It's summer break babyyyyy (guess what I graduated from high school finally) and I've been thinking about this fic lately, and about how much I love all these characters. I got a random rush to update so here it is! Written in two nights with minimal spell checking, on a Pages app because my wifi is so shitty and I can't open google docs.
"I have a boyfriend," Cat said at breakfast.
She had decided previously that breakfast, when everyone was relaxed and just a little bit sleepy, was the best time to break the news. She'd patiently waited for just the right moment: Natasha had just shut her laptop and begun working on a French pastry, Steve had walked through the door earlier, fresh from a run, (not part of the plan, but he might as well be there for it too) and was pouring everyone orange juice.
The reaction to her words was instant. Natasha's pastry froze on the pathway to her mouth, but other than that she reacted as expected— which is to say, barely— only giving her customary eyebrow twitch. Steve straightened like he'd been shocked. The movement made him fumble with the orange juice for a split-second before his reflexes saved him, catching the carton before it hit the table and ruined Nat's tablecloth.
(Cat didn't even know why they had a tablecloth. What was the point of tablecloths?)
"Careful!" Natasha admonished him, looking concerned about the welfare of the tablecloth.
Steve set the orange juice down. (He'd been about to pour Cat a glass, Cat noted with some relief. It was the pulpy kind. She didn't like pulp.)
His blonde eyebrows had started to stitch together in the beginnings of a Captain America scowl. "You have a what?"
"Boy-friend," Cat enunciated, glancing sideways at Natasha to see if her reaction had changed. It hadn't, but she was watching Cat like a hawk now. "But not a boy friend, like a boy who's your friend. A boyfriend, like the holding hands sort."
"You can't have a boyfriend," Steve said automatically, the same time Natasha asked, "What's his name?"
"Jonathan. He has red hair and he's a year older than me and runs fast and plays soccer," Cat ticked off, like she was reading the names off of a menu. "He asked me out last week."
"Wait," Nat said, putting down her coffee. Her voice had an edge of glee. No matter what she let anyone believe, Natasha Romanoff lived for the drama. "Jonathan Manchester? What's-her-name's brother?"
"Yup, Chelsea's brother."
"Oh, Cat." Natasha tsked and shook her head, but she was smirking. "Don't you know it's against girl code to date your best friend's brother?"
Steve mouthed girl code under his breath, looking baffled.
"Chelsea's not my best friend! We hate each other."
"Cat," Steve said. He looked very serious. "You can't have a boyfriend."
Cat frowned. "I don't see why not."
"Because…" Steve looked to Nat for backup. She smiled innocently at him, like, Oh no, Rogers. You're on your own. He turned back to Cat and said, helplessly, "You don't want a boyfriend. Boys… are gross."
Cat raised her eyebrows at him. "They don't actually have cooties, Steve. Only second graders think that."
"You're too young for a relationship." Steve said. "Nat, help me out here."
Natasha's eyes glinted with interest. "How did he ask?"
"Natasha!"
"What? It's crucial information."
"During lunch," Cat said, as emotionlessly as possible to negate the embarrassment of talking about this with Natasha. She didn't elaborate further.
"Well, don't bombard us with the details," Natasha said, dry.
Cat huffed. "We went to the bleachers and he gave me a flower and asked me if I wanna be girlfriend-boyfriend," she said in a breath. "Better?"
To be honest, she'd been caught completely off-guard when Jonathan had asked her if she wanted to go on a walk. The others at their table had oohed obnoxiously and Lance blew Cat a kiss behind Jonathan's back. When they had reached the bleachers, Jonathan paused and asked if she wanted to sit down.
"Uh… okay?" Cat felt a little weird because they'd never hung out together like this, just the two of them. And she knew what it meant when a girl and a boy were alone together. She liked Jonathan, but she didn't know if she liked him like that. The knowledge rested uncomfortably in the air between them.
Jonathan waited for her to sit. He remained standing. And then, with mounting horror, Cat watched as he pulled out a handmade letter from his pocket.
"Dear Cat," he read, and Cat had wanted to burn into ashes and be thrown into the nearest ocean. "Your hair is as yellow as gold and your eyes are like dark brown coffee nuts. I really like you. Do you want to be my girlfriend?" He read this all very robotically, not looking at Cat once, then lowered the card so that she could see the faint pinkness of his cheeks.
