Hey everyone, it's been a minute! I know I haven't posted, it's because I promised myself I'd focus on finals until they were over, and now they're over so yayy! We got so many reviews last chapter I swear they're the only things giving me life. I love it when I see people that haven't reviewed before. Also I decided to get hulu for the free trial and I'm binging Brooklyn 99 you GUYS it is so freaking good.
A hugest thank you to Rezen, kash509, Evilhyperpixie13, CookieWorkout, Amir-015, TYPE-RWBYFanatic64, LdyPhantom, Beachgirl25, amy, M, purpleglowstick, SabrinaInWonderland001, salty milkshake, acompletenerd, Odie.18, Raysofsun, PrincessMagic, Kath3rin.
Please tell me if I forgot to respond to your review!
After their trip to IHOP, Cat was feeling newly energized. After successfully drowning her pancakes and defeating them, she'd gotten a rush of energy. Sugar and caffeine always helped her focus. Once they reached the apartment, Cat instantly ran towards her room.
"Whoa!" Steve said as she rushed past him. "What's the rush?"
"Homework," Cat called, before slamming the door shut.
Taco barked at her when she saw her. She jumped off from Cat's bed and into her arms. Cat greeted her softly, rubbing behind her ears.
"Hey, Taco. Missed me?"
Her room hadn't changed much from its previous state. The walls were still painted a light beige. No posters, no nothing. The room was similarly plain. She had no toys of any sort, no accessories scattered around. It was extremely neat— the bedsheets folded military-style, no clothes lying around, everything tucked away. A new addition was a chair whose only purpose was to hold books, which were organized meticulously by book cover color. (Although she was unwilling to admit it, Cat had always been somewhat of a neat freak.)
The most prominent change to the room was the desk in the corner. It was the only place that was completely chaotic. The floor around it was scattered with differently colored folders, organized by subject. On the desk were stacked papers, various pens and pencils, sticky notes everywhere, and five or six empty coffee mugs. In the middle of it all, was Cat's laptop.
Like Nat's other "gifts," it had magically appeared on her desk one morning, the day before she'd started Midtown High. It was a sleek new model, with all the fancy bells and whistles. Cat hadn't thought to ask for one, but it made sense, considering that most of her school assignments were completed online. For the number of times Nat referred to herself as a heartless assassin, she routinely surprised Cat with how considerate she was.
Cat slid into the rolling chair, arguably her favorite new addition to the room, and opened the laptop. The "homework" thing she'd told Steve was a lie, obviously. She usually finished most of her homework from Midtown either in class or after school. Frankly, it was a breeze. Homework was no big deal to Cat. As a result of her photographic memory, her brain was able to soak information like a sponge. She was a quick learner, and was able to grasp most of the concepts that her teachers went over in class.
However, Cat had found another way to utilise her free time.
Her laptop powered on. The most recent tab was open. It was a chemistry essay. To be more specific, Flash Thompson's chemistry essay. To be even more specific, the chemistry essay Cat had been writing for Flash Thompson.
The guy was an idiot and a total jerk, but he paid well. $70 for every essay Cat wrote for him, plus a nice tip if she changed up the writing to make it sound more like him. Not a bad deal at all. The first time he had offered her the deal, she'd considered writing a crappy one just to piss him off, considering the way he treated Peter. But it gave her an idea.
When Flash Thompson got a solid A-minus on the essay the next week, Cat told him to spread the word: she was open for business. Not surprisingly, a lot of people were interested. There was an astonishing amount of people who attended Midtown as a direct result of their rich mommies and daddies who wanted them to get a good education. Which meant that they had unlimited funds and no idea how to negotiate, only making it easier for Cat to swindle them.
All she needed from her "customers" was the kind of grade they wanted and a copy of their last essay. She'd analyze their writing style, learn the required material, if necessary, and write the essay for them. It wasn't long before she offered to do homework, reports, and anything people came to her for. Not only was it an ingenious way to save up cash, she was also furthering her education.
