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Kate was at the In-and-Out, having lunch with America and Billy and Teddy, and trying to decide whether they were just friends having a good time, or if it was a double-date. It didn't seem very date-like, aside from Teddy and Billy being snuggled up close and holding hands and generally being adorable, but they did that all the time anyway. Billy and America were having another one of their weird arguments about the nature of space-time, using the pickles from Billy's burger and a tomato rescued from Kate's as some kind of metaphor or demonstration or something.
Kate was amusing herself by lobbing french fries across the table to land in Teddy's chocolate shake, and pretending she wasn't thinking about the way America's thigh felt pressed against hers in the booth seat. America had fantastic thighs.
Teddy plucked the last fry out of his shake and ate it happily, the weirdo, and then his eyes focused somewhere past Kate's head and widened slightly.
Before Kate could turn to look, a familiar hand fell on her shoulder and a scruffy blonde head interrupted the space between Kate and America. "Glad I found you, girly-girl," Clint said, and he did actually sound relieved. "You done with lunch? I need to borrow you for a couple hours."
Kate scowled. "What if I already have plans, Clint? You can't just barge in here and--"
"Is it Avengers business, sir?" Teddy interrupted. Kate glared at Teddy.
"Not strictly speaking," Clint admitted, "but Kate's the only one I know who's got the talents I need here. You guys don't mind me borrowing her, do you?"
"Damn it--"
"Of course not," Billy said.
America squeezed Kate's knee under the table and grinned at her. "See you later, princess."
"Great, come on!" Clint said, snaring her arm and tugging her out of the booth. "See you guys later!"
Kate growled as he tugged her through the exit. "Ugh, Clint, you can't just barge in on me and my friends any old time and expect--"
"I know, I know," Clint sighed, dropping her arm but not slowing down. "I panicked, and you were the only one I could think of! I'm sorry, I ruined your date, I know. I'll make it up to you, I promise!"
Somewhat mollified, Kate sighed and jogged a few steps to catch up with him. "Swear?"
"Girly-girl, when have I ever--" Clint caught Kate's expression sidelong and winced. "Yeah, okay, I swear."
"I'm going to take her out somewhere nice for dinner," Kate said, "and you are footing the bill."
"You got it," Clint promised, relieved.
Kate felt like she obviously had not been asking a high enough price if he was capitulating so easily. "Somewhere really nice," Kate said. "Like somewhere my dad would think was nice. Somewhere Tony Stark would think was nice."
Clint grimaced a little, and that was more like it, but he didn't argue. "Sure thing, Katie."
"God, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me Katie? Just for that, you're buying me a new dress to dazzle her with, too."
Clint outright grinned at her. "Well, that's convenient."
Kate pulled to a stop. "Meaning?"
"Well our first stop was going to be dress shopping anyway."
"What."
***
Kate had found her dress right off, a lavender silk and taffeta cloud with an open back and a sweetheart neckline worked in seed pearls. Clint, on the other hand, was being difficult.
Clint's taste in dresses wasn't too bad, but he had no idea how to find something that suited his figure. She was trying to explain it to him, but he kept pulling out slinky, sleeveless gowns that would suit someone like Jessica Drew or Natasha Romanov -- or Kate herself. "Okay, this looks bad. You don't have a waist, you don't have a cleavage, you can't just... No. Just go sit over there and let me bring you things to try on," she groaned.
"But Kate--"
"Did you, or did you not, bring me along on this ridiculous 'mission' because I am better than you at clothes?"
"But Katie-girl, it has to be perfect."
Kate rolled her eyes. "Clint. Go. Sit. Down."
Clint sighed and turned, then whirled back and grabbed her into a hug, pressing a sloppy kiss to her temple. "You're the best, Hawkeye."
"I know," she said.
***
Two hours later, walking down the street toward another boutique that Kate knew of, Clint stopped dead in his tracks. "Kate. That one."
Kate looked.
It... wasn't bad. It was purple, of course, because: Clint, but it was a good purple, a medium tone only barely closer to blue than red that would make his eyes pop. The rhinestone detailing around the high-necked collar was, perhaps, a bit much, but on the other hand, it would distract from his rather prominent Adam's apple. The style was similar to the dresses she'd been making him try on, proving that he could, in fact, be taught.
They pushed through the door.
"I'm so sorry," the saleswoman said as soon as Clint pointed toward the display window. "That one is already reserved. For a wedding, next weekend."
