om_main | Clint and Philip, Christmas Eve

Cookies, eggnog, and building a snowman. You'd think they were regular kids, except for the talk about RPGs, useful spy skills, and the future.

The first two days of their trip had passed quickly for Clint, who found that Eagle's Nest was pretty much the perfect place in the world. Despite the granny furniture and the doilies and the tea service, it was the kind of house that had been added onto so many times that it was oddly shaped and amazing for climbing. It had an awesome view out over the lake and no other neighbors for miles, which meant that he could go out at any time of day and destroy Victoria's targets while Lucky chased field mice and squirrels. But the best thing about Eagle's Nest, by far, was all the food.

After dinner on Christmas Eve, Clint had been recruited into cleaning dishes while Victoria pulled yet another batch of cookies out of the oven. Ivan and Philip had retired into one of the nearby sitting rooms for a 'talk'. Clint could see them from where he was scrubbing the grime off the plates, but didn't really pay much attention to them since the real show-stopper was behind them.

Set up in the sitting room was a massive Christmas tree, all decked out in lights and handmade ornaments - not the kind you bought in stores, but the kind that were all collected over the years or created out of Play-doh or bits of old cloth. All of Victoria's house was decorated for the season, with garlands winding up the stairs and wreaths on nearly every flat surface...but it was the tree he hadn't been able to stop looking at since he'd seen it. Mostly because it was like something out of a story. He hadn't even known people actually had trees like that. Real, live ones, that smelled like pine and scattered little soft nettles around the skirt here and there. It was hard not to be entranced by it, or its sparkling lights.

In the sitting room, Philip had expected the conversation that was coming. Or the questions anyway. He was a legal adult now, and was actually able to make the real decisions. He'd waved off a glass and had stuck with coffee, it'd be that kind of night. "I can't tell you everything I'm doing," he said.

"Of course not Filipp, I would not expect it to be so. Still, I watch the news, as much as any other, and have seen those boys and girls and the show they are making. I believe also, I saw with the Warthington boy, a familiar figure in the back, yes?" Ivan said. He knew more, of course, but he would no more tell all than his grandson would.

Clint hadn't even been meaning to pay attention to the two of them until he read Ivan's lips. Then, he decided that if he was in a house full of spies, he might as well join the crowd. He kept watching the tree like he had been doing, wiping down one of the serving trays, but let the majority of his attention zero in on Philip and Ivan and whatever conversation they were having.

"You will have to decide," Ivan continued. "It is most difficult, allegiance to more than one master. Far moreso with the, ah, complications that have cropped up in your life."

Philip just shrugged a little as he wrapped his hands tighter around his cup. "I'm not going anywhere for now. We've got good groundwork, Dedushka, I'm not giving that up. You know how wrong this could go. The whole situation in Canada is a disaster. Canada."

Clint frowned at them and reached out to take another cookie from the plate nearby, stuffing it in his mouth as he watched them. Lip-reading was a skill he'd picked up when he was a kid. His father had always had a short temper - even shorter when he was drunk, which was pretty much always. That temper had brought the man’s hand down on his sons more than once, and during one particularly bad beating, Clint’s eardrums had been damaged by the force of the blows. The doctors hadn't known whether they would heal enough for him to hear again, and Clint had been too damn proud to use ASL, even if his teachers had forced him to learn. Instead, he'd gotten really good at reading lips, especially with his eyesight being as good as it was, and he'd never really stopped perfecting the skill, even once his hearing had returned.

So, even if he wasn't in the same room as them, Clint could read almost every word as clearly as if he was standing there listening to the conversation. The rest he just filled in with common sense.

"So responsible," Ivan said with a shake of his head. "I would say you get that from your father, but your mother, she is as dedicated. Have you decided which path you will follow then when it is time and you can leave your little birds on their own?"

Philip stayed quiet for long moments, toying with the handle of his cup. "No. Not really. It needs to be the right place, the right environment..."

"The one who will allow you to keep vash yastreb, yes?" Ivan asked with a smirk.

The Russian words were harder for Clint to figure out, and formed big blanks in his lip-reading vocabulary, which was more than a little frustrating. Another cookie followed the first, followed by a third, and Clint finished up the dishes before leaning against the counter, forgetting any pretext of not 'listening in' on the conversation.

"Stop making it sound sketchy," Philip complained. "He's amazing. I've never seen aim like that besides Grandma and he's almost as good as Mom is at getting into places. If he got real training, it'd be just... He'd be an artist."

