Clint Barton
Synopsis: Clint is really bad at getting places on time.
Prompt: Clint Barton + Tidsoptimist
Tidsoptimist (n) a person who's habitually late because they think they have more time than they do.
It wasn't that he meant to be late. He actually hated being late. He hated everyone looking at him. He especially hated the ‘tsks’ he got from Steve and the inevitable dad lecture after when it was a mission briefing. Or the fact that Nat would punch him in the arm if it was her that was waiting for him. He liked his arms. He kinda needed them.
It wasn’t as if he didn't plan to get there on time. He always did. He'd look at what Google maps said it would take to get where he was going, add another thirty minutes so he could stop and get coffee and a slice on the way. He should be on time. He calculated these things and not that he'd ever let anyone know, but he's actually really good at math.
Just things always go bad.
Like, take today. He stopped at Starbucks as usual. The line was a little longer than normal but it should still have been fine. Only every single one of them waited to decide on their order after they made it to the front of the line. Then if that wasn't bad enough, he made his order. An Americano, triple shot. And when he picked up the cup the person next to him slammed into him spilling both his and their coffee all over his shirt.
Which quite frankly futzing burned like hell itself. Also, he had to wait for them to make a replacement cup. Then, of course, he couldn't go into work with a ruined shirt and third-degree burns so he stopped at a street vendor selling cheap, knock-off t-shirts. Of course, they only had the Avengers decals on them. He'd had his fingers crossed that they'd have him at least. Just a target in purple. That way he could pretend it was intentional. But no. He settled on one with Nat’s Widow logo on it because at least that way she might be flattered enough not to taunt him about it.
Also, he did kinda love Nat. She was his best friend.
After changing his shirt he might have still made it. Or at least have been regular person late where they come in and it's okay because two other people only just came in too and everyone is still sorting through papers and setting up projectors.
Except that then, he saw some complete asshole hit a dog with their car and just drive off like nothing happened. He couldn't just leave it there. So he wrapped it in his dirty shirt and took it to an emergency vet. He'd told them to do everything they can. Money wasn't an object.
That would have made him about forty minutes late. So, of course, someone was holding up a bodega as he was passing.
He took care of that quickly. Hawkeye and the whole never missing thing makes small-time criminals not that big of a deal to take down. He did have to wait for the police and give a statement though. Thankfully the guy who ran the bodega gave him more coffee and a bagel though. That was a nice change from being yelled at for breaking some display when he knocked out the crim.
Then, of course, the one day he ever gets spotted by a fan he's all scuffed up, got coffee stained pants and dog hair on his brand new black widow t-shirt.
So he was three hours late. He didn't mean to be. He hated being that late. But what could he do?
“Meetings over, Barton,” Steve scolded as he came out of the conference room. “Follow me and I'll fill you in. Maybe you can tell me how you managed to be late this time?”
Clint sighed. “There was a line at Starbucks.”
Steve tsked. Aww man, he hated when that happened. Just once Clint wished he could time things right.