Cat's mouth hung wide open from what was possibly the worst poem she'd ever heard in her life. "Um." What the fuck? "What?"
Jonathan handed the card to her. It was rich-people cardstock, creamy white and smooth under her fingers. He'd used a fancy dark ink that had left splotches on the page that hadn't been written on.
"Your handwriting is nice," Cat said awkwardly, and it was true. Her chicken scratch was infamous for being illegible, but his letters were all dipping curves and loopy cursive.
"Thanks." He was still looking at her, all expectant and waiting.
Cat's face was a little hot as she traced the words on the page. "Was… was that supposed to be a poem?"
Jonathan nodded. "Did you like it?"
"No. It sucked."
"Oh." He deflated.
And then she felt so bad for him that she said, "Okay, I'll be your girlfriend."
What the fuck? she thought for the second time. What was wrong with her? What was she saying? It was too late. He was grinning wide, that easy confidence back again.
"Okay, cool," he said, obviously trying to play it cool.
"Yup."
God, Cat was so romantic.
"Cool," he said again.
Then they walked back to the lunch tables. Jonathan had reached over and boldly held her hand, and Cat was like, why not? His hand wasn't sweaty or gross or anything. It was dry and warm. Kind of nice. Everyone was staring at them when they walked in, and so what if Cat liked the attention? And the look on Chelsea's face when they walked into the cafeteria together— priceless.
The whole situation was ridiculous and plain embarrassing. Cat would never, never tell Nat about the letter she was hiding in her calculus textbook. Maybe she'd burn it when she got the chance.
At Cat's explanation, Natasha and Steve exchanged a quick glance. Nat raised her coffee and put it to her lips, but it looked like she was trying not to laugh.
Steve sighed, like he'd resigned himself to this situation. "And… do you like this boy?"
Cat gave this some thought. Did she like Jonathan? She liked that he was a year older than her, so he seemed wiser and more mature. She liked that he wasn't a cocky asshole like some of the kids who they played with. She liked his red-brown hair and his smile. He was fun to talk to. And most of all, she liked the things he did for her now that they were, like, official and all. So, Cat concluded, she must like him.
"Yeah," she finally said. "I guess."
"Gee. You might want to tone down the enthusiasm," Natasha said dryly.
"He's one of the fastest boys in class," Cat said, like this explained enough. She cocked her head to one side. "And he's useful."
"Useful how?" Nat asked.
"Well, he carries my backpack for me and pulls out my chair and door, real gentlemanly and stuff. And he buys me cookies from the lunch line, and does my homework when I ask him to."
Cat had to admit, she liked having a boyfriend. It was very convenient, like having your own personal butler at all times.
As if she could read the thoughts going through Cat's head, Natasha asked, with a hint of disapproval, "You wouldn't be happening to be using this boy for manual labor, would you?
Damn! How did the woman catch on so quickly?
"Of course not," Cat said primly. She widened her eyes and hoped that she looked contrite. "That would be wrong."
(Okay, so maybe it was partly true! But it certainly wasn't the entire reason. What did Natasha know, anyway?)
"Yes, it would." Natasha's face shifted into a slight glare.
"I still don't like this," Steve said.
"Steve, it's not the fifties anymore," Natasha told him. She cut Cat a reprimanding glance. "It would be cute if she wasn't clearly manipulating the poor boy for her own needs."
"For the second time, I am not! I hold his hand, he carries my books. It's a completely mutualistic relationship."
"That's definitely your kid," Steve told Natasha.
At the wording, Cat's eyes darted to Natasha again, but all that she said was, "Are you suggesting I'm manipulative, Rogers?"
"If the shoe fits…"
"Anyway," Cat cut in, "I'm only telling you because Jonathan is coming over today after school to ask for your consent."
"And what will I be consenting to?"
"Marriage!" Cat said brightly.
People who really like each other get married, Jonathan had told her. That's what happens in the movies.
Steve choked on the sip he'd just taken. "Marriage?" His expression was akin to someone waiting for a punchline that would never come.
"The ceremony will be held during recess on Friday." Cat casually grabbed a croissant from the pastry bag. "Everyone's going to be there. Except you, of course," she added hastily. "You guys aren't invited."
