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New York has been doing its best to give them a picture-perfect Christmas – even with the nastiness in Manhattan that they've both been keeping an eye on.
(If the Ronin is really back, she may need to shift some of her own plans.)
But not even the knowledge that Clint Barton is running around New York has managed to dull her seasonal spirit. They've spent the evenings strolling in the cold, enjoying window decorations and settings, snacking on hot roasted chestnuts and sipping hot cocoa. Their little neighborhood is decked out in lights and decorations, and it seems like the city itself has been going all out for this, the first Christmas since the Blip, since so many families were reunited.
And now, on Christmas Eve, she's in the bedroom, busily tucking treats into a stocking, the orange at the bottom giving the foot a strange bulbous shape. Christmas music is playing softly on the speakers and the tree, bedecked with lights and ornaments, glows in the living room, Alpine snoozing in a cat bed-shaped gift that's already tucked beneath the branches.
And because it's Christmas Eve, she's wearing a silky red cashmere sweater that matches her lipstick and fingernails and she's set her hair in smooth, tumbling curls half-pinned back.
It's possible neither curls nor lipstick will survive the mistletoe that's hung over the kitchen entry, but she's willing to give it the old college try.
(If the Ronin is really back, she may need to shift some of her own plans.)
But not even the knowledge that Clint Barton is running around New York has managed to dull her seasonal spirit. They've spent the evenings strolling in the cold, enjoying window decorations and settings, snacking on hot roasted chestnuts and sipping hot cocoa. Their little neighborhood is decked out in lights and decorations, and it seems like the city itself has been going all out for this, the first Christmas since the Blip, since so many families were reunited.
And now, on Christmas Eve, she's in the bedroom, busily tucking treats into a stocking, the orange at the bottom giving the foot a strange bulbous shape. Christmas music is playing softly on the speakers and the tree, bedecked with lights and ornaments, glows in the living room, Alpine snoozing in a cat bed-shaped gift that's already tucked beneath the branches.
And because it's Christmas Eve, she's wearing a silky red cashmere sweater that matches her lipstick and fingernails and she's set her hair in smooth, tumbling curls half-pinned back.
It's possible neither curls nor lipstick will survive the mistletoe that's hung over the kitchen entry, but she's willing to give it the old college try.
