Thanks to my beta, bequirk!
This is part 6 in the series The Ongoing Adventures of Clint and Cat. It will make the most sense if you read the previous 5 parts first.
Warnings: tooth decay inducing levels of sweetness, Cat, pancakes.
On Sunday morning, Clint Barton woke up at 11:38 AM.
He knew immediately that something was very wrong.
Clint was never allowed to sleep in that late. Even on Sundays. Even if he had nothing to do and no logical reason that he couldn't sleep in.
He didn't get to.
This was because he had a fat ass cat that demanded to be fed by 8:00 AM, maybe 9:00 AM at the latest.
Okay, maybe "fat ass" wasn't fair. The cat was a bit heavier than when Clint had "rescued" him (though who actually rescued who could probably be debated) but was by no means overweight. He was just...demanding.
And rude. If Clint wasn't up and filling the food dish by 9:00, "accidents" had been known to occur. Things like hairballs showing up on the bed, like water glasses knocked over onto Clint's face, like cat litter tracked onto Clint's pillow.
That sort of thing.
So Clint had gotten into the habit of waking up at the first sign of Cat's growing impatience, at the first "meow," as it were.
This morning, no such wakeup call had occurred.
Pulling himself up and abruptly out of bed, Clint stumbled to the doorway of his room, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of pants off the floor on his way. It was possible, he thought, pulling the shirt over his head, that Cat had just gone to visit someone else in the Tower.
But he sounded unconvincing, even to himself. As much as Cat hung out with the other people in the building, he always made it home for breakfast. Besides, at the moment the only other people in the Tower were Tony (and Pepper) and Bruce. Steve had gotten his own place a while back, then a new place when the first one had been blown up during the whole whoops-SHIELD-is-Hydra thing. Thor was presumably still in London hanging out with his hot astrophysicist girlfriend, and Natasha was, well. He wasn't quite sure.
The point was that there wasn't a lot of visiting for Cat to do, even if he were inclined to go on an adventure. At breakfast time, no less.
As Clint made his way into his kitchen, tugging his pants on, his worst fears were confirmed.
Cat hadn't even finished his dinner from the night before. Almost a quarter of his kibble still remained in his bowl, untouched.
Something was wrong.
Stopping only to grab some shoes and hurriedly feed Cat's best friend, Mouse, who also called the apartment home, Clint raced out the door.
2:39 AM, Sunday Morning
A dark figure crept through the apartment, feet silent against the tiled floor of the kitchen. They navigated the room expertly, even in the gloom, needing no light to get around. Methodically, they worked through the apartment, searching, until they made their way back to the bedroom.
On the bed, the room's sole occupant was sleeping soundly, undisturbed. The figure smirked, then resumed their search.
The object of the hunt was revealed only moments later, curled up on top of a pile of laundry that was heaped haphazardly on top of a dresser.
The cat.
Softly, gently, the figure scooped the cat into their arms, quieting the surprised "meow" with a small hum. The cat, usually quite vicious for such a diminutive animal, relaxed. A moment later, he began to purr.
The figure slipped silently out of the bedroom, then out of the apartment, cat tucked firmly against their chest.
"We have a situation," Clint declared, skidding to a halt inside Bruce and Tony's lab.
"We usually do," Tony snorted, unperturbed by Clint's dramatic entrance, tapping something into the computer in front of him. "But what is it this time? Your girlfriend decide to crack open another top secret government agency?"
Clint frowned, but let the "girlfriend" thing slide. He hadn't seen or heard from Natasha since all the stuff with SHIELD had gone down. He wasn't worried, though; he'd known her long enough to know that she could take care of herself just fine. So he answered tersely, "No."
Bruce glanced up from the screen he'd been watching, equally undisturbed by the way Clint had come racing in. "What's up?"
Feeling suddenly ridiculous—what if he was overreacting?—Clint muttered, "My cat's missing."
