Happy Valentine's Day, guys! Here's a little something I whipped up. A bit fluffy, but it's only to be expected :3 I'm posting it tonight because I have no idea if I'll have time to get on tomorrow. Enjoy!

- Shadow

Disclaimer: If it isn't obvious, I don't own Avengers :P

The Avengers' Tower was huge, but the occupants swore that the scents from the penthouse common room-slash-kitchen were purposely wafted into their bedrooms. The heavenly aroma of home-made pancakes drug each of them from sleep, some more easily than others. Though the date may have had something to do with that.

"Ugh," Natasha groaned, pulling the covers over her head. It was something she wouldn't ever do if her partner wasn't watching her back. It wasn't safe. There was too much of a potential threat of her limbs getting tangled up in the fabric. Even if she was in the 'most secure' place in New York City. Even if she did have a pistol gripped in her hand under her pillow. But her back was pressed against his. She'd be fine.

"Come on, Nat," Clint mumbled, sarcasm evident even through his sleepy haze. "It's Valentine's Day. Be happy and love and pink and stuff."

Natasha removed the covers, but didn't grace his words with a response. He knew where she stood on the matter. With a scowl, she sat up, placing her gun on the nightstand.

"You heading to the gym?" Clint inquired, turning his head to watch Natasha stretch.

"Are you kidding?" she yawned. Feeling his eyes on her, the assassin twisted around to look at him. Her stare was gentle and teasing. "Steve made pancakes. I'm putting some pants on and heading up for breakfast." Her nighttime wear included an oversized t-shirt that she swore up and down wasn't Clint's, and a pair of very short cotton shorts.

The smile Clint gave her was drowsy, though inside he was secretly thrilled. Just like every time she softened up around him. She was never light or teasing with anyone else. But then again, he guessed that he was the same way. "Fair enough." He closed his eyes again.

Natasha stood up and stretched one more time before heading towards the bedroom door. She paused with her hand on the knob. On the other side of the door was Clint's living room. It and the elevator were not divided at all by walls. "JARVIS," Natasha asked the AI out loud. "Is anyone in the apartment common areas?" Bumping into someone while she was leaving Clint's room wouldn't be the end of the world, but it would cause the others to ask questions that they wouldn't understand the answers to. How could they? Simply surviving when what seemed at times like the entire world craved for your death was something that none of them had ever had to do. To come to rely on someone besides yourself under those conditions left impressions and habits behind. So even when they weren't on missions, she and Clint slept in the same bed, usually back flush against back, for the feeling of safety. Of course, she still held her gun under her pillow, and his bow was always within reaching distance, but it reassured them both none the less.

"No, Agent Romanoff," the life-like electronic voice replied, breaking her out of her thoughts. "The halls are clear. Everyone is on the top floor except for Agent Barton and yourself."

Natasha opened the door and slipped out of Clint's bedroom, headed towards the elevator. "Thank you, JARVIS," she said appreciatively as she hit the button that would take her to her floor.

"My pleasure, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha sighed. At least Stark hadn't infected the AI with holiday greetings and well wishes. Her irritation didn't have to start yet."

"Oh, and a happy Valentine's day as well," JARVIS added in a chipper tone.

Never mind, she thought with a growl.

.:.:.:.

"Oh and look; Miss Hearts and Flowers herself."

Natasha glared at Tony all the way from the elevator to the table. The entire top floor was coated in lavish Valentine's Day decorations, from pink, red and white paper chains to the 'cutesy' pink heart screensavers that bounced around every electronic screen available. It was a recipe for a punch in someone's face.

Even Steve's pancakes were pink. And heart-shaped.

Great.

She took her usual seat, across from Banner with new-to-the-Tower Jane Foster on her left and Clint's vacant chair on her right.

"How are you doing, Sunshine?" Tony asked in his usual cocky manner. Pepper shot him a warning glare, but he obviously didn't know his limits. Having fully expected this, Natasha came prepared. She pulled a pistol out of the waistband of the cotton pants she had thrown on and placed it on the table next to her plate.

Out of the corner of her eye, the assassin saw Jane flinch towards Thor, eyes wide with disbelief. Everyone else was quiet. Natasha put a few of the disgustingly shaped pancakes on her plate, ignoring the tense silence. She wasn't screwing around today. And she was going to enjoy her breakfast without any Valentine's talk.

Five minutes went by in uncomfortable hush, the clatter of silverware on plates echoing through the large room. It was interrupted briefly by Steve trying to start a conversation. Natasha glared him into silence. He had only tried it once. Even Tony found it wise to shut up.

