SPIRIT IN THE SKY ~ ELTON JOHN
Natasha finally got Clint outside, both wearing their jackets despite the warm morning, sunglasses covering their painfully-aware eyes.
"Puis-je vous aider?" the coffee shop attendant asked, looking expectant.
Natasha turned to Clint, looking expectant.
Clint sighed, letting his head, which was undoubtedly pounding, fall back on his neck, and he grumbled without looking at her, "The blackest, bitterest coffee that can be found on this goddamn planet or the next."
Natasha didn't smirk, though she wanted to, and translated the request.
Walking down the streets, trying to get lost though it was impossible with their highly trained and immobile minds, coffee in hand, the two allowed their arms to link, supporting each other's heavy weight.
Natasha wondered on that: why was it that his weight was easier to bare than her own right now? What psychological connotations did that bring? Did she really hate herself that much?
"Why? Why did you force me to drink so much?" Clint whined, his expressive forehead wrinkled more than it usually was.
"Well, I couldn't let myself have all the fun. Aren't hang overs one of those things that everyone loves to remember? I think I read that somewhere in a novel once..."
"Kill me now," Clint sighed and threw his coffee cup at a trash bin, of course making it.
Natasha allowed herself a smirk this time and walked the rest of the way to the trash bin before depositing her cup. "Come on, grumpy pants." She put her arm back around his and led him along the fastest route back to that rooftop from last night.