Fruity Drinks and Anger

January 16, 2015: Clint and Bobbi catch up at a pig roast on Maui, and booze brings out the anger and regret.

A Beach On Maui




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Mood Music:

Evening on the island. There is no appreciable light pollution to be found anywhere on the islands, so when it gets dark, it gets DARK. As a result, the bonfires' lights dot the islands and luaus are like bar crawls back in the city. One, to the next, to the next. And who else but Agent Clint Barton would find one? Many? Enough to keep him occupied until the early hours of the morning. While the morning hours haven't yet happened, he's in full swing!

Dressed in a light-blue hawaiian shirt and a pair of shorts, barefoot, Hawkeye is looking more tanned and more relaxed than he has in some time. The sun is lightening his hair, the sun is darkening his arms, giving the muscles there more definition. While he's not wearing sunglasses, it looks as if at any moment, he would.

The offer has been extended; doing a run of the outdoor activities may give them a little more of a lead. Any talking, any news might come with the loosening of the tongue via alcohol. And this is where he seems to fit in a little better, rather than rubbing elbows with the scientific community.

With two pineapples in hand, cut, cored and filled with rum (his is missing an umbrella), Clint's returning to a log that has been carved to allow for some seating, front row to a pig that has roasted for the better part of the day.


Bobbi has been mulling over data from the blood and chemistry panels she ran on the trio of victims for two days. She's still waiting for Hill to ok an exploratory mission to the logging sites the men had been working on, to see if something unnatural was occurring there. So when the opportunity to get out of the base camp and get some fruity booze into her came up, she signed on. She may also be feeling a little down after somewhat threatening Kate with dismemberment if the girl should hurt Clint, because that just enforced that she still cares about #2, and being replaced with someone barely out of their teens is painful.

She's wearing board shorts in a pretty teal with plumeria flower graphics on them, and a matching halter-style bikini top. Flip flops. Bobbi is wearing flip flops. She always said she hated them and they only belong on…oh right…the beach. She reaches for the rum drink and mumbles something that might be thanks.


Clint's almost, almost resigned to hear about all the little bits of blood under the microscopes (do they still do that?), but the alcohol might be good enough to forestall. He, himself, has had a day of pretty much no leads. Not that he's expecting any. The point of his cover is that he -can- go anywhere, be anywhere now that he's somewhat established himself. And, most importantly, he's watching their backs so they can do their jobs. That's HIS job, and he does it well.

Taking a seat once she's got the drink, Clint gets as comfortable as he can on a split log and stretches out bare feet. "I don't think they 'clink' pineapples here. Wrong sound. Coconuts would just remind me too much of 'Holy Grail'." So, just a wave and a swallow from his straw.

Immediately, Clint starts coughing. Fruity. Drink. Of course, a couple people look their way as he tries to wave it off. "Oh, god…" and he lowers his voice after, "How do you girls drink this?"


Bobbi tips her pineapple somewhat in his direction to return the toast. She sips hers then eyes his spluttering. "The same way we drink bourbon, or moonshine. Don't be a pussy," she snorts. She settles back against the dugout portion of the log and crosses her feet at the ankles. "At least you haven't been stuck staring at data since yesterday. You got to get out and mingle."

She slurps up the rum and closes her eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the afterimage of all those numbers and letters on the computer screen that only mean something to a biochemist. "Where's your," she looks for an appropriate term that isn't derogatory, "friend tonight?"


Clint makes a face at the fruit and lifts the straw slightly to get more run and less pineapple. That seems to work, at least for the time being. "I've been catching the waves, actually. I'm apparently not too bad of a surfer." Clint's actually been working hard for his cover. He leans briefly to bump, "Could show you. Impress the hell out of you. Iowa boy does good, moves to the City.. and is taking in the waves on the beaches of Maui." The only thing he hasn't yet tried is if he can -shoot- off a board.

That's next.

