Natasha looked up at Clint apologetically when the kitten hissed at him. He put on a good show but she knew it was eating him up inside that the little thing was scared of him now, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty for not sharing that blame.

“She’ll come around,” she said, hoping it was true. Clint might have to do some sucking up, and if he was the primary food provider then that would likely help. They would figure it out. They always did.

Once she was alone again she looked down at the pitiful creature in her arms, all wrapped up in the towel. “Such a big mess for such a little thing,” she said, glancing around the bathroom again. “He’s only trying to help you, you know, but you’re making him believe that maybe black cats really are unlucky.” The kitten mewled and blinked up at her. “Perhaps we should call you Lucky.” She swore the tongue stuck out at her. “The opposite? Unlucky doesn’t sound quite right.” She started running antonyms over in her head, then similar words, but was having difficulty coming up with a good term for the little problem in her arms. She switched to different languages and legends until one struck her. “Misfortune. Liho.”

All the while, somewhere in the back of her mind she was screaming not to name it. There was no going back after that.