Avengers 1. broken wing

Agent Phil Coulson knew from the moment he laid eyes on him that that he was going to be trouble. He really should have seen this coming; and now he was mixed up in keeping secrets and telling lies to the Director.

The kid had been late to the briefing earlier that day. Mind you, that was not unusual. Barton seemed to enjoy antagonizing those in authority, secure in the knowledge that he was one of the best operatives SHIELD had ever seen, and everyone in that room knew it. But this time was different. All through the meeting, he was constantly checking the time, shifting in the seat, and clearly wanting to be elsewhere.

After being scolded by agent Kellerman for his inattentiveness, Barton sighed heavily and stood up. Looking Kellerman directly in the eye, he calmly and succinctly detailed the parameters of the missions, all the flaws he saw, and a better plan of execution. Then with a cocky quirk of the lips he promptly walked out the door, leaving a room full of slack jawed agents.

If Coulson had learned anything working for the government it was that shit rolled down hill. As the boy's handler, and Kellerman's subordinate, he got an ear full and a handful of shit assignments and he intended to make Barton pay for it.

Turning up outside Barton's room he wasted no time turning the knob and attempted to invade the room. He was met with an absurd amount of force from the other side as Barton appeared at the door pushing it closed.

"Hey Coulson," he said in a strained voice and a tight smile. "What's up?"

Coulson resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Barton's pathetic attempt at sounding casual, something he was really terrible at when caught red handed. Barton let out a nervous laugh. Without saying anything, Coulson pushed into the room. Of all the things he had expected, maybe find a pretty new recruit there hiding under the covers, this most certainly was not it. There on the bed, nestled in makeshift nest made of sheets was a small hawk.

Speechless, he turned back toward Barton, struggling for something to say. Barton gave another nervous laugh, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "He uh…he's got a broken wing." He said, eyes pleading with Coulson to understand.

Clint Barton was a strange mixture of man and boy. One moment he seemed far older than his mere 22 years; every experience from the past making itself known in his posture and his expression. And the next he was like a rambunctious happy-go-lucky kid who hadn't a care in the world.

But sometimes, like now, the hurt child who had been abused and grew up far too fast showed through. That boy always amazed Coulson. He saw a hurt person or an injustice and wanted to help make it better because no one had tried to help him. The kid's temper could run pretty hot, but his capacity for compassion was astonishing. Fury hand picked him for his ability to do what he thought was right, consequences be damned. Good for the sake of good, kind of like Captain America.

Naturally Coulson was sucked into helping care for the injured animal; sneaking in food, bribing people to look the other way, and lying to his boss to cover for Clint when he would inexplicably disappear to check on his injured friend.

When finally it was time to send the little guy off, he was actually a little sad to see him go. Clint laughed gleefully when the bird took flight, spreading his fully healed wing and effortlessly climbing into the sky. Clint continued to gaze wistfully at the sky after the bird had vanished from sight, a small satisfied smile pulled at his lips. They stood there in the park for a little while longer in a comfortable silence.


	2. orphan

Never once in a millions years had Natasha Romanov, master spy, master assassin, master interrogator, femme fatale, trained to handle any situation, thought she would be faced with this. There standing at her door with a boyish grin on his face, a playful glint in his eyes, and hiding something behind his back, was an overgrown nine-year-old pain in the ass.

A soft mewing came from behind his back and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. The glare she leveled at him had sent many a victim running scared, but his grin merely grew wider. He did, however, gulp nervously when she audibly pulled back the hammer of her hand gun.

It was just barely four months that they had officially become partners and two months since she was allowed to live off base; a freedom that she had never had prior to working for SHIELD. Between missions she reveled in her new found freedom; drinking her favorite cheap wine, eating whatever the hell she wanted, and watching old movies. And she _did not_ like to be disturbed.

Where she lived was need-to-know. Fury and Coulson knew where to find her, but as far as she was concerned, her partner didn't need to know. But, alas, the sneaky little bastard was standing right in front of her, and was suddenly holding a little ball of fur in her face. To add insult to injury, the thing licked her nose. With a grunt of disgust, she leaped back and turned her glare on the offending creature.

Clint laughed in amusement and cradled the small animal against his chest, scratching it under the chin and giving it a kiss. "You should see your face right now." He said as he pushed past her and properly invaded her apartment. She imagined the look on her face probably translated to "what the fuck?" and quickly schooled her features to standard indifference.