"Excuse me," Natasha said, crossing her arms like she was actually offended. "Your first wedding and I'm not even invited?"
"No adults allowed. Also, it would be weird if you were there when we kiss."
"What?" Steve looked dangerously close to having a stroke right there in front of Cat's croissant.
"I'd like to remind you whose consent you need for this wedding to even happen," Nat said.
"We don't actually need it. But Jonathan's mom told him that he could only marry me if my mom said yes. Of course, my mom's six feet under, so you were the next best option."
"And if I said no?" Nat asked, bypassing the atomic bomb of a dark joke Cat had just dropped.
Cat already had an answer ready. "Then we would have no choice but to run away to Vegas and get married by Elvis," she said. "A fake Elmo would be there, too. For good fortune."
"So," Steve said abruptly. "The kissing. Have you— kissed him before?"
"Come on, Steve," Natasha said. Then she seemed to consider the likelihood of Cat actually kissing Jonathan and snapped her head to give Cat a sharp look. "Well. Have you?"
Cat had honestly never thought about it, but the way they were both staring her down with their Avenger-y I'm not messing around glares made her glad she wasn't lying when she said, "No! Ew," she added for good measure. "Like I'd want some boy slobbering all over me."
"Good." Steve nodded quickly. "Good."
Cat took a big bite of her croissant, swallowed, and asked Nat, "But you'll say yes, right?"
Nat's answer was ambiguous. "Maybe. I need to think about it."
"What is there to think about?"
"Slow down. I haven't even met him yet," Natasha said, mock-affronted. "How will I know what his intentions are?"
Cat groaned. "Do not say that to him!"
Steve grabbed the orange juice again, ready to fill Cat's empty glass. "Here, I'll—"
"Nope," Cat said quickly. When they both looked at her, she said, "It's pulp. I don't like pulp."
"What, exactly, are your intentions with Cat?"
Sitting at the table with both their arms crossed, presenting a united front, Natasha and Steve made a formidable pair. The tall blond man whose arms strained against his tight Under Armour shirt, a disapproving scowl sitting firmly on his features. He was the one who had spoken, in a deep, authoritarian bring her home by seven way. On his side, the red-haired woman in a crisp white shirt and slacks (her meeting-important-people clothes, because she was going to an event after this), her narrowed green eyes piercing into the boy sitting across the table from them.
Jonathan shifted nervously on his seat. He'd brushed his hair that day, Cat noticed. It was smoothly swept to the side, instead of sticking up in random places. She'd been looking at him closely since he'd asked her out, deciding what she didn't and did like. He still had his backpack on (he'd come by on the way to walk Cat to school) and he was sitting half-on, half-off of the chair, like he'd be expected to bolt any minute.
"Uh…" Jonathan looked uncharacteristically unsure of himself for a second. He glanced at Cat for help.
In the chair next to him, she wordlessly slid him a glass of pulpy orange juice. Absentmindedly, she reflected on the fact that she and Jonathan had the same coloring as Steve and Natasha, if their genders were swapped.
Jonathan straightened in his chair, as if the few inches of height were giving him the bravery he needed to say, "I want to marry her. Sir."
"Why?" Natasha asked.
Jonathan looked a little shaken by her stare, but his answer came out quick and steady. "Because I like her."
Natasha didn't look impressed. "What do you like about her?"
Cat stifled a groan, feeling her soul descending into the seventh circle of hell. Someone kill her now. They were really going to drag this out, weren't they?
Jonathan didn't seem to mind. "She's smart, and funny, and good at soccer." He smiled at Cat. "And pretty."
Cat kind of wanted to throw up in her mouth. Just a little bit. But she smiled back and patted his shoulder. When Jonathan wasn't looking, she leveled a heavy glare at Natasha and Steve. I hate you both, she mouthed.
Nat leaned back, seeming satisfied with the answer.
Steve's chair creaked as he braced his elbows on the table. Cat prayed that he wouldn't start calling Jonathan young man. She didn't think she could keep it together if that happened. "And you're sure you want to marry her? You don't think ten years old is a little… young for marriage?"
Cat fought the urge to roll her eyes. She must have heard this exact line on TV, only like a million times. (Maybe not the ten years old bit, though.)
