not together anymore. and they haven't been in a long, long time.

" i want... " a breath. this isn't an if i can't have you, no one else should thing. it's something else. yes, i want you to get married is a lie. but she can get out of this without lying. " i want you to be happy. "

[mknbrd]

‘  how does someone as brilliant, as accomplished as you, not know what you are, who you are?  ’

she’s drunk, and she thinks she’s earned it. it’s been a rough few days of digging through her dead dad’s files that got leaked onto the internet, and she’s left with more questions than she had before. see, at least she used to get to think that he just left. that he didn’t want her, or her brother, or her mom. and she could take that, him just being a bad dad.

this— robert morse, shield special service, agent 97. MIA, 1996. it hurts her chest to think about. maybe he did love her, maybe he just got lost. maybe he’s still alive. maybe he’s got a whole different life. the possibilities swirl around and around in her head, and the only person she thinks could answer her questions is in the wind with an eyepatch and his general shifty demeanor. there’s no shield, there’s no fury, there’s no dad, there’s no answers.

“ i never… i never did anything with him in mind. it was always for me. and now, i just— i don’t know. ” bobbi purses her lips, sits back into the couch with a fresh glass of vodka. she throws that back, closes her eyes. she grins, something a little self pitying. “ if you’re gonna tell me that i’m the nepo baby, trust me, i’ve already told myself that joke twice today. ”

[mknbrd]

" i think — i wanna take frankie to san diego, for a bit. " a vacation. she needs a vacation. and she thinks frankie would like that beach. and frankie's seen iowa, and the countryside, but he hasn't seen where she comes from, and — it's important to her in a way that bobbi can't explain. " is that... is that alright with you ? " / @arrowloosed

[mknbrd]

“you gotta milk the shit outta that cow.” arrowloosed

here's the thing. she'd be more than happy to milk the shit out of the cow. if it were a proverbial cow with some life lesson about never giving up, she'd do it. but no, she's on a literal farm, with a literal fucking cow, and she can't remember the last time she's felt this cold and distraught in her life. and to be clear, she's including all of the times she's been dead, dying, and close to death.

" this isn't what i meant when i said i needed to be in the country for a few days, and you know it. " she's not a farm person, and clint knows this. the most she's gotten to enjoying non-city living is lighting her own bonfires to make hot dogs with. " can we please go back inside ? i'll make grilled cheeses. "

[mknbrd]

"how many times do i have to save your ass?" arrowloosed

she's trying to laugh about it — really, she is, but her body hurts, and she hasn't seen a bed in the better part of a month, and even the relief of clint and a quinjet pulling her out of the savage lands isn't quite enough to let her give more than a little amused huff of air into the curve of clint's neck.

safe, her brain screams at her, because he's got her, even when she's in a torn up suit, covered in mud, and blood, and dried blood, and bumps, and bruises, and her hair's a mess. they both know the answer, so it's not like it bears saying — clint barton will come rescue bobbi morse until the day it physically kills him.

instead, bobbi adjusts the way she's curled into clint's lap a bit, in the back corner of the quinjet that's somewhere over eastern europe, if her sense of space and time is still intact — it might not be — so her bum ankle's up a bit higher, and puts the tip of her finger to the arm he's got slung over her thigh. i love you, she traces, in lazy, loose letters, because that is true. i love you. i love you. i love you.

and then, in the middle of her fifth i love you, another thought. bobbi opens her mouth, and it's dry and cracked, and her words come out rougher than she'd hoped they would. " y'got a change of clothes in here ? "

[mknbrd]

oh my god , you look like crap clint/arrowloosed

" that's so kind. really. " she's almost smiling from her spot, buried under the duvet because she's cold, but with the fan up on high, because she's warm, and the heat on, because she's cold. she feels like a mess, and she knows clint's not lying. at least this part of their relationship hasn't deteriorated — at least the easy back and forth is still there, when they're not floating around the house trying to redefine whatever it is they are now. exes with a kid on the way is the closest bobbi can come to defining it, but it feels a million times deeper than that. but she's been up all night with a migraine and now her body feels like a bit of a mess, so she's not gonna dwell on that for too long.

instead, bobbi rolls onto her side to face the door — lifts her hands to sign with bleary eyes, because it's easier than trying to make her voice keep happening. " will you get me a banana with peanut butter ? " and then, another thought. " and some popcorn, with M&Ms in it. and some juice. " / @arrowloosed