Clint's eyes widened, the cookie half eaten where it went dry in his mouth. He knew that Philip respected what he could do, but he'd never heard praise like that before.

"Close your mouth, dear," Victoria said from where she was putting a few artistic finishing touches on the last batch of cookies to come out of the oven. "It helps if you don't look like you're paying attention. You draw fewer eyes that way."

That's when part of the cookie chose to inhale into his lungs and Clint turned away from Philip's grandmother, coughing up cookie and, at the same time, attempting to swallow it down correctly. It was awkward and gross, but aided by a huge glass of milk that had been hanging out nearby, he finally managed to recover with only a partially scratchy throat and a pair of flushed cheeks. He eyed her guiltily, taking another big gulp of milk before swearing, "I saw nothing."

"Of course not," she said mildly as she passed him a plate of real gingerbread. "There's a rule in this house, you know. If you let yourself be overheard, you get what you deserve."

Clint started to point out that he was nowhere close enough to the conversation to overhear it. Then he reached for a piece of gingerbread and waved it at her before biting down and mumbling. "He doesn't know I can read lips."

Except it sounded more like 'Ee usent oh I can weed ips.

"That's a clever skill and a useful one," Victoria commented as she prepared another sheet of cookies. That Clint was mumbling dreadfully didn't seem to phase her in the slightest.

He eyed her sideways, finishing the gingerbread before reaching for another piece. "You already knew, didn't you? Does Ivan know?"

"You've scratched the surface here, Clinton," Victoria pointed out. "You can't be surprised that we'd look into anyone close to Philip. You might not believe it, but he is still rather trusting sometimes."

"I'm starting to get that," Clint mumbled, glancing back toward the sitting room. "Don't tell him, okay? I'll uh, I'll tell him myself."

"It's not my secret to tell," Victoria said with a little wave. "And to put your mind at ease, Ivan and I both believe you'll fit right in if you've a mind to. So don't worry about any rubbish conversation of threats or the like."

"Ohhh, great," he made a face at her, piling a few sugar cookies onto a plate. "So if I didn't fit in, what kind of threats are we talking about? Burying me in the woods?"

"Don't be ridiculous. It wouldn't have been serious, there are complications with minors," Victoria said as the cheery little Santa-shaped timer on the counter dinged. She moved over to the oven, glancing over her shoulder as she went. "We'd have never allowed you here. Not that you are a child, any more than Philip is, but legalities are so tedious."

"Tell me about it. One more year and I'm out of the system again," he grumbled, peering in the fridge to get a look at the eggnog she'd made earlier. One more year, he told himself, unless he took off again. He didn't relish trying to outrun a telepath (or Philip, for that matter), but he'd do it if he had to.

"That is the most difficult part of our life," Victoria observed as reached for the clear glass cups, decorated with translucent holly leaves and berries. "Growing up, surrounded by it, steals a great deal of one's childhood."

"I grew up surrounded by con-artists and acrobats," Clint pointed out, carrying the bowl over to her. Not exactly the same thing as growing up with spies and assassins.

"Precisely. There are more parallels than you might think." She had another bowl ready in a moment, matched to the one Clint was carrying and filled with ice. The one was settled into the other, accented with a matching glass ladle and surrounded on the serving tray by the cups. "Bring a few of the trays out, would you?" Victoria asked, nodding to the mountain of baking. "It's time we interrupted the no doubt dreadfully serious conversation."

Clint grabbed one tray, balanced his personal cookie-plate on his head, and got another tray in the opposite hand. "Sure, sure. We can't have that."

"They'll talk themselves into knots," she said. Victoria didn't comment on the plate on Clint's head, that was not the strangest thing that she’d seen someone do.

Twenty minutes later, Clint was hyped up on cookies, eggnog, and another series of stories about espionage in Mother Russia. When the adults disappeared into the kitchen, Clint flopped onto his back on the plush Persian rug, one foot tapping out the jagged rhythm of a Christmas carol, his sugar-rush practically vibrating through every cell in his body.

Philip peered down at Clint from his place on one of the plush chairs, his own cup and plate neatly on the side table next to him. "Are you actually vibrating? Or is it some weird optical illusion?"

Clint laughed, drumming out a beat on the carpet to either side of him, then swung up to sit, grinning at his friend. "We should build a snowman."