"what is that?" she asked

"It's a kitten Natasha." He answered as if introducing something new to a small child.

_Right. Stupid question._

Natasha let out a frustrated sigh. "Yes, I _know_ that! I mean what are you doing with it? Better yet, what are you doing _here_ with it? What are you doing here at all?" it wasn't until after the words left her mouth, she realized how much her voice had risen. This only ever seemed to happen around Clint. He merely flashed that damn smile once more at her and made his way over to sink down onto _her_ couch, and propped his feet up on _her_ coffee table; all the while cuddling that small ball of fur. The man was so damn aggravating.

With another frustrated sigh, she closed the door to her apartment and followed him into the small living room. He had pressed play on the movie she had paused to answer the unexpected knock on the door, made himself comfortable, and was now completely engrossed in watching Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire dance across the screen. All the while absentmindedly stroking the kitten.

She stared at him, at a loss for what to do, something that seemed to be happening more and more since he had met him. It made her uneasy.

She stood there awkwardly, frowning down at him. She had never been unsure of herself until she met him, at least not that she could remember. He constantly surprised her. She had assumed once that he had been bewitched by her beauty, like so many men before him. She had encountered men before that had fallen in love with her and offered to spirit her away from her life as a killer. Never once had she put any faith in them until Clint. He was unlike any man she had ever met. When she had tried to repay him with what she thought he wanted, he rebuffed her.

Working with him had been interesting. She had never had a long term partner before, and certainly never one that she had actually enjoyed working with. They complimented each other, in their methods, their fighting styles, their interrogation approaches. Together they easily work every angle. Their working relationship, she understood. It was smooth and uncomplicated.

Clint, however, insisted on complicating matters. He would start conversations, make jokes at inappropriate times, and generally act like a child. She did not understand how someone who could be so professional while on a mission could regress to the age of nine the second they were in the clear. And then there were moments like this, where he deliberately invaded her space. She never knew how to respond. She didn't know how to be someone's friend. She could seduce a man and reduce him to jelly, but befriend him?

He finally directed his attention to her standing there so obviously uncomfortable (another thing that had been happening more often, her emotions being obvious). He gave her a warm smile that somehow managed to calm her and patted the seat next to him. She hesitated briefly, before finally settling at the other end of the small couch. He picked up her glass of wine that she had been drinking and stole some before filling it up again and handing it to her. She took it gratefully, and forced herself to relax. They settled into a companionable silence while they watched the movie.

She must have dosed off, a testament to how much trust she had in Clint despite herself, because there was suddenly a tiny creature attempting to crawl up onto her lap. It mewed softly at her and butted its head into her stomach. She frowned slightly at it, and then lifted her hand to scratch it under the chin like she had seen Clint do previously. The little thing began to purr loudly, louder than she thought possible for such a tiny thing.

It leaned into her hand and fell over on her lap, rolling over like a dog to have its tummy rubbed. At this, Natasha giggled. A sound she had not made in a very long time. She was as surprised as Clint to hear the sound escape her lips. She gave the small fur ball in her lap a rare genuine smile and rubbed its tiny tummy like it seemed to want.

Suddenly aware of someone gaze, she whipped her head around to find Clint smiling that damn smile that made her feel like all was well, and that she was safe.

"I found the poor guy in an alley all alone." He said, breaking the silence. "and…well…I can't keep him in my quarters. Fury would have a shit fit. So…I was thinking…" he leaned toward her, and suddenly the nine year old was back and giving her the most pathetic puppy dog eyes he could manage. "please, _please_" he begged, "will you let me keep him here? I'll feed him, and clean up after him, you'll hardly know he's here." She couldn't believe she was actually hearing this; he sounded like a child trying to convince his mother.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Why not just get your own place off base? Then you could keep him there."

"Oh come on Natasha." He whined in an almost endearing way that only Clint could seem to manage. "Come on, we're friends right? Can't you do this one little thing for me? At least for a little while till I find a better home for him? _Please_?"

Friends? Were they friends? She supposed they could be counted as such, though she was no expert on the matter. Clint continued to give her the puppy dog eyes. She glanced down at the small thing in her lap. It's slight weight and warmth was strangely pleasant. She stroked him absentmindedly and he purred in pleasure at her ministrations.

