Chapter Text
The day Terry finally asked Clint out started like any other. He woke up half an hour before his alarm was due, too tired to get up and too awake to go back to sleep, and only three strong cups of coffee saved him through the morning. And it also ended like any other, with Brad and Nicole competing with each other for a particularly generous guest, Bridgette and Aaron having to catch their other guests, and Aaron subsequently messing up the orders of five tables while he himself had to explain to Tim why he wouldn't give him a gift card as an apology for his beefsteak tartare being raw, just because Tim had missed the second word on the menu and thought that no one in their right mind would think of serving something like that (in the end he got the gift card, as he always did when Terry got tired of their discussion).
When the last guests had finally left and the staff had joined them as fast as they could, Terry had a quick check on the reservations for the next day while Clint put the last glass in the bar and then scrolled on his phone. As always, Terry was far too aware of his presence and his so-called check turned into a farce, but he was grateful to at least be able to pretend to be busy by looking at the screen. Clint's sigh should have been far too quiet to be noticed at the other end of the room, but of course he heard it anyway.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Clint cocked his head in confusion. “Huh?”
“Your sighing?”
“Oh, no, nothing bad, my bus only just left and the next one isn't due for another twenty minutes.”
"I... I can give you a ride if you want. I've just finished here." A lie. And why was it so damn hard to sound casual, anyway?
"That's nice, but I don't want to keep you. You really deserve to call it a day."
“You too.”
“I didn't have a discussion today with thirteen upset guests whose orders got mixed up, and Tim on top of that,” Clint said, smiling his irresistible smile that always made the butterflies in Terry's stomach do the tango.
“You had to mix drinks on the house for these thirteen guests.”
“That wasn't much of an act.”
As he stood there in the already dimmed light, his tie undone, his vest unbuttoned, his dark blond hair tousled in that skillfully unintentional way, he was the most beautiful man Terry could imagine. One last time, he admonished himself, and then leave it alone. It's bad enough that you're even imagining things that are completely unacceptable. You're not going to become an intrusive stalker now, do you understand?
“It's really no trouble,” he assured him. “I'm just going to fall into bed at home anyway, so a few minutes earlier or later won't make any difference.”
Clint looked at his phone again and sighed a little louder this time. "Okay, the next bus is now also nine minutes late. So if you really don't mind..."
“I don't,” Terry assured him all too quickly.
He switched off the lights and set the alarm, locked the door and pulled down the grille, and then he was finally free to walk side by side with Clint to his car. Clint wore a dark brown leather jacket over his work clothes, his hands were in his pockets and he took a deep breath.
“Always good to be out of the place, ain't it?”
Clint looked at him and a faint grin played around the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he admitted, “I mean, I like my job, but being done is a good feeling every time.”
“I'm off the clock, you know, you don't have to say you like your job anymore.”
Clint laughed, a warm, guttural laugh that went through Terry in the most positive way. “Good, then I just secretly like it.”
“Do you always come by bus?”
"Yes. I don't have a car any more, don't need it that often and it saves money. Sometimes I borrow one, most of the time I just take the bus."
They reached the manager's parking lot at the back of the restaurant. Clint swung himself into the passenger seat of his old Ford with an elegant nonchalance he hadn't imagined this car could provide the stage for. His smell filled Terry's nose as he started the car, a pleasant scent of sandalwood and other spicy ingredients that he was unable to distinguish, but the mixture was intoxicating.
It was only good that Clint was such an excellent smalltalker, because Terry's brain was completely blocked by the unexpected closeness they suddenly shared. He told him about the newest cocktail he was experimenting with and Terry listened and thought it all sounded great, but he probably would have drunk dishwater if it had been from Clint's hand.
“I'd need a few bottles of that Elephant Gin though.”
“Of course, put it on the list,” he said, slowing down at a stoplight. He didn't interfere with Clint's shopping list any more than he did with Joey's and had done very well so far by simply trusting him without question. The guests loved him and everything he created and there were quite a few who only came to Huddy’s because of him. And Terry could hardly blame them.