Of course, all of her "customers" were sworn to secrecy. Cat didn't particularly care if she got caught. The worst that could happen to her was detention or suspension. She didn't care for school in the first place, the deal she'd made with Natasha being the primary reason she was going. However, getting caught would be very inconvenient for Cat. Natasha would probably be miffed at her and she might stop teaching Cat how to beat people up.
Cat was working on finishing up Flash's essay, when mid-sentence, she heard the door open, sweeping softly against the carpet. She craned her neck to see Steve peering in through the door.
"Hey, old man."
"Hey yourself." He leaned against the doorframe. "Just checking to see what you're up to."
"Just homework," Cat said, eyes turning back to the screen. It wasn't technically a lie. It was homework she was doing, just not her own.
"Mind if I stay?"
"I won't be a very good conversationalist," she warned.
"I'm good with that."
At the corner of her eye, Cat noticed Steve bend down to scratch Taco on the head.
Despite what she'd said about not being a good conversationalist, Cat said, "That's Taco. She's a beagle."
"Never pegged Nat as a dog person," Steve commented.
"I had Taco before I moved in," she explained.
Steve leaned over her shoulder, reading the title of the essay. "An Overview of the Patterns, Properties, and Groups of the Periodic Table…" His eyes landed on the name on the top-left corner of the page. "Eugene Thompson," he said slowly.
Shit. Cat kept her composure. "I know you can read, Steve," she said dryly.
He looked at her, bewildered. "But why…?"
"It's an inside joke," Cat said, which made no sense, but it was her go-to response to make people stop asking questions. Before he could respond, she shushed him. "Now shh. I'm concentrating."
Steve was quiet for a long time. Cat began to feel guilty about shushing him. Did it come off as rude? One does not simply shush Captain America, after all.
Cat typed out the last sentence. "And… done! Finally."
He shook his head. "I'm impressed. When I was a student, I could hardly pay attention for long enough to remember what homework I had for what class. Now, everything's changed— the teaching curriculum, the material, the methods of learning. I can't keep up with it all."
"Don't worry, school's a waste of time anyway. And you're Captain America. You don't need to know how to multiply fractions."
"Might come in handy when you least expect it."
"I highly doubt that."
From the bed, Taco barked. She was wide awake now, and pacing the length of the bed in a way Cat was too familiar with.
"Taco needs to go," Cat said, bolting up from her chair. "Grab the leash— it's by the coathanger. Nat will seriously murder me if I let her pee in the apartment again."
After walking Taco around the block, Steve suggested going to the playground. Approximately two seconds after they arrived, Cat froze.
"Oh no," she said under her breath. "We have to leave." She began to turn and walk the way they came, but Steve stopped her.
"What? We just got here," he protested.
He had a fake beard, a baseball cap, and aviator sunglasses on. Cat had thought it was a bit much, but Steve said he didn't want the paparazzi finding them and photographing her in such a public place. They'd been lucky nothing had happened at IHOP. It was exciting and a bit like being in a spy movie, or hanging out with a celebrity— which, Cat supposed, he was.
"There's a girl I know here," Cat hissed, forcing him to turn his back on the playground. "I don't want her to see me. We need to avoid making eye contact."
Not budging, Steve turned and looked back towards the playground, which was exactly the opposite of what Cat wanted him to do. "Where? You should go and say hi."
"That is the opposite of what I want to do."
He pointed. "Is it that girl?"
"No!" Cat tugged his arm down quickly. "Steve, this is not how we avoid suspicion."
"C'mon. You didn't even look."
"If I look, there's a chance she might look too and see me. And then she'll want to bother me, and then I'll have to talk to her. And I don't want to talk to her, because I want to leave."
"Okay," Steve conceded. "Let's go."
"Thank y—"
"Catalina!" A shrill voice shrieked from behind.
"It's too late," Cat groaned. "And why is she always yelling?"
The voice came nearer, followed by thudding footsteps. "No way! Is that you? Do you live around here?"
Cat elbowed Steve in the ribs. "This is all your fault," she whispered, before spinning around and glaring at the girl. "Chelsea. Can you stop calling me that? It's just Cat."
