They are sitting on the couch watching sports- actually, Kate and Clint watch sport, Chris reads a book- a Friday evening, few days after Francis Barton, the Hawkeye from the future, Clint’s son, has gone to visit them to announce that, if Clint is his father, well, then, Chris is his mother.
Clint is sitting in the middle, and for some unknown reason- maybe because he wants to, well, try a sort of experiment- during the evening his arm migrates to the back of the couch, at his left side- where Chris is; fifteen more minutes, and, behind Kate’s curses for the idiocy of some sport champion, he pretends he starts to play with her hair.
She turns to face him- annoyed- and he looks at the ceiling, stopping what he was doing, pretending he doesn’t know what she means (even if she didn’t say a word).
She goes back to her book, he goes back to pretend he is watching TV, and fifteen minutes later he is again playing with her hair.
She turns again and faces him again, but this time he doesn’t stop playing with her hair; instead, he looks at her with a come hitcher look, thinking he could be some kind of tombeur de femmes, and he gets closer and closer, and even if Chris is moving backward, he is still putting her in a corner. As in- their lips are merely inches apart and there’s no room to mistaken what the hell is going through his bloody mind.
Then, Chris remembers she has in her hands the most offensive weapon possible, so she hits Clint on the head with her book. And very big and heavy volume about Quantic Strings.
Kate turns to look at them but doesn’t say a word, just stares at them quizzically: they are weird and a bit crazy, she knows it (if Chris weren’t weird and crazy, she wouldn’t be Clint’s best friend, after all), and nothing they do surprise her any longer.
“Ugh! Barton! You wanted to kiss me! It’s disgusting!” Chris moans. She is probably shocked for life. And she hates Clint. She has been clear with Clint, but of course the idiot couldn’t listen to her, the bloody idiot. “I told you that you shouldn’t have listened to what the children had to tell you!”
“You can’t kiss her. It’s, like, incest.”
“Our son doesn’t think so.” Clint mutters, rubbing his injured nose. Even if what’s more hurt it’s his male pride.
“I do hope you are not talking about our son, old guy. Let me guess, time-travel?”.” Kate grins, chuckling a bit evilly, while Chris sighs. It’s not right that time-travel and alternate dimensions and visions are so part of their lives that it’s practically normal, a common occurrence. “Oh, so you two will go all the way? About time- disgusting, but about time. I mean, it’s not normal that a man and a woman who are so friends have only see each other naked once…”
Clint chuckles. “She knows what she is talking about- she slept with the two single guys she was on the team with. Three, if we count Marvel Boy.” Then he turns to look at Kate, worried. “How do you know of that?”
Kate smirks. “I play poker with the “Exes of Clint Barton” fan club. Chris and I are honorary members. And we do like to play about you.”
He grunts. “Ugh. You, thinking about me and sex in the same sentence. I don’t know if I’m more turned on or disgusted.”