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“You know, I’ve been thinking.” Clint declares early one morning, watching with barely concealed amusement as Buttercup quite obviously herds a barely awake Tony around hazardous furniture.
“I thought I smelled burning,” Natasha offers with a smirk and Clint flips her off.
“No, seriously. I think Buttercup thinks Tony is her kitten.” Natasha’s eyes narrow consideringly, and then twitch as she fights off a smile. Tony is oblivious to their discussion, staring hopefully at the coffee machine while Buttercup sits patiently on his socked feet. Marigold struts into the room a moment later and leaps gracefully into Clint’s lap where she begins to loudly meow for her breakfast. Clint fends the persistent cat away from his toast with one hand, scowling at Natasha who makes no secret of her laughter.
“Cut it out, beast!” He squawks, and then gives up entirely when Marigold succeeds in getting her sharp little teeth around the edge of his toast. With her prize claimed, Marigold promptly abandons Clint’s lap and disappears underneath the table, leaving her human to sulk.
“Toast probably isn’t good for cats,” Tony offers, apparently having come alive some time during the epic toast battle. He’s got a bowl in hand, half filled with biscuits that he’s carefully layering shredded tuna over.
“I didn’t exactly get a choice.” Clint grouses, and Tony simply grins, popping the bowl down for Buttercup.
“Guess it’s hard, when your cat’s trained badly.” He responds, all false sympathy.
“My cat? Technically, it’s your boyfriend’s cat! And besides, everyone knows you can’t actually train cats!”
“No, definitely your cat. You adopted her, you hide in the vents with her, and you once dropped her on Tony’s head as a prank.” Bucky cuffs the back of Clint’s head as he passes, carefully skirts the edges of Buttercup’s ‘Tolerance Zone’, and plasters himself to Tony’s back.
“Ew, you’re sweaty.” Tony complains half heartedly, but allows himself to be squished into a hug, Bucky nosing gently at his temple and pressing a gentle kiss there.
“You love it.” He whispers, smiling at Tony’s wrinkle nosed displeasure.
“Well yes, under certain circumstances, but-”
“Nope!” Clint interrupts, flailing his hands, and when Tony’s eyes start to twinkle and he starts to
smirk,
Clint does the only thing available to him. He steals Natasha’s spoon from her cereal bowl and chucks it at the couple. It rebounds off of Tony’s shoulder, because Clint
never
misses, to his surprised ‘ow!’. There’s a brief silence in the kitchen, and the hairs begin to stand up on Clint’s arms; Natasha looks amused, not like she’s about to kill him, but also a little nervous, which makes Clint
nervous.
At first he thinks Bucky’s going to murder him, but the former Winter Soldier is happily nuzzling at Tony’s abused shoulder, and he looks unbearably smug.
“Mrooooooow.”
Comes from the floor, directly at his feet, and Clint slowly looks down. Buttercup yowls again when their eyes meet, and Clint swallows noisily. Then he does the wise thing, and runs.
“That cat is terrifying.” Bucky observes into the silent kitchen a moment later, absently carding his fingers through Tony’s hair.
“I like her,” Natasha says serenely, accepting the replacement spoon Tony hands her with a smile.
“Well, obviously a murder cat would meet with your approval. Since, you know, you’re all murdery and stuff.” Tony waves his hands vaguely in Natasha’s direction, who merely shrugs, and then winces at the distant sound of things breaking. “That sounded expensive.” He mourns quietly, and Bucky snorts quietly.
“Don’t you have a meetin’ this mornin’, doll?” He drawls, and Tony’s face immediately screws up into an adorable pout. “Don’t even try lyin’, Pepper already called me.”
“Cheaters and liars, all of you!” Tony declares, only slightly mollified by the kiss Bucky swiftly presses to his forehead. “I’ll remember this betrayal, Barnes. There will be repercussions!” He continues, unperturbed, flicking forked fingers at his boyfriend in the universal sign of ‘I’m watching you’ and walking backwards out of the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later finds Tony suited up in his least favourite set of armour, the doors of Avengers Tower swishing quietly closed behind him. His car is waiting at the curb, expressionless driver standing patiently by the open door. He’s reminded again of how much he misses Happy, Tony muses as he slides into the back of the car. He settles the briefcase armour at his feet and slides his sunglasses onto his nose. The driver is just about to close the door when a familiar furry shape comes streaking across the pavement, yowling indignantly. The driver merely waits, expression so bland Coulson himself would be impressed, as Buttercup leaps gracefully into the car, and then shuts the door.