"We should what?" Philip looked at him a little more closely. Clint didn't seem drunk, not that there'd been enough of anything in the eggnog to get him to that state.

"Oh come on! You're going to be all stiff-faced again when we get back to the school. Let's take advantage of the fact that there's no one here to catch you doing something immature." Clint rolled to his feet and reached out to grab Philip's hand, intending to haul the other teen toward the door.

Philip was surprised enough that he didn't resist. Clint did have a point, as ridiculous as it was. Besides, if they were out of the house for a few, he knew his grandmother had a few things she wanted to do. "If you pelt me with snowballs, there's going to be revenge," he said. "Are you bringing Lucky out?"

A jingle from the fireplace alerted Clint to the fact that the puppy had heard his name and he grinned. "Hell yeah. Come on, pizza dog. Let's go pelt Agent Coulson here with snowballs."

Clint grabbed their jackets off the rack near the door, tossing Philip's in his direction with a mischievous grin.

"I know where you sleep, Barton, don't forget that," Philip growled as he shrugged his jacket on. Boots and gloves were on in another few seconds and he flicked the porch light on.

Both dog and teen tumbled out the door ahead of Philip, Clint's boots skidding down the slick steps rather than take the actual time to use them normally. Lucky took off, hopping in and out of the snow in little pounces until he could find some foliage to do his business around.

Clint, on the other hand, grabbed a few handfuls of snow and started packing them into a rough ball. "You know, I'm tempted to make a Frozen reference here, but you'd look terrible in a sparkly gown."

"That is another thing no one would ever need to see." Philip was wandering around the yard himself, looking under the trees for fallen branches. There were always a few when there was heavy snow. "For that matter, your dog's a little short to be a reindeer."

The archer found himself laughing and was tempted to go right ahead and ruin his snowman base on a Philip attack. "Aw, but he's just as goddamned adorable, you gotta admit."

Clint found a good place overlooking the lake and finished off the base, big and round, before starting to roll another ball together. His jeans were getting soaked through, but he told himself it was for a good cause. Philip got to be a kid, and Clint got to...what, be one too? He guessed maybe there were some similarities to their childhoods.

Philip trotted back with a few branches that seemed good enough in hand, which of course immediately go Lucky's attention. "No." He said firmly. "These are for arms." And... there was a phrase he never thought he'd say in his lifetime.

"Not all of them," Clint chastised, peering at Philip through the moonlight before choosing a couple of sticks that wouldn't have worked as body parts. He waved one excitedly for the puppy, grinning at the leaping and barking, then flung it out across the snow.

"Trying to wear him out so he won't be awake for Santa Claus?" Philip deadpanned as he pulled the rocks he'd found out of his pockets too. If they were going to do this, they might as well do it right.

Clint snorted softly, watching Lucky rooting around in the snow to pick up the retrieved stick. "Right, because Santa Claus would look twice at all the non-believers in this house."

"Are you kidding?" Philip asked as he stooped down and started gathering snow himself. He looked up at Clint and a weird little smirk was curling at his mouth. "Strange guy, drops in from above at night, wriggles down the chimney without getting roasted and leaves unlabeled packages behind? I have an uncle who'd have been waiting for him in the living room with an RPG."

Clint grinned back at him and broke a piece of stick off that was about the right size for a nose. "Damn, I guess Santa does sound kind of badass when you put it that way."

"Yeah, we weren't big on strange creatures or people coming to the house. I thought kids that were into it were pretty weird," Philip said as he kept packing snow. His speech had shifted a little more in tone since they'd been there, a little less of the nothing to see here mask and more appropriate for someone his age.

"Eh," Clint made a small face, crouching down next to him to grab the stick back from Lucky and scruff at his ears. "Barney told me early on not to expect anything. My dad's butcher shop didn't bring in a lot of money, and it wasn't like they could afford to pretend some fairy tale was real."

"That sucks," Philip said as he wrestled the second snowball on top of the first one. "Am I doing this right?"

Clint grinned and set the third, smaller one on top. "Looking good here." He stuck the nose-stick in place, then looked around for the arms. It turned out that Lucky was halfway across the yard with one of them.

"Hey!" he yelped, taking off after the puppy.

"I don't think you're going to catch him!" Philip called out. On a whim, Philip whistled, sharp and clear. Maybe Lucky'd come? Who knew?