"Thought you liked numbers? I mean, you really are good at the brilliant scientist by day, suprise the masses in the evening." Bobbi is… well, she's still amazingly attractive, even after all feelings are tossed into the mix.

Brows rise at the question and Clint casts a sideways glance. "She's… somewhere. Only so much island to hide. Unless she's been tossed into Haleakala, she's around. Doing a society thing, or something. Kate does her own thing. A lot. I usually hear about it after the fact. Or if I have to go rescue her."


The pineapple drink is set aside as Bobbi unconsciously begins twining her hair over one shoulder with deft fingers, plaiting it into a thick braid. The dark color doesn't look bad at all on her, but the blonde seems to suit her more. She flits a practiced thousand-watt smile at a pair of surf bums passing by and they almost walk face first into a palm tree as they stare. Yeah, none of them are noticing her hair color anyway.

"Surfing hm? The hearing issue doesn't impair that?" she asks curiously. At least there is plenty of light by the bonfire for him to read her lips. "I always thought it was partly hearing the song of the ocean, but that might just be a metaphor." She can probably surf if she tried. Gymnast after all.

"As for the numbers, I like them fine, but not when I'm in Hawai'i and could be out snorkeling or horseback riding in the sunshine," she points out with a smirk.


Clint sighs as Bobbi puts on the smile and drops his head briefly. Is that a rush of… yeah. Probably is, and something that really isn't good for him right now. No. "Yes, Bobbi. You never lost it." Just in case. Lifting his head he finishes off the drink and sets it the side, only to lock fingers in his lap. "I'm sure those won't be the last ones that'll be captivated by you this trip."

Again, his gaze moves to the side and he nods slowly. "Nah. It's all feel. Or at least it is for me. Like … everything else is for me, I guess. The waters' swells, the whitecaps." Clint shrugs and looks away briefly, "I think it's just more romantic to think of it as 'music' and the 'song'. Of course, that doesn't mean that a Siren won't get my attention." How can Clint not remember the way Bobbi emerged from the ocean only a couple of days ago?"

A chuckle escapes the archer turned surfer, and he bounces his head. "If no one is game for riding, I'll go. Snorkeling, I'll be taking a pass on. Those little fish are living happy lives without my staring at them." There's a moment before he lets out a breath that he wasn't aware he was holding.

"We good? I mean, other than the fact that we're here. Together. With husband #1 that is whining to Kate how much he misses you. And the fact that February is coming up and I'm going to end up barricading myself in the apartment again like I did my birthday."


"I don't know, Clint. I've lost it at least twice," Bobbi retorts, leaning her hands on the edge of the log and leaning forward to watch the waves roll in. She clearly means the failed marriages. "I think you'd like snorkeling, you're on even ground down there with the rest of us land-dwellers. We can't hear much of anything either."

The comment about Hunter gets her to pry her eyes from the setting sun over the ocean to give Clint an incredulous look, complete with raised brow. "Lance is doing what now? What kind of prank is this? He hates me, and I promised to stay out of his way." Hot button issue. "And if you're still getting mopey over Valentine's Day, maybe you shouldn't be dating," she pokes with a grimace. "Because that is not at all fair to that girl you're with."


"We were both stupid, Bobbi. I know that. And you just walked away first is all. I mean, 'really' walked away after I, well, came back. We were a great team, though. Hell, Kate idolizes you, she really does. Almost called herself Hawkingbird. Tried to figure out your moves, even." Clint looks over at the ex and offers a half-smile, "There's a lot there to look up to."

The look Clint gives is pretty much one that he's expecting, obviously, because he nods before she gets anything out. "Yeah. See, Kate looks inoffensive, and apparently your ex is a blabbermouth. He still has it really bad for you, apparently. That's what Kate told me." There's a shrug, but it's not dismissive.

"It's an anniversary, Bobbi. The first this year. Tells me that my private life is pretty much a failure because I was dumb enough to lose someone like you. But Katie? She gets it. Helped pick up the pieces, shoved me out the door when I needed to, and reminded me there were other things that needed my attention. That I just couldn't run and hide for too long."


