The floorboards are thudding with the vibration when Kate steps into Clint’s hallway. Okay, the floors are vinyl tile, who knows if there are boards under there, Kate doesn’t have a degree in construction, but—poetic license. “If the building’s rocking, don’t come knocking?” she says dubiously as she turns the doorknob.
As soon as she opens the door, booming vocals spill into like hallway like they’re surfing the crest of a pop-punk tsunami. “AND THAT’S ABOUT THE TIME SHE WALKED AWAY FROM ME, NOBODY LIKES YOU WHEN YOU’RE 23—”
Clint Barton is standing in the middle of the living room in his boxers and a t-shirt, half-heartedly moshing while he feeds Lucky a slice of pizza. It’s 11AM, so that’s gotta be cold. Kate sighs and shuts the door behind her. It takes a minute for Clint to notice she’s there, which is exactly how Clint gets his ass 95% killed all of the time. “Hey,” he mouthes under the thudding bass, then does a head-tilt, finger-flick: What’s up?
You are embarrassing me, Kate signs back. What is this, your old man music?
Clint rolls his eyes. You want me to put on H-A-N-N-A-H Montana? He does the two-M mountain sign for the state instead of abbreviating to MT. Good thing Kate’s been working on her geography vocabulary.
I don’t know you, Kate says.
Lucky barks. Clint surrenders another slice of cold pizza.
B-W wants to party at noon, Kate says. You got pants for that?
Generally when I turn to fanfiction, I’m looking for my fix of a particular ship. In this case, I was looking for Marvel fanfic of the America Chavez/Kate Bishop variety, and while I found a small hoard of good stories, my personal favorite discovery turned out to only feature the pairing for a paragraph or two.