"I cannot believe it!"

"For the last time, Rogers, that just how it is. Don't get your flag in a twist."

Steve, still fuming slightly, followed diligently behind the man in the red jacket, pushing the cart as Tony went through the list again. Color-coded and divided into columns, Tony wasn't taking any chances of forgetting something that was on the paper, which had been adjusted slightly from the usual set of groceries for the Tower. Stark managed to expertly dodge the Thanksgiving crowd around him, but Steve, still not used to huge amounts of people all in one place, had run over at least three people's toes so far, apologizing profusely every time.

"Alright, we got the milk…"

"I still think it's ridiculous…"

At this, Stark stopped walking completely, sighing in exasperation as Steve accidentally hit him with the cart for the second time. "So things are a little more expensive than your time – what's your point?"

"My point is that four dollars and thirty-two cents for a gallon of milk is ridiculous! Do you know how many shirts I could've bought with that?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, when books cost a nickel and you walked both ways uphill." Tony shook his head and scanned the industrial fridge in front of him. "What kind of yogurt did Wanda want? Greek? Almond?"

"Frozen," Steve said, still shaking his head at the hundreds of kinds of dairy products that could be found within 30 steps of where he was standing. Tony nodded and made a sharp left, ducking into the ice cream aisle and grabbing two different kinds of frozen yogurt. Turning around, he hesitated, then propped the door open with his hip and pulled a gallon of chocolate chip ice cream, too. Steve shook his head and shoved the half-full cart forward, knowing that he was fighting a losing battle with Stark's sweet tooth. They had already been to the cereal aisle, where Tony had grabbed multiple boxes of 16-pack Pop-Tarts, only one of which was per Natasha's request. This, Steve knew, was both for Stark's incredible sugar habit and to be prepared, just in case a certain boy in a red and black suit came swinging in at the last second.

They continued onward toward the frozen foods, with Tony taking charge and Steve trailing along behind, stopping every few steps to stare at the onslaught of colors and advertisements around him.

"Baby clothes? This is a food store!"

Stark sighed for about the thousandth time that day, still refusing to look up from his (incredibly detailed) shopping list. "It's called Walmart, Rogers, it has pretty much everything you could ever need. We went over all of this this morning, remember?" Clint and Natasha, both much better at dealing with stores than poor Steve, were taking on Costco later that afternoon for things like laundry soap and flavored water (who knew that Asgardian gods love carbonated beverages so much?). Sam and Rhody were in charge of electronics, and were currently scouring a nearby Best Buy for AAA batteries and extension cords. Pepper, well aware of Stark's intense need to color-code things, had dragged Happy along to the Office Depot on the other side of town for notepads, highlighters, and colored note cards. Tony and Steve were in charge of side dishes for the following day, and Clint's team was responsible for the turkey and ham, in addition to the usual supplies. With Thanksgiving only a day away, the store was incredibly busy, making Stark start to regret bringing his spangly coworker along.

"We're halfway there, just stick with me a little while longer, okay?"

There was only silence behind him. "Okay?"

Stark turned around to find only empty space – and no Captain America.

"Steve?"

"Stark, come look at this!"

"Ugg, what now!?"

"The case of frozen green beans that you want are thirty-one dollars and sixty-five cents!"

Stark sighed. It was going to be a long morning.

"Are you sure this is where the ham is supposed to be?"

Natasha just glared and raised her eyebrows toward the empty cooler behind her, her arms crossed at the empty shelves. "It's not like I've done this before or anything." Natasha, the best at fitting in, was often the one sent to the store for emergency supplies. "It's the day before Thanksgiving, did he really expect us to find all of this stuff?" She rolled her eyes and continued down the aisle, talking to herself and waving her arms as she rambled.

"I said we should have gone shopping last week, but no, it just had to wait because we simply had to go to Peru for an autograph signing. Stark's Expo or not, next time I am staying home!"

Clint followed behind with the industrial-sized cone-colored cart and Starks usual sub-divided list, using his teeth to uncap his pen and make a note of the missing ham.

"Take a right," he mumbled around the cap, and Natasha whipped around the corner, still fluttering her hands and droning on in exasperation. Barton carefully navigated the orange platform on wheels around the edge of the industrial shelves, and found his partner in the black sweatshirt waiting for him on the other side, a case of water in each hand. He nodded at the empty space he had made for the drinks, then paused to cross them off of the list.

They continued on for most of the afternoon, weaving in and out of the holiday crowd. Natasha, unencumbered and incredibly agile, moved through the throngs of people with ease. Clint, on the other hand, had both the cart and an incredible awkwardness around large groups of people (much to Natasha's dismay, he had slipped out of going to the Expo on some made-up excuse), so he struggled to keep up, often finding his partner waiting for him with the item in hand. Near the end of the afternoon, they stopped at the food counter for smoothies, and left the over-full cart by the registers for safe keeping before hunting down the rest of the list.

"Dish soap, paper towels, coffee for Stark, socks for Cap…now all we need is just the…"

"Ham," Natasha finished, standing still in the middle of the floor, shelves towering all around her. They had found the turkey, and had even managed to grab two, but the cured pork was still eluding them. She put her hands on her hips and scanned the area around her, as though hoping the dish in question would jump out at them if she looked long enough. Most of the crowd had died down, and those who where left moved around them, careful to avoid walking to close to the focused assassin. Clint, sipping his mango smoothie and holding the remains of her strawberry-flavored concoction, leaned on the second cart of the day to wait her out.

Suddenly, Natasha darted off, only to return less than a minute later, having found the ham cooler to still be empty. She resumed her stance, rock-still and staring around in thought.

"You know…" She turned to Clint, a smirk forming at the edge of her lips. "Stark never said what kind of ham he wanted…"

Barton raised his eyebrows, knowing that whatever she was thinking – it was going to be good.

Steve hadn't quit laughing for at least two minutes, and showed no signs of stopping. As soon as Clint and Natasha started unpacking their grocery bags, he had spotting the elusive substance and had started chuckling just imagining Tony reaction, which soon turned into full-blown cackling. Fortunately for him, the engineer in question chose that moment to enter the Tower's massive main kitchen, wading through the sea of boxes and reusable bags to find out what all the commotion was about.

"You wanted ham," Natasha said, her eyes lit up in amusement as she reached for the box. "So, we got you ham."

Stark, confused, took one look at the contents of the cardboard, then turned around and walked out without a word, the look on his face that of a man tired of working with children.

Steve, tears forming in his eyes, clutched the back of a barstool to keep himself upright. The box squealed, and Steve lost his fight with gravity, sinking to the floor and clutching his side.

"Why, exactly?" Wanda asked, gesturing toward the moving box. Having arrived just as Stark left, she took in the crying Captain and smug assassin with the air of someone who was not at all surprised. She looked at Clint, knowing that he was the most likely to have the answers.

"Don't look at me," Clint shrugged, refusing to take the credit. "This was all her."

Natasha, finally giving in to her smile, set the box on the floor next to the cackling leather-jacketed superhero. It squealed again and tipped onto its side, the contents spilling out onto the floor.

"You know," Natasha said, watching the teacup pig jump on Steve. "I think I'll name her Hamlet."

"Well, Hamlet," said Clint, shaking his head as he continued to put away the groceries. "Welcome to the team!"