"SO I EAT STRAIGHT OUT OF THE POT WHEN I MAKE MAC 'N CHEESE, BUT I GOOGLED HOW TO EAT WITH UTENSILS AGAIN TO HELP YOU, SO LISTEN CLOSE, I'M A MASTER."

She stared at Clint who was standing in front of the stove cooking macaroni and cheese, the man heavily emphasizing the importance of using the lucky wooden spoon, as well as having the oven mitts at the ready so as not to burn herself, though he did warn her that the oven mitts were notorious for failing.

"So we're gonna get ourselves a bowl," Clint said, reaching towards the pantry, nearly knocking the pot over and burning his hand, because he forgot to put the handle in, despite his shouting to do so when he first set her onto the counter and told her to pay attention.

After a lengthy bit of cursing, he grabbed two bowls, holding them up. "Then we're gonna put our mac 'n cheese in the bowl, but we gotta turn off the stove first or else you burn the place to the ground, and in this economy, we can't even afford hot water half the time, so we gotta be careful."

She nodded, propping her elbow up onto her thigh so she could rest her chin on her hand, leaning forward slightly as her stomach grumbled, her eyes wide as she watched him pour the golden pasta into the nice silverware.

"So this is really hot, so you're probably gonna want it to cool down first or else you're burn your tongue," Clint said, setting one bowl aside, "But I'm gonna show you how to use a fork, since they didn't teach you how to do that."

She watched with a furrowed brow as he pulled out a fork from one of the drawers, scooping up a bit of the pasta and putting it into his mouth, only to wince and let the pasta fall from his mouth and back into his bowl, hissing as he rushed to get himself some water because he had burned his tongue.

"You said to let it cool down," she pointed out, figuring that she should continue to exercise her vocal chords now that she was allowed to, and he nodded as he swallowed the glass, making a face at the pain.

She had found herself in this situation after she had showered, coming out soaking wet, trying her best to towel off after her hour long shower, standing under the fall of the water for longer than necessary, simply searching for the safe warmth that she had felt before at the facility.

When she came out, she tried to backtrack up to the common area that Clint had shown her, finally making it up to where everyone was gathered for dinner and they all realized she didn't know how to use utensils when Bruce set out the roast beef he had made.

Which meant the man had had to feed her.

"It's only weird if you make it weird," he had hissed, frowning at Arabella and Tony who were giggling to each other.

"It's cute," Arabella argued, though Tony didn't seem to share her sentiment, "Because you're opening your mouth as if she doesn't know how."

She did know how, but she would admit that she didn't it strange that he was feeding her. She wouldn't have found it strange on the serum, but a part of her that had been tucked away seemed to have its reasons as to why being a woman her age—not that she knew her age, but older than most there—was being fed like a child.

She didn't understand why she felt strange, and she didn't elect to tell anyone.

But when they all realized that she didn't know how to even so much as hold a fork, they all took it upon themselves to teach her all they knew, especially since she hadn't been able to wash her hair right because she didn't know how.

So that was how she wound up on the counter just past lunch time, she and Clint having woken up much later than the others, the man immediately picking her up and seating her onto the counter to teach her the magic of macaroni and cheese.

Speaking of which, Clint had put the bowls in the freezer for a few minutes, staring at the clock intently as he waited until he deemed them ready to be taken out and consumed without the risk of burning; or more burning, in his case, as seen by how he was making a face and sticking his tongue out in pain.

She nearly fell off the counter as she leaned forward, already sleepy and wanting nothing more than to go back to bed, but she caught herself just barely, leaning back fully so she was spread out along the counter so that she didn't fall.

She stared up at the white ceiling, her mind flashing as she began to remember parts of her old room, a piece of her believing that she was still there, lying in her glass casing, waiting for another injection, another mission, another cycle that had become monotonous in its pacing.

It was a strange thing to say, that murder had become monotonous, but it had, as she had had no say in her actions.

She was broken out of her thoughts by one of the bowls being placed on her sweater clad stomach, and she lifted it, sitting up and placing it in her lap, watching as Clint twirled a fork in his hand before giving it over to her.

She took it carefully, holding it the way she would a knife, and he shook his head adjusting it so she held it the way she would a pen, which was something that she hadn't done in quite some time, though her masters always made her practice.

She pierced a few of the noodles when she was unable to scoop them up the way Clint had, biting the fork lightly and sliding it out, the pasta pressed against her teeth before touching her tongue, and her eyes widened at the taste which was similar to parts of the sandwich that she had eaten, but it was so much richer.

She tried not to eat too quickly, as that was something Bruce had told her when she had grown impatient of having to wait for him to continue feeding her, the man emphasizing the importance of chewing so as not to upset her stomach, and she didn't want to tell him that she was more than aware of what he was saying, because she didn't want to upset him.

If she upset him, he might not be so kind to her.

