Cat blinked drowsily into the dim light. It was early in the morning. The sun had only just come up and the lights were set on low because her eyes were sensitive to light.
"The last time you woke me up this early, it didn't end well."
Without a word, Natasha took a seat at the dining table and pressed a steaming cup into Cat's hands. The redhead looked startling awake, her posture perfect, eyes bright, red hair straightened out and slightly ruffled from her morning jog. She was still dressed in her running clothes.
On the contrary, Cat was still in the clothes she'd slept in. A wrinkled shirt and Hello Kitty pajama bottoms. As much as she despised the pajama bottoms, she couldn't deny they were soft and comfortable. Her hair was sticking out from bedhead and her eyes were droopy. She slurped loudly from her mug and rested her head on the table.
Cat yawned hugely. "Do you always wake up at the crack of dawn?"
Natasha prodded her head with a hand. Cat batted it away. "I see that you don't."
"'Cause I'm still sane." She lifted her head from the table with a Herculean effort and tilted her cup over so that the coffee spilled into her mouth. Only the cup tipped over and spilled on the table.
"Damn."
Natasha shoved a napkin in her face. "How do you even manage to get to school on time?"
"I do get to school on time," Cat defended herself. "But it's Saturday."
For the past week, Cat had taken the bus to school and back because Natasha needed to get to her work early. She hadn't told Cat anything about her work, which was infuriating her. She always left after Cat boarded the bus and frequently returned home at late hours. But that day it was Saturday, and that meant that she could sleep as long as she wanted to.
"So. Why did you wake me up?" she asked, her voice muffled against the table.
"I have to go on a business trip."
Cat's head shot up, all tiredness draining from her body. "What? When?"
Natasha checked her phone. "In about an hour or so."
Cat spluttered. "An hour? And you're telling me now?"
She shrugged. "Something unexpected came up."
"What's so unexpected that you can't do later?"
"It's important."
"How important?" Cat needled.
"Really important."
Ugh. Vague answers. "When will you be back?"
Natasha set her phone down, looking at Cat with a hint of teasing in her eyes. "What's with the questions? Gonna miss me?"
"No." Cat said quickly, then thought that might be insulting. "It's just...surprising."
Natasha's knowing smirk told her she'd seen right through the fib, which was humiliating. "Then don't worry. I'll be back when I'm back. You should be more worried about yourself. I hired a babysitter."
She groaned. "I don't need a-"
"You think I'm going to leave an ADHD eight year old in an unsupervised house for a few days?" Natasha shook her head.
"I'm nine."
"No, you aren't."
"Nearly nine," Cat amended. "And for the record, I think I could handle some time alone in this big, boring house."
She laughed a little. "Keep dreaming, kid." She ruffled her hair.
Cat ducked her head. "Is it Clint?"
"No, he's busy. Something he has to do." she said, dashing her hopes. "But I think you'll like Steve."
Cat thought for a moment. "How much do you pay a babysitter?"
"Oh, I'm not paying Steve anything."
"People don't do anything for nothing," she told Natasha, "Why's he doing it?"
"Out of the goodness of his heart," Natasha said dryly.
"Why?"
"Steve is like that. He's just a wonderful human being."
"So why's he friends with you?"
Natasha glared at her.
Cat smiled. "You know, you're just proving my point."
That glare was growing scary, though.
"Never mind. I'm going back to sleep." She scampered away, taking her cup with her.
"Good choice," Natasha said darkly.
Steve Rogers sat at a cafe somewhere in downtown Brooklyn, wearing a baseball cap and a fancy brand of sunglasses that Tony Stark had lent him. He was guzzling a coffee down and gazing out the window, lost in his thoughts.
He still recalled the memories of waking up in a new, strange city with flashing lights and busy streets. He remembered the fear, the grief, the anger. Everything that came after that, the Avengers and all of the craziness that came with it, had blurred into a string of action and frustration and grief. After that, he'd sort of...settled down.
