Chapter Text
"Right. Double-check everything. Are we good to go this time?"
Twisting back and forth in front of the mirror a few times revealed nothing you hadn't already seen. Casual outfit, but not pajama casual. No wrinkles, no stains, no hairs sticking at odd ends. No bruising or discoloration in any unfortunate places...
"Fucking hell. I feel like I'm about to be on exhibition."
It had only been a few weeks since the raid on the HYDRA facility, but already a rhythm had formed in the tower. Most of it was benign, even pleasant, as Clint and Natasha took their places back among their comrades in arms. But ever since Clint and Natasha had regained their "hall passes", as he insisted on putting it, it was as if a target had been placed on your back. Some days, it felt like you couldn't leave your room without one of the snarkier members of the team setting their sights on you.
You couldn't remember the last time you'd made it through the common areas without some kind of ribbing. Just the act of daring to shamble your way to the kitchen one morning with bedhead had earned you a half-dozen comments, forcing you into a hasty retreat with no treat to speak of.
"Ah, the walk of shame. Always a good way to start your day!"
"Nat let you walk out like that? Better tell her she's losing her touch."
"Lift the shirt a little, c'mon! Let us see the scratch marks!"
The fact that you and Natasha had separate rooms, or even the fact that many of them saw you walking out of yours alone, didn't seem to bother them in the least. You'd been smart enough not to engage beyond getting your own shots in. Any sign of embarrassment or annoyance was just an invitation for more, as your coworkers had a bottomless well of energy for needling one another. But even then, they'd never relented.
"Alright. Alright, now or never."
With a sort of tense resignation, you turned away from the mirror and began the trek to claim your rightful breakfast. The hallway was empty, which allowed you a minute to breathe easy, but it was not fated to last. By the time you were in the main area and halfway into the kitchen, the gentle clinking of mugs drifted from the kitchen. You were not alone, despite your prayers.
Clint and Tony were already up and moving, or in Tony's case, perhaps had never stopped from the night prior. Clint was sitting on top of one of the counters, mug in hand, his eyes always sharp no matter how tired he looked. He'd returned late last night from a mission with Bruce and Thor, but clearly he intended to start his day off the same as ever, no matter how ragged the night might have run him. Tony was propped up nearby, one hand on the counter to steady himself while the other shakily worked the coffeemaker.
A mighty effort forced your strides into a semblance of casualness, a confidence that veiled the tension lingering in you, as if you were ready to exchange blows rather than barbs. Trading shots was practically a pastime around the tower, but the teasing about your new relationship staggered you so much more than even the most vicious of personal jabs. You held yourself high as you entered. Clint gave you a silent nod, not lowering the mug from a greedy slurp. Tony pulled his mug free the instant the stream turned to a trickle, abandoning the last dribbles in exchange for a few more precious seconds.
As he turned toward you, mug already hefted to his lips, you expected it to drop with a wry comment, a grinning jeer. The mug did lower—only just enough for you to see a polite smile. Then it was raised again, the cup drained before he made it out of the kitchen. The glass echoed against the counter as he set it aside, a slight wobble to his gait as he crossed into the lounge and headed straight for the elevator.
"Morning." Clint's voice drew your eyes back to the room ahead. By the time you turned, he was hopping off the counter and grabbing a box of cereal. With his mug drained and cast aside in favor of something more filling, he was limping toward a state of functionality.
"Morning," you replied, eyeing him cautiously. "Tony still hasn't slept, I take it?"
"Does he ever?" Clint chuckled. He'd taken a seat in the dining area and was shaking his head while he poured his breakfast. "JARVIS says he's been in the lab for... what, going on thirty hours now?"
"He passed thirty hours early last night, in fact." The voice came from the ceiling, the walls, and a half-dozen other places around you. "Sir has currently been awake for approximately thirty-seven hours, forty-two minutes, and nineteen seconds."
Clint just grinned. "See? Business as usual."
...And not a word more. Confusion blended with relief and ebbed its way through your body, slowly easing the tightness in your muscles.
"I guess we're not doing this anymore?" You nearly felt deflated, in a sense, but that didn't stop you from seizing the chance to enjoy breakfast in peace for the first time in weeks.
You clawed your way to the back of the refrigerator, retrieving some of the leftovers you'd squirreled away for a lazy morning. They were hidden behind Natasha's forbidden shashlyk and something Thor had brought from Asgard, a frightening purple thing that still seemed to be squirming at times.
"So why did Tony come all the way up here for a cup of coffee, if he wasn't even going to eat breakfast?" You mused cautiously.