Half-expecting to be mocked, Clint was surprised when Tony quickly said, "Hey, JARVIS, you got a lead on Barton's cat?" To Clint, he explained, "Remember that collar Bruce and I designed? The one that opens doors and stuff? JARVIS should be able to track the doors Cat went through."
Clint nodded. Why hadn't he thought of that?
Probably because he'd been too busy panicking.
A moment later, JARVIS replied, "Mr. Barton's feline companion was removed from the premises, sir. My last reading on the collar was from 2:45 AM."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then, Tony exploded, "WHO removed the cat from the premises?"
"I'm not sure, sir," JARVIS replied, sounding as confused about this as everyone else was.
Clint raised an eyebrow. Even the normally all-knowing AI was thrown off, that didn't bode well.
Tony felt the same way, apparently. "What do you mean, you're 'not sure?' You're supposed to know everything about this building!"
"My protocols were overridden, sir."
This looked bad, Clint decided. His cat had been...catnapped. By someone unknown, someone with the skills to hack one of the most secure computers on the planet.
But who would want to steal a cat?
Furthermore...it wasn't like stealing Cat would be easy. Cat wasn't a quiet animal. Or a gentle one. If Cat was unhappy, the whole world tended to know about it. He wasn't shy about yelling or using his claws.
Tony, now on a mission, was vowing vehemently to get to the bottom of this, but Clint was only half-listening. Thoughtfully, he asked, "Where did the catnapper take him from, JARVIS?"
"Your apartment, sir," JARVIS answered, ignoring Tony in much the same way Clint was.
"Not possible," Clint said, more to himself than to either of the scientists. There was no way he could have slept through that. Not with the kind of racket Cat made when he was picked up. Unless whoever had taken him had hurt him...but that would have woken him up, too.
Also that was unthinkable. Definitely had not happened.
Someone would have had to have been completely silent to sneak into his rooms at all. They would have had to have been some kind of strange cat whisperer to remove the animal without making enough noise to wake up everyone in the Tower.
And then, suddenly, it all made sense. He only knew one sneaky, silent cat whisperer.
Interrupting Tony and Bruce, who were now discussing JARVIS and the hacked protocols, Clint said firmly, "It was Natasha."
That silenced them both. "What?" Bruce asked, after a beat. "How do you know?"
Clint shrugged. "She's the only person who could get into my apartment without waking me up and get Cat out without him clawing her to shreds." Then, slightly petulant, "She could have at least stayed for coffee."
Some best friend she was.
3:35 AM, Sunday Morning
"I'm back," Natasha said, shutting the door behind her. Unhappy to be held one-armed, even momentarily, Cat gave an irritated "meow."
Steve, who'd been pacing in the front hallway, just nodded. "Do you really think this is a good idea?" he asked for the tenth time.
Natasha set the cat down on the ground, where he immediately headed for the food and water dishes Steve had set up in the kitchen while Natasha had been out. "Absolutely," Natasha replied, following Cat and then watching him as he tucked into what he undoubtedly felt was a well-deserved snack.
"But what if he gets hurt?"
Natasha shook her head. "Don't worry. That cat's a miracle worker. He'll be fine. They both will."
"Okay, so you think it was Romanoff," Tony said, arms crossed.
"It was," Clint said, certain.
"And she stole your cat...why, exactly?"
"No idea," Clint answered. Now that he suspected Cat wasn't in danger, he was just left with confusion.
"Is there anything...special...about Cat?" Bruce asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Well, he's an asshole," Clint said. "Aside from that...not really." The cat was special to him, sure, but in general? He was, as far as Clint knew, just a cat. Small, black, four paws, pointy ears, claws. Sure, he was a little odd—his best friend was a mouse—but special? No.
Tony nodded. "Guess we need to find Romanoff, then."
Clint hesitated. Sure, he wanted to know what the hell was going on, but if Natasha had snuck off with his cat without telling him, it was probably for a good reason. "I don't know if that's a good idea." Natasha had been off the radar for weeks at this point, probably wanted to stay that way if her early morning burglary was any indication.
