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“Clint, no, put that back.”
“But Kate, it’s organic, I only eat organic.”
Kate arches an eyebrow. “You’re joking, right? Did Stark tell you that?” She reaches down two shelves and shoves a can of pre-ground Folgers into his hands. “This is what you eat. Almost exclusively, really,” she adds, tossing some instant coffee into the cart just in case.
They meander through the aisles, trying to compromise on food between what this Clint wants and what Kate knows non-amnesia Clint would appreciate. They end up on the beer aisle and Clint looks longingly at the twenty-four pack of his favorite beer and Kate can’t help but laugh. At least some things haven’t changed.
He hasn’t been on his feet for this long since the accident (the accident that is so classified even Kate, his appointed caregiver by SHIELD, doesn’t get to know about) and after lifting the beer and heaving it into the cart she has to grab his forearms to steady him.
“Easy, boss,” Kate says, moving his hands to the cart instead, “how about you push for a while.”
They both ignore the fact that Kate’s hands seemed to linger and she pushes the feel of his bare skin from her mind. Maybe it’s a sign that his memories got temporarily wiped only a few weeks after their impromptu and very very brief makeout session in her kitchen before Christmas. They didn’t even get a chance to talk about it, really, as soon as Teddy managed to stutter a response Clint left her house with a (discreet) kiss to her forehead and said that they’d talk, but he was basically abducted by SHIELD a week later for the mission that caused his memory loss in the first place.
He gives his best hello there grin to a woman in the produce section, and Kate tries (and fails) to be uninterested in the outcome. She looks to be in her early thirties and Kate watches how his easy smile makes the woman blush and how her eyes flash from flirty to confused to scandalized when Kate approaches, tugging Clint’s arm in the direction of the checkout. She locks eyes with the woman who just shakes her head at them, like they’re breaking some law shopping together.
She can tell Clint’s confused by the abruptness of the woman’s change in mood and Kate tries not to feel triumphant. It isn’t that she’s happy at Clint’s confusion, it’s that finally someone can see that she isn’t his kid sister or his daughter because people have actually assumed that before and it’s just...gross.
When they get back to Clint’s place it takes two trips from the taxi to bring up the groceries and Kate wonders if this is the most food that’s ever been kept in Clint’s house, ever. Lucky shoves his nose into each paper bag, sniffing deeply to see if there’s anything for him, and once he’s found the rawhide bone and given Kate the all clear she starts putting everything away.
“Why are you doing this for me? Do we live together?” Kate watches Clint on the couch as his face contorts into various stages of self-loathing and disbelief at the idea of them being together-together and she tries not to let it bother her too much. Did before-Clint feel like that, too?
“Because, you’re…” Kate can’t find the word for what he’s supposed to be to her, she hasn’t actually gotten around to explaining the whole Hawkeye thing, since the doctors said that his memories should begin to come back in a couple days at the latest and she doesn’t really see the point in confusing him even more. The idea of explaining Hawkeye and Ronin and why she’s Hawkeye, too just seems like too much.
“Because you’re Clint and I’m Kate, and this is just what we do. We take care of each other.”
Clint watches her put away the groceries from the couch and lets Lucky flop down in the seat next to him.
“But we’re not...whatever, right?” he doesn’t say the word but he makes that stupid face again, like the idea of being with her is so disgustingly wrong, which enough to clue her in.
Kate wonders why Clint seems so concerned with them being together. Can he feel the tension? Is there tension? Does everything feel too domestic for their relationship to be platonic? She shakes her head. Dummy. Grocery shopping isn’t exclusively done with significant others.
“No, we’re not whatever-ing,” she answers, shoving the old takeout containers into the trash can before turning around to grab more from the bags. Out of the corner of her eye she sees him deflate a little when she slams the fridge door hard enough that the beer bottles jingle and Kate immediately feels guilty. It would be different if it was her Clint, but this Clint is a master at the lost puppy look and it’s not really his fault she’s so frustrated with this situation.