“What?” Tony demands as Buttercup fixes him with a disapproving stare, flounces across the seat and sprawls across his lap. He stares down at her, eyebrows twitching into a frown. “This suit is very expensive.” Tony points out unnecessarily, not really expecting much of a response from his evil cat. Buttercup looks up at him with slitted eyes for a moment, and then yawns wide, wiggling a little and sure, maybe it’s to get more comfortable but Tony is convinced she’s trying to rub her fur further into his pants. Tony gives up on trying to keep his pants cat free, settles back against the plush leather seat and scratches gently at Buttercup’s ears. If he’s lucky, she’ll forgive him by the time they get home for trying to leave her behind.
Tony likes to think he’s always had pretty good instincts; a nose for danger, mostly because he tends to go diving head first into it. Years of living and fighting with a superhero team have done a lot to hone those instincts, and taught him some new skills besides. So when the same nondescript black SUV has been behind them for a good half of the drive, Tony notices.
“J,” He murmurs, glad for the ever present earpiece that keeps him connected to his AI. “We picked up a tail.”
“Running the numberplate, sir. Shall I alert the team?” The AI responds, cool and professional. Tony hums thoughtfully, smoothing his hands through Buttercup’s fur.
“Not yet, let’s try and lose them first.” He decides, taking his phone out with his other hand as JARVIS feeds him the traffic camera feeds. “That’s...discouraging.” Tony mutters, leaning forward to rap at the privacy screen. It slides down a couple of inches, just enough for the driver to give Tony a meaningful look in the rear vision mirror. The car starts to pick up speed, weaving randomly between cars. Tony makes a note to eventually learn the man’s name.
“The license plate appears to belong to a Mary Dodson, 62 years of age, reported stolen three weeks ago.” JARVIS intones quietly, and Tony curses.
“Okay, so no chance that it’s paparazzi or something equally benign.” Tony decides, gently shifting Buttercup to cradle her in one arm and reaching down to flip the briefcase open with the other. He can’t suit up in the confines of the car, there’s not enough room for that, but better prepared than dead. He keeps an eye on the tailing car through the traffic cams, dismayed to note it’s grimly hanging in there.
“Sir, might I recommend at the very least contacting Sergeant Barnes?” JARVIS sounds anxious, and Tony chews his lip. Everything in him rebels against worrying Bucky for what could still be nothing, but Tony’s instincts scream it is something. Sensing her human’s tension, perhaps, Buttercup had gone still and tense in his arms.
“Yeah, alright, put the call through.” Tony decides finally. It rang barely twice before Bucky’s warm voice flooded the interior of the car.
“Missed me already? You’ve only been gone half an hour.”
“Sorry, sweetcheeks, this is strictly business.” Tony responds with false cheer, keeping a narrow eyed watch on the camera feeds. “Picked up a pretty persistent tail not long after I left. We haven’t managed to shake them yet.” Bucky swore colourfully, his voice immediately dropping into the cool, hard tones of the Winter Soldier.
“Where are you, exactly?” He demands and he sounds like he’s moving, doors slamming in the background.
“JARVIS can feed you the exact coordinates, if you take Steve’s bike you should be here in -”
Three things happen at once, then.
There’s a sharp crack, and through the narrow gap in the privacy screen Tony sees the windshield splinter, and the driver jerk.
“Sir!” JARVIS says, sharply.
