Part 4

"I told you!" Wanda hisses, standing at the end of the hallway with Natasha. They're both hiding at the corner, peering around and staring at the door.

You're at Bucky's door once more, hovering just outside. It's late, but you're leaving from the looks of it, something under your arm. You smile at Bucky, one he actually returns.

"What the hell is going on?" Wanda whispers. "I've never seen him smile before! What's in that thing under her arm?"

"I don't know," Natasha mutters, uncomfortable. She doesn't like spying on those she works with, although being an assassin has its perks. Steve has been so worried, and Wanda keeps talking about it, so she had to see it for herself.

Yes, you appear to be leaving Bucky's room rather late with something under your arm. That doesn't truly mean anything, although from her calculations you've been there for several hours; Bucky barely spends five minutes with anyone else.

What's going on with you two? Where did you disappear too earlier today? What was in all those boxes he'd help you carry into your room?

There's a lot of questions.

Natasha knows she could just ask, but knowing the two of you, she'd either get a guarded look or a snarky comment telling her it's none of her business --- which is true, of course.

Can't blame her for being concerned, however. Steve is paranoid about Hydra weaseling it's way in, and after what he's been through Natasha doesn't blame him.

She wants to trust you, you don't seem so bad. You're hateful, you don't seem to appreciate helping save the world --- you just want to be left alone.

Your seclusion makes it even more suspicious.

"Come on, before they notice us," she murmurs, taking a step back and pulling the Scarlet Witch with her. "Ease dropping isn't exactly ---."

"Oh, come on! Don't you think this is interesting?" Wanda complains softly, following the red haired woman towards the elevator. "What do you think they're up too?"

"I don't know, but it's none of our concern."

Yet.

~~~~~~

You're seething.

You pace back and forth in the kitchen, rather angry. You knew someone had been watching you, you have a sense about these things. You'd seen them out of the corner of your eye, although you're not sure if Bucky noticed or not.

You hate people spying on you!

What did those two think they were doing!?

You stop in front of the oven, angrily pressing the button to preheat it. You like Wanda, so you don't understand her reasoning for ease dropping on you!

Why are they being so nosy?

Do they have something against you spending time with Barnes?

All you did was watch movies and eat Chinese, you're not doing anything wrong!

You huff, rolling some dough out with your rolling pin, flour already decorating the front of your clothing. The chef had surreptitiously disappeared as soon as he'd seen you near the bar, you're pretty sure he likes taking breaks and you give him a reason too.

You angrily roll your dough out, watching as it flattens, trying to be careful and not make it tear. It had taken you years to get the formula right, to make it where it isn't too sticky or too dry. You follow your own recipe, and it's one of your favorites.

You mutter under your breath, glancing over at the chicken you have boiling on the stove. The eye turns down a little on its own, the knob twisting. You don't want it overboiling, you're not in the mood to clean up a mess. You just want to make your stupid chicken pot pie and go back to your own room!

You'd bake it in your own kitchen, of course, but you've never been fond of the normal ovens. You much prefer the industrial, which of course is what Stark tower boasts. You'll leave some for the chef as a thank you, and take the rest upstairs with you.

You'd offer Bucky some, but you're starting to worry that your presence with him is beginning to cause issues. You know Rogers doesn't trust you for two seconds, and you don't trust him either. Bucky is on your side, you can tell that much, but definitely not Wanda or Natasha --- and you'd really started to like the younger girl!

So much for that!

You huff, finished with your dough. You take a pie tin from one of the cabinets, quickly placing down on thick layer; you like the crust more then you do anything. The chicken rises out of the boiling water on the stove, laying itself neatly on a cutting board. You twitch your fingers, a knife rising out of the block, quickly cubing the chicken.

You're an excellent multitask-er, which is why that knife continues to cut chicken as you get the rest of the ingredients ready. Your mood eventually mellows out, the familiar, comforting actions of cooking helping your nerves.

Soon, you're absently humming, finishing the edges of your pie. You pinch the edges together, making sure none of the inner juices escape. You make sure there's a thin slice in the top of the crust, then lift up the heavy pie and slip it into the oven. You'll bake it for about thirty minutes, then wrap the top in aluminum foil and bake it again --- therefore ensuring the crust doesn't burn or get too hard.

Now you just have to wait.

While the pie bakes, you clean up the kitchen, getting everything washed and replaced rather quickly. You need to head to your bakery again, see the damage it's taken. You can call your insurance agent, see if he'd have time to come down and check. You've been thinking, you'll probably mow the building down, start from the bottom again.

Maybe you can fake some credit cards, get as much money as you can off of them in another name, like you have before. Rip them off, then use the money to rebuild. It'll take a long time, but you have to do something!

You certainly don't want to live in Stark Tower like you're part of their little club or something. No, you want your freedom back, and that's the only thing you can do to ensure that.

You purse your lips, hearing the oven ding.

After dinner, of course.

