--
Spoilers for issue eight of Secret Invasion.
The pudding? Tastes disgusting.
Like, okay. Kate gets that of all the things she could be complaining about, the crappy hospital pudding is probably pretty low on her list of priorities. Or it should be. But she figures, if she doesn't focus on the little things right now she'll be stuck looking at the big picture and if she does that, she might actually go crazy. And she should probably be offended that the food is this awful, anyway; with the amount of money her father throws at these hospitals, the least they can do is make the lunches edible.
She's pretty sure vanilla isn't supposed to taste like asphalt.
She eats it anyway, though, because it's not like there's anything else to do around here but indulge in an existential crisis or count holes in the ceiling tiles. She could work on the math homework Teddy and Billy dropped off for her after breakfast, she supposes. But she's not much of a fan of thinking at the moment--massive doses of painkillers apparently does that to a person--and she didn't exactly get the whole quadratic formula thing before the whole nearly-dying thing, anyway.
Her hand throbs suddenly with pain. Kate lays her head back on the pillows and shuts her eyes hard against the tears that are threatening to well up. Oh, God. She's not going to do this now. She's not going to cry. She's not going to go all weepy and feminine now, after all the other shit she's gone through.
"Hey, Kate," a man's voice says from the doorway, and Kate's eyes snap open.
"Clint," she says.
Clint leans against the doorframe, clearly more than a little ill at ease. Probably one of two things: the nasty hospital smell, or he's feeling uncomfortable about walking around in the open after being dead and in hiding for however long it's been. He's totally rocking the scruffy and dangerous look, though, dressed all in black with his collar popped, looking like he hasn't shaved for a week with his blond hair all hot and rakish and, okay, Kate is going to end this train of thought here and now, oh God, she can blame this on the painkillers too, right?
"How you doing, girly-girl," he says, hands in his pockets awkwardly.
"Like some alien set me on fire," she says, and he smiles. Crap, Kate thinks, my hair is probably greasy as hell, but it doesn't seem to matter to Clint because he moves closer and sits on the edge of her bed, so that's all right.
"You shouldn't have come back, Kate," Clint says. "You know that, right? After you're nearly killed by the alien, you don't get the robot to bandage you up so you can come back and fight some more. I don't know. That seems like common sense to me."
"Just trying to help," Kate says, but she knows he's right, and she'd been kind of stupid. After the battle was over, and they'd been rounding up prisoners, she'd just about collapsed and ended up passing out before the guys had got her to the hospital. In her defense, though, she thinks her stupidity was sort of justified. When you're on the precipice of an alien takeover of your planet, it's all hands on deck, right?
"Uh-huh," Clint says, but he's smiling.
"I hear you took my bow," Kate says, trying for a smile in return, but her voice is hoarse and her lips are dry and cracked and the whole thing falls sort of flat. "No take-backs, Hawkeye. I mean, I guess it's not like I'm going to be using it anytime soon, though, so I guess I shouldn't complain." She tries to lift her arm to demonstrate, but just moving it makes her feel like her whole body's aflame so she gives up on that effort pretty quick.
Clint fixes her with that knowing gaze that makes her feel all silly and stupid (and not just because he has really gorgeous eyes, no, she totally didn't just think that, stop being so sad, Kate, God). "That's enough self-pity, Hawkeye," he says firmly, and Kate drops her eyes because he knows her way too damn well. "I talked to your doctor, and he says you're going to make a full recovery, so stop moping. Your career isn't over, you'll be able to handle your bow fine. Seriously. Enough with the angst."
"Yeah, well," Kate says, "tell that to the excruciating pain, thanks, Hawkeye." And she immediately wishes she didn't say it: way to sound like a complete baby, Bishop.
"Comes with the territory," Clint says, not looking like he minds the whining which is somewhat surprising, because it's not exactly like he's known for being patient and benevolent. "You're an Avenger, Kate. The agonising injuries should be coming pretty regularly about now."
"Something to look forward to," Kate says wryly, and then pauses. "Hold on. My doctor's out of town this weekend. When were you talking to him?"
Clint shrugs, looking vaguely embarrassed. "A couple days ago."
"What, when I was unconscious?" Kate laughs suddenly, for the first time in what has to be ages. "You're turning into a big old softie in your old age, Clint Barton. You were totally worried about me."
"Was not."
"Oh, whatever, you liar."
"Shut up, girly-girl," Clint says amiably, and they're just sitting there for a few seconds sort of grinning at each other, and it's nice, and that's not just the painkillers talking. "I mean, I gave you my name, gave you my bow--I had to make sure you didn't just run off and kill yourself right away, right?"
"Yeah, sure," Kate says, and Clint sits back more comfortably on her bed and starts flipping through her algebra notes. "Leave those alone, you snoop. Hey, Clint?"
"Mmm."
"I heard about your wife." Clint doesn't look up for a second, but carefully closes her notebook and puts it on the sidetable with the rest of her homework. "It's really great news. I'm happy for you guys."
"Thanks," Clint says, meeting her eyes finally. "I mean, it's just--crazy, you know? It's incredible to have her back, but it's..."
"Weird," Kate says. "I get it. You're lucky, though."
"I know. God, do I know."
Kate tucks her hair behind her ear. "She isn't pissed at me for using her stuff before, is she?"
"What? No. I don't think. I doubt she knows. Or would care. Anyway," he says, standing. "I'll be back in a few days. But let me know when you get those bandages off, okay? I'll help with the rehab. If you think they're cool with me bringing a bow and arrow to a hospital, that is."
"We can sneak them in," Kate says. "Thank you, Clint."
"It's the least I can do, Hawkeye," Clint says as he leaves. No, Kate definitely doesn't watch him walk away. Not like that, anyway.
Less painkillers, she thinks, smiling to herself anyway. Time for less painkillers.
Right now, though, it's almost time for dinner; Kate wonders briefly whether it's too much to hope for jello instead of pudding.