“Shit!” Tony yelps, as the car swerves violently to the side. His phone goes flying from his hand, and Tony sprawls helplessly across the seat. Buttercup’s claws dig into his flesh, the cat yowling as they’re tossed about with the momentum. It seems a mere split second later that the car comes to a fiery stop, diving nose first into the side of a building. The sudden stop sends Tony flying across the car, losing his grip on the cat and cracking his head painfully against the edge of the opposite seat. His vision whites out with pain, and he’s distantly aware of Bucky’s voice, tinny and faint from wherever his phone has landed. Blood spreads in a warm, wet trail down the side of his face and Tony’s stomach rolls ominously. The world spins in a lazy, nauseating swirl of colours around him. He reaches blindly and grabs at the suitcase armour,
“B’tt’rcup?” He slurs out, and at this point he’s definitely not questioning the fact he’s thoroughly concussed himself. There’s a shuffle somewhere to his left, and then a quivering, furry body presses against his side. “G’d girl.” Tony mutters, and then turns his attention to the task of rolling over. He needs to get out of the car, get into the armour, and hold out until Bucky can get to him. It sounds easy, in theory, but he feels like he’s on the carousel from hell (ha, that rhymes) and moving is
hard.
He manages to turn over, and only feels a little like throwing up. Some uncoordinated flailing eventually gets the door open and Tony spills out into the street, the suitcase hitting the pavement next to him with a heavy thump. His vision is doubling and tripling on him, and Tony squints ineffectually against the blur. There are men (a man? Shit, he doesn’t know) approaching, armed to the teeth. Tony slaps at the briefcase, trying to coordinate himself, wanting to curse at how
helpless
he feels, and also wanting to throw up everything he’s eaten, ever, and sleep for like ten years.
“Idiots, they wanted him in one piece.” A voice snarls somewhere above him, and Tony restrains the totally inappropriate urge to giggle.
“He’s fine, his eggs just got a little scrambled.” Another voice says, and they’re getting closer and there’s no
time.
They’re just about on top of him, victory so clear on their faces, when Buttercup launches herself out of the car. The added height, and her not inconsiderable mass, means she hits the first man like the proverbial tonne of bricks. His companions stumble back in shock as the man
screams
like the holy devil, trying to pry the vicious cat away from his face. Buttercup hangs on, a low, constant snarl vibrating in her chest. Tony takes advantage of the distraction, stumbling to his feet, and finally,
finally
the armour starts to unfold around his limbs. The moment he’s suited, Buttercup shoves away from her victim, claws tearing free from flesh with a violent sound that can be heard even over the man’s screams. His face is a mass of blood, and there’s so much that it’s difficult to tell how much damage has been done. His partners are caught, staring in horrified fascination, and Tony takes one out with a poorly aimed repulsor blast. He’s aiming for the chest, since it’s the biggest part and his vision is wavering worse than when he’s drunk; he misses, and clips the man’s shoulder, sending him spinning sideways. He turns to deal with the third, and Buttercup is already there, climbing the man’s leg while he tries to bat at the demented cat, the gun in his hand forgotten entirely. Tony sways drunkenly, stumbles down to one knee, and can only watch with vague disgust as his cat makes a serious attempt at dismembering a human. The second man has righted himself in the meantime, and looks to be considering how to shoot at Buttercup without hurting his friend. Tony takes the choice out of his hands with a repulsor blast that puts him down properly. Then he drops down to sit against the side of his car, not sure if he’s going to throw up or pass out. Her victim now a whimpering mess, clutching at his face and screaming about his eye, Buttercup trots over to climb into Tony’s armoured lap, whereupon she begins to delicately lick her fur clean.
“Terrifyin’.” Tony mumbles, but nonetheless pets carefully at her head with his armoured hand. “But badass. S’good cat.”
Bucky arrives in time to deal with the first three’s backup, trying to sneak up on a barely conscious Tony. He’s well pleased to have faces to punch, particularly after being on the damn phone when Tony’s car crashed. The rest of the team arrives for cleanup, and Clint stares as the two cat-mauled victims are loaded into ambulances with police escort.
“I told you,” He declares, sounding immensely satisfied. “Tony’s her kitten.” Bucky snorts at him, but doesn’t disagree. Tony is already loaded onto a gurney, and Bucky has the dubious honour of carrying Buttercup, since the paramedics wouldn’t let her sit on Tony. It seems the cat is willing to call a temporary truce between them, apparently sensing she needs Bucky on side to get her to the hospital with Tony.
“She’s out for your title, Nat.” He calls over his shoulder, climbing carefully into the ambulance and settling the cat in his lap. Natasha turns from where she’s surveying the damage to Tony’s car, eyebrow raised.
“Murder Queen.” Bucky grins, and has the pleasure of seeing Natasha chuckle softly right before the doors close.