“It’s my birthday in three weeks. I’m going to be twenty-one.” Okay so maybe that wasn’t the best segue but judging from the shock on Clint’s face it seems to work.
When his eyebrows make their way back to Earth he speaks, “You don’t look that old.”
She shrugs in agreement, “I guess I’ll be happy with that fact later, but I still get carded at the movie theater. It’s not cool,” Kate rolls her eyes, finally finished with the groceries and kicks the empty paper bags under his sink. “Come on, help me put sheets on your bed, I know you’ve been determined to keep your bedroom looking like it belongs to a broke college student, but I’m sure this organic coffee loving you would appreciate something on that raggedy ass mattress.”
“God…” is all Clint says when he walks into his room. Kate can’t really blame him, it’s not that it’s dirty, really, for it to be dirty his room would require things. His bed has a frame, which is a new addition since the last time Kate was in here, his dresser is nice, but he’s still using one of his cardboard boxes as a glorified bedside table.
“Where do you think I keep sheets? Do you think I even have any?” Clint rubs at the back of his head, “Ugh, how is it possible that I’m getting second hand embarrassment for myself?”
“They’re in here,” Kate says from inside his closet and for a moment she’s surrounded by the smell of him. Even his clean clothes, (and Kate is sure they’re clean, she’s the one who pulled them from the dryer) smell like Clint, like wood polish and leather and that stupid cologne that came in a gift basket from an event where he worked a security detail - “Freelance comes with perks, Katie-Kate” he had said when they opened the package months ago.
When she comes back out, judging from the look on Clint’s face, she was either gone for way too long or he’s forgotten what he’s doing here.
“Purple?” He asks, gesturing to the sheets in her arms, “Why purple?”
Kate laughs and drops a sheet to the floor, “We’ve all been asking you that for years, Bossman. Here,” she stands on one side of the bed and flicks the fitted sheet towards Clint, “Help, please.”
The sheets go on in relative silence, even without his memories his body remembers her and they work together flawlessly.
“You’re going to be twenty-one soon?” Clint asks again, like he still can’t believe it.
Kate throws his comforter (also purple) over the sheets, fluffing the pillows as she goes. “Yep.”
“Are you going to have a party?”
“Yeah, well, my sister is throwing me one, but I’m sure it’ll be fancy and boring, and none of my friends will be invited...it’s not like I can exactly have a twenty-one run.”
“What? Why?” Clint asks, looking up from smoothing out the comforter and Kate tries not to let her eyes linger on his hands against the purple cotton.
Oh, right. Another thing Kate has decided to forego explaining. She settles with, “it’s a long story,” which surprisingly, he seems to accept without question.
“You were going to take me out though, or you said you would. Some pub or something, here in Bed-Stuy,” she probes, watching to see if he makes the I’m-too-old-for-this-girl-face but it doesn’t happen. Maybe the fact that she can almost drink alcohol legally has calmed his nerves.
He asks more questions instead. “Your sister, do I know her? Is that how we met?”
Kate laughs at the absurdity and almost can’t stop. When she looks up at Clint he gives her a sheepish grin and shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Hey, give me a break, you’re the one who won’t tell me about my life,”
She plops down onto the bed, ruining all the pillows she had fluffed up a moment ago.
Her hair spreads out across the pillowcase and she can see the way his eyes lose focus and his pupils dilate. She licks her lips and rolls to her side, patting the space next to her before tucking her arm tight against her chest. It takes him a moment before he complies, toeing off his shoes and settling down on the other side of the bed.
“You sure we’re not dating?” He asks again like he doesn’t believe it and makes a point of maintaining a good distance between them.
“Yes, doofus.”
His brows furrow. “Then how did you know where I kept the sheets?”
She smiles and nudges his leg with her toes. “I was with you the day we bought them. Apparently you couldn’t find the time to actually put them on the bed, though.”
They’re quiet for a while, and surprisingly, his bed is actually pretty nice and Kate’s eyes close without her explicit say so.
