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1.
The first one who heard it was Bruce.
He was
pacing
walking calmly up and down the corridor between the elevator bay and the community kitchen-slash-rec room, running a series of intricate calculations in his head. Looking at it that way, the walking was a kind of meditation.
He’d been engaged in this activity for twenty-eight minutes. Or, more specifically, since the moment Pepper gracefully marched through the simulation frame and ordered JARVIS to lock down the lab floors. She was saying something about “Friday night” and “dinner reservations” and “for God’s sake Tony I will tie you to a chair and stuff a glazed duck down your throat if I have to”.
Bruce had interpreted that as his cue to leave. He’d been somewhat distracted from gleaning the full context of the ensuing argument, but he assumed Pepper was in the right. She usually was when it came to Tony and his working habits. Not that his friend and colleague would admit to such a thing.
Honestly—one more point in Pepper’s favor—a break from the lab could actually prove beneficial right now. Even by their most conservative estimations the beam should have been working. And it was decidedly … not. They’d forgotten to factor in something , and Bruce could not figure out what that something was. And he was getting increasingly close to something his therapist might classify as frustration.
So he was pacing. And calculating.
Because there had been slight variances in the bio-radiation levels—but those ought to have been counteracted by the gamma-wave shields—and it shouldn’t affect the core components—unless the alpha channel—
His thread of thought was rudely cut off by The Noise.
Bemused, Bruce halted mid-stride.
Perhaps it wasn’t strictly a Noise. After some quick analysis, he’d call it more of a muted buzz that seemed to resonate through the empty hallway. This low, whirring hum of unclear origin was louder than the air-conditioning and more engine-like than a computer fan. It was somewhat reminiscent of one of Tony’s
entirely too self-sufficient
helpful gadgets.
But none of them had been allowed on the residential floors since the watermelon incident. (There were still scorch-marks on the wall behind the espresso machine.) And as he strained to hear better—scientific curiosity stirred by the unexpected puzzle—Bruce began to notice the sound was actually less of a buzz and more like …
Purring.
Like a cat.
His nose twitched.
The Other Guy did not like cats. Cats were hairy and slippery and looked at you with their soulless eyes as if contemplating which of your possessions should be the first to suffer if you crossed them. Unpredictable. Untrustworthy.
Bruce scratched a blunt nail under the itchy collar of his shirt. It probably wasn’t an actual cat, he told himself. Of course not. What would a cat be doing in the Tower? Tony certainly didn’t keep pets—unless he’d built them himself. And Pepper would have the sense not to let an animal roam freely around the Avenger’s floor.
But there was the matter of the purring. Which didn’t let up, only varied slightly in pitch.
Okay. Right. There was a logical explanation to be found here. And then he could get back to his calculations. Bruce adjusted his collar and headed in the direction of the Noise.
When he stepped into the dimly lit rec room, he was met with an unusual and oddly endearing sight: two larger-than-average men crammed into a loveseat in the corner farthest from the door.
Steve, who looked to be sleeping, was tucked under a blanket with his calves sticking out over an armrest and a tuft of blond hair fanning over the other. Next to-slash-underneath him, sat
the Wint
Sergeant Barnes
—who had snapped to attention the second someone entered the room.
Bruce shifted his weight on the doorstep and tried to look around surreptitiously. A stack of pizza cartons towered precariously on the white marble island, though less precarious than the Eiffel Tower-like construction of soda cans. Some kind of cooking show was playing on the ultra-wide LED screen, the host’s mouth moving soundlessly as she gestured toward a fluffy pink cloud of cake.
Not a hairy tail or pointy ear in sight. (No green laser eyes or antennae for that matter.)
A snuffle erupted from under the blankets. The rest of the room was quiet enough you’d hear a toy mouse drop.
And Sergeant Barnes was still staring at him, unblinking.
“Is … Was there a cat here?” Bruce whispered, feeling rather stupid about the whole thing. A cat? Really?
