It begins, as too many things in his life do, with Dog Cops.
“How could they write off Sergeant Whiskers, Kate?” Clint despairs, flung over her couch in blatant distress. “He was just about to become a lieutenant!”
It’s late, and the stars wink through Kate’s enormous plate glass windows. “Clint,” she says without looking up from her phone, “Go home.”
Clint pulls his arm off his eyes so he can stare mournfully across the couch. “You’re kicking me out?” he protests. “In my time of need?”
Outside, the wind sweeps crisp leaves into his path, giving him multiple opportunities to stomp his frustrations out as he leaves Midtown and treks endlessly east to Bed-Stuy. He thinks the 45 minute commute will be enough time for him to work it all out of his system, but he gets home and still feels it jittering in his palms like captured lightning. Drinking coffee doesn’t help. Walking Lucky around the block doesn’t help. Lying on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling, and listening to the endless wailing of the radio’s Journey power hour doesn’t help.
And so it’s 1 in the morning and Clint’s eyes are tracing every seam of wood in every exposed beams of his loft when the power hour ends and a new program starts up. “You’re listening to WSHL, The Shield,” says the host. Her voice is like honey, pouring out of his clock radio’s shitty speakers in a thick golden wave. “I’m your host, Natasha, and this is Insomniacs Anonymous. If you’ve made it past Delilah and you still can’t sleep, call in, chat with me, and keep your fellow insomniacs company.” Continues here on AO3! (Sorry, it got long...)
FILL fic: and at night be warm (PG)
“How could they write off Sergeant Whiskers, Kate?” Clint despairs, flung over her couch in blatant distress. “He was just about to become a lieutenant!”
It’s late, and the stars wink through Kate’s enormous plate glass windows. “Clint,” she says without looking up from her phone, “Go home.”
Clint pulls his arm off his eyes so he can stare mournfully across the couch. “You’re kicking me out?” he protests. “In my time of need?”
Outside, the wind sweeps crisp leaves into his path, giving him multiple opportunities to stomp his frustrations out as he leaves Midtown and treks endlessly east to Bed-Stuy. He thinks the 45 minute commute will be enough time for him to work it all out of his system, but he gets home and still feels it jittering in his palms like captured lightning. Drinking coffee doesn’t help. Walking Lucky around the block doesn’t help. Lying on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling, and listening to the endless wailing of the radio’s Journey power hour doesn’t help.
And so it’s 1 in the morning and Clint’s eyes are tracing every seam of wood in every exposed beams of his loft when the power hour ends and a new program starts up. “You’re listening to WSHL, The Shield,” says the host. Her voice is like honey, pouring out of his clock radio’s shitty speakers in a thick golden wave. “I’m your host, Natasha, and this is Insomniacs Anonymous. If you’ve made it past Delilah and you still can’t sleep, call in, chat with me, and keep your fellow insomniacs company.” Continues here on AO3! (Sorry, it got long...)