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“You're a danger to yourself and others,” Nick says. His hands are wet and when he presses his handkerchief to the worst of it, it comes away red. He carefully dabs at where the skin on his knuckles is broken. “What were you even thinking?”
Darcy adjusts her hold on the kitten in her arms, propping its rump up on one palm so that she can wiggle one of its front paws with her other hand. “Meow,” she says with her face hidden behind its furry little body. “Please don't yell at the nice lady. She was trying to save me. Meow.”
Nick slowly arches an eyebrow and lets his hands fall to his sides. “I know you're not talking to me through a cat right now. You ran into the middle of a hostile situation. You were nearly shot, and now you want to talk to me through a cat.”
“Clint had my back.” Darcy drops the kitten's leg to wave at the top of a building, where there's a quick wink of reflected light, then nothing. She bats the kitten's paw against Nick's arm and pouts. “And this little guy could have been hurt. Don't be mad, Nick, you know what it does to your blood pressure.”
“Darling,” Nick says, his voice full of warning.
Darcy's pout gets a little more pronounced.
“You can't just run out into the middle of a fire fight, even if there is a kitten there,” he tries, but his voice sounds weaker even to his own ears.
Darcy's eyes are huge and the kitten opens its mouth in a pathetic, silent meow.
“Oh, fuck,” Nick says. There's a sound almost like snickering somewhere in the background, but then he hears a smack like the flat of a hand connecting with the back of someone's head, so he's confident Phil has that under control. “I'm not happy with you right now. You consistently make bad decisions.”
“Makes life more interesting,” Darcy says with a shrug. Her pout has vanished, replaced by a smirk that means she knows full well that she's in the clear. Then she takes one of his hands and tips the kitten into it. Nick has to do some quick juggling, but he manages to keep from dropping it.
“What the hell? Don't give me your kitten,” he says, but when he tries to give it back, Darcy takes a quick step backwards and shakes her head.
“I'm allergic. You can take care of it, right? It would be tragic to have to take it to a shelter.”
Darcy looks too innocent for comfort, her blue eyes wide, and when Nick looks down at the kitten that's trembling ever so slightly in his hands, he gets an almost identical sad, pleading look from it. He curls his fingers a little tighter around the kitten and the tremors ease a little.
“Motherfucker,” Nick says sadly and wonders if the pet shop nearest his apartment is still open this late. At the very least, he's going to need a litter box and some food.