He doesn't even like dogs.
Not really.
I mean, sure, he'll pet one if the owner offers. But, a freelance mercenary can't afford to become attached to goldfish, much less a dog.
And it has nothing to to do with the fact that his ex-wife took their golden retriever in the divorce settlement.
Nothing at all.
He looks down at the ball of white fluff at his feet and groans softly.
He can't believe he got talked into it by Skye.
"Please, just for the weekend. I have to go out on assignment. If Coulson finds out I have a dog here . . . ." and she let the rest of the sentence hang.
The dog whimpers softly, silently angry that he isn't Skye. Lance strokes the pup's silky fur. "I know. I know."
000000
By Sunday, he's sleeping with her.
The dog.
Not Skye.
Friday night, she was locked outside his bunk, in a utility room.
Saturday night, she was allowed to be at the foot of his bed.
By Sunday morning, he's curled up with her, scratching her head, letting her lick his cheek.
Sunday afternoon comes by and Skye returns, breathless and excited, full of chatter about the mission with May. He reluctantly returns the dog, a sad smile on his face.
"So, how'd it go?" she asks, her face aglow.
"Fine," he looks at the dog longingly before shaking his head. "I mean, it was a pain. You owe me," he says gruffly.
"I guess I do. How about a coffee?" she suggests.
"All that work and all I get is a coffee?" he complains.
"Okay, fine. I'll take over inventory," she says in an exasperated tone.
"No . . . that's not what I meant. What about dinner?"
"Dinner?" she asks, head cocked to the side.
"Dinner," he replies firmly.
"Alright," she nods.
Lance smiles. Maybe dog-sitting isn't so bad after all.
Author's Note- I saw a Twitter post and photo from Nick Blood saying that he was dogsitting for Chloe Bennet and I got inspired.