“You tired?” Clint’s voice is gravely, like it was when he first woke up in that hospital room, when he couldn’t remember Kate’s name at all, and the fear she felt then floods back like it’s brand new and her eyes sting.
“No,” Kate says, forcing herself to cut it out, and blinking rapidly in hopes of clearing away whatever lingering feelings caused her mini freak out. “Your bed is just really comfortable.”
Clint barks a laugh at that, stretching out on his back and raising his arms above his head. Kate watches as his shirt rises with his arms, exposing the trail of dark blond hair leading from his bellybutton and disappearing under his jeans. She looks up to find Clint staring at her with a peculiar sort of look on his face, definitely wary, but Kate swears he seems a little curious, too.
She fights off the blush, swears to herself she is not like that lady at the grocery store and meets his gaze without blinking.
He shifts a little, rubbing at the stubble on his cheek before running his fingers through his hair. The corners of his mouth turn up when he speaks, “You know that feeling you get when you know you’re forgetting something but you can’t figure out what it is?”
Kate laughs and slips her toes under his leg, “Yeah, about that. Clint, I’m pretty sure that’s just your amnesia.”
Clint rolls his eyes in a way that’s almost disturbingly similar to how Kate does it herself and says, “hah-hah, Katie-Kate, but this is different than that.”
“Oh yeah? How so?”
He sighs and turns back onto his side, lifting her feet from under his calf and holding them between his hands. “Jesus, your feet are like ice cubes.”
Kate’s brow furrows, “Don’t change the subject.”
He pauses for a moment, and instead concentrates on running his hands from the arches of her feet up her calves massaging lightly as he goes. Kate tries not to groan out loud. “I don’t know how it’s different. It just feels like something else. I know what it feels like to not know why my dog’s collar says Arrow even though his name is apparently Lucky, and this doesn’t feel like that.”
Kate watches as he frowns in frustration and it takes all her strength not to lean forward and kiss him. “Well, let’s figure this out. What do you even remember?”
Clint drops her legs like they’re on fire. He shifts and fiddles with the medical bracelet still on his wrist, so obviously avoiding her eyes it’s almost funny. Except that it’s not.
“Clint, what is it?”
Is he blushing? No way. laughter bubbles from her mouth before she can stop it, and in seconds it verges on almost hysterical.
“Forget it,” he says, scooting closer to the edge of the bed and she tries not to feel hurt at the distance he put between them. Kate doesn’t push him. He’s still not looking at her ten minutes later but the silence is still comfortable and Kate’s eyes slip closed waiting for him to speak.
Clint’s hand on her shoulder wakes her up when she didn’t even realize she had fallen asleep. Her eyes open and his face is inches from hers, peering at her with a fondness she hasn’t seen since before.
She smiles. “Hi. How long was I out?” Clint shrugs and squeezes her shoulder like he’s missed her.
“Not long,” he says and his eyes drop to her lips.
Kate tenses, remembering the way he did that when they were standing outside her apartment, and tries not to hope his memories have come back. His hand moves up from her shoulder to cup her cheek, his thumb dragging gently from the corner of her mouth to the middle of her lower lip.
“Drool,” Clint says, wiping his hand on the side of his pants.
She props her head up on her elbow and feels her fingers itch to run through his hair. It’s fluffy and clean and the cowlick on the side of his head looks like it did when Teddy walked in on them. Kate exhales with a shuddering laugh, rubbing over her mouth with the back of her hand in a far less sexual manner than Clint had just done and tucks it against her chest.
“Is that why you woke me up? Don’t want me drooling all over your brand new sheets?” she asks with a smile, nudging his shin with her toes again.
“You can drool on anything you want, Katie-Kate, but your phone just went off in the living room.”
“That’s gross, Clint,” Kate looks around his room for a clock, of course he doesn’t have one, and all but rolls off his bed to get her phone from the living room.
The text is from Billy and he wants to know if she’s coming home tonight.
Kate types out her answer as she leans against the door frame into Clint’s room. She glances over to the bed at Clint to find Lucky poking his nose into the crook of Clint’s neck and licking. How has Kate’s life progressed to where she’s jealous of a dog?