The sergeant’s face remained impassive. His left arm was resting on Steve’s sleeping shoulder in a gesture that toed the line between threatening and protective.
“No? Right.” Bruce offered a self-deprecating shake of his head and forced a somewhat shaky smile. “That’s what I thought. Okay, uh. I won’t disturb you any longer then, um … Good night?”
“’Night,” a gravelly voice echoed. Barnes’ expression hadn’t changed once.
Bruce turned on his heel and headed for his own apartment, shaking off the unsettling feeling of being stared down by a legendary assassin.
He’d made it ten feet down the hallway when a soft, buzzing sound caught up with him. It sounded exactly like a large, very content feline. He slowed down, wavering mid-step.
Then he shook his head and kept going.
Perhaps he could convince JARVIS to unlock the lab for him.
2.
“Are we allowed pets?”
Tony turned away from the hologram spinning slowly above the conference table and stared at him. “What.” He exaggerated the movement of his lips like he was talking to a deaf person.
Clint frowned. The others around the table were also looking at him now. “Pets,” he repeated slowly to make sure he was heard this time, “are we allowed to have them or not?”
Agent Hill pinched the bridge of her nose like she was trying to stop a sneeze. Maybe she was allergic? “Barton. This is a strategy meeting.” She didn’t sound happy.
“Sorry.” Clint sat up straighter in his chair and swept up all the crumpled protein bar wrappers into a neat pile on the tabletop, almost knocking over his coffee in the process. “I just thought since the cat’s—”
“Cats?” Tony interrupted. He set the Starkpad down with a thud. The hologram flickered, underground tunnels fluttering like noodles being slurped. “Which cats?”
“Cat,” Clint corrected. “You know—” he shaped his hands into little pointy ears, then brought one back down and mimed licking the back of his hand “—cat. Meow. Not that I’ve actually heard it meow,” he added as an afterthought. “But it purrs. Like a furry little engine.”
To illustrate his point, he pushed his lips together and mimicked the rumbling sound deep in his throat. He’d first heard it down by the gym when he’d taken a shortcut from his apartment so he wouldn’t miss the start of game night. The second and third time had been next to the kitchen and he’d tried to look for it in all the cabinets, but the trail had gone cold.
He figured it had to be living somewhere on their floor, but no-one had yet revealed the news of their new pet or shown a single picture, which Clint thought was a terrible oversight on their part.
So maybe his cat-impression wasn’t perfect, but now Tony was looking at him like he’d suggested mounting a tail and ears on the Iron Man suit. “Are you saying there’s a cat. Here. In the Tower?”
“Uh-huh. And I thought since you gave us our own apartments and all and there’s this dog I met the other week …” Clint trailed off, not quite sure how to explain the whole thing with the dog and the pizza. It wasn’t like it had actually been in the dumpster.
Tony’s left eye twitched. Maybe he’d had too much coffee. The same thing had happened to Clint one time when he drank two pots in half an hour. That was when he’d learned to stick to one pot before breakfast.
Tony opened and closed his mouth but didn’t answer the question.
Maybe he should explain the thing with the dog. The others also looked confused now. Well, Bruce and Colonel Rhodes looked confused. Agent Hill still looked kind of annoyed, Cap mostly looked sleepy and Natasha was smiling in that way that didn’t look like a smile unless it was meant for you.
“So, wait— There is an actual cat then?” Bruce asked.
Tony’s head whipped in his direction. “You knew about this?!”
“No. I mean. I heard something that sounded like a cat.” Bruce twisted his pen between his fingers until the cap popped off.
“Right!” Clint agreed and gave his purring impression another shot.
Bruce blinked a couple of times, then nodded. “I thought I heard a cat purring. I haven’t actually seen a cat.”
“Has anyone seen this cat?” Tony asked, raising his voice.
Clint shook his head. No-one else said anything.
Tony groaned. “Are you telling me there’s an invisible cat in my Tower now?”
