Disclaimer: Nope. I own nothing. Well, I own the computer I've been writing this on, and I own my imagination. At least, I really hope I do because otherwise I need to be doing some major freaking out instead of writing right now.

"Everyone gather around," Coulson said, calling everyone into the kitchen. "We will all be eating dinner together before Romanov and Barton have to leave us."

"Um," Fitz asked warily. "Can I just asked who cooked. "Because, no offense Sir, but the last time that you or Skye tried to cook the bus nearly caught on fire."

Barton privately agreed with the Scotsman. He had been subjected to his bosses cooking before. He had been through several completely terrifying situations including firefights, secret missions, torture, and on one extremely memorable occasion, a first date with Natasha Romanov. He could still honestly say that Coulson's cooking was scarier than anything else he had ever come up against. Personally, he thought Natasha and Agent May were more likely to know how to mix a poison than a pasta sauce, and Agent Ward didn't seem like much of a cook.

Coulson sighed and finished setting the table. "Don't worry Fitz. Simmons made pasta and Natasha used a rather terrifying set of Japanese knife skills to make a salad. You can thank Ward for the garlic bread.

Barton shot a look at the other man who was sitting next to Skye with his arm around her shoulders. Ward shrugged, "it was a recipe from my Aunt making it the first thing my family has been good for in well, ever. Besides, it's the only thing I actually know how to cook."

Skye grabbed a piece of the garlic bread, chewed intently, and then smiled. "I have no complaints." Barton thought she saw Ward let out a breath of relief as the judgment came.

For several minutes the only sounds were that of chewing and forks clinking. Tasha had settled into the seat beside him and grant felt some of the post operation tension drop out of his body at her proximity. Being around Natasha always made him relax. A small part of his brain registered the fact that saying he only really felt relaxed around the most formidable contract killer of the age should probably be an indicator of mental instability. His entire way of existence should probably be a sign of mental instability. At some point his brain had pretty much just decided to say screw it. Who really gave a damn about sanity and self-preservation anyway?

Eventually Simmons said. "Does it ever occur to you how bizarre our group looks to everyone who doesn't know what is going on in our lives?" Strangely enough this comment led to an actual conversation. It was a little difficult to follow the huge amount of topic jumping that was destined to come from a conversation with such a varied group of people, but given that the people Clint normally spent time with were the Norse god of thunder, a self-proclaimed genius and narcissist, a huge green rage monster, and a cartoon character that had been pulled out of time since the sixties, it was hardly the strangest conversation he had ever been a part of.

As the night wore on, he could feel Natasha loosing energy. it was a gradual thing, and it was probably impossible for everyone to see a part from Melinda May who knew all the signs of a subtle energy crash. Nat merely leaned further in against his side, and Clint shifted his arm to the back of her chair to accommodate her further.

Thankfully, Coulson took on the role of father figure and dispatched everyone to bed after a round of ice cream bars that had apparently been purchased at Skye's behest during the last team shopping trip. FitzSimons left the room bickering over something to do with monkeys and Ward helped Skye along the corridor to her bed.

Coulson stopped them as they were leaving. "What Coulson?" Natasha asked. When Coulson got tired she got cranky. It was something Barton had gotten used to after having lived through the down side of a few too many caffeine highs. It took a lot of caffeine for that kind of thing to happen. And he meant, a lot of caffeine. Clint almost dreaded the day when that crankiness would be enhanced by pregnancy hormones. Hopefully he would have a few more years of prep time and some marriage time before that happened.

"I just wanted to let you know that tomorrow we're dropping the two of you off at Andrews." Coulson said. "You'll have three weeks of vacation before I'll need you to report in."

"That's what you said last time," Clint muttered under his breath. He clenched his stomach just in time to meet the elbow Natasha covertly jammed in to him. It wasn't nearly as hard as she could have made it at least.

Their boss merely smiled indulgently and dug into his pocket for his wallet. He handed Ward a wad of cash. "I owe that to you for the last NBA game. I threw in some extra as well." He gave Clint a level look. "You take that girl out for the fanciest dinner that'll buy and then look in to some jewelry."

Clint grinned. "Yes Sir."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I always make him take me for dinner when we have vacation. Plus, jewelry gets in the way on the job. Necklaces are a choking hazard."

"Who said anything about a necklace," Coulson asked with raised eyebrows as he made his way passed them. "I was thinking of a ring." After that he disappeared, humming a bright tune as he went.

Tasha looked at Clint with a look of bemusement. "Did our boss just tell you to propose to me?"

"I think he might have," Clint said evenly. "Well that just ruins the spontaneity of everything."

A/N: Here you guys go. I hope you like the chapter. Sorry about the gap. I had to get through finals at my school. I got a B on my Spanish final! Be proud of me. Anyway, thanks for sticking with me. This could be where I leave the story as I have been working on something that's completely from me. I'll see if anymore of this story comes to me. Read and review! I love ya all!

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