"I didn't say we had to go get her, Barton, I'm not an idiot. I just want to know where she is, that's all. Don't you want to know where she took your cat?"
The set to Tony's mouth indicated very strongly that just figuring out where Natasha and Cat were wouldn't be enough.
In unison, Clint and Bruce sighed.
7:35 Sunday Morning
Cat stalked along the back of the couch, surveying the man fitfully sleeping there.
"How long has he been here?" Natasha asked, watching, taking a sip from the coffee Steve had insisted on making. The whole situation was admittedly surreal; she was still wrapping her head around it.
"Couple of weeks. I keep thinking he's going to bolt, but he doesn't." Steve shook his head. "He doesn't really do anything, just sleeps and...stares. Sometimes he has nightmares, but he won't talk about them. Half the time, I don't think he knows I'm here." Steve frowned into his own cup of coffee. "When I asked for your help...I wasn't expecting you kidnap Clint's cat."
Natasha smiled. "You could have called me sooner."
Steve shrugged. "You were kind of hard to find."
Good point. Natasha had been pretty surprised that Steve had managed to get ahold of her at all. But when he'd said that the Winter Soldier—no, Bucky Barnes—had shown up on his doorstep and that he needed help getting through to him, she'd done the first thing she'd thought of.
Perhaps it hadn't been the most rational thing, but she'd gone with her gut.
After all, she'd seen Cat get through to one lost person. Maybe he could do it again.
She didn't say that, though. Instead, she said, "Maybe people are just too much for him right now. The cat might work better. Animals are easier to relate to." She glanced up at Steve. "They don't have expectations."
Steve's frown deepened. "I know I'm expecting a lot. It's just hard, you know, when your best friend isn't who they used to be. When they're a stranger."
Natasha nodded. She'd felt that, once, too.
She doubted a sharp blow to the head would do Barnes much good. Or, really, the person who dealt it.
But when Clint had drifted, after Manhattan, after Loki, Cat had brought him back when all of them had failed.
Maybe he could do the same for Barnes.
"We are not going to 'rescue' my cat. I am going. Alone. Without help. And it's not a rescue mission, I just need to see what's up."
Tony frowned. "I went to all this trouble to figure out where Romanoff went, and you're just going to leave me out in the cold?"
Clint wondered, briefly, where Tony had picked up the guilt trip act. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm going to do."
"Are you sure you don't need help?" Bruce asked.
"It's just Natasha," Clint said, shrugging. "And I'm like, a super spy assassin or something. I think I can manage."
Tony harumphed. "Fine. Don't forget your cat carrier, though."
Clint rolled his eyes. "Will do. You never know when I might need a wifi hotspot along the way."
11:35 Sunday Morning
"Does he usually sleep this much?" Natasha asked. They were on their third pot of coffee, and Steve had made pancakes, more to pass the time than because either of them was hungry. Together, they waited for Barnes to wake up.
It had been, thus far, a very long wait.
"...Yes and no," Steve hedged. "He sleeps a lot, but not usually so...well."
In the next room, the figure on the couch shifted. A second later, Cat jumped onto the back of the couch, having been disturbed from where he'd been lying curled up on Barnes's chest.
Natasha had been frankly amazed that he'd managed to sleep through a cat walking all over him. Just another reminder that he wasn't the Winter Soldier, really. Nor was he Bucky Barnes. He was stuck somewhere in between.
Hopefully Cat could help give him a push in the right direction.
When Barnes settled back down, Cat returned to his spot on his chest.
"I'd've thought the cat would've woken him up by now," Steve said. "All that jumping around."
"Must be tired," Natasha said, picking at her pancakes. Recovering from being a brainwashed supersoldier assassin couldn't be easy.
Then, on cue, from the next room came a muttered, "What the hell?"
An aggravated hiss.
And then silence.
1:36 PM, Sunday Afternoon
Clint pulled up in front of Steve's apartment building, his curiosity only growing.
