Author's note: This is based on a suggestion by Qweb which I instantly warmed to. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Disclaimer: Nope. No money-making here. Just my luck.

Steve padded barefoot along the hall towards the kitchen, musing for what seemed like the hundredth time on just how strange his life had become. If someone had told that scrawny kid from Brooklyn all the things that he'd go on to experience, not only would he not have believed them, he would've insisted they wrote such fantastical imaginings down. They'd have made great comic books. But of course they weren't the ramblings of some wild imagination, they were happening. Right now. To him. Ridiculous. And awful. And wonderful. Such is life.

After they'd 'escaped' the helicarrier, he, Thor and Clint had shared a brief discussion on where they ought to 'escape' to. But it wasn't long before Clint declared that he knew just the place. And a few hours later had found the three of them sharing drinks in a lodge over-looking a little town nestled in the Italian Alps. The intent had been to lie low there for three, maybe fours days for a little R 'n' R before heading back to New York, but it ended up being about a week and a half. They'd spent most of their time either hanging out at the lodge, trekking the mountains, or at the bar in town. It was a cosy little place with a nice atmosphere and friendly locals who were more than a little taken with the trio of foreigners. They were particularly amused by the big blond who drank all their booze and loudly extolled the virtues of his buddies with great over-use of the word 'brothers'. No one recognised them, and Clint had personally ensured that, for the first few days at least, Shield had no idea where they were. It was bliss.

But they had to come back to the world sooner or later, and Steve had been beginning to worry about being away from the team for so long on unsanctioned leave. So they'd arrived back at the tower late last night without seeing a soul, although, when asked, Jarvis had confirmed that all avengers were now back under one roof. It was similarly tranquil this morning, as it usually was at 6.30 when Steve got up like clockwork. But as he neared the kitchen, quiet activity could be heard drifting through the door, denoting that he was not the first one up. He opened the door and faltered to a stop.

Natasha glanced over her shoulder at him before she poured some batter into the pan and it hissed enthusiastically. "Morning, Cap." She was standing at the stove behind the breakfast bar in a little island of refined chaos. Among other things, the milk stood waiting by an open carton of eggs, surrounded by empty, sticky shells. The lid was off the sugar jar with a spoon sticking out of it. She set the batter bowl down and reclaimed the handle of the pan, tilting it to make it spread.

He blinked. "Good morning," he returned, concealing his perplexion. He closed the door and approached the breakfast bar. Evidently, she'd already made herself some of the coffee they'd brought back from Italy and he poured himself a cup as well. Giving his hands something to do limited him from staring too much.

"How were the Alps?" she asked, delving into a bowl of chocolate chips for a generous handful. She sprinkled them artfully into the batter and gave the pan a shake.

"They were amazing," he replied honestly. They'd been there in time for the Spring melt, so there'd been waterfalls everywhere. Although they'd been 'hiding out' from Shield, Clint had cheekily sent a postcard to the tower. Steve noticed it was pinned to the fridge door with an Ironman head magnet. Finally, he had to ask. "Um, are these..?"

"Your chocolate pancakes?" she finished for him. She flipped the pancake expertly. "Of course. I promised them, didn't I?"

"Oh, sure, but you didn't really have to…" he trailed off shyly, taking a seat at the bar with his coffee.

"I want to," she told him easily. "It's the tradition."

He watched her take a warm plate from the oven and slip the pancake onto it, then pour out more batter in a very efficient, matter-of-fact manner. She obviously brought the same qualities to cooking with which she went about interrogating a source. She was surpremely confident. Not a flicker of hesitation marred her actions, and now the pan was hotter, she produced one after the other without pause until she ran out of batter and the plate was stacked tall with hot pancakes. Its height would make most people balk, but with his metabolism, Steve required a lot of calories to burn and this was clearly something she'd taken into account. She opened a pot of cream and spooned it thickly on top to melt, then brought it over and set it down in front of him in all its glory. "Wow," he murmured.

She shrugged modestly. "I've had some practice," she admitted with an air of rueful affection towards the absent archer. She opened a drawer and fetched him a knife and fork, then went straight back to mix some more batter.

Steve's brow had furrowed quizzically. He couldn't really gather his words together to express all the things battling for dominance in his head. For a moment, he opened his mouth and just said nothing. Then he started, "Natasha…"

She glanced back to show she was listening. When no further comment was forthcoming, she asked, "What?"

He hesitated, the beginnings of a whole bunch of different words on the tip of his tongue. "Uh… W..I… Nothing," he finished, picking up the knife and fork. "Thank you," he added, his face warming. The stack stood before him like a challenge, looking and smelling so good that his stomach almost growled aloud. He planned his attack, moving in on it.

"You're very welcome," she answered with feeling, her hands busy.

He cut a slice from the top two pancakes and melted chocolate spilled gooily from them, mingling with warm cream; he forked them into his mouth before he went crazy. The world stopped, and his eyes fell closed and just for a moment, he forgot his manners and mumbled with his mouth full, "Oh my god."

