A/N: I saw those pictures from Captain America 2 (if you have no idea what I am talking about and don't mind spoilers, search the tumblr tag for Steve/Natasha. Go ahead. I'll wait.). Anyway, I saw them and I squee'd and then I wrote this. Sorry I'm not sorry. (Side note: Even if you haven't seen the pics/don't want to see them, this is still pretty vague and you should be able to follow it anyway.) Hope you enjoy!

It had been a long mission and a long flight and more than anything I wanted a hot bath, a warm meal (preferably with alcohol on the side), and some sleep. In that order.

I shift my weight from my right foot to my left and wait patiently as Steve punches in the security code. Apparently, Starks' place is now the post-mission crash place for SHIELD agents. Well, ok, three agents: myself, Clint, and Steve. It's...nice to have a place to belong, I suppose. The consistency of a place to always come home to, rather than my nondescript apartment I can pack up in a moment's notice (and I often do), and a place that's comforting in its familiarity after a mission that's all about the different places and different faces and different me.

Steve opens the door for me and I smile at him as I walk through. I liked having him for back-up.

"You hungry?"

"Starved. SHIELD transport lacks in culinary options."

Steve laughs. We lean our (small) suitcases against the hallway wall and head for the kitchen.

I know we won't have peace the second I hear the singsongy voice floating above our head.

"Steve-and-Tasha-Sittin'-in-a-Tree..."

Steve and I both swivel—oops, shouldn't have been so in synch, now rumors will really fly—and stare up at Clint. He's perched on top of the refrigerator (Tony must have done some work on the kitchen while we were gone; there's more "nest" room than before.) and grinning down at us like a twelve-year-old boy.

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G..."

"Barton," I growl, kicking off my shoes. He grins back, lazily, and scoots further away from the edge.

"First comes love, then comes marriage-"

I interrupt, "It was the best way to maintain our cover, which you know. No one suspects couples."

Clint snickered. "They should."

Any further argument is cut off by Stark entering the kitchen. He grins—that ridiculous smirking grin of his—and pops the cork off a bottle of champagne. "To the happy couple!" I roll my eyes at him.

Banner rushes in behind Tony, a wicked grin on his face. "So, Clint may have embellished a little bit—you have been known to do so, so don't look so offended—but is it true? When's the wedding?"

I fix him with a stern look. "Not you, too?"

He laughs and reaches for a glass of the champagne that Tony's just poured. The two clink their glasses together.

"Can I be your best man? It's only fair; I am paying for your wedding after all."

Steve slips an arm around my shoulders and says, "Sure, Tony. We were thinking a June wedding. Clear your schedule. And if you're going to my best man, you should make sure you get the facts straight: it was an escalator, not a tree."

Hawkeye laughs so hard he nearly falls of the refrigerator. Tony and Bruce giggle over their champagne, like the juveniles they are.

"Don't encourage them, Steve."

He shrugs at me, a grin on his face, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?"

I roll my eyes and head for the door. Honestly, I am surrounded by middle-school boys.

"Where's Pepper?"

I need reinforcements.

-End.-