Babysitting, Part 3
Waffles

Clint's powers of persuasion, helped along by Ellie's gap-toothed smile, managed to secure agreements from all the residents of the Avenger's mansion to help watch over the little girl and to not tell Tony about the situation. At least, not until after Ellie was gone. It was also agreed upon that Nick Fury, nor any other S.H.I.E.L.D. employees needed know about this either, and the best way to hide the arrangement would be to trade off babysitting shifts, so that no one person would be noticed missing for a significant amount of time.

Therefore, Bruce found himself making waffles in the space age kitchen at 7:30 on Tuesday morning while Ellie sat on several books stacked on a bar stool, chattering away to either him or Captain Sockman, he wasn't really sure. She seemed to require no input from him, so he let her babble on uninterrupted. It often surprised outsiders, but Bruce was actually the most competent chef in the house, and waffles are not complicated, just a little time consuming. Even so, he was setting a plate of fresh, hot waffles in front of Ellie in less than twelve minutes.

"With syrup!" she demanded happily. Bruce had expected this, and the bottle of maple syrup was waiting next to the waffle iron. Ellie clapped as he carefully poured syrup across the waffles, not missing a single square. He placed the bottle back on the counter and waited for Ellie to begin eating with smiling eyes.

"And pea-but butter!" she chirped next. Peanut butter on waffles? thought Bruce. Not the weirdest thing I've ever seen, as he fetched the jar out of the pantry and attempted to spread it over the sticky syrup. "How's that?"

"With sprinkles!" Ellie yelled next. Bruce contemplated that one for a few moments, before deciding that sprinkles were not particularly unhealthy, and could therefore be consumed at breakfast. She's playing you, said Bruce's inner monologue as he dug through a cupboard of ice cream sundae paraphernalia. She's seeing how far she can push you. "Yes, I know," Bruce answered himself quietly. It was an old habit from years of living alone. "But they say to 'pick your battles' and sprinkles on waffles isn't a battle I'm going to pick."

"These are the best waffles ever!" Ellie announced to Captain Sockman after Bruce had coated the plate with a generous serving of multicolored dots. Bruce beamed in pride and self-satisfaction as he turned to clean the dishes and put things away.

You can do this, his inner monologue said encouragingly. You are patient and kind, and you CAN work with kids, despite…you know, everything. Bruce knew he would never be able to be a father, but that didn't stop the longing sometimes.

Look at how happy she was! the voice inside crooned as he washed the waffle iron. And later, we'll play games and watch cartoons, and everybody will be so impressed with you. Bruce smiled and allowed himself the pleasure of self-encouragement. He had spent so many years in perpetual self-deprecation that it was nice for once, to know that maybe he was getting something right.

Maybe, the inner voice continued hopefully, when you…you know, get a handle on things, it could be time to start thinking about a family… As the voice trailed off, Bruce allowed himself flashes of movie-perfect scenes – bottle feeding a tiny bundle of blankets, pushing a little girl on a swing, running just behind a boy riding without training wheels for the first time – all featuring himself and nameless, faceless children. "Yeah," he answered quietly. "Maybe."

He turned around, and his jaw dropped.

Ellie, though still smiling, was covered in a sticky, colorful mess of peanut butter and syrup. It was in her hair, all over her face, up her arms to the elbows and all down the front of her shirt. It dripped steadily off her fork, held unused in her left hand while she ate with her right, and pooled on the counter. Captain Sockman had smears of it on his mouth.

"Then again," Bruce told himself, "maybe not."