Clint was still watching her with those big grey childlike eyes. "Come on, you know you like him. And look! He loves you already!" she scoffed. "Come _on_Tasha! Look how cuddly he is! How can you say no to that face?" she looked back down at the kitten. And swear to God the damn cat was giving her the puppy dog eyes too! Clint seemed to notice it too because he suddenly began to 'voice' the cats thoughts. "Come on Tasha." He said in what she guessed was his best impression of a baby cat; "you won't kick me out into the cold dark alley all alone will you?"

At this Natasha frowned. There was a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach that she didn't care to name, so she pushed it to the back of her mind. Instead of answering, she merely sat there and continued to stroke the tiny animal.

Clint seemed to take this as an affirmative because he smiled brilliantly at her, and suddenly she was very glad she had not let the word "no" slip past her lips as her instincts called for. Still smiling he moved toward her, pulling her into a side hug and dropping an unexpected kiss onto her forehead that caused a strange fluttering in her stomach. "Goodnight" he said softly and then still smiling that ridiculously brilliant smile, he stood and left.

Long after he had gone, Natasha found herself ATILL smiling softly and stroking the kitten. Gently cradling the small kitten, she made her way into her bedroom. Laying the cat on the bed, she changed into a loose t-shirt and crawled into bed. She fell asleep quickly for once, to the sound a perfectly pleased little kitten lounging on the pillow next to her.


	3. Dogdays

Wow. I have been so surprised and delighted with the responses to this! You guys are so great! I can't tell you how encouraging it is read your reviews.

Thanks so much! Hope you enjoy this new chapter.

I was going to wait till tomorrow to post this but it is done now and I am really excited to see what people think of it. So, here you go!

Arriving home for the first time in weeks, Natasha really was not surprised to find a light on, and the T.V. on with the volume turned down low. Clint was passed out on her couch, which always happened if he beat her back from a solo mission. He learned quickly to never try and sneak in when she was actually home. She really should start charging him rent for the amount of time he spent in her apartment.

He was wearing a suit with the tie loosened. Tears in his clothing, a split lip and a black eye told her he had recently been in a fight. Given that he had probably been back for at least a week from Caracas, the fight took place off the clock. Probably defending some girls honor or standing up to some thug who was bullying some poor victim. Sir Barton to the rescue, she really wouldn't be surprised. He was always sticking his nose where it didn't belong, constantly getting them in more trouble than a mission warranted. He just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.

It was late and some ridiculous infomercial was on. How anyone could have such difficulty slicing bread that they would buy some specialty item at 2 A.M. was beyond her. She clicked it off and grabbed the duvet from the back of the couch to throw over her sleeping partner. If it was her, she would have snapped awake and groped for the nearest weapon. Not so with Barton. If he was somewhere he thought he was safe, the man slept like the dead.

She was going to turn in herself when something cold and wet touched her hand and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Spinning around, ready for a fight, she found a mangy dog staring up at her. She stared at him in shock.

_What the…_

He was a sandy color with bumps and scrapes to match with Clint. It didn't take long for her to put two and two together.

This was becoming a bad habit.

First with the cat, then there was a frog, and a sparrow, and a raccoon, which she managed to get Clint to get rid of only by convincing him that the cat would eat them. Not to mention the things he tried to keep in his quarters on base. It was like he thought he was a Disney princess or something.

The dog sat down at her feet and licked her hand looking up expectantly. Rolling her eyes, she reached down to scratch the mutt behind the ears. There was a bowl of water on the ground, and it looked like Clint had opened a couple cans of cat food for the dog. Unbelievable.

The dog nudged her again and then padded over to the door, pawing at it lightly and then looking at her expectantly.

Oh, she was going to _kill_ him.

Sighing in resignation, she looked around for something to use as a leash. Finding nothing she groaned frustration. Well, if he ran away she'd blame Clint. So she opened the door and headed out of the building, the dog followed faithfully her side, panting happily.

While they were out, she stopped by a mart for a collar and leash, so as to comply with leash laws, as well as a proper can of dog food. She'd make Clint pay her back later. Boy would she make him pay.

A cat was fine. A cat could take care of itself while they were gone for days or weeks at a time. What the hell were they going to do with a _dog_?


