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“I can explain.”
Bucky stood in Steve’s doorway dripping wet and clutching a drooping cardboard box covered by an equally soaked jacket. A moving, mewing cardboard box. Steve stared for a second, his eyes going from Bucky’s face to the bumping and rattling box, before moving out of the doorway to let him in.
Steve closed the door and watched Bucky race in and search for a place to lay the box. Steve walked over to the hallway closet and took a couple of his rattier towels and laid them on his coffee table. He took the box from Bucky and looked down into it.
“They’re cats.”
“Kittens,” Bucky corrected, raising his voice over the sudden influx of mewing coming from the box. “I found this box near an alleyway and y’know, I thought I could leave them, but it’s pouring buckets outside and –“
“I get it,” Steve replied. “I wouldn’t have left them either.”
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
Steve sat on the couch. “Here is good.” Bucky collapsed onto the couch next to Steve and pulled his jacket off of the box. As soon as the box was completely uncovered, a pair of paws batted at the edge. Bucky leaned forward and carefully, carefully lifted a small tortoiseshell kitten out of the box and took a towel to dry it off. The other two peeked out at Steve and Bucky, scoping the situation.
In no time, the three kittens were dry, content, and snuggled on the couch in a small pile. The biggest, an almost regal-looking black kitten, had curled her body and tail around the tortie and the smallest, a charcoal grey fluffball. A hum of purring issued from the fuzzy pile.
“So what are we going to do about them?” Steve looked over at Bucky, who shrugged and then shivered. “Buck.”
“What?” Bucky asked innocently. Steve reached out to touch Bucky’s shirt.
“You’re soaking wet!”
“Steve, it’s—“
“No, I’m getting you another set of clothes.” Steve popped up from the couch.
“My pants are fine,” Bucky yelled as Steve retreated to his room. He could hear Steve opening a drawer and rifling through it for a few second before pushing it closed. He walked out and tossed a grey shirt to Bucky. “I’m fine,” Bucky insisted. Steve frowned in return. “Swear.”
Steve kept frowning. “This time ‘round, I’m taking care of you.” Bucky sighed and peeled off his shirt. He stood and plopped the damp shirt in Steve’s outstretched hand; Steve then walked off into another room.
Bucky turned to the couch to pick up the shirt. The little tortoiseshell kitten, however, had managed to untangle from the fray and was now trying to make a bed out of the shirt. Gently, he picked the cat up. She was so tiny, so frail looking, but she looked him in the eye and started quietly mewing.
“Shirtless guys and kittens. Every woman’s dream.”
Bucky turned at breakneck speed, clutching the cat to his chest. Natasha stood in the front door, shaking a closed umbrella. She propped it in the corner nearest to the doorway and closed the door. “Since when have you had a cat?”
“She’s not mine.”
“Well, she likes you well enough,” Natasha pointed to the cat, who had snuggled against his chest as best as she could. “Did you find her on the street?”
Bucky turned towards the other two kittens, still sleeping peacefully on the couch. “I found all three of him in an alley.”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“We could keep them,” Steve returned, coming into the front room. “Most people don’t stick kittens they want to keep in a box outside.”
Natasha shrugged. “And that one’s already attached.” She pointed at Bucky as she passed him to sit on the couch. She started playing with the nape of the black kitten’s neck. It started to unfurl and stretched its limbs out before stopping to stare at Natasha with bright green eyes.
Steve nudged Bucky and added in a quiet tone, “Your shirt is in the dryer,” reminding Bucky that he was still shirtless. He pushed the cat into Steve’s arms, grabbed the spare shirt, and pulled it on. He then took the cat from Steve.
“I like this one,” Natasha said from the couch. Bucky and Steve looked over to see the black cat trotting in circles on her lap. The grey kitten had woken up, missing her space heater, and was in the midst of a massive yawn. “Guess you’ve got Pipsqueak over there,” Natasha smiled. The grey kitten, seeming to have heard her, looked over to Steve and squeaked. It was Steve’s turn to smile as he picked up the cat.
Natasha laid down on the couch, setting the black cat on her chest. She stared at him for a few seconds before declaring, “I’m gonna name him Felix.” She looked up at the guys. “How about you, James?”
He looked at the cat and scratched under her chin. “I think… Koshka.”
Natasha snorted. “Really?”
“What?” Steve looked at the two.
“Nothing.” Natasha brushed it off. “What would Captain America name his feline friend? Freedom? Justice? The American Way?” Natasha raised a fist to mimic Steve holding his trademark shield.
“Ethel’s good," Steve said quietly.
Natasha snorted.
“Ethel? It’s a grandma name.” Steve raised a brow. “Then again, I’m speaking to Grandpa Frisbee here.”
“Ethel’s a fine name,” Bucky added before pushing Natasha’s legs out of the way and sitting down.
“In swoops Cyber Gramps,” she grumbled jokingly before sitting up to let Steve sit.
Steve plucked Ethel from the armrest and sat on the couch. He cradled her and ran his hand down her back gently. “Besides, doesn’t she kind of look like an Ethel?” Natasha shrugged.
Felix started to snake his way onto Natasha’s neck while Koshka was content laying against Bucky’s chest.
“It’s not as bad as Koshka,” Natasha responded.
“Shut up, Tasha.” Bucky laughed, propping his feet up on the table.
The three sat on the couch in silence until they were lulled to sleep by the more-than-happy kittens, who had started the day as strays and ended it with their own strays.