#bridcage

Clint was pretty sure he didn’t fall off any buildings yesterday, but his body still ached in a way that reminded him he was closer to forty than thirty. He stumbled through the apartment, coffee his only goal, and he heard laughter and Lucky’s rapid barks. Coffee though. Coffee first.

Katie-Kate was dancing in his kitchen with some vaguely familiar pop song playing on the radio. Clint tilted his head in an unconscious mimic of Lucky as he watched Katie-Kate go through her steps, fist waved in the air as she sang bye, bye, bye.

"Too early," Clint said as he pushed past her and grabbed the coffee pot. He didn’t even bother with the sugar. Or a warm up. Caffeine was all he required. Maybe some aspirin. Possibly some tiger balm.

Kate clicked through something on her phone and the music selection rapidly changed.

"Let’s get something more suited to your age," she said.

Clint wanted to glare as Yellow Submarine started, but that would require even the slightest of movement and he was too dedicated in getting the coffee pot to his mouth.

"Why," he managed to force out after two gulps of black-as-his-soul sludge.

"I’ve got one word for you: sing-along!"

"Why," he repeated.

"Sing-along Saturdays. It’s a new practice that I’m creating as part of your penance for being a jackass." Kate threw the crust of her toast at Lucky and then tapped at her phone again.

Smooth Criminal started playing. Clint knew he’d have to admit defeat sooner or later, but for now he just leaned against the counter and finished his coffee.

Kate smirked and switched the song again.

Spice Girls.