Chelsea Manchester was looking as annoyingly perfect— no, perfectly annoying— as always. Just seeing her made Cat want to throw something. Flowers were braided into her hair, probably the cause of someone's allergies. She probably had bees swarming around her head all day. For some reason, along with a dress, she was wearing a red cape with so many sequins it was hazardous to the naked eye.
Chelsea smirked. "I knew I recognized you! I'd know that messy blonde head anywhere. You know, there's this brand new invention, it's called a comb. Ever heard of it?"
"Not everyone's mommy pays a hairdresser to make sure their hair doesn't look like a rat's nest every morning."
"You're just jealous!"
"Oh, sure. That's it. Did you come over just to insult me?"
Before the argument could escalate further, Steve extended a hand towards Chelsea. "Hi, I'm Stanley. Cat's uncle. Are you one of Cat's friends?"
Cat threw him a dark look. "Obviously, can't you tell by the way we insult each other?"
Chelsea's eyes widened as she shook his hand. "Wow! Your arms are so big!"
"Stop flirting," Cat snarked. "It's creepy."
She huffed. "I'm not flirting, Catalina— "
"Stop calling me that!"
"— I'm observing. I can't observe?"
"Oh, really? To me, it sounded like— Wow!" Cat imitated, making her voice high-pitched and ridiculous. "Your arms are soooo big! Please marry me, right now!"
"Oh, shut up! That's so gross!"
"Cat, play nice," Steve said.
"I will if she does," Cat grumbled. "And why are you wearing a cape? You look like Red Riding Hood, if Red Riding Hood had no sense of fashion and a bad attitude."
"Says the girl with the bad attitude. And yes, I am Red Riding Hood." Chelsea twirled, almost smacking Cat in the face with her cape. "Isn't it obvious?"
"It's not Halloween. How did you pass kindergarten without knowing the order of the months?"
"So what? Just because it's not Halloween, I can't dress up?"
"Normal people don't."
Chelsea gasped like Cat had just offended her grandmother. "I am not normal! I am extraordinary!"
"Sure, princess. Is that what your mommy tells you?"
"So what if it is?"
Poor Steve had no idea what to do. Attempting to diffuse the situation, he awkwardly tried, "All right, you two, let's just… uh, settle down. Take a deep breath and reevaluate the situation."
Steve clearly had no idea how to talk to children.
Chelsea's mother was wandering towards the commotion. Cat assumed she was her mother because they had the same curly auburn hair and bone structure. Her mother was wearing a light blue pantsuit, holding a Louis Vuitton purse the size roughly of a small chihuahua.
"Excuse me," Chelsea's mom interjected, "what's going on over here?"
"Mom," Chelsea said, "this is Catalina."
"Oh! Are you a friend from school?"
"It's just Cat," Cat said. "And I'm not her friend."
"Cat!" Steve admonished.
"What, Uncle Stanley?" Cat widened her eyes at him innocently. "You're always saying not to lie." Cat looked Mrs. Manchester straight in the eye. "Your daughter is a psychopath."
"Hey! You're the psychopath."
"Ooh! Sick burn," Cat said sarcastically.
Steve shook his head, horrified. "I'm so sorry," he told Mrs. Manchester. "You'll have to excuse my niece. She's brutally honest. It can be a blessing and a curse." He glared at Cat pointedly. "But I'm sure she'll apologize."
"I'm very sorry," she said sweetly. Worth it.
Mrs. Manchester seemed like she didn't know how to react. (Cat tended to have that effect on people.) She laughed, very loud and very fake. "Ha! Ha! Well, you know how kids can be! I won't take it personally. I'm sure she's just having a bad day."
"More like a bad month," Chelsea jumped in.
Mrs. Manchester was too busy ogling Steve to notice. "And who are you?"
"I'm Cat's uncle. Stanley."
Cat tugged at Steve's arm. "We were just leaving, weren't we, Uncle Stanley?"
"Actually, why don't you two play on the playground? I'd love to get to know your uncle a bit more." She smiled at him dazzlingly.
