valuedstrength | missing scenes

Steve has never been close to felines. It's not like they could pinpoint every little thing he was allergic to as they could now. He avoided anything that could trigger a reaction or asthma attack. He imagines this is what cats are like. His guard lowers ever so slightly at the realization. "I wouldn't mind the company." As much as he likes JARVIS, he's not the same as a human being.

He gets to work on salvaging the pancake he had been cooking, testing the bottom to see if it will firm up properly. Once he's sure the cake isn't ruined forever, he grabs another pan and sets it on the burner. "You like eggs?" He's already got some lukewarm sausages next to his stack of pancakes. He's not too fussy about how warm or cold anything is as long as it's food, but at least the eggs can be hot for her.

She's not fussy about anything at all and when it comes to food... she acts like she's never seen anyone cook it before. Of course, she does the same act to Clint's wife, there are just some things one never could get used to. Natasha looks up after a second and nods, feeling like she left him hanging though it was only a second or two from the tail end of his question.

"I'm not sure I count as company, but I'll do my best."

He can't help noticing her reactions to his movement. His heart seizes up painfully. Steve doesn't think she's faking this. He has to wonder where SHIELD is getting these agents from. It's definitely not polite to ask even with his rocky relationship with them. He called her a guest, after all. He can't take his grudge out on her.

"Maybe it would help if I had a name." Steve suggests as he turns on the burner and goes for the butter and eggs. "I'm Steve. And you are?" Agent Romanoff and Captain America aren't exactly names from Steve's perspective. Better to start this with first names.

That gets a quick smile, a genuine reaction she shoos away the second it comes up. She hops onto the island behind her to give Steve some room to work - and to give herself a better vantage point. Definitely a cat, if she could get any higher up she'd be there already.

"Natasha," she says, tone floaty and almost bland. It isn't her original name, of course, but she has no greater attachment to that one than this so it's not any more or less honest than any of her cover identities. This one at least has a tiny bit of real history. Her lease in the city, her rescue of a street cat. Auntie to tiny tots... "It's nice to meet you, Steve."

A smile slips out at how comfortable she is making herself. This calmed down very quickly. He thinks he might actually like her despite her crummy choices in employment. Who knows? Maybe the economy still sucks out there. He has no perspective from a rich man's home. "Nice to meet you, Natasha."

He drops butter into the warming pan, waiting for it to melt fully before he adds in the eggs. "So how do you know Tony or is that a dangerous question to ask a guest?" He quirks a brow at her. He's kidding, but there's her out if she doesn't want to answer.

She hums thoughtfully, it was dangerous, but so is everything she does so she doesn't see the point in avoiding the question.

"I was assigned to him to make sure he didn't die. Or do anything reckless. Not in that order and I only succeeded at one."

Steve works to spread the melting butter evenly by picking up the pan and rotating it. His smile broaden at her answer. What a job. He actually pities her. "Yeah, he's a fun one. I thought I was reckless back in my day, but man we really have nothing on him." Steve laughs because Tony cheats it so expertly. He is better at staying alive than he and the Commandos ever were. Look how they turned out!

Natasha is watching him with laserlike focus, like she's never seen anything so fascinating in his life.

"He is fun," she agrees unironically, something twinkling behind her gaze as he shares a little piece of himself. She has the urge to do the same, but the truth is she doesn't have anything to give him. "ANd impossible to keep up with." It's almost a warning, like maybe Steve shouldn't even try.

He catches the warning just as he sets the pan back on the flame. Steve just smirks. "I don't think it's a secret that I have no idea what's going on. I just learned how to work this thing." He taps his fingers to the stovetop before going for the eggs. He starts cracking, tossing onto the pan, and throwing the shells in the trash like it's a contest he plans to win. He's going for quick and dirty scrambled eggs in an effort to keep the rest of the food lukewarm when they do eat it.

"I'm just along for the ride." Or so he tells himself.

She rolls her lips into her mouth and conveys a knowing look. "Right..." Nat hops down and slots in next to Steve, getting down plates like she fucking lives here too. She goes for the utensils next, smiling over at him.

"Do you always make breakfast in the middle of the night?"