"What're you thinking about?" Clint asked, and she looked up to find him raising an eyebrow at her, his head tilted.

She glanced away, swallowing thickly as she remembered how Bruce had told her that she was allowed to say whatever she wanted. That she was safe. She still wasn't sure to believe him.

So she shook her head, not wanting to share her thoughts with Clint for fear of him telling Steve who would tell Tony who would tell Bruce who would most certainly confront her, and she didn't want to face the consequences of exercising her right to speak.

As if she had any rights at all.

"Come on, let's go find Steve, I think you and him would get along really well," Clint said, and she took her bowl filled to the brim with pasta, following him down to another room, Clint humming to himself as they continued.

She stared at his hearing aids as they went, trying to understand why he wore the purple contraptions and what they were used for. She decided that she wasn't going to be in immediate danger for asking, so she chose to speak.

"What are those in your ears?" she inquired, her voice hoarse from its lack of use, and Clint turned to look at her, his eyebrows raised.

"Tony made these hearing aids for me," Clint said, pointing towards them, "I have problems with hearing, so these help me. They're better than even the best, because, you know, Stark, and he's still trying to fiddle with them—dunno why, they're already great—but he wants to make them perfect, which is nice. But they help me hear, especially since most people I work with don't know how to sign."

She nodded slowly, relaxing when he didn't become defensive, wondering what he meant by signing, but opting not to ask, because she didn't want to ask too many questions; her masters always complained when their clients asked too many questions, and those were often the people she was sent to kill after the fact, once all the money was collected.

"Hey, Cap," Clint greeted, and her eyes widened when she caught sight of all the training equipment, immediately thinking about all the training she had done throughout the years, "What're you doing?"

"I just finished up," Steve admitted, and his hair was wet, which caused her to think back to Bruce's statement about the showers they used after missions, "I was heading out, but do you need someone to spot you?"

"Nah, we were just looking for you, and I figured you were here," Clint said, and Steve smiled at him, and she wondered why he was smiling.

He caught sight of her and gave her a nod, mustering up a smile, and she didn't find offense within it, as it made sense he was wary, though he seemed less wary than Tony who was still electing to not speak to her unless wholly necessary.

"How are you?" he asked, and her eyes widened when she realized he was speaking to her.

"Fine," she said, though that didn't seem to be the correct response as he furrowed his brow, not seeming to believe her.

"We wanted to see if you wanted to show her some of the modern, hip stuff you know," Clint said, already snickering, and she didn't understand why he was laughing, though Steve seemed to.

The man rolled his eyes. "Clint, I hardly know how to operate the showers."

"I know, Stark mentions it a lot," the other man smirked, and she watched as the two had a verbal sparring match, their words holding no bite, though Steve did, in the end, agree to show her some things.

"I was planning on just watching the news if you'd like to join me," he said, and Clint shook his head over her own, making a cutting motion towards his neck while she remained oblivious to it, "...or we could watch cartoons? Arabella likes those."

Clint nodded, giving him a thumbs up, and she turned around to look at him, the man immediately hiding his hands, schooling his features, and she turned back to Steve who smiled, motioning for her to follow him.

"Arabella isn't here right now, she's picking up groceries, but if you want you can ask her more about all the gadgets and things around the Tower, I'm still having trouble assimilating myself," Steve said, the two making their way to his room, Clint last seen heading over to Natasha who had been hovering silently in the doorway, startling all of them when she was seen.

She didn't understand why he and everyone else kept mentioning how he, too, didn't have a firm grasp on the environment she had found herself thrust in, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to ask, what with all that he could do to her, especially now that she was powerless to fight against him.

The two made their way into his room, and Steve seemed flustered at the concept of having her in there, but when questioned he simply brushed it aside, telling her to sit while he stood.

"Why are you not sitting?" she asked, because she and Bruce both had sat on his bed, and she didn't see any reason different.

Steve opened his mouth to explain, only to close it, sighing softly, but not angrily, taking a seat next to her with a tense smile, though he sat as rigidly as she did.

Reaching out, he picked up the remote, turning it on to the news before immediately changing the channel, making a noise to himself as he tried to find the channel with the cartoons while she watched pieces of the other shows fly by.

"Wait," she said, her hand shooting out to stop him, only to recoil once she touched his skin.

Steve went back to the channel she had told him to stop at, and she wondered how he had even been able to tell, what with how fast he was going, but she was still able to see parts of it and had noticed the same people from the show she had watched in Bruce's room.

"Oh this?" Steve asked, catching sight of it, "These are crime procedurals, this is one of the more famous ones, it was one of the many things recommended to me once I got here. It's alright, I had to research a lot of what they talked about."

She nodded along to his words, her eyes glued to the screen as she watched the people move around, her eyebrows furrowing as they began to speak using words she didn't understand, and she looked over to Steve who frowned, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small book and pen, writing down some of the words.