"Pepper confiscated the one downstairs. Said he's been holed up in the workshop too much lately, and she deserved to see him at least five minutes out of the day without going in after him." Clint gave you a knowing look. "I give it a week before he gets a new one. He was already talking about upgrading from the last one. Something about a nitro cold brew craze."
Tony's genius got all the hype, and not a small amount of it from his own lips, but there was something to be said for his drive. You only needed a couple of hours a night, but you had a supersoldier serum pumping through your veins. Even then, you could notice the eventual fraying at the edges when you skipped a night of sleep. Tony had nothing but stubbornness and ambition powering him, and yet the man somehow managed to continue working with technology that you couldn't begin to comprehend even after a full night's sleep.
"He really is an incredible guy." The beeping of the microwave was loud enough to make you wince, but the scent of food made it a worthy sacrifice. You retrieved your rations and took a seat across from Clint, preparing for the worst. "Shame he's going to have a heart attack before he makes it to fifty."
Clint only managed an emphatic nod this time; he was already busy shoveling sugar-covered cardboard into his mouth at an alarming rate. By the time his hunger was sated enough to pause for conversation, you were preparing to dig in yourself.
"Anything on the agenda for the day?" Clint asked. Your brow twinged upward, wondering if you were finally about to get the opening salvo of some prepared roast.
"Training, and more walking the city," you said briskly. "You coming this time?"
Natasha and Clint had been teaching you a number of things since they returned to the tower. One of them was the importance of knowing your surroundings. They were especially pushy about the fact that, as the half of the team that couldn't fly, it was important for you to know your way around the city. Natasha even wanted you to plan a route through the city that avoided ambush spots and kill zones.
You might have called the idea of having to fight your way through an entire city ludicrous, if the news wasn't still playing footage from the New York attack at least once a week.
"Nah, not today. I'm heading out in a couple of hours," Clint said, covering his lips as he managed a response between bites.
"Hm? Didn't you just finish up the last mission?" You prodded, still expecting this to lead somewhere devious. "We've got a whole team here; surely someone else can take over, give you a chance to rest."
"Not that kind of flight, just visiting Laura for a while. Haven't decided how long yet, but things are pretty quiet right now on the mission front," he elaborated.
"Oh yeah?" You let your guard slip a little lower. You'd only learned about Laura a few days ago, and already you'd noticed how much more serious the subject tended to make him. "That's good to hear. Not a bad way to spend a few days, either."
"Yeah, it'll be pretty calm, I think. Not much to do besides the usual chores, do my rounds, run some diagnostics," Clint mused, twirling the spoon in his hand.
"Diagnostics?" The lift of your brow caught his attention. "On a farm?"
"Tractor's shot to hell. Laura's got a good hand with the equipment, but this one is gonna take a little something extra, I think," Clint rattled off the explanation. He shoved a few more spoonfuls of ceral into his mouth before he continued. "Anyway, should be interesting. Fixing tractors, I mean. I'm sure I'll get interrupted by something or other like always, but, well..."
"In our line of work, if you're not getting shot at, it's a break." Natasha's voice slid into the space left by Clint's pause effortlessly. You hoped the mix of emotions you still got at the familiar sound had grown subtle enough to be hidden. Whether it was or not, Clint didn't comment.
"She's right," Clint added, tipping his spoon toward Natasha in greeting as she strolled by the table, headed for the kitchen proper. "Got to take opportunities like this when you get them. Hero or SHIELD, doesn't matter. If I was gonna wait for world peace to see Laura, might as well file the divorce papers right now."
"No reason to do that," Natasha called over her shoulder. "I'm sure she'd be willing to file them for you."
Your eyes flickered between the two of them. Your earlier anticipation returned; perhaps this was what Clint had been waiting for? Natasha didn't get it quite as badly as you did, but you were still so certain something—anything—was about to hit. But Clint only rolled his eyes, a look of wariness in them that spoke to events you weren't quite privy to.
"Don't even go there," he said wearily. "I was already expecting them when I told her I was gonna start working again. You know how hard it is to change her mind."
"I do. She's a strong woman." There was no attempt at subtlety to the approval in Natasha's voice. "Strong enough to handle you saving the world a few more times."
Feeling as curious as you were bold, you decided to test the waters of this unexpected peace. "Must not be easy, being in a relationship with someone living a civilian life. How much of what you do does she even get to hear about?"
"More than you'd think. She wasn't always a civilian, actually," Clint explained. He scooped the last bits of floating cereal into his mouth and then shoved the bowl aside. "We met working for SHIELD, before she retired. Plus, now that SHIELD's 'officially' disbanded, and all of its files online, there's not much I can't tell her."
"Not that he doesn't pad the stories a little," Natasha whispered, much louder than she needed to. She'd already finished her prep work and made her way to your side, setting a plastic container of leftovers on the table as she slid into the chair on your left.
