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STARK EXPO

The Only Time I'll Ever Be Invited to an Event this Big with a Hot Date

I thought I'd seen the end of them. I thought that after the Loki saga - classified, for those of you who kicked up such a stink, very hush hush, you know - I could pretty much write them off the page, invest in some hard core fanfiction and move on with my life.

It had been a perfectly horrible evening, that night after the mess that was Loki. Tony and Hawkeye were supposed to be keeping an eye on me, but they ended up in the midst of some of the most fast paced slagging off I've ever borne witness to in my life. They were firing at a speed of three and a half insults every twenty seconds, it was like a beautifully vicious verbal dance.

Doc, hearing that there had been drama with Loki, decided that he would drop me a line and check up on me. The resulting drink fest with the aforementioned and Thor is some of the most trouble I've ever been into my entire life.

But I digress.

There were no more Avengers to write about, in the weeks after, so I just put my head down and organized to go away, travel for a bit, until the infamy of having been able to walk away from a super villain wore off. People everywhere were on my case about it, calling me a bunch of creative names, mostly pertaining to how many of what Avenger I'd had in me.

Either that, or begging me for creepy details - like if Thor had beauty marks, if Tony went for boxers or briefs, if the Black Widow wore any underwear at all. People in the street were recognizing me, my stalker was leaving flowers in places he shouldn't have been able to, places like right next to all the easily assessable weaponry.

He seemed particularly fond of putting baked goods in my oven.

I was literally just throwing my last Nordic themed book across the room in a fit of rehashed frustration when there was a knock at my door. Not typically a recipient of visitors, and dreading what my boss would do when he found out I was skipping town in the peak of his business, I peered through the keyhole.

"Who is it?" I waited for an answer. Got an uncanny feeling, and spun with my fists coming up to protect my face.

Hawkeye grinned, took in the tiny, well worn shorts, baggy t-shirt and socks combination. He pushed my fist away and put his hand up on my door and leaned down, still grinning.

"'Lo, Kit."

"What is wrong with you?!" I put my hand over my heart. "I was on my way, why couldn't you just wait?!"

"I didn't knock." as if to prove his point, there was another knock on the door. "I'll give you a clue. If you don't open up soon, she'll come in the same way I did."

"And what way is that?"

"Sneakily." he takes his arm off the door so I can turn and pull it open. Widow stands there in a full emerald coloured, satin gown that skims off her hips and clings to her waist.

"We should've called ahead." she nods at Feathers, who is busy snooping around my half packed bags. "Your flight has been cancelled."

"How did you-?... You know what? Never mind. Oi, that's-!" I vault the couch and snatch the red string of lace off his finger. "-Do you mind?"

"I didn't think you were a lace kinda girl."

"These were supposed to be a surprise. Now I can't show you how they look on." I shove the panties back into the corner of my bag, thanking all sorts of gods my battery operated boyfriend is rolled up in a pair of jeans, well out of sight.

"What's going on? Why are you two dressed-" I motion between them. "-Like that?"

"Like what?" Hawkeye fixes his cufflinks, because he's in a full suit and tie and he pulls it off like some kind of sexy James Bond fantasy.

He looks like he is completely capable of charming the knickers of a nun.

"The Stark Expo is opening tonight." Widow offers me, going to my wardrobe. "It's a big deal. A premier event, only open to rich people, social elite, other inventors, and people that Tony thinks are worth the time and effort. He wanted you to come, but... You know Nick."

Not really. I just raise my eyebrows at her, absent mindedly smack away Hawkeye's nosy hands from my luggage.

"He forbade it." she continues, finding a successful dress. "He said he didn't want you encouraging any more trouble for yourself." she says, looking over at me.

"Uh huh. So you're here, casually rifling through my stuff. Wanna let me in on the secret, or-?"

"No secret. You've got a date. Have a shower. We're going in half an hour."