He still had duties to perform, with SHIELD and the Avengers and facing villains and people who wanted to take over the world on a regular basis. But somewhere in that madness, he'd found some free time. Time to spend with his teammates, who he learned were just normal people once you got to know them. Really got to know them. And even some times were he could just relax and sip a cup of coffee at a local cafe.
And the new world...it was different, that was for sure. The Brooklyn he'd once knew had transformed into a constant buzz of activity and sprawling streets full of people. That didn't make Steve any less determined to familiarize himself with his surroundings. He took it as a challenge. And with a little nudging from Tony and his other teammates, he'd found himself absorbed in the modern world.
And if he was being completely honest with himself, it wasn't all that bad.
All of the sudden, his phone buzzed with a text. He checked it, a text popping up on the screen.
NR: You free today?
Curious, Steve wondered what Natasha wanted. They'd formed a strong friendship, and more than often they'd gone out for a coffee or a quick drink. But in the last few weeks she'd been distant, wrapped up in missions and doing some other things that were probably classified.
He texted back: Yes.
She replied nearly instantly. Good. Where r u?
He shot a text back quickly. Brooklyn. Why?
The little dots flashed in the message bubble, indicating that she was typing. Steve waited patiently for her answer, only to be slightly disappointed when a mere short popped up on the screen.
Emergency.
Still, Steve's heart skipped a beat. It could have been her way of subtly saying 'I'm in trouble, come and get me'. But he tried to reassure himself. Natasha was a grown woman, capable of rendering five trained agents unconscious at the same time. She could take care of herself.
Another text popped up. He'd been so preoccupied in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed Natasha typing. It read:
How soon can you be at my place? New house.
He checked the time. In 30. Are you in trouble?
It was the second time he'd asked, but she only responded with: Sort of. Don't be late.
Late for what?
Got a job 4 you. Be there.
Steve's fingers were poised to type in a frantic text in return, but he paused. It was pointless to press any further. There was very little chance she would actually she them and respond. Knowing her, she'd probably see them and ignore them anyway.
Steve reread the last texts, torn between frustration at the vague messages and worry that she might be in some sort of trouble. Either Natasha was talking about a classified mission and she couldn't reveal all of the details, or she just enjoyed being cryptic. He was leaning toward the second option, but he wasn't taking any risks.
If Natasha was in danger, there would be no hesitation on his part.
He shook out a few bills from his wallet, remembering to leave a sizely tip. He left the cafe briskly and and found his motorcycle parked on the street where he had left it. He revved up the engine and shot off in a cloud of dust, sending bits of gravel flying behind him.
"You said you had an emergency!" Steve said in disbelief.
Natasha regarded him calmly. "I do."
They were standing on the front porch. The red haired woman was casually standing in the doorway with her phone in her hand. Steve was standing outside the door, having hurried to Natasha's house as fast as he could, looking unnaturally frazzled for a man who was part of a team dubbed the 'World's Mightiest Heroes'.
"I was thinking along the lines of 'I've gotten captured by dangerous people and I need you to break me out'. You don't have an emergency. You want me to babysit a kid! A kid, that until this day, I have never heard of."
"Rogers," she sighed, "That is ridiculous. Getting captured by dangerous people is a rookie mistake. I am beyond past the rookie line."
Was that all she'd gotten from that? "That's not what's important here."
He ran a hand through his hair. He'd always felt like he was out of his league with children. Being a man from the forties, he had no idea what the latest trends, toys, or fashions were. He couldn't relate to children. Of course, he autographed, smiled, complimented, and gave advice to children who looked up to him. He'd never needed to actually try to get them to like him. They'd grown up worshipping his name. But babysitting was another thing.
"Natasha, I can't babysit a kid."
"Sure you can," Natasha said breezily, "All you need to do is feed her something, play with her, make sure she doesn't get run over by a car on the streets. You defeated a troupe of aliens-what was it, last week? I'm sure you can handle babysitting an eight year old kid for a couple of hours."
