Black Wool Socks

They really needed to get back to living on the helicarrier. Frankly, Clint was impressed that Natasha hadn't imploded and seriously maimed Tony Stark yet. The man seemed to delight in dancing right on the edge of peoples' tempers, his included. Clint couldn't count the number of times that he'd caught himself tensing up in preparation for decorating Stark with a black eye. Don't get him wrong, he liked the man. Appreciated working with him. Kinda had the urge to beat him black and blue, but there you had it. Everyone had their flaws.

Natasha, however, was about to loose it and go all ninja on the man's ass. The comments were one thing. The Black Widow was famous for her poker face and biting wit. Nat could be either supremely unaffected or deliver a verbal smackdown, depending on the situation. Frankly, the later usually proved to be quite amusing and had gone a long way toward endearing her to the rest of the team. Even Pepper Potts seemed to have gotten over Nat's undercover deception and was liking the only other woman in the Avengers.

It was the pranks that were going to get Stark killed. Clint and Coulson had never, ever, ever included the Black Widow in their pranks. They knew better. She'd kill them. Slowly, painfully and with a great deal of dramatic flourishes. Clint was no dummy. He valued all of his appendages.

Stark seemed to believe that the Widow was in need of 'loosening up'. Hence his little joke campaign. Every time Natasha's toothbrush disappeared and reappeared in the freezer, every time those lingerie photos from her undercover turned up as Bruce's screensaver (which admittedly had the funny side effect of turning the good doctor bright red and making him sputter in embarrassment), and every time her combat boots suddenly had knotted laces, Clint wondered how long it would take. What would be the last straw.

Clint was in the gun range, idly picking the eyes off the targets, when the door slammed open. Wham! The latest target now had a slightly larger left pupil than the right now. Clint pulled off the ear protectors and laid them down next to his gun.

"Hi, Tasha," he said over his shoulder. "What'd he do now?"

His response was her stomping over next to him, snatching up his gun and proceeding to mutilate the last target he'd been playing with. Clint winced when she was done. The paper man had no head, heart and crotch. Ohhh yeah, she was pissed.

Natasha set down the gun, looking only mildly less irate. "I have had it," she announced. "It is time to go back to the helicarrier. I cannot share a building with that man."

"Iron Man's good on the team," Clint pointed out, crossing his arms and leaning back against the partition. "You like working with him."

"When I need to kill aliens or blow up a building, yes. When I want to eat dinner, no." Natasha set her hands on her hips and scowled. "The man is a colossal ass. I don't know how Pepper deals with him every damn day."

Clint grinned, just slightly. "I think it has something to do with the fact that she's in love with him, and him with her," he said.

He watched as Natasha shifted, almost minutely. It sent slivers of almost an excited tension through him at the discomfort and nerves he could see in his partner.

"Regardless," Clint finally said, taking pity on her and letting the moment pass by. "Stark's certainly a... colorful character. What'd he do now?"

Natasha crossed her arms and scowled even bigger. "He stole my socks," she said.

Clint blinked. "Your socks?"

"My socks," she said with great precision. "My black wool socks, the ones that are soft and warm and the perfect thickness to fit in my combat boots when we have a mission in Siberia. MY SOCKS."

"Right. Those socks." Clint had an idea of the problem now. Nat was rather possessive, first of all, of her equipment. It didn't matter if it was guns or gear or uniform, you didn't touch her stuff. He got it, having the right gear at the right times could mean life or death. And apparently, that might be the case now for Tony Stark.

"I bought those socks in Istanbul, and I have used them on every northern mission for the past two years!" she ranted. "I like those socks! And that... that... немой ублюдок! He took my socks and he filled them with sand! They are stretched out and ruined now!" She banged on the ledge in emphasis. Clint saw a crack appear in the wood.

"Okay, let's... think about this," Clint said, a trifle cautiously. It was worse than he'd thought. Stark has actually destroyed the socks, rather than just taking them. Great. He hadn't actually had 'save Tony Stark's life' on his to-do list today. "You can't kill him, Nat."

"Why not?" She demanded.

"Well, Pepper might object," Clint finally said. It was disturbing that he'd had to think for a second. "Fury probably wouldn't be too keen on it, either. There'd be paperwork, you know." Natasha humphed, but seemed to take his meaning. The Director didn't like extra paperwork.

"Besides," he said. "Wouldn't you rather make him suffer?" He watched with a grin at the spark that flamed up in her eyes. Her rather amazing eyes. Clint shook it off.

"Oh, yes. Yes, I would. What do you have in mind?" the Black Widow asked. Hawkeye grinned back at her and proceeded to lay out the plan he'd been constructing ever since the pranks had begun. He'd had a feeling it would come down to this.

Several hours later, they were gathered in the kitchen with the rest of the team, Pepper having brought pizzas and the smell of cheese and spices proving to be irresistible. Banner was munching away in his corner, on probably his third piece. Rogers had to be onto his second pie by now. Those super genes sure led to a super appetite. Clint and Natasha were comfortably seated at the counter with a pie between them, and Clint could only be glad that Thor was still out of town (so to speak). They'd have no food left, if the man with the hammer had been there.

Stark was busy canoodling with Pepper in the corner, and apparently hadn't been paying attention to the rapid seizure of pizza slices. By the time he stopped sucking face with his girlfriend, there wasn't much left. So what did the idiot do? He went for a slice off Natasha's plate.

This time, however, the man didn't quite manage to pull one over on the Black Widow. Stark gaped at the fork pinning his sleeve to the countertop as Nat continued to eat. Clint hid his grin behind his own slice.

"What the hell, Arachne?" Stark demanded. "You tried to impale me!"

