The bedroom was quiet.
Camilla's thumb slowly, gently caressed the smooth glass covering the miniature portrait inside.
As she looked at the cat, memories flooded her heart. She remembered her modern world. She remembered the lonely, quiet nights in her large apartment after a dangerous mission as the Black Widow. She remembered how Winston was her only source of comfort in a cold, brutal life. She had described him only once.
She could not believe what she was holding. This was not a chest of cold gold coins. This was not a formal, expensive dress meant to show off the General's wealth. This was a piece of her heart. Damon had actually listened to her. He had remembered her exact words. He had secretly commissioned an artist to paint a picture of her cat, just to bring a smile to her face.
Her mind stopped working. She was speechless, both outside and inside her head.
Damon's chest rose and fell as he took a slow, anxious breath. He was still waiting.