"Widow." I deadpan at her. "Nick doesn't want me to go... And I am not game to tempt that dog with another bone. I got a severe reprimanding after the Loki thing, and the drinking thing."

"And my tattoo had to be removed." Feathers mentions casually. "Can I see how yours turned out?"

"Later." I don't even bother looking at him. "So how can I-?"

"He didn't want you there by exclusive invite of Tony Stark, or hired under Pepper for press." she confirms. "But you're a plus one. Get moving."

When Widow tells you to move, you move. The dress is blood red that's sweetheart across the bust, with detailed straps, boned at the waist, shrinking what little size is already there, and a tight skirt to the knee, where it flares out like a mermaid tail.

I lift my eyes from my waist, holding the back of the dress together by hand, the other pressing the bodice to my chest, making my boobs kind of - pop. I come out of the bathroom, struggling a little, and heave in a big breath.

Widow is lounging across my couch, flipping through some drafts for my stories, and Barton is sitting on my kitchen counter, apparently going over the gun from my oven. They don't bother looking up, there's no big reveal, Widow just checks her watch and turns another page.

"I'm not going." I say finally, and let the dress fall, pool around my legs. No worries, I'm in a strapless bra and some comfy briefs I will never admit to stealing from Doc. I step out of it, skip over to Widow and take the drafts from her hands. She smacks the back of my leg.

"This is the ugliest tattoo I've ever seen."

"I tried really hard on that." Barton says, majorly amused as I tuck the papers away in what I think is a safer place. "And it's not that bad. Are those Hulk's?"

"No." Is my sharp retort, as I put fists on hips and stare at his hands, and the way they so effortlessly reassemble my gun. "Okay, ignoring how hot you are all dressed up and playing with my gun, I reiterate. I'm not going. Nick already hates me and I want to leave the country. I need a break." I sigh, rub my hands over my face, take a seat on my armchair.

"You look tired, Kit. Your stalker giving you trouble?" Barton guesses, cocking the gun, aiming it. "Want me to deal with him?"

"Don't tempt me, Susan." I'm all sorts of tired and I'm so not in the mood for a party, especially not in a dress that squeezes the air out of me. "Can't we just do pizza at Tony's Tower of Terror and Trouble?"

"No." Widow retrieves the dress from the floor, shakes it out. "You're going to have to trust me. It'll be good for you to get out and prettied up."

"I hate being prettied up. I just want beer. Beer and pizza. And a fist fight." I sit back in my chair. "Come on, Feathers, Widow. You can't tell me beer and some shitty horror movie doesn't sound better than a party where there's no party."

"It's not going to be a party without you." Hawkeye says, and gives me a smile that makes the boyshorts want to fall off my legs and fly into his face. "Come on, Kitten. For me?"

I give him a rather attractive snort.

"Well when you put it that way, there's no chance in hell, now."

"Get up and into this dress," Widow purrs. "Or I will handle you into it, kicking and screaming."

Right.

"I need some help with those catches."

She swears in another language and helps me do them, squeezing the air out of my body with the practice of a woman used to forcing bodies into clothes too small. I hold onto the back of the couch and exhale as much as possible, while Hawkeye kneels on the cushions and gives me a smug look.

"I'm so glad I was born with a penis, sometimes."

"Don't make me remind you of that cross dressing mission in Missouri." Widow mutters, lacing up the body. He just grins as yet more of my oxygen is squeezed out of me.

"Feathers. Make yourself useful." I motion to a pair of biker boots in the corner. "Get those, would you?"

He cocks a brow at the woman fiddling with my dress.

"No." she says. "Heels. Platforms."

"I can't. Trust me, I just can't. Boots or I'm not going."

"You'll be going shoeless."

"I'll do it."

"I'm not above hot gluing them to the soles of your feet."

"Easy, red, or you'll scare her away." Hawkeye fixes a curl behind my ear. "I'll find something to compromise."

"Stop flirting, H&M is nearly here."

"H and who?"

"You'll see."

