@bcrtonhawk
It’s a surprisingly nice day out. Sunlight filters through the trees as it dapples the leaf strewn ground. Spring air smells different than winter; the crispness of fall is absent and the humidity of summer has yet to set in like a sticky second skin. Instead, it’s some middle ground that sees some New Yorkers in sweaters and others still in their puffer coats. Kate herself has found a happy medium and walks with her hands tucked into her purple pockets.
Normally, Lucky would be on the walk with them. Taking the dog out has become a routine way for Clint and Kate to both be active and spend time together. With her former mentor on the Thunderbolts, time has become inconsistent. Kate herself has only just finished acclimating from her cross country move. She misses the smell of the sea that lodges itself into your nostrils and follows you home, but she had missed her friends more. Being gone had been good for her in a number of ways. She had branched out, worked some things out. Now, she was home. Home was, apparently, the place where your friends were blown up without reason.
Reaching the door first, the archer pulled it open. The smell of pizza instantly smacked her in the face. If she had missed anything from the east coast, it had been some of the food. The California tacos were far superior, but she had always referred to herself as a “pizzie girlie” before cringing at the blatant gen-zness of the terminology.
“First slice, I buy.” Kate jutted her chin to the counter and glass display case. “A welcome back to life gift.” She orders for herself before sliding into the sticky booth. Chipped nails drum against the equally sticky table. It’s not a nice establishment, but it’s their speed. “So.” Kate hopes he can’t see her smile falter. “This is the part where I ask how you’re doing and you answer truthfully.”