He is quickly whipping those eggs up in the pan, only pausing to let them cook a little before whipping again. Steve can already tell there's no fooling her. He likes that even as he continues to play the game. "You bet. It's one of the perks for sleeping for seventy years." And nothing to do with trauma or depression.

Steve seems cheerful enough as he finishes the eggs, doesn't he? "Food's done."

Natasha searches his expression, but if she sees anything amiss in it she doesn't react nor comment. Just pushes each plate towards him so he can put the food on it before going to the fridge for some juice or something - she looks strange as hell doing domestic tasks in her catsuit but doesn't seem to notice that either.

She'll meet him around the other side of the counter, gracefully vaulting up into one of the high barstools and cracking into her food like she's been starved all her life. "Are there others?" she asks around a bite before clarifying: "Perks."

It's actually weird to see an agent going around doing domestic tasks while he plates them both generous portions of everything. Steve keeps that to himself too along with how graceful she seems to be. That really would have been a nasty fight. Peggy only taught him to hit hard and creatively.

He digs in right alongside her. This part never gets old. He loves the taste and variety of modern food. "Yep." He agrees instantly. Steve washes a bite down with the bottle of water he's been nursing. "They stopped rationing food. There's so much it you can lose an hour trying to pick one thing to eat." He couldn't sound more amazed by such a thing. The way she eats he can't help wondering if she can relate to that.

So this is a self-comfort session. She can get down with that. Though the realization (along with shoveling food into her mouth) has Natasha going quiet for several moments.

"That's the worst thing about food. Choosing something to eat." She wrinkles her nose after a swallow though it barely seems like she's chewing, washing it down with Tony's fancy juice.

Steve nods in agreement. He is quick to add a new discovery of his between bites. "Hitting the bag helps. Whatever I crave after a couple hours of that is usually what I go with." For obvious reasons he hasn't hunted down spring rolls at 2 a.m.

He'll learn he can get anything at any hour in modern day New York soon enough.

"Is that your stress relief? Hitting things?" If she sounds bemused, she is.

He bobs his head because yeah. Is that weird?? Steve looks at her with uncertainty. "Sure is. Why? Did they come up with something better?" The future already fixed food!!!

Her smile is downright wolfish as she turns to set her expression on him, still chewing appreciatively.

"Oh yeah. I'll show you after we eat. It's called MMA."

Steve is intrigued like the fool that he is. "I'd like that." Especially since he's getting from that smile that this will be dangerous.

Steve might be hurrying through his meal to find out now.

Natasha bites into her lip to keep from laughing at him, though she notices instantly him picking up the pace. She's a fast eater as it is so it's no trouble to speed up a bit herself.

"Mixed martial arts," she explicates when she goes for her drink again. "It's like a combo of every different style you could think of except with no rules." Or very few, anyway.

"No kidding?" Steve asks brightly. He's like a kid being left home alone with a dangerous toy. He absolutely wants to play with it. "You don't mind showing me some moves? I can't promise I'm a fast learner." Says the guy with the permanently altered brain that allows him to pick up things quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind winning," she sing-songs, getting up to clear her dishes and wash her hands. She thinks they'll actually be pretty evenly matched, at least at first. Once he picks things up, which she thinks will be fast, she's betting she won't stand a chance and for some reason she kind of likes the idea of losing to him, too.

"Who said you'd be the only one?" Steve gently challenges as he finishes his meal. He's quickly getting up to wash his dishes and hers. He is kind of a guest here too. He can't let dishes sit all day!!!

She just lifts her eyebrows, leaning against the counter to watch him for a second.

"Doesn't Stark have robots or something that could do that for you?" Or, like, a dishwasher. Whatever. She finds this whole thing incredibly endearing and she's not trying too hard to hide it. "It's too bad we're not at his Malibu estate. He has a whole boxing arena."

He chuckles softly at that. She does have him there. "There's a dishwasher. I'm just not brave enough to use it yet." Steve breezes through the job pretty quickly. He didn't make too much of a mess. He's soon drying off his hand and sucking any last bit of sweetness of his lips in a quick gesture.

"Ready? It may not be a whole boxing area, but..." He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. "You probably know this place better than I do." He'll just head to where he hangs his bag.

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