Steve returned it awkwardly. "Sure."
"But Uncle Stanley," Cat stalled, "don't you have that thing you need to get to?"
"It can wait." He nodded at Cat encouragingly. "Give me Taco's leash."
What the hell was he doing? She glared at him. Traitor. Reluctantly, she handed over the leash.
"Go on, have some fun." He motioned for her to go
As Cat left, she heard Mrs. Manchester say, "That's a great motorcycle you have. You know, my ex-husband used to have a motorcycle. He could never figure out how to ride the thing. So, what do you do?"
"Oh my god," Chelsea said, following her. Why was she doing that? "Can you believe my mom is flirting with your uncle? That is so embarrassing."
"Stop following me," Cat told her, walking faster. "I'm not going to play with you."
Chelsea matched her pace. "Then what else are we going to do?"
"I'm going over there. You can do whatever you want. Just make sure it's far away from me."
She had seen a group of boys playing soccer in the playground by the grass. It looked far more interesting than playing on the playground with Chelsea. One of them kicked a ball towards a makeshift goal post, made of two brightly colored cones set apart from each other. The goalie reached towards it to bat it away, missed it, and the ball sailed through the cones. A number of boys also running towards the ball cheered.
"To play soccer?" Chelsea wrinkled her nose. "Why would you want to do that?"
Cat didn't answer. Instead, she strode right into the middle of the field.
"Hey!" one of the boys called. The tips of his hair were dyed red. It looked like he'd dipped his head in a puddle of Kool-Aid. "Get off! We're playing here!"
Cat marched towards him determinedly. "I want to play, too."
They were now face to face. "You can't," Kool-Aid said incredulously.
"Well, why not?" Cat's eyes darted across the field. "You have an odd number of people. Add me on a team and we'll be even."
"You're a girl."
"Good to know. Should I tell you that you're a boy, too? Just so that we're all on the same page?"
Half of the boys had gathered around them. A tall, auburn-haired boy came forward. He didn't look much older than Cat. He was definitely younger than the boys Cat knew at Midtown High, but a little older than her classmates at her elementary school. His face looked vaguely familiar.
"What's going on, Martin?" he asked Kool-Aid.
"This random girl wants to play with us. I'm telling her she can't."
Cat crossed her arms defiantly. "And I'm asking why not."
The boy cocked his head at Martin. "Yeah. Why not?"
Martin sputtered. "She's a girl."
The boy nodded at Cat. "I'm Jonathan."
"Who cares? Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean my legs don't work. I still know how to play soccer."
"Makes sense to me," the auburn-haired boy said, grinning at her. "You can be on my team."
"Wait!" Chelsea hurried over to them. She glared at Jonathan. "If she's playing, then I get to play, too."
The auburn-haired boy's demeanor instantly shifted. Cat couldn't blame him— she had the same reaction to Chelsea. "Seriously, Chelsea?" he asked impatiently.
"Yes." She stamped her foot. "You never let me play."
Cat turned to her. "You know him?"
"Duh. He's my idiot brother." Chelsea raised her eyebrows at Cat. "Can't you tell?"
Now that they were standing side by side, Cat could tell. Their family had some weird genetics. They all looked so alike. Same hair, same face. But where Jonathan actually seemed like a decent human being, Chelsea lingered more in the area of demonic she-devil from hell.
"Fine," Jonathan said. "You can be my team as well."
Martin scoffed dismissively.
It had been a long time since Cat had last played, but she had no doubt she could destroy Martin, who was fortunately on the opposing team. Her father had been a huge soccer fan. He had been British, so he'd called it "football." She had vivid memories of him teaching three-year-old her how to score a goal. He had never been successful in getting her to watch the games with him, but he'd taught her everything she knew about playing it. Cat had been a natural. She was fast and agile on her feet and had deadly aim.
"Goal!" she cheered as her ball soared into the goal. She smirked at Martin, who had been chasing after her. He was huffing and out of breath, hands on his knees. "That's three-nothing."
