I've Got Some Red in My Ledger

Before Natasha could even get her key in the lock, there was a half-grown black kitten winding around her ankles. "I'm still not giving you a name," she told it. The cat ignored her, of course. She'd debriefed on the Helicarrier, showered and changed into civilian clothes, even let the doctors take a look at her before she returned from her mission, so she looked perfectly respectable, if exhausted.

When she finally got the door open, she threw her bag onto her bed, ignoring the way it clanked. She'd deal with it later. Then she headed straight for the kitchen. Food. She needed food, and possibly coffee.

...and, fine, to feed the cat. Since it was here and all.

((Due to RL factors and space cadetery on my part, Natasha has not been around for a while. I'm declaring that she's been off-island on SHIELD business, but she's back now! Mostly meant as establishy, but open to anyone at 25 Unicorn or who wants to drop by!))

Natasha had gotten up early and made another sweep through the house, familiarizing herself with the layout, before she found and figured out the coffee maker and turned on the radio, tuning it to the local station to try to get a feel for the place.

...it seemed the place was insane.

And, as she listened to the broadcast and sipped her (black, very strong, only slightly sweetened) coffee, she concluded they were way overly fond of their gossip. Until they got to the part about her and Clint, anyway. She didn't drop her coffee cup or anything as dramatic as that, but she did set it down very firmly before yelling up the stairs, "CLINT! CLINT, GET UP! WE MISSED A BUG!"

((For that guy. And anyone who wants to knock at their door, I guess.))

"It's Natasha, you know what to do."

BEEP.