Clint still didn't like the idea of leaving Natasha alone in this situation, so vague, so unreal and poisoning the air all th same, but in the end it was her decision. And their relationship based a lot on giving her all the freedom she needed. He pressed another short kiss to her forehead and turned away then, keeping his restless sigh to himself until he was outside the building.
Their kitten was even more miserable, now that it wasn't close to the person anymore it already seemed to like so much. Clint began to wish they'd done this vet thing on another day. These sad, scared sounds from the back of the car just added to that emotional weight on his shoulders. Only overreacting of course, false alert, it had to be. In the evening they would laugh about how they had freaked out for a moment, surely... Right now he didn't see anything funny about the situation at all.
At least the waiting room of the vet was completely empty. No, Sicilians weren't morning people. When he told the doctor that he was a friend of Angelina, the grumpy, tired face of the middle aged woman lit up immediately. She motioned him to enter the care room and at least tried to keep the frown off her face when she took a look into his transport box. A confusion he could understand perfectly, he usually shared it.
Stray cats had been a problem in southern countries for centuries. Kittens seldom were taken as pets around here. They were rather eliminated before they could overpopulate the streets or chased out of the garden before they could ruin the vegetable patches.
And then there were good souls like Angelina who spent their money for neutering the males and take care of the sick and injured. And though Clint did neither have time nor the passion for such a life time cause, in some unexpected way he had taken a liking to this little rogue here. He wanted it to have at least a few years of a healthy life, and he couldn't act like he did it only for Natasha any longer. That furry devil had taken his heart, as much as he disliked to admit it.
So when the doctor asked him in a sympathetic voice if little one was worth the cost and trouble, he just glared at her.
That seemed to help - well, his glare did have that effect on most people - and the woman did her job. It should have been a relief when she got the animal out of the basket with quick, expert hands, gloves protecting her from the tiny, razor sharp claws - a trick Clint definitely would remember - and the little one suddenly was completely quiet. Only it wasn't. The little creature was stock still with fear, that was all. Her whole body trembled when the doctor put her on a pair of scales, giving Clint another doubtful look about the number she wrote down.
Fortunately she didn't say anything, just started to search her patient, feel her delicate body, check on that old injury on her ear and looked into both of them before cleaning them with a piece of cotton. Only when the doctor gave the kitten a small injection, it let out another of these pained meows, very quiet, defeated sounding this time, and Clint felt a little like joining the choir. This definitely wouldn't make his list of favorite mornings.
Little one went into sulking mode after that. She didn't even try to protest much when the doctor forced her to swallow a small pill, and wriggled only a little when she was fitted a smug flea collar around her neck. Miraculously, she didn't have fleas, as the doctor informed Clint - thank God for small favors - doubtlessly thanks to her lacking contact with other cats. He definitely preferred it if it stayed that way.
He wasn't sure how to feel about the attached little coin with his telephone number on that collar, but if it helped keeping people from harming little one when they understood she had... a caretaker or something... There could be worse.
"Bring her back in a few weeks, then we can chip her", the woman finally ordered when the patient was back in her box, apparently still too shocked to even protest, and she started writing down a list of things for Clint to buy. "If she makes it, that is. If you keep on feeding her well and give her the anthelmintics, she has a good chance. She's tougher than I thought. Give her a bath when she comes home. That's the stuff you put in the water. You get all this in that shop across the street..."
And so on. Clint allowed himself to clock out and soak the information in with that certain brain half responsible for tactical meetings and Fury's motivational speeches, while his conscious thoughts went back to Natasha. She would be happy to hear that little one was doing alright at least. If she wanted to hear it at all and wasn't just being pushed in a bottomless abyss by her own diagnosis...
He just couldn't keep the fear out of his mind longer than five minutes. He should have been with her now. Not bargaining with a native who apparently thought, Americans didn't know anything about local economies, about a reasonable price for the session.
The last argument they finally had over little one's patient record since the doctor insisted on putting a name on there and he simply had no idea what to answer. Natasha and him probably should come up with something better for the next visit than the Italian equivalent for Jane Doe...
Finally he left the building more unnerved than ever, with like a single Euro left in his wallet. Fortunately, in that pet shop he could use his credit card, and he didn't pay much mind to the sum on that checkout display in the end. He was sure, he had all kind of stuff in the two bags he didn't even need, just because he really wanted to get back to the hospital and know what was going on now.
By the time he came back to the car, little one had found her voice back and protested very clearly about still being caged. At least the kitten treats the girl in the shop had put in his bag without even asking, came in handy now. When he shook a few of the fish-formed little crackers through the grate of the basket, he was rewarded with another cut on the back of his hand. But soon his passenger was too curious about these smelly little things right before her paws and tried one of them, after looking and sniffing it from all sides. About half a minute later all of them were gone and the furball settled with licking its little mouth and than started to clean herself. She didn't even even protest when Clint put the basket down on the back floor again.
He should have been relieved but after driving just a few blocks, the silence already got on his nerves and he turned the radio on. Eros Ramazotti throwing passionate corny pieces about broken hearts and hot summer nights at him at least took his mind off things. For like a few minutes. He left the motor running when they reached their destination, both to drown his senses with more song and silly commercials and let the air conditioning on for little one, and tried not to stare holes into the hospital doors.
no subject
Clint still didn't like the idea of leaving Natasha alone in this situation, so vague, so unreal and poisoning the air all th same, but in the end it was her decision. And their relationship based a lot on giving her all the freedom she needed. He pressed another short kiss to her forehead and turned away then, keeping his restless sigh to himself until he was outside the building.
