Pop-Tarts
"Who ate all the cinnamon Pop-Tarts?" Tony demanded, waving the empty box in his hand.
Natasha lowered herself into the seat between Clint and Steve, and popped the last corner of the Pop-Tart into her mouth. "Not me."
Tony considered pursuing the subject, but then remembered how many weapons Natasha kept on her body at all time, so he decided to dismiss it, instead grabbing the half-empty box of s'more flavored Pop-Tarts.
Clint gave Natasha a thumbs up below the table's surface and she suppressed a smile.
"Why was this on my desk?" Bruce inquired, entering the room, gingerly holding a hunk of green slime between his forefinger and thumb.
"Oh, that was my doing," Tony admitted proudly.
"Why?" Bruce asked, dropping the slime on Tony's shoes.
"And there go my shoes…" Tony mumbled.
Steve sat quietly, hunched over his cereal, trying very hard not to laugh at the scene unfolding before him.
"Um..." Tony mumbled, trying to pull his feet out of the slime, "A little help?" he pleaded, the slime now firmly fixed to the floor of the room.
"I thought that stuff was yours," Bruce said with a smirk.
"Doesn't mean I know how to use it!" Tony retorted.
Natasha threw a fork into the slime, and grinned devilishly when it stuck under a layer of slime.
"This isn't a target," Tony reprimanded her, "This is slime."
"Works as both," Clint said, tossing his own fork into the same general area as Natasha's.
"No! Don't do that! No more forks!" Tony cried, struggling against the slime with renewed vigor, "My feet are still there!"
"My bad," Clint said unapologetically.
"I'm not apologizing," Natasha mumbled, "It's slime."
"It's my feet!"
"Doesn't matter."
Something large, black, and humanoid streaked past the window, just behind Tony. It quickly smashed through, sending shards of glass everywhere.
"Hello, my tiny friends!" Thor greeted them.
"You know that these windows aren't the same as doors, right?" Tony asked, surveying the damage.
Steve got up and dumped his now glass-covered cereal down the sink. "You've got to stop doing that," he grumbled.
"My apologies, Metal Man, American Man," Thor said, scooting the glass shards back toward the broken window, as if that would somehow fix it.
"Nevermind, I'll replace it," Tony said, then muttered to himself, "For the fourth time…"
"Clint, you might not want to…" Natasha motioned to his half-empty bowl of cereal where glass shards were swimming around.
"Right," Clint said, dropping his spoon back in the bowl.
"Sir, I would like to alert you that Nicholas J. Fury is approaching your floor via the elevator. I recommend concealing the numerous wine bottles," Jarvis said over the intercom.
"Right, yes, thanks." Tony rushed to hide the bottles, searching frantically for a cabinet that would hold them, but when none of them had enough space, he ended up dumping them down the garbage shoot.
The elevator doors slid opened and Nick Fury exited the elevator.
Tony breathed a sigh of relief.
"Good morning," Fury said in greeting, "I assume you realize that I am not here for Tony's poptarts."
"They're the best food… like ever," Tony said, scooting his pop tart boxes further away from the eye-patch-wearing man, "Except pizza… Pizza's awesome."
Natasha rolled her eyes.
"What's up?" Clint said, somehow having perched himself on the I-beams above the kitchen without the others noticing.
Natasha shook her head minutely in disapproval, then looked back to Fury.
"Apparently, you," Fury replied, his patience coming rapidly to an end.
Clint dropped down and slunk back to his seat.
"Suit up," Fury said, after a pause, "You've got work to do."