Barton rifles through several books stacked haphazardly on the bottom of y wardrobe - the ones with various Nordic paraphernalia in them, the ones I couldn't face seeing any more - and finds another gun in the ankle of the thigh-high-whore boots I own. This is a new place for him, apparently, because he holds up the piece and looks over his shoulder, very amused.

"Getting creative." he notes, and spies a pair of white ballet flats, the ones that look like literal ballet shoes, with the elastic criss crossing over the top of my foot, a length of satin lace, and the same solid flat point, only these have serious soles that won't wear through. "These'll have to do."

Widow scrutinizes them, and nods.

"Put 'em on?" I say before she changes her mind, lifting the hem of my dress. I put one stocking'd foot forward, wiggle my toes at the Hawk, who saunters over casually and gets on his knees.

It's a good look on him.

He slides the flat onto my foot and sets it on his knee, amused, and fixes it into place, tying the laces around my ankle and up my calf neatly. He does the same for the other foot, his hand lingering on the back of my leg as he looks up at me.

"You look good."

"I know." I would punch him in the shoulder, but I can barely move.

"Hair and makeup is here." Widow says, and lets a stream of professionals attack me for about five minutes. Five minutes and they've made my mess of a bun into a side swept, shiny, loosely wavy do. They've gone red lips and simple winged eyes, and someone tried to put fake lashes on me before Widow scared him off.

"We're going." she says, and we manage to walk down my hall and out to the limo without much drama. I'm almost about to ask which of them will be escorting me as their plus one, when I see my actual date and try hard not to laugh out right.

Doc, sitting with his legs spread and head hung low, staring at a bunch of old cigarette butts, he doesn't see me as he scuffs his neat and shiny shoes over the concrete, looking dejected. I hold Hawkeye back and go to scruff the back of his head playfully.

"Looking for something?"

"Are those slippers-? Kitten!" " his jaw literally drops. He jumps up, looking over the dress. "You look- I didn't know-"

"We may not have let him in-" Hawkeye says into my ear. "-on the fact he has a date."

"Both of you are terrible people." he says, with a bashful smile, his hands warm on my arms. "But I thank you, all the same."

"We're typically all about surprises. Enjoy the good ones." Widow says, taking the archer's arm. "Now you can stop sulking." They get into the car - I lean up and present my cheek for Doc. He kisses my cheekbone, smiling, and we hug tightly. It's been a long time since I last seen him, and I've missed him madly.

"You look beautiful." he says, and now I'm grinning like a fool into his shoulder, because no one has ever said that to me. "I'm so happy to see you."

"Me too, Mr. Science." I wipe my thumb over the red lips printed on his cheek. "Why are you sulking, huh?" I tease, and allow myself to be lowered into the vehicle, like a real and proper girl. Hawkeye and Widow are lounging - she's on her blackberry, taping away, and he's got both elbows up on the seats, his shiny shoes on the bar.

I spy holsters at his hips. Not that I'm looking at the way his shirt tucks into his waist band, or wondering how fast I could undo that belt with one hand.

"He was sulking because you weren't returning his emails." Widow says, almost totally absorbed in her phone.

"Oh." I sigh, putting my arm around his neck. "You miss me, Doc?"

He smiles but doesn't exactly say yes, he just pats my hand. The look on his face is something that is both lonely and expectant, as though he's seen my absence coming.

"I've been avoiding my emails. I have a cult following." I tell him. "People got obsessive because I've been hanging around you guys. They think I'm going to spill your secrets. You'd be amazed at what people have been asking me. Mostly about you two, actually, and Steve. Everyone thinks I'm sleeping with someone. It's exhausting."

"Welcome to my world." Widow says, raising her eyes from her phone.

"How's the stalker?" Barton muses, sliding over the leather, coming closer to the end of the car. "Did she tell you she had a stalker?"