“You think you’re okay alone for the night?” she asks, telling herself it’s because he might need her and fighting the feeling in her chest that tells her she’s missed him, even if this Clint isn’t exactly who left her in her apartment before Christmas.
Clint rolls his eyes and Kate tucks her phone into her back pocket. “Yeah, Kate. I’m not completely helpless, you know, I just don’t know who I am.” He shrugs with a grin, “no big deal.”
Kate rolls her eyes, “Fine, fine. My number is in your cell phone if you need me. I’ll stop by tomorrow some time.”
“Why do I feel like my parents are leaving me alone in the house for the first time?”
“Just try to eat at least one green thing tonight, okay?” she says, pushing off the door frame with her shoulder and grabbing her purse from the couch in the livingroom. She hears Clint call out good bye from the bedroom as she locks the door behind her.
---
Clint wakes up entirely too early the next morning when the sun sneaks through the open slats in his blinds and he kicks the blankets off the bed just because he can. It doesn’t feel like his house, and judging from the way he found his bedroom when he and Kate put the sheets on the bed he probably doesn’t care where the blanket ends up, anyway. The thing about this kind of memory loss is that Clint feels like himself, just not like Clint Barton. He rolls over onto his stomach and is determined to shut the blinds without getting up off the bed. He ends up with one hand braced on the cold wood floor and more than half his body hanging off the bed. He probably won’t be able to get back to sleep after this, but at least he can say he’s a man of conviction.
When Kate comes back to the apartment, it’s 12:30 in the afternoon and he’s still in boxers and the same t-shirt from yesterday. He really shouldn’t be surprised that she lets herself in with her own key, but he was hoping she’d knock or something so he’d have enough time to at least look like he’s got this whole being Clint Barton thing under control.
He grumbles something with the same sentiment out loud, but Kate reassures him that he tends to live on the brink of minor disaster even with all his memories.
At least he’s cooking something, and judging from the look on Kate’s face when she turns back from hanging her jacket and scarf on an empty bar stool, it’s definitely a surprise.
“I take it you don’t remember anything new, then?” Kate asks, hopping up onto the counter next to the stove.
“I’m making pancakes. Do I not make pancakes?”
Kate takes quick, short sips from his coffee mug, “I’ve never seen you make pancakes, but it’s clear you know how.”
“Is that a compliment, Katie?” Clint flips a pancake over as he looks up to grin at her and mumbles an “aww, pancake, no...” when it folds in half instead of landing cleanly in the pan.
He feels her tense next to him, the air suddenly thick and when he glances up at her she’s looking at him like he’s given her some sort of gift. There’s a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there seconds ago and he has no idea what he did. Her hands grip the edge of the counter as she leans forward, never breaking eye contact. Clint watches as her eyes dance across his face, her lips part in an almost gasp and then she asks, “What did you say?” like it holds the key to his memory loss. He doesn’t repeat it, she knows what he said, and she laughs and squeezes his bicep affectionately without elaboration.
They spend the rest of the day watching the entire first season of Dog Cops and eating pancakes. When Kate falls asleep with her head in his lap and his hand buried in her hair Clint tells himself that it’s logical to stay where he is, and maneuvering them on the couch so her back is pressed against his torso, albeit a little more snug that entirely appropriate, is fine and Katie would be pissed if he woke her up, anyway.
----
Clint noticed his own personal archery range thirty-five minutes after setting foot in his apartment, but he doesn’t ask Kate about it until two days have past and his memories still aren’t back. Instead of explaining why she just asks him if he wants to spend some time with a bow in his hand and his instincts tells him to say yes, so why not.
He isn’t surprised when his bow fits in his hand like it was born there, or when he figures out he can easily shoot three arrows at once and make them count like it’s second nature. He is surprised, however, when he feels his mouth go dry watching Kate practice next to him. She moves with the precision and confidence of a professional, with grace and joy that make it clear she loves what she’s doing. It’s not supposed to be sexy, but her hand wraps around the smooth wood of the bow, her back muscles tighten and lock, and when the five arrows she shoots hit their targets with satisfying thunks, she’s the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. Forgotten memories included, he’s sure of it.
