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There are three things that Natasha took to when she first put down her roots (so to speak) in the small apartment in a building in Little Ukraine: wine and quiet and solitude.
And Liho.
She can’t quite remember when the creature had started coming around, or for that matter, why. If Natasha was unfit for a pet, her apartment was even more unfit: too messy for someone barely there and too basic for any kind of comfort. Still, there was something achingly familiar in the way the cat came and went of its own accord, the way it refused to be scared off by her standoffish nature, almost as if it was empathetic of all the traits that made Natasha the person she was herself.
More often than not, she convinces herself its presence is not something she cares for or even needs. But then there are nights like tonight, nights that seem far too depressing after the loneliness has comfortably settled in, nights when Natasha’s glad for the brush of whiskers rubbing up against her bare ankle and the soft meow that’s become an almost-regular ritual in an otherwise isolated stretch of hours. She lets herself relax in the space of the sound, allowing herself this one moment of security, to feel as though she’s anything other than Natasha Romanoff: spy and killer and seductress and debt payer.
She reaches for her wine glass as a soft tinkering in the direction of the fire escape catches her attention and tenses slightly at the sound, fingers of the opposite hand reaching for the gun concealed within the thick folds of her oversized sweatshirt as her peripheral vision kicks in. One thumb wraps itself around the trigger fluidly before she turns, aiming upwards in a quick flourish.
“Oh. You.”
“Sorry.” Clint moves into the light, bowstring in hand, looking slightly uncomfortable as they both drop their weapons. “Did I scare you?”
“You never do,” she answers with a smirk, swinging her legs forward. She launches herself off the ledge before nodding towards the shadow by his feet.
“What's with the dog?”
“You know Lucky.”
Natasha gives him a look as she reaches over to scratch Liho behind the ear. “I know Lucky. I mean what is he doing here and why is he looking at me like that?”
Clint shrugs. “I guess I was kind of hoping you could…y'know...maybe watch him for a few days. While I take care of some things.”
She straightens up, crossing her arms. “Another parking ticket?”
“Something like that,” he mumbles, scuffing a foot into the ground as Lucky sniffs at his shoes. Natasha sighs, the escaping air sounding more irritated than usual in the otherwise still night, and decides that it’s not worth pressing him. At least, not about where he’s going or what he’s doing.
“Why can't Kate watch him? I thought she was your designated vigilante girlfriend.”
“She's not my girlfriend,” Clint answers quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Anyway, she’s…busy.”
Natasha can’t help but hide a grin. “Girl code for ‘I have a date.’ And Bobbi?”
“Aw, come on. Seriously?” Clint’s voice takes on a visible whine and Lucky lowers his head as if even he’s embarrassed by the question. Natasha picks up the slender ball of fur by her feet as she sidesteps him, heading for the door at the other end of the rooftop.
“I don’t think Liho is going to like this very much.”
“If your cat’s anything like you, she isn’t going to like much of anything, so that’s not really a fair argument.”
Natasha turns at that, raising her eyebrows as he rubs at a slightly worn band-aid on the side of his skull.
“Two days. And only two days.” She narrows her eyes in Lucky’s direction. “I don’t do pets, Clint.”
“Looks like you do pets just fine,” he replies, his eyes falling on Liho who’s struggling to extract herself from her technical non-owner’s arms. Natasha relaxes, letting the cat drop lightly to the ground, where she continues to sniff around before darting back into the shadows.
“Exactly.”
***
The strange thing is, Lucky and Liho actually like each other. They sniff one another at first, warily eyeing each other as if they’re not entirely sure what to do with themselves, and then start to play together tentatively, mostly when they’re left alone. It’s so damn unnerving that she almost debates texting him, if only to ask, “what the hell,” but then realizes that she doesn’t really feel like opening the can of worms that will inevitably be Clint abusing his phone privileges. Besides, it’s an out-of-the-blue thing to do anyway – when they want to see each other, they more often than not show up unannounced and hope that it doesn’t result in the other getting injured by being caught off guard.