When he caught her looking, he explained, "I write down everything people tell me to look up and watch or listen to, but mostly I'm just writing down words and new things before getting those pop culture whatever. The internet itself is still confusing."

She furrowed her brow up at him, confused as what the internet was, but she looked back down at the book, her tongue moving in her mouth before her lips opened, "Can I do that?"

"Definitely," Steve said, stepping off the bed and making his way to his own desk where there was an untouched sketchbook and art set, which she also didn't recognize, but he reached over and picked up a book that matched the small one he was holding, plucking a pen out of a small jar.

"There were multiple in the set," he explained, handing it over to her, "Write down anything you don't understand and you can look it up or ask someone else."

She nodded, opening to the first page, writing down the word, 'internet.'

Steve laughed, but nodded in understanding, giving her a solemn look with a slight smile. "Good luck. Best to ask someone more well-versed with it."

"Clint?" she asked, and Steve paused, thinking.

"No...Clint's more than he seems, but I think you need someone who can tell you the in's and out's of it in full, so I would say ask Bruce? No, he's not well versed enough, so ask Tony," Steve said, nodding.

She shook her head, writing down some of the words the people on the TV were saying. "Tony doesn't want to talk to me."

Steve sighed softly, shaking his head. "He's hard to read at times, but being a public figure does get to you. But you should ask Arabella, she's on the young side, so she understands the in's and out's of the internet well."

"I heard my name!" a voice sang, and while she jumped, Steve simply rolled his eyes fondly, turning to let her see Arabella skip into the room, carrying a mountain of chips above her head surrounded by a purple glow.

"Why are we watching this?" the young woman asked, climbing onto the bed, sitting to the left of her, setting the chips down, opening one and offering it towards her.

She reached out, taking one tentatively, staring at it. She looked over to Arabella who took a bite of it, chewing with her eyes glued to the screen. She took a deep breath, doing the same, and her eyes widened at the sharp taste that she would later learn is spicy, coughing slightly, though she did like it.

"If that's too strong, we have cool ranch," Arabella said, pointing to a blue bag, "These are called Doritos. Steve has the bodily proportions of one."

She frowned, reaching out to take a unbroken on, holding it with the tip upward, and her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to understand how his head was so small in proportion to his non-existent large body.

"No," Arabella laughed, reaching out and adjusting it, noticing when she tensed as she grew too close, "See the flat part is his shoulder proportions and the tip is his hips."

Her eyes widened when she realized what she was looking at, and she felt her lips curl upward involuntarily, and while she tried to understand why she was smiling, Steve was smiling down at her, Arabella grinning behind her shoulder, because the two assumed that she was happy.

Maybe she was happy. She didn't know what that was like.

She wrote that particular thought down, figuring that she would ask Bruce, writing his name down next to the point before raising her head to continue watching, eating some of the chips as she continued to watch.

Arabella shifted, motioning for her to move so Steve could sit, and suddenly she was surrounded by chips and two solid bodies, and she was unsure of whether she was comfortable with it or not, but she neglected to think too much of it, choosing to rather watch the show and write down all that she didn't understand, though Arabella often explained them to her as they went along.

"Bruce gets real into his work when he's in the lab, but you can just go to him any time and he'll make some for you," the young woman explained, catching sight of Bruce's name littering the quickly filling page.

There was a knock on the door and the three all turned to find Clint standing in the doorway with Natasha right behind him, the blond smiling and waving before moving to sit on the floor at the foot of the bed, and because he was so tall he could still be seen over the edge of the bed, the man calling for some chips to be thrown at him.

"Yes, Clint, you can come into my room," Steve snarked, looking over to Natasha who was narrowing her eyes at the scene, "You can come in."

Natasha narrowed her eyes at the scene, but Clint was motioning for her to come in, and she simply sighed, making her way over to the bed, lying down opposite the way the others were, lying on her side with her head under Arabella's feet, propped up by her hand.

She watched the redhead turn her attention the screen, wondering exactly who she was. She had only seen the woman from the small clip she had been shown, as she hadn't been prepared to encounter her or Clint, and she didn't understand.

Licking her lip, she turned her attention away from the screen, writing the woman's name onto the quickly growing list that was already two pages long.

It was a long list, and it would take her some time, but she would get the hang of it eventually. If she didn't die first, of course.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I'm divulging off plan slightly because I forgot to have everyone else help her figure out how to figure out the modern world, so this entire chapter was just dedicated to bonding with everyone in the team and cute little antics. That didn't necessarily happen in this episode, but she did learn how to eat with utensils and about other aspects.

I wanted her to bond with everyone, but this wound up mostly being with Steve and Clint and some Arabella, but considering that Bruce is probably working, Tony doesn't wanna talk to her, and Natasha is pretty wary, it makes sense.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!