"Yes." Hulk says, nodding. "She did. The same day she did your interview, actually. She mentioned it over lunch." he pats my knee in a friendly way, and then retracts his hand to his own lap. I'm fixing the line of my lipstick with my nail as they both look at me.

I shrug.

"Shouldn't you know?" I shoot at the spy.

"You didn't ask for my help. I didn't give it."

"That's different." Widow mutters.

"I learnt my lesson." he retorts mildly.

"Well I haven't been shooting shadows." No, because I sleep with the light in my bathroom on. "So, I guess that's always good. Although he has been getting a little close for comfort, as of late."

"I'll deal with it." Barton says, and there's no amount of sexy persuading I can do to try and convince him otherwise. He somehow ends up negotiating a sleep over, informing me that he'll deal with the stalker and then 'put me to bed.'

I don't really protest all that hard. Doc finds it amusing.

When we step out, I expected paparazzi, which there was none of. I did not expect such high and mighty looking people to actively recognize the both of us and peer at us from a distance like we didn't notice they were looking.

"Oh, Widow?" I say sweetly, and lean her way. "You wanted to know what high school was like, right?... Class is in session."

She gives me a smile, laughs a little, links arms with Barton.

"I wish high school was this easy." Doc mourns. "I was the nerd."

"I was the rebel." I inform him. "I sold cigarettes for a dollar a pop behind the art building."

"You're so hardcore." Feathers says with a small eye roll.

"I was thirteen." I say in my rebellious defense.

"I'm pretty sure at that age I was making my own living."

"And I'd killed nearly seventy people by then." Widow recalls, as her eyes go glassy.

We don't continue that conversation, thankfully. Doc mentions how, when he was geeky in high school, he was screwed over by half the cheerleaders. They'd let him sit with them, but he'd be dutifully ignored as long as they could copy his notes. The whole thing made me want to time travel and kick those titheads in the teeth.

I mention how, the biggest problem I had was with Flick - Felicity Paige - who predictably wrote a charming piece on how I was a 'massive slut' and bully to her in retaliation to mentioning her in the Black Widow's article. All I have to say to that is: Max Winkle and Tory Peterson, you were in drama, fifteen if you were lucky, the stains didn't ever come out of your uniform and EVERYONE knew what it was.

"I read that, actually." Doc smiles a very small smile my way. "I didn't even realize she was writing about you."

"Because she's a terrible writer, clearly." I say, and flip my curls self righteously. Hawkeye puts his hand on my lower back, disrupting what is possibly a lawsuit in the making, and leans into my ear, his breath all minty and fresh on my neck.

(Eat your heart out, Twilight.)

"Did you know your stalker is here?"

I don't freak - I spin around and try and look for him. He sighs, like this is some kind of grievous offence. I repeat what he's said to Doc, who similarly looks around, though we don't see anyone suspicious.

"I'll keep an eye on it." he promises, and leans away again.

"Well. This isn't freaky at all. My bad for ruining the vibe, sorry, Doc."

"It's about time someone took the spotlight off me, anyway." he amends. "Should we find the host, or do you wanna go look at some science?"

I judge the look on his face. He's got a nerd-boner for science, it's cute as a button. Obviously, not his boner, that would be weird if I described his boner as a button- Well, he didn't have a boner anyway, so... his geeky excitement is cute, is what I'm getting at.

Jesus.

We do science. I can sort of keep up, but I definitely appreciate what's on show. It's getting late by the time we're finished doing the rounds, and we may or may not have picked up a Darcy and a Steven along our adventure.

She's got this figure hugging black dress on, the dip in the front leaving ample cleavage to spill out for everyone's viewing pleasure, but Steve's eyes are very politely averted. She's on his arm, and he's smiling, and goddamn if it doesn't make me all misty eyed because they're both so adorable.

I don't recognize Tony, I recognize Pepper. They have their backs to us, so her fire red hair is handy. She is wearing blue, which is utterly flattering against her skin, makes her stand out. Thor - with Jane in a pastel pink tulle dress beside him - sees me as I see them, and waves his arm, which nearly rips open his tux.