It’s a workable situation, in any case. Liho doesn’t prowl around the apartment too much when Natasha isn’t home, which is often, and Lucky seems more than content to amuse himself exploring the various parts of Natasha’s pad. It’s only in the evening that they all have to co-exist in the same area; the first night, Lucky sleeps at the foot of her bed, doesn’t seem put off by the fact that Natasha - more used to nightmares and being on edge than sharing personal space - nearly kicks him several times by accident. On the second day, after running errands on the way home from picking up another mission, she binges on a can of extra dog food because she’s not really sure what to do otherwise and she has a strange feeling that Clint either under or overfeeds him – probably with Chinese food. While she’s cooking her own dinner, she leaves the television on for background noise and comes back to the living room to find Lucky transfixed by a rerun of Dog Cops with his head pressed to the screen and his tail swinging furiously.
“You really are Clint's dog,” she mutters, shoving his head away from the screen. Liho creeps out from her space by the window, coming up to nuzzle her hand, and Natasha can’t help but think this is all a little insane. Natasha Romanoff: Avenger, secret agent, assassin - and she’s babysitting pets.
***
To his credit, Clint returns within the allotted 48-hour time span, this time using the door instead of the roof. She opens it to find him standing in the hallway, brown paper bag in hand, which he holds up in front of his face like a hard-won prize.
“Brought a thank you gift.”
“There better be one for my cat, too” she replies without missing a beat, taking the sack and trying to ignore the warmth rushing through her stomach at the realization that he knows exactly what bakery in Brooklyn carries her favorite cannolis. She opens the door wider as he more or less lets himself in.
“I thought Natasha Romanoff didn’t do pets,” Clint says with a tinge of amusement as Lucky practically beelines to his side, jumping up to lick his face, and Liho creeps out from underneath the couch.
“She doesn’t.” Natasha bites into one of the pastries. “By the way. You named your dog Lucky?”
“You’re one to talk. You named your cat bad luck?”
“At least I was more subtle about it.”
Clint snorts. “Russian, Nat – real subtle. Next time, try Pig Latin.”
Natasha rolls her eyes as she moves into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge, proceeding to pour herself a full glass of wine before settling next to him on the couch.
“So you’re not going to tell me where you were?” she asks when she sits, causing Clint to glare up as he takes a sip of his beer.
“It’s not official Avenger business.”
Natasha curls her legs under her. “So? I thought that was part of our deal. You know, the whole ‘being friends’ thing. I tell you things that I do on my downtime, and you do the same.”
“Like I said – not official Avenger business,” Clint repeats, clipping his words, and Natasha detects something in his voice that she recognizes as overly defensive. Clint’s far from an open book (and she would be the first one to admit it) but in the same sense, she also knows she can usually find a way to take down the walls he builds for himself – if she can read that he wants it. She chooses to stay silent, instead reaching out to place her hand over his.
“Well, fine. I hope that wherever you were, it went okay.”
Clint looks up, understanding relaxing into his eyes as he searches her face. “Thanks,” he says after a long pause, his voice a little too soft. He clears his throat, nodding again. “Really. Thanks. For watching Lucky, I mean.”
Natasha feels herself start to smile and uses the moment to shove his shoulder impishly, throwing his gaze off guard. “Please don’t start suggesting we have pet play dates,” she deflects dryly, watching his own lips rise.
“Not even for the Puppy Bowl? Greatest sporting event of the year, Tasha. You wait long enough, they’ll make one for felines.”
Natasha shakes her head against the small laugh that escapes from her mouth and curls her fingers around his palm as Liho jumps into her lap, purring softly and contently, the vibration a gentle and comforting hum against the skin of her leg.
“Come on, Barton. I’ll make you dinner.”
She tugs at his hand, pulling him upright, and leads him back towards the kitchen - Liho at her feet and Lucky trailing dutifully behind.