“Ooh, you think it’s invisible? How cool would that be?” Clint tried to imagine the logistics of it. Would the food it swallowed also become invisible or would it just look like it was floating in the air? What if you could train it to help you in a fight?
“No.” Tony shook his head. “Nope. JARVIS, put out a memo to all staff. There will be no invisible cats in the Tower without my knowledge. Or visible cats for that matter. Or hamsters or iguanas or—”
“… so the dog—?”
“No.”
“Can we please get on with the briefing now?” Agent Hill asked. Her voice sounded strained, like she had a stuffed nose.
Clint made a mental note to get her some allergy meds.
3.
“Captain!” a cheerful voice bellowed into his face.
Steve held himself upright by the open apartment door and blinked sleep from his eyes. “Thor?”
The huge, blond Norse god standing in the hallway outside his apartment held out his arms in greeting and beamed at him. “My brother, it has been too long.”
Steve allowed himself to be pulled into a rib-crushing hug. “I didn’t know you were in town,” he said, the words muffled into the very round delt bursting out of a very soft, white t-shirt. When he was freed, he reached up to smooth down the hair at the back of his head where it was no doubt sticking out in a not-very-flattering way.
“I arrived merely moments ago. My Jane is presenting at a prestigious conference in New York this weekend.” His friend showed off a blinding row of teeth. “Mr Stark was kind enough to offer us room and board.”
“So you will be staying for the whole week then?”
“Yes.” Thor nodded eagerly. “There shall be plenty of time for happy reunions and rousing adventures.”
“That’s … good,” Steve said faintly, trying not to wonder why it was then necessary to knock on someone’s door at well past a decent hour. He glanced at his watch. Past a decent hour for dinner, that was.
Maybe Thor picked up on what he was thinking, because he tempered the smile a bit. “Ah, but we—that is, of course, my Jane—heard that you’ve got a new feline companion. And we—Jane, that is—were wondering if we might see it?”
“A feli— You mean a cat? Who said—” Steve shook his sleep-blurry head. “No, sorry, there’s no cat here.”
“That is most peculiar, I’m certain we heard—“ Thor interrupted himself and looked over Steve’s shoulder. “Ah, Sergeant Barnes, how are you?”
“Splendid,” Bucky said and the barely audible measure of sarcasm in his flat voice made Steve’s heart do giddy loops.
Steve turned back to look at him. Bucky had pulled on the navy blue hoodie that Steve had left on the bedroom floor earlier and his feet were bare. His hair was pulled back in a neat half-up knot, instead of sticking up every which way. Steve very maturely decided not to dwell on the unfairness in that.
“Marvelous, I am happy to hear it.” A large hand landed on Steve’s shoulder. “A friend of the Captain’s is a friend of mine.”
“Of course, we are all friends here. Right, Steve?” Bucky-goddamned-Barnes drawled and winked at him.
“Right,” Steve coughed and held on to his new good friend the doorframe. “It’s really great to see you, Thor. Maybe we can catch up more in the morning?” He smiled in a way meant to convey that he was very happy and also really very busy at the moment.
“Ah, but I was asked to extend an invitation to ‘movie night’.” Thor beamed, none the wiser to the really very important business Steve had to attend to as soon as possible. “Or ‘netflix and chill’ as you say.” He winked.
Steve blinked.
“It’s an expression,” Thor explained. “The ‘chill’ stands for ice cream, because it’s cold! Is what Stark said.”
“Oh,” Steve said weakly, grasping for the door handle. “Haha. Thank you—for the invitation. We were actually planning on an early night. Please give our best to the others …”
“I think Stark knows more about that cat you’re looking for,” Bucky called out right before the door slammed shut and his mouth got otherwise occupied.
4.
Tap, tap, tap. Pause. Tap, tap, tap. The sound was quiet, dull and rhythmic. Probably just the air-conditioning.
No onlooker—accidental or malicious—would have known she even heard it. Natasha maintained her relaxed stride down the rest of the hallway and turned a corner. The supply closet door opened on regularly oiled hinges and allowed her to slide inside. She flipped the lock, waited thirty seconds, and stepped one foot on the metal shelving.
