#thesteppinrazor

He groaned directly into his pillow for an impressive 27 seconds, until the woman beside him kicked him to get him to stop. “I gotta do a thing,” Clint mumbled, turning to face her. “You okay?” “I think I’ll survive,” she said drily. She grimaced and placed a hand over his mouth when he leaned in for a morning afternoon kiss. “The password is ‘Listerine,’ Clint.” He made a face at her too before he half-propped himself up in bed and called Kate back. “Clint? Okay, I need tampons.” Clint blinked rapidly, wondering if his hearing loss was affecting him again. Please, no. “You need…” “Tampons. Soon.” “Why do I gotta--” “Because the pharmacy is near you and I don’t have long and I’m wearing a cream of salmon skirt--” “Someone… threw food on you?” Cream of what? “What?” “Salmon? Did you spill--” “Oh. My god. Clint, ‘cream of salmon’ is a colour, it’s a light colour, and I need tampons because it’s about to become a not-light colour.” “Cream of salmon is a colour.” “Yes.” “That sounds made up.” “It’s a colour,” the woman behind him said smartly, although she’d snuggled back under the covers and appeared to be asleep. “It’s a colour,” Kate said tiredly. “Look, Clint, I know guys can be weird about this, but I really need you, and--” “It’s not that, it’s--” “--this is an emergency, I’m at a brunch and I can’t leave, please Clint, I know it’s embarrassing--” “--not embarrassing, I just dunno what kind of--” “I’ll text you the address, okay? Thanks.” “--tampons...you...want…” he said to the disconnected call. The woman shifted slightly in bed. “Someone needs tampons?” “Do you have any?” he asked, suddenly hopeful. “No, sorry. You should hurry, sounded serious.” “Uh… what kind--?” “Just go, Barton.” --- The third woman in as many minutes shot Clint a strange look as he pretended not to notice. This, this was why he didn’t want to go-- he didn’t give a damn about buying these kinds of things-- not that he often had cause to -- but other people were so weird about it. Anyway. Okay, hurry. There was… cardboard applicators… plastic? And … no applicator? Oh, that one was on sale-- but did that mean it wasn’t a good brand? And … oh, man. Heavy… regular… light…? Should he get one of each? Wait, those ones over there said ‘organic cotton,’ did that mean the others weren’t cotton? Would organic cotton be healthier? Oh, geeze those were expensive-- “Fuckin’ bitches, huh?” Clint looked up, startled; his arms were full of various boxes of tampons. “Huh?” “You gettin’ those for your girl, right?” “I’m… getting them for a girl,” Clint said warily, mentally recoiling from the idea of Kate as ‘his girl.’ “You should prolly get like… PMS meds or some shit,” the man grumbled, scanning the shelves of products with overly-dramatic distaste. Clint just shrugged. “And they just fuckin’ use this period stuff as an excuse to be fuckin’ cunts to us, y’know?” Clint closed his eyes briefly. Don’t engage. Don’t talk to this asshole. “Wish I could get my bitch in line, man, but… femininazis would lose their goddamn--” Never mind, fuck this guy. “You’re the only bitch I see ‘round here, guy.” Clint didn’t exactly regret the words as soon as he said them, but he did regret not dropping the boxes of tampons so he could shield his face from the other man’s fist. --- “Oh my god, Clint, are you okay?!” “Got… your stuff,” he said, holding out two bulging bags of tampon boxes. Kate grimaced slightly. “Don’t be mad,” she said, her eyes taking in his blossoming black eye and split lip. “Uh… Starrfysh had some, so I’m… I’m okay.” Clint must have been hit in the head harder than he’d thought. “Starfish?” “Yeah, Starrfysh.” “What.” “She’s an art major, her parents are super-rich hippies--” “Oh. Ugh.” “I know. But she had stuff, so uhm…” “Oh.” “I’m sorry, Clint. How’d you get hit?” Clint half-shrugged, not wanting to get into it. “Well… here. Supplies for next time.” He held out the bags, jiggling them slightly to get her attention. Kate grimaced again. “Can I come get those later? Just… big plastic bags--” Clint paused. He continued to pause. The pause grew legs and jogged off down the block. “Sure, Katie,” he said, nodding in a you-can-trust-me way that fooled exactly no one. “Clint… listen, I gotta go, but thank you, and whatever weird thing you’re planning… don’t.” “I won’t.” I will. He was still smiling vaguely as Kate kissed him on the cheek and clattered back upstairs. “Hmmm,” he hummed thoughtfully as he walked the 40 minutes to Kate’s small apartment. “Yeeeah,” he mumbled around the plastic bag handles clutched between his teeth as he scaled the wall to the third floor. “Sweet.” He was standing in Kate’s living room, having opened her window fairly easily. He knew she had a net around here somewhere, he’d helped her patch it up recently… And where was that iPod dock… Clint hummed as he got to work. --- The door clicked open, tugging on the string that was tied around a pencil eraser leaned against the ‘pause’ button of the iPod touchscreen. Elegant strings and brass began to blare out from the speakers all around the living room, echoing and bouncing off the windows. Kate barely had time to shriek before the net positioned over the doorway tipped, showering her in unboxed tampons. Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait, ni le mal... Edith Piaf sang triumphantly as the last few tampons landed directly on top of Kate’s head. Her face was a frankly strange-looking mix of angry and amused (she was lucky no one was there to take a picture at that very moment.) She dialled Clint while simultaneously trying not to slip and fall on the piles of tampons littered around her feet. Kate moved gingerly over to the iPod, trying not to be impressed with the amount of work that had gone into Clint’s little trap. Clint opened one eye as his phone buzzed, and without looking to see who was calling, he handed it to the woman who was still in his bed. “Okay, that was a pretty good setup, Clint. As soon as I stop hating you forever, you gotta teach me how you did that.” “I taught him that,” the woman said smoothly, the smirk in her voice unmistakable. “Who’s-- Natasha?” “Oui.” “Oh my god. Uh-- oh. Oh. Should I… call back later?” Natasha glanced at Clint, who had a pack of frozen peas held to to his eye. “I don’t think you’re interrupting anything…” “I’d like her to be interrupting something,” Clint piped up. “Oh?” Natasha raised her eyebrows and lightly swatted at Clint’s hand, which was creeping up her bare thigh. “Kate, call back in 20 mi--” “Nat, give me a little credit here... geeze…” “An hour. Call back in an hour.” Kate tried not to let the horror written on her face seep into her words. “Uh. Right. You two… have… fun?” She found chocolate bars somewhere among the tampons (stupid sweet idiot thoughtful Clint), and she gnawed on it as she queued up Edith again and sang along, lazing in the tub. “...non, juh ne regreh-tuh ree-aaaaaahn… seh pay-ehhhhhh, balah-yehhhh, oo-blee-ehhhhhh, JUH MUH FOO DEH PAH-SEHHHHH--” “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” her neighbour yelled, banging on the wall. Kate just bit into another piece of chocolate and sang louder, grinning.