So it's been ages and I know this is short, but hey, an update! My life's been crazy. A lot of school and traveling. My poor suitcase broke over break. I've only had it for a year but it's already dying on me. Wimpy suitcase. Anyone got any brand suggestions?

Anyway, here's the next chapter!

Bruce was fairly certain he was hallucinating when he and Tony walked into the kitchen after a long day of going over lab expenses with Pepper going through them line by line and telling them where they could save a little money. Bruce felt bad about his expenses and he wasn't even counting his living expenses, or all the property damage he has accumulated over the years. The guilt, however, took a backseat to Natasha, oddly enough.

She sat at the island wearing a tank top, leaning forward over the counter, and feeding a kitten perched on its hind legs with a pair of chopsticks.

"I know you two are here; you should just say something." Natasha didn't even look up at them. "And down." She aimed the chopsticks downward and the kitten followed to eat the chunk of cat food. "And up."

"Romanov, would you kindly explain to me why there's a cat on the counter of my kitchen? It's highly unsanitary—"

"What's his name?" Bruce blurted out. He immediately regretted it, always feeling awkward when he interrupted Tony.

"Chopsticks."

"You can't be serious. Chopsticks? Who names a cat 'Chopsticks?"

"Obviously, I did."

"All right, well make sure he doesn't urinate in the kitchen—or anywhere else for that matter. Get a litter box. I'm going back to the lab. Maybe Pepper's finally done now."

This left Bruce and Natasha alone once more. He stared at the kitten for a moment longer before braving crossing the room and petting—er—Chopsticks. Chopsticks purred under his touch, rubbing against his hand eagerly.

"Where'd you get him?" Why did she get him? Had he influenced her with their talk of cats and sentiment and—oh she was speaking again.

"—found him in a parking lot and I took him to a vet. She said he's healthy."

Bruce tried to imagine Natasha sitting in a veterinarian's waiting room with a little, soaking wet cat on her lap. It would be the sort of vet's office where there would be patronizing little pink and blue posters on the wall spouting common sense about pet care.

"He's cute." Bruce offered, slightly helplessly.

"I'm not keeping him permanently." Her voice suddenly became colder, "So unless you want him, you probably shouldn't get attached to him."

"Oh." Bruce slumped in the chair beside her, rubbing his head in an attempt to alleviate his headache.

"You're having a bad day." Natasha announced, "And you have a tension headache. So something stressful?"

"Pepper's going through our expenses."

"Oh. Hmm, well that's nothing to get too bothered about. It's her job."

"It's not that—it's that I cost a lot, between the housing and the research and the—"

"At uh!" Natasha snapped like she was correcting a dog, "Nope. You are not going to convince yourself that you're a burden. Angst lowers your overall productivity. Think of it like a grant you've applied for and received."

"But—"

"At uh!" She pointed at Bruce for emphasis "Obviously, in order to do your work, you need a place to live and food to eat. You don't even have a commute this way."

"Why are you trying to make me feel better?"

"Because you don't have a reason to feel bad at the moment." Natasha shrugged, scooping up Chopsticks.

"Then why aren't you going to keep Chopsticks?"

"The sun's setting." Natasha said absently, looking out the window, "You'll get to go home next week, Chopsticks."

The Bartons were perfectly pleased with the addition to their family. Natasha knew the kids would like a cat with a weird name like Chopsticks.