...you help us, signore? ...sick, she needs.. ...sending you there alone. ...no mission for Strike Team Delta. ...risk of emotional compromise... ...off the grid. Targets unclear. Minor involvement strongly assumed. ...help us, right? ...come to save us... ...very quiet now. ...make sure your little sister won't be crying, sweetheart. She's not my sister, signore. I'm her mother. ...targets acquired. Report and confirm. ...wrap this up tonight... Are you taking us home now?
For several long minutes, Clint was sure that what he heard was still the crying of a baby in his dream... Nothing that he could remember save for a few confusing scraps of conversation... But that high-pitched whining just wouldn't stop, even when he came around enough to feel the comforting presence of his partner still close around him, the soft smell of her hair in his nose, her arm around him.
Actually it didn't exactly sound like a human noise. More like one of these night concerts of his not-so-favorite furry neighbors. But it was just getting dark outside... And why was this single meowing so loud?
It also sounded faintly familiar. Oh, great.
"You owe me for this, red", he murmured, still half asleep, when he finally couldn't stand the noise anymore and got up, carefully not to disturb Natasha in her rest.
He really had no idea what made him bring a bowl and the milk bottle instead of a gun when he slouched to the front door - except maybe Natasha's little smile earlier in the day - but it had been a good instinct. Indeed, it was that persistent little devil with the pitch black fur sitting on his door step again. screaming heartbreakingly this time. Apparently no squirrels or rats to catch lately. Little one looked even thinner and more pathetic than yesterday.
"One time, furball."
Still grumbling and blinking from sleep crusty eyes, Clint filled the bowl, shielding the half open door with his body before the unwanted visitor would try to get inside next. He dropped it in a corner of the porch between two flower trays so the other stray cats wouldn't spot it immediately. Probably only a matter of time anyway until word got around in the neighborhood and they would have the whole garden full of visitors.
Well, a good motivation for finally building that fence.
"Just this once", Clint reminded the kitten again, but little one was already very busy with his diner and didn't even look up.
Rolling his eyes, he made his way back inside, fully prepared to be teased and poked about going soft for the whole evening.
no subject
...sending you there alone. ...no mission for Strike Team Delta. ...risk of emotional compromise...
...off the grid. Targets unclear. Minor involvement strongly assumed.
...help us, right? ...come to save us...
...very quiet now. ...make sure your little sister won't be crying, sweetheart.
She's not my sister, signore. I'm her mother.
...targets acquired. Report and confirm. ...wrap this up tonight...
Are you taking us home now?
For several long minutes, Clint was sure that what he heard was still the crying of a baby in his dream... Nothing that he could remember save for a few confusing scraps of conversation... But that high-pitched whining just wouldn't stop, even when he came around enough to feel the comforting presence of his partner still close around him, the soft smell of her hair in his nose, her arm around him.
Actually it didn't exactly sound like a human noise. More like one of these night concerts of his not-so-favorite furry neighbors. But it was just getting dark outside... And why was this single meowing so loud?
It also sounded faintly familiar.
Oh, great.
"You owe me for this, red", he murmured, still half asleep, when he finally couldn't stand the noise anymore and got up, carefully not to disturb Natasha in her rest.
He really had no idea what made him bring a bowl and the milk bottle instead of a gun when he slouched to the front door - except maybe Natasha's little smile earlier in the day - but it had been a good instinct. Indeed, it was that persistent little devil with the pitch black fur sitting on his door step again. screaming heartbreakingly this time. Apparently no squirrels or rats to catch lately. Little one looked even thinner and more pathetic than yesterday.
"One time, furball."
Still grumbling and blinking from sleep crusty eyes, Clint filled the bowl, shielding the half open door with his body before the unwanted visitor would try to get inside next. He dropped it in a corner of the porch between two flower trays so the other stray cats wouldn't spot it immediately. Probably only a matter of time anyway until word got around in the neighborhood and they would have the whole garden full of visitors.
Well, a good motivation for finally building that fence.
"Just this once", Clint reminded the kitten again, but little one was already very busy with his diner and didn't even look up.
Rolling his eyes, he made his way back inside, fully prepared to be teased and poked about going soft for the whole evening.