“You should just ask me, you know?”
Abruptly, Terry tumbled out of his thoughts and into reality, where Clint was looking at him in that calm, restrained smiling way of his.
"What... What do you mean?"
"I'm a bartender. I make my living knowing what people want. Your glances aren't that hard to read."
He turned deep red. It was just fortunate that they had stopped at the traffic light, otherwise he might have crashed the car into the nearest wall.
“I...” don't know what you mean, he had wanted to say, but Clint's knowing look stopped the words in his throat abruptly. The light turned green and he drove on again, focusing on his car for a moment. Finally he said in a low voice, "I'm terribly sorry, I never meant to embarrass you. I know it's incredibly inappropriate, I really do, and I'm working on it. It should never have happened, it's completely unprofessional."
“That's not what I was trying to say, Terry, it really wasn't.”
"I'm your boss. You shouldn't feel under any pressure to be nice to me just because I-"
Clint raised his hands. "I don't, really. I don't mind, I know you'd take no for an answer. You're not the kind of person to use something like that against someone, I'm highly certain of that."
They were silent for a moment while Terry's thoughts ran wild. He was deeply ashamed. He knew Nicole had seen through him, but Nicole was Nicole, she read people like others read magazines. She could have been the best waitress ever if she'd wanted to be, but that would have required a level of courtesy she wasn't willing to show. Strangely, it hadn't bothered him that she knew. But now he wondered with unease if everyone else at Huddy's had noticed too, if he'd been so blatantly obvious, if they were running their mouths about him behind his back. Maybe even with Clint, and the thought made him break out in a cold sweat.
On the other hand, nothing Clint just said had indicated that he wanted to make fun of him. Quite the opposite, in fact, and his stupid heart couldn't help but shoot wild hope towards his brain. His fingers clenched around the steering wheel in an effort to find some clever answer. He was so pathetically bad at these games, always had been.
“What...” he nervously wet his lips, “what would you say if I asked you?”
Clint smirked. "I don't know. You'll just have to do it, then I can tell you."
"Sometimes... Sometimes it's easier to just keep dreaming, you know?"
They had reached Clint's apartment block and he stopped at the sidewalk close to the front door.
“Easier perhaps, but also more unsatisfying, isn't it?” asked Clint.
His voice was so soft, Terry felt as if it drew warm, feathery marks on his skin. He suppressed a pleasant shudder with some difficulty.
"Take care, Terry, see you tomorrow. And thanks for the ride home."
Clint opened the door and got out, walked over to the house. Terry tightened his hands around the steering wheel, trying to think everything through, to be sensible, but when Clint had almost reached the front steps, he jumped out of the car and ran after him.
“Clint?”
Clint turned around and looked at him. The streetlight gleamed in his eyes as he met Terry's. “Yeah?”
"There's a new restaurant just down on the promenade. I hear the bartender is really good. Want to check out the competition?"
Clint blinked in surprise, then suddenly laughed. “Is this business or private?” he asked, looking at him intently.
Terry squirmed. “Private,” he finally managed to say.
He had to look terrible as Clint studied him from top to bottom, sweating, trembling with nervousness. He didn't know where to keep his eyes, let alone his hands, and he stepped from one foot to the other.
Finally Clint released him and it probably hadn't even taken as long as it had seemed to Terry. “Yeah,” he said, “I'd love to.” And he smiled.
Suddenly Terry felt as if the air around him had lightened, as if he must be starting to float. “O... okay,” he stammered.
“Unfortunately I have to work at the weekend, my boss is very strict,” he winked at Terry, “but I'm free on Tuesday evening.”
“Tuesday evening then,” Terry said weakly. "At eight? I'll pick you up?"
“Perfect.” Clint nodded at him, then turned toward the stairs. “Good night,” he said over his shoulder. “I'm really glad you asked.”
Terry was still staring after him when the front door had long closed.
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