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"Stop petting aliens." Natasha resisted the urge to grit her teeth as all around them tiny, three-eyed fluff creatures paced and purred against their ankles.
"But," Clint began. “Kittens."
"No," Tony interrupted from his corner of the spaceship, creatures that would be household pets if not for the extra eye, crawled up his legs.
“Rogers to Mission Control. I repeat, there’s been a breach. We’re grounded on Quadrant 1.274 and lifeforms have entered the vessel.”
Clint now carried the alien, letting it lick his face because that was a perfectly logical idea.
She scowled. “At least, avoid direct contact.”