	4. Knight to Bishop

Hey guys! Thanks again for the reviews! It is so great to hear feedback.

Hope you enjoy this one!

* * *

_Oh._

_My._

_God._

_Seriously?_

Of all the strays Clint had brought in, this took the cake.

"She followed me home. Can I keep her?" he said in that irritating jovial tone he used when he knew she was annoyed with him.

"Absolutely _not_!"

What on Earth was he thinking? Surely he couldn't be serious. She glanced over at Coulson for help, but the man had his trademark deadpan firmly in place. She swore he was trying not to laugh at the situation.

"Aw, come on Tasha! Pleeese?" He chuckled at the exasperated look on her face. "We can train her! She's so smart and talented! Come on, she'll be a great asset!" She gave him a dubious look. "Don't be like that Tasha. I haven't even gotten to the best part! She's an archer! And a damn good one too! Not as good as me but…" He looked like an excited kid on Christmas morning.

She focused her attention on the girl, sizing her up.

She had to be 16 or 17, scraped up knees, arms crossed, bow slung over her shoulder, and a demeanor that screamed defiant plucky teenager with attitude. Barton had found a kindred spirit.

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance; she could feel a sudden migraine coming on. She turned to Coulson, who had not had to deal with Clint taking in strays since she got her apartment, "you deal with it!" she threw up her arms in anger then stormed out of the room.

* * *

The girl's name was Kate Bishop, and the next day Natasha found herself training the girl in basic hand to hand combat.

She'd never admit it, but Natasha was actually starting to like her after just day of training. She had expected a whiny brat, much like Clint could be when he decided to be a sore looser after Natasha wiped the floor with him. He really just liked trying to get a rise out of her, and to her chagrin he usually succeeded.

Not so with Kate. The girl was driven and took criticism well. She was a hard worker and had a good head on her shoulders. Natasha could tell she would make an excellent SHIELD agent when she was old enough to enlist. Training Kate became a side project of sorts. Whenever they were available, she, Clint, and sometimes even Coulson, would spend time helping her to hone her skills.

* * *

A few months later, Natasha found herself lounging on her couch playing Trivial Pursuit with both Clint and Kate. Clint had an arm resting on the back of the couch behind her with a cat half lying on his shoulder. Kate was laying upside down on the recliner with her feet on the back rest and her head on the foot rest staring up at the ceiling. The Dog seemed to think he was a lap dog and had plopped himself in Natasha's lap.

She leaned into Clint's side wondering when she had ever been so content. Somehow this ragtag group had become a family of sorts.

As if reading her thoughts, Clint gave her a cheeky grin.

"You know, you were the first Stray Coulson let me keep right?" he whispered to her.


	5. The Spy Who Came in from the Cold

Again thanks for the reviews! I'm fast becoming a review junkie, and it is entirely your fault (not that I am complaining).

For those of you who may not know who Kate Bishop is, she is Hawkeye…well Hawkeye 2. She takes the name in honor of Hawkeye after he "dies." She's pretty awesome. If you want a good read, I suggest the current Hawkeye series that is out by Matt Fraction, which follows Clint and Kate when they are not being avengers. The dog Arrow is in it too. The art is done by David Aja, who is AMAZING.

* * *

There would be no living with him after this.

The mission was supposed to be a bust. No one ever got any leads. Ever. The only reason it was still in rotation was to put arrogant sons-of-bitches like Barton in their place.

Now, depending on how you looked at it, it was just another successful notch it his belt. Barton didn't exactly complete the mission, but he still did what no one before him had been able to do.

He tracked down the Black Widow. For years the woman had been a ghost, only appearing on radar to take out a target and then vanishing without a trace. And Barton had found her.

But instead of eliminating her like he had been ordered. He fucking brought her in alive! The most dangerous assassin SHIELD had ever encountered, and Barton walked her in like she was some talented teenager he found on the street.

Now Coulson was standing across from her in the hallway. In the background, Fury could be heard shouting at Barton in the other room. Her hair was tousled and clothes disheveled. Her lip was split, staining her lips blood red. She was wrapped in Clint's jacket, knees pulled up to her chest, and eyeing him warily.

She was truly stunning.

Coulson hoped to God Barton hadn't done this because he had been seduced by this vixen and fancied himself in love with her.

