A crack fic because I was feeling silly...

Bridesmaid

For Tony's wedding, he made sure to pump alcohol into the Avengers before having them sign agreements to be in the ceremony. When Natasha discovered the following day she had to walk down the aisle in a bridesmaid's dress, she threw a fit and threatened to wreck the conference room before she shot down the Stark sign on the tower.

As she raged and threatened, there was an explosion down the hall. "Whoops – guess Loki just found out he's a usher." Tony picked up the coffeepot, winced, poured cream and sugar inside, and drank right out of the percolator. In order to get the rest intoxicated the night before, he had started the drinking games himself.

"Let's get this straight," Natasha growled. "I am not – I repeat, not – wearing a bridesmaid's dress."

"But you have to." Tony pointed to the paper with her name on it. "See? You agreed to wear whatever Pepper tells you to wear."

Natasha snatched up the contract and prepared to light it on fire just as Loki burst into the room. "I refuse to wear a – one of those things – a tuxedo! Absolutely not! You can go to Hel before I put on…" He referred to the paper. "A cumberbund. Absolutely not."

"Okay." Tony rubbed his hands over his face. "Nat, I have fifty copies in a lawyer's office already and Lokes – may I call you Lokes? – magic restraint cuffs are in your future if you break your word."

"Oh, no worries," Natasha said in a silky voice. "I just decided if Loki has to wear a tuxedo I want to be there to see it."

Two weeks later she changed her mind when the dress was brought to her rooms. The delivery person threw the box at her and ran, not waiting for a tip – obviously he had been warned about the Widow.

Muttering things about Death and Stabbing and Knives and Tony, Natasha brought the box inside. When she lifted the layers of tissue paper, she found the most god-awful bridesmaid's dress she'd ever seen, complete with frills, several petticoats, puffy sleeves, all in a salmon pink that reminded her of the eighties.

Her jaw dropped as she regarded the thing. It looked, she told Jane later, as though a squid had eaten and regurgitated several jellyfish.

As she seized the phone to give Tony a piece of her mind, the doorbell rang with a long, angry sound. Before she could answer it, the door opened to reveal Loki, holding up a suit in a plastic bag. "Why is all of Midgard out to kill me?" he shouted.

As angry as she was, Natasha had to cover her mouth not to burst out laughing. Tony (or Pepper) had continued the eighties theme with the ushers – Loki's tux was a bluish green, complete with a shirt that perhaps bore more frills than her dress. "Wow," she said. "It's – it's green."

Loki thrust a tag under her nose. "Sea Foam," he snarled. "And I am told we must wear white patent leather shoes."

Her good humor restored, Natasha tilted her head. "You know, if I squint, your hair looks kinda like a mullet. It's perfect."

Things went downhill from there. The following week a box with long, silver gloves arrived. "I'll look like a spaceman in an old movie!" she protested. Those, however, were preferable to the hat. It came to a point over her forehead with a faux pearl dangling over her nose like the headgear of an elephant carrying a howdah.

"That should be beauteous," Loki commented.

Natasha whirled around with the hat in her hand. "When did my apartment become your hangout? And didn't you ever hear of knocking?"

"Oh, I have heard of it."

"Out," she declared, pointing to the hall.

Loki left. "I cannot wait to see you in the complete ensemble," he smirked before she shut the door in his face.

On the morning of the wedding, Natasha groaned as she put on the dress, the hat, the gloves, and the high platformed boots that went with the whole deal. Refusing to take a look at herself in the mirror, she strapped several rounds of Widow's Bites onto her thigh. If luck went her way, she could hit Tony with one after the ceremony.

Rustling like a pile of garbage bags, she flounced onto the elevator and was born up to the Penthouse suite. There she saw Jane, dressed in the same way she was. Behind her lurked Steve, Clint, Bruce, Thor, and Loki, all in the Sea Foam tuxes with frilly shirts and white shoes.

"This reminds me of something, but what?" Bruce asked.

"Your prom," Natasha replied. Bruce made an 'Ohmigosh that's totally it' face.

"Time for pictures!" Wearing a look of insane glee, Tony jumped into the room carrying a massive camera. "Line up, boys and girls…" His voice broke and he began to cackle. The chuckles turned to howls of laughter, and he fell on the ground, rolling back and forth, clutching his stomach.

"It hurts!" he gasped. "Oh, this is too funny. You should see yourselves…"

"Stark, was this whole thing a set-up?" Natasha slitted her eyes and felt for a Widow's Bite.

He grew serious, stood up, resettled his bow tie, and replied, "Of course. Don't worry, Pepper has your real dresses and tuxes in the back – all designer and gorgeous and junk like that…" He collapsed again at the sight of Natasha's hat.

She crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow. "No," she said.

"What? What No? Go ahead, go and change. You can't go like that." A look of worry crossed Tony's face.

"No. I signed an agreement to wear this outfit, and this is what I shall wear. You may explain to Pepper why I'm dressed like this on her important day. By the way, I'm taking some of your booze right now." Haughtily, Natasha picked up her train, settled her hat, and marched over to the bar.

"I am with her." Majestic in Sea Foam, Loki joined her at the bar and plucked a bottle of vodka from the array of bottles. "May I pour you a martini, Agent Romanoff?"

"Yes, indeed you may."

The wedding went off without a hitch. During the reception Natasha discovered the petticoats itched like hell, so she produced a knife and cut them off while she sat at the head table.

"Try mine." Loki handed her a dagger; with a murmur of thanks she got the last of the netting out from around her knees.

"Whew. Well, I'm ready to get of here," she commented. "Alone," she added as he rose to escort her.

Loki put one hand over his heart with a pained expression. "We must have at least one dance," he said.

"Not in this dress I don't."

"Exactly what I was thinking myself."

The silver gloves, she discovered later, had their uses.