Fingering the cheap cotton of his polo shirt with obvious distaste, Tony sighed for the thirtieth time in as many minutes, whining quietly, "I still don't understand why I couldn't just wear my own stuff. Tony Stark doesn't wear-"

Natasha looked back over her shoulder, her face mostly hidden beneath the wide brim of a gaily coloured sunhat, "Exactly. We're undercover, Stark. Undercover."

Not to be left out, Clint's voice sounded through the comm system, "Tony Stark is 'Armani' or 'grunge rock'. You are 'Nice man enjoying afternoon in park with girlfriend'".

Looking across the park, to where Clint was leaning nonchalantly against his skateboard, low-slung jeans, offensively scrawled black tee, bandanna and shades successfully concealing his identity, Tony snarked back, "Yeah, and I thought you were 'skater-boy', not 'non-English speaking Chinese man'".

"Yeah well, I still don't understand why you get the gorgeo- deadly! Deadlywoman, and I get to wear my pants around my knees. Nat's always my op-partner. " Clint fussed, dropping the board to the ground and kicking off again.

It was Natasha's turn to sigh, adding an eye roll and a mentally voiced 'men', as she explained, "Because Stark wouldn't have been able to resist adding repulsors to the skateboard… This way, I can keep an eye on him. Isn't that right, honey?"

"Whatever you think, babe." Tony answered, quietly chagrined, snapping his mind away from the repulsor-to-board blueprints he'd been perusing, to continue, "Don't worry featherhead, you're still mama's favourite…"

Ignoring Clint's sinister chuckle that echoed through their earpieces, Natasha hooked her arm through Tony's, and forcefully dragging him into a slow stroll, whispering into his ear, "Call me 'Mama' again, and I'll throw you in the river."

Tony eyed the stretch of dark water coursing gently along parallel to the foot path, his distaste obvious in the pinch of his lips and narrowing of his eyes. His fear was not entirely faked as he inched away from it, pressing more closely against Natasha's side.

Her murmured apology was barely audible, but the almost bruising grip on his arm relaxed, and the seemingly gentle stroll relaxed into just that.

The silence barely lasted two minutes.

"Whose idea was this anyway?" Tony muttered, freeing his arm from Natasha's loose grasp as he added, "Brilliant, brilliant idea! Sure- let's assign the clandestine op to the guy with the twenty-eighth most recognisable face on the planet. Hello, famous, world-recognisable billionaire here."

"Infamous, maybe…" was Clint's snide remark, his teasing grin all but heard from across the park.

Tony's answering mock snarl was overshadowed by Natasha's reply, "We're hardly asking you to infiltrate an underground syndicate. Keep the cap on, and your voice down…you'll be fine."

Tony didn't look overly convinced, and Clint was quick to add his own style of assurance, "Billionaire-brat Tony Stark, is the last person anyone is expecting to see here. What reason could anyone possibly think you'd have for coming to the park at four in the afternoon- a turn on the see-saw, maybe?"

"Hey! That's 'Genius, billionaire-brat'. And I'm just saying..." Tony quipped back, determinedly yanking the cap down further, while casting 'furtive' glances around.

Before Tony really did draw attention with his suspicious behaviour, Natasha reached out and grabbed his arm again. Enclosing it in her own less than comforting grasp, she explained, "Thor and Steve are both too physically noticeable, their size just screams "look at me", and, Bruce may be nondescript, but the hulk isn't".

Giving up after the first attempt at extricating himself failed miserably, Tony answered, a slight whine to his voice, "Why not just the two of you then? I thought this was your thing... Why the third wheel?"

"On the very small off chance that the reports are true, and Doom's mutated lackeys have set up home base somewhere in this play park, a little brute strength and fire power mightn't go astray. You're our muscle, Ironass." Clint explained.

Tony gestured pointedly, or tried to, Natasha subduing the flamboyant movement, and replied with all the vindicated insult Tony Stark could muster, "Ah ha, I knew it! You're all the same. Everyone just wants me for my… gold-titanium alloy, AI interfaced, mechanically engineered suit of armour."

Clint, of course, couldn't let that lie, and immediately needled, "Everyone!? So that's what Steve see's in you. Captain America has an Iron-armour kink!"

Trying to fluster Tony Stark with talk of sex was less than successful. "Of course he does, the suit is sexy as shit…" Tony answered smugly, continuing, "Iron-armour? As in, the Ironman armour? Is that's a thing- please tell me that's a thing. How did I not know that was a thing? More importantly, how do you know that's a thing?"

"Even the best of us get sucked into the bowels of YouTube - Now shut up and keep your eyes open." Clint griped, turning to do another round of his concrete playpen.

Blatantly ignoring Clint's order, Tony turned to Natasha, asking, "What exactly are we looking for anyway? Giant three-headed Italians? Glowy people playing in the sandbox? What about those kids - those kids look decidedly suspicious. Look at them… Playing."

The small smile that hitched the side of Natasha's mouth said a lot about just how much this group of imbeciles had gotten under her skin. The amount of sheer scandalised dismay that the genius had injected into that one simple word, though- she had to admit. He was occasionally very funny. Occasionally.

Sweeping her gaze up the path, following Tony's projected line of sight, Natasha focused on the children in question. In the space of 12 seconds, she saw so much.

There were four of them, two boys and two girls, scattered apart a short distance along the water's edge. The resemblance between them, even at this distance, screamed 'siblings', and indeed as she and Tony drew closer, Natasha was able to label the largest, a boy of about 8, as the oldest brother.