Tony had used traffic cameras and other crap to trace Nat's progress through the city. It had been both surprising and not that she'd ended up at Cap's place. Surprising because she was supposed to be on the run, unsurprising because, well, she and Steve had had their grand adventure together.
But he wasn't bitter, oh nooo. He'd just been busy doing his job when SHIELD had gone completely to shit.
No big deal. He'd only been stuck in Central America for three weeks trying to get home, not a big deal at all.
Grumbling to himself, Clint pushed the door to the building open and made his way to the stairs. After getting settled, Steve had invited him over for scrambled eggs and pancakes—apparently he'd picked up a good pancake recipe from the guy he'd last saved the world with or something—so Clint knew the way.
He knocked on Steve's door.
No one answered.
He knocked again.
Still nothing.
"I'd like my cat back," he said to the door at a completely reasonable volume, considering there were catnappers on its other side.
"There's no need to yell," Natasha said, opening the door. "Get in here." She grabbed his arm and yanked him into Steve's front hallway, glancing up and down the empty hall before shutting the door behind them.
"You do have Cat, right?" Clint asked, not bothered by the strange greeting.
"Yes. I borrowed him. He's busy though, you can't have him back yet."
Clint wondered when his cat had gotten a social agenda. "Busy?"
Natasha frowned, then pointed down the hall to the living room, putting her finger over her lips. Clint got the message loud and clear.
He crept down the hall, silent, until he could see through the doorway into the living room.
Then he almost lost it.
Steve was sitting on the ground across from some other guy— a guy with a metal arm—and the two of them were playing with Cat. Well, Steve was playing, dangling a string for Cat to chase; the other guy was watching warily. All three were so engrossed in their game that they took no notice of Clint whatsoever.
He stalked back to Natasha. He'd seen the news reports, he'd seen the files after Natasha had cracked SHIELD open, this guy was no stranger. He hissed, "Why the fuck is the Winter Soldier playing with my cat, Natasha?"
She rolled her eyes. "Don't be dramatic."
"Natasha."
"Fine. I thought Cat might be useful for some...animal therapy. I thought he might be able to—"
"To entertain the Hydra assassin? Didn't that guy try to kill you?" Clint always liked to make sure he had his assassins straight.
"Yes. No. He was brainwashed. Look, Clint, he needs your cat."
Clint frowned. "For what?"
"The same thing you needed him for."
At that, Clint broke eye contact and glanced down the hall. He remembered when he'd found Cat, or rather, when Cat had found him. He'd been in the middle of a downward spiral after what he'd gone through with Loki, hadn't cared about anything but himself. Clint had been one bottle of booze from starting a bar fight he couldn't finish, had already started one that ended with him broken and bruised. Adopting the stray had made him open his eyes to what was around him.
Cat had tethered him back to the real world, had gotten him out of his head, and had without a doubt saved his life.
Clint sighed. "Natasha, can't you get him his own cat?"
She nodded. "We thought about it. But we didn't know if this would work. Clint, we just need some time. Not long. It's not permanent. We just need...Steve needs him to trust us. Give us a week?"
A week. That wasn't long. Not long at all. Still. "You could have just asked."
"Would you have said yes?"
Clint paused. "No." Then, "Can I come visit?"
Natasha gave a half smile. "I'll try to work something out."
Clint nodded. "I'll bring his ridiculous cat carrier over. And his other crap."
Surprised, Natasha's eyebrows shot up, but then she nodded. "Okay."
"You promise nothing will happen to him?"
"Yes. Do you trust me?"
"You know I do."
They looked at each other. Then, grudgingly, Natasha said, "I missed your stupid face."
"Was that an apology?" Clint asked, teasing.
"Maybe."
Clint figured that about made up for her vanishing for the last several weeks.
He was still angry about the catnapping, though.
Even if it was for a good cause.
Exactly one week later, Clint was awakened at 8:37 AM when his cat threw up a hairball on his bed.