Steve worked his jaw. "Make sure she doesn't get run over by a car?"
"Oh, you know what I meant. Just entertain her."
"Nat, with all due respect, there's a reason why I've always thought you would be the last one on the team to get a kid."
Natasha didn't look offended. "Technically, she's not my kid."
He threw up his hands. "What did you do, steal this kid from an orphanage?"
"No, she's something like a very distant niece." Her mouth twitched, amused. "You know, you're the second person this month to ask me that question. Clint swung by a week ago and snatched her away to Six Flags. I think he left some of his personality in her as well. It's been a nightmare dealing with two of them."
"Clint knows? Of course he does. Does Tony know? And the rest of the team?"
Natasha grimaced. "No, thank God. Her and Stark are bad enough on their own. Together they would unleash hell on Earth."
He was sure Natasha was exaggerating, but it still made Steve more hesitant to babysit the kid. "Does she know about...you?"
"If you're talking about SHIELD and the Avengers, no she doesn't. And she won't." She gave him a stern look.
"You won't keep it a secret for long," he warned. "The missions, the visitors, the disappearances. Not to mention, every time you leave, you're risking her finding out about the Black Widow. Do you really want her to find out that way? Not to mention, having Captain America be her babysitter isn't exactly the subtle way to go with this."
"Did you just refer to yourself in third person?"
"Natasha-"
"All right, Cap. I don't need a lecture. Don't doubt my ability. As for you being Captain America…" She gave him a once-over, frowning like she was trying to figure out that issue. "Never mind that. She's eight. I'm not saying she isn't intelligent, but she might not even make the connection."
"Practically every kid who watches television knows the name 'Captain America.'"
"Well, what do you want me to do, Steve? I have a mission I need to leave for-" She checked her phone and cursed. "-five minutes ago, actually. I'm already behind schedule, and you were the only person I could think of."
"You could have given me a warning."
"It was a spur-of-the-moment phone call. Fury's going to be on my case for being late." All of the sudden, her phone started buzzing frantically. She pulled it out and checked it. "Speak of the devil. Fury's on the line. Go call Cat down, her bedroom's the one across from the stairs."
"You're sure she's okay with all of this?"
"Oh, I wouldn't say sure, but more or less." Natasha shrugged as if to say What can you do? "She'll be a little difficult, but I think your patriotic self can handle her."
"For some reason that doesn't reassure me," Steve said.
"Don't be such a downer. Here, come inside." The buzzing of the phone grew louder. Natasha muttered something under her breath. She pressed the 'Accept' button and held it to her ear. Steve heard a distant "Agent Romanoff?" come from the phone before she walked away talking on the phone.
"Director Fury. Yes, I'm aware. No, I'm dealing with some issues here. I know. I will be there as soon as possible…" Her voice faded away.
Steve stepped in the house, feeling wary. He wondered if he should take off his shoes, but then decided against it. Everything was clean and orderly. Which made sense, since she'd recently got it. Everything had a new, modern feel to it, from the crisp white walls to the flat screen television. This wasn't the type of house he was comfortable in. He preferred nice comfy apartments over pristine houses.
He took the spiraling staircase two steps at a time and made it all the way up in one breath. Natasha had said hers was the bedroom across from the stairs. There was a row of bedroom doors, all of which facing the stairs. Which one was it? He tried the first door.
The first thing he noticed when he leaned in was that walls were blank. Completely blank. Steve hadn't been in many kids' rooms but he was certain that most of them had at least some type of decoration. The carpet was clean from stains and no toys of any sorts were in sight. The only thing that gave Steve a clue that a kid lived in the room was that the bed looked slept-in. The bedsheets were rumpled and the blanket was thrown over half of the bed, the other half empty.
Yet, there was no kid in sight. Steve began to quietly step out of the room.
"Who're you?" a voice behind him asked.
Steve whirled around, body stiffening from the urge to jump up. Instinctively, he'd taken up a battle stance. He wasn't usually taken by surprise, but he had been so absorbed by looking around that he forgot to pay attention to his surroundings.
