"Oooh, the croissants are a nice touch," Clint said thoughtfully, bringing a hand to his face as if he were considering it. It would be a nice project, anyway, the idea of building a crown out of delicious things to eat. But Bucky had a point about the whole possibility of melting, so he just said, "they'd probably be better in my mouth than on my head."
He rolled his eyes in response to Bucky's gesture, snickering when Moo used the opportunity to use his hand as a plaything. It was good to laugh. Nobody had been doing nearly enough of that lately, and Clint was beyond grateful to do it now. "Fresh like turned milk," he said, rolling his eyes. "And speaking of milk, you gotta get this little fuzzball some cream sometime. It's real cute when she drinks it. I was gonna bring some but she drank it all on the train."
Clint would've spoken, but he was too distracted by abject delight at Bucky's mooing at a kitten, so he mostly just cracked up until he could talk again. "Think you're gonna have to wait until she's a little bigger, yeah?" he snickered, then threw back the rest of his tea. "And either Clint or Barton is fine. Really, anything but Clinton Francis." It was a gift he didn't give many people, this insight into his ridiculous, hated middle name. It got under his skin in a very specific way, but he offered it to Bucky anyway. "And yeah, I know, my parents hated me. On other hand, my brother's name is Barney so in a way, I almost got off easy."