Both boy and dog stumbled to a halt at the whistle. Lucky turned and romped back toward Philip while Clint just paused and blinked at the puppy flashing by him with the stick. "What the hell."

"Good boy," Philip said with a laugh. "I didn't think that would work."

"Dog thief," Clint accused as he turned back to join them, scowling at Lucky handing over the stick to Coulson as though that had been what he was planning to do all along. His tail thumped at the snow. Clint narrowed his eyes at it pointedly.

"I think your dog is trolling you," Philip said as he took the stick. He heaved it across the yard in a flat throw.

"Hey! That was our arm, jerk," Clint pouted as the dog took off with a bark.

"He'll come back," Philip said. "Give the whistle a try and see what happens."

Clint eyed him curiously, but waited until Lucky was trotting around the yard, stick in his mouth, before letting out another sharp whistle. He broke into a grin when the puppy turned and dashed back toward him, ears flopping. Dropping into the snow, he caught the stick, then the pup, giving a squeeze with one arm. "Phil knows everything, doesn't he, runt?"

"I do not," Philip said. "I thought we covered that a couple times."

The archer rose and handed the 'arm' to Philip. "Uh, yeah, I guess you don't. As long as we're being honest about abilities on this trip - and thanks, by the way, for letting me know about the healing thing -"

"It's not exactly that, I'm not like Laura." He just couldn't help himself as he went to stick the arm in the approximate snowman place. The words just slipped out. "It's complicated."

"I'm not trying to force a confession. Buuut," Clint rubbed at the back of his neck. "I heard what you said to Ivan tonight. About me."

"What?" What could he have possibly said in front of Clint? Philip frowned, trying to remember when and what could have possibly been said.

"The uh, the thing about being an artist. With training," Clint mumbled, almost certain that he was blushing, and was really, really glad that it was dark out. He wasn't used to compliments, or taking them, really. He liked to brag, but he almost never meant it - never really let him hold on to that ego. Hearing that kind of thing from Philip had probably had more to do with his high than the sugar had.

"Oh. Well, I meant it," Philip said after a moment. "I'm not sure how you heard it, but that doesn't change anything." He wasn't exactly bothered by it, more puzzled. House rules applied to him tool.

"I didn't really hear it," Clint admitted, and was relieved that Philip was neither upset at the overheard conversation nor seemed to catch him out on the heat in his cheeks. "I can read lips. Really, really well. Annd, I know ASL. For future reference."

"Good to know," Philip said as he filed that one away. "Maybe you can teach me some later? It seems like it'd be a good idea."

"Which part?" Clint asked, frowning in confusion.

"Both?" Philip said. "I'm guessing one is a lot easier than the other, but it'd still be interesting." He stepped back and looked at the slightly off-kilter snowman with the drooping arm on one side. "Does that look right?"

Relieved that Philip didn’t push or ask about why Clint knew either skill, he turned his attention to the snowman. He squinted at it, then stepped in to wiggle the drooping arm, turning it a few ways before finally jabbing it in at a better angle. "There."

"So, we have acquired a snowman," Philip said as he tilted his head, looking at it. "Now what?"

"Now," Clint decided, "I'm cold as fuck. Let's go finish the eggnog."

"Okay. It's getting late anyway." Philip had to wonder if his grandmother had done what he thought she would while they were out. He wanted to see Clint's face if that was the case.

The archer headed back toward the house, whistling for Lucky to follow them in toward the door. "I'm...gonna stay. At the school. For awhile anyway."

"I'm glad to hear it. If there's anything I can do to help you out, will you tell me?" Philip asked as he reached the steps and started to stomp off his boots.

Clint snorted, stomping his boots on the opposite side of the steps. "I'm going back to watch your back. Not the other way around. If you're going to keep getting yourself into stupid situations, you're going to need someone with my eyes."

"I do not always get into trouble," Philip objected. "But I'd be happy to have you either way."

"I'm going to be an artist, right?" Clint grinned at him. "When you're not in trouble, you can help me train."

"You are a pain in my ass," Philip said with an eyeroll. "But yes, that's the idea. Come on, it's getting colder out here and we need to towel off your dog."

Clint didn't object, since his jeans were soaked through and Lucky was a mess. He kicked off his boots in the foyer and shucked out of his coat, then threw the biggest towel he could find over the puppy to begin drying out his fur.

