A Need, not Want | Kate Bishop [1]

Chapter 2

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Under a tree beneath a blanket —in a red flannel, black leggings and thick boots laced up to her shins—, Payton patiently waited. As the wind picked up softly, her straight, fiery red locks —that reached her shoulder blades— whipped behind her.

"About damn time," she commented. As expected, Kate was in tennis-shoes, dark purple sweat-pants that cuffed around the ankles, and a hoodie that read Bishop Security —Payton's ran into Kate on the streets a few times. "That's so lame."

"Shut up." As Kate dropped down across from Payton, she slung her backpack off, then eyed the redhead weirdly, "Are you really that cold? It's 50 degrees outside."

"Exactly." Payton sat up —legs crossing underneath her—, and situated the blanket so that it's draped around her shoulders and covered her back, "I'm from the south. I don't do cold." She unzipped her backpack, pulled out a pen and brand new, light pink notebook. She opened the palm of her left-hand, "Black Widow, Iron Man, Captain America."

"I'm surprised you came prepared," commented Kate.

"Ouch." Payton smirked, "You wound me, Katherine." A golden retriever barked in the distance as it fetched an orange frisbee.

"Will you please stop calling me that."

Payton continued to write down the three Avengers' real names, and shrugged smally. "Maybe, maybe not." She clicked the pen, "What if I don't?" And clicked it again. "Then what?"

Kate scoffed, and scrunched her facial features. "You're annoying. And . . . mean." Payton merely hummed. Kate opened and turned her laptop on. "Who's first on your list?"

  Payton re-opened her hand, "Black Widow."

  "Alright .  .  ." Kate drawled, focused as she typed the Avengers's name and hit ENTER, rather aggressively. "So it says here, 'Natasha Romanoff, born on December 3, 1984 in—"

  "Hold your horses. I don't write that fast," said Payton, as she scribbled. After a second, Kate was ready to continue. "I said, hold on, Katherine. Nineteen .  .  . Eighty .  .  . Four .  .  ." she said as she wrote. "Alright. Now you may continue."

  Kate rolled her eyes. " '—born on December 3, 1984 in the Soviet Union. Before she became famously known as 'Black Widow', she worked as an undercover agent for S.H.I.E.L.D'."

  "What is that?"

  "It means, 'Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division'." Kate frowned, "That's a mouthful."

  "How do you spell 'strategic'?" Payton looked up, and shrugged innocently when she met judge-y green eyes. "What? I'm bein' serious."

"You really can't spell 'strategic'?"

"Well I wouldn't be askin' if I did." Again, Kate rolled her eyes as she groaned. "Keep rollin' your eyes like that, and they'll fall right outta your head."

The raven-haired girl acted as if nothing was said. "S-T-R-A-T-E-G-I-C. Strategic." Payton wrote it all, letter by letter, until it came to the last one. The tip of the black-inked pen hovered above the paper, still. "It's a 'C'."

"I know, be quiet." Payton snapped her grey eyes closed, carefully drew the letter in her head multiple times, then put it on paper.

"What was that about?" Kate almost, almost seemed genuine, but it came out more annoyed and frustrated.

"None of your concern, Katherine," the redhead snarked, as she retraced some of the words and letters she had written. "What's next?"

For the next couple hours, until Central Park emptied and it was just them, they worked and bickered. With Black Widow and Iron Man completed —and the beginnings of Captain America—, Payton pumped the brakes.