Martin gritted his teeth. "It doesn't count. You can't score inside of the box."
"That's bogus. There's no box."
"It's an invisible box around the goalie." Martin pointed. "You can't score within four feet, or else it's too easy. Next time, play by the rules."
"Whatever." Under her breath, she added, "Jerk."
Cat's team was destroying Martin's. Jonathan and a few others had scored several more. She went on the offensive again, scoring two more goals for her team.
Jonathan high-fived her as they ran past each other. "Nice," he said. "You're good at this."
"Tell me something I don't know."
He smiled. "You never told me your name."
"It's Cat."
"You're in my sister's class," he noticed. "I've heard about you."
"Nothing good, I'm sure. We're not exactly BFFs."
"Yeah, I guessed that, based on her… lengthy descriptions."
"It's a mutual hate-hate relationship."
"Hey!" Chelsea came up to them. "Are you two talking about me?"
Cat rolled her eyes. "Narcissistic much? For the record, I would never willingly start a conversation about you." She glanced up. "There's Martin. I'm going to steal the ball from him."
However, this time Martin had decided enough was enough. He guarded the ball ferociously, determined to keep the ball from Cat regardless of where he was going. Noticing this, Cat continued to drive him away from his own goal and towards hers. His teammates were chasing after the both of them, getting progressively frustrated as they came further and further from the goal.
"Ay, Marty!"'
"What are you doing?"
"Pass the ball, man!"
Cat was gaining on him. She was barely a half-step behind him. She put on a spurt of speed, and they were running side by side. Before Martin could switch directions, she darted in front of him and slid her foot towards the ball. Martin, in a desperate last-ditch attempt to stop her, abandoned the ball and whirled on her.
Cat hadn't been expecting him to attack her head-on, so she was unprepared for his shove that sent her flying to the ground. Before she could completely wipe out, she hooked her right foot behind his knee, taking him down with her.
On instinct, Cat reached her left hand towards the ground to soften her fall. However, there was another factor she hadn't been counting on. A boy on Martin's team who had been following closely behind them wasn't able to stop his momentum in time to avoid the collision. He barreled straight into Martin, who crashed onto Cat, whose hand was still outstretched towards the ground.
There was a sickening CRACK, and pain exploded in her left arm. Cat bit back a scream. The pain was a big, throbbing red haze that took over her entire arm.
Martin and the other boy were still crushing her, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Cat struggled to inhale, forcing herself to breathe.
"Get off!" she yelled, punching Martin as hard in the stomach as she could with her unharmed right arm.
She heard him wheeze in pain and felt a quick rush of cruel satisfaction that was quickly overwhelmed by the excruciating pain.
The boy on top quickly untangled himself and yanked Martin to his feet. The pressure relieved, Cat sat up dazedly, her vision going black and white. Her left arm was a hot, throbbing, pulsing mess of blinding pain. It made it impossible to focus on anything else. She made a series of wheezing and groaning noises.
There were a dozen pairs of eyes on her. One of the boys muttered something to another. Cat was in too much pain to make it out. Even Chelsea looked concerned. One of the boys was yelling for his mom to come.
Jonathan crouched beside her. "Hey, you good?"
Cat clutched her left arm. It was getting hot and swollen. It was probably broken. She cursed fiercely. "No," she hissed, gritting her teeth, "I am not good." Her eyes landed on Martin. "Why'd you push me, you idiot?"
The boys collectively looked at him.
Martin looked around, as if she might be talking to someone else. His gaze landed on his feet. "I… I didn't…"
Cat turned to Jonathan. "Get Steve… I mean Stanley."
"Who's Stanley?" Jonathan asked desperately.
Suddenly, Steve was pushing through the crowd of boys, kneeling right by her side. "Broken arm," he muttered grimly.
Cat felt tears prickling at her eyes. Owww. "No duh," she forced herself to quip.
He pressed a gentle finger on the part in the middle of her forearm that stuck up like a triangle. "Does that hurt?"
Cat winced and drew in a sharp breath.
