Downtime

By: InitialA

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Author's Note: BROS BROS BROS BROS BROS BROS BROS BROS but not the obnoxious kind, the cute kind.

He loaded the barrel and pulled on the hammer down the hall; unless his target had the ears of a fox, they wouldn't hear the gun being cocked. The difficult part would be getting into position without being heard, and then firing before they had time to react. It was a loud weapon, after all. His target was notoriously quick. The explosion of a firing gun might be enough time to react. His earpiece crackled. –Are you in position?—

"Just about," he murmured. "Sixty seconds and wait for my signal."

The floors were solid concrete with carpet covering them. It was a blessing. He didn't have to take care that his footsteps would cause creaks, and the carpet muffled the rest. Still, he walked as lightly as his tall, muscular frame would allow. He reached the end of the hall, and fished a compact mirror from his pocket. He used it to peer around the corner. The target was absorbed in something, probably a book. It was a shame, really. She had such lovely red hair, cascading in careless curls around her shoulders. To ruin such perfection with their attack seemed… He shook the thought off. He mustn't think of her as anything more than what she was.

The enemy. She was to be taken down without mercy.

A low tone sounded in his earpiece. He flashed the mirror twice around the corner—the redhead was out of position and wouldn't see—and then counted down from five in his head. At the agreed upon "zero", he lunged around the corner and fired. He heard his partner firing at the same time. The target didn't even have time to scream. With the speed that would impress even his superiors, he reloaded and fired off five more shots before his ammunition supply was out. He let out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. "Target eliminated," he huffed.

Tony's laugh was crow-harsh. "And you said we couldn't do it."

"I never said we couldn't," Steve argued, taking a step forward. He owed it to her to see the damage he'd done. "I just had doubts."

A pillow smashed in his face. Tony was similarly struck. "You two morons are going to be the death of me," Natasha sat up, her now-mussed hair strewn with Nerf darts. "Scaring me half to death and pelting me with suction cups."

Tony laughed again, and nimbly leapt over the back of the couch; Steve took the civilized route and sat on the other side of Natasha. "Fair's fair, after the stunt you and Capsicle over there pulled in my workshop last week."

"Yeah, and I don't see you coming up to me and begging my help to beat Rogers over the head with Styrofoam. Besides, that was just payback after the elevator incident."

"I thought we agreed to never speak of that again," Steve said, picking darts out of her hair.

"Ow! You're pulling!"

"Sorry, Romanoff, your hair's managed to wrap around some of them."

"Anyway, I'm referring to it, not retelling it."

"The agreement was to forget about it entirely."

"Not when it's on JARVIS' memory. If I ever need a laugh…" Tony's eyes were misty as he thought back to that day.

Natasha flicked his ear, snapping him out of his reverie. "I'll remember that when you come for my help on your next prank."

Steve handed Tony his six Nerf darts, and then reloaded his gun. "And I, for one, am grateful for that. I still check under the bed every night."

She whirled in her seat, flashing him a smile. "Oh good, you haven't begun to suspect the closet yet."

Steve straightened. "What's in my closet?"

"Nothing."

"Romanoff, what did you do to my closet?"

"Nothing, Rogers, geez! So paranoid… Here I thought we'd fixed that PTSD of yours."

He made a face at her, and briefly wondered if he should go check—no, that would only give her the satisfaction of psychological warfare, and he wasn't going to give that to her. Not right now, anyway. At that moment, Darcy's voice came over the intercoms, announcing cheerfully that it was time for dinner and that anyone who was late risked their shares being eaten by Thor. Natasha, Tony, and Steve all looked at each other for a moment, having forgotten that the Asgardian was on Earth, and bolted for the kitchen.

After dinner, however, Steve had no problems with going back to his rooms and checking for booby-traps. He told himself he had been meaning to organize the contents better anyway, but he still saw Natasha smirking in the back of his mind as he first emptied his belongings from the closet and then carefully ran his fingers along the shelves, walls, and ceiling. Finding nothing, he started picking everything back up and ordering it. He was preoccupied with this for a while, until the slightest rustle of fabric behind him gave the briefest of warnings and he staggered under new weight settling on his shoulders. Well-shaped legs curved around his neck and torso, hooking the body they were attached to firmly in place on his shoulders. He glanced up, and Natasha peered down at him, her hair framing her face and tickling his. "Hi," she said smugly.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a ninja?" He asked, straightening some clothes on hangers before hooking them on the rod.

"A few times. So, find anything?"

Steve moved easily; she wasn't that heavy, all things considered. His Army packs had weighed more some days. He grabbed a few pairs of pants and refolded them. "If I was supposed to, you're cleverer than I, O Mistress of Pranks."

"I'm teasing you, Rogers. I haven't had time to crack the new passcode you put on your suite," Natasha said. She appeared to be quite comfortable on his shoulders.

"Right. What's Fury got you doing, anyway?"

She tapped his nose. "If you don't know, there's a reason for it."

He made a face. She was right. He held up the two shoeboxes he owned for her. "Hold these for a minute, if you're going to keep being a nuisance."

"I plan to." She took them, steadying them on his head.

"Has there been any word…" He cleared his throat. "Word on a new retainer?"

Steve felt her posture shift; probably her shoulders dropping as she said, "Nothing. Fury doesn't know who he can spare for us. It's not like we can just put out a help wanted ad…"

"Yeah…"

He shelved a few more things, and she put the shoeboxes on the top shelf. They were quiet for the rest of the reorganizing process. As Steve stepped back to admire the finished product, Natasha uncurled her legs from around him and slipped down. On the ground, barefoot as she was, she only stood as high as his collar bone. She surveyed the results. "Hmm… still about four good places for a trap, six if I really work at it," she teased.

"Crack the code first, shorty," he retorted.

"Hey, Darcy's been jabbering about a "group bonding night". It looks like she's commandeering the den tonight for a movie," Natasha told him. "I had an idea to get back at Stark, if you wanted in."

"As long as it won't backfire on me."

"It shouldn't. You know how Tony only likes cheesy popcorn?"

Steve resisted the urge to make a face. Tony ate more cheesy popcorn than anyone, and just the sight of it had started to put Steve off of it. "Unfortunately I do."

"Well, I found some cayenne pepper in the cupboards earlier, and it's about the same color as his cheesy popcorn…"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "You aren't saying…"

"Hot peppered Anthony."

They traded grins. "Good thing she's out of town, or I'd tell her you're making bad relationship puns," Steve said.

As they left, Steve paused for a moment by the door to make a mark on the whiteboard he kept there for his personal reminders. It now read "Natasha: | Tony: |" He'd have to watch his back for the next couple of weeks.

((ALL I WANTED WAS SOME BONDING while trying not to put sexual tension between them. Friendsfic for my OTP? Blasphemy. I might do another chapter if it strikes me to, otherwise it's as-is. Thanks for reading!))