Clint snorted. "Stark, if she wanted to impale you with a fork, there'd be a fork in your forearm. It's in your sleeve. Count your blessings." He thought he caught a grin in Banner's eyes.

Stark was still sputtering away, mouth still moving, and Clint just sat back and waited. SMACK! Stark's head snapped back from the rather gentle slap Natasha delivered to his face.

"У меня было это! Enough," the Black Widow announced. "You will stop your little games and pranks, Stark, or I shall take you teach you not to irritate me."

Stark, predictably, rolled his eyes. "Look, you crazy woman, I'm just trying to get you to loosen up and relax a little, you really should..." he trailed off when he realized that she'd stopped listening to him. "Uh, what are you doing?" he asked. Still pinned to the countertop.

Clint watched his partner finish pushing the sofa aside and turn to face the whole group. "Barton, if you would please?" she said, standing in the now cleared area.

Clint grinned and reached over to yank the fork out of Stark's sleeve. "With pleasure," he said.

Natasha looked at Pepper. "Don't worry," she said. "Barton told me I shouldn't kill him."

Pepper was clearly unsure what was about to happen, and whether she should be concerned or amused at what was probably going to be something humiliating for her boyfriend. She eventually seemed to decide on amused. "I appreciate that," she said. "He does have his uses, after all."

"Pepper, I can't believe you're siding with her," Stark was protesting. Clint lifted his foot and gave him a not so gentle shove in the backside toward Natasha. Stark stumbled forward, almost running into the Black Widow.

She smiled at him. A very, very scary smile. "Now, Stark," she said. "We're going to have a little lesson."

"Do we have to?" he asked uneasily.

She smiled even more. With teeth. "Oh yes," she said. "Let's begin with why you never, ever, ever touch anything that belongs to me."

Rogers was the one who caved first. "Ok, that was pretty good," the super soldier said, eyeing Tony lying on the floor. "I admit it. And you can be damn sure I'm not going to touch anything that belongs to you, Romanoff."

"Thank you, Captain Rogers, I appreciate that," Natasha said, sauntering past Stark's outstretched limbs and ignoring the little whimpers. Clint was starting to think the guy was kind of a baby without the suit.

Banner stretched and stood up. "Tony, if you want me to look you over before I turn in, you'd better get up," he said to the man on the floor. A groan was all he got back.

Natasha waved her hand. "Nothing some ice and a few painkillers won't fix," she said. "I didn't even break anything."

"That was very restrained of you," Pepper said with a sigh, standing up herself. "Come on, Tony, you big baby. You know it served you right. Agent Barton told you not to mess with her."

Clint shrugged when Nat's eyes landed on him questioningly. "Hey, I'm no dummy. Why do you think Ph..." he swallowed a little, struggling still over the name. "Why do you think Phil and I never included you in our prank wars?"

Natasha wandered to stand next to him at the counter, leaning ever so slightly against his arm. "You were always smarter than you looked, Barton," she teased gently. Her eyes were warm, and he knew that she was thinking about Phil, too. Damn him for dying.

Stark finally moaned loudly as he got to his feet, Pepper pulling at him not-so-gently. "I hate you all," he grumbled. "Especially you."

"You should let me teach you how to avoid such an ass-whooping," Natasha said sweetly in return. "I teach the new recruits whenever I'm not out on a mission." Clint nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly. He loved watching her fight. And he would LOVE watching her fight Stark on a regular basis.

Tony loudly complained as he and Banner and Pepper went down the hall, detailing his many injuries and how it wasn't fair that the master assassin got to beat the crap out of him in his own home and how Pepper really should stop laughing at him and be a more sympathetic girlfriend... Clint listened in amusement, not moving as the three disappeared.

Rogers got up, giving them a shadow of a smile. "Nicely done, you two," he said. "I don't think we'll have a problem with pranks anymore." He gave the two of them a nod. "I'm going to turn in. See you in the morning."

Clint watched Rogers walk away, Natasha still leaning against the counter next to him, her body close and warm. "So?" he asked softly as the big man disappeared.

She shrugged. "It was too easy," she said. "Stark really needs to get over relying on the suit."

Clint rolled his head over to give her a look. She knew what he meant. Natasha huffed a sigh. "Fine. He's not as colossal an ass as he makes himself out to be," she said. "He took the smackdown like he was supposed to. It still doesn't mean I want to keep sharing a house with him."

Clint kept his eyes on hers, and smiled a little. "Doesn't mean we can't stay for a visit," he said. "After all, Fury does need us back on the helicarrier tomorrow. The new crop of recruits are coming in. Someone's got to teach them a thing or two." Her eyes sparkled, and it made something inside him leap. They stayed that way, not moving, bodies close but barely touching, eyes watching the other. Clint didn't want to move. Somehow, someway, the simplicity of the moment was too perfect, and was too perfectly them to want to change anything.

She was the one who finally sighed, drawing in breath and making her chest rise and fall gently. "Right," she said, pushing off the counter. "I'll see you in the morning."

Clint nodded, staying where he was. "In the morning," he echoed. He got a smile, something soft and warm and that tangled his insides into knots before she turned and slipped silently down the hallway. Clint was left alone in the empty kitchen. He glanced around at the out-of-place sofa, the empty pizza boxes, and then the now-deserted hallway. He smiled.

"In the morning, Nat," he said aloud, and headed for his own room.

AN - for wicked falcon. This would precede "Black Sports Bra" in "Dresser Drawers", if you're following both stories.

I thought it was time for something a little lighter! Never fear, I have a feeling I'm now going to head toward something a little more... mature.

Next Chapter - Torn Paperback Novel