There is pizza. Glorious, ridiculous American pizza that Natasha will grudgingly admit to missing when she's bouncing around Europe. Pizza had while curled up on the couch in their room watching...
A squid version of Iron Chef.
(It's entirely possible that Natasha has been giggling over the resignation on Clint's face just as much as the show itself.)
Then follows a movie populated by a collection of beings clearly descended from some form of predatory tree ("I think it's the tree-spirit version of Hamlet", Natasha comments, bemused.
"The only version of Hamlet I know involved lions," Clint says, slowly, squinting at the tv as the young hero - heroine? Natahsa has no idea on the gender of sentient moving tree-beings - is haunted by leaves of their parent).
By the time the credits roll, Natasha is yawning. It's the perfect time to go back to her Moscow hotel room, and all she does is hook her leg over Clint's knee.
She doesn't want to go-
Well, she thinks, that line of thought isn't going anywhere productive. Or professional.
"I guess we'd better get back to our proper timezones," she comments, and Clint looks over at her.
"Yeah," he says, but all he does is tuck one of her stray curls behind an ear. She moves to get up, and then ends up kissing him soundly.
i love you
She'd like to say that it shows a strength of character that it doesn't take them that long to make their way downstairs, and out their respective doors. Perfect professionals, that's them.
And much later, when she's back at the club, she finds it a little easier to smile at the patrons and roll with the irritations.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2013-08-23 05:27 am (UTC)A squid version of Iron Chef.
(It's entirely possible that Natasha has been giggling over the resignation on Clint's face just as much as the show itself.)
Then follows a movie populated by a collection of beings clearly descended from some form of predatory tree ("I think it's the tree-spirit version of Hamlet", Natasha comments, bemused.
"The only version of Hamlet I know involved lions," Clint says, slowly, squinting at the tv as the young hero - heroine? Natahsa has no idea on the gender of sentient moving tree-beings - is haunted by leaves of their parent).
By the time the credits roll, Natasha is yawning. It's the perfect time to go back to her Moscow hotel room, and all she does is hook her leg over Clint's knee.
She doesn't want to go-
Well, she thinks, that line of thought isn't going anywhere productive. Or professional.
"I guess we'd better get back to our proper timezones," she comments, and Clint looks over at her.
"Yeah," he says, but all he does is tuck one of her stray curls behind an ear. She moves to get up, and then ends up kissing him soundly.
She'd like to say that it shows a strength of character that it doesn't take them that long to make their way downstairs, and out their respective doors. Perfect professionals, that's them.
And much later, when she's back at the club, she finds it a little easier to smile at the patrons and roll with the irritations.