Behind his own deadpan expression, Coulson was nervous. He itched to put his hand on his gun, but he had a feeling that even the slightest twitch would set her off. So they just stood there watching each other; each waiting for the other to make a move.

This may not end well…

* * *

She was a pariah, no one trusted her. People avoided her in the hallways, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to find partners willing to spar with her. Even the trainers who were assigned to evaluate her skills were visibly unnerved by her presence. Her cool countenance and professional manner put them all to shame

The entire base was on edge. No one seemed to believe she had actually defected; they were just waiting for the Trojan horse to make its move.

Everyone except Clint.

He didn't approach her like a scared animal like Coulson had expected. Instead, he treated her like he treated everyone else, making crude jokes, laughing loudly, and taunting her in sparring matches.

The first week after he brought her in, and Fury agreed to at least give her a chance, Clint had been shipped off to some shit hole in an attempt to teach him a lesson about disobeying orders. It didn't last long though; after it became clear that no one was terribly willing to work with her or treat her fairly, they quickly recalled him.

Their sparring matches quickly became crowd gathering displays. Barton was the only one who could put the girl down hard on the mat. It became clear to everyone that he could "handle" her and helped to ease some nerves.

They didn't see what Coulson saw. She was throwing the fights, giving up ground and letting him take her down. She was a master manipulator; knowing it might comfort some people if they thought someone could match her. It made Coulson uneasy. There was no way Barton had beaten her into submission and convinced her to turn.

As time passed, though, he couldn't help but be impressed. She took everything in stride. Easily dominated any test the trainers could devise for her. She was a brilliant interrogator; extracting information without the "mark" even noticing.

The first time they tested her, they told her she had failed to extract the necessary information. Then she confidently spouted most of the secrets the "mark" had been instructed to keep hidden. She used everything, body language, nervous habits, speech patterns, and even the useless answers agents were trained to given to distract and waste time. Every little detail gave her a piece of the puzzle, and she was right more often than not.

Who knew what kind of information she was gleaning from those around her.

* * *

Three months in, and she had yet to make any blatantly aggressive move against the agency.

She was a remarkable fighter, and Fury was pushing to allow her out on a mission, but the council was resisting. Everyone still avoided her; their mistrust was palpable. For some reason though Fury and Barton had made up their minds that she was sincere, and that was almost good enough for Coulson. Almost..

Late one night Coulson found her one of the training rooms. He observed her silently from the observation balcony. She was moving gracefully through dance moves.

She didn't make any sign that she had noticed him, but he was certain that she knew the minute he arrived. She sinuously moved through a beautiful dance with a look akin to contentment on her face. It was the most emotion he had ever seen her display.

Someone cleared their throat from the door way. The Widow finished her last move before directing her attention toward Clint who was standing in the doorway. He swaggered over to her, haughtily asking her if she was ready to lose again. To which she merely arched an eyebrow.

He stepped up onto the mat and without pretense, attacked. She danced easily out of his reach, and lifted a leg to deliver a harsh blow to his side. They traded several blows, neither one appearing to pull any puches. Clint would have her, and then she would escape once again. She would move in for the take down and he would slip away. Finally she attempted to deliver a punch to his jaw, but he caught her and spun her into his chest. She grabbed his arm and applied pressure just so…and was suddenly free and putting distance between them.

Without waiting for Clint to recover, she closed the distance feinted to the side and then launched herself into the air, so high that she was able to wrap her legs around his neck. Throwing her weight backwards she easily pulled him to the ground and had him pinned.

Then, to Coulson's surprise, they stood, faced each other once again, and repeated each of their moves. Slower this time; pausing to critique and find a better counter or attack.

As they finished up, Clint murmured something to her and she _playfully_ punched him (Coulson hadn't thought she had a playful bone in her body). He staggered dramatically, "you're such a bully!" he whined.

"Вы такой ребенок" she replied with an uncharacteristic roll of her eyes.

He barked out a laugh made a snarky retort in a language Coulson didn't know and swept out of the room still cackling.

As Natasha followed behind, Coulson swore there was a ghost of a smile pulling at her lips.

After that Coulson began to notice that Clint's was improving, his victories against her on the mat were no longer faked for show. She was teaching him new moves and he was teaching her let to guard down.

* * *

I've been dying to post this chapter. It's the one in my head that spawned this fic. Not sure how well I wrote that fight scene…let me know.

