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"Hey, babe," Clint said, looking-up from the cookbook that came today. "How was your day?"
Phil leaned over and kissed his husband. "I volunteered your services," Phil said.
"Which services would that be?" Clint asked.
"The band director is very disappointed in the parents' participation in the bake sale," Phil said. "She's been trying to raise money for band camp next summer and the parents can't be bothered. The band director is trying to drum-up help from the other teachers and administrators. I sort of volunteered us to bring something."
"You volunteered me to bake something so you can take it in to show off," Clint said.
"I wanted to take something in and brag about my husband's skills," Phil said.
"When is this bake sale?" Clint asked.
"Tomorrow," Phil said, wincing.
"And you're just telling me now?" Clint asked.
"The band director just brought it up at the faculty meeting," Phil said. "The scholarship kids are having trouble finding funding for band camp this coming summer and unfortunately the wealthy parents for the most part can't be bothered. At least we've got several parents that are very supportive, but they're few and far between."
"Alright, you've got me," Clint said. "The scholarship kids deserve to go to band campiest like the ones that have rich parents. The new cookbook came today. There's a recipe I'm dying to try so this gives me the excuse an excuse to make it before the weekend."
"What's this recipe?" Phil asked.
"Hot Butter Rum Apple Pie," Clint said.
"Make us one, too?" Phil asked, hopefully.
"That's the plan," Clint said.
"Any chance you'll make cookies, too?" Phil asked.
"I was thinking those Greek HoneyWalnut cookies you like so much and the old stand by Oatmeal Chocolate Chip." Clint rolled his eyes when the doorbell rang and the lights blinked. "Expecting someone?"
"I'm betting that's for you," Phil said.
Clint reached around, caught his wheelchair by the seat and pulled it close enough to transfer himself into it.
"I'll get the door," Phil said. "I didn't realize you weren't wearing your legs."
"I add to go to the VA and have them adjusted again," Clint said.
Phil opened the door to find Clint's best friend standing there looking sheepish.
"Principal Coulson," Natasha said.
"Get in here,"Clint said, "and tell me what brings you here. You never comeover unless you need or want something."
"It's weird," Natasha said. "You're married to my boss."
When you're here, Miss Romanov, I'm not your boss," Phil said.
"I want you to come to my class and talk to them about service and sacrifice," Natasha said, "something they know very little about."
"Why me?" Clint asked. "I'm barely literate."
"You're dyslexic that doesn't make you illiterate," Natasha said. "You are the most qualified person I know to take to these kids. Not only do you speak their language you are a living, breathing example to what I've been trying to impart to them. You're a Medal Of Honor Winner and a Paralympian. "
"Is tomorrow okay?" Clint asked.
"Why tomorrow?" Natasha asked.
"Phil talked me into baking for the band's bake sale," Clint said .
"And I rest my case," Natasha said.