She sighs and rotates one shoulder at a time before leaning her bow against the wall. She pulls her shirt up to her face to wipe sweat away, seemingly careless whether or not Clint watches and he tries not to groan out loud. It’s almost ridiculous how good those jeans look on her, or how flat her stomach is, and he can’t help but wonder if this is what she looks like after sex; rosy cheeked, bright eyed, strands of hair sticking to her temples. When his eyes make it back to her face she tugs her gloves off with her teeth and tosses them next to her bow as if she didn’t just catch him looking at her like he was contemplating her after-sex appearance.
“You wanna get pizza or something?” She asks with a smile and cheeks pink from exertion.
“Yeah, sure,” Clint shrugs and refolds his bow without taking his eyes off her, slides it into its case and winces when his knees pop as he stands.
“Getting close to retirement, huh bossman?”
“You wish, girly-girl,” Clint answers. He isn’t quite sure why Kate would wish that, or why it was what came out of his mouth, but when Kate winds her arms around his waist in a quick hug he swears he feels her lips against his chest, so he must have said something right.
----
It’s been six days, Clint still has no memories of his past and he can see the anxiety in Kate’s eyes every time she comes to check up on him and finds no difference. Maybe it should be annoying, having a twenty year old coming over every day to make sure he hasn’t died or isn’t eating exclusively from one food group, but it’s nice. She’s funny and smart and doesn’t take any of his bullshit, even his but I’m amnesia-ed excuses fall to deaf ears. He likes Kate, even when she drinks all his coffee and insists on making sure he puts his clothes in the dryer directly after they’ve finished in the wash - “because mildew, Clint”.
He checks the clock, it’s 3:45 and Katie’s last class ended almost two hours ago but she still hasn’t walked through his front door. He’s been checking the clock every few minutes for the past hour and even Lucky can feel his anxiety. By the time he hears the door knob jiggle and a key slip through the lock it’s 4:37 and Clint is actually pacing back and forth in front of his kitchen island.
The person that walks through the door, however, is not Kate.
“Hey, sorry, I know I’m not who you were expecting. Kate’s got like two gigantic essays due tomorrow that she hasn’t started...I’m Billy.”
Clint nods his head in acquaintance and tries not to feel too weird about Kate having homework.
“Are you her brother?,” he asks, which is a fair question - he’s young, Katie-young, with black hair like Kate’s and blue eyes like Kate’s, but then Clint stutters out an, “Or are you her boyfriend?” before he can really stop it and it isn’t his business at all.
Billy laughs at that, giving him the most disbelieving side-eye and shakes his head no.
“Neither,” he adds, “just a friend, and Kate seemed determined that someone come over and check on you, so here I am.”
“Oh, got it.” Clint says and tries to shake of the simultaneous elation he felt when Billy said he wasn’t Kate’s boyfriend and the guilt that washed over him for being so happy about something that definitely shouldn’t concern him.
“Are you okay?” Katie’s not-boyfriend asks.
“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry, I still know how to use the oven so I won’t burn the building down and I had some lettuce today on a sandwich, so you can tell Katie to rest easy.”
He laughs. “Sounds good, but you can tell her yourself. She’ll be over later, she just figured you’d want to know it would be later tonight. Oh, and she also says to charge your cellphone or die.”
Clint winces as he fishes out the phone from his back pocket and plugs it into its charger in the kitchen.
“Hey can I ask you something?” and Clint barrels on without waiting for a yes or no. “Does Kate have a boyfriend? Not that it matters, or anything. Just...she...Kate and me, we’re not..you know...we’re just friends? Do you know if she...or if I...” Clint makes a face but tries to recover. “It’s just...I’m 33 and she’s 20 and I can’t figure out how we met, I haven’t even tried to think about why she’s the one in charge of checking up on me.”