The speaker was a girl. Seeing her, his guard relaxed. He shifted his stance and his readied fists. Knocking the girl out would certainly start him off on the wrong foot, and not to mention the possible threat of Natasha knocking him out.
The girl who had spoken was petite and small, but she held herself with confidence that gave her the appearance of someone taller. She wacs blonde, which also surprised him. He'd braced himself for a mini-Natasha, a girl with red hair and fierce green eyes identical to a certain assassin's. But no, this girl looked nothing like Natasha. She was also wearing Hello Kitty pajama bottoms, which bemused Steve.
"You must be Cat." He stuck out a hand for her to shake. "I'm Steve R-" His mouth formed the word Rogers but he cut himself off.
She eyed his hand, but shook it. Her grip was nice and firm. Her dark eyes flickered to Steve's face, and she seemed to be… analyzing him. Then her eyes widened in recognition.
"Wait. You're the friend Natasha was talking about? The babysitter?"
"That I am."
She looked him up and down, very similar to the one Natasha had given him a few minutes ago. Steve could now see the small resemblances; the thin eyebrows, narrow mouth, striking features. He had an artist's eye for detail, and couldn't help mentally observing that she would make a good model in one of his sketchpads.
Finally, she shrugged and said, "Huh" in an uninterested voice.
"Um," Steve said smoothly. "Natasha wants you to come down."
"Of course she does," Cat grumbled. She started for the stairs. Only she didn't use the stairs; she jumped on the railing and slid all the way down, jumping off at the end.
Natasha walked out from the kitchen. She was still wearing her 'jogger' clothes, but Steve had no doubt that she would swap them for her trademark black catsuit before reaching SHIELD headquarters. She walked in at the exact moment Cat flew off the railing and landed on the floor.
Steve half-expected her to reprimand the girl, but she just drawled, "If you fall off and bleed to death on the floor, it's not my fault."
"Only amateurs fall," Cat declared.
Steve looked at her oddly. That line reminded him eerily of Tony.
"That's funny. Why haven't you fallen yet?"
"Ha-ha." Cat scowled at the redhead. "Aren't you supposed to be gone by now?"
Steve descended from the stairs, listening to their bickering. Natasha might not have won awards for parenting in his book, but the familiarity and ease that the two talked to each other made it obvious that Cat was comfortable with Natasha. It made sense; Steve had only known the girl for a few minutes, but he had already figured out that their personalities were nearly matching.
"I'm going right now." Natasha grabbed her keys from the counter and ruffled the girl's hair with a smirk.
Steve reached the bottom step and hurried to the door before she could open it. "Wait- what do I do if I need something?"
"Don't panic. Send me a text. You should know how to use that by now, right?"
"Oh, shut up." Steve stepped aside. "Be safe."
She yanked opened the door. "Good luck. You'll need it."
"Gee, thanks," Cat said.
"You're welcome. Don't blow up the house while I'm gone." The sentence was punctuated by the door closing shut.
There was an awkward pause where the two just looked at each other.
Then she said, "You look like Captain America."
He tilted his head to the side, slightly caught off guard and trying to hide it. Good thing he had an excellent poker face. "That so?"
"Yeah. The one on TV all the time. You're really big and muscly. And you said your name was Steve. Like Steve Rogers."
Dumb decision. Steve cursed himself. "It is," he said evenly, meeting her eyes.
"What's your last name?"
The kid was a goddamn detective. Something in the girl's eyes told him that she knew the truth. Or maybe she was bluffing. Natasha hadn't really specified on how intelligent she was. Steve needed to step up his game, the kid had found out way too early. And Natasha was going to murder him if she found out.
"Richards," Steve said, the first word that came to mind. He smiled at her, hopefully coming off as kind and normal. "I'm flattered, Cat. But trust me on this. I'm no Captain America."
They had another skeptical stare-off.
Cat looked away first. "So, I'm starving. Wanna go to IHop?"