Their kitten was even more miserable, now that it wasn't close to the person anymore it already seemed to like so much. Clint began to wish they'd done this vet thing on another day. These sad, scared sounds from the back of the car just added to that emotional weight on his shoulders. Only overreacting of course, false alert, it had to be. In the evening they would laugh about how they had freaked out for a moment, surely... Right now he didn't see anything funny about the situation at all.
At least the waiting room of the vet was completely empty. No, Sicilians weren't morning people. When he told the doctor that he was a friend of Angelina, the grumpy, tired face of the middle aged woman lit up immediately. She motioned him to enter the care room and at least tried to keep the frown off her face when she took a look into his transport box. A confusion he could understand perfectly, he usually shared it.
Stray cats had been a problem in southern countries for centuries. Kittens seldom were taken as pets around here. They were rather eliminated before they could overpopulate the streets or chased out of the garden before they could ruin the vegetable patches.
And then there were good souls like Angelina who spent their money for neutering the males and take care of the sick and injured. And though Clint did neither have time nor the passion for such a life time cause, in some unexpected way he had taken a liking to this little rogue here. He wanted it to have at least a few years of a healthy life, and he couldn't act like he did it only for Natasha any longer. That furry devil had taken his heart, as much as he disliked to admit it.
So when the doctor asked him in a sympathetic voice if little one was worth the cost and trouble, he just glared at her.
That seemed to help - well, his glare did have that effect on most people - and the woman did her job. It should have been a relief when she got the animal out of the basket with quick, expert hands, gloves protecting her from the tiny, razor sharp claws - a trick Clint definitely would remember - and the little one suddenly was completely quiet. Only it wasn't. The little creature was stock still with fear, that was all. Her whole body trembled when the doctor put her on a pair of scales, giving Clint another doubtful look about the number she wrote down.
Fortunately she didn't say anything, just started to search her patient, feel her delicate body, check on that old injury on her ear and looked into both of them before cleaning them with a piece of cotton. Only when the doctor gave the kitten a small injection, it let out another of these pained meows, very quiet, defeated sounding this time, and Clint felt a little like joining the choir. This definitely wouldn't make his list of favorite mornings.
Little one went into sulking mode after that. She didn't even try to protest much when the doctor forced her to swallow a small pill, and wriggled only a little when she was fitted a smug flea collar around her neck. Miraculously, she didn't have fleas, as the doctor informed Clint - thank God for small favors - doubtlessly thanks to her lacking contact with other cats. He definitely preferred it if it stayed that way.
He wasn't sure how to feel about the attached little coin with his telephone number on that collar, but if it helped keeping people from harming little one when they understood she had... a caretaker or something... There could be worse.
"Bring her back in a few weeks, then we can chip her", the woman finally ordered when the patient was back in her box, apparently still too shocked to even protest, and she started writing down a list of things for Clint to buy. "If she makes it, that is. If you keep on feeding her well and give her the anthelmintics, she has a good chance. She's tougher than I thought. Give her a bath when she comes home. That's the stuff you put in the water. You get all this in that shop across the street..."
And so on. Clint allowed himself to clock out and soak the information in with that certain brain half responsible for tactical meetings and Fury's motivational speeches, while his conscious thoughts went back to Natasha. She would be happy to hear that little one was doing alright at least. If she wanted to hear it at all and wasn't just being pushed in a bottomless abyss by her own diagnosis...
He just couldn't keep the fear out of his mind longer than five minutes. He should have been with her now. Not bargaining with a native who apparently thought, Americans didn't know anything about local economies, about a reasonable price for the session.
The last argument they finally had over little one's patient record since the doctor insisted on putting a name on there and he simply had no idea what to answer. Natasha and him probably should come up with something better for the next visit than the Italian equivalent for Jane Doe...
Finally he left the building more unnerved than ever, with like a single Euro left in his wallet. Fortunately, in that pet shop he could use his credit card, and he didn't pay much mind to the sum on that checkout display in the end. He was sure, he had all kind of stuff in the two bags he didn't even need, just because he really wanted to get back to the hospital and know what was going on now.
By the time he came back to the car, little one had found her voice back and protested very clearly about still being caged. At least the kitten treats the girl in the shop had put in his bag without even asking, came in handy now. When he shook a few of the fish-formed little crackers through the grate of the basket, he was rewarded with another cut on the back of his hand. But soon his passenger was too curious about these smelly little things right before her paws and tried one of them, after looking and sniffing it from all sides. About half a minute later all of them were gone and the furball settled with licking its little mouth and than started to clean herself. She didn't even even protest when Clint put the basket down on the back floor again.
He should have been relieved but after driving just a few blocks, the silence already got on his nerves and he turned the radio on. Eros Ramazotti throwing passionate corny pieces about broken hearts and hot summer nights at him at least took his mind off things. For like a few minutes. He left the motor running when they reached their destination, both to drown his senses with more song and silly commercials and let the air conditioning on for little one, and tried not to stare holes into the hospital doors.