Kate’s not-boyfriend shifts on his feet and hitches his backpack higher up on his shoulder. He fiddles with Katie’s old coffee cup she left on the counter from yesterday and avoids Clint’s eyes while he speaks.
“I dunno man...you should probably talk to Kate about it. I don’t really want her to get mad at me.”
Clint grimaces but understands, even in the past few days of spending time with Kate he’s noted that getting on her bad side, even for a few hours is something to avoid. Clint watches with jealousy as Lucky wanders into his bedroom, clearly trying to avoid the cloud of awkward that just settled over the living room.
“‘Charge your phone or die’ she says, I get it. Thanks anyway, man.” Clint tries with a quick chuckle.
Billy smiles apologetically and checks his watch. “Hey, I’ve got class in a bit so I’ve got to head out, but I’m glad you’re alive and able to use the oven. I’m sure you’ll have a billion texts from Kate when your phone charges. See you around.”
Clint gives a little wave and waits until the door locks before he collapses onto his couch. Billy did seem a little hesitant to give him a solid answer, but that definitely doesn’t mean that Kate’s interested. It shouldn’t be too hard, that’s what Clint has been telling himself since that night they fell asleep watching Dog Cops. Regardless of whether or not their relationship edges past platonic he should be able to keep his hands to himself until his memories come back. His impulse control may be a little lacking, but it’s been six days since he’s left the hospital. Six days that Kate has been at his apartment. Two nights where she’s slept over. True, this might be typical behavior for them, but Clint’s instincts, the same ones that told him how to hold his bow, are saying he’s missing part of the puzzle.
It’s frustrating and impossible to correct without talking to Kate, but Clint decides to leave it for another day.
-----
It’s way past midnight and they’re watching an old Zatoichi film when Kate slips her hand into his like it’s nothing. She doesn’t take her eyes off the tv and Clint tells himself it is nothing. It’s hand-holding, get it together, Barton. But Clint can’t get his heart to stop pounding. Fighting the urge to kiss her from the moment he woke up in the hospital had been a constant battle, but it’s been eight days now and it’s just getting harder. Her thumb is tracing each of his calluses and the smell of her shampoo has been haunting him since she plopped down on his bed and patted the space next to her. He can’t take it anymore.
“Hey, Kate?”
She looks up at him with a sleepy smile on her face and rests her chin on his shoulder for a moment, her nose grazing his neck.
“Yeah?” She asks and turns her head to keep her eyes on the screen, her breath ghosting across his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“I don’t get it,” It’s not the most eloquent thing he’s said, but she’s pressed up against him now in a way that has the weight of her breast resting on his bicep and it is not helping his concentration.
“Don’t get what?” she asks, still watching the movie and now tracing the length of his fingers with her thumb.
“Why we aren’t a thing.”
She drops his hand then. She shifts over on the couch so she’s upright and facing him, her back pressed against the armrest and her legs on the cushion crossed in front of her.
“What?”
Oh, God. From the look on her face Clint immediately regrets bringing it up at all. He probably should have waited until tomorrow when they both weren’t so sleepy and they were wearing something a little more serious than old pajamas.
He runs his fingers through the hair on the back of his head, “I just...I...doesn’t this feel weird to you? Is this how you are with all your friends? Do you watch movies with them and sleep over and wear their clothes and hold their hands, Jesus, Kate...we cuddle.” Clint immediately winces, all the reasons that in his head seemed conclusive and absolute suddenly feel childish when he hears them out loud.
Kate picks at the drawstring of her (his) hoodie and shrugs, but her cheeks tint a light pink.
“Hey,” Clint starts, squeezing Kate’s ankle gently, waiting until she meets his eyes again. “I know our relationship is complicated - in a good way - but no one’s been able to explain it to me, Katie. And I get that in the beginning it didn’t really seem worth it, because my memories were supposed to come back soon, right? But it’s been eight days and 13 hours and I don't feel like there’s going to be some rush of memories any time soon, so I think it’s time for the answers now.”