The vent gave way easily, only a brief scrape of metal on metal as the cover was pushed into the duct. She heaved her body up and over and plunged feet first into the surprisingly spacious channel.
Behind her, a pair of hands grabbed the vent cover and slipped it back into place. Natasha flipped onto her stomach and pointed a light in his face.
Clint grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut. Please don’t do that, he signed.
Natasha angled the flashlight down and clipped it onto her shoulder. Then she waited.
I have something to show you, Clint signed, still blinking but smiling dopily at her.
I could not have guessed. Natasha blew a slow stream of air and dust from her nostrils. Someone should tell Tony that his maintenance people were slacking. Threat level? she asked with uncharacteristic optimism.
Clint shook his head and grinned, highlighting the split in his lower lip. You’ll like it. He pointed over his own shoulder. This way.
They quickly made their way down the main channel on hands and knees. Then Clint took a right, sliding into a narrower space where they were forced to put their heads down and belly crawl.
Another right turn meant they were getting close to the apartments on the south side of the building. Clint stopped and held up a hand. A small amount of yellowish light was filtering in from somewhere up ahead. He slid forward another couple feet, impressively soundless over the pliable sheets of metal.
Natasha sighed and wedged her body in next to his. She pressed up to his shoulder so she’d be able to see what he was seeing.
Clint turned his face toward her and wiggled his eyebrows, then winced when the movement pulled on his stitches. He pointed down at the grate below them.
A faint but familiar sound was floating up from the room underneath. Natasha flattened herself on her stomach and cupped her hands around her forehead to peer down through the slats. The sight that caught her eyes was not one she’d expected.
“Well, isn’t that adorable,” she muttered under her breath and allowed a sliver of a smile to tug at the corner of her mouth.
5.
“Let me get this straight. Y’all called an emergency meeting? For a cat.”
Sam rubbed a hand over his face and cursed himself for not demanding more information before dragging his ass here all the way from Queens. Some people really didn’t get the concept of ‘consulting Avenger’ and ‘an actual day job’.
“If it even is a cat,” Tony muttered ominously and stalked around the conference table. “It might be a plant. You”—he spun and pointed—“Tin Man. Do you know something about this? I know you’ve been lurking around in my tower in the middle of the night.”
“I thought it was the Avengers’ Tower?” Steve asked calmly.
Sam caught Natasha low-fiving him underneath the table.
Tony shrugged. “Potato, potahto. Just—tell your boyfriend to stop glaring at me like that, it’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.”
He was waved away by the tired-but-flawless-looking Pepper Potts. “We would just like the owner of the cat to keep it inside their own quarters unless supervised,” she said, calm and diplomatic. Those shoes she was wearing could kill a guy. “There are dangerous areas in the Tower. We don’t want it to get accidentally hurt.”
She was interrupted by a snorting, hacking noise from the other end of the table. “Sorry,” Clint said and swept the chip crumbs into a pile on the tabletop.
Natasha looked up at the ceiling.
Tony put his head in his hands and sighed. Then he lifted his head with that slightly crazed gleam in his eyes that about eighty percent of the time meant something big was liable to explode. “Okay, that is enough. JARVIS—find the cat!”
Everyone around the table stopped what they were doing. For a couple seconds nothing happened. Sam almost managed not to flinch when the disembodied voice started speaking from somewhere above their heads.
“Sir. I detected no feline life forms within the perimeter—” there was a brief pause as if the AI was processing “—walls of this building.”
“How?” Tony wailed.
Natasha hid a smile behind her hand.
+1.
“Okay, here’s the deal: we’ll show you, but you’ll have to be quiet.”
“You know?” Tony nearly painted the wall with his steaming espresso.
“Case in point.” Natasha didn’t roll her eyes at him but somehow he felt it was implied. “Now shush and follow me. You two can come along too,” she called to Bruce and the Bird Man who were sitting at the breakfast bar cradling big mugs of herbal tea or some other health crap.