Philip shed boots and coat as quickly, putting his and Clint's away while Clint tended to his dog. He leaned a little to take a look at the sitting room where the big tree was, specifically at the fireplace and smirked. His grandmother had hung stockings while they were out, and next to his, labeled in the same neat stitchery was one for 'Clinton'. They really did like him.

Out of habit, Clint followed his gaze, then went very still at the sight of the stocking. Lucky squirmed out of his hands, trotting over to the fire where it was warmer, but Clint stayed in the crouch, unsure what the hell to do with his hands, or really any other part of himself.

"You okay over there?" Philip asked. He wasn't surprised at the reaction but he didn't want it to send Clint running for the hills again.

Clint didn't answer at first, but managed to get to his feet, crumpling up the towel in his hands so it would give him something to do. He probably should have folded it, but that kind of forethought was completely overshadowed by the tightness that had suddenly clumped in his chest, somehow cutting off his ability to breathe.

He managed to drop the towel over one of the bannisters, turning away from Philip so the guy wouldn't see the way his eyes had gotten a little glassy. And hot. Really hot. He bit down on his lip because he hadn't cried since he was a little kid, and he didn't really feel like starting just because of a stupid stocking. A stocking she'd taken the time to sew his name onto. Like it was a permanent thing. Like he'd be welcomed back. Like he actually deserved to have Christmas with Philip's family.

"Yeah," he finally managed, hating the fact that his voice came out rough and uneven. He motioned up the stairs, then started to take them two at a time, heading for the guest room. "I should get changed."

"I'll find glasses then," Philip said evenly. He was deliberately not noticing the state Clint was in, knowing that kind of thing tended to embarrass him. "There should be eggnog left, unless you just want to get some sleep. It's getting pretty late." Graceful outs were sort of a good idea with Clint he'd figured out too.

Clint paused outside his door, just out of sight, and rubbed the heel of his palm over one eye. "Uh. Yeah," he finally called. "I'll be down in a bit."

"I'll be down here," Philip said. He was considerably drier than Clint was as he hadn't been chasing a dog all over the yard. A glance at Lucky showed that he was already half asleep on the warm bricks in front of the fireplace screen.

It took ten more minutes for Clint to change and get himself under control. The changing part took up only a small percentage of the time. He did end up breaking a strap on his duffel bag when tripping over it on the way in, and would have the bruise of a century on his shin for the same reason, but in the end, he managed to get dry and warm-er, and got most of the pain in his chest under control before he braved opening his door and heading down the stairs into the sitting room, resolutely refusing to look at the stocking.

Philip had made good use of the few minutes, finding what was left of the eggnog and getting a plate together to sit between the two of them on a table. Instead of sweet stuff, he'd raided for a stack of small sandwiches, the sort of thing his grandmother put out at tea. It was probably time to get some actual food into Clint.

Clint raised his brows at the sandwiches, but flopped down into one of the big chairs, snaking two of the little things into one hand while grabbing the eggnog with another. "Thanks."

"I figured you could use it after you almost vibrated out of your skin earlier," Philip said dryly.

"Lies," Clint told him, but practically swallowed the two sandwiches whole before reaching for another handful.

"I saw you," Philip pointed out. "You were actually vibrating, or as close to it as a human body can get."

Clint snorted. "She makes a lot of cookies."

"She gets really bored," Philip pointed out. "And she's here by herself a lot of the time."

Clint's gaze flicked unconsciously toward the stocking. Maybe he shouldn't take it so seriously then, if she was that bored.

"Yeah, that's not why she did that," Philip said as he toyed with his glass. He'd seen the reaction, seen the second look and it wasn't hard to interpret Clint's thoughts. "She goes a little overboard but they like you."

The archer glanced down into his glass, taking a healthy sip for a moment as he tried to absorb that. When he'd drained half the contents, he set it aside and flipped the sandwiches around his palm, a brittle grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah well, who wouldn't?"

"Sorry," Philip said apologetically and he did at least partially mean it. "You're sort of stuck with them now. At least there wasn't a ditch conversation, I hope."

"Uh. I'm pretty sure it was kind of the opposite," Clint admitted. "She basically told me it'd be a waste for me to do anything other than, you know, being a sniper or you know, whatever."

Clint smirked lightly. "My only other options are circus, crime, or the Olympics."

"You're selling yourself short again," Philip chided. "I'm going to keep after you about that until you believe me."