"Hulk, Kitten!" he says. "My friends!"

I grin at the solider who's ducking from all the extra attention he's getting from Darcy, and go over to them, giving the girls a kiss before giving one to the gentleman. Tony seems fine with it - "I just want you to know I spiked the red punch bowl over there with something more to your taste." - but Thor is reeling.

"I do not understand."

There is a beat while we all sort of chuckle, ah, good ol' Thor, totally clueless. Then, that air does nothing short of up and vanish, because Thor has a rather solid show, peering out from behind his shoulder.

"It's a familiar greeting in Midgaurd terms." says a slow voice. "Relax, brother."

"Loki." He offers his cheek for a similar greeting as his brother, asking for a kiss. I pull away as he advances, digging hard nails into the doctor's arm, but he stops, holding up his hands in surrender.

"A pleasure, as always, Kitten." he drawls, then straightens himself. "I would've picked the Hawk to offer you his hand."

"He's working. But definitely around here somewhere."

"No need to threaten me with your lover." he tucks his hands over his belt buckle - he's wearing a form-fitting suit, in dark green, with a golden tie. "I come in peace."

"And you'll stay in peace." Thor reminds him firmly, before smiling at me. "I would not take my brother out unless he had made me certain he would behave. It was your words that gave me the idea to bring him out more - he read that I missed him. We have since been talking, and this is his first night out of keeping."

"All thanks to you." Loki drawls, tipping his head at me. "At the risk of sounding like a cliché - how does that make you feel?"

And because I try not to lie, I ignore him.

"Hawkeye isn't my lover, Loki."

"You seemed so keen for him to be, though." he watches my ticks, the way I flinch when he advances slightly. Doc steps up to my side, giving him a clear warning with nothing but the expansion of his height. The Nordic prince looks from him, to turn a kinder smile my way.

"Do you not search him out, even now?"

"I don't need a man, but the guns he's packing might come in handy." I say smoothly. "And why you keep asking after Hawkeye, I'll never know. It makes a girl think you're jealous."

"Speaking of girls, and thoughts. I liked you better when you were little." he replies, which makes my upper lip pull back over my teeth. I take several steps back so I don't start swinging, actively making my grip loosen on my date's arm so as his circulation can keep going to his hand. I miss the thick, protective glass between us.

I don't want to be so dressed up any more. I want to leave the country, be on a plane, well out of his mind and sight. I should've told the Hawk and the Spider that no, I would not be going out, I'd be following my instinct to get on a plane.

"So sweet, so easy to talk to."

"So easy to manipulate, you mean."

"I found her endearing. You should behave in such a manner more often."

"You're an asshole."

"She seemed to like me well enough. Clinging to my arm the way she was, begging me not to leave her, bargaining with everything she had..." it's a cold drawl, and a terrible smile. "You should not omit certain parts of that experience for the papers you gifted SHIELD. There was nothing wrong with what transpired between us. I thought it was utterly charming-"

"Shut your mouth!"

"I thought she was ever so gentle, so kind, so faithful-"

"Loki!"

"What's he talking about, Kit?" Tony says, peering at me over his shades.

I may or may not have neglected to mention certain things that happened when he was in my head. It's private.

"What happened?" Tony gives the god a look. "Do I need to have you forcibly removed?"

"Not at all." he says, but doesn't take his eyes, nor his smile, off my face.

"You tell anyone, I'll slit your throat." I say darkly. "And that's a promise."

I don't care if Thor is inflating, Loki is still grinning and I'm boiling in my rage. And my fear.

"If you don't play nice with me, certain details of our... adventure, might begin to slip." he says airily, though dangerously enough to have me physically recoil. "I will take your apology now."

I turn utterly feral, for a moment, step up like I'm going to smack him right in the nose, but Steve - the gentleman that he is - forces the width of his shoulders between us, saying something self righteous, I can't even hear him, I'm too busy trying to get past Darcy without hurting her.

