Chapter Text
Kate and her team are the first ones in the conference room for the final debrief. As far as she knows, everyone's marks are gone-and everyone had texted her last night.
Which, you know. She ignored.
Kate is the last person on her team there; it’s a good thing Steve is an early riser and that neither he nor Bucky know how to make decent coffee or she might have just not moved until noon. The thought of drinking the sludge Bucky considers an acceptable brew is the only reason she stayed awake.
Her team stares at her for a moment and then Kate starts debating just going back the fuck to bed because they start applauding.
Because they are assholes.
“And coming out of an early retirement, let me present Hawkeye’s Sex Hair!” Tommy says it like he’s a carnival barker.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kate responds with an inordinate amount of primness.
“So we’re supposed to believe that you’re wearing the scarf due to a fit of nostalgia?” Billy tugs on the end of the white scarf in question. “And not a futile attempt to cover up hickeys.”
"Told you she had a good reason to not respond to our texts last night," Teddy adds.
Voices carry down the hall, approaching the room.
“Can we at least pretend to be professionals during this meeting?” Kate says with what she feels is a generous amount of serenity. The subtext is: I can and will kill you all if you don't.
“This isn’t over,” Billy hisses at her.
Kate’s request for maturity from her team may, in retrospect, have been an unnecessary one.
The Fantastic Four all come in separately; Sue comes in, deep in conversation with Hank; Ben is accompanied by Wanda; Reed and Johnny come in exactly three and a half minutes apart. Johnny looks mussed and slightly stunned as he flops down in the chair next to Kate; Reed looks smug, which is normal—only it’s not normal Reed-smug. It’s—God help them—it looks more like I’m-awesome-at-sex smug.
Though Kate could be projecting a bit. It's entirely possible.
Natasha and Sam at least come loaded down with baked goods, followed by Steve and Bucky. Kate makes a point not to look at either one of them until they’re sitting down; she’s proud to note that the bruises she’d bitten into both of them this morning are still faintly visible.
She’d been a little rough about it, honestly. Enhanced healing abilities really don’t make for a level playing field as far as the obvious signs of messing around. Whatever. She’s proud of her handiwork.
Stark and Rhodey are five minutes late.
“Did we miss a memo, or something?” Tommy leans over and asks David. “If I’d known it was Frick-Frack Friday I would have—"
"Tommy, please think very carefully about how you want to finish that sentence versus how you want to spend the next two months," Kate's tone is bland as she sips at her coffee.
Tommy appears to consider her advice. He looks to his left-David-and his right-Daisy-and shuts his mouth with a snap.
Kate’s phone vibrates. Text from Steve.
Except it’s all gibberish.
No, it’s a cipher. She raises an eyebrow at Steve, who smirks at her—holy fuck is that a dirty smile.
“Who’s strong and brave—“ Bucky sings as he plops down next to her.
“Here to save the American way—“ she joins him. Then, “Dammit, Barnes, I just got that out of my head.”
Steve has that smile and—
And Steve is sexting her using a book cipher with his goddamn vintage theme song as the key what a fucking nerd.
Well, maybe not exactly sexting. It’s really more a semi-detailed itinerary. He seems to be suggesting some combination of lunch/brunch and her sitting on Bucky’s face while Steve fucks him; trying to see how she feels about being in the middle; and something involving honey and honestly Kate’s a little hot under the collar at that point.
“Hey, Hawkeye,” Steve’s voice cuts through her mental fog. “Focus up.”
Kate sucks in air and glares at him. Fortunately, nobody in here signs particularly well so there’s nobody to be scandalized by what she informs him of what he can do—
Which is, of course, when Clint and Strange walk in.
“Bro,” Clint stares at her. “That’s not workplace appropriate.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Steve mutters.
Kate thinks that’s very rich of both of them, Clint included, since, judging by his mussed hair and swollen lips and Strange’s improperly buttoned shirt, the reason they were late is because Clint exhibited poor impulse control. Tommy might have been right with Frick-Frack Friday.
“So,” Steve begins again.
“Sorry we’re late,” Logan apologizes, barging into the room. “We were—“
He freezes and sniffs the air.
“Move it, Logan,” Murdock says with an audible whap of his cane hitting Logan. “Oh. Oh. I told you it was all thr—” he breaks off his declaration with a cough. “I mean. Um. Maybe we could open a window, air this place out?”
"We're on the thirtieth floor," Tony snaps. "Windows don't open."
“Let’s just get started,” Steve cuts in like the smoothest motherfucker who ever lived. “I have things to do.”
And sure, Logan coughs Hawkeye! into his hand before sliding a bill into Murdock's hand, but nobody seems to notice.
Except Bucky, whose hand is hot and firm on her thigh.
And Steve, who seems not to realize how obvious the hickey she’d given him is.
Her boys.
Yeah, she definitely owes Billy.