Everyone looked up when the elevator whispered open, softly announcing Clint's entrance. Everyone except for Natasha.

"Why's it so quiet?" her partner asked out loud. It was Tony who answered, bold as brass now that the only person who could have any chance of controling Natasha was present.

"Well the Queen of Hearts here-"

Natasha slammed her fork down, stood and picked up her gun in one swift movenment, successfully cutting off his sentence. Then again, staring down the barrel of a gun would promptly shut anyone up. Even egotistical smartass billionaires. Especially egotistical smartass billionaires.

"Tasha," Clint said levelly, gaining her attention as he slowly walked toward her. Her glare or stance didn't waver, but she was listening. "Put it down."

"Это даже не загружены," she spat out in Russian. (It's not even loaded,)

He placed one of his hands on the small of her back, using the other to gently lower his pistol. "несмотря на," he answered her. (Regardless,)

Natasha let him force her hands down, settling on shooting daggers at Stark with her eyes instead.

Clint took the gun from her. "There. Now sit down and eat. Это всего лишь один день." (It's just one day.)

"нет," she growled. Natasha broke her gaze away from Stark and looked at her partner. "Я иду в спортзал, Клинт." (No.)(I'm going to the gym, Clint.)

Clint nodded and held out her pistol, which she grabbed before stalking toward the elevator. Her parting words were tossed over her shoulder in a cold tone. "Спаси меня некоторые блины." (Save me some pancakes.)

The others had watched the exchange curiously. They now looked at Clint, who simply sat down with a shake of his head. "These look good, Steve," he complimented in way of saying that he wasn't going to explain.

After a few more minutes, Tony spoke up. "So shall we draw straws to see who has to go and calm her down?"

.:.:.:.

The tower's gym was huge. Stark had gone all-out when he built the entire Tower, really, and Natasha was impressed. Not that she'd let him know that. Well, maybe after she socked him in the face.

The gym was at least six stories tall. It was set just about in the middle of the Tower, above the public levels but below the labs. Over two thirds of the upper portion of the room was filled with rafters and steel beams, good for all sorts of training. On the ground, there were two overly large sparring mats, a plenty of weights, a few cardio machines, sand bags, and a corner full of practice dummies.

That was where Natasha was. In her catsuit uniform, her Widow's bites on her wrists and her thigh holster holding her favorite pistol. She looked like she was ready to go out on a mission as she beat the non-living crap out of the closest dummy.

She thought about Tony and his inability to shut up. The resulting anger caused her punch to land harder, but it was less controlled and she missed the spot she was aiming for. Then she thought about Steve and his stupid, pink pancakes. And Jane, cringing into her lover's side. It, all the love, it made her sick.

Thhhnnnk.

Natasha froze. A plain black arrow protruded from the training dummy's head. Well, not entirely plain. Halfway down the shaft, a small piece of paper was rolled around it, tied off with a piece of twine. The assassin huffed a breath of air out of her nose before pulling the arrow out of the fake flesh. She untied the string, unrolled the note and read it. There were just two words on the small paper, written in red in a semi-neat, familiar font.

Be mine

Was he serious? What kind of death wish did the guy have? He saw her snap in the penthouse. She looked up into the rafters. "Cupid?" she asked dryly, an eyebrow arched, with no hint of anger in her voice.

Clint dropped into her view, perching on one of the lowest steel beams. He flashed her a smirk. "Something like that."

Natasha tossed the arrow back up at him, which he caught expertly and slid back into his quiver. "The whole concept is ignorant and stupid," she told him, even though he hadn't asked. Her voice was hard, the fresh buds of a rant forming in the midst of the conversation.

Clint just gazed down at her, though she was no longer looking at him.

"The idea of showing an excessive amount of affection on any one day, compared to all the others is foolish. Childish." Clint's note clenched in her fist, she took another swing at the practice dummy. Her Widow's bites electrocuted the poor thing. "And the decorations! It's like a- a- a pink- SOMETHING threw up over the entire world. Pink this, red that," She punched the training tool again. "It's all pointless. Irritatingly, stupidly, pointlessly, pointless!" Each word had been punctuated with a punch and a zap. Until the practice dummy all but exploded into singed chunks.

Clint watched Natasha as she silently fumed, standing almost directly below him. "Feel better?"

She growled out a string of curses in Russian. "No."

"Maybe this will help." He dropped a small box.

Natasha caught it reflexively, the contents rattling rather noisily. She turned it over to look at it. "Candy hearts? Really?" Did he not get it?

Clint shrugged before jumping to the ground, setting his bow and quiver down. "It's candy. They taste good. But," he held out his hand, "if you don't want them, I'll have them back."