Loki is grinning, he's leering, his face and my fist have a long awaited date.

"Walk it off." Doc nods at me, as if he can understand the temper I've worked myself into (if anyone can, it's gonna be him) and allows my hand to fall out of his grip.

I ignore the looks at my glare and the run I've broken into, and I ignore everything else that isn't me aimlessly getting away, my dress gathered in fists and feet stomping. I hear Darcy start to chase after me, but someone stops her, pulls her back, and tells her to let me have my space.

I go around a corner, push past a curtain, and find myself encased in shadows, the premier event forgotten behind a thick wall of advertising. I'm backstage somewhere, with hanging lights and catwalks and soundproofed walls at my back.

I hide my face behind my hands, and take a big breath in, trying to settle the storm in my chest, relieved by the quiet I have stumbled into. The bastard... I should've just hit him. It would've made me feel better for trying, at the very least, before I ran away like a child. But here I am, sulking at a party, just like high school.

My fingers are shaking. I'm not ashamed to say I'm afraid of what Loki might say to them while I'm not there. The worst thing he can tell them is the truth, but I'm not sure that's the game he wants to play. I'm mostly sure he just wants to hold his information over my head for as long as possible to keep me in compliance.

There's a small scuffling sound, but I can't see any one, and no further noise is made.

"Hawkeye?" I say, kind of quietly. Then I clear my throat, cock both brows at darkness. "Come on, Feathers, don't play around. I could use a hug... Or whatever else might be on the table. Especially if we're on a table."

"Should I even ask?" he moves out of the shadows. "Who're you talking to, Kit?"

"...You."

He chuckles mildly, though it's fairly forced. He leans his butt on a low hanging shelf, and gives me a quizzical brow.

"You okay?"

I scowl half heartedly at him.

"You didn't mention I would be running into Loki when you and Red forced me into this dress."

"Didn't know you would be." he stretches, pops his spine, his jacket falling open. I briefly eye the gun, which makes him snicker. "Even if you are back to your usual quota of inappropriate staring, I'm goin' to go out on a limb and say you're not okay."

"Me? Inappropriate?"

"Unprofessional."

"I don't even stare. You stare."

"I do it discreetly."

"You actually admit you stare at me? Well geeze. I feel all pretty on the inside."

"Don't make like you didn't know. Like you don't swing your ass on purpose when you realize."

I just flutter my lashes at him, because of course I do.

"I would like to revisit the talk of you and I rutting on a table, if you wouldn't mind."

"I wouldn't mind a single bit." he saunters over, out of the way of a few scurrying backstage handlers, who give us a certain glare that yet again has me reeling back to the days of heavily making out in the playground. "You're shaking."

"What's a girl to do in situations such as these? A sly gentleman in a dark corner, with thick sexual tension pulsing in the air..." I lament, rather dramatically throwing my hand to my brow. "It's a wonder I've kept my knees under me, sir."

"I don't mean it in a good way, Kitten." he says, and is suddenly quite tamed, very serious, making me drop my hand and scowl at the sudden change in mood. "What did he say to you?"

"Who?"

"Loki."

Goddamnit.

"Don't worry about it. Seriously, it's nothing. He's vindictive, and nasty, and whatever scum comes out of his mouth is made of lies."

"Them's fightin' words."

"Yeah, pretty much. He was born with poison in his tongue." I reevaluate the distance between my mouth and his. "Speaking of tongues..."

"If you two start making furious mouth love," Widow warns, melting out of the shadows. "I'll have to do something drastic. Kitten, you're needed."

"I'm always needed." I reset my shoulders, squeeze my hands into fists. "Who needs me this time?"

"Doc." she says simply, and leads the way with long strides, the only way I keep up is in a short gallop. This dress doesn't allow for much more than that, and Hawk's hand on my shoulder - for steadying purposes only, if I had to guess - isn't helping my levels of concentration.