~~~~~

"Yes, I know you're busy," you say calmly, your hand on your hip as you stand in your bakery. "Yes, I know half of the damned city is destroyed, but --- hell, that's not my fault! Are you going to do your job or not?" you hiss, growing aggravated. "I'm not paying high fucking premiums just to be shoved to the side, you fucker. Now ---."

Shit, he hung up on you!

Scowling, you shove your phone back into your pocket. Stupid insurance jerk!

You need to get started immediately!

You want your old life back!

You have some money saved up, maybe you could just take it and move to a new city, find a new bakery. You'd hate to do that, you really love where you are, but... well, it doesn't look like you're going to be able to have a business any time soon.

You rub at the back of your neck.

Could the Avengers stop you from leaving? 

Could they force you to stay in the city?

You don't want that life! You don't want to have to abandon everything and run around saving the world, you never have! All you want is your peaceful, normal, ordinary life! You've done a lot of bad shit to get it, and you don't want all that to be in vain!

You huff, tapping your toe against the floor as you look around the gutted place.

Hmm?

What's that sound?

Your head turns, hearing the shuffling sound again. You walk over to the junk piled in the corner, kneeling down as you see a dirty tail suddenly pop up. You blink, waiting a moment, before the rest of a tiny kitten pops out of the debris.

He's covered in soot and dirt, his orange fur a little knotted in places, and he's obviously just a little baby! Oh no! What's he doing in here?

"What are you doing, little guy?" you coo, thoughtlessly reaching for him. He fuzzes and hisses instantly, bristling up twice his size. His gold eyes narrowed, and you give it a moment, pausing so he knows you mean no harm. "How'd you get in here, huh? Where's your mama?"

He just stares at you distrustfully, too thin and sniffly.

You can't just leave him here!

You talk for him for a while longer, and eventually, he lets you touch him. He purrs as you run your fingers through his fur, scratching his rough head.

"You poor thing, have you been abandoned?" you cluck, lifting him into your arms protectively. You can't leave him behind, he'd starve! You glance around your building, deciding you can't do anything else to help it anyhow. "Do you want to come with me, little guy? I'll take you somewhere safe."

He gives the most pitiful mew you've ever heard, and your heart breaks a little. You cradle him against your chest as you step out into the sunlight, walking to the car parked on the curb. It's not yours, it's a loaner from Stark Tower since yours had gotten half a building on top of it during the attack. 

You glance around as you click the key fob, feeling someone looking at you. Weird, the street is full of the normal people, but no one was paying any attention to you.

So you're a little paranoid, what's new?

You shuffle into the car, and set the little kitten into the box in the passenger seat, the one you'd brought to load anything else you could salvage. Well, a cat would do just nicely, in your opinion.

You can't wait until Stark has a coronary.

~~~~~~

"You're not keeping an animal in this building!"

"I can't do anything else with it, it'll die!"

"Absolutely not!"

"Oh, please tell me, when did you become my overseer?"

"The moment you started living in my building!"

"Well it's not like I can stay anywhere else! My fucking house is kind of destroyed, remember!? Thanks to ---."

"Don't you dare blame the attack on the Avengers!"

"I was going to say the Aliens, asshole! Not everything is about you and your stupid cult!"

"We are not a cult!" Stark squawks, glaring at you over his sunglasses as the two of you argue it out in the upstairs lobby, this half of the building closed off to the public. You square off with him, the box held in your arms with the kitten looking over the edge, his nails dug into the cardboard to keep himself standing. His tail switches back and forth. "And I'm not assuming it is!"

"Oh yeah? Then why did you snap at me?" you counter, standing your ground. "At least you got to keep your tower! Me and the rest of the city basically lost everything! So you know what, I'm keeping the fucking cat. And unless you intend on taking it out of my arms right this fucking moment, back the hell off! He won't bother anything, he's a baby! I won't abandon it and so help me I will fight you, you tuna can!"

You stalk off at that, leaving a very insulted Stark standing in the lobby, his phone held tightly in his hand. He glares after you, hearing faint laughter in the background.

"She really doesn't like you," Natasha comments, crossing her arms as she comes to stand beside him. "And the kitten's cute, we could use some more animals around here."

"No, we don't." He scowls. "And I never said it could stay!"

"I think it's staying, Tony."

"No it's not!"

"Are you really going to tell her that?"

"I will later," he mutters, disgruntled. "I don't have time right now."

"I'm sure you don't."