"Just how long has she been with you?" Bobbi asks. "Because she keeps saying a year, and we haven't been divorced a full year yet." Her eyes narrow a little dangerously, because the math is bothering her there. Numbers are her thing, remember? "And that's pretty unfair, to expect someone that young to be your nursemaid, therapist, and girlfriend. Be a damned man, Clint. Do you love her because she was Florence Nightingale for you? Or because of who she is otherwise?"

"As for Hunter, if he's too much of a coward to tell me he wants another shot at things, then he's too much of a coward for me to be with." Point to Morse there. She's angry. Angry at the world, at both her exes, and at herself right now.


Everything Bobbi is saying, everything, has passed through Clint's head more than once. More than once a day, even. "I don't expect it, Bobbi. Started training her, and she was amazing. Just before I was served, we started working together. Taught her about patrols, how to find the perfect shot. She's gonna be a better archer than I am one day, and I'm really proud of her."

Clint hasn't yet answered the questions yet, however. The word 'love', when brought up, brings his attention back around to that sunset as the sun dips into the ocean, bringing the islands to full darkness. The light of the fires only seems to accentuate how pretty Bobbi is, and he's simply having a hard time looking at her. "We had a long talk about the whole 'girlfriend', 'boyfriend' thing. I'd actually told her once that I didn't want to sleep with her." And he still hasn't. "I find myself either running to ground, or calling her. Or, when she needs help, or is upset, she's usually coming at me with it. First. We're…" Clint's hands begin to bounce and his fingers still remain entwined, "I dunno. Best friends? And yeah. I get it. She's young. People think I'm her dad when we go out anywhere. I have a shot at looking like a date when she gets a 'plus one' invite."

Clint pauses, and brows rise, "You thinking of giving him another shot? If he did, that is?" There may have been hope for him six months ago, then…?


"I didn't say that," Bobbi backpedals faster than a jackrabbit on an elliptical machine. "I said if I was open to it, he'd have to man up. I am not interested in being someone's mother, or therapist, or nursemaid. Not anymore. Because it never lasts, Clint. Once you patch them up, they stop needing you and then they get bored. Or they stop believing you don't have an agenda for being with them."

She shakes her head and drains the drink rapid-fire through the straw. "Screw that. I'm not a repair person anymore. If someone wants to be with me, they can fix their own issues first. I have better things to do than invest my time in someone who will take it all for granted." Ouch.


"Or they're grateful enough to know that they couldn't have done it alone," Clint adds. "Without being dependant." But he's one to talk? He's been dying to check his cell to see if Kate's texted to give him an update. On anything. But no familiar *bzzz* in his pocket, so he's left guessing.

"All told, though, I'm trying. It's the best I can do, and it's good enough so far. I don't know what it is she sees in me, frankly. She could pretty much have anyone. Just like you." Clint shrugs again, and begins to rise, but he's not leaving the conversation. He's hoping for some of that pig! "You want some of that?" and he gestures towards the crispy-skinned porcine. "It's been a long time since I had meat right off a pig." Clint. Farm.


Bobbi shakes her head. "No, I think I'm going to go hit the bar at the hotel over there for a bit. I need to stop thinking for a change, before I ruin the only pleasant tropical assignment I've gotten in ages." By killing things she shouldn't kill perhaps. "You go hog wild." Ah the bad puns, a step back in the Mockingbird's direction. She rises and dusts off her board shorts.


Bobbi's gentle refusal gains something of a chuckle. "Don't go running off with those scientific types. They'll bore the hell out of you." Clint stands a moment, just looking at her before he exhales in a sigh, and signs, the second time he's said it tonight? 'I'm sorry.' Now, he turns his back and starts for the boar's side, grabbing a coconut bowl and tossing stuff into it. What the rest of the stuff is, who knows? But, it's a vacation. For the most part.

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