The Russian translation is from Google translate. She says, "you are such a baby"


	6. The Walking Dead

And now for the final installment

* * *

Natasha was at a loss. Normally, when she dealt with someone in this condition, she was the one who caused it. Manipulating a mark to achieve an objective was easy; almost second nature, but _this_?

Clint was laying on her…their bed, face down. She had no idea how he was able to breathe like that. She had left him like this for few hours while she ran some errands, and came back to find he hadn't moved a muscle. For a second she was almost afraid he had managed to suffocate on his pillow, but he groaned despondently when she slapped his leg to check.

"Are you going to come join the land of the living anytime soon?"

He grunted in response.

She had honestly never seen him like this. _She_ was usually the one to silently brood and ignore the world when she was upset. Clint usually found something to take out his frustration on; there was a hole in bathroom tile to prove it. One large explosion and it was over. But ever since Loki…

It sucked. She understood that more than anyone. It felt almost good to wallow in self-pity; to give up. Been there, done that. But now, watching him go through it, it was becoming ridiculous. Maybe this was how he felt all those years ago dealing with her. Nothing anyone had tried seemed to help; in fact it seemed to have made it worse. And she most certainly did not approve of Tony Stark's idea of cheering someone up. Even Bow and Arrow (what Clint had taken to calling the cat and dog respectively) seemed to sense something was wrong and would curl up next to him to lend some moral support

_Well,_ she decided, _time to put an end to this nonsense_. She might regret this later, but if it worked it would be entirely worth it.

Gently setting down the box she was carrying, she tenderly pulled a small animal from it and deposited it unceremoniously on his back. It gave a small yip and startled the cat, which had been asleep on next to Clint's head.

With a small smile, Natasha picked up the cat and called the dog. Shutting the door behind her, she left him alone with the small creature. It almost felt like revenge for all the times he'd done it to her, which made her smile even more.

* * *

_Yip. Yip. Yip._

_What the…_

Groaning, Clint lifted his head for the first time in hours. Natasha had left something loud and annoying to jump around on his back. Taking a deep breath, he lifted himself up onto his elbows, groaning as his body protested from hours of inactivity. He turned onto his side, dumping the…whatever it was…onto the bed behind him, and rolled his neck till it popped a few times.

Not to be ignored, the creature attempted to jump over Clint's side, but was so small it didn't quite make it. Finally shaking off his lethargy, Clint turned his full attention the to the tiny fox kit that had interrupted his pity party. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face at the sight of it.

He always wondered when she would take her revenge. She always did have excellent timing.

Picking up the little bundle of energy, which was jumping up and down and yipping at him, he made his way out into the living room to find Natasha.

She was curled up on the sofa with the duvet wrapped around her and engrossed in a book. Arrow gave a soft bark at his sudden arrival and she looked up from her novel, raising an eye brow at the sight of him.

"Ah, the living dead! Must be the zombie apocalypse everyone has been looking forward to." She said giving his a satisfied smile.

He crinkled his nose at her, sticking out his tongue, and ended up jumping in surprise when the tiny fox licked him on the chin. At that, Natasha giggled which rarely ever happened and always succeeded in giving him a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest.

Bow made her displeasure at having a strange furry creature invade her home known and left out the window to the fire escape in protest.

Arrow was curled up next to her, and taking up too much room for Clint to sit. "Shoo!" he said, jerking his head toward the recliner. Arrow growled at him, and rolled over onto his back refusing to move. "Come on, get!" he said, lifting his leg to nudge the stubborn dog. With something that sounded a lot like Kate when she sighed in frustration, Arrow begrudgingly moved, allowing Clint to plop down next to Natasha and invade her space. He leaned into her with the pretense of reading over her shoulder. She rolled her eyes at him.

"So where did this little guy come from?"

"Oh, the wildlife reserve needed someone to foster her for a couple of weeks. I volunteered you." She said matter-of-factly, turning the page of her book.

"Hmmm, I think I'll call her Natalia."

Natasha directed a deadly glare at him, but had to fight back a smile when she saw His shit-eating grin firmly back where it belonged. That grin told her he was cooking of a plan to convince her to keep the kit. She'd deal with that later, because right now he was smiling again.

* * *

I blame Bookdancer.


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