Darcy/Clint
Why. No, it wasn’t a question. Why the fuck was someone knocking on her door at 3:42 in the morning, according to her phone.
And it wasn’t even, like, normal knocking, either. No, it was angry knocking. Maybe even frantic knocking.
Darcy grabbed her glasses off of the bedside table and slipped from bed. She didn’t even bother with a bathrobe, it was fucking hot and whoever was knocking on her fucking door at stupid o’clock in the morning could just fucking deal with her tank top and panties.
She shuffled through the apartment, increasingly displeased that the knocking didn’t stop at all. Needless to say, she could feel full-on bitchy face when she unlocked her door and pulled it open. “What.”
The man wasn’t even looking at her, instead his head was twisted to look down the hall. He ended up knocking on her head. So she kicked him in the shin. She knew how to kick, too, lead with the front of your foot. Sure, now her foot hurt, but he looked like he was also in a little bit of pain as his blue eyes came back to her.
“Oh, shit.” His eyes moved over her, top to bottom, then back up, shaking his head. Obviously she wasn’t who he was expecting. That was entirely fair, she had no idea who he was, either.
Apparently, it didn’t seem to bother him, though. He pushed past her into her apartment and shut the door, pulling it out of her hands. He locked it securely behind him, stepping forward to keep his eye on the peephole.
“No, by all means, strange man with a quiver- that’s not weird at all by the way. Come on in.” Darcy shook her head. “I’m getting a cup of coffee.”
He didn’t even appear to have heard her, so she just shrugged and turned away from him, shuffling into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee.
He joined her just about when it was done percolating on the counter, a slightly sheepish expression on his face. His hands started flying in front of him, and Darcy forced herself to focus on them.
“I’m sorry. I need to stay here for a while. I’m Clint.” He finger-spelled out his name, then showed her the sign he used. There was a resigned look on his face, like he wasn’t expecting her to know what he was saying.
Darcy finger-spelled her name for him before signing, “Start talking, asshole.” But she poured a cup of coffee for him.