The next morning, Clint got out of bed without Natasha forcing the issue. She was cooking pancakes and bacon for breakfast, humming "The Waltz of the Flowers," when Clint's arm suddenly snaked into her peripheral vision and snagged a piece of bacon from the plate. "I'm letting the first one slide since you got up and showered without me having to toss you off the mattress."
"Letting it slide? This is my house. Therefore, this is my bacon," he said as grabbed another strip.
"If that's what you're going with, then I remind you I'm armed!" Natasha warned with a smile, waving her tongs like a sword.
Clint reached out for another piece of bacon, but dodged back from the tongs and tripped backwards over the cat food bowl. His looked between Natasha and the dry cat food then asked, "Um, when did we get a cat?"
"Oh, кошка let herself in a few days ago."
"кошка? You're calling the cat Cat?" With this, Natasha felt her lips form a tiny smile.
"It's not like she could introduce herself and tell me her name!" she protested, her smile growing. "кошка is an accurate description."
"Where is she?" he asked.
"She's a little shy. If you sit on the couch, I'm certain she will materialize when she wants petting."
Clint still fell asleep within an hour or so after breakfast, but at least it was on the downstairs couch. As predicted, кошка showed up and made herself comfortable. When Natasha glanced over in the middle of her yoga session, she saw that the calico cat had curled herself into a doughnut on Clint's chest and was staring at his closed eyes. A little while later, as she went into her tripod headstand, Clint's voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts. "I will never understand how you do that," he marveled as she brought her legs into the lotus pose while still in the headstand.
She grinned at him as she came back down. "For a guy who can wait hours for the perfect shot, you never did have any patience for yoga."
"Blame Bobbi," he suggested from his prone position on the couch. He was petting the cat. "She posed as a yoga instructor on one of our first missions, and she absolutely relished forcing me to practice with her." Natasha grabbed her glass of water from the end table and drank greedily.
"I always knew I liked her," she teased, and her heart sang when he rolled his eyes back at her. "I was going to take another shower after my workout, unless you'd like to spar first," she offered, forcing her voice to sound light.
His eyes dimmed, and he looked away. "Not yet, Nat." He shook his head. After a moment, he looked up. "But maybe we could run some errands? This little darlin'," he scratched under the cat's chin, and his voice brightened a hair, "would probably appreciate a cat bed."
"A cat bed?" Natasha couldn't hold back her confusion at the sudden left turn of the conversation, and that suddenly amused Clint.
"Cats like to have their kittens in a warm, safe place," he told her with a smirk.
"Kittens," Natasha repeated. She looked down at the purring calico cat on Clint's chest, and observed she was a lot chubbier than she had been just a few days ago. She recalled how eagerly the cat had come inside the house. "You little sneak," she accused the cat. In response, the calico rumbled back at her.
Clint chortled with glee. "You didn't know." He shook his head. "My partner, one half of the esteemed Strike Team Delta, possibly the deadliest assassin ever to have survived the Red Room, conned by a pregnant cat."
"You are not funny," Natasha scolded him, even as she felt her lips breaking into a smile.
"Not only am I funny, you think I'm adorable," he insisted, eyes wide in mock innocence.
"I would throw this yoga mat at you if it wouldn't scare the cat."
They stared at each other, trying to maintain serious expressions. Then Clint's upper body began to move with suppressed mirth. The calico, disturbed by the sudden movement, bolted for the stairs like her tail was on fire. And they both broke into laughter.