Clint froze when Natasha did, calling himself an idiot for not considering, she couldn't do this right now. And why? Just because he was a silly sob and couldn't handle dealing with a kitten after a fucking long day? That was not exactly what concern and help looked like.

He was ready to take the animal back and tell her it was okay, that he would be out with her in a few minutes, but then she relaxed, and his shoulders sagged back down. If she could at least have the kitten around her still, just a little thing to make her smile, that already was a big deal right now.

And maybe not only for that reason he wasn't opposed to her hardly hidden request. That battle was long lost anyway.

"I'll build a cat flap in the door tomorrow or something. Pretty sure that girl in the shop put one in the bag. If the furball even wants to come back that is. Guess we'll see tomorrow."

He reached out absent-minded, for Natasha's hand or the kitten, he wasn't really sure, but withdrew immediately when the kitten hissed and startled. Well, as if he hadn't expected that. Probably better if he didn't bond with that little devil anyway. As it had turned out recently, his record of fucking things up was indeed legendary.

"I'll get that salad ready."

He quickly washed the worst of blood from the scratches off his arms and turned to leave for the kitchen, a little faster than necessary maybe.