The sound of Russian swearing from the kitchen was suddenly coupled with the slam of a cupboard door and a metallic clattering. Clint ran through the kitchen door, a look of slight terror on his face. He skidded a little in his socks; turning around, he was confronted with everyone staring at him. "Natasha's baking," he muttered lamely, running a hand through his hair and staring with consternation at the puff of flour that floated out of his hair to land on his clothes. Everyone nodded, and Tony arched an eyebrow at him. "If you get flour all over my furniture, I'm kicking you out. Both of you." Clint stuck his middle finger up at him at the same time as Pepper slapped his shoulder lightly, then turned on his heel and reluctantly headed back into the kitchen.