"I'm eleven," Jonathan said, but quickly realized that this wasn't the point. "But no. When two people are in love, marriage is never too soon." He must have gotten that from his mother.
"I disagree," Natasha said, being difficult just to be difficult. "Just look at what happened to Romeo and Juliet."
Jonathan looked confused. "Didn't they get a happy ending?"
"No," Cat told him. "Juliet pretended to die and Romeo killed himself over her. Then she killed herself over him killing himself. And they both died miserably ever after."
"Oh."
"But that's not going to happen to us, because I would never be stupid enough to kill myself over a boy," Cat reassured.
"I wouldn't want you to kill yourself," Jonathan said seriously.
"How cute," Natasha deadpanned.
Steve looked vaguely disturbed.
Jonathan looked at them hopefully. "So… can I marry her?"
Natasha made him wait a couple seconds, looking deep in thought as if she was turning the idea around and around in her head. Clearly, this was such a difficult decision for her to make…
"No."
Cat's mouth dropped open. "Nat!"
"I'm kidding." She smirked, and Cat swore she was going to have her revenge one day, if it was the last thing she did. "Yes, Jonathan, you can marry her."
"But there will be no kissing at the ceremony," Steve said sternly.
Jonathan practically saluted him. "Yes, sir."
Cat was naive to think that Natasha would leave everything be. Super-spies and their perpetual nosiness. After Steve was gone, Nat wasted no time in cornering Cat in her room after school.
"I want to know everything," she said.
Cat buried her face in her pillow. It had been a tiring day, and she wanted to sleep. "I told you everything already."
"You shared, what, two sentences?"
"There isn't much to tell." Cat scooted away from her, because she seemed to be inching closer.
"Oh, no you don't." Natasha's hand darted out and yanked on her ankle. Cat screamed and fought it, but Nat held on tight until Cat was sitting on the edge of the bed sullenly with her arms crossed. "Spill."
"What is this, girl talk?" Cat asked, disgusted. If this was happening, she was determined to remain as stubborn and hard to crack as possible.
"You can think of it as an interrogation if that makes you more comfortable."
"It doesn't."
"Then it's girl talk."
"I refuse." Inwardly, Cat swore to keep her mouth shut for the next ten minutes.
"I have something that might motivate you." Natasha reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. Wait, no— it was thicker than paper, and creamy-white, with loopy cursive adorning the—
Cat launched herself at the card, only just missing it as Nat laughed and held it infuriatingly out of reach. Her hand was braced on Cat's forehead, pushing her away like she was harmless as a fly.
"Dear Cat," Natasha started, a wicked grin on her face. "Your hair is as yellow—"
Cat yelled over her. "You snooped through my stuff!"
"Actually, I found it falling out of your calculus textbook, which was on the kitchen table." Natasha raised her eyebrows. "You shouldn't leave secret things out in the open for anyone to see." Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a familiar red lighter. "This was right next to it."
Oh. Cat had forgotten. She was going to burn the card like she'd planned, but she couldn't manage to get the lighter to work, which led to her abandoning the task to research lighter mechanics on her laptop, which caused a spiral that eventually brought her to watching live penguin cams from a national zoo. Which she'd been doing right before Natasha had burst in. She really needed to start taking her ADHD meds again.
"You still shouldn't have read it." Cat made a grab for the card again, and this time Nat handed it to her.
"Maybe not," Natasha agreed, mirth still dancing in her eyes. "He's no Shakespeare, I'll tell you that."
"I was going to burn it," Cat grumbled, fidgeting with the card.
The laughter drained from Nat's face. She watched Cat closely. "You don't like him, then?"
Cat stared at her for a moment, realizing how domestic this felt. Nat looked so soft and earnest, in simple gray sweats and a black shirt, red hair in a braid and face free of makeup, asking her (interrogating her) about a boy. It made Cat want to inch closer to her, like a plant to sunlight.
"…it's complicated."
Nat snorted.
"Don't laugh!"
"You're ten. Nothing about this is complicated."
"You're being patronizing again."
"Let me guess," Nat said. Cat scoffed at her I-know-everything smugness. "He was your friend before, right?" At Cat's hesitant nod, she continued. "So last week he suddenly asks you on a date, out of nowhere. You're confused because you've never thought of him as anything more, and you don't actually know what having a boyfriend means, but you like the thought of it, so you say yes. Now he's doing all these couple-y things and asking you to marry him—" Nat rolls her eyes a little at this— "which is making you think you like him, and you feel like you have to go along with all of it, which is making you confused again."