~~~~~~~

You lean into the sink, gently washing the dirt off the baby cat. He doesn't like the water, he has a very sour expression as you rub the black off his tail, watching as it drains. He's so dirty, you're not even sure how he's been surviving as long as he had! The poor thing!

You talk to him all throughout, making sure he stays calm. Eventually, he's cleaned up, smelling of dishsoap and very orange! He sneezes as you dry him off with a towel, wanting to make sure he got dry and he didn't get sick.

You're not sure where you'd find a vet right now. You doubt any of the Avengers have any experience with animals, either, so you just cuddle the small kitten as you walk to the couch. You can't help but coo at it, rubbing it's little belly and calling it all sorts of pet names.

You've never had an animal before, it's too hard to pick up and move with one. You'd thought this time you'd be established, that you'd never have to go anywhere else, but you'd made the biggest mistake moving into the city where the Avengers were stationed, even if they weren't a thing initially. 

Now what are you going to name it?

~~~~~

Bucky pauses outside your apartment door, his hand poised awkwardly to knock. He purses his lips, hearing you talking on the other side in a very... are you talking to a baby?

He hesitates a few seconds more, then raps his knuckles against your door, feeling uncomfortable. He's not sure what he's doing, why he's even bothering. It's just, well he didn't see you yesterday, or for most of the day today, and he's starting to become accustomed to the two of you spending the afternoons together around dinnertime.

It's nice to not eat alone all the time.

Sure, there's Steve, but he's usually busy these days. Bucky tries to stay to himself, he'd spent years on his own, but he doesn't enjoy it. You don't seem frightened of him, you don't judge him for the things he did in the past, or any of his actions.

You just... spend time with him.

As if he's a normal person again.

He hears some snuffling, and then you open the door. You blink a him a couple times before smiling. You have some wet spots on your t shirt, your hair is in a hasty bun on the back of your head, but your smile --- it's genuine, you're sincerely happy to see him on your doorstep. He can't help but smile back at you, his eyes drawing down to the orange puff of fur climbing on your shoulder.

"Is that a cat?" He asks, a little surprised.

"Well, it's not an octopus."

He flushes, and you chuckle, taking a step back to let him into the apartment.

"Yes, I found him crawling around in the debris of my bakery. I couldn't just leave him there, so I took him." You shut the door as Bucky walks into your apartment, his metal arm gleaming in the sunlight from your windows. You like to have a bright place to walk in too, so you never close the curtains. "I just got him all cleaned up."

"He's very... small."

"I know, but he's fiesty," You tug at him, feeling his claws catch in your shirt. You sigh as you fight him free of the material, flipping him over onto his back in your palm. He squirms, but starts purring the instant you scratch the small space between his front legs. "He'll be okay, I think."

"Huh." Bucky never pegged you for an animal person. "So you're going to keep him?"

"I don't know of any vet office that's open right now," you shrug your shoulders. "Where else can he go?"

Bucky shrugs his shoulders, leaning back against your kitchen table. You glance at the clock, seeing it's starting to get around five.

"Here, do you want to hold him? I can fix us something to eat real quick --- I actually have some chicken pot pie from yesterday if you like that." You say, placing the kitten in Bucky's metal hand before he can say no. 

Bucky tenses instantly, staring down at the fragile animal barely big enough to fit into his hand. You breeze past him for the fridge, oblivious to the fact he hasn't held an animal in years.

The kitten fuzzes a little as it looks up and doesn't see you, his golden eyes narrowing. Bucky can see its claws, how they dig into the metal of his hand, but he can't feel it. He frowns, then hesitantly shuffles, bringing the kitten closer to his chest so it doesn't fall. He's very careful, raising his other hand to cup it, it's soft fur brushing through his rough fingers.

The kitten starts to purr after a moment, realizing it's in no danger. It rubs its head against Bucky's thumb, causing the man to smile a little. It's so trusting, so little, a little ball of warmth.

"What are you going to name him?" Bucky asks after a moment, turning around to face the kitchen where you're already standing at the microwave. "Since you're keeping him."

"I don't know yet, he's going to have to pick his own name." You say decisively. "It has to be something that really fits him."

Ahuh.

The kitten digs its claws into Bucky's chest, climbing its way to his shoulder. He keeps a hand right beside it, ready to snatch it if it gets too wobbly or loses its balance. He doesn't want it to fall from this height, it's too fragile.