For the first time Clint can remember Kate looks a little scared.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” she sighs, “A 33 year old hanging out with a 20 year old? Like this?” She gestures to the two of them, his hand still wrapped around her leg, his thumb rubbing soft circles in the space under her ankle bone.
Clint takes a deep breath. It should be weird. But the thing is, as strange as Clint feels, it isn’t. It’s the most acute kind of torture, because she says they’re not dating or a thing or anything other than partners and Clint feels like he has to stop himself from thinking things that might ruin them.
Things like when Kate presses against him on the couch while they’re watching TV and he imagines how she’d feel if she was on top of him instead. Or when they’re shooting and little beads of sweat accumulate at the hollow of her throat and he has to use every bit of willpower not to imagine the taste of her skin or the sigh she’d make at his touch.
All of this is on the tip of his tongue when Kate jumps in before he can finish.
“Look, you told me you didn’t want to sleep with me,” she says, and she sighs it, like she’s reluctant, like it’s something she never wanted to hear again out loud. Like saying it again doubles the sentiment.
Clint blanches. So they did broach the subject at least once before. But he sees the way Kate tucks her bottom lip under her teeth when she tells him, and his instincts scream that that isn’t the end of the story.
Before he can press her for more information Kate stands. “This was stupid. I should go.”
She grabs her purse from the floor and shoves her shoes on without retying them.
“Katie, you can’t leave, it’s like 3 in the morning,”
Her head shoots up from where she was digging through her purse for her phone and her eyes are hard when she says, “I can do whatever I want, I’m an adult,” she’s halfway out the door when she spits back at him, “and you’re definitely not in charge of anything.”
The door slams before he can form a response and maybe it’s a sign of how hopeless Clint is, but the word adult helps wash the bad taste out of his mouth, at least a little bit.
----
It was stupid of her to flounce out of the apartment the night before. And maybe a little immature which, great, Kate, this will do wonders to convince Clint that they can make this work, right? It was stupid, but she was scared and he seemed like he was about to tell her they shouldn’t be so close or touch so much and god when she says it like that maybe they shouldn’t touch so much. Looking back on it she probably was sort of crossing an undiscussed line, but she missed him and even if he can’t remember exactly who he is, he’s still Clint in all the ways that matter and she’s missed him.
The traffic to Brooklyn is thankfully horrible so it gives her a good solid hour to contemplate how exactly she’s going to explain their situation to Clint once she gets there. She parks on the street a few blocks away from his building and stops to get a couple pizza slices from the store near the place that sells the best tape as a peace offering.
“Hey,” she greets, holding out his piece of oversized slice of pepperoni and slips inside between him and the doorframe while he looks down at the pizza like he hasn’t seen something so delicious his entire life.
“Hey,” she starts again, this time a little softer, yet more urgent. She sets her piece on the counter and pulls Clint away from the door into the living room with her. “Clint I’m sorry,” she says, “I shouldn-”
“Wait,”
She glares softly, “No, I had a speech all thought up from the drive over here and I’m gonna forget it unless you let me say it, so just-”
“Katie, I remember.”
Kate freezes and suddenly she can’t feel her fingers. “You remember?”
“I’m Hawkeye. You’re Hawkeye. We’re Hawkeye.”
She punches him, hard on the arm. “Since when!? Why didn’t you call me?!”
“Um, ow? I didn’t tell you because last time we talked you were pretty pissed. I told Tony though, so I’m sure now everyone at the mansion knows.”
“And I’m the last to know? Thanks, boss,” Kate huffs and falls back onto the couch. “So you remember, huh? What exactly do you remember? Everything?”
Bits of last night that she had conveniently forgotten come flickering back to Kate and she winces before she can help it.
Clint slides into the seat next to her and gives an apologetic look. “Yeah, everything,”
“Katie...” Clint starts again, his fingers grazing down her arm until his palm rests over her hands clasped in her lap. She tenses, briefly, before relaxing into his touch and glancing back over at him.
“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth when I asked? Why did you bring up what I said on the phone?”
