Chapter Text
Kate was pissed off.
Her most recent mission had gone completely to shit. Clint had broken his ribs again, and she was bleeding all over her brand new couch. Cursing, she pressed her hands more firmly over the gunshot wound, mentally bitching out Goon #3. She was going to stick an arrow in his knee if she ever saw him again.
She limped over to her kitchen, grabbing the first-aid kit and the nearest bottle that looked alcoholic. On her way back to Clint, her leg buckled, and she had to throw her body roughly onto the couch.
Clint winced in sympathy and then winced again.
“Aw ribs, no.”
Kate fished a hand around the bag, pulled out a bottle, and frowned when only two pills fell out. She tucked them both into a roll of bandages and tossed it at Clint. Then she sniffed the alcohol, deeming it passable, and poured it down her throat before she peeled the towel off. She winced.
“Cliiint, it’s gonna need stitches.”
He wrinkled his nose.
“Do you want to do the honors, or should I?”
Kate gave him an unimpressed look. He grinned at her and carefully shuffled over, accepting the thread kit.
“Oh, don’t put yourself down Kate. Some people might say your stitches need more practice, sure, but I think crooked stitches really add a certain charm to any stab wound!”
“Keep talking Clint. You and I both know it’s you I’ll be practicing on.”
Clint did. Constantly feeding her distracting chatter as he worked. He was good at it, one of the advantages of having an ex-carnie patch her up. The advantage of the ex-carnie being Clint meant his stitches were professional quality. He, for one, definitely had enough practice.
Once they were both as good as they were going to get, Kate texted Tasha to pick Clint up. Her couch had become a biohazard, and she wasn’t going to split a bed while they were both banged up. Clint kicked in his sleep.
When she arrived, Tasha expertly wrangled Clint into her car. Then, she shoved a pair of sparkly purple crutches at Kate, cursed out Hawkeyes everywhere for their terminal stupidity, and promptly banned them both from vigilante activities for the next two weeks by pain of her.
Kate could scream.
Kate woke up the next morning by forgetting about her leg, standing up, and immediately collapsing.
Hawkeye: 0, Goon #3: 2
She was so going to shoot him. Kate glanced over at the crutches, considering, before hopping into the living area and plonking herself down on a wheely purple office chair. She snapped a pic of her leg in frame with the irrecoverable couch and sent it to the Young Avengers group chat. True to form, she was instantly swarmed with messages.
--<^>--
(Not A)Wiccan: omg Kate, u ok?
Teddy Bear: ^^^
OG Stars And Stripes: Seriously Kate?
Princessa Pointy: im fine lol some fucker got a lucky shot in
Princessa Pointy: fuck off eli! you can’t judge me ur retired
OG Stars And Stripes: I can and I will.
Wonderland: gotta say, as a retiree, injuries are the one thing i don’t miss
Princessa Pointy: ouch cassie
American Asskicker: Wild night chica?
Princessa Pointy: something like that ;)
American Asskicker: Do I need to hurt somebody?
Princessa Pointy: not if i get to him first
American Asskicker: That’s my girl
IAmSpeed: oshit fr?
IAmSpeed: hqang on bry
IAmSpeed: brt
Princessa Pointy: ??
--<^>--
Kate looked up from her phone in confusion, Tommy was standing next to her.
“Sup’ dude?”
She blinked in surprise.
“Tommy! When’d you get back?”
“About five seconds ago. David made a thing.”
Kate nodded at the simplification. Tommy might understand some of David’s crazy genius stuff, but she absolutely did not.
“Soo, how’s the GSW?”
“Annoying. Fucker got blood all over my couch!”
Tommy winced.
“It's completely fubar! I’m gonna have to toss it.”
Tommy paused. A slow grin came over his face.
“Or, hear me out-”
Tommy was a genius.
Explosions were therapeutic.
Kate grinned wildly at the flaming debris of her couch.
“I have an excellent idea.”
Kate took a vicious pleasure in directing Tommy toward the ugliest pieces of furniture. He zoomed around, adding each one to a pile outside. Just looking at it gave Kate a sense of satisfaction.
At her signal, he started with the chairs, muttering a name to himself with each explosion.
Jonas.
Cassie.
Xavin.
Lisa.
His Parents.
He tossed Kate a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes as he grabbed the next one.
“For you.”
Kate nodded.
She hesitated, picking up a vase, and slammed it into the ground, already reaching for the next thing. They lost themselves in destruction for a while.
When they ran out of things she could grab, Tommy disappeared. He returned with a sledgehammer. Kate took it.
She screamed in a wordless rage, smashing a garish dresser into splinters. Swinging the hammer again and again. She pictured the dresser as her father, as Madame Masque, as Mother, as SHIELD, as those fucking goons from Central Park. It felt good , smashing everything she could reach.
Kate let go of her anger. She allowed herself to feel pissed off about how unfair it all was. She deserved better . They all had. There was no room for guilt, no room for sadness, no room for confusing complexity. Right now she didn't have to try to understand or empathize. Right now she was allowed to be angry.
It was a release.
Tomorrow, she would have to clean up the debris. The complexities would flood back in. The stab wound would still be annoying. Everyone would still be dead. Nothing was fixed. Some things couldn’t be, but she would get up, with room for new furniture, and just maybe, she would feel a little bit better.