"Yeah, okay, but you've got more in stock, right?" Clint pressed before Kate could stop him.
The saleswoman's eyes rounded and then narrowed. "We do not carry stock," she informed him haughtily. "Each of our garments is hand-tailored to the purchaser's exact--"
Kate pushed between them, offering up her Society Smile. "Ignore him, he's a boor," she said, affecting the bored-yet-amused drawl she knew screamed of money. The saleswoman would either be greedy enough to latch on to the implicit promise of a fat commission, or jaded enough to just want them out of the store as quickly as possible. Win-win. "Look, can he at least try it on? He'll either get it out of his system, or at least we'll have a starting place for ordering something new."
The saleswoman hemmed and hawed, but eventually let Clint take the dress into a fitting area.
Unfortunately, it was perfect. Even the goddamn rhinestones.
Kate stared at Clint in the mirror. She couldn't look away. She was over her stupid little-girl crush on him, she reminded herself, and she was definitely looking forward to her date with America later. But holy fuck, he was gorgeous. She could admit that, right? There was no shame in looking.
Clint caught her eye and grinned. "Don't be jealous, girly-girl, just 'cause my dress is prettier. I see you eyeing up my rhinestones."
Aaaaand the magic was broken. Kate rolled her eyes. "Mine has seed pearls, Clint, who cares about your stupid rhinestones?"
"Jealous," Clint sing-songed, grinning as he turned to check out his own backside in the dress.
Which was almost perfect, but not quite. "Underwear," Kate muttered. "After this, we need to get you some underwear."
Clint snorted. "No one's going to be paying attention to my underpants, Kate."
"Trust me," Kate said, "you definitely need underwear for this dress. And shoes."
"Oh, now that's just--"
"Can you even walk in heels, or are we going to have to get you ballet flats?"
"I can walk in heels," he said indignantly.
"Can you really?" she demanded. "Can you walk in heels, or can you just manage to mince back and forth without quite breaking your ankle?"
Clint's eyes narrowed. "Oh, it is on, girly."
Kate smirked. The best way to get Clint to do what you wanted was to tell him he couldn't. She wondered if she could trick him into letting her do his makeup, too.
But first: the dress.
"How much do you love me, Clint?"
Clint turned around to look at her directly, eyebrows raised.
Kate grinned. "You're going to owe me forever if I get you this dress, right?"
Clint looked back at the mirror. "Yeah."
"Good. Stay here. I mean it this time." Kate glared at him firmly, then swept out into the front of the shop with her best Spoiled-Little-Rich-Girl expression. "It's perfect," she sighed. "We have to have it."
"Miss, I told you, that dress belongs to someone el--"
Kate waved a hand languidly. "They don't need it until next week," she pointed out. "We only need it for one night." She draped her arm around the saleswoman's shoulders and let her smile grow just a bit toothy. "Let's talk security deposit."
***
It turned out that trying to impress America by taking her to a really fancy restaurant was a mistake. America did not have a fancy dress or a swanky suit, and wouldn't wear them if she did. America did not give a fuck about the culture of haute cuisine; she cared about whether her food tasted good and kept her strong and healthy. America did not like the snobby staff, simultaneously judgmental and fawning, but she wasn't comfortable enough to go the truly wealthy route and stride through the see-and-be-seen lounge in her street clothes and simply expect everyone else to not notice.
So halfway through the second course, Kate stood up and took America's hand and pulled her out of the restaurant, out into the street. And God bless New York; there was a hot dog cart only a block away. Kate bought them hot dogs -- with the works, chili and onions and jalapeños and everything, because she figured she'd blown it anyway, at least for the night -- and they found a park bench to sit on while they ate, America in her denim shorts and star-spangled jacket, and Kate in her taffeta cloud of a gown. And it being New York, no one even looked at them twice.
America teased her about the ridiculousness of the fancy restaurant until she blushed, and then demanded to know how the hell Kate was able to eat a hot dog with everything without getting a single speck of chili or mustard on her fancy dress. Kate was still laughing when America leaned close and kissed her, onions and jalapeños and all, and Kate realized that maybe she hadn't entirely blown it.
Of course, that was when the remaining toppings on Kate's hot dog all tumbled off and into America's lap.
"Shit!" Kate froze for an instant, but there was a certain bravery that came from eating hot dogs on a park bench in a silk and taffeta gown. So she tossed the remains of her dog into the bushes and slid to her knees. She was probably ruining the dress. She didn't care.