The archer reached up, tugging at the back of his neck to loosen the muscles there. "It doesn't matter, because I don't think I could stomach doing anything with my life that doesn't involve a bow, and you made sure that the only thing remotely interesting to me now is, you know, all this."

"Just as long as you know I'm not trying to trap you. I'm really not," Philip replied. "If you really wanted to do something else, that's your choice. I'm not saying I won't keep trying to persuade you, but still."

Clint sighed. "Look, Coulson, it wouldn't be the first time someone's wanted what I can do for their own benefit. At least with you, I figure you want it for other peoples' benefits, whether I know the details or not."

"You are the stubbornest..." Philip muttered. He was going to get through to him someday, damnit, even if he had to drag Clint to it kicking and screaming.

"And I'd rather be someone that's doing something good, I guess, than someone who's chasing after fame, or cash, or glory," Clint added. "So. Just make sure I'm doing something good, okay?"

"As much as I can, I promise." He had to put the qualifier on there, 'good' could be subjective, depending on what was going on. There was also a good chance that depending on who they ended up with, it'd be a while before he was in charge.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Endgame, I mean. I'm not an idiot, but it's not like I'm a saint, either."

"Noticed that part," Philip said with a little smirk. "You keep questionable company."

"You realize you're including yourself in that jab, right?" Clint grinned across at him.

Philip wasn't going to take that bait exactly, he just reached out and whapped Clint's foot with his. "I more meant Abby, but I suppose so."

"Well, you could have meant Stark too," Clint pointed out, laughing. "And hey, Abby's hot. And kind of awesome. Also, she doesn't mind making out with me, which sets her apart from most of the people at school."

Philip just could not stop the nose-wrinkle at that. "Again, I do not need that image. It's not you, it's like thinking of a little sister or cousin or... something."

"So...what about her? I mean, I know you mentioned you don't think Ashida's really...right for this kind of thing. What about Abby?" Clint asked curiously. He honestly didn't really know her well enough to make the judgement himself.

"Too overt," Phil put in immediately. "She's got a good grounding, but she's not really the type for..." he paused, hunting for a word. "Sneaking? She doesn't always have a lot of patience. I pointed her to Noriko actually," he continued. "I think Noriko could learn a lot from her." Not that he was planning on mentioning how disastrous that had gone at first.

"Uhhh," Clint grinned. "Yeah, good luck with that. They seem way too much alike for that to work out."

"It ended up alright. Eventually," Philip admitted. "But I do think they'll benefit from it."

The archer eyed him oddly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It that's true...then you probably just signed you own death certificate."

"How do you figure?" There was honest puzzlement there, Philip really had no idea what could have been the problem.

"Seriously?" Clint asked, eyebrows lifting. "They're both strong, badass chicks. If your kid sister and your girlfriend aren't going to go at each others' throats, then they're most definitely going to team up against you."

Philip ignored the 'girlfriend' for the moment. It never did quite sit right, the word, but he and Noriko tended to be fine with that. "It'll be fine," he said with a shrug.

Philip, had perhaps, not the widest experiences with different people...

"Sure, sure..." Clint hummed, devouring the last of the sandwiches in his hand.

"I think maybe we should get to bed. You might have to carry Lucky though," Philip said as he glanced at the snoozing puppy on the hearth.

Disappearing the last of the eggnog, Clint hopped out of the chair and moved to the fireplace to lightly scoop Lucky into his arms. "Okay, but if an RPG wakes me up in the middle of the night, I blame you."

"Be glad that my grandparents are the only ones here then," Philip said as he went to gather the cups and plate. "And before you ask, no, you are absolutely not meeting the rest of them any time soon."

"What, you don't think I can handle it?" Clint asked, heading toward the stairs.

"That depends, do you want to meet somebody that'll figure out every secret you've got as soon as he gets to know you?" Philip asked. "And before you ask, as far as I know, he's not augmented."

Okay yeah, that did sound like it might get under Clint's skin pretty fast. "What about the others?"

"Another uncle's pretty boring. You might like my Aunt Sarah though. She got pulled in, she's another natural," Philip said as he took care of the dishes quickly.

Learning in the door, Clint watched him, stuck between helping and holding onto the sleeping mutt in his arms. "Yeah? How'd she get pulled in?"

"My uncle kidnapped her. Sort of. There were a lot of things going on, it was complicated," Philip cleaned up the minimal mess pretty quickly before joining Clint by the door.

Clint just grinned at him and headed for the stairs. "I kind of love your family."