"Hey." I say. He looks like shit. His face is pinched in an unattractive way and I can feel thrumming energy pulsing off of him in waves. Tony is lazily lounged out beside him, arm around his shoulders. "You're such a man whore, Tony, honestly, get off my date."

"You want me to get your date off?"

"If you think it'll help with the green situation."

"It won't." Doc offers with a tight lipped smile. "I'm fine. It's fine. We just didn't like what we saw. There's no situation."

We. An involuntary shiver runs over me, and Hawkeye squeezes my shoulder.

"No harm in making sure." Widow mutters, though he hears, and winces.

"C'mere, Doc." I say, to diffuse the awkward. I lean down, take his hand, pull him up into standing. "We're going dancing."

"I can't dance."

"The rebel and the geek. We'll trump all the stereotypes. Come on, one dance. Nothing fancy." I take his other hand in mine. "I didn't get to dance at graduation, I was suspended."

"So was I." he replies with an old world smile.

"You two make me sick." Tony says, and pulls out his phone. Something more easy to sway to comes over the speakers - maybe Micheal Buble? - and he shifts in his suit, fixes his cuffs, and swings Pepper into his arms. "Milady."

So we dance. And we dance. And as Doc relaxes, so does everybody else. His hands aren't as tense on my waist and his brow isn't as low, and he even smiles a little bit. We sway on past Steve and Darcy - who has her head over his heartbeat, and his cheek pressed against her skull. They both have their eyes closed.

I nearly explode from the sweetness, pull Doc a little closer and wrap my arms around his shoulders to better contain all the 'AWWW!'

"God, I miss being that young. That love." I say to him, mourning my youth like I wasn't still smack bang in the middle of it. "When did everything get so complicated?"

"For you, I'd measure it was in the same second you discovered you had a mouth." Doc muses. "Maybe when you realized the sharpness of your tongue."

"Then I've always been this way, huh." I say, a little dejectedly. "Could've sworn young love happened to me, once. He was an asshat anyway. They all were."

"They usually are."

"Mind if I cut in?"

It's Hawkeye. Of course it is. Doc twirls me about once and I smile at him, because he really is a good man, with a good heart. He bows out, shuffles through the crowd, apologizing when he bumps into any body. I watch him go over and make nice with Jane, see Thor looking mildly confused so I assume they're talking about the huge algorithmic microprocessor he seemed so fascinated with earlier.

Barton picks up my hand, presses a carefully positioned hand lower than necessary but still in the 'safe' zone. I snicker a little, smooth my free hand over his pristine collar, ease it around to his shoulder. He tenses, and I grin.

"How you doin'?" I tease.

"I... I am better, now." his eyes are half lidded, but I see them drop to my mouth. "You know, Kit... If you want me to take care of Loki, all you need to do is ask."

"Psh. Don't worry about him."

"You were pretty shaken up. I don't see much getting to you."

"He was rooting around through my brain, of course he's going to find something useful for his diabolically mischievous purposes, or whatever it is he does in his spare time." I roll my eyes. "Nothing I can't repress and deal with on my own."

He pauses. Pulls me a little closer. We're literally that close I can't take any more steps, because he's bracketed my feet with his. All we do is sway, and I can feel his heart banging against his sternum, which means it's pounding against mine.

"Do you think... We could get out of here?" he says lowly. "Just you and I?"

"And where are we goin', huh, hot shot?" I lean a little closer to his mouth, breathe in the breath he lets out.

"Away from here. I would have words with you..."

"Words?" I blink slowly. "About what?"

"Just... things..." he lift his hand, runs his knuckles carefully over my cheekbone. The gesture is so gentle I flinch away, startled by its nature. "Do I scare you?"

"No... It's just... Been a real long time, since someone's been so gentle with me." I feel my brow furrow. Barton? What the ever loving shit? I think maybe he's drunk. Maybe he's lonely. He looks it. "So let me get this straight, you wanna go somewhere and talk? Just, talk?"