"It's energetic to be so little," he says, the kitten rubbing its head against the scruff on his jaw. "It must have just gotten away from it's mother."

"I guess so." You glance over your shoulder, smiling as you see the two of them. "I'll have to find some kitten food somewhere, buy it some toys, maybe a bed. Oh, I'm going to have to get a litter box," you curl your nose. The litter is going to have to be expensive so it doesn't smell. "And I'm going to have to fight Stark about this the entire way."

"Why's that?" Bucky lifts the kitten off his shoulder, setting it lightly onto the table. It falls over immediately, rolling over onto its back and raising all four feet into the air, grabbing for the fingers dangling over it. Bucky chuckles, lowering himself a little bit, feeling the sharp stings in his skin but not minding.

"He nearly had a coronary when he saw me carrying it in."

"The cat's not gonna bother anything, I wouldn't worry about it." he responds, listening to the microwave hum. He props his chin on his hand as he sits at the table, turning a chair around backward. He lets the kitten chase his hand back and forth, it's orange tail flicking harshly. It leans down, its butt wiggling a few second before it pounces, little teeth catching his shirt sleeve. "He's a vicious thing, though, isn't he?"

"He's livened up since I brought him in," you say, unable to stop watching. Bucky is being so gentle, so careful, letting the little cat nip and play with his sleeve and fingers. It has to hurt, you know the kitten isn't gentle, but the man isn't minding at all.

It's the sweetest, cutest thing you've ever seen and you suddenly want to squeeze them both.

"I don't know what I'll do with him when I'm not here, though," you say, turning to open the microwave as it dings.

"Cats are pretty self-sufficient, he'll be okay."

"If it even is a he."

"Most orange cats are male, so it's more likely." Bucky says absently, the cat now climbing him again, sneezing occasionally and shaking its head. "You can take him out of a town to a vet, make sure he's healthy."

"Yeah. He'll need to be wormed, have his shots --- I'll have to get him fixed."

Bucky winces. "Now, I wouldn't go that far. Let him have his manhood."

You hide your smile, shaking your head. "He'll get too mean, look at him now!"

"He's just playing," Bucky tilts his head as the kitten climbs onto his neck, swatting at the fine, loose hair there. "He'll chill out once he's relaxed and knows he's safe."

"Maybe so. Here, I'll trade you." You turn, two hot plates in your hands. You set them both on the table as Bucky sets the kitten in the floor. He waits as you go back, grabbing the small saucer of warmed milk. You place your finger in it, checking the temperature before you kneel, beckoning the spritely kitten to you. It prances to where you are, sniffing of the milk suspiciously before taking a lap.

"I'm sure he'll be as round as a softball in a few days." Bucky comments, lifting up his fork as you sit down across from him. "With your cooking, anyway."

"I'm not going to feed him scraps," you reply, mixing the crust with the rest of your pie. "I mean, I'm not going to spoil him like that where it's all he expects."

Bucky doesn't say a word, just takes a bite of the pie, his mouth already watering from the scent. He needs to do something nice for you, although he's no cook. He didn't come over just to eat, but --- he's also not going to turn down a good meal, either. Plus, it's warm, and he's had too many cold dinners over the years to say no.

"So is everything staying fairly peaceful?" You ask after a moment, flicking your eyes at him. "There's not going to be anymore fighting any time soon?"

"I've not heard of anything, but I don't stay in the loop. Mostly everyone leaves me be."

"I wish they would me," you grumble, standing as you realize you need something to drink. You grab a bottle of water, tossing it in Bucky's direction, knowing that's all he ever drinks. "I just want my bakery back and to be left alone."

"When the city is a little back in order, you probably can be. You can get your building fixed and everything."

"I can't even get my insurance people to talk to me," you sigh heavily, sitting back down. "They hung up on me earlier, they won't even listen. I'm not sure how I'm going to get everything repaired."

"I'm sure Stark won't mind offering some assistance," Bucky opens his bottle of water. 

"I don't want him to do anything for me he can remind me of later," you shake your head. "I'll figure it out on my own like I always have."

You don't need, or want, anyone's help.

You glance down, seeing the kitten is done, that he's already at your feet, attacking your shoe laces. You sigh, watching as the white strings unravel, feeling him pull on them.

You hope taking him in isn't a mistake.

Although, your eyes flick up to Bucky, seeing him enjoying his meal, you seem to have a thing for taking in strays.