Hey guys, sorry this chapter took so long! My beta reader and I are both during exam-cram season, but we're just about done. After that I'll be free for a while, so expect new chapters after that! Thanks to all the new followers, love you all.

Disclaimer: still the same.

It was early, five forty-two to be exact.

The knock on the door didn't wake Steve, but it was what finally forced him to rise from his place on the couch. As he walked towards the door, he massaged his neck muscles, trying to release some of the tension built up from sleeping on the couch. He swung the door open and forced himself to blink and make sure who he was seeing on the other side of the door was actually who he thought it was.

"Natasha." He mumbled, struggling to find words to say to her. To say he was confused by her arrival would be putting it lightly. He was baffled as to why the redhead would need to see him so early in the morning. Surely whatever she had to say could wait for later, couldn't it? "What can I do for you, Ma'am?" Steve tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Natasha nodded inside, a gesture the two had used before. Knowing exactly what she wanted, he stepped aside and granted her entrance into his room.

She slipped easily into the room, walking straight to the mini-kitchen each room was equipped with. She let the water into the kettle and started the pot of coffee. She did it all with ease, as if she belonged in the room she was making coffee for. Eventually she slowed down, and lacking something to do she finally turned to the silent Steve, perched carefully in his chair, watching her go about. He simply raised a brow at her. Needing nothing more to prompt her, she got onto the reason why she was visiting him so early in the morning – though Steve was fairly positive he knew one reason she would have to be at his room so early.

"Did you forget something here last night?" He interjected quickly before she had a chance to open her mouth. Steve thought that maybe for a moment he saw a flush of rose cross her cheeks, but he could have just as easily imagined it. It was a reasonable enough assumption. After spending the night somewhere one would assume it'd be easy to forget something when leaving stealthily at approximately two thirty-eight. Granted, she mostly likely wasn't aware of the fact he knew exactly when she left.

"No." She said cautiously, as if watching what she was saying to him. Then again, he knew the assassin well enough to know that she was. It's what she did, calculated her every word. She flicked her hair off to one side and crossed her arms, levelling her stare with Steve's. "I came to talk to you… About yesterday… About last night… About Clint…" Her voice trailed off. He wasn't sure how to place it; he was never sure how to place anything with Natasha. He couldn't tell if it was acting or not.

He quickly collected his thoughts and blurted out the first thing that tumbled into his mind. "I didn't mean to." He looked down, away from her piercing eyes. "Tell Clint I mean." A soft click made Steve look up. He instantly regretted that decision. Natasha was staring at him, expressionless face as usual, except for her eyes. They were slightly widened and had a wild, terrified look to them.

"You-" He watched her jaw tighten and her eyebrows contort into a worried expression. Natasha Romanoff was clearly one who didn't struggle with words very often. "You told Clint?" She asked briskly, sounding more like a statement than a question. Steve simply nodded, giving her an apologetic look.

"I didn't really mean for it to happen, I swear. He came out of no where and he kept asking questions." Steve frowned as he thought back on the memory. "Well I suppose I didn't tell him everything… Just what came out." Natasha blinked quickly. He expected her to give him the same expression as before and maybe act worried again, but instead she simply turned and started making the coffee. She pulled out three cups, laying them in a perfect row. She poured a cup for Steve, one sugar – just how he liked it. He'd never told her how he liked his coffee, yet somehow she just knew. Then again, that was her job.

She gave him the cup, which was just a little too hot for Steve's tastes, and turned back to get her own. He held the cup lightly in his hands, doing his best not to burn himself. He looked back up at her and watched as she leaned against the counter and blew on her coffee. The room was suddenly filled with the overwhelming silence. Neither of them spoke up at first, Natasha stood comfortably sipping at the coffee in front of her, whereas Steve grew restless by each passing second. Surprisingly enough though, Natasha was the first to break the silence.

"So are you going to put on a shirt or…" She asked as she lifted a brow at him. By that point Steve was all too aware of his bare chest as he looked down to confirm the lack of clothing. Natasha simply shook her head and let the tiniest of smiles tug at lips. "Don't worry about it, you've got to get downstairs to meet up with Clint soon anyway." Steve gave a curt nod and stood up, more than ready to vacate the room as quickly as possible. "Uhm Steve… Before you go, one question?" He simply tilted his head to the side and waited. "Where is… he?" Realization tumbled over Steve. Though he didn't understand everything still, he understood bits and pieces, enough to paint a picture for himself.

"On the balcony."

Clint swung hard. A lot harder than he would have usually with the Captain, but he knew he could handle it damn if he didn't let out some of his rage. His fist collided with Steve's forearm, thankfully it was his good hand – the other was lazily bandaged up and tucked tight to Clint's body.

"Hey Clint-" He was cut off as another fist went flying towards his head, forcing him to duck and avoid contact. "Whoa there." He stood up slowly, raising both his hands, palms spread in a surrendering gesture. "What's up with you today… you've got a lot more… uh- pent up rage?" He asked clumsily. "I don't mean to be offensive or anything it's just…"

Clint drowned out the ramblings of the super soldier. Instead he just stared at him. The blood pumping in Clint's ears muted his voice. Without a second thought, he swung while his opponent was distracted and landed a punch square in the jaw.

"Damn." Clint hissed, grabbing his hand. He'd been so focused on punching the guy to make him shut up he hadn't even been paying attention to which hand he was swinging about. He looked down at Steve, crumpled on the floor grabbing his jaw.

"What was that, Barton?" He asked, the edges of anger seeping in. It wasn't out of place in Clint's mind – he sort of deserved it really. Keeping secrets from him, sneaking around with Natasha. Clint rubbed his hand a little and narrowed his eyes.

"You know exactly what this is about." He growled before turning on his heel and exiting the training mat they were standing on. "'M done for the day." He grumbled, walking out of the room all together.

"Barton, wait!" Clint heard the voice behind him call. He didn't want to talk to Steve – not right now. He already hated himself just a little for punching him like that. It was a damn dirty shot and Clint knew it, but he couldn't help but take it, his rage got the better of him. And even in knowing that, the still didn't want to apologize to the captain. So naturally, the archer walked quicker in an attempt to get out of the training room and away from the person behind and ran into the last person he wanted to see at this point – Natasha.

"Clint." She huffed as she stepped back from the two of them. He watched her take in his appearance, looking him up and down. She was doing it again, that thing where she examined him to check if he was okay. Like a mother might have to a small child. "Where are you going?"

"M'going out." He growled. She quirked a brow at him and pursed her lips, obviously displeased by his reply. He let out a breath of air, and just as he was about to explain to her they were oh so rudely interrupted.

"Clint wait I- 'Tasha? What're you doing down here?" Steve asked as he appeared behind Clint. He didn't even care that the soldier followed him at this point; it was what he said. 'Tasha. That was Clint's nickname for Natasha, no one else used it, and Natasha usually never did. But she made no effort to stop him at this point.

"Well I came down to talk to Clint, but maybe we could discuss something after?" Discuss – yeah right, Clint thought. He fought the urge to turn and punch Cap in the face again when he heard her speak up again. "Steve, what happened to your face?" She'd obvious noticed the dull marks on his face, not to mention the split bottom lip and bruise on his jaw – which granted was already faded thanks to the stupid super soldier serum. He wouldn't sit through all of this. It was humiliating and he hated just being in the room as the two of them. He pushed passed Natasha, ignoring both their calls. He didn't want to talk. Not right now. He made a mental note to talk to Natasha later, but he'd rather see hell freeze over than stay with the two of them.

What was so bloody perfect about damn Captain America anyway?

A/N: You guys loving this as much as me?