"Hey, if I told her every time I almost got shot, stabbed, or captured, she'd never let me leave the house." Clint's objection did nothing to diminish Natasha's smile. "Besides, she's got enough to worry about with the kids."
Before you could respond, the sound of the elevator's bell interrupted, the silver doors whispering open. Thor's booming laughter preceded him into the common area, followed shortly by Steve, both men looking well-rested and ready for the day.
"Has Stark finally surrendered to sleep, then?" Thor asked, striding over to the counter where Tony had been standing just minutes before.
"Not a chance," Clint replied. "Just refueled. He's probably already back to work down there."
Steve shook his head in fond exasperation. "Some things never change. Morning, everyone."
"Morning, Steve," you replied, tilting your head toward him. "You two are up early."
"Early for him, anyway," Steve said with a nod toward Thor. "I've been up for hours already."
"A well-earned rest after a glorious battle, and an equally glorious celebration," Thor justified. "I only wish that you mortals did not insist on closing your taverns so early."
"Taverns," Natasha repeated, an eyebrow raised. Not surprised, you recognized. There was a familiarity to the amused quirk.
"The finest establishment this realm has to offer, Lady Romanoff. Your companion here can attest to their quality," Thor said, clapping a hand on Clint's shoulder.
Clint winced but grinned. "We might have stopped by a pub or two after we landed."
"You know, I did think you looked too chipper for someone who just got back," you remarked. "Plane didn't land as late as I thought last night, eh?"
"What can I say? Celebrating a successful mission with good friends and good drinks is one of life's simple pleasures," Clint said, stretching as he stood up from the counter. "Especially when you don't have to worry about paperwork in the morning."
"That's what you think," Steve said from his favored corner, a knowing smile on his face. "Fury may not be breathing down our necks anymore, but Maria Hill certainly is."
Clint's face fell comically. "I was trying to forget that part. Don't remind me."
You watched the byplay between them, a small smile on your face. It was moments like this that made the tower feel like home—a collection of extraordinary people who somehow managed to create something resembling a normal family, despite the chaos that often surrounded them.
Natasha's hand brushed against yours subtly as she leaned forward to grab her coffee. The contact was brief, but it sent a familiar warmth through you that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. You'd been learning the language of these small touches over the past month; a brush of fingers, a slight lean, a glance held a fraction too long. For someone as guarded as Natasha, they were a constant reassurance, a way of bridging the distance she naturally tried to maintain.
"I should probably get going soon," Clint said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Want to make sure I don't miss anything."
"Safe travels," Steve offered.
"Give my regards to Laura and the kids," Natasha added, her voice softening at the mention of the family.
"Always do," Clint assured her with an appreciative grin. "You should make it out again one of these days. They're always wondering when their 'Auntie Nat' is going to visit."
The nickname hung in the air with a strange accent, at least to you. The closest thing to a tease that you'd heard all morning, and of all things, it was about Clint's kids and Natasha. No one batted an eye at it, not even Natasha herself, who offered a neutral smile and nothing more.
"Maybe soon," was all she said in response. She waited until the elevator doors slid shut behind Clint, then turned to you. There was an amusement buried beneath her polite smile that spoke to how much of your tension had not escaped her. "Nice morning, isn't it?"
"JARVIS, I require more of these Pop-Tarts," Thor declared, his voice even more commanding than usual as it shattered the cozy quietness that had barely settled. "The strawberry ones are particularly invigorating after battle. Easily one of Midgard's finest wonders."
"I'll be sure to add them to the next order," the digital assistant chimed in. Thor nodded sagely, mumbling something that sounded like approval as he returned to his foraging.
Natasha caught the subtle shake of your head, and it seemed to amuse her as much as it did you. "What is it now?"
"Oh, nothing unusual," you replied. "Just a Norse god strolling around in our kitchen, shouting about the wonders of Pop-Tarts." You expected some kind of acknowledgment of that absurdity, but she merely twisted her smile up a little more, then went back to her breakfast.
The mention caught the Asgardian's attention. Thor paused his valiant search long enough to glance between the two of you. For just a moment, his lips parted, a playful glint in his gaze. Then that gaze fell to the table, catching the moment that Natasha's little finger grazed your forearm, the way her nail trailed along your skin. Lips sealed again, and a smoother contentedness replaced budding mischief.
The clattering of boxes and packaging being shoved around continued for some time as Thor's quest resumed, but the absence of banter was warmer this time. The sense of foreboding that had lingered as you entered dissipated entirely. Things were back to normal at the tower, it seemed. Which was to say... nothing resembling normal at all.
But it was normal to you, and that was wonderful in its own little way.