The tension drained from his body. "Why not?"
The girl seemed to lose her previous cold demeanor on the way to IHop. Steve had scrounge up a slightly-too-big helmet for Cat in Natasha's expansive garage. She had spent the majority of the trip whooping and hollering at the other cars.
Now they sat at a booth near the front of the shop. Steve was paranoid that he would be recognized, but no one seemed to notice him, as he was wearing a baseball cap and kept his head down. The waitress had given him a flirtatious smile as she took their orders, but it wasn't the Oh my god, you're Steve Rogers! smile. Natasha would have the defined it as the I find you attractive and I want to make a move on you smile. She was always pushing him to get in a relationship.
Cat sat across from him. She was making a tall tower out of forks, knives, plates, straws, and sugar packets. Steve had half a mind to tell her to not play with her silverware, but part of him was intrigued at the delicacy of her hands as she placed one object on top of another. She seemed like she was warming up to him, and he didn't want to lose that.
Sometimes he could be such a weakling.
"Nice," he complimented. He offered her another packet.
Cat took it. She looked up from her work, eyes expectant. "Most babysitters would tell me to stop."
The way she said 'babysitters' told Steve all he needed to know about her past experiences with them. All, of the sudden, he was filled with an urge to prove her wrong.
"I didn't."
"Yeah, well, you're weird that way."
He couldn't tell if she was being serious or not. Like Natasha, she had the dry humor down.
Amused, he asked, "Good weird or bad weird?"
"Neither. Weird is weird."
Wow. This girl was really something.
The flirty waitress arrived at their table, holding their plates. She set Cat's pancakes down with a flourish, saying "There you go, sweetie". But she took her time setting Steve's down for some reason, leaning in too close for comfort. He caught a whiff of her perfume. It was a strong sweet scent, almost overbearing. He shifted away, the beginnings of heat crawling up his collar.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cat narrow her eyes.
Her breath fluttered across his face. "May I get anything else for you, sir? Your number, perhaps?"
An image of Peggy flashed in his mind. He felt sick to his stomach. He smiled strainedly. "No tha-"
"Yes," Cat interrupted, speaking too loudly. "A life."
The waitress pulled away and looked at Cat disgustedly. "What did you just say?"
Cat leveled her with an unimpressed look. "You heard me. He's clearly not interested. Get. A. Life. And while you're at it, a refill of maple syrup." She shook the empty syrup dispenser.
"Cat," Steve began sternly, even though he didn't know where to start. "Be respectful."
"Please," Cat emphasized, "refill the maple syrup."
That was not what Steve meant, but he had an inkling that Cat already knew that.
The flirty waitress grumbled, snatching up the dispenser violently. She cast one more dirty look at the blonde girl and walked away.
Cat avoided Steve's eyes. She pretended like she didn't feel the heat of his gaze on her. She fiddled with her tower, picking it apart and setting the silverware on the table. When it got too much, she looked up and snapped, "What?"
"One part of me wants to give you a high five. The other part wants to give you a lecture."
"Listen to your better half," Cat advised him wisely. "Just give me a high five and we'll just say that I saved you from a terrible fate."
A different guy arrived at their table to give them the syrup that Cat requested. He was young and he looked very confused as to why he was given the job. "Uh, here's your syrup."
"Thank you," Steve told him. He looked at Cat and held up a high five. She grinned and slapped it.
"That's the way, Steve."
"Something tells me that you're not going to learn anything from that."
Cat grinned. She tipped the maple syrup over completely, dumping the entire contents of the dispenser over her heaping plate of pancakes. Steve snatched it away before she could use up the last few drops.
He groaned. "Seriously, kid? You didn't leave anything for me?"
"I need my sugar, it's early in the morning."
"Half of your plate is pure sugar," Steve pointed out.
"I need lots of sugar in the morning."
"Good for you, then," Steve grouched, but then smiled to show that he was joking. "We'll need more syrup."
"Well, obviously."
How did you like Steve in this chapter?