Unseen, Natasha forgot herselftoo, with a wide smile taking over at his quiet exclamation. She cleared away the chocolate and cream and got out a new pan for plain pancakes. Steve noticed with a faint frown. "Aren't you going to have some?"

"Chocolate pancakes can't be taken or given. They must be earned," she stated with remarkable sobriety.

"I don't mind though," he assured, but she put her hands on her hips and turned to him.

"We're Shield agents, Steve, we have rules," she reminded him 'sternly' with a glimmer of humour dancing in her eyes before she got on with her mixing. He had to keep from laughing a little. He felt like he'd just been inducted into some treehouse club, where arbitrary laws were of the upmost importance. And of course, as silly as it seemed, there was a genuine significance to the workings of this Chocolate Pancake Club that he was very aware of. Clint and Natasha were orphans, who'd grown up in a world where people were difficult and dangerous to trust. Their ties to others had mostly been brief, superficial and/or downright hostile, until they'd been found by Shield. Shield had given them a home. It had given them security, respect and purpose. Brought them allies and friends. They may have grown up without family traditions and rules, secrets and in-jokes, but here, with each other, they could make their own. And he could too. Captain America was an asset recruited by an agency. Steve Rogers, however, had been brought into the fold by its people.

His thoughts strayed back to that last mission. He'd been down and out. Unable to do his job. Losing his mind. But they'd had his back in the field, and gotten the three of them back to safety. That was where their duty had ended. They'd been under no obligation as agents to do anything else but sit back and let the medics do their work. But when he'd been drowning in his own memories, and floundering as his reality unravelled around him, Natasha had been there to guide him through it. She'd stayed with him, making a lifeline for him of her voice. Making him believe. Giving him a hope to cling to. And when it was all over, and he'd wanted to sidestep protocol and just not be a soldier for once, Clint had disregarded the needs of his own agency in favour of Steve without a second thought. He'd understood what Steve had required without discussion. And he'd provided it, deftly orchestrating a brief hiatus on being an avenger, and turning a trio of Earth's great protectors into three guys in Northern Italy.

They'd both gone far above and beyond the call of duty with him. And they'd made it clear that not only would they follow him into any combat situation, irrespective of how crazy and deadly it might be, but they'd also follow him into whatever personal crisis befell him. No matter how hard things got, he didn't have to do any of it alone.

He pushed it all to the back of his mind, suppressing the urge to clear his throat. Natasha was so perceptive she was practically psychic, it wouldn't do for him to come over all emotional. But if she picked up on anything (even with her back turned, he wouldn't put it past her), she didn't show it.

"How is Director Fury?" asked Steve. Whether he was trying to distract Natasha or himself, he wasn't entirely sure. The real, underlying question was 'how did he take three of his people going AWOL?' And this was the question she answered.

"He got over it," she said with a smile. "Tell you the truth, I think he was secretly pleased," she confessed to Steve's surprise. "He'd never say it but he likes his agents to have a little spirit."

"Probably best not to make a habit of it though," he noted.

"Probably not," she agreed. "Nor to make a habit of stealing young Italian women's hearts."

He choked on his pancake, coughing into the back of his fist. "She wasn't in love with me," he informed her decidedly. "That proposal was just a joke, no matter what Clint…" When he saw the look on her face, his words died out. By her standards, Natasha was positively beaming, her eyes radiant with amusement. He winced. "Clint… didn't tell you, did he?" She didn't have to say anything, her expression was answer enough. "Then, how did..?"

"Call it an educated guess," she said, happily flipping a pancake.

At that moment, the door was opened and Clint strolled in. The moment he saw Steve working away at his stack he pointed with emphasis. "BDHPs! Nice." He came up beside Steve to steal himself some coffee.

Steve's brow furrowed again. "BDHPs?"

Natasha rolled her eyes but undermined the expression with a smile. "Big Damn Hero Pancakes," she explained.

Steve laughed quietly as Clint shrugged. "What would you call them?" the other Shield agent asked Natasha, leaning against the bar.

"I really don't feel the need to call them anything," she replied, clearly feeling that this was a position most normal people would share.

"Well I guess that's why I'm here," Clint commented. He pulled out a seat and hopped into it. "Pretty incredible, aren't they?" he asked Steve in a low, conspiratorial tone.

"I've never had anything like them," Steve answered openly.

"The chocolate's Belgian," said Clint, as though divulging a great secret. Steve took note accordingly. He also subtly but attentively observed Natasha as she made pancakes for herself and Clint, swapping light banter with him as she did. After all, there might come a day when he needed to know how to make them himself. He had a responsibility to make sure he could maintain the custom if it fell to him.

Steve belonged in this clandestine, dessert-for-breakfast-based alliance. Maybe he was from a different time, but his circumstances were not really so dissimilar. When he'd gone down in the Valkyrie, he'd been cut adrift. He'd lost everyone. A whole world of people, in fact. But he had a new family now. With new family traditions to uphold.

The End.