in waiting rooms
expectant
rating: g
characters: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark
warnings: none
summary: Liho is having kittens, and Natasha's not taking it as calmly as Clint would have expected.
author's note: For crazy4orcas, who prompted the above. :)
"Natasha." He picks up her hand, running his thumb over knuckles that are white with anxiety, locked with nerves. "It’s going to be okay."
She looks at him over her shoulder, the tight lines around her eyes telling him exactly what she thinks about that.
"But what if it isn’t?" She asks, her back tense against his chest. "Birth isn’t kind. There are so many things that can go wrong."
Life isn’t kind, she doesn’t need to say, and he understands. They can deal with life as it is, they can end it in a thousand ways or more, but creating it, bringing it into this world…
He wraps his other arm around her waist, letting his hand linger on her stomach, and rests his head on her shoulder.
"Then we’ll find someone who can help. Carol gave us the name of her vet and it’s only a fifteen-minute drive to the clinic. We can manage until then, promise."
Liho shifts in the laundry basket, stretching before resuming her ministrations on the belly that has swollen in the past few weeks. For all her faster breathing, she seems to be handling it better than her definitely-not-an-owner.
"At least she’s comfortable," Natasha comments, but there’s a hint of laughter to her words.
"She’s on my shirts, isn’t she," Clint mock-grumbles, and feels some of the tension bleed out of her back.
"It’s not like this will ruin them." That’s already happened goes unspoken, their long-standing debate over exactly how many holes in a T-shirt are too many, or when the color should be referred to as ‘grease’ instead of something kinder. Natasha exhales, holding onto his hand, and if her grip is tight from more than worry and anticipation, Clint will not bring it up.
Each and every Avenger to visit thereafter is quickly adopted by one of Liho’s small but rambunctious kittens, who learn to escape any sort of confinement with surprising rapidity.
"Seriously, they’re practically spy cats, you’ve clearly rubbed off on them," Tony complains as he’s assaulted by a feisty ginger fascinated with his goatee, but his hands are gentle when he lifts the tiny tom up.
"Cats are the original spies," Natasha tells him, the corners of her mouth quirking. Clint, who woke this morning to find himself the subject of "Pounce the Toes," couldn’t agree more.
Lying safely out of kitten reach on top of the door, Liho narrows her eyes and purrs with satisfaction.
rating: g
characters: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark
warnings: none
summary: Liho is having kittens, and Natasha's not taking it as calmly as Clint would have expected.
author's note: For crazy4orcas, who prompted the above. :)
"Natasha." He picks up her hand, running his thumb over knuckles that are white with anxiety, locked with nerves. "It’s going to be okay."
She looks at him over her shoulder, the tight lines around her eyes telling him exactly what she thinks about that.
"But what if it isn’t?" She asks, her back tense against his chest. "Birth isn’t kind. There are so many things that can go wrong."
Life isn’t kind, she doesn’t need to say, and he understands. They can deal with life as it is, they can end it in a thousand ways or more, but creating it, bringing it into this world…
He wraps his other arm around her waist, letting his hand linger on her stomach, and rests his head on her shoulder.
"Then we’ll find someone who can help. Carol gave us the name of her vet and it’s only a fifteen-minute drive to the clinic. We can manage until then, promise."
Liho shifts in the laundry basket, stretching before resuming her ministrations on the belly that has swollen in the past few weeks. For all her faster breathing, she seems to be handling it better than her definitely-not-an-owner.
"At least she’s comfortable," Natasha comments, but there’s a hint of laughter to her words.
"She’s on my shirts, isn’t she," Clint mock-grumbles, and feels some of the tension bleed out of her back.
"It’s not like this will ruin them." That’s already happened goes unspoken, their long-standing debate over exactly how many holes in a T-shirt are too many, or when the color should be referred to as ‘grease’ instead of something kinder. Natasha exhales, holding onto his hand, and if her grip is tight from more than worry and anticipation, Clint will not bring it up.
Each and every Avenger to visit thereafter is quickly adopted by one of Liho’s small but rambunctious kittens, who learn to escape any sort of confinement with surprising rapidity.
"Seriously, they’re practically spy cats, you’ve clearly rubbed off on them," Tony complains as he’s assaulted by a feisty ginger fascinated with his goatee, but his hands are gentle when he lifts the tiny tom up.
"Cats are the original spies," Natasha tells him, the corners of her mouth quirking. Clint, who woke this morning to find himself the subject of "Pounce the Toes," couldn’t agree more.
Lying safely out of kitten reach on top of the door, Liho narrows her eyes and purrs with satisfaction.