She leaned forward and licked a splatter of mustard off America's thigh, and then glanced up.
America's eyes were wide and startled. "Princess..."
Kate smirked -- it was very hard to surprise America, and she figured she was allowed a moment of pride for that -- and went back to work, cleaning all all the onions and relish and chili off America's legs, looking back up between licks, bold and playful. America's eyes went swiftly from wide with shock to heavy-lidded with desire.
When Kate finished, America finally moved for the first time, her knees falling open just enough for Kate to worm between them, pressing close and stretching up for another kiss.
"Princess," America breathed again as they parted, "think it's time to ditch this place?"
"Yeah," Kate agreed. She stood up and ignored the dirt on the front of her dress. America's fingers twined with hers, and she didn't wonder at all how Clint was faring on his mission.
***
It was nearly noon when she let herself into Clint's apartment the next day. "Clint!" she called. She hoped he wasn't sleeping with his good ear on the pillow; she really didn't want to go up into the loft to wake him up.
Lucky unfolded from his cushion and trotted over, tail wagging. Kate grinned and crouched down to tug on his ears and pet the soft fur on top of his head. "Clint!" she yelled again, louder.
"Nnngmmmfff," Clint's voice echoed down.
"Come on, Clint, we have to return the dress before--" She broke off, spotting a rumple of purple satin on the floor. She picked it up, gingerly, and several rhinestones that had come loose from their settings clinked to the floor. "Clint, what the hell! This was a rental!"
"I'll pay for it," called another voice.
A deep voice. A voice that Kate knew from... somewhere. Stomach already clenched in dread, she looked up.
Captain America grinned down at her.
Kate blinked.
Steve Rogers was still grinning at her. He wasn't wearing a shirt. There was a half-wall in the way, so she couldn't see much below his chest, so she didn't know if he was wearing pants. Or underwear. But he very definitely was not wearing a shirt.
God bless America.
"Buh?" she managed.
He waved a hand, and Kate forced her eyes away from those extremely impressive pecs to see that he was holding an AmEx Black card. "I'll pay for it," he repeated. "The dress. I might have been a little rough on it." His smile turned bashful, which Kate felt was blatantly unfair. "Too used to the way superhero costumes are built, I guess."
He tossed the card, and it flew with terrifying accuracy right at her, so that she had no choice but to catch it. "Tell them I'm really sorry," he said, "and they can charge whatever seems fair. Tony complains I never take advantage of my account enough anyway."
"Wait, this is going on Tony's card?" Clint said. It sounded muffled, as if his face was still half under a pillow. "Order me another one like that while you're there, girly!"
Captain America turned from the loft rail to look at something behind him -- Clint, presumably. His back muscles were just as impressive as his front ones, though, so Kate wasn't complaining. Steve shrugged, which was a gorgeous thing to see. "Yeah, sure," he said. "In blue this time." He glanced over his shoulder at Kate to be sure she'd heard, and his eyes were twinkling.
Kate's throat was very dry, suddenly.
"Aw, blue, no. My color is purple," Clint complained.
"You can keep the purple one," Steve said. He pushed off the rail and headed back into the loft, and Kate couldn't see him anymore. "It ripped on the seams, it can be repaired."
"We could just get a slightly purplier purple," Clint bargained.
"What does that even mean?"
"It means no blue! Tell him, Katie-Kate! Tell him my color is purple!"
Well, it was. But there were lines that had to be drawn. "I am not telling Captain America to buy you purple panties!" Kate snapped, cheeks burning.
"Who said anything about panties?" Clint said.
"Damn it, Clint, we talked about this--"
"Blue dress," Steve said, in his most authoritative Captain America voice. "Nothing under it. I'm sold. Have fun shopping, Miss Bishop!"
That sounded like a dismissal. Kate backed toward the door, uncertain.
"Okay, but listen," Clint said. "What if I mmmmmffff."
That sound, that was... that was nothing Kate wanted to know about, most certainly not. Even if the visual was--
Clint groaned, and Steve made a noise that definitely, definitely did not belong in Captain America's throat. Kate spun and dived for the door, slamming it behind her. She leaned against the wall, panting as if she'd run the length of Manhattan.
Something cut into her hand, and she looked down. AmEx Black. Right. Shopping. On Captain America's Avengers account.
She could do that.
But first, she was going back to the hotel to see if America wanted to join her.