Just a short little bit prompted by an anon over on tumblr. I'm fairly sure that it's set in the same universe as my other story, Stumbling Home, but you don't need to read that to understand what's going on here.

Super thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing my other Avengers stuff - you make my day with your favorites and reviews!

Enjoy!

Orange Juice

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon in March before they finally had the day off together.

Lazy, of course, meant that Clint went for a long walk through the city and Natasha was helping another SHIELD agent with his knife work in the auxiliary gym.

Clint had stopped at a small grocery store on his way back, intent on grabbing a bottle of water and maybe a sandwich. Instead, he ended up hauling back six heavily laden plastic bags, nearly dropping everything more than once.

After leaving his haul behind in his small kitchenette, he went to look for his partner. He found Natasha in the gym, just finishing up with the agent and patting herself dry with a towel.

Natasha's face lit up when she caught sight of Clint.

Were it anyone other than Natasha, he might say that they simply acknowledged his presence. But he knew her now, and he recognized that she was happy to see him by the way her eyes flashed and the half- smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. His heart lurched in his chest at the sight, but Clint quickly tamped that emotion back down.

Hands off, Barton. She's got enough on her plate without you panting after her.

"Hey, Romanov. Did you miss me?" He said because he couldn't resist teasing her, even if just a little, and he handed her the bottle of water sitting next to her gym bag.

Natasha snorted and he felt that traitorous flutter again.

"Maybe missed kicking your ass, Barton." She took a pull from the water bottle. "You want to go a few rounds?"

She really had no idea.

"Maybe later. I've got something for you."

Natasha raised one eyebrow, intrigued. "Something?"

There was a smile in her voice, though anyone watching from a distance wouldn't be able to tell.

"You got some time?"

"For you, Barton?" Natasha glanced around the nearly empty gym. "I think I can spare a moment. Let me get cleaned up first? Meet you in yours in twenty?"

He nodded.

She wandered off to the showers to get cleaned up while Clint headed back to his rooms. A quick shower later, she was knocking on his door, her wet hair pulled back into a pony tail.

"Hey. Come on in." He stepped back to let her inside, then headed over to the kitchenette.

Whatever it was Natasha had expected to see, it certainly wasn't this. Lined up on the counter in were bottles and cartons of various sizes.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Orange juice."

Natasha fixed him with a glare. "Yes, thanks. I can read. I meant, why do you have nine different kinds of it?"

"Actually, there are ten. You missed the bag of oranges over on by the stove." He motioned with one hand and grabbed a pack of paper cups.

"Clint?" She still didn't understand what was going on.

Clint patted one of the stools pushed up to the counter. "C'mere. Sit."

She narrowed her eyes, but did as he asked.

He sat down next to her and reached for one of the cartons. As he poured some of the fluid into two cups he said, "You and I are having a taste test."

He handed her a cup and tapped the edge of his cup to hers.

"Cheers."

Natasha got it then, he could see it in her eyes.

Three months ago, holed up in an empty warehouse and bored to tears while they waited for evac, they'd killed an afternoon playing "Never Have I Ever" with a bottle of vodka Natasha had inexplicably scrounged up.

At least, he thinks it was supposed to be vodka. She was never really clear on that.

By the time they reached the dregs, they'd both let more slip than they intended. Amongst other more serious things that would "never be mentioned again. I know where you sleep, Barton," Natasha learned that Clint had a cat once for three months that he'd named Fluffy (until he was shuttled off to the next foster home). Clint learned that Natasha had never tried orange juice (such things were unnecessary for girls training to be perfect killers).

Buying nine kinds of orange juice and making her a cup of fresh squeezed was easier than actually talking about their respective pasts.

Clint thought for a second that he saw something suspiciously like a tear forming in one of Natasha's eyes, but then she blinked and it was gone.

"I like this one best." She holds up her cup. "But you know what this needs?"

He has a good guess, but wants to hear her say it anyway.

"What's that?"

"More vodka."

Clint grinned and pulled out the other bottle he'd picked up on the way home.

"Way ahead of you, Romanov."