"Glad you're back," Clint mumbled, still half asleep, throwing off his covers and pulling himself from bed.
He stopped to scratch Cat's ears as he went to the kitchen for some paper towels.
When he was near the front door, though, he heard a commotion in the hall.
"Lift your end higher...okay...turn! Turn!"
Thud.
Thump.
Curious, Clint cracked his apartment door open and peered out, just in time to see Steve trying to shove one end of a couch through the door of the apartment across the hall.
It seemed like he was moving in.
This was somewhat confusing, since it hadn't been all that long since Steve had moved out.
When he noticed Clint was watching, Steve set his end of the couch down and greeted him, "Morning, neighbor. Did Cat make it back okay? Nat said she dropped him off this morning."
"Neighbor?" Clint repeated, opening his door a bit more and slipping into the hall. He was suddenly and acutely aware he was talking to Captain America while wearing nothing but his gray and purple boxer shorts.
"Yeah," Steve said. "We're moving in next door today." He paused. "You probably noticed that."
Indeed, Clint had.
"We?" he asked, trying subtly to glance around Steve. Was he about to gain the Winter Soldier as a neighbor?
"Yeah," Steve said again. "It was Nat's idea. She talked to Tony. Or threatened him, I don't know. All he said was that it was stupid we weren't living here yet. Again. Whatever." He lowered his voice. "Nat thought it would be good if Bucky could stay near the cat, you know? But she knew you wanted him back, so here we are." He looked over his shoulder, into the open apartment door behind him, and called out, "Hey, Bucky, come say hi to the guy whose cat you've been obsessed with for the last week!"
Clint had never wished that he was wearing pants more than he did in that moment.
A moment later, Bucky Barnes—markedly less terrifying in jeans and a t-shirt than he had appeared on the news—came into view, hopping nimbly over the couch lodged in the middle of the doorway.
Stiffly, he stuck out his hand. "Bucky."
Clint shook his hand, trying not to be self-conscious about the whole "I'm standing here in my underwear" thing. "Clint Barton."
There was a meow at their feet; all three men looked down at the cat that was impatiently pawing at Clint's foot.
"And I guess you've met Cat," Clint added.
"That's really his name?" Bucky asked, not looking up. "Just 'Cat'?"
Clint nodded. "Yeah. Just Cat."
"That's not much of a name." Flat, inflectionless.
Clint shrugged. At least the guy was talking. "He doesn't care. Sometimes I call him Fucking Cat; he doesn't mind that, either."
There were a few beats of silence.
Then, surprisingly, Bucky snorted, his face relaxing into something not quite a smile, but not the frown he'd been wearing up until that point.
Steve cracked a grin, and even Clint managed something approximating a smile, even though he was still standing in his underwear talking to Captain America and the goddamn Winter Soldier.
Ignoring all of the humans, Cat sauntered past them and hopped up onto the couch that was wedged in the doorway of the apartment. Without further ado, he laid down, curling into a ball.
Apparently, since Clint was never ever going to feed him, he'd decided it was time for a nap instead.
Clint raised an eyebrow, glancing between the cat and his new neighbors. "Well. Guess that's that, then. I'm going to go clean up a hairball and put some pants on, I'll catch you guys later." He glared at Cat. "Don't give these two any shit, you hear me?"
Cat's response was a bored yawn.
As Clint shut his apartment door behind him, he could hear Steve and Barnes having a heated discussion. Leaning in to the closed door, he could just make out their words.
"Could you move the cat?" Steve asked.
"No, you do it."
"No, I asked you first."
"Fine."
He then heard a small, annoyed meow followed by, amazingly, a loud purr, loud enough to hear through the door. It seemed like Barnes was a cat whisperer of Natasha-like proportions.
Shaking his head, Clint grabbed a handful of paper towels from the kitchen and made his way back to his room to clean up Cat's latest gift.
After, of course, he filled Cat's empty food dish.
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