"Yes." he agrees, then breaks into a wry grin. "Unless, of course, you want to indulge in some other activity-?"

"Loki." I say, because his words are what give him away. I put both hands on his chest, shove him hard. "You're a sneaky bastard, you know that?"

There's nothing but silence in the car. I can feel that everyone is furious, it's a palpable energy in the vehicle. There's no banter and there's no calm.

Barton's shirt is all torn up, he's got a nasty rope burn around his throat from where Loki grabbed him by the tie and swung him into a wall. His hands are in fists and he's glaring at the space between his knees.

Widow is on her phone - but she's not scrolling or typing, just staring. She has a shiny blue bruise blossoming under her eye, I have no idea how it got there and I don't really want to.

Doc is only in the remains of his ripped black slacks. I rub his hand between mine and try to maintain the calm, because he does occasionally turn a most worrying shade of green. He keeps shaking his head, running his free hand through the rubble in his hair.

And me?... I, am regrettably, fine. Turns out Thor and Steve get all protective over the ladies and even if I did get a good punch or two in, I'd be carried back over some well muscled shoulder weather I liked it or not. They claimed I had to keep an eye on Darcy and Jane... but seriously, I got enough of the caveman treatment to be just as angry as anyone else.

After a long drive around several frightened pedestrians, we make it back to my apartment.

I hovered for a good long minute, hand on the handle.

"Well... That was... A night to remember." Because if it was anything, that's what it would have to be. I lean over and kiss Doc's cheek, put an arm around him in a friendly squeeze, but only for a split second, because he's mostly naked and that's a bit awkward. He gives me a painful smile, a gentle pat on the shoulder and nothing else.

I shimmy out of the car by myself. Mount the stairs by myself. Open, lock, slide against the door, sink into a sad and grossly sweaty heap, all alone, as per the norm.

After I called Loki out on his shenanigans...riots happened. Barton was particularly upset by Loki's use of his face, hands, body, voice... the attraction factor, in general. He took it very seriously, not like I doubt why he did - Loki chose Hawkeye because it would enrage us both more than if it had been, say, Tony.

Now I'm sitting there, my feet hurt, my knuckles are burning, my brain throbs, and I'm beginning to hate the ever loving shit out of how tight this dress is. So I struggle to my feet, and sigh, fingers tugging at the laces on my spine.

There's a swift Shht! and my hand flies up to my arm, to see a blurred outline of a red dart hanging out of it. I smack it away, teeter dangerously to the side, the restrictive confines of my dress doing me no favors.

I stumble, but don't fall, shaking my head to try and rid of this fuzzy feeling encroaching my eyeballs. I see shapes start to blur - my couch and the floor merge and are one in the same - and someone is definitely approaching me, his hands are sweaty and he reeks of B.O.

"Doc?"

Not Doc. Why would Doc...? He wouldn't shoot me with a dart. He wouldn't... He'd knock. So it's not him.

"Barton?"

Barton's well aware that I wouldn't say no to a sleepover, although the foul mood he was in is probably not ideal for a sleepover. Also, he's too big to be Barton, so naturally my drugged brain processes this, and I ask:

"...Thor?"

But now I'm just saying shit, I feel drunk - but the worst kind of drunk, like someone's snuck something into my beverage when I wasn't looking - I can't step back because I'm too busy trying not to pass out.

I swipe but I miss, the momentum of the loosely thrown punch is enough to send me to the floor, half pushing up in my last attempt to get away. I struggle just to keep my eyes open as I am rolled over, and sat up, hair petted away from my face.

It's my stalker.

He's wearing the same flowers he's been leaving on his trips into my apartment. I can smell the scent of him, too, and it's familiar, which is frightening.

It wasn't too long ago that this man was once a big part of my life, this man shared my bed, this man knows where I keep all my guns and my spar keys because this man was with me when I hid them...

It's my boss.