Cat's jaw clicked open and shut.
"Am I close?"
"A little," Cat said grudgingly. "Do you know everything?"
"Yes. Don't forget it. So, what are you going to do?"
"Marry him, I guess," Cat said like it was no big deal. "Then I'll tell him I don't like him that much, but we can still be friends. And everyone will forget about it."
"That's a little harsh. Marry him, then break his heart?"
Cat threw up her hands. "Well! What do you suggest I do?"
"I don't know. It's not that serious," Nat shrugged. "I just like playing devil's advocate."
Fed up, Cat swore at her in Russian.
Natasha swore back, then told her not to swear at her. "You didn't learn that from me." Natasha frowned at her. "Who's been teaching you?"
"Google." And Wanda.
"Hmm."
Cat thought of a question. "So if it's so 'not serious', why did you and Steve make such a big deal of it today?"
Nat laughed again. "Steve's old-fashioned. He's protective. I think he was also messing with you. And me… I just like making people nervous."
Needless to say, Chelsea did not take Cat and Jonathan getting together lightly.
She'd been too furious to talk to Cat at first, giving her the silent treatment for three whole days. Cat had been mostly fine with it, ignoring her right back. It was unsettling how, even without words, Chelsea managed to transmit murderous intent through narrowed eyes alone.
All it took to break her streak was a single question from Cat— "God, what is your problem?"— in the middle of a dodgeball game, when Chelsea was single-mindedly hurling every foam ball in her direction without concern for her own life. Chelsea was a shockingly good shot, and after Cat had narrowly dodged the umpteenth ball, she yelled it across the gym.
Chelsea, who Cat rarely ever heard curse, shrieked back at full volume, "You're the problem, you backstabbing bitch!"
The next ball caught Cat squarely in the face, leaving a bright pink mark on the side of her face as it bounced off, and she swore loudly, making several rude gestures towards the offender. They were both benched by the P.E. coach; Cat for foul language and Chelsea for that and for throwing a header.
Cat was rubbing her jaw when Chelsea stomped over to the bench. "You could've tried out for baseball," she commented. "Or basketball."
Chelsea sat on the opposite side. For a second, Cat didn't think she would respond, but then she said, "It's softball, you idiot. Baseball is for boys."
Cat bristled. "Girls can play baseball. I have."
"Of course you have," Chelsea said, but the way she said it was disdainful, clearly intended to be an insult.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"How dare you date my brother?" The question burst suddenly from Chelsea, who had whipped around to face her.
"How dare I?" Cat repeated. "How dare you?" Okay, wait. That didn't make sense. "I can do what I want."
Chelsea scooted closer to poke Cat in the chest. Hard. "You. Can't. Date. My brother!" She emphasized each word with a poke to the chest.
"Hey— hey! Stop that." Cat shoved her away. "Asshole!"
"Don't call me an asshole!"
"You called me a bitch!"
"Because you are a bitch, bitch!"
They both ended up in the principal's office.
"Hello, Nat," Cat said meekly into the phone, all too aware of the secretary listening in. "I have detention on Saturday."
"Again?" Nat didn't sound surprised, which might have said something about the number of times Cat had been in this position. "What this time?"
"I called someone an asshole."
"They gave you a detention for that?"
"And I may have socked her in the face. One time, and very lightly. She didn't even bruise. In my defense, she first hit me with a very solid dodgeball and called me a backstabbing bitch, as well as a bitch by itself—"
"That's enough," the secretary interjected.
"Are they making you call me from the principal's office?"
"Yes."
"Does this mean I have to speak to that man again this week?"
"Chances are high, yes."
A sigh over the phone. "I'm going to kill you."
"Yeah."
"Did the girl you 'socked lightly in the face' happen to be Chelsea Manchester?"
"Maybe."
"I told you. Girl code."
"She's not my friend."
"It applies to frenemies, too."
"Why do you know so much about girl code?"
"Girl code is universal."
"Right."
"You can tell that principal I'm going to yell at you later. Lecture you all about the rights and wrongs of punching people in the face."
