Sunday Six

I have a cold and it sucks. I am still getting some editing done but it is not yet the kind of editing that results in wordcount.

So to make me feel like there is still writing happening here is a bit from something else, which is actually going to end up less that 700 words but is still taking forever because my brain is Occupied atm.

“Look,” Clint says in Ottawa, “you don’t have to do this. It’s been over a year, and you never owed me anything anyway. For god’s sake, go back to your own damn bed.”

Natasha doesn’t move. “It’s negative thirty outside,” she says.

“You’re from Russia,” Clint grumbles; he was doing a good job pretending he didn’t feel it until she mentioned it.