Like his younger siblings, he had a mop of blond hair that settled almost to his shoulders in a wash of sun-bleached tangles, although was starting to darken in a way often typical of early puberty. Seated against the bank, in a position only attainable by children and super spies, the boy was armed, a stick clutched in one hand – frog hunting of course.

By his side, half in the shadow of his older brother, was the smallest of the group – the other boy. Natasha would guess about two or three years of age; he hadn't lost that toddler chubbiness, nor his adorable clumsiness yet as he played in the mud at the water's edge. She wondered if perhaps someone should move the littlest away from the water, but a word from one of the girls had the oldest shaking his head ruefully, and tangling his free hand in the baby's t-shirt. Secured then.

The two little girls, further up the bank, shared colouring, features and matching outfits, one in pink and the other yellow, and Natasha's first thought was 'twins'. An instant later she reassessed her opinion, and decided that there was at least a year, if not two, between them.

The little girl in pink was the one who had spoken to the older boy, and Natasha immediately labelled her as 'the leader of the pack'. Blonde of course, with just the first hints of darkening around the roots, she stood at even height with her sister, but was definitely the older of the two. Her hair was bound into a messy ponytail, tangles and snarls speaking of a rough and tumble attitude, messy smears and dark patches at her knees supporting this.

The younger, in yellow, was Ying to her Yang. Quite, introspective almost, listening intently as her older sister chatted away, almost hanging on each word. She was neat, tidy, her straight blonde hair falling in a shiny layer to her shoulders.

The older, while the more dominant in personality, seemed to also have the instincts of a borne protector, placing herself at the water's edge, and keeping a tight grip on her sisters hand.

Natasha could see, in the way she related to her siblings, and her bone structure, and limb length, that the little girl in pink was likely to be dynamite when she grew older – lots of attitude in a tiny package. A girl after her own heart then.

Wandering passed the boys, and slightly further upstream, Tony and Natasha passed by the two little girls, who were moving the opposite direction. They got a glance from both, a shy smile from yellow, and a beaming grin from pink.

It was Tony's fault.

He smiled back.

Natasha saw the instant recognition lit in the older girls face. She prepared for shouts of "Tony Stark!" to ruin their cover. She waited for the camera flashes, and the inevitable disaster that their mission was about to become.

The little girl opened her mouth, Tony winced, and Natasha waited.

The little girl closed her mouth, Tony winced and Natasha waited.

The girls walked away, the elder's voice carrying back over her shoulder as she answered something the younger had said, "…y Stark? Dressed like that? No way."

Natasha slapped Tony upside the back of the head, "Really. Turn your damn smile off."

Tony, still grinning, rambled back, "Why? She didn't recognise me. I'm great at this undercover thing- I'm awesome. I'm thinking underc-"

"Look over your shoulder." Natasha instructed, slowing their walking pace while Tony did so.

…

…

"…..She winked at me!" Tony snapped back around, a flabbergasted look on his face.

"Turn your damn smile off", Natasha reiterated.

Tony stopped smiling.

"Schooled by a six year old!" Clint crowed over the comm line, "Even she's a better undercover agent than you!"

"Funny- for a Skater-boy." Tony snarked back, stopping himself from looking over his shoulder again.

Clint, stopping to lean against the concrete barricade, started to shoot back, "At least skater-boy's better than h-"

A deep rumbling noise cut him off, filling the air with a heavy sense of impending danger.

And then the ground shifted. Rolled. And began to shake.

All thoughts of cover blown, Clint's board dropped where he stood, wheels still spinning as he took off running, across the park toward Tony and Natasha, shouting, "Quake! Everyone get down!"

As the earth shuddered and shook beneath them, people ran for their families, gathering their children and pulled them to the ground.

Natasha and Tony's eyes flew to the river bank behind them, but the group of children had already moved away, a mass of blond heads grouped together under the protective arms of their parents a few meters back from the water.

Sighing in relief, Natasha folded to the ground, her hands snagging a wailing child as he was tumbled off his running feet beside her. Pulling the dark hair boy to the ground, she looked around, quickly making eye contact with a concerned mother, a further two children under her arms.

Receiving a nod of unbelieving gratitude, coupled with the promised of possible retribution, Natasha pulled the boy to her body, cradling him carefully as the ground roiled beneath them, threatening to throw them apart.

Clint, curled to the ground several metes away, a young woman and a baby held securely, caught the other two's Avengers eyes, nodding that he was fine.

Everyone was hunkered down, holding on and riding it out. A tree creaked ominously, but no one was near it. The ground split, and a couple scrambled away from the small chasm that gaped from the earth.

Everything was chaos and confusion and everyone seemed to be in control.

A buzz of heightened worry. Then a scream.

A mother's absolute terror.

"Carrie!"

The little girl in pink, further along, by the water's edge. Fear in her eyes and desperation in her moves as she scrambled up the slowly eroding bank.

At the rate the bank was crumbling, and the speed she was moving, the little girl – Carrie- wasn't going to make it away from the river.

Tony didn't think, didn't look to see if anyone else was closer. ... he just lunged for her.

The riverbank collapsed beneath his feet, the extra weight pushing it from 'crumble' to 'slide', and Tony and the little girl disappeared into the dark writhing water.

Amidst tonnes of wet, cloying mud and rock.

And when the shaking stopped, seconds, minutes or hours later – neither surfaced.

I hope that wet some appetites :)

Now, we all know that this series is about breathing, or lack thereof, so dont expect Tony to get off easily.

But I'm hardly going to kill him. Permanently.

Tune in soon for more, I promise buckets of angst, oodles of fluff and maybe a bit of smarm. With Steve!

Happy Reading :)