"And saying bad words."
"Especially that. I'm going to buy a swear jar for the apartment. Not joking."
"You'll probably still have to talk to him."
"Goddamn it."
"Sorry I punched you in the face," Cat muttered over the table during math, the first words she'd spoken to Chelsea since they swapped their sincerest fake apologies in the principal's office the day before.
Chelsea had the barest trace of a bruise on her cheekbone. Cat assumed she hadn't told her mother about it, which explained how Cat hadn't received any threats of pressing charges or juvie. "Sorry I smacked you square in the face with a dodgeball. Really hard."
"It wasn't that hard," Cat said, although Chelsea did have a mean overhand. "I'm sorry I called you an asshole." And because she couldn't help herself— "I should have said 'really big asshole.'"
"I'm sorry I called you a backstabbing bitch."
"I'm sorry I—"
"You're apologizing, remember?" T.J. reminded them.
"Shh," Lance elbowed him, "it was just getting interesting."
They were all bent over their desks, nose nearly touching their notebooks as they pretended to take notes. Except for T.J., who actually was taking notes. Cat and Lance had about five games of tic-tac-toe going on simultaneously. They'd learned that grandmotherly old Bradford, their long-term sub, was a tad hard of hearing. As long as they looked like they were doing work, they were able to get away with whispered conversations at their table in the back of the room.
Cat and Chelsea fell silent for a few seconds, Bradford's dull voice droning on in the background about x and y variables. Lance started humming "I Want It That Way" by the Backstreet Boys.
"I can't believe you," Chelsea seethed after a good minute of humming. "Dating my idiot brother? This is completely against girl code."
"Girl code only applies if we're friends." The words came out colder than expected, and Cat glanced up right in time to see real hurt flicker across Chelsea's face.
"Dang," Lance muttered, eyeing them both. "Are we cat fighting?"
"Pun intended?" T.J. asked, glancing at Cat.
"Not intended, but that was funny, T.J.."
"It really wasn't," Cat cringed.
"Keep your nose out of it, Lancelot!" Chelsea snapped, all hurt wiped cleanly off her face.
"That's not even my name!"
"And you. That was a mean thing to say," Chelsea told Cat, now glowering at her in a way that said: I literally saved your life, you bitch.
"I know. Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Cat bit her lip, doodling a Captain America shield in the margin of her notes. "He asked me, though. Not the other way around."
"And you said yes!" Chelsea said furiously, jabbing the pointy end of her mechanical pencil at her. "Why would you say yes? You don't even like him."
"I… do like him!" Cat's face heated as she said it.
Lance made an "ooh, drama" noise somewhere to her right, but he was the least of her attention right now.
"Name literally one thing you like about him!"
"No!"
"Because you don't like him."
"No, because he's your brother and talking about this is humiliating! Why are you so bothered by this, anyway?"
"Girl code, Cat! Girl code."
"What's girl code?" Lance asked.
"Shut up, Lance!" Chelsea and Cat said together.
"Ugh!" Apparently out of fighting words, Chelsea threw her pencil at her.
Cat ducked. "Hey!"
"Hey," growled T.J., snapping up from his notes as the pencil knocked him in the head.
"Young ladies!" Bradford cried from the front of the room. Something told Cat that she hadn't learned anyone's name and wasn't intending to for the rest of the year. "Will I need to separate you?"
Okay, Cat thought, maybe Nat was onto something with the girl code.
I was lying in bed and i thought it would be funny for Cat to say "guess what fam i have a bf" and the whole story kind of unfolded from there
Yeah I know it's been a while since I last updated. Idk how long exactly, but I just lost inspiration. I appreciate everyone who's left a comment/review while I was gone. I read every single one of them. And as much as I love love love getting the "PLEASE UPDATE" ones that definitely fill me with endless inspiration (read: sarcasm), I genuinely adore the people that take the time to tell me what they like (and sometimes don't like). I hope I'll update more (haha I always say this), since I have the time now. Love you all. Peacceee.
Oh yeah! part 2 of this marriage thing is coming up next. i think i'll have the avengers crash the marriage ceremony. if you don't know what to comment, comment which avengers you'd be interested in seeing. (i sound like a youtuber lol i'm sorry.) also what do you think of the whole boyfriend thing?