She opens her palm under his and lets his fingers slip between the gaps in between hers.
Her lips quirk into a quick smile but she shakes her head and it disappears. “It didn’t seem like you wanted to hear the truth, Clint. It seemed like you had figured out what you wanted before you even asked me anything. And even if I thought you hadn’t, what was I supposed to tell you? Yeah, we kissed for like five minutes after you had the shit beat out of you and then never talked about it again? Do you really think telling you that in the state that you were in would have been the best idea?”
She can feel his eyes on her profile, searching for contact. Kate turns her head to meet his eyes and immediately regrets it.
“Do you think I was avoiding you, Katie?” His brows are furrowed and he seems to be a mix of worried and frustrated, “After Christmas? After I came over to your apartment?”
Kate sighs, “No, not really. But it didn’t make it any easier to explain our situation to amnesia-you. You were terrified about ruining us. You’ve never been very good at hiding your emotions.”
“Kate look at me,” he says in a way that leaves no option, “Katie, when I say I remember everything I remember everything. Including my train of thought when I didn’t have my memories. I was scared, sure. But only because you were - are - perfect and beautiful and I didn’t want to fuck up my relationship with, basically, the only person I knew on the planet.”
Clint laughs then and Kate can feel the corners of her mouth tug up despite her anxiety.
“But more than that, I knew that you and me, you and me with my memories, were an amazing team. At what, I had no clue, but I knew we had something special and if you felt differently than me I could wreck everything. I mean come on Katie, amensia-me was sort of rightfully terrified. Look at all my other relationships, look at Bobbi and Natasha and Jesus, look at Jess...” Clint runs a hand through his hair and Kate squeezes the hand under her own.
“I meant what I said, Kate. You are perfect and how could I ever be good enough for you? How could you be willing to risk what we already have when we both know I’m just going to fuck this up, too? We both know this will end with me sleeping with someone who doesn’t mean anything to me just because I found your toothbrush in the bathroom or I realize half my dresser is your dresser and serious relationships make me want to bolt.”
Kate can see Clint’s panic spiral, which is actually kind of interesting considering she’s never actually been around when it’s happened. She’s seen the aftereffects for sure, she’s helped him clean up the mess or she’s shaken her head, straight up told him no and stopped it before it happened, but she’s never seen him in the middle of it like this.
She cups his face between her hands, smoothing her thumbs over his stubble covered cheeks and god the look on his face is something between hope and utter terror and it breaks her heart. “Clint,” she starts, “my toothbrush is already in your bathroom. Does that freak you out?”
Clint shrugs his left shoulder and mumbles a, “no not really”.
“Okay,” she smiles, “and I know I don’t really have a lot of clothes here, but there might be a dresser full of your shirts at my place that I may have potentially stolen. May have.”
Kate grins then, wide and open when she sees Clint trade the worried creases between his eyebrows for confusion and wonder and an adorably suspicious glare.
“So you have my bullseye shirt?” He asks.
“Innocent until proven guilty, Hawkeye,” she answers with a laugh, feeling the weight on her chest lift slightly.
“So what now?” She asks turning her body to face his, her bottom lip held lightly between her teeth, her fingers tracing his calluses like she had the night before. “Now that you remember who you are, who we are?”
He brings their clasped hands to his lips, presses a cool kiss to her hand, her palm, each finger tip, each callus that matches his own. His left hand skims up the side of her neck, letting his thumb slide along her bottom lip, pulling it free from her teeth.
Kate watches as his eyes flick from her eyes to her mouth to her eyes again.
“Now, Katie, I think it’s fair to say the ball is in your court.”
She slides closer to him on the couch, up and over until she’s in his lap and her hands cup either side of his neck. Her hair hides both their faces like a curtain which is perfect, Kate thinks idly, she’s positive she doesn’t want to share the way Clint’s looking at her now with anyone. It’s a mix between terrified and anxious, surprised and ready, his pupils are blown wide and his lips a rosy shade of pink and when she kisses him his hands grip her hips like she’s the only thing he needs.