“But—” Tony tried to protest.
“Zip it, Stark.” Wilson’s hand landed on his shoulder. “I wanna know what she’s found out. Y’all dragged me into this, now I’m invested.”
“Hrmph.” Tony dusted off his lapels and made a mental note to tell JARVIS to revoke certain people’s access to the tower.
Natasha ushered them out the door. Barton was stationed outside in the hallway like some kind of black-eyed valet. He winked and saluted her and waved them ahead. Their merry little group marched down two flights of stairs (really, stairs!) and past the dressing rooms, sauna, gym, and big training hall.
Tony didn’t particularly appreciate being escorted around in his own building—but his curiosity stopped him from expressing that to Romanoff, lest she call the whole thing off. Though later he was definitely going to find out how exactly she and Barton had managed to solve a mystery that bested both JARVIS and his extensive security systems.
They stopped two doors down from the smaller media room in the south corner. (It had been added to the floor after it became evident that some people were simply incapable of modulating their voices when playing children’s video games.)
Natasha put a hand out in front of his chest. “So to be clear. This is the part where you’re gonna be quiet.”
Tony rolled his eyes and mimed locking his mouth and tossing the key over his shoulder. Then he threw out his hands to say ‘okay, what now?’.
“Alright. Go in there.” Natasha pointed at the door to what Tony was pretty certain was an equipment storage closet.
He expressed his confusion with ample gesturing.
Natasha sighed. “Go inside, get on the ladder and look through the vent.”
Tony, somewhat to his own surprise, did what she said.
It was indeed a storage closet. As evident by the half-dozen punching bags in different levels of wear lined up against the wall. The other four crammed in behind him, forcing him to step onto the dangerously unstable metal contraption that supposedly passed for a ladder.
Tony located the small, round vent opening a foot below the ceiling and climbed the rungs of the ladder until he could look through it. When he did, he found that he could see straight into the media room on the other side.
(Huh. Admittedly, he wasn’t an expert on building construction, but he had a feeling that whoever installed these particular vents had been up to … something. He’d better not tell Pepper about this until he’d gone through all the vents on their floor.)
After all this fuss, the sight that met Tony on the other side of the wall was a disappointment. All he could see was two centenarians crammed together on a too-small couch. Like he didn’t provide plenty of other couches! Barnes was reading a (paper!) book and Cap was lying across his legs like a beefy rag doll of American virtue.
All in all it was a very mundane scene, if you could overlook the cyborg arm and the strangely old-fashioned choice of entertainment.
“What am I supposed to be looking at here?”
“Just shut up and listen!” Natasha hissed.
Tony shut up and listened.
He heard nothing. Someone below him sniffed. Clothes rustled. The ladder scraped on the floor when he shifted his weight. There was music coming from somewhere—jazz. And the purring from the air-conditioning.
Hold on a moment.
“What the hell?”
He pushed his way out of the closet and stormed into the media room. “That’s it! I demand an explanation!”
Steve sprung up off the couch. He was almost standing to attention before he seemed to register where he was and who the people were that had flooded the small room.
“Tony?” he asked. “Nat? What’s going on?”
“You!” Tony pointed at him. “It was you all along!”
“You are intruding on our privacy. Get out.” Barnes’ voice was toneless. He’d gotten up from the couch as well. The slight raise of his eyebrows indicated he was royally pissed off but probably wasn’t about to murder them in cold blood. Probably.
“This is my property. I deserve to know what’s going on.”
“It’s alright, Buck.” Steve put a hand on his arm. The one made out of people-stuff. “Tony, I think it would be best if you leave. I can join you guys for lunch later.” He flashed a media-ready smile.
Tony did not leave. He did charitably refrain from using any nicknames alluding to cold and/or robotic things. At least out loud.
“But you’re purring. Like a cat. Since when is that a thing? What’s— Is it like a side effect of the serum or something?” He pointed to Barnes. “Do you do it too?” That was difficult to picture. “It’s not in your files.”