Steve got his answer. Without missing a beat, he picked her up and carried her, bridal-style, to his motorcycle. He hesitated before getting on.
"Hey!" he called out, turning back to the many onlookers. "Does anyone have a car?"
Riiiiing. Riiiiing.
Steve paced outside the emergency room, phone held up to his ear.
Riiii—
Natasha picked up on the third ring. Her greeting was curt. "Make it quick. I'm working."
Judging by the rumble of the engine, she was in a car, moving very fast. Her voice was garbled, signaling she was in a place with bad internet connection. She sounded slightly out of breath, and Steve was pretty sure those were sirens in the background.
"It's about Cat— I can call you back."
Gunshots fired in the background. Natasha was firing back. Her voice was calmer when she responded. "What did she do, Rogers?"
"She has a broken arm."
A pause. "What?"
"The doctor says she'll have to wear the cast for a few months while it heals. They need you to fill out a few forms."
"Hold on a second."
Following a loud screech, Steve held his phone at arm's length from his ear. There was the sound of a car door being opened, then slamming shut again. It was followed by a rapid sequence of the sound of someone being violently slammed against the side of a car, each being punctuated by a painful grunt. Then a thud, which Steve assumed was the person being carelessly dropped back onto the ground.
"I can tell them you're busy," Steve added.
"Yes, do that," Natasha said. "How did it happen?"
"I'm not so clear on the details myself. We were at the park. I know she was playing soccer with some kids, and then they got into an argument, and things just escalated from there. We're at the ER now. An intern is standing outside, holding Taco."
"You didn't drive her there on your death trap bike, did you?"
"No, one of the kids' parents drove us."
Steve peered into the room. Chelsea and Jonathan were both in Cat's room. Chelsea and Cat were bickering, as usual. Jonathan was drawing something on Cat's cast.
Mrs. Manchester had insisted on staying to see how Cat did, although Steve suspected that she was more interested in making conversation with him. She went on and on about her ex-husband, which made him more than a little uncomfortable. He wasn't sure how to tell her how to back off without sounding rude, considering that she had just driven them to the ER.
"Also," Steve said, "does the name Flash Thompson mean anything to you?"
"From what I've heard, he's some rich idiot at Cat's high school. She complains about him all the time."
"I don't know for sure, but I think she's writing his essays for him."
Natasha sighed. "I'll talk to her about it." She cursed. "I have to go now. Be back soon."
The dial tone sounded. Putting his phone back into his pocket, Steve slipped back into the room.
"Uncle Stanley," Cat said, "Nurse Lauren says I have to keep this cast on for more than six weeks. Can you tell her she's wrong?"
"Listen to Nurse Lauren," Steve told her. "She knows what she's talking about. How's the arm? Does it still hurt?"
"Tons, but the cast is crushing my arm so much that I can barely feel it." Cat narrowed her eyes. "The next time I see Martin, I'm punching him in the face with my good hand."
"I'll punch him for you," Jonathan offered. "I never liked that guy anyway."
"I don't need you to punch him!" Cat said indignantly. "I'm perfectly capable of punching him myself."
"There will be no punching of anyone," Steve said firmly.
"Good lord," Nurse Lauren said, staring at Steve, who had taken off his sunglasses. "Has anyone told you you look a great deal like Captain America? Minus, the beard, of course."
"Yeah, I get that a lot."
Mrs. Manchester cocked her head to the side. "You know, I don't really see it."
"Me neither," Cat said, smirking at him.
Sorry, this chapter didn't have a lot of Avengers in it. I was focusing more on developing Cat's life outside of the Avenger-meeting stuff. What do you think of Jonathan and Chelsea? And Steve? And EVERYTHING? (Can you see how desperate I am for validation it's very sad)
Also, I got a lot of requests for Cat to meet Tony, so I'll be working on that.
Poll: would you prefer if
a) Cat met Tony next chapter in any way shape or form
ORRRRRR
b) if I did a thing I've been thinking of, where Cat stows away on a mission along with Natasha and some other Avenger (maybe Tony idk) and stuff happens?