Natasha turned away from him and grudgingly opened the box. "Ass," she mumbled under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear, as she popped a few pieces into her mouth without reading them.

Clint took a step towards her. "Let me have a few." His tone was light, but cautious. She had just threatened Tony Stark's life less than an hour ago.

But her reply came back playful and breezy as she danced a few steps away from him. "No. They're mine."

Clint smirked. "Is that a challenge?"

Natasha offered him a coy smile. She backed up until she was in the middle of one of the sparring mats. "Something like that," she teased, shaking the box.

"Well that's a mistake if I ever saw one." Clint lunged at her without warning, but she was ready, laughing in his ear as she fluidly ducked under his soft would-be blow and straightened up behind him.

"You really have to work on your initial close up attack, mister I-can-shoot-anything." She ate a few more. Then added, "from a distance."

Clint's hand flashed out, quick as a snake, and he grabbed the box from Natasha. "Now they're mine," he gloated, ignoring her jab at his combat abilities.

Natasha jumped at him and they both crashed to the floor. She was lying on top of him on her stomach, pinning him to the ground on his stomach. Clint propped himself up on his elbows and took a few candy hearts for himself. "There. Is sharing that hard for you?" He handed her back the box, but she just took a few pieces and set it down next to his hands.

"I'm going to assume that's a rhetorical question and treat it as such." She rolled to the side and settled on her back next to him, holding one of the hearts up so she could read it.

" 'UR Cute'," she read out loud.

"Aw, thanks Nat." That earned him an elbow in his side. "I was kidding," he laughed.

Natasha sighed. "These are so cheesy. 'Too Cool'? Who comes up with this stuff?"

Clint scoffed. "What about this one? It just says 'And'."

Natasha snorted and looked at another. " 'Hugz'."

" 'Hunky'."

They both took some more and made a contest out of who could find the stupidest message. Clint won with 'Get Tested'. It had them laughing and clutching their sides as they came up with scenarios where that specific candy could be used.

Their voices clearly drifted into the waiting ears of their fellow Avengers. Tony, Steve, Bruce and Thor were in Tony's basement lab, staring at various screens that were hooked up to the cameras around the Tower. More specifically, the cameras in the gym.

"They're acting like little kids," Tony observed unneededly. He had expected to see or hear something more worth his time. Like some juicy blackmail material. "It's like this guy has no sex drive at all."

"I don't know," Steve interjected. "It's really nice of him to cheer up Natasha like that. The bond they have is really something."

Tony sighed overdramatically. "Oh Spangles. You're so innocent. It's sickening, really."

Bruce piped up from the work bench where he was fiddling with some electronic thing. "I have to side with Steve here, Tony. It really is rather sweet of Clint."

"Really? Am I the only guy on this team with a pair of testicles?" Tony's tone was coloured with faux seriousness.

"I assure you, Man of Iron," Thor announced from over his shoulder, "that I too posses the appropriate man parts."

The other guys turned to look at him and laughed good naturedly. "Keep it in your pants," Tony advised.

On screen, Clint and Natasha hadn't moved, but they weren't completely oblivious to their observers.

"Старк, вероятно, смотрит на нас прямо сейчас," Clint observed, speaking in Russian so the others wouldn't understand. (Stark is probably watching us right now.) Because of course they were watching.

Natasha closed her eyes. "О, я не сомневаюсь в этом," she murmured. (Oh I wouldn't doubt it.) The tone of her voice held a chill that Clint knew all too well.

"Пожалуйста, не убивайте его." He nudged her shoulder with his arm. (Please don't kill him.) "Независимо от его ... пути, мы делаем вид нужен." (Regardless of his... ways, we do kind of need him.)

Natasha's only response was a smirk.

"Наташа," Clint said her name like a warning. (Natasha.)

She opened her eyes and sighed. "Неважно." (Whatever.) A few minutes went by in comfortable silence. Natasha unwrinkled the little note she still had crumpled in her hand, read it again, and laughed. It was quiet, hesitant, but still a laugh. "Thank you, Clint. Я думаю, я твоя, да? Вы застряли со мной." (I guess I am yours, huh? You're stuck with me.)

Clint reached over and gently brushed a few strands of her red hair from her face. "Да, и это очень опасная работа. Я не платят достаточно." (Yes, and it's a very dangerous job. I'm not getting paid enough.)

Natasha swatted at his shoulder as she sat up. "I'm surprised you're getting paid at all, with your skills," she teased, standing up.

Clint watched her walk towards the door. "What are you implying?" His words were coloured with mock-indignation.

The question was met with a laugh as Natasha exited the gym.