“Since always?” Barnes’ eyebrows crept higher. “Steve’s always been able to do that.”
“No, he hasn’t.” Tony protested.
‘Like you would know,’ it sounded like Barnes muttered under his breath. Ridiculous. As if he wouldn’t know it if animal sound effects were a reoccurring thing among his teammates. They were the Avengers. This guy was just some stray Cap had picked up.
Ha. Stray .
Steve squirmed in his old-man trousers. “Well. Not always. It’s like a … relaxation thing? I don’t think I’ve been able to relax like this since before … well.” He glanced over at Barnes, cheeks turning a fascinating shade of pink.
“Aww,” Clint said. “It’s because you got your Bucky bear back.” Natasha made an aborted sound and put her face in her hands.
“That’s not—” Tony choked out. “How does that work? Maybe if you’d let me run a few experiments—“
He stopped that thought when he found himself at the point of an excessively sharp knife.
“No experiments,” grunted T-800.
“No experiments,” Tony repeated, holding up his hands.
“I’ve said it.” Wilson stepped back from their little cozy gathering and shook his head. “Y’all need therapy.”
“What? I don’t— You can’t honestly think this shit isn’t weird?”
“Nah.” The Winged Wonder shook his head. “I’ve seen weirder.”
“Tony.” Bruce put a hand on his shoulder. “I think Steve has a point. I actually had a thought about our you-know-what, if you’d let me run a couple tests before lunch …”
Tony perked up. “Thoughts? What tests? Do you mean you—?”
“It’s easier if I show you.” Bruce held onto his shoulder and steered them toward the elevators.
Tony followed him, firing off questions. “Do you think it’s the core? Did we miscalculate—?” The elevator doors dinged shut. “Should I have JARVIS double-check the temperature curves?”
Tony took a breath. A niggling feeling that he was being handled crept up on him. He quickly shook it off. This invention was going to be revolutionary.
some time later ...
A windswept little sparrow swooped down and landed on the railing of a well-hidden balcony tucked into a corner of the glass monolith towering over Manhattan. It flapped its wings twice and settled down to catch its breath. It was a far way from the oasis of Central Park.
A pair of calculating blue eyes followed its movements. The bird chirped and glanced longingly at the row of planters filled with green herbs and lush bushes.
One flick of a fluffy, white tail sent it hurtling back into the brisk wind.
The cat sat back on its haunches and brought up her paw to lick it, much like an elegant lady sipping on a cup of tea.
“You’re a jerk, you know,” Steve said casually, watching her splay out in a sun-warmed spot on the tile.
“They can handle it.” Bucky leaned back in his own chair and grinned at him, bright and brilliant, the kind of smile that would always take Steve’s breath away—in 1936 and 2013 and seventy years from now.
The cat stretched and got up to snake around Bucky’s legs. He scratched her behind the ear. “Do you hear the way your dad is talking to me? Are you really gonna stand for this?”
“Dad?” Steve raised an eyebrow.
“I mean. Don’t tell me you don’t see the family resemblance. Ouch.” Alpine nipped at his fingers. “Little ornery shits the pair of you.”
Steve threw his head back and laughed.
Bucky got up and sauntered over to him, leaning on his hands on the back of Steve’s chair. Alpine followed him, conversing seriously about something. The lack of rodents in the tower maybe.
“Whaddaya drawing?” Bucky buried his hands in Steve’s hair and scratched his scalp with dull nails.
Steve closed his eyes. It was stupid how good that felt: Bucky’s chest solid and warm behind him. He let himself sink into the heat and felt his chest rumble with satisfaction.
“’s what I said,” Bucky whispered to the cat. “Just like you.”
She answered him with an offended meow and jumped into Steve’s lap—taking care to smudge the charcoal and step on his crotch.
Steve cut his losses and let go